It’s a Hell of a Life
By: Michael Reusch
In many ways the start of the MBDTF era began the night of the 2009 VMA Awards, in one of the most infamous moments in award show history. I think we all know which one I’m referring to. For those that don’t, an argumentative and in all likelihood inebriated Kanye interrupted Taylor Swift’s best music video award speech, taking the mic from her and announcing his disbelief that Beyoncé wasn’t the winner. Iconic.
It’s easy to recall this moment, but it’s hard to encapsulate what a cultural touchstone this was. Much like Jennifer Lopez’s historic Green Dress or Janet Jackson’s Justin Timberlake assisted Super Bowl nip slip, it spread like celebrity gossip wildfire. It was everywhere, from SNL,to sports commentary, to President Obama’s lips,to countless water cooler conversations. The moment was too perfect not to be. Kanye already had a well earned reputation as an egotist, and Taylor Swift was still early in her America’s sweetheart & girl next door phase. On some level, the image of a black man taking the microphone and the moment from a young white woman offered the chance to slip in some veiled or not so veiled casual bigotry from those so inclined to do so.
Kanye criticism was everywhere in pop culture, prompting his exodus from the American celebrity scene. During his hiatus West went globe hopping, traveling Japan and taking a Rome based internship at Fendi alongside future Off White founder and Louis Vuitton creative director Virgil Abloh. West credits this internship with the fashion house as influencing his later ventures into the high end fashion scene.
Against this backdrop, it might be hard to believe that West could shift his public perception in only a year, but that’s exactly what happened with MBDTF. West would debut perhaps the album’s most famous single “Runaway” at the 2010 VMAs, one year after the Taylor Swift incident. The song, and his performance, stands as the perfect encapsulation of this period of West’s career…
From the beginning note the song is attention grabbingly unique, opening with monotonous and solitary piano plucks. West himself is no less visible, clad in a bright red suit and matching sneakers, the only color on the black and white hued stage. His sequencer sits atop a white Roman era pillar. During the course of the performance a gaggle of ballet dancers, as well as a sauntering with alleged narcotics trafficker swagger Pusha T will grace the stage. The verses from West and Pusha T in particular detail a newly acquired knowledge of the bourgeoisie, rapping about Versace sofas and faceless Rolexes. The opulence of cosmopolitan Europe is on full display, yet in a way that retains their status as outsiders in said world. The proverbial chip on the shoulder is still there, and the duo take pleasure in announcing their arrival into the circles of the cultural elite. While some might find them undeserving of a place amongst the snobs, they’ve carved out their spot, and they want the world to know that. Set against a baroque piano melody and punctuated by driving 808 drums, the rap verses are a gilded love letter to cosmopolitan consumerism.
The emotional thrust of the lyrics however, is found in West’s chorus and sung verses. Vintage samples of old soul music interject as West’s fingers strike the keys of his MIDI controller. “look at ya” “look at ya”. Even as Kanye calls for a toast to the douchebags and assholes, his first verse reveals a surprising amount of emotional vulnerability. It serves as a mea culpa to those he’s hurt with his ego, particularly to the women in his life. 2010 was not that far removed from the zenith of the “all women are bitches and hoes” sentiment in hip hop, so for Kanye to publicly battle with what would today be described as elements of toxic masculinity is eye opening in hindsight. A man who would go on to proclaim himself a god not long afterwards, acknowledging his own toxicity and inability to form healthy relationships is an interesting nuance.
The chorus however is where Kanye seems to speak directly to the public perception of himself. As he croons about jerkoffs who can never take work off, an emotional subtext develops. “Runaway” is simultaneously a deconstruction and a celebration of West’s arrogance. An apology to those affected by it, and an acknowledgement that his trademark ego is a part of who he is. Kanye implores both the listener and the in-narrative recipient of his lyrics to Runaway from him, knowing full well that they won’t. Humility and narcissism should mix like oil and water, but on Runaway they don’t. They mix like paints on canvas, not cancelling each other out but interplaying with one another, granting a look into the totality of Kanye’s emotional state. West’s vocals become progressively submerged in Auto-Tune, to the point where distortion becomes the primary vocal element as the song nears its conclusion. The sparse piano melody makes a reappearance near the end, pastiche against all the melodic richness that’s happened since the melody’s introduction. The performance ends in the most Kanye way imaginable, alone on stage, silhouetted against a shower of golden sparks. Garish yet somber, sprawling yet solitary. One year after becoming the music industry’s number one villain, Kanye’s message is clear. He can’t edit himself to be more acceptable, he is Kanye West in his full totality of being.
The audience, and the public at large, can leave or live with it.
