Goodies
Throughout her short career (or maybe it’s now considered lengthy by contemporary standards) Ashanti has relied on a bevy of gimmicks to get ahead. Sex, however, has never really been one of them. About a week or so ago, I saw stills of Ashanti from the set of “Body On Me.” I noticed that for the first time, she was starting to show a little ass.
Thick track thighs can only get so far when inflation is the highest in 17 years. Ashanti needs gas money, too, ya’ll. Combine that with the fact that Ashanti’s previous successes were largely rooted in her being in our faces every other second for two or three years non-stop, after that four year break ( intended or not), I can see why she’s pulling out all the stops. Showing ass might be her only hope to buying back a seat back on the couch of relevance. Can’t buy CDs the first week out like you used to.
Now on with the show.
I might get in trouble for this, but I kinda like the video. It looks like it cost $3 to make, but because of the treatment, it looks like it at least set her label back $5.69 (the same cost as the two grilled snack wraps, baked potato, and 1 order of chicken nuggets I copped from Wendy’s earlier), so can she get a little credit for that? Or are you already laughing at me for trying to pay Ashanti a compliment in 2008? She’s trying really hard.
The only thing I don’t get about the video is the fact that a video for a song themed around having the ooh-wee cat trap has her channeling June Cleaver? If you’re stuff is that good, why are you on the floor scrubbing floors? Shouldn’t you be getting a pedicure while some underpaid maid does all the housework for you? Then again, I guess the point of being on your knees and dropping scuds on your skin is to entice someone to go buy your album. But unless Ashanti is offering an all-exclusive plane ticket into her vagina to some lucky album buyer, I don’t see how that logic is going to help her move any units. Randomly screaming about it on the BET Awards won’t help neefa.
But let me fall back before someone pushes me into that couch Ashanti fell in in the vide. I see her fans are getting their cyberthug on again.
You Decide: Fool Of The Week
Alright now, ya’ll. I need some reader participation. Who deserves the honor of biggest fool of the week?
Solange:
Rap-up magazine: On being a Knowles
“At this point, it’s starting to hurt me more than help me because my family is sort of known as the new age Huxtables. We’re the clean-cut girls. But I got married at 17, had a kid at 17. Ever since I was younger, I always considered myself to be into more artistic things than [Beyoncé]. People just hear the [Knowles] name and they just put a stamp on it automatically.”
Bill O’Reilly:
FNC’s Bill O’Reilly said Wednesday that the network didn’t report on Jackson’s use of the racial epithet previously because “I’m not in the business of hurting Jesse Jackson — because it does hurt Jesse Jackson — and I’m not in the business of creating some kind of controversy that’s not relevant to the general subject: one civil rights leader disparaging another over policy. So we held it back. Some weasel leaked it to the Internet.”
Soulja Boy:
On the importance of lyricism: “Ain’t nobody into that shit no more.”
Start at 1:45.
Elizabeth Hasselback:
Why is she crying?
Jesse Jackson:
Then:
Rev. Jesse Jackson is calling for entertainers to stop using the N-word.
“We will challenge and urge all artists and comics to stop using this word,” Jackson said. “What other group is subjected to such a degrading terminology?”
Now:
The Rev. Jesse Jackson used the N-word during a break in a TV interview where he criticized presidential candidate Barack Obama, Fox News confirmed Wednesday.
Let your voice be heard!
Teedra Fans
Why are these little girls singing “Backstroke?” Why would anyone put a video of a bunch of young girls singing about sex on YouTube? Should these little girls be charged for sucking the soul right out of this song? I have so many questions after watching this.
Someone send this to Teedra. Maybe she can forward this to some major label to prove she has crossover appeal. That way I can get a second album already. Hey, I’m just saying: It’s been years now. Patience is a virtue, but c’mon nah.
Ok, back to the real issue: Why are these little girls singing that song? Is Hannah Montana considered wack now or something? I looked at the page and looked at the people responsible for this.
Does anyone know the choreographers Kalie Kelman or Brandon Rogers? I’d like to send hate mail.
