A Fantasy, Dark & Twisted, but not Beautiful

 

I purchased the album. In my usual dramatic fashion, I can only describe my experience as a double-edged sword through my musical eardrum. I treat music (songs, albums, artists, etc) as entities with whom I have relationships. My relationship with Mr. West has been an overall lovely one. One in which I appreciate and sympathize with him as a man. One in which I desire and find myself wrapped within his music. He challenges me to fully understand and analyze his vision. That being said, I bought this album with the expectation of utter satisfaction, yet I found myself driving in my car, listening closely with a tightened lip and a shallow breath. I felt myself so angry and disappointed at some of the lyrics and not because he was saying them, but because he’s likely experienced them.  And along with him, some woman(en) have experienced him too. There is an air of contempt–almost a hatred  for women that is weaved through this album. I sat there thinking, wow, either Kanye’s changed or I’ve changed. I used to listen to hip-hop with an internal twinge at every bitch/hoe/give-me-some-head reference, but kept on listening and kept on dancing. These days, I can barely stomach it. It makes me angry, fuckin furious as a matter of fact. I think of all the women and girls whose bodies are used up and thrown out (literally). I think of all the women and girls who do things they don’t want to because they think their man wants it. I think of all the women and girls who think their bodies are their meal tickets. I think about all of those women and girls, because at the end of the day, all of those women are me. And you…and your sister…..and your mother….and your grandmother. There is no difference between me and them or you and them.

One woman who’s not free, means no women are free.

So when he says: “been a long time since I spoke to you in a bathroom gripping you up, fuckin’ and choking you” …. it’s not to be taken lightly.

Wake up Mr. West, Mr. West, Mr. West.