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  • The Warlord Speaks: The Continued Miseducation by Nasir Jones


    Hear ye, hear ye: Let it be known that I am a big Nas fan-have always been, and will always be. Sure, he had his contrived Mafioso “Nas Escobar” stage, but I’m still a big Nas fan. Sure, he made a weed plate of an album I did not quite consider possible from such a superior lyricist (read: 1999’s Nastradamus), but I’m still a big Nas fan. Sure, I have never understood how he can swing so easily and obliviously from one extreme to another-from a seemingly learned fellow to an incoherent buffoon. But guess what, I’m still a big Nas fan! It is no different from the way I view other rapping greats like Jay-Z, 2Pac, or KRS-One. Nas’ missteps and foibles, just like that of these aforementioned MCs, should never warrant anyone from forsaking the holistic view of a man that truly deserves to be hailed as one of hip-hop’s finest.

    But out of the bizarre incidences that have made Nas one of the genre’s most enigmatic stars, this “Nigger” album-naming episode surpasses them all.

    And the recently released video for the lead-off single, “Be a Nigger Too”-yeah, I can’t believe it, either-only exacerbates matters.

    I have no idea when exactly Nas and Rik Cordero (the video director) did the video, but perhaps the statement Nas made three weeks ago makes the intent of Nas’ upcoming album to cover themes based on the epithet “nigger” more of an implication. It might just be that he is concerned about being able to release the record to the fans at all-and to quell theories that this is all a publicity stunt. “I want my fans to know that, creatively and lyrically, they can expect the same content and the same messages,” he said. “The people will always know what the real title of this album is and what to call it.”

    As of now, the album is … Untitled. I mean, it’s either that, or Nas is one forgetful son-of-a-gun.

    The “Be a Nigger Too” video has been out for a few days now, and it seems to be getting rave reviews from all around-for only God knows what. Quite frankly, I must be either watching the wrong video or I am just too damn stupid to get it. Hey, how about neither?

    First off, the video itself is a bloated 8 1/2-minute mess. Of its seemingly myriad elements-a black man about to get lynched, a white man pulling out a gun on two young black guys, some audio clips from Malcolm X and Paul Mooney, a facial montage of multi-ethnic America from Andre Royo of The Wire to John Cho of the Harold and Kumar movies-hardly anything ties in together. It tries to be grandiose in presentation and scope, only to come off as annoyingly pretentious and lacking topical cohesiveness.

    But the video is only half the problem, at the very most. I blame the song, too-even more so than the video itself. Since it hit the streets in late April, the Nas fanatics have surely proved their adeptness-that is, by chucking the art of discernment out the window. “Be a Nigger Too” is simply not the bastion of social commentary several people make it out to be. Listen to the lyrics: Just what on earth is he saying? Or more importantly, what exactly is he trying to do with the word “nigger”? Does it only apply to the guys with the extra-long “third leg[s]”? Or just the dudes infatuated with purchasing Aston Martins? Or does it just apply to black Americans, and thus eschews their African counterparts? How about generations of blacks, from the Civil Rights era to its aftermath? And is it really “nigga,” not “nigger”? Nas is hardly ever clear throughout the song, apparently throwing in disparate thoughts without bothering to tie them all up to make a clear statement.

    But maybe there is one broad underlying theme: that of the removal of the sting from the most infamous epithet ever created. And how does Nas do that? Apply it to everyone, regardless of race-even marrying the accursed word to other racial and ethnic epithets. “I’m a nigger, he’s a nigger, she’s a nigger, we some niggers, wouldn’t you like to be a nigger too?” he sings in the hook. “To all my kike niggers, spic niggers, guinea niggers, chink niggers-that’s right, y’all my niggers too!”

    Yes, the chorus is inspired by that Dr. Pepper slogan. However, in morbid actuality, Nas’ appropriation is more of a reference to an earlier rap song than the soda commercial jingle. Eazy-E had done it almost two decades earlier-in the outro of N.W.A.’s “Nigga 4 Life” from the 1991 album Efil4zaggin (Niggaz 4 Life spelled backwards). That Nas borrows a few lines from one of the most nihilistic and parodistic records ever created only confirms why I sometimes feel the whole affair comes off as “shock for shock’s sake.”

    And seriously, assuming that this is his intention, how successful does Nas really think he is going to be in this particular musical mission? The word “nigger” is exactly as it’s spelled or intended for. “Nigger”: used to denigrate and dehumanize an entire race. You can turn “figure” to “figga” and “trigger” to “trigga” all you want, but they will still mean the same thing, no matter how many letters are replaced or removed. (Funny enough, several rappers used the two aforementioned words 95% of the time to rhyme with the n-word between couplets. So much for “term of endearment!”) If years of blacks (and other races, for that matter) using it amongst themselves hasn’t still quite removed the sting completely, not to mention black entertainment figures from Richard Pryor to Ol’ Dirty Bastard using it in their album titles, who is Nas fooling that him, an artist of marginal influence beyond the world of rap, can do any differently? In fact, that the album is not going to be called Nigger after all only confirms my contention: the word will always retain its original meaning, “nigga” or not.

