Don't Say A Word (Kibba You Mouth)

I thought I was over hip hop "gossip" when the Drake vs. Kendrick ordeal turned into a high-level Black Canadian smear campaign. After unfollowing numerous bloggers and vloggers that I previously held in high regard (and even looking at some T-Dot defenders of K-Dot sideways), I realized that the fight is bigger than me.

Even as a bonafide Screwface Capital protector...I decided to just stop letting the perspectives anger me. I stopped listening to outsiders tell me about the city I was born and raised in, and I continued to run my Drizzy chunes.

Some of my thoughts, I decided, are better left unsaid as to not...disrupt my own peace. Which is sacred.

Enter: the Diddy fiasco.

I've been following it from time, so what's breaking news to some is old ass news to me right now. I went in. And I didn't go in as a Diddy hater, I went in as someone who has always been entertained by this fellow, in the way that Ragga Ruggie is currently entertaining me from the UK. (Google him, you won't be disappointed.)

I even went to the Bad Boy Family Reunion concert at the Air Canada Centre and jammed the night away to Faith, Lil Kim, 112, Total, French Montana, The Lox, and Ma$e in September of 2016. What's not to love about all them hits and memories?!

I had a time!

Every minute of it reminded me of how far "we" as "a culture" had come. These previously-humble New Yorkers in their middle age now selling out arenas, as their fans sang and rapped along with them to the lyrics we had embedded into our souls.

They were us. We evolved with them. We partied with them, directly and indirectly.

Needless to say, all of the news, and revelations, conspiracies, and headlines are both eerie and sad because as much as the actions and behaviours are ridiculously horrendous, we literally grew up believing in this magic.

Not realizing it was actually magic.

Like, look at our good Black Mogul Sean Jean dressed in red, raising up from the flames in that photo I took! And guess what I was doing? Cheering! Pulling out my camera phone because I didn't want to forget that great moment in time. For the nostalgia!

Despite the history, the logic, the rationale, the links, the education, the experience, receipts, or the research that we think we have as individuals, it is clear that the issues and systems that exist across many/all huge industries (like our beloved music industry)...can be very deep, and very, very dark.

It ain't the 90s anymore, waiting for a new edition of The Source magazine to come out. Now, the exposure is real-time, 360...and we're not just looking on from the audience, we all have a front row seat into the minds (and bedrooms?! wtf) of our so-called industry leaders.

These are some serious times, said Gyptian. Not to mention the upcoming American election, and current controversies with our own Canadian government. Wars and destruction overseas. Wacko weather patterns.

Revelations in abundance! Biblical, and literal.

Do I have my own conclusions--good and bad--about many of these individuals? Absolutely! Have I spent thousands of dollars in my lifetime purchasing concert tickets, books, flights, and paraphernalia in support of said individuals. HYFR.

One man's opinion and perspective is just that. My opinion is one of millions, and sharing it is something I am treading lightly with now (300+ blog posts later) in these dark and suspicious times.

Regardless of what I think or post, the power still remains with those who have the power. And those with lesser power...well, we have an ongoing challenge in our attempts to "dismantle" systems, ideologies, and structures that are rooted in profit and questionable history, at times. Systems that have backative of epic proportions that are difficult to go against, without your own equally powerful (and financially lucrative) army.

I mean, who really cares what I think about Drake, or if I'm going to watch Kendrick's SuperBowl performance performance, right? What I think about the respect given to L'il Wayne in  Louisiana? Instead, I will safely hold my corner, like PartyNextDoor. In the words of the great Yellowman: Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt.

When I first got on the Diddy drama online it was pure entertainment. Secrets revealed, and the gaps in decades-old hip hop lore were finally being filled in. The rap puzzle was making more sense, and was almost complete. The suspicious behaviours, music videos, interviews, and lyrics from the 90s and the 2000s club era were like special clues and conclusions, seen through today's eyes.

Time and perspective changed everything.

As someone who has been fixated with the entertainment industry since The Muppet Show in the 80s (including the greatest trolls of all time, Statler and Waldorf), dare I say that every worst-case scenario attached to the artists across disciplines may be proving to be true. Allegedly. And according to TikTok (which is probably gonna get banned, just now).

I say this, fully recognizing my limited view from the outside looking in. From my seat on the balcony.

I say this as a writer and music addict who pays extra attention to the creators and curators of the arts. Someone who has read many an autobiography, and legitimately felt and benefitted from tangible inspiration from the words, lyrics, music, and other talents of artists from Hollywood Blvd to Harwood Ave. Negril to New York. Lagos to London.

I've been paying attention. From time. Too much attention, one might say.

Yet, the more I learn, hear, and discover, the more I realize that it seems to be in your best interest to...just shut your trap. Bite your tongue. Zip it. Ain't nothing good come from speaking the [alleged] truth.

Plus, in the words of the great Buju Banton, Informer Fi Dead. AmIright?

