PRE-PUBLICATION VERSION

PRE-PUBLICATION VERSION

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently:

Exploring Kanye West’s 808s & Heartbreak

through Word, Sound, and Image

Marc Lafrance Concordia University

Lori Burns University of Ottawa

Alyssa Woods University of Ottawa

To cite this article: Lafrance, M., Burns, L., & Woods, A. (2012). Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity

Differently: Exploring Kanye West’s 808s & Heartbreak through Word, Sound, and Image. In S.

Hawkins (Ed.), The Routledge Companion to Popular Music and Gender (pp. 285-299). New York,

NY: Routledge.

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently:

Exploring Kanye West’s 808s & Heartbreak through Word,

Sound, and Image1

Marc Lafrance Concordia University

Lori Burns University of Ottawa

Alyssa Woods University of Ottawa

Kanye West’s challenge to the conventions of contemporary hip-hop is nowhere more

apparent than on his fourth album 808s & Heartbreak (2008). A most intriguing object of

enquiry for scholars of popular music, the album sets itself apart from many others in the

world of mainstream rap for a number of reasons: the lyrics are emotionally expressive

and exposed, the music is sung rather than rapped, and the videos represent the lived

experiences of pain and hardship that the album’s title so clearly communicates. That

said, West’s challenge to the conventions of contemporary hip-hop is made manifest in

other ways as well. Indeed, we argue that 808s & Heartbreak can be seen as a critical

reflection on the politics of black masculinity within the context of American celebrity

culture. More specifically, we claim that the album is constituted by two key themes: first,

sadness and vulnerability in the face of loss; and second, emptiness and isolation as a

consequence of stardom. Paying close attention to how these themes are brought into

being by the album, we show that West complicates the hypermasculine representations

of black males that pervade the world of mainstream popular music.

With this in view, we begin by considering contemporary theories of men as they have

been developed and debated in the burgeoning field of critical masculinity studies. We

then discuss how the work of critical masculinity theorists can be brought into dialogue

with the work of popular music scholars in order to better understand the workings of

gender, race, and class in hip-hop culture. Having reviewed the literature, we explore

West’s output in relation to other hip-hop artists whose work is connected to and, at

times, in competition with his own. In doing so, we reflect on West’s understanding of his

musical contributions, his workings and reworkings of the hip-hop genre, and how his

artistic expression is bound up with his performance of masculinity. And finally, we

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 2

conduct a close reading of one hit single from the album – ‘Welcome to Heartbreak’ – in

order to show exactly how West can be seen to do hip-hop masculinity differently.2

Our chapter makes a number of contributions on the levels of theory, method, and

analysis. Theoretically, the chapter aims to show how critical masculinity studies and

popular music studies have the potential to expand and enrich one other.3

Methodologically, the chapter seeks to show how scholars can account for multiple

creative domains – that is, word, sound, and image – in both a simultaneous and

systematic manner. And analytically, the chapter attempts to shed more light on how

mainstream hip-hop artists resist—rather than merely reproduce—stereotypes of black

masculinity.4

Theories of Hegemonic Masculinity

Over the course of the past thirty years, theories of men and masculinity have proliferated

at a rapid rate. In his groundbreaking work The Male Sex Role, for instance, Robert

Brannon (1976) argues that men are encouraged to follow four rules when performing

their gender: (1) ‘no sissy stuff’, which requires both the rejection of any and all traits

associated with femininity and the on-going sexual conquest of women; (2) ‘the big

wheel’, which involves the quest for wealth, fame, and success at all costs; (3) ‘the sturdy

oak’, which demands the display of confidence, reliability, unshakeable strength, and

unwavering toughness; and (4) ‘give ’em hell’, which is characterised by a willingness to

break rules, flout authority, and use force whenever necessary.

Like Brannon, R. W. Connell – in her landmark work Gender and Power (1987) – claims

that the most highly valued kind of masculinity in modern Western societies typically

consists of aggression, courage, emotionlessness, strength, self-reliance, and sexual

potency. For Connell, this kind of masculinity is ‘hegemonic’ insofar as it is characterised

by and oriented towards the exercise of power. Drawing on the work of Antonio Gramsci,

Connell argues that hegemony is a form of power that goes beyond contests of brute

strength and, in this way, operates primarily through ideas, institutions, and relations.

Hegemony is effective insofar as it succeeds in presenting these operations as eternal,

ideal, and natural.

As both a cluster of practices and a crucible of norms and values, there can be no

doubt that hegemonic masculinity has been eternalised, idealised, and naturalised in the

modern West (Levy 2007). And while few men manage to embody hegemonic masculinity

in its entirety, many, according to Connell, are complicit in maintaining and sustaining it.

For Connell (1987, 1995), ‘complicit masculinity’ is a kind of masculinity that is – as its

name suggests – complicit with the conventions of its hegemonic masculinity even if it is

not itself characterised by them. For Connell, many men are complicit with hegemonic

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 3

masculinity because they tend, by and large, to benefit from it. Following Connell, Tony

Coles writes:

Even though hegemonic masculinity may not be the most common form of

masculinity practiced, it is supported by the majority of men as they benefit from

the overall subordination of women … Structurally, men as an interest group are

inclined to support hegemonic masculinity as a means to defend patriarchy and

their dominant position over women. (Coles 2009, 31)

Yet if proving that one can dominate women is a key part of hegemonic masculinity, then

so too is proving that one is in no way like them. As Michael Kimmel (1994) makes clear,

hegemonic masculinity is defined by its repudiation of all things female and feminine.

