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.
2016 is beginning to look amazingly like 1980. Are we, then, about to embark on a new 80s? Survivors have wildly contrasting views of that decade, but if there's a generally accepted rule, it's this: if you had money, you had a whale of a time. If you didn't, you didn't.
Things were hard in the Eighties when it came to being openly gay and even pop stars - and most celebrities in the entertainment world - were forced to live a lie for fear of public opprobrium. Freddie Mercury strutted his stuff at Live Aid in a singlet, Tom of Finland moustache and tight trousers, and still the general public didn't guess he was gay.
My new song genuinely came to me in a daydream, while I was trying to tune in my faulty DAB radio. I heard a snippet of news about this badly timed referendum* on staying or leaving the EU and suddenly it hit me hard how much I'd miss it if the UK, true to its tradition of recreational vandalism, managed inexplicably to kick itself out of this sophisticated European nightclub.
She was one of the finest, one of the greats. The wit was a reading wit: funny, intelligent, observant realism with a twitching sting. It was subdermal: deeper than language and timing; it fluttered in her stomach and it caught in her giggles. It knew pathos and pain. She understood her country, and helped to explain it. I don't think anybody identified with Alan Bennett's observations as much as Wood. They often used the same actors. She recognised the voices of his Talking Heads (1988/1998) and extended our time in their company. Whilst Bennett's were twitching curtains, and having solicitous affairs with Hindu shopkeepers, Wood's were elsewhere.