In what has now become as pervasive and insufferable as Snapchat filters, on Saturday night, our Lord, savior, and honorary Kardashian, Mr. Kanye Omari West, skipped his own baby shower in order to give birth to another tirade. This time at the expense of his fans who, in prototypical Mario Winans fashion, were the last to discover that their Saint Pablo Tour tickets were supplanted by a fifteen-minute diatribe. Thankfully, his abrupt departure was complimentary.
And as if the ass whooping of the century wasn’t already well deserved, he doubled down on the blunt force trauma by slandering Drake and DJ Snapchat for monopolizing radio, dragged his predecessor Q-Tip and that Mark Zuckerberg guy for being shitty friends, and in his coup de grâce, summoned the wrath of The Beyhive by exposing Beyoncé for holding her own performances hostage in exchange for an MTV “Video of the Year” Award. An act so egregious that in a brief flirtation with sanity, ‘Ye even begged Blue Ivy’s daddy not to “send his killers” after him.
Yes, this really happened.
At this point, these outbursts are so commonplace I’m surprised VH1 hasn’t picked up the pilot for “Unhinged”, a suspense thriller in which the most popular diva on Planet Earth marries a Bratz doll, uses his non-existent White privilege as tinder to burn every bridge his Black ass is in no position to, then squanders his immense talent on hysteria and hideous forays into fashion.
Listen, I love Kanye.
So much so that in the Golden Age of Piracy, with malware and guilt-free mp3s raining from the sky, I’ve committed the unthinkable act of actually purchasing every single one of his albums. And no, you bandwagon ass fans, I am by no means honored by your lateness. I was the dude running down every nigga with a pulse trying to put them up on his “Jeanius Level Musik” mixtapes. And well before he provided Merriam-Webster with a synonym for Kevin Federline, I was fresh out of a four-month hospital stint when my girlfriend (at the time) dragged my ass to his concert just so I could be baptized in the restorative properties of his burgeoning arrogance.
But much like Ashanti’s eyebrows, enough is enough. The uncanny resemblances between Kanye’s instability and Azalea Banks’ love affair with self-sabotage are not only alarming, but he has far more to lose. And as happy as I was to see him reunited with his prodigal son Kid Cudi, ‘Ye has transformed being petulant and irascible into performance art.
It’s becoming increasingly difficult to respect his passion and desire to serve as an impetus for change when he’s not only arguably benefited more from radio’s antiquated paradigm than anyone, but prone to temper tantrums that rival those found in Kermit’s bedroom.
You can’t bitch and moan about the current state of radio, amongst other things, when you’re one of the forefathers of its format, my nigga. You don’t think nobody got tired of hearing “Now I ain’t sayin’ she’s a gold digger”, or T-Pain croon “Welcome to the good liiiiiiife!”, or “Ball so hard muthafuckas wanna fine me!” 50/11 gotdamn times a day?
But most importantly, your premonition on “All Falls Down” came to fruition:
The people highest up got the lowest self esteem
The prettiest people do the ugliest things
For the road to riches and diamond rings
You aren’t the only one that misses the Dropout Bear and the old Kanye.
So before it’s too late, how long are we going to continue to ignore these symptoms? It’s time to engage in a serious discussion on Kanye’s mental health.
Listen to Episode 12 of The Extraordinary Negroes, "By Any Mean Necessary" (featuring Ronnie Man Hatcher and Nickolas Gaines).
After a stint in the military, and an extended crusade shepherding all of God’s children as a social worker, Jay Connor conceded to fate and relocated to Los Angeles in 2014 in order to chase the dream. When he’s not changing his son’s diapers or losing his grip on sanity while enduring 405 traffic, he’s a writer in the entertainment industry. Where currently he’s working on a number of projects, the most prominent being “Strange Angel”, a historical drama series produced by Ridley Scott’s Scott Free Productions that is set to air on the AMC Network in the near future.