Is the Black Diva or Legend, a thing of the past?

With an army of Pink Cadillac's, we said goodbye to the Queen of Soul. Aretha Franklin's death marked another end of an era. Her passing had me thinking about the Black musical greats who have passed during my lifetime. From Natalie Cole to Whitney Houston; Michael Jackson to Prince, I not only witnessed legends pass, but an entire music industry devolve. It seems that the definitions of the words "Legend" or "Diva" have been adjusted. Beyonce redefined the word Diva in her song, "Diva" by stating that "Diva is the definition of a hustla." Though we are temporarily blessed to still have living legends whose powerhouse careers spanned decades, they are not participating in Billboards Hot 100. Even at Aretha's funeral, a petite young white female, belted out the classic "Natural Woman." She was beloved so much, that she had her White breast groped by a Black preacher, while Fantasia and Jennifer Hudson did what they do best. They paid tribute to a Black diva with resounding vocals while not having their own music on the charts. 

Meanwhile, Ariana Grande has a legendary career, she could be considered a diva in training, but she's White. Demi Lovado, when she's not overdosing on unknown substances, is surely a powerhouse, but she's White. Sam Smith and Adele put down their tea and crumpets to take over the world with their version of soul. Aretha even praised Adele and covered her music. However, they, once again, are White. So White, that they are from Great Britain. It seems that Adele is creating a catalog similar to what a Great like Aretha would create. You know, timeless ballads, undeniable classics. The problem is not her talent, nor is there a debate about her right to be on the charts, but the issue is in preferential treatment. 

Lets discuss the ghosting of Black singers who record but are not afforded the same visibility Adele has achieved. Black women with powerhouse vocals and timeless classics do exist in the recording studio, but they rarely perform on a Grammy stage. They are rarely charting or receiving acclaim in this modern era where White dominates rap and soul music. Correct me if I am wrong, but both genres were created by Blacks, yet White musicians seem to not only be placed in starring roles these days, but they are also in the boardrooms profiting off of it. Is the Black female diva dead? Or has she simply changed?

Does she now make the crowd go "Ape Shit" and dumb her vocals down like a mumble rapper? Does she now have a Barbadian accent and a mediocre singing voice? Don't get me wrong, these charting modern Black women are extremely talented. However, some of their peers are almost nameless. Where is Melanie Fiona? We know what Fantasia and Hudson are doing. Where is Jazmin Sullivan? Why is KeKe Wyatt mostly known for making funny faces on television and for a couple of hits with singer Avant? You mean to tell me that KeKe Wyatt isn't as famous and awarded as Adele? Hmmm, why is that? 

We love Beyonce, we appreciate her support of our Black Lives, and she's delivered nothing short of HITS and club bangers. However, can I be frank? She's not creating a string of Dionne Warwick timeless classics. She's not even giving us a signature song like "I say a little prayer" 

She's not belting out anything like Whitney's "I will Always Love You" and consistently delivering classics like that. Sure, she has "Listen", "Halo" and "1+1" or whatever mathematical equation she claimed to master but this isn't her standard. She's unfocused. Her career is all over the place. She's apart of a generation of performers who lack a road map. She started out like Diana Ross and ended up like Nicki Minaj. Now she's rapping, trapping, twerking, raising a fist while mumble singing. She's riding a conscious wave and that's fine, but while she's On the Run for a second time, her new music is lackluster. Will the crowds go "Ape Shit" fifty years from now? That song isn't memorable like many of her newer songs aren't. Meanwhile Adele is so loud that we can barely hear her. 

I don't agree with respectability politics, however we no longer commercialize the Black classy diva/pop star. Though I maintain cynicism, there are aspects of yesteryear written on a few acts of today.  I do believe that James Brown lives inside of Chris Brown. The older divas and legends had their issues, but with social media, we now know ALL of their issues. Once again, Chris Brown is a legend in my opinion, but his music isn't legendary. Think on that for a second before you react to the statement. 

This in my opinion is a fault in the music industry machine itself. It has become lazy. It pushes out mindless hits rather than innovation and longevity. Long gone are the days when someone like Mariah Carey can stand on stage and belt out music without dancing or having some kind of gimmick. Then again, the only people who are able to get away with that are folks like Adele or Jesse J. Sure, Black girls can stand and sing, if they don't want wealth and recognition, that is. Twerking is required, singing about being a Thot like SZA may be required.  (But she lost her voice so it doesn't matter) Jesse J can rise to super-stardom, solely with her voice, while Dawn curses and gets plastic surgery. And we wonder why Chrisette Michele didn't say no to a job? Can you blame her for performing at a racists inauguration ball? Where else is she going to perform? It's a Black mumble singing world, complete with blonde weaves and twerking. A Sista has dinner to cop. 

