Break out the Sutter’s Home: it’s time for The Cynical Awards. Outside of Britney Spears channeling the spirit of a doped up Anna Nicole Smith for her performance at the VMAs, I can’t remember much about the 2007 award season. That's probably a blessing in disguise. In any event, here’s my list of the best, worst, and ridiculous.

Tribute Savior: Yolanda Adams

If you caught Ciara’s “tribute” performance to Diana Ross the other night, you’ll realize just how cruel some people can be, which is I’m why dubbing Yolanda Adams the legends tribute performer of the year. She saved Diana Ross’ tribute --- no doubt a sign that prayer indeed works. I’d also like to give her additional recognition for her tight weave game. While she may be no Michael Jackson, her club hair is usually nice enough to at least get a second glance from the King of Weave. I could easily see these two fighting over the last pack of Remy hair at Kim’s Beauty Supply. Go ‘head, Yo-Yo for letting “Open My Heart” open the door to bomb extensions.

Everytime I See or Hear You, I Want to Call You the N-Word, but I Gave It Up: Lil’ Wayne

I’ve been trying to give up the word, but whenever I read or see a Lil’ Wayne interview, I sound like I’m auditioning for a role on The Boondocks. Living proof that anti-depressants are a privilege, not a right, this nutty Negro makes me long for the days when short rappers only opened their mouths to rap about wanting a height increase. Shout out to Skee-Lo.

You’re My Girl, but I Need Space (The Overachiever Award): Beyonce

I love Beyonce like Karrine Steffans loves any doctor that tells us the test results of her HIV test came back negative, but damn, will she go have some babies, go read a book, go visit the Moon, or do something that doesn’t involve music, film, television, or hawking products? I’m all about people making their money while the getting is good, but this chick will endorse the Chinese take out restaurant on MLK if you promise her a free order of Sesame Chicken. I love how the game is hers, but sit down, Beyonce, and let me miss you.

I Am Not My Height: Bow Wow

Though he’s devoid of reality, you have to give it to someone who won’t let anyone chip away at their confidence. He and his partner Omarion's (take that how you want) songs are a lot like a bag of Frito’s, but you can’t tell this dude that he’s not in the running for the title of greatest of all time. Somewhere Napoleon Bonaparte is on a stool smiling.

Super Trooper: Janet Jackson

Two flops and she’s still at it. Persistence is a virtue, ya’ll. She made me laugh while she cried about not being able to be “Perfect Patty” in Tyler Perry’s Why Did I Get Married, but she proved people like me who thought her taking the role was a step down wrong. Now that she's raised her profile back up in the acting world, Damita Jo is now embarking on yet another daunting task: trying to get played in the club after 10:30 again. I’m a Janet fan from way back, and while 20 Y.O. was about as appealing to me as a fatback sandwich, I love her new single “Feedback,” and I’m eagerly anticipating what could be her true comeback album. Possibly. Maybe. In theory. Ok, damn, I’m hoping it will be. Can I live?

What In The Hell Is Wrong With You?: T.I.

So, I haven’t really felt T.I.’s decision to dilute every southern quality that made him the beloved emcee that he is on his last two releases, but I have been cheering on his much deserves success in the mainstream. But then he had to go and swagger jack G.I. Joe and likely ruin what was sure to be a climb to the top of hip hop’s hierarchy. A bit of advice: Soap on a rope is your friend, my dude.

Upgrade U: Frankie

Frankie is the best looking crack head I’ve ever seen. That rock obviously had her in a one hell of a head lock for a few decades, but fresh dentures and the best weave someone else’s money can buy easily places her in contention with Nippy Houston for best makeover. Holla!

You’re Only as Old as the Old ID You’re Using: Pepa

Pepa is like the auntie that could probably teach you the latest dance instead of the other way around. The type of older adult that prefers you look at her as an older sibling, given that she has more MySpace friends than you, and has a YouTube game that can’t be matched. It might be a part of the storyline that she sometimes works Salt’s nerves, but hell, I’ll bring her old ass with me to the club. I’ll even request “Push It” and “Shoop.”

Age Ain’t Nothing But A Number: Mariah Carey

Like Pepa, Mariah isn’t going to let her age dictate her wardrobe or late night activities. Dubbing herself an “eternal tween,” now that the Olsen Twins have grown up, Mariah now looks to fashionistas like Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana on how to keep up with the girls on the playground. You’ll always be my girl, Mimi, so don’t you worry --- you can borrow my copy of Goosebumps anytime.

Look Who’s Talking: Diddy

Ok, Puffy, we get it: You’re not shooting any blanks. Now could you please have your driver take you to the drug store, walk on over to the aisle where the Trojans are located, take that, take that, and use them before your dick becomes the identical twin of Aretha Franklin’s foot.

