from The New Yorker
Pop Music
The Queen: Beyoncé, at last.
by Sasha Frere-Jones
Bruce Springsteen is the de-facto governor of New Jersey, and if America were Europe Aretha Franklin would have a duchy, so both obviously belonged at the joyous Obamathon. But what about Beyoncé Knowles, the twenty-seven-year-old who was chosen to sing for Obama at two inaugural events?
The world met Beyoncé in 1998 as the leader of Destiny’s Child, a girl group conceived in part and managed by Matthew Knowles, her father. Destiny’s Child was high-tech declarations of autonomy and flair: “No, No, No,” “Bills, Bills, Bills,” “Independent Women, Pt. 1,” and “Survivor.” To underestimate Knowles and her rotating cast of backup singers is to find yourself on the business end of a No. 1 song. (Destiny’s Child is the most successful female R. & B. group in history.) Yet none of this involved Beyoncé cursing, committing infidelity, or breaking any laws, even in character. The Knowles empire is delicately balanced on one of the thinnest-known edges in pop feminism: as unbiddable as Beyoncé gets, she never risks arrant aggression; and as much of hip-hop’s confidence and sound as she borrows, she never drifts to the back of the classroom. She is pop’s A student, and it has done her a world of commercial good.
She is also a strange and brilliant musician. Young black female singers rarely get past the red rope and into the Genius Lounge—the moody, the male, and the dead crowd that room. But with or without co-writers, Knowles does remarkable things with tone and harmony. The one time I met her, backstage at a Destiny’s Child concert in Peoria in 2000, she talked about listening to Miles Davis and Fela Kuti—affinities I didn’t know how to process until I heard “Apple Pie à la Mode,” from the following year’s Destiny’s Child album, “Survivor.” It’s a slinky song, something of a throwaway, except that Prince or D’Angelo could easily have done the throwing away. Who else in the stratosphere of R. & B. pop plays around with the conversational voice like Beyoncé? Who feels comfortable with adding so much unexpected, generous harmony to a trifle about a delicious crush? Anyone else with “Apple Pie à la Mode” in the bag would flip over backward, buy a retro-glam outfit, and construct an entire side project around it. Knowles simply kept moving.
Read the Full Essay Here
Pop Music
The Queen: Beyoncé, at last.
by Sasha Frere-Jones
Bruce Springsteen is the de-facto governor of New Jersey, and if America were Europe Aretha Franklin would have a duchy, so both obviously belonged at the joyous Obamathon. But what about Beyoncé Knowles, the twenty-seven-year-old who was chosen to sing for Obama at two inaugural events?
The world met Beyoncé in 1998 as the leader of Destiny’s Child, a girl group conceived in part and managed by Matthew Knowles, her father. Destiny’s Child was high-tech declarations of autonomy and flair: “No, No, No,” “Bills, Bills, Bills,” “Independent Women, Pt. 1,” and “Survivor.” To underestimate Knowles and her rotating cast of backup singers is to find yourself on the business end of a No. 1 song. (Destiny’s Child is the most successful female R. & B. group in history.) Yet none of this involved Beyoncé cursing, committing infidelity, or breaking any laws, even in character. The Knowles empire is delicately balanced on one of the thinnest-known edges in pop feminism: as unbiddable as Beyoncé gets, she never risks arrant aggression; and as much of hip-hop’s confidence and sound as she borrows, she never drifts to the back of the classroom. She is pop’s A student, and it has done her a world of commercial good.
She is also a strange and brilliant musician. Young black female singers rarely get past the red rope and into the Genius Lounge—the moody, the male, and the dead crowd that room. But with or without co-writers, Knowles does remarkable things with tone and harmony. The one time I met her, backstage at a Destiny’s Child concert in Peoria in 2000, she talked about listening to Miles Davis and Fela Kuti—affinities I didn’t know how to process until I heard “Apple Pie à la Mode,” from the following year’s Destiny’s Child album, “Survivor.” It’s a slinky song, something of a throwaway, except that Prince or D’Angelo could easily have done the throwing away. Who else in the stratosphere of R. & B. pop plays around with the conversational voice like Beyoncé? Who feels comfortable with adding so much unexpected, generous harmony to a trifle about a delicious crush? Anyone else with “Apple Pie à la Mode” in the bag would flip over backward, buy a retro-glam outfit, and construct an entire side project around it. Knowles simply kept moving.
Read the Full Essay Here
&
from Vibe.com
The Big Idea: J-Setting Beyond Beyoncé
by Terrance Dean
From Doin’ Da Butt to the Bankhead Bounce, everyone loves to be up on the latest dance style. And usually, once the mainstream catches on, the true originators of the style are on to the next thing. But some dances are more than just slick moves, they’re the expression of a culture.
In 1990, Madonna introduced vogueing to the masses, bringing a phenomenon that had been popular in gay clubs since the 1970s to national attention. Now, nearly 20 years later, J-Setting, a popular dance in Southern black gay clubs, has made its way into the mainstream—largely, thanks to superstar Beyoncé Knowles, who’s been a gay icon pretty much since she sang “snap for the kids” in 2006’s “Get Me Bodied.”
Read the Full Essay Here
The Big Idea: J-Setting Beyond Beyoncé
by Terrance Dean
From Doin’ Da Butt to the Bankhead Bounce, everyone loves to be up on the latest dance style. And usually, once the mainstream catches on, the true originators of the style are on to the next thing. But some dances are more than just slick moves, they’re the expression of a culture.
In 1990, Madonna introduced vogueing to the masses, bringing a phenomenon that had been popular in gay clubs since the 1970s to national attention. Now, nearly 20 years later, J-Setting, a popular dance in Southern black gay clubs, has made its way into the mainstream—largely, thanks to superstar Beyoncé Knowles, who’s been a gay icon pretty much since she sang “snap for the kids” in 2006’s “Get Me Bodied.”
Read the Full Essay Here
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