Aug. 29 marked the day that sent Kanye West’s discography of studio albums into the double digits with his release of “Donda,” a 27-track behemoth of an album that doubles as his largest project to date. To some, this proves to be a welcome contrast to his previous album “Jesus is King,” which clocked in at just under 30 minutes in length. To others, it’s a bit too much to handle.

The album opens with self-titled intro “Donda Chant,” a 52-second long track bereft of rhythm or accompaniment beyond the repetition of the titular name. The late Donda West – the album’s namesake – was Kanye’s mother and has been cited as one of his most influential role models throughout his life. 

Lyrics paying homage to the West family matriarch aren’t exclusive to this album  – they remain present all throughout Kanye’s work on songs like “Hey Mama,” “Touch the Sky” and many earlier tracks. “Donda” itself is similarly laden with references to his beloved mother who West referred to as his day one manager, confidant and best friend.

What sticks out about “Donda” is that the album is still distinctly Kanye – though in a different light. Neither introspection nor discussions of faith are foreign topics in the context of 2018’s “Ye” or 2016’s “The Life of Pablo,’ although many wrote West off as an artist incapable of making an album centered around anyone but himself. 

Setting emotions and background aside, West distinguishes himself once again with a full-length release. Songs like “Off the Grid,” “Hurricane” and “Moon” maintain the same high-energy sound he’s become recognizable for since “Yeezus” and before.

His sound is bolstered by an all-star list of featured artists: Travis Scott; Pop Smoke; The Weeknd; Lauryn Hill; Kid Cudi; Playboi Carti; and about a dozen other artists lend guest verses scattered throughout the album with the majority knocking it out of the park. 

Admittedly, one of the album’s pitfalls happens to be its length. The “pt. 2” addition to some songs’ titles adds five songs and about 20 minutes to the end of the album, with many listeners finding the addition of such tracks unnecessary.

Perhaps the most egregious example of this is “Jesus Lord pt. 2,” which goes on for a shocking 11-and-a-half minutes to close out the album amidst a backing choir. This, too, elicits a widespread complaint from some listeners: the religious undertones of Kanye’s music have grown to be a bit preachy.

Religion has taken a backseat for most of the time it was a subject in West’s music, as exemplified by “The Life of Pablo.” The extent of its influence was lent by occasional samples, whereas the topic takes up entire interludes on “Donda.” The polarizing content of the 2019 release “Jesus is King” implied that perhaps Kanye fans would rather get their sermons from a pastor rather than a prolific artist.

Yet and still, this release is distinctly Kanye. It may prove too early to offer a full assessment, but it’s safe to say that West’s 10th release holds its own in spite of the two-year wait from his previous album.

Kanye dons a MAGA hat, Lebron draws on Malcolm X in an interview – what commonality holds in the conjunction of these two events? As events, of course, either can only be described in terms of radical difference, insofar as an event appears as the fact of its singularity, its existence not as process but as event. Nonetheless these events – irreconcilably separate though they may be – are strung together under a certain process, namely, antiblackness. 

The question is the role of celebrities in politics. Apparently, there would be two answers to this question: that celebrities do, on the one hand, or do not, on the other, merit our political respect. Of course, as with all simple dichotomies, either of these responses would be incorrect.  

Celebrity is itself an obscure category. The New Oxford American Dictionary is helpful: “a famous person.” Then, a definition of famous: “known about by many people.” 

Who are these celebrities – in our society, who is most known? Donald Trump may be the first to come to mind. We quickly encounter a problem. Perhaps the question of celebrities in politics should not, in the first instance, be taken to regard figures like Kanye West and Lebron James, but figures like Donald Trump.

But Donald Trump in what sense? Of course, the man would, likely, have been considered celebrity even before he was the celebrity, i.e. the president. Yet it was not only with the presidency that Donald Trump has exerted political influence. 

Perhaps there is something distinguishing Donald Trump from Kanye West and Lebron James. Indeed, the commonality to be drawn between the three names is precisely the distinguisher: wealth.

Trump’s wealth is of a different kind. Trump’s wealth – as opposed to West’s or James’ – is of a nature that its role in politics was only ever seriously drawn into question after it had already amassed political distinction. Trump’s wealth faces questions of impeachment. On the other hand  – West’s and James’ – questions of desert, of legitimacy.

