We Went to the Yeezus Listening Session and All We Got Was Tinnitus And More Questions

At this point, while the average person is likely reluctant to wholeheartedly subscribe to Kanye West’s glaring self-idolatry, you’d be remiss of a critical piece of the modern cultural landscape were you to try to ignore him altogether.

Whether we’d like to admit it or not, Kanye West has aligned with and ingrained himself in pop culture so strategically he can be tumblr’d in subjects as obscure as Wes Anderson films to Olympic skaters, and still your mother would “get” the joke. But this isn’t enough for the man who takes himself so seriously he went as far as to title his new album Yeezus.

Kanye doesn’t want to merely be a part of pop culture; he wants to be bigger than it. Nothing was made more apparent than this Monday night’s Yeezus listening experience (for it can only be called as such) in New York’s meatpacking district.

Assuming you’ve never been to an album listening session before, let me explain how they normally play out: A bunch of journalists and “industry types” converge in the offices of the record label, or whatever space they have on hand. The assembled mass is provided refreshments – cold ones if you’re lucky – and people sit around nodding their heads and making small talk whilst the album plays over a low-quality speaker system, all the while smiling politely even if it’s really fucking terrible.

All in all, they’re rather tame events.

But this is Kanye West.

Held on a loading dock on Manhattan’s far west side, the first hint that things were going to be different comes at the sight of the line snaking down the block. Mind you, everyone in this line is on some sort of a guest or media list, but a good old-fashioned queue reminds us where we stand in the eyes of the illustrious Mr West. The event is supposed to start at 10pm, but members of the press aren’t let in until 10.30pm so we wait in the rain. He knew we’d wait.

Turns out we could have just stood on the sidewalk all night and probably had a better grasp of the album, for upon entering the space, all senses are thrown into complete and total chaos thanks to constantly-flashing strobe lights and a bass thud so loud and powerful that one can barely hold on to their drink for the reverb.

It’s one of the most disorienting spaces I’ve ever been in – like experiencing an air raid during a Berghain rave acid-trip.

Once the initial shock wears off and bearings are gathered (as much as possible given the circumstances), one can delight in a 200+ crowd comprised of barely-dressed models, bespectacled creatives, Italian-suited fashionistas, and…journalists, recognizable in their jeans and unwashed hair.

Supermodel-types in teeny can-you-even-call-those-shirts serve top shelf booze while posing for photos, all sultry-like. Beyoncé walks through the crowd flanked by mountainous bodyguards while this journalist loses her shit. A crowd of famous faces gather behind the decks, including Mr West himself, who gives a speech after the first run-through of the record, before he announces the second go-around.

West thanks producer Rick Rubin profusely, saying he contributed most production, though notes the contribution of “the Daft Punk guys” on a few tracks. A surprisingly selfless speech ends on a quintessentially Kanye note when he attempts to rationalize the title Yeezus by explaining it’s his “god name.” Okay then.

As for the music? Well, while excited, we still don’t know quite what to say. It can be argued that the event’s sensory annihilation upstages the point–or that it serves to teach us all a lesson. A sample from Strange Fruit, Chicago’s Chief Keef singing(!), and HUGE Daft Punk production all contribute to an album that (from what little can be garnered from two “listens”) seems to take the drama of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy; stripped-down moments of 808s & Heartbreak; hometown pride present on The College Dropout; and the cockiness that is his very brand; and beat us over the head with it. Repeatedly.

In presenting his album in such a manner Kanye reminds us that what’s most important is not so much what we think of him and his work, but that we remember it. And if infamy is the ultimate goal, Yeezus is well on his way.

Mikayla Moyer

Photograph via UpScaleHype.