In February, Ye (the former Kanye West) shocked the music industry when Vultures I, the first of a planned trilogy with Ty Dolla $ign as Y$, opened at Number One on the Billboard 200 chart. It was only a year ago when Ye’s rank antisemitism and adoration of white supremacists prompted an exodus of corporate supporters. Then, with Vultures I, he joined a wave of “canceled” men reestablishing ties with polite society. Critics stung by his unrelenting anti-Black stunts grudgingly admitted that Vultures was impressively produced. “Kids love Kanye,” declared a Complex account on the X platform.
Vultures I had the benefit of debuting amid the music industry’s annual post-Christmas doldrums — it achieved the top position with a remarkably low number of 20,000 sales equivalents — as well as the kind of inexplicably intractable goodwill for Ye that prompted the gold-winning U.S. Olympic women’s gymnasts to quote from his memorable 2005 Grammy acceptance speech for Best Rap Album. Never mind the “White Lives Matter” T-shirts, the sundry lawsuits surrounding his charter school Donda Academy, the sexual harassment lawsuit, and innumerable allegations that he commits financial crimes against his employees. Much of the public believes that Ye hasn’t done anything wrong. Sure, he’s indulged in impolitic comments and weird behavior. But he’s no R. Kelly. He hasn’t physically hurt anyone … right?
For old heads who remember spotting Kanye West’s name in the credits on rapper Grav’s 1996 album Down to Earth, the Atlanta-born, Chicago-raised musician’s evolution from talented beatmaker circa Jay-Z’s The Blueprint and wunderkind circa 2004’s The College Dropout to visionary circa 2010’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy to now must seem dispiriting. But give Ye this: The man can still “pop a wheelie on the Zeitgeist.” His heel turns feel appropriate for an era in which mainstream rap is designed for the whims of the manosphere. Vultures I’s most overwhelming sonic moments, like Inter Milan football supporters Curva Nord Milano chanting loudly on “Carnival” and the dubby house thump of “Paid,” rattle with bleak fascistic dominance. There’s shit-talking about penis power and amassing impenetrable fame and wealth. Admissions of pain, whether spiritual or romantic, are intended primarily for male salvation, not extensions of empathy toward others. At the end of “Hoodrat,” Mike Tyson instructs the audience to become willing sycophants. “Shit Kanye say is basically affirmations. What people say for success,” he tells us. “No doubt he’s got some mental fuckin’ issues. Most leaders do.”
Alas, Vultures 2 feels like second helpings of a memorably distasteful meal. Despite Ye’s boast on “Time Moving Slow” that “I rewrote the ending,” it has fewer ear-grabbing samples than the first volume, just as well given how his use of Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” on the since-deleted Vultures 1 track “Good (Don’t Die)” led to a noisy lawsuit. “Field Trip,” which has the sparky bang of a middling Netflix action flick, makes use of the hard piano arpeggios of Portishead’s “Machine Gun.” “Sky City” finds Ty Dolla $ign harmonizing the chorus from the Five Stairsteps’ incandescent 1970 soul classic “O-o-h Child.” The album artwork for Vultures II shows Ty holding a framed picture of his brother Big TC, who is currently serving a life sentence for murder despite his professed innocence. At album’s close, Big TC himself harmonizes on “My Soul” about keeping his Muslim faith in despite imprisonment. “It’s predestined and God got a plan,” he sings anxiously.
Given the cover artwork, it seems that Vultures 2 should be Ty’s moment to assert himself in the Y$ venture. But he remains a junior partner, although it’s his voice we hear first on the album’s opening track, “Slide,” crowing about how he’ll “hit that pussy good, I’m gonna put her on a flight.” As an era-defining R&B hook-slinger, Ty can call himself “the new [Hugh] Hef” on “Dead” with slickly diabolical glee, comfortable in the knowledge his audience won’t take him too seriously. His intentions don’t seem as fraught — or as impactful — as Ye, or guest stars like Young Thug, the now-imprisoned ATL innovator who appears on “River.” Given Thugger’s never-ending racketeering trial, his claim that he has “too much money to be in the streets” feels sadly ironic.
Regardless, this is a Ye operation, from Vultures 2’s demo-like construction to pseudo innovations such as when Future’s voice is sequenced to repeat “Cook up the yay, make it jump out the gym” six times on “Dead.” And his obsessions are wearyingly familiar. He raps “fuck Adidas” on “My Soul,” and compares his YZY brand to being liberated from “picking cotton” on “Sky City.” He meanders through “Husband,” yet another entreaty to ex-wife Kim Kardashian. “The only thing you really need is a husband/The only thought you ever need is, ‘I trust him,’ ” he sings. “530” finds him rapping, mournfully, “It’s game time, matter of fact it’s Ye time/The past year been a strange time/Visitations on FaceTime/And who gon’ break whose heart first, always just breaks mine.” There’s little discussion of how his divorce may have affected her. Charitably, he invites his daughters North and Chicago West to play in the studio on “Bomb.” That track is immediately followed by “River,” which begins with Thug harmonizing, “Big booty bitch, I know who payin’ for it.”
In the past, Ye’s delusions of grandeur and curdled misogyny scratched at deeper truths about sex and spirituality, and how we struggle to center ourselves while acquiring property and influence in a heartlessly capitalistic society. But it’s been eight years since he declared himself a MAGA acolyte before embarking on his current path as a “freethinker” and would-be billionaire plutocrat. The textual delights of his imperial phase have long since dissolved into broken promises of deeper meaning beyond spectacle. Despite the Vultures II artwork, little time is spent on the ravages of the criminal justice system besides vague shouts of “Free Larry [Hoover]” and “free [Big] Meech.” Certainly, nothing is said about the Black women who have been victimized by the police state.
Vultures 2 isn’t completely devoid of pleasure. “Husbands” is a vivid moment of characteristic selfishness. Longtime G.O.O.D. Music ghostwriter Cyhi delivers a great verse about visiting “ancestors” on “Sky City,” a track reminiscent of 2Pac’s “Thugz Mansion” where Ty echoes the chorus from the Five Stairsteps’ soul classic “O-o-h Child.” They’re joined by 070 Shake and Desiigner. Other rap bros appear like Playboi Carti, Kodak Black, Don Tolliver, Lil Wayne, Lil Durk, and Lil Baby. According to a Genius.com citation, the voice of Todd Rundgren is buried somewhere within “My Soul.” Given that Rundgren disparaged Ye as a “shoe designer” in 2021, this may be old session fodder that Ye unceremoniously threw into the Vultures bouillabaisse.
Eventually, Vultures 2 feels like a chore. Congratulations: You made it through Ye’s latest disasterpiece. Why can’t the world unsubscribe from this shitty content? Perhaps we’re meant to submit to this Trumpian bargain, giving him our time, money and attention for nothing in return. “Never let ‘em break up the gang, we gotta stay together,” implores Ty on “Forever Rolling.” Lil Baby adds, “The world got a whole lot to offer, you got to live a little/Some shit I can’t figure out, I’ll probably never get it.”