I've actually learned this the hard way, quite a few times in my simple Scarborough life. Perhaps (?) one of you reading this right now might have fallen out with me because of my embedded propensity to "speak the/my truth," even when it goes against the grain, or established protocol. Ego. Popular opinion. When everyone else was turning a blind eye, and yet I chose to open my big mouth. Boy, did I learn!

What did I do to make sense of behaviours, exercise judgements, and appease my curiosities about choices and righteousness? I wrote. Starting in elementary school, I observed human behaviour intensely, and created many fictional/hypothetical scenarios based on what I saw first-hand, heard first-hand, and observed at-large. With a pinch of imagination and speculation. I jumped to my own fictional conclusions, in print. I self-published 24 individual stories via Kya Publishing.

I was able to do this, because I was inspired. Deeply.

I studied the greats, intensely. Musicians, actors, journalists, and producers. Common folk and super celebrities. I watched how they exerted their expertise to coordinate and present publications, concerts, productions, and albums. I collected them. I attended them. I archived them. I admired them.

And continued to write. Through high school, and into my twenties. Observing the interpersonal relationships, and eventually the professional ones, into adulthood. My stories continued to have a central theme of music, parties, entertainment, and enjoyment...surrounding said relationships.

The more I experienced (second hand, of course), the more I created.

Like most artists, the creative process for me has always been a unique combination of observation and experience, internalization and interpretation, an unavoidable vibration of urgency, the development of a product, and then feeling compelled to share the creation with the public (perceived, or actual) to the best of my limited abilities.

One of the greatest parts about reading celebrity biographies is (/used to be) learning how various artists describe and go through this creative process. What the catalyst is. The triggers. The objectives, and the goals. The lessons. And it varies from artist to artist, as do the results.

The results can drive productivity as well. Writing or singing or dancing or creating to get the funds and the recognition to drive sales, and opportunities, to share the vibes, and to achieve your ultimate dreams. That is the end result: a complete and successful communication process.

With that success: power. With that power: more opportunity. With that opportunity: more money. More accolades. More associates. More experiences, and travel, and access to those with all of said rewards.

And then here we are, in the year 2024 when the entertainment shit is hitting all of the fans, very hard. Literally and figuratively because these motherfuckers are extremely gross, and extremely unapologetic about it. Not all of them, but some significant ones. Allegedly. 

As much as I want to hypothesize, and analyze, and apply what all of this means to my lifetime of admiration for these artists, their peak performances, and the zenith of their legacies...instead, like the great Admiral Tibet said, I think, girl shhh: Kibba You Mouth.

   

While Adolescent Me, some 30+ years ago had stars in her eyes and adoration for the industry innovators and leaders, Grown Ass Woman Me is looking back at history, the misconceptions, media messaging, and optical illusions, and realizing on some level, we had all been duped. Groomed. No one was more supportive than me, because I wholeheartedly believed in the power and passion of the arts and exploring one's talent:

The artists who genuinely believed they were sacrificing X-item in pursuit of their dreams.

The musicians who made unlikely allegiances, based on potential future opportunities.

The assistants who took bad-up and disrespect, hoping their loyalty would pay off.

The actors who agreed to lesser roles and questionable opportunities, for the sake of building their portfolios.

The athletes who participated in activities and rituals, despite their natural value systems, for the sake of fitting in and getting ahead.

The models! Yikes.

And oh yes. It's not just the entertainment industry and The Diddler. It appears to be a common, multidisciplinary, unspoken byproduct of extreme power in general. Womp womp.

But.....as much as I want to write about it, speak up, and protest, and advocate, and pontificate about these things, there's an element of spiritual warfare, and trafficking, and harm to children that makes my soul uncomfortable and my heart weep. I'mma just leave it all alone, and hope that justice and truth prevail. Let go, and let God.

After all, it ain't my business anyway.

Fortunately, as a lifelong writer and cultural curator, I was eventually able to secure a book publishing opportunity, thanks to the good folks at James Lorimer & Company Ltd., here in Toronto. I was able to tell the story of teenage Denise, navigating her love for music, and balancing her own identity with that of the wishes of her Jamaican family and cultural counterparts.

It was fun to write, and it's exciting to share. It's cool to have access to a wider reading audience of young adults, through this connection.

I was able to do this without "selling my soul" or compromising my morals, which makes me feel that there is hope that anyone can achieve their dreams and fulfil the calling of their creativity, without harming others, or riding the adventurous and accessible wave of corruption and immorality.

There is hope.

My teen novel "Dancehall Rebel" was published earlier this year, and is currently available where all books are sold.

I will never stop writing or loving music, but from this point forward, I will veeeery quietly and discreetly read those illicit posts and comments (aren't the comments the best part?), watch the creepy videos with Luniz playing in the background, and solve the great mysteries of Hollywood's secrets on the DL. Right after I post this, of course.