The Blog Collective for Metropolitan America's Young and Colorful
The Blog Collective for Metropolitan America's Young and Colorful
Project4Trees - Life’s About
Life’s about wearing blazers and riding in your limo, getting yelled at by your mom/sister/girl/ and walking down the street in a skully.
Yep. That’s it. You’re very welcome.
For a second, I was cheering with the rest of you when I thought Bey was preggers again.
But she’s not. So she can keep running the world, to my dismay.
Yes, I said ‘dismay.’ Despite being a loyal Beyonce fan since the beginning of her time, I said dismay.
Why? Because I’m tired of Bey running the world… and everything in it.
I remember Destiny’s Child of my 7th grade year— the hood, Y2K foursome that warned me about those same lame dudes that TLC had warned me about. Those guys were tricksters, apparently. And my glasses-wearing, Gap-clad self wanted no part.
I also remember Destiny’s Child, of my freshman year in college— still matching, refined, with a budget to buy white silk and hire bearded men and shoot scenes in the desert.
Then I recall Beyonce— shy, thick R&B royalty who never spoke, who some how fell for Brooklyn’s Baddest.
And I guess, there’s Beyonce now— a mother whose child appears to be more of a prop than she is a person, a woman who lip-syncs and can’t spell. A chick who seems to have body issues that are forcing her towards unreasonable standards of skinny, despite having a nearly perfect curvy figure before.
Bey post-scripted-tell-all film, was sweet. She seemed to be the Bey nobody really believed she was, then she proved them right.
She called her fellow singers bitches. She’s Mrs. Carter but she’s not his little wife, she lip-syncs, she’s a shy, healthy, sexpot, Pepsi drinker, who probably sips water out of Pepsi cans rather than drinking Pepsi while being perfect.
Then there was Cuba.
Finally, the Met Gala, where for the first time since 200-fucking-5 I’ve seen the Bey I fell in love with— delightfully tacky, yet unrefined.
Then I realized why all this shit doesn’t quite work for me… and then why it could eventually be okay.
Beyonce Knowles has been trying to be a famous singer since she was a preteen, and she can do it upside-down, sideways and with her eyes closed. But now, like most folks, she sees the grass might be greener for her screw-up kid sister who’s comfortable in her own skin. Or her greasy, sweaty hoards of fans who sing her songs in the mirror and the shower but can also walk out into the world with their pants unzipped and their shoes unlaced and nobody really gives a shit.
And that used to be DC…. the number of times they fell down the stairs while singing Independent Women, and laughed in interviews, and Bey’s weight fluctuated or Michelle’s voice cracked… the number of times we laughed with them…we fell in love.
(That’s why we still love Kelly so much.)
But then Bey grew up… and claimed to be an adopted Obama, international relations coordinator, supermom, supermodel, HBIC, southern belle, Brooklyn badass…we stopped Beylieveing.
But maybe if she learns to love herself a little bit more, these attempts at world domination will come off as what they really are, Texas Bey— a real woman, with real money, who makes real mistakes, who is a brand new mom and has no idea what she’s doing, who listens to what her husband/personal advice mogul tells her about the biz, who loves her sisters and her friends. Who doesn’t know how to act or to write eloquently because she was too busy practicing how to perform, who went to Cuba because it seemed cool and who likes BK because that’s where her beaux is from… who likes to match from head to toe.
Because that’s who I saw at the MET gala, regardless of what classy(?) self she was attempting to conjure, whether she was clad in Givenchy or Celestina Knowles. That’s who I miss. And if she wasn’t so busy telling me she was better than me, and all of the other women in the world, at the things we do best… we could see that’s who she still is.
Kriss Kross Rapper ‘Mac Daddy’ Dead at 34.
Editor’s Note: FEATURED: The Resurrection of Scott Mescudi and The Birth of Black Alternative!
By: Patrick Boyer
(Editor’s Note:) Ahem…
So…I like Patrick Boyer’s writing.
That’s why you may have seen his piece on Alabama Shakes’ Brittany Howard featured a couple of months ago. It was one of the first pieces I ran on the site and I really enjoyed it— it was witty and honest. And from the looks of my Google analytics page, a lot of you did see it and a lot of you enjoyed it as much as I did.
