I first started reading Vibe sometime in middle school when the pages were extra big and it was hard to hold the magazine up without my arms hurting because it was so damn thick and heavy. When Angela and I met over four years ago we bonded over the fact that we both wanted to write for Vibe magazine someday. So when she texted me this morning to tell me that Vibe folded I knew she was some where in Atlanta feeling a bit sad that our childhood dream would never come true.
Even though we predicted the death of Vibe long before they put Plies on the cover and said he was the future of hip-hop, I think we both held out on the dream that one of us might make it to Vibe and write great articles reminiscent of its golden age – when Kevin Powell’s articles were long as shit and you could see how he and other writers for the mag took the time to delve deep into the minds of our favorite artists.
In the past couple of years I only read Vibe when I got my crop done at the hair salon. I would read the 20-questions (which lacked in comparison to what it was in the 90s) and that was about it.
Many will blame the magazine’s failure on low ad sales, the Internet, and the decline of the music industry but the truth is, Vibe died long before the print industry began to falter.
Like many print publications, Vibe underestimated its core audience. The group that actually bought the magazine in the 90s got older and abandoned the publication while Vibe got younger and a bit shallow (i.e. the recent Rihanna expose issue). The articles got shorter, the mags’ IQ dropped, and they became irrelevant even with the savvy and smart Danyel Smith at the helm.
The audience it appeared to target – the microwave/instant gratification generation (14-21 years old) – were too busy getting their 411 on the Internet, while the people who could actually afford to shell out $4 for a magazine lost interest.
Rather than speak to the audience who could have kept them alive, Vibe went dumb like its counterparts: the radio, the record business, and television. And now, of course, it’s dead.
Late last night CBS showed a picture of a teenage Michael Jackson that nearly brought me to tears. He was sitting in what looked like an auditorium staring at God knows what with this sullen, distant, look on his face. By then he was already a teen sensation, no where near the icon he became in the 80s, but he looked incredibly sad. It was that photo that made me come to terms with his death. By now this has become a cliche, but it’s true: for thirty nine years (since the age of 11) he gave himself to the world. At 50, he has earned the right to rest.
As great as he was, I wouldn’t wish Michael Jackson’s life on another soul. What other artist in the history of the world sacrificed like Michael did? That act is so rare it’s hard to believe Mike was human. Humans are the most selfish beings on the planet. It seems like all Michael wanted to do was eat, sleep, and breathe love – that is unheard of and almost inconceivable.
I think that’s why people all over the world were so enamored by him. We all wanted a piece of whatever force of love made him that great.
I had to fight the urge to cut one of my coworkers yesterday afternoon because she had the nerve to tell me I was too young to really know about Michael Jackson. We all thought we knew Michael because he allowed us to. We all carry a piece of him with us so it’s only logical that we feel like we lost someone who was our blood. Michael gave us his blood, which is why it’s seems unreal that he is gone.
It’s also the reason why no other human in my lifetime, or my children’s lifetime, and possibly their children’s lifetime will sell as many records as Michael Jackson did. I’ve been listening to all of his music (first time I listened and enjoyed the radio in years) and I understand why folk can’t pick their favorite Michael song. I think I’ve found mine though.
I can’t really explain why I’ve always loved “Never Can Say Goodbye,” all I know is that it makes me feel some kinda awesome. It could be because the Jackson 5 songs are the only lyrics of his I don’t fudge up, either way this is the song that is going to make my face permanently wrinkle because I can’t help but look ugly listening to it.
The breakdown, and dance routine, and my subsequent excitement, at the end of this video would probably have gotten me fired if I worked at a job that didn’t appreciate Michael (how can those people exist?). Thankfully my coworker has been blasting MJ jams all morning. The next couple of days will be one hell of a party.
Kiana and I are in shock. Not trying to be melodramatic here, it’s true. Michael Jackson is dead, just like that, and I honeslty didn’t think I would be this upset about it. But I am. He was as much a part of my (and millions of other people’s) childhoods as a complete stranger could possibly be. He was a genius and it’s impossible to imagine what the past 20 years of music would’ve sounded like without his influence. Our prayers are with his children. We’ll probably have more words on him later, but for now the only way I can deal with it is to dance.
MTV has put together a playlist of some of his most popular videos.
