I was never completely confident that “The Life of Pablo” would release.

Between changing the album’s name just days prior to its scheduled release and a vicious Twitter assault on Wiz Khalifa, part of me wanted to believe Kanye West would pull an unorthodox move and delay the album’s release by a long, long time.

But leading up to his record’s drop, Kanye West was, well — Kanye West.

He posted on Twitter a picture of the album’s initial tracklist on Jan. 24, which was originally titled “Swish.” He then changed the name to “Waves” just two days later (all while dubbing the album the “best album of all time”) before hinting on Twitter on Feb. 8 that “there may be a new secret album title.” You know, three days before the album was set to release.

He followed what had already turned into a messy rollout with revealing the album title’s initials a day later and offering his Twitter followers the incentive of free tickets to Yeezy Season 3 and free Yeezys if they were able to guess the title.

So you’ll understand why I said the album circulation happened in the most Kanye West way possible: a departure from the ordinary, a stamp on the envelope that is unmistakably his.

But as much as there is to discuss concerning the days before “The Life of Pablo” hit Tidal the night of Feb. 13, that is not why I am writing this.

I’m writing this about the album itself, which for lack of a better term, is a beautiful trainwreck.

It’s a trainwreck, but not in the it’s-a-bad-album sense. Because it isn’t. It’s a trainwreck because it’s a mess, a jumbled album without a central focus or theme. It’s the individual contents that make it one of West’s most important, transparent albums to date.

There is no denying West bares his soul on “Pablo.” From tracks like “FML” in which he sings about resisting sexual temptation to songs such as “Real Friends,” a joint on which Ye sounds remarkably sad rapping about his failure as an involved family member, there is little doubt about the vulnerability West displays on the album.

But the 18-track album shows off West’s braggadocious and foolish side, and it wouldn’t be a Kanye album without it. The infamous Taylor Swift line on “Famous” does its part to cement West’s legacy as a tool, while his opening bars on “Father Stretch My Hands Pt. 1” (the beat drop on this track gave me what felt like a brain aneurism, for what it’s worth) are completely nonsensical and straight up weird. I would write them here, but they are, you know, explicit.

As somewhat predictable as those two elements to the album are, however, there was one sound that I did not expect, but one that I was riveted by: gospel.

The gospel sound is most conspicuous on the album’s opening song, “Ultralight Beam.” West called upon illustrious gospel music producer and artist Kirk Franklin for a prayer on the song, while a church choir sings the “This is a God dream” refrain. (Chance the Rapper’s verse on this track was probably the best of the entire album, by the way.)

I don’t have the word count to detail each and every sentiment West expresses on “The Life of Pablo,” and that’s probably a good thing, because you would probably stop reading out of boredom halfway through. But it’s vitally important to note that there are several others, which add to the rushed, thrown-together feel this album gives.

But that’s the thing — it’s Kanye West’s personality, an unpredictable cycle of pride, transparency and boldness, and with “Pablo,” West tacks on the characteristic of self-awareness.

And that, folks, is a Kanye West album done in the most Kanye West way possible.