Roc-A-Fella, 2005
Grade: A-
Kanye West’s meteoric rise from producer to preeminent emcee and his coinciding anointment as the undisputed social and intellectual leader for a much-needed movement in rap has startled everyone. Whereas he was decidedly self-conscious on his debut, West appears to be settling into his own skin on Late Registration, an album meticulously arranged to uphold his broad appeal. Ever the perfectionist, West has filed down the rough edges that give hip-hop its grit to meld music and message harmoniously.
Clearly, Kanye West is a conflicted man with a lot on his plate, but to his credit, he never serves a platter of cockiness without following it up with a slice of humility. On “Gold Digger” he tries to untangle greed from love and separate ambition from loyalty in relationships, alternately embracing and rejecting the qualities. He accepts that his outspoken nature displaces him, but laments it nonetheless (“Heard ‘Em Say”). He wavers between upbraiding his peers in the industry for coveting material excesses, yet admittedly yearns for them himself in his weaker moments. “Diamonds from Sierra Leone” asks if sporting bling is worth the moral quandary it presents. Similarly, he muses on “Crack Music” as to whether a profit made preying on your own people has real value. West largely blames the government for the proliferation of narcotics that ravaged predominantly black communities nationwide in the 80’s and 90’s, still that doesn’t prevent references to enjoying alcohol and weed from popping up periodically. While the answers to the queries the songs pose may seem like no-brainers, the theme West continues to return to is that temptation is tough to resist and the call of opportunity convinces many to disregard right and wrong.
His struggle of feeling bound by the very conventions he seeks to break makes him vulnerable--and therefore accessible--to a degree few artists in hip-hop would be comfortable with. Though nearly every rapper brags about “keeping it real” and then proceeds to undermine their credibility as they become swept up in their own embellished stories of machismo, West is authentic because he allows room for his true self—contradictions and flaws included—to be exposed. His purpose is to raze the thick barriers that block understanding, so West wisely steers away from lecturing his audience, all the while fending off the urge to preach demonstratively (he decided to save such an outburst for live television). As a precautionary measure to ensure that one voice does not dominate, he pads his tracks with an extensive guest list of notable names: Brandy, Common, Cam’Ron, Nas, and, of course, Jay-Z. West is the vanguard of a more inclusive form of hip-hop, one whose purpose is to start a dialogue, since he works out of a sense of duty not just to his people, but all people. The beats are refined, which helps him deliver flows in his relaxed yet urgent tone. His affinity for sampling from the jazz and blues eras of old lends gravity to the material, while creating multi-layered composition that warrants an ear’s undivided attention.
Whereas an artist such as Dr. Dre was widely ridiculed for incorporating soul and saxophone into his music (on 1992’s The Chronic), West, because he never claimed to be a thug, can employ a xylophone and an orchestra (“We Major,” “Celebration”) without the selections being questioned. Learning is a continuous process, and Late Registration proves that it is never too late to return to school for more lessons, especially from a pragmatic instructor.
Marc Tandan
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