Speechless: Steph Jones

He may have a song called “Mr. Ordinary,” but his choices in costumes are anything but. Any man who can show up in public dressed like the Gerber baby deserves the attention he was obviously going for. Not my style, but he made the most out of those Depends. Sidenote: He’s from the Houston area, so yeah, that’s always a good thing. And before you even think it, no, I’ve never rocked an adult diaper.

And now, for your viewing please, B-Rock and The Bizz’s “My Baby Daddy.”

Please don’t act like you don’t remember this song. It’s a classic. So good I once bought my mama the single for her birthday.

Look for the rest of the awards soon.

This year in music sucked more than Chris Stokes at a kid's party, but suffice to say, not every artist was completely horrible. There were a few artists with actual talent that delivered quality music, and there were those with marginal traces of ability who were smart enough to align themselves with people who could mask everything they lacked vocally with catchy lyrics and a hot beat. To add a positive spin 'round these parts, here's a list of albums I enjoyed.

On her first album she rocked a Kool-Aid red hair color, and cursed out her dude like she was ready to pull the blade from underneath her tongue and channel Lorena Bobbit should he decide to get out of pocket with her again. Naturally, I loved it. However, on her sophomore album, a more demure (well for her) Keyshia Cole showed her softer, yet still sad side, offering a much more mature and cohesive effort. A few people miss that certain umph about her (I believe that umph consists of four letter words and racial epithets), but I enjoy Just Like You and I think musically, it's a step in the right direction for Oakland's would be Blige.

She may look like life drop kicked her in the skull, and she may act like a retarded kid with a black card, but Britney Spears can still churn out a hot album. It's unfortunate that her personal life has been on such a downward spiral, because Blackout is by far the best pop album of the year, and a career best for the artist formally known as Britney Spears. I would say her little sister should just re-record this in a few years, but what a difference a pregnancy test makes. Let's hope Britney pulls herself together, because for all of her faults, she still produces better music than those longing to replace her.

So maybe I've been harsh on the girl since this blog's inception, but I can admit when someone does well. I was expecting this album to sound like that ear-ache inducing "Unfaithful," but, I was pleasantly surprised with Good Girl Gone Bad. It's a finely crafted pop album full of singles, and offers a little something for everyone. It also features one of the hottest covers offered this year. If not for this album, I would have probably already snitched to INS about the status of her green card. Nice work, Rih Rih.


By far my favorite album of the year. It's unfortunate Amy didn't take Whitney Houston's "crack is wack" comment to heart, as the singer-songwriter made the album Christina Aguilera tried to make a year ago. Winehouse is an exceptional singer and equally exceptional songwriter. Hopefully, our new Elvira will pull herself together and continue to build on the promise of Black to Black.You can read the full review here, but let me just say Pop-Pop came back in true form with American Gangster. I'm grateful for that, because executive Jay wasn't doing much for me. 30 is the new 20 didn't apply to him anyway.

All of ya'll trying to sneak K-Ci Mary's cell number need to quit it. Though she lost a bit of her trademark bark and grit, the Queen of Hip Hop Soul is still delivering quality music. Though I didn't care for it at first, I've come to love Mary's happy ass "Just Fine." Turn it on again and fake it...eventually it will become real.If we were in the pre-shiny suit era of rap, you would probably know a lot more about Lupe Fiasco. Not every rapper is stuck on gold, hoes, and clothes, and while that's a good thing for my brain cells when I listen to him, it's somewhat detrimental to his record sales. Still, The Cool is a dope album, and hopefully, it will help him cross over a little more...even if only modestly.

I'm not quite sure how to describe Janelle Monae, but that's actually part of allure. If you haven't listened, Google around, look on iTunes, and check out her EP. I love "Violet Stars Happy Hunting!" mainly because the end of the song reminds me of A Pup Named Scooby Doo. What? It does.

"And if you miss Pimp C, throw up ya dueces and ya tres!"

If anyone sees Raz-B driving a new Accord, we know why. Days after taking to YouTube to accuse his former manager and reported cousin, Chris "Yes, I Really Dress and Style My Hair Like This" Stokes, as a child molesting, money-leeching pervert, Raz-B is now retracting that statement. What a difference a threat makes.

Notice how camera shy the former boy band member has become. That's a stark contrast from the other hundred videos he and the other former B2K members have posted on Youtube. Judging from him revealing accusations of child molestation to YouTube users versus an attorney, it's obvious he's not receiving the best advice on how to handle matters. That's a shame.

I'm no expert, but I've watched enough episodes of To Catch A Predator (two) to get a colored Lou Pearlman vibe from Chris Stokes. Something is just not natural about anyone who dresses like the oldest boy band member alive. Better yet, something isn't right about a manager releasing a picture of three young boys in their underwear laying next to each other. What should have been deemed child pornography was instead thrown into issues of Right On! and Black Beat because the picture in question featured Immature.

