Miley.

Deciding which posts should come out when, is a lot like figuring out which cards to play in a game of spades, or hearts, or go-fish. Just so happens, my gift of good timing has made itself present again, and the post I had on deck was this one. Let us begin...

So there's tons to say about the ''new'' Miley, I'll skip most of it and simply go on record as saying that she'll be back. Britney, Xtina, and all their ilk returned from the dirty side. Even Madonna, who created the dirt itself, started Kabbalah-ing and is rumored to not let her kids watch TV or something. Let me also say I'm not personally mad at Miley, she's a young adult and she's having fun. Young adults routinely do stupid, crass, ignorant, ballsy, epic chit. She's Diet Vanilla Rihanna. She's not abnormal, neither is her looking like an idiot sometimes, and successfully edgy other times (see James Dean, Pre Iron Man RDJ, etc). I really do believe she's being genuine in this fascination with what she feels is black, urban culture. But, I understand fully (and share, mostly) the frustration of lots of people. I should go further and point out, that she did NOT invent twerking, nor is she particularly good at it. Regardless of if she's all up on a very much older Robin Thicke at the very beige VMA's or not, bless her lil' over-eager heart. 

So here's where the issue comes in. The fact that anyone even has to point out that she did not originate, or even make twerking popular points to the source of the main issue that people have with it. It's interesting how something is a new fad, or new phenomenon when some of us have been doing it for years, decades, centuries. It's not new. It's new to you. If people would just say that, I don't think it would hit such a sour note. It wouldn't be co-opted, it would be integrated, recognized, placed in it's historical space. You can't discover something that already existed in it's present form for scores of people. 

Just like America. 

There were already people here. It wasn't new, it was new to you. 

Miley's ''We Can't Stop'' video, had tons of modern art references (as pointed out by Complex Mag), some pretty steep ones, including Damien Hirst, For the Love of God (that whole french fry head was a shout out to him). I personally think that's cool. Not my cup of tea per se, but it wasn't as mindless as it felt. They did do alot of nonsensical stuff simply because they could, mixing ''cool'' with ''common.'' Living for the night, the moment, because responsibility, price tags, those are things they didn't have to think about. That's pretty much the trend with the privileged lot these days anyway. Like, ''hey I think I'll drink a 40 while in my villa's hot tub room or whatever.'' But that's the difference between those of us who have and those who have not. I'm always reminded that there is a whole heap of ish that most of us don't get to just do, because of our tax-brackets. 

To that I say: Get on her level.  *Trillville voice mixed with a Kanye Shrug* 

But man, people who aren't living the peasant life really seem to love the peasant ish, but they get to fly to Morocco the next day on the private jet if they so choose. Isn't slumming grand?!

But let me return to the point. 

Here's where the video and it's messaging, gets hairy for me: They are partying, she's kissing her doll self, there's narcissism and Pepto Bismal for everyone, there's the scene on the bed ---and then, there's Miley twerking with her black friends. There's nothing wrong with kicking it with your diverse bunch of buddies, there's nothing wrong with being the white girl in the bunch who can twerk. What's problematic, is that it's acceptable and/or forgivable for young Miley to shake her ass on camera, but I would be very shocked if those other girls could find their way from the land of Twerks & Caicos so easily.

And that is where cultural appropriation stops being laughable. 

So Miley, if you could, don't abandon the things that you like now, when it comes down to that Pepsi deal to bring you back, after your first kid. Don't be like the others and forget where you came from. Remember the time in your life when you released your forthcoming album, which you had hilariously named ''Bangerz'' ---with a Z. Like a circa-1994 BOSS (read: clown). You can be like Justin Timberlake, get a little gutter-lite for a while, and still remember whose cultural likeness you've built your new image on. Even if that image is based largely on caricature, a lack of understanding of the layers that the culture has, and a skewed personal perception (one which you share with scores of other people like you). 

Beyond that I guess I'll say, ''twerk Miley, Miley, twerk Miley"...and all the real twerkers too with vigor (except children at McDonalds).

