It's not so much that the term "hipster R&B" is inaccurate. I'm no hipster, but if The Weeknd and Frank Ocean are getting mad love from people who consider themselves hipsters, then I suppose hipsters can call it whatever makes them feel comfortable. But as non-hipsters like to say, let's keep it all the way real. Calling it "hipster R&B" is a nice way of saying it's R&B that white people like (black hipsters notwithstanding), and here's my problem with that: It's myopic, lazy, and it sounds to me like a form of musical segregation that's not entirely based on genre.
Here's a proposal—how about we call it "nappy-headed pop"? If that sounds even slightly politically incorrect or lazy, then you understand my frustrations with the term "hipster R&B." It's not with the term "hipster"; it's with any hipster or white critic labeling a black artist "an R&B artist" just because he or she sings a little.
Couldn't have said it better myself. Oh, and also:
All this automatic categorization of black artists who sing harkens back to the social roots of the R&B genre. Before R&B was even called R&B, the record industry and magazines like Billboard categorized it as "race music," shorthand for any black artists who sang with a backbeat behind them. For years, white artists who made similar music never had to worry about being designated as "race music" until 1958, when Billboard began using "R&B" instead. The switch made it possible for acts like the late, great Teena Marie and current artists like Robin Thicke to chart in the R&B category. Unfortunately, many critics still referred (and refer) to those artists with the term "blue-eyed soul," which is a nice way of saying they're white singers that black people like. Equally hackneyed is calling black singers who white people like "hipster R&B"—or, for that matter, "nappy-headed pop".
Fourteen years ago yesterday, I was at Alexis Maule's house on the South Side of Chicago in her downstairs TV room, and MTV had the breaking news that Christopher Wallace, better known to us as The Notorious B.I.G., had been killed. This was only a handful of months after Tupac Shakur's murder, and two years after Selena's, and to date, those had been the only musicians whose deaths had shook my young self up. I remember the news about Biggie being the most shocking to me, however. Mostly because I had just started really listening to hip-hop seriously and Ready to Die in particular. Childhood me liked Pac alright, but not the way I liked Big. Not at all. As a 25 year-old, I could give you a concise and complex reasoning as to why I prefer him over Shakur, and some of those reasons would be lyrical prowess, cadence in his flow, overall production quality, growth as an artist over time (albeit short, for both) and contributions to the soundtrack of my life. But as a kid, who just knew she loved music that she loved, and had only the tiniest, babiest inkling of why, it was all about resonance. Not resonance as in, I understand, I too have Everyday Struggles, but more like, this music makes me feel something that I have never felt before. Simple and pure. Naturally, emotional response plays the largest part in my draw to any music to this day, as I believe it should for all, but when I was young, that was all there was. And that was all that mattered.
Anyways. Here's a fantastic piece from ego trip's "Chairman" Jeff(erson) Mao, written for The Source for their April 1997 issue. A few weeks after it hit the stands, Biggie was gone. Really great article. Makes me wish I had been born several years earlier.
I think it's safe to say that if I could hang out with ANY production crew, it would be Organized Noize.
I mean, if this hypothetical and delusional question was based on craft alone, and if I was a wizard, I would stand behind J Dilla all day and night just to soak in the ambiance of Genius, but chances are that once I got there I would go into catatonic shock and be rendered speechless and wouldn't even be able to offer to run to the store for him (my treat, obviously) so we wouldn't even be able to talk about how "Find A Way" changed my world forever and still continues to absolutely destroy every molecule in my being OR about the bass line on "Dynamite" and how it is the Greatest. Bass. Line. Of. All. Time.
But that would be totally cool because honestly, I would be content just watching him push a fader up and down. So, good thing that would never happen.
However, if we are talking about a mind blowing musical education session + the most fun I could ever have with my clothes on, you would find me in Atlanta in the Dungeon with Sleepy, Rico and Ray.
