Nneka is kind of like the perfect cross between Lauryn Hill and M.I.A.; she sings and raps with ease, and writes wonderfully empowering songs, while also speaking for a people largely ignored and invisible in mainstream Western culture (you know: that massive, ridiculously diverse group of people we Westerners refer to as, simply, “Africans”) . As her brilliant album cover suggests, Nneka fashions herself as the voice of the African Diasporic experience, recalling everyone from Ms. Hill and Erykah Badu to Bob Marley and Fela Kuti. Born and raised in Warri, Nigeria before leaving at the age of 18 to live with her German mother in Hamburg, it could be said that her very existence embodies a clashing of African and Western cultures, and so she’ll surely fascinate Afrocentrics and NPR listeners in the coming months. But I can guarantee you that no amount of intellectual masturbation and hype can outshine Nneka’s brilliant, and downright moving American debut album, Concrete Jungle. Basically a collection of songs taken from Nneka’s two previous albums (both unavailable in the US), the album is an eclectic and freewheeling, yet somehow 100% cohesive mixture of hip hop, soul, rock, pop, reggae, afrobeat, funk, and trip hop.
Concrete Jungle stuns, inspires and enthralls from beginning to end, and confirms without question that Nneka has the potential to be among the most vital and fascinating voices of pop music in the years to come. Believe the hype.
Yeah, that’s right…the man has finally come around.
First things first: Gil Scott-Heron’s influence on Hip Hop and Neo-Soul is incalculable; next to James Brown and George Clinton, it is perfectly acceptable to consider Scott-Heron the Godfather of those genres, captivating and inspiring generations with a powerful mixture of gritty, rhythmic, conscious poetics and funky, jazz-inflected musical backdrops. We all know (or should know) the classics; “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” “Home Is Where the Hatred Is,” “The Bottle,” “Whitey on the Moon,” just to name a few. Known for his fiery, incendiary observations of the sociopolitical state of black America, it’s certainly all the more heartbreaking to have seen this incredible musician and activist succumb to many of the social ills he’d spent so much time railing against, and had tried so desperately to steer others away from. Since 1994, drug problems and a slew of stints in prison have derailed the man’s career and mission, ironically coinciding with the unprecedented and ever-growing success of the very genres he inspired. And all of this makes Scott-Heron’s new album, I’m New Here, all the more stunning; not since the Rick Rubin-assisted resurrection of Johnny Cash’s legendary (and, by the earlier 90’s, similarly derailed) career has an older, seemingly past-their-prime artist returned with something so haunting, so vital, and so unequivocably brilliant.
About a month ago, a YouTube video of a mid-November performance by Beyonce at the O2 Arena in London was brought to my attention. Performing in the round, and hitting the climax of a rousing rendition of her international smash hit “Halo,” the 28 year-old R&B phenom inexplicably makes a b-line for the edge of the platform and stagedives into the crowd. Wearing only what I can basically gather to be a diamond-studded, black leotard, stilettos (Beyonce’s trademark shoe ware), large earrings, and her hair out and wild, Beyonce completely submits to the will of her audience, a move that could have resulted in her hair and jewelry being snagged and pulled, her private parts being groped, or her body simply being dropped. Instead, the crowd catches her, and lifts her into an epic, Christ-like pose, screaming and applauding in total adoration and awe as she continues to sing the song, hitting almost every note perfectly.
It’s a beautiful, exhilarating, and decidedly surreal sight. You see, I have neither seen nor heard of a mainstream pop performer, ala Britney Spears or Rihanna, stagediving into an audience; it’s risky and dangerous, and requires the performer to not only trust their fans unequivocally, but to be moved and invested in the emotionality of performing to such a degree that one would basically throw caution to the wind and thrust oneself into the hands of their spectators.
Of course, Beyonce is clearly not your average mainstream pop performer.
The homosexuality controversy in black faith communities has reached a feverish pitch, especially with Tonéx’s and Donnie McClurkin’s recent admissions. Probably most renowned for the rumors regarding their sexuality, these two black gospel singers have become the centerpiece to the debate of the role homosexuals should play in black faith communities. Unfortunately both men’s livelihood as pastors of their respective church has led them to depend financially on a community that by and large forces/prefers silence on same-sex desires and human rights. Yet, both these men have carved a space in gospel music to openly acknowledge their desires. Tonéx by stating that his preference is for the same sex; Donnie by (abstaining and) persecuting other homosexuals as not being willing to be delivered from “the perversion of homosexuality.”