And This Is Why I Didn’t Stunt The New Yorker
When people argue that racism has become more covert in the 21st century, images like these and news outlets like FOX News suggest otherwise.
The story goes like this:
When a 25-year-old Manhattan graduate student who was assaulted Tuesday night got dressed that morning, she probably didn’t anticipate that her T-shirt would provoke four teens into shoving her, pulling out her earphones and spitting in her face.
What do kids like these days? I feel like treating.
The story goes on:
Now she’s suing the $69 shirt’s designer, Apollo Braun, for “all he’s got,” the designer claims.
What fool would pay $69 for that plain ass t-shirt?
The designer says:
“I can’t stand Obama,” Braun says, adding that it’s not because the Illinois senator is black. “That’s the only thing I like about him. He opens the door for other minorities.”
“He reminds me of Adolf Hitler,” Braun explained, adding he does not like Obama because “he is a Muslim” — a thoroughly debunked myth.
For the record:
This isn’t Braun’s first sartorial criticism of the Democratic presidential presumptive nominee. He has also sold shirts with slogans such as “Jews Against Obama,” “Obama = Hitler” and “Who Killed Obama?” — which he claims was so popular, he moved 1,200 pieces.
This is not satire. That’s an insult to talented satirists and people with sense everywhere.
It’s Spreading
No, no. Not everyone’s anger. Me. While working on my first piece for The Root, the brouhaha over the recent New Yorker cover emerged, which subsequently led to my first piece for the site now being commentary on the growing controversy. I imagine many might disagree with me, but honestly, that’s not important. What is important is that you be so kind to read it, share it, and maybe even add a little commentary of your own on the site. C’mon nah. Share the love and help spread the brand. I need more people.
Anywho, here it goes: Satire 101.
Oh and while I have you, if you’re interested in the real story of the issue, you can read that story here.
But after you read my article first. Please. Haha.
Edit: Found out my piece got picked up by Slate. I’m geeked.
Knockin’ Da Boots ’08
Was Pretty Ricky even alive in 1993? I didn’t think they started scaring nurses until at least 1995. I don’t know how you can quite honor a person by destroying their greatest song, but that was obviously the intent of Pretty Ricky. I wouldn’t be mad at Dino if he came back from beyond and put a boot up Pretty Ricky’s ass because of it, though. I must say that while their rendition of “Knockin’ Da Boots” leaves a lot to be desired, I am impressed at the video. The buffed up gremlins (at least two of them anyway) managed to make a single video look like a trailer for porno, a shoe commercial, a gym ad, and a cry for help all in four minutes.
Energy
I really like Keri Hilson. She’s a good songwriter, and judging from her television appearances, seemingly has a great personality. For a while now, I’ve been looking forward to her solo album, but after hearing her first single, my interest in her debut project started to wane. This video doesn’t help matters.
It’s not that it’s a bad video. On the contrary, it’s actually very good. It’s just it’s not enough to make me forget how blase I am to the song. For all of the clever, hook-friendly, ear-catching songs she’s penned, “Energy” is a very standard song. It’s very bland and doesn’t separate herself from all of the others out there.
Maybe for all of her charms, she doesn’t have IT. I know some will quickly argue that IT no longer matters. With girls like Cassie using the blow blueprint for success, who can disagree?
But there are only so many spots allotted for people that don’t have it but get something thanks to a label pouring millions into them. Right now and for a while probably, Rihanna’s holding that area down. And she’s actually grown into her success. Rihanna has improved. Threatening to revoke your green card does that to a person.
Maybe Keri can buy it or at least rent IT, but the Tootie hair with blond streaks can only take you so far. Same for showing skin.
I still might buy the album, though. I don’t want her to end up like another Cherri Dennis. I won’t even hold “Happy Juice” against her. Yeah, it’s a dope song, but the drink itself is nasty!
Brush Alert
As I’ve explained on several occasions, I harbor no prejudices against any particular racial or ethnic group. To the contrary: I hate everyone equally. OK, maybe I hate stupid people a little more than everyone else, but how can you not?
