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buzzfeedreader · 7 years ago

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Jonathan Leibson / Getty Images

SZA’s Ctrl is a black girl’s Tumblr come to melodic, vibrant life.

SZA, who is 26 years old and grew up in New Jersey, is speaking in a specific vernacular that will be familiar to black women who spend chunks of their time in certain corners of the internet. It is apparent right from the opening song, "Supermodel," which begins with a recording of the singer’s mother speaking on the grand theme of the record (“That is my greatest fear. That if, if I lost control or did not have control, things would just, you know. I would be be...fatal”). It’s not that the lyrics come in the form of some impenetrable fancy language, necessarily — it is standard (African-)American English, after all — it is the attitude with which she throws out the lyrics that catches the ear, and then makes the words linger on the mind.

When she plaintively sings “Why can’t I stay alone just by myself / wish I was comfortable just with myself” on that opener, for example, you can almost taste the minimalist Tumblr theme; if you close your eyes you can picture an ironic Blingee lighting up on a loop behind your eyelids. Ctrl is covering much of the ground that fills my own dashboard up every single day, the hundreds of posts that essentially boil down to a quest for self-determination — self-determination in a world that seems hell-bent on pushing us into predesignated roles and situations. And that is expressed in pithy but heartfelt text posts about black girl magic in all its forms, mood boards and videos of hair and fashion inspiration, and the men and women we fancy and love, alongside photo sets and GIF sets of nostalgia-nourished TV shows and age-relevant quotes about life and love and self-care. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that SZA was for a good long time an active Tumblr user (I have followed her on there for years). Even now, via her million-follower Instagram, her preferred platform these days, SZA is still doing much of what her Tumblr used to do (minus the direct contact afforded by her Ask box). Last month she posted a screenshot of a Tumblr post about awkward flirting with the caption: “who dragged me like this?”

SZA’s reputation has been building for years via a couple of well-received EPs, See.SZA.Run and S, and her first studio album Z. In 2013, she signed with indie label Top Dawg Entertainment, the home of Kendrick Lamar and the rest of the Black Hippy crew — the first woman to do so. Three years later, she appeared on and co-wrote Rihanna’s opening Anti track, “Consideration.” Collaborating with the likes of Jill Scott and Chance the Rapper, she’s been making atmospheric, lush, and moody R&B that is as much throwback as it is forward-looking, and it is a combination that has made listeners consider her a safe pair of hands (3.9 million monthly listeners on Spotify is no small feat, after all) — the evidence of which lies in her label’s ease with releasing Ctrl in the same week as Katy Perry’s latest.

Music like SZA’s found its first home on Black Girl Tumblr. Or, at the very least, gained loyal followings there. Artists like SZA, H.E.R., Jennah Bell, Jhené Aiko, and so on were the much-cherished discoveries of like-minded girls and young women who were also yearning for their own reflection to come back undistorted. And so perhaps it is inevitable and fitting that listening to SZA’s Ctrl often feels like reading a series of all lowercase, punctuation-free Tumblr text posts. Those posts are often telling a version of the truth, comically bemused but with an arched eyebrow. SZA is earnest, yes, but that doesn’t mean her eyebrow isn’t raised throughout Ctrl.

You can almost hear that eyebrow creak upward on "Garden (Say It Like Dat)” in which she sings engagingly about self-doubt and anxiety: “Lie to me and say / my booty gettin’ bigger even if it ain’t” is a funny, relatable lyric. And even before she expands it into something more plainly stated, it carries undertones of a little sort of sadness. The latter half of this second-verse lyric, for example, is tongue in cheek and on the nose: “I know you'd rather be laid up with a big booty / body hella positive ‘cause she got a big booty” (her ad-lib — an incredulous “wow” — is pitch-perfect). But then the emotion pinballs quickly again with the quiet admission that comes by verse’s end: “You know I'm sensitive ‘bout havin' no booty / havin' no body / only you, buddy / can you / hold me when nobody’s around us?”

In many ways SZA is singing about the things we have come to expect from our indie-slash-folksy white female singer-songwriters, but what Ctrl is delivering comes as experienced and reported through a firmly black girl lens. Like another young musician who has developed an ardent following, British singer-songwriter Nao, SZA makes pop that's sincere — almost painfully so — but she is also playful and smart and funny. Even when she is not in control (of her gravity, of her ex, of the size of her booty), she’s still "finding herself" while remaining refreshingly self-aware — she knows who she is and roughly where she wants to end up. I thought a lot about Nao’s For All We Know while listening to Ctrl and had a clear thought: Where Nao’s constructions sound something akin to black girl church, SZA sounds like the aftermath of a black girl night out (one in which you might have found yourself crying in the club). It perfectly encapsulates that keyed-up post-club, pre-sleep 3 a.m. feeling when feelings are close to the surface.

There is also a firmness in SZA’s persona on this record, best exemplified by her grandmother’s short, spirited interlude at the end “Love Galore”, addressing SZA by her given name, Solána Imani Rowe: “But see, Solána? If you don’t say something, speak up for yourself, they think you stupid. You know what I’m saying?” It’s a nod and a wink to the listener. SZA knows who’s listening, and who that message is for. Another noteworthy and matter-of-fact exemplification comes straight out the gate on “Doves in the Wind”: “Real niggas do not deserve pussy.” Which is self-explanatory.

