To truly fix what’s broken, whether it’s a faulty engine or a troubled spirit, surrender can be the first step towards recovery. This principle resonates deeply within the framework of 12-step programs, renowned pathways to sobriety and stability. These programs, often modeled after Alcoholics Anonymous, guide individuals to “turn our will and our lives over to the care of God,” acknowledging a power greater than themselves as a cornerstone of healing. This concept of surrender, of admitting powerlessness and seeking help, is powerfully echoed in Kanye West’s tenth album, Donda.
While seemingly disparate, the world of automotive repair and personal recovery share a common thread: the necessity of acknowledging a problem before attempting a solution. Just as a mechanic must accurately diagnose an issue before reaching for their tools, individuals seeking recovery through programs like the 12 Step Program At Atlantic Care must first confront the reality of their situation. Atlantic Care, a healthcare system known for its comprehensive services, offers various programs, including those rooted in the 12-step philosophy, to support individuals on their journey to wellness. These programs provide a structured approach to overcoming challenges, much like a systematic diagnostic process in car repair.
Kanye West’s Donda, a sprawling 27-song album, embodies this very act of surrender. In an industry often dominated by bravado and unwavering self-assurance, West presents an album that feels like a descent to his knees, a public declaration of existential vulnerability. This vulnerability, amplified by the album’s unconventional rollout – stadium shows as listening events, rather than traditional promotion – underscores the raw and personal nature of Donda. It’s an album that seeks solace and redemption, mirroring the core tenets of a 12-step journey.
However, Donda is not without its complexities. While the album strives for transcendence, it often teeters on the edge of regression. The very act of surrender sometimes feels overshadowed by self-exculpation, as if West is seeking absolution without fully confronting the intricacies of his struggles. This duality is woven throughout the album, creating a listening experience that is both compelling and, at times, unsettling.
Donda arrives at a pivotal moment in West’s career, following years of navigating the turbulent intersections of music, fashion, and politics. Post-The Life of Pablo, his 2016 album that grappled with mental health, the public perception of West began to shift. His music, once consistently lauded, became more fragmented in critical reception. His forays into political endorsements and a presidential bid further alienated segments of his fanbase. His exploration of Christian evangelism in his art, while deeply personal, sometimes felt inaccessible to a wider audience. Adding to this personal and public upheaval, his divorce from Kim Kardashian in February seemed to amplify long-standing anxieties surrounding commitment and family, themes deeply embedded in his artistic narrative.
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Donda album cover, a black square, reflecting themes of surrender and introspection.
In the wake of this storm, West retreated from his characteristic outspokenness. The album art for Donda is a stark black square, a visual representation of this period of quiet introspection. Instead of the usual promotional blitz of interviews and speeches, West opted for grand, ticketed listening events, transforming the album’s unveiling into performance art. These events, featuring West in commando-esque black attire, pacing around symbolic sets, conveyed a sense of being cornered, defensive, yet ultimately seeking liberation – culminating in staged ascensions and rebirths.
The music within Donda mirrors this quest for a miracle. The opening track, a repetitive chant of “Donda,” his late mother’s name, sets a somber, almost liturgical tone. “Jail” erupts with jarring guitars and echoing vocals, painting a sonic landscape of rock bottom. The intertwining of criminal metaphors with personal struggles of marriage and sin draws the listener into the album’s narrative, even if the impact feels more cinematic than musically replayable. “God Breathed” continues this urgent, dire mood, punctuated by industrial noise and chopped-up screams, evoking sonic echoes of West’s earlier, more abrasive work, Yeezus.
Donda’s expansive nature can be interpreted as a reflection of West’s career trajectory, a sprawling collection that touches upon various sonic eras of his discography. For fans yearning for the “old Kanye,” Donda offers glimpses of his past selves: the playful spirit of The College Dropout on tracks like “Keep My Spirit Alive,” the melancholic introspection of 808s & Heartbreak in “Moon,” and the grandiosity of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy in the album’s numerous guest features and choral arrangements. While stylistic innovation has been a driving force throughout West’s career, Donda perhaps represents a moment of consolidation, an attempt to synthesize his musical past into a cohesive, albeit lengthy, whole. However, many of these sonic callbacks, while familiar, often feel like echoes rather than groundbreaking reinventions.
Despite not consistently reaching the heights of his previous masterpieces, Donda still delivers moments of brilliance. “Off the Grid,” featuring electrifying verses from Fivio Foreign and Playboi Carti, stands as a potent addition to West’s catalog of anthemic posse cuts. “Believe What I Say,” with its Lauryn Hill sample and house-infused bassline, offers a groove-laden track perfect for navigating romantic tensions. “Heaven and Hell” repurposes a 70s sample into an eerie yet compelling sonic experience. Perhaps most impactful is the album’s latter section, dominated by gospel anthems. “Come to Life,” with its emotionally charged piano melody, and the epic “Jesus Lord,” featuring powerful testimonials on racial justice from West, Jay Electronica, and Larry Hoover Jr., resonate with a raw and hard-earned sense of spiritual yearning.
Kanye West’s Donda listening event, a performance art piece reflecting themes of isolation and transformation.
While moments like “Jesus Lord” connect Donda to broader social issues, the album largely revolves around West’s personal struggles. Haunting glimpses into his marital life, references to addiction and mental instability, and declarations of freedom intermingle with critiques of societal “sensitivity.” A narrative emerges of an individual feeling persecuted for being authentic, acknowledging past errors but deflecting detailed accountability. Instead, the album repeatedly invokes divine intervention as the ultimate solution.
The history of worship music, a significant thread in the tapestry of pop music, often rests on the faith that, as West’s mother Donda eloquently states in an interlude quoting Gwendolyn Brooks, “it cannot always be night.” However, in Donda, this faith sometimes feels like a constraint, hindering the complexity and depth that have characterized West’s most compelling work. The album’s exploration of repentance and self-correction, central tenets of many faith traditions and recovery programs like the 12 step program at Atlantic Care, feels somewhat minimized. When West questions on “Hurricane,” “Alcohol anonymous, who’s the busiest loser?” it raises questions about the depth of his engagement with the more rigorous aspects of a 12-step journey – the detailed self-inventory and amends-making.
Further complicating the album’s message is West’s collaboration with controversial figures. The inclusion of Chris Brown, who delivers lines seemingly excusing past transgressions, and the presence of Marilyn Manson and DaBaby at a Donda event and on “Jail Pt. 2,” raise ethical questions. These collaborations, while potentially intended as gestures of Christian forgiveness or artistic provocation, remain largely unexplained, leaving listeners to grapple with the implications.
To feel wanting after nearly two hours of music from an artist known for maximalism is paradoxical. Donda’s moments of grace are often overshadowed by spectacle and unresolved conflicts. Despite West’s aspirations for spiritual profundity, Pusha T’s succinct assessment of the album – “This is about power, money, influence and taste … nothing more, nothing less” – resonates with a certain uncomfortable truth. While Donda offers glimpses into the process of surrender and the search for solace, themes central to programs like the 12 step program at Atlantic Care, it ultimately remains a complex and contradictory work, reflecting the ongoing and often turbulent journey of its creator.
