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When Jazmine Sullivan finally returned with new music via “Dumb,” featuring fellow PhiladelphianMeek Mill, the moment sort of came and went. It’s not that people haven’t been yearning for her return since she took to Twitter exactly four years ago to say she was taking time away from music; but the track did not command attention the way previous offerings like “Need You Bad” and “Bust Your Windows” did.

Recently, Sullivan was asked if “Elevatorgate” involving Solange, Jay Z, and Beyoncé had something to do with the single’s lack of attention in an interview with Power 105’s “The Breakfast Club.” Sullivan answered: “I did feel like that situation kind of took away from it, but it’s cool. I got a lot more songs on the album that I personally think are doper.”

The Carters and Sister Knowles don’t have anything to do with it; it’s evident by the reaction to the “doper” songs.

Excitement was there for other offerings like “Forever Don’t Last,” which is simple in its production (just acoustic guitar and vocals) but far more of a statement because it’s Sullivan at her best: painting a picture with her lyrics, capturing the tone of breakup perfectly with her voice, and letting both carry the song. However, on the other release from her new album, Reality Show,“Mascara,” Sullivan sings with the immediacy and flair of a rapper.

“Yeah, my hair and my ass fake, but so what? I get my rent paid with it.”

Initially, I likened the track to Amy Winehouse’s “Fuck Me Pumps.” Yet, Sullivan is not bashing “those kind of girls” the way Winehouse once skewered. The point of Reality Show, and perhaps, Sullivan’s mission moving forward, is to lend voice to women who often find themselves the subject of conversation, but never with a microphone. In theory, that’s the purpose of reality TV, though as VH1, Oxygen, and Bravo have taught us, that isn’t always the case.

Read the rest at Complex.

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My immediate reaction to Kendrick Lamar’s interview with Billboard magazine was to add his name to the list of stars who need to be sent to the Island of Wayward Negroes. A list that includes names like Don Lemon, Whoopi Goldberg, and the “labels” one herself, Raven-Symoné. Well meaning or not, Lamar invoked God to defend Iggy Azalea and respectability politics to partially excuse law enforcement’s collective assault on Black people. The rapper from Compton sounded like one of those AARP-aged Blacks who thinks the Lord will deliver us from evil (aka white supremacy) the second we pull up our pants and leave that white woman who’s really just trying to make an honest living via a pop-rap career alone.

When asked about the killings of Black men and women at the hands of police officers last year, Lamar did acknowledge that Michael Brown’s death should’ve “never happened,” only he added, “But when we don’t have respect for ourselves, how do we expect them to respect us? It starts from within. Don’t start with just a rally, don’t start from looting— it starts from within.”

Lamar took the complex problem of institutionalized racism and offered up the equivalent of an inspirational meme found on Instagram as a solution.

It’s bad enough when white people tell us that the onus of racism is on the victim to fix and not the culprit, but it is particularly bothersome when someone who looks like us makes that same case— to a mainstream outlet, no less.

It does not matter if you dress like an investment banker or someone who has used a payday loan to get by: If you are Black, racism will reduce to you pigmentation and the prejudices that will follow.

The same can be said if you speak as eloquently as President Barack Obama or as rambly and somewhat incoherent as my new musical play cousins, Rae Sremmurd.

However, as disappointed as I am in Lamar’s answer, upon more reflection I’m more inclined to sign up for a book club than send him an itinerary for a permanent trip to a far away land. In the profile, Billboard’s Gavin Edwards writes, “Surprisingly for such a hyperliterate lyricist, Lamar is not much of a reader, saying that he mostly learns by talking to people from different walks of life.”

As great as conversation is, so are books in tackling complicated matters like racism. Hopefully, Lamar will learn that having respect for one’s self does not matter if the person with power has no regard for you or your life. That aside, Lamar’s comments about Azalea remain irksome.

When the Australian rapper came up in the interview, Lamar said, “She’s doing her thing. Let her. People have to go through trials and tribulations to get where they at. Do your thing, continue to rock it, because obviously God wants you here.”

Again, hokey language being used to de-legitimize credible complaints about racially-motivated biases.

To be fair, Lamar’s cousin is Los Angeles Lakers star Nick Young, who is dating Azalea — and that puts him in an awkward position. Still, while it’s one thing to not go out of your way to insult  a family member, it’s another to argue that someone is ordained to perform in audible Blackface.

