BEYONCE’S BLONDE BONDAGE
There is the moment when the camera captures Jay and Beyonce in their perch as two of the rulers of the penultimate annual marketing fest known as Super Bowl LVIII, and she can barely feign interest in the machinations of latter day capitalism on display before her. There she sits under a voluminous blonde wig, styled at Jolene heights, part of a series of curated looks (including the Pharrell curated LV fit she rocked at the Grammys) for the purpose of promoting act ii, her new country psy-op where she shrewdly claims some cultural reparations. She is post-world tour, still momma to all the chillrens, still serving looks to her ever thirsty hive nation, prepping the ground for a new round of hitting her cues and rocking various glitteration. Her Verizon ad presents a tireless woman on a John Henry mission who, even after building her own clone, shoots herself into space for our…entertainment. What was that look on her face? Was she tired? Bored? Or was she baring the weight of her big blonde tresses — which feels more and more like a prison by the day? Heavy is the head that wears the lace front.
THINKING OF A MASTER PLAN
To fully understand what revolutionary shit went down on Super Bowl Sunday you have to go back to the episode of Sway in the Morning when Kanye screamed “How Sway?!” at the radio host’s sage advice to stop complaining about the fashion industry and go independent. Kanye’s frustration was visceral and comedic. He announced he was the Walt Disney/Andy Warhol/Steve Jobs of his time. He demanded to be recognized as the most impactful artist breathing. He also demanded, with deadly seriousness, billionaires back him like the Medici family backed the artists of the Renaissance. You have to then recall a few years later Yeezy Season 3 show at Madison Square Garden where he forced fashion to acknowledge him after years of derision. You have to remember how he transformed the sneaker industry with the Yeezys and made several billion for Adidas and a couple for himself. You have to also then watch him tell Black people that after 400 years, slavery is a choice. And that White Lives Matter. And then in conflict with his corporate partners, light his aforementioned billions aflame for the world to see when he railed against a Jewish cabal who he alleged undermined his health, family and career. Chase Bank refused his remaining money and entire industries cut ties with him. So on Super Bowl Sunday as Roc Nation presided over their fifth halftime extravaganza, Beyonce announced her new genre defying campaign, Taylor Swift cheered on her boo, while Usher went nuts to butt with Alicia Keys and did everything but juggle and spin plates, Kanye got on his iPhone did a selfie video and directed people to yeezy.com to purchase $20 dollar sock shoes.
Most of us assumed he was done for. He professed love for Hitler. Without Hollywood, without Adidas, without Gap, without the Jewish community, there was no way forward. He stopped talking. He went independent. He manufactured in Italy. He essentialized his brand to the basics. He marketed his next move by walking about Italy and Japan in ridiculous outfits. He got special attention from his wife in a gondala. Social media was filled with derisive laughter. Then he finished Vultures 1 with Ty$ and his listening parties at stadiums in LA, Chicago and New York sold out in minutes. His zero budget Super Bowl commercial resulted in 20 million dollars in sales in a single day. Ye’s gothic ambition is a clarion call to creatives to form a new relationship with corporate, marked by self belief. Many may not see it, but for underdog creatives struggling against a world that consistently undervalues them and their IP, this is a tremendous victory. Many of the very people who talked shit about and cancelled him are the same ones scrambling to purchase his new merch and stream his new independent album (Number one in 100+ countries, including Israel. Michael Rappaport is SICK.). They will wear the two-faced Vultures logo on their chest. To paraphrase another independent minded revolutionary creative during this Black Future month, the reggae prophet Bob Marley: who the sock shoes fit, let them wear it.
TYLA’s TRIUMPH
The South African ingenue, Tyla, won the Grammy for the new category for best African Performance over several giants of continent including Burna Boy, Davido, Asake and Ayra Starr. This ode to the female ejaculation “Water” from one fine fine gal was just what the Grammy voters ordered. Considering the American musical palette and the splash Tyla has created in the States, her victory should surprise no one. The Nigerians took to social media to winge but as veteran hiphop and reggae fans, we suggest you get accustomed to the Grammy choice being untethered to the realer realities and actualities of the sound on the ground. In other words: Tyla, we are happy for you and we are going to let you finish…but Davido had the illest bop of the year!
BURNA BURNING OUT?
Burna Boy’s historic performance at the Grammys wasn’t bad but it was clearly a lost opportunity. It was the wrong song, wrong energy, over styled, presenting a cartoon Nigeria with the giant of Africa stooping down literally and figuratively to allow Brandy and 21 Savage to take center stage. This could have easily been a Michael Jackson or Prince moment for one of the continent’s most dynamic performers. He seemed subsumed by the American glamour machine and not the tip of the Nigerian cultural spear. Perhaps he has conqueror’s fatigue: having sold out O2 arena in London, Madison Square Garden in New York, and already fully ensconced in superstardom he has lost the hunger evident in earlier performances. Whatever the case, Africa will have to wait a little longer for that statement of arrival to the pinnacle of global music culture. Begs the question: what would D’banj do?
