Image by Alex Cook
A lot of people have an opinion about Kanye West. It’s hard not to have one, really, given that he’s stands out among the most ubiquitous figures of the 21st century, both in his capacity as a performing artist and as half of a celebrity power couple with Kim Kardashian. While positive attitudes and perspectives towards Kanye often have to do with his creative talents, the flipside generally veers towards superficial critique. Most frequently, he’s chided for his arrogance, a perception borne out of his outspokenness and tendency to flout his accomplishments.
Yet this characteristic is one that Kanye shares with history’s biggest rock stars, which those who watched his controversial Glastonbury performance know is an upper echelon he self-identifies with. Long before Ye claimed “I am a God” on his song of the same name, John Lennon boasted that The Beatles were “more popular than Jesus,” a comment made in the UK that sparked an outcry overseas in our Christian nation. From Bob Dylan to Johnny Rotten, rockers have made blunt, impolite, and outlandish statements and gestures that, while sometimes deemed arrogant, helped solidify their place in the rock canon. Given that history, it’s somewhat surprising when other musicians use their platforms to badmouth Kanye.
Though everyone from Noel Gallagher to the singer of Slipknot has weighed in, Kanye’s harshest and most consistent critic remains David Crosby, a 73 year old folk rocker with one of the lengthy careers in music, logging time in The Byrds, CPR, and various configurations and permutations of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. While he continues to actively tour and even record new albums like last year’s solo offering Croz, he’s garnered a significant amount of attention for his Twitter account. It is here that Crosby has repeatedly expressed his distaste for Kanye on grounds both personal and professional.
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Back in March, prompted by a fan’s question about Kanye, Crosby tweeted “He's an idiot and a poser....has no Talent at all.” Yesterday, he responded to a similar fan query on Twitter, mincing no words by calling him “an egomaniac” and “dumb as a post.” Since making that last statement, Crosby has experienced both online support from Kanye’s detractors and no small amount of harassment from the rapper’s supporters. Though the latter category includes the usual vulgarity and cheap shots one expects from a Twitter mob, what struck a nerve with the aging hippie was a meme attributing some of Kanye’s “No Church In The Wild” lyrics to The Byrds’ outtake “Triad,” a trolling tactic which Crosby (likely unaware of the Watch The Throne reference) felt compelled to deny and decry. And while that exchange may warrant a few laughs, it actually serves as a great starting point for a possible rapprochement between the veteran rocker and the hip-hop superstar.
It’s critical not to take Crosby as some crusty old curmudgeon glowering in his twilight years. A longtime advocate for world peace, love, and drugs, he’s certainly no conservative blowhard. Though Crosby’s current barbs might be amplified by social media, it’s characteristic of his direct way of communicating. Onstage at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, he spouted off Kennedy assassination conspiracy theories, much to the apparent chagrin of his bandmates in The Byrds, who acrimoniously separated him from the band a few months later. No saint, he’s been busted repeatedly over the years for narcotics and weapons possession, once in connection with a hit-and-run drunk driving incident. He’s lived a rock n’ roll star’s life, one replete with fun facts like his sperm donor fathering of two of Melissa Etheridge’s children with former partner Julie Cypher. Surely there are life lessons, anecdotes, and war stories that Crosby could impart to Kanye, and vice versa. After all, both have received a substantial amount of criticism for their actions as well as their art.
Still, Crosby’s fundamental grievance with Kanye pertains to his musicianship, a stance he no doubt shares with many others in rock. The singer-songwriter doesn’t respect the rapper’s curatorial approach, a mode of operating best exemplified by My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and its dense follow-up Yeezus. In a recent interview with The Huffington Post, Crosby stated that Kanye “can’t write, sing, or play,” further dismissing his production style as just sitting around “while the engineer does the work.” Though that seems deliberately reductive, his position speaks largely to an ideological generational gap that separates rock and rap. How Crosby made and makes his albums bears little resemblance to how a gonzo R&B record like 808s & Heartbreak came together.
But like it or not, he nonetheless shares a flair for experimentation with Kanye. Crosby often jokes onstage with Graham Nash and Stephen Stills that his songs are the weird ones, and his far out 1971 solo debut If I Could Only Remember My Name supports that sentiment. Album opener “Music Is Love” unspools as psych rock raga, his tenor voice meshing with Nash and Neil Young in a mantra. Taken only slightly out of context, the track feels like a loop, entrancing with its simple lyrical refrain and guitar melodies repeated again and again. Kanye’s “Say You Will,” the first track off 808s & Heartbreak, too plays with repetition, vocal manipulation, and a vocabulary of restraint. Though the bleeps might not suit Crosby’s rockist ears, there’s a case to be made for an indirect spiritual lineage between the two tracks.
Crosby’s unwillingness to accept rap music is countered by Kanye’s demonstrated embracing of rock. His continuing creative partnership with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon imbues tracks like “Hold My Liquor” and “Lost In The World” with the indie folkster’s ethereal charms. Clearly, Kanye doesn’t allow genre to stand in the way of making great music. Fortunately, neither does Paul McCartney, whose role in the creation of the forthcoming SWISH makes for the former Beatle’s most anticipated collaboration since his work with Michael Jackson. Kanye’s appreciation for folk and rock music and his opting to incorporate that into his own records ought to count for something with the likes of Crosby.
From Kanye and Macca’s “Only One” to A$AP Rocky and Rod Stewart’s “Everyday,” 2015 has been a landmark year for cross-pollination between rock and rap. Apart from the supergrouping significance of those intergenerational singles, the songs reflect a natural musical inclination that has been stifled in recent years by artificial genre divisions, a disunity perpetuated by, among other things, stagnant and salty attitudes towards hip-hop by rockist elites like Crosby. Following the mishaps and blunders of rap metal at the turn of the century, we’re seeing more and more reconciliation in the form of genuine collaborations. And while that kind of aisle-crossing experimentation will inevitable yield awkward pairings like Waka Flocka Flame and Good Charlotte, it’s clear from hits like Wiz Khalifa’s balladic “See You Again,“ albums like Flacko’s At. Long. Last. A$AP, and the funk rock sections of Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly that the immediate future of both genres will rely on more than mere coexistence.
Of course, Kanye remains a polarizing figure no matter how many McCartney cosigns and writing credits he’s gathered. He’s going to rub some people the wrong way much like Elton John, Courtney Love, Dave Mustaine, Ted Nugent, Keith Richards, and Patti Smith have in their careers. That said, it’s ludicrous for Kanye, he of the swagger like Mick Jagger, to be pilloried by his predecessors for calling himself a rockstar and behaving like one. These very same rockers of the 60s and 70s experienced prejudicial critiques and wholesale rejection from older generations that didn’t understand their music or their lifestyle. There’s a virtual miasma of deja vu surrounding their antipathetic opinions of rap and its most familiar modern male face, one that you’d think they’d notice after having fought for—and won—recognition from those who repudiated the value and quality of their own music and positions. Given rock’s history and tenure, one hopes that race hasn’t clouded their judgements.
Putting aside some of the hurtful words, there’s little reason why kindred spirits like Crosby and Kanye couldn’t grow to become fruitful partners or even super best friends. That would require, of course, a relaxing of egos from two of the most opinionated men in American music. Yet the escalation of Crosby’s comments seems to be drawing him closer to some of sort of connection point with Kanye. Instead of taking this conflict to the tabloids, why not take it to the studio, a place where some good might come of their disparate positions? One can hope that would be an opportunity for civility, peace, and even partnership rather than more mudslinging.
Gary Suarez is bound to Twitter. Follow him.
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