All I Wanted Was a Soul Train Line...

...and instead I got this crappy suicide discussion. IN THE CLUB. RILLI THO?!

(Sorry, guys, I've now made it a point to say the actual phrase in at least 80% of my posts because I had to pay some moneys for this domain name. Ie, I'm going to milk it for all the bad choice it is, no "Anchorman." It's like Joan Rivers' "Can we tawk?" Except without the plastic surgery moneys. Plus, it's like that "Family Guy" joke where Peter talks about how exciting it is when they say the name of the movie IN THE MOVIE. OH SHIT, SHE SAID "RILLI THO" Que exciting!!!!!)

As you have probably heard, Don Cornelius, creator of "Soul Train" and originator of my favorite phrase, "Love, peace, and soulllllllll," died last week. Sadly, a man who broke racial barriers and introduced us all to the latest in fashion, music, and dance trands, killed himself at age 75.

As a dancer and lover of soul music, I shed as close of a tear as I could muster (new pharma cocktail). But I knew that--pills aside--I should logically be sad, and that is the point. I almost went as THE Soul Train this year for Halloween:

But diplopia (double vision) won out.

Leave it to me to dress as a side effect. As you can imagine, this fucked with some people at work. And then with some drunk people.

I go hard in the muthafuckin costume paint!

Anyway, I made it my personal agenda (not to be confused with the gay agenda, which requires more energy and "Glee"-watching than I can withstand) to get a Soul Train line started the next time I went out dancing. Which evidently, was this past Friday.

I thought this would be a simple task. We were in a place where dancing was happening. Lots of dancing. The Soul Train line is common knowledge. If I were editing a piece about it, it would not have to be referenced. That's how official the Soul Train line is.

My, my, but how wrong I was! What's in a Soul Train line? That which we call a boogie by any other name would be as funky.

I tried to rally dance troops. "Hey, let's start a Soul Train Line to commemorate Don Cornelius!"

No less than 4 people denied my request, and all refusals were of the same nature.


"Hell, nah! He killed hisself!" (Direct quotation from the first responder.)

Oh, word? That's how we want to play this game? We can't do a dance line because you don't like the way he went out? Because of your moral qualms? Because I feel like no less than 1 min, 30 secs ago you were dancing to Biggie, renowned drug dealer. And before that--Jay-Z, renowned....also drug dealer. And not just regular drugs--crack. CRACK! Do you know what the crack epidemic did to New York?! Not only are you off-sides sir, we are skipping the yellow card and going straight red.

Get off the dance floor with that hypocritical shit.

This raises 2 issues:

1. Separating the art from the artist. I wasn't too pleased to hear that Don Cornelius was convicted of a felony for spousal abuse, but he also had several brain surgeries, so who knows what was going on. A lot of artists have done a lot of bad shit. Several have killed themselves. *<squints eyes>* I still wanted a Soul Train line tho. *</squinting>

On a radio show hosted by the one and only DJ Supa Tang, we discussed the personal difficulties that music lovers sometimes face when musicians commit crimes, do bad things, or wanna do hood rat stuff with their friends.

We discussed Jah Cure, a reggae artist who makes beautiful love songs...but also rapes women. Or TOK, who make some serious club-bangers...about killing gay people. Everyone knows about the revolving door that the penitentiary has personally built for TI's repeated visits (I figured this was apropos, considering the Soul Train awards are usually where this shit goes down).

So, people at the club, what I'm trying to say is: can we celebrate the life of someone who really brought more good to the world than bad? I'm far from a utilitarian (except for right now), but can we put aside the judgments regarding how he chose to end his own life and MAKE A FUCKING SOUL TRAIN LINE, PLEASE?!


2. Suicide condemnation. We really don't know what was going on in his own life, but I can imagine it was a world of pain. And I know there are people who believe in euthanasia, but not suicide, which can turn into a very tricky Venn Diagram. It is rumored that he suffered from Alzheimer's or dementia. I am not actively advocating suicide. However, just as some people believe it's selfish for people to kill themselves, maybe it's selfish to ask for people to remain in visceral misery in perpetuity. When it comes to mental illness, people tend to use a lot of words and not a lot of knowledge, so let's just try to keep an open mind for the moment.

