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Are you ready, baby? It's the Dick n' Bush Unrepentant to the Mutha Fuckin' End Tour! Inspired by 43rd President of the United States George W. Bush and the Dark Lord of the Sith himself, Vice President Dick Cheney and their sudden need to jump in front of the cameras and "get the record straight!" The Bush Era may be over, but the hits can last forever!
They've been on every network giving the good news that we won (Everything!) and nothing that bad really happened. A mixtape for those who were living in caves during 9-11, the war in Afghanistan, the war in Iraq, Hurricane Kartina, Hurricane Rita, Hurricane Ike, the subprime mortgage crisis, the overall collapse of the banks, the rise of Iran, $4 gasoline, the tanking economy, Guantanamo Bay, illegal foreign renditions, Valerie Plame, Homeland Security, duct tape, the US attorney firing scandal, Anthrax, the collapse of our infrastructure, the violence in Gaza, tainted toys, rising medical costs and pick-a-tragedy, any tragedy!
Twenty-one slamming, unforgiving, borderline annoying, in your face, "it's all yo' fault not mine and I APOLOGIZE FOR NOTHING!" tracks. From Bush telling you to "Hate Me Now!" to hollering "Party Like A Rock Star" at the White House with all your cronies and military contractors while it was nothing but "Bombs Over Baghdad" and "Welcome to the Jungle" for our troops.
While you on a roof waiting for help when the levees breached or dying out in front of Superdome, George and Condi were singing Scorpion, promising that as soon as she was done shoe shopping they would, in fact, rock New Orleans like a hurricane! And remember that last press conference where Bush basically sang the Sex Pistol's cover of "My Way" without the actual lyrics -- likely because he couldn't remember them! Salute the victors of the war on Terror to Queen's "We Are the Champions," then watch Dubya take that last wave as he leaves the White House to the sounds of SKKKKKYYYYNNNNAAARD as he tells you that he's a free bird now and "He can't change!"
Lord help, Bush! He can't change! He can't chaaayy-yyyiiee-ange! And remember, as Tupac would say, only God can judge him now! (Thanks to my buddies Negro Intellectual and Adeshola for the help and idea!)
Do you know any songs Georgie Porgy and the crew will be bumping on their way out? Make your recommendations in the comments below!
This will surprise no one but The Snob hates Lil Wayne with a passion. Not personally of course. I'm sure he's a swell sort of gross looking dude. Nice by the bundles, but I can't say I'm a fan. I loathe the overuse of Autotune on nearly every rap/R&B single right now and since Lil Wayne is a chronic offender I am chronically offended by his alleged "music."
But, this doesn't mean The Snob is a music snob. I'm a snob about a lot of things, but my music collection pretty much runs the gamut from "look how sophisticated and astute I am" Nina Simone to a "What are you? Twelve?" 99 cent download of the Jonas Brothers "Burnin' Up." I can enjoy crappy pop music with the best of them, I just have my limits and Lil Wayne's ode to fellatio is one of those limits. Not only is the thought of Lil Wayne singing about his ding-a-ling on "Lollipop" gross to me, the whole song gives me a bad case of the Linda Blairs, complete with pea soup spitting action and colorful cursing. But imagine my confusion when I cursed the net and found this cover one evening.
(To see the actual music video, click here, but you have to sit through nearly two minutes of boring kids boring talking about banal, drunken suburban shizz before they rock out with the cock out to some Young Weezy reinterpretation.)
I don't know who these Flaming Henley people are, other than they look like horrid Fall Out Boy clones, but I was amazed at the mileage they managed to push out of Wayne's "Lollipop," taking your standard, rouchy club track and turning it into vintage "cock rock," emo Def Leppard-style, recalling a pop punk "Pour Some Sugar On Me."
Back in the day, habitual song murder Pat Boone would have de-crunked the shit out of any sexuality laden bit of black music he shlacked. Boone was known for his ability to easily de-bone and regurgitate "race music" for the skittish, demure white masses. Something for the folks who just couldn't handle Little Richard's pompadoured, fey sexual chocolate and fainted at just the mere thought of Chuck Berry's precious, white girl lovin' ding-a-ling. But what do you call it when a white, suburban rock band covers classic Negro raunch and keeps all the raunch, just removes the Negro?
The song is still rather gauche, yet different. And you can't really say they necessarily made it more palatable. The white masses, no longer being held back by their stogy anti-race music grandparents, love Lil Wayne to the tune of millions of illegal downloads. Hell, indie rock internet queen Marie Digby covered he and The Game's "My Life" practically verbatim in the style of Lilth Fair and it somehow became some flowery folk American paean akin to a Dawson's Creek-ification of "House of the Rising Sun."
What seems truly apparent is how much American music, created by whites and blacks, influences one another. How blacks created Rock N' Roll, how white musicians took Rock N' Roll and changed it up, eventually creating their own style distinctly different, yet obviously related sound. And when you throw it altogether and actually keep the integrity (as opposed to committing the soft bigotry of lowered expectations that was Boone's shtick), what you have in the end is the elements of what made the song an attractive song to people in the first place.
People like Lil Wayne's "Lollipop" because it is a sexual fantasy you can dance to, the classic ingredients for a party song. Framing Hanley kept the sex, the fantasy and the dancing, but lost the Autotune, added guitars and some rock bravado I thought was long dead since the advent of Grunge in the 1990s.
Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, Soundgarden and the like effectively killed all rock music that was about solely about party penis power, largely because grunge was so serious and Guns N' Roses, the last arena rock act standing, was not. Alternative rock eventually became a very pop slickened medium, whether pretty boy introspective (The Fray or Coldplay), hopelessly twee (Belle and Sebastian) or whatever the hell My Chemical Romance is supposed to be. (Emo-metal? Melodic punk?)
Rap music, on the other hand, maintained its sex driven streak despite the different flavors of the genre available. You could go for something enlightened or you could go for something gangster, but sex and rap music (just like sex and black music in general) have pretty much gone stayed the same. Never has one ethnicity wrote so many different odes to fornication in so many styles. It's not that we don't have other things to sing about, but sex appears to be a favorite topic. While the men of rock were getting in touch with the softer side of Sears, rap music was trying to figure out how they could make the song more explicit. "Lollipop" was a track made for the strip clubs (much like "I'm In Luv Wit A Stripper" and pretty much everything T-Pain sings).
But if Soundscan is to be believed, Lil Wayne's style of pop is the thing the kids are into these days, regardless of pigmentation, leaving me to wonder:
When you produce Wayne's pop with only a slight format change, are you creating a revolution in your genre (is this the return of white boys singing proudly about their dicks again?) or is this a pathetic attempt to stand out from the emo pack by hopping on Tattoo Face's leaf overs? Did they make the song better? Did they make it worse? Was the song beyond redemption anyway, so no cover mattered? Will this take us back to how country and R&B artists would regular cover each others hits because the genres were similar enough to make the song a successful, but the audiences were so far removed that they wouldn't even know whether you were listening to Buck Owens covering Ray Charles or Ray Charles covering Buck Owens? (Or for folks my age, country singer Mark Wills twanging up some Brian McKnight versus country fans who had no clue who Brian McKnight originally wrote and performed "Back At One?" Or pop/R&B boy band All-4-One's habitual country track ripping?)
I'm thinking this is a one-off gimmick/tribute to what's technically hot in the streets. That's not necessarily a bad thing, just the latest bizarre hybrid born out something singularly American pop music.
This week in real life "Snob News" I took dear Mama Snob to see "Cadillac Records." Despite her disdain for all profanity (and the fact that she hadn't seen a film in a theater since "Harlem Nights" back in 1989), she wanted to see the film because she is a fan of the blues, hardcore.
Mama Snob spent much of my formative years teaching and torturing my sisters and myself with blues music. Everything from Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf (who's doppelgangers were in the film) to B.B. King, Bobby "Blue" Bland, Johnnie Taylor (who is actually R&B if you ask my mother), ZZ Hill, Denise LaSalle and Koko Taylor. Some of it I grew to love. Others I still can't stand to this very day. (I truly do not want to pitch a wang-dang-doodle all night long. Or put on my "wig hat," as LaSalle suggests on one ditty.) But watching the film and, most notably, Beyonce Knowles' portrayal of Etta James reminded me of what separates great art from great pop art.
In the film, Beyonce is playing Etta James, a woman with a distinct, passionate voice that hits you emotionally to your core. Some of her songs are joyous. Some are gospel. Some are blues. All hit with an undercurrent of suffering.
Beyonce is a perfected R&B/Pop princess with a pristine, over-worked voice who can kill stylistically, but has never moved me emotionally. Basically, her acrobatics are amazing, but she could also be the T-888 of pop singers.
She has been successful in moving me to the dance floor. That's been a capability of hers since I was in college and someone would throw on "Bills, Bills, Bills." She's the queen of the "all-sass, all-the-time, independent/strong black woman" song. The "I'm so awesome and don't need your tired ass" song, that -- as I've mentioned before -- is more science fiction than reality in relationships. Yeah, sometimes you get to wave it in a guy's face and sing "if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it," but most of the time it's just you, drunk, at home, watching "Mo' Betta Blues" for the millionth time wondering why-oh-why won't Denzel Washington come to your house and beg you to save his life?
Did I ever stand in your way, Denzel? Did I ever try to stop you from doing what you wanted to do!?! The only reason you're here is because you can't play anymore!
As I watched Beyonce emote her way through the film (and she tried to emote her little ass off), there was something not quite right. Knowles admitted that she really had to dig deep as an actor because of Etta's anger and inner turmoil, (Etta had it rough and really, really liked liquor and smack, etc., etc.) At the end of the day, she came up with a convincing facsimile of suffering, but I never, for the life of me, believed in that suffering.
It's not that I don't think Beyonce has inner drama. Everyone does. Everyone has doubt and failings and pain. My argument is that Beyonce does not want you to know of this drama, any real drama, that is. She's closely guarded with an even more tightly guarded image. She is more about being the fantasy of what she thinks you want her to be (cue "Sasha Fierce!") rather than revealing anything of character.
In "Cadillac Records," Adrian Brody's character, Leonard Cohen, argues with Beyonce's James' lack of emotion in her initial takes of the song "All I Could Do Was Cry." He makes the point that the song is about a woman watching another woman marry the man she loves. James' digs deep and finds that pain, albeit it's not about being dumped by a long-lost love. A scene later you learn about her being the neglected, bastard child of a white man.
Beyonce does good work with the scene, as she does with her few scenes in the movie (the film rushes in so many huge personalities that no one seems to get any justice as a character, including Etta James). But the scene underscores the point that it really doesn't matter when the song is about pain. The pain has to be real for the song to have meaning. And that's what separates someone with a wonderful voice who makes an outstanding pop artist from a true artist.