Mandatory Credit: Photo by Ron Sachs / Rex Features ( 814301t )
Due to my desire to post on Precious, I failed to fulfill a writing assignment. I think I was supposed to post something about the 1st anniversary of the election of President Barack Obama. I didn’t know we celebrated the anniversaries of elections, but weird stuff happens when black people are involved. Frankly, I don’t really have much to say. I think my blogging record speaks for itself. I did not feel like the Jeffersons on Election Night 2008. In fact, I was pretty critical of the whole thing. But I’m not going to be cranky about this. Like my grandmother said, if you don’t have anything nice to say, make a mixtape. (Okay, she really didn’t say that.) So that’s what I’ve decided to do.
I suppose it’s not really a mixtape, but rather several EPs. Either way, though I love Radiohead, I’m not going to give the birthers any love by calling this thing “Hail to the Thief.” Read more »
Over the past month I have been writing on the good and bad of “The Ballroom Scene.” Now I want to take a moment to explain more about the rising underground dance, that is becoming one of the new “black arts.” If homophobic, masculine idolizing, intolerant schools like Morehouse would be a little more open minded, maybe our black community could learn to accept things that are different. (Making a reference to Morehouse’s new anti-gay dress code)
Some are disgusted when they observe this new black art taking place. I would assert that people are still afraid of anything different. While, I cannot vogue and have many criticisms about the scene, I still know to respect both the Art and the people who choose to be in the ballroom scene.
A week before I returned to University of Chicago for my second year of college, I encountered what I like to call “an incident.” My brother, on this particular day followed his normal pattern of entering the basement room of my mother’s house in a drunken state. His drinking problem is one thing, but his homophobia mixed with intoxication is not a good combination. My brother chose to make comments about my friend and I, as we passed him on the way to my room.
“Why are these fucking fags in my house!?! Maybe if I bash their heads in they will stop coming! I hate these gay ass niggas, its nasty, and they’re nasty!!” (My brothers actual words)
He went on for 30 minutes in a nearby room, yelling every homophobic obscenity his slurred vocabulary could muster. Read more »
Some people just don’t know how to quit. Brett Favre, Joe Paterno, and Bobby Brown are just a few people who clearly can’t fathom taking a seat. There are other folks who retire prematurely before they reach their peak. Then there is Jay- Z. To put it crudely, Jay is kicking ass and taking names at the ripe old age of 39. In most professions, 39 is a time where people are still moving up the ladder in their respective fields. In hip hop years 39 is a dinosaur. Read more »
Yesterday, my mom sent me a text message proclaiming her excitement for Whitney Houston’s newest album, which was released yesterday. In her “I’m fifty years old” text message shorthand, Ma said she loved every song on I Look to You, Nippy’s first solo effort in years. The reviews are mixed. Though I haven’t *technically* heard it, I’ll just go ahead and say I love Whitney’s new album, too. I’ll hold my tongue re: Akon’s appearance. (Alvin Seville does want his job back, though.) I do think the latest single, “Million Dollar Bill” will make a killer house remix. Maybe it’s my mother’s fault, maybe it’s because I’m getting soft, but I’m rooting for Whitney. I’m glad she’s here.
A few years ago during Ms. Houston’s nadir, I wrote a blog about her. On this the first leg of her comeback and on the eve of her appearance on the divine’s Ms. O’s (you can’t spell God without an o) season premiere–no jumping on the couch!–I want to return to what I said. I’ve posted it below, with very few edits.
I think most of the stuff I said holds up. Well, I hope it does.
I can’t believe it, but five years ago today, The Foreign Exchange (@nicolay and @phontigallo) released their album, Connected. It’s pretty amazing stuff–just great hip hop. What makes this album even more amazing is the fact that these cats instant messaged, e-mailed, and snail mailed beats and vocals back and forth to each other. (At the time, Nicolay, who was living in the Netherlands at the time, would compose the beats and send them to Phonte [of Little Brother fame], who was in North Carolina.)
