NO RED CAP

I'm pulled over and I got priors
Guess we goin' down, guess who's goin' to jail?

Given all the current hype around Ryan Coogler's movie Sinners, where music and the supernatural merge, I think it's a good time to remind everyone about the real-life, living monster celebrity musician, Ye—who remains on the rampage (at least on X), where he resembles a sort of rap version of Linda Blair in The Exorcist. No Max von Sydow–type character, however, appears brave enough to enter the room with crucifix in hand to cast his demons out. Or perhaps this is the free speech equivalent of the soundstage wall that Truman (Jim Carrey) sails into at the end of Peter Weir's prescient The Truman Show, where the limits of offensive outrageousness have finally been met, and Ye now exists in a transitional bardo between extreme freedom and the final chapter of censorship—at least in America.

In many ways, it seems that (Kan)Ye represents, in human form, the separation between America as it was known and America as it is now, as well as the divide between analog identity and the fragmented digital self. How much does (Kan)Ye now appear to exist in online form, as opposed to living in a tangible reality that anyone can recognise?

When his radical rage/punk album Yeezus was released, the cover—designed in collaboration with Virgil Abloh—was reportedly a statement symbolising the death of the compact disc and the physical format. Since Yeezus, (Kan)Ye has increasingly existed in an uncertain, non-physical online world, where albums such as The Life of Pablo appeared as ever-changing organisms, never fully reaching a final form—as if to suggest that nothing is ever truly complete. This uncertainty reflects a broader cultural and societal anxiety about the very meaning of truth, and in this way—whether by accident or by design—the chaotic madness of (Kan)Ye as an artist feels entirely of this moment.

Hol' up, Donda, I'm with your baby when I touch back road
Told him, "Stop all of that red cap, we goin' home"
Not me with all of these sins, casting stones
This might be the return of The Throne (Throne)

Back last year, when I wrote a piece titled 'O Misfortuna' for Digital Renegade, I conjectured that the split between (Kan)Ye’s Heaven and Hell came about when he staged a demonic dividing of his late mother Donda’s house—replicated on stage in Miami for the Donda 2 listening event. But thinking about it again recently, it seems more evident that the real rupture was the moment (2017) he first put on a Trump MAGA cap and found himself alienated from the industry he had conquered—not to mention many of his family, friends, and colleagues. A Black man in America choosing the "wrong" side of the assumed monolith voter bloc seemed to upset and alienate a lot of people. It appears that the artist formerly known as Kanye lost a great deal by making the decision to wear that cap—an ironic turn, considering the number of celebrities, including Jay-Z and Beyoncé, who have openly endorsed Democrat candidates and campaigned on their behalf. It seemed to be a case of “One rule for Ye, but not for me,” to paraphrase that well-worn expression about double standards.

“Why did Jay-Z have to say ‘no red hat’ on Jail? That shit tore me to my soul. We fought about it, and he told me either leave that line on there or take my verse off.”

The Jay-Z factor is especially interesting, as (Kan)Ye recently expressed irritation over a verse his once friend, collaborator, and mentor rapped on his title track Jail from the seminal 2021 album Donda. Jay-Z’s line—“Stop all of that red cap, we goin' home”—reads as though his previously self-described title of “Big Brother” had now become a kind of political responsibility. The often-unseen irony in Jay-Z's conventional stance is that the song Jail is all about cancel culture (hence the inclusion of Marilyn Manson on backing vocals) and the experience of being canceled. Speaking from experience, no one with a profile as high as Ye’s was in a better position to address the topic. So having Jay-Z rap about correcting Ye’s position to “bring him home” understandably feels like doubling down on the kind of conventional “plantation” thinking that (Kan)Ye had railed against in numerous interviews during the height of his Red Cap period. Perhaps this betrayal by a supposed “Big Brother” felt like an attempt to keep (Kan)Ye in line.

A unique feature of the Donda album is that several tracks have two versions included on the official release. The alternate Jail, featuring DaBaby, delivers a far stronger and less contradictory verse flow than the Jay-Z version and intensifies the song’s emotion and meaning. Including a second version of such a crucial track—one that was supposed to symbolise a reunion between Kanye and Jay-Z—could be interpreted as a diss of sorts. Ultimately, it’s up to the listener to decide which version delivers more:

The Red Cap version or the 'No Cap' version.