It's not every day a piece of music makes you think about a bleached asshole. But that's the power of Kanye West: one minute you're listening to the soulful prayer of gospel singer Kirk Franklin, backed by the heavenly voices of The-Dream and Kelly Price, and the next you're hearing Yeezus say, "Now if I fuck this model/And she just bleached her asshole/And I get bleach on my T-shirt/I'm-a feel like an asshole."
Listening to Kanye can be disorienting and gross. But it can also be transcendent, the type of music that can make you grin like, well, an asshole.
Ever since College Dropout introduced the Benz-and-a-backpack binary, Kanye West has been the sum of his contradictions, and The Life of Pablo, his latest record, might be his most flagrantly contradictory work yet, a glorious mix of the holy and profane. Arriving amidst a slew of ongoing controversies -- the Bill Cosby tweet, the reignited Taylor Swift conflict, the asshole-centric Amber Rose/Wiz Khalifa drama -- the record didn't so much drop as tumble out of the sky in garish, highly bloggable chunks. He's not simply raising a toast to douchebags this time; he's raising a cathedral.