You’re a special kind of singer if you can make getting high sound even sweeter than a kiss on the collarbone. Actually, a weed rice krispie treat from a dispensary or a well-made chocolate chip cookie with a green bonus can do the same thing, but it’s less melodic, and thus, less fun. Oh: All of this falls under “allegedly,” FYI. Whatever. I’ve been meaning to talk about Candi Kush’s mixtape, Live From The Smoker’s Room, for a while now. I kept putting it off, but today I found myself obsessively listening to “Smoker’s Room,” the first track off the project all day. For some reason or several, I got a little sentimental about the track.
I curse a lot and can be a bit cold hearted at times, but I’m somewhat of a hopeless romantic deep down. Like, a Pharrell who grew up in a house full of Yeezus and Chris Brown rage. There are certain kinds of songs that always make me feel a ways no matter the amount of resistance I put up. Think Nicole Wray’s “I’m Lookin’,” Gina Thompson’s “Things That U Do,” D’Angelo’s “When We Get By,” or Teedra Moses’ “Be Your Girl. I could go on – SWV’s “Someone,” Amerie’s “Why Don’t We Fall In Love,” Chaka Khan’s “I Know You, I Live You,” and Aretha Franklin’s “Call Me” (the live version from the Fillmore album) – but you get it.
As lovely as a great R&B sex song is or even a song detailing a deep love, there’s something irresistible to me about a song about that initial courtship and/or the promise of one. I don’t like a lot of people in that way, but when I do, there’s something so great about that feeling — no matter how it turns out. Oh, who am I kidding? It sucks like shit when it doesn’t work out. Fuck him, girl, etc. etc.
Candi Kush has a gorgeous voice. Her mixtape and “Smoker’s Room” specifically give me little teases of Teedra Moses. Candi’s her own act, though, and I hope some label hurries up and signs her so she more people can surf in all of this good good.
Now, back to the part about me getting all Ralph Tresvant about the track. Picture it: New York City, March 3, 2014. It’s cold as hell. I’m tired and don’t want to go to the gym, but summer is going and is my 30th birthday and Mikey Mike gotta get snatched. So I go, but I leave “Smoker’s Room” on repeat. I get on the stairmaster as the hurly burlies have snatched up all of the weights (Sidenote: ohmigod, why do I always go to the gym at the time everyone and their mama just got off work, ugh). And dammit, feelings.
Read the following in the key of Beyoncé:
I’ve been Draking, I’ve been Draking. I get so simpy all of these feelings get up in me. I get to thinking, get to thinking. Why can’t my inner Pimp C step in and save me, baby?
I’m in this gym like, “Nigga, are you about to cry?” The fuck is wrong with you? Who does that? Not I, or at least, not very often. Is Mercury in Retroactive radio waves or whatever the hell y’all be talking about every so often on the Twitter? Between being overworked, the usual “Bitch, where is my money?” writer struggles, and dealing with the reality that the person who gave me life may regret that based on the direction my dick swings, I’ve been a pile of emotions lately for varying reasons.
I initially thought that was why this song got to me in that way, but I know better. Sure, I’m teetering towards a Vivian Green hit single, but I know that ultimately a song like this reminds me of a void in my life.
This song also reminds me of situation vaguely similar that happened a week ago. Wait, allegedly occurred. I won an award for my D.A.R.E. speech in 5th grade, so drugs – even the ones that need to be legalized already ’cause this is some ole bullshit – are bad or something.
In any event, it was a good time until the very end — when my hopes got into a knife fight and only brought a dull no. 3 pencil. Such is life. What will be will be, but bottom line, this song resonates with me even more. I want like to be loved. Wait, no. I’ve been loved before. I’d like to be loved without shame or unnecessary complications.
I don’t have that, but a song like this reminds me that it’s possible. Maybe songs about two people smoke weed won’t elicit the same feelings in you, but I’m the type of dude that wants to go on a date at the shooting range. So there you go.
Okay, I’m tired of this. We’re done now. I’m putting my feels put in the freezer. Nothing more to see here. Gon’ nah. Get.