I forget who I was talking to, but something dawned on us: based on the music we hear, we could never see us hanging out with none of these R&B singers. Not just the modern, lip-glossy generation, either. We mean all-time.
Sure, there were plenty of cats that carried it like the dudes I kick it with. And yes, all men have an inclination to whine when things are going bad, though usually in private (but songs are used by many to say things for them, so not buggin’ on that outright). But man, so many of these dudes? You can just listen to them and tell that you just couldn’t be associated with a punk like that.
So I thought, right fast, I’d put together a short list: five singer I could NEVER hang out with.
5. Teddy Pendergrass. Nobody’s hating on Teddy for making the ladies fall over themselves for him. In fact, as a deep-voiced cat with a beard, I kinda look at him as paving the way for whatever aesthetic luck I have with the ladies. But look, man: buddy did the most. The most. A cat like him will give away your seat for the ride home from the club cuz he just had to have this one go with him and the other three to Waffle House. Like he really needs all three. In the meantime, you’re hoping a cab will come get you. Gotta steer clear of these sorts of cats.
4. Isaac Hayes. Captain of the Dirty Mack All-Stars. Not just singing about another dude’s woman, but doing like two minute spoken monologues about how he just can’t help himself. Yes you can, you simp. While I’m on it, Eric Clapton and Rick Springfield are punks of epic proportions.
3. Tyrese. “Late night phone calls/on the telephone.” Stupid like that won’t scare ’em off of him, but they’ll make them think that I’m stupid by association. So what good does that do me?
2. Prince. He’s my all-time favorite, but naw. At the same time, I’m not even cool enough to get a job as his driver, so this point is moot. Plus, dudes as short as him don’t like to kick it with shot blockers like me.
1. Marvin Gaye. Never mind all that cocaine he was doing. He had to have been a depressed drunk, looking for any chance to let go of all the things going on in his mind. His brand of emo makes his albums uncomfortable — not coincidental that his best album, What’s Going On, is the one that requires him to step out of his self-loathing — so can you imagine just picking up the phone when he calls? There’s no telling what’s wrong with him. He sounded like a dude who’d spend all night saying “nothing’s wrong.” A dude, I say. There is no way in Hades I could have dude in my crew. I couldn’t even hook him up with my female friends with a clear conscience. Then they’re gonna think I’m like that. And I’m not like that, dammit.