The 56th Annual Grammy Awards...

      

I don’t usually watch award shows. They are a bastion of white, upper-class nepotism and are usually corny and boring. But yesterday, I ventured to watch the 51^st Annual Grammy Awards. Mainly because of the tension between seven-time nominees Macklemore and Ryan Lewis and seven-time nominee Kendrick Lamar. Nowhere was this tension been more apparent than in the category of Best Hip Hop Album. Macklemore and Lewis’ The Heist was up against Lamar’s good kid. m.A.A.d city. Much hoopla was made earlier about whether or not Macklemore’s music was too pop to be in the Hip Hop category in the first place and as this excellent article by Insanul Ahmed shows the Grammys have always been out of touch with hip-hop as a cultural movement. So, of course the committee would find a white guy rapping more palatable and more deserving of praise. When Macklemore ended up winning Best Hip Hop Album  he made sure to shoot Lamar a message via Instragram to state that the Compton rapper was robbed. Interestingly enough, Mack claimed he was going to say something along those lines in his acceptance speech, but the music cut him off and he “froze.” Likely story.

            But I want to concentrate on Lamar for this reaction piece and to delve deeper into why an album like good kid couldn’t win against The Heist. Lamar’s 2012 project is an elegiac concept album. It gives the listener a glimpse into everyday life in Compton. Lamar takes you along as he rides around the city with his friends. He witnesses the dangers of life in the city, such as gang violence and police profiling, but also has more mundane adventures involving romantic exploits and talking shit with the homies. The story culminates with the death of a friend’s brother, which induces a catharsis in Lamar and gives his life renewed meaning. Many call the album cinematic, and I agree. It is easy for the listener to visualize the scenes that Lamar weaves together. It is also an uncomfortably honest album and while it is intimate it makes the listeners very aware of their own distance from the violence happening ‘on-screen.’ I can’t listen to a song like “Money Trees” and not be aware of my own class-privilege. And yet, for the specificity of Lamar’s life circumstances, his genius has always been the ability to pull out universal truths. We have all “died of thirst”, been found spiritually wanting, regardless of whether we have ever experienced gun violence. And that is the beauty of Lamar’s craft.

            Which brings me to why it could never win against The Heist, because an album about Black death and Black mourning is just not as appealing to white folx as an album about thrift shops, “dancing like the ceiling can’t hold us”(whatever the fuck that means) and vague concepts like hope. White folx don’t want to face the reality of what it means to be Black and poor in this country, because they don’t want to face their own guilt. And Macklemore is the picture of white liberal innocence.

            Furthermore, Lamar, unlike that predecessor of his, Tupac, is a master of subtlety. I sometimes fear that his messages get lost in the mix. This was pretty evident during Lamar’s performance of “mAAd city” with rock group Imagine Dragons. You see Lamar rapping lyrics about seeing, “a light skinned n*gga with his brains blown out” as a child and then you see Taylor Swift obliviously doing her best Black girl interpretation in the front row. Don’t get me wrong, Lamar killed the performance. But I just get the feeling that most white middle-class consumers don’t get it and don’t want to get it. They wanna get buck and have all the swagger, but they don’t wanna think about the struggle in which that swagger was forged.

            Now, let me close this piece out by saying that Lamar has a lot of problems himself. He is homophobic and misogynistic. A lot of emcees these days think they’re gonna write one song ‘for the ladies’ and then go back to calling women hoes and bitches and it’s supposed to be all good, like they get it. Well, “Poetic Justice” is a catchy song, but it doesn’t excuse the misogyny found on good kid as well as Section 80, Lamar’s previous project.

            But based on pure talent and storytelling ability alone, that award last night should have been Lamar’s. I mean, I didn’t even mention that Lamar raps, sings and does vocal impersonations and modulations on good kid. And I think the inability of the academy to ‘get it’ is indicative of a larger trend of pathological whiteness that consistently refuses to understand Black humanity. But one thing is for sure, good kid. m.A.A.d city is a classic that will be remembered for a long time. Which is more than we can say for Macklepop, what’s-his-face-producer-guy and the Scheist.

… and  you don’t stop….

           

            

Powerlessness

            It’s funny how my past constantly ensnares my consciousness.

            When I was 17 years old, I was having dinner with my then best friend’s family. My hometown is overwhelmingly white and middle class. We were discussing the ‘achievement gap,’ a hot topic at the time. Black students at my high school were not achieving at the same rate as their white counterparts. In my early adulthood, I have come to see such metrics as a testament to the failures of the educational system, rather than any failure on the part of Black students.

            But, I digress. As the conversation went on, I tried to point out to my friend’s parents that Black people in this country have been systematically oppressed since slavery. She then looked me in the eyes and said, “Well, if you compare a Black person in the American ghetto to an African person, who do you think is better off?”