Unfortunately, when it comes to child molestation, my community still isn't the most supportive, particularly when men are the victims. It's not surprising Raz-B is being force fed lines (listen to the video closely) to a half-hearted retraction. This is what happens when the fear of ridicule and speculation can consume you enough to let money silence you. Moreover, this is exactly what happens when we let pedophiles get away with stealing people's innocence so long as they make your body move like a snake.

Thank God for my brother, the hustle, and the hookup: I have a new iPod now. When I told one of my friends that I can get back to walking and twirking at the same time, she responded, "What happened to the last one you had? You've had like ten iPods."

Ok. She has a point. I've run through quite a few. The first died of natural causes, and was subsequently replaced with another one just as janky. I'm grateful for extended warranties. I ended up switching it out for the special black and red U2 edition. That was the first summer I spent interning in New York. On the last day of one of my internships I was finally allowed to go on a shoot -- this one with Kanye West. Just so you know: That stool he sat in was carried by me. I know: E! True Hollywood Story, look out.

Anyway, I had my iPod attached to the hip and I must have knocked it over in the cab carrying that big ass stool. Thanks to me, Habib is probably banging screw in his taxi right now. A bit impatient and impractical, I just went out and charged another. I curse the people who gave me a credit card almost as much as I curse myself for using it. I should have asked Kanye to buy me another one.

That iPod lasted until this spring.



I was shaving, texting, and dancing to "Sex Shooter" and I dropped my iPod in running water. In my defense, the song is very catchy.

The little thing punked out on me in some water. I tried to see if the store would honor my extended warranty, but said something about it being my fault, blah blah blah. Bitches. I've had a mild grudge against them, the area codes 410 and 281, and Appolonia ever since. Well I have no beef with the area codes, but the incident did remind me of why I was always more partial to Vanity. If you don't believe me, you can ask the pregnant women I made dance to "Nasty Girl" in the street last year. That's what friends are for!

Electronics hate me, so please say a prayer, wish on a star that I don't throw this thing in the air trying to superman some hoe, or drop it on the floor trying to rap.

I turned on the radio and heard some Christmas song about rims, Hennessy, and getting crunk. I think I may have blogged about this song before, but I’m not sure --- there’s no telling how many songs like this can be churned out every year. Why must I have to hear about hoes, gold, and clothes at Christmas? If we’re going to be ign’t at Christmas, can’t we at least get Soulja Boy to teach us a Santa dance? If not, shut up, and mess up another holiday, because I’m not trying to hear about your pill popping, Trojan gift wrapped Christmas.

Then again, I spent Christmas night at the club last year, so I suppose if you’re going to detract from the sentiments of the holiday, at least get T-Pain to sing the hook.

Now that I’ve gotten my Ebenezer moment out of the way, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, a Happy Chanukah (But yeah that’s over, sorry for being late), and a Happy Kwanzaa to all three of you who celebrate it.

If you feel like leaving a little money in my Paypal account, I can drop you the address. Or you can send me a vocoder and I can hit the studio and earn enough ring tone money to pay off my loans. Whatever’s clever. Be safe. Be blessed. Be nice to other shoppers, because you could get stabbed.

P.S. If you crack on my curly flat top and my knees, remember: You chickens is ash…and I’m lotion. And yes, I just put some cocoa butter on my knees. Don't hate.

Every so often I’ve noticed there is an article or twelve published in the mainstream media that seeks to chop Oprah Winfrey down from the very pedestal her criticizers have placed her on. Everything from her comments about beef to her choice to put a plagiarizing author she mistakenly backed on full blast have been placed under a microscope to be heavily scrutinized with her loudest detractors crying, “Just who does she think she is?”

This time, people are whining over the talk show deity’s (well, that’s what that make her out to be anyway) decision to stump for Democratic presidential contender, Barack Obama. There are a couple of articles, namely, “Is Oprah backlash gathering steam?” that speculate for the millionth time if this will be the thing that leads to her downfall.

I wouldn’t bet your money that it does, but it’s funny to see how far this might go. The aforementioned article is particularly funny, because it features quotes from Oprah’s most avid viewers: suburbanites.

Some of these women have taken to Oprah’s official website, making comments like, “I cannot believe that woman all over this country are not up in arms over Oprah’s backing of Obama. For the first time in history, we actually have a shot at putting a woman in the White House and Oprah backs the black MAN.” This comment was made in a thread entitled “Oprah is a traitor.”

I think this person wanted to cap another word, because if this were so solely an issue of gender politics, then there would be no need to preface “MAN” with “Black.”