On “The Weekend,” a soon-to-be sidepiece classic, SZA is funny: “My man is my man is your man / heard it’s her man too,” she coos dismissively before telling her paramour to make sure he’s at her place “by 10:30 / no later than / drop them drawers / give me what I want.” And on “Drew Barrymore” (a geniusly titled song, effortlessly conjuring as it does images of '90s teen rom-coms and coded norms of suburban insecurity and acceptance), she is sharp: “I’m sorry you got karma comin’ to you.” When she sings wistfully about the titular character from 1994 film Forrest Gump (first in cinemas when she was 4), SZA’s being cute but also serious — imagine a world in which pussy was given to only deserving men! “Where's Forrest now when you need him?” she intones almost solemnly on "Doves in the Wind.” “Talk to me.”

The dip into the '90s oeuvre of Robert Zemeckis notwithstanding, Ctrl is very much of the now. Even with its dizzying array of producers, the entire record sounds cohesively and fluently like 2017: Peep the references to Netflix show Narcos (which also got a shoutout on Stormzy’s 2017 LP Gang Signs and Prayer) or the aforementioned “body positive” (a term whose overuse has given it an unearned negative reputation on Tumblr and beyond). On “Normal Girl,” SZA borrows liberally from Drake’s 2016 single “Controlla” (“You like it / when I be / aggressive”). Even the nostalgic TV Ctrl harks back to is curiously very current again: that period in the '90s that young people have rediscovered and which they quote liberally from, thanks to streaming. SZA refers to comedy sketch show MadTV on “Doves in the Wind,” and on “Go Gina” she uses one of Martin Lawrence’s catchphrases from his sitcom Martin.

Ctrl is a mishmash of so many influences, which will continue to reveal themselves as it beds in with listeners. Its pop DNA is evident in its many catchy hooks and choruses (“Prom” sounds like a 2017 update of Gwen Stefani’s “Cool,” for example), and her guest stars — Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott, James Fauntleroy, Isaiah Rashad — add weight but are never overwhelming. SZA has an ear for what is aurally pleasing and commercial: Upon my third listen to the record, I was struck by how happily pretty much every song would sit on the soundtrack of a teen show (won’t someone invite her to score a black girl coming-of-age movie, please?).

What sells the record best, though, is SZA’s own conviction. Like the black girls who live their multi-adjectived lives on Tumblr, she is the best chronicler of her own life. It’s an expansion of self-identity that stretches beyond Strong Black Woman (which is not entirely discarded as one facet) and travels into the territory we have always known was in us. SZA’s music is vulnerable and sweet, self-questioning and self-affirming, all at the same time, in a way that is performative, yes — but also intimate and tender. It is a snapshot of one 26-year-old’s life right now, much like all those Tumblrs are moments in amber. Ctrl feels “Dear Diary” real, which is to say it is Black Girl Tumblr writ large. Control, in all avenues, is the defining characteristic, and it is powerful. “I belong to nobody / hope it don’t bother you / you can mind your business / I belong to nobody” SZA sings on “Go Gina.”

Listening to Ctrl, you don’t doubt it.

—Bim Adewunmi on SZA’s new album

#sza #blackgirls #r&b #carefreeblackgirls #sadblackgirls #music #reviews #photos #bim adewunmi

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bestialsadist · 7 years ago

Text

Tha One Who Cried Wolf - Pt. 1-2

Part 1:

Yanked out mah sleep, I shoot mah head up an’ turn ‘round tryin’ ta’ see whea I’m at. Get mah bearin’s. I’on’t ‘memba passin’ out on tha couch last night. Mah wif’ ain’t nex’ ta’ me so I figga she went ta’ bed an’ ain’t e’vn try’ta’ wake me up. Dis’ere rude ass awakenin’s from mah cell rattlin’ off tha table like uh demon dun hopped inside tha shi’ an’ I a’most break tha damn thang tryna grab it ta’ stop it. Grumblin’ wit’ squinty eyes an’ blurred vision, I pump in mah password an’ see “C. DNA” pop up on mah screen.

“Ugh…Fuck.” Mah voice groggy an’ filled wit’ exhaushun.

TEXT: We need 2 talk.

TEXT: Fuck off. It’s 2am.

TEXT: I’m not joking, babe. We need 2 talk. Now.

TEXT: Fuck. OFF.

“Babe?”

Is dis fuckin’ slut crazy?

Cassie Malroux’s uh lil’ blonde piece uh ass I was playin’ wit’ on tha side uh few months back bu’ I tossed ha out wit’ tha trash. Ain’t sho’ why she come callin’ me na. We ain’t end on gud terms. Chea gottuh lil’ too big fa’ ha own fuckin’ britches. Na I a’mit, she was scratchin’ uh lil’ itch fa’ me. Catchin’ mah tendency ta’ roam e’vry na an’ den. She was takin’ mah mind off shi’ I cain’t seem ta’ shake. Somthin’ I needed. Bu’ chea mo’ tro’ble den she worth.

Firs’, it was lil’ shit. Ha callin’ me when she kno’ I’m wit’ mah fam’ly. Ha makin’ lil’ co’ments afta we fuck ‘bout sendin’ pictuas ta’ mah wif’ an’ postin’ shi’ on ha Snap. Ha talkin’ shi’ ‘bout me not claimin’ ha. Ha talkin’ ‘bout luh like I was tha o’ly one listenin’ whil’ we had tha whol’ yah jus’ uh fuck talk. Den chea’d laugh it all off an’ act lik’ she jus’ playin’ ‘round. I tol’ ha on mo’ den one occashun, don’t fuck wit’ ma fam’ly.

Chea ain’t get tha message, an’ she rea’ly lost ha gahdamn mind.