I don’t like when people use God as a shield for their half-thought out musings. I also have a hard time thinking God really gives that great a damn if Azalea builds a fortune biting the flow of Charli Baltimore and the voice of Diamond on a track that sounds like discount DJ Mustard.

Read the rest at The Urban Daily.

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People like Republican politician Mike Huckabee remind me of the personal pitfalls one endures when they lead a life in which they think sex works best in missionary and with a marriage license for the sole purpose of procreation. The former Arkansas governor and Baptist minister also reminds me of the virtues of shutting the hell up and minding one’s business.

However, Huckabee has a long history of telling others what they should and should not be doing — most notably, women who dare to take ownership of their sexuality. He won’t stop any time soon with the promotion of his new book, God, Guns, Grits, and Gravy. Huckabee aims his God and gun at various targets, though his critiques of Beyoncé have drawn the biggest headlines.

The book seems to read as exactly as it sounds, so I look forward to kicking it over once I spot in the clearance aisle. In it, Huckabee slams Beyoncé for her “obnoxious and toxic mental poison in the form of song lyrics,” and though he says she’s a “terrific dancer,” he suggests that some of her choreography is “best left for the privacy of her bedroom.” People with no rhythm are such a nasty bunch.

Huckabee goes on to criticize Jay Z, explaining, “Jay Z is a very shrewd businessman, but I wonder: Does it occur to him that he is arguably crossing the line from husband to pimp by exploiting his wife as a sex object?”

Here’s a better question: Why does Beyoncé need her husband’s permission to be sexual? Huckabee went on to criticize the Obamas, especially First Lady Michelle Obama, by targeting both her parenting skills and her healthy eating initiative for children, quipping that when it comes to Beyoncé’s music, “If lived out, those lyrics would be far more devastating to someone’s health than a cupcake.”

Actually, I’m almost certain safe sex between two consenting adults is far healthier than eating a cupcake— at least the former is exercise and gluten free.

Joining Huckabee in the “White Men For Policing A Black Woman’s Body” squad is former Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke. Last month, Duke bashed Minaj’s purported “disgusting and horrific and violent and drug-drenched” music: “Why do people blame blacks like Minaj? Because Minaj wouldn’t be a pimple on somebody’s rear end except for the fact that she is promoted by the Jewish record producers and the media, the mass media, the powerful media, that promotes absolute degenerates like her.”

Read the rest at The Urban Daily.

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On Friday, I had the pleasure of being a guest on the fantastic Janet Mock’s new show, So Popular, which airs on MSNBC’s Shift.

The segment was called “How the media portrays gay men of color” and was based on Lee Daniels’ new show, Empire. Lee Daniels says he is using the show to both feature a different kind of Black gay man on TV while “exposing” homophobia in the Black community. You know, ’cause no one ever talks about that.

In any event, you can catch it here.

It was so much fun and I’m glad Janet let me pitch this. And if you want to check out the article referenced in the segment, you can do so here.

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After the airing of the comically abysmal Aaliyah: Princess of R&B, Lifetime and first-time director Angela Bassett had it pretty easy when it came to their Whitney Houston biopic: just don’t be as awful as that movie and reap the benefits of low expectations. 

In that respect, Whitney won; it is not terrible, and if nothing else, watchable. However, a movie about an artist as captivating on and off stage as Whitney Houston deserves more than just passable competence (and that’s being generous). Similarly, if you’re going to call the movie Whitney, it should not come across as a project that would’ve been served better had it been called The Miseducation of Bobby Brown

We knew Whitney would cover the first five years of Whitney Houston’s tumultuous relationship with the “Kang of R&B,” Bobby Brown, but none of us were clued into how skewed the narrative would play in Bobby’s favor. In this movie, Bobby was some wide-eyed second tier singer who behaved as if he hadn’t ever been anywhere when he met Whitney. This, despite the reality that Bobby Brown had been famous since he was a very young teenager as a part of New Edition and netted his own colossal fame as a solo act in the 1980s.

That’s the least mind-boggling of the twists, though.

This sweet, suburbanized Bobby Brown remained sober with Whitney until well into an hour after the movie started. By comparison, Whitney and her nose were regularly deep snow diving within the first half hour. And she noticeably got high whenever Bobby pissed her off.

