Apparently, screaming like you’re Lion-O en route for battle with Mumm-Rana is your new thing so I figured it’s best if I greet you accordingly.
You know, Yeezy, many of your fans might be deluding themselves into thinking that your recent onstage volume-high diatribes are instances of you bucking the system, being a free spirit, artistic or some kind of nonsense like that. God bless the believer, but nah, don’t let them enable you.
First off, on you bashing Justin Timberlake and Jay-Z’s “Suit and Tie”: It’s typically considered in poor taste for a peer to publicly bash another. Besides, we all know if Hov hopped on stage and talked about what a huge disappointment Cruel Summer was you would’ve recorded at least six songs bemoaning how much he hurt you: “Lamborghini mercy, I thought my big brother loved me.”
Also, I find quite peculiar how you, man who consistently gets mushy with materialism, suddenly wanted to bash the very sort of mindset that helped make you a millionaire several times over.
Then again, I’m operating under the assumption that you’re in your right frame of mind when offering this commentary, which leads me to this proclamation you made in Paris: “I am Michael Angelo [sic]. I am Basquiat. I am Walt Disney. I am Steve Jobs. Of this music s**t? Please!?”
When I was 13, I walked around telling people – including my own mama – to call me Batman. Why? It felt right to me. I imagine in response my mom kicked up the number of rosaries she said daily out of concern for my well-being.
It may sound fun in your head, but please stop this, especially if you’re going to follow it all up with assaulting a microphone. You are 35.
Judging by the grin she gave following the last shimmy of her All Star Halftime performance, Alicia Keys appeared quite proud of herself. That’s unfortunate. She did look great or whatever, but no one in her camp should’ve gone back and watched the tape and said to her in good faith, “Yeah, keep doing that.”
I don’t know who told her to step away from the piano, but their speaking privileges deserve an extensive rest period.
Who goes to Houston and begins a performance singing “Empire State of Mind?” I can’t imagine this former soft stud and hip-hop head hasn’t played “Wanna Be A Player,” “Southside” or some UGK on her piano before. Know your audience.
As a native Houstonian, y’all should know that she is quite lucky that the population of H-Tine has shifted in recent years and the All Star crowd overall seemed to consist of out-of-towners living on the paler side of life. Had she tried that before a crowd of longtime locals of the Negro variety, she would’ve been booed all the way back to Hell’s Kitchen — deservingly so.
And for the love of God, will someone please tell her to stop performing “Girl On Fire?” I know that technically, that song is a hit because little children love screaming along to it and Citibank made sure to drill that song into our psyches by way of an overbearing marketing campaign, but no more, Alicia. No more.
Stop remixing the song. We get it already: The girl is on fire. Hell, the girl must suffer third-degree burns by now. Pour some cold water over her and let her heal those scabs. Retire that noise already.
The same goes for the ill-advised remixes of “Girl On Fire” like “Obama’s On Fire.” I’m surprised none of the secret service on sight didn’t tackle her to the ground. Again, quit it, Alicia. Several last nerves will thank you for it.
As for that voice, can you imagine all the shade Whitney Houston is throwing in heaven over it? “My Lord, were you taking a bathroom break when she was auditioning for a record deal?”
Look, I can’t sing, but I can hear. All those years of crying out out to God in pain through song has done its damage. Learn to sing within your range, Mrs. Keys-Beatz. Whatever is left of it anyway.
Take your time and stop shouting because no one, no one, no one wants to hear those screams. I say that with love, concern, and some honey and lemon tea for your vocal chords.
On to her dancing: She tried the absolute shit out of it, didn’t she?
To be fair, she sort of improved on the choreography. You know, she’s finally out dancing a baby who learned how to walk six hours ago. Even so, just as I don’t expect Sade to start rapping about being able to make a sprite can disappear in her mouth, I don’t want to see diet soul singer try to give Britney Spears teases.
Speaking of soul music, where did hers go? What is this last album doing? Correct me if I’m wrong but wasn’t Alicia Keys supposed to be something light-skinned Roberta Flack with Aretha Franklin leanings? Bono is cool, but when is she going to return back to ripping offJames Brown and Prince, or better yet, start releasing singles again along the lines of the gorgeous “You Don’t Know My Name.”
Some of you might dismiss the suggestion as reductive, but many of the people who bought your first few albums – yes, I have receipts – would call that restoring the natural order.