But right now Patrick and I are having creative differences, as everyone in the creative world does at one point or another.
Patrick wrote something about Kid Cudi that was slightly different than what was initially posted here.
Our original post came to the conclusion that hip-hop, a musical genre with deep, virulent black roots was getting in it’s own way when it failed to recognize the innovative offerings of rappers, like Kid Cudi, as part of the genre. It also came to the conclusion that these barriers were put up by hip-hop purists, people who perhaps think that Biggie and Pac or Nas and Jigga will neva eva eva be overthrown as G.O.A.Ts.
What Patrick said, which is below in all of its unedited glory, was different. He made the point that black people, who he does not distinguish from one another or from hip-hop listeners in general, are getting in the way of hip-hop innovation by dismissing Kid Cudi’s work.
It’s his opinion but it’s not one that I share. I think that black people vary— just like white, yellow, brown, beige and green people vary— from Alabama to Aquitaine from San Francisco to Suez. I also think that hip-hop listeners vary, it’s a growingly universal interpretation of a universal medium— who wouldn’t love it?
I do agree that hip-hop purists, people who don’t like the reinvention the genre was born from, get in its way, all. the. time.
But not every black person is even a hip-hop listener, let alone a hip-hop purist, and not every hip-hop listener is a hip-hop purist or a black person.
But, I digress.
Ocaelo is a place where the great minds of our generation can have great conversations, whether or not they are conversations that agree with the mindset of the editor-in-chief.
So, please, read Patrick’s piece. Re-blog it. Comment on it. Tell us if you’re a hip-hop purist or a hip-hop listener, if race matters or if it doesn’t.
That’s what we’re here for.
I am in the sauna, bordering on the edge of delirium. It is hot needless to say and my skin feels as though it is melting from my bones. The only thing that brings me solace in this oven is my iPhone which flashes an overheating warning as it blares, “Young Lady” by Kid Cudi. I pay no mind to the warning because my phone is shot to hell anyway. With countless cracks and dings, a peaceful death maybe just the thing it needs to accommodate a life of sporadic trauma and abuse. But that is not the moral of this story. So, as I teeter on the brink of physical exhaustion and begin to slip into a lucid dream, I could think of only one thing. This song is fucking amazing!
“Young Lady” is a Hybrid of sorts. Pulse pounding percussion shows roots in hip hop while the steady stream of electric guitar pays homage to the punk rock days of old. This clash of two audible styles which embody the voice of two distinctly different sets of socially oppressed youths come together and create a frenzy of emotion. This emotion is monumental and fitting for the song’s subject matter. “Young Lady” tells the story of a young man who admirers a beautiful, smart, and warm hearted woman from afar and is scared to tell her what he thinks of her. Though the sound of the song uses several motifs found in hip-hop, the subject matter is one that is foreign to the urban sensibility and sways more in the direction of its white suburban counterpart. This notion is evident as the rapid flow of words like “feelings,” “mature,” and “admire” show a complete abandonment for the bravado and machismo so prevalent in Hip-Hop. This unique juxtaposition of style and content creates a sound that is fresh and powerful and completely absent from the music scene. This song is a microcosm for Kid Cudi’s entire third studio album fittingly entitled Indicud.
Now here’s the moral of this story! Many Hip-Hop purists or even the general African American public for that matter would listen to this album and say it isn’t “hip-hop” or it isn’t “black” enough. And I know this because it was the same consensus that was reached when Kid Cudi’s “Creepers” appeared. on the G.O.O.D music collaboration Cruel Summer. (And this would be a good time to point out that it was this general consensus that led to Kid Cudi’s departure from G.O.O.D music.) But here’s my question, “Why does it matter?” Why can’t an artist do something that’s a little “White” (If that makes any sense) for a change? When it comes to stereotyping, I can’t fathom how many times I heard black people say, “Don’t put me in a box.” The only problem with that statement is when it comes to arts and entertainment we put everything into a box. I feel that this has hindered our growth and ability as a race and culture to create art that is universal and timeless. We need more artists like Kid Cudi who aren’t afraid to shed the identity of being black to create art that in the most genuine way tries to attain truth. A truth not just for black people, but for all people.
