Today would have been her 49^th birthday, and it still feels a bit unsettling.

While Whitney Houston’s voice was taken from us on February 11, almost 6 months ago, we have perhaps reached a place where we remember her as the same lady who made girls want to perform again with their hair brushes in the bathroom mirror.

Oprah Winfrey once said that when she grew up there weren’t images of prominent relatable black women on TV until Diana Ross and the Supremes became a mainstay on “American Bandstand.” After the emergence of a ballgown-clad Ross, Winfrey began singing and making faces in the mirror.

Then a generation passed … and the ’80s walked in.

Many teenage girls I grew up with longed for an icon who was young, relatable, classy, and undeniably talented from the emerging MTV era.

Enter Whitney Houston.

In fact, Whitney’s 1985 debut album ‘Whitney Houston’ displayed a gorgeous brown-skinned black woman with a short Afrocentric hairdo and the most regal posture. Little black girls had the opportunity to see themselves on that large orange album cover taped up around record stores and the walls along Highland Blvd in Hollywood.

Writer Andreana Clay actually remembers her transition from tomboy to girly-girl in 1986, where she wrote her “coming of age” was spurred by Houston’s remarkable class onscreen in early music videos. Clay wrote, “I held her in my back pocket, her hopefulness, her confidence.”

That confidence emanated from her enigmatic televised performances, which captured audiences and instantly made “Whitney” a household name. She became the go-to artist for many companies who sought a young fresh woman of color to promote products like AT&T, Coca-Cola, and Sprint.

Houston’s image as a young black woman was one part modeling, two parts guts.

In fact, she opened doors for black models by being the first to grace the cover of Seventeen magazine in 1981, doing so with a near-fade haircut and prominent Afrocentric features. Legendary model Naomi Campbell and supermodel-mogul Tyra Banks have both reminisced on the moment they were inspired by seeing Houston’s mug plastered across Seventeen.

Houston’s ability to model and her budding acting skills transferred into every photo, video, and appearance she made publicly. She took the same elements that drew girls to Ross in the 1960s and magnified them for the post-soul era.

As her career blossomed and she began to grow into womanhood, Houston’s image (however manufactured it may have seemed to some) became a signature that helped grow little girls into women during the 1990s. She often promoted the classy frocks-look donned by mainstream starlets of the ’60s, but had an earthy approachability to her appearance when she popped up on set at the “Arsenio Hall Show.” Houston had no issues coming on stage in a fresh t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors — the shoes she affectionately recalled wearing growing up in New Jersey.

Her crossover appeal and magnificent voice allowed her into arenas where black women had historically been siphoned off, and gained her the respect of women from a multitude of backgrounds. Houston’s image resonated in gay clubs, oversees in Middle Eastern ads, and at Sunday afternoon Baptist revivals. It allowed her to perform the National Anthem at one of the most conservative patriotic platforms: the Superbowl.

Yet, the most poignant declaration of Houston’s ability to empower women came via her 1992 remake of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman.” That song, coupled with the mammoth success of “The Bodyguard,” was a moment which clearly promoted the idea that young black girls could have the ability to achieve greatness while simultaneously self-actualizing, even in a white-male-patriarchal society.

“I’m Every Woman” was a turning point in Houston’s career, which lyrically and musically represented what her image had all along.

She was every woman.

Houston’s musical trajectory following “I’m Every Woman” was invested in the well-being of women.

There were many songs which left an imprint, particularly on young girls. “Step By Step,” “Count on Me,” and “In My Business” were the broke-up-with-my-man-but-I’m-gonna-be-alright anthem.

Houston’s music solidified her as Black Entertainment’s most beloved female superstar. Her ability to transcend typical Western ideological beauty was a gift to women around the world. Those earliest days of her career reframed traditional ideals of beauty and helped young girls to grow up alongside someone relatable.

Although Houston has now become an iconic figment of our growing up, an intense nostalgia comes back on days like this. While she would have been popping a birthday bottle of champagne today had she lived, we celebrate the timelessness of a woman who maintained her femininity while inspiring generations of little black girls to grow up believing they were created unique beautiful goddesses — even when performing in mirrors with hairbrushes.

