As I Am

Some people are under the impression that I hate Alicia Keys. It’s not that I hate her — it’s just that I refuse to drink the Kool-Aid.

In 2001 the Clive Davis protégé was touted as “Bigge meets Beethoven,” – a piano playing prodigy that fused the classic soul of the 60s with the grit of hip hop destined to breathe new life in a sinking genre.

Then I heard Songs In A Minor, a solid but unconvincing effort to persuade me that Alicia Keys was in fact the second coming. There were some highlights, like the first single, “Fallin’,” but part of that song’s allure came in its sound — credit that belongs to James Brown considering the song lifts heavily from “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World.”

Sure, she did great covers of Prince and Brian McKnight on the album, but so do most Top 10 contestants from American Idol. By the way, another track from her debut boosts “inspiration” from someone else’s composition: “Loving You” owes a bit of gratitude to Aretha Franklin’s “Natural Woman.” I suppose when you’re affiliated with Clive Davis, selective listings of samples and interpolations are a right, not a privilege.

With her sophomore effort, The Diary of Alicia Keys, the would-be savior of soul delivered the remarkable single, “You Don’t Know My Name.” Beautifully sang, written, and produced, the song is by far one of the best R&B singles released this decade. Equally grand is its follow-up, “If I Ain’t Got You.” But the rest of the album is a mixed bag. Her lauded songwriting capabilities weren’t highlighted on songs like “Dragon Days.”

“Like a damsel in distress, I’m stressing you”.

Seriously?

Though she faltered on some songs, Alicia showed promised that she is indeed capable of producing her own classic album.

However, that album is not As I Am. While many will sneer at the suggestion, more times than not, Alicia Keys comes across just as pre-packaged and transparent as the very pop contemporaries her handlers hail her to be the antithesis to. Indeed not all gimmicks are created equal.

When the hype machine for As I Am was set in motion, the sound of the album was described as “Janis Joplin meets Aretha Franklin.” Modesty aside, once you throw the weight of those names around, it’s understandable that expectations become high. Word soon followed that Linda Perry and John Mayer were being added to the production roster. Let the push for bigger audiences, and displaying ‘growth’ and ‘maturity’ to secure an album of the year nomination begin.

I’m sure she’ll get it. She’ll sell millions of albums, win a bevy of awards, and continue to be celebrated as a phenom. But in a current climate of music that will reward people that can come up with glorified advertisements for expensive bottles of liquor, shoes, and designer duds, there’s only so much value you can place in an industry hailing someone for being so good because everyone else is so bad.

Is the album that bad? No, but it’s not as good as her record company’s press release will have you believe it to be either.

The kickoff single “No One,” while catchy, features Keys offering a shouting-inspired method of singing – leaving her sounding incredibly off pitch and leading one to wonder what effects this will have on her vocal chords in the future.

That same fear is shared on other songs included on As I Am. The idea of her singing out of her natural range may be intended to convey pain and conviction, but it only makes me want to send a couple of tea bags her way.

And when you’re heralded as a songwriter, you expect more than an onslaught of cliché’s. There are generic qualities to “Prelude to a Kiss” and “Superwoman.” Though the former is intended to be considered personal, and the latter empowering, both are cliché-ridden fodder with predictable production values. Does soul come in a can now or something?

“Sure Looks Good To Me” doesn’t help matters, offering trite musings like, “So, don’t rain on my parade. Life’s too short to waste one day.”

Someone strip Alicia of her umbrella. She’s capable of so much more than this.

I know because I listened to the album’s best track, “Like You’ll Never See Me Again,” which delivers on the promise of “You Don’t Know My Name.” It’s a dreamy, sensual groove that effectively captures the era where Prince reigned supreme in all of his purple splendor.

Other gems on As I Am include “Lesson Learned,” a joyous collaboration with John Mayer, and the nostalgia-driven “Wreckless Love.”

