The Ballad of Kanye Worst or Why MTV Doesn't Care About Black People

The celebrity universe is one filled with mammoth egos so utterly disproportionate to the wade pool of talent from which they all must so starvingly draw. Trying to grasp the scope of emptiness in the upper echelons of fame would be an exercise in futility, likened to understanding what a beach is by counting every grain of sand contained within its boundaries. Thus, it is better to look at the world of celebrity as the great cultural toilet bowl: clogged, and in desperate need of plunging. Only then would these turds take their leave of our consciousness and leave us to fend with all the real, insurmountable ills we have bestowed on this world.

In bed as much with Old Scratch as their parent and corporate teat, Viacom, MTV has been an open window into the sulphurus depths of our collective soul for decades now. Adeptly recognizing the potential for exploiting the youth of the world, as well as recognizing the bottomless pockets that young Americans seem to have, MTV has mastered the art of marketing so well that if it wasn’t so utterly wicked, we might be able to admire guiltlessly their skill at manipulating the minds and hearts of American children.

As I write this, another MTV Video Music Awards show has come and gone. I am, generally speaking, not only a sucker for painful cultural artifacts, I am a veritable connoisseur of the sort of detritus that washes up on the shores of our collective unconscious. When MTV gets their roids in action, when all pistons are firing in unison, the sheer majestic glory of their grandiose awards show productions are a rogues gallery of disastrous plumage, dialed to ten, and absent a shred of mercy.

Kicking off the tumult was an appearance by the epitome of Southern American dispossession, a good five pounds over the public limit of acceptability for post-teen empty-brained wet dream candidates: Britney Spears. The years since her last chart topping success have not been kind to the young starlet. In the presentation of her public persona (not to mention the regular public presentation of her shaven genitalia), she has exposed what must certainly have been a terrible southern upbringing. There is an impersonal cruelty to the rigors of fame, and there are those who are unable to rectify their own self-interests in the face of the demands of celebrity. Spears is no exception, in fact, she exemplifies the dangers of growing up too fast in the fast lane without the proper anchor. Sadly, it is in the cards that her children will almost certainly suffer a fate worse than hers given their less than stellar gene pond.

As America has watched Ms. Spears hop from one disastrous life choice to another, on that pathetic Sunday night, we all coalesced to the point in time that is the MTV Video Music Awards. This was to be Britney’s moment to shine, her moment to finally put to rest the rumors of her lapses in sanity, her supposed leap back into the welcoming arms of pop mega-stardom, and out of the great void of irresponsible behavior. Instead, she upped the ante on her downfall, and in the process, dug herself a hole so deep she may never come out. Her performance was pathetic. She looked scared and bored at the same time. She was whored up in an outfit that looked desperate. She was clearly lip-syncing, and that was during the time when she was actually trying, the rest of the time she blankly stared into space with her blue contacts and did what I guess was supposed to be a dance. It reminded me of a scene in the (excellent) Mike Leigh film, Naked, in which the protagonist, Johnny (played absolutely convincingly by David Thewliss), arrives on the doorstep of a lonely woman in a dilapidated apartment in London, only to realize that she is much older than she appeared in the adjacent window across the street from which Johnny and a night watchman spy on her. As she continues to drink herself into oblivion (or perhaps, hopefully, absolution), she lazily dances for Johnny in hopes of his awakening her from her existential slumber. There are shades of this barren exhibitionism in Britney’s performance, and many, including myself, are uncomfortable with what it says about her, about us.

Included in the audience was Kanye West. Never one to shy away from speaking his mind, West had plenty to say on Spears’ performance, on MTV, and on the need for the world to buy his new record. Infamous for his adlibbed, brutally honest, and searing indictment of George Bush and the government’s poor response to the Katrina catastrophe, West has become a poster boy more for his opinions than his forgettable music. Prominently featured in the awards show, hyping his new record and his newly minted feud with the ballistically perforated rapper, 50 Cent, West had an axe to grind Sunday night, and nothing was going to stop him from grinding it down to a nub.

Apparently, Kanye felt that MTV was exploiting Britney by even having her on the show in the first place. But to sweeten the pot, he added that he also was upset because he feels he should have kicked off the show with "Stronger," the first single from his new album, "Graduation."

"They exploited her, they played me, and I really don't mess with MTV," he said.

He doesn’t play with MTV, unless they ask him to, and then he plays in the suite designated for his own party, replete with hired audience members, DJs, and multiple guest rappers. Then it’s like a giant fucking playground.

West even went so far as to play the race card when he explained that he should have had the show closer instead of Justin Timberlake. Never mind the fact that the closer included Timbaland, a man who certainly falls somewhere well outside the boundaries of what most people consider white.

Apparently, to Kanye West, having the opener, closer, and all the awards would be the only reasonable way for MTV to conduct their utterly meaningless awards show ceremony. Only then would MTV be freed from the shackles of racism and exploitation that plague them today. In addition, giving West all the attention would afford Britney the chance to heal and grow into a well rounded egomaniac on par with someone like, well, Kanye West.

It takes a big man to stand up to the powers that be and tell it like it is. I don’t even think that’s vaguely close to what happened in Vegas, Sunday, but it sure is entertaining to watch as the unfairly wealthy reduces themselves to cartoonish fools, both simultaneously above us and below.

That this takes headlines, steals our attention, and raises my ire, is a story unto itself, but one I don’t wish to tell. That great depths hide within the shallows of the surface dwellers gives us all a way to fathom the path of all the rest, no matter how sad and weak, no matter how short the steps. That in time, a great wave will come and wash us all out to the roiling sea of the unknown is both a comfort and an unsettling reality. For what if nothing exists beyond this, and all of our fears are simply unwarranted waste; what does this say about now, about you, in this life now? Under the open, blameless gaze of the yawning sky, the lot of humanity scrambles for an answer but gets only questions, and as we fill our days with dreams, only emptiness gives repose. This curse is our salvation, and through it all - blind, feral, and very, very hungry - tomorrow waits on baited breath.