“I fantasized about this back in Chicago,” are the first words we hear from him on “Dark Fantasy.” Home, alone. What to do? Like Macaulay Culkin’s Kevin McCallister, he orchestrates his own reverie, finally free to order the cheese pizza of his dreams, and eat it all by himself. Mom is gone, love is dead, and the world has called him every racial epithet that exists. And therefore the most important.īut before all that, Kanye begins this album-a staggering, often breathtaking work-with a kind of Home Alone freak-out. It’s on “Blame Game,” not the flashiest or most forward-thinking song on the album, but certainly the most earthbound. So for the first real unraveling on his fifth album, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, to arrive 11 songs in is surprising, but also appropriate. But you never get less than everything from Kanye West. These are honest moments, untrained and emotional and, sure, egotistical. Whether elbowing Taylor Swift to the left, commandeering a telethon, or melting down on a morning show, it’s the disaster that makes the greatness palpable, the mistake that is the solution. When he flies off the rails, it is often its own sort of symphony. Or several of all three.īut it’s his frequent loss of control that makes West the most compelling popular musician of his generation.
This was the year he became better than anyone at changing the conversation-with a new free song, with an extravagant short film, with a Twitter rant. If the conversation about him is moving in a direction he dislikes, he gestures with his hands and changes it. He is a maestro in the truest sense-of his music, of his feelings, of the way he is interpreted by the masses. Kanye West does not do well with loss of control.
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