Freddie Brooks Rap

When I read that Lauryn Hill had signed a new record deal with longtime label, Sony Music, I got the feeling that for the first time in a very long one, we might actually get some new music out of her. That is to no credit to her, of course. I imagine Sony put in a “Try us if you want to!” clause in her contract with respect to not ponying up new product.

Hello All:

Here is a link to a piece that I was ‘required’ to release immediately, by virtue of the impending legal deadline.

Exhibit A, B, C, D, E, and F. Who could blame the label given she’s been pussyfooting about releasing another album for a good decade now?

I am surprised that we’ve gotten music this soon, but as Ms. Hill points out, it’s not like she had much of a choice. Oh, how this woman knows how to spoil an occasion. And surprise, surprise, Lauryn has returned with another anti-establishment paean.

“Neurotic Society (Compulsory Mix)” (alternate link here) is a noisy, extended rant delivered in the spirit of fed up with society Speedy Gonzalez. It’s the kind of rant you would hear from Freddie Brooks before she pressed her hair, went to law school and decided to get her Uncle Phil on and be the change she constantly complained of seeking. The song also gives teases of, “What if Iyanla Vanzant read more than self-help books, How To Do Voodoo? and Ouija boards?

Lauryn Hill is the type of person to fuck your husband and call it a protest of institution of marriage because it’s oppressive and sexist and something else that makes her less culpable. You know, kind of like her refusing to pay her taxes for years and blaming it on everyone else. What was it again? She feared for her safety. So much so she couldn’t be bothered to pay her taxes.

Apparently, even though plenty of other people have lived in self-imposed exile without ending up on Uncle Sam’s hit list, her grave and pressing danger was enough to stop her from downloading Turbo Tax or asking someone’s accountant cousin for a hookup.

Not to be outdone, she showed up to court recently in a nice Gucci bag. Admittedly, I don’t have the pressures of being a fashionista and global superstar like Ms. Hill. Nevertheless, I feel as if I owed the government seven figures I’d have to show up in Bugle Boy jeans, an old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt from 1992, and some old Chucks I had to flirt to keep a discount on at Goodwill. But again, I don’t know Ms. Hill’s pressures to stay primped.

Thing is, as mocking as I am (for good reason, don’t trip) there is no one else on her level actually bothering to speak about the various societal ills going on. Everyone is at the club, getting drink, popping Molly’s and uploading fauxtivational bullshit on social media to deflect from the trying times we’re all burdened with. That is the only reason I can at least say to Lauryn, “Well, at least you’re trying to say something.”

However, I wish she’d try a little harder. Not to mention, I’d love it if Lauryn put her own actions in perspective before she wags her finger at everyone else. I can’t imagine paying $10.99 on iTunes to hear Ms. Lauryn Hill spend a whole hour blaming everyone else for her shortcomings in the most pretentious way possible. I’ve already heard her Unplugged album so I’m good on her bitching out her fans for giving her the fame and fortune she sought. I would love it if Lauryn would bother to sing again, or at the very least, rap without sounding like someone pressed the fast forward button.

Someone lock her in a room with Saleem Remi, Frank Ocean, Mark, and Questlove. Pretty please. It would do her a world of good. Ditto for her musical legacy, which she still seems content on ruining.

Ciara Makes Me Miss Janet Jackson

I love “Body Party.” So much so that I made a $1.29 donation to her “Keep Me Relevant” fund on iTunes. I want this girl to win even if she continues to express her own reservations with such an outcome. I don’t love the “Body Party” video, though, or at least, not as much as others seem to.

For one, she’s not dancing enough. Not to mention, I’ve seen this sex kitten bit from her. Don’t get me wrong. God bless the sex kittens, but at what point do you get the ones who offer the same purr the exact same way every single time spayed?

That aside, anyone working to bring back the butterfly has my full support on such endeavor. Beyoncé did her part by including it as an old school dance in the “Get Me Bodied” video, but I’ve got to give it CiCi just doing it because it felt right. You better believe the first thing I did when I was able to crawl out of bed from illness late last week was to do the butterfly.

So yes, gon’ Ciara, and might I add, I also enjoy the reference to Janet’s video for “That’s The Way Love Goes.” At the same time, I think that’s why I don’t completely love this video and why I can’t completely commit myself to the band of misfits known as the C-Squad. Well, I think that’s what they’re called. Whatever, you get it.

How many Janet Jackson videos is Ciara going to recreate exactly? Okay, so it wasn’t a direct rip like those other two drawn from Damita Jo’s “You Want This” visual, but once I found out Ciara’s album change, I began to frown.

