Don’t be fooled. Chris Brown is not back. Correction: based on his Michael Jackson tribute performance at last night’s BET awards, the public may think it’s safe option to start liking him again. After all, we’re reminded that Chris Brown is an excellent dancer. He is. I am more than willing to admit that someone is talented when I realize that I could never possibly do what they do with such effortless swagger. The boy danced his heart out through a well plotted MJ lovefest.
Then he cried.
Like a wimpy bitch-ass baby, he cried. Did he at least stop what was going on while he leaked tears that very well may have been the result of cleverly placed tubes? No. He cried while trying to sing ‘Man in the Mirror’. ‘MAN IN THE’ FUCKING ‘MIRROR’. He chose the most obvious MJ ballad to blubber through as if doing so would remind us that he’s “only human, y’all.”
I don’t buy it for one second. He might as well have worn that goofy ass bow-tie from Larry King and read heartfelt scripted sentiments from a teleprompter. He hasn’t changed. He just has better PR that won’t let him sing the national anthem at a wrestling match. He remains a sad little child unable to function in a world of popularity and microscopic focus. I’m waiting patiently for another brilliantly timed publicity stunt and an album to which my ears will never be subjected.
This is indicative of the fact that I’m still not over using Chris Brown as my scapegoat. It’s been a year-and-a-half and I’m still doing everything in my venomous WordPress power to keep him under that bus. The fall out has, ultimately, been an ideal experience for my own Jesus-like view of the slop culture world below. I always agonized over whether I should like Chris Brown, whose voice often grated on my nerves but whose every third song was undeniably catchy. With a reason to hate Chris Brown and the release of Rihanna’s most supremely excellent album, I should’ve been ecstatic that the event happened even with the emotional and physical damage that everyone’s favorite five-headed Cadillac-assed Barbadian had to endure after the kick-off of Whitney Houston’s failed comeback. I’m not, though. I’m still infuriated. It eats away at me.
I know why. I miss songs with Chris Brown. Not Chris Brown songs, but songs which have the unfortunate stigma of featuring Chris Brown vocals. I purged my iTunes of all traces of Chris Brown and in the process lost these gems:
‘No Air’ by Jordin Sparks- So indicative of post high school relationship high drama. I still don’t know how I’m ‘pposed to breave wif no ayer.
‘Shawty Get Loose’ by Lil Mama- Yeah, considering Lil Mama’s trainwreck assness, perhaps I’m not so sad that this left my collection.
‘What Them Girls Like’ by Ludacris – Any loss of Ludacris to my collection is, to put it mildly, A FUCKING TRAVESTY.
‘Get Like Me’ by David Banner- To this day, I’ve never seen the Chevy with the butterfly doors.
So there it is. I’m going through colossal hip hop standard withdrawal. I feel like I’ve achieved such baller cathartic steez by coming to this conclusion and realizing that a part of me will always just be a tad bit empty without these tunes. I can put it in perspective, though. ‘What Them Girls Like’ is nothing compared to ‘One More Drink’ and for every ‘Stuntin’ is a habit,” there is a ‘Stuntin’ like my daddy.” My principles are strong and I am so feverishly committed to spreading the hate about the evils of pop stardom for someone as immature and poorly handled as Chris Brown.
Carry on, bitches. There’s nothing admirably trainwrecky to see here.
E