The reason I love NBA All-Star weekend so much is because it sends my wildest NBA fantasies into overdrive. And, if we learned anything from the Shallow Girl’s Guide, the best players are hot. So All-Star weekend is like a conglomerate of some of the finest athletes on the planet, decked out in their best fits, looking all lush and delicious, and playing great basketball.
With that in mind, the news that my favorite player of all time would be joining one of the finest (fine as in if I was 16 I’d be hanging pics of him on my wall fine) players in the league is enough for me to flat line. I’m not sure I can handle all of that greatness on one team.
The Shaq to Cavs trade can turn out to be as dismal as the Karl Malone/Gary Payton deal the Lakers made a couple of years ago but no matter what happens next season things will be entertaining, and all kinds of lucrative for NBA sponsors salivating at the thought of Shaq/Lebron promos. And better yet, the Superman vs Superman showdown bound to pop off next playoffs.
Bron Bron was likely to squash the pregame antics before the Shaq deal but now there is no way we won’t be getting dance-offs and other outlandish routines. I know bball heads are only concerned about the likelihood of the Cavs winning a ’ship with an older Shaq, and that is a great debate, but the reason I fell in love with the game is because of players with huge personalities like the Big Fella. Next season is likely to be Shaq’s last and with ABC/TNT/ESPN bound to give that team hours of airplay it will probably be Shaq’s most quotatious (yes, I made that up) season yet.
I can not wait! The mixture of comedy and sports is what I shell out money for. Luckily the big homie Dallas Penn has teamed up with Terrence Elenteny to bring us all of that for free. The NBA draft is tonight and that only means one thing: somewhere on the East coast is an overweight underachiever named Dontrevius Wenters hoping this will be his big break. Dontrevius may be old like my boy Shaq but he would bring star power and comedic flava to any team.
Gah. This video makes me homesick. Pacific Division’s “Mayor” has been on the “most played” (played in a good way, lol) list in my itunes for a while now, but this video damn near brought a tear to my temporary Atlantan, bout to be Iowan eyes. The Forum, the Roscoes t-shirt, the beach, the palm trees, even the random shooting noise that causes everybody to duck down for a second, it truly captures the essence of LA. The real LA, not the one that out-of-towners paint as superficial and label-obsessed. Most of the superficial “hollywood-types” aren’t from LA at all; they’re from the East Coast, the Midwest, the South and wherever else you’re from and they moved to Hollywood (or more likely, the Valley) to “be a star.” Don’t blame us for their ridiculousness.
I also think people make the tragic mistake of coming to LA and keeping their visit north of Olympic and West of La Brea. Los Angeles is a sprawl, and if you are not willing to explore a wider section of the metro area, then you’re going to be ill-equipped to talk about it. It wasn’t until I read Charles Mingus’ autobiography Beneath the Underdog — in which the Watts-bred bassist travels the greater metroplitain area making music and getting into trouble as a teen — that I got a sense of just how nuanced and steeped-in-history various LA areas are. Having lived in New York while relying completely on public transit, I can say people in Los Angeles are far more accustomed to travelling farther distances for pleasure/business than folks in NY (e.g. I lived in Harlem but worked on Long Island and this made people’s head’s explode– I had to beg friends in Brooklyn to make the “trek” via subway uptown for weekend visits). Sure, our carbon footprints are larger, but our daily struggles with (and ultimate aqueiscence to) the sprawl help give the city and its residents unique character.
I don’t know when I will live in Los Angeles again, but I do know that if I end up there in the future it’ll be more than fine by me. LA is much more than good great weather. I only wish I was there more often to see more of these emerging artists do their things. If you have ears you’ll be able to tell that this song knocks. Now if anyone could find it in their hearts to bottle me up some premuim middle-of-summer LA smog and fedex it to the A I’d be much obliged.
Yes, yes, this is another Common post. But this features some vintage Common, so it’s a little different, right? Eh, whatever. Here a younger, finer Rashid, still going by the name Common Sense, is interviewed on BET on a show called Video LP. They’re discussing songs from Can I Borrow a Dollar?, so I imagine this is 1992-ish. That would make me 7-ish years old at the time. Good. Lawd.
Anywho, I thought it was interesting hearing Common talk about his sound and explain his reasoning behind Heidi Hoe, arguably the most misogynist song he’s ever written (he basically chalks it up to “some women are bitches”). Ah, youth. Also, the host refers to Common as the phattest rapper out there, and keeps using “phat” with a straight face. This made me laugh and cringe all at the same time. I heart the 90’s.