That Cocoa Butter Love

When I close my eyes, I can picture the recording process. India Arie has candles lit all across the recording studio that as legend has it, Tammi Terrell once took a piss in on the way to Berry Gordy’s house. There’s a spread of Palmer’s products near the recording booth. For inspiration. The lights are dimmed and soon India takes a deep breath to reflect on the sweet aroma of strawberry kiwi incense and the cocoa butter cure for stretch marks encompassing the room. With these smells now consuming both her and her spirit, she opens her mouth to sing the lyrics that I’m sure she is convinced presents another beautiful expression of the great emotion we call love.

Meanwhile, I’m laughing at my ass off at the just name of this song alone, “Cocoa Butter,” and the sample lyric I see on my Twitter timeline, “Your love is like cocoa butter on my heart.” Such laughter only intensifies upon actually hearing the track.

Maybe I haven’t frequented enough soul vegan restaurants, but India Arie’s “Cocoa Butter” is one of the corniest things I’ve ever heard. Wait, I’ve had an awesome Frederick Douglass burger before, let me not do my meatless people like that. India Arie probably still eats pork anyway.

In any event, I love cocoa butter as much as every other Negro with visible scars. And while I’ve been told shea butter may be the better move, if you’ve had stretch marks, issues with uneven skin tone along with every other issue I’m currently reading off my own cocoa butter-centered product, you understand cocoa butter’s importance. Still, to use that as a metaphor to signify a relationship gets a “Girl, I guess” from me.

I feel like India Arie has been making the same song over and over again. This is like “Brown Skin” only now she’s revising the song structure to mirror a product for brown skinned people. I should also point out that “Cocoa Butter” is the first single from India Arie’s forthcoming album, Songversation. She needs to rub some cocoa butter lotion on her ideas because they’re sounding ashy as hell.

I’m on to you. I can’t wait for the remixes by way of the Twitter:

“Our love is tight like the condom on my dick.”

“Your love is like DayQuil for my common cold.”

“Your love is good like the Gillette on my pits.”

“Your love sanitizes me like the clear gel on my hands.”

“Your love controls me like the remote for my cable box.”

“Your love checks me like the red line on my Firefox.”

“Your love is tasty like the skin on a chicken.”

“Your love is like Beyoncé Knowles performing at the Super Bowl.”

“Your love is loosens me up like lubricant on my…” alright now, you get the point.

And no. Just no. Now let me go turn on Next’s “Butta Love” to cleanse.

I’d Like The Kisses More If It Had Choreo

Oh, Kelly. You and me were doing so well. If you’re a Destiny’s Childogolist, the “Kisses Down Low” video harkens back to Beyoncé’s “Check On It” video, which was inspired by the DC3 video for “Bootylicious,” which nodded to DC 2.0′s “Say My Name” visual. My, my, do my H-Town girls love their splashes of color.

Kelly Rowland looks gorgeous in the clip for her fourth album’s second single, proving once again that cosmetic surgery can do wonders for a person so long as the surgeon doesn’t get too creative. It’s serving you pin-up realness in that Katy Perry, vintage Britney Spears sort of way. I get it, but that’s not what I was hoping for.

What I wanted was something dance-heavy that would give me the kind of choreography I could try to mimic when dancing inappropriate to “Kisses Down Low” in public.

Girl.

Where is your twirk? What happened to your p-pop? Why aren’t you dipping it low, picking it up slow, rolling it all around, poking it out and making your back go…p-p-p-pop that thang?

I’ve seen you on tour. I know you can do this. Hell, you were just giving us cute face, slim waist, thick thighs, ample backside now watch it glide at the Super Bowl.

Why is that not in this video? I know you said you wanted something lighthearted and flirty since the song is so sexually suggestive. Fine, you didn’t want to take it back to Uncut, but hey, the song is still about oral sex. It’s a fantastic song about fellatio at that. It deserves better!

“Banji” Is Set To Become The New “Shade”

So I like Sharaya J’s track “Banji.” The video works, too. It’s cheapness done right: creative, energetic, and engaging. And if this song and video are any indication, it looks like we may have ourselves a worthy successor to Missy Elliott. Wait, let me fix that. There is potential there though I realize that even with a Missy co-sign and backing, one has a ways to go before truly being worthy of such a title. Cool your crotches, just throwing it out there with hopeful intentions.

With all of that said, I can’t help but think, “And here goes another instance of a Black gay term hitting the mainstream by way of a non-gay Black male.”

Minutes after I watched Sharaya J’s video, a friend hit me up via text asking, “Hey. Am I wrong for being irked by straight women using the term ‘hunty?’ It is beyond annoying to me.”

She followed with an example of a co-worker instantly abusing “yaaaaas hunty” with the new Black gay guy in the office. She assumed that because the dude likes dudes he must’ve been not only knowledgable of the lingo, but uses it all the time. The homie noted how it’s the equivalent of a white person “Being all “yes, girlfriend!’ to Black women. Just stop.”