None of her albums have yet to wow me, but these songs remind me that Alicia Keys still has the potential to. But when her run of the mill offerings can get above average praise, what’s going to be the driving force that pushes her to dig a little deeper and aim higher?

I’m hoping it comes from Alicia herself. I may not be a believer, but I’m not a complete skeptic. She’s adept at rehashing other people’s classics, but I want to hold on to the belief that she can craft her own any day now.

The Lost Boys

At what point in your life do you take a step back, look in the mirror, and say to yourself, “You know what? Let me take this off. I’m getting too old for this look?”

When you start to ponder if you look silly…

…or totally ridiculous?

By the way, Pissy, Zorro called: He’d like his mask and his swagger back. And baby hair only works for babies.

I’m not saying once you reach a certain age you should start wearing suits everyday and become boring, dull, and lifeless. But, when you’re inching closer and closer to 40, do you want to dress like you’re ready to tell someone “Now watch me…yuuuuuule” at any second?

Is 30 the new 20 because we’re living longer or is it because people want to lead 20 something lives longer than time allots?

There’s always been the stereotype that women hate aging, but more and more it seems as if men have as much problem with getting older as their female counterparts.

Take LL, who often looks like a walking advertisement for botox.

Then there’s J.D., who mostly likely cut his braids only because of his receding hairline.

As I get older, I wonder how my behavior will change. When I’m 30, I don’t see anything wrong with being in the club.

At the same time, I don’t want to end being the old man at the club. If Jay and Jermaine weren’t rich, don’t you think people would be asking why are Sanford and Son still dressing like the kids? And after a while, you go from that to this:

I don’t want to end up 87 still getting giddy about being in VIP. If you’re old enough to remember black and white televisions, stay home. Pop-Pop and Grady look like old school players, don’t they? I wouldn’t be surprised if they have eight prescription bottles stashed in the pockets of their suit jackets, though.

So many older artists are doing a complete backtrack in an effort to appeal to consumers who just left prom.

Isn’t R.Kelly too old and too creepy to still be looking for new McDonalds play-land friends to play “sprinkle, sprinkle” with?

And after a certain age, does it ever get old to glorify drugs and materialism?

Here’s to hoping I can age gracefully and get to the point where I’m content with my age, leaving the matter of proving anything to those still trying to find their own way —like wack tats on the right and the Lost Boys pictured above.

I realize you’re only as old as you feel — but some of these people look and sound the fool. Feel me?

G.I. T.I. Speaks

This is T.I.’s first public statement since he was arrested for swagger jacking G.I. Joe.

A couple of things:

1. What’s up with the orange robe? He looks like a hood Hugh Hefner. And I don’t know about ya’ll, but if I were him, right about now I’d be avoiding the color orange at all cost.

2. Is he really shouting out his lawyers and the judge like he’s at the podium accepting the award for rapper most likely to end up like 2 Pac for having the #1 album while in prison?

3. “…and I got faith in the system. You know, America is a wonderful country.”

Suck up.

4. “Im gettin a lot of work done man, a lot of music man being recorded. But, my main message is its not over (pause) and the King aint dead!”

Watch this album be the best selling of his career.

5. By the way, “streetcred.com?” I know that T.I. owns the site (hence the “Hip Hop Icon” tag placed under his name), but how do you think a presiding judge will feel about a convicted felon accused of buying the Cobra clan’s leftovers issuing public statements on a site called streetcred.com? Just a thought.

Nelly: But Halle Did It, Too!

It’s been four years since the video release of “Tip Drill” and now Nelly wants to talk about it. I’m guessing his decision to not shut up about it now has more to do with generating buzz for the December release of his album, Brass Knuckles, than a genuine interest to engage fans and critics in an open debate over the accusations that hip hop is misogynistic and objectifies women. When you have to fish back that far to maintain some degree of relevance, there’s a problem. That’s what happens when you release bullshit like “Wadsyaname” as your lead single. The song has been met with the same amount of fanfare as the idea of a Star Jones and Al Reynolds sex tape.

