I was a recent high school graduate in the south of France, absorbing every ounce of Cannes Film Festival. It was a week into the festival and I was living a young filmmaker’s dream, but getting damn tired of waiting in hour long lines for movies. After being turned away from a ten o’clock documentary screening, I began moping about the city, alone and jet lagged. I thought a hamburger would cheer me up. No, gelato. No, a casino. Never mind, gelato is cheaper and less addictive. I was stumbling around in search of a cheap cup of gelato. There was none to be found. Only empty, littered streets. But amongst the trash and sadness, a bright, red flier caught my eye. A flier for a party. I read “Kanye West’s Premier Party for CRUEL SUMMER.” Holy shit, a Kanye Party, featuring every GOOD Music Artist?! Yes, please.