This repudiation requires a steadfast refusal of all of the traits that have come to be

associated with femininity, particularly as they relate to dependence, emotional

expression, passivity, and vulnerability. Not only do these requirements often result in

sexism and homophobia, but they also demand that men deny many of the things that

make them human.

Though undeniably useful, the earlier scholarship on masculinity is not without its

limitations. In fact, it is precisely because of these limitations that the more recent

research tends to be informed by at least four interrelated ideas. First, models of

masculinity must be able to account for how it varies across time and space. As Connell

herself puts it, accounting for masculinity in these ways is “necessary to keep the analysis

dynamic” while preventing “multiple masculinities [from] collapsing into a character

typology” (Connell 1995, 76). Second, critical approaches to masculinity need to be able to

make sense of how it shapes and is shaped by intersecting forces such as those of race and

class. As Kimmel and Messner put it: “masculinities [are] complicated by cross-cutting

elements; without understanding this, we risk collapsing masculinities into one

hegemonic version” (Kimmel and Messner 2009, xvi). Third, current scholarship on

masculinity must move beyond a narrow focus on relations of domination and

subordination in order to better account for how masculinity is experienced by living,

breathing human beings. “There is”, as Coles explains, “a distinct need to take masculinity

away from the structural and consider masculinities as collective human projects that are

individually lived” (Coles 2009, 33). And fourth, theories of hegemonic masculinity must

make clear that it is neither total nor totalising. Not only does Connell (1995) point to the

many and diverse contradictions associated with this kind of masculinity, but she also

points to the fact that it is often challenged by other masculinities.

In keeping with current debates in the field, our chapter explores the contextual,

intersectional, experiential, and oppositional elements of Kanye West’s 808s &

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 4

Heartbreak. More specifically, we situate him and his work in contemporary hip-hop

contexts, we examine how his performance of gender is informed by the intersecting

forces of class and race, we reflect on how his lived experience is represented on the

album of interest to us, and finally, we consider how the album can be seen to contest the

conventions of hegemonic masculinity. In the end, we argue that through its vivid

portrayals of what it means to be a black man, a celebrity, and a hip-hop icon, West’s

808s and Heartbreak creates a popular musical space in which the masculinity often

associated with mainstream hip-hop culture can be rethought, reworked, and ultimately,

redone.

Hegemonic Masculinity and Mainstream Hip-Hop Culture

The critical scholarship outlined above – particularly as it relates to the concept of

hegemonic masculinity – not only resonates with but also sheds light on the work of

scholars interested in the gendered dynamics of mainstream hip-hop. Indeed, the norms

associated with hegemonic masculinity are clearly on display in contemporary hip-hop

culture, so much so that cultural critics ranging from bell hooks (2004) to Imani Perry

(2004) have referred to it as a ‘hypermasculine’ genre. Despite a smattering of female

MCs, mainstream rap is for the most part a male-dominated medium characterised by a

history of hypermasculine posturing in its musical practices, lyrical themes, and visual

images.

Hegemonic masculinity is expressed in and through a number of features that have

now become commonplace in hip-hop culture. For instance, Byron Hurt (2006) argues

that in order to be successful in hip-hop culture, artists have to fit into a ‘metaphorical

box’ that demands of them a particular performance of gender. He explains: “In order to

be in that box you have to be strong, tough, have a lot of girls, you have to have money,

be a playa or a pimp, be in control, dominate other men, other people.” This performance

of gender has become the normative standard in mainstream rap, and those who deviate

from it are seen to lack credibility or ‘street cred’. As Hurt puts it: “people call you soft or

weak, pussy, chump, faggot. Nobody wants to be any of these things, so everybody stays

inside of the box.”

Michael Oware (2011) argues that most of the academic work on hip-hop culture in

general, and gangsta rap in particular, emphasises the fact that these genres represent

black masculinity in stereotypical terms. Perry (2004), for example, discusses the ‘badman

trope’ as one of the most pervasive in hip-hop. Encompassing the attributes of

hypermasculinity, misogyny, and homophobia, this trope is often seen as what Oware

calls the “cornerstone of gangsta rap music” (2011, 22). Due to gangsta rap’s widespread

distribution and commercial success, it tends to be seen as representative of the whole of

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 5

mainstream hip-hop. This, as Oware observes, is problematic since gangsta rap is

“predicated on an essentialized and limited construction of black masculinity” (ibid., 22).

Like many other scholars, Patricia Hill Collins and Mark Anthony Neal point out that,

“many rappers construct a black male subjectivity that incorporates the notion that

masculinity means exhibiting extreme toughness, invulnerability, violence and

domination” (Oware 2011, 22). Collins (2006) calls this construction the ‘real man’ role

while Neal (2005) refers to it as the ‘strong black man’ position. Either way, most scholars

agree that black men have forged these ways of being in order to compensate for a lack of

real economic resources and social capital. As Oware puts it: “A particular presentation of

self emerges due to the limited opportunities that many black males face in their daily

lives” (2011, 23).

