Kanye West's teeth are diamonds. But actually.
The teeth on the bottom row of his mouth are diamonds. He recently had them replaced. They aren't caps or covers — he had oral surgery, and where he used to have teeth, he now has diamonds.
Keep that in mind.
"My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" is a work of art. It's truly impressive. It's big. It's an event. It's … something else. It has all of the makings of a rap album — rappers rapping rap lyrics, over rap beats, about rap themes — but it really isn't a rap album: It's managed to reach a new level.
It isn't a party. It isn't a feel−good celebration. It's a breakup letter, a lament, a confession and a plea for attention and love and help. It's West's "95 Theses."
"Fantasy" is, at its very core, a narcissistic work: It's by Kanye, about Kanye. But it does not become a trite, ego−stroking vanity project ripe for mockery like his 2008 album "808s & Heartbreaks." Rather, it's a pleasure to listen to Kanye coming to terms with who he is: the very mold for the "d−−−−−−−−−," the "a−−−−−−−" and the "jerk−offs" referenced in "Runway," arguably the album's centerpiece — a nine−minute track on which Kanye bares it all in a way that only Kanye can.
"Runaway" is at once emotionally stunted, unbelievably catchy and, somehow, heartbreaking. Pusha T's guest verse — one of two on the album by Pusha, who joins the myriad of A−list guests including Jay−Z, Raekwon, Bon Iver, Rick Ross and Nicki Minaj — is thrilling and inspired. Ultimately, it works to ground the track in hip−hop instead of allowing it float off into some new genre invented by Kanye.
Each track on its own is a great work of modern commercial music, but in the context of the album, the tracks all add up to tell a bleak story.
As one song fades out and the next begins, the weight of the album becomes increasingly tangible. The album's opener, "Dark Fantasy," ends with the question "can we get much higher?" "Gorgeous," the next track, answers that question, and from there, the album rages onward and, as it were, downward, getting darker at every turn.
By the end of "Blame Game," the darkest track on the album — an impressive feat — the mood is more than bleak. Chris Rock appears in the last two minutes of the track, ostensibly to lighten things up, performing the only comedy skit on the album, which is ultimately as depressing as it is funny. As Rock asks his girlfriend how she learned to be so sexy, so good to him and so wild, and she repeatedly answers, "Yeezy taught me," we understand Kanye's self−perception: He did the work, and someone else gets to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
By the punch line of the skit when the girl informs Rock that "Yeezy reupholstered my p−−−−," as ridiculous as it is, there's nothing to laugh about. It seems Kanye believes that he's teaching everyone how to be on his level, and that he won't be appreciated for it as a visionary. Luckily for Kanye, that's not true. While no one else may be as good as Kanye, we all can certainly appreciate his skill.
On the last track, "Who Will Survive in America," Kanye is never heard; rather, Gil Scott−Heron, in a bastardized sample from his incendiary "Comment #1" (1970), gets the last word, begging the track's titular question to which Kanye provides no answer.
Sure, the track is a blatant bit of unnecessary artistic posturing, but it's really easy to get caught up in Kanye's "Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy," and if you get caught up in the right way, "Who Will Survive in America" is the only way the album could end.
Everyone on "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" is at the top of their game; no verses stick out like a sore thumb, and there are no questionable production choices at which to nitpick. This is a finely crafted work of pop music. While every song won't be a single, every listener will have his or her own favorite track for unique reasons.
West's "College Dropout" (2004) was arguably the last major milestone in hip−hop. "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" is easily the successor to it.
Kanye presents himself as emotionally injured, angry, confused, misogynistic and stunted, but painfully self−aware. By the end, there is hope. Where others before him have ultimately crumbled, Kanye is setting himself to continually redefine what it is he does. Brando expanded, Rothko imploded, Michael Jackson, a figure that West constantly references on the album, retreated into his own world. Kanye makes every effort to avoid these fates.
As a producer/rapper/artist/genius, Kanye West is untouchable. He doesn't just have diamond teeth, he has the golden touch.