Following this interview, I get these sense that Alicia has lovely spirit. Cute for her, but in the end, after watching her All Star act I think it’s time someone calls on an Amber Alert for her lane because looking like Lena Horne, singing off brand U2 tracks and dancing like Ashanti impersonating Beyoncé is not her truth.
She can keep that short haircut, though. Girl, that’s cute.
So I was planning to lead with something else to reference the piece I wrote about the gentrification of the Harlem Shake, but after watching Stephen Colbert jig on beat I obviously had to switch. Look, I still don’t like this fake ass Harlem Shake, but salute to Stephen. In any event, you can check out “Racepalm: That’s Not The Harlem Shake, White People” by clicking here.
Meanwhile, riddle me this: What happens when your popularity goes the way of a Fat Albert F.U.B.U. tee? Click this link to find out why.
More recent links to my work below. Go on, read, please and shit. Thank you.
Sadly, whatever locksmith Frank Ocean called to help him find the right key to sing didn’t make it in time for his performance at the 2013 Grammys. It was a missed opportunity for the consistently brilliant singer-songwriter albeit still not-that-great performer to impress those who might not know much about him. Despite that, Frank’s stock will only continue to rise given that unless he starts writing lyrics along the lines of “GLEEP GLORP FLEEBLE FLABLE ZIP ZOP ZAM!!” there will remain a demand for his forward-leaning R&B.
Of course, some immediately started to argue otherwise mere seconds into his less-than impressive presentation. Upon the first botched note before that large audience – ZIP ZOP ZAM!! – his biggest detractors wasted no time pouncing. I could quote the critiques verbatim, but they all boggle down to blah, blah, he’s only poppin’ ’cause of that gay ass letter, he is overrated, back in my day we had real sangers, yadda, yadda, more bullshit.
I’m not going to make any excuses for Frank Ocean’s performance. Visually it was stunning, but the rest was anything but. Either way, it was arguably his most important performance thus far. To see a handsome, Grammy-award winning Black man sing about being in love with another man is something that will stay with those struggling for one reason or another with the realities of their sexual orientation for a very long time. Not to mention those who have overcome such struggles themselves. No offense to those men who rock their stiletto pumps in the club and serve as the human equivalent of Beethoven on basic cable for everyone’s amusement, but Frank Ocean represents something different and largely missing from the public sphere.
Regardless of how he chooses to identify himself, he is the only other famous Black male entertainer who has admitted an attraction to men besides RuPaul. Maybe his nerves got the best of him and his rendition of “Forrest Gump” yesterday. Even so, him standing there and being daring enough to sing that song ought to be appreciated on some level.
If you disagree, fine, but I do wish some folks would learn to limit their criticism to their levels of knowledge on a given subject.
If you have never taken the time to actually listen to Nostalgia, Ultra or channel ORANGE, do humanity a favor and shut the fuck up. Seriously, how can you criticize anything you haven’t bothered to experience yourself? How lazy in thought are you? As talkative as I am, I don’t speak on something I know nothing about because I don’t believe in being an intellectual fuck nigga. If you want to be heard, discuss something else you’ve dissected.
There is way too much access to his music courtesy of the Internet for you not to take in before you begin trolling.
The same goes for any subject, for that matter. Quit it. Now.
Likewise, dead the declarations that Frank Ocean is only successful because of a tumblr post where he acknowledged his first love was a man. Next week marks two years since the release of his mixtape Nostalgia, Ultra. You can read about it here, but since reading has proven to be taxing for so many of you, let me help you even more. Basically, in frustration with his record label not even bothering to give him so much as a recording budget after signing him, Frank recorded and released an album-quality body of work. Almost immediately, word of it spread all across the Internet — netting him the attention of music fans, critics, his more successful peers, and ultimately his actual record label who had staffers trying to sign someone already apart of the fold.
He essentially created his own success – nothing related to a sword fight – which is why channel ORANGE was already a buzzed about album before the “revelation.” Why this readily available information remains unknown to the “gay for pay” theorists is a testament to why some people need their keyboard privileges monitored and/or revoked.
Don’t let the popularity of the word “shade” fool you: Gay Black men are not that beloved.
The next time you try to argue this fuck ass point, ask yourself this: “How many openly gay, bi, or whatever one deems their love of the peen Black men do I actually see on TV? Film? Music? With books?”