Then there are others, who dub her support to Obama’s campaign “a manipulation and abuse of power and influence on the American culture.” Pressed much? So basically some people don’t like that she’s used her clout, others hate that she didn’t use it the way they would prefer her to. Because of this, those positive superlatives always thrown before her name have turned sour among some of the faithful, with a few angered fans now calling her narcissistic, power hungry, and sanctimonious.

Has it ever dawned on some of these people that maybe it’s their own fault for having such unrealistic perceptions of who she is? Take blogger, Lisa Ferris, who has spent a lot of time following Oprah’s every move.

On Oprah, Ferris says:

“Oprah is like the girlfriend who comes into your home and chats with you while you fold laundry. Lately she has imaged herself into some spiritual angel mother high priestess…that has made her seem infallible and above reproach.”

Translation: “I like Oprah when she’s talking about her favorite things, or when Tom Cruise is jumping on her couch like a retarded monkey, not when she’s talking about anything of substance.” That type of self-indulgence is fitting for people whose life is fixated on tiles, towels, and tots, but Oprah grew up poor, encountered all forms of abuse, including sexual, and as a perpetual overachiever, managed to build her own media empire, so if she wants to use her money and influence on matters important to her, what’s the big deal? Besides, she’s a talk show host; they’re typically full of opinions anyway. Why are people surprised she’s decided to have one now? If people want to fold laundry and chat, don’t they have Martha Stewart? Yeah buy her towels, just skip the stock tips.

I don’t think Oprah’s narcissistic, but if she were, I wouldn’t be surprised given she blows her nose and the stock of Kleenex shoots up.

Before I’m asked, of course I fear Oprah, and indeed, if she offered me the position of the new Stedman, I’d accept, and contemplate pushing Gayle down a flight of stairs so I can get on her level, but that’s not why I’m taking up for her. I am not a regular Oprah viewer. I don’t know what her favorite things are, but I’m certain I can’t afford to even say them out loud.

Oprah is not above criticism, but criticism over her political convictions, how she spends her money, and how she views herself is annoying. I don’t need Oprah to tell me to pick up a book. I don’t need Oprah to tell me how to vote. I don’t need Oprah to tell me that I should try to do good in the world. Do I appreciate her trying to do that over her leading a Britney Spears death watch like some other media personalities? Uh huh.

As a person with her own mind who has earned her own fortune, she should be free to think and spend as she pleases. She may be using her celebrity to generate public interest in Barack Obama, but she’s not making demands as if she co-wrote the Ten Commandments. She’s enticing people to look further into him, and come to their own conclusion. Apparently some people have yet to process that. Those who feel “betrayed” by Oprah backing Obama need to latch off her bra strap and go finish folding their clothes.

And before it’s implied, no this is not a race thing. It’s more so a you can’t complain about the very power you gave her simply because she’s not using it the way you want her to, you dimwitted sheep thing.

Labels: politics as usual

I'm being forced to see this soon, but let me say, these new Chipthugs are not the Chipmunks I grew up loving in The Chipmunk Adventure. With the advent of Youtube, it was only a matter of time before folks started creating remixes. Too bad I didn't know about it until today. Why didn't anyone tell me sooner?!

Listen to "Duffle Bag Boy."



Don't be saddity: You know that sounds hot. This song fits the Cripmunks new look perfectly. I jigged through the whole song.



Oddly enough, he sounds exactly like T-Pain. You can take these vocals and stick anyone in a video set in a hole in the wall club and this will still make #1 on the Hot 100.

And of course there's:



This video made my day.



Times sure have changed. Now the Chippetts are doing background vocals to "Pop, Lock, and Drop It."

Now, if anyone has a link to Papa Smurf rapping to "I Got Five On It," hit me up!

Sylvia Browne couldn’t predict a breeze during a hurricane, yet she’s invited each and every year to appear on The Montel Williams Show (yeah, I thought it was canceled in the '90s, too), to share prophesies from her crystal ball of bullshit.

I’m not sure of how the process works you embrace the money hungry habitual liar within, but I think I’ve watched enough Dionne Warwick and Cleo commercials to fake it learn the gift, so indulge me and read my predictions for the New Year. If I get most of them right, I’m sending this entry to Sally Jesse Raphael. That still comes on, right?

Kelly Rowland will re-release Ms. Kelly, and will [finally] get the solo stardom she’s destined for. Hahaha. Sike.

LeToya Luckett will sell more than Kelly…again.

Monica will stop singing songs as if she just came out of the fryer at Church’s, leading her to sell more than 7 albums this time around. (Yes, I’m one of those 7 people who bought The Makings of Me.)

Beyonce will refuse to take a vacation. She will endorse at least three more products, rush out two singles by year’s end, and will find even bigger fans to blow her Indian lace fronts on stage.