As for Bobby, you know, he was just a sweet man. He loved Whitney so much and did everything he could to make her feel her best self. Ever the gentleman, he unselfishly supported her booming career as his declined. Both Whitney and Bobby have made statements that counter that talking point, but why bother with accuracy when making a movie about someone’s life? At one point, I was waiting for Bobby to leave Whitney to go hang out with Jesus and MLK at Oprah’s house.

I am not one of those people still clinging to the pristine, upper class girl image that Clive Davis crafted for Whitney Houston. Nor do I believe Bobby Brown was a monster that brought Whitney down. Bobby could’ve very well been just a casual drug user and alcoholic who through his relationship with Whitney became a hardcore user.

Either way, what we see in Whitney feels unfair to its namesake.

Read the rest at Complex.

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When it comes to plastic surgery, there’s a thin line between Kelly Rowland and Lil’ Kim, any face after the La Bella Mafia album.

The general consensus is that some cosmetic work looks better than others, but far too often and more frequently than ever do we forget than it’s about choice and no matter how we feel about it, there should be some level of respect for people choosing to do as they please with their bodies. For Danity Kane standout turned solo artist Dawn Richard, she unfortunately finds herself routinely ostracized for her noticeably slimmer nose.

Last month, seemingly fed up with it, she took to Instagram and posted: “Same people saying this ‘she was prettier before’ crap are the people that said I was a tranny in 2009. Make up your mind lawd. Meanwhile I’m really a cyborg ( I see this post went over damn near everyone’s head) lmao.”

And on Twitter, she responded to a fan who wrote “God don’t recognize you,” with “as long as the checks still recognize me we good.”

Amen.

Her clap back has not stopped the criticism. With every new Instagram upload comes a virtual back and forth about her new nose. One user left the comment, “The fuck u done to your nose?”

The answer is simple: what she wanted to do with it.

But, when it comes to surgery, particularly when a Black person does it and the target is their nose, the projections creep in. On some level, it’s understandable. One of the most famous Black families ever – the Jacksons – saw an overwhelming majority of its members chop their noses down substantially. Their father, Joe Jackson, beat it into their psyches that their broad, especially Black noses was a trait to cry over as opposed to celebrate – sending them all running to surgeons at light speed.

Some got noticeably carried away and now the stigma applies to any famous Black person who follows suit. And as previously mentioned, Lil’ Kim has remixed her face to the point where she is completely unrecognizable from the woman we met in 1996. Yes, many of us have stigmas about big noses, but maybe it’s time we learn to give our peers the benefit of the doubt.

I don’t know why Dawn Richards decided to change her face. On some level, maybe the criticism – transphobic and audaciously ugly – got to her and sparked her desire to change. In 2012, Dawn was asked about the hardships darker skinned Black women face in R&B (in a very bleak period for the genre at that) and while discussing major labels liking her work but weary of signing her noted, “Why would you take a risk on a brown girl? There’s no brown girl considered pretty right now poppin’ in the game. A dark skinned game. Kelly Rowland? There are, but I’m talking about in that crossover world. They’re not allowing it.”

I don’t know if the new face is in conjunction with the promotion of her new album, Blackheart, out this week, or if it’s mere coincidence.

I am sure of a few things, though. Her work appears tasteful; she looks pretty, though she was a standout before the smaller nose. Even if the work is connected to the pressures of being a Black woman trying to excel in the entertainment industry, she should not be attacked relentlessly for doing what she thought was best to deal with the burdens of a disease she didn’t create. There’s also a difference between sending someone a positive affirmation in the name of promoting self-love and policing someone’s body.

Read more at EBONY.

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The best part of Empire’s second episode is the same as last week’s series premiere: Cookie (played by Taraji P. Henson). She’s rude as hell, abrasive, and randomly shows up at other people’s houses and asks for bacon. In other words, she’s perfect. Now, the worst part of this show thus far is the music we’re being subjected to between scenes, but let’s accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative.

Cookie and Lucious continue to wrestle over control of Empire Entertainment, but more specifically, the fate of their two sons: Jamal and Hakeem. Cookie arrives at Lucious’ estate to demand that Jamal, the icky gay one in Lucious’ eyes, be allowed perform at the opening of Leviticus, Lucious’ new club. Just like Hakeem. Lucious says no and Cookie blurts out in front of Lucious’ new wife, Anika, that it was her $400,000 in drug money that launched Empire Entertainment.

