Columns: 1YASELF: Weezy Uneasy Throne Watching + Fall Back Gwyneth
Friday, Jun 8, 2012 8:34AM1YASELF is the Hip-Hop Weekly Gazette. A shout-out from the belly of the beast. A Colt 45 toast in the champagne room. In the words of the immortal Philadelphia Freeway, aaaaall o' y'aaaall need to one yo'self.
[Editor's Note: The views of this column do not necessarily reflect those of SOHH.com]
You-already-kno-whatitiz. It's ya boy.
Oh? You don't already know what it is. Well --
Allow me to re-introduce myself, mahnameis
Your first mistake was focusing on me. Watch T.V. n*gga! LeBron been killin' em.
Much like the King, the rumors of our demise have been greatly exaggerated. Bet a Freeway beard -- eff that, better yet, bet a James
Harden beard that SOHH is back like Steve Harvey hairline. We in this like Jordan at the Bellagio.
Back like whips and chains. Back like you-could-catch-me-in-the-all-white presidents. Way back G.
Furthermore, these others pollute your screens with drivel, besiege it with hearsay, mute the music you need to be hearing. Forgive them. They know not we are ill.
Tap that dial to the above address, scroll up a nice candlelit dinner, and fix your mind to that NEW new. Lames strongly discouraged from applying within.
When last we saw our heroes... a Lil Lou-Weezy-anan built an empire of candy-sweet rap music, eternal freestyles and sitcom-ready crooners. The kid from New York bought himself a team, and some land to go with it. Wifed the lady-friend too, new baby.
Tunechi wrestled a jewel from Hov's crown, refused to return it, and now hears IT'S THE MOST POWERFUL GEM IN THE UNIVERSE. Pusha wants it. Hov (obvs) wants it back. Yeezy acts all nonchalant about it when it's mentioned but you can see in the Lanvin inseam how bad he craves it.
Weezy cannot handle the throne, nor his subjects. Given the power to make decisions for his mainstay artists, he rules erratically, corrupting their promises to fans on a whim. Nicki Minaj can handle herself, but Wayne insists on defending her honor...by depleting her bankroll and subtracting her options. Stuntin' like her daddy (?)
That's not all. Alas, the
New Young Money Millionaire is a paramour, a man
after Trina's heart. And heart shapes. So smitten was he, with the self-proclaimed Baddest B, he
dared to court her ... on her man's home-court. But the dignity of that man's beard, the prickly pride
of his chin sweater, would not allow such a trespass. Get on ye Ungrateful Goblin! Go off to the
land of Jeezy's and Yeezy's, never to be played again!
So, the Emperor moves on to more pressing matters. Pusha T (?!???!?) for instance. Ol' Virginia Pigtails frequently provokes, prods and patters for any rival's reply. For years,
Wayne ignored the veiled threats, the whiny backtalk...and strutted the
too high road. Until Pusha picked on Young Five-O'Clock-Shadow, sh*t was peace.
Spend years assaulting my rep, reckless eyeballin' and spitting venom about me in your songs? No sweat. Insult the Prince of Persia though, and me and you are gonna have to meet outside. That thurr's fam-ly.
#WHITEGIRLSPOLITICKIN that's that Gwyneth Paltrow.
I'll give you 3 reasons why Gwyneth doesn't get the distinct honor of saying n*gga (in my presence)
- she JUST starting chillin' with black people. no lie. lily-white blueblood's idea of "her black friends" started when she met Beyonce at the Grammys. before that, she had none. unless we're counting her nanny, her chef or her driver. though it's hard to find good help these days.
- nothing associated with white chicks is ever negative. the n-word got bodies on it, tattooed tears, a legacy of trauma. for Fair Lady Gwyneth to casually drop it among friends like a term of endearment disregards how much power her grandpappy and great grandpappy
earnedgained from simply BEING white. When Pop Paltrow used the phrase 'mah nigga', it was to explain whom to hand those bags to at the door. so when Gwyn uses it, the baggage remains.
- the difference between Russell Simmons saying n*gga and Gwyneth Paltrow saying it is like the difference between farting in a crowded subway car and farting in a quiet elevator. The subway fart is harmless: no one hears it, few smell it and it's gone almost as quickly as it came. The elevator fart is offensive, in poor taste, and hangs on every nostril hair in the space 'til the door opens 12 floors later. Simmons is part of a community who has been flipping the term's meaning, and appropriating it again and again to scrub off some of that trauma. The baggage. Paltrow's community has been eating egg salads and farting in elevators with impunity. They need to start taking the stairs, as a mattafact, 'cuz of how much they violated.
And for our final act, can someone define "real hip-hop" for the class?
*Multiple hands shoot up*
Before Peter Rosenberg approaches the chalkboard, I'd like to remind you that the top-selling hip hop artists of the decade are a white guy from Detroit, a mid-life Dad with billionaire aspirations, and The Black Eyed Peas. Sounds like the beginning of a joke.
Three rap stars walk into a bar...
Who's the "realest" of those three? They have in common that they make rap music, and have homes that could fit our homes. Like all of us put together.
Drawing the imaginary boundaries between "real," "authentic" and "fake" has long been a concern of hip-hop fans. But to what end? Now that Emma from Westchester and Rameek from Bed Stuy download the same Waka Flocka iTunes song to jump off the prom afterparty, who gets to decide which of those fans is more real? All fans are created equal, and the music has been proving that for decades now.
Frankly, the 50 Cent mobile phone billboards in Nairobi don't care what a radio DJ in New York has to say about what's real. No one of us decides that.
Well, maybe, no one of you decides. We do though. We secured a bunker from which to scope out the mp3s flooding your frequencies, to separate the seeds and stems from the dope.
And yes. You are welcome