Tsunami Season

Summer 2018 is looking like a hot one and I’m not talking about the weather. Bop after bop keeps raining down from the heavens above and the recent catalog of music to hit the charts this year has me in summer mode already.

An ANTHEM! Yara. Issa. Tracey. Latitia. Misty. Black Girl Magic. And they all looked gorgeous. I.S.S.A. R.A.E. That bitch is gorgeous. She has the most beautiful smile to me… and her skin lawd! Ugh… but I digress.

I’ve sincerely been an Aubrey “Drake” Graham fan since the jump, like since “Best I Ever Had.” Coincidentally, Drake has also always managed to release music at pivotal moments in my life. Nothing Was the Same came out the year I graduated high school. If You’re Reading This, when I made the decision to change my major, change universities, and change the direction I wanted my career to go in. Drake, for me, is synonymous with growth. It’s just like he and I have been on the same wave from jump.

As his music has changed, it has stayed the same, yet he always manages to come back sounding fresh and in-pocket. “Nice for What” is no different – an anthem for all the girls out here getting it.

As I gear up for some major changes in my life while also coming into my own, this new single will be a mainstay on my summer soundtrack to remind me to continue to keep piping up on these niggas and that I don’t necessarily have to be nice to these niggas.

Janelle Monae came in hot with a new single, “Pynk.”

A new project “Dirty Computer” is expected at the end of this month and the singles she’s released thus far have my expectations on ten.

“Pynk” is a sexy, erotic summer jam, an ode to pussy if there ever was one and I’m here for it.

Tessa Thompson made yet another cameo in the video, adding more fuel to my growing suspicion that Tessa and Janelle are an item.

When Tessa’s head popped from between those lips aka Janelle Monae’s legs…

 

I knew.

Best friend and I are headed back to Afropunk this year. We were both a bit skeeved after last year’s festivities but, y’know… a bitch will be in town or whatever so why not? The lineup looks absolutely amazing and Janelle Monae is one of the names headlining so I know her set is going to be out of this world.

Last but not least, the generous queen has come bearing gifts. After an interview with Zane Lowe, Nicki dropped two new singles and from what I heard, it looks like we’re about witness the second coming of Nicki Lewinski.

Bars. For. Your. Ass.

The general consensus seems to be that we’ll be receiving an album from Nicki just in time for the summer. At least I sure hope so. The 2018 summer sound wave is already gathering steam and in effect and something is telling me if we get a Nicki album, on top of everything else, it’s gone be tsunami season.

Moving On Up

Though I can’t yet afford the deluxe apartment in the sky, I’m actually beginning to plan for this big move to my own little “east side,’ or what will more likely be somewhere in Harlem.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that this ain’t about to be all roses. In life, you have to take the crookeds with the straights, right? Right. Financial woes will come. Inconveniences will come. General life fuckery will come…. and that’s fine because the good times will be just that much sweeter.

I’m starting this move on a good foot, though. The line up for Afropunk 2018 is out and after last year’s experience, Reuben and I were kind of side eyeing this year’s proceedings. But the line up is fire and I’m gonna be in town or whatever *flips hair* – #gradgang, #gradstudent – so we said why the fuck not. Afropunk, here we come! Back like cooked crack! Here we go like Mystical!

Alright, I’m done.

Now, check back in with me in a few months, and I might not be singing the same song but I’m gone continue to keep on keeping on. Now that I’m actually in the MFA program at The New School, I want to get my master’s. I want this next notch on my belt. I’m charged up. So, it really isn’t too much that will make me stray from this.

By hook or by crook, come hell or high water, I’m making the move to NYC and I’m bout to get this degree.

Story Time: Mischief Managed… Barely.

Bout 7:45 p.m.: Wading through a sea of people, trying to get between stages in time to see Solange. It was hella niggas and for a minute, the traffic was standstill. If I wasn’t high I probably would’ve had a nervous break down. Crowds were never my thing.

