Kid Cudi fancies himself a Serious Artist™, which in the pop sphere means he doesn’t understand art and is really bad at it. A recent appearance on The Arsenio Hall Show (no, seriously) is instructive in his total lack of understanding things. In clear defiance of reason, Aaron Paul’s co-star in a plotless racing video game adaptation appeared on national television in a Green Day t-shirt, hoodie, and carefully ripped jeans to tell us all what’s wrong with hip-hop.
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But turn around don't even know your song titles
Like track 2 is hot, and track 6 is long
Ain't even listening, I'm hoping I get through to y'allThis push-pull dynamic between intensely personal, lived-in confession and the resulting existential detachment is familiar to anyone listening to anything that falls under the malleable rap/R&B umbrella. In four lines, Phonte bristles against the listener while hoping for a deeper connection. There is a real sadness to Phonte’s oeuvre because it prizes this personal specificity over the obfuscation of generalities. And then Kid Cudi offers shit like this:Hate what I see, hate what I see
I'm over it, I need me some change
Something to feel good
Get me on the level, hmm, hmm
No no, no need to cry, no need to cry
You straighten up, you're such an adult
Pay all your bills, yet you are a zombieNote how Cudi hates what he sees, but doesn’t establish what it is he’s seeing. Furthering his dedication to threadbare narrative, Cudi wants…. something…. to make him…. feel….. good. This is bland nonsense that somehow mutates into insulting the listener with an Adbusters slogan. They are lyrics that skip cause and go straight to effect. It reads like a suburban goth’s first stab at prose, but is actually a clip from “Going to the Ceremony,” the second track off Cudi’s recent Satellite Flight: The Journey to Mother Moon. That he sing-spits these lines in a grating mumble-mush cadence doesn’t help other than to obfuscate the bullshit.
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The preceding track is “Destination: Mother Moon.” It opens a mostly failed album in fine form. What begins as a tribute to Ennio Morricone’s soundtrack to John Carpenter’s The Thing ends up ornamented by sly and no less dark 80’s dance-pop touches. Cudi doesn’t say a word. It’s one of his best efforts, showcasing his feel for subtle, atmospheric production flourishes, allowing them to go untrampled by his clumsy, meaningless lyrics. Unintentionally, the album’s stark contrasts make a thorough case for Cudi as an electronic artist, or at least someone operating outside the idiom of “hip-hop.” This is the guy who’s going to tell us what’s wrong with all these hip-hopping cash money characters.He may or may not know the buttons that he’s pushing, but Cudi’s pushing them nonetheless and doing so to elevate himself above his peers, despite the fact that he’s looking at a one hot album every ten year average. To get around that, Cudi is using a bizarro take on black respectability politics to present himself as an artificially authentic example of hip-hop. He snatched the carrot of respect dangled by biased outsiders and is now holding the carrot up as proof of his superiority—Cudi wants to be perceived as one of The Good Ones, but doesn’t seem to get or care about what he’s giving up in the trade. The irony being that it all comes off as a smarmy performance of the same braggadocio he’s oh so bravely fighting against.@drewmillard "turn off this migos & put my pandora station on" - kid cudi to my friend who recently photographed him lulz
— Pico de Gallo (@speakz) March 26, 2014
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I look for peace but see I don't attain
What I need for keeps, this silly game we play…play
Now look at this
Madness the magnet keeps attracting me, me
I try to run, but see I'm not that fast
I think I'm first, but surely finish last, lastThat’s the opening verse and Cudi wastes no time establishing that he’s not well, but can’t be bothered to establish why. This is fundamentally bad writing and his fans either don’t get that or project their own meaning onto the monolithic dry erase board that is any Kid Cudi song. Sure, everyone’s entitled to their taste, but modern hardcore fandoms are bizarre in their capacity for rapidly mobilized militant solidarity and Cudi’s is no exception. The ongoing blind defense of Morrissey is a convenient lens for seeing the depths this can reach.Cudi has an army and that’s not enough for him, which is fine, but becomes tiresome once it’s used as fuel to write off the artform that enabled his success. While Cudi’s willingness to speak about his battle with depression and suicide is admirable, he seems to think doing so puts an onus on the public to appreciate his music. The Serious Artist cannot believe his art is the problem, and he never will.Tomas Rios listens for punchlines, delivery, and cadences. He's on Twitter - @TheTomasRiosFor other things that annoy us, see our takedowns of Phish, Mumford & Sons, and the VMAs.