Happy Birthday, Whitney.

The post Hair Brushes, Little Black Girls, and Whitney Houston appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

However, I felt as if I did.

Black kids around to country were inundated with images of South Central, Compton, and Watts as a haven for gangs, violence, and police brutality. John Singleton’s Boys N The Hood was a blueprint on survival in the hood. The Hughes Brothers gave us their own depiction of project life via Menace II Society. And years above that, the film South Central depicted life for young Black boys and girls in an apathetic, drug-laden community.

While there were many songs coming from West Coast Hip Hop, particularly N.W.A. and the Death Row camp, social unrest still bubbled under the radar.

Rodney King changed that.

I still remember seeing the footage across our old push-button TV screen. Black and white images of batons flying up and down, a helpless victim lying in agony repeatedly pounded by LAPD, that’s what we saw. Each of those hits were felt around America, and we had all become fed up with increasing violence against Black men, perpetrated by police officers.

King was only 25 when he led the Hip Hop Generation into a continuance of the Civil Rights Movement. We understood that while he was guilty of DUI and other possible crimes, his life was still valuable. We realized that any of us could have been pulverized on that dimly lit street in the San Fernando Valley. And we acknowledged that this occurrence was less of an anomaly and more of a trend around the nation.

We were tired of our rights being evaded by the justice system, a system which historically valued the lives of young Black boys and girls as worthless.

While the beating hurt our souls, the words confirmed the resurrection of racial backlash in America. According to King, the officers shouted “We are going to kill you n-gger”. The overtones of racism were evident, and continued throughout the three month 1992 trial, which ended in the acquittal of all three officers.

And the rest is history. Los Angeles went up in flames—literally.

Thousands of Black and Brown Californians took to the streets for six days following the verdict. The news reported footage of arson, assault, looting and murders by frustrated citizens and urban youth. The stats read like a war: 53 deaths, thousands injured, and over $1 billion worth of wreckage in Los Angeles.

We went to war.

The 1992 LA Riots fell in line with the tradition of public revolts against injustice. Los Angeles, the home of the 1965 Watts Revolt, once again forced out the silencing of the Black community—particularly Hip Hop. Artists, writers, journalists, DJs, and the like committed themselves to covering police brutality. Medallions and dashikis surfaced again around the community. Our singers and rappers used their music and press appearances to call order to a wild country.

Rodney King’s beating caused us to wake up.

The Hip Hop generation was able to claim stake to its very own protest, one which still hangs around America like smoke. Recently, California native Elwood White was gunned down by police in a San Diego suburb while holding a broomstick. Last year, an unarmed Reginald “Reggie” Doucet was inexcusably fatally shot by LAPD. Our young Black victims to unjustified violence continue to roll credits: Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin, Sean Bell. Our fight still moves forward.

Rodney King’s death today signals the loss of the Civil Rights icon for our most important Hip Hop social movement.

He was our Rosa Parks.

Social unrest still persists in our communities. Young Black/Brown boys and girls are still fighting for total freedom in America. The Rodney King case taught us the importance of speaking up, something that Hip Hop has always done, but it propelled us to take action beyond our words. We learned to fight.

While I didn’t grow up in Los Angeles, I did, and so did Hip Hop.

The post Hip Hop’s Father: What Rodney King Taught Us appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

This past weekend, Los Angeles Pride was dominated by heavyweight Black female entertainers. Lil Kim, Spinderella, and Queen Latifah made major appearances at the 2012 festival.

It was surprising to see microphone legends at LA Pride, given the historical backdrop of homophobia and gender stereotypes within Hip Hop. While its most blatant offenders have generally been men, female emcees haven’t been so openly supportive of the LGBT community.

A magical Lil Kim entered the mainstage at LA Pride, accompanied by a bevy of background dancers. She performed a number of classics including “Ladies Night”, “Whoa”, “Lighters Up”, a head-nodding Notorious B.I.G. tribute, and crowd favorite “Crush On You”. The highlight of her hour-long show was a declaration presented to her by the City of West Hollywood.