Brandy will release a song hotter than her driving record.

Jessica Simpson will continue on her path to becoming white people’s answer to Vivica A. Fox.

Michael Jackson's weave game will continue to stunt on you hoes.

A Pimp Named Slickback is sure to keep on touting his penchant for both paler women and baby wipes.

The much lauded “meaning” being the title of Nas’ forthcoming album, Nigger, will translate into publicity stunt. Folks will call it deep anyway.

Pissy won’t go to jail, but will be seen at a McDonalds Playland near you. He'll also release “Trapped In The Closet: Part 27.”

Puffy's baby mama drama won't stop, 'cause it can't stop.

Rihanna will finally find a new outfit not inspired by S&M. She will only get bigger next year. I might stop hating.

T-Pain will be featured on 800 more songs. We will all get one step closer to determining whether or not he's sprinkling crack on his tracks.

It will dawn on Ciara that no one else is buying The Evolution of Ciara. She'll meet up with Jazze Phae at a Golden Coral and begin work on a new album.

Britney Spears will prolong her real comeback, opting instead to serve as pop music's own Elly May Clampett.

Lil Wayne - the best D.A.R.E. ad made stateside - will give even more interviews high, making all non pill-poppers feel good about themselves. His abilities to rhyme words like 'stork' and 'fork' will keep him hailed as the best in the game.

Look for his British counterpart, Amy Wino, at a corner near you.

Some other little illiterate, non-rhyming teenager will come up with a dance that won't make an ounce of sense. I'll do it in the club anyway.

DJ Khaled will keep yelling at us on every song.

The Making of the Band winners will have another hit season, then drop an album, will start moving some units, then Puffy will decide to stop promoting the album, compelled by the spirit to re-release Press Play and boss hog the spotlight.

My Latino brethren, grab your man, because Francisco ain't living right. This man is living proof that some people don't need BET, let alone a MySpace account. The status on his MySpace page reads, "People call me the Puerto Rican 2Pac." More like all around dumb ass.

At first glance, I suppose you would think it's 'Pac, considering 1996 was the last year anyone took pictures wearing Tommy Hilfiger, but hopefully most of us know 'Pac would never wear two pairs of jeans. You can't do the Humpty Hump with all that on.

It seems "2 Pac," the postmortem, post-buffet version is majoring in biology, but because of his uncanny resemblance to the famed rapper (sponsored by MAC), he's thinking about changing careers. In the 20th century people impersonated Elvis and Michael Jackson. This century, I guess it's 2 Pac's turn. Tupaco also mentioned a career in porn. Someone might want to warn him to not keep playing around like this. Suge Knight might rob his ass just cause.

Outside of that nose, he looks more like Saddam Hussein anyway.

Labels: swagger jacker

Looks like all of you bug collectors in lust with Lil' Wayne (eww) have a new person to spew venom at besides Lauren London (allegedly) and his secret boyfriend Baby. Judging from this new interview ecstasy's poster child gave to OC Weekly, Wayne has made a new friend.

On a mission to garner himself more mainstream appeal (good luck with that one), the Suessville (by way of New Orleans) bred rapper has decided to add High School Musical star Zac Efron to his ever growing list of collaborators and possible conquests.

Though some might question why Wayne would go this far to spread his name, Wayne doesn't seem to be concerned.


Make my day and explain the need for a fake bronze statue of your dick and 24-hour candy girl to me in dummy with money terms.

The rhyming drug addict also shared details on how this unlikely collaboration came about:


A comic book convention? Is that what we're calling gay bars now? From what I hear about him, I'm sure Zac Effron ran away from those girls as fast as humanly possible. Interesting Wayne couldn't fight the urge to follow him into a bathroom. Senator Craig would be proud.

Oh, the writer mentions the songs, too:


I'm sure parents can't wait to hear their children repeat lines about funky spunk.

If Wayne hasn't lost you already:


Shocker Wayne's stupidity dictates he be cool with Efron calling him that. Sigh. As for the kiss: Didn't he say when he kissed Baby, that it's similar to a child kissing his father? Maybe Zac calls Wayne daddy?


He can put in all the hard work he wants and I doubt he'll ever be as hard as he is with Wayne.

Now, as for you Wayne, fans: Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Edit: I had a feeling the article was Onion-like, but I don't like Wayne, so I wanted to pop shit anyway. But, the homie, Jason, pointed out the article was indeed a spoof. Damn. That's ten minutes of my life I'll never get back. Blah. Pretend the article is real and laugh anyway. Thanks.

But to be fair, I'll say something nice about Wayne: I like "Duffle Bag Boy." There. I said it.