    Sadly, this will undoubtedly lend credence to the theory that the Nas of today needs some sort of gimmick to stay relevant in the rap game. Sure, such accusations were also raised in the months leading up to the release of Hip Hop Is Dead, but at least Nas managed to make a sincere and topically engaging record about a genre mired in stagnancy that is arguably surpassed by none other in his catalog apart from the unsurpassable Illmatic. But this? His most ardent detractors can now point, with glee, at the diminishing returns of Nas’ socio-political shtick. There was a time when Nas could go platinum without even trying; even his widely acknowledged worst album, Nastradamus, earned a platinum plaque. But his middling 2004 double-disc opus Street’s Disciple took two years to accomplish such a feat. I seriously doubt that Hip Hop Is Dead would have had a quarter of its sales if Nas hadn’t latched on to that “hip-hop-is-dead” theory. And still, he only “managed” to sell a little over 700,000 copies. Chalk it up to an ailing music industry if you will, but it only compounded, not directly caused, the comparatively dismal numbers. Hip Hop Is Dead is actually the poorest-selling album of Nas’ career.

    Ultimately, though, Nas is generally a brilliant rapper-one of hip-hop’s greatest-and what I can hope for is a repeat performance of the one he gave two years ago. Hell, he can leave the album untitled for all I care! Nas should just hone the album theme and the messages, work on his still-flawed ear for beats, and consequently make a dope album. Enough of this circus that has been going on for about a year now-even after the controversial album title was dropped.

    Or Nas can do something a lot more damning: justify why the word “nigger” perfectly describes him.

    -D. Akinwande

  • Friday Throwback: "Leave a Light On"

    Garrett has kindly allowed me to commandeer the Friday Throwback this week, and in gratitude, I’d like to offer up this juicy bit of eye-and-ear candy from a former Go-Go:

    Here’s where I love Belinda Carlisle best: the very first notes she sings, in her 1989 single “Leave a Light On” where she goes from full voice to a tremulous whisper and makes the very act of singing feel like something indulgent and sensual, as if, with each note she sings, she’s biting into a big, messy, and oh-so-delicious chocolate-covered strawberry. It’s simultaneously innocent and indulgent, girl-group wholesome and black-and-white movie glamorous. But mostly, it’s just a hell of a long way from the gawky adolescence of her Go-Go years when her voice was as thin as her body wasn’t. But by the end of the decade, defying a nasty penchant for substance abuse as well as the artistically unwarranted mega-success of her sophomore solo record Heaven on Earth, Belinda Carlisle finally arrived as the woman of her own dreams with this single and video, and a wonderful, but highly underappreciated album called Runaway Horses.

    “Leave a Light On” was the first single from Runaway Horses, and if the song signaled Belinda’s emergence as a newer, more self-assured, more adult artist, its achingly romantic story of a woman bidding a reluctant goodbye to her lover and imploring him to keep her in mind while she’s away proved to be just as achingly prophetic about the fate of Carlisle’s solo career. Though she continued to record and release albums intermittently throughout the 90s (her most recent effort, 2007’s lovely Voila found her covering French pop standards), “Leave a Light On” marked the last time she would see Billboard‘s Top 20 (the song peaked at #11, according to Mr. Whitburn), and almost twenty years later, it’s a largely forgotten gem in the shadow of Carlisle’s bigger solo hits.

    The video’s a forgotten gem too. There’s nothing special about it, but it’s still a beauty to behold, if only because whoever directed it realized that both Las Vegas and Belinda Carlisle photograph extraordinarily well (my first draft of this little post veered dangerously close to pornography – heterosexual pornography, even) and had the wisdom to mostly leave well enough alone. Plainly speaking, Belinda is a knockout here, and the whole thing evokes a breezy, wistful nostalgia for old school Hollywood glamour, only with none of the harsh religiosity that Madonna would bring to “Vogue” just a couple months later. These four minutes hold all the delicious promise of an ice cream truck chugging through the middle of the Nevada desert, and seeing and hearing this song again feels as refreshing to me as a juicy, melty popsicle on the first day of summer. Slurp!

    Thanks again, GG… it’s been fun!

    -P. Lorentz

  • Blessing the Rains in the Afterlife: A Requiem for Toto


    Aside from the superfans, the few folks who’ll hear of the official disbandment of Toto will likely scratch their heads and confess that they had no idea the band who gave us such massive MOR hits as “Hold the Line”, “99”, “Rosanna” and “Africa” in the 70s and 80s were still together. After all, it’s been more than 20 years since the band has had an honest-to-goodness pop hit, and even in their heyday, they always seemed like such a non-band. They’ve had more lead singers than Spinal Tap had drummers.