For Oware, hegemonic masculinity in mainstream hip-hop contexts – what he calls

‘real nigga’ masculinity – tends to be characterised by a number of key traits and

tendencies. Not unlike those outlined above, these traits and tendencies can be described

as follows: (1) hyperbolic displays of strength and virility; (2) ongoing assertions of

fearlessness and invulnerability; (3) persistent demands for deference and respect; (4)

relentless competition, confrontation, and sparring; (5) frequent recourse to firearms; and

(6) brazen celebrations of what Ogbar (2007) calls ‘ghettoized pathology’, which is to say

drug trafficking, gang banging, and sexual violence. Nevertheless, Oware argues that ‘real

nigga’ masculinity is often more complex than it is made out to be. To make his argument

hold good, he discusses lyrical references to male homosocial relationships – or “brotherly

love” – and points to the recurring themes of “friends are family, success by association,

and lament of lost friends” (2011, 38).

Through his analysis of the brotherly love that exists in even the most stereotypical

rap, Oware seeks to show that “black masculinity, while drawing on various negative

components of hegemonic masculinity (i.e., hypermasculinity, sexism, and homophobia),

especially in rap music, may be more dynamic and complex than at first glance” (ibid.,

26). Like Oware, we are interested in understanding how hegemonic masculinity is

resisted by hip-hop artists, especially those who are commercially successful. Doing so

allows us not only to better appreciate rap itself, but also to complicate dominant

discourses of black male rappers in the world of mainstream entertainment. Complicating

these discourses is crucial if the study of popular music is to contribute to contemporary

anti-racist scholarship. Indeed, as James Snead (1994) points out, racism often gives rise

to monolithic representations of black people in the mainstream media. Whether one

studies Hollywood movies, as Snead does, or popular music, as we do, these

representations can be seen as the result of an insidious white racism that seeks to

contain and, ultimately, control prevailing conceptions of black subjectivity.

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 6

With this in view, our work on black male subjectivity as it is brought into being by

Kanye West’s 808s & Heartbreak is an attempt to contribute to anti-racist scholarship on

mainstream rap and hip-hop. It is, in other words, an attempt to broaden the terms of the

debate on black men in popular music and, in doing so, to work against homogenising

and universalising representations of them.

Situating Kanye West in Mainstream Hip-Hop Culture

Kanye West sets himself apart from most other mainstream rappers insofar as he both

adheres to and rejects contemporary hip-hop culture.5 Generally speaking, his lyrics

conform to our expectations of an MC, especially in terms of their confidence and

assertiveness, but West’s public persona has long been exceptional in the world of

mainstream rap. After gaining some success as a producer, particularly on Jay-Z’s

legendary 2001 album The Blueprint, West made the move to rap artist in 2002. When he

first approached Roc-A-Fella Records about recording his own album, he was met with

scepticism. Damon Dash, CEO of Roc-A-Fella at that time, found it hard to imagine

marketing West as a rapper: “Kanye wore a pink shirt with the collar sticking up and

Gucci loafers” (Tyrangiel 2005). Indeed, insofar as mainstream rap has tended to

construct itself in opposition to bourgeois norms and values, it has for the most part

eschewed ‘preppy’ suburban images such as those of Kanye West while celebrating more

‘street-based’ images such as those of Jay-Z.

West’s debut album, The College Dropout (2004), met with immediate critical acclaim

(e.g., Carmanica 2008). The lyrical themes on the album bridged the gap between the

urban and the suburban, maintaining a close enough connection to conventional rap to

be viable while, at the same time, accommodating West’s lack of street cred. Dash

remarks: “He combines the superficiality that the urban demographic needs with

conscious rhymes for the kids with backpacks. It’s brilliant business” (as cited in

Tyrangiel 2005, 54). In other words, West disrupts the conventions of the genre while

simultaneously working within them.

West stands out in the world of mainstream hip-hop due to his middle-class status

and the attention he draws to it. In our view, his upward mobility is part of what allows

him to ‘do’ hip-hop masculinity differently. Take, for instance, his emphasis on higher

education on albums like The College Dropout, Late Registration, and Graduation. This

emphasis is, without a doubt, unusual in mainstream hip-hop culture. And while it is true

that West often refers to higher education as something he neither excelled at nor

particularly liked, the fact remains that it is his class privilege that allowed him to get to

college in the first place. This privilege, and the image to which it gives rise, works for

West because it is authentic; that is, it is a genuine representation of who he is and where

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 7

he is from. Any other image would be inauthentic in West’s case, and inauthenticity is

not tolerated in the hip-hop world.

As he rethinks hip-hop masculinity, West resists many of the genre’s stylistic

conventions as evidenced by everything from his clothing to his chosen themes. In what

follows, we discuss the innovative features of West’s album while contextualising his

departure from the stylistic conventions of mainstream rap in both musical and lyrical

terms.

Contextualising Kanye West’s Stylistic Innovations on 808s and Heartbreak

Musically, the 808s album is characterised by three features that set it apart from many

contemporaneous hip-hop albums: first, the self-conscious use of the Roland TR-808

drum machine; second, the persistent reliance on the Auto-tune device; and third, the

exceptional emphasis on singing. With respect to the first feature, the album makes use

of one of the first programmable analogue drum machines made in the 1980s: the TR-808.

