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Blind I is For The Kids recent blog "I Know Who Killed R&B" http://www.blindifortheki...hives/1260
I Know Who Killed R&B As much as people love to quote Nas on the “Hip-Hop is dead” tip, I would argue that R&B is, well, deader. And while New Jack Swing may be the best sub-genre in the history of musical sub-genres, I do have to say that the marriage of Hip-Hop and R&B certainly helped to cause the latter’s demise. However, I think there is a powerful force of evil in the music industry today who has made it his cause to ensure that R&B music is completely obliterated as we know it. This man, simply by existing, has insulted all that is talent, songwriting and soul. This man is the equivalent of an “anti-drug” for sex. He may also be the first succesful cross between man and wilderbeast. I think you all know who I am talking about: 
T-Pain: human kryptonite to quality music and female arousal. First of all, what the devil is that machine he sings in to, and WHY? It’s one thing to “enhance” your voice with a little Pro-Tools magic (What up Janet? I see you Ciara!). It’s another thing to use studio effects take someone who is a horrid singer and make them…..sorta almost kinda passable (Pon de replay, Rihanna! Yo’ Britt, stop making babies!) But to make yourself sound like a fucking weird computer is, well, fucking weird. And then this clown has the nerve to get other people on board (Snoop, Chris “My boyfriend” Brown). Half his lyrics are just gibberish and sounds. This dude is like an R&B Teletubby. There isn’t a grade of weed in the world strong enough to make me understand him and there isn’t a tranquilizer strong enough to make me want to try. I caught that “Kiss, Kiss” song on the radio the other day and I liked to have died. Yes, I liked to have died. Here is my theory. T-Pain is on some Clarence Thomas/Uncle Ruckus sell-out shit. He’s been paid by some big money White folks who want to take over R&B music. So here he comes completely taking all the Soul out of the music and turning it in to some bullshit. Meanwhile, Amy Winehouse and Robin Thicke are looking like Donnie Hathaway and Roberta Flack by comparison. In a few years, an incense waving, dreadlocked blonde from Omaha named Becky Wiegel is gonna be the new “high priestess of Soul” and poor India.Arie will be selling roses on the side of the highway. OR, perhaps R&B in all of it’s shapes and forms will die because of this madness! Now, I realize that by telling you this, I put my life in danger. T-Pain looks like he can chew through human flesh. But I love music too much to see this man ruin it. He must be stopped at any cost! If anyone has a stake or a silver bullet, holler at your girl. "We may deify or demonize them but not ignore them. And we call them genius, because they are the people who change the world." |
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R&B was dead and buried before this fucker came on the scene.
He just pissed on its grave. By the time he came around the modern R&B model/standard consisted of moaning and whining over some TRACK(not song)a rapper didn't want. New Jack Shit was a clear sign of the end, but stuff was in the toilet before that. There's a whole mess of overproduced crap from the mid to late 80s that's not categorized as New Jack Shit, and somehow gets a pass, but people like Janet and the "track-makers" that birthed them, murdered soul. Also listeners who really sucked on the machines helped. And really it's a problem across all genres. People ignore the others because of certain assumptions, but all art is suffering thanks to corporate tools and the people who eat up their garbage. | |
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While I was hanging around the New York Museum of Modern Art sculpture garden the other night, I noticed a group of about a dozen young black and Hispanic nightclub kids from Queens, carrying notebooks. They looked like the types you'd normally see leaning on airbrushed trucks and saying, "Ssssss" at girls in tight pants or menacing stoplights with their bowel-shuddering, mega-bass "trunk of funk." They were stumpy cologne-and-gold-necklace guys with that bad, whitewall-sided bowl hairdo that gives the effect of a bald guy wearing an oily yarmulke. Their women were tough Latina Jheri-curl chicks who could swat you to death while applying their thick black lipliner.
They were bluffing and fronting next to Rodin's sculpture of Balzac, holding what looked like a press conference. One of the guys was sitting on a garden chair with his arms folded rap-style over his nipples as he addressed the group. Another guy, with reflective sunglasses, baseball hat and long coat, was acting as bodyguard-manager. The rest were listening intently and taking notes. I snuck up and eavesdropped as they dragged their show over to a Picasso sculpture. The garden chair guy was pontificating, pointing at the piece: "And I created dis one to represent certain changes I been goin' through in my life." A Cleopatra Jones girl with a big afro and long zipper boots raised her hand. "I'd like to know what you made this sculpture out of, sir." "Uh," said the "artist," scrunching up his face, staring at the piece, stroking his invisible beard. "Coppah pipe." His crowd erupted into applause. While they were enjoying their little performance, it was obvious that they couldn't care less who actually created the sculptures. The objects were dead for them; they meant less than a sports trophy or a good plumbing job, which brings me to my big sermon of late: In today's media-centric world, it doesn't matter who originated the Thing (whatever it may be), or who spent their lives building and perfecting the Thing. All most people want to know about the Thing is this: Who's that bad-ass guy in the leather coat and sunglasses, leaning against it? This principle is working for Puffy Combs, who has built a career out of the skeletons of other people's music This article isn't about music, but basically it touches on how music has become an accessory to many people. Which is why it sucks so hard. | |
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Who is T-Pain? | |
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R&B died when lip syncers took over the music industry
It started in the 80's |
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