I Guess You Can Stay, Iggy

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I first learned of Iggy Azalea by way of her video for the song “Pu$$y.” It shouldn’t be surprising to anyone who knows better that it was colored gays who first raved about a female rapper focused on cunninglis. No, that is not shade, and yes, of course I fell in line with the fold on this.

Iggy seemed sort of cute, and more importantly, the song included audio from Grace Jones’ moving performance in my all-time favorite comedy, Boomerang. How could I deny something with a Strangé sample? I did wonder if I needed to call CPS to snitch on the parent who let that white woman with Charli Baltimore’s voice rap about tongue-tickling her pussy in front of a kid who was only a toddler four naps ago.

The interest quickly faded as I became less impressed with her the more I paid attention.

Even though I don’t think she meant to be offensive by using the phrase “runaway slave master,” no matter the source, it was culturally insensitive. You’re participating in a Black artform, therefore whether you like it or not, you should act accordingly. But the greater offense was that she was sounding kind of wack. Fine, you’re giving Black girl realness in your rap act, but at least give me a good impression.

“Murda Bizness” was cute so I tried again with her for a millisecond until I listened to the rest of that Glory EP.


Like my initial objections to Rihanna, I was all but ready to call immigration on Iggy Azalea and have them send her ass right back to the nonexistent traps of Australia. I’m backing away from that now. The name of her latest mixtape – Trapgold – is a little grating given her background is more Crocodile Dundee than Pimp C, but it’s pretty good.

When you can’t rap worth a damn, you need both great production value and lane-appropriate subject matter to guise that. Enter Diplo and tracks such as “Down South.” Yes, girl. Stay with this. Be the white Trina ’cause the road you were previously on – becoming Lil’ Kim’s white fantasies realized – is closed for construction.

I’m not entirely sure what is next for Iggy. God bless her choices because I don’t get why she turned down a deal with Interscope to roll with T.I., who is scratching and surviving his damn self right now (I’m a fan, but c’mon nah). Plus, for all that chatter about her being named on XXL’s Freshman List at the expense of Azealia Banks — well, we see how that’s turned out.

Nonetheless, I just wanted to highlight Trapgold and all its sexually-explicit, beat-friendly glory. Keep working with Diplo, do more songs with Juicy J (I doubt this will be hard given you’re white, Iggy), and continue letting your vagina guide your creative process.

Now, as far as you trying to legitimately spit hot fire, uh, good luck. I’m not here for it, and judging from this, neither is your flow thus far. But you know what? When I read my old blog posts, sometimes I take one hand to smack the other in frustration. You might have hope with several prayers and practice.

In the meantime, gold star for you for Trapgold.

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