Kim gave her bows and made an impactful statement, “we are all one—and I support all my people”. Those words resonated with the audience and set the tone for a weekend full of proud female entertainers.

Spinderella, Salt n’ Peppa’s DJ, spun a set of jams dedicated to the Soul and early Hip Hop tradition. Her homage to female soul legends Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, and rap pioneers MC Lyte, Queen Latifah, and Salt N’ Peppa was a refreshing addition to the festival’s Hip Hop/R&B stage. Spinderella played her very best records, ending up moving a crowd which included Girlfriends actress Jill Marie Jones and singer Po Johnson from LaLa’s Full Court. In fact, Po had her own featured performance later that evening.

The company of Lil Kim and Spinderella was strengthened by Po and other talented female musicians of color. Singer Shyra Sanchez wowed the crowd on the event’s Latino stage, performing her club anthem “DJ Love Song”. Sanchez admitted that playing the festival as a multi-racial woman was about connecting with other artists and fans of all backgrounds. Sanchez is a budding member of the Hip Hop community, whose music blurs lines with its own particular multi-genre sound.

Other female rappers have participated in Pride festivals around the country. Last month, superstar maverick Queen Latifah was the headliner for the Long Beach Pride festival. She made an appearance at the end of LA Pride as well, confirming her support for the LGBT community.

While newcomer Nicki Minaj wasn’t on the scene in California, her presence was felt through a consistent looping of her singles. Men and women at the festival regarded Nicki as one of their favorite entertainers, singing the words to “Starships” with exhuberation. Nicki Minaj appeared at the last Atlanta Pride festival, bringing her own style of Hip Hop to the LGBT community..

I like the direction that Hip Hop is heading in.

It’s unsurprising that Hip Hop women are leading the movement toward support and inclusion of LGBT rights, given the historical contributions of women in social movements throughout American history. Black women were the force behind the development and sustaining of the Civil Rights and Black Power Movements.

In many ways, these entertainers validate the struggles of Rosa Parks, Angela Davis, Nina Simone, and Assatta Shakur. With the influx of Black female emcees and entertainers at this year’s Pride festivals, the conversation is broadened to include Hip Hop entertainers as advocated for LGBT rights.

Hip Hop has always had the ability to impact social movements, and now it is more apparent than ever that she respects freedom for all people.

The post Big Momma Thang: Black Women In Hip Hop Dominate LA Pride appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

We’d just begun to accept the truth that Aaliyah was no longer with us, and then it happened, we lost dear sister Left-Eye.

She left behind an indelible mark on pop culture which has yet to be duplicated. Left-Eye’s spontaneity, quirkiness, guts and soul inspired a generation of young women to boldly claim their own femininity.

Lisa Lopes adopted her stage name, Left-Eye, during the developing stages of TLC. While there were early questions about the impending longevity of a girl group that chose to wear their hats to the back and sag their pants down real low, TLC emerged from the 1990s as the front-running Hip Hop Soul group. Their records became anthems for female-empowerment, forcing society to stare gender-equality in the face.

Lopes was responsible for much of the group’s generational efficacy; in fact, it was her hunger to make a social difference in the industry that led her to Atlanta in the first place.

The Philly native moved to Atlanta in 1990 with a keyboard and $750.00 in her pocket. She was determined to take her signature Philly style rap flows to the charts, or at least earn enough money to live off of. Lopes combined with Crystal Jones and Tionne “T-Boz” Watkins early on to form 2^nd Nature, the group’s original name.

It wasn’t long before Lopes made personnel changes, replacing Jones with Rozanda “Chilli” Thomas. Together, TLC embarked on a journey of industry highs and very public personal lows. Although we remember when Lopes set fire to Andre Rison’s house, the bankruptcies, rumors of rifts, and all of the hardships the ladies went though—we still loved them unconditionally.

Lopes had a voice which was fresh enough to lie comfortably between Watkins’ and Thomas’ sexy tone, but hard enough to battle the likes of any 1990s male rapper. Her craziness helped the group gain life-long connections with industry mavericks Jermaine Dupri, LA Reid, Babyface, Dallas Austin, and Whitney Houston.

