3 Albums That Made 2014 Worth It (Sort Of)

            So, this year is winding down. It hasn’t been that stellar in my opinion, but music always gets me through. So here are the 3 albums that had me feelin’ opposite of blue.

3. Azealia Banks, Broke With Expensive Taste

            We all know Miss Amor by now. Always on Twitter, actin’ loud. Yes, moments on Hot 97 made us proud, but you know she a young kit, steady on the prowl. But all of her antics aside, her music is where it’s at. She spits hard over house beats, which is no easy feat and is as verbose as she is ferocious. Anyone who has looked up the lyrics to 212 on Rap Genius can attest.

            Verbal acrobatics aside, the story she tells via rhyme is increasingly compelling. Yes, Broke With Expensive Taste, true to its name, is a very glitz and glamour narrative. However, Banks has always offered a unique queer femme twist on the rags-to-riches story. Stand out tracks include Gimme a Chance, Desperado and Miss Amor.

The caveat: her singing leaves much to be desired, but her choice of melody is hella impressive. Here’s to hoping she can stay above the fame and maintain. Also, Banks’ use of alliteration and onomatopoeia has proven that Missy Elliot’s influence has finally come full circle. (Pump chigga rum, parum pum, pump chigga rum parum pum pum!)

2. Ratking, So It Goes

            Ratking are a hip hop band from New York comprised of Wiki (emcee), Hak (vocals) and Sporting Life (ones-and-twos). The outfit is unique because they are, as was previously mentioned, a hip hop band. Not the first of their kind, after all this lineup is found in a lot of traditional hip hop outfits. But what makes listening to this album invigorating it is the way they use their line-up. Wiki is the band’s traditional-style emcee. He spits percussively, but also incisively. Hak is poetic in his associations and is more notable for the images he conjures than for the technicality of his bars, although brother can spit for sure. Sporting Life, the elder statesman of the group, is a wonderfully and wildly experimental producer, but still manages to keep things sounding hip hop.

            Their debut LP details the group’s relationship to the (meta)physical space that is the city. From its gentrification (Snow Beach), to its militarization (the anti-NYPD anthem Remove Ya, pronounced rrraymooo ya), to its degeneration and rebirth (Canal, the title track).

            Ratking make an exciting experimental album that is modern yet keeps alive hip hop’s greatest contribution to the world of music: incisive, insightful, emotional storytelling. As Hak asks on the eponymous track, “How can ya buy, sell the sky?” It’s a question we should all be asking ourselves.

          

  1. FKA Twigs, LP1

         She’s not for everyone. She is not Beyoncé. (Beyoncé wishes she was this emotionally intelligent). Yes, she’s bizarrely experimental (even more than the other artists on this list). But the album that got me through this gawd awful year was FKA Twigs’ simply titled LP1.

         There is a lot to love about Twigs, especially if you’re a music nerd. Her penchant for esoteric classical arrangements, as well as R&B and hip hop beats.  Her soprano range and lilting delivery. The way she motherfucking moves. 

        But again, what sets an artist ahead is their ability to tell a story, both sonically and lyrically. And LP1, much like Bjork’s Vespertine, tells a story of self-discovery via a love affair. It starts with Preface, the Sir Thomas Wyatt quoting ode to romance turned self-hate, and then moves through all the familiar R&B territory. You have songs that make reference to cunnilingus (Two Weeks) and masturbation (Kicks), but also songs about being overlooked as a serious artist (Video Girl) and my personal favorite, both sonically and lyrically, Give Up. The song is addressed to a friend/lover who has (in typical millennial fashion) faced a setback so insurmountable that they have, as the title suggests, given up on themselves. Without being didactic or preachy the song speaks to the power of love and affection to lift the spirit, as well as encourage resilience and camaraderie. Again, Twigs is not a Beyoncé (sorry Fader). She is emotionally intelligent. She takes an age old theme, in this case love and sex, and explores it from all angles: the beauty and the hatred, the healthy and the unhealthy, the clear and the ambiguous. These are not vain anthems to heteronormativity. I mean the bitch’s favorite album is Germ Free Adolescents by X-Ray Spex. Say what you want about Twigs, that she’s this year’s hype, that you don’t get it, that her voice is too quiet. Just admit that this bitch is no dummy. She’s a musician, a storyteller and a performer.

      Also, I saw her live and the girl next to me started crying…

       So, yeah, that’s what I think. If you don’t feel the same way you can blink and then click another page. The Gregorian phase known as ’14 over. If you ain’t got the cards ma, you better hold ‘er.

