I’m not going to give any declarative “oh, I’ve been doing X and Y and Z” disclaimers to begin this as a way of “apologizing” for my absence from these parts. Ah, well-that, in and of itself, is an acknowledgement of guilt, isn’t it? I’m aware that I’ve been the nom-de-plume’d prodigal son-don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt that I wasn’t missed. I’m not up-to-date on the Black Were-Jaguar GhostNakedBrothers Band, anyway-that stuff rings cold to me, but warm to y’all. My mind’s elsewhere. In fact, my headspace looks a little something like this:
Recently, I’ve been attempting to wrap my head around Kanye West’s Graduation album. As I have (apparently been quoted in a few assorted places as having) said, Kanye was the thinking person’s Dave Eggers of rap-those first two records were near-masterpieces, with Late Registration (yes, that one, flat-bootied white girl with a taste for top-shelf vodka, THAT one) coming the closest to tell-your-friends-and-neighbors-though-they’ll-know-already brilliance. I don’t genuinely believe I need do more than hum the(uncleared at first, natch, that’s the way Ye rolls) Shirley Bassey sample that swells with orchestral perfection to form the base of “Diamonds From Sierra Leone” to conjure a feeling of how utterly important that whole damn album was (quoth the Jigga, who popped up with a show-stopping few verses on the “Diamonds” remix: “Shirley Bassey’s in the rear saying exactly what I’ve been sayin’ practically my whole career”. Diamonds are forever? Kanye is forever.).
Kanye knew that, too-and he spent a few years before and twice as many after making sure we, the general music-listening public, knew he knew that we should know.
What an initially mixed bag, then, his Graduation is. Can samples and Daft Punk samples and no skits (unless you count what most people view as a grotesque mis-step, the Mos Def collab ‘Drunk and Hot Girls”) and nothing as immediately grabbing to the shiny shirt crew as “Gold Digger” and nothing as immediately looming and threatening as “Diamonds” and.
And, and, and. We’ll play a little game that may be familiar to the ADHD crowd in the audience: Line up your criticisms and critiques in single file, potentially alphabetically or in order of track list, write ‘em out, and then stick ‘em in your back pocket and come to Graduation with a fresh brain. And no, I don’t mean “brain” like how them hip-hoppers mean “brain”, either-for this I’ll require some genuine grey matter.
In part one of this two-part piece ( you know, the first section that doesn’t yet exist), there’ll be a level guide, a cheat sheet, if you will, with some a+b+a+b+l+r+l+r+start codes to let the genius, the self-absorbed self-deprecating piece of ecstasy that is Graduation reveal itself song-by-song.
(Right. Now, again, I’m going to be saying “oh hey watch for this” and then something shiny or sparkly or something about drugs by Lil’ Wayne or a noise jamarama by Deerhunter will distract me and it’ll never get done.)
I’ve never understood why, in contemporary Rock, b-sides/outtakes/tapes lost in someone’s Basement are allowed to be considered masterworks, when in hip-hop the b-side song doesn’t exist to the collective conscious. It’s fitting, for the strange and smart dichotomy that is Kanye, for some of the best moments of Graduation to have been casually left off the record itself, scattered amongst throwaway mixtapes and alternate release pressings. And so, to answer his own question in “Stronger”-you, Kanye, YOU make real shit. Here’s some of the real shit that wasn’t on that copy of Graduation you copped at Target for a tenner.
Kanye West & John Mayer: Bittersweet Poetry
We’ll leave the slagging on John Mayer to other places other faces. What matters here is how a thematic element of “Graduation” of Ye’s stardom causing his relationships to suffer a falsity that aches and cuts to the bone (see also: “Flashing Lights”). It’s a beautiful wonk of a three-tissue jam, and that chorus is a stumbling mess-and that makes it all the better.