I still remember seeing the ladies cutting a groove in Whitney’s “I’m Every Woman” video.

Lopes was especially significant to the creative landscape of our generation. She was the epitome of crazy, long before Lil’ Kim, Missy Elliott, Nikki Minaj or Lady Gaga stepped on the scene.

Lopes used multiple methods to speak out against injustice. “Her Story”, from their debut album, was our first indication that TLC was about opening up conversations on social issues. They wrote the song as a response to the 1987 case of Tawana Brawley, a 15 year old Black girl from New York who accused 6 white men, some of whom were police officers, of rape. Lopes wrote: “Yo, this is a story of a male-female threat to society… being misjudged and not respected for what we are”.

Her hardcore female-empowering messages were some of Hip Hop’s finest activist statements. She forged a ground with her lyrics which aligned her with pioneering female rap acts Queen Latifah, Salt ‘N Peppa, Roxanne, and M.C. Lyte.

We were inundated with contextual safe-sex messages from Lopes throughout her career. TLC gained a reputation early on as sirens for safe-sex and disease prevention. In fact, Lopes decided that the girls should pin condoms to their overalls moments before their first appearance.

Those multi-colored condoms were dope!

The ladies went on to produce a bevy of singles which would challenge women to love themselves and define their own femininity. “Hat 2 Da Bak”, “No Scrubs” and “Unpretty” served as the soundtrack for many young women to adopt their own sense of worth. Lopes found a way impart this message while maintaining an eccentricity that made TLC albums approachable.

TLC’s 4 platinum albums and plethora of hit singles slaughtered charts worldwide for the entirety of the 1990s.

While their songs were commercially successful, there was a particular spirituality that Lopes brought to TLC. Her carefully penned lyrics possessed a vulnerability which allowed her to connect with women at a more honest level than many other performers.

“Waterfalls” is the greatest example of her ability to bathe spirituality with courage for women around the world. Lopes wrote, “I seen a rainbow yesterday, but too many storms have come and gone, leaving a trace of not one God-given ray/ Is it because my life is ten shades of gray? I pray all ten fade away …dreams are hopeless aspirations in hopes of coming true. Believe in yourself, the rest is up to me and you.”

Lopes was much more than a rapper who passed through the industry—she gave hope and inspired women to find strength within themselves. She told the story of many women living a 90s kind of life, while feeding socially empowering messages to young people around the world.

She was our voice to the world.

We still remember Lisa Lopes, even after a decade, because she was golden to us.  Our generation grew up with her. She was our sister, activist, mentor, and above all—our darling friend.

Lisa, I seen a rainbow yesterday—I knew it was you.

The post I Seen A Rainbow Yesterday: Ten Years After We Lost Left-Eye appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

There are questions about the validity of the class, and whether or not Beyoncé’s career actually warrants a course addressing social issues. While she has certainly made strides within the entertainment industry by coining a word recognized by Webster’s Dictionary, performing at the inauguration of our first Black President Barack Obama, being honored with a statue in her native Houston, and having an animal named after her, there is still a need to think this through completely.

Looking back over 15 years ago to the beginnings of Destiny’s Child, Beyoncé identified herself early on as a champion for female independence through her lyrics.

“Bug-A-Boo”, “Bills Bills Bills”, “Say My Name”, and “Survivor” were all songs which offered pop-oriented messages about powerful women in control of their own lives. The group’s landmark release, “Independent Women”, was further inspiration for women to claim their own territory outside of the confines of a patriarchal society. They sang, “tell me how you feel about this?/Try to control me boy you get dismissed/Pay my own fun, oh and I pay my own bills/Always 50-50 in relationships”.

Beyoncé said that “Bootylicious” was written on a long flight where she ran across an inspiring moment listening to the Stevie Nicks cut, “Edge Of Seventeen”. The guitar riff immediately pushed Beyonce into writers-mode, allowing her to visualize a woman’s hips vibrating back and forth, spilling her femininity in the air all around her. “Bootylicious” was an undercover anthem for many young girls who recognized the song as a celebration of a woman’s curves.

