The (Mutable) Life of Pablo: How Kanye West’s Nontraditional Album Typifies Our Reboot Culture
Yeezy’s combined nostalgia and personal reinvention is a new and exciting approach. So now what?
Last week, as part of NPR’s year-end coverage, music critic Daoud Tyler-Ameen and super host Audie Cornish sat down to talk about the changing face of the album in 2016. (Something I touched on briefly circa spring 2014.) Inevitably, the conversation turned to Kanye West, as his Life of Pablo was the shining example of how artists are reimagining the LP as both concept and deliverable product. When the record debuted in February 2016, what fans held in their eager mitts was an incomplete, slightly unpolished version. Over the span of several months, West made a series of adjustments, tweaking songs and adding in material until it more resembled whatever soundscape existed in his head.
For the most part, Tyler-Ameen connected Pablo to another artist’s experimentation with the album format: Kendrick Lamar. However, Lamar’s Untitled Unmastered project isn’t necessarily the best fit. Those eight tracks were more akin to a demo collection, offering insight into his creative process in forging the monumental To Pimp a Butterfly, a snapshot of an artist growing in both range and confidence. Pablo, meanwhile, was meant accomplish several objectives, namely giving a renowned perfectionist like West the chance to tinker with his tunes and deliver timely new music to eager fans.
A large chunk of the world, however, came to view the LP as a metaphor for the actual creative process, with art not as stagnate product a la a pack of bologna but a living, breathing entity that grows and morphs over time. That certainly seemed to fit with West’s approach to the album tracks: Offering up shards of his creative and personal psyche and letting people solve the jigsaw themselves, often only as new clues were gifted from on high.
My own relationship with West is a bit more complicated than some other, unabashedly eager fans. I’ve always loved his persona during College Graduation: This hungry, confident upstart building a new kind of sound through sheer force of will and endless gumption. This latest version of West is something that doesn’t have quite the same air of familiarity. He’s clearly deserving of respect for his sheer artistry, but it feels uneasy to connect with this much raw intensity and unpredictability.
Now, this whole Pablo model has just widened that disconnect. I’ve always held the belief that albums are commercial entities, and not just because they’re meant to be sold for money. You wouldn’t buy a lawnmower only to have the blades finally installed three months later, so why should something as heartfelt and meaningful as an album have to differ? To me, it seems more daring and creative to put together an album with all that blood and sweat and basslines and let it stand in the world on its own two feet. To be celebrated triumphantly or bashed against the rocks by consumers and critics alike. Luckily, most people tend toward the former when it comes to West’s signature brand of envelope-pushing.
But at some point in crafting this, his seventh full-length, I think West took a look at his life — the one with adoring fans and beautiful family — and had a personal crisis. The man who’s used to making gold records saw all the trappings that work had brought him, and in the mix of ego and fragility that is quintessential Kanye, dreamt up this Pablo-ian approach. A way to skirt through the fame and anxiety and expectations and create a form of art with a built-in eject button. It’s a generally likable album — “Feedback” and “Famous” are my personal highlights — but even a shred of doubt compromises West’s sense of innovation and subtle humor.
Still, the NPR segment got me thinking more about Pablo and West’s whole approach and what it all meant. Is Kanye’s aim with this album really just about creating an exit strategy, or working through some personal or artistic troubles? Maybe there is something, even if it’s mostly subliminal: Pablo is, in a way, a profound occurrence in our reboot culture. The result of the rapper-producer moving through the culture-sphere and seeing everyone and their Hollywood agent rebooting every property they can snatch up. Then taking those lessons to heart — albeit on a significantly smaller scale. Because a commentary through self-reboot is more appealing than the chaos and uncertainty Pablo represents as both art and the measure of a man.
