So Appalled

Yesterday my mental health took a bit of a dive, so I self-medicated: I opened an incognito listening session on Spotify and threw on "Ghost Town" by Kanye West. Like any relapsed addict I couldn't stop at one hit. The journey followed a neat reverse chronological path from Ye to The Life of Pablo to Yeezus all the way to The College Dropout. For about an hour, I reclaimed lost confidence that dropped off around the time the Louis Vuitton Don said "slavery is a choice."

It's shameful to have so many core memories tied to such a problematic figure, because to acknowledge ever being a fan is to acknowledge a willful ignorance to all of the bright red flags along the way. For a long time the memefied argument that "he made Graduation," really was enough to excuse his more outlandish statements. That defense went out the window when he endorsed Trump, dined with Nick Fuentes, and sold Nazi-emblazoned merchandise. It causes me great anguish to also hold true the fact that many of my closest friendships were established because of a mutual love of his art.

One of my first gifts to my now-wife was a CD of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. My friend and I still recount an unforgettable road trip to see the Watch the Throne tour, the first of 5 times I saw Ye perform. My sister made me a blanket of Kanye eating ice cream, my boss bought me a Kanye coloring book. I started a Kanye fan group Slack channel at work. The first art print I ever sold was a Kanye portrait. It was an easy way to bring people into orbit, both in earnest and ironically. It was easy to have an outsized appreciation for Mr. West because his music and antics warranted it.

Behind the veil of stanning Kanye was also an appreciation for the confidence boost his art gave me. To put it in his own words: "If you're a Kanye West fan, you're not a fan of me, you're a fan of yourself. You will believe in yourself." It was a message I took to heart. Songs like "Spaceship" and "All Falls Down" hit home when working a graveyard shift at Sephora. "I Wonder" inspired plenty of late night thoughts about my future. "Power" and "Stronger" pushed me through some of the most turbulent personal events of my life when I couldn't fathom a way out. My grandma said that "Heartless" always made her cry, and it would eventually help me grieve her loss. His discography had a way of always meeting the moment.

But what does that all mean now? Does his reprehensible behavior makes it unethical to listen to his music? Does it render all of those moments untrue or diminish their relevance? I struggle with this often. I've thrown away all of my merch over the years - vinyl, shirts and posters have all made their way to the dumpster. Even in light of his most recent apology I know I cannot re-engage in good faith. Still, it's impossible to not feel that I've lost an easy way to connect with others and a means to tap into a well of confidence. Maybe it's healthier to not imbue all of my self worth into a man who has done material harm that he'll need to account for, but I'll be damned if he didn't make great music. After all, he made Graduation.