Messin’ ‘round wit’ ha fa’ too long gave ha tha wrong idea ‘bout wha’ dis’ere was. Uh fuck hea an’ nea. Uh ‘scape. Uh distracshun from alla twisted shi’ swirlin’ ‘round mah head I aint tryna deal wit’. Bu’ I came ta’ mah senses uh coupla months ago an’ ended tha shi’ when tha stupid slut tried ta’ catch me at tha grocery sto’ wit’ mah fuckin’ daughta. I cain’t e’vn say tried rea’ly ‘cos she -did- catch mah ass. Cornah’d me by tha fuckin’ meats an’ grabbed -mine.-

I a’most killed tha white trash bitch right thea an’ den.

Nika was down tha c’real an’ snack aisle wit’ tha basket so she ain’t see nothin’, bu’ if she had, dis bitch wuldn’t be seein’ shi’ else fa’ tha rest uf ha life. In one swift move, I grabbed ha throat an’ shoved ha through tha hangin’ plastic flaps dat lead ta’ tha back uf tha sto’ whea da sto’ stock at. I ain’t seen nobody ‘round when I slammed ha stupid ass ‘gainst tha crates uf milk, so I tightened mah grip on ha throat an’ growled through gritted teeth.

“Tha fuck yah doin’ hea?!”

Scratchin’, swingin’, an’ fightin’ fa’ ha life, I land uh vicious smack ‘cross ha face ta’ make ha focus an’ ansa me. Make ha learn ha le’son. Chea dun crossed uh line. One dat ain’t so e’sy ta’ come back from when it come ta’ me. Beggin’ fa’ air wit’ tears streamin’ down ha face, I’on’t let ha go ‘til I seen tha blood rushin’ from ha skin, makin’ ha pastey like death was knockin’ on ha do’. Chea ain’t no match fa’ me, bu’ she uh fighta an’ I getta lil’ thrill outta ha thankin’ ha scratchin’ was ‘bout ta’ sway me from makin’ mah fuckin’ point. Wit’ blood vessels blown an’ skin turnin’ uh ligh’ shade uh blue like ha eyes, I shove ha ta’ tha ground an’ watched ha choke, tryin’ ta’ grasp fa’ air.

Nose flared, brows knitted, an’ mah baritone still inna uh growl, “I ain’t ‘bout’ta fuckin’ repeat mah’self, bitch.”

Coughin’ an’ carryin’ on, she try’ta’ ansa me, “I…I… jus’…wan…wanted to… see you…’Tiste…”

I’on’t need ta’ hea no’mo. Ha thankin’ she culd come fin’ me an’ corna me ‘cos “she wanna see me” was grounds ta’ feed tha bitch ta’ tha gatas. Bu’, I’on’t. Tha tramp o’viously gotta deathwish an’ I ain’t ha fuckin’ Genie. I step closa. Chea jumped, pushin’ up ‘gainst tha crates uf milk. She’on’t care if she culdn’t get no furtha a’way, she jus’ tryin’ta’ get as far ‘way from me as she can right na. Terror in ha eyes ‘xactly wha’ I wanted ta’ see when I kneeled down in front uf ha. Takin’ uh deep breath, I inhale ha fear like mah opioids tha lil’ white housewif’s pop befo’ dey mornin’ coffee. Ta’ uh predata, tha scent’s like mama’s sweet potata pie. Leanin’ closa an’ starin’ at ha, I wan’ed ha ta’ see tha whites uf mah eyes. Feel tha heat uf mah anag. Hear tha roar in mah voice dat all make it clea, ‘dis ha last straw.

“Yah hea me an’ hea me well, bitch. Yah no longa ‘xist ta’ me. Don’t call me. Don’t try’ta’ see me. Don’t come mah fuckin’ way. If yah do, I swea I’ll be tha last face yah eva see.”

Three o’ fo’ months lata an’ dis’ slut’s textin’ me at 2AM. O’viously she’on’t thank fat meat’s greasy.

TEXT: I’m pregnant. Urs. Come now or my next txt is 2 ur wife.

Mah mind go blank as I read an’ reread an’ reread dis’ere text. “I’m pregnant.” Fa’ uh split s’cond I swalla mah tongue. Any man wuld, e’vn if he kno’ it ain’t no way he knocked ha up. I’on’t know what pissed me off mo’, ha claimin’ she gotta baby o’ ha threatenin’ ta’ text mah wif’.

I thank bof uh gud re’son ta’ fuck ha slut ass up. I guess I ain’t reply quick enuf ‘cos she text a‘gin.

TEXT: Think I’m playing?

I sit up an’ pull on mah black boots befo’ I text ha back.

TEXT: omw TEXT: Can’t wait 2 cu…

Part 2:

I’m fumin’. Re’dy ta’ tear ha head from ha shuldas an’ eat ha mah’self.

Tryin’ not ta’ wake no’body in tha house, I grab mah keys, cell, jacket, an’ uh untra’ceable glock befo’ I hop in mah dark truck ta’ head ova thea. Not mah Harley, bu’ mah -otha- truck. Windo’s down, tha breeze from mah speedin’ keepin’ tha heat risin’ unda mah skin cool bu’ it ain’t keepin’ me calm. Not dat I thought it wuld. Grindin’ mah teeth, I slam uh fist ‘gainst tha steerin’ wheel.

“Crazy fuckin’ bitch!”

Darkened eyes dartin’ from mah rearview ta’ the road ahead, I cain’t get ta’ ha house fast enuf. I knew chea was uh lil’ off tha rails an’ part uf dat’s wha’ turned me on ‘bout ha. Ha feistiness. Uh slick mouf. Bu’ I ain’t ‘xpect ha ta’ play games wit’ mah fam’ly. Threaten ta’ fuck wit’ mah wif’. I ain’t ‘xpect ha ta’ be -dat- fuckin’ off ha shi’.

