Yeezy: The Prodigious Sayer We All Follow
“I like the old Kanye,” a line from a song that stuck in my head while I sat in the 405 gridlocks. Yet, it might have been in the gym, when I was about to finish my fourth set. It does not matter, but brings me to my point. I believe the old Kanye successfully paved the way for the new Ye, who seemed to pick up, where Prince left off, without the blessing from a billion corporate entities.
I became a believer in the invincibility of Kanye after watching his Netflix documentary. To me, he set himself to become a modern-day, musical Magellan…or better yet, a time traveler dispatched from the Planet Rock, gifting him the ability to solidify himself as music’s Teflon Don, avoiding cancellation like an Iverson Crossover. Instead of a leather Spaulding, he used a crystal ball.
I remember when Kanye snatched Taylor Swift’s airtime and reputation, besmudging the politics of the Grammys. Let’s not forget the time he claimed on National TV, “George Bush hates black people!” Calling out, the then President, for fumbling Hurricane Katrina, as Mike Myers gawked on helplessly.
These words would be the death decree to any other Hip-Hop Mogul. But not the modern mastermind from the city with big shoulders. In my opinion, the old Kanye was a modern version of a Great Lakes Amadeus, leaving his mark buried into American culture – like an artifact to be studied by future generations.
The old Kanye could have stopped there. Maybe, he should have stopped there. Without pause, he brought his voice to any platform that provided a microphone and airtime. He delivered his well-crafted, tyrannical rants to the likes of: Sway, TMZ, and everywhere in between. Talking about everything from the failings of American Society, the evils of the music industry, and slavery. For anyone to even broach these topics, would have led to monumental career suicide, leading to a media hanging in the rafters of the Blogosphere.
Instead, Yeezy turned the media into his proverbial bottom bitch, who he forced to stand on the corner called public perception, while pimping the entertainment landscape without retracting one word, but instead doubling down, pointing out the media’s own bias led to his very comments they were reporting to the masses. The same media Kanye seemed to have in his grasp. If he eats, they ate!
Yeezy had the audacity to record a gospel album on the outskirts of Sodom and Gomorrah, hosting open-air masses like some sort of Calabasas Lil’John the Baptist. Bringing Christianity to the city of sinful angels, was a no, no and should have put him in a monetary Camel Clutch. His marriage was constantly front and center to face the ridicule of the world. He stayed rigid in his stance, showing the center its finger to all trying to destroy his name. So, he changed it.
Then, came Ye. The new Kanye, but not Kanye any longer. Ye did the unspeakable, challenging the Jewish community’s authenticity, calling himself a Jew self-affirming the black man was the original Jew. Allegedly, in his mind clearing the way for him to rail against members of the Jewish community that had done him wrong in the past, leaving Noriega speechless and sober. That very act seemed to spearhead the anti-Jewish movement of today, as the world wags its finger at Israel.
Finally, he had done it. Put the nails in his coffin. The only thing I could compare it to was the death of Superman. The immortal King of Hip Hop was dethroned waiting to be sent to a deep, dark dungeon – where no one would see or hear him. That dungeon was called cancellation. Ye was declared dead by the entertainment media
A small, smoldering ember started to burn at the Superbowl during Ye’s ad: simple and plain. Just a dark image on an iPhone with a basic improved tagline. He doesn’t even look into the device because he knows we are watching – all of us. We can’t take our eyes off him. Love him or hate him, we are listening to his every syllable. We are all captivated by his gold front that slightly gleamed as he mumbled, “we spent all the money on the ad space, so we had no money for the ad”
Simplistic brilliance was what I witnessed leaking out of my cheap Android screen. A true savant had spoken again, pushing against the multi-million dollar commercials that dotted the plasma screen of the American, football-fandom.
The mega-influencer knew we would be watching. He’s already entrenched into the subconscious of the subculture. Ye did it again. On the largest stage in America – he has again taken front and center, maybe trumping Taylor Swift once more – if only for the moment. Kelcie had to bump his coach to get significant air time. Ye just pulled out his phone.
Ye probably made minimalism the new thang. The less, the better. Maybe that’s the future. The time traveler brought a message from the future via Planet Rock. We have already surrendered ourselves to him because we are still watching. It’s very hard to get on any screen-big or small-yet, he was always there.
In the end: Why can’t they cancel, Ye? He is a Deep-Dish Microchip embedded into our media-soaked minds. If you cancel, Ye – you cancel us – all of us.
