Category Archives: music

How Rick Ross Proves That Irrational Self-Confidence is The Ultimate Panty-Dropper

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I published something at Ebony yesterday about the peculiar infatuation many white-collar young black guys seem to have with Rick Ross. Titled “Strange Love: Black Men and Rick Ross,” I tried to come up with a few reasons to explain this phenomenon, but I didn’t really buy any of them. There were no “Voila!” moments, just a couple theories that didn’t hold as much water as I would have liked them to.

Anyway, after I saw that the article was live, I posted a link to it on Twitter. It got a few replies/retweets, but none more interesting than the responses I got from Demetria Lucas. 

@VerySmartBros@EBONYMag there’s a quality essay to be written abt why bourgie women like Ross too. Totally diff reasons than you mentioned.

@VerySmartBros LOL. I might be one of his biggest fans.

@VerySmartBros@EBONYMag i enjoy the themes of hustle/ambition. and also the shameless arrogance. similar reasons to why I like Kanye.

 

As I said in a reply to her, I remember how floored I was a few years ago the first time I heard a female friend of mine express that she was infatuated with Rick Ross. As variable and unpredictable and arbitrary and contradictory and occasionally dependent on time, weather, location, vocation, and how many of her girlfriends want to sleep (or have already slept) with him as “what the hell women are attracted to” tends to be, I thought I had a pretty good idea of the type of guy that would get multiple women all Brazilian Rainforesty down there. Basically, it’s easy to see how and why women would be very attracted to guys like Idris Elba and Dwyane Wade and Common, and you assume that most women would go gaga over those guys.

But, that same instant recognition didn’t immediately apply to Ross, and I had trouble “getting” how a life-threateningly obese guy who looks like he smells like a Black & Mild factory managed to, to quote my homegirl, get her “all tingly inside” when he speaks.

Yet, as more and more and more and more women I knew would sing his praises, it began to dawn on me. His appeal isn’t necessarily about his music or his voice or his larger-than-life stature or even his (presumed) riches as much as it’s about the fact that he is an unfalteringly, unflinchingly, unflappably, and, to be quite honest, irrationally confident motherf*cker. His steadfast belief in his own “I’m the sh*t”-ness — even when the shaky merits of his status are publicly questioned and exposed — is infectious, causing others to believe “Well, if he’s so certain, he must be the sh*t” by osmosis.

Obviously, this doesn’t affect everyone. There are many women who are, for lack of a better term, disgusted by him, and even more disgusted that everyone isn’t disgusted.

Ross is just one example, though, of the fact that there is no other quality a man can possess that will “raise his sexual stock” better than a belief in himself so strong it almost borders on insanity. Irrational self-confidence — not height, not status, not intelligence, not handsomeness, not a Bentley coupe — is the ultimate panty-dropper. 

This doesn’t mean that this level of confidence won’t immediately repel many women too. It most certainly will. In fact, it will immediately repel far more women than it immediately attracts. But, the fact that it does repel actually adds to the aura, as knowing that this irrationally confident motherf*cker doesn’t give a damn if his irrational confidence offends anyone, hurts any feelings, or even makes any logical sense has a way of turning women all the way on.

Also, it’s important to note that I keep repeating terms like “panty-dropping” and “turned on” and “tingly” and “Brazilian Rainforesty.” That’s intentional. By and large, women usually do not want to seriously date and/or marry irrationally confident men. No one aside from the WorldStarHipHop “model” of the week actually wants to marry Rick Ross.

But, white-collar brothers, be warned. Why? Well, let’s just say that if your girl is sitting beside you smirking to herself while you’re blasting “MC Hammer” in the whip on the way to brunch, she’s probably not thinking about bottomless mimosas.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Rhythmless & Blues and Fistpump Soul

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The future of Black music.

Happy Black History Month.

And since we’re talking about Black history, you ever notice how disposable R&B is nowadays? It’s no secret that one of my favorite songs of like for-f*ckin-ever is Rihanna’s “We Found Love”, a song about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s invited…but then the police show up. Aww.

Well I haven’t heard this song in probably two weeks now and I don’t miss it at all. You know what I do miss? That snake playing the bongos I saw down by the riverside. And this is a song that is still a Top 5 song on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart. And yet, it’s completely disposable. So is Rihanna for that matter. In fact, you could take every song that Rihanna has made and put somebody else on them and there’s a good chance the song would be as good if not better. Would they be as successful? Probably not. When you’ve got a trainwreck wrapped in a pretty package leading the charge people are going to lineup to contribute to her downfall. Hell, I bought two copies of Loud for that reason. I’m convinced she’s a lesbian skydiving future rehab recidivist waiting to happen. America, f*ck yeah.