Kanye West ft Mos Def: Good Night
Ye has never been one to let a thematic element peeter off and die prematurely. Granted, his themes usually encompass a few set subjects: himself, his awesomeness, his insecurity regarding his awesomeness…see 1 and 2…and, uh, I think that’s about it. However, the “Good Morning” opening of Graduation was, in fact, meant to be book-ended with this-a pretty, sleepy ballad, featuring Mos Def’s velvet crooning pipes (whodathunk it) in what is the utter polar opposite of Mos’s other appearance on Graduation (for the record, I find “Drunk and Hot Girls” to be total and utter inappropriate Kanye, channeling “40 Year Old Virgin”-and I love it).
Cue these last two up, in this order, right at the end of “Grad” in your iTunes, and then realize:
THAT’S the director’s cut.
Now, imagine: if YOUR copy of “Graduation” ended here, would you feel a little bit more fulfilled? Yeah, thought so. Fitting, though, that the “proper” end to Graduation is scattered across the web-putting the damn album together properly is like following Kanye’s own version of clues to LOST.
This song’s also been cited as proof Mos Def needs to release an all-singing album. I’ll second.
Kanye West: Stronger (Jay-Z Remix)
Hey, white kids: NOT A RMX KTHX. No, seriously, this isn’t something for your not-raves, this is “Stronger” with Jay grabbing the mic and, basically, turning in what is (I assume) essentially a favor to Kanye. Not as destructive to the brilliance of the original as when he claimed “Diamonds” for himself, but still a nice piece of work. Crappy quality, though.
From one of the two flawless underGrad mixtapes, the origins of the “real shit” inquiry, and a total victory.
Kanye West: Flashing Lights(Benzi refix)
Benzi, apparently a fave around here (who knew?) but most known in my little (and preferred) world as a beatsmithmuse to Resonator 2006 faves Clipse, cobbles Kanye and the aforementioned Clipse together to form something…euphoric? Euphoric.
Kanye West: Flashing Lights (Jr Sanchez’s Strobelight Honey remix)
See also: Euphoric. This remix has taken some heat, but it does what Junior has always done, so well-sweat it out by taking a song that needs to be 4/4 and placing it smack-dab in the middle of the dancefloor and forcing it to work out its’ own damn problems. There are two nights-into-mornings soundtracked by Junior Sanchez sets in my lifetime, and these two nights blur together into some strange hotel room conversation about Power Rangers and ‘Sister Christian”…but that’s neither here nor there.
Kanye West ft Lil Wayne, Busta Rhymes & Young Jeezy: Can’t Tell Me Nothin (rmx)
Attacking Graduation’s darkest, most intense and bleakest track, Busta and Jeey are essentially throwaways here. The name you’re gunning for is Weezy-who, prior to this had left me unimpressed, but after his little “LMAO” verse on here has suddenly been able to do absolutely no wrong to these ears.
Child Rebel Soldiers/CRS (Lupe Fiasco, Kanye West & Pharrell): Us Placers
Finally like CeCe. A quality rip of what has become the dream-haunter for me as of late, and by far the song that keeps stomping around the top 5 of my “best songs of 2007″ list-Lupe, Kanye and Skateboard P’s minimal, ice and rasp step-by-hesitant-footfall walk through the perils of fame, hand-held by Thom Yorke’s voice as a too-soft-for-salvation siren, the angel perched just out of reach. Not that you’d listen even if you heard…
Quoth Kanye, in his most chilling and understated moment yet:
“How many people almost famous
You almost remember what they name is..”
Even if, even if, nothing else here moves you, this CRS one-off is godsend proof of the coldness, the reality, the schaffel-ache that lies just underneath everything Ye does. The sort of song that, if put conveniently at the end of Graduation, would have the jury of bloggers and esteemed mustachioed “print” critics discussing its brilliance, but as a net easter egg, something to be passed from hard drive to hard drive, is nothing more than a flicker, a half-spark, to be downloaded and ignored. Maybe you’re just not listening hard enough, or expecting to see something entirely different, or more obvious.. Look, and listen, close. This should be like oil to water, but instead it’s like gasoline to a smoldering fire-or, more accurately, this is the sound of the rainbow of colors when that water hits the oil. Black smudged with fluorescent, beautiful in its’ bleakness.
Again, does anyone make real shit any more? There’s nothing more real than that.
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