Posts Tagged ‘lesigh’

Remember that bowtie-wearing little dweeb John Stewart fed his own ass in his own house back in 2004? No? Can’t say I blame you.

Well, taking a page from Napster-era high-school girls, Carlson just totally wrote a series of outrageous emails to a Philly journalist, pretending to be Keith Olbermann. Take that, betch!

HUFFPO: TUCKER CARLSON SENT EMAILS POSING AS KEITH OLBERMANN


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So, I read The Onion pretty regularly, and try to share some of its greatest hits as much as I can. There’s nothing quite like the crazy, farcical writing that’s their stock in trade. Today, as I chomped down on an unholy, salt-laden protein-fest that was supposed to be good for me, I came across:

Gentries explained that it “didn’t take long” to find out as much about the tenets of Islam as he needed to. He said he knew Muslims stoned their women for committing adultery, trained for terrorist attacks at fundamentalist madrassas, and believed in jihad, which Gentries described as the thing they used to justify killing infidels.

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So, I resisted the urge to join the chorus of keystrokes reacting to Prince’s declaration that the internet is “over.” Whenever an artist makes such a statement, America –public and punditry alike — reverts to a childlike state of literalism, unable to imagine a meaning deeper than the very words on the page. It serves their overall purpose of mocking them as crotchety old men confused and frightened by the internet, unable to end the reign of Auto-Tune.

Forget the fact that Prince Rogers Nelson (or “the baddest motherfucker to slip on a pair of size 6 heels” to you) pioneered the practice of distributing music and connecting with fans via the web. Forget that he won a Webby for that shit. Forget that, at 5’2″ and in eyeliner, he’ll take your girl with a single raised eyebrow. Yeah, forget all that. He’s just an old geezer afraid of teh internetz.

lulz.

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Hi, Snoop. The name’s merq. Big fan.

Now seriously, dude. This is why I keep saying you should have retired in the late ’90s. You gave it a go, made your mark. You would’ve gone out with some dignity. Sure, we would’ve been deprived such gems as”Drop it Like It’s Hot”,  “Perfect”, “Special”, and the near-classic “Beautiful”. But one needs only look at the names of the latter three to get a glimpse of your diminished creativity.

“Beautiful”, “Perfect” and “Special” are essentially the same song. It just gets softer in percussion and rhythm with each reiteration — kinda like recording over the same audio tape over and over. (Remember those?)  Also suffering each time you dip back in that well is lyricism. Sample lyrics from “Special”:

I picture this love affair, of ours/ To last a lifetime, just like flowers…
See I ain’t never blow no cheese /Or done no songs like these/ I love the air that you breathe /You know why?

The problem is, of course, that you have done songs like these. Twice before. And “last a lifetime, just like flowers”?? C’mon, man! You know you didn’t write that shit. Your album advance, rhyming dictionary, and a bag of weed deserve that writing credit.

And while we’re on the subject of weed. Doesn’t it bother you that you’ve been reduced to the sleepy-eyed, “izzle”-ating Hip-Hop High Times poster boy? I understand and wholeheartedly support playing with your image, but you’ve gone from West-Coast Gangsta to Retro Gangster to Retro Pimp Pastiche played for laughs. It’s like you watched the “Doggy Dogg World” video sometime in 2001 and, noticing how many laughs it got from label folk, decided this would be you for the next ten years.

Dude, it’s not funny.

You used to be a talented rapper. You had relevance. Now, you’re like a black Shaggy who lets Scooby write his rhymes for him. Why does it have to be this way? I mean, on cuts like “…World” and “Sexual Eruption”, the whole shtick works because it is clearly a shtick. But being this buffoon 24/7? Dude, we deserve better. We clear?

Alright, now we’ve got that settled, I want you to promise me shit like this will never happen again, either.

 

Thanks, man.

-mQ

J-Money Wondamix

I know, I know. Another Janelle Monáe post.

But my blog-homeslice and Racialicious cohort Latoya Peterson wrote a great piece for The Root, commenting on Jenny Money’s** place in an industry dealing with the legacy of “race music”.

**Dayo, my musical mirror image renamed her this. Not only does it crack me up, it’s far easier typing for repeated references to an artist with an accent in her name. (more…)

So, I can’t say I like Fantasia. She’s milquetoast. And when she isn’t, she’s just straight-up embarassing. She does such lackluster (“I Believe”), tragic (‘Hood Boy”), and lackluster and tragic (“Baby Mama”) shit that I can’t muster much of an opinion of her.

Then every now and again, I stumble onto something that reminds me how much of a fucking talent (and therefore, a waste of said talent) she is.

First, it was this: the only Idol performance I’ve ever watched.

Then it was this: making Jamie Foxx tolerable for 5 minutes is no small feat. 

Now, it’s this: let’s be honest, she totally sonned Chaka Khan on this one 

And then you hear the drivel she’s got on her upcoming album, and you’re snapped back to the sad reality that is her A&R situation.

Le Sigh.

Don’t act so surprised.

HT: ILL DOCTRINE