Labels: loser bitches, say what

I thought really long and hard over whether or not I should touch this. By long and hard, I mean about thirty seconds. Forty five, tops. It's just that, y'know, it's kind of obvious DMX has played a lot more with his pipe than his own children lately, but he's not really of the "funny" crack head variety like Bobby and Whitney, or the crack heads you watch pop, lock, and drop it at the bus stop. He's more of the this man is crazy, run before he throws piss in a glass at you persuasion.



The hell? What's good with the growling? Woof, woof? Bark, bark? I guess he is an actor. Maybe he's auditioning for the Michael Vick biopic early?

"Bam! Bam! Bam! Go down!"

Who wrote that? Not to throw any shade at X fans, but he's swagger jacking my neighborhood crackhead and schizophrenic, Major, something terrible. I've seen him with my own two eyes do the same thing in his church vest and old Bugle Boys jeans (with one of the pants legs rolled up, because he gotta stay f-llllll-yyy). If I catch him at the corner store not having an intense argument with himself, I'm telling him he might want to sue.

Here's part two of the video. No doubt this was shot after DMX caught up with Britney and Amy:



Oddly enough, for a man who says he can judge people by their eyes, he's dead in his.

Life can be only what you make it
When you’re feeling down, you should never fake it
Say what’s on your mind and you’ll find in time
That all the negative energy, it will all decease

Mary J. Blige has built a career off of channeling her inner demons to create some of contemporary soul music’s finest recordings, leading to her amassing a huge fan base that’s used her music as the soundtrack to their own lives. Over the years, Mary’s been quite candid about her struggles with love – of self and others – addiction, depression, and overall happiness. Not that we needed her to: My Life, her most celebrated album, is chock full of love songs, though all sounded incredibly melancholy, an obvious sign of the pain lingering in the artist behind them. Many eager listeners shared Mary’s yearning to let go of all that ails her with the hopes of obtaining the happiness each of us is owed.

Since that album she’s told us several times that there was no more drama in her life – even going as far to spell it out in an album title – though not many believed her until she finally seemed to breakthrough. “Be Without You,” one of the most successful singles of her career is just as honest as those released a decade prior, only this time she wasn’t trying to convince us that she was happy --- we could hear it for ourselves. Because of that, The Breakthrough, reignited Mary’s chart muscle after Love & Life - which saw her dip back in time and reconnect with Diddy – largely fell on deaf ears.

But now that Mary’s finally let go, she’s alienated a faction of her fan base, who vocally express their displeasure with Mary’s new direction, pressing for more down and out Mary over back flipping out of glee Mary we’ve come to see in recent years.

What does Mary think of this? Judging from the line, “No time for moping around, are you kidding?” from the first single off her new album, Growing Pains, the aptly titled, “Just Fine,” she could care less. This new Mary wants to stop wallowing in her own self-pity and enjoy her life. On the energetic single, she even boasts, “And I’ma still wear a smile if it’s raining.” That’s quite a contrast from the old Mary, who painted the notion of wearing a smile to guise her pain as quite the burden on “Everyday It Rains,” a gem from 1995’s The Show soundtrack.

No longer second guessing herself at every turn, Mary’s not only happy, she’s content. With her age. With her appearance. With where she is in life. This is evident in tracks like the self-love promoting, “Work That,” which features Mary stressing to young women everywhere to be themselves and love who they are. Let’s hope the message resonates with the current crop of new artists male and female alike, who thanks to an image-obsessed music industry, work in an environment where individuality has become an anomaly.

If you haven’t noticed by now, Mary’s in love and finds a way to champion it throughout the album. It sounds great on most songs, like “Stay Down,” but falls a bit flat on others like “What Love Is.” The latter makes the mistake sometimes done by Mariah Carey: Singing about love in the same context it’s discussed in a Sweet Valley High book. Still, Growing Pains shows Blige is in love and through songs like “Talk To Me” and “If You Love Me,” we’re assured she’s dedicated to preserving it.

Take your time, baby don’t rush a thing
Don’t you know I know that we all are struggling
I know it is hard, but we will get far

Despite Mary’s transformation, old habits die hard, and as previously mentioned, not every Mary fan is on the happy train, so the Queen of Hip Hop Soul manages to acknowledge for them and for herself that the fight towards bliss is an ongoing struggle with “Roses” and “Work In Progress (Growing Pains).” Both songs finely articulate that despite Mary being in better place, it took a lot of fighting to get there, and it requires work (and the right attitude) to stay there.

