opens with a staggering wall of sound that resembles THX’s . ’s famously opens with the same sonic logo, using it to establish the cinematic scope of the album’s slick, muscular G-funk. “Everything you hear is planned.
It’s a movie,” Dre in 1999. With its exquisitely arranged melodies and drums, was immersive and detailed, like cruising through Southern California in the . Listening to , the sequel to and ’s surprisingly coherent collab from February, is more akin to being imprisoned inside an Akademiks livestream.
There is little noteworthy or thrilling happening in this strange, inert environment, despite the constant provocations and snippets of intrigue. This isn’t surprising. Ye, who once he got his “entire sound” from “ ,” hasn’t really focused on music for the past eight years.
Though his army of collaborators occasionally uses his extensive resources to stitch together a or galvanize say, or , to black out, Ye mostly uses songs to soundtrack his live events, be they fashion shows or listening sessions at stadiums. From the Madison Square Garden release party for to his Sunday Service series to the shows, he’s increasingly oriented his work toward eyes rather than ears, a mode that favors diehard over discerning listeners. At this point, Ye is more of a ceremonial figurehead than a conductor.
acknowledges this diminished role, making it a sequel in the most modern Hollywood of ways. Were you partial to that swaggering Carti verse on “Carni.