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:::Music Review:::
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Kanye West – "College Drop Out"
by William Ashanti Hobbs
author and co-owner of Meroen Press
March 2004
Finally, middle class rap with enough soul to pass the
"real nigga" test...Kanye West is a nouveau-riche,
urbanized, seething, two-fisted pro-black advocating,
pants sagging b-boy struggling with Christian values
in a world of mind numbing materialism, knee-buckling
sexualization and outright self-hatred. Just like most
of us. West's "College Drop Out" boldly sets up this
engaging debut album in the atmosphere officially
deemed the antithesis of the hyper-machismo of the
ghetto (i.e. blackness/black manliness).
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That's right, Polo rocking, blazer-friendly K Wizzle
represents from the milieu of the college campus. The
best example of this is "School Spirit." Spike Lee's
"School Daze" was the last artistic offering to pull
this off with any resounding success.
West's achievement is fascinating after seeing scores
of brothers stroll the yard on FAMU's, Morehouse's
(the heterosexual ones) and Howard's campuses trying
to be hard with backpacks ripping at the seams from
Calculus, Philosophy and Humanities textbooks. West's
album is monumental to such men who've been through an
identity crisis thanks to the pressure by the media,
the 'hood and many of the women they've tried to
pursue on these campuses. Kanye West and the pensive
teddy bear mascot gracing the album cover are the
poster children for surviving academia and maintaining
street credibility.
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A strange position for an album named "College Drop
Out", yet there lies a method to West's schizophrenia.
"We Don't Care" is West shouting out to the ghetto
right off the top, to the drug dealers that had to do
something to keep they peoples afloat, the Tyrone
Squares slaving 9 to 5's, even bootleggers trying to
get by, as if letting the audience know off the top
that his academic presentation is without the snobbery
that tends to breed hatred of the talented tenth. This
gives him the persona of the cat in school that
enjoyed asking questions that made teachers look
stupid. So you figure, since he's pissing off the
administration that put you in a learning disability
class because the teachers didn't teach worth a damn,
you'll take a rain check on trying to beat him down in
the hallway - for a while. "Graduation Day" endears
even more. West laments that he does not wish to do
the good-job-predictable-rigamarole every parent seems
to wish for their child. West captures the spirit of
entrepreneurship hip hop has inspired beautifully with
the final line, stating that "I'm just not everybody."
"All Falls Down" is the best commentary on the rampant
materialism of our time in recent memory. From females
"addicted to retail" to insecure thug wannabes who
can't run to grocery store without a throwback jersey,
West goes off like a dentist in a bad mood; not only
takes it to the teeth, but drivin' it down in the
gums, rattling your skull with how such materialism is
not a sign of black cool, but honestly, self hatred
medicated by brand name clothing.
Most of hip hop will have you believe people in the
'hood are born Sunday night and are in some kind of
criminal drama by Monday at noon. With "Spaceship",
West adds passion and depth to the tedious, monotonous
grind of young people working at bland gigs at The Gap
while waiting for a come up. The most powerful song is
"Jesus Walks." West lets his hang strong by summoning
a force that scares most contemporary rappers, God
(Jesus in this instance). West is the only one to
throw down reverently about such a sacred topic and
drop the f-bomb in it like it was meant to be there.
The most stunning part is West's lamenting that radio
stations actually gave him beef about the song simply
because of his talking about God. Can you remember a
time when talking about most of the garbage you hear
on the radio now was kept you off the air?
In "Never Let Me Down", Jay Z actually lets West down
with a tired, self-centered rap about his
self-proclaimed king of rap status and how high his
records chart. No way in hell can that stand shoulder
to shoulder with West's recounting of his mother's
participation in the Civil Rights Movement, West
promising to marry his betrothed and surviving a near
fatal car accident. This brings home the odd marriage
between someone of substance like West, and the
predictable Johnson-stroking of everyone surrounding
Jay Z and Rocafella.
Tired of West's deepness? Fear not. Instead of coming
off over the top as a self-righteous nerd, Kanye
retains his sense of humor and bares his
contradictions. Recess from the deep-thinking is in
session: "Get 'em High" is West wading through a
weed-induced haze, swearing to be the big baller
a**hole that will bone your girl, diss your demo and
demand you dance to this exciting news. The most
interesting part of this is the fact that Talib Kweli
is featured here in pure wing man mode, setting West
up at one point to impress a girl right out her draws.
Hey, intellectuals gotta get laid too, right?
"The New Workout Plan" is along the same line of
silliness, bringing mega beats per minute. It features
testimonies of chickenheads blessed with the new Kanye
West workout body now able to score that drug dealer
or ball player that used to pass them and their jelly
rolls by. "Breathe in, Breathe Out" dabbles in and out
of commentary. Here, West apologizes to Mos Def and
Talib Kweli for his forthcoming burst into typical rap
subject matter. His self-consciousness almost makes
this one notable.
"Slow Jamz", featuring Jamie Foxx, is something for
the ladies tired of trying to kill themselves keeping
up with hyper-tempo hip hop ('specially in them
pointed boots). Foxx comes with the crooning he first
showcased in his "Crazy Like a Fox" show. Ready for
the World, New Edition, Luther Vandross... they all
get love, strolling through the chorus like the ticker
tape messages on the CNN channel. Rapper and fellow
Chicagoan Twista's cameo is the true birth of his
career.
The Interlude of the Caucasian-sounding college
graduate is important because, indirectly, he states
that a college degree isn't a deliverance into the
promise land as many Civil Rights era elders may lead
us to believe. In fact, as the interlude infers
(almost ala Carter G. Woodson's "Mis-Education of the
Negro"), the training is useless if the graduates
aren't trained to use what they learn to further
themselves and their communities. Honestly, even at
HBCU's, many of us are trained to think as part of a
priviledged black herd merely waiting to be sold off
to the nearest corporation - with no further interest
in from whence we came. "Family Business" pries the
day planner out of our hands and connects us back to
our roots, the ugly and affirming aspects of it while
"Through the Wire" mumbles the message to those of us
still assuming ourselves invincible that every breath
we take is a gift.
Ain't that something, after the legacy Tupac has left
us, it is obvious that we don't seem to need somebody
perfect, close at Public Enemy may have been to it.
These days, we just need somebody to be honest. All
the time.
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