“Yah shulda fuckin’ killed tha bitch when she pulled da shi’ wit’ Nika. Yah shulda bit ha fuckin’ head off.”

Mah wolf’s howlin’ deep inside, tellin’ me how much uf uh fuckin’ idjit I am fa’ not goin’ wit’ instincts. I kno’ tha walkin’ tramp stamp ain’t got mah baby in’ha belly. Bu’ chea threatenin’ ta’ call mah wif’ ain’t some shit I can jus’ ignore. Ain’t some shi’ I -wuld- ignore. Mah jaw clenches. “Can’t wait 2 c u.” Ha smug ass grin flashin’ in mah head like uh bull’s eye. She’on’t kno’ mah wif’d kill ha ass befo’ I e’vn got ahol’ uf ha. Shi’, she’d kill me too. It wuldn’t end how she thank. Bu’ dat ain’t tha point. Anybody who kno’ me, hate me o’ not. Yah’on’t fuck wit’ Z. Yah breaths be numba’d afta dat.

Mah eyes flashin’ gold in tha rearview, I take uh deep breath ta’ calm down an’ park uh lil’ ways from ha house. She ain’t got uh’lot uf neighbors, bu’ I ain’t rea’ly wanna be seen ‘round hea ta’night. Wit’ uh black hoody jacket, T-shirt, jeans, an’ boots, no’body’d kno�� who I am o’ see any identifyin’ markas uf me. ‘Cept mah height an’ build bu’ dat ain’t enuf fa’ an arrest, less dey can place me hea. Bu’ I slotch uh lil’ whil’ I walk anyway , jus’ ta’ make mah size jus’ uh lil’ unclea. Befo’ I e’vn get ta’ ha side do’, chea open tha do’ like she been waitin’ by tha windo ‘till she heard me comin’. Wearin’ nuthin’ bu’ uh lil’ black bra an’ panties an’ uh big, blue-eyed smile, she damn’nea hops at me, hopin’ I’ma catch ha stupid ass.

“Babe, I’m so happy you came!”

I step aside starin’ at ha like she uh like she lost ha mind, watchin’ ha stumble tryin’ta’ catch ha footin’. Not an ouce uf ha excitement gets givin’ back ta’ ha. Me bein’ pissed off clea in mah tone, “Is yah fuckin’ nuts?! Get yah ass in tha gahdamn house! I ain’t come alla ‘way ova hea ta’ fuck wit’yah.”

Dis’ shi’ cain’t be real. She cain’t hav’ dis many fuckin’ screws loose?

“But, I missed you!”

Shi’, chea rea’ly got dis’ many screws loose.

Givin’ ha tha look uf death, I point fa’ward an’ push ha back ta’ ha damn do’.

“I’on’t gih uh fuck if yah missed parole, Cassie. Get in tha gahdamn house an’ put’cha fuckin’ clothes on, na!”

Draggin’ ha feet an’ smackin’ ha lips, she do as I say an’ I close an’ lock tha do’s behin’ us. Pullin’ off mah hoody an’ dark beanie, I watch ha cop uh attitude, stumpin’ an’ smackin’ ha lips.

“C’mon, ‘Tiste. Don’t be like that. I missed you. Didn’t you miss me?”

Standin’ a’most lost fa’ words.

“I’m hea ‘bout dis’ere baby shit! Dat’s tha o’ly re’son I’m hea, Cassie. Stop playin’ games.”

I ain’t rea’ly care ‘bout ha ansa. I kno’ she ain’t carryin’ mah cub. One, I’on’t raw-dawg no’body bu’ mah wif’. Two, I wulda smelled ha carryin’ tha s’cond she opened tha fuckin’ do’ an’ hopped mah way. She ain’t no’mo pregnant den tha fuckin’ man on tha moon an’ I wanna see how far she gon’ take dis’ere BS.

“You must be in a bad mood. Wifey still not paying you no mind?”

It take e’vrythang in me na ta’ knock ha lights out, righ’chea. Numba One rule she keep breakin’ like it’s ha job, keep mah wif’ out ha mouf. Sneerin’ ha way, barin’ teeth an’ narrowin’ mah eyes, she get tha pr’mise written on mah face an’ shut ha mouf, at least fa’ uh s’cond, an’ ta’ ha bedroom.

E’vn tho I ain’t been hea in months, ha lil’ house ‘xactly tha same. Keys hangin’ by tha do’ an’ cell on tha glass coffee table. Uh half em’ty bottle uf ha liquid crack, Peach Cisco—tha drank uf tha winos—sittin’ on tha table too. TV stuck on one uf dem “Real HipHop Hos uf Still Lookin’ fa uh Suga Daddy” sho’s o’ wha’eva dey called. Tha scent uf Orange chicken an’ scrimp fried rice lingerin’ in tha air lika house spray. Tha same ‘ol take-out she a’ways orda. Dis’ lil’ shotgun house ain’t changed an’ neitha has she.

I folla ha inta’ ha bedroom an’ watch ha grab some sweat shorts an’ uh wif’beata ta’ pull on. Leanin’ ‘gainst ha bedroom do’way, I look ha up an’ down, wonderin’ wha’ tha fuck I was thankin’ all dat time fuckin’ ‘round wit’ ha crazy ass. Chea gotta mouf lika Hoova an’ uh throat deep as tha Gulf. -Dat’s wha’.- I ain’t so young, bu’ I’m sho’ dumb an’ fulla “I dun fucked alla way up” cum. Hissin’ ‘cos dis’ fuck’up migh’ cost me, I ball mah fist in mah pockets damn nea bark at ha slo’ ass, “Yah kin talk whil’ yah git dressed, Cassie. I kno’ how well yah mouf work whil’ yah doin’ otha thangs. Get ta’ fuckin’ talkin’.”