The TR-808 has an iconic status in the music industry given its extensive use on many hit

records of the day. The machine is especially associated with the genre of electro-funk,

exemplified by Afrika Bambaataa’s track ‘Planet Rock’ (1982). It is also associated with

early hip-hop artists like Run-D.M.C. (e.g., ‘Sucker M.C.’s’, Run-D.M.C. [1984]), the

Beastie Boys (e.g., ‘The New Style’, Licensed to Ill [1986]) and N.W.A. (e.g., ‘Gangsta

Gangsta’, Straight Outta Compton [1988]). Given its reliance on the TR-808, West’s album

has a 1980s sound that resonates with the themes of longing and nostalgia that run

through the entire album. Even more importantly, however, the TR-808 allows West to

create sparse sonic effects that express the lyrical emphases on emptiness, isolation,

sadness and vulnerability that characterise the album’s overall concept. He explains: “I

came up with the title because I was taking an 808 and pitching it. A lot of people have

used 808s in the past but because it was so low, nobody bothered messing with the pitch.

I actually call the effect ‘heartbreak.’ It sounds distorted and electronic, and just the

sound of it represents where I’m at” (Bainbridge 2008).6

The second distinguishing feature of the album is West’s use of the Auto-tune device.

Auto-tune is a type of vocoder or audio processor used not only to correct pitch but also

to create special vocal effects caused by the modulation of the sound wave and the

manipulation of pitch frequency. While West’s voice is produced using other processing

strategies as well (e.g., delay and reverberation) the most prominent vocal feature on the

album – and the one that received considerable criticism – is the use of Auto-tune. Just

before the release of West’s 808s …, hip-hop artist T-Pain started the trend toward Auto-

tune singing with his album Epiphany (2007). But the vocoder far predates both West and

T-Pain. Hip-hop artists from the 1980s such as N.W.A. and Afrika Bambaataa used

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 8

vocoders to distort their voices. Even more interesting, however, is the fact that one of the

first popular music groups to use the vocoder was The Alan Parsons Project. This fact is

relevant here insofar as the 808s track ‘Heartless’ samples content from the group’s song

‘Ammonia Avenue’ (1984).

The third distinguishing musical feature of 808s … is its emphasis on singing rather

than rapping – a feature that has a major bearing on whether or not the album is

considered a credible hip-hop contribution. While an increasing number of rappers now

sing on some of their tracks, West sings on every track of the album while leaving the

rapping to featured artists (e.g., Young Jeezy on ‘Amazing’ and Lil Wayne on ‘See You in

My Nightmares’). In fact, the closest he comes to rapping is his adoption of a sung-rap

style that features a vocal melody focused around a central pitch. In moments such as

these, his departure from the rap style is evidenced by his sustained pitches, expanded

range, and directional melodic design.

During the early years of rap, the melodic content of a rap song tended to be

generated by samples in the background musical texture. In these songs, the ‘hook’ was

rapped rather than sung (e.g., The Sugarhill Gang’s ‘Rapper’s Delight’ [1979]). Only rarely

did rap songs include singing and even then it was usually sampled or performed by a

featured singer (e.g., Run-D.M.C.’s ‘Walk this Way’ featuring Aerosmith [1986]). From the

1990s through to the early post-millennium, male rappers began to feature female singers

who delivered catchy melodic content. An early example of this is Puff Daddy’s ‘I’ll Be

Missing You’ featuring Faith Evans (1997), while more recent examples include Jay-Z’s ‘03

Bonnie and Clyde’ featuring Beyoncé (2002) and Eminem’s ‘Love the Way You Lie’

featuring Rihanna (2010).

MCs who cross the boundary between rap and singing have become increasingly

common over the last two decades. In 1991, Biz Markie charted with the song ‘Just a

Friend’ in which he sang his own chorus. Despite his rough vocal timbre and out-of-tune

melody, his singing was acceptable to mainstream rap precisely because he was a rapper

and not a singer. DMX, Busta Rhymes, and Ja Rule all sang on various tracks throughout

the 1990s, all with rough vocal timbres and questionable tuning. Eminem started singing

the chorus on various tracks in the early 2000s. A notable example of this is ‘Hailie’s Song’

(2000), which opens with the disclaimer: “I can’t sing, but I feel like singing, I wanna

fuckin’ sing, ’cause I’m happy.” Eminem clearly links singing with intense emotional

expression when he declares that he chooses to sing rather than rap in order to

communicate his love for his daughter. Eminem has continued this trend, particularly on

tracks where he expresses a great deal of emotional intensity (e.g., ‘Cleaning Out My

Closet’ [2002]; ‘Not Afraid’ [2010]).

The increase in the number of hip-hop singers in recent years has undoubtedly

influenced how rappers have thought about singing. Hip-hop singers (e.g., Pharrell

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 9

Williams, Akon, and T-Pain) are vocalists who otherwise might have been associated with

R&B, but who are often classified as hip-hop artists due to the thematic content of their

work and their collaborations with well-known rappers. Their singing is often highly

processed. For his 808s … album, West continued this trend by using vocal processors on

all of his tracks. Although West’s singing can be linked to the work of Akon and T-Pain,

the 808s … album diverges from the work of these artists in one very important way: while

Akon and T-Pain typically work within the norms associated with hegemonic hip-hop

masculinity, West’s melancholy melodies and introspective lyrics can be seen as a

departure from these norms.7

On all twelve tracks of the 808s … album, West’s lyrics explore a variety of themes

relating to emotional frailty in the context of both private and public life. Invoking images

of empty roads and vast distances, many of the songs describe a love that has gone wrong

or is out of reach – such as ‘Say You Will’ (1), ‘Heartless’ (3), ‘Bad News’ (9), and ‘Coldest