Just started absorbing this little underrated gem from 1998. I adore OutKast and Goodie Mob, but what I reallllllllly love more than anything, is Sleepy Brown's voice. It's the audible equivalent of a time machine. It's almost as if Curtis Mayfield, late '70s Marvin Gaye and Leon Ware all melted their honeyed voices into a Crock Pot, and then let it simmer all day. And when it was time to enjoy it, Organized Noize added a pinch of synth, a dash of crisp drumming, a ton of lush orchestration and a generous sprinkling of dreamy wah-wah riffs and then served it to you while you reclined on a cloud.
His fantastic solo (and most recent, unfortunately) album, 2006's Mr. Brown which I listen to on extensive repeat all the time, is a culmination of sorts; it marries his soul and funk pedigree with the sonic hip-hop aesthetics of Stankonia. But this record, Noize's first solo creative outlet, The Vinyl Room, is pure unadulterated hot, buttered, soul, with only a tiny mix of Dungeon Family humor filled skits thrown in.
The trio, using the moniker Sleepy's Theme, pretty much reinterprets the silky falsettos of Curtis Mayfield (fun fact, Sleepy Brown worked on the legend's last album, 1996's New World Order) and the layered melodies of Barry White without any pastiche or derivative results. For those who think this kind of record is a '70s cliche or knockoff, you are a. wrong and b. clearly don't know much about the immaculate blueprint that our beloved soul and funk giants created. Yes, Gaye, Mayfield, White, Ware, Hayes and co. left behind an often imitated but never duplicated legacy. But, they also left behind an invaluable text book that if studied properly and diligently, can be reinterpreted, extrapolated and re-imagined to create shimmering and gorgeous results. And this album, much like Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite, is proof that some people do their fucking homework.
Three of my favorite tunes on the album after the jump.
"Still Smokin'":
"Private Party" (ignore the ridiculous homemade YouTube video):
An absolutelyperfectfilmsoundtrack is extremely hard to come by. Most everybody has at least a few that come to mind, but I have recently found that many of my old go to favorites don't really hold up anymore (I'm not goofing. This used to be my shit when I was 11. Inappropriate, I know.) I guess that's to be expected. I mean, half the time certain movies I love(d) don't cut the mustard anymore, so it stands to reason that their accompanying scores have become little more than spotty playlists- a few solid gems sprinkled in there for sure, but straight through playability? Not happening.
At its best, an OST can serve as an amazing mix tape, a Cliff Notes like musical recap that triggers your recollection of certain scenes and exchanges of dialogue or a completely amazing stand alone record that regardless of any film's association, you would like to own. At its worst, it can be well, this.
But, in case you were curious (you weren't) the soundtrack of my reallycomplex and important middle school life (the amount of side eye I am giving my childhood self right now is not even quantifiable) still holds up! Solid. Solid as a rock!
Baz Luhrmann's tropicalia drenched post-apocalyptic Mexico City take on the star crossed lovers will still, without any doubt, make me cry. The last montage of their (two week) courtship? Peering at each other through the fish tank? Those angel wings? The pool scene? Losing your virginity to your husband at 14 surrounded by a million saint candles and dolls? Leonardo DiCaprio's smooth as a baby's bottom chest peeping out from the most awesome of awesome Hawaiian shirts? Visually, the film is truly breathtaking, but then again, that's what Baz does best. That's a given. I mean, say what you will about Moulin Rouge! (wait, don't I'll get mad) it is nothing if not lush and gorgeous. His reconstructed Monte Marte is like a pop up book on absinthe (which was the point) and his attention to visual detail is always impressive. In Romeo + Juliet, he pulls off creating a world lost in a very specific aesthetic past (think Cuba), where everyone speaks in Shakespearean tongue, but hangs out with cholas and cross dressing disco loving gun toting roll dogs AND listens to the best of what the '90s had to offer sonically. That is not an easy task.