            What I should have done is smacked that melanin-lacking racist in her mouth. But being that she was my best friend’s mother I took a breath and clumsily explained that the continent of Africa had been colonized by Europe. My knowledge of African history was at the time minimal (a testament to my white-washed history education). Still, I knew that what she had said was wrong on many levels. She actually denied that any African country had ever been colonized, until her husband kindly let her know that she was wrong.

            Clearly, this woman was a racist and an idiot. The fact that she could look me in my face and tell me that for all of the rape, lashings, beatings and dehumanization my ancestors went through that my people and I were somehow ‘better off’ is a testament to her deep running pathological racism. Unfortunately, as time went on, it became clear that my best friend was not immune either.

            I have since cut off ties with that family. However, this memory still stings. I think I have finally pinpointed the reason. This woman who was so obviously virulently racist was a doctor, a respected member of the community. In other words, she had power. And even in the supposedly liberal community I lived in, she was allowed to thrive.

            I think this memory is indicative of my current psychological plight. Now that I am old enough to truly see my life’s narrative for what it is, I realize that I am a small speck of brown in an ignorant but powerful mass of white. And there is nothing more dangerous than an ignorant and powerful majority. Just living feels very much akin to swimming upstream.

            But at the same time, I hope that facing injustices, no matter how micro or macro, has made me a more understanding and compassionate person. For, truth be told, I cannot say that I have never been in the wrong, that I have never hurt another person. As I begin to find the others who feel like I do about this world I hope to learn how to be sensitive to historical traumas and how to be a just person, not only in rhetoric but in action. And that is all I have to bolster me against the unending tide of injustice that I struggle against everyday.

            It’s easy to get lost in the past. Shit’ll make you feel powerless real quick. I can’t tell you how many times I have beat up on myself with a whole slew of ‘should’ve could’ve would’ve’ scenarios. Many of them have to do with past experiences of racism that I wish I had stood up to more effectively, or recognized more quickly. Some of them have to do with scenarios where I fucked up, where I was on the side of wrong. But I am learning to let go. And in learning to let go I am moving forward. And Goddess knows there are many mistakes to come. But when the do come I know I will meet them with grace. And that gives me hope.  

            

White Supremacy In the Colorblind Age: A Circle (Jerk) of Misery

            

           If you’re into astrology at all you will know that the New Year coincided with a New Moon in Capricorn. Now, I’m no expert, but perhaps that confluence of events explains why this past year seemed so back loaded with chaotic events. This included the announcement by Ani DiFranco that she was holding a retreat at a former plantation. She recently canceled the event and you can read her facile apology here. The debacle included the silencing of Black feminists, white women pretending to be Black on the internet, not to mention Saul Williams accusing Black people of being too quick to anger. Williams, in the wake of DiFranco’s mea culpa, has since rescinded the comment.

            But it is 2014 and in the spirit of resolutions I would like to address the sentiment that was expressed by Williams. I too am sick and tired of being angry. But unfortunately for Black people in this country the anger will stop when and if the daily drain of white supremacy stops.  

            Part of what is so crazy making about modern-day amerikkkan racism is the fact that white people have been afforded rhetoric of neutrality. This means that the terms ‘human being’ and ‘white person’ have become synonymous. White people can claim to stand for the whole of humanity, while disavowing any experience that deviates from whiteness, labeling it ‘divisive.’

            This leads to what I call the circle (jerk) of misery. Because white people are so convinced that their ideas, experiences, etc. are racially neutral it becomes hard to call them out. This rhetoric of neutrality also empowers many white people to tell folx of color how they should or should not feel, which is, from what I can tell, what happened in the wake of the Ani DiFranco debacle. To make matters worse, many white folx are simply unaware of the systemic nature of racism. This refusal leads many folx of color to become angry. Specifically Black folx are already perceived as overly angry. Anger directed toward white folx who uphold white supremacy leads to allegations of reverse racism. Which is funny, because if those same white folx would have just listened in the first place a lot of stress could have been avoided on all sides.

            So this is the dilemma. How do you reason with someone who, by the unspoken racist norms of our society, does not have to listen to you?

            I don’t know. But what I do know is that I am tired of being angry. And that at a certain point confronting colorblind racists uses you up more than it actually solves anything. Despite all of the disingenuous talk of seeing beyond Black and white that colorblind racists such as DiFranco propose, the truth is that it is Black ancestors who were raped and brutalized on those plantations. Their ghosts still languish there. And let us not forget that modern-day incarnation of slavery, the prison industrial complex. Most of the folx populating our prisons look nothing like DiFranco or her supporters.