Lucious reminds Cookie that she signed a nondisclosure agreement, though one wonders why he, an ex-drug dealer himself, would think an NDA would spook a woman who just did hard time for a drug charge.

Meanwhile, we learn that Cookie and Lucious’ other son, the scheming suit Andre, has bipolar disorder. He’s not taking his meds, though, so his wife pushes him to do so as best she knows how: by seducing him and performing fellatio…with a bib. That’s like head for neat freaks, but if that’s a turn-on for some people, salute.

Speaking of illnesses, Lucious’ assistant, Becky, uses his bathroom and after nosily looking up his prescription meds, realizes that her boss has ALS. No one else can know, Lucious explains, and since Becky seems loyal, it’ll be a while before the rest find out. One quick note: I’m glad Lucious lost the perm, but can we get Becky a new wig?

Andre may not be taking his meds, but he’s still pitting his parents and siblings against each other in a power grab. When Cookie’s assistant Porsha—who is amazing, by the way—suggests that Jamal come out via press conference, Andre tells Lucious, who instantly gets pissed and threatens to cut Jamal off financially.

Lucious tells Jamal that if he comes out, Empire Records will lose artists. This is where it gets tricky. On one end, we watch Lucious apologize to President Obama when Hakeem’s video of him acting an ass and trashing POTUS go viral, which suggests this show is set in 2015. But then we’re met with some homophobia in hip-hop scenario that reads as dated. Yes, there is homophobia in hip-hop, and in the black community too, but in 2015 would a gay artist on a label really scare a bunch of rappers away?

Some would immediately answer yes, but over the years Jay Z has voiced support for marriage equality while rappers like Fat Joe, Kanye West, A$AP Rocky, 50 Cent and others have disavowed homophobia. Frank Ocean’s success is pretty much a testament that the tide is changing. I’d love to compare this to the worlds of country and rock music.

Read the rest at Complex.

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Mitt Romney has as strong a shot of becoming the next president as NeNe Leakes does becoming the 2015 Miss Teen USA.

Based on previous interviews, Romney seemed to be aware of his chances at once again becoming the de facto leader of the Republican Party. Throughout 2014, Mitt Romney was asked the following: “Are you going to run in 2016?” Each time, the former Massachusetts governor, 2012 Republican presidential nominee, and 2008 Republican presidential primary candidate loser answered no.

The reasons why varied.

On CBS’s Face The Nation, Romney said he wasn’t thinking about himself in the 2016 race, but rather, “No, I’m thinking about the people who I want to see running for president, and there’s quite a group.”

In an interview on The Hugh Hewitt Radio Show, Romney was frank about why he wouldn’t bother, explaining that was his “belief that someone else stands a better chance of winning than I do.

When hit again with this question on FOX News Sunday last November, Romney repeatedly said, “I’m not planning on running.” One month prior, his wife, Ann Romney, ‘Completely. Not only Mitt and I are done, but the kids are done. Done. Done. Done.”

So much for that.

According to MSNBC, a source close to Mitt Romney revealed, “He’s more open to it, based on all the encouragement he’s received.” It was not a declaration; more like  a not so subtle nod to potential GOP donors that if they’re willing to throw some money behind him, he’s willing to give it another go. And then Romney himself became more blunt about his interest.

On Friday, Romney reportedly told a “room full of powerful Republican donors” that “I want to be president.” As for his wife, she has changed her mind and is now “very encouraging.” His sons are said to be conflicted and split down the middle — proving at least two of the Romney sons have a more realistic view of the world than their parents.

Even the often-obtuse head of the RNC knows this is a bad move. The New York Times reports that at this month’s Republican National Committee fundraiser at the Union League Club in New York City, Reince Priebus did his part “to remind donors deluded by a Romney repeat run just how terrible a campaign Romney ’12 was.”

As much as Romney’s massive wealth was made an issue, it wasn’t so much the problem as was Romney’s failure to understand the world outside his own privileged life. The “47 percent” comment hurt, but so did the manner in which he spoke about diversity–the infamous “binders full of women” remark is perhaps the most noteworthy example.

Then there were campaign stops like the one Romney made in 2012 at a West Philadelphia charter school. There, Romney said, “I come to learn, obviously, from people who are having experiences that are unique and instructive.” What he actually did, though, was lament about the importance of having a two-parent household — which should’ve earned him a dunce cap that day, given that former President George W. Bush’s Healthy Marriage Initiative had already proven itself to be a failure.