All three could be said to have obtained their wealth through entertainment. Why, then, is Trump’s wealth so much more potent?

Trump’s wealth is of a distinct character to the others: Trump’s is a wealth that is already political, whereas neither West nor James can claim a similar lineage. 

In fact, in terms of hyper-wealth, neither West nor James can really be said to be in a family lineage. Trump – by which I mean Donald – was born into his name. Both West and James had to somehow obtain theirs. What lineage do West and James claim wealth in?

“Rap Or Go To The League” (2 Chainz, 2019). 

Perhaps the distinction can be drawn out materially with reference to the recent news. Trump – by which I mean political celebrity – is in the position of being able to render the political impediments largely obsolete. In a vacuum – of course, politics never occur in a vacuum – Trump would have in 2017 paid the same in income taxes as someone making $7,500 in the single income tax brackets.

Why not add two more words? Namely, Barack Obama and George W. Bush. Both of these figures, according to the article linked above, regularly paid more than $100,000 in income taxes. Obama cannot be said to come from a lineage of political celebrity in the same way either Bush or Trump can. Yet neither can Bush and Trump quite be equated; what differentiates the political celebrity of Trump from that of Bush?

Perhaps these two belong in entirely different categories: Bush, a political-celebrity, Trump, political celebrity. The difference of a political-celebrity is twofold. One, the definite article “a” acts upon “political-celebrity” to confer this category descriptively onto the man George. Two, the bar striking political to celebrity operates akin to the bar of the signifier, namely, as the logical coordinates through which a meaning must pass before assuming its meaning as a meaning. 

I will explain this second difference before returning to the first. In the expression of language, a meaning is arrived at only through compounding dimensions of mediation. The first of these mediations is the concrete position of a signifier in relation to other signifiers. If you need an example, look at these words and notice that, prior to your reading and conceptualizing them, they are already arranged in a certain order regarding one another. In the same way, political is the grammar which precedes any meaning to Bush’s celebrity: Bush’s celebrity is always already understood through the logic of the political. George Bush’s role in politics is thus not an object of debate in this discourse. 

The first of the differences, the addition of a definite article before Bush’s category, is less important than the absence it draws attention to. There is no definite article attributing political celebrity a place of identity with Trump. The reason for this is that identity is always already a falsity, whereas Trump truly is the same thing as political celebrity.

This can perhaps be clarified by repeating another point of diversion through this discourse. Trump has, throughout, been meant in at least two senses: as the man Donald and as the concept political celebrity. Although these are first articulated through different signifiers, what I mean by each of them here is exactly the same: Trump is political celebrity, political celebrity is Trump.

Donald Trump is president of the United States Federal Government not in spite of his celebrity but precisely as his celebrity, as the logical endpoint of political money, as the inevitable culmination of a logical structure which far exceeds the man Donald himself. 

Before attempting to name this logical structure, we should trace a few emergences in this discourse. A conception of politics as celebrity. A conception of celebrity as money. A conception of money as politics. Structures of demarcation wherein this triad is rendered increasingly obscure the further removed one is from practical access to the meanings of these terms – i.e. politics, celebrity and money. A general denial of history wherein this triad and the exclusion of access to its effective (and affective) apparatuses are rendered invisible and inevitable.

Yet, these apparatuses of dominion are not inevitable, and thus we return to West. More recently than the MAGA hat, West has tweeted a historical reminiscence of the Haitian slave revolution, the too-often hidden dimension of the French revolutionary years in the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century. West is, in his assertion of the relevance of the Haitian revolution, in fact in vein with an important trend emerging from the undercommons of this settler society, a vein emerging as well in the act of Lebron James endorsing “The Autobiography of Malcolm X” in an interview.

What trend is this? In a word: remembering. Not simply in the sense of recollection but also in the sense of radical difference. Being recollected here are not the narratives dominating the social discourse of white settler society – recollected here are instead the narratives bracketed out by the dominant discourse. Re-membering: reconceiving the most basic notions of a society.

