Azealia Banks might just be the long awaited solution, or revolution, concerning misogyny in rap. The opening line of her hit, “212,” “Hey, I can be the answer,” is perhaps her subtle recognition of her position at the helm of constructive feminism in hip-hop. For years women have been voicing their frustration with the portrayal of females in hip-hop, and rightly so.
I am not entirely sure that Kanye West knows how a phoenix works. He does, however, know how to make a gorgeous, self-indulgent, gorgeously self-indulgent piece of art.
Of the many things the singer Banks (the stage name of Jillian Banks) does well—and I think there are many—the thing she does best is cultivate her own vibe.
Close your eyes. Are they closed? No, good point, I guess you’ll need to keep them open to read the Powerpoint. Okay, close them when you can, and otherwise close your inner eye, or eyes. The number of inner eyes … Read More
I have a confession to make: I’m not a hipster, especially when it comes to music. If anything, I’m a reverse hipster; I only hear about things that are popular way, way after they actually are. That’s why I have a Backstreet Boys poster in my room.
Campaigning for re-election in 1984, Ronald Reagan riled up a crowd in New Jersey by blasting Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.,” a song which sounds like a latter-day national anthem but which actually takes a critical stance on the Vietnam War and the state of American society left in its wake.
It is difficult to call the new HBO film “Beyoncé: Life Is But a Dream”—which debuted February 15—a documentary. More than anything, it comes across as self-promotion instead of an objective or illuminating take on its subject’s life. Beyoncé is … Read More
If you have never heard Van Morrison’s yearning, keening voice—its blues and jazzy swag , the way it stretches words into birds that fly you to heaven, its worn beauty—well, then, you’ve never heard it. But I bet you have; … Read More
It is after six o-clock pm, and the aisles of Shaw’s are bustling with last-minute dinner shoppers. Dodging throngs of gym-clothed soccer moms, I make for the produce section, unsure whether I’ll find “fresh ginger root” in a supermarket stocked … Read More
Brian introduced me to rap music on bus #177 in what I think was fourth grade. I know it was 177 and not 181 or 161 because this memory is accompanied by a host of other unique sensory inputs: the … Read More
