Genius Is As Genius Does

Kanye West has plenty reason to believe in himself (like 6 Grammys and millions in record sales), but can that well-deserved sense of achievement end up getting in his way?

By Jenny Eliscu

"I think I have my finger on the pulse of what's good."

Two years ago, after Kanye West ended an impromptu monologue on a televised Hurricane Katrina benefit by saying that "George Bush doesn't care about black people," he says some folks told him his incendiary comment was genius. "That's not genius," West insists, before digging into an egg-white omelet with grilled chicken in his Manhattan hotel room. "Genius is when a new idea causes an overwhelming response."

A multi-platinum rapper and producer who is, some say, his generation's most prodigiously gifted hip-hop artist, West has a theory or two about genius and expounds on them with a mixture of enthusiasm and bravado that hints at why critics tend to call him arrogant. West, however, insists that he's just telling things like they are. And, when it comes to the topic of genius, he sees it like this: Anybody can have isolated strokes of genius, but if someone keeps having them, it's fair to say that the person actually is a genius.

He never goes so far as to explicitly call himself a genius, but it's difficult to imagine he'd dispute the title, either. "Usually, people who are considered geniuses are going against what's pop," West says. "I think I have my finger on the pulse of what's good. But I'm more on the cutting edge."

West is seated across from me with his laptop open, cuing up songs from his forthcoming album, "Graduation." The 30-year-old notes that it took him only 15 minutes to write the basic framework for his current single, "Stronger," a futuristic hip-hop jam that samples French techno outfit Daft Punk. "Then, I went back and said, 'OK, let me push this as far as possible,' " West says, and adds with typical swagger: "That's when it went from genius mode to producer and marketing mode."

That song quickly became his second advance hit from "Graduation," due next month. The other, "Can't Tell Me Nothing," is a raw, soulful tirade in which West spews, "I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny/And what'd I do? Act more stupidly." They're the latest in a string of colossal hits, most notably his praiseful anthem "Jesus Walks" and "Gold Digger," the latter featuring actor Jamie Foxx re-creating a snippet of the Ray Charles song "I Got a Woman." West's "The College Dropout" (2004) and "Late Registration" (2005), the two albums that yielded those tracks, have earned him a total of six Grammys, nearly 6 million records sold and copious critical accolades that would be enough to give anyone a genius complex.

West has a stronger claim to the title than most of his platinum peers. It is firmly staked on his ability to maintain an enviable profile as a pop-savvy artist whose literate and provocative rhymes have offered a welcome alternative to the ghetto-glorifying music on national radio. In his songs, West raps about degrading day jobs, conflict diamonds, addiction and worrying that you're spending a lot of money because you have low self-esteem -- topics anyone could relate to, black or white.

But it has been his work as a producer that has demonstrated his versatility at applying a signature style to a wide array of artists. Over the last few years, West has collaborated with or produced hits for T.I., Mariah Carey, Fall Out Boy, Keyshia Cole and Linkin Park. Early on, he developed a sound that set him apart from other hip-hop beat-makers: A typical Kanye West song was built on a dusty old sample, often sped up to sound like a frenetic Chipmunks version of the original. For Jay-Z's "Izzo (H.O.V.A.)," he included a snippet from the Jackson 5's "I Want You Back." For Alicia Keys' "You Don't Know My Name," an excerpt from R&B group the Main Ingredient's "Let Me Prove My Love to You," and on John Legend's "Number One," a loop from the Staple Singers' "Let's Do It Again." In each case, West's production technique showed his flair for finding the perfect little morsel of a familiar song and making it sound completely modern.

Born in 1977, West grew up in Chicago's middle-class South Shore neighborhood, the only child of Donda, a former college professor, and Ray West, an ex-Black Panther who's now a Christian marriage counselor. His parents split when Kanye was 3. He spent summers with Ray and the rest of the year with Donda, who insisted he give college a try before pursuing a music career. After brief stints at the American Academy of Art and Chicago State University, West dropped out and started selling beats to local hip-hop acts.

Opportunity knocked in 2001 when legendary rapper Jay-Z recruited West to work on his CD, "The Blueprint." "His music was what first drew me to him," says Jay-Z, whose label, Roc-A-Fella, signed West five years ago as a producer. "My mom and pop had this huge record collection, so I was attached to the old soul samples he used. Kanye's sound was so fresh and yet so reminiscent of how I grew up."

But West initially had trouble convincing Roc-A-Fella execs to let him make his own album as a rapper. He was able to change their minds only after the accident that inspired his breakthrough single, Through the Wire. Exhausted from working around the clock, West fell asleep behind the wheel of his Lexus and got into a crash that nearly killed him. He was back in the studio three weeks later, recording that hit song with his broken jaw wired shut.

Whether or not he's a genius, it's impossible to dispute that West has extraordinary ambition and tenacity. Asked what he'll do if he meets all the goals he has set for himself, he tells me, "I always have new ideas, new interests, new goals. I don't have enough time to do all the things I want to do."

He already has his own label, G.O.O.D. Music, which has released discs by his hometown buddy Common and his Grammy-winning discovery, John Legend, and a line of clothing, Pastelle, which aims to bring his upper-crust, sartorial flair to the masses. He predicts that the Max Headroom-style glasses he wore in the "Stronger" video will be his biggest public splash this year, and he's figuring out how to market a line of them in colors that, he says straight-faced, also "look good on white people."

Last summer, the rapper proposed to his girlfriend, Alexis, while vacationing overseas. But West seems more inclined to discuss his professional goals than his private life. He speaks of his plans for how to more successfully market himself as a living, breathing brand with irrepressible vigor.

It has been suggested that West's ego is a tool to cover up his own anxieties. He does admit a fear of failure. "Sometimes, I'm insecure about possibly not ending up No. 1," he says. "I'll think, 'Oh my God, what am I going to do with this silver trophy?' I'm going to do everything I can to get that No. 1 spot."

And yet West says he's neither as cocky nor as insecure as people think. "I'm going to say something that contradicts stuff I've said in other interviews," he begins. "I think I'm teetering more on the delusional side than the insecure side. Like a little kid. You ask them what they want to be, and they'll name [stuff] some of them can never be, [like the color-blind teenage brother] in "Little Miss Sunshine" who wants to be a pilot. People always try to tell me different when I say I'm going to do something. What keeps [messing] 'em up is that every year, I actually end up doing it."

Cover photograph by Thomas Schenk, Contour Photos