Introducing Janelle Monàe

As of today it does look like someone from the Janelle Monàe crew totally bombed the Janelle Monàe wikipedia.org page. That’s fine—that’s what artistic kids are supposed to do. Like Jazz musician, Greg Osby, mentioned earlier, Janelle Monàe knows how to conduct herself in an appropriate manner on the Internet. While Erykah Badu (who I assume is older than Janelle Monàe) was proud to not know or care about “shit” on the Internet, Janelle Monàe has moved on to treat this medium like the big-ass business card it is… And speaking of Erykah, Janelle’s speaking cadence reminds me of the Erykah effect. —And speaking of Miss Jackson, Janelle’s vocal riffs take a few seconds here and there from André 3000 by way of Big Boi—who apparently was immediately smitten with Janelle Monàe talent.

Let me be the fifth to say that those two cats from Outkast impress me—I even saw André 3000 in a health food store on Beverly Blvd. a few years ago and I always regretted not taking the time to say, “What’s up.” You see a blinging brother can embarrass himself with stupid-ass pretty faces (and asses) smuggled in as talent—and the Outkast crew really should renew their appreciation for being associated with the physical health and meta-physical intellection of Janelle Monàe. For the few hours she has passed before my eyes and ears, let me drop a few points:

First of all, she is an excellent student of the Negro Leagues of The Arts. I’m talking about Stephanie Mills professional musical training—and maybe even Paul Robeson politically sound drama.
Her image is so polished (for someone so young) I thought she was second-generation talent—you know like the child of someone famously talented. Listen to her interview at thisisrealmusic.com and you will know this is not the Kansas case. But maybe Muhammad Ali did a little something in Charlie Parker’s home town…
She is disciplined about her “casual” appearance in a manner that reminds me of Frida Kahlo’s way of turning herself into a work of art. For those of you that know me, you can tell that I am very impressed by this young woman to dare compare her so soon and so flippantly to Frida Kahlo! Haven’t I learned my lessons! Well… In case she doesn’t make it to Frida-consciousness, she definitely will glam-rock a Spider from Mars and put some soul back into the pagan poetry of Björk—and maybe even escape the menagerie sex cages that Grace Jones spun around in (by the way: we tend to forget that Grace Jones is a formally trained opera singer as well as a classic sex-fetish object of European elites).
I’m so impressed with her, I actually think (this morning) she will stay Black longer than Lauryn Hill—both of these women are professional actors but my flippant guess (which could come back and embarrass me in future) is that Janelle Monàe is not role-playing Black—she might actually be Black! She might actually make it to African! You see, kids, I’m actually a very sweet and optimistic person…
And being Black does not mean being ignorant of influences like Japanese anime. Dig Janelle Monàe’s “Metropolis Suite” and get your copy of Cowboy Bebop and Ghost in the Shell—as well the Fritz Lang thangs. Hey! Janelle might even work with Yoko Kanno in her spare time! No, you bitter pessimist! These words are not being sarcastic…So let me not be exceptional here. Let me write down my crappy, mal-informed, unsolicited advice for Janelle Monàe. She is an adroit student in the age of the Internet. She may actually slice some time to actually ponder for a few seconds what my thang going on is up off in here. So dig… Janelle, you, should or did:
Learn from the “tragedy” of Terrence Trent D’arby. He, too, was a photogenic, highly intellectual stage performer of African descent. He was clearly slated to be the next James Brown. He is now living like an overweight disco diva in Italy—you know with that Rick-James, 50-year-old man mascara? His name is not even Terrence Trent D’arby anymore. The bottom line is that America, North and South, does not care about how many European homage works you produce that demonstrates your schooled reverence of “real art”—worthy of a Western degree. Eventually you may discover that your progressive definition of “care” makes you wonder whether America cares about anything…
Learn from Betty Davis, Fishbone, Living Colour and any other Black (or Negro) rock/funk bands you know about (that I really don’t know about like Nona Hendryx—and remember that even Patti Labelle went around in a silver jumpsuit dressed like a space lady, the precursor the Björk-robot-all-is-full-of-love-Janelle cyber-girl). One of the great advantages a young artist has is to study carefully those that came before—instead of falling for the Western egocentric thing and pretending you are a teenaged millionaire in a whiz kid world. Cleary you are not doing this so keep up the good work!
Learn from the tragedy of Tina Turner: hooking up with an image consultant like Ike Turner can make you want to flee to Europe. Have no patience for angry, young Black men that seem to be angry at you, sister, all the time—while grinning in the face of “the man.” Be with a brother who is not afraid to be unknown and unsung in the annals of imperial history (who gives a fuck about goddamn Grammy). Be with a brother who is accountable to his ancestors first—and take measure of how much shit actually gets done. This is, umm…, based on the assumption that sister actually does plan to be with a righteous brother—but… you know… “love” is so scarce and supposedly it knows no color…
Learn not to depend on the ignorance and foundational insecurity of a young “fan” base. You want to invest in a persona, a product, that can grow with a maturing, investigative, learning audience. You want it to work like this: the more your audience knows about you and your work the more they see and learn from it—the more they appreciate you—not some fake bullshit that is not you. Most people and damn near all celebrities work the other way round: the less you know about them and the more you make up from nothing about them the more interesting and captivating they are. When we Black people do this shit, it is a most ironic and deeply saddening form of exploitation that makes guys like me so ‘sweet and optimistic.’ You can’t preach about Black freedom when you depend so heavily on imperial-style lying—this lying is the true essence of “keepin’ it real” and living in the “real world.” The George Bush family wouldn’t leave home without it!Much respect to liberatormagazine.com for bringing this wonder of youth to my attention! The mythical sirens go “doo-doo” in this raw one on YouTube.com!

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