I’m a little late to this party (at least when it comes to writing about it here), but fortunately, I pre-gamed. Anyone who has read this site at length knows that I have a strong love of all things related to Vanity 6 and Apollonia 6. For so long now I’ve looked for their modern equivalent. I thought I was close once before, but I do believe The Yes Ma’ams may be it. That’s why you shouldn’t let my tardiness on the topic fool you as I’m quite impressed with these ladies. From the music to the styling to their Web site and overall presentation, The Yes Ma’ams are having a better rollout than artists with major deals.
Plus, I love how they incorporated one of my favorite words into their name: “Ma’am.” I’ve offended many an old lady mature woman on the East and West Coasts by being the Southern gent that I am and using the term while speaking to them. Well, these ladies give Whitley Gilbert: The Early Years realness with respect to their ages, and see, they’re not ducking the world. Learn to trust us gay men, people.
Anyway, I so hope they get what they desire very soon. And full disclosure: I fancy quite a few of the people behind them and am wishing them all the best. I like them even more for having something to push that I don’t have to pretend to enjoy (I’m no good at that anyway). Indeed, I’ve been body rolling to the two tracks the Ma’ams dropped on Valentine’s Day, and if you haven’t heard, check them out below.
Look here, y’all. I’ve been waiting for D’Angelo to come back for a very, very long time. Obviously, I’m overjoyed to see that not only is he back on stage, he’s back on it without sounding like a damn fool. This is a feat and anyone who’s heard any of those sorry (!) demos of his that have leaked in recent years is relishing in it. Indeed, glory be to God that he doesn’t sound like the WB Frog. To that end, I need some of you folks to do me a favor: shut up. Do not scare this man away. I need him more than you know.
Yesterday, Wendy Williams did an impromptu poll among her audience about D’Angelo’s return. The results? They want him to stop eating fried fat back and hire a trainer. They prefer D’Angelo shirtless and with hard rock abs. Go download some porn. Admittedly, D’Angelo continues to look like he ate ODB. Give him credit for at least doing some push ups and reps with the dumb bells. Or not. It’s whatever to me as I don’t give a single fuck about the way he’s looking right now. I’m just happy he’s singing again. So happy that I’m ready to fry his big ass some fish if he so desires.
Do you folks more fixated on his waistline than his vocal chords not realize how bad R&B has gotten, especially when it comes to male R&B artists? Most of whom don’t even deserve to be thrown in that category, for the record. I need D’Angelo — a legitimate soul singer with ability. I can’t take another year of fake R&B thugs naming more designer labels than a queen high on coke and hijacked credit cards.
Likewise, I am exhausted by this Europop dance trend. How much longer do I have to put up with American music artists theming everything around what was poppin’ in Belgium back in 1996? Give us free.
I need a break and D’Angelo might finally help usher in one. I’ve never been attracted to that man, so perhaps that only heightens my inability to side with the superficial. Whatever it is, that “D’Angelo needs to come back until he is cut again” talk needs to go the fuck on somewhere, yo. I remember reading some Spin magazine article a while back about his whereabouts. It seems part of what sent his psyche into a tizzy was him feeling ostracized. People didn’t want to hear the music anymore. They showed up to his concerts ready to fuck him — throwing their panties on stage and what not. We gotta be gentle with Michael Archer, otherwise he might go back to the trap house, the crazy house, or wherever he was hiding his genius from us. That cannot happen because I’ll be damned if we go through another year of a bunch of half-ass crooners giving us their best R. Kelly and/or Ace of Base impersonation.
So again, go hose your hot asses down until the coast is clear. Don’t blow it for me ’cause he doesn’t look like the man you used to wanna blow. Sometimes you gotta do baby steps on the hoe stroll.
As many of you readers know by now, Tamar Braxton is the hot sauce to my catfish fresh out the fryer. And as previously noted, my adoration for Ms. Dotcom started before Braxton Family Values. I’ve been patiently waiting for Tamar’s talent to get the p-pop it deserves so I’m quite excited to hear any news about what’s to come. Folks need to know Tamar is as good a singer as she is a reality personality.
A couple weeks ago a few of my friends, unfamiliar to Tamar Braxton’s solo album released in 2000 (for shame), watched the video for her debut solo single, “Get None.” In short: If songs were birds the track would go great with Christian Fried Chicken’s polynesian sauce. Despite that fun quality, most of them were less than enthused with what they saw. I, naturally, sang along to the song word for word (what lyrics I could recall anyway). Based on this clip, I gather we’re going to get a somewhat more mature version (relatively speaking, surely) of that. That somewhat concerns me because I feel like some people are going to say, “Tamar is too old for that.” The right side of me says to that idea, “Shut up. I’m only a few birthdays away from entering the third decade of life.”