A true artist brings the pain.
I don't have to convince you that original Fugee's member, musical genius and lost child, Lauryn Hill has issues. We all know, homegirl has issues. But often, when I wanted to think of a modern song, like Etta James' classic "I'd Rather Go Blind" or Issac Hayes' cover of "Walk On By" that makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry, I think of Hill's "Ex-Factor."
"Ex-Factor," on its face, can be taken as a brilliant love unrequited/love denied ballad, but it doesn't stop there. As Hill explores deeper and deeper into the song and lays out her blueprint of pain, it becomes very apparent that this song doesn't have to be about a crappy boyfriend or a wayward husband or a married man who won't leave his wife for you. By the end of the song it is a plea for undying love, the kind you're supposed to get from the first man to ever love you -- your father. And once you cross that threshold suddenly the song is about abandonment -- by anyone. Did your mother abandon you? You may cry while listening to "Ex-Factor." Did you grow up and age out of the child welfare system? You may cry while listening to "Ex-Factor." Were you abused as a child? You may cry while listening to "Ex-Factor." Did you spend 35 years as a housewife, raising five kids to find out that your husband has another woman and another five kids, secretly, on the other side of the country? Cry! Ex-Factor is for you.
Hell, you don't even have to be a woman to cry during Ex-Factor. Just be from the land of broken toys. Be the neglected. Be the rejected. Once you get to the end where Hill pleads, "you said you'd be there for me" over and over she could be singing Pslams for all I know, wondering where is God and why He abandoned her. That's how universal, yet specific, her vocal pain is.
And what does Knowles have? "If I Were A Boy?" a song, I HATE WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING. It's a nice enough song. But it's not particularly deep or painful. It basically entails that if Knowles were a man all she'd do is drink and hang out with guys without question. The video doesn't hit any harder, which didn't seem to relate to gender politics at all if you ask any guy whoever had a girlfriend cheat on him with a co-worker. It also resonates if you're a man who has been routinely emasculated by the woman you love. (BB once sang how he gave you seven children and now you want to send them back!) These things are pretty common place. If anything, I thought the video was about gender equity among cheaters.
Women! We can cheat too! Except, we always have! So never mind!
And, gee. I think Gwen Stefani and the rest of No Doubt addressed this issue better on "Just A Girl" back in 1995. Or Leslie Gore on "You Don't Own Me" in 1964. Or hey, how about less than two years ago, by Ciara, on a track called "Like A Boy," a song I actually enjoyed despite it being a blatant Aaliyah rip-off, down to the baggy pants, hair weave and wonderful pop n' lock routine. At least on the somewhat gimmicky, but fun single it was about being angry that the rules of sex and sexuality were different for men and women. Both Ciara's and Beyonce's songs tread similar gender role themes (staying out all night, turning off your phone, etc.) But Beyonce's "If I Were A Boy" is a sappy, whiny "This Used to Be My Playground"-esque ballad about pseudo-feminism.
Ciara is doing her best Leslie Gore of, "how would you like it if I did it to you, huh? You wouldn't like that would you! We totally aren't going to prom now!"
And it's not like Ciara has a catalog of pain to draw back on (that I know of). But she makes it work. Largely because it's a revenge fantasy, not about how awesome Ciara is and that she could do that to a guy, but that she WISHES she could do that to a guy. Never once does she say, "Screw this. I'm converting to being an ass."
And I'm not a big fan of Mary J. Blige, but I call feel the capillaries bursting on every one of her tracks. When she sang that she couldn't be without you, I believed she could not be without that person. Same went for "No More Drama," another song which makes me cry despite my best efforts, because, in the end, you are responding to her raw emotion, her appeal to wanting to leave a tumultuous life behind and be the person she wants to be.
Some people say Beyonce wants greatness, hence why she chases those who already have it (see James, Etta). I can't blame her. A lot of us do. This would also explain why at the last few of Grammy Awards she sang with Tina Turner and Prince as if their true measure of pain and "fierce" would rub off by osmosis. She's obviously a hard worker, but no amount of hard work can fake pain. When Prince sang "When Doves Cry" you may not have known what the song was about in 1984. Maybe you still don't. But you know he's broken up over something. A woman. His parents. God. Himself. Ultimately, for me, the song is about obsession. But, sex, Jesus or obsession are good fallback explanations for nearly every Prince song.
Turner is the same way. She didn't even write "What's Love Got to Do With It," yet the emotions, the sound, the pain were all Tina's. No amount of wonderful song writing can create that.
I'm not saying Beyonce needs to get in a dysfunctional relationship, be abandoned by her family, pick up a drug habit (or several drug habits), become completely disillusioned by fame and moved to the islands, become a conflicted Christian who went pop or go nutbar on me but the great ones give up some pain. There's really no way around it. Without the pain, you're just a more charming Mariah Carey who can actually dance. Or worse, Janet Jackson with better vocals.
Both Mariah and Janet have outstanding pop careers. And if you want to be a wealthy, beloved, popular singer, you're on their heels of catching and surpassing them in sales and accolades. But Whitney, the trainwreck everyone roots for, you will not. Beyonce Knowles can't convince me she knows the blues. It's her only real flaw as a performer. Her kryptonite. But she shouldn't feel bad. It's a pretty common flaw among pop singers. Usher can kiss Dead James Brown's ass all he wants. He'll still sound like someone said "just push play."