Among reboots — especially those of ’80s cartoons and movies — a common complaint is the bastardization of precious childhood memories experienced by countless consumers. As if writers and directors of “Ghostbusters” or “Terminator” showed up at your 8th birthday and dropkicked the cake. As Salon’s Scott Timberg pointed out back in June 2016, this kind of angry nostalgia may not be simple nerd rage, but an extension of narcissistic rage. Coined in the ’70s by Austrian psychologist Heinz Kohut, it’s meant to describe people who lash out when their self esteem comes under assault (a narcissistic injury).
If all that can occur in the real world, so too can “nostalgia rage,” or what occurs when “the past seems to be destroyed and the sufferer lashes out at the supposed destroyer.” In the case of Pablo,it’s Kanye doing the smashing. He goes through his own life and career and flings glasses and throws around plates. Take “Famous”, for instance, in which he raps “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/Why? I made that bitch famous.” It originally got him in a bit of hot water, but from a purely creative standpoint it’s interesting to look at why West decided to drop just such a bombshell in the first place.
He’s already on the wrong side of the history regarding the initial VMA incident, and this whole thing only further demonizes him (even after T. Swift totes fibbed about approving said zinger). So, why unveil such misogyny and paint himself as even more of a villain? Maybe for laughs, possibly for the oodles of attention. But perhaps West did it to destroy any nostalgia there may have been about the whole affair and his connection with Swift. That he’s no longer (if he ever was) that kooky maverick who threw a monkey wrench in Swift’s big day. That he’s a man who does and says what he wants because he’s a god or a genius, or maybe something else entirely. If you felt any fondness or anger toward that huge moment, or for who Kanye is as an artist as a result, then this record is the giant sledgehammer to those sentiments.
Pablo is a way to recast some of West’s past bad behaviors, helping to portray himself in a way that fits better with his own personal perceptions. If my theory about West’s personal crisis holds up, then just such behavior might help a struggling artist work through some of those emotional layers. At the very least, it’s clear that West doesn’t seem to care about people’s feelings, and that kind of head space has always been where he’s been his most compelling and engaging. Even if it might not always land through this specific musical collection.
Not all forms of nostalgia necessitate rage, though. I may not have seen it, but most folks ate up “Stranger Things” like a box of Gushers in the early ’90s. In its own estimation of the series, The New Statesman called the series a “rare example of a cultural phenomenon that has delivered wistfulness and familiarity without simply giving audiences more of the same,” citing the show’s masterful blend of influences ranging from “E.T.” and “The Lost Boys” to “Under the Skin” and “Blow Up,” among others. So, if I’m using the Statesman’s definition for effective nostalgia — which seems fair given the lack of rage among its many happy fans — than success comes with delivering enough nostalgia to prove non-fatal.
Even if West doesn’t care about emotional nostalgia, his sonic M.O. has always been about maintaining a similar sense of sentimentality. The crux of his production style is one gleefully drenched in the warm grooves of vintage R&B and soul. Even more recently, when the rhythms got notably darker starting with My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, West hasn’t forgotten about his love of the musical past. Except now he’s taking shards of songs and emotions and coating them in black paint as opposed to the glitter found on albums like Late Registration.
Regardless, Pablo only builds upon how West does nostalgia like few others can. “Father Stretch My Hands” pulls huge chunks from Desiigner’s “Panda,” a song that came out the same year as this record. West has no time for people’s enjoyment of a song to fade into the glow of retromania; he makes history on his own damn time. Yeezy’s also not one to shy away from sampling himself, using bits of “Good Morning” and “Wake Up Mr. West” for “Famous.” A little arrogant? Sure (though not exactly breaking new ground). However, slapping those tidbits alongside Nina Simone’s “Do What You Gotta Do” has the effect of making 10-year-old Kanye songs sound even more profound, almost historic in nature. Even some of the album’s more deliberate nostalgic nods — “Facts” samples the “Street Fighter II” OST — are a refreshing blast from the past without bashing us in the head with how clever it all is.