*Addendum: I wrote this before the VMA's. I have to say, the best part of that performance was watching the audience reaction of her musical peers, particularly Drake's bowed head, and Rihanna's ''not impressed'' face, and of course the Smith Family. It wasn't a very good showing for little Miley. She looked tired, awkward, and was doing the most. There is one thing to be said for our other bad girls, 90% of their performances are TOP NOTCH. The staging, props, choreography, if Miley doesn't want to burn out, she better tighten up, and roll that tongue back in her mouth. 

The other best part was 2Chainz, but that's another conversation for another Wednesday.

As a final note: I grew up in the Madonna era, and managed to not become a tramp. The reason for this: parenting. That is not to say, Miley doesn't need some accountability for and apparaisal of her recent choices, but she needs that for HER personal development, as an adult. She needs that because she is at an age where she has to start evaluating her crazy and checking it. But she doesn't need it for anyone else's kid. So let's remember that when we have the ''artists are role models'' conversation. 

People should raise their own kids, don't let Miley do it. 

Why 'Baby It's Cold Outside' is creepy.

Not to be a total downer but, fall is approaching. Soon we will be basking in the warmth of a million venti Pumpkin Lattes flying out of Starbucks. It'll be time to get cozy, to start looking for that Winter Boo, a cuddle buddy, or new warm socks paired with that blanket you've been knitting. More of us will find ourselves with that blanket. *sigh* Christmas will be here before we know it. The music of the season will be coming to our daily lives. What joy! One of the favorite songs in the rotation is at least one version of ''Baby It's Cold Outside,'' written in 1944, by Frank Loesser. 

Loesser wrote the music for How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying which was kind of like the grandpa of Office Space. He also wrote music and lyrics for Guys and Dolls, he won Tonys, etc. Kind of a big deal in Broadway, Film, and songwriting history. The story is, he wrote "Baby It's Cold Outside'' for his wife, they used to sing it at parties, and she was pissed when he sold the song to MGM. Sucks. But I'm guessing they made some money off of it, so it was probably worth it. 

Alright.

The song starts off sultry enough. You can hear the fire crackling, the glasses clinking, you feel warm and drowsy in this urban oasis of dude's house where this woman decided to duck out to for a visit. 

Everybody has been somewhere they may or may not have needed to be. After getting into a little mischief, you have to decide if you're going home or not. Happens. There are attempts at persuasion on one side or another. There usually a presentation of pros and cons ("if you stay it'll be awesome"or ''you can't go because you could get tackled by a Liger out there and then where would we be?). It all sounds great, but you might be thinking about the morning after, or the fact that you have a 6 am meeting or whatever, and it's like nah, I should probably go. If your life was a sitcom, we wouldn't find out until the commercial break ended. We would resume the story with the next daybreak, to find out if you went home or not. But your life isn't a sitcom, and frankly, your life might suck if it mirrors the lyrics to this song. 

The original notes to the song are said to have the male and female parts divided as ''wolf'' & ''mouse.'' Considering the time when it was written, the need to have a strong male and a weaker female fit the era. Too bad our legislative body seems to still think, that (with regard to policy) we are still living in those times, but let me return to the point. This song gives me an uncomfortable feeling. There's alot of back and forth between the ''wolf'' and the ''mouse''...she even cites her parents and like a spinster sister or something as reasons why she has to go home. 

He's not hearing it. 

Then comes this moment where she asks ''hey, what's in this drink?''

And there ladies and gentlemen, is where my journery on the tunnel of creepy love ends. I have to swan dive off the boat at this point. She's telling him she's planning to go, he's removing her hat. Like dude, her mind is entertaining the thought of staying, her body may or may not be saying yes, BUT HER MOUTH IS SAYING, I gotta go home. At one point she actually says no. Like literally NO. Not a tough thing. Let her go home. 

She's trying to keep her reputation together (and clearly, by the bar service at this joint, to keep her body to herself). I would have been able to roll with this song, if that line hadn't been in there. Even though they probably had roofies of some kind back then, I doubt that dude really slipped her a mickey. She was probably just drinking something strong, like what would have been considered a ''man's drink'' and the writer was nodding to that difference. BUT STILL. That was too far for me. 

I really like the song, but I had to pull back from it. I had to really make a full assessment of how creepy it really is. 

