The Clebilicious Review: Born Sinner

    J. Cole

    Born Sinner

J. COLE HAS a soft power delivery. His touch is light, but when he gets his words right they make deep impact. He doesn't wear an armor of swag and yet, in his understated way, he's extremely swaggish. (The author would totally do him. Take that haters.)

Tweet

The Network Marriage Plot

We nowadays are too anti-romantic to quite embrace them--even the excellent book called The Marriage Plot does not (spoiler!) end with true love gratified--but marriage plots do, mercifully, live on, in the form of the classic, slow-build network sitcom romance. Our Darcys and Lizzys are Ross and Rachel, Jim and Pam, Will and Emma--subjects of will-they-won't-they teasery spread languidly over episodes and seasons.

To my utmost delight, Fox has fashioned a Tuesday night with back-to-back sitcoms of the best kind, starring lead ladies with Lizzy wits. New Girl's Jess is zany and adorable, as only Zooey Deschanel can be. She means well all the time and risks harming others only by annoying them with excessive cheer. Mindy of The Mindy Project is also zany and adorable, but with a twist of caustic Kaling lime. Jess is willing to impersonate Elvis at a funeral to help her roommate (who is also her Darcy); Mindy freely admits that she expects to go to hell because she loves gossip and doesn't "really care about the environment."

Tweet

The Format Pleasure of Harlem Shake Videos

Amid the internet-wide arguing about whether Harlem Shake videos have redeeming cultural value or demonstrate the "real" Harlem Shake (answer to the latter being a clear negative), I think the point is lost. 

Tweet

Tale of the Badu Night PART FOUR

Start at the beginning.

AS WE LEANED against a wall backstage--me awkwardly, Adria looking inexplicably at ease--a fellow passed by and smiled and asked if we were having a good time. He was the selfsame fellow who'd been in front of us onstage, with the triceps and the cornrows.

Tweet

Tale of the Badu Night PART THREE

Read PART ONE HERE and PART TWO HERE.

I wish I could better, or more narratively, remember the show. I recall it only in kaleidoscopic pieces, as befits a religious experience. We positioned ourselves in the left wing of the stage, behind scattered members of Badu's band (the one directly in front of us had cornrows, broad shoulders, nice triceps) and I could clearly see Erykah's colorful bra straps, and when she tired of and removed her heels I could see her toenail polish, which looked white. It is silly to worship people as idols, but I couldn't help it: being that close to Badu made me feel imbued with magic powers.

Tweet

Tale of the Badu Night PART TWO

Read PART ONE here.

When I found Adria and the five others they were already several phases into devising crisis strategies. The coreligionist who had bought the tickets simply could not find them. She had hoped to offer records of the purchase at the box office, but this was to no avail. Online tickets leave a trail, but tickets bought the old-fashioned way are like cash: terrible to lose. She was willing to re-purchase for everyone, but the show was sold out. Any personage who seemed to work at the Fox had been pleaded with, also to no avail. No scalpers were in sight. One of the ladies had even been lured by a shady-looking character who swore he could get us in backstage, but when he started leading her around the dark street corner she turned tail.

Tweet

Tale of the Badu Night PART ONE

A funny thing happened to me in the last moments of the old year and first moments of the new one. It also happened to my friend Adria, the only person I know whose Baduizt fervor might exceed--yes, exceed, my own. I'd dreamt for years of going to see Badu with Adria. I knew that no matter how zealous and ridiculous I became at the high holy day service of Badu, Adria would be no less zealous and ridiculous. 

So when Adria told me Erykah would be at the Fox Theater in my very own city on New Year's Eve--just in time for me to be sufficiently spine functional to stay out all night doing something fun, which I'd not done in a couple years-- you can imagine my delight. A plan quickly hatched, involving we two and five other coreligionists, one of whom worked near the Fox and kindly offered to buy everyone's tickets at the box office, so we wouldn't have to pay online purchase fees.

As the Eve approached I felt nervous. I never really know how my spine will behave. It's more like I guesstimate the odds. In the week before, I was able to predict a 25% maximum likelihood that a spinal disaster would ensue, and decided I couldn't say fairer than that. I dishonestly texted my mom that I was doing great and was quite sure the show wouldn't be a problem. 

I took precautions. I planned to arrive late, and miss The Coup, who were opening. I declined a pre-party invite from the coreligionist who'd bought the tix. Adria stopped by for a pre-pre-party at my house, and made me a shirt with iron-on Badu lyrics, to match the one she'd made for herself. Her back said, You don't have to believe everything you think/We've been programmed, and my chest had the next line: Wake up/We miss you. We were gloriously nerdy in our shirts.

We smoked a few puffs before Adria took off. We'd meet at the Fox. I spent the next hour stressing about parking downtown on New Year's, about spine, about which shoes would be least aesthetically and ergonomically offensive. But I made it, happily sacrificed $15 for a few hours in a $5/day lot, and headed toward Broadway in my coat and leggings and boots. I'd hardly been downtown the last couple years, and here I was amid the hip New Year's crowd, cold air in my face, hair flying. I was feeling myself. I called Adria, but the connection sucked. I figured I'd find her there. She called back, however, because she had to tell me something rather dire.

The tickets. They were gone.

Tweet