Mainstream hip-hop has become cock rock in blackface. Twenty years from now we will look back and laugh ourselves silly that it was possible for a lardy munter like the stupidly named “Notorious BIG” (that’s “Bee-Eye-Gee”, ladeez) to be Number One in the UK charts with an unironic Feed-The-World style ensemble display of sexual bragaddocio like Nasty Girl. With lyrics* that rival those of Spinal Tap’s Sex Farm for fist-shaped innuendo, fatboy and his similarly overpaid (and sadly oversexed) “homies” jostle to outdo one another in their tales of groupie-groping. Just like the guitar-wanking, big-haired honkies that preceded them, the depressing truth is that they are almost certainly not making up their tales of sexual conquest.
So, am I just a sad stay-at-home loser poisoned by envy? Yes. Is the resulting recording a steaming pile of horse manure? Yes. In a couple of decades will B-I-G have his own Osbournes-style reality TV show? [Actually, no. He’s dead. See comments.] Please, God, no (if only because this will mean his missus will wind up judging some godawful “talent” contest in which various multi-ethnic proto-divas wander up and down the Gospel scale in search of Meaning).
*[Isn’t it cute that the site I linked suggests that “[v]isitors interested in Notorious B.I.G. Lyrics may also interested in: Dire Straits lyrics”?]