I've regularly posted befuddlement at The Retro Kids wondering what they did for a living (besides go to NYC parties) and if their high top fades and braided gold chains were meant as a homage to the Hip Hop style that existed before the industry started pumping millions into the Rap Industrial Complex. Or if they were making fun of folks of my generation (teens and preteens of the late 80s through the 1990s).
Where they making fun of The Snob and my long hair, fully curly and crunchy to the side (with a banana clip -- of course, circa 1990, wearing a vertical stripped dress* to my sixth grade banquet where I was one of the two keynote speakers. Where I unveiled my hard earned dancing skills (I practiced in the basement for weeks with my more agile little sister, Deidre the Baby Snob, who went on to be a theater and dance major.) There at the banquet I busted a mean Roger Rabbit to some Bobby Brown after the award's dinner at Hazelwood East High School. Because I can't tell if the Retro Kids are making fun of that. That night was not funny to me.
Since kindergarten I'd been teased mercilessly for being different. By sixth grade everyone had calmed down and accepted me for who I was. I'd sat on my "cute" pair of glasses the night before the banquet and rather that wear my old hideous pink/purple plastic old lady specs from the fourth grade I went to the thing blind and specs-less. To my shock, everyone responded to me like I was the hottest chick in the room. I was "that girl" from the cheesy movies where you take off the glasses (and develop somewhat of a figure) and suddenly I was hot. That begot four years of bitching to my mom to get me contact lenses. So that night of 90s tackiness is a night of wonderfulness for me. Don't mock it, Retro Kids. Other than that -- Rock on. (From kanYe West Blog, via reader Whitty)
*I have got to dig up that picture. I swear to God. I was the hottest 12 year old in the game that night. I wouldn't feel that way again until college in my sorority days. (Left: My seventh grade ID from the former Kirby Junior High School in St. Louis County. Check them bangs. I was the hotness and no one even knew it.)
Also, scary. I can still do all those dances in the video. I made Baby Snob teach me all of them. Baby Snob has crazy skills. She had the Janet Jackson "If" video dance down pat. It was incredible, but she's always been awesome in that way. She's the official "Hot Chick" of the Snob sisters.
For all you relatively new Snob readers my blog has not typically been all politics all the time. Things were a bit more balanced with the racial issues, the pop culture, the who is "sexy" definitions, occasional blog post series and rant. But I tend to write about what I'm excited over, so naturally that would be Sarah Palin striking out on softballs like "what's your favorite newspaper" and "name a Supreme Court decision you hated other than Roe v. Wade."
Seriously. I can name a few off the top of my head that I hated (Dred Scott, Plessy v. Ferguson, the Hazelwood Central High School case that determined that high school students didn't have the right to free speech and a later case involving a kid with a joke sign -- blunts for Jesus -- that backed that decision up, etc., etc. Maybe John McCain should have picked me!)
But that's besides the point. I want to talk (write) about something I've been thinking about for the past three days and that is the phenomenon of white people who sing like black people.
Now there have always been white people who have tried (successfully and unsuccessful) to mime the sounds of rural Southern blues guys and gals or the upbeat tenors of the Northern soul stars of Stax and Motown. And who can blame them? Along with American Folk and country music, the blues' twangy, pickin' and grinnin' cousin, black music (spirituals/gospel, blues, jazz, soul, funk, R&B and hip hop) is American music. When four guys in Liverpool, England wondered what America sounded like they weren't thinking of Woody Guthrie and John Phillip Sousa.
Early rock n' roller and chronic music theft victim Little Richard will gladly tell you that they, Disney and everyone else ripped him off.
I realize that some of the popularity of black music had to do with the fact that originally it was frowned upon to even admit to listening to it outside of, say, Paul Robeson singing "Ol' Man River" from Show Boat and the occasional Nat King Cole medley. But a lot of it had to do with the impassioned moaning, ululating style of singing that typically comes from the diaphragm rather than the throat (like in opera), the use of percussion and our love for pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable to sing about. From secret instructions in songs about the Bible on how to get away on the Underground Railroad to ordering you to "Pitch a wang dang doodle all night long" while dancing in a sexually suggestive manner.
Black music brings people together so it's only natural that a lot of white people, especially those who either grew up influenced by black rock n' roll of the 1950s or grew up watching MTV, would want to sing like the artists they admire the most. The TV show American Idol is living proof of that. I've heard numerous critics lament that the only style of singing the show tends to respect or reward is the screeching, belting, warbling, overwrought power ballads that thread the Aretha Franklin-Whitney Houston-Donna Summer-Celine Dion-Mariah Carey singing continuum.
I'm sorry, fellow music snobs. Trying to emulate Aretha or Etta James or Big Momma Thorton or Betty Wright became mainstream amongst female singers somewhere around 1968. The popularity of Mary J. Blige and Beyonce only reaffirm that the masses like their pop with a lot of black diva in it.
But there was a time when the "white sings black" paradigm was more of a novelty and often didn't involve someone who actually "sounded" black.
Like I'd never mistake Paul McCartney for Jackie Wilson, Mick Jagger for James Brown or Rod Stewart for Sam Cooke. (Not that I'm knocking any of these fellas for trying as I like The Beatles and love both The Rolling Stones and Stewart.) Elvis Presley got closer. If you can get over the fact that he basically took what every successful black bluesman in Memphis was doing and did it when those same black bluesmen could not get on national television and suggestively pump their pelvises for money, you can really enjoy the irony of Elvis crooning "In the Ghetto."