This soundtrack has it all. Garbage (I would die for you). Radiohead. The Cardigans (so I cry, and I beg, for you to, love me love meeeeeeeee). Butthole Surfers. DES'REE (no. words.). Everclear. Future B2K affiliated Quindon Tarver, who, when he appeared in the film as a young choir boy, literally had the voice of an angel (his cover of "When Doves Cry" is unfathomably magical, but, although featured in the film, it is technically only found on the second volume of the soundtrack along with the instrumentals). Kym Mazelle's cover of Candi Stanton's "Young Hearts Run Free" is one of the greatest disco/house tunes in my (not so) humble opinion. The pseudo creepy babytalk singing style of Stina Nordenstam that then takes a surprising turn and delves into a very decent and actually not awful sax solo breakdown on "Little Star" is understated wistful longing at its finest. There isn't a bad jam on this album. Don't believe me? Full track listing:
1. "#1 Crush" - Garbage 2. "Local God" - Everclear 3. "Angel" - Gavin Friday 4. "Pretty Piece of Flesh" - One Inch Punch 5. "Kissing You (Love Theme from Romeo + Juliet)" - Des'ree 6. "Whatever (I Had a Dream)" - Butthole Surfers 7. "Lovefool" - The Cardigans 8. "Young Hearts Run Free" - Kym Mazelle 9. "Everybody's Free (To Feel Good)" - Quindon Tarver 10. "To You I Bestow" - Mundy 11. "Talk Show Host" - Radiohead 12. "Little Star" - Stina Nordenstam 13. "You and Me Song" - The Wannadies
Flawless. Watch this if you still have a fence post up your butt:
Whaaaaaaaaaaaat. Give me my sin again indeed.
Don't be no fool when love really don't love you. PREACH.
Well, to quote Rob, it is Monday afternoon (I should have woken up earlier) but nevertheless, in celebration of the clown shoe convention that was last night's Golden Globes (Ricky Gervais, please, be mine) here are ten songs I believe have epic cinematic qualities. These picks all possess swelling crescendos, waves of complex melodic emotions, a lush sonic narrative and of course, would all work perfectly, or already have worked perfectly, as the soundtrack to characters realizing they are in love, staring out windows wistfully, having their hearts smashed, or having impeccably lit and expertly choreographed sex scenes.
Ay yi yi! That string intro is the audio equivalent of a film's protagonist thinking about a new crush and smiling. In fact, this whole song is just one gorgeous and silky tribute to new possibilities, feeling like you are 100 feet tall, and those electromagnetic vibrations that you emit when you meet someone that you just want to stare at, all day.
So, the Ray Charles duet version of this gem was totally used in a very young Lilo's remake of The Parent Trap (when the twins get separated and British Lohan has to go back to London with her mom (RIP Natasha Richardson), while Napa Valley Lohan has to be sad and ride horses with Dennis Quaid) but I really like Betty Carter doing this solo, because it takes melancholy to all sorts of new levels. Like, can't you just picture someone singing this in their apartment alone, wishing someone was there to finish the verse with them and tell them everything was going to be alright?
A pink and purple sunset. A rooftop in Brazil. A longing and wistful glance into an overpopulated, but oh so lonely and isolating city. A void in a heart that can be only filled with true love. Wait, no, I change my mind. Actually, this song is basically this Murakami story.
Speaking of Brother Ray: Correct me if I am wrong, but can't you just picture this song playing over a really bittersweet end of film montage of a doomed relationship? Meeting, falling in love, falling out of love, amazing highs, depressing and scary lows, fights, making up, a soul crushing break up. Like some Blue Valentine shit, but not to the music of Grizzly Bear.
The clip is in German, I think, but just jump to second :45 and you will know why this song can never again be used in another scene as effectively as it was used here. Look at Robert Forster's eyes. He pretty much sums up love at first sight during that first kitten soft guitar lick and drum roll. Then again, I think Pam Grier was created to strut out of a correctional facility to the sound of Bloodstone so, I mean, do with that what you will.
