Trust me when I say that it was extremely difficult for me not to kick off this blog entry by titling it, “Fuck you, Charlamagne!” and then proceeding to write “Fuck you! Fuck you! Pause that, nigga!” over and over again.
I don’t really have any general issues with Charlamagne. He’s funny on occasion and he was a good sidekick for Wendy Williams back when she wasn’t the belle of the ball for a growing number of mid-western suburban housewives.
Still, it’s these sort of homophobic tirades that grate my nerves. Just yesterday I was explaining to a friend why a number of closeted men remain such despite her assertions that in larger cities like New York and Los Angeles you’re purportedly free to be. I mentioned how that’s not always the case, especially for black men who were taught to adhere to the hypermasculinity forced upon the bulk of us.
I mean, I poked fun at Diddy-Dirty Money, too, asking a week ago if they’re basically Kima, Keisha, and Pam. But, I don’t think any of the music on there sounds like it was created with glitter, disco balls, tons of lube or whatever other gay stereotype you have in mind.
I can understand why some people aren’t up for listening to a Diddy and the Diddetts album. I thought a few songs were okay here and there, but I didn’t take them seriously mainly because of Diddy Puff. I’ve had a change of heart, though, after actually taking the time to listen to the album. It is surprisingly good despite the fact that Puff Puff Diddy raps like a failing ESL student. Yes, at some points his rhymes are cringe worthy — more times than they are actually decent. Either way, the album is still pretty good. Good enough for me to purchase it.
P. Puffy’s aim on this project was to obviously try and duplicate the type of emotions Kanye West conveyed on 808s & Heartbreak. Naturally, that draws the ire of some older rap fans who feel like anything perceived as “soft” automatically means it’s not music for them. No, it’s music for the vagina owners and those who allegedly yearn for similar crotches (you know, gay people).
Not to mention, this clip reminds me of I tell people who bother to ask me about it how I am met with some level of homophobia every single day. Literally.
I may share Antoine Dodson’s preference, but I don’t have the desire to be on the cover of a Just For Me box like him. And even if I did, what does that have to do with the next man – a heterosexual one – who might enjoy the album? Why are we the only ones who can fuck with it? Oh wait, and didn’t you say that was a good thing recently, Charlamagne?
Less than a month ago, Charlamagne tweeted this:
Fuck what you homophobics say you ain’t popping until you got a gay fan base. You not winning until the kids is living for you.
So which is it? Is support from a gay fan base to be celebrated or mocked? Unless it’s ridiculously over the top music about being bottomed, can straight men not like some of the same music as their gay cousins? His assertions are extremely limiting to audiences and such a disservice to Charlamagne’s own better senses.
Isn’t it ironic that a man with a lisp bitching about another man canceling an interview at the last minute falls victim to his own silly stereotypes anyway?
Don’t even bother answering. I think I’ll just stick with my initial thoughts.