I swear, first time I heard this song when I was twenty it was the biggest "WTF" of my life, I kid you not.
But of this particular era Janis Joplin probably came the closest, raising the level of incredible with "Piece of My Heart," followed by a cadre of 1970s acts including Alicia Bridges, Average White Band, KC and the Sunshine Band, the Bee Gees, a pre-"Say No Go" Hall & Oates and a disco Rod Stewart on a near career respectability wrecking "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy."
Then along came two who, by far, are the black people's most beloved blue-eyed soul singers -- former Doobie Brother Michael McDonald and Tina Marie.
Marie was the first white singer signed by Motown and performed tracks with Rick James. McDonald (who's unusual singing style almost anyone can do a serviceable parody of) has put out excellent soul and R&B and even had the balls to take on Patti LaBelle in one of the greatest love duets of the 1980s, "On My Own."
Marie and the former Dobbie are immensely talented, yet despite their skills the number of white people singing like black people diminished greatly after the 1970s, leaving Marie and McDonald among the few, the proud, the only white R&B singers.
Then something very strange started in the mid-1990s.
At first it was just a few wanderers with mixed results. Like the soulful cool of Lisa Stansfield and the one-hit-wonder that was Jon B. The vanilla flavored alternative to New Edition -- New Kids on the Block.
Celine Dion showed up fresh from Canada with her huge pipes giving Mariah Carey a run for her time on the charts. Then after a plethora of pop boy bands and pop tartlets burst onto the scene, an explosion of white people singing soul and R&B seized the stage.
Christina Aguilera begat P!nk. P!nk begat Justin Timberlake. Timberlake begat Robin Thicke. And then came Jojo, Joss Stone, Anastasia, Amy Winehouse, Sia, Adele, Duffy, James Morrison, etc. A lot of these individuals, no surprise, are British carrying on and perfecting a musical tradition.
These weren't just white people who liked to sing with black people (see George Michael, Elton John, Madonna, Boy George or Annie Lennox). These are white people who sounded almost indistinguishable from their Negro contemporaries. Obviously growing up with a love for old soul and the new, they committed themselves to mastering the attitude and style with mixed cool points from African Americans.
A lot of the Brits get a general pass. Mostly because they're somewhat divorced from our little racial drama here in the US and their music is often not marketed to an urban audience because they're singing classic soul/R&B. As for the Americans, there's a constant debate going on. Black people like Christina Aguilera generally and P!nk has moved away some from her original R&B debut, going rock.
But, you can't bring up Timberlake or Thicke without a fight breaking out. Timberlake is sometimes seen as "the great pretender," the slippery, arrogant individual who cool hyped his way into black music, hiring the best black producers to make up for his shortfalls as a falsetto singer. Others just enjoy Timbaland's production and Timberlake's interpretation.
Thicke is often lumped in with Timberlake, but his falsetto is far superior with more clarity and control. He sometimes gets points for his pure workmanship (and some give him a pass for having a black wife).
But when you're a white American trying to make it in the R&B world with a black audience, not just white people, you're going to catch some additional scrutinty. We're the arbitrars of the cool and we take ownership of it. You sing, we decide if you're in it for the love or the exploitation. Because that's what it comes down to. Black people are forever concerned about being ripped off. Just as Little Richard still cries out for his lost earnings, so many black people are protective of their art, not wanting to see it coopted by individuals who show no love.
The fact is, the market doesn't care.
Americans love black music no matter who is singing it. Therefore Justin Timberlake doesn't have to meet "black" standards. By black standards he'd be fighting it out with Ne-Yo, Trey Songz, Mario and Omarion to get some airplay after Usher Raymond and R. Kelly. (If he would get signed to a label at all.) His sin was that he didn't meet the "standard." He wasn't as good or better than any black performer warbling. He was passable, but assisted by his own fame as the most talented singer in his former boy band. This is different from P!nk and Aguilera (especially P!nk) who both stuck to a more pure pop/R&B format, with P!nk directly going for a black audience when she first debuted.
In the end, things are much different now from how they were when Elvis coopted black style and made himself "The King." Hip hop is so authentically black that white rappers are actually at a terrible disadvantage when trying to get signed and promoted. And black performers now dominate The Grammys and the American Music Awards.
Aguilera has some incredible pipes, but she has to exist at the same time as Beyonce, Alicia Keys and Mary J. Blige. Even relative newcomer Keysha Cole could give Aguilera a run for her money. And black people shouldn't worry as much about whether or not Robin Thicke is a poser. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery and our people created one of the most imitated art forms in the world.
Let the white people sing.
This movie has a January 2009 release which isn't always the best sign. (Although a February release date is a death knell.) The movie features Angela Bassett as Voletta Wallace, Christopher "Biggie Smalls" Wallace's mother and Derek Luke as Sean "Diddy" Combs. Newcomer Jamal Woolard plays Biggie. I still have a bad "trainwreck" feeling about this and the trailer does not squash that feeling. The director is George Tillman Jr. who helmed both "Barbershop" films, "Soul Food" and "Roll Bounce." He might be able to pull it off. Maybe they'll cut together a better trailer that will make me less skeptical. Although, to be honest, I don't know why this movie is being made. Bad Boy is one of the producers so this isn't going to be an objective piece of art by any stretch. Any Biggie fans out there planning to watch this? (Black Voices)
Wayne Brady has always been a bit of a conundrum to me.
