KLOWN Tracy Morgan certainly brought the KORNY (as expected).
The 2013 Billboard Music Awards was a musical of horrors.
Between the lip syncing and the horrendous so called “natural” singing, mostly it was just a horror of horrors.
The comic, although likable and not comedic, at times seemed lost.
He may even be borderline illiterate or half-blind and in need of thicker contacts.
Who is Celine Gomez?
And isn’t that big scary white girl’s name pronounced Keh-sha? Not Kee-sha?
Gorgeous Chris Brown, who is maturing physically rather nicely, dances better than Usher and the late Michael Jackson. This is indisputable. However, for one who normally sings well, he sounded as if he needed a cough drop and a spot of lemon tea. Poor baby. Now assuming he’s not re-entering puberty, if not for his life then for his craft, he might want to enter a smoking cessation program. Still, Chris Brown’s dancing was dangerous. Highly flammable. And, as usual, on fiya!
That brings us to Miguel. Miguel! Miguel! What the hell!? While half-anticipating a guitar solo from that Purple Harry Potter Prince to magically appear during the performance of “Adorn,” not once did anyone expect to experience the senseless slaughter of fans.
"I believe I can flyyyyyy. I believe I can touch the sky-yy-yy!"
Miguel is The Magnificent One—and by the knot on his victim’s head, a total knockout, er, to boot. Babe, inspiring lyrics are sometimes not to be taken too literally.
Miguel is neither Superman nor Peter Pan. Did he really believe he could fly?
Aaah, Taylor Swift . . . Armful of trophies and still drunk on hater-ade! If Billboard had not managed to capture the behind-the-scenes spillage to prove it, no one would believe it.
Juvenile and sad: The girl who has everything but the boy.
Sticking her tongue out! Because Selena Gomez, who is obviously still quite smitten with Justin Bieber, gave him a friendly peck on the cheek?! Or two. Mama was right. Juvenile knock-kneed misery is the worst kind of misery and that kind of misery definitely loves company.
The only other person, besides Michael Jackson, who could possibly understand the Beiber's pain.
Speaking of misery, America needs to stop demonizing Justin Bieber just because he signed with Usher (instead of no-friend-to-Janet-Jackson-will-leave-you-hanging-Justin Timberfake). So what if the kid has a handful of black friends who occasionally crash his cars? He’s rich and Canadian!!! Canadians are not racist. So what if he’s a spitter. Babies drool. So what if he’s a loud partier and does 70 in the 25 mph zone? He paid for that house. And that street. So what if he left Bubbles in Germany? Most Germans no longer hate monkeys or Jews.
Justin Bieber is 19! He is only 19 years old! He is just a kid! Who boos a child? Oh, yeah, other children! But thank God, the Almighty name of Jesus Christ is Holy Ghost-filled power and The One Name proven to shame and shut all that hate up! Even demons—as was witnessed—get right at the sound His name!
"I told y'all I know Jesus. Now sit down and shut up."
The Band Perry. Country Music. The lyrics! Almost peed my pants. “I told you on the day we wed, I was gonna love you til I’s dead. Here lies a girl whose only crutch was loving one man waaay too much. It won’t be whiskey, won’t be meth. It’ll be yo’ name on my last breath. Tell the undertaker dig two?!!” Country lyrics are not only giggle-worthy. They are sometimes downright frightening and grave-yardey!
Indian music is my favorite. So Selena Gomez’s performance (although it included some of the most lethargic opium-inspired Indian dancing ever choreographed) was as sweet as her yiddle face.
Prince, His Purple Highness. What is up with the desert-ggggry Afro. They don’t sell Afro Sheen in Minneapolis, Minnesota for $2.69 a bottle? Has he no EVOO downstairs in the purple gourmet kitchen?
Seriously though, don’t you wish The Purple One would come down to the masses and get dirty with Drake on a hot track strumming that fabulous guitar and singing some purple prose penned by Kandi Burress, all mixed up by producer Scott Storch? What? It could work. Sometimes, being too true to yo’ music equals no record sales. Prince needs to shave off that Afro (if he jess gon let it go gry) in addition to some of that psychedelic fur his music has been growing lately. He is too talented to continue to go unheard. Besides, pop will get you paid!
After seeing—no, hearing—this year’s Billboard Music Awards live (boring us with a host of unknown actor/non-musician presenters), next year, live or Memorex, I might have to pass—even if they promise to resurrect The Gloved One himself!
