battlin'

so...apparently Nas' name came up in the latest ghostwriting exposé.

folks are upset.
me? not so much.

a disclaimer: i've always been more partial to R&B than hip hop, mainly because singers were more accessible.  my mom pretty much hated rap and thought it was all flin flarn filth, so i didn't start buying hip hop until, say, 8-10th grade when i had a bit more autonomy.  although i love it and see it as a part of the fabric of my generation, i accept that i don't "care" enough about this kind of stuff to be angry, or even disappointed. 

that said...

in most other music, we've come to accept that the greatest lyricists/songwriters are not always the great performers, and vice versa.  the great Black music houses employed songwriting teams whose names were often only bandied about by musicologists and die hard fans.  everyone else was focused on the performers.  

i didn't know until i was half grown that one of my favorite vocalists, Luther Vandross, built a stellar career remaking other people's hit songs.  i never heard him called a fraud.  on the contrary, even folks who remembered the originals often preferred Luther's versions.  put simply: no matter what he sang, no one sang it like he did. 

at its inception, hip hop was the next phase of Black music in America (by way of Jamaica).  the genre grew and expanded as its listeners and performers did.  it wasn't like there was an emcee program at Julliard  teaching the fine arts of cadence and metaphor.

in the main, hip hop was built on pure, raw talent--a voice of urban youth.  it did not emerge from a movement of "trained" musicians or artists. (note: there were--and are--exceptions.  and Nas' father is a musician in his own right).  to me, that suggests a naturally collaborative atmosphere: i can write the rhymes, but you flow better...and neither of us is dope with the beats, so...  

given the output expected of signed artists, how would most manage to write every rhyme, every single time, on their own, from lived experience--no matter how gritty?  genius-level output doesn't happen every day, or even every generation.  by the odds, it makes sense that occasionally someone would write a few bars for someone else. 

folks would probably argue that you "always" know who wrote a song, but ghostwriters get no credit.  well, i'm sure someone got a paycheck.  besides, have any of us figured out all of Prince's aliases yet?  there's plenty of stuff that's been done for the love, the exposure, insiders, or all of the above.        

any art form carries a standard of authenticity, and some are going to take that standard more seriously than others.  it's the constant battle between the sell-outs and the real heads.  fortunately or unfortunately, that's led to the obfuscation of certain information in hip hop circles.

bottom line: can many emcees flow like Nas? no.

plus, it isn't as if he never proved his capability.  if he let someone else do some heavy lifting for a bit, so be it.  according to author of the article, the ghostwritten items never worked as well as his own stuff, so maybe this will push Nas to some new, better work.  


but all this lamenting around "keeping it real"?

stop it, b.

steppin to the mic

thinking about this entry again...

i went to an open mic last night at the urging of a couple of talented brothas, and i had a nice time. lots of very talented folks came through and performed.

i also realized that i have no desire to go back to that scene--at least not as a participant.

i'm not saying i'll never write a poem again--i just wrote one the other day--and i'd most certainly go to poetry/spoken word events ("i need to get out more" is a vast understatement). but i don't have any need to share my own musings beyond these online spaces.

the selective stage fright has dissipated. the idea of reading doesn't fill me with dread, but there's also no burning need to speak my peace.

time and space, apparently, have neutralized me.

i'm always going to write because, well, it's what i do. but perform? probably not.

for now, i'll keep (most of) my notebooks, but there will be a massive digital purge. it's all just dead creative weight at this point; fragments that have been lying around for so many years, there's no way to know how to reassemble them.

some things i've "thought" of, i've seen written since. it was my personal proof of the theory that ideas are literally floating through the air, and you and 500 other folks might discover a concept at the same time, but only one or two will actually flesh it out in a way that exposes it to the wider world. the other 498-499 will simply think you a genius when you do.

i've probably lost more half novels and semi second drafted stories than i've ever written--either to outdated technology, the death of my laptop, lost disks, torn up notebooks, etc. and so on--hence the paragraph under this blog's title.

and i'm not sad about it.

i don't know if it's because i'm still finding my voice, or that i'm just not meant to write the next great (american?) novel.

but i'm coming to think of writing as not my calling, but simply a vessel of expression i excel at.

perhaps i will write a book or a blog about my calling that will pull it all together...

but, i'm not a slam poet.
or a mc.
i'm probably not even a novelist or story writer, despite my bits of training.

just a girl who plays with words now and then.

militant moment

it's afternoons like these when i think about the indignities my ancestors suffered just trying to make a living in this culture...

i reflect on the fact that one of my grandfather's best friends worked for decades at & retired from the post office 'cause he couldn't find work as a chemist...

the thousands of african women whose genius went unnoticed because "women don't do ___________"...and "nigger women DEFINITELY don't do _________."

when i make it--and i will--i'm sure that some here will marvel and think "i didn't know she could do THAT" or "i knew her 'when'"...

no, you didn't know me "when".
i always WAS.

your little brain just couldn't comprehend the vastness sitting at this desk.