            This is why I propose that Black folx and folx of color learn to disengage. It’s hard when you’re daily bombarded by bullshit. But it’s time to move on to bigger and better things. Not that we shouldn’t concentrate on holding racists accountable. I’m very glad that DiFranco is cancelling the event. But we need a multi-tiered strategy if we are even going to achieve a semblance of racial justice. And I am no stranger to burn out. Part of the resilience of modern-day white supremacy is that you can argue about it until you are blue in the face, but it is so subtle that it will always be de rigueur. Which is why at some level we need to be strategic about which battles we choose to fight, when to shut out the bullshit and how to move forward. Now more than ever is a time to be creative and to use guile, secrecy. If there are white folx who don’t wanna hear the truth, then shit, do what Grandad from the Boondocks does and just don’t tell them. The ignorant will be undone by their ignorance. It is time that we fortify ourselves and find new ways to operate. I’m not exactly sure what this looks like yet, but I’m working on it.

            One of my New Year’s resolutions is to let go of the things that use me up rather than revitalize me. I am hoping that we can all redirect our energies in ways that are personally rejuvenating.

(Note: I realize that in this article I am forced into gross generalizations about Black and white folx. Unfortunately, given the nature of this article and the polarizing event that it describes, I had to use generalizations in order to get my point across).

            

Santa Reloaded: The Wisdom of the Inner Child

           

            When I was a young child, maybe 3 or 4, my parents asked me what I wanted from Santa. In my infinite wisdom I replied simply: an apple and an orange.

            Needless to say, my parents were a bit flabbergasted. They even took me to the mall to see the big man in person. My answer was still the same. I sat on Santa’s lap confidently and relayed to him my wish for fruit. Needless to say Santa was also a bit lost for words and my parents looked a bit embarrassed. As a child of the middle class I surely could have wished for something else, something a bit more extravagant: a doll, a toy car, a video game. Anything. (Well anything within reason).

            When I think back to young me, I am amazed by my wisdom. In a world of capitalist overload and wasteful gift giving I simply asked for one thing: nourishment. Plenty of parents buy children the latest hot toy or gadget only to have their child play with it for a week and then let it languish in the basement. But young Reezy knew what was up.

            My parents ended up getting me a plastic orange and apple and a mini play-kitchen set and ironing board. I seemed to be satisfied. About 22 years later I am still struggling to achieve what the younger me achieved with such ease. I am still trying to see through the chaos of the information age and achieve the things that truly nourish me. As I grow older I also struggle to demystify my life’s narrative, including my class privilege and the racial dynamics of growing up mixed-race in a predominately white suburban enclave.

            But as I embark on what has been and will continue to be a profoundly overwhelming spiritual and physical journey I have to channel the younger Reezy. The one who confidently made their desires plain even when everyone else thought they were a little off-kilter. It is my hope that as 2014 approaches we can all slow down and channel the wisdom of our inner child.

A Critical Reading of Mykki Blanco's Wavvy

This is a piece I wrote a while back... Enjoy and I will be sure to have some new ish up soon!

Note: I am not sure which pronouns Mykki uses. I was under the impression that Mykki, also known as Michael Quattlebaum Jr., uses she and he interchangeably. I will use she when referring to the performance artist, whose work is analyzed in this piece.

With the advent of the Internet, queer artists have become more accessible to the general public. But, more importantly, they’ve become accessible to other queer people. Enter Mykki Blanco, a multigendered hip-hop artist, who has already blazed trails for women and queer folx.

Mykki first entered my radar with her 2012 video Wavvy. The video can be found here.     

         

I argue that Blanco, as a contemporary artist, uses the aesthetic tropes of hip-hop and pop culture to illustrate a queer-subjectivity. She does this by using both words and images queerly, in addition to embodying various types of gendered performance. I will attempt to explain my perspective with a critical reading of Blanco’s video Wavvy.

What do I mean by queer-subjectivity? Queer can mean many things. It can mean slightly askew or bizarre. It can be a derogatory term for non-heterosexual presenting folx. But, when I use queer, it refers to a specific type of gender and sexual politics as well as a specific type of aesthetic politics. A queer frame of mind usually regards both gender and sexuality as separate, if at times mutually enforcing, spectrums. Both gender and sexuality can be regarded as fluid, with male and female simply representing different poles. Under a queer rubric, it is possible to be a transwoman who identifies as a lesbian, or a transman who identifies as a fag. It is possible to be a pussy-loving dyke (such as myself) who also identifies as asexual at times, but also identifies as an effete fairy at others. What I find personally so liberating about a queer politics is that it allows me to eschew the restrictions of the gender binary. Not that anyone ever escapes society’s impositions, but queer politics has allowed me to see the possibilities beyond the binary.