Yet, after we began to recognize Beyoncé’s songs as messages written to catchy tracks, discussions began to swirl about her intentions in the entertainment industry. Many believed that her songs of female empowerment would be short-lived and only existed around a time which saw the Spice Girls profitably deliver similar girl-power anthems.

Thus, Beyonce transitioned as a solo artist, claiming her sexuality and boldly displaying it in a more viciously provocative manner. On the music videos and stage performances from her debut album Dangerously In Love, Beyonce wore merely a few scraps of material covering her body at times. Her outfits were reminiscent of Tina Turner, Cher, and Josephine Baker, all of whom were initially criticized but ultimately made grand impacts on the music industry.

As Beyoncé continued to push the envelope with racier performances for her audiences, the numbers of followers began to grow. Her audience was captivated in concert similarly to a Michael or Janet performance, and she began to shed light on her ability to reach masses exceeding her contemporaries.

Beyoncé’s later songs “Single Ladies”, “If I Were A Boy”, “Irreplaceable”, “Run The World”, and “Listen” have been lyrical psalms for young female independence. They’ve offered an appropriate collaborative message to sideline her all female band (The Mamas) and dancers. Yet, while the superstar’s energy in the performance of these songs is vibrant, her constant grinding and lascivious sexualized acts have historically been hard for many viewers to swallow.

The post Politicizing Beyoncé: A Pass or A Fail? appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

She is the grand dame Queen of the streets, the pioneering Soul heiress to Aretha, Chaka, and Whitney’s throne. Her voice and words live openly as the beacon by which many Black women have overcome depression, addiction, relationship drama, rape, and domestic violence.

It’s been twenty years since Mary made her very first appearance on BET as a backing vocalist on Father MC’s “I’ll Do 4 U,” and she’s been a mainstay in the industry ever since. Mary boldly rose to stardom amid a cookie-cutter industry which sought to regurgitate the sounds and image of other successful artists.

She wasn’t having it.

The arrival of Mary J. Blige meant the glitter and sequence was finally taken off of contemporary R&B and replaced with the look and style of the streets.

She emerged in 1991 as the identifiable B-Girl from the Schlobohm projects in Yonkers, fully adorned in ghetto fabulous garb: large, gold, hoop door knocker earrings, platinum blonde hair, combat boots, jeans and baggy puff coats.

I still remember huddling around the TV to watch Donnie Simpson’s Video Soul in 1992, only to be intrigued and hypnotized by this woman dressed in men’s clothing. “Real Love” was the first time I’d seen a female singer bold enough to adorn such an authentically defiant outfit in a music video.

She looked like the B-girls I saw everyday on the school yard at recess.

After the colossal success of “Real Love” and What’s The 411?, it was clear that the first lady of Hip Hop Soul was courageously redefining femininity for Black women across the globe. Her ability to sing love songs like “Reminisce,” “Love No Limit,” “You Remind Me” and Chaka Khan’s “Sweet Thing”, dressed as a rapper no less, blazoned a message for young girls to remain true to their naturally raw selves.

Mary’s second album was perhaps a masterclass on depression. To this day, women (and men in the dark) run to grab My Life off the shelf and pop it into a CD player in the midst of troubling circumstances.

She wrote songs specifically for that album which would resonate in the streets. “Be Happy” and “My Life” were her odes to survival, offering heartbroken women pieces of songs teaching them to communicate low self-worth, depression and hopelessness, while maintaining there would always be a rainbow at the end of those rainy days.

My Life became a bible for young Black women, offering scriptures to ease wearying circumstances. Her cover of Rose Royce’s “I’m Going Down” hit us directly in the guts, even more than the original version—we knew her circumstances.

We saw the drug abuse, tumultuous relationship, and the large dark Fendi sunglasses on top of heavy foundation at her appearances. We all watched as she gave us the saddest my-man-done-me-wrong song, “Not Gon’ Cry,” and we knew it was real.

