June 18, 2007 | Tags: none
A few days ago when I dropped a post on another site I write for (which you can read
here), I made the allusion that White people have been primarily responsible for resuscitating R&B and soul music, while shitbag no-talent Black hacks can’t seem to get it right. I’ve already admitted earlier how UK chanteuse Amy Winehouse’s
Back To Black gets more play in my iPod than the likes of
Illmatic nowadays, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and quite possibly “ether” my own credibility here (like I give a shit about that anyways) that perennially hip-hop producers like DJ Premier, Timbaland and Polow Da Don never sounded better in the past few years than they have providing the sonics for the likes of Christina Aguilera, Justin Timberlake and Fergie respectively.
To quasi-reference producer/crackhead Dallas Austin, perhaps the “magical elixir” between their legs provided such grounds for inspiration, yes?
In any matter, with all the pink toes running around moving platinum numbers utilizing a predominantly Black-oriented sound, it appears as if Black artists have resorted to trying to yoke the palefaces’ soundscape, which in actuality was a shitty hybrid of other shitty Black-inspired sounds to create one extra fucked up-sounding genre, more commonly known as pop music. Problem is, pop music stunk to high Hell to begin with, so it’s no wonder we’re seeing more and more no-hit wonders pop up and violate our minds more frequently than before.
Ironically, one of those eardrum crushers has managed to become more popular, which is something I’d never expected: Rihanna. With Def Jam’s machine as her backing, she’s managed to become a female Akon (who’s certainly no Marvin Gaye himself) of sorts: worldwide acclaim and high-selling albums yet still a sub par talent who couldn’t sing her way out of a wet paper bag with scissors in her hands.
It’s hard to imagine that in today’s climate (well, not that hard) that some random-ass island broad with vocals that remind me of my car brakes could be so revered. When I was in Trinidad earlier this year, I’ve never seen so many people go apeshit over Crash Bandicoot, which leads me to believe that either that country has a poor taste in music or they’re just so misguided and downtrodden by the harsh conditions there that they’ll praise some anchor-headed chick like she was the last king of Scotland [1].
It also doesn’t help that she has Grandpa Simpson in her corner, as he’s blatantly molding her into this weird amalgamation of Beyoncé and Machel Montano. Unfortunately, he’s tricked the most of the music world that she’s the greatest thing since peanut butter and chocolate sandwiches. He pulled that same stunt trying to force Memphis Bleek down our throats, and that shit failed miserably. Shit, for all I know, Rihanna could just be Bleek in a mini and a painted
Alien Nation mask.
I guess in the days of crappy albums and shittier record sales, some people will look towards anything for a hit. But I never assumed that music’s general population would be so gullible that they’d allow this no-talent to get so internationally known while simultaneously shitting on the ears of the world. On an off kilter but semi-related note, Amerie just put out an album ten times better than Rihanna’s, but it’s only relegated to the overseas markets. Plus, Amerie’s much easier on the eyes than her ass to boot. Where’s the justice in that?
[1] Sorry, aliya. But when that country blasted her music more than they played their own soca stylings, something is definitely wrong. I just call it like I see it.
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