Storming up onto the stage, while the 57th Annual Grammy Awards’ “Album of the Year” went to rock luminary Beck, Kanye West set off conversation around the United States. While many debates circle around the morality of his perpetual antics, dating back to his “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” telethon outburst in 2005, some fans and critics have honed in on the motives behind this particular stunt.
West approached the mic in the same manner that he once infamously had to interrupt Taylor Swift’s 2009 MTV Video Music Awards “Best Female Video” acceptance speech. This time, however, he appeared to think better, before turning around and retreating back down the steps. His smile and the laughter of members of the audience indicated maybe this was a light-hearted gesture.
Kanye decided to clear up any confusion regarding his intentions, stating “When you keep on diminishing art and not respecting the craft and smacking people in the face after they deliver monumental feats of music, you’re disrespectful to inspiration and we, as musicians, have to inspire people who go to work every day and they listen to that Beyoncé album and they feel like it takes them to another place.”
Among voices of outrage, rocker Shirley Manson took to her Facebook to reply to West, “You disrespect your own remarkable talents and more importantly you disrespect the talent, hard work and tenacity of all artists when you go so rudely and savagely after such an accomplished and humble artist like (Beck).”
In my opinion, Kanye’s argument and decision to cape for Beyoncé’s self-titled album, which features a smorgasbord of mind-numbingly annoying girl-power anthems like “Flawless,” is flawed. Although, I have yet to hear the Beck album in question, “Morning Phase,” I can surmise from reviews that it may not have been as moving as past efforts, such as his “Mellow Gold,” that spawned the genre-defining single, “Loser.” The biggest detriment to Kanye’s estimation of Sunday night’s events is that they promote the idea that Grammys legitimize artists’ work at all. I think not.
The same question came up in the wake of last year’s ceremony as social media rallied around Kendrick Lamar’s apparent snub in the “Best Rap Album” category, in favor of Macklemore & Ryan Lewis’ “The Heist.” The bigger injustice, though, flew under the radar. The album that truly deserved that award was Kanye West’s “Yeezus.” Unfortunately, there is no Kanye West to pull a Kanye West when Kanye West doesn’t win an award. I’ll take that responsibility and mirror his bravery from the many times he has put his reputation on the line to defend his own beliefs.
I owe him.
“Yeezus” saved my life.
No, I haven’t gone and joined the Church of Yeezus (yet). I’m talking about the night that I was leaving my friend’s house near downtown Memphis. The air was humid and the streets were bustling. Although it was a late night, downtown was crowded with cars because the Fourth of July celebration had begun. I was attempting to head east to return home.
I still have a CD player in my car, and the only disc I had in rotation in summer 2013 was “Yeezus.” I didn’t really notice when “Yeezus” was playing. I lived with the album. I would listen as I drove around my hometown and to and from work. I absorbed each of the ten tracks. I banged on my steering wheel, along with the deep, aggressive, and thrusting drums that move the album along on cuts like “Black Skinhead” and even the arguably blasphemous tune, “I Am a God.” It seemed, as I drove, I was in a trance.
On this night, I must’ve been in a deeper daze than usual, because I took a wrong turn and ended up on the Memphis & Arkansas Bridge headed to West Memphis, Arkansas, a town so bizarre that it is hardly ever spoken of by those of us who live nearby. It’s not unusual at all for me to take wrong turns. Even though I’m from Memphis, I’d only been driving for about a year. Coming home means getting lost. The thrill of my newfound independence turned into foolish pride. Rather than use my smartphone to find my way, I discover new routes by driving around until I find a familiar street.
Once I got off the bridge and into West Memphis, I couldn’t get back and return to (regular) Memphis. I tried a loop. I thought it would get me back on the bridge to go home, but ended up leading down a road that took my 07 Saturn Ion under the bridge, in grass that was too tall to see. It was pitch black. The only thing I could make out was another vehicle ahead with a Mississippi license plate and its lights and engine off.
I could tell the car was occupied. There must have been at least four people inside. I sat idle in my car, considering whether I should pull ahead. There wasn’t much room to move around them. I couldn’t even make out where the road was headed. I just knew I would feel more comfortable if they went first. Suddenly, I saw the driver-side window roll down and a hand motion for me to go first.
So, I pulled in front of them.
Why did I pull in front of them?
The driver immediately started the engine and raced toward me. The frantic outro of “I’m In It,” the dancehall-infused banger that welcomes “Yeezus” listeners to the last half of the album blared through my car speakers at full volume. On this night, it welcomed me to the chase.
I mustered every bit of action movie hero I had in me. The spirits of the Rock, Jason Statham, Vin Diesel and Jean Claude van Damme were working through me as I drove further into the woods, with no one in sight except a man and a woman shooting fireworks.
This situation could have been benign. Maybe the people inside the car had no intentions of harming me. They may not have realized that I was driving like a bat out of hell to evade them. They, like me, could have been lost after taking too many wrong turns.
But the Metro Memphis area is a dangerous place. Forbes.com listed Memphis at number 4 on its list of most dangerous cities in 2012. The list of reported murders in 2013 was 154. Considering the size and population of our city, there is no wonder why the Bluff City is known as a murder capitol across the United States.
My entire life, my family and I have watched mothers and fathers talk to television crews about how their children were in the “wrong place at the wrong time,” when they came in harm’s way. As I drove deeper into the woods, I cringed at the thought of my family talking to the nightly news about me.
As I accelerated, I looked at my radio. It read “Track 7.” I realized where my stunt-like instincts came from. The music that had scored the higher points of my summer break was now serving as the soundtrack to my escape. As the music grew in intensity, so did the force of my foot on the pedal. My senses sharpened along with the sharp, tense music.
With horns blaring through the production of West’s “Blood on the Leaves,” I steered around corner after corner, until I came to a rickety hand-bridge fixated over a small brook. Feeling safe, I stopped, took a breather, and thanked God, but also Yeezus, as a haunting sample of Nina Simone singing the lyrics of Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” capped the encounter, with repetitive refrains of “… blood on the leaves.”
I was a long way from home. Exhausted. Out of my wits, and shaking. After cautiously backtracking through the woods, I finally found my way back onto Memphis & Arkansas Bridge. There, I saw the same white sedan that terrified me, pulled over by West Memphis Police.
I may not have made it here to write this review had it not been for Yeezus who watcheth over me. Because of Kanye’s CD, and the eerie stretch of music that occupies its middle section, I am still alive.
I’d like to see Beck’s album try to top it.