His arguments on this matter have ranged from the asinine to the absurd. Now he just needs to shut up.

In an interview with SOHH, the nursery rhyme-inspired rapper argues that there is a double standard where actors can simulate sex scenes without scrutiny yet rappers are criticized for having half-naked women in their videos.

Who knew Nelly was a subscriber?

He goes on:

Monster’s Ball is a twisted love story about a racist white prison guard falling in love with a black woman whose husband he executed. “Tip Drill” is about ugly strippers with big asses that you want to drill with the tip of your dick, or if you interpret another way (as it’s still debated in some circles) a chick you run a train on.

Though I found the love scene between Billy Bob and Halle to be an eye and ear sore (“Do something to make me feel good” = bah), I have a hard time getting the comparison. One is a full length movie that’s not limited to sex while the other is a little over seven minutes of ass jiggling, smacking, credit card down the crack swiping fused with a repetitive chorus and cheesy grins.

Nelly says he wants to be recognized for his charitable contributions, not the images found in his videos.

Well band aid boy, when the seed money you earn to make these charitable contributions (which are commendable), stems from your music, why are you shocked when attention swings to it, derrty?

It’s never “I take responsibility for my actions,” it’s always, “But they did it, too!” That doesn’t work over the age of 5.

Another day, another dense.

Let Her Be Fine

Some Mary J. Blige fans are no good. Since the release of “Just Fine,” I’ve been hearing everything from “I hope K-Ci calls her and asks for his pipe back” to “I want Kendu to slap her just once” with the hopes that Mary will get sad enough to drop another My Life.

Ya’ll ain’t right. Does that mean I like the song? I wouldn’t say all that, but I don’t want Mary high or Ike’d just so I can get a good album. That’s cold blooded, folk.

I have to admit, though, when I heard “Just Fine” at the club the other night I took that as an opportunity to sit down. I don’t hate it like I initially did. It’s ok, but it lacks a certain umph, like there’s something about the song that’s not doing it for me.

Maybe it’s the way Mary repeatedly says, “Fine! Fine! Fine! Fine! Fine! Fine!” like she’s trying to end an argument.

Then there’s the video:

Is she doing magic in the beginning of it? I know a few folks have cracked on her dancing. If she wants to channel Off The Wall era Mike, let her. Be nice. If nothing else, we can all agree that she looks good. That’s important. She could teach this generation a thing or two about wig rocking.

Look, I can’t say anything too bad about Mary J. Blige. Not because I’m a stan…that’s only part of the reason. A couple of years ago I had a personal interaction with her and she’s very, very, nice. So I’ll just politely say I look forward to the next single, and prompt folks to stop wishing ill on Mary so you can have a soundtrack to go with the latest person that’s pissed you off. She deserves her happiness.

Besides, we have the internet for a reason.

American Gangster

I expected American Gangster to be another underwhelming album solely released to appease the vanity and attention whoring needs of Jay-Z. My decline in faith began with The Blueprint 2, where Hov’s ego dictated he try to duplicate the double album successes of the Notorious B.I.G. and 2 Pac (more so the former than the latter), nixing the opportunity to release two classic albums back-to-back. Then came the would-be retirement album (that most people rightly didn’t buy as packaged), The Black Album, a solid but not completely memorable album that offered brilliant highs like “December 4^th” and “99 Problems” to laughable lows like “Justify My Thug,” which lifted from the Lenny Kravitz produced, Madonna performed track “Justify My Love.”

Then there’s Kingdom Come, the ‘comeback’ album that brought on debates of whether a forced bon voyage would save Jay — or at least his legacy as an emcee.

With that in mind, it’s not surprising I expected another rehash of the same old Jay-Z mantra offered over past years: I sold drugs, I’m rich, I’m the shit, and if you don’t like it, you can suck my dick along with the name dropping of several high end designer brands to reiterate just how refined (re: paid) Hov now is.