This is why I find the music of Mykki Blanco so resonant. Her strength and sex appeal as a performer and lyricist stems from the way she plays with language, imagery and persona.

In the opening scene of Wavvy we are taken into the harsh milieu of NYC, where Blanco is picking up drugs. She is dressed in what I refer to as boi-style; snap back, shirtless, off-pink pants. She mentions to the dealer how uncomfortable she is being on “the hottest block in Chinatown,” and is visibly nervous as sirens wail in the distance. The music kicks in when a cop finds Mykki mid-deal. Our protagonist must then run to evade the lock-up, which she does. She then makes her way into the cargo hold of a truck. She picks up the mic and screams the first lines, “Welcome to hell, bitches/This is Mykki Blanco/New World Order/Motherfucker, follow pronto.” It’s hard not to get attention with an opener like that! With her first two lines she not only invokes the site of hell, with all its attendant associations of sin and debauchery, she conjures  a larger geopolitical conspiracy. And in america, spiritual violence and political violence are often intertwined, especially where queer folx are concerned. In the heterosexual imaginary all ‘deviants’ are assigned to hell. Mykki takes that construction and throws it right back in the viewer's face. Mykki’s visual performance is angular and campy at times, but can still be read as masculine. Spitting lines like, “Maybe she was born with it/ maybe it was Maybelline,” Mykki maintains a masculine posture, but isn’t afraid to femme up her rhymes while doing so. It is this seeming discontinuity that I love about Blanco. Even in a more masculine- of-center register, Mykki still keeps it queer. A brilliant moment in the first verse is when Brenmar drops the beat, and Mykki describes all the hip-hop bros who listen to her prose and then gag: “Oh, this fag can rap/ Yeah they sayin’ it/ They listenin.’” Not only does Mykki shock us by playing with  specters of hell, damnation and political collapse, she speaks directly to her hip hop competitors and homophobic haters. And her message is simple: I do this rap shit better than you.

But where Mykki surprises us is in the chorus. Whereas the scenery from the first verse is urban, urbane, harsh and masculine, the party where Mykki sells wavvy is like something out of a Derek Jarman film on acid. All red curtains and candles, and a multiracial, multi-gendered cast of art-school hippies. Each and every one posed out like a Botticelli nude. Mykki is again shirtless, but with a red wig instead of a snap-back, a pair of gold laced black panties instead of pants and lipstick glossin’. She also stunts in heels. But, concurrent with this change of scenery and outfit, is a change in mannerism and speech. “I bite the, bite the, bite the head off a harpy,” Mykki intones. She invokes a mythical creature that is both feminine and terrifying. And in patriarchal america, one of the first things that we as a people have forgotten is the terrifying and dangerous power of the feminine. Mykki can femme it up, but it is still in your face. She shows young women of all genders that it is still possible to be pretty and powerful. In fact, sometimes it’s the pretty bitches who are the most terrifying in their prowess. She conjures spirituality again, “I cry blood tears/ Holy Mary, Holy Mother.” Violence directed at queer folx is often justified using spirituality. But yet again, Mykki re-appropriates spiritual imagery, this time turning to Mary Mother of God. For me an important part of queerness has been taking back the spiritual from those who would conclude that all queer folx are destined for hell. It is not uncommon for feminist re-appropriations of spirituality to concentrate on the forgotten stories of the female prophets. What is so powerful about Mykki’s work is that she summons the feminine and the masculine with her words playfully and effortlessly. And during the second verse we see Mykki blow out a votive candle, while her posse gets up to gender bending high jinks in the background. Oh, and all of the confetti, all of it! The rest of the video cross-cuts beautifully between Mykki's femme performance, and her boi performance.

The chorus, “We make love to the night/in the back of the club/yeah we feelin’ alright,” portrays the still secret world of queers, who are often relegated to the back of the club by a homophobic politics that demands that gender-non-conformity never even be seen, much less “tolerated.” But Mykki is of course a poet by trade. In the back of the club one can "make love to the night," itself. Indeed, the very metaphorical essence of Wavvy seems to be about poetry and mysticism. And that combination, judging from all the different bodies partying it up in the video, packs one hell of a liberatory wallop.

Francesco Carrozini and music producer Brenmar all of course contribute to the greatness of the video and track. This piece is simply my interpretation of Mykki Blanco’s art. I have noticed aesthetic similarities between all of Mykki Blanco’s videos thus far, which is why I am focusing on her as emcee and visual artist. This particular use of mise en scene, lyricism, gender presentation and gender performance represents a queering of pop-music that is fiercely intellectual, as well as inspiring for queer and LGBTQ communities. Especially those of color.

When her shit drops and hits the six-million circulation…….