Pondering Yeezy and Your Weekly Jam

"So you see Taylor, George Bush doesn't care about black people"

When I made the rather brash, yet sincere, comment regarding my apathetic attitude towards Kanye's latest I was largely influenced by a lingering bad taste that 808s and Graduation left in my mouth.   I didn't just dislike those albums, I hated them.  They were fatiguingly overplayed, and didn't deserve the attention they got from the mainstream listening audience, a group with whom I have not identified since I was 11 years old.  After the masterpiece that was College Dropout and Late Registration's solid follow-up, I was dismayed and surprised at Kanye's goddamn whiny, by-the-book, auto-tune laden LPs.

 
Props are due to g.e.e.z.y for inspiring me to give Yeezy another listen.  My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, as I'm sure you've heard, is good;  I'd even make the case that it rivals College Dropout in its bid for Mr. West's masterwork to date.  The cameos are on point, the production is excellent, and Kanye's imaginative similes and metaphors are consistently enlightening.  Everybody and their moms have reviewed this album and tried to convince their audiences of its sheer excellence.  I'm not going to do that, because I don't agree.  I don't honestly believe that this album is perfect, and I don't think it's going to change music, that it's groundbreaking, or that it deserves a perfect 10.  What I can say is that I'm glad that Yeezy got his shit together and has assured us that he's still capable of making good music.

This JOTW is a throwback because I haven't put out a solid old-school look for a minute.  Stevland Hardaway Morris, who is known to the world as Stevie Wonder, has published some fucking white hot jams in his day.  One of my favorites is a song that doesn't get its fair share of playtime nor acclaim.  It's peppy and concise, and it conjures up images of a time when afros, pony-tails and pubic bushes were cool, vinyl LPs were the norm, and most popular music was quality music.  Here's "Boogie On Reggae Woman."  Watch out for the face melting harmonica solos, Stevland is nothing less than a master craftsman on the mouth harp.

"I'd like to see you in the raw, under the stars above.  So boogie on Reggae Woman, what is wrong with you?  So reggae on Reggae Woman, what you trying to do?"