On one hand he is extremely talented and funny. On the other he can be cloying, annoying and corny. A lot of that has to do with the persona that works best for him on television, but he's obviously a gifted man with his ability to do improv and the hilarity that was his carjacking, pimping skit he did for Chappelle's Show a few years back. It demonstrated that Brady was self-aware and knew that the sight of him cursing and threatening prostitutes would be both jarring and ridiculously satirical. Next to "Black Bush" and "Rick James," it was one of my favorite skits.
That being said, Brady has just released an R&B album. He's a decent singer and dancer -- I'm shocked he hasn't been on Dancing With the Stars yet. White people love the shit out of him. He reminds me a bit of Johnny Gill, minus all sexual tension. Nice and neutered.
The song he's released, "Ordinary," is very, very ordinary. It's a generic pop/R&B song with no creativity or modern touches. It sounds like something from the mid-90s that Brian McKnight would have passed on.
Brian McKnight isn't exactly Mr. Sex Appeal, but he knows how to pick and write a good love ballad and/or slow jam as the anti-R. Kelly.
Other songs have more promise, like the somewhat Motown influenced but modern "I Ain't Movin" and "You and Me," but they're still a little lacking in umph. (You can hear the samples on his Web site.)
I probably won't buy the album. (What am I saying with the "probably?" I totally won't buy this.) I like my music with either complexity and inventiveness or I want it to be the slickest and sickest of commercialized pop. "Ordinary" is neither. Senor Baby Wipes, actor Terrence Howard, recently released an album and while he clearly needs a singing coach to improving his breathing control, it's sonically interesting. I actually downloaded a few tracks. I'm not saying Brady needs to go all fey on an album with string arrangements, flutes and childrens' choruses, but I think he could have gone a lot slicker and sicker than this. Why waste such good pipes on the pedestrian? His album should be all over-produced power ballads and funky, uptempo dance numbers for your moms.
Not ordinary.
I love Kanye, but ... yeah, that diva move did not help him any, but I stand by my earlier assertion. TMZ's stalkerazzi probably had it coming.
The McCain-Palin campaign appeared to adhere to the old journalism adage -- do first, apologize later.
Seems 70s/80s rock phenomenon and sisterly duo, Heart, did not appreciate their 1977 rock hit "Barracuda" being played in honor of the self-professed "Hockey Mom" of Wasilla, Alaska, Gov. Sarah "Barracuda" Palin.
Oh no. Heart didn't appreciate it at all:
Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart said Thursday night that Universal Music Publishing and Sony BMG have sent a cease and desist notice to the McCain-Palin campaign over their use of 'Barracuda.'
"We have asked the Republican campaign publicly not to use our music. We hope our wishes will be honored," the group said in a statement that said they "condemn" the use of the song at the Republican convention. (CNN)
Did anyone catch Solange Knowles on Letterman Monday night? I caught a glimpse of the performance on accident and was reminded, yet again, how much it sucks to be in the shadow of a sibling/spouse/parent who is bigger, badder and better than you at everything. An individual you will be compared to and will never be good enough to satisfy those who became enamored with your loved one/rival.
Solange is an average, but pretty performer who tries really, really hard and because of this I know that if she weren't the other daughter of Tina and Matthew Knowles, the parents who produced Beyonce, she would be doing anything but singing. She'd be in college. Or she'd be working at a bank or sewing in your weave. But she wouldn't be singing for her supper.
Not everyone can be Janet Jackson. Most are Tito Jackson. Not everyone is Eddie Murphy, but if Solange is lucky she can find her own niche like Charlie Murphy whose career was reborn once he started playing a thug life version of himself on the Chappelle Show and famously recounted tales of slap fights with Rick James.
Maybe Solange had slap fights with Rihanna or Jamie Lyn Spears or something. Maybe she got in a scuffle with Jennifer Freeman or Kyla Pratt or Meagan Good or Jurnee Smollette or [insert young blacktress here]. Maybe she's a better actress than her sister? Or designer? Or she could run for senate? But by singing and performing she is just ramming her head into a giant brick wall of Beyonce.
Every performance Solange gives will be like she just had to come on stage after her sister ripped it up dress in an homage to Josephine Baker while singing "Crazy In Love." It doesn't matter if Beyonce isn't anywhere in the room. That's what everyone is thinking.
She's a cute kid. It's a shame really. Especially the dancing. The dancing looked extra crazy. Some described it as "Suge Avery-esque." I would have gone with seizure-esque, but see, this, this is what happens when you're Beyonce's sister and you have no hips because you're skinny and you look ridiculous trying to dance like a wild woman like she does.
But shake that weave any ol' way. You'll figure it out on your own.
"Obama probably likes this song but he can't be like man this song is the shit when it talks badly about the other candidates. Luda is making some hot tracks as always." -- commenter Ek at the site Baller Status.
No. Not from the dude behind "Chicken and Beer!" How could he produce something deemed "offensive?" Not the guy both Bill O'Reilly and Oprah Winfrey have beef with. I'm shocked, I tell you. SHOCKED that a rapper/actor like Ludacris produced a hot track presidential candidate Barack Obama had to denounce. Shocked, I say!
From BBC News (thanks, Tamra and Bam):
The musician used a misogynistic term to describe Mrs. Clinton and urged Mr. Obama against appointing her as his running mate, saying that she "hated on you".
