Still hittin them corners in them low low’s, gurrrl


Guess who’s back?

– Dre*, Scarface, Tupac, actually every rapper after a 4-to-6-month hiatus,

and ME! of course, once I’ve moved into my tiny tiny apartment home. I dragged and lifted and packed and worked and I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of work all the MCs from Georgia on my radio are talking about, but the shit was still work. Missed you; did you miss me?

The terms of my collective bargaining agreement stipulate that I may take a period of time off at specified intervals for rest and recuperation and reflection. I have just concluded one such interval, so: America, here I come! GAME FACE. Let me just jump right back into thangs with some music history nerdery that few apart from myself care about:

This day in 1967, The Supremes recorded “Reflections,” which was the greatest song about reflected imagery in popular music until Slick Rick looked at himself in the mirror in ’85 and asked Who is the top choice of them all?, then Soulja Boy did the same thing in ’08 only he said Wassup. (Then he got money. Then Jeezy made it stay in my brain for weeks after I heard it. You’re rude, Jeezy.)

Diana Ross and her unspectacular voice plus Holland Dozier Holland on the boards means happy times in apt. 15. “Stoned Love” is superior, obviously, I mean those horns, c’mon, but “Reflections” has oscillating sequined tambourine loveliness in go-go boots and is suitable for choreographed dance moves in your tiny apartment plus it means I can post a bunch of pictures of people looking into mirrors. Also, you should play this, loudly, in your motor vehicle. Roll up on dubs, I’m not impressed. Prowl the streets in your Maxima with a head tilt and an appreciation for the Funk Brothers, however, I would probably let you kiss me. On the cheek, since we barely know each other. Plus I’ll let you touch my booty (a little, then I’ll push your hand away ’cause I’m so demure).


mp3.

James.

Bon.

Morris.

Ahmir.

Lo.
(My mother calls this the “Bambi Face,” no doubt a reference to my cervine quickness and agility.)

*Musical assist courtesy of Andre Young; he’s sorta like my personal Max Weinberg. Thx, Dre.

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The piano that’s so simple and so menacing, the way that I can make myself forget that Storch produced it, the fact that you can tell Jay-Z had a hand in writing it (this is not Dre’s cadence. Sorry, Dre)–I LOVE THIS SONG. And I love all those Training Day cops who I’d want to kick it with in real life probably (this only happens in fiction of the cinematic kind; otherwise cops and I will never ever kick it), I love Denzel’s Monte Carlo, I love Eva Mendes’ rust-colored wrap dress when she brings Salvadoran food out to Hoyt. I am still not loving that this song is from the album 2001 which was released in, um, 1999. (Oh, sorry. 95 plus 4 pennies.).

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