This Re-membering is an important politics to be endorsed by these celebrities, precisely because these are the celebrities bracketed out from the internal levers of the American political apparatus, for example, the types of engagement through which Donald Trump is able to lower his tax price to $750. Re-membering demonstrates the ways in which a society is only ever meant to work for certain members. Re-membering challenges the very notion of what it means to be a member in a society.

This is particularly important on the so-called American landmass today. The power apparatus which claims hegemony over this land, namely, the United States Federal Government, was founded in genocide. What Re-membering does is evaluate our presupposition that these genocides ever stopped. 

Native folk live primarily in resource-deprived reservations –and we should already question this grammar, i.e. to reserve; who, and by whom? People of Afrikan descent are disproportionately housed in the American concentration camps – the geographic loci of the prison-industrial complex. They are disproportionately murdered by a militarized police force, disproportionately deprived – politically, economically, resourcefully, etc. – by antiblack legislation, for example, redlining laws.

All this amounts to a question of the question. To ask whether celebrities belong in politics is already an antiblack question. The political and the celebrity occur in the same processes, they are cohered in money. It is already a politics of antiblackness that the celebrity and money of Trump confers upon him a relation to the political that it does not confer upon West or James. 

What is really in question here is what in fact underlies every question, namely, the historicity which provides any given question with its conditions of enunciation. The answer to whether celebrities belong in politics is thus a descriptive and not a normative answer: celebrities both do and do not belong in politics. Following the internal logic of settler society, the features of celebrity are conferred upon the epidermal layer of the subject called celebrity. 

Specifically, of white celebrities, their position in politics is not often brought into question until after they have shown themselves to be intractably corrupt, and even then, Donald Trump is still in office. For a black celebrity – i.e. a widely known person whose skin is codified in the dominant discourse as black – access to political power is overwhelmingly already foreclosed. The logic of antiblackness demarcates certain bodies as outside the historical narrative of who belongs, i.e. whose life it is worthwhile to address. 

Trump would not have become president were he black. The question we should be asking under conditions of settler colonialism is not whether celebrities belong in politics but precisely whether politics belong. Prior to evaluating the dichotomy of Trump-Biden, we should mercilessly interrogate the triad of Politics-Celebrity-Money – specifically the ways that this triad represents a unity of possibility in whiteness but a series of foreclosures in blackness, and the ideological mystification that renders this system of antiblackness natural. 
Our first question of an institution built on the genocidal exploitation of the nonwhite other should always be this: why does this institution still exist?

Kanye finally released his ninth solo album Oct. 25. However, it was not exactly what fans were expecting. Kanye had been teasing a project called “Yandhi” for a while, and some leaked tracks got fans pumped up for the release. Instead, Kanye dropped an album titled “Jesus Is King,” which disappointed many fans. 

Kanye even references this on the album. On the track “Selah,” he says “Everybody wanted Yandhi, then Jesus Christ did the laundry.” Kanye’s sudden switch in artistic direction has some people questioning the authenticity of his Christian perspective. While nobody knows what is going on in Kanye’s head, here is my take on the authenticity of Kanye’s new artistic direction.

First, it is important to look at Kanye’s previous discography. While he has no other album like “Jesus Is King,” he has some other songs that take a Christian perspective. The two biggest examples of this are “Jesus Walks” and “Ultralight Beam,” from the albums “The College Dropout” and “The Life of Pablo” respectively. 

“Jesus Walks” was Kanye’s first song that centered around Christianity. He pleads for God to help show him the way, and criticizes the priorities of the music industry, saying “They say you can rap about anything except for Jesus / That means guns, sex, lies, videotape / But if I talk about God my record won’t get played, huh?” This song marked one of the first big examples of Kanye preaching about Christianity, and despite saying that his record would not get played, the song received a gold certification and won the Grammy award for Best Rap Song.

“Ultralight Beam” is the next big example of Kanye making a song centered around Christianity, if you ignore his song “I am a God.” “Ultralight Beam” is full of beautiful choir vocals, a powerful verse by Kelly Price, and Chance the Rapper giving glory to God in his verse. Focusing on his faith and God is a far stray from Kanye’s typical musical focus, but the song was well received by critics and fans alike, garnering a Grammy nomination for Best Rap Song in 2017. So while it is generally unusual for Kanye to discuss his faith in his music, he has done it before with great success.

