My notion of home is not necessarily linked to a physical place or a nation to which I feel patriotic. If anything it has completely removed itself from the physical and now become nothing more and nothing less than a feeling.
Imagine seeing ZZ Top cycle past you at Center Parcs or the Stereophonics queuing behind you to see the lions at Cricket St. Thomas (near Chard)? With this in mind I have draw you a picture of how good it would be to see Keane on their band holiday. Enjoy.
It's not a great look to have such a 'sausage-fest' (a load of forty- and fifty-something blokes), especially now that increasing numbers of women are DJing, producing, promoting, managing, running labels and so on more than ever.
I find it fascinating and exciting that we get to see the narrative of Beyonce's personal anger and life explored in her art and identity. That she is prepared to step out from the glittering façade of her perfect life and be the author of who she wants to be.
I continue to look behind the veil of celebrity public life. I've always been fascinated by duos - they are all knowing looks and admiring glances on stage, but what are they like when they get home and kick their shoes off? Using Simon and Garfunkel as a test case I'm pretty sure that behind the scenes Art Garfunkel was a bit of a practical joker, I mean come on, look at the hair.
Why is standing in pride in your own identity and for the people in your community suddenly a controversy? Anyways, Beyoncé, keep doing us black women proud. As you say in Freedom, "Imma keep running cos a winner doesn't quit on themselves".
Posting a picture of Jaz Z bending over fully naked is the only way he could possibly be more exposed in this album. We learn of his weaknesses, pitfalls and insecurities. She alludes to his fear of love, his feeling of being undeserving of a woman like him.
This all stems, unfortunately, from the aforementioned online outlets, who yesterday ran the story in what I can only assume was a mad rush to ride the Beyoncé wave for as long as possible, even if it meant their traffic came at Rita's expense.
Let me break this down for you. Beyoncé's album is not an attack on anyone. It is a celebration of the strength, endurance and potential within black womanhood. The fact that you are mad/uncomfortable/agitated about it is evidence enough of how blind you are to the realities of being one.
The loss of a close family member is of course incomparable to the loss of a musician. Not even Prince's most hard-core fan would deny that. But this does not mean the feelings someone portrays online are not genuine.
The biggest problem is that we haven't had enough high profile women talking about this because they were afraid of rocking the boat. Hell- even today black models are afraid to talk about the blatant racial discrimination that goes on in the fashion industry because they won't be hired for jobs.
As anyone who has ever come across my writing knows, rarely do I stand up and pay attention to emerging artists, which is perhaps to my discredit. Whe...
I was ten years old at the time and my babysitter brought this strange looking album to the house featuring a longhaired black man straddling a wicked motorcycle on the cover (so cool, debonair and quite unlike anything I had seen before).
Today I'm making a pledge to myself and my fellow global citizen. I will try to educate myself before I express myself. I will try to learn before I teach. I will try to listen before I shout. I will do my best to help find solutions. When I disagree, I will do so with respect and grace. I will try to be a better man. I will rise up. Will you?
The next few months are make or break for Lady Gaga. Poised for the release of her fifth studio album, the singer knows she has a lot to prove following, what can only be described as, a rocky few years. Once the biggest popstar in the world with more number ones and awards than you could shake a disco stick at, the wheels fell off after the release of her last album Artpop in 2013.
You could see his pants. You could see his pubes. You could see the crack of his arse. And as you beheld the brazen display, he just looked right back at you with an attitude and a pornographic lyric on his mind. He looked like Phil Lynott, but Lynott didn't scare the bejesus out of me the way this beguiling, demonic, sex pixie did.