What’s my point again? Ah.

Ever since R&B gave way to this merger between pop and club music artists have been making more and more music that sounds good for a week in the club and then pretty much loses all steam once it fades from the charts, and by default, pop radio. Two of my favorite songs of last year were Chris Brown’s “Beautiful People” and Black Eyed Peas “Just Can’t Get Enough”. Do you know that I had to look up the name of the B.E.P. song?

Think about that, I couldn’t remember the name of my favorite song from last year and the group performing it features a white woman, a Black man who dresses like a white woman who dresses like a gay astronaut, a Mexican and something called Apl.de.Ap. At best, ONE of them actually eats black eyed peas. If that’s not memorable I don’t know what is. But it isn’t. Hold me. Pop music has long been moment music and short-term fix sh*t. But now that every damn R&B song has the same format and features a random assortment of various artists, nobody will be caring about this music years from now. Or weeks for that matter.

Now, I know I sound like an old grandpa complaining that music has lost its way blah blah blah. So what, f*ck your couch. Eat the pound cake n*gga. But I do kind of wonder what the hell folks will be listening to a few years from now. Granted music tends to be cyclical, but it really has been a while since any artist made a contribution to R&B that might actually be listenable a few years from now.

Nope. Now I’ve got nothing but fistpump soul. You know what that is. You ever been to a party with a bunch of white people and everybody just keeps jumping up and down and pumping their fists in the air. Real spit, white people are some real athletes. They do that sh*t for hours on end. It’s actually pretty impressive if you think about it. Black folks get it in for a minute then we all take breaks so the guys can regain their composure and the women can do the weave-pat.

And since “neo-soul” tends to suck as a rule – including Jill Scott’s later output, yeah I said it – its no wonder Black people keep losing our stronghold on all of our music. Let me be clear though, I love most pop music and listen to it with reckless abandon in my car. I’m the Black guy in the d-boy car that’s confusing you at the light because he looks like he may rob you but he’s singing what sounds like a Taylor Swift song.

Oh who am I kidding, its totally a Taylor Swift song.

But pop music is not R&B, and its not soul. But when all of your R&B artist and “soul” artists abandon ship in order to attempt to keep up with the Jones who are making songs at 185 BPP with the exact same drum pattern but a different melody, then the entire genre is going to lose itself like Eminem in a movie with Mekhi Phifer wearing a mop.

So what’s the point of all this randomness that you just read? Glad you asked. It’s this, what the f*ck happened to R&B? When D’Angelo lost his sh*t did the entire genre lose it? Usher’s Confessions is the last album that I can remember that was both a blockbuster AND was a really good R&B album. And that was in 2004.

So I ask you the same thing that Kanye asks himself after he lifts weights: does anybody make real sh*t anymore? Or is mainstream R&B a thing of the past? Is anybody making music that we’ll be listening to a few years from now?

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Poor Freddie Jackson. RIP Don Cornelius.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONST aka MR. OLD FOGEY MOTHERF*CKER aka GIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Believe Half Of What You Hear and None Of What You See?

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These guys have killed millions. Of people. A lot.

I realized something a few days ago. And I’m not quite sure how to say this so I might as well just say it straight up.

I like being lied to.

Yes, apparently as a fan of mainstream hip-hop, I appreciate being lied to by some of my favorite artists.

Notice I said, MAINSTREAM rap. For all of you boho’s out there who will think this is an indictment on ALL rap, please read the preceeding sentence again. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

*humming Eminem’s “I’ll Kill You”*

N.W.A. lied to me constantly, Mobb Deep lied to me.

T.I. lies to me. Rick Ross lies to me. Lil Wayne lies to anybody who will listen. Common is lying to us all now. Well you get the point. These ninjas are all lying because they continue to write all of these tales of their current street acumen and all of the weapons they travel with and the drugs they currently slang, etc.

And I am a fan.

