In strong support of Kanye West

So Kanye. Glastonbury. Sure. I admit it. I got annoyed at points of his show (Bohemian Rhapsody? No Kanye. Just no) - or worse, sometimes, I was bored. But in those boring moments I just muted him for a bit and before I knew it, he was back to "Diamonds from Sierra Leone" or of course, his big meal ticket, "Gold Digger". His carefully crafted light cube would pulse and the crowd would jump, and all would be forgiven. As an unashamed Kanye lover, I have to stress that I believe Kanye's music cannot be enjoyed for extended periods of time without a mute button for breaks, in any context. It is...intense. But. To enjoy Kanye is to bask in his world of wordplay, aphorisms and ego. Just for a bit. Oscar Wilde eat your heart out.

Here is a modern day musical Napoleon. Master of his craft, clever in his execution, paranoid, proud, sensitive and yet all conquering. Commanding a huge, somewhat evangelical following. Writing songs like "New Slaves" and "Blood on the Leaves". Taking on the modern American class war (the French Revolution this ain't) and writing a new story for black men through his monologues. Talking, (from his substantial platform) about society, his feelings (!) and God. And not giving a flying fig what you think about it. Sorry British public. Kanye didn't grow up in a world where fair play and politeness gets you ahead. So shoot him...

Thing is, he's not even a loveable rogue. He's power itself - a dictator who dresses his wife and probably designed his own lighting rig at 4am in the morning in Barbados and woke the whole household. And he took over Babington during the festival's duration. Here is control freakery for the masses. I really should hate him. But I don't.

Despite all of the petition controversy, when the time came, he went right up there and was his authentic, narcissistic, no-fucks-given self. That's pretty damn rock-n-roll. He's no people pleasing guitar monkey who gives the fans what they want on stage and then smashes up his hotel room later. Neither will he overdose in a bathroom, trying to medicate against his artistic angst. He's too extroverted for all of that. He's a businessman balancing genuine, wildly energetic self expression with shrewd commercial success. I admire Tracey Emin for the same (difference is I hate her work). 

I find watching his total self indulgence as he lets it all hang out on stage a relief both from the stuffy and politically correct shackles of our society, and from the rest of the music industry and its carefully contrived hair gel models. 

Yeezy makes great music, he just does. And if you listen to his lyrics, he's painfully honest and self aware about his super low self esteem and general douchebaggery ("Blame Game", "Runaway"). And no, he can't sing. Does he want to share the glory, royalties or the stage? Absolutely not. So along comes soul-bearing electro-pop concept album "808s and heartbreak" in 2008, and suddenly, auto-tune is a conceptual tool. A Kanye trademark. He OWNS the vocoder. He shows that he doesn't care that he's a rubbish singer, and suddenly, neither do we. For now he is positioned as an intellectual, emotionally literate VISIONARY, and regular singing is for plebs. He produces his own image just as he cuts a record. With a terrifying perfectionism and an instinctive sense of timing.

It is strategy like that which keeps Kanye on top. Would he sell more if people liked him more? Probably. But he's a superstar entirely on his own terms, and whilst I suspect him of being a bit of a massive knob in real life, I admire his raw talent and consider his self aggrandisement both a tool for his rise, and then a treat for himself after working hard all these years. And he has been. "Jesus Walks" (his fourth single) came out ELEVEN years ago. Feel old yet? Kanye is 38 now. The boy is, by most measures, a grown up. He is who he's going to be. 

Why, therefore, shouldn't he marry a glamour model who'll adore him? Why should he not scream "I'm king of the world!" or its equivalent?! He's an intellectual sociopath - he'll never be happy, so he may as well be a hedonist. When he swings above the crowd belting out "All of the lights" in a cherry picker, forcing you to squint up at him, his searchlight all but blinding you as it reflects off the glitter in your eyelashes, he's just getting his kicks and fucking with you at the same time. I get my kicks listening to his music. I don't mind him getting his. Humility is good, but there's also a place for energy, for passion, for yang, for fire and for chaos - it keeps us all on our toes and feeling alive. Without all that, we'd be dead. But we'd be humble, I guess.

