808s, despite its myriad flaws, is both a reflection of the hard times West has suffered through and a testament to his artistic fortitude. Just as hard as it to pinpoint what facet of a great Kanye West song makes it great (is it the thunderous live percussion, the triumphant Curtis Mayfield sample or Lupe Fiasco’s killer verse that makes “Touch the Sky?”), it is incredibly difficult to decide which ingredient of 808s spoils the soup. Perhaps the obvious starting point would be West’s decision to sing on every one of these songs and dispense with rapping altogether. In his previous life as a rapper, West certainly evidenced a predisposition to sing-songiness even in his verses, his delivery packs more inflection and musicality than, say, the straight-ahead attacks of Common or Nas. But as someone trying to carry a tune, West would be unbearable without Auto-Tune, and even with the computer enhancement he sounds only a little better than the average drunk at a karaoke bar or halfway-serious American Idol reject. In addition to applying a sense of monotony, the rigid aesthetic boundaries of 808s-stark, laser-like synth lines, tribal 808 drum patterns, diaphanous string passages-leave little cover for West’s vocal flaws. “Street Lights” is a song that would probably be nothing more than harmless balladry in the hands of Ne-Yo or The-Dream, but under West’s awkward, wistful ownership it’s just not palatable. Similarly, “Heartless” has all the makings of a classic, minor-key club anthem, darkly swaggering and indulgent of love’s travails-if only it were sung by Usher.
The guest singers that show up occasionally will come out of this flop with ascendant reputations. Anytime another voice shows up here, especially one worthy of a microphone, the ears prick up eagerly. Hudson’s chorus is a big reason why “Paranoid,” a disco-tinged track brighter than anything else on the album, largely succeeds, even though the song begs for a pulsating bassline. And Kid Cudi’s anxious cooing on “Welcome to the Heartbreak” provides a perfect counter to West’s attenuated sketches about fame and self-loathing.
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