By Chet Betz | 8 November 2007
Dr. Kanye: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Beat
I’m a cracker with a sweet tooth for hip-hop and a cavity where my soul hides. Dr. Kanye feeds me confections that glaze taste buds, precision elevating my glucose levels like the readings of his bumping board meters. Dr. Evil Brain, my cerebral parasite, fears for my health.
Dr. Evil Brain: Listen to "Through the Wire." Aren’t you tired of the Chipmunk vocals? Dr. Kanye’s all gimmicks; he cons you with Uncle Ben elixirs. The beat’s in shambles. Don’t give in.
Dr. Kanye: Do you feel it?
I feel it.
Dr. Evil Brain: What about "Slow Jamz"? Again with the Chipmunks, and listen to that dumb-as-shit verse: "I’m gonna bring the cool whip, then I want you to strip "
Dr. Kanye: "She’s got a light-skinned friend look like Michael Jackson, got a dark-skinned friend look like Michael Jackson."
I see girls dancing and guys trying to rip it like Twista. I’m drifting through the best party of my life in Technicolor; the ladies grin and shimmy, the gents chill with southern comforts. The hue’s golden.
Dr. Evil Brain: So, you like the singles. You’re washing me with them. Okay, I get that. What about the rest of these tracks, stacking filler like packing rice cakes?
Dr. Kanye: There’s so much that’s better than the singles. How about the simple piano line and drums holding up fragile lyrics in "Family Business"? Pop all locks to the breakdown at the end of "The New Workout Plan." "All Falls Down" will be the next single, and it’ll be the best one yet. Your pulse crackles like vinyl when you needle onto most of these grooves. You can not front.
No, I can’t. There’s soul music in the summer, soaked in reverie. There’s music that will turn convertibles into clubs Dr. Kanye’s Hip-Hop Hits (as seen on TV).
Dr. Evil Brain: You know this album’s bloated. You know it should have traded the boringly aggressive "Two Words" and all the skits to keep affecting gems like "Homecoming" and "My Way." You know the flows and lyrics can be weak at times. You know this. Use me.
Dr. Kanye: Shut down, bitch-brains.
No, he’s right, sort of. I can’t help but feel College Dropout, and yet
Sensing that I’m wavering, Dr. Kanye hits me with the sugar so strong he destroys my cerebral parasite, and I jump on an atom bomb. I ride it, and I’ll ride the beat, and for the rest of my life I’ll be a bobbing-head cracker with a sweet tooth for hip-hop and a cavity where my soul hides.