Bruce Arthur: Jason Collins coming out a new beginning for sports
Nobody expected Jason Collins. Everybody knew that the day was coming, that one of the four major North American sports would see an openly gay player come out before his career was over, and consciously or subconsciously, everybody had an idea of what that person might be like. A star, probably. Good-looking. Articulate. A hero.
But Jason Collins? Thirty-four years old, a journeyman centre, a guy who spent a career being invisible, or being mistaken for his twin brother Jarron? He faced off with Shaquille O’Neal in the NBA Finals, the hardest job there was; he gave Chris Bosh fits in a first-round series once, too. But he was faceless a player as you can find, setting screens, being in position, fouling when necessary. Smart guy, admired for his toughness, a favourite of his teammates. But he was an extra in the play.
Monday, with the help of Sports Illustrated‘s Franz Lidz, Collins wrote an honest, charming story about himself, and who he really was. He’s the first openly gay professional athlete in the four major sports in North America.
(Photo: AFP - Getty Images)
France became the 14th country in the world to allow same-sex couples to wed Tuesday, when its parliament approved a law that has sparked often violent street protests and a rise in homophobic attacks.
FEATURED: Getting to Know Jay Wyse
You can love it or hate it depending on where you’re from and what you think it means. It could be the place every driver, or person who ever needed government-issued identification, loves to hatehatehate— the Department of Motor Vehicles…OR it could be the trinity of beltway boogie-down spots, DC’s sassy cul-de-sac— Delaware, Maryland and Virginia.
Basically, it could be the DMV we don’t like or the DMV we like. Good thing this guy is from the DMV we like.
Javon Shipley, aka Jay Wyse, is 23-year-old artist from Baltimore, Maryland whose flow is as unique as his story.
Do the wise thing and get to know him.
Meaning of Stage Name:
Jay is short for Javon. Wyse is my twist on the word ‘wise.’
My inspiration is my best friend Biscuit who was killed on May 29, 2010. He was shot.
We use to play around with the music. He used to just freestyle along with my other friends, never with the intentions of really making it.
One day we were in the basement and I rapped a song over the computer and he was like, we can really do something with this.
His death made me get serious about really pursuing the craft.
Biggest Musical #Win:
My greatest musical win to date is simply having people that genuinely believe in me and support my music.
Who do you rap to/for?
I rap for people with similar life situations and really anybody that’s attracted to good music.
Top Three G.O.A.T:
Well, it’s cliché but I guess Pac & Big would be the greatest. The third is a toss up between Jay, Wayne, & Em.
Blue. It’s just been something that stuck with me since I was a kid.
A story barely anyone knows about you:
A story many people probably don’t know is that I was shot in my face a couple times, but if you listen to my music you’d become aware.
It was a couple years back now, twice in the face and once in the foot.
I was going to my car at maybe 2:00 a.m. in the morning and that’s when it all happened. I was rushed to Johns Hopkins Hospital and immediately taken to surgery.
Only words I really remember is, “You are very lucky. A couple inches higher and that would’ve been it.”
‘Dream daughter,’ ‘wonderful girl’ identified as second victim of Boston Marathon bombings
The second of three people killed in Monday’s bomb attack at the Boston Marathon was identified on Tuesday as Krystle Campbell, said the mayor of Medford, Massachusetts, the city where the 29-year-old woman had grown up.
William Campbell said his daughter was “very caring, very loving person, and was Daddy’s little girl.”
Campbell told Yahoo News that ”She helped everybody, and I’m just so shocked right now. We’re just devastated. She was a wonderful, wonderful girl. Always willing to lend a hand.”
Derrick Davis’ Photography
Derrick Davis is a NY-based photographer whose stylized shots bring something brighter to traditional scenes of the Big Apple.
He takes HDR, or high dynamic range, photos like the ones he’s shared with us and pictures of more traditional portraits and scenes.
For more on Derrick, visit his website and be amazed.
Because it’s Friday.