Sexy Mutha ...
For this Princely Afro, I can almost forgive …
Archives for : Music Bites
A lot of unnecessary discourse was trending around the web about the hairdo musical stylist Jill Scott is rockin’ for the October issue of Essence Magazine. Or, so I thought. There may actually be more to the story. I just happened to be in a certain store today. When I saw the Essence cover, I must admit that how Jill’s hair was coiffed never even crossed my mind. I hardly noticed her hair at all. Frankly, I assumed it was pulled back in a pony. This is the cover you may see on the web:
Which "Black is Beautiful"? This one?
What the ... ?
This nail art pays sweet (albeit unsettling) homage to Beyonce and Jay-Z. But shockingly, it’s in the form of laughing shrunken heads. Initially, many believed that these were Beyonce’s nails. However, upon closer inspection, it turns out that they belong to someone else. Rumors are swirling that these are the nails of an anonymous fan of unspeakable devotion. But if you ask me, these are the nails of an older woman of some grace, style, and distinction who–if you can belive it–is a little more heavily invested. She might give me the finger (you know, the one with Jay-Z on it). But hands down, I believe, these have got to be the hands of Grandma Tina!
Fans can probably thank American Idol judge Randy Jackson, who is also Mariah's manager, for the successful negotiations.
The magic that is Mariah Carey has inked a deal with American Idol in an amount, reportedly, climbing the scales toward 20 do-re-mi-mi-million dollars. Excuse the stutter, but those are enough C-notes to bribe a songbird or a sitting judge.
Unfortunately, the Pop and R&B diva, who regularly sticks her fingers in her ears whenever she hits high notes (even in bed hubby Nick Cannon affirms) may have a legitimate cause to do so in the coming episodes. It’s American Idol’s own fault though that the honey-coated vocals will be forced to sit idle through so many bad notes and worse singing. Hitting Paula Abdul with a “Straight up, now tell me? Did you really think we’d love you forever?” is what started this game of musical chairs in the first place.
Beyonce and baby Blue Ivy Carter were shopping at Bergdorf Goodman in New York City recently.
Is Urban Music leaving a bad taste in your mouth?
Ever get that not so fresh feeling? In a world of “No scratches, no hickeys, all I want is a quickie,” I did. But it really wasn’t my fault. I had been drinking from the vine and I inadvertently (or somehow on purpose) got pulled from The Fish into a dirty puddle of UM. Urban Music. Feeling defiled, like a Levite, I had no choice but to go out back and sacrifice one he-goat, a half rack of gourmet lamb, and two organic turtledoves. (Without spot or blemish, of course.) Ignorant and godless, my neighbors merely imagined that I was barbecuing.
Courageous
By Casting Crowns
We were made to be courageous
We were made to lead the way
We could be the generation
That finally breaks the chains
We were made to be courageous
We were made to be courageous
We were warriors on the front lines
Standing, unafraid
But now we’re watchers on the sidelines
While our families slip away
Where are you, men of courage?
You were made for so much more
When Whitney Houston passed, many of us clutched our chests, if not our heads, with outstretched hands in shock or grief. People speculated that drugs or alcohol took her. Some said, “I had a bad feeling,” wondered whether she was murdered or slipped away by suicide. Others still, as the winds blew, mumbled such spookiness as even the February that took her was odd, too warm. But the majority angrily blamed Whitney’s history of drug abuse and—by association—oft-persecuted ex-husband Bobby Brown for the loss of life. And fans, perhaps rightly so, worried for her daughter while pretending the whole blue world doesn’t know where broken hearts go.
"Tell me, tell me why can't I live my life? Don't be cruel..."
Hell to the yes,
My life is blessed.
Then tell me,
Tell me why,
Can’t I live my life?
Media darling, princess wife.
One crooked smile?
Smiled sparingly?
Is that too much to ask
Of an ex-“troubled spouse” like me?
Don’t be cruel,
Don’t be cruel,
I would never be that cruel to you.
Ray Jay singin’ them little boy blues.
No shame in my game,
Jersey girl, true.
He ain’t the only one,
And I-E-I will always love you, too.