I grew up worshipping the talent of Blacks in r&b. Whitney sang the national anthem and made you think you were actually free. Brandy's vocal Bible runs and Monica's sassy slayage. CeCe Peniston had my little ass in my parents car, feeling like a baby drag queen. Not to mention the countless groups and the many men like R. Kelly and Tevin Campbell. It seemed music was about talent first, there were few gimmicks yet multiple real talents were out at once. You could envision a Tevin Campbell lifetime achievement award in the future. You just knew that BOYS II MEN weren't going anywhere. Now all BOYS II MEN can get is a cameo in a stupid commercial. The nineties was the grand finale of real music. They pushed everyone out at once so we could prepare for the death of Black Music Excellence. Mariah did it like none other and even made Christmas synonymous with her. Fast Forward to today and shes a flop. Regardless of her record breaking diamond career, she can't score a hit. Nor can Toni Braxton, Shanice, Tamia and countless others. It seems the world forgot about the Black voices that made it possible for the appropriation. Adele should take it as a compliment if anyone were to ever call her a "Fat ass Kelly Price". Kelly claimed she is "booked" but she wasn't even in a position to get groped at Aretha's funeral. A little White girl was. 

Former Mariah Carey backup singer and 90s solo soul singing sensation, Kelly Price
has lost weight over the years but hasn't gained hits

Me with diva Kelly Price, August 2016

While Patti Labelle bakes her pies for Walmart, I have to wonder, are there any young Black singers who will enjoy a career and image like hers? Where are they? Are we witnessing the extinction of the Black diva? Is she now just a hustla, willing to compromise for wealth and international fame? Maybe the people are to blame. They are buying into the dumbing down of black music. We sat there and let Robin Thicke make a mockery out of Marvin Gaye. How did we do that? By buying into the damn song until it was a hit. Though he has been cast away like the trash he is, we still have other White faces, sneaking in and making it even harder for Black artists to get a foothold in the industry. We aren't even going to talk about the tatted up faced rap game where a Mexican calls us Niggas. 

When a White woman belts out vocals, she's decorated. When a Black woman like Ledisi does so, we forget that her name rhymes with legacy. However we also have John. Last name Legend. He to me, is one and I can't write this without mentioning such a man who is the epitome of class and continued longevity. We can name Black artists who are legends to us, but they lack consistency. Keep in mind, A diva and a legend must have consistency. Veterans like Mary J. Blige, Faith Evans or R. Kelly arrived before the fall of the industry. They are aging divas/legends and are no longer viable. This conversation is about the current industry and its current class.

We once boycotted Whitney for being "too White" and selling herself short. She got the message. Now we help White musicians on stage to receive their awards for soul music. Now we applaud a blonde weave and cursing all over a record and call her a revolutionary diva. Funny how times change.

Where have all the Black divas gone? 

Many will argue that Beyonce is THE Black diva. Sad even if she is one because she would be the ONLY one. A diva has to be able to SANG not sing, so Rihanna is out of the running. Queen Bey, She does call herself a diva, but why should we settle with just her? She did mirror Tina Turner and Diana for a while, but again, she's inconsistent. She's several years overdue for a powerhouse ballad that crosses genres.

You could never clone any of the greats like Tina, Chaka, Whitney, Aretha, Patti, Michael, Prince, James, Marvin, the list goes on. However, we don't have acts coming up now who could thrive in their arena. What we do have, are three high yellow people who aren't consistent and have recently watered themselves down. They all seem to take an interest in mumble rap as well. Bey, Rihanna and Chris, I respect your careers but don't respect the lack of growth. We actually need more than hits, we need a legendary timeless body of work that evolves. Further, previous generations, especially Motown artists were able to achieve hits and support well into their forties. Now Toni Braxton has to rely on a reality show and Mariah is resting on her old laurels. 

There is an entire generation of greats dying off, sadly their legacy ends with them. Yes the industry is allowed to change, but not if raw talent is no longer a necessity. It was so sad when Aretha Franklin was only able to praise the vocals of one current artist. Adele. A white woman from another country. 