      Be safe in ’15. Word Is Bond. And as always, Check the Rhime.

   

The Real Problem With #BlackLivesMatter

            Sometimes genocide the slow tide

            I spent most of my college years thinking I was crazy. Things that seemed so easy for my mostly white, mostly light skinned friend group seemed really hard for me. Like maintaining a relationship with an advisor. Like finding an on-campus job. Like working on group projects. I used to write for the school newspaper. I used to be a hardcore activist. I cannot count the number of times I was emotionally assaulted by salty saltines accusing me of reverse-racism. Many of these people verbally assaulted me, but then sought to paint me as the angry Black womyn.

Sometimes genocide the slow tide.

            Fast forward to now. #BlackLivesMatter is trending. Many alumna from my alma mater have hopped on the proverbial bandwagon. Which begs the question: Where was y’all ofays when I was struggling to graduate? Where was y’all when I was getting threats for calling out white supremacy on campus? Where was y’all when I was left behind after matriculating into the real world, unable to find a job, but too burnt out to apply for grad school? What about all the others who get left behind?

Sometimes genocide the slow tide.

            We are a woefully mislead generation that is now standing up for what we believe. The only thing is, we don’t quite know what those beliefs are. In the digital age, or as James Boggs called it, “the age of automation,” one merely needs to type beliefs into a keyboard in order to substantiate them. But I am of the opinion that beliefs are substantiated through ACTION, and ONLY ACTION.

            Yes, there are protests. We must be visible. We must, to use the activisty parlance of our times, show up. But it is not enough to show up simply when the cameras and news reporters are in play. One must always be present, in the privacy of our bedrooms, kitchens and common spaces.

Sometimes genocide the slow tide.

            In addition to the ephemeral nature of the digital age, I would like to indict two other forces in our culture: 1) meritocracy and academia, 2) fame (rags-to-riches) posturing.  

            It has become far too easy to appear to be doing good work. Academia is known for using excessive language to mystify what are often simple ideas. (Of this I am also guilty, a product of my environment). Success, even in activist cultures, is measured by the notoriety of your work, arbitrary qualifiers that can’t really measure impact, and the income generated by that work. Not to mention that it is possible to speak the social justice lingo, and still be an oppressive asshole in your personal life.

           

         Furthermore, pop culture is saturated with images of excess that are not attainable for most. But in the absence of a revolutionary panacea, most folx are, as Azealia Banks put it, “on that get rich." And don’t get me wrong, it can be refreshing to see Black people eatin’. As queer entertainer Mykki Blanco put it, “You don’t have to be political anymore by screaming, you can be political by the sheer show of your success.” But liberation, if it ever comes, is not going to come through the assimilation of marginalized bodies into the existing social order. My gay ass ain’t gon’ be saved just because all of a sudden gay rap artists are checking into the W.

Sometimes genocide the slow tide.

            The prophecy of Gil Scott Heron, powerful though it may be, has been proven wholly false. The revolution will be televised. We are under surveillance. Nothing escapes the electronic gaze. However, the power of Heron’s legacy as a proto-rap icon lay in his uncanny ability to call out the subculture. Even the revolutionaries weren't revolutionary enough for that brother. 

            Our generation, those who have come of age with the internet, sincerely and admirably want to be about something. But you can’t very well achieve if you are replicating macrocosmic injustices interpersonally. And that goes for all of us. Even the Black ones. Put simply, you ain’t right, if you ain’t treatin’ yo’ people right.

Sometimes genocide the slow tide.

This piece is dedicated to all the Black folk out there who have a hard time feeling like they matter, hash tag or no. 

Mars: Blackness, Anger and the Myth of Love

        Anyone who knows me knows that I have more than a passing interest in astrology. I am a skeptic to the death of me, but one must admit, astrology has a certain internal logic and mode of storytelling that is undeniably appealing. The ram becomes the bull, becomes the twins, becomes the crab, becomes the lion… and so the cycle continues.

I was casually perusing www.chaninicholas.com (which you should check out if you have not already) and I came across a post that she wrote awhile back on Mars in Libra, Retrograde.    