Someone had to step up, but there was no guarantee it would immediately garner them anything other than a spectacle. I’m readily available to offer additional feedback on the lingering plight of gay Black men if needed.
Again, Frank Ocean needs to see about a vocal coach, some honey, tea, and a creative director to step his performing cookies up. Yet, when it comes to the “I don’t like the music I never listened to” folks, fall down a well. And if you’d be so kind, take your “Frank only made it as a gay” cousins in crocks of shit with you.
I wish God would grant me the power to shake the stupid out of the whole lot of you. Call it a blessing.
Edit: You can watch video of Frank Ocean rehearing his Grammy performance below. Much better.
If I had any lingering doubts in my mind that Miguel has gotten his life from “Freakum Dress” at least thrice, consider them confirmed now. Oh, wait a second. That comment is part of the reason why Mr. Pimentel is doing this, isn’t it? Eh, maybe but even so someone should explain to this young man that it gets better and it will even sooner if one doesn’t start air wrapping their dicks in preparation to simulate sex on stage in Sweden.
I’m sure Left Eye is somewhere above smiling at the realization that her lessons of safe sex have carried over to her follow processed hair artists. Or maybe it’s from laughing her ass off with Rick James and Eddie Murphy’s singing dreams in the afterlife. Pick your poison.
Look, I really like Miguel. He’s a nice songwriter who is trying in earnest to evolve R&B and soul music. Also, I’ve run into him a few times out in LA and he’s a very nice guy. Not at all like some of the pricks I’ve come across who don’t possess even a fraction of his talent or morsel of his potential.
Plus, his sophomore album is sublime and I’m actually still a little put off that it hasn’t gotten as much attention as channel ORANGE. It lacks the backstory that makes Frank Ocean’s debut so powerful, but as total a body of work Kaleidoscope Dream is a bit more versatile (as opposed to Frank’s, which I think has stronger songs but a bit lopsided when looking at it wholly). I think there remains a disparity in terms of attention given to each artist, but the above clip is yet another reason why I can see Frank continuing to be the critical darling that gets the sort of accolades Miguel’s more honest about wanting to get.
Little pretty man with the press and curl, you’ve already pressed your head so there’s no sense in giving the rest of you that treatment.
I, of all people, would never discourage anyone from using their sexuality if that’s what moves their heart. Hell, I think “T-Shirt & Panties” is one of the most underrated records of all time. Nevertheless, this all feels like overcompensation, party of one.
Dude, we get it.
You like girls or something. You’ve been working out. No need for the oddly simulated reminders.
Bobby Brown would hump the stage back in his day, and if memory serves, Trey Songz has faked fellatio once or a dozen times during a concert, but as much as I like those artists, they’re not on the sort of creative wavelength you’re on, man.
Those two seem like 13-year-old boys who just discovered an erection (for the rest of their lives) whereas in this clip you’re sort of giving me the one who wants to prove you’re just like them so a kickball won’t be hurled at your head. I get it, but quit it all the same. You have enough talent to fill up Andre the Giant in your Prince barefoot short frame. Act like it.
You don’t have to do this, especially not that hard. Yeah, what was with that grind, dude? Not to mention you throwing your hand back to make sure you bangs didn’t move too much out of place while you hit your daddy stroke. You out here fucking like Trade Little Richard?
Meanwhile, between this and the Los Angeles District Attorney giving Chris Brown failing marks on his progress report, Frank Ocean is having the best week ever.
P.S. As my homie, Devon put it: “And somewhere young gay men are making million of gifs to use for their personal time. Well played MigMoney. Well played. lol”
According to Uberfacts, which admittedly is often wrong as all hell, eurotophobia is the fear of female genitalia. I don’t know if I caught it or just have working ears, but there is no way in hell anyone should let a vagina to sway them into letting this song happen. C’mon nah, Rich Dollaz? Was it that good or does your storyline demand this happen no matter how much people pan it? Neither answer will be deemed acceptable, in case you were wondering.
This track may not be the worst thing in the world, but the world didn’t need it to happen. If Jennifer Lopez is Target, this Erica Mena ballad is the off brand store that took over the rent of the Dollar General Store that moved to another storefront. Frankly, I’m over this trend of every single reality star known to man believing the need a single to boost their profile or cover the rent.