Constantly Mourning Relationships I never had

He looked similar to this, always shirtless too...

He was perfect. An American alpha male, bearded and ready to fight to the death like Leonidas. He worked that beefy body out daily and it showed. Every time I went to his place, he answered his door shirtless. He was strong, beefy and had a commanding presence. He was also humble and easy to talk to. He had dark features and deep fiery eyes that looked into mine every time I spoke. He was attentive and supportive. After drinks at the straight bars, he would allow me to crash on his couch. I yearned to enter his bedroom as my erection pressed against his couch pillows. I wanted him to take my mind, body and soul. I wanted him to unleash his fury and turn my ass into a battlefield. However, those thoughts did not overshadow my appreciation for the bromance. He was heterosexual after all, at least that's what he called himself. He never made a move on me, but his presence was addictive. We lost touch and he moved away. I miss him everyday. But what exactly am I missing? He gave me so much more than any of the gay men were willing to give. He was foreplay without sex. We had late night conversations and we laughed together. I felt human around him and his laid-back personality was refreshing. He had that organic manliness that I craved. Grindr or Craigslist Personals, made me feel dirty afterward. They weren't interested in simply going out and having a good time. It was almost as if I experienced dating, with a straight man; Something gay men refused to provide.

The Jamaican's Patois talked me out of my pants and he fucked me on the floor. For several days, I pulled at his locs as he entered me. We spoke of my parents, grandparents, my fears, my past, my dreams and my insecurities. He had a boyfriend back on the island, but that Summer, he was all mine. I knew he would depart eventually. I understood that the stroke of his tongue against my neck and the scent of natural oils from his body would dissipate. I knew I'd be back to reality, but I submerged myself in his dark brown skin. He wore tank tops like a uniform, His rippling muscles flexed as he raised his glass at the bar. He danced with me at a club and I remember the elation on his face. He called me beautiful, in the way only an island man could. He went back to his little boyfriend in Jamaica, but somehow, I went into shock. I can still taste his dick.

Actual Photo. LEFT: He was delicious in every way possible

Often, I feel like the universe is teasing me. It allows me to taste the sweetest, juiciest fruits, only to snatch them away and deem them forbidden. I can't seem to keep anyone around, or meet someone who is even available. The moments I have shared with so many are beautiful, breath-taking, others not so much. However, those beautiful moments of sitting on a Ferris Wheel or bowling with my straight friend, I wouldn't take back. I miss Daylin, the beautiful heterosexual who I often wondered about. How drunk do I have to get him? Why is his dick erect while he is sitting next to me? I recall Benn, the tall, dark and handsome gay man who had a good job but the mind of a child. He was only interested in playing with my emotions. He was the type to celebrate my birthday and come to my graduation party as my "Date", only to never commit. After ghosting, he drunkenly told me he loved me, then he went ATV'ing with his new lover in the desert. 

I miss bowling with this STUD

The father of all of the ghosts was De'Andre. I was naive, insecure and seventeen. He was twenty-three and afraid of himself, hiding in a masquerade of heterosexual images for the world. He was light skin, fit with long cornrows. I was his dirty secret. I was his long ride around Rock Creek Park, Washington DC in the late of night. I was sex in his apartment but I was never to say hello to him in public. I was his shame behind the tinted windows of his Cadillac. I went away to Atlanta for college and learned to love myself more. It took catharsis to realize that he was never a boyfriend. Yet I miss the way he got inside of my head and kept me at the edge of reason. 

Why do I torture myself? Why do I even attempt with these men? I've been a slut just to feel wanted, just to feel SOMETHING because there always nothing. Voids never filled. The men were never too thrilled about anything consistent or long term. I knew I'd feel the burn, but what is to learn? Should I just be a recluse and take no risks at all? Bitterness isn't healthy either. People say that love will find me and to stop looking for it. But I rarely am even in situations where I believe I will meet someone. Most gay men like myself are relegated to apps since there aren't many venues for us beyond bars. Even when I think I find someone, it always appears that I am the only one sending a text. I am often left on "READ" and I hear excuses about busy schedules. Kissing stopped meaning anything over a decade ago. They can french kiss me for hours, then leave me dehydrated. 

I try not to be cynical, I try to maintain hope but it truly is a challenge. I want to FEEL that feeling and have it stay. I know what I want. I understand the law of attraction but that new age shit hasn't even delivered an appetizer. 

