Superpower
2026-04-01
I was listening to Ye's newest album Bully earlier this morning, and it was good. The standout track for me was "Mama's Favorite." Ye had a wonderful relationship with his mom, and the part at the end of the track where she tells him that doing something so well for so long has got to pay off—that made me cry. Regarding my personal relationship with Ye's music over the years, it's been interesting seeing the progression of his career. I only started listening to him when he released The Life of Pablo, and the vibe that album cultivated was one I miss quite a bit. Of course, seeing Ye go through his bipolar diagnosis and subsequent psychotic episodes hit home for me personally. I understand exactly what he's going through in that respect, and I also understand how much it can consume you if you let it. However, Ye has always done everything in service of his art. When he said it was a superpower and not a disability, I wanted to believe him so badly.
And when I first heard him say that on the track "Yikes" from his 2018 self-titled album, I really did believe it. When that album came out, I hadn't been diagnosed yet, but I could see the signs and didn't want to address them. When life kept spiraling, I kept telling myself that I had to keep riding the wave, to let myself embrace whatever would happen. But then when the COVID pandemic happened, all that came to a crashing halt. Psychosis brought it all to a disastrous implosion, and rebuilding my psyche from that fallout has been a complex process, to say the least. When you really think your life is about to end, it takes all your preconceived notions and throws them out the window. I still remember being in that psych pod in the emergency room, thinking that I had been banished to hell for refusing to make a deal with a demon. I thought I was going to spend an eternity in that cell, and even though it felt that way at the time, life still moved on.
Every day still feels like a sick day, but when sick becomes the new normal, how much worse can it really get? I still have those days where I go to bed at like 5 PM and sleep all the way through to the next day. It feels like my general sense of stamina is so painfully low, and even though it's gotten somewhat better over the last year or so, it still feels like a fraction of what I used to have. As a man, it's tough to say that you feel weak. Most of us try to conceal that in one way or another, but for someone in my position, it's almost impossible to do. When most things feel overwhelming and when I can lose my marbles over a minor inconvenience, feigning strength isn't exactly something I want or care to do. I also don't want to fall into self-deception where I try to say that vulnerability comes from a place of strength; it doesn't. I am vulnerable only because I have no other cards to play.
While that's frustrating, I don't want to bemoan it further. Circling back to my reception of Bully, I thought the album was good, but not great. Ye's style is so established and pinned down that he's almost put himself in a corner. The same samples, keys, and motifs found on Bully were found in albums from ten years ago. I know I said earlier I missed the vibe cultivated from The Life of Pablo, but now that I'm thinking about it, this rehashing feels undeserved. Music has changed quite a bit over the last ten years, and I think Ye has failed to keep up with the times. There were attempts to ride certain waves, particularly in his collaborative projects like Vultures and Kids See Ghosts, but Ye isn't as adaptive as he thinks he is.
And I get it; being adaptive is a hard thing, especially when the things you used to do are so well-received and constantly praised even today. Ye's fanbase seems as if they're stuck in time themselves, thinking 2007 will last forever and that Ye will forever be the greatest to ever do it. But things change, and if you don't live up to that, it makes you look pathetic. I don't necessarily think Ye should retire from making music or other artistic pursuits. That would be a shameful thing, particularly because it's become clear that making great art is his life's greatest pursuit. But I hope over the next few years, Ye can make peace with his past and move on to a future where he's willing to see outside the trappings of constantly pursuing relevance. Instead of trying to play the fierce provocateur, he should focus on tuning back into manners of truth-telling that are more resonant with the waves flowing through him.
Of course, I relate to Ye quite a bit. The whole bipolar artist shtick, while a box that can feel annoying to be put in, is one that helps me think things through. Everyone has a unique temperament and talents, and not understanding what they are—and wasting them—is a tragic thing. So really, that's why I felt compelled to give my take on Bully. Ye's arc is a signaling beacon in a lot of ways for me. It's a cautionary tale just as much as it's an enlightening one about building hope and self-esteem. I don't know exactly where my life will go, and I would hope I never reach a level of notoriety like Ye, but I do hope to learn from his life and figure out how I want to proceed with mine. It's a tough path to be married to your craft, but it's one that, in spite of everything, I feel uniquely qualified for.
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