She smack ha lips a’gin whil’ she pull out some shorts an’ uh T-shirt. Don’t slap ha.

Cassie turn mah way, “Tiste, why you being like this? Don’t’cha miss me?”

I’on’t gih ha uh s’cond ta’ wonda. “No. Ansa mah fuckin’ queshun.”

Ha blue eyes glaze an’ ha bottom lip sink in ha mouf. I can tell dat hurt ha. I also’on’t gih uh shi’.

“I took a test…A few.” Ha voice low wit’ lil’ hints uh crackin’ as she finish. “It was positive. And before you ask, no I ain’t been with nobody since you. It’s yours.”

I a’most choke on mah own spit from dat bold ass lie. “Right… Whea it’s at? I wanna see it.”

She shake ha head, lookin’ up at me. “You mean the test? I don’t have it. I threw it out.”

I tilt mah head. “Bitch, go find it.”

She looks worried an’ stunned all at tha same time. I ain’t gon’ stop callin’ ha bluff ‘till she tell tha truth.

“I can’t. Trash came a’ready.”

She firin’ tha excuses like she uh CEO an’ we downsizin’. I push mah’self off tha do’way. “Trash came a’ready?”

She nods quick, “Yeah, trust me. I’d show you if I could, baby. Believe me. We’re gonna have a beautiful, baby boy. At least I hope it’s a boy, so I can name him after you and everything.”

Dis’ story catches me off guard an’ I blank-stare at chea. Tha look in ha eyes is serious. “Are yah fuckin’ high? Yah been samplin’ mah shi’ o’ somthin’ ‘cos yah sound crazy ass hell, Cassie? Name ‘im afta me?” I cain’t hol’ in tha laugh dat barrels from mah chest. “Bitch, I wuldn’t let yah hav’ mah babies. Yah fa’got I gotta wif’ an’ yah ain’t it. O’an’ I gotta mini me a’ready, too late fa’ too. An’on’t fuckin’ call me baby, babe, o’ any uf tha otha shi’. Yah kno’ mah name. Use it.” Still laughin’ loud, I shake mah head makin’ mah way ta’ ha bathroom.

“Dis bitch dun lost ha evalivin’ mind if she thank I’d let ha hav’ mah baby. HA! Stone loco.” Lookin’ in ha lady storage cab’net, whea she keep all uh female stuff, I push shi’ ‘round whil’ I look fa’ wha’ I kno’ is thea.

“I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean? I’on’t believe in abortion, Tiste. I’m Catholic. And you can’t make me, you fucking monster!”

I see chea use mah name an’ ain’t speak ‘bout mah fam’ly. Bu’ I hea ha comin’ closa an’ I laugh harda. “HAHA!” Lookin’ up from mah squatted position as I dig in ha bottom cab’net. “Yah thank tha clinic tha o’ly way I’d get rid uf dat lil’ fucka? I ain’t ‘bove throwin’ yah ass down uh flight uh stairs an’ leavin’ yah ta’ bleed ta’ death.” I gih uh sarcastic smile, bu’ I mean e’vry gahdamn word.

She smack ha lips, lookin’ down at me, “Why would you say something like that? You know, sometimes you really scare me. Like you’d really hurt me. And what are you looking for?”

I snicka at “sometimes,” like she fa’got ‘bout me a’most stranglin’ ha ta’ death. Ignorin’ ha BS, uh grin cross mah face when I fina’ly find wha’ I’m lookin’ fa’. Ha spare pregnancy test.

“Hea. Pee on tha shi’. Prove it.” Shell-shocked, she stand thea starin’ like she jus’ seen uh ghost. “Wha’s wrong, chea? Fa’got yah had uh stash? O’ didn’t kno’ I knew ‘bout it?”

Starin’ deadpan at ha, I wait ta’ see wha’ ‘xcuse she got fa’ dis one. Don’t need ta’ pee? Wata in tha kitchen, mothafucka.

“Why’re you doing this?!” Tha crocodile tears wet ha face an’ I’on’t flinch. Ha feelin’s mean nuthin’ ta’ me. “Tiste…stop!”

“‘Cos I wan’yah ta’ tell tha fuckin’ truth, Cassie. Yah ass ain’t no’mo pregnant den I am.”

Standin’ up an’ cockin’ mah head ta’ tha side ta’ wait fa’ wha’eva come out ha mouf nex’. Mah humor’s replaced by irritashun. ‘Fess tha fuck up. Dat’s all she gotta do.

Befo’ I kno’ it, Cassie’s throwin’ uh tempa-tantrum. Throwin’ tha test on tha flo’ an’ stompin’ outchea ta’ ha room whil’ she still cryin’ an’ carryin’ on.

“Fine! I lied! I ain’t taking that shit because I’m not fuckin’ pregnant! I just wanted you to come over and see me! I fucking missed you! I’m sorry, Tiste! I didn’t mean to lie! Or bring your family into it! I just missed you so damn much! Can’t you understand that?! I love you!”

Crossin’ mah arms ova mah chest an’ listenin’ ta’ ha whinin’, I’m mo’ an’ mo’ atta loss uf wha’ tha fuck I saw in ha.

