I read a recent interview with Kanye West in which he expressed delight at the fact that he’s reached the pinnacle of stardom in the music world despite the fact that he “can’t sing, can’t dance and can’t play an instrument.”
Indeed, those would seem like important qualities (the singing and playing instruments, anyway) and 20 years ago it’s hard to imagine a man like West finding a career — as a performer — in the industry. He no doubt would have been a fine producer back then, and he’s one of the finest we have today.
But West is definitely not content to live behind the scenes. He craves the spotlight, despite (or maybe because of) the harsh light in which it paints him. On his messy, brilliant new album, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, he spends 70 minutes laying bare his flaws, fears and insecurities and proclaiming himself the greatest artist who ever lived — often at the same time.
Just like I missed out on the 2007 summer hit ‘Umbrella’ and discovered Rihanna about a year and a half after the fact, somehow Estelle’s ‘American Boy’ passed me by in the summer of 2008. I guess this is what I get for not listening to the radio (or, as is often the case now, listening to fruity XM stations like ‘The Coffee House’ that play the same alterna-safe artists in constant rotation).
Meet Me In Montauk 