Ultralight Beam, by Kanye West (et al).
What? It’s Kanye. What were you expecting? š
OK, first of all, appreciation, not appropriation. To say Kanye West is a “guilty pleasure” for someone like me implies a graduate-level (pun intended) thesis on (white) guilt, pleasure, hip-hop, sampling, and possibly the upper crust of the fashion business.
Have I bumped Kanye’s Workout Plan on commutes in a Honda? Yes. Have I bumped Yeezus in a Prius on my way back from picking up the CSA? Certainly. Did I once unexpectedly get invited by a colleague with an extra ticket to an arena show on said Yeezus tour, where the big white mountain opened up and Kanye and chorus marched out to Jesus Walks? YES. That happened. Did he rant about Louis Vuitton from behind a jeweled mask from the raised stage to a building full of decidedly not white suburban dads (except the two of us, mostly)? Sure, that also was a thing that I witnessed.
The thing about Kanye, is there are a million things about Kanye, and mine are all the least important.
This song (and the rest of TLoP) takes me directly to Amtrak, to a year with a lot of commutes to New York from DC and those moments of early morning pause and peace as the train picked up speed and the sun rose, that’s where I listened to this album for the first time, so, yeah, it’s a little spiritual for me.
//
OK, so I really did tear up my hand yesterday, and despite a “just put pressure on it” session this morning watching Get Back and not touching my phone, I had to get the wound sealed with some silver nitrate and skin glue today, so guess who has one fully functional hand and can’t play guitar for a couple days? This guy.
Apologies for how bad I butchered some bits; thankful for the parts I got right; grateful that most of y’all can’t tell the difference, or won’t mind, at least.
Leave a Reply