“Hm. Am I ‘posed ta’ feel sorry fa’ yah? Yah thank I’ma drop ta’ mah an’ realize I’m ‘posed ta’ be wit’ yah o’ somthin’? Lemme get dis’ straight.” I count off on mah fangas, starin’ at ha comin’ back mah way. Mah voice thickenin’ wit’ each offence. “Yah lied… Tried ta’ trap me. -An’- yah threatin’ ta’ call mah wif’ wit’ it all. Wha’ tha fuck yah thank gon’ happen, chea? Hm? I’ma profess mah luh fa’ yah?! Yah gon’ crazy.”

She steps up ta’ me, face red an’ wet. Eyes bloodshot. Make-up smeared. Ha nex’ mov’on’t surprise me. She coos anotha apology, ha lil’ girl voice meant ta’ make me gih ha wha’ she want. Rubbin’ mah biceps an’ tryin’ ta’ get me ta’ uncross mah arms, I narrow mah eyes an’ mov’ out ha grasp. Why she thank dis’ shi’ ‘bout ta’ work afta I dun tol’ ha not ta’ contact me is un-fuckin’-real.

Ha tears start rollin’ a’gin. “Wha’ I gotta do, Tiste?! Huh?! Wha’ I gotta do?! I said I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Believe me, I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! I don’t even have your wife’s number! I swear. I’m sorry!”

Smackin’ mah lips an’ rollin’ mah eyes when she drop ta’ ha knees in front uf me. Hands roamin’ tha front uf mah pants, lookin’ fa’ any sign dat she winnin’ me ova. I grip ha hands an’ push ‘em off me.

“Yah sorry? Hm. Yah kno’ wha’ I get it. Yah lon’ly. Yah missed me. Wa’n’t thankin’ ‘bout wha’ yah was doin’.” She nods, wipin’ ha tears ‘way . “So, if yah really sorry, Cas, go write me uh lil’ ‘I’m sorry’ note. I’ll fa’give yah if yah do. I pr’mise.”

Blinkin’ lika idjit, she stare up at me wit’ doe eyes. “Really? An ‘I’m sorry’ note? That’s all you want?”

I nod, playin’ tha role I kno’ she’ll fall fa’ ‘cos she one uf dem dumb broads dat thank e’vrythnag yah say mean somthin’ otha den wha’ yah actua’ly sayin’ ta’ ha.

“Dat’s all I wan’, chea. I’m jus’ uh lil’ pissed yah wuld lie ta’ me. Bu’ if yah gih me uh lil’ ‘I’m sorry’ note, I’ll believe yah mean it.” I rub ha puffy cheek wit’ tha back uf mah hand. “It’ll be lika lil’ keepsake. Like yah givin’ me uh piece uf yah heart ‘cos yah rea’ly ain’t mean ta’ do me like dat. Right chea?”

I gih ha mah puppy eyes ta’ seal tha deal.

She chews ha lip bu’ buys it hook, line, an’ sinka. “You know I can’t resist that face.” Pullin’ ha’self ta’ ha feet, she go ova ta’ ha drawer by ha bed an’ pull out ha notepad an’ pen. “What you want it to say?”

“Jus’ say yah sorry, chea. An’ don’t put mah name ‘cos I’ma keep it in mah wallet bu’ if somebody see it, we’on’t wanna get caught up, right?”

She offa uh puffy lipped smile an’ nod as she start writin’. I head back in ha bathroom whil’ she doin’ dat. Tha rage on tha way hea wa’n’t useless. I a’ready had uh plan fa’ ha. Usin’ ha towel, I turn on ha hot wata an’ run ha uh bubble bath wit’ tha bottle uh vanilla on tha corna uh ha tub. Comin’ back inta’ ha bedroom, she gotta big ass smile on ha face an’ I kno’ it’s ‘cos she hea’s tha wata runnin’. Uh bath mean she ‘bout ta’ get fucked ‘cos I neva hav’ ha wit’out makin’ ha take uh bath firs’.

She sat ha notepad on tha bedside dressa drawer an’ start pullin’ off ha wifbeata. I graze mah hand ‘long ha bare stomach ta’ getta look at ha note an’ keep ha distra’ted. “I’m so, so sorry. Please, forgive me. - C ☹”

Shor’ an’ sweet.

“Perfect, chea.” I gih ha uh playful smack on tha ass. “Go’on, go git in tha tub fa’ me.”

She squeaks an’ wipes ha eyes wit’ uh big smile still on ha face, “You coming with me for once?”

“I’ma come in thea inna s’cond. Lemme get uh bea firs’.”

She nods, buyin’ e’vrythang I’m sellin’.

“Ok! Hurry, the water’s perfect! You know just what I like, ‘Tiste…”

Cassie’s none tha wisa. One thang ‘bout me, I’on’t break mah pr’mise. -Eva.- Headin’ back in tha front room, I pull out mah latex gloves an’ pull ‘em on. Nex’ I pull out mah 45 an’ attach uh silenca befo’ headin’ ta’ ha kitchen ta’ grab ha sharpest knife wit’ mah gloved hands. Slidin’ tha gun in mah denim pocket an’ slipin’ ha knife in mah leatha sheath attached ta’ mah belt, so it’s hidden behin’ mah 7in Bowie knife, I grab ha cell an’ slip it in mah otha pocket fo’ I head back in thea.

I catch ha in thea, eyes closed, an’ enjoyin’ ta’ bath. “Whea yah laptop, chea?”

She open ha eyes, confused. “I don’t have one. Remember, I asked you to get me one?” “Oh, dat’s right. I fa’got. No otha tech stuff? iPad o’ somthin’? Christmas is ‘round tha corna.”