This is why as “eccentric” as many (rightfully) find him, Rand Paul makes more sense on addressing inequality than relics like Mitt Romney.

And given the way Romney interacts with Black kids, I’m so not keen on the prospect of Romney visiting a community center and asking, “So can you guys show me and Ann how to twerk?”

Read more at EBONY.

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I’ve been recapping the Love & Hip Hop franchise for about two years now, though I intentionally didn’t seek out trying to write about the newest season of its flagship, Love & Hip Hop: New York.

As much as I enjoy Atlanta and now Hollywood, the New York edition tends to depress me. Even in the mess of Atlanta, there is a lot of humor there. Hollywood, too, only as the season dragged on, I noticed it was getting funny in “Ha ha, I’ll be dead soon, so fuck you pain, I’m leaving anyway” fashion. But with New York, it’s just sad on top of sad.

Like, I can find the humor in the neighborhood drunk saying outlandish things at the gas station, the liquor store, and the Church’s chicken drive-thru. However, it becomes less funny when you tell me he’s actually a schizophrenic who is self-medicating. Yes, I’m speaking from experience, and yes, I think this perfectly explains why I’m weary on writing about New York. I have been watching, though, and I have a few thoughts, particularly about the most recent episode.

Yo, these motherfuckers put the r-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u in ridiculous.

For starters, there is Diamond, who admittedly went to New York without her child to live with a man she dated from a distance for two years. Oh, and she wants to pursue modeling because of course she does. They are so close as a couple, and yet, Diamond never told Cisco that she has a baby that’s old enough to say, “Mama, I want some McNuggets with a girl toy.” Once she arrives in New York, this boyfriend sets her up to live with someone else.

I don’t even know you and I hate you…

Once she finally decides to tell her “boyfriend” about the baby she had more than ’bout a week ago, he spazzes on her and proceeds to belittle her and whatever lil’ relationship they had. He has trust issues, which Darryl Strawberry’s daughter just triggered. But surprise, surprise, this man has a baby his damn self and he made it while the two were “dating.”

Diamond’s mama is like, “Bitch, I told you about this man. Bring your ass home.” Diamond doesn’t want to come home, but her mama wants to find him on the street. I like Diamond’s mama. Can she be on this show? She looks like Yolanda Adams, but without the wealth. So tanned, older Mimi Faust.

That’s no shade because based on mama’s conversation with Diamond’s sort of boo thang, she slaps the shit out of people with brass knuckles.

This man is not even the worst person on this show.

That contest is between Peter Gunz and Erica Mena.

The thing about Erica and Cyn’s relationship is that it was always like Tia and Tamera pretending to be lesbians, minus the incest aspect. They’re literally the same person – Latina women looking for a come up by way of companionship – so it was only a matter of time before another person’s genitalia smacked one in the mouth, and the other, in the heart. Cyn is mad at Erica because she licked champagne off the ass of another woman at a club party she got paid some money to “host.” Erica becomes mad at Cyn after he gay homeboy claims Cyn is fucking some dude in Dyckman.

What I like about Cyn is that she calls Erica on her bullshit. Plus, she’s really, really fine. I don’t swing that way, but I definitely wouldn’t mind forming an exploratory committee.

Now, my fellow Bison Yandy: Girl, look at your life and look at your choices.

I mean, yes Mendeecees is bae and kind of bae, but he’s on bond awaiting a drug related trial with the fucking feds. So, with that intel in mind, why would Yandy gleefully show up to the basketball court with a gift wrapped positive pregnancy taste? First of all, that’s one of the most hood sentences I’ve ever typed. Like, even more than, “My pops has gold trim and is still talking about stabbing niggas at 60.”

Even Mendeecees is telling Yandy how he love the kids, but I caught a case, remember? In response, she still grins to say, “Well, I mean, I’ll bring the kids to see you in prison.” He’s like yo-yo-yo, don’t say no shit like that. Wait, did I just top the most hood sentence honors already?

Then there is Tara, who swears she’s taking romantic getaways with the man who cheated on her and married someone else after spending his entire life being an unattainable bachelor “for the kids.” She fixed her mouth to say, “We are going to give the boys something to remember.” Yes, because your young children need to remember you backing your ass up on daddy in the Caribbean.