Haters Gon' Hate: The Red Balloon

If you have never seen the french short from 1960, ''The Red Balloon,'' see it. It runs a little over a half hour. If you have HuluPlus you can see it for the monthly bill you've already paid. I won't spoil if you haven't seen it, but I'll give you a few reactions if you have or want to.

The film is about an adorable little french boy who finds this brilliant red balloon. Turns out, the balloon has a mind of it's own, but will surrender it's animate will to this kid's whims. The kid only makes responsible requests of the balloon, he's a good kid. There is a beautiful and historic record of Old Paris created with the cinematography in this film. Much of it's backdrop of homes and community was removed in the years following this release, for ''urban renewal.'' The scenery is charming, but dark. I've not yet been to Paris, but it gives you a sense of the air in the city at least at that time. 

Throughout the film the little boy encounters many people who look at him with what could only be described as jealousy. They want to know just who he thinks he is, and why he thinks he should have something so awesome. By the end, this nasty behavior reaches a fever pitch, and shows us just how we pass on those bad habits to the smaller members of society. 

To wit I say: Haters Gon' Hate. 

Somebody is always gonna be pissed when people have something they think they should have, or can't get. I'm not talking about the ''haters'' people whine about on social media in a fit of narcissism and delusion. I'm talking about real mumble-n-grumble, snarling haters who don't want to see people happy. This isn't everyone.  Most people know how to root for another person. But there is a sub section of people and groups of people who make it their life's mission to knock over ice-cream cones, step on new sneakers, slut-shame, destroy body images, erode confidence, burn whole towns, and generally piss on your parade. 

Sometimes those people are familiar. Sometimes they are relative strangers. Sometimes they are teachers, classmates, guidance counselors, clergy, family members  grandmas, uncles, kids, teens, adults, short, tall, rich, poor... but no matter who they are, you have to decide if they are going to dictate your life. So whenever and wherever you can, do the Heisman on them h*es. And move around. 

There's so much more life you have to live. Don't let anybody stop you. 

And while you're doing all this glorious living, take a look at this wonderful, award-winning classic film. 

Why Dreamgirls Is A Perfect Movie.

1. The Singing 

Don't take this as a diss to any other groups (we're all human first), but these people in this film are the reason I am thankful that God made me black, and musically inclined. Seriously. The harmonies. The solos. The background vocals. When the cast and supporting people are singing these songs with all the layers, emotion, and vast storytelling ability it just make life feel better all the way around. And if being apart of the diaspora has given us nothing else, it has given us soul, and the ability to commune with our pain/experiences via music and the arts. 

2. The Costumes

One thing people knew how to do, back in the day, was dress. I did not have the privilege of seeing the original Broadway cast of Dreamgirls in their production (vinyl at home not withstanding), and have only google images of some costuming from the play. There is no doubt in my mind these women were fab. For the film, Sharen Davis (who also did costuming for Ray) did such a bang-up job on the dresses, suits, skirts, etc, etc. that we are transported into their world. The quality is unlike most films out here. I'm not an expert on historical clothing, but it made me want to find some kind of fishtail dress and start singing on street corners (maybe not street corners, but you get the point).

(Sidenote: Does anyone remember what happened to Kanye's Rosewood Movement. I want it back). 

3. The Acting

The acting was not perfect, I will repeat, not perfect. But I've seen enough Tom Cruise movies and Will Smith cinematic turns to know that it's really not necessary for every actor to be perfect, only perfectly suited for the role. I never once had trouble believing any of them. 

Yes. 

That admission includes Beyonce. 

We all saw Austin Powers. We remember her as the cheetah or panther or puma or whatever she was, and it was well.... gross. That's all I can think of. Gross. (That song she did for the film 'Work It Out' was NOT. it was actually kinda great). 

That said: Each of the actors was cast well, could sing their asses off and played off of each other incredibly well. The thing about actors is, when they do it right you will automatically assume they MUST be like their characters. But... we really don't know WHAT these actors are like because when we see them they are playing someone else. 