I’ve always felt that I’ve been immune from this nostalgia disease — except when people mention “Street Sharks” — but when West does it, it’s hard not to get swept up. Not only cause it’s so very precise and subtle, but on this LP especially, that history is just more noise in a cacophony of distortion and yelps and emotional pleas. It’s past and present and future blended into a sonic smoothie that you either sip carefully or shotgun like a Natty Ice. Everything on Pablo as it relates to concepts like time and memory feel really disjointed and uncertain, which helps with the consumption. Whether all that’s a worthy accomplishment is another debate entirely.
These days it’s hard to tell if a reboot is effective or not. Especially since we’ve hit a point where we’ve had three separate Spider-Men in the last 15 years or so (and half a dozen Batmen since the early ‘90s). It’s like a franchise exists, lives triumphantly for a few minutes, and is snuffed out before we can understand how these movies fully stand the test of time and the savagery of your average consumer. We’re overwriting memories of these beloved pop culture franchises so fast that it’s difficult to understand your connection to a product or larger series. Which is problematic unless you’re using, say, “Batman Begins” to overwrite “Batman Forever.”
Now, I don’t see Kanye releasing 1,000 new updates to Pablo, though he easily could, and that level of freedom is perhaps essential to his relationship with the album. Ultimately, Kanye’s approach and those of the Spider-Man/Batman creators is the same: Distill the essence of the character. In Kanye’s case, his gestures have been much more subtle and nuanced. A few tweaked lyrics (“She be Puerto Rican day parade waving” became “She in school to be a real estate agent”), some gentle studio tweaks, and a couple aesthetic decisions (like “Siiiiiiiiiilver Surffffeeeeer Intermission”).
Kanye’s efforts have been about making little adjustments as a way of shaping a larger product. Revealing some truths through the most gradual of musical gestures. I may be comparing apples and a ’63 Buick, but the reboot nation could learn a lot from those subtle changes. Take, for instance, a core theme in the Spider-Man series: Trying to develop that perfect Peter Parker. Specifically, an actor that’s the optimal age, a man-boy stuck between burgeoning responsibilities and the idiocy of youth. It’s why the actors — Tobey Maguire to Andrew Garfield to Tom Holland — have all gotten increasingly younger (if only in appearance). It seems like every new movie is just a long, drawn-out attempt to get at something a well-written script might otherwise accomplish. A huge part of this actor churn is not recognizing what you want from a character until it’s too late. Or, listening to the comings and goings of other franchises.
Same for Batman — a dizzying array of actors to get to someone who is dark and moody. I love the choice of Ben Affleck, but it’s clear that the studio is desperate in nailing a specific type of Caped Crusader. Only all these changes make arriving at that quintessential Batman or Spider-Man all the more tricky. Because A) we’re writing over history before it gets to actually settle and B) changing stuff because it doesn’t work is pointless. It’s like trying 20 kinds of cereal when you know you’ve got a wheat allergy: There are bigger issues at hand than what kind of frosting’s involved.
West’s “reboot” approach has much more in common with a flick like “Jurassic World”. The whole thing involved cosmetic changes to the leads, a new, slightly intriguing locale, and a dash of added humor. Whether you liked the film or not, there’s no denying it was the kind of reboot that felt fresh and exciting yet never messed with the parts that people loved from the original films. Pablo’s the same album even after a few rounds of tweaks, and that’s important. Rather than reinvent the whole shebang as he easily could have — which would have realized my worst dreams about this meta album — these little changes feel more genuine and engaging.
The trick, it seems, is to leave people guessing about whatever changed in the first place between these various projects or iterations.