Grinnin’ wide, she shake ha head lika lil’ kid. “Nope. You saying you getting me one of those?”

Mah questions jus’ ta’ see if she got any otha shi’ layin’ ‘round dat migh’ hav’ some ev’dence uh me bein’ in ha life ‘cos I’d take dat too.

“If yah be gud fa’ me. Yah gon’ be gud fa’ me?” Noddin’ an’ lettin’ ha hands slide up an’ down ha body, smearin’ tha bubbles ‘long ha skin.

“I can be good for you. If that’s what you want.” Ha voice get mo’ an’ mo’ seductive as she talk, hands fondlin’ ha bare tits. “I’ll be whatever you want. Do whatever you want. You know that. I just want to make you happy.”

I put ha tha top on tha toilet down an’ take uh seat by ha tub. Somthin’ ‘bout dis’ moment make me shift. Mah heart beat uh lil’ fasta. Mah dick twitch jus’ uh lil’. I lick mah lips an’ lean close ta’ ha as I pull ha knife from mah side.

“I o’ly wan’cha ta’ do one thang fo’ me, yah? Kill yah’self.”

Starin’ wide-eyed at me, I kin tell she ain’t sho’ wha’ I mean. So, I set ha knife on tha edge uf tha tub an’ point ta’ it.

“Pick up tha knife, open up yah thighs, an’ kill yah’self.”

Tha air stifles. Ha heart start crashin’ ‘gainst ha ribcage. Fear ain’t o’ly stampin’ ha face, it’s fillin�� tha air. I kin tell she ‘bout ta’ scream bu’ I’on’t gih ha tha chance. Pullin’ out mah 45 an’ pointin’ it dead at tha centa uf ha head, I catch ha jus’ as uh cry come out ha mouf.

“Uh-uh. Na if yah scream, I’ma hafta splatta dat pre’ty lil’ face uf yah’s all ova dis’ere bathroom. Bu’ den it’ll get all messy an’ I ain’t in tha mood fa’ dat, yah. So, be uh big gurl an’ open up uh a’tery. Yah’ll go fast.”

Tears come runnin’ down ha face a’gin. Lips quiverin’. Head an’ body shakin’.

“Don…Don’t…make…me… do this, Tiste…Pl…plea..please…”

Tappin’ mah silenca ‘gainst ha mouf, I shake mah head wit’ uh sinista grin.

“I won’t repeat mah’self, chea. I pr’mised yah I’d be tha last face yah see if yah ain’t lis’sen. Yah -ain’t- lis’sen. Bu’ go’on, try me if yah won’t’ta’. I got no bones ‘bout blowin’ yah fuckin’ head off.”

Chea, tremblin’ an’ whimperin’ as she grab tha knife. Na, I kno’ dis’ uh risk ‘cos she kin cut me if she rea’ly wanted ta’. Bu’ dis’ uh foo’s dream. Many thank dey’d be dat one ta’ figh’. Ta’ go down swingin’. Ta’ take ‘em down wit’cha. Bu’ mos’? Jus’ die. Mah gun right b’tween ha eyes makin’ mah sincerity real fa’ ha too. I point mah gun ta’ ha uppa thigh an’ ha whol’ body jump. Terrified.

“Righ’chea. Deep.”

Relu’tantly an’ wit’ shaky hands, chea slice open right thigh an’ cry out from tha pain. Tha red mist fill tha hot wata quick as she doubles ta’ tha side, mouf wide bu’ barely any sound comin’ out. She press ha fac ‘gainst tha cold bath tiles, snot an’ tears smearin’ ha flushed flesh—she ac’tually get up tha nerve ta’ cry out loud fa’ help. Real quick, I shove mah silenca in ha mouf, release tha safety, an’ pull back tha chamba ta’ sho’ ha it’s loaded.

“Open casket o’ closed. Yah choice, chea.”

Chokin’ an’ cryin’ ‘round mah metal, she shake ha head, eyes lowerin’ an’ beggin’ me not ta’ pull tha trigga. I ain’t looked ‘way from ha face. Ha eyes. I wanna see tha s’cond ha life ends. Ha heart pumpin’ fast. Tryin’ta’ make up fa’ tha blood she losin’. Chea lookin’ uh lil’ drowsey. I pull mah gun from ha mouf when I hea ha pulse slo’.

“I’m sorry…”

Tha two words ain’t no louda den uh whispa. Chea ain’t got tha enagy ta’ do much mo’. Tha an’mal in me can smell death comin’. It’s knockin’ on ha do’. Ha breathin’s shallo an’ slo’. Tha steam comin’ off tha wata make tha scent uf ha blood uh heady mixture wit’ ha sufferin’. Wit’out hesitashun, I shake mah head wit’ uh deadpan expresshun.

“Too late fa’ dat, chea.”

Uh few mo’ tears roll down ha face fo’ ha body slump ta’ tha side. Lips parted bu’ no air comin’ out. Tha pumpin’ uf ha heart come ta’ uh stop. It o’ly take uh few minutes ta’ bleed ta’ death when uh maja a’tery open. If chea eyes wa’n’t starin’ right at me, I’d thank she migh’ jus’ be passed out from tha blood lost bu’ ain’t no Cassie ‘dea. Tha light in ha blue eyes gon’ out. Two fangas ta’ tha side uf ha neck, I check ha pulse an’ make sho’ wha’ I smell is right.

Chucklin’ an’ gettin’ up, I grab ha test off tha flo’ an’ put it back in ha cab’net.

