Anyone up for some pretentious, faux-spiritual gospel rap featuring the lamest punchline of 2016 (‘my daughter is just like Sia you can’t see her’)? I’d also like to point out that whenever the phrase “I’m just having fun with it” is uttered on a song, it means that the rapper in question couldn’t be bothered preparing anything decent before arriving at the studio and decided to just ‘wing it.’

The one redeeming feature of this audio shit sandwich is: “Man if I fuck this model, and she just bleached her asshole/and I get bleach on my t-shirt, I’mma feel like an asshole.”

Fuck this song.

Congrats on managing to make Sister Nancy’s ‘Bam Bam’ sound shitty. Cue predictable Rihanna contribution and another example of Kanye’s rapping getting progressively worse. Wasn’t this album recorded during a three-day coke and tequila neder in Mexico? Shouldn’t that at least make it enjoyable to listen to?

Finally, an abrasive beat to wake me up. This sounds like a leftover from Yeezus that’s actually better than anything from that album. Nice to hear him shout out his frenemy Byron Crawford on this one with the “no pussy getting bloggers line” as well.

Aaaaaannnndddd we’re back to the bullshit with some boring-ass interlude.

West trolls himself brilliantly here: “I bet me and Ray J’d be friends, if we ain’t love the same bitch/yeah he mighta hit it first, but the problem is I’m rich.” This whole song is pretty funny actually, with references to the Fruit of Islam having his back even though he’s a Christian, his brother-in-law losing weight from smashing a ‘video vixen/stripper/Instagram model’ and insisting that he would gladly follow in Puff Daddy’s footsteps and bust his son’s future coach in the melon if he ever disrespects son, son.

NOPE.

An a capella skit which attempts to break the fourth wall but fails.

Kanye must have been skii’d up something serious when he did the sequencing because he accidentally put a Chris Brown solo song on his fuckin’ album.

“I’m from a tribe called Check-A-Hoe”. Really? Maybe it’s time to swallow your pride and write Rhymefest another check for some bars, playboy.

This is the kind of miserable kind of music I fux with, despite the blatantly jacked ‘Grindin” drums. Melancholy and miserable Kanye is a lot more interesting than ‘uplifting’ Kanye, although surely that line about paying a quarter of a million to get his laptop back is hyperbole, right?

More fake deep religious imagery. Smarten up, Yeezy.

A phone call from the bing with Max B. Easily the highlight of the whole album, assuming West sent him a carton of Newports in return.

This is on some hungover, ’80s New Wave type shit. There’s a lot of rapping on it, even though the wheels fall off during the rambling second half.

This can be considered the token gesture to West’s few remaining traditional rap fans, as he enlists Madlib, Kendrick, and a Ghostface snippet in something that sounds like it belongs on an album from 2011. I’m saying it’s a good song.

A commercial for his Adidas shoes. Le snore.

Perfect soundtrack for Kanye’s next runway fashion show I guess?

I’m no mathlete but I’m pretty sure that four good songs out of 18 tracks is far from a passing grade. This album is all over the place, which may be an accurate representation of Kanye West’s current mental state but hardly makes for a compelling musical statement. I’m no Rick Rubin (meaning I won’t sleep on your studio couch with my shoes off), but I can’t help but think that perhaps Monsieur West would have been better off releasing a proper rap EP and a gospel/auto-tune album separately.

Perhaps he had a chat with Eminem recently and was informed that ‘inspirational, ball-till-you-fall, we’re gonna live forever’ style choonz are all the rage with the kiddies these days. Much like late career Jay Z, The Life of Pablo has all the hallmarks of a half-assed vanity project that was knocked out between reality show filmings and fashion shows. It seems that life has caught up with Kanye and transformed an insufferable musical perfectionist into a hit-and-miss improviser, proving some moments of brilliance amidst a sea of half-baked ideas.