I'm interested to see what my awesome and beautiful readers have to think about this. Please comment and let me know, and maybe we can get a discussion going.

In the interim, as the wise Janet Jackson once said, "Get the point? Good. Let's dance." (I still want my Soul Train line tho.)

PS: FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER: www.twitter.com/rillitho . And, as always, feel free to bring topics to the table...

Hipsters Are People Pigeons, Part II

I have returned to go HAM on hipsters. To recap the first portion of my anti-hipster diatribe, I wanna kick hipsters because they are always in my way and I have the ILL pedestrian rage as it is. Back to the issues at hand...

HORN-RIMMED GLASSES
Why?! How?! These are the glasses that you had to wear as a child--almost as a form of cruel punishment--because they were the only ones they made to fit the huge lenses that were mandated to accommodate astigmatism in both your little-person eyes. These are the glasses that readily identified the nerd archetype character in 90's sitcoms. HOW DID THIS BECOME A THING. Daria is the ONLY person who ever looked good in them, and she is a cartoon.

Moreover, how is it that these glasses are the only glasses hipsters can find and cling to with all their faux-identity might? Have you been to LensCrafters? They have nearly unlimited options in terms of eyewear. Not to mention, they are so big as to take up 65% of any given person's face who wears them. Your facial features literally become uniform to the glasses, creating this Twilight Zone episode/Pink Floyd's "The Wall" hybrid of uni-face that apparently is only freaking me out. And as a reminder, I am a native New Yorker, so I see crazy shit all the time. It's like a prerequisite to residency.

Also, I personally don't like to look like a victim in New York. Aside from the fact that my smack reflex is already heightened around people pigeons, horn-rimmed glasses are OD smackoffthefaceable. Which makes it easy to say "oops" after. I WON'T MEAN IT THOUGH.

MUSIC
For a while, I wasn't concerned about hipster infiltration of my music because I listen predominantly hip-hop, reggae, and enough reggaeton for all of Washington Heights and LES combined (it's an issue, I am aware. No, it is not something I am willing to give up. Sorry, everyone around me on the train who has to second-hand hear Daddy Yankee playing in my headphones). I didn't listen to Grizzly Bear or whatever other like abbreviation-/animal-related band name music, so I thought I was in the clear.

Then something horrible happened.

Childish Gambino got signed to a label, and hipsters were catching on to the amazingness that is Donald Glover. I hate to say it, but I'm about to be one of those people who says, "Ohh, yeah, you JUST found him out now?! I been on his shit since 2007 when he was Prince Reggie K. Yeah, I met him, too...but, you know..." </asshole talk>

I was able to enjoy Donald Glover's stand-up shows and his initial concerts in blissful peace...until the last one I went to at Terminal 5 in November. Oh, it was so tragic: plaid, unwashed hair, and groupie-like zeal everywhere, in a space not fit for the breadth of the audience. I internally shed a solitary tear. At that moment, I realized I was no longer safe, and that my music-going tendencies would have to be indoors and alone. :(

Since writing the first part about people pigeons, it is as if hipster karma has knocked at my door: one of my best friends' bands, Sylvana-Joyce & the Moment, is playing at the Knitting Factory in Williamsburg on Tuesday, January 31st. (WILLIAMSBURG, ugh.) Go get tickets, because I swear fore Michael Jackson and even Ben that you will not be able to afford them soon.

Sylvana-Joyce is the definition of authentic, and her music ("gypsy rock") is too good not to inevitably be consumed by hipsters. Sylvana-Joyce will be in tow at the show with hipster glasses, but she asked for my forgiveness in advance, so I will pardon her. (People Pigeons: a native New Yorker wearing hipster glasses is the actual definition of post-ironic.)

Let us pray the hipster prayer: 

Hail Macy's, full of clothes that look like I could have gotten them originally in 1972, 

our Pabst be with thee. 

Blessed postmodern art thou, among women who were like women before women were in, 

and blessed ...is the fruit of your labor by virtue of being in the 99% no matter what your tax bracket is. 

Holy Contrary, Mother of Mod, 

pray for our spinsters because marriage shouldn't have to be a recognition of a true bond anymore--True Religion excluded--

now and at the hour of our fetch, stay "in."