It’s time for us as a people to stand up and say: enough. Yes, Ja Rules’ greatest hits might surprisingly have more shelf life than many of us would care to admit. Okay, okay: “Tardy For The Party” still works. Regardless, both allowed this hotheaded reality star to not only record a song that requires Autotune pushing itself to its limit, but have the nerve to release it, too.
As I write this, I’m realizing that life is going to issue a clap back in the form of this song being stuck in my head. I’m going to rebuke that by listening to King Bey and Usher…the good years, though.
You know what? Let me end this on a nice-esque note.
If Erica manages to record a song that actually makes sense for her i.e. some kind of awful rap over a cheap trap beat about busting a bottle upside some other person’s head, then maybe I’ll be less judgmental. But this current song is something I cannot commit to. She’s got some sort of mindless behavior when it comes to her singing capabilities or lack thereof, and no matter how much people miss J.Lo and Ashanti, that is not her void to fill.
Try again. Or you know, not at all.
P.S. If “eurotophobia” is a fear of the cat trap, I’d like to nominate “boiyuckophobia” as the term to describe people afraid of men who refer to their love bend-overs as a “bussy.” That shit is stupid, gross, and wrong. Add it to your lexicons, and well, stop saying that. For the love of God, stop it.
Even though I enjoy this radio show because it’s the closet thing to filling the void left by “The Wendy Williams Experience,” sometimes I wonder why hasn’t someone fixed the Google over at “The Breakfast Club.” Don’t get me wrong, they often manage to have good interviews, but it’s increasingly due to dumb luck given some of the hosts don’t ever bother to do basic research on their guests. Or maybe their interns are too busy updating their Instagram accounts to do it for them. Whatever it is, someone pray to gossip Jesus so that it’s soon fixed. You know, before Nicki Minaj has to curse them all out again.
That said, this interview with Sidney Starr was hard to watch albeit not completely for the aforementioned grievance. I understand that when it comes to transgendered people, there’s a lot of confusion as to what made them think they needed to have a sex change to “live their best lives” and what exactly happened to the genitals of their past. Straight up, I don’t even completely get it, though I’ve seen enough to know that there are ways to handle your curiosity when opportunity presents itself.
DJ Envy gets an F squared for his efforts because instead of actually trying to learn why Sidney Starr felt like she needed to become a woman as that’s how she feels she was meant to be, he judged her using America’s favorite novel, The Bible.
Again, it’s not that I don’t think Jesus isn’t the homie, but I don’t believe Noah literally cramped the goats Billy along with every other species imaginable all on one point for 40 days as God made the water rock its hips, then wave and sip. Likewise, I have a hard time believing Eve and her gullibility with a speaking serpent is the reason why it’s taken Hillary Clinton forever to become president and why many of my readers have horrific mood swings once a month. I mean, where was the stegosaurus with the cutest southern twang ever to stop this all from happening?
However you feel about the Bible and religion overall, though, it’s some really simple ass logic to conclude that no one has the right to alter their gender make up because “God doesn’t make mistakes.”
What about autism? Cancer? Incurable diseases that have stripped people of their lives since the dawn of civilization?
Now that logic is cute in a “I Am Not My Hair” sort of way and would’ve gone a long way in helping Lil’ Kim see that she didn’t need to go and alter herself into Miss Swan and La Toya Jackson’s baby, but as the Queen Bee eloquently once stated, “Nigga, please come off that.”
I don’t care what DJ Envy does with his privates, but I get the feeling he’s probably used them to bust one in homage of some cosmetic surgery enhanced woman in some magazine who got additional ass shots and tit lifts courtesy of Adobe, M.D.
So unless people with this faulty logic aren’t lobbying Congress to stone not just plastic surgeons, but any medical professional that seeks to tame the natural order in any capacity, shut the fuck up.
Again, I necessarily get it either and particularly don’t like when gender issues are meshed in with those pertaining to sexuality. Still, when I don’t understand something, I try to listen…with some level of respect. Such is life when you have common decency.
Oh, and as far as Sidney Starr goes: Girl, you cannot sing, but good luck with that. Whew, you senses seemed off beat throughout this entire interview, too. You didn’t use Chris Brown’s nose spray, did you?
If DJ Envy is so God-loving, I sure hope he prays for you — only not for any reason that relates to his own misgivings about the world and all the things God has allowed to happen within it.