While Growing Pains is a good addition to the Mary J. Blige catalog, listening to it makes me think those who long for the days when Mary sang of struggles over triumphs may be a bit misguided. In some respects, while Mary has no doubt evolved both personally and professionally, much of the music released over the years is a tamed version of the hip hop soul genre Mary is hailed for creating. This is a result of her growing popularity in the mainstream. She now caters to a varied audience that includes fans of the days she sang with K-Ci Hailey and those who are only recently hopping on the Blige bandwagon after seeing her perform with Bono. Pleasing everyone requires quite the balancing act, but Growing Pains confirms that while it’s not yet perfected, it’s doable.

If you looked at my life and see what I’ve seen
Oh you will see that I’m so blue
Down and out, crying everyday, don’t know what to do or to say

Thirteen years ago Mary sang about happiness almost as if it were almost an unattainable goal. Fortunately she's proved otherwise. Whether or not you can stomach her now cheerful demeanor, you have to applaud someone that’s pulled themselves out of their own nadir. She’s on a new journey, and if Growing Pains is any indication, it looks to make for an interesting ride.

Labels: review

Take an AKA stroll and mesh it with the uncoordinated moves of a retard and a voguing queen and BAM you have latest dance craze brought to you by Grammy nominated artist (Ha!) Soulja Boy.

He had me with the Superman, but I'm not about to go to the club and dance like I'm checking my compact or headed to a probate for four minutes. Unfortunately, I'm sure millions of kids don't care, so expect to see the lot of them dancing around like victims of a car crash in less than a month. Mind you the mastermind behind this dance is someone that posts videos of himself pissing off a hotel balcony. His success is like the revenge of every special ed kid in the country.

By the way, thanks to Brittany for pointing out how hilarious (yet sad) this video is when you turn the volume down.

1. When did Sho’nuff have children?

2. Are they the new Bee and Jay?

3. How do you think Michael Vick is feeling right now?

4. Did Chaka eat something off that boy’s plate?

5. Why did she fall off so quickly?

6. Is this the future of Jet’s Beauty of the Week?

7. Did Janet really have to tell us she’s heavy like a first day period?

8. What's sexier than this?

9. Will this urinary tract-deficiency having pedophile ever go to trial?

10. Isn’t it amazing what a few butt injections can do for a person’s career?

11. Rihanna’s dad spit her out, didn’t he?

12. Why do I get the feeling she’ll request to be buried naked?

13. Are you ready?

14. Shouldn't she just go back to them already?

15. Pepa’s going to be dropping it like it’s hot in the club when she’s 60, isn’t she?

16. Who designed this dress? Target or CBS?

17. How many more “Irreplaceable” knock-offs do we need?

18. Have we found this decade's version of Da Brat?

19. Are they reaching or could you really see Tina putting this out?

20. Can’t we just be happy that Mary’s finally doing fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, just fine…whew?

Labels: I need answers

I tend to look at Lil' Wayne as nothing more than an over hyped walking RAID commercial, but I realize I'm in the minority. Still, could some of you Weezy F(*cks) Baby fans find this man a publicist? I get that Wayne loyalists treasure his pill-influenced, Mother Goose swagger jacking rhymes, but I don't think the "positive" effects drugs have on his lyrics translate over to his interviews.


No that's not Nutty Negro-itis, that's ecstasy and weed. How does guest appearing on anyone's track so long as they have a Subway coupon warrant a comparison to Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X? One of these days the spirits of MLK and Malcolm X are going to come back and bitch slap a lot of people. Please let them start with hip hop's version of Dr. Suess.

Labels: loser bitches, say what

Nutty Negro-itis seems to be going around as much as the flu and herpes. Once you catch the itis, your mouth tends to develop some incurable form of diarrhea, forcing you to spout out nothing but shit. The itis' latest victim is none other than Civil Rights leader Andrew Young.

Speaking on the local Atlanta program, Newsmakers Live, Andrew Young shared his views on Barack Obama.


It's starting to smell. Who knew the ages of 46 and 21 were interchangeable? Never mind that Obama is already three years older than John F. Kennedy when he was elected President. Not to mention George W. Bush is 61 and has the same level of sensibility as a reject from the short yellow bus.


Damn, his mouth must smell like the inside of Karrine Steffans after a train ride. "Every bit as black as Barack?" What exactly makes Bill Clinton so black to people? They fact the he's shown his love for black art forms on The Arsenio Hall Show? The fact that his political transgressions can be summed up by Pac's "I Get Around?" That he smoked - er, I mean, didn't inhale - weed?

In that case:


Someone's owed a lot of back Image awards. Bill Clinton is not Black, and if you think smoking weed and playing the saxophone guarantee an automatic ghetto pass I suggest you send me your name so I can enter you in the racial draft. You must be traded.

Bill Clinton is a charming man, but even if he were a passing mulatto, clearly Zora Neale Hurston was on to something when she coined the phrase "all my skinfolk ain't kinfolk" as more black men went to prison under the Clinton administration than any other time in history. Not to mention he cut several social programs that benefited people of color. Was he a good President overall? Sure. Is he Black folks' savior? Read up.