I know... *mind-blown* 

4. The Villain

That Curtis Taylor Jr. was a royal piece of work. He was scheming from :01. He had ZERO redeeming qualities. Everything was about the dollar, about control of the artists. The first time J. Hud's 'Effie' says his name you knew, I knew, and SHE KNEW, he was trouble. I bet if you say that name 3 times in a mirror fast....

The level of arseholery he employed was bar none. It was perfect. He never raised his voice, except maybe once, and all the while was the architect and manipulator of all the little marionettes. Wack Sauce. But deliciously devilish sauce. Every film with more than two people needs a proper villain. 

5. The Victims 

Effie, Deena, Norell, C.C., Jimmy, Danny Glover, The Secretary Girl, The Henchman dude.... ALL Lambs to the slaughter (until they got wise and started working together). It should be noted that though there were a ton of victims under King Curtis' reign and rule, there were no Innocents. 

C.C. didn't stand up for his sister when she needed him most. Norell was Jimmy's mistress. Deena may not have been messing around with Curtis, but she sure did marry him. (for that she gets a delirious side eye from me) and Effie was a diva. To be fair: all of them were caught in a vice of manipulation that was dripping with poison...I've been in one of those, and it plays on your faults and your strengths. but still, some of their choices were appalling. 

6. The finale. 

4 part harmony. Magic almost making me cry. Curtis having the only sobering moment. Redemption. Reunions. and the glitter bomb that sets off the credits. 

I still get chills. 

7. The Credits

The way they set up the credits, you get to relive the whole movie again, while letting the last scene simmer in your mind. Exhilarating.

The Spirit of Old Lauryn.

Let's take it back for a moment, and remember the album which won the last Grammy of a millennium. That's right. ''The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill,'' won album of the year, the last award given at the ceremony that night, in 1999. 

We know by now Lauryn's got a lot going on. Taxes, jail, kids, Marleys, incoherent unplugged albums, Wyclef, label issues, an affinity for clown makeup, a tendency to rant, the list goes on. As I'm listening to the album now, it's just as fresh as it was nearly 15 years ago, even if L-Boogie is not. I'm not here to pass judgement on Lauryn, but when I listen to the messages of this album, I'm wondering if she stopped to take a listen. Typically I'm all for artist progression, I'm happy when artists challenge who they were on the last album, who they may have been last night. Still, I can't help but wish for this Lauryn to return. Where IS SHE!? We want her back. 

Lauryn was a triple threat musically, and professionally. She raps like a monster, sings like a cherub, writes, acts, she probably can dance too. I don't know. This is not an article that will attempt to breathe life into the idea that ''music isn't what it used to be'' or discuss previous artists vs. the new artists coming out and making their way. I come from the common sense school of critique and I don't believe  ''there's no good music anymore.'' That brand of passive-aggressive crap is not inside the soapboxes I will be standing on. This post is simply here as a meditation on something amazing that seems to be lost at sea. 

Right now "Final Hour" is on. 

This song shows the philosophical rap of Sister Lauryn, her voice lacing the song with melodic undertones. To be able to do both so well, in an approachable way makes her a diamond in the rough. She teaches, she evangelizes, she energizes and empowers in 4 minutes. 

You leave feeling like you can be someone. 

Later on I'll make it to ''Nothing Even Matters,'' the duet with her and D'Angelo. *let us bow our heads for that one* 

Each song has so much life, so much pain, depth, story. Aren't we all here for the stories? 

This was the most complete (modern) album I had heard. It was something that you turned on, let play, and never wanted to turn off. It still sends chills through my limbs to this day. It was critically adored by mainstream sources, the hood loved it, hip hop heads, and r&b lovers. When an artist can release a project like this it is truly a gift, with divine implications. So I urge you to find your copy (buy it, borrow it, rent it, get it on YouTube in it's entirety) and take a listen as soon as you can. 

That's all. 

Favorite Songs: Lost Ones, Ex-Factor, Final Hour, When It Hurts So Bad
Songs that send you spinning: Nothing Even Matters, Ex-Factor
Fav. Verse: Doo Wop (That Thing)
Best Interlude: When the boy is trying to convince the teacher that there is indeed a song called ''Love''...by Kirk Franklin