When word came that American Gangster was recorded after Jay was “inspired” by the film of the same name, my initial reaction was, “Oh great, he’s found another way to talk about drugs!,” in addition to the movie studio garnering the type of publicity for a film typically only generated through a multi-million dollar campaign.

The hype started with the release of “Blue Magic,” a track that was touted as a Rakim-inspired single, but made me think more of En Vogue, thanks to the Pharrell crooned chorus that borrows the lyrics of the quartets single, “Hold On.”

The album seemed like nothing more than an attempt to reclaim street cred. Once I checked my preconceived notions at the door and took a listen to the album, I came to find that American Gangster is not a complete re-visit to Reasonable Doubt; it’s more so an hour long listen that details the evolution that’s occurred since the release of it.

Some things never change, like Jay’s acknowledgment of his conflicting morals, as evidenced by “Pray” (“I’m not an angel/I’m sure/But every night before I lay/I drop my knees to the floor and I pray”). It wouldn’t be a post-wealth Hov album without the mention of some designer (“I am so dope/Like Loubouttin with the red bottoms/You gotta have ‘em/ You glad you got ‘em”). And there’s a familiar production value that recalls past albums, like the horns heard on the second single, “Roc Boys (And The Winner Is…),” or the sampling and referencing of soul legends found throughout the bulk of the album.

But perhaps my beef isn’t so much with Jay’s familiarity as it’s been with his presentation of it. It’s not surprising that his finest albums are those with themes that are interconnected. That’s the reason why The Blueprint will always be deemed superior to its sequel.

On American Gangster, Jay-Z offers a musical biography that acknowledges his past, but doesn’t wallow in it. It’s then and now, not then and then some. In fact, the maturity conveyed through tracks like “Ignorant Shit,” show that hip hop ought to look into getting over it’s obsession with age, as an emcee pushing 40 has done what the majority of his contemporaries still in their 20s haven’t been able to do — effectively articulate a convincing counter argument to hip hop’s criticizers, thus proving he still has a lot to offer the genre.

Though I was right in my suspicions that this album would be typical Jay, I was wrong in my assessment that that’s a bad thing. American Gangster is the same old Jay only with a maturity that comes with maintaining relevance for over a decade, and a level of focus that’s only in the possession of real artists.

The ruler’s back…in correct form.

Picture Day: Patti Labelle

I like her, but Patti Labelle reminds me so much of:

The more I see her the more I want to ask:

Are you a good witch?

Or a bad witch?

No, I’m not a hater. If they put out Out All Night on DVD I would be first in line to get it. The theme song used to knock. But c’mon nah, tell me you don’t get Glenda the Good Witch vibes from Patti?

And if you don’t agree with that, in certain instances, could she not have played an elderly drag queen in Too Wong Foo? I’m just saying.

Edit: I just choked on some General Tso’s. I think it was Patti Labelle. I knew gichie, gichie, ya, ya, da, da was some voodoo.

Help Me: Kelly Rowland

Dear Michael,

“Like This” didn’t bump anywhere but my car, not even my friend Barbara would request “Ghetto,” Ms. Kelly is collecting dust at Target, and I was looking forward to my tour, but it’s being cancelled because of low ticket sales. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hear me perform “Stole” and watch me dance to Beyonce’s vocals during my Destiny’s Child medley?

Mathew seems too busy tending to my shero, Beyonce, and promoting Solange’s reject Kidz Bop album to give me the attention my ex-friend Brandy once told me I deserved.

I tried to call Beyonce for help, because you know she’s so great and pretty and talented and just…wonderful; but she’s super busy promoting ‘B’ phone, lining up producers for her next album, reading scripts, following Jay-Z around, and looking over sketches for the House of Dereon’s puppy line. She always says she’ll call me back, but she never seems to. That’s alright, though. I’m just lucky to have her real number.