Mr McCain, the Republican candidate for the presidency, does not belong in "any chair unless he's paralyzed", according to the rapper.
Mr Burton added: "As Barack Obama has said many, many times in the past, rap lyrics today too often perpetuate misogyny, materialism, and degrading images that he doesn't want his daughters or any children exposed to."
The Ludacris song urges black people to cast their votes in the forthcoming election, and lends his support to Mr Obama's bid.
The lyric "the world is ready for change 'cause Obama is here" is repeated throughout the track.
In an interview with Rolling Stone magazine earlier this year, Mr Obama included Ludacris when describing hip-hop stars he considered "great talents and great businessmen."
Listen to the track at Pop Crunch.
In the song Luda says W. is the worst of all 43 presidents (for sure) and that Obama is his man because he complimented his business savvy. (He'd also like to be vice president. Hmm ... I'm still holding out for Will Smith.)
Of course the Obama campaign had to get out their denouncement pen to squash this little "paint the White house black" musical atom bomb.
A song by rap star Ludacris criticizing Barack Obama's opponents has been called "outrageously offensive" by the US presidential candidate's campaign.
(The song) "Politics As Usual" calls President Bush "mentally handicapped," and insults both Hillary Clinton and John McCain.
"Ludacris is a talented individual but he should be ashamed of these lyrics," said Mr. Obama's spokesman Bill Burton.
World is ready for change because Obama is here? I just can't hold back all this shock and awe. I'm just so very, very surprised. Oh dear. I think I caught the vapors!
Whew. Now that I've revived myself with some smelling salts I can finally address this issue with some clarity. Not known for their ability to keep it kosher, rappers are not the most, ahem, PC of poets to deal with politically. Traditionally, the classic progressive rapper was all about challenging the established order. Now most of those rappers have been reduced to indie status and the only commercially viable "conscious" rappers left are Nas, Lupe Fiasco and sometimes Kanye "George Bush doesn't care about black people" West.
But these rap individuals are not known for their class, and sometimes their acts of "art" can amount to cultural perfidy. I know some folks consider Luda an artist, but I can't say I'm a fan of his work. I didn't agree with Bill O'Reilly's foolish fatwa on the dude and I really thought he and other rappers should have just dropped the whole "Oprah won't have us on" beef because how hard rock are you if you want to be on Oprah's sensitive daytime hour for women of a certain age? Rapper/actor, be accountable for what you say. You knew you were going to piss of people when you wrote it, so seriously, who cares?
Well ... I guess the Obama campaign cares if a pro-Obama, anti-everyone else diss track comes out.
I'd like to give Luda the "Not Helping!" award today just to make a point, but the reality is Obama's campaign has brought out both the politics and the opportunism in rappers. There are going to be a lot of pro-Obama songs. Nas has his "Black President" jam (which is actually pretty awesome). But while Luda's "Politics As Usual" may be relevant, and some might even agree with the content of it, the Obama campaign can't afford to be cavorting with rappers who've extolled the virtues of licking a woman from her head to her toes. Wha-wha-wha-what's your fan-fan-fan-fantasy, Luda? A black president?
This is a time bomb of a thousand Sister Soulja Moments waiting to happen. Let the great rapper denouncement begin! I personally think the campaign should start "pre-denouncing" some rappers before they get creative. You know? As a form of rapper insurance. Come up with a good/bad rappers list and get to pre-denouncing. I nominate St. Louis' own Nelly. That whole credit card through the crack of a woman's ass could come back to hurt you, Barack. And put Lil' Jon on the list too. And T-Pain. And of course, Lil' Weezy. God. We can't have anyone thinking he speaks for the Great Black Hopemongerer. A matter of fact, all rappers are too risky. They've all dropped the n-word once or twice or a million times. They've all been dissed by Oprah and O'Reilly. They all still scare old white people even though rappers are staunch gun owning capitalists who should all really be Republicans by now anyway.
And The Daily Show agrees with me.
But rappers don't want to out themselves in that manner, I'm sure. Belonging to the GOP this year is not the hip, dope, fresh thing to do. So until the Republicans are able to lure them into their midst, a la Eazy-E, we're going to have to deal with things like this.
I'm not saying rappers should be silenced. Far from that. I'm pro-rappers rapping whatever exists in their little hearts. (Big ups to the First Amendment!) I'm just saying they should be prepared to get denounced, which could actually be a boon for them. After all, in rap all negatives are really positives. I'm sure Luda, et al, can flip this little snub into the ultimate megamix diss track. And that would really help Obama, because then he could disassociate himself from yet another group of undesirables.
You can't be the "rapper's choice" for prez if the rappers are rapping against you.
I don't know how this pass through my Snob radar, but actor, unrepentant black snob and baby wipes aficionado Terrence Howard has cut a record.
And it doesn't sound half bad. Seriously. This could have been a lot worse, but it's actually kind of awesome.
Snob reader Hollins JD Princess brought this to my attention a few days ago and I finally got around to checking Billy Dee Williams 2.0 out.