FANI PULLS A CLAY DAVIS
Georgia’s District Attorney Fani Willis popped up at the hearing to determine whether she should be disqualified from prosecuting Donald Trump in his RICO trial, ready to get active. Accused of hiring her under-qualified boyfriend Nathan Wade and overpaying him so that they could take lavish vacations together, she interrupted her lawyer’s attempt to quash her testimony to voluntarily take the stand. In a performance worthy of The Wire’s Clay Davis, she leaned on black code, distractionary tactics and court room experience to confuse and dismay her accusers. Using the Destiny’s Child Don’t Need No Man defense, she let it be known that she is wholly independent. “The only man to ever pay my bills was my daddy,” she remarked hand on cheek and chin. White folks may miss much of her signifying but her base heard her loud and clear. Will it work? At the time of this writing it remains to be seen but it must be noted that this seems to be the new Dem battle tactic: weaponize Black women’s capabilities and ambitions (Kamala Harris, Leticia James, Stacy Abrams, Fani) while letting them absorb the brunt of the inevitable attacks from the Republicans horde. Nobody’s playing fair.
BOMBING THE ZOMBIES
The first glaring indications of the real estate apocalypse are already upon us. China’s biggest real estate firms are deeply in debt and no amount of number shuffling can avoid the looming doom ahead. The zombie city phenomenon in China is spreading to the US. Two unfinished luxury towers in downtown LA which sit vacant for years now have been covered head to toe in big neon colored pieces by the city’s most prolific writers. What was once just a shameful display of political corruption and greed is now a massive monument to the ingenuity, organization and aerosol artistry of Los Angeles’ graf massive. Urban decay or creative destruction? We’ll let you tell it.
HOV’S GRAMMY SPEECH
Prescience is a burden. Kanye saw Taylor coming. Drunk off that Henny, he disrupted Taylor Swift’s acceptance of her first MTV award to call out the machine that would deny Beyonce’s pop supremacy as long as there was a viable white woman alternative. In the tradition of ODB, Ye was rude, outrageous and clearly didn’t give a fuck. He was thirteen years too early and paid a heavy price for his insolence. As is his wont, Jay waited for the perfect moment — after he already secured the status, the money, the queen and the throne — to say the same thing in a calm, almost playful manner to applause and laughter. Jay’s formula of taking what you’ve pioneered and creating better packaging — maybe even doing you one better — has never changed. He told you himself on Hard Knock Life: So I stretched the game out/X your name out/ put Jigga on top/and drop albums non-stop…
TRUMP FORCE ONES
Keeping it Glitch, Donald Trump went from getting fined nearly half a billion dollars and losing his ability to do business in New York to introducing $400 golden Trump high tops at Philly Sneaker Con. The election might be up for grabs, but Trump won the Hustler vote, hands down.
PLAYBOI’S PRODUCT PLACEMENT
Ice Spice, maven of New York drill, stood next to Taylor Swift at the Super Bowl, Mistress of the Matrix, rocking a bejeweled upside down cross, impossible for the millions of eyeballs to miss against her all black outfit. It was a gift from Playboi Carti, one of his signature Opium neck pieces designed by Alex Cross. Playboi’s Satanic trolling aside, this has got to be one of the illest moves to date. A subtle and cunning touch, amongst a very crowded advertising field, Carti/Spice marketing collab is contending only with Ye’s iPhone video for biggest marketing coup. Yes, the Taylor/Travis felt like a scripted moment by corporate big dogs on Advertising’s biggest day, but the Ice Spice smuggling Playboi Carti product placement might be LL Cool J-promoting-FUBU-in-a-Gap-ad levels.
(MORE THAN) ONE LOVE
The new biopic about the legendary mystic and musician Bob Marley has started intense debate on the island. Things started with Cindy Breakspeare’s birthday note to Bob Marley noting that she was left out of the film, setting off rage posts claiming that as a side chick she has no mouth to speak on her love affair with the reggae star. The irony of this collective consternation, of course, is that while Rita and her children rightfully control the estate, Cindy’s son, Damien got the lion’s share of Bob’s lyricism, political insight and philosophical depth. Ziggy got his tonality. Stephen got his musicality, Ky-mani his underground star power while Rohan did the most with the brand. We will have to wait to see what happens with the grandchildren.
Great article. Thought out well and relevant to the times.