“The Libra eclipse is only connected to one traditional planet, Mars, who’s currently retrograde also in Libra. Mars is in its detriment in Libra meaning that it can’t function properly. This is not always a bad thing for malefics such as Mars; sometimes you don’t want “bad” planets to work too proficiently. Mars likes to wreak havoc, cut, define and loves to start a fight. Any planet that is retrograde tends to work oddly internally. Mars retrograde asks us to understand our internal warmongers and in Libra asks us to defend the only thing worth protecting, LOVE. Because both the eclipse and Mars are in Libra they are both “ruled” by Venus... Venus moved into Pisces on April 5th, the sign of its exaltation (meaning the planet is very happy here), on its way to making a trine to Jupiter in Cancer (the sign of its exaltation). A trine from Venus to Jupiter is more than good, better than best. It’s sweet, lucky and generous, which could help to offset a lot of the more frightening aspects of this eclipse” (http://www.chaninicholas.com/eclipsing-together-libras-full-moonlunar-eclipse/#sthash.Hmt8M2tP.dpuf)

While I agree with Chani Nicholas’ analysis, I take issue with her conclusion that Mars is a “bad planet” and Venus is a “good planet.” I am highly skeptical of white people who invoke the power of “love.” My perspective is informed by my experiences as a Black person in the United Snakes. I feel that I was raised to love and serve the very system, the very people that would annihilate me and all those that look like me. Furthermore, I do think that there is a cultural phenomenon in this country that dictates the desires of Black people. That we should desire the things that white people have, desire their culture and desire to participate in their institutions. All of this while Black culture is mercilessly plundered for white profit and enjoyment.

Any Black person who has ever desired a white person (read: body) should know that Eros is a liar.Chiron, the deity/star that represents pain, might be drunk and unruly, but he has ever steered this bitch wrong. I actually think it’s time for Black people to embrace Mars. Not the warmonger, but the Mars of conflict and confrontation.

Mars is inevitably linked with anger and wrath. Thich Nhat Hanh writes that to feed anger is akin to letting one’s house burn down (Peace is Every Step, pg. 57-58). His use of this image is undeniably evocative. Anger does tend to consume one like a flame. I find that it can prevent me from moving on with life. But this is the United Snakes. Many a Black person in this country has actually had their house burned down by  white terrorism. I’d say anger might be more than a little warranted. Thich Nhat Hanh does have an extremely useful concept of nurtured anger. But we will come back to that later.

Eros is an undeniable part of Venus. Love and lust are often confused and implicated together. Helene Cixous in her essay The Laugh of The Medusa writes that women must write their passions, or rather their libidos. The libido in Cixous’ thinking is de facto liberatory. As a Black person who has been attracted to whiteness before, I struggle with that logic deeply.  Despite popular conceptions of desire as ‘naked’ or ‘primal,’ desire is actually heavily constructed and inflected with colonialism and white supremacy. I think the gap between Cixous’ and my thinking is perfectly illustrated when she refers to (white) women as those who are “brushed aside at the scene of inheritances” (pg. 878). Cixous clearly does not give a damn about those of us whose ancestors were actually sold at the site of inheritances.    

Drives, impulses like anger and desire (and notice, I am conflating love and desire) are not reliable. However, I believe that Black people of conscience can take a literal page out of Thich Nhat Hanh’s book and nurture anger. Hanh writes that instead of giving into anger, wise individuals should meditate on anger in order to get to the root cause of the pain. Once this root cause is unearthed it can be transmuted into “peace, love, and understanding” (Peace is Every Step, pg. 59). I don’t believe that the amelioration of anger is possible. However, I do believe that the subversion of anger can be achieved through the marriage of three different modes of interaction represented by the three planets closest to Earth. Mercury (the trickster), Venus (the seductress) and Mars (conflict).  

In an age of surveillance it is important that we all bring a little Mercury into our lives. Mercury is master of the code (-switch). In a white supremacist society white people really have little incentive to give a fuck about the ways in which they are racist. This makes calling white people on their bullshit time consuming and energy draining.

However, white supremacy is a curious paradox, specifically where anti-Blackness is concerned. Just look at the consumption of Black cultural products by white people and it is clear that while Black people are not that popular, white folx sure are obsessed with the way we talk, write, make music, dance, etc. Don’t believe me? Peep the lucrative deal that Dre just made with Apple.  Like Outkast said, “The whole world loves it when you don’t get down, but the whole world loves it when you make that sound.” (my emphasis). Again, this is further evidence of the complexities of love. You can desire something that you simultaneously hate.

Which is why I believe in the powers of seduction and not love. I believe in coded language, I believe in cool as cultural capital, wielded as weapon.  What better way to get in some laughs at  the oppressor’s expense, while escaping his wrath? But while I do believe in guile, I also believe in strategic audacity. Ruptures do happen, and they usually happen when those with power inadvertently reveal the inconsistencies in their own logic. This is why I love (wink, wink) Mars.

