The Nappy Diatribe

Thanks a lot, you've ruined that song forever!

Posted 03/09/2007 at 9:57 PM  |  3 comment/s

Over my long and sordid 16-year dating history, I've done some things that even I'm not too proud of, to be completely honest. Ten years ago, I made love to a pair of sisters; they only found out about it last month when I drunkenly wrapped my arms around the both of them at a bar and uttered, "Ladies, I'm here to be shared again, what do ya say?" I left a woman stranded in another state after she told me that she cheated on me, even though I was actively cheating on her at the time. I can provide a laundry list of my offenses that range from having sex with people's mothers, to telling a young lady that I would post our sex tape on my blog if she kept my John Madden game hostage one more day. I'm an insufferable prick, I know it, and I won't be surprised if Saint Peter pisses himself laughing as I stand at the pearly gates of Heaven. But one thing that I'm really ashamed of are the chances that I failed to give women, based on how they reminded me of lovers that scorned me in the past. For example, my first love was a very light-skinned girl named Chalanda who broke my heart in a million pieces; I could hardly speak to light-skin women years after that. A woman that I loved dearly named Shay cheated on me. Sure, she told me, but the way my penis all of a sudden miraculously failed to touch either side of her vagina mid-coitus was a dead giveaway. Anyways, she was from New York, and this is the first year in a long time that I can even talk to a woman north of New Jersey without openly weeping.

Just like bad experiences with women of certain shades or from particular geographic areas of the world can ruin it for the others of their ilk that come after them, I feel the exact same way about music. How many times have you heard a song that you love being played continuously in some absurd commercial, or sampled by a rap artist devoid of skills to the point that they make Biz Markie seem like Rakim? Even though I might still have a soft spot in my heart for these particular songs, I'll never be able to hear them the same way again.

Stevie Wonder: "Pastime Paradise": When it comes to Hip Hop, Rakim is the gold standard; when it comes to rock and roll and the spirit it encompasses, Jimi Hendrix is the most stellar example in my eyes; and when it comes to pure musical genius regardless of genre, Stevie Wonder is the unadulterated shit. The man can play an orchestra's worth of instruments and craft melodies that stay in your subconscious for a lifetime. His gift for the English language would have made Shakespeare himself question his own self-worth like an over-the-hill Boy-band member. The only issue I have with Mr. Wonder is that he needs to have whoever dresses him and does his hair beaten mercilessly with a bag full of hot combs and fashion magazines. So yes, I'm a fan. That's why it pains me that I can't listen to one of his songs without thinking about the shit-stain on Hip Hop culture that is Coolio. When he sampled "Pastime Paradise" for his god awful "Gangsta's Paradise," for that ridiculous movie where a white person emerges from the shadows to save miserable black souls, I suddenly felt that my germaphobia was cured and I could proceed in putting a shotgun barrel inside my mouth.

Sam Cooke: "A Change is Gonna Come": When it comes to protest songs, "A Change is Gonna Come" is as good as it gets. I'm often amazed by our elder statesmen and their ability to create art amidst the turbulent times of the Civil Rights Movement. OK, nothing can really ruin this song for me, but for the life of me, whenever I hear it, I can't help but to think about Spike Lee's Malcolm X. When this beautiful song plays on my IPOD or my car stereo, I should be thinking about all the sacrifices that my people made just for me to say some of the shit I do on this blog - not thinking about the final day of Malcolm's life, with him walking into his impending doom with the courage of a mountain lion, Spike Lee having Denzel Washington on that gliding dolly shot as this song plays in the background.

Stevie Wonder: "Never Dreamed You'd Leave in Summer": Yes, another Stevie Wonder song. What can I say - I'm a fan. Being that I have friends who feel that expressing your feelings in an open and honest manner is akin to being the aggressor in a prison rape, or being Perez Hilton, I always found it hard to confide in people whenever a woman that I loved like Internet porn ripped my heart out of my chest. While going to my friends with my pain would invoke impromptu violin-playing motions and a pair of pampers on my doorstep, and going to my father would inspire him to say matter-of-factly, "Huh, I always knew you were a fruit!!", I found solace in Stevie Wonder because he writes about heartbreak like no other living being who's ever existed. For the longest time, I listened to "I Never Dreamed You'd Leave in Summer" while staring out the window, letting out pitiful sighs, and trying to get the image of my now ex-girlfriend literally getting "filled" in ways that I wasn't able to. That was until John Singleton's Poetic Justice, in the scene after Janet Jackson's boyfriend (Q-Tip) gets killed and she goes through a sort of nervous breakdown, looking in the mirror as this song plays, making contorted faces that makes me think that she's one bad day away from painting the walls with her own fecal matter. Having thoughts about Janet Jackson is usually a good thing. Not in this case.

Chaka Khan: "Ain't Nobody": Father Time is a bastard - I know based on all the grey hairs on my nether regions and my gut blocking my penis. So to say that Chaka Khan isn't desirable to me currently isn't the hugest knock against her. Seeing footage of her back in the day when she sang with Rufus, her singing her little heart out, her full lips, cute little half-shirts accentuating the perkiest of titties, if I had a time machine I would have no problem wading through her mass amounts of pubic hair just to reach the "promised-land" so to speak. Sexual fantasies aside, I'm a huge fan of her music as well, I think she is grossly underrated as an artist. The one song that I can't listen to without Vietnam-like flashbacks infiltrating my mind is "Ain't Nobody," even though it a classic. The reason why this song is even on the list is because every time I hear it, the thought of a couple of characters named "Turbo" and "Ozone" quickly come to mind. That's right, folks: Breakin'. I wish that the bad dialog, the absurdity of "Special K," and the clumsy broom-dancing didn't come to mind when I hear this classic Chaka Khan joint, but I just can't shake it like Steven Hawking after he takes a leak.

Eric Clapton: "Layla": Friends of mine, loved ones, and blogging brethren tend not to give Eric Clapton props, but I've always been one of the guy's staunchest supporters. (OK, the was that one time when I was a rapper that I uttered the line, "I never did a bid, but you'll find yourself falling out a window like Eric Clapton's kid!!" I'm sorry, Eric.) Shameful rap lyrics aside, I always had an affection for the song "Layla" - that is until the movie Goodfellas came out. I love that flick, by the way, don't get me wrong, but why Martin Scorsese chose to use the last two minutes of that song to play over the scenes where all the dead bodies were turning up is purely beyond me. Now, instead of letting my mind wander as this beautiful melody tickles my eardrums, I get the image of dead Italians in dumpsters and in meat lockers.

de.licio.us digg Furl Reddit YahooMyWeb

Trackbacks

Trackback url for this entry: http://blogs.vibe.com/cgi-bin/mt/mt-tb.cgi/962

Listed below are links to blogs that reference this entry:

Add a Comment

You must log in or register to post comments.

Comments