Winter’ (11) – while other songs – such as ‘Love Lockdown’ (5), ‘Robocop’ (7), and ‘See You

in My Nightmares’ (10) – point to relationships that have become cruel and controlling. In

addition, many of the songs reflect on loneliness and fear – as in ‘Street Lights’ (8) and

‘Paranoid’ (6) – while criticising celebrity culture and its destructive emphasis on material

gain – as in ‘Welcome to Heartbreak’ (2) and ‘Pinocchio Story’ (BONUS). In all of these

instances, West adopts a critical stance in relation to the conventions of mainstream hip

hop culture; that is, instead of privileging the hypermasculine themes associated with

what Perry calls the ‘badman trope’, what Collins calls the ‘real man role’ or what Neal

calls the ‘strong black man’ position, West privileges themes of alienation and isolation,

pain and sadness, vulnerability and weakness.

West’s lyrical innovations can already be seen to have had a strong impact on other

male hip-hop artists. For instance, The Chicago Tribune’s review of Drake’s album Take

Care (2010) attributes its exposed and expressive style to West’s influence and, in

particular, to the 808s … album:

Though hip-hop has had its share of ‘emo’-inspired soul-searchers in past decades,

from Atmosphere to Eminem … it was Kanye West’s 2008 album, 808s and

Heartbreak, that set off the most recent wave of inward-looking sensitivity. It

presaged everything from the introspective hip-hop of Kid Cudi’s ‘Man on the

Moon: The End of Day’ (2009) to the wispy crooning, plush keyboards and light

mechanical beats of Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon and British dub-step balladeer James

Blake. Drake shares plenty with both camps, which is why his take on hip-hop is so

skewed. (Kot, 2011)

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 10

Similarly, a Rolling Stone review refers to Kid Cudi as “the first big post-Kanye MC,

someone who shares some of his mentor’s … tendency toward introspection, and who

epitomizes the sea change in hip hop toward more vulnerable characters” (Hoard 2009,

40). Clearly these critics see West’s 808s … album as highly influential in the world of hip-

hop, associating its emotionally driven themes with a stylistic transformation among

younger hip-hop artists.8 In order to explore how West understands his own stylistic

innovations and, more specifically, how they relate to his rethinking of mainstream hip-

hop, we will now consider the artist’s comments on the album and its reception.

Rethinking Hip-Hop Culture on Kanye West’s 808s and Heartbreak

In the same way that he wants to rethink the hip-hop genre, West also wants to rethink

hip-hop culture and its representations of black masculinity. He explains: “Maybe I’ll

make half of what someone else will make. But I think I’ll make history at the same time.

Or change people’s minds about hip hop culture, about black culture” (Fennessey 2009,

82). To rethink hip-hop culture the way he wants to, West claims to need to break with

convention: “I definitely feel like, in the next however many years, if I work out for two

months, that I’ll pose naked. I break every rule and mentality of hip hop, of black culture,

of American culture” (ibid., 84). Here we see the recurring themes of self-conscious

exposure and self-reflexive innovation at work in West’s creative strategies. What is more,

we see him linking his desire to expose himself and innovate his creative work directly to

his desire to change the way people think about the normative imperatives of hip hop and

the politics of race in contemporary popular culture.

With 808s …, West certainly succeeded in making a cultural impact. The single

‘Heartless’ sold 5.5 million digital copies in 2009 and was covered by The Fray, Kris Allen

(American Idol) and Dia Frampton (The Voice). The same song reached number 2 on the

Hot 100 chart, and ‘Love Lockdown’ reached number 3. West clearly connects the 808s …

album to issues of men and masculinity. More specifically, he defends his sung lyrics by

claiming that they are every bit as ‘manly’ as rapped lyrics: “It’s not no R&B get on your

knees and beg a girl type bullshit”, explains West. “It’s still like guy music, like you know

with a swag on it and stuff” (West 2008b). While his statement may appear simplistic,

there is indeed something subversive about stating that music characterised by themes of

emotional expression is every bit as manly as music characterised by themes of sex,

violence, and wealth.9 Interestingly, however, some critics have commented on what

appears to be an almost paradoxical juxtaposition of emotional expression with

hypermasculine aggression on West’s album. For instance, The Village Voice’s Clover

Hope writes:

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 11

So here’s where I’m conflicted, as a woman, torn between loving Kanye’s

(newfound?) sentiment and being disturbed by the resulting carnage … Kanye’s

position on Heartbreak is awfully harsh, with the defendant absent and thus

unable to defend herself as he takes minimal blame and finds myriad ways to call

her a bitch without actually calling her a bitch. (Hope 2009, 72)

Unlike Hope, however, West sees his music as offering a much-needed male perspective

on the lived experience of a broken heart. He explains:

There hasn’t been any albums in the last ten years that stress what the guy goes

through in a relationship. We got artists like Pink, and Keisha Cole … but where’s

like a guy, a masculine guy, like a ‘you better watch the way you talkin’ to me yo,’

like a tough guy that actually is hurt and feels the way, and feels like damn, it’s like

a real life crisis. … (West 2008a)

In an interview with Fader magazine, West goes further when he claims that he is “like

the only dude to speak up for the guys from an intelligent, really been in a relationship

type perspective” (Macia 2008). And, in an interview with Vibe magazine, West’s

emphasis on emotional expression and the role it plays in rethinking hip-hop masculinity

is made even clearer:

It’s men out there who never had anyone to speak on their behalf about the way

they feel in a relationship. We don’t feel like, F**k you, bitch, I’m gonna just f**k a

whole buncha girls. No! We feel hurt. We feel pain. Like, Damn, why would you

say something like that to me? Damn, I LOVE YOU. Damn, I want to have a

family. Damn, I want to find someone to raise my kids. …” (Fennessey 2009, 83)

Like his music, West’s interviews convey an ongoing concern with male emotion. In what

follows, we present an analysis of the music, lyrics, and images associated with one of the

more commercially successful tracks on the album, ‘Welcome to Heartbreak’, and how it

crystallises this concern.