Kanye also began what is called Sunday Service in January of this year. For those who are not familiar, Kanye’s Sunday Service is typically a private service mostly for celebrities and close friends, with Kanye serving as the rapper-turned-preacher. The service is a mix between a mega-church service, a fashion show and a cult meeting. Guests are required to sign a non-disclosure agreement, although leaks still make it out to the internet despite this. Kanye had no intention of keeping his services completely private, as he has discussed it on talk shows and other forms of media. It is clear that Kanye is trying to move away from the political divisiveness he caused in 2018.

While Kanye’s sudden focus on Christianity might be surprising and even disappointing to many fans, I do not believe that it’s solely the result of selfish goals on Kanye’s part. The timing of it seems to suggest that Kanye is trying to garner support after a rocky 2018, and knowing Kanye’s occasional obsession with public image, it is likely that part of the reason he has become so vocal with his religion is to gain some good publicity. However, this sudden change seems to be a natural progression in a lot of ways. He has been vocal about his religion at earlier points in his career, so it is not actually as sudden of a change as it might seem. 

It is also important to take into account the mental health issues that Kanye has struggled with, which he discussed on his album “Ye” last year. Kanye has discussed his struggle with depression, bipolar disorder and paranoia that has caused him to cancel concerts and performances. While I am not saying that this excuses some of his erratic, irresponsible and disrespectful behavior in the past, I think it is possible that religion has helped Kanye deal with these issues.

Kanye should not be constricted by his past, as everyone is capable of change.  Kanye’s critics can assume his new album has selfish intentions, but if Christianity has truly helped Kanye work on making himself a better person and deal with the mental health issues that are plaguing him, then he at least deserves some support regardless of anyone’s opinion on the music itself. It is easy to assume the worst, especially in regard to Kanye and his past behavior, but he is capable of change, and I believe that the change in his artistic perception represents that.

There are plenty of tracks on this album that are beautifully constructed. It starts with the one is currently receiving the highest praise, “Ultralight Beam.” I have nothing but good things to say about the song, and the thing I like most about it is the fact that it doesn’t sound like anything Kanye has done before while also being produced as if it were something he had been doing all along. Just like a few other tracks in the album, it centers around religion and even features acclaimed gospel singer Kirk Franklin. The clean, powerful vocals of a choir juxtaposed with West’s distorted voice is the most intriguing part of the track. In addition, it has the best feature on the album with Chance the Rapper. Since Chance is a newly established artist and was heavily inspired by fellow Chicago native Kanye at the early age of 10, this feature is momentous for the young rapper’s career. Chance doesn’t let his fans down, either, and probably gained many more after his excitable, clear and celebratory verse in “Ultralight Beam.” The song does not rely on gimmicks and ultimately is the most memorable and unique song on the album.

“Famous” is another memorable song. However, it’s not memorable because it’s inventive and different like “Ultralight Beam.” It’s memorable because it models itself after so many great Kanye tracks that have come before it. Both featured artists on the track, Swizz Beatz and Rihanna, have worked with Kanye West before. The song immediately picks up after a small verse from Rihanna and then slows down once more for another Rihanna verse. Other than her feature, the song is heavy, joyous and quick. It reminds me of other huge tracks such as “Monster” and “All of the Lights.” However it isn’t nearly as cohesive as some of Kanye’s best work. Rather than Rihanna’s hooks and Kanye’s verses complimenting one another, they work against each other and feel like two entirely different songs. Both elements of the song are so well produced that it’s enjoyable, despite this clash. In addition to the great energy and impressive features, Kanye’s sample of Sister Nancy’s “Bam Bam” is the best on the album. Its sampling reinvents the song while still making it recognizable and is the happiest and most fun the album ever gets. Last but certainly not least, Kanye’s verses on “Famous” are in his signature harsh and quick style that fans have endlessly praised throughout the years. Without a doubt, this is the most marketable song on the album and I don’t doubt it will get radio play and a music video sometime soon.