Mary searched to define herself as a woman amidst an increasingly problematic relationship with Jodeci pioneer, K-Ci. She became a victim of domestic violence, adding her name to the list of battered Black female entertainers who were beaten when the cameras stopped rolling.

Tina Turner suffered through years of publicized muggings from Ike Turner, and legendary songstress Whitney Houston talked to Oprah about how she survived an increasingly violent marriage to Bobby Brown. Most recently, superstar singer Rihanna was choked unconscious and beaten nearly to a pulp by her boyfriend Chris Brown.

While all of these women have worked to reclaim their lives post-domestic violence, none of their experiences have been as accessible to young Black women as Mary’s (See: “Deep Inside” from Mary).

When No More Drama was released ten years ago, the music industry was shaken down to its bone. Mary was fresh, energized and emotionally lighter since she ditched K-Ci and a slew of other unhealthy people from her camp.

No More Drama signaled a shift in Mary’s artistic paradigm, encouraging women to take an introspective look within in search of wholeness. “Rainy Dayz,” “Testimony,” and “No More Drama” taught Black women to abandon stressful relationships in search of inner wealth.

On her aptly titled album, The Breakthrough, Mary did just that. She allowed the sum of her experiences to be lessons for Black women on overcoming personal failures in search of satisfaction.

By the time the album was released, Mary had opened up to the world about being molested as a kid growing up in New York. She taught Black women the power of expelling secrets and difficult trials—writing that she’d finally reached a place where she could truly call herself a queen.

“Good Woman Down”, “Ain’t Really Love,” and “Take Me As I Am” are the mantras she taught scorned Black women to repeat while looking in the mirror. Those anthems were about healing the mind and refocusing her own life to look exactly as she’d always dreamed.

Now, 20 years after the young woman from the projects in Yonkers stepped on the scene with a defiant attitude and style, we have a catalogue of triumph. We have a Mary Jane Blige who is willing to relive those turbulent moments, on stage, in hopes of inspiring Black women to love themselves completely.

Clutchettes, what’s your favorite Mary J. Blige song? Why?

The post What Black Women Owe To Mary J. Blige appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

Aaliyah was more than just another teen singer from the 1990s Hip Hop Soul Era—she was the trendsetter who changed the look of R&B.

After the resurgence of Contemporary R&B in the 1980s by female singers Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson and Anita Baker, Black female singers were molded into safe costumes beaded with glittery ornaments. It was rare to see a female pop star wear jeans on stage. The uniform of long flowing ball gowns and dress suits carried itself through the 90s with En Vogue, Paula Abdul and Mariah Carey adopting the typical image of and R&B starlet.

When Aaliyah’s first music video, Back & Forth, debuted in March of 1994 on BET, she changed the image of R&B. Aaliyah’s rebellious style was one of the 1990s strongest protests against a well-developed ‘classy’ female songstress image.

While Aaliyah’s debut came on the heels of Hip Hop Soul pioneers Mary J. Blige, TLC, and SWV, her style was completely signature. That first video saw Aaliyah emerge in a school gym with large baggy blue jeans with her belt unbuckled, a big black vest over a bulky collared shirt, dark black sunglasses, a bandana to top off her look. She also decided to sag her pant, exposing the mens boxers underneath her defiantly exposed midriff. She looked like a boy—more specifically, a tough thug.

Young urban girls around the nation praised Aaliyah for representing their Timberland-wearing tomboy style. The rest of the world looked on in shock as the 14-year-old, light-skinned girl with pressed hair donned an image which aligned her with gangsta rappers from California. It was more confusing when her voice emerged on the track. It was sweet as candy, and soft enough to sing you to sleep. The conflicting image only added a depth to her character which pushed her gender-bending politics beyond expectations.

Aaliyah allowed her style to infiltrate a genre which prided itself on manufacturing class. From the earliest days of the Supremes at Motown to Clive Davis’ poised Arista balladeers, R&B was meant to fit into a style box. Aaliyah’s proclamation that she would step outside the box opened the door for other Black female artists to adorn themselves in styles straight from the street. Singers like Ciara and Amanda Perez have adopted a similar thuggish image for their releases.