Where there is chaos and conflict in music, that's where you'll find Kanye. He'll be the one carefully arranging it into witty poetry, with an African beat and some hi-tech samples. At worst, he artfully skirts between courting controversy and honing his commercial appeal - at best, he fuses the two in a maelstrom of media. He causes a ruckus, sets our news agenda for us, pumps out an anthem and continues to be the world's greatest living rock star. Even if he does say so himself.

"What more can you ask for?

The international asshole

Who complains about what he is owed?

And throws a tantrum like he is 3 years old

You gotta love it though somebody still speaks from his soul"

- Kanye West, Diamonds from Sierra Leone

Sexiest song of the year, every year, since 2001

A recent nostalgic playlist heard at a pool hall in Clerkenwell on Friday inspired this post. I have, since 2001, had a sexy song of the year. Invariably, they have been favourite songs because they have conjured a fantasy about whichever boyman I happen to be digging on at the time. And self indulgently, I find it fascinating to track how my sexuality evolved as I grew up. Some are triumphant love songs, some were teenage emo angst, some are simply lust songs, some are pure sleaze, some are high-speed passion, and some are intellectual connection. Here is my 2014 song - just the audio, because the video ruins it - effing hipster boys...

 2014 Wraith - Peace 

And here are my sexy songs of the year (also with links), for every year since 2001. Feel free to lampoon, comment, or suggest your own...

2001 Simple - India Arie
2002 Calico - Alien Ant Farm
2003 Justboy - Biffy Clyro
2004 Speedballin' - Outkast
2005 Teardrop - Massive Attack
2006 Addiction - Kanye West
2007 Shameless - Ani Difranco
2008 Even After All - Finley Quaye
2009 I Want You - Erykah Badu
2010 Trick Pony - Charlotte Gainsbourg
2011 Sail - Awolnation
2012 Stripper - Soho Dolls (thank you Gossip Girl)
2013 What's my name? - Rihanna

Ne'er say Never

He held her in his Celtic gaze

And there, he made his choice

Ne’er to shackle her bold, wild ways

And ne’er to quiet her voice

Four days and nights she did not speak

Her tongue was curs’d, she thought

Nor tears, nor smiles, nor food, nor sleep

Could cease her breath ne’er caught

The moon quite full, their nights, but two

His arms about her wrapp’d

And now moon new, two nights, too few

Yet purpos’d cupid’s trap.

The Woman Problem

What do women want? 
Women want men to stop researching what 'women' want and to improvise - to tailor a unique way of loving based upon her individual idiosyncrasies and to stop thinking that women can be figured out as a group or that 'the woman' is an archetype that can be defined. Men who choose to take the 'research and problem solve' approach with their woman automatically place her in the role of being a problem (at worst) or a puzzle (at best). A bit of flexibility and dynamism goes a LONG way. The best lovers, partners and teammates understand that woman is like music - not to be figured out, but to be enjoyed, celebrated and tapped into as an emotional resource. Sometimes she is composed classical, sometimes steamy salsa, sometimes heavy metal. Whatever she is today - just dance, improvise and be thankful for the music :)

Falling in Love Weekly

I seem to be falling in love weekly lately. Indeed, I'm getting rather good at it. Last night, I met a softly spoken, adorably polite yet super-sharp Kenyan CFO in a nice linen suit on the train at Exeter. We bumped into each other at the luggage rack and then serendipitously, our seat reservations had us sharing a table. His Sony Vaio brushed flirtatiously against my Mac. I avoided eye contact and pretended to read Vanity Fair. Then he wished me "bon appetit" as I inhaled my Morrison's Best ploughmans sandwhich, to which I saucily replied “merci” with a grin and let him imagine that I can string a sentence together in French. Which I can’t.