And because Peter has no soul, he lied to his wife, Amina, about his whereabouts. He told Amina’s ditzy self that he hopped on a plane to work on a deal for “an energy drink in Trinidad.” He used this as an opportunity to try and get back with Tara, and at one point, told her to own up to the reality that if she weren’t still interested in him, she wouldn’t have gone on that trip.

That seemed to spark the light her ass needed to finally blow up on his cheating ass. It was the best Tyler Perry scene ever. Think: If Tyler knew what he was doing.

Bottom line, she yelled at him a lot – deservingly so – and took a butcher knife to his bullshit. She let him know, “I want you to leave me the fuck alone. I gave you time.” Yes, Tara. Exhale, shoop shoop.

As for Chrissy, that white woman with Chink Santana, aka the dude who worked with Ashanti when the world really cared is a lot, what in the hell is this supposed to be? She comes out of nowhere to claim she was the Heidi Fleiss of the hood during the Reconstruction era and that Erica used to work for her. It’s not that I couldn’t see Erica as an escort; I could see that shit without my contacts. However, I believe Erica when she says that woman just wants to use her for camera time.

With respect to her relationship problems: Your boyfriend is married; case dismissed.

See everyone in Atlanta.

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Based on optics alone, it’s pretty clear that the only breakfast club Nicki Minaj will ever deal with in the future will be purchased en route to her mama’s house in Queens.

There had already been bad blood between she and the hosts of “The Breakfast Club”  – Charlamagne anyway – but booking Scaff Beezy to talk about their fallen relationship just did wonders for “Ebro In The Morning.” Even so, while Scaff did do an interview on a program she seems to be permanently distanced from, he wasn’t disrespectful. He’s boy Karreuche Tran and whether or not you think it was fair for him to speak out “all of a sudden” depends on how you feel about the whole famous for fucking someone else famous trend.

For the most part, he just seems fed up and exhausted by the entire situation, namely having his name soiled by a scorned ex. Now, he completely sidestepped that situation in Texas that TMZ reported on years ago, so I’m not completely sure if he was not abusive at any point in their relationship.

Whatever the case, this interview made me sad. Like, turn on some Sade for him sad. That aside, I do wish some Black mama nearby had hit the studio to tell him what Black mamas tell similar guilty parties: “BOY, STOP SMACKING!”

I’d also like to know if he got his fur coat from the set of the “Hate Me Now” video? I dare one of y’all to tell me that it doesn’t look like he stole that from the set of a P. Diddy-related video. Inquiring minds would like to know if you pulled that from the closets of 1999, sir.

And so we’re clear, I can see Nicki being bitchy to him towards the end. I love Nicki and I fear Team Minaj, but she’s not exactly the sweetest person. If she feels comfortable bitching out an interviewer at any given second, imagine how she gets with you when she’s most comfortable.

That said, the only part I don’t like about this interview are the gendered questions Charlamagne and DJ Envy aimed at Scaff about his role in helping Nicki make her material.

It is not uncommon for people in the studio – producers, songwriters, your cousin with rap dreams, good ideas, but no flow – to throw in a line or three while a rapper is recording. Scaff himself said “everyone gets help.” Still, they belabored the point and asked leading questions like whether or not the real reason Nicki didn’t want Scaff to write was due to concerns audiences would hear both and wonder why they sound similar.

That plays into a common theme about women in rap – men, behind the scenes, pulling the strings and writing their lines – and I’m glad the one woman in the room, Angela Yee, at least tried to diffuse it. Scaff didn’t do enough to do so and that makes him look petty and perhaps somewhat deserving of the public displays of contempt.

It’s one thing to take issue with Nicki taking issue with you; it’s another to try and discredit her or try to expose her as some kind of hypocrite. To be on morning radio is to be a shitstarter, but some shit you can keep to yourself

I’m not just saying that because Nicki Minaj lyrics often serve as my morning meditation either. This all lends credence to all of the musings Nicki has had about sexism in recent interviews. The same goes for the question “Did Nicki dehumanize you?” You mean, exactly how male rappers often treat their girlfriends? Where are the men to ask their girlfriends if their rapping boyfriend is dehumanizing them by keeping their relationship a secret?

Overall, I appreciated Scaff being comfortable enough with himself to openly admit how fucked up and emotionally daunting a breakup can be. He sounded like a Carl Thomas album and I can appreciate that. The rest, not so much. Men can be so terrible, y’all.

I’m sorry.

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