The title of this Let's Get It On session jam kind of says it all. I picture someone laughing and grinning to themselves while trying to grocery shop, remembering the night before. It's the complete emotional opposite of what using this other Let's Get It On masterpiece would be (it was used in a sad relationship fight/break up scene between Taraji P. Henson and Tyrese IN THE RAIN, in John Singleton's Baby Boy):
Here are two that have already been used, and exquisitely. In The Mood For Love is one big beautiful, bittersweet and staggeringly sad ode to forbidden love, all set to Spanish Nat "King" Cole.
Oh boy. Roy Hargrove and Shelby Johnson. This tune is kind of like having a whole pack of butterflies in your stomach while glowing and sauntering down the street, half tipsy, half dreaming. It would work perfectly in a film that will never be made.
I'm obviously lounging around watching some of my favorite music videos.
"WHO ARE THE ROOTS?" Best.
having a TV for a head must be kind of cumbersome, but I totally wouldn't mind it if it meant I got to cruise around with Saadiq and Tip all summer time like.
One of my favorite things Spike Jonze ever did. "The cookies, buttercrunch."
First of all, Big Boi and Andre 3000 are collectively the perfect man, and secondly (and what's most importantly is), there hasn't been a better wedding music video since "November Rain."
I wish Erykah and I were friends. And not in a creepy super fan way or anything (I swear), but more like, how hilarious IS she? I bet 'Dre wasn't even mad at her "Hey Ya" spoof. He probably was like, damn, my baby mama is the truth. The fake Ohio Players and Minnie Riperton are my faves but Erykah as Maggot Brain cannot be denied.
This song is supposedly about Pharrell. The tub shot has stuck with me since I saw it as a kid.
I remember where I was the first time I saw this video. Molly Ferguson's basement. I was 8, maybe 9. Either way, the sublime casting of Iman, Eddie, Magic Johnson and Arsenio Hall coupled with MAGIC and one of the most beautiful songs about wistful and nostalgic romance ever written was too much for me and I don't think I ever recovered. Also, the awkward embrace MJ and Iman share makes me want to die on the inside. Like, Pharoah Murphy, you just got played by a warlock in black jeans and relaxed waves. Descend the throne while you still have some dignity.
I'm sure you think your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, but I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Ay yi yi! Has anyone ever looked more sensuous in the history of sensuous than Sade cleaning her kid's dirty white sneaker or running while carrying dry cleaning? The answer is clearly no.
This video is like if Betty Draper and Pam Grier had a baby and it grew up idolizing Bridget Bardot and then I wanted to look just like it/stare at it all day. Obsessed.
Mary Christine Brockert, better known as R&B/funk diva Teena Marie, passed away yesterday at her California home. She was 54. Her 1979 debut album Wild and Peaceful, purposefully did not include a photo of the white singer, and as a result, many listeners (my mom included) and DJs believed the singer to be black.
Teena Marie, a protegee of the late Rick James and "Motown's first white act"* is not only one of the greatest funk vocalists, but a multi-instrumentalist (she played guitar, congas and keys) and a producer and arranger who was also responsible for what is known as "The Brockert Initiative," a landmark music law that made it illegal for a record company to keep an artist under contract without releasing any new material. The law, which arose from a legal battle Marie was fighting with Berry Gordy and Motown, helped other Motown acts like Mary Jane Girls and Luther Vandross leave the company and seek out supportive labels to work with.
After an almost 15 year hiatus, the creator of amazing funk love anthems like "Lovergirl," "Fire and Desire" (one of her duets with James), "Ooo La La La" (which was of course sampled by the Fugees) and the gorgeous multi-layered "Portuguese Love" reemerged with the Grammy nominated La Doña in 2004, and continued to release music up until her passing, with last year's Congo Square, her 13th album. A true diva, innovator, and soul filled legend, she will be missed, but somewhere in Heaven, she and Rick are having a ball.
* not technically true, as Rare Earth preceded her and the little known rock act The Rustix, who provided no hits for the label preceded them
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