Now granted, I don’t actually believe any of these dudes do half of the sh*t they claim to do. I don’t believe that Rick Ross is moving that much snow in the hood or that T.I. is still moving blow in the hood. I don’t believe that any of these dudes have murdered anybody, with the possible exception of 50 Cent and that’s strictly due to one line on his song “Problem Child” from like 2003:

“they say you can never repay the price for taking a man’s life/I’m in debt with Christ cuz I done did that twice” – 50 Cent

I’ll admit, I do question the veracity of that statement and maybe it just sounds good in rhyme. But, errrum, most rappers tell you that they WILL kill you, as in future tense. 50 says that he HAS done it. Somehow, that makes me a little nervous. Luckily he isn’t in any jeopardy of going to Heaven anyway as I do in fact believe his posters are plastered through the Great Hall of Hades as one of the biggest proponents of Hell.

But for the most part, I don’t believe most of these rappers. And I’m not saying that none of these dudes sold drugs. I’m sure that T.I. did as I’m sure that Jay-Z did. I’m sure 50 Cent did as well as a slew of other rappers. Of course, there are lots of questions about how big these “drug dealers” were as even Biggie’s own people have said that he wasn’t nearly the drug dealer he claimed to be. Many of these dudes do indeed have the soul of hustlers so I believe that many of them have done SOME of the things they claim in rhyme. Let’s just say that amongst the lies they share resides some segment of truth.

But between all of the murders these rappers claim to be willing to commit and all of the weight that they claim to be moving and the fact that I don’t actually believe any of them are as big time as they claim, it just seems that I like being lied to. I mean, I buy into it as it relates to their persona on wax. And somehow, they seem to buy into their own stories enough to convince me to buy into them. And I’m not alone. For some strange reason, as far as our mainstream rappers go, with the possible exception of Kanye West, we all like to hear about how hard these dudes are and we can easily look past the fact that their entire catalog is filled with odes to drug slanging and killin’ ninjas on the block.

Now for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I’ll let this type of sh*t slide. The lies, I mean. Most normal people detest liars. People that will lie to you are the very people you’d not want to be around. Yet in mainstream rap, being able to convince people of your street respectability, be it fabricated or not, is paramount. If somebody found out that Kenny Rogers had never played a game of poker, well, how upset would the country music world be? Or what if the Dixie Chicks were from Canada? Or what if Guns ‘N Roses didn’t live the life they sang about? Of course, that’s an impossibility because if you’ve seen the vh1 Behind The Music on the Guns, you’d realize, them white boys and Slash were nuckin’ futs.

I guess this all ties into the very notion that even as an educated black man, respect and pride are very important. I live in a black neighborhood and you don’t want anybody to even think about wanting to mess with you. Somehow, these are the problems we concern ourselves with. So I sometimes walk around with this air of “don’t f*ck with me or this might be a bad day for you”. We all know I’m as gangsta as they come, but we also all know that I purchased a Hillary Duff CD. The key is to not let anybody else know it. And I think this is a problem that is unique to the black man experience. I could be wrong, but it seems to me that we spend a lot of time trying to scare the bejesus out of white and black people. Hell, we don’t have anything else…all we have is our respect.

Or so we say.

And maybe that’s why we like to be lied to so much. We spend so much time trying to be the dude that everybody wouldn’t want to mess with, kind of as a manifestation of our idea of self-preservation, that despite the sheer impossibility of many of these rappers claims, we see them as a lot like us, even if we may come from totally different circumstances. Right?

I remember during the last episode of Season 3 of The Wire, after Stringer Bell, had been gangstaliciously murdered by Omar and Brother Mouzone, Detective McNulty was in Stringer’s apartment looking through his books and possessions and couldn’t believe the types of books String had been reading. It was so astounding to him he wondered aloud who in the hell was he chasing?

I wonder if a lot of these dudes are indeed like that. They all seem to look up to Tupac and we know the intelligent hoodlum he was. I know a lot of people don’t like Tupac as a rapper, and I have my days as well, but as a person he was the epitome of the young black man so many of us wish to be. Educated but respected by all. He had the pedigree, he had the struggle, he had the ability to rise above it, and he went out in a blaze of glory. Actually, nix that last part, I’d rather go out while drinking some Kool-Aid when I’m 98.

All in all, I wonder if the reason we love being lied to so much is because so many of us spend time lying to ourselves about who we really are. From white suburban “thugs” to some of the inner-city black “thugs”. Yeah the white boys get to grow out of it, but so many of us black men still fall victim to the idea that we have to be able to be respected in the streets, at age 30.

So yes, I like being lied too. Hell, I enjoy it thoroughly. And I think I don’t pay much attention to it because in some kind of weird way, I understand.

Besides, if I want honesty, I’ll just listen to Milli Vanilli.