What if this gay lifestyle is just so sexually driven, that I am more easily impressed by any hint of depth? Even the gay couples I come across are in open relationships. They are often more promiscuous than they were when they were single. I've been invited into numerous marital bedrooms. I often wonder if there is such a thing as a monogamous gay couple. Then again, the straights seem to have difficulty in that area as well. But for this purpose, I will focus on the gay lifestyle because it is my perspective. 

Just like the film "MOONLIGHT" I miss what I never had. They constantly had me wanting more

When a gay man like myself comes across a guy on say,... Grindr, you're already being asked about sex. "What do you get into?" Is the first line of questioning, typically before your name is asked, if at all. Your name isn't important. Your identity is a sex role. Top, bottom or versatile. I've had great sex, but little to no real connections. I mourn the loss of those who brought me feelings, but butterflies have a short life span. I don't want to lead with body parts, I want a guy to investigate my Zodiac sign. I've never truly had a romantic relationship. I've never been fulfilled. I am mourning moments, rather than rings. I am naked on an island of orgies, waiting for someone to dress me up and respond to the dissertations in my mind. 

I am Waiting...

I'm a gay man, kissed by straight men. I've had dates with straights and parted ways with gays. I miss sex as if it mattered. I miss bowling when it was all a mind game. I've lived in houses that were never built. I am constantly mourning because every package is always fleeting. I go forward armored with spectacular moments that I want duplicated and merged into one man. One man who stays. One man who wants my mind, body and soul. One man who can penetrate my mental like the hetero's have, but fucks my body like no gay man ever has. One man who calls to hear my voice. One man who is moment after spine tingling moment. One man, who makes me forget about the men I never had. The men I never needed. One man who kisses me on a beach after years of playing in the sandbox. One man whose eyes communicate with one single glance, that he will never, ever leave my side. 

Like "MOONLIGHT", I hope the years of confusion and unrequited love, reward my lack of patience

And then, there was CARDI...Why CARDI B Rose to Hip Hop Prominence

The sound is faint, but the eighties baby struggles to hear echoes from dynamic voices of the nineties MC. The generation that witnessed the assassinations of Tupac and Christopher Wallace, has now become a generation like many before it, wondering what happened to "real music."

We are perplexed to say the least. Now exists a hip hop scene that has grown unrecognizable. It doesn't look or feel like the hip-hop we remember. New York and Los Angeles aren't ruling the airwaves with unmistakable lexicons, everything seems to have blended. The internet has birthed a fleet of young rappers with Instagram fame and Sound Cloud validation, when once upon a time, the masses had to actually go out and purchase a physical body of work. They exist as Itunes hits, flamboyant but cloned personalities with little life experience and little to no substance in their lyrics. They call themselves rappers, but they feel like impostors, as we remember the grit of a rapper like DMX.

We shake our heads in disgust, as clowns receive clout and disrespect the legends of our great era. Gone are the days of real life testimony of the Black experience in urban America, even though we are gunned down by police. Now we witness lighter hues, that don't share our experience, speaking in a vernacular that should insult our intelligence. They call themselves hip hop and grant themselves awards before they are recognized. We remember the humility of Niggas with Attitude. (NWA) Now a Mexican screams the word Nigga and places himself above the Black rappers of New York.

Throughout all of the auto-tuned rappers and one hook wonders, there remained an unmistakable and unavoidable void. The industry was slowly losing money due to streaming, but that was only half the story. The public craved authenticity. They wanted a love story. They wanted to FEEL someone! They needed a backstory, someone relatable, a different perspective....Hell...SOMETHING! Catchy hooks and cute gimmicks couldn't keep the buzz alive. Even Nicki Minaj failed to maintain her glory, as her music charted but didn't stay there. We grew tired of her larger than life posterior body part, her gimmicky presentation, resting bitch-face persona and arrogant attitude. She was known for her music but not for her personality. And there-in lied the problem. She had no real substance. Her personality? Well there wasn't one, per-say, there were many. Many scripted theatrical personalities that confused the Hip Hop heads. Hip Hop was built off of authenticity and upliftment out of struggle. It originated from people expressing their most personal struggles through spoken word.