And much like that white person trying to get you to answer questions about Waka Flocka or Barack Obama, not every colored knows everything there is to know about the ways of the Negro culture. Same goes for the gay boys.  Hell, I mentioned this song to a Black gay dude and hit Urban Dictionary before I could explain. Plus as the homie Fresh reminds me constantly, “You didn’t even speak the Queen’s English.” For those curious, I’ve improved by leaps and bounds — making other friends proud in the process. Insert your “yasss” here. It’s fine.

I knew about “banji” because my kin’s friends would call me that in the club years ago. Apparently they thought I was “classy” because of the way I was dressed. To which the kin would bark back, “Who?! That nigga?! Pssh. Wait another hour and a couple of drinks.” I was later told that they would indeed see me later on – singing along to certain tracks, throwing up Hiram Clarke, jigging – and conclude, “OH, he banji like you.” That’s a read.

So yeah, I do find it annoying when straight women go out of their way to throw out a “hunty” in that I’m about to make you my gay pet sort of way, or as my friend noted: “The overuse of any slang is annoying.” Still, I don’t find it that troublesome generally speaking since it’s not done with malicious intent. It’s merely excitement about the something new around them. You can turn it down a few notches before you make a motherfucker deaf, but your purpose is understood.

Now what does bug me about this and instances like it is how it shows you aspects of gay Black culture all over pop culture at large yet we continue to be way in the back. Well, unless we have on a dress. No, that’s not shade, just an assessment of the situation at hand.

I don’t begrudge Sharaya J, but I do boo, hiss at the people who partake in this trend who are in the positions to change such realities but don’t. I’m sure if you turn on Bravo and figure out one perfect example there. Then you can flip to other channels for those with darker interests. The examples are everywhere. It’s too bad I can’t say the same about members of the culture.

Too Old To Be Misplacing Your Tits

I hope this doesn’t come across as ageist, but considering Lil’ Kim is about to run wig first into the age of 39 in a couple of months, why is she getting drunk with Hannah Montana? And isn’t she too old to be misplacing her breasts? I just feel that certain point in life you either learn how to hold your liquor or you keep it light and tight with white wine. Not to mention, Kim purchased those melons so I’m sure her surgeon doesn’t appreciate her treating them like Chapstick.

Sadly, that line isn’t even the worst part about Tiffany Foxx’s aggressively awful track “Twisted.” Make no mistake, I think Kim sounds juvenile as hell on this track and it pains me to see her turn into the auntie you have to flee as she goes to take a piss before she tags along with you and your friends to the club. My, my have doth fallen the fuck off.

Memories, like the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories of the way we were.

She looks like an old pro who should’ve cashed in long ago. In my mind, Lil’ Kim should either be still be signed to a major label, dropping a hot single here and there while having other revenue streams in the entertainment industry, or at the very least, rapping sparingly yet remaining undoubtedly rap royalty — while living in Dubai on some oil man’s dime. Or her own ’cause she got it. Girl power.

She was supposed to be Tweety who flies off into the sunlight not stubbornly stumble and end up like Foghorn Leghorn.

And I say, I say we all know that she for damn sure doesn’t look the same anymore, but Kim doesn’t even rap the same either. Are her vocal chords being dragged to the floor by the weight of her hip and ass injections? What is the problem and can we get together and pray about it?

This is worse than Jay-Z spraying Old Spice all over Justin Timberlake’s “Suit & Tie.” I will give one thing to Hov: As much as people give him grief for becoming the Pop-Pop of rap, a few offenses here and there aside, he straddles the line between aging gracefully and being current without being that old nigga in the club better than the bulk of his peers. See LL Cool’s J “Ratchet” and Kimberly in the posted clip.

And what really goats me is that of all people to co-sign, this is who Kimberly finally attaches her name to? Let me get something straight. Lil’ Kim had Nicki Minaj paying her constant homage in the earliest parts of her career. She obviously botched that, but you she got another chance when rising rap star Azealia Banks went out of her way to try and include Lil’ Kim on a track for her mixtape. A track that would go on to be used in an Alexander Wang ad. Yet, she did not pass go and collect $200 on either renewed cultural relevance by way coattailing opportunity, but she co-signs Keys The Problem and the child Jamie Foxx apparently abandoned.

Umm, you need to go look at yourself in the mirror like “What the fuck?”

Jesus Christ Is Not Your N*gga

As a bunch of rappers channel their inner butch queens to bitch and moan about their placement on MTV’s Top 10 Hottest MCs, I’m just now discovering Thelma and Vint Harper’s attempt at gospel rap. I don’t know how old this is. On one hand they use the word “swag” which makes me wonder if this is semi-recent. Then again, they reference Biggie so this could’ve been shot before broadband and pre-YouTube. However, if they live in Kentucky or some shit this might’ve been shot two hours ago given out there they’re probably only now discovering Christopher Wallace and are still at least seven months away from finding out 2Pac didn’t survive.

