Kanye West's Yeezus: "Hurry up with my damn croissants"
In 2013, Kanye West was in full-on villain mode. Fresh off the massive success of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, he could have coasted on lush maximalism for the rest of his career. Instead, he scorched the earth. Yeezus is a middle finger to comfort, a raw scream against expectation. It's an album that doesn't just push boundaries - it shatters them, then stomps on the pieces for good measure.
It wasn't designed to be easy listening. The beats are jagged, the synths are harsh, and Kanye himself is at his most unfiltered. Even now, over a decade later, it still sounds futuristic, like something beamed in from a world where hip hop and industrial music merged in a violent, beautiful explosion.
A soundtrack for the apocalypse (or a fashion show)
Let's get something straight: Yeezus isn't here to make you feel warm inside. It's all sharp edges and menacing textures, like Rick Owens clothing turned into sound. From the second On Sight kicks in, with its distorted synths and robotic chaos, you know this isn't going to be another radio-friendly affair.
Take Black Skinhead - a primal, stomping anthem that sounds like a punk band lost in a drum machine factory. Or I Am a God, where Kanye's ego reaches absurd level ("I am a god / Hurry up with my damn croissants"). It should be laughable, but somehow, it's terrifying.
There's also New Slaves, where he rages against systemic racism and consumerism over an eerie, stripped-down beat. And then, right when you think the song can't get any more intense, Frank Ocean drifts in like a ghost, delivering one of the most haunting outros in Kanye's discography.
Love songs for the emotionally unstable
Beneath all the distortion and aggression, Yeezus hides some of Kanye's most bizarrely vulnerable moments. Hold My Liquor is equal parts heartbreak and self-destruction, with Justin Vernon (of Bon Iver fame) layering his ethereal vocals over a deep, brooding bassline. And then there's Blood on the Leaves, which takes a sample of Nina Simone's Strange Fruit and flips it into an auto-tuned lament about betrayal, fame, and excess. It's disorienting, even uncomfortable - which is exactly why it works.
But the real wildcard here? Bound 2. Coming at the very end of this hellstorm of an album, it feels like an intentional troll move. The warm soul sample, the goofy lyrics ("One good girl is worth a thousand bitches"), the music video with Kim Kardashian awkwardly riding a motorcycle - it's Kanye in full chaos mode. And yet, it's the closest Yeezus gets to sentimentality. Beneath all the bravado, there's a man searching for something real.
An album that still slaps (and slashes)
Yeezus was divisive when it dropped, and honestly, it still is. Some people hear brilliance; others hear noise. But even if you don't love it, you have to respect its audacity. Kanye didn't just step outside of hip hop norms - he bulldozed them.
It also influenced an entire generation of artists. You can hear echoes of Yeezus in Playboi Carti's Whole Lotta Red, in Travis Scott's distorted aesthetics, even in Kendrick Lamar's willingness to experiment on Damn. The album took risks that most major rappers wouldn't dare, and those risks paid off.
So, is Yeezus Kanye's best album? Not quite. But is it his boldest? Without a doubt. Even twelve years later, it still sounds like the future. And honestly, that might be the biggest compliment you can give it.
FINAL SCORE: 8.5/10