So after making it back to the Green Stage, Reuben and I opted to just stay there. Neither of us were willing to go through that crowd again to go back to see SZA. Fuck it.

We smoked a joint and waited for Sampha.

He’s a helluva live performer.

Bout 8:00 p.m.: Sampha wraps up. Now it’s time for Solange, who’s set to come on at 8:30.

Sidebar: We only had Saturday passes. I had to be in class on Monday and Reu had to go to work. We bought bus tickets to head back to D.C. for 1:30 a.m. My flight was at 8:30 the next morning. The bus ride is four hours long. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Bout 8:20 p.m.: Bill DeBlasio rolls his ass up on stage and from the way the crowd was acting, he ain’t too popular with the black folks of New York. He talks for about five minutes about how Afropunk is “the best event around,” and leaves. Mind you, he comes on right before Solange, I’m guessing, for maximum nigga viewing potential. The crowd wasn’t here for his Hoover vac impersonation.

I don’t know much about Bill’s political goings on in NY, but that was a political stunt if I ever saw one.

8:45 p.m.: Solange still isn’t on. Technical difficulties.

Reu and I still have to Uber back to Williamsburg, get our things from the place we were crashing at, and catch the subway back to Time Square where our bus is leaving from.

9:00 p.m.: Solange finally comes on. We only have time to stay for two songs before we have to fight through the crowd again to beat the rush of people leaving and blocking up traffic.

At this point, my phone is dead. Reuben’s is on like 10%. We still need to order the Uber.

9:45 p.m. Our attempts to beat the crowd and miss the traffic failed. Barry Commodore Park is surrounded on all sides by bumper-to-bumper traffic. Reu’s phone: 5%. No Uber. My phone’s still dead.

10:00 p.m.: A good, albeit shady, samaritan whips a charger out of his fanny pack and lets Reuben charge his phone so we could order the Uber.

Bout 10:25 p.m.:Back in Williamsburg. But bitch, where’s my phone? In the fucking Uber.

We call him. He’s picked up another passenger already.

We wait.

In the meantime, we gather our shit so that when the Uber driver brings my phone back, we can hit the subway. Time is of the mother fucking essence.

11:00 p.m.: Uber guy pulls up, returns my phone, and we power walk to the next subway stop.

Bout 12:15 a.m.: We finally make it to Time Square with an hour to spare.

BITCH.

That morning we rolled four joints. We smoked three at Afropunk. Reuben kept the forth one in his sock. God knew we would need it.

We found the bus stop, got some food from McDonald’s, and found a nice lil spot off in the cut to smoke that last J.

1:15 a.m.: We board the bus to D.C.

Nigga, we made it.

Bout 5:45 a.m.: We make it to D.C. Reuben calls an Uber to take him to his apartment. I call an Uber to take me to the airport.

Mischief Managed. Barely.

 

 

Living on the Edge

This weekend I finally got to go to Afropunk and… bitch.

The line up was fire.

The melanin was fire.

The atmosphere was on fire – it was hot af but myself and my main man Reuben (@fromthedeskofreuben) kept it fresh and funky and had a blast.

Not only was it my first time at Afropunk, it was my first time in NYC, which was double my trouble.

I’ve been debating on whether or not I want to continue grad school up there and after this weekend… whew! It would definitely be an adjustment but I think I could accept the challenge.

It was a ton of people! Usually crowds make my ass itch but luckily we had a few joints rolled and ready to calm my nerves. In the midst of the sea of people, I actually ran into Dustin Ross from The Friend Zone!! *fan girls*

I’m gay as fuck but that is a beautiful man. Our interactions only lasted seconds before he was carried away in the crowd, but that was enough time for me to yell “Hey Dustin” and him to acknowledge my existence and say “Hey” back.

Honestly, I feel liberated. I’ve never seen so many carefree black folk in one place all smoking, dancing, and living in the moment.

I loved every second.

Here’s to next year!