Lyric, Music and Image Analysis in ‘Welcome to Heartbreak’

The second track on the 808s … album, ‘Welcome to Heartbreak’, develops the lyrical

themes of emptiness and loneliness in the face of fame and fortune. This self-reflexive

meditation is communicated by the ominous soundscape of the song. With its rich

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 12

textures and expansive sonic space, West creates an instrumental arrangement and vocal

melody that allows for a musical representation of his emotionally driven reflection.

The video for the song portrays an image of West, trapped by the symbols of celebrity

status, struggling to unmask himself. Directed by Nabil Elderkin, the video is

characterised by a postproduction technique referred to as ‘data moshing’. This technique

maintains the outline and shape of a subject within an image, but transforms the subject

using a mixture of colour and design elements taken from the image’s background

(Brassfield 2009; Kirn 2009). Throughout this process, the lines between the body and the

background become blurred and, at times, erased. With their emphasis on masking and

merging, the data moshed images ask the viewer to reflect on what is real and what is not.

In other words, the images we see in the video correspond with the meditation on

personal identity we hear in the lyrics.

In the context of this video, data moshing becomes a visual complement to the audio

interference created by the Auto-tune device. The video represents both the data

moshing and the sound interference as visual metaphors for estrangement and isolation;

that is, in both sound and image, the use of these techniques resonates with the theme of

not being truly seen or heard that runs through the lyrics of the song. The video is also

characterised by its use of a number of effects associated with television, such as colour

test patterns, distortion, and pixilation. These televisual effects emphasise the constant

mediation characteristic of a celebrity tabloid-driven society, and point to how difficult it

is to remain authentic in the context of large-scale public exposure.

Intro. The video opens with television distortion on a black screen. As the distortion

begins to dissipate, a distant figure in an industrial setting becomes increasingly visible.

As the camera zooms in closer to the figure – who is, of course, Kanye West – the video’s

images are accompanied by a cello delivering a slow-moving eight-bar phrase that

remains metrically ambiguous until the entry of the kick and Taiko drums in the last bar.

The rhythmic accentuation coincides with an explosion of colour and a data-moshed

image of West. As the images of West and Kid Cudi unfold, the full instrumental

arrangement is established, featuring a pitch-modulated synth bass that takes on the

earlier cello melody, a kick drum on beats 1 and 3, a distorted backbeat snare crash, a

‘ticky’ groove created by running rim shots, and an active keyboard that develops motives

from the G-Aeolian melody.

Verse 1. The lyrics of the first verse confirm the song’s gloomy mood. “My friend

showed me pictures of his kids”, West sings, “and all I could show him were pictures of

my cribs. He said his daughter got a brand-new report card / And all I got was a brand-

new sports car.” This verse articulates a number of themes that West discusses in the

interviews presented above and that recur throughout the song: namely, a nostalgia for a

traditional family arrangement, a longing for fatherhood and a desire to have more than

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 13

just a big house and sports cars. Given their celebration of emotional connection and

their condemnation of macho hedonism, the themes characterising the first part of Verse

1 are at odds with the norms of hegemonic masculinity that we have discussed

throughout the paper. Musically, these themes – and particularly the emotional

emptiness associated with them – are reinforced by an almost mechanical vocal delivery

punctuated by matching end-rhymes and reverberant echoes created by a processed vocal

delay. As the active keyboard drops out of the texture, a hollow space is left between the

low bass, the high register synth wash, and the aggressive backbeat snare crashes. West’s

voice enters this musical space while the Auto-tune device masks his natural sung

expression and echoes his struggle to remain authentic in the context of contemporary

celebrity culture. The reverberant echoes create a stark contrast to the strident backbeat

crashes while the video image of West – who is shown walking in a public space – is

punctuated by overexposed ‘flash’ images that suggest ongoing paparazzi attention.

West’s overt critique of celebrity culture is delivered in a vocal style that maintains a

connection to the conventions of rap by centring the vocal delivery on the tonic G while

departing from these same conventions by sustaining the pitches in a singing tone. West

infuses the limited melodic range with expressive tension, and a sense of melodic

directionality is created by moving to the second and third degrees of the G-Aeolian scale

(A and B flat) and treating these as tendency tones that descend to the G tonic.

