The primary point of Todd Marten's excellent review of Kanye is that the show was good, that Kanye was great, and that it is OK to love Kanye again (in spite of balled up critical remorse for MBDTF). You should read it, and if you have doubts about Kanye, especially because he isn't street enough or unnagound enough, feel free to get over 'em. You got better things to hate than something that will be recognized for its durable greatness a couple of decades ago. Sh*ts all about what hiphop, what the blues is all about.
In the mean time, Martens develops the metaphor of theatricality a) even though it is too obvious and b) fumbles it by imagining a moment of truth when "the West broke the wall between the artist and audience." He should know better. This is all part of the show. We learned this way back in the Shakespeare times. We also learned it way back in the Fanon times. All honesty is a mask.
All of this adds into our work in the book of Langston. As we read about his struggles to fins a place on the stage (and simultaneously outta the books and off the streets), it affords more to our deepening overstanding of his fundamental greatness...
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