All this talk of experience translates as a career politician to me, and as Oprah argued while stumping for Obama over the weekend, “If we continue to do the same things over and over again, I believe we get the same results.”

As for the Obama bashing from the 1960s enthusiasts: I appreciate the sacrifices of people like Andrew Young, but he, Rev. Big Perm, and Rev. Baby Daddy need to stop thwarting the very progress they all fought for. Your methods no longer work. Adapt or move on. The itis consumes you.

Labels: say what

After all these years, the closest Ray-J has gotten to escaping the shadow of his sister Brandy is a three-year-old sex tape with a celebrity-lusting ‘socialite’ with the personality of a blow up doll.

As you can see from the cover, Ray-J doesn’t plan to let that dabble in sexual voyeurism go
anytime soon. That makes him an even bigger lame than I ever gave him credit for. I suppose the adage, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’ applies, but all and all, it says a lot about you and your talent if a sex tape is your only legitimate shot at maintaining relevance.

I’m no fan of porn, so I’ve been reluctant to watch the much buzzed about sexual escapades of Brandy’s little brother and one of O.J. Simpson’s old defense lawyer’s offspring caught on tape. I think we’ve all noticed the wonders the tape has done for Kim Kardashian’s career. Though she claims to be “horrified” and “completely embarrassed” by the tape, she pocketed a cool million from the whole deal, which helped cover the cost of the butt injections needed to land herself the cover of King magazine --- taking her goal of bedding every black male celebrity on the D-List to new and greater heights.

She’s also managed to score a reality show for her and her family, proving to America that attention whores are created, not born. With her little sisters skipping homework to practice swinging around the stripper pole in their home, and her mother latching herself onto to her celebrity – going as far as proposing a mother/daughter nude pictorial in Playboy – I understand where Kim gets it from. Sex sells…obviously.

It hasn’t done so much for Ray-J yet, hence the cover for his mix tape. The mix tape not-so-coincidently is being released just in time for the re-release of the infamous sex tape, complete with 60 minutes of additional “bonus footage.” To all of you out there that believe these two planned this whole thing out, shame on you. It’s such an invasion of privacy, why would they do it? Because no one cares about them, thus the only way those two could ever entice interest from the general public is to play off America’s obsession with pornography? Noooo, that couldn’t be it. Ray-J comes from a religious background and Kim, well her father represented O.J. Simpson: it’s clear these two come from two high moral backgrounds.

Last week I finally watched this nude publicity stunt, and that’s ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back. I only watched for ten, because I quickly became bored out of my mind. This is what people have been talking about? Kim just lying there, cooing like Malibu Barbie come to life while Ray-J “ironically” keeps looking at the camera, saying both of their names over and over again, surely hoping that this tape is never ever released to the public.

I’ve been more turned on by Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy discussing geriatric sex. That tape is yet another reminder of why Ray-J hasn’t been entertaining since The Sinbad Show. It’s a shame that anything remotely distasteful, desperate, and pathetic can be rewarded in this country no matter how boring it is so long as it includes crotch shots. May fate screw these two better than they screwed each other.

Labels: loser bitches

In case you didn't know, the self-professed Black Barbie is hood again. After spending a year in jail for not snitchin', Lil Kim is now trying to reclaim her spot in a world of hip hop where in 2007, female rappers sell about as well as cassette tapes. So what is a girl to do? Beef, of course.

Who is Lil Kim throwing her publicity-generating venom at? Miss Conceited rapper shimself, Remy Ma. Is it wise to beef with someone known to shoot you in the stomach over the change from her order at Taco Bell? I would think not, but the Queen Bee doesn't seem to care.



Somebody do what you do and translate this for me because at the end of the day, I can't make out what the hell she's saying.


I do know that either she's a much better actress than Gang of Roses suggests, or she's just that chick and isn't scared of a woman who looks like she wears Magnums. Don't let the duck tape fool you, Kim. Anyone else noticed that at the end of the video the most Kim could do with her face was squint her eyes really hard instead of actually frowning? Don't get plastic surgery on sale, ya'll.

If you head on over to Real Talk NY, you'll hear Remy Ma not sound the least bit concerned about Kim.

Best line: "How you conceited? Like you don't even like your own face. What are you talking about? Are you serious? I don't believe you. You don't like your nose, you don't like your lips, you don't like your cheek, you don't like your chin, you don't like your skin color, you don't like your titties, you don't like your stomach, you don't like your teeth."

Sorry, Kimmy, but Remy's got you there. Though neither femcee appears to be afraid, I for sure am.

I don't know which is scarier: Lil Kim's face or standing next to Remy taking a piss and feeling embarrassed.