Nicki popped on the scene posing like someone we remember; legs wide open and the next thing we knew, She was a "Five Star Chick" But who was she? We didn't know and many didn't seem to care. They bought into her many personalities that had nothing to do with the real her. She hid behind neon wigs and costumes while those her age looked at her like she was crazy. We didn't understand this rap version of Lady Gaga. We wanted what we fell in love with as children to return to the mainstream. We wanted Queen Latifah to stop singing and modeling, we wanted her to shed the blonde weave and wrap her regal head. We wanted her to speak about Unity and we wanted Lauryn Hill to come back to Earth. Meanwhile, Nicki developed a fanbase with teenagers who knew nothing about the women of Hip Hop from our hay day. We appreciated Nicki's lyrical word play and the woman had bars, but she just didn't have that round the way girl feel. It was as if she were, dare I say it, a manufactured BARBIE. Pure perfection, wigs hot against her skull, a feature on everyone's hit song and we grew tired of her early.

 It began to feel as if the machine were pushing her clout more than the people were. She was a lone wolf in a sea in a male dominated industry. Even though there were plenty of female rappers around, somehow, she was the only one on our radio stations. Something didn't add up. As she twerked her firm ass on our televisions screaming about an Anaconda, we rolled our eyes to another Azealia Banks controversy. We said goodbye to the rapper Eve as she frequented Dubai with her Billionaire husband. We felt sorry for Foxy Brown who couldn't hear, and we were confused by the new Lil Kim. Dej Loaf was cute, but that was it, she couldn't compete with someone like Nicki, nor could Young Ma who wasn't even trying to. There was a White Austrailian who developed a southern accent, and she was pushed as a pop artist more than a rapper. She was just too fancy to spit bars in the alley with Remy Ma. Speaking of her, there was so much hype surrounding her return, but she didn't deliver what we asked for and her obsession with Nicki overshadowed any attempt at a hit song.

So Remy reemerged with a confusing looking and sounding Lil Kim, whose autotuned singing wasn't what we ordered from the menu.

And then, there was Cardi.

It was a sound we remembered. The hard beat and aggressive voice that effortlessly told an unapologetic story of resilience. It sounded something like female empowerment that we missed. Her red bottoms were "Bloody Shoes",, and though it was simple, it communicated a strength that was greatly missed. She was that round the way girl we craved. There was a huge vacancy, and she was right on time. Who is that girl? People whispered. Many knew who she was but were surprised to actually love Bodak Yellow. Some knew her from funny Instagram videos while others, Love & Hip Hop. Either way, Cardi, was an authentic personality. She was that stripper who had a mouth that no one could tame. She felt like a rebel rather than a robot. She was a woman with flaws and a woman who rapped about those flaws. We had enough Barbies, we wanted a gangsta bitch. We wanted a conversation and not a commercial. We wanted a stripper with a machine gun. We wanted a bitch who didn't sing, but rapped about getting her teeth fixed and how expensive that shit was. We could relate and she was the warrior princess of us, the underdogs. Men felt her, women felt her, children felt her and Hell, Even Oprah Winfrey felt her! What Cardi B brought to the game, was the clarity that only broken English could communicate. She didn't need to speak the queens English or discuss who she's better than, she only needed to tell us who she was. No frills, no diamond necklaces. She was the imperfection we missed.

She was that woman who didn't need singing on her single. She didn't need to sound like pop. She carried the entire song with that hardcore beat and we responded. It had been quite some time since a song like that, male or female had hit the radio waves. Even the men were singing or making strange incoherent noises in their lackluster music. The music industry was already trying to comprehend the public's obsession with social media talent. The masses were losing interest in the machines Barbie dolls and GI Joe's. Internet rappers were all the rage because there was at least somewhat of an illusion of authenticity.
However, a girl from the Bronx managed to talk her shit right onto Billboards Number 1 slot.

She went from oversharing on Instagram to co-hosting with Jimmy Fallon. The more people were exposed to her, the more they fell in love with her. The more people had experienced Nicki, the more indifferent they became. The industry had to cope with the idea that the public didn't want their manufactured doll babies, they wanted life. They wanted an artist who would curse on live television or discuss feeling butterflies in her vagina at the GRAMMYS. They wanted a woman who wasn't going to apologize for being pregnant nor stop any scheduled promotions because of it. They wanted a woman who would pop her pussy at Coachella while nearly about to give birth. The world wanted a rapper who actually spoke to them rather than someone who treated rapping like a term paper. Others bragged about their writing skills while Cardi just said what she felt. She was a Cinderella story. While a Barbie twirled and bragged about her wealth before entering her private plane, the world craved Cardi. When she spoke up, we knew we were receiving what we prayed for. There was no mistaking CARDI. The world is partying with Cardi.