Whatever you think of his politics, his songwriting, sample-hunting and beat-making remain dynamic, surprising and ballsy.
Substantially more focused than its predecessor, it packs a lot into 23 minutes. It is bold, risky, infuriating, compelling and a little exhausting: a vivid reflection of its author.
Ye paints a vivid picture of Kanye's current state of self and, for as brief as it is, succeeds as an intimate exploration of family and mental health.
ye merely excels in surface-scratching instead of the transcendent territories that spawned the Kanye everyone loved. Sometimes less does not equate to more.
After a year full of controversy for West, he leads his album by addressing many of his statements while delivering his typically hilarious and thoughtful lyricism. Where the album often falls flat however is in the inconsistent backing tracks, that can feel like filler for Kanye’s vocals at their most bland.
Kanye can’t convey his obsessions—drugs, death, sex, fame—with the eloquence of, say, Danny Brown. But he can still create thunderous blasts of sound on par with anyone on the planet, and Ye’s best moments are reminders of that. It’s a prismatic album, reflecting its creator’s entire body of work.
He’s been pushing the envelope for most of his career, but on ye, he’s consolidating old skills, not testing out new ones. The lack of wow-factor, combined with the short length, makes the album feel somewhat slight.
Although not a masterpiece like My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, ye shares an abbreviated, yet complete look at Kanye, both the highs and the lows.
If West had better delved into his emotional and psychological turmoil in Ye's lyrics, instead of getting bogged down with click-baity asides, then this LP would've been a classic. Let's hope this soul gets the help he needs, so that he can give us a better glimpse into his psyche on his next LP.
Right in the middle of the furore, ye sallies forth, Kanye’s eighth, deeply egotistical, candidly self-aware, frequently cringe-inducing, captivatingly produced and infuriatingly compelling record.
ye might not be the classic that we needed, and he needed more than ever; but Kanye is revealing enough to have us appreciate the insight and bop our heads along the way.
As he struggles to find his footing in a strange new world, there is still merit in a work like Ye if you can somehow look past the self-destructive celebrity behind it.
While the seven-song brevity of Pusha-T’s Daytona enhanced its potency, the similar play length hinders Ye: an album this short would have to economize time to cover a lot of ground, and Kanye lacks the precision to deliver.
While some fans have been quick to shriek “terrible!” and the like, West risked his inner world in a bi-polar story. Equally misguided will be the claims of brilliance: whether rushed or bare by intent, Ye suffers from an abundance of ideas and a lack of follow through.
A hollow document and a dumb spectacle, ye is the work of an artist who’s maybe been bargaining with no one but himself this whole time.
Ye can feel uneven, sometimes boring, and more indulgent than usual, but it's a fascinating peek into West's psyche.
Maybe Kanye West exorcised all his demons onto the tape for ye, and that's great for the guy, but at the end of the day it's as hollow as a rich rapper telling you to love everyone over twitter, and the guts he's spilling still stink.
Unlike Pusha's Daytona, which is all muscle and sinew, Ye feels like a mix of the weakest moments from The Life of Pablo. For the first time in his career, Kanye hasn't saved the best beats for himself. He hasn't even saved the best verses for himself. In many cases, it's debatable if what he did save qualifies as “verses” at all.
Perhaps if Kanye had simply called ye an EP or a mixtape it would have been passable, a fun little project, but as a 'studio album' it feels like a pointless exercise.
ye isn’t just an album that makes you question why it was made, it makes you question the entire concept of albums as an artform.
#7 | / | The New York Times: Jon Caramanica |
#10 | / | The Music |
#14 | / | BLARE |
#16 | / | Gaffa (Denmark) |
#23 | / | Tiny Mix Tapes |
#32 | / | The Needle Drop |
#34 | / | NME |
/ | Gothamist | |
/ | Time Out New York |