So what about you? Do you like being lied to as well or do you even pay attention anymore?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. GIVE ME A REASON TO LOVE YOU BACK aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Basic B*tch Levelology

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Basic B*tch Olympic Time Trials - LaceFront Alter

*It’s not lost on me that I just wrote a post about Common calling women b*tches and then here I go writing a post that uses the word “b*tch” in the title. My only defense here is that I didn’t come up with the most perfect term to describe these women in these scenarios. I’m not enlightened and I think “Come Close” was p*ssy pandering. If you do have beef, forward all mail to here.*

Let me say upfront that I HATE everybody on Love & Hip Hop. I cannot stress this enough. My skin crawls when Chrissy tries to make people chose between her loyalty, their sanity, and deciding whether or not she’s a mole. Get it? Never mind.

Yandy’s name is Yandy. And I’m fairly certain that there isn’t a white person alive short of her mother who even acknowledges that Kimbella is halfsies. You know what, who cares. They drive us all crazy. Olivia is the only person I even kind of like and that’s because I’m totally jealous of her complexion. *squeal*

But despite my consistent protestations, the “stay classy San Diego” women of Love & Hip Hop constantly bring up one point that I think is important when discussing hoodratology and, well, basic b*tches: levels.

Chrissy eloquently stated that Yandy wasn’t on her level. Erica stated that Kimbella wasn’t on her level either. What level? F*ck if I know, but apparently these levels exist because these basic broads teach me so. Since I don’t really know what the levels are (though I know you can never get on my level WHAT get on my level WHAT), I figured that I’d use the women on the show to venture a guess as to what the levels are. Creep me with me as I roll through the hood of basic b*tches.

Ride or Die Until The Wheels Fall Off Level – When Chrissy said that Yandy wasn’t on her level, I can only assume this is the level she meant. That stay-for-7-hope-for-30-more level. Turns out she comes from a family of these types of ninjas since her aunt also proposed to her uncle. Those chicks either have control issues or are extremely patiently impatient. Now, a lot of the women on this show fit this category. Olivia is riding or dying with her career, which must be wearing a condom since she can’t really bust out. Emily is riding or dying with Fabolous, who we aren’t sure knows who she is, and then there’s Kimbella. And that’s all I’ll say about that. This isn’t the worst level, and is the most common from basic b*tch to PhD in biomedical physiological aquatic basket masseuse.

I Obviously F*cked Your Man Which Is Why I Am So Hung Up On This Mess Even Though I Need To Let It Go Level – Hi Yandy. Word to big bird, you are waaaaay to emotionally invested here. I used to think that Chrissy was tripping but now I just think that you really believe Jimmy (I love calling him Jimmy) actually should chose you over the woman he  has decided to marry despite common sense that dictates that would never happen. What a dolt. Yandy, you stupid.

I’m At The Bottom Rung And Can’t Understand Why I Can’t Rise Like Maya Angelou Level - Kimbella might be the most curious case of delusion ever. I can honestly say that I don’t understand her because she brings nothing to the table, takes everything from it, and always seems to think that she’s being done wrong. Now I will say that Erica, the really ugly pretty basic b*tch, has a bigger grudge than Kobe Bryant in Phoenix, but damn. You really gonna run up on Erica at her birthday party with Somaya “Ray Lewis Shoulders” Reese and think you ain’t gonna get swung on?

I’m Only A Video Ho And Don’t Realize That Barack Obama Doesn’t Know Me Level - This is Erica all day. I wish somebody would slap her with the winds of change and a 20-inch Sumitomo tire. The fact that she ACTUALLY views Kimbella as having brought down her property value makes me think she failed out of 5th grade. Hey Erica boo, both of y’all ninjas have list prices of about $1,000. I checked the MLS listings. Nobody cares about you booboo. And your boobs are way too big for your body. Oh, and your singing sounds like a motherf*cking praying mantis struggling to eat her husband.

All For Nothing Level - I keep forgetting Teairra Mari is on this show. I just pulled up “Sponsor” on YouTube. I love this song. Anyway, she perplexes me. She can sing. She’s banging. She’s still young. Yet, she’s as much of a non-motherf*cking factor as one can be. She might be the poster child for non-motherf*cking factors. If Obama picked a director for his new National Office of Non-Motherf*cking Factors he’d almost have to pick her right? She’d be the list. Her and Ameriie should start a group together. They could call it We Give Good Face. Point is, she not only needs a sponsor, she needs better management. And I don’t mean Rich Dollaz.