Was I visiting family he wanted to know? Yes, actually (boymen are so dreamy when they’re right about things) and was he visiting Britain on business? Of course he was. Clever me. Clearly we’re both psychic and therefore obviously soulmates, so I let him use my internet tethering and shared my grapes. He gave me a carton of apple juice, a dairy milk and some walkers and we fell in love a little bit. He ate his BLT and got mayo all over his face, which I found just fascinating because of the contrast against his very dark skin. He subtly mentioned his big beachfront house in Kenya and I told my voodoo child story about my musician parents meeting in New Orleans.

He explained how he’s going to change the world through sound financial practise and I explained why working in weddings is just like being a psychologist. We reassured each other that these points were completely unpretentious universal truths, and the fact that the rest of the world just hadn’t cottoned on to them yet only strengthened our bond.

He taught me how to pronounce his surname and watched me fiddle with my hair, and I pretended not to notice him stealing a sort-of-sneaky glance at my chest. He expressed disapproval towards black men who objectify light skinned/mixed race women and I expressed a desire to make a difference in the world. We laughed, we debated, we spoke of giraffes and canoeing, time differences and cowboys, tribal behaviours, the state of the Euro, the healing power of song, Germany, and cultural identity. We agreed that Steve Irwin was a very silly man, that hats are brilliant and that France has the best Jazz and then just before Reading he asked to take me back to Kenya to be his wife. Tempted, so I told him to find me on facebook. Marriage proposal response 2012 style. Last time I received a proposal from a stranger I gave the guy my email address. Odd how fast email has become passé. True Story.

Expectations, laziness and forgiveness

If you inspire me or teach me in any small way, I will forgive you a multitude of sins. Friends say this makes me a doormat. In fact, a lot of the time, you don’t even need to have inspired me. I feel that it means my priorities are to spend energy learning rather than attempting to reform others by shouting at them when they are crap.

If you are a dear friend, I'm likely to give you some tough love when you are crap. But if you are exiting my life, I always instinctively go uncharacteristically quiet and opt for forgiveness and acceptance. Quiet forgiveness allows me to conserve my own energy to go on improving myself. Is this selfish? Does this mean I am exhibiting a lack of responsibility? By not feeling the need to spew negativity every time someone disappoints me, am I affirming and enabling that person's poor behaviour and therefore being a lazy member of society?

And isn't disappointment just an inevitable product of expectations? I always try not to place expectations upon people. I expect people to keep to their word, and that’s about it. It’s kind of Buddhist, actually. A quick google of “Buddhism Expectations” returned this, and many other hits:

“Another slant on this is lower your expectations. Quit expecting so much out of everyone, even yourself. Show and feel compassion for yourself and others. Live in the current moment and enjoy it! Realize the truth that you and everyone else is imperfect.

“Now, lower your expectations in a realistic way, don't settle for less because it is easier, or you have low self-esteem, or that you are lazy. Correct these conditions, and you can, then move forward.”

-       http://www.noble-buddhism-beliefs.com/buddhist-wisdom.html

Still – how do you “lower your expectations in a realistic way” and know you’re not being lazy or insecure?

Time to start meditating?

Untitled

And his hands swept the sand
From my tame, slender frame
So he's inside my tides
In my wax and my wane

He blows breeze through my reeds
With each float and songnote
He's forever, and never
My valley of ghosts

Imperfectly

Call out my name like you mean it

When I dance and flash through the night

This coffee skin and these fiery eyes

Have you firmly set in their sights

An English rose and pauper

An African glamazon queen

Earthily imperfectly female

And you still seem to be keen

My hair is bristling nature

My body is flawed happenstance

My soul unpolluted and tactless

And you're still craving romance

My house has a door which is open

If you're brave enough to come find me

I've got laughter and song and food and love

And passionate poetry.

Moondance

You are sea, I am sand

You are water, I am land

Lap at my shore,

I’ll plunge to your depths

Whipped up by your current

Unearth my secrets

I am sand and you are sea

I am eternal, You’re virility

I have my storms

You have your swells

Whether friend or foe

Time will tell