+RSS
 
 

Kanye

Sunday, December 14, 2008

On Saturday Night Live last night, Kanye looked like a guy who’d just bumrushed a karaoke stage. Incredibly excited, irritatingly off-key, plagued by what sounded like technical glitches (whch were no doubt planned), fucking up the lyrics and trying to stay on the beat. It was one of those performances that forcefully reminded us how much we take for granted the musical tropes associated with being a professional. Kanye called to our attention, made unavoidable, the fact that appropriate modes of singing, in certain keys, were at some point in history deemed acceptable to the ear. Just a little bit on either side of a key–as he unapologetiacally and purposefully was–and a singing voice just sounds wrong. Not because of something inherent in the voice, but because we’ve been conditioned to hear it in particular ways. Kanye wants his music to be known as “Pop Art,” but I don’t think he meant Warhol: his use of Auto-Tune—a revolutionarily reflexive use of the technology—is as performative as Kabuki makeup or a thumb in front of the camera lens.

Known as “not having a filter,” to some, “prolific” to others, Kanye has purposefully and successfully aestheticized the imperfections of longwindedness and spontaneous outbursts. He sang and rapped his first single despite his jaw being partially wired shut, and tweaked a Chaka Khan sample that originally said “fire” instead of “wire” to make the hook fit synctactically as effectively as it did emotionally. The last track on that same album spends its last nine minutes as an ad-hoc origin myth, recited like a loquacious bus rider in a Jarmusch film. In one of his biggest singles, he sings “I ain’t sayin’” immediately before he says something, as much doubling the length of the subsequent thought as negating it. During his stream-of-consciousness anti-Bush rant, he could barely contain himself, looking like he was going to break down in tears, while Mike Myers tried, stoically, to remember what it was like to do improv. He’s the guy who stormed the stage of the European VMAs to bitch about losing an award, and rush-recorded an album channeling Tubeway Army and T-Pain because he was pissed at his ex-girlfriend and mourning his lost mother.

Kanye’s voice isn’t “bad,” necessarily, not in the traditional sense anyway. He’s just using the parts of it that he’s not supposed to. The result is a timbre that we don’t often hear, not in music at least: primal scream therapy, or Kanye’s version of Lennon yelling himself hoarse at the end of “Mother.” Only Kanye’s never proven himself able to sing songs like this. That’s not stopped him yet, but that’s his point. He’s using stardom as practice, writing songs in the manner of conversation fragments and flustered, late-night voicemail messages. He’s an untouchable global pop-star, no doubt with a cadre of professional advisors, but is still running the risk of embarassing himself on a regular basis: simultaneously untouchable and resoundingly, publicly fallible. So, yes: “Love Lockdown” is a terrifying song in many regards, but it’s made infinitely more uncomfortable by Kanye’s grotesque performance of prolix, technologized amateurism.

Filed under:   

9 Comments

*
*

Copyright ©2009/10 Eric Harvey