By the way, does anybody else remember Teairra Mari’s song “No Daddy”. It’s quite possible that it’s one of the worst songs of all time. No disclaimer. No joke.

Anyway, I bring this to you all, what are the different levels that basic b*tches are referring to when they tell other basic b*tches that they aren’t on their level? Let us educate the masses today. For I have no clue what they’re talking about.

Basically, I just know that you ain’t on my level.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. GET ON MY LEVEL HO aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

I’m Not Ashamed: That Ignant Sh*t We’re Not Afraid To Like

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Although yesterday’s “Things Bougie Black Girls Say”¹ may have implied otherwise, I don’t have anything against them at all. In fact, I’d say that the vast majority of the 25 to 35 year old women I’m close to qualify. Many of my homegirls are Thai-loving Deltas, and how else would I know that Target makes bougie black girls squirt without being in the room while it happens?

Also — and I’m sure this admission won’t shock anyone reading this — I’m (somewhat) bougie myself.  Brunch is my favorite meal, I too find myself asking “Wait, who else is going?” whenever I’m invited somewhere, and while I won’t join you at the Smiling Banana Leaf, I won’t think twice about dropping 25 bucks for a gourmet cheeseburger.

Despite this bougieness, there are a few particularly anti-bougie things I just can’t get enough of — sh*t that’s about as legitimately tacky, gaudy, uncouth, ignant, and, gasp, ratchet as one can get. I wouldn’t call them guilty pleasures either, because there’s absolutely no guilt involved, no shame in my game. I like it, and if you don’t like the fact that I like it, you can like deez.

This list includes…

Rick Ross

I know his subject matter is about as varied as the skin tones of the crowds at Rick Santorum rallies, and I know his incessant grunting, “uhhh”-ing, and “whooo!!!”-ing occasionally makes it feel like I’m listening to a warthog masturbate, but I can’t deny the fact that his music makes me repeat things like “I levitate on all you p*ssy n*ggas” to myself while waiting in line at Au Bon Pain.

Also, he actually is a good rapper. Panama mentioned this to me a year or so ago and I scoffed at him, but he actually does check all the cadence, word play, and “beatrideability” boxes you’d want.

(Btw, with both Twinkie and Maybach going under within days of each other, isn’t Rick Ross having the worst week ever?)

The Twerk Team, and various other strippers, pseudo porn stars, and kitchen sink twerkers on YouTube and WorldStarHipHop

You ever happen to view some video of some random hoodrat bootyclapping in her bathroom, see that the vid has like 400,000 views, and wonder “Who the hell are these 400,000 people that sit around and watch videos like this all day?”

I’m not saying I’m one of those people, but, well, I’m just not saying that I’m one of those people.

Kool-Aid

Yes, I know it’s nothing but water, sugar, compressed paint chips, and asbestos. Yes, I know that too much of it will give me the gout or the diabeetis. And yes, I know “Hey, you want some Kool-Aid?” makes bougie black girl’s panties drier than KG’s lips.

But, there’s no other beverage that manages to go well with hotcakes, hotdogs, and hangovers alike, and the Kool-Aid test — Can you make a half gallon pitcher without looking at the directions? — is my version of the bougie black girl’s passport test.

American Muscle Cars

My love for Chargers is well-documented, but I don’t think that linked article fully encapsulates my infatuation. Let’s put it this way: You ever play the “what would you buy?” game, where you’re asked what car you’d purchase first if you had an unlimited income? (Btw, if this sentence urges you to leave a comment talking about how we’ll never rise as a people as long as we keep talking about spending money on the white man’s chariot, please quell that urge, and please go stick your head in a toilet and flush it)

Well, while my first choice is usually the Panamera, my second choice is usually “You know, I’d probably just buy a 700 horse power engine and put in my car.” Who cares if this choice shows that my imagination game is on “comatose,” and who gives a damn that the only time I’d actually be able to use the extra horses is when I’m speeding through a yellow light on the way to Trader Joe’s. That’s what I want, if you still have an issue with it, we can meet outside after brunch and “settle” our disagreement.

That’s enough ignance and ratchetrey for me. People of VSB, we already know that you negroes skew bougie, so list some decidedly non-bougie things that you’re not afraid or ashamed to admit that you like.

¹Thought you all might like to know that not only did “Shit Bougie Black Girls Say” have the most unique visits in VSB history, it beat the next closest entry by 17,000. I guess the bougie nerve is quite sensitive. 

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)