‘My Beautiful…’ kicks off proceedings with a suitable sense of what’s at stake here a tense, string-laden affair with Kanye musing how “ the plan was to drink until the pain was over/But what’s worse, the pain or the hangover?” There’s more trouble at hand with Kid Cudi collaboration ‘Gorgeous’’s slouching guitars but Kanye relocates his funny bone with lines like: “ This week has been a bad massage/I need a happy ending”. It’s a world away from the indifferent reception afforded to ‘808s & Heartbreak’, a brave but unloveable record of synth-drenched introspection dealing with Kanye’s split from Alexis Phifer in 2008 and the tragic death of his mother, who died following cosmetic surgery. Reportedly a cool $3million in the making and with a stellar cast comprising the great and good of 2010’s musical establishment – plus Fergie from Black Eyed Peas – it’s an epically conceived song-suite, a titanic wrestling with music’s most colossal ego that effortlessly engages its hype as the most feverishly anticipated record of the year. It’s an utterly dazzling portrait of a 21st-century schizoid man that is by turns sickeningly egocentric, contrite, wise, stupid and self-mocking. ‘My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’ captures that essence in full. A man with a head so unfeasibly smooth, it looks like he’s slowly evolving into a Madame Tussauds effigy of himself.įor better or worse, he’s also the pop star for our morally implicated times an instinctive consumer with a mouthful of diamonds and furtive bad conscience, a performer who lives the American dream to its fullest with a creeping sense of the spiritual void at its heart. Kanye West: douchebag, enemy of the state, incurable gobshite who’s annoyed more American presidents than Fidel Castro.
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