Anyway, since I just made clear that I’m not prejudice (like how most prejudice people preface ignorant comments, but I promise, I’m really not prejudice…I hate everybody the same way, I swear), this video featuring Harold Ford Jr. kind of reminds me of certain issues that arise with miscegenation. Look at Ford’s hair. Does he not look the fool on national television? They didn’t have a brush on set? I mean, I know it’s D.C., but c’mon it’s D.C.: One swing around the “wrong” corner and you’re bound to run into a store that sells Murrays, wave cups, and brushes.
I bet his wife – as lovely a woman as I bet she is – probably didn’t even know there was a problem with his hair. She probably thinks it always looks like that. To her credit, judging from Ford’s string of recent media appearances, she’s probably right in thinking that way. Still, as his wife, she needs to learn how to grease his scalp. It’s not like she has to worry about hers.
I wish I were in Tom Brokaw’s seat. I would make Fresh’s side-eye hall of fame.
If you’re wondering why I am focused on his hair and not what Ford is saying, it’s because I know Ford runs the DLC. Of course he agrees with Obama’s push to make it apparent that he is, was, and forever will be a centrist: He runs the DLC. If the DLC had a mascot, it would be some sort of weird donkey-elephant creature that walks the Earth begging you to vote for him because he’s just like Dumbo.
And for all that pandering, Ford still lost because of a racist ad. Meanwhile, Obama keeps a fresh shape up and that whole Scarlett Johansson e-mail story died faster than Guiliani’s campaign. Coincidence? I think not.
Now, somebody tie Ford up and put him in the barber’s chair. And don’t let him get that weird part. Acid-wash jeans might be coming back (sigh), but that part is staying in the 80s.
I Can’t Believe It Either
As much as I complain about how predictable, boring, and repetitive the radio is I have to admit a secret: I tend to be a sucker for a T-Pain hook. When I first heard “I’m In Love With A Stripper,” I found it be the corniest, laziest, most annoying song I had heard in a long time. I still feel that way, actually.
But then the other songs came. He followed the Ashanti blueprint for success and after a while, I found myself singing along to at least 10 of the 9,000 songs that feature his vocals. If you listen to him speak or perform, you’d think he was the spawn of Frito-Lay and the Ringling Brothers, but I still find myself singing one of his hooks every now and then. It’s that damn vocoder. Or maybe it’s the root he has working in the booth. Or maybe it’s the fact that if something is played a million times non-stop all day, you can’t help but sing-a-long after a while. Whatever it is, it’s got me. Even when I say I’m sick and tired of hearing him on the radio, I end up singing the next song he drops.
Enter “Can’t Believe It.” I should hate this song. It reeks of formality. The same trite ‘in love with a stripper’ subject matter, the talk-singing assisted by the vocoder, a guest appearance by another overexposed artist, Lil’ Wayne – everything that’s wrong with the radio to me. Yet the second I heard it I had to download it. And throw it on my iPod. And burn it to a disc for the ride to the gym.
On Friday, I got some disappointment news (e.g. no news), so I burn that frustration at the gym. The minute I put the song on, I start jigging. What was I thinking about again? Oh yeah…that. Well, whatever, Monday I get to start all over. Then I hit the dial to repeat the track. Continue jigging.
What’s wrong with me? This song isn’t even that hot. Or is it? The second I hear, “Oh I can’t believe it/Ooh, ooh, she all on me (on me)/Man (man), I think she want me (want me)/Nah, I can’t leave her lonely…nah,” I get hooked again — just in time sing-a-long to, “She make the people say…yeah…yeah…yeah.”
Even Lil’ Wayne’s bars don’t wan me off the song. That creepy, ghoulish flow he does that makes me think he’s about to murk a Smurf as soon as he leaves the booth: still not enough to turn me off this song. I just jig to beat. Now that I’ve played it about a couple dozen times, I kind of already know his part. When I first heard about there being a T-Wayne Best of Both Worlds themed album on the horizon, I was frosty to the idea. Then again, it might have a few decent tracks, right? Maybe?
Dammit. I was really trying to get off the bandwagon, now I’m sucked right back in.
And I can’t believe it.
