WARNING: Across the Aisle features a weekly helping of extraordinary, yet exploratory, writing, gratuitous pop culture abuse, and complimentary Funyons. Due to our conscious decision to explore familiar themes in an inimitable, though inherently divisive, manner, such brilliance is solely intended for mature reading audiences. This is Hive Mind 101. That glorious moment when Wonder Twin powers activate. Jay Connor. Alex Hardy. The triumphant return of Voltron. These ain’t no studio tricks. Enjoy.
Episode 05
Exploration, Conquest and Sonic Colonization
Jay
Connor: Academics and adolescence.
One I cherish, the other was only good for wet dreams and my driver’s license.
But as if the grave, fascist injustice known as detention wasn’t enough, four
times a year my teachers were endowed with the mutant power of free reign to
shit on my pubescent parade. In time, the alphabet became my mortal enemy. All
it took was one too many D’s or F’s and my TV, VCR and CD’s would be MIA ASAP.
It was checks and balances, consequences and repercussions. The Day of
Atonement, crammed into my Trapper Keeper and sent home for express delivery.
But in hindsight, Judgment Day wasn’t just a youth laden with growth spurts and
Scarlet Letters, but a catalyst for growth. Change: the same verb Obama
was bloviating about. So in a world in which “Thrift Shop” has been christened the greatest Rap song of
all-time (Oh, you missed the
memo?), clearly something is awry. And by “awry” I mean, fuck this
shit. So White rappers, Biebers, and practitioners of siphoned Soul, this
will be the last time you defile the Soul Train line with your malignant hand
dancing, because your report cards hath arrived. And now a word from our
sponsor, Vitriol.
Alex
Hardy: I laughed the heartiest laugh that had ever been laughed when I read about how Macklemorefish
enslaved them charts and solidified his place in hell
history with that song that makes my armpits and
eyeballs itch, ensuring that we’ll be hearing his name for many years and
herpes outbreaks to come. Anyhow, I feel that it is our responsibility and
right as Keepers of the Cool to judge those who borrow, jack, bastardize, imitate, profit from
and destroy that which Chocolate Wonders before us worked tirelessly--likely
with the aid of that booger sugar because that was the thing, mind you--
to orchestrate. I don’t know who deserves to be brought before the tribunal
first, but I feel like all trespasses should be punished by extended viewings
of Black ass concert footage. And waterboarding, right? Seatbelts, please.
JC: If you’re gonna slay a dragon, you go for the head first, right?
Well, if that’s the case, you’re up, Mr. Mathers. The execution will commence
after you put on your blindfold.
Rap
Hands – A+
Catalog – D
Abuse of White Privilege – B
Cultural Appropriation – D
Fashion Sense – F
Urinalysis – D
Catalog – D
Abuse of White Privilege – B
Cultural Appropriation – D
Fashion Sense – F
Urinalysis – D
JC: First and foremost, I don’t give a good gotdamn what Benzino says, Em is one of the most disgustingly talented individuals to ever
touch a microphone. Period. Now that we got that out the way, his catalog is equally as
grandiose an embarrassment. What’s the 8th Wonder of the World, you ask? How White people keep buying
this fuck shit. How do you go from this to this? That said, though painfully reluctant to accept this
unconditional approval,
Em has
always been very vocal about
The Man concealing his ensemble of faux paus behind American Music Awards and
platinum plaques. So at least there’s that. Also, I give dude props for being
authentic in who he is, and imbuing the trailer park contingent with hope for a stolen lottery ticket that final B&O Railroad piece. But since he’s a first ballot Rap Hands Hall of Famer, with movements so
majestic that even Drake and Lupe
Fiasco’s wrists must bow in reverence, I’ll forgive him for that whole du-rag shtick. Because who doesn’t want waves?
AH: Look. Waves are serious
currency in the treacherous Land of Rhyme Spitting White Supremacy
Beneficiaries. Being melanin-free with that ill swirl in your head is like
finding a secret world on Super Mario Brothers on Super Nintendo. It’s
approaching Teena Marie Affirmative Action Soul Brother/Sister status. A
backdoor to Blackness, if you will. Just ask this kid:
So I
can’t fault Mr. Mathers for his Wave Wishes and Coon Coif Dreams. His D
for Catalog, though, is unfortunate, as any boosts he had to his legacy in the
start of his career were bound and gagged, placed in the back of a ‘76 Cutlass
and banished to the bottom of Lake Erie so that his new alter-ego, Ringmaster
of Em’s Angryman Wackstravaganza, could flourish. I give him credit for
sticking with his Unimpressive White Dude In A Hoodie aesthetic and not letting
fame change him. That boy’s OG Pill-Popping Slacker swag is on 100 kazillion
dozen hundred. The only modification I’d make to your scoring is as follows:
Abuse
of White Privilege – A+
...because
his performance as the Voice of Angry White American Male Angst is admirable.
That bitch has committed to this role. He knows there will forever be an
audience for Sometimes-Druggy Formerly Abusive White Dude Jingles. That
is privilege if I’ve ever seen the shit.
JC: Sorry, Marshall. If you hated your mother before, I’m sure she
can’t wait to return the favor after you bring home these grades. Who’s
next on the menu?
AH: Miley Virus. The devil at my doorstep. Her masterful magic carpet
ride from wholesome honky tonk pop tart to Diluted Ethnic Behavior Performance
Specialist Numero Uno was motherfucking phenomenal. How she managed to at once
piss off We Who Respect Ourselves and crown herself the current Monarch of
Privileged Mindlessness is nothing short of legendary. I initially paid
attention to her because a close friend danced on her tours for years. Plus, I
have two nieces who were into that and have since seen the light. Basically, I
know more French Hannah
Montana lyrics than a grownup should. But once she happened upon Convenient WhiteBlackness, I could no longer stay on board the Porcelain Coonery Express.