“Pr’blem solved.”

____

#BestialSadist #ThaOneWhoCriedWolf #MC21+#BSSolo

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spiceukonline · 7 years ago

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SZA "Ctrl" Album Review

Originality

Production

Tracks

Lyrics

Overall Impact

2017-10-20

4.3Overall Score

I stumbled upon SZA entirely by accident when Spotify, clearly knowing I needed something to fill the Jhene Aiko shaped hole in my life, suggested her as a “similar artist.”

I had been listening to her almost subconsciously on repeat, like a super fan who was still in denial about the extent of their obsession. It only hit me that the scope of her popularity stretched far beyond my humble Spotify playlist when my Dad was raving about a new artist called “scissor” (the correct pronunciation of “SZA,” which I had not yet realised). This proved two things: 1.) that this woman was worth the hype and 2.) my Dad is far cooler than I will ever be.

It turns out this 26-year-old New Jersey girl had been causing a stir for quite some time, despite walking away from music for good just last year. She had been putting out EPs since 2012, which took the interest of rapper/producer Terrance “Punch” Henderson, who signed her to Top Dawg Entertainment, the home of Kendrick Lamar, Isaiah Rashad and Schoolboy Q.

Photograph: Vogue

Whilst she was writing songs for Rihanna, Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé, she was still yet to put anything out that she could call her own. Fed up with what seemed like an endless waiting game, she tweeted last October “I actually quit. @iamstillpunch [Henderson] can release my album if he ever feels like it. Y’all be blessed.”

SZA, real name Solana Rowe, comes across as someone who has had to work incredibly hard to get where she is today, but I didn’t need to understand her background to know this. On “Go Gina,” the seventh track on her debut album Ctrl, she sings “I’ve been on the low-key grinding/learning on the low key, shining” bringing with it an interesting mix of modesty yet an almost brutal honesty which goes on to shape the entire tone of the album.

It will probably take you quite a few listens of Ctrl to realise you’re also “low-key” in love with SZA, and indeed it is one of those rare musical compilations that seems at first forgettable, and then becomes the soundtrack to your everyday interactions and conversations.

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It was no sooner after I heard her first track, “Supermodel” that I could sense a kind of creative connection with SZA, one that I hadn’t experienced with any female musician since Solange or Jhene Aiko. Maybe that’s because listening to SZA feels like curling up with a glass of rosé and pouring your heart out to your best friend.

She sings: “Let me tell you a secret/I been secretly banging your homeboy/Why you in Vegas all up on Valentine’s Day?” Not only did she seem to have an equally as shit Valentine’s Day as I did, her lyrics were written with an honesty that you couldn’t make up if you tried, as you will also discover in tracks like “Love Galore,” featuring Travis Scott and “Doves in the Wind,” featuring Kendrick Lamar. As she told a shocked interviewer for The Guardian about her lyrics “unfortunately, it is [all true].”

With artists like the aforementioned Minaj, Beyoncé and new hot-favourite Cardi B conveying a sense of black womanhood that is encouragingly both aspirational and ruthless, it’s easy to forget that women of colour have certain vulnerabilities and feelings that can’t always be expressed neatly alongside messages of empowerment.

The opening lines to “Prom” read: “Fearin’ not growin’ up/Keepin’ me up at night/Am I doin’ enough? Feel like I’m wastin’ time.” This track is a personal favourite of mine, not least because I associate with the feelings of self-doubt that is equally relevant and painful for most 20-somethings with career and life ambitions that seem less and less achievable as we get older.

“CTRL is unapologetically proud of its womanhood”

For this reason, SZA’s lyrics epitomise the 20-something zeitgeist of being shit-scared of just about everything, but diving in head first anyway. “Garden (Say It Like Dat)” is a delightfully dreamy track in which SZA wants to maintain a distance from her lover whilst consuming herself within them.

She hopes she’ll “never find out” that they’re “anyone else” but also that they “never find out” who she really is. She concludes her final verse with “can you hold me when nobody’s around us?”- expressing a fear that constantly being expected to perform, to play a role in our equally socially obsessed and socially awkward society, that prevents her from revealing the “real her” in the fresh stages of a relationship.

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She continues with a persistent but somehow never irritating tone of insecurity. Falling victim to society’s constant need to pit women against each other, in “Drew Barrymore,” she sings: “You came in with your new friends/And her mom jeans and her new Vans/And she’s perfect and I hate it.” In pop culture, Drew Barrymore has become synonymous with ideas of insecurity and a pursuit for identity, in movies like Never Been Kissed and Poison Ivy, coming-of-age stories which this track pays homage to with a modern R ‘n’ B re-working that only SZA seems to manage.

Being always semi-permanently stuck in the angst of my teenage years, I’ve always been a fan of music that can tell the classic coming-of-age story. Being spoon-fed The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill by my Dad growing up to moderately rebelling with my Paramore and My Chemical Romance phase to venturing into the disorientating phase of my 20s listening to Alessia Cara’s Four Pink Walls, CTRL seems to mark the next stage in the one-woman stage-show of My Life: A Tragi-comedy.

CTRL could be another album about starting-from-the-bottom and slaying life with no obstacles along the way, but SZA knows that life doesn’t always work out that way. At its core, CTRL is unapologetically proud of its womanhood with but there are an underlying yet inescapable insecurity, a doubt and a tension that makes CTRL one of the most honest albums I’ve heard in a long-ass time- and might just be the soundtrack to my 20s.

Stream CTRL on Spotify

#album #Ctrl #Georgia Chambers #music #New Music #R n B #review #SZA

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