And hopefully once I do, I’ll still want to be sweating in the club on occasion if the spirit beat calls upon thee. If Jay-Z can be played in the club at 100-years-old (dog years), I’m into the prospect of Tamar dippin, poppin’, twirkin’ and stoppin’ in her mid-thirties. Yes, a Beyoncé reference was necessary. Tamar would totally want it that way. Anywho, while I’m glad J.Lo continues to break people off in her forties on stage, she never released the video for “Good Hit” so lately we’ve only been getting shake something pop anthems of the Cher’s “Believe” variety. We need the urban black equivalent.
So bring it, Sister Braxton. I believe in you and your abilities to get the club going while you keep your edges tight. Give me something to aspire to. Lord knows when I’m her age I want to continue being the cool uncle, not the uncle who only does the stanky legg while he waits for his cranberry juice to kick in so he might finally relinquish fluids. Boom.
Oh, as for those of you who continue to deny my girl’s abilities, or maybe just don’t know about them, park yourself under the hood and check out my favorite Tamar Braxton song, “Words.”
I imagine Drake spent much of today fighting off tears as he performed the “Are You That Somebody” choreography in his living room as a tribute to the late Aaliyah on her birthday. Aubrey has made his affinity for Aaliyah creepily clear with his constant shout outs, random open letters to the dead that seemed more appropriate for a séance versus a blog post, and now shots like these featuring the face of the singer on his surprisingly nice back. While I know it’s Drake’s body and he and Lil’ Wayne are free to do with it as they please (kidding, y’all), it’s still weird — even for reasons outside the obvious.
Okay, so you decided to put that somebody on your body. Fine, whatever, super stan. But, why is Mr. Owl from the Tootsie Roll pop commercials on the other side of your back, though? I’m assuming one of The Fabulous Freebirds atop Aaliyah is a joint homage to the NWA and the original motion picture soundtrack for Dr. Dolittle. Then again, I’m trying to make sense of someone who acts like he used to pass notes with Aaliyah in class. Silly, silly me. Let’s just focus on the positive: Drake’s got great arms, too. Makes me wanna go do a push up. Any minute now, folks.
Alright, enough of that. Explain those tattoos to me post haste. I need answers.
P.S. Don’t worry about the “Eric Kane” title. That was for Drakey. If he saw it, I’m sure he’d dig it.
Last week I read an article on The Root entitled “Beyoncé’s Incredible, Miraculous Pregnancy,” in which the writer basically assailed my lord and gyrator under the false allegation that she was shoving her pregnancy down everyone’s throat and that she needed to quit acting as if she’s the only person in history to be with child.
Part of the piece included jabs like this:
I’m happy for you, Bey, but the joy growing inside your womb is not the blueprint, and it is not biblical. It isn’t the Visitation; nor is it the dawn of a new epoch in the human calendar. It’s a baby.
Not to mention a subheading called “A Mom-To-Be Who Knows Her Place.”
Now you know I had to write a response to that. In my latest essay for The Root, “It’s Not Beyoncé, It’s You” I hit back at all of the author’s off base accusations and remind her and others that it’s none of our places to tell a woman to tame her excitement about becoming a mother. You can click here to check it out.
Feel free to hit like, tweet, and email the piece around. You an also hit your sexy and slow stanky legs, too. And remember: Watch you what you say about the Queen. The hive ain’t having it.
I wanted to call this post “Conspiracy Cunts,” but I figured that might not be the best thing to have on my Twitter feed and Google index. I blame the Puritans. That’s still pretty much how I feel about this ridiculous story about Beyoncé faking her pregnancy all the same.
I noticed on the very night Beyoncé casually announced being with child that the headmistress of online sensationalism quickly barked that it was all a farce. That was to be expected if you’ve ever read the blog. Unfortunately, I gave other people the benefit of the doubt. I never learn, damn closet idealism.
There are people who actually believe Beyoncé is fronting about her growing fetus. And not just fronting: She’s cut her fancy pillow up into the shape of a prosthetic belly, which folds in front of foreign journalists. This video is tagged as “Best Proof Ever Beyonce is faking her pregnancy!! But Why? What u think?”
I think an insanely sad number of people are fucking morons.