For the sake of everyone onboard, help me gather my things, for this is my
stop.
In short,
If I want to see people doing Black shit terribly, I’ll watch a Tyler Perry
production. Miley steppin’ to the bad side is precisely what happens when her skinfolk and the old White
suits who pull the strings figure it’s time to take urban music for a spin as a
means to mark a transition from Pure Young White Woman to Worldy Dame. And what
better way to intentionally shake off your purty than by cavorting with The
Niggers?! See: Britney’s In The Zone, when she trotted out THE FUCKING
YING YANG TWINS to inform you, who may or may not have known, that she “got that boom boom.” Also see: Christina Aguilera Xtina’s darkness safari with “Dirrrrrrrrrrrrrty” when she called up Redman and rented a few dozen sweaty,
shirtless Latinos for the video. Anyhow, back to Miley Virus and her antics:
Use
of Black Bodies as Props – A+
Paula
Patton’s Ire – A++
Twerking
- F+
Lower
Back Vibrations - B+
Advanced
Shamelessness - A+
I must,
regretfully, concede that her cover of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” was not terrible. Now, her being dressed as if she’s late to
dancer auditions for a TLC video after getting dropped off by her Black
boyfriend is a whole different thing altogether.
JC: Some parties in the USA are
meant to be crashed. And burned to the ground. Hopefully this is just a phase
and she’ll return to her privilege senses after her butt cheeks
rid themselves of that nasty case of Parkinson’s. In other news, I’m sure we’ll find that Malaysian airplane before we ever find the rest of her “ass”. But onto
bigger fish to fry:
Affability
– A+
Public Speaking (a.k.a. But He Speaks So Well)– A
Bitch Choking – C
Improvisation – A+
“What’s Happening!” Cast Familiarity – F
Chicken – F-
Public Speaking (a.k.a. But He Speaks So Well)– A
Bitch Choking – C
Improvisation – A+
“What’s Happening!” Cast Familiarity – F
Chicken – F-
 |
| Fear not: he knows showtunes. |
AH: I’d give Brady F Baby a few extra points:
No,
but you’re not like other Blacks - A+
White
Fear-Disarming Knowledge of Showtunes - A++
JC: Aaaaaaaaaaand who’s next contestant on the Summer Jam screen?
AH: I reckon the most shining candidate for euthanasia Experimental Retroactive
Adult Abortion and the mascot of the inescapable locust-like plague of
porcelain people’s musical fuckshit we’re witnessing slithered on the scene
from Canada. No, I’m not talking about Drake’s Jewish half. This is
something satanic, self-destructive and dastardly. We are bearing witness to
The Niggerization of Justin Bieber. I suppose that because I’m not the target
demo and prefer my Blackness fresh from the source, rather than from
concentrate, I can’t support what he offers unto the world. His one man fight
to the death, as of late, produces more headlines than his music, and I feel
like it’s time to whip out that countdown they used for Britney when she was getting her privileged
trainwreck on with the world watching. Since I’m not a post-pubescent girl
whose family once likely owned slaves, I’m not the target demo for his antics
and so I rarely hear any of what he does unless it’s alongside some rappity rap
person and even then I still can’t seem to care. As he was unleashed unto society cosigned
by Uncle Usher, he’s been marinated in the finest Negro-derived extra virgin
soul drippings and prepped for relentless Public Assholery. Elaborate stage
shows and mucho choreography: check. Bonus-level emoting and ridiculous R&B
person fuckery: check. Now, if he could just keep his clothes on and his nose clean, he will
live to see 28 blossom into a full-grown
Culture Vulture like those who have BlackWhited before him.
Annoying
The Fuck Out of Black America - A+
Ancestral
Embarrassment - A+
Black
Job Creation - A+
JC: Oh, Other Justin. You were so much more tolerable before one too many late night BET Uncut binges magically transformed you
into Malibu’s Most Wanted. It was a slippery slope, but thankfully
your
transparency will always afford you the luxury of a foam pit of entitlement
to descend upon.
AH: It can't be easy walking that tightrope betwixt privileged existence and being the one who catches taxis for the homies Darkishly Cool. For every Eminem and Action Bronson there are twelve Pop & B falsetto-loving over-emoters who retreat to their tower of ivory immunity in the face of a scandal, arrest, or onslaught of criticism. The list of siphoned Soul practitioners who pick up and put down cultures as album promo dictates lengthens weekly, and they are far too plentiful to strap into one electric chair cover at once. Let's file this under TO BE CONTINUED and revisit this in the near future. Because as long as Chocolate Wonders keep (effortlessly) supplying Cool by the pound, the market will stay packed with bargain bin beige Blackness.
You're welcome, universe.
Catch up on all Across The Aisle installments, here.
Jay Connor is a prized pupil of the esteemed Professor Xavier and a Los Angeles based freelance writer. When he’s not preoccupied with accruing overdraft fees while chasing the dream, he can be found disseminating terrorist threats on Twitter and on Facebook. Direct all business inquiries, sexual innuendo and Nigerian email scams to deathtoadverbs@gmail.com.
Follow me on Twitter: @chrisalexander_You're welcome, universe.
Catch up on all Across The Aisle installments, here.
___________________________________________
A million thanks to my partner in crime:
A million thanks to my partner in crime:
Jay Connor is a prized pupil of the esteemed Professor Xavier and a Los Angeles based freelance writer. When he’s not preoccupied with accruing overdraft fees while chasing the dream, he can be found disseminating terrorist threats on Twitter and on Facebook. Direct all business inquiries, sexual innuendo and Nigerian email scams to deathtoadverbs@gmail.com.
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