    But in fact, led by singer-songwriter-producer-guitarist Steve Lukather, Toto have been recording and touring on a fairly regular basis with an endlessly rotating cast of characters including prodigal alumni like Bobby Kimball (the group’s “classic” era frontman, who left – or was fired from – the band at the peak of their popularity) since the American Top 40 last heard from them. Toto still has a large and devoted following internationally and just a couple of months ago, they wrapped up a 30th Anniversary tour and commemorated the occasion with the release of a limited edition box set collecting the band’s first seven albums and a live DVD when Lukather started dropping hints about this tour maybe maybe just maybe being the band’s last hurrah. Finally, last week, in a heartfelt and at times (not unduly) boastful announcement on his website, Lukather, who’s got a new solo album called Ever Changing Times out in stores, dropped the coy act and made his departure from the band (and the band’s de facto dissolution) official:

    “Honestly I have just had enough. This is NOT a break. It is over. I really cant go out and play Hold the Line with a straight face anymore. I was 19 when we cut the record. I am 50 now. ”

    Le Toto, c’est mort.

    This news, of course, is the very definition of anticlimax. But Lukather’s comments about how the band, over the last few years, had drifted so far afield from where it had started – as a core of high school pals that evolved into a collective of the most in demand LA session musicians and songwriters of the 70s and 80s – and, especially the way he related this transition to his middle-age made me feel just a little more grown up (y’know, like, old) myself.

    This was one of the first songs I truly, truly loved, released in the summer that I think I first became conscious of top 40 radio, the very same summer that I dedicated myself in fanboy-dom to Casey Kasem and his weekly radio countdown. I was nine years old, and for a nine-year-old I was pretty well-versed in pop music. I’d already done an “educational” stint as a member (in not very good standing, it turned out) of the RCA Record Club and I had a small collection of 45s and LPs – a music collection that’s grown like kudzu ever since – including a copy of Andy Gibb’s Flowing Rivers which I’d gotten for my 6th birthday. Other kids had Star Wars action figures. I had the Captain & Tennille. (Okay, okay, I had Star Wars action figures too.) But it wasn’t until the summer of ’82 that I really paid close attention to the radio, and that was the summer of Toto’s “Rosanna”, a song which still feels like the quintessential summer single to me.

    The song is a veritable smorgasbord of hooks and snazzy, expensive-sounding production flourishes: the rolling, syncopated piano lines, the thrilling loud-soft dynamics of the verses, the whirlwind horn section eruptions and Lukather’s decisive power chords on the chorus, a dazzling stars-falling-out-of-the-sky keyboard solo, and some of the cleverest, most elaborate vocal interplay I’ve ever heard on the radio. Bobby Kimball’s soaring high notes were heaven. (And so was his mustache.) Like just about everything Toto did, the song was a little bit blue-eyed-soulful pop and a little bit bombastic arena rock, all with a respectful nod to prog thrown in; and if you stuck around long enough (and if the DJ was feeling particularly generous that day), “Rosanna” ended with a supercool jazz epilogue.

    “Rosanna” wasn’t just my introduction to Toto, it became a standard by which I’ve measured nearly every pop single I’ve heard ever since, a fact which, by the estimations of most rock critics, should discredit just about anything I have to say about music. Toto have not been well-loved by the Creams, the Rolling Stones, or the Spins. Witness Robert Christgau’s grudging ( ‘http://www.robertchristgau.com/get_artist.php?id=3936&name=Toto” ) praise of Toto IV, the album that gave us “Rosanna” (and “Africa”, and “I Won’t Hold You Back”.) and won 6 Grammy awards including Album of the Year. You can almost see the poor guy wincing as he’s typing it.

    But while Toto may not ever fare as well as Journey – another critically loathed band (Christgau couldn’t even manage grudging praise) who have nevertheless attained a measure of lasting, if somewhat ironic, coolness (thank you, Tony Soprano) – the members of Toto, both as Toto and as individual singer-songwriter-session-men, attained something approaching a Timbaland-Timberlake level of pop ubiquity in the early 80s without ever becoming familiar faces or household names. In part, it was the group’s very ubiquity that made them seem so anonymous.

    Toto was never so much a band as a fraternity of A-list studio talents. Check the liner notes of just about any pop or rock album released between 1975 and 1985 and you’ll likely spot a Toto alum: David (son of arranger Marty) Paich, Jeff, Steve, and Mike Porcaro, Lukather, Kimball and bassist David Hungate. They played on everyone’s records from Steely Dan to Boz Scaggs to Don Henley. But because they did play on everyone else’s records, their own records sounded a little like everyone else’s. Along with producer David Foster, various members of Toto were key to Chicago’s 1980s resurgence. It’s no surprise then that a song like Toto’s 1988 single “Stop Loving You” sounds like it might have been recorded for Chicago 19.

    Never a telegenic bunch, Toto failed to establish themselves as an MTV act at a time when MTV was rehabilitating (if not outright reinventing) the careers of other 70s rockers like Yes, Phil Collins, and ZZ Top, and the multiple personnel changes didn’t help matters. I, too, fell out of touch with the band as their fortunes waned in the late 80s and they became increasingly – however unjustly – pigeonholed as a bland, adult contemporary act. Like most of the folks who fell in love with “Rosanna” in 1982, I couldn’t be bothered to hear what the band had on offer ten years later when they released Kingdom of Desire mere months after the depressing, freak-accident death of founding drummer Jeff Porcaro. Nor have I gone out of my way to hear anything they’ve released since. But now? Dammit, I’m curious. Fare thee well Toto. We really hardly knew ye.

    -P. Lorentz