**Before we begin, understand that I have no intentions of debating Kanye’s greatness. This is an exercise in pure crushery — no more, no less.**
I love Kanye. Like, love him, love him. I loved him when folks initially castigated him for celebrating the non-college route to success, and when he was pissy because he didn’t win that MTV award that one year. I loved him when he reminded me of “Roscoe” from Martin as he declared — without any shred of jest at all — that “George Bush. Doesn’t Care. About Black People.” *sniff* *wipes dirty lil nose* I loved him when he grew that Black man mullet a couple years back,
and when he snatched that mic outta Taylor Swift’s hands, and then *himshrugged* at his own audaciousness. I even loved him when I
saw on Mediatakeout was told that he had emailed somebody pics of his stick … … . He may be better acquainted with douchey moments than most, but he’s still golden in my eyes.
Although I fell head over heels for Kanye, I didn’t follow his rise to stardom in stalker fashion. So no, I don’t really know any obscure before-he-was-famous-facts. What I was sure of, however, after I listening to that first album, was the special place he’d always have with me. On ”Through the Wire,’ I was like, word!? Homie’s rappin through a jaw that’s wired shut?? If he’da ever asked me, I’da been his girl. “she a delta, so she been thowin’ that dynasty sign” I loved that.
You see, that he is absolutely beautiful to me, and dresses his mother fucking ass off notwithstanding, I imagine Kanye smells like good leather and some kind of warm, masculine spice. But what’s most importantly, is that he straddles the bitchass line so comfortably, and so recklessly. You didn’t happen to catch that Matt Lauer interview, didya? And c’mon, “Runaway” has emo written all over it. Kanye wears his feelings on his finely tailored sleeves, suggesting that his heart, unlike many rappers’, might actually pump real, warm-blooded emotion as opposed to 9mm shells and threats on cats’ lives. I think the risk Kanye takes as a rapper is in being one who uses his weakness as armor, and strength. Sure, he’s a rapper with all of the pomp and circumstance and frivolity and nonchalance that title accords in 2010. But he’s also a guy. A guy who feels shit. And so he mills about, spilling his lil feelins in the air. It’s refreshing. I respect him for being so artful about it.
Now, one could argue that Kanye isn’t the first to do what he does, nor is he the “best” at it. And to he or she who might open his or her mouth spew such ridiculousness, I’d say: fuck that. He is the best because I love him, and in spite of it. Indeed, his presence is a present. And so you, naysayer, can kiss my ass…so to speak.
But don’t take my word for it. This is “Blame Game” — among my favorites so far.