A lot of actors have attempted to release albums with mixed results. Eddie Murphy abused ear drums through "Put Your Mouth On Me." Scarlett Johansson was either terrible or terribly misunderstood through her cover album of Tom Waits' tracks, "Anywhere I Lay My Head." (I actually liked "Fannin Street" and "Falling Down." So her voice is so deep she sounds like a man? I still own Grace Jones' albums.) Jamie Foxx can warble a tune and I think I still have Arsenio Hall's Chucky A cassette tape somewhere, but the rule pretty much remains that if you're an actor who wants to sing -- don't quit your day job. I loved Ewan McGreggor in "Moulin Rouge" but I don't want to plunk down $17.99 for him doing covers of Coldplay and U2 songs.
Yet, Terrence may make me toss out a few dollars for a song or three. Why, pray tell, would I, a broke person, do such a thing?
1. His voice kind of reminds me of another "Terence" -- Terence Trent D'Arby, aka Mr. Sananda Maitreya, who I love, love, love almost as much as Prince.
2. The songs are what I like, an adventurous fusion of alternative rock, soul and pop. He doesn't have D'Arby range or heft (who rules this sort of fusion, bested only by Prince), but on "Love Makes You Beautiful" he comes as close to a D'Arby song as you can.
3. I didn't hear any vocoder abuse in the tracks promoted. That's a plus. Nor do the tracks sound like anything currently being played on Crap Radio right now. Howard has attempted a 100 percent for-black-snobs-by-a-black-snob project that could fit nicely between other black snob artists like British rocker Skin of Skunk Anansie, jazz saxophonist Joshua Redman and poet Gil Scott-Heron.
You will be accused by some of being pretentious or even queer for listening to Terrence's singing/songwriting debut -- which features string arrangements and children's choruses. Yes. It's that fey. But if you already listen to Skunk Anansie, TTD, all kinds of Prince or own a bunch of Meshell Ndegeocello albums you stopped caring that less astute Negroes thought your music collection was gay years ago.
4. I will admit to snickering a little as I imagined Terrence singing these songs to me, but once you get over that initial "you're kidding right?" attitude, it's pretty decent if you're into non-traditional R&B, which I am.
Now, if only he could get Sananda to re-record all the songs and put out a "Terence Sings Terrence!" album. Howard's voice is serviceable, but nothing beats the original Terence.
Hear Terrence Howard sing love ballads to you via MySpace here!
Cowgirl up.
Is there no place Vivica Fox won't go get drunk in? Does she even work anymore because I think she's trying to break Gabrielle Union's record for hitting more random parties featuring people she just barely knows. How tight could V be with the Simpson sisters that she was a VIP as Jessica's birthday party July 7th?
I'm really feeling Cassidy's retro pink tux with burgundy bowtie. It makes him look like a douche, but a clever, indie douche which is what I think he was going for. He's the Summer's Eve of ironic dressers. As for Russell Simmons over there and his usually dressing for understatement or ... no statement, well ... at least he showed up.
Professional MAW (model/actress/whatever) Cassie manufactures herself a wind blown look by standing in front of this floor fan. So is she still trying to sing? What's her hustle these days? She's cute as a button. Surely Tommy Hilfiger or someone has something for her to do besides show up at parties, stand near the closest fan and pretend like she's Madonna in "Desperately Seeking Susan." Or she can visualize herself in slo-mo like Pheobe Cates in "Fast Times in Ridgemount High." Dance seductively to herself like Halle Berry in "Strictly Business." Basically, I'm saying she's eye candy. She should stick with that.
Who are these Retro Kids? Do they have a single coming out or something because the constant emergence of their two-toned high top fades have my interests piqued. Are they concept art? A dance crew? Pranksters? Inquiring minds want to know!
Kat Deluna. Not digging the high waisted shorts. It's not that I don't like high waisted, let's go back to the 1940s high waisted short, it's just if you're going to go retro you should commit yourself to it. Christina Aguliera does this all the times, as the 30s and 40s are among her favorite fashion periods. Wear the crisply ironed white shirt. Wear the high, shiny, ruby red closed toe high heel. Get a neck scarf and put your hair in pin curls! Commit, woman! Commit!
Lizzie Grubman and Mashonda. She may not have gotten in much trouble for running over a punch of party goers with her car, but Lizzie face still looks like it did 30 years in Rikers.
JD ... The neck tats. Those google-eyes. Damn, it must be love for, Janet. It must be LOVE!!!
Another puffed up, Calvin-style, fitted cap. A red Palestinian style scarf. Aviator shades, Just-For-Me so-soft permed hair and a white T-shirt. If he didn't already look like every other rapper out there you'd never know his name was Unique.
America's Next Top Model winner Jaslene Gonzalez forgot something. And because she forgot that something (on purpose) she cannot bend, sit, tilt, walk, turn, nod or rotate her torso because one false move and the double stick tape could give way to a boob outage of major proportions. I get that she's dressed for attention. (Top Model's past is strewn with has-beens and never-wases) But she also looks like a walk-on in the soft core porno "Law and Oral: Sexual Vices Unit" and she's Asst. District Attorney Ora Gasms. She never loses a case because of her "special technique" at procuring confessions during plea bargains.
Then she'd do a three-way with Coco and Ice-T at the end of ever episode. Finally, Ice-T could combine both his work and his disgusting pleasures. Joy to all. Get Dick Wolf on the phone Jaslene!
Young Berg. There are sometimes no words. It's like you stole Pharrell Williams and Benji Madden's clothes, covered yourself in Lil' Wayne's tats and you are still carrying that Autobot bling like a tire iron around your neck. And the fat, tongue out red Chucks? Very All-Star-esque. Pardon me while I puke up a Hot Topic.
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