‘Twas love at first bop when I heard the snippet of Tamar Braxton’s “Hot Sugar.” It has since become my new obsession. I’ve already made an mp3 of the 30 second clip and added it to my iPod. I spent much of today’s workout fighting the urge to full out pop it, pop it, pop it to the song, which I set to loop. I failed for the most part. What can I say? Can’t stop, must bop. Then drop.
I need this song in full in my life. As soon as humanly possible preferably. Is it not amazing? Yes, the answer is yes. “Hot Sugar” is everything I look for in a track: Good vocals, a bounce-inducing beat, and just the right amount of innuendo.
Speaking of vocals, I swear I can listen to anything Tamar Braxton wants to sing. Her voice is so gorgeous.
See? Get your life. Now bring it back to “Hot Sugar.”
I went out of my way to tell people that they must listen to this snippet. My friend Alex said it was cute for her, but wondered what sound the littlest Braxton was going for. I didn’t have a concrete answer at the time, but I think I’ve got it now.
Tamar’s sound is going to be “Auntie’s still got it.” Tamar would probably prefer I describe it as “younger big sis who continues to catch the beat.” Either or.
I’m not mad at that angle, though. I’ve already started contemplating taking up bikram yoga so I can stay as limber as possible. Like Tamar, I’m not giving up the uptempo life in my 30s.
I can see it now:
Oh shit. That’s my song. Let’s hit the dance floor. Wait, wait. Let me stretch.
Okay, bitches. Let’s go.
I wonder how many stereotype alarms I just set off? Y’all can write my ticket and leave it in the comments section.
In any event, get into this. Get into it now. And dammit, I need my Tamar Braxton sophomore album already. I can only sing “Words,” “Can’t Nobody,” “No Disrespect,” and “You Don’t Know” for so long (12 years to be exact).
By the way, my name is Michael and I’m a Tamartian.
As a rule of thumb, I tend to look at pledges that a posthumous album release is rooted in the pursuit to “preserve the artist’s legacy” as utter bullshit. Chances are if an artist has a vault of unreleased music its owners are considering reworking and putting up for sale, said artist already has a pretty damn great legacy. It’s usually more about money, or in the case of Drake, ego.
Given he has her face tattooed on his back, her birthday tattooed on his side (in a double entendre of a tattoo), and published a sincere but nevertheless creepy letter to her dead spirit that addressed her by her middle name (as if his ass was the Salt to her Pepa), it’s pretty apparent that Drake just wanted to say he had a song with Aaliyah.
Fine, but let’s all say what it is. Aaliyah fans want more music. The label wants to make whatever money it can off our desire. Drake, an almost The Bodyguard like stan, wanted to do a track with the person he claims he was “truly in love” with despite never, ever knowing.
Some of you might even find that sweet in a Yolanda Saldivar’s dream realized kind of way, though it’s still kind of narcissistic. That’s why when I first heard this song I closed my eyes and smiled thinking about how nice it was to finally hear new Aaliyah. That feeling subsided the second I heard Drake’s verse. I used to be so into this guy after he dropped So Far Gone. Somewhere along the way his revenge of the nerds tinged rap started to irk me.
People have waited a decade for new Aaliyah in some fashion, and the first time we hear just that, not only are you on the song, Aubrey, you’re going out of your way to diss Chris Brown on the song about his record sales.
I understand that Drake is essentially the outsider who managed to find his way in and that he remains a target, hence the defensive attitude. However, Drake often brings the ridicule on himself. See: Dissing Chris Brown on the first fucking new Aaliyah song we’ve heard in 10 damn years.
GIANT FUCK YOU TO DRAKE FOR THE AALIYAH TRACK SHE IS ABOUT EXPRESSING WOMEN’S EMOTIONS HE IS ABOUT MANIPULATING THEM
No lie, no lie, no lie-e-e-i-e-ie.
Not only is it annoying to hear was Drake’s ass constantly asking, “Yo, wassup?” in the background of Aaliyah’s song to remind us that he’s on it, his actual rap conveys the kind of sentiments Aaliyah probably wouldn’t co-sign on her song. Such a devout fan should know such a thing, no?
He probably does, but identity crisis’ are a bitch.
But we get it, Drake? You are helping executive produce. You, you, and yours. I don’t find Drake being at the helm of the project to be a bad idea in theory. Not entirely sure yet to what extent the producer 40 contributed made to this song and others forthcoming, but from a label’s perspective seeking a more current rapper/producer duo to sell material makes sense.
I could even see 40 and Aaliyah’s styles meshing (as on this very song), but I don’t want an hour of “Marvin’s Room,” or as I like to call it, “I’m going to call my dad if you don’t stop snooping around my bushes music.”
Meanwhile, it’s pretty reasonable for most longtime Aaliyah fans to associate Timbaland and Missy with Aaliyah and prefer they take the reigns any posthumous release from her despite not being so heavy handed on her third album. A third album that I love to this day, but wasn’t doing well before her death, and a third album whose biggest single was still produced by Timbaland. Not to mention another fan favorite on the track was penned by Missy.
Maybe it’s not completely realistic to feel only those two should be at the helm (though I think it’s more of a natural fit and less offensive for a posthumous release), but totally understandable why it’s a popular opinion. And for the record, people who like to point out the obvious, it’s not so much that Aaliyah didn’t want to work with Timbaland on her third album so much as Timbaland had some issues with her label. He ultimately gave two tracks, and as previously noted, we see how well those went.
We mustn’t antagonize for the hell of it.
In any event, I read that they will have some involvement, so alls well that ends well. I can’t wait to hear what comes next, but I sincerely hope whatever sounds do come from a new Aaliyah album, the people behind them remember to make it about her. You get that, Aubrey?
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.