Whatever the case, Opie and Andel got the game wrong all the same. First of all, Jesus will never be their nigga. I’m not even sure if I can get away with saying “My nigga, Jesus” in conversation. Not that I haven’t tried, mind you. Secondly, I know Lecrae just won a Grammy for his rapping for Jesus music, but everyone knows more times than not Christian rap is corny. I imagine Lucifer created it as a sick joke at JC’s expense.

Meanwhile, Mary Mary and their “Blame It On The Jesus” record proves you can get the heathens to jig for the Lord without losing the melody.

So, thank you, Two-Too Old Crew for the awkward laughs, but fuck y’all all the same. And I hope your hell is full of angry, overcompensating mulattos ready to pounce on the first sight of someone melanin-challenged. Plus, may you two endure a live Decoded-inspired conversation between Flavor Flav and Chuck D on the lyrics encompassing their iconic album It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back. On top of that, may Minister Louis Farrakhan take it back to his Calypso Louie and days and play a new gem I wrote for him entitled, “I’m Gon’ Haunt Your Racist Sum’Bitch Asses In Your Dreams.”

He’s pretty good, you know.

Now that we’ve settled that, readers, I’ve got to say to you fine folks: You all have really got to stop keeping stuff from me. Yes, I just committed two geriatrics to hell, but I did engage in some uncomfortable laughter. That’s what we’re all here for, no?

It’s Ciara’s Party

My initial reaction to Ciara’s “Body Party” was the same as it was with the other four songs she released as singles only to snatch them back just as quickly — hoping the pubic would join her in pretending they never happened: “Where’s the hook?”

It continues to baffle me that an artist who quickly became a multi-platinum crossover R&B/pop act due to her singsongy yet ridiculously catchy and sing-a-long friendly tracks refuses to go with what’s always proven to work for her. And it’s not even about being regressive; every hit song needs a hook. How is a pop star going to pop if they don’t get that?

Still, I have to admit by the end of the night I found myself cooing the background vocals to “Body Party.” Salute to Ciara’s boyfriend, Future, who studied The-Dream’s trademark animal noises (or wait, didn’t R. Kelly Pissy start that Tarzan trend?) and smartly duplicated it. Future sounds like a bedroom owl on “Body Party.”

Whooooo, Hwooooo, Whooooo 

Whooooo, Hwooooo, Whooooo 

Whooooo, Hwooooo, Whooooo 

Since we’re talking birds, I wonder if the fact that I’m so drawn to those sounds makes me one? Before you even answer: shut up. No one asked you. The question was a rhetorical so don’t bother reaching for the shade.

So while I didn’t immediately fall in love with the song as others I know (my reaction was more like an eh, it’s cool), this is growing on me. I’ve had it on repeat for an hour before. Part of that lies in the reality that the best way to get through a day of sitting down and writing a whole lot to eat, it helps to do all that while doing a body roll in your seat.

I’m curious to see how this song performs. I can already figure out how the video will go. Ciara will be butt naked once more, proving for the umpteenth time that if this whole singing thing doesn’t work out she could make a killing as the Black Jane Fonda by releasing a workout DVD. If her past several videos are any indication, CiCi will do the absolute most but ironically offer the least bit of creativity.

Or maybe, just maybe she will blow my sarcastic and salty towards her ass away with a stunning visual. I’m hoping for the second scenario. Like, go hire Tina Landon again, give us something subtle albeit ridiculously seductive. Give people a reason to give a damn.

Meanwhile, since Ciara refuses to call back Jazze Phae, maybe Mike Will Made It and Future will helm the bulk of this project. This song doesn’t blow you away, but at least it doesn’t blow as hard as a sexually conflicted geriatric GOP senator on a young, eager Senate aid. Or whatever that bullshit techo shit she wasted a 2 Chainz feature on.

Believe it or not, I’m holding onto hope, but girl, ye ain’t got too much longer. There’s got to be some 18-year-old girl who just discovered the Control album. Time goes by fast so it won’t be too long before she discoveres janet. and The Velvet Rope and say to  herself, “Oh, this spot is mine.”

You best figure it out already, Ciara.

P.S. Some people have been impressed by this, others want to already hand Ciara the “You Tried It” award for the month of March. However you feel on the matter, I hope we can all agree that Rihanna’s homie, lover, friend, Melissa needs to find a nice sandy beach to sit on for going out of her way to insult the girl online.

Look, maybe Ciara did started the whole Rihanna and Ciara “feud,” but didn’t that end like two years ago? Give it up, turn it loose, and pray for your girl on this tour. Seriously, on what planet does anyone who love Rihanna – self-included – have the gall to insult anyone else trying to sing live?

This Girl Should Be Fired

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.

Sister Without Voice

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.