The young starlet went on to redefine the confines of femininity, singing about sensual subject and being recognized as an undeniably beautiful songstress. She continued to display her signature image throughout the rest of the 1990s with video releases including “If Your Girl Only Knew”, “Up Jumps Da Boogie”, “Hot Like Fire”, “Are You That Somebody” and her successful street anthem with rap maverick DMX, “Back In One Piece”.

10 years after her death, we still celebrate the best of her life. Aaliyah’s career was a constant string of hit songs, awards, film roles and wild performances. Her legacy must include an appreciation for her unshakeable stylistic defiance, which transformed R&B and gave young Black girls an artist that represented their identity.

The post The Gender Politics of Aaliyah appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

It’s been ten years since a plane crash rocked the world and sent an entire generation into its first epic mourning of a superstar.

Aaliyah Dana Haughton captured the very essence of the 1990s and performed her way into our hearts nearly twenty years ago at the age of 14. Her earliest releases “Back & Forth”, “At Your Best” and the title track from her debut album Age Ain’t Nothin’ But A Number, revolutionized the sound and image of R&B.

She was largely responsible for sustaining Hip Hop Soul, a subgenre of R&B which combined Hip Hop tracks, organic lyrics and soul singing. Alongside Jodeci, Mary J. Blige, SWV and TLC, Aaliyah presented a thuggish image to her young audience, often adorning excessively baggy jeans sagging enough to see her boxers and midriff. Young Black girls idolized her dark black glasses, the swoop of hair over her eye and those rugged bandanas she hung from her back pocket like a thug.

Her attitude was sweet as watermelon, her voice sounded like the angels descended to earth for a few minutes, and her style pushed the bounds of R&B, helping urban-wear globalize.

We loved her for displaying a controversial image of Black femininity. Young Black girls all around the hood were sporting Lugz boots and black fingernail polish, bobbing their heads and snapping their fingers wildly in the air, singing “it’s Friday and I’m ready to swing, pick up my girls and hit the party scene tonight”.

We loved her instantly and completely.

As the 90s progressed, Aaliyah became our princess, creating iconic pieces of cultural art with Missy Elliott, Timbaland, Magoo and Ginuwine. Together, they formed one of the strongest collectives of Hip Hop Soul players, transforming the way artists produced records. When they dropped “Up Jumps The Boogie”, R&B and Hip Hop were given a new sound—adopting elements of drum’n’bass from the Euro-pop scene.

We loved Aaliyah for making great advances for young Black women on MTV and BET, creating epic promotions which challenged the capacity for excellence in music video production. Her videos were always chock-full of dance routines by daring choreographer Fatima Robinson, who found early fame in Michael Jackson’s short film “Remember The Time”.

Robinson was on set in the Bahamas with Aaliyah the day before that fateful August 25, when Aaliyah’s private jet went up for a moment and then plummeted down, ending her short life. While speculation about the details of the plane crash has surfaced and diminished over the last ten years, what hasn’t abandoned us is our affinity for the princess.

Aaliyah’s death forced us to recognize the potential of a young Black girl from Detroit, remembering how she reshaped the sound and look of Hip Hop and R&B. She was the shining star of the Hip Hop Generation, consistently challenging her work for grander outcomes.

The impact of her artistic excellence is seen within the artists who have emerged since she left us. Ciara, one of Aaliyah’s biggest fans, has made a career based in dance, music videos and unshakable performances. Rihanna, Keri Hilson and Ashanti have all taken cues from Aaliyah’s sound, singing softly over hardcore beats reminding us of “At Your Best”.

All the while, Beyonce has emerged as the leading hitmaker of this generation, churning out a series of highly infectious songs, just like Aaliyah did in the 90s. Beyonce represents the same ferociousness for excellence that caused Aaliyah to resonate with young urban girls—a wonderful tribute to her work ethic.

Her lasting legacy, however, is the music.