The problem is, sometimes it’s easy to see those changes or why they’re done. Which means I’m not the only angry pop culture dweeb wishing for an end to reboots as an operational procedure for much of Hollywood. In early December, Inverse’s own Sean Hutchinson focused his ire on the upcoming “Baywatch” remake starring Dwayne Johnson. While I’d argue that this film isn’t proof enough that Hollywood has hit (The) rock bottom just yet, I do think that Hutchinson had a solid point when, while musing on the legacy of this reboot culture, he wrote, “When we look back on this era of movie-making, there will be nothing worth a damn to copy, and nothing much of our worth remembering.” Which leads me to wonder that if Pablo is truly and fully a variation of the reboot model, what will its value be? Will there come a time when people are borrowing from it a la “Stranger Things”?
On the one hand, it’s a good enough album that people are bound to pull from Pablo in a few year’s time; that’s the cyclical, remix-centric nature of hip-hop, after all. But the larger sense of value lies in if West himself will ever come back to the album for subsequent remixes. As unpredictable as he may be, I see West returning to Pablo at least once or twice down the road. It won’t ever go down as his best effort, but it is the one that is most like him — a total mish-mash of ideas and intentions, some genius and others mostly rotten, a testament to a man with an unwavering sense of personal truth. Releasing “new versions” in five or 10 or 15 years would be a way for West to communicate how he’s changed. His view upon looking back at Kanye 2016 and trying to make sense of the man and the mythos.
Much like a sonic journal, West’s biggest contribution to music — aside from a solid gold discography — could be this dazzling approach to creating and promoting albums. But then the question begs: Are other artists willing to follow suit? Surely there are those who’d love the chance to create an album and have the chance to tweak it in case of bad press or adverse reactions. But then this approach takes a certain level of bravery. The kind of confidence that one’s images and message cannot be conveyed in one traditional album or entry. But also the kind where people are willing to cut into albums, these precious darlings coveted not unlike a small, adorable child.
However, most artists look at LPs as capturing a set of immutable feelings or moments. To change them might be like getting that aforementioned child a tummy tuck and some light rhinoplasty. The perversion of pure ideas to suit any number of needs, be they commercial, personal or otherwise. West is a genius at least in this very specific regard — he doesn’t care enough about people or the confines of art to leave things alone. To him, art is whatever he’s doing at a given moment, and that’s both bothersome to traditional models of creation and wildly exciting for his many followers. Too few artists aren’t as brave (or shallow or unbalanced or joyfully bizarre) as West to pull off just such an organic album cycle. Again, whether that’s a good thing or not for the sake of the larger album remains to be seen.
The NPR folks are right that the idea of what constitutes an album is changing, but the self-reboot — or The Kanye as I suggest — might just be a knee-jerk reaction or baby step as artists try and figure out what’s the end goal (at least just temporarily) for recorded music albums. But the fact that Kanye is at the forefront of this discussion only helps demonstrate just how essential he is — as both beloved creator and gremlin-esque agitator. I think in a few year’s, when we’re looking back at Pablo in the scope of West’s discography, it will be as something that dared to be a little different. To break down the walls of what we know and put that first big toe out into the great unknown. There’s going to be other albums that ultimately achieve more in redefining the album, be it in terms of time, content, scope, actual medium used, etc.
Pablo, though, deserves credit for having the chutzpah to simply ask the big questions (and sometimes the not so crucial ones, too). Like, what really makes an album? Can that change over time? Should it? If so, how does one do it at all? Is the creator essential to the piece itself, or do these things live independently? If our larger culture is going to keep mining its past, as Kanye does so openly and unabashedly, then other artists — from all backgrounds and formats — need to undergo this period of evaluation and introspection. To understand what we’re playing with when we rehash music, movies, TV shows, etc., and what happens when we muck about with the past.
Otherwise, folks like myself and Inverse’s Hutchinson will be right, and our culture will fixate on a few key ideas and forget to breath in the future. Reboots are fine if they’re done properly — with people peddling this nostalgia in a way that honors the past accordingly and still manages to push artistic ideas forward. From her on, artists looking to re-purpose the past would be wise to keep in mind a specific Kanye gem from “Monster” (off MBDTF): “I’m living the future so the presence is my past.”