While I have a strong inclination that “Ultralight Beam” and “Famous” will be the two most popular songs on the album, the absolute best song on “The Life of Pablo” is “Wolves.” After several interludes and decent songs throughout the middle of the album, this track appears. “Wolves” is the slowest, and it’s one of the only songs on the album discussing his relationship with his wife Kim Kardashian-West. The track premiered over a year ago at the Yeezus season two fashion show and featured British popstar Sia. When I first heard that Sia was taken off of the final product I was distraught.

However, the song still has several amazing features. Caroline Shaw, a Pulitzer Prize winning vocalist, and her eerie vocal style highlight its simple yet haunting instrumentals. I haven’t heard a similar vocal style used in hip hop music, and this choice makes me want to praise Kanye West for once again adding an entirely new element to mainstream music today. It’s the first Kanye song produced by Cashmere Cat, a Norwegian DJ, and their collaboration provided something entirely unique. You can’t help but compliment the sheer fact that he is still able to introduce new elements to his music on his seventh album. The unusual yet gritty instrumental, Shaw’s vocals and Kanye’s emotional and distorted versesremind the listener how imaginative and in-your-face Kanye’s songs are supposed to be. Just as the song ends, and you think you’ve heard the magnum opus of the album, Kanye features one of the most elusive and admired R&B artists in music today, Frank Ocean. His single verse at the end ties up the song in a way that leaves you wanting more.

A track that I think takes away from the album’s quality is “Facts.” Kanye’s sampling of Dirt and Grime’s “Father’s Children” at the beginning of the song immediately grabs your attention, only for the song to immediately let you down with Kanye’s rapping over the currently popular “Jumpman” by Drake and Future. I don’t think Kanye West ripping off a currently popular song, saying “Yeezy Yeezy Yeezy / Just jumped over jumpman,” is particularly surprising, but it’s simply unnecessary. There’s endless evidence as to why West is much more influential to music than these other artists, but his need to articulate it is just too much for me. But, after all, it is Kanye, and as an audience we almost expect him to do something that may not be in good taste.

Another track worthy of discussion is “I Love Kanye.” It may seem silly to write about a song that is less than a minute, but it’s literally a biographical freestyle and entirely different from any Kanye song produced before. As a whole, the song is about a common feeling that he was better when he was “the old Kanye.” Also known as the Kanye who wasn’t as outrageous as to interrupt Taylor Swift receiving an award, then publically reconcile years later, only to drop her name in one of his tracks, claiming he “made that bitch famous.” However, as the track articulates, no matter how much you may dislike this Kanye there’s no doubt he’s one of the most influential artists in modern hip-hop. This is best exemplified in the lyric, “See I invented Kanye, it wasn’t any Kanyes / And now I look and look around and there’s so many Kanyes.” Regardless of whether you think he’s rude, spastic or insane, no one can take away the sheer fact he is the most accomplished rapper today. His blunt, nearly playful way of articulating his successes in “I Love Kanye” is much more enjoyable as a listener than “Facts.’”

As for the rest of the album, “The Life of Pablo” still has many elements I absolutely adore, while others leave me underwhelmed. “Waves,” for example, has great instrumentals and has crisp and fresh production values. However, Chris Brown’s feature on the album seems predictable and blasé. What I admire about Kanye West is that there’s an unconventional component in almost all of his songs, but “Waves” seems to be lacking that. It’s a good listen but fails to get me excited about Kanye like other songs do. “FML” featuring the Weeknd is another with great instrumentals, a solid hook and is a good listen but fails to leave me complimenting anything else. However, “30 hours” and “No More Parties in L.A.” are solid tracks that recall to “The College Dropout” and “Late Registration” eras, which can please any fan. “Feedback” channels his previous album, “Yeezus” and features that candid and severe style that made his 2013 release widely praised.
In terms of production and sound, “The Life of Pablo” will, without a doubt, be one of the best albums of the year. But in terms of lyrics and themes, like any Kanye West album, it is complex and intense. 38 years-old now, Kanye West definitely understands how to please millions of listeners across the world but never limits himself to one particular style or niche, and anyone should be able to admire that. The album’s best songs, “Ultralight Beam” and “Wolves,” are all around remarkable tracks with themes that are much more complex than love and worldly affairs, while other songs still seem to revert back to the need to remind everyone why he’s become the icon he is today. But that’s just it, the contradiction and jumbled themes are just so Kanye. 4.5 out of 5 stars.