Aaliyah’s catalogue, even though it is made up of songs from three studio albums and a few sporadic soundtrack releases, is R&B and Hip Hop at it absolute finest. Grown women run to the dance floor when the DJ spins hits like “Rock The Boat” or “Try Again”. Her earth-shattering hit, “Are You That Somebody”, makes us feel nostalgic for the days when we recorded music videos on VHS tapes, playing them over and over again in search of a perfected dance routine. “One In A Million” and “If Your Girl Only Knew” takes us back to the days when we rocked Tommy Hilfiger and tried to make a party out of sitting on our parent’s car hoods.

Aaliyah forced the music industry to grow up and abandon a sense of cookie-cutter R&B artists by breaking the mold and presenting young urban America as we were—smooth, gritty and unabashedly honest.

We loved her most for that.

The post Why We Loved The Princess: 10 Years After The Death Of Aaliyah appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

For years I was trapped in unresolved feelings that lingered from my childhood. I fell deeper and deeper into a near fatal depression as I aged, and I didn’t see myself coming out alive. I was singing the Black Boy Blues, lingering emptiness and devastation from growing up disproportionately Black and male in America. I knew I needed help.

Therapy was always out of the question, though.

The truth is, Black men like me have traditionally been terrified of therapy—and for good reason. Our distrust of the medical field dates back several generations to the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment, which caused hundreds of perfectly healthy young Black men to die from untreated injected syphilis. Their families were devastated as wives were unknowingly infected with the disease and children were being born with congenital syphilis. This massive human rights fail could have been prevented if those infected men hadn’t been manipulated and lied to by the U.S. Public Health Service.

For the larger Black community, there has always been the stigma that seeing a therapist is admitting that we’re crazy. We would rather take our problems to Jesus on Sunday mornings, hoping that prayer service would completely erradicate our mental health problems. There has also been a large distrust of the American mental health community, particularly psychiatrists, who have histories ofover-medicating and hyper-diagnosing young Black children for typical acting out behaviors.

While I didn’t fully subscribe to these ideals about therapists, I was highly skeptical of what I would gain from a trip to the couch.

I finally chose to break through the brick wall and take a seat on that dreaded couch. That initial session wasn’t long, like in the movies. The couch was soft Black leather and the therapist’s office was warm and inviting. I opened my mouth and began to sing my blues.

I spent a total of 8 weeks with a therapist this summer and that miniscule amount of time created a plethora of opportunities for me to reframe my entire existence. We began by surfacing those memories which haunted me and blocked my ability to move forward in relationships with the people I love most. I won’t say that it was joyful to pour out painful experiences, but it opened me up to a healing I’ve needed more than air in my lungs.

In reality, our blues are simply untreated diagnoses which have caused us to self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. We walk around daily with full-sized depression, anxiety, anger, schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder. We live in bubbles and tread lightly around our friends and family, yet cry in dark spaces, praying that the voices and thoughts will be eradicated from our minds. We are scared to be placed in mental wards or prescribed unnecessary medication for our conditions.

Too many young Black men have been afflicted with various mental health issues. For instance, Dave Chapelle fled the country due to his increasing anxiety, spurred on by the demands of his wildly successful variety show.

We won’t soon forget the effects that bi-polar disorder left on talented singer-dancer Bobby Brown. His tragic self-medicating with cocaine-laced marijuana displaced his ability to perform at the high caliber of his New Jack Swing years.

Recently, singer Houston suffered a career-halting suicide attempt. The singer had been under psychiatric care for manic depression for nearly a year before he tried to jump from his 13 story London hotel room balcony. After being locked in a floor-level room, he finally gouged his eye out hoping the impact would send him up to heaven.

These stories are merely a representation of a fragment of Black men who have experienced the horrors of untreated mental health issues.

Although I have not fully conquered my depression in 8 weeks, I am in a much healthier place, having begun the work to end my own Black Boy Blues.

I’m no longer scared of the couch and fully believe it is crucial to our survival that we, Black men, participate in mental health treatment. We have so much to offer the world and debilitating circumstances have all too often taken us away from our destinies.

The blues are in all of us, but they don’t have to be.

The post The Black Boy Blues: Why Black Men Must Go To Therapy appeared first on Clutch Magazine.