The genius of The Life of Pablo is indiscernible from the album’s opening tracks, which boast intellectual assertions of the following quality: “Now if I fuck this model / And she just bleached her asshole / And I get bleach on my T-shirt / Imma feel like an asshole.”
No, Kanye West’s seventh album does not impress early on with auto-tuned vocals, mumble-rap contributions from unknown Future impersonators, or with the trap percussions upon which both parts of “Father Stretch My Hands” build. On the contrary, they show West indulging in the contemporary hip-hop trends that are dissolving into cliché, demonstrating fad as opposed to the zeitgeist which West’s more ambitious works so precisely captured. The beginning of The Life of Pablo appears to confirm fans’ worst fears about an album whose title was only finalized hours before the songs premiered. It suggests a lack of censorship, slipshod compilation, the work of an artist whose ego has been fed to the point of complacency – a food coma in which the artist is too bloated to move towards innovation.
What innovation there is on The Life of Pablo is subtle: impressive use synth-feedback on “Feedback,” various samples’ distorting spatial effects. It is the first album in which West does not overtly challenge norms of culture (The College Dropout), genre (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), or politics (Yeezus). But granting fairness to Kanye West in consideration of his past several releases beg the questions “How much more room for innovation (in music at least) is there for an artist who has already produced four albums in the seven years of the current decade?” “What reason is there to innovate when the most loyal sect of his fan base has fervently demanded the Kanye of old?” By the time the instrumental on “Famous” kicks in after Rihanna’s vocals, Kanye’s response to the predicament, along with his genius, becomes perfectly clear.
What validates Kanye West’s latest release is the effortlessness of its creation. The Life of Pablo is an album in which Kanye relies on his proven studio techniques and battle-tested ear for what captivates to produce an album that is easy to enjoy. The album is nostalgically reminiscent of Kanye’s rise in hip-hop, evidenced first by the resemblance between the instrumentals of “Famous” and “Get Em High” from The College Dropout. Everything from and between the percussion pattern, the vocal melody and cadence, and the arrogant bravado of the song’s opening line: “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous,” harken back to Kanye’s idiosyncratic presence in the bling-era of hip-hop.
This reminiscence is not short-lived. “Highlights”’ instrumental arrangement is similar to “I Wonder” (Graduation), “Real Friends” is carried by the cadence of “Big Brother” (Graduation), the various interludes on TLoP reemploy Kanye’s early contextual framing techniques, and even the soliloquy on “30 Hours” reminds us of a young Kanye with a burgeoning desire to engage his listeners in dialogue, no matter how one-sided that dialogue would be or would become. While remaining faithful to his own tradition, Kanye also draws from the fundamentals of his art form. “No More Parties in LA,” which features a guest verse from Kendrick Lamar, is a quintessential boom-bap track and the drums on “30 Hours” are undeniably influenced by the most revered and most sampled drum track in hip-hop: James Brown’s “The Funky Drummer.”
Though The Life of Pablo embodies the classic standard of Kanye West production, it does not achieve greatness by tracing its artist’s laurels. The album does indeed suffer from a lack of editing. Kanye’s choices on what songs to include on the album sometimes enhance its rap appeal (“No More Parties in LA,” “30 Hours”), but other times degrade the album’s intellectual premise (“Freestyle 4,” “Facts”). What we gain from this excessive over-inclusion are glimpses of the genre-defying, experimental Kanye West of Yeezus alongside the hit-maker of his first three albums.
While the forty-four second lament/gloat of “I Love Kanye” may not seem like the most stimulating track to be featured on The Life of Pablo, it offers the album’s most profound truths. Yes, we did miss the old Kanye. Yes, we hate the new, always rude Kanye. Yes, every rapper to come after Kanye in some way derives his or her art from Kanye’s advancements. It is ironic, unexpected, and fortunate that we are given an album in which the old Kanye remerges. However, in typical Kanye fashion, he ignores pleas for decency and self-control. As far as personality is concerned, he is still very much the new Kanye. But can we blame him? We never hold him accountable anyway. Our praise has enabled the flamboyance we’ve grown to despise. We have fed his ego enough to assure him that he can do absolutely anything. Fortunately, a return to his old style lies within the parameters of what we have empowered Kanye to do. He is, and has been for a long time, that much empowered.
Similarly, The Life of Pablo is music to feel empowered by, for the sake of self-esteem, self-exploration, or mere enjoyment. Its palate satisfies in nearly every way a Kanye West album should, in modes of both old and new. Reflect fondly on the pink polo you bought once upon a 2004, which is by now stashed somewhere deep in an old dresser or donated to a local thrift store. This album will offer you bittersweet memories.