Have you ordered the ‘B’ phone yet, Michael? You really should. It’s hella nice and it has her name on it. I like to look at her name before I go to sleep. Oh yeah, don’t forget that her tour DVD drops later this month. I’m in it, too, but whatever — Beyonce is so great on stage. Like, she’s so great in person, but she’s even greater on stage. That girl is…whew, incredible.

Well back to me, I guess. Whenever I call Mathew, he usually screams “Who?!” about four times before he says, “Oh…you. How’d you get this number? That damn, Tina. Hmm yeah, don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say he doesn’t have my best interest at heart. I mean, even LeToya sold more records than me…and we kicked her out! That’s what she gets for asking stupid questions like, “Where’s my money?” and “How come Beyonce is driving a Benz when my Neon just got repossessed?”

I really want to be a star like Beyonce, who looks stunning in that new Emporio Armani commercial. I feel that it might be time for me to speak up. You know, possibly demand I receive more attention. Maybe. I don’t want to make anyone mad, especially Beyonce. Don’t you think Bee got robbed for Dreamgirls? I mean, what would I do without her? Fend for myself? Who wants to do that?

Help me (without making the Knowles’ mad)!

Dear Kelly,

Why would Beyonce ever need a bra with you around?

Pick your head up and finish reading. I’m here to help.

I wouldn’t ask Brandy for driving tips, but she’s a good person to look to on how to succeed. You remember the 90s when she mattered more. You’re already swagger jacking her sound; might as well heed her warnings.

I’m about to give you the same advice she gave you: Find a new manager and get off of Beyonce’s tit.

I know, I know. You think I’m crazy, right? How dare I say something so blasphemous? But Kelly, think about it. You spend most of your interviews talking about Beyonce. Does she spend all that time promoting your projects?

Ok, that’s one time, though. Now compare how many times you’ve promoted Beyonce versus Beyonce promoting you.

Now how you like them apples?

Get a new manager, Kelly. Mathew will always be your father…as soon as you get that DNA test.

After that, go listen to “Promise” and “Like This.” Then compare “Can’t Nobody” to “Crazy In Love.” Why are the same top producers giving Beyonce and Ciara the heat and you’re getting beats Olivia would turn down? Start speaking up or you’re going to end up on Dancing With The Stars five years too soon.

Kelly:People are laughing at you.

Or wondering, “Girrrrrrl, what is your problem?”

You even freak these two out.

Folks are screaming for you to wake up, Kelly.

Get it together.

I’ll holla,

Michael

Bottle Action

There’s something particularly annoying about some ‘aggressives,’ ‘studs,’ men without penises, or whatever you choose to call them. I realize that not every person fits the narrow Western notions of gender that dictates men and women only behave a certain way, but in the end, I still get annoyed by those who get carried away and develop an unnatural attachment to their fictitious dicks. Again, some not all. Some are very cool; others need reality to hit them upside their heads (or between their…).

The ones I’m referring to act a lot like insecure men. The type of man who has to show off his masculinity through fighting, trying to act hard, and clutching his sac as if he lives in constant fear it may try to make an escape. It’s bad enough you have to deal with them. Now you have to deal with some women who want to be just like them.

I once heard a stud tell a man to suck her dick. I wish he had told her, “Leave that to your girlfriend after you plug it in.”

Da Brat always struck me as one of these types, and now she’s lent further credence to my theory by busting a chick in her face with a rum bottle.

Why? Because she bumped into her. What better reason to fight someone is there than that? Oh, wait, you can’t forget stepping on a person’s shoes. That club waitress may have died if she had done that.

Da Brat obviously hasn’t learned her lesson from 2000 when she pistol whipped a woman for not making room for her and her entourage (ha!) in VIP.

Just like a…stop, I gave the word up. I’m not saying “act like a lady.” It’s more so act like you have some sense.

But since she wants to channel “Bottle Action,” maybe now she and Foxy can become pen pals.

One more thing: Is it or me is Da Brat swagger jacking Pebbles Flintstone in her mug shot?