Chorus. The chorus, “And my head keeps spinning / Can’t stop having these visions, I

gotta get with it”, points to the subject’s ongoing stock-taking of his seemingly

unsatisfying life. The chorus vocal, delivered by Kid Cudi, features a gentle sung quality at

a higher pitch level (C4 and D4)10 which is then overdubbed, phased, and split to the left

and right channels. From the centre of the mix, West’s strained, high-pitched “ooo”

emerges, enhanced once again by the Auto-tune device. The video complements the vocal

arrangement with a mirrored image of West characterised by 3D colour effects, out of

which emerges his data-moshed image which then delivers the plaintive ‘ooo’. West’s

pitch register is a full octave higher than his delivery of Verse 1, as he focuses now on G4

and its upper second and minor third. The chorus lyrics, when combined with West’s

intensified vocal expression and the data-moshed images, communicate the subject’s

desperate need to intervene in his life and make a change.

Verse 2 continues the theme of the subject’s desire for a ‘normal life’ in the face of

large-scale financial success. This verse opens with the line “Dad cracked a joke, all the

kids laughed” and continues, “But I couldn’t hear him all the way in first-class.” A longing

for fatherhood is articulated once again here, and this articulation is made all the more

powerful by its vivid portrayal of the ostensibly banal pleasures of travelling with people

one loves. These pleasures are out of the subject’s reach; he is too far away from them to

be able to participate fully in everything they represent. Travelling first-class is not linked

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 14

to glamour and macho hedonistic delight, as it is in many rap songs, but rather to West’s

tragic experience of his own success. Following the lyrical reference to the loneliness of

the privileged first-class lifestyle, West declares, “Chased the good-life, all my life long /

Look back on my life, all my life gone / Where did I go wrong?” The theme of regret is

made manifest here, and is expressed through his derisive attitude toward the celebrity-

driven choices he has made over the years. The good life that fame and fortune were

meant to bring is presented as existentially bankrupt. Here West distances himself from a

number of the hegemonically masculine norms characteristic of mainstream hip-hop:

success at all costs is shown to be empty and alienating, while emotional distance and

reserve are shown to result in estrangement both from oneself and others. Here the

empty and distant feel of the vocal delivery and lyrics is mirrored by a musical texture

that is dominated by the bass, kick drum, Taiko, and the backbeat crash, all of which

leave hollow the acoustic space in the middle and high registers. His voice is alone in

occupying that space, and he keens into it, rising to the fourth and fifth degree of the G-

Aeolian scale. He then returns to the lower tonic G3 and completes the last line with the

familiar descending A–G gesture to reflect a mournful and questioning ‘wrong’. Once

again, the final word of each line is treated with a delay effect, allowing the words to echo

while drawing attention to the hollow sonic space.

Bridge. After the second statement of the chorus, the bridge offers a dramatic sonic

intensification as West leaps to the higher register (F4) while being accompanied by a

high string arrangement. The allusion to ‘seeing things’ in the bridge (“I’ve seen it, I’ve

seen it before”) corresponds with the allusion to ‘visions’ in the choruses. In both

instances, these allusions suggest that the subject is conflicted about the life that has

become his own. The lyrics communicate not only his frustration but also his resignation

with respect to the inescapable repetition of his unsatisfying life experiences. The video

images for the bridge offer the one and only moment of aggressive action in the entire

video: West throws a rock through the television screen and shatters the glass. In a

brilliant moment of videography, Elderkin symbolises the broken screen by allowing the

image to extend beyond the borders of the previous wide-screen format [2:11–2:18].

Verse 3. The dense texture and explosive images of the bridge are abruptly interrupted

by the sparse aesthetic of the third verse. The video features a long-held [2:28–2:44]

medium facial profile shot of West set against a black backdrop and characterised by a

gradual dispersal of the data-moshing effects. A dreamy low-level synthesiser wash offers

an aural complement to the colours that float in a downward left to right motion across

the screen. Characterised by a complete absence of percussion, the sonic texture is

stripped down. Similarly, the delay on the final word of each vocal line amplifies the

loneliness expressed by the lyrics: “Sister getting married by the lake”, West sings, “But I

couldn’t figure out who I’d wanna take / Bad enough that I showed up late / I had to leave

Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 15

before they even cut the cake / Welcome to heartbreak.” Isolation is communicated in a

number of ways here. To begin, the subject’s sister is seen to be forging a presumably life-

long bond with another person while he fails to find someone with whom he wishes to

share her wedding day. Similarly, the subject is shown to be arriving late and leaving

early, and this is due, we infer, to his work schedule. Here, again, emotional connection is

shown to be more important than promiscuous sexual conquests and a happy family life

is shown to be more meaningful than the constant demands of celebrity culture.

Ultimately, the contrast between the subject’s affective landscape and that of his sister

drives home the alienation that characterises his existence and points, once again, to his

inability to fully and completely participate in his own life.

Outro. The outro features the repeated words, “I can’t stop / No, no, I can’t stop / No,

no, no, no I can’t stop” (3:00). These admittedly ambiguous lyrics could mean one of two

things: they could represent the subject’s inability to slow his life in the ‘fast lane’, or they

could represent the visions mentioned in the chorus and the fact that he ‘can’t stop’

having them. More important than what the lyrics say here, however, is how they are

delivered. Emotionally exposed rather than tough and invulnerable, the vocal strategies

over the course of the last part of the song harken back to the strained, high-pitched, cry-

like ‘ooo’ that closes the chorus. Desperate and sorrowful, they rely heavily on distortion

and Auto-tune processing.

Conclusion

In his work on hegemonic masculinity, Cheng (1999) contends that it is characterised by

the following: “… [D]omination, aggressiveness, competitiveness, stoicism, and control.”