Mars is about conflict. And conflict is what leads to change, if not progress. With the right pattern of secrecy and covert incitement, Black people can make things happen for ourselves. We have to know when to hold our tongues in our cheeks and when to let our tongues loose to lash those who would crack the whip (or wave the white finger) at us in the first place.

           

        

More Award Show Feels...

            My last post was about the Grammys, so now I am going to attempt to analyze that other bastion of white-bred, elite nepotism: the Oscars.

            Much has been made of Fruitvale Station being snubbed by this year’s Oscar committee. 12 Years a Slave has nine nominations, and other than a Best Song nomination for Mandela, it is the only Black film in contention. Fruitvale Station depicts the events leading up to the death of Oscar Grant, a young Black man from Oakland who was shot by a BART policeman on January 1^st, 2009. 12 Years a Slave is also based on a true story, that of Solomon Northup, a free Black man from New York, who in 1841 was kidnapped and sold into slavery by two white men he thought were his friends.

My take on why a film like 12 Years a Slave received Oscar accolades and Fruitvale Station did not is fairly straightforward. White people, especially liberal elites, have an easier time processing movies about past racism. They don’t want to face present day racial oppression, and furthermore they have no desire to be implicated in such injustice. But to get the full story, I believe we need to look at Fruitvale from an aesthetic point of view.

            One scene that stands out in particular is when Oscar Grant is at a gas station. He is in a pretty negative headspace. He has lost his job and decided that he can no longer go on selling weed. He meets a dog at the gas station and pets it eagerly. When he is finished filling up his tank, he sees the dog die in a hit and run. Needless to say, he is devastated. While this scene most definitely did not happen to Grant in real life, Ryan Coogler has stated that it is of great metaphorical importance. In an interview with Huffington post, Coogler had this to say about the pit bull:

When you hear about them in the media, you hear about them doing horrible things. You never hear about a pit bull doing anything good in the media. And they have a stigma to them ... and, in many ways, pit bulls are like young African-American males. Whenever you see us in the news, it's for getting shot and killed or shooting and killing somebody -- for being a stereotype. And that's what you see for African-Americans in the media and the news.

However, there is something else that needs to be noted. When Oscar runs towards the dog he screams for help. And the silence that meets his pleas is resounding. Something that is communicated so effectively in Coogler’s film is the sense of helplessness that often infects Black life in this country. Grant can’t get a job and yet he can’t go on selling drugs. His mother is at a loss as to how to help him. He has no one to whom he can appeal.

            Later on in the film, Oscar takes the place of the dog. Even after trying to play peacemaker in a fight that he did not start, the police choose to arrest him and his Black friends rather than the white instigator (who is also a neo-nazi). A group of bystanders on the train witness the injustice, but even they are powerless to intervene. More than anything, Fruitvale is the story of a man who, by all accounts was not perfect, but tried to do the right thing. In the end, he still meets his demise. When violence comes, it comes suddenly. And like that Grant is gone.

            This scene is mirrored in 12 Years a Slave. When Northup is first is enslaved in Washington, DC, he leans out of the window of the dungeon he is chained in to call for help. The camera cranes upwards to show the Capitol Building, that old symbol of democracy, now portrayed in a more cynical manner. Northup’s pleas are also met with silence.

            I bring up these scenes because I think they elucidate a fundamental problem in US civil society. We must ask ourselves, what is at stake when we tell stories? Who is allowed to narrate? Whose version of truth will be believed? Whose pleas for help will be heard? After all, isn’t that exactly what was at stake in the cases of Renisha McBride, Cece Mcdonald, Trayvon Martin, Jordan Davis and so many other Black folx who were either killed, brutalized or detained by white supremacist proponents? What makes me sad about Fruitvale’s lack of recognition is that white people historically have been able to pick and choose how stories are told. They can support a movie about slavery and feel good about themselves for being progressive, but they will not face the horror that surrounds them in the present.

            Fruitvale Station and 12 Years a Slave are both testaments to the overwhelming helplessness, panic and despair that are the result of a country built on anti-Black racism. While Oscar loses his life, Northup does return home, having missed his children growing up and growing old with his wife. Either way you slice it, time has been stolen from both men, just like time is being stolen from countless Black folx by the twin terrors of the prison-industrial complex and the criminal injustice system.

But ultimately, opulence is blinding. And the Oscars are nothing if not opulent. While there have been significant breakthroughs in terms of Black artists, in all mediums, getting recognition, it is clear that the road to progress is paved with plenty of setbacks.