Some two decades ago, Prince re-named himself
with an unpronounceable symbol and scrawled
"SLAVE" on his cheek in a feud with Warner Bros
Records. He spent lavishly on unreleased creative
projects and he put out a video game. Then he sang
about sex, betrayal and a higher purpose on 1995's
"The Gold Experience," asking: "What's the use of
money if you ain't gonna break the mold?"
Wealth and singular pop chart success left an
eccentric, sometimes rude Midwestern musical
genius in his late 30s searching for a fresh challenge,
a new struggle.
Flash forward to Kanye West, who has poured his
creative energy and millions into an Adidas fashion
line. He made public appeals for help with an
ambitious string of non-music ventures. He wore a
full-face mask while performing for most of his
"Yeezus" concert tour. He worked on a video game.
And yes, he raps and sings on "The Life of Pablo,"
released online over the weekend, about sex, betrayal
and a higher purpose.
Like the music Prince released early in his symbol
phase, West's seventh solo album isn't as instantly
catchy or cohesive as his earlier work. But it's
consistently interesting and full of feeling, with off-
kilter hip-hop soundscapes and lyrics that pivot
suddenly from generous spirituality to crass insults.
Their tools are vastly different, of course: Where the
Purple One is famously self-contained, the Louis
Vuitton Don now creates like a Hollywood film
director, overseeing a massive team of writers,
producers and other collaborators all working to
realize his vision.
This 18-track collection feels impressively personal,
and warm, compared to the aggressively glitchy
"Yeezus," West's pre-fatherhood primal scream of an
album from three years ago. He repeatedly
references his family and reveals wryly humorous
self-awareness that's often missing in those famed
Twitter rants and TV appearances. "I guess I get
what I deserve, don't I?" he laments about an
absence of "Real Friends." On "Feedback," he
acknowledges, "I've been out of my mind a long
time." Rhyming as a fan at the album's halfway
point," West raps "I miss the old Kanye ... I hate the
new Kanye."
Among mainstream hip-hop artists, West stands out
for his commitment to continually evolving and
expanding both his own sound and the genre as a
whole. That's evident even in the weakest sections
of "Pablo." West sounds both rejuvenated and
challenged by young musicians like Chance the
Rapper and Future soundalike Desiigner, whose song
"Panda," released just months ago, is sampled
alongside a 1970s gospel recording on the dense
two-parter "Father Stretch My Hands."
West's calling card is smartly utilizing such
unexpected samples, from Arthur Russell's soulful
murmurs on the sublime "30 Hours" to the album-
opening snippet of a 4-year-old girl's boisterous
prayer, pulled from an Instagram post. A bassline
then gurgles abruptly under a soaring gospel choir
and praise-filled contributions from Chance, Kelly
Price and Kirk Franklin, while West declares "this is a
God dream."
That song, "Ultralight Beam," sets a high bar that the
rest of the album doesn't quite reach. Chris Brown
sings strongly over layers of ethereal vocals on
"Waves," but the tune doesn't go anywhere. West's
auto-tuned humming make the otherwise haunting
"Wolves" feel incomplete.
Compared to West's 2010 masterpiece "My Beautiful
Dark Twisted Fantasy," there's too much lyrical
sloppiness on "Pablo," possibly stemming from a
falling-out with longtime ghostwriter Rhymefest.
While West still delivers laugh-and-cringe one-liners
(that Taylor Swift dig on "Famous") and aspirational
exhortation ("Highlights"), he seems overly proud of
many run-of-the-mill couplets, repeating them for
emphasis but to no effect.
Still, "Pablo" finds our most provocative modern hip-
hop star evolving yet again, flexing his nerdy crate-
digging bona fides alongside tabloid-ready call-outs
and relentless ambition. He refuses to sell what's
already been sold.
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