There’s always going to be silly criticism about Beyoncé, but sometimes I wish I could borrow her fan to blow some of your asses away.
I have longed accepted that not everyone will like Beyoncé.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I think people like that suffer from some sort of personality disorder. Be that as it may I respect people’s right to deny greatness and available medication from their virtual pharmacist, iTunes.
What I don’t cut for her is the notion of coming for the Queen’s throat over an unfinished demo.
Such is the case for Beyoncé’s new single, “Girls (Who Run The World).”
The version that was leaked yesterday is not the finished product. Not surprisingly, that fun fact hasn’t stopped people from writing soliloquies about how it’s time to lock Beyoncé out of the studio based on what they’ve heard.
I don’t really care if some folks don’t like it ‘cause everyone else will.
What does irritate me a bit, though, is one aspect of the criticism largely centered on the idea that her single and its lyrics aren’t “deep enough.”
If you’re looking for the meaning of life from Beyoncé I need for you to go and let your forehead kiss the sidewalk.
Yesterday, a vicious and terrible lie spread across the Internet that my queen and yours, Beyoncé, had an unauthorized visitor in her uterus. Quickly, many assumed that Beyoncé was finally knocked up with Jay-Z’s seed and would be sending Gerber a request to make a baby food version of red beans and rice. Some then quickly moved to start conceiving baby names for the couple while others began to cry silent tears over a botched new album and world tour in 2011.
Meanwhile, the sad souls of pop culture (those who suffer from Beyoncé denial disorder) started conjuring false hope for their respective favorites. You know, because they’re too clueless to realize that even if the Queen were breeding a princess or prince she wouldn’t simply get a doctor-approved p-pop ready for the promotional trail.
As if, folks. As freaking if.
When I read Us Weekly’s “report,” it immediately sounded sketchy to me. One, any real Beyoncé fan knows that she has been rumored to be pregnant every six months for the last ten years. In fact, if I played a drinking game themed around the number of times Bey has been rumored to be knocked up, I’d likely be dead within the first 15 minutes of playing.
Why do people keep trying to give this girl morning sickness?
Us Weekly’s source said: “B was shocked. She loves kids, but she wasn’t ready to be a mother just yet. She really wanted to get her album done and tour the world again.”
It’s highly unlikely to see someone as calculated as she suddenly have an “unplanned pregnancy.” So, ye ain’t fooling me.
The same goes to this other “insider” who added that Beyoncé was in her first trimester and realized that “this is a gift from God and she’s so happy.”
We may all differ on religious beliefs but I’d like to think we share a faith in a God who wouldn’t be cruel enough to leave us with just Keri Hilson and Ciara (look, she gave them a chance to shine and they failed miserably — those are the breaks). Yes, Willow’s whipping her hair back and forth, but she’s still a few years away from being tall enough to actually snatch anybody’s wig.
And while I am pretty certain I’ll enjoy Rihanna’s new album, you know that girl dances like she was choreographed by Ambien.
Beyoncé is needed.
Thankfully, Mama Tina shut this shit down before people really got carried away from themselves.
Hopefully, you learned a few things from yesterday.
Like: Traditional media outlets can be just as bad and factually flawed as the very bloggers they often like to criticize.
And: Your favorites still need prayer because the Queen won’t be jiggin’ for two.
Also: Don’t believe anything about a highly private person unless they confirm it. If it took Beyoncé 19 years to tell you she let Jay-Z have a piece of her drumstick, what makes you think she’s carrying his loosie that quickly?
Now, one day there will come a point when she decides to go off and have some super talented and incredibly blessed kids. That, of course will be quite lovely and stuff so long as it occurs after I get a new album and see her in concert.
Selfish? Yeah, but whatever. Who told you I was perfect?
Besides, based on the numerous interviews where she’s spoken on the matter, I’m inclined to think she’ll have some kids when she’s good and ready. Until she decides she wants to grant someone the green light to flow from her birth canal, leave her alone.
Judging from the way she pronounced “YouTube” it was easy to peg her as a resident of (Baltimore) Baldamo, Murrland. Or as she and other choice locals like to call it, Bodymore, Murderland. With a nickname like that it’s no wonder the town also branded as Charm City is such a tourist haven.
Let me quit clowning before I get a bunch of hollow points left in my comment section. Some of my favorite people on Earth are from Baltimore. This girl, however, isn’t one of them.
To be fair, she’s not a bad rapper at all. She has some issues with breath control but given the size of her stomach I can understand why. That’s either a baby in her belly or a 20 piece nugget at McDonalds.