He goes on to claim that “[aggressive] behaviour if not outright physical violence is

important to the presentation of hegemonic masculinity … Love, affection, pain, and grief

are improper displays of emotion” (1999, 298). Over the course of our chapter, we have

argued that the concept of hegemonic masculinity as defined and elaborated by critical

masculinity theorists is a useful one for thinking about the gendered dynamics of

mainstream hip-hop. By reading this concept alongside the critical scholarship on

representations of gender, race and class in hip-hop’s commercial mainstream, we have

demonstrated that Kanye West’s 808s and Heartbreak resists these representations by

privileging a different kind of black masculinity; that is, one focussed less on ‘domination,

aggressiveness, competitiveness, stoicism and control’ and more on ‘love, affection, pain,

and grief’. Through its themes of doubt, loss, loneliness and the struggle for authenticity

in America’s present-day popular musical culture, West’s album emphasises displays of

emotion that are, as Cheng puts it, ‘improper’ in the world of mainstream hip-hop. More

specifically, we have shown that the distinctiveness of West’s album is the result of both a

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 16

relatively rare and exceedingly candid set of lyrics and, perhaps above all, a willingness to

disrupt the conventions of his genre by widening the scope of his vocal performance and

melodic style. Ultimately, we have maintained that West complicates dominant

discourses of hip-hop masculinity by expanding the range of emotional expression and

artistic genre innovation through novel interventions on the levels of lyrics, music, and

images.

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Discography

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Doing Hip-Hop Masculinity Differently 19

Notes

1 The authors gratefully acknowledge the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council

of Canada.

2 A few words about our approach to our object of enquiry are required before we proceed. To start, we are

not arguing that Kanye West is the only artist to have resisted stereotypes of black masculinity in the world

of mainstream hip hop around the time of his 2008 album release. There are others, such as those discussed

by Monica Miller (2009) and Michael Oware (2011). That said, we have yet to find a mainstream hip hop

artist whose resistance to stereotypes of black masculinity is as substantive or as thoroughgoing as West’s is

on 808s and Heartbreak. As we show throughout the chapter, both the overall album concept and the songs

that make up the album are in many ways at odds with the conventions of mainstream hip hop. What is

more, few other artists who have done hip hop masculinity differently have enjoyed the same amount of

mass media exposure or commercial reach as West. And it is precisely because of this that his subversive

political gestures are among the most impactful in the world of hip hop culture in particular and popular

musical culture in general. Regardless of how one thinks or feels about the artist, it is hard to deny that he

did something innovative in and through his representations of black masculinity on the album in question.

And that innovation is, in our view, worthy of scholarly attention by those interested in gender and the

mainstream music industry.

3 While many scholars of popular music explore issues of men and masculinity, few engage with the

increasingly influential texts associated with critical masculinity studies (see, for example, Jarman-Ivens

2007). Our paper shows how these texts – and especially the concept of hegemonic masculinity that

emerges in and through them – provide a particularly productive backdrop for thinking critically about the

codes and conventions of masculinity in mainstream rap and hip hop.

4 At this point, some might argue that recent LGBTQ scholarship shows that hip hop has always engaged

critically with dominant norms of masculinity. This argument is certainly valid, though it is important to

note that the majority of the scholarship in question relates either to mainstream hip hop artists who

reinforce misogyny and homophobia or to artists who, quite simply, operate outside of the hip hop

mainstream (see, for example, Halberstam, 1997; Lamont Hill, 2009; Mark, 2007). In both cases, the LGBTQ

scholarship falls outside the scope of our project. In the post-808s and Heartbreak period, we have seen

some progress in the hip hop mainstream, with increasing numbers of commercially successful male artists

coming out as gay (such as Frank Ocean) or supporting artists who do (such as T-Pain). For more, see

Sieczkowski (2014).

5 For a more detailed account of the various stages of West’s career, see Burns, Lafrance, and Woods 2016.

6 Of course, many mainstream hip hop artists use the TR-808. In this respect, West is not unique. What is

unique about West’s use of the TR-808, however, is its self-conscious nature; or, put differently, the fact

that he calibrates and manipulates it in such a way that it is made to express through sound what the lyrics

express through word. And, as we already mentioned, the self-conscious nature of West’s use of the TR-808

is also evidenced by the album’s overall concept which clearly connects this particular drum machine to the

album’s key themes. For more on West’s use of the TR-808, see Greene (2015).

7 It is worth noting here that the prevalence of singing has only continued to increase since West’s release of

808s. Singing has now become common amongst male rappers, many of whom – such as Drake, Fetty Wap

Lafrance, Burns and Woods 20

and Future – sing their own hooks on selected tracks rather than feature well-known singers or rely on

samples.

8 The hip-hop landscape has changed dramatically since West released 808s ... While hegemonic

masculinity continues to be performed and perpetuated in many ways, we are nevertheless seeing the

emergence of increasingly diverse range of masculinities in the world of mainstream rap. Young Thug

perhaps best exemplifies this emergence, with his tough “thug” identity tempered by his continual public

appearances in women’s clothing.

9 Many studies have shown the extent to which mainstream hip hop is characterised by persistent themes of

pornographic sex, gratuitous violence and over-the-top wealth. See, for instance, Aubrey & Frisby 2011;

Durant et al. 1997; Hurt 2006; Katz 1999; Miller-Young 2008.

10 Pitch register will be indicated by octave designations where middle C is C4.