Billie Holiday? C'mon now people. Maybe we should peruse the full panorama of our musical history before making such ridiculous off-the-cuff comparisons. Maybe we should take into full account who Lady Day was, what she represents, check ourselves and come back with a more apropos and holistic musical comparison for Dallas, TX's Erykah Badu. Maybe, suns and dust daughters, we should just stop projecting our wants, needs and wishes for an African centered R&B messiah onto anyone who comes close enough to filling our readi-cut expectations. Or maybe we should just take into account that, until Mobb Deep rock tight weaves and fully put their dismal tales to melodious harmonies, it'll be Mary J. Blige that sings Day's blues for the babyfava generation. Sure, the incense-overdosing Badu emulates Billie's sweet, but tart sense of phrasing, timing and ironic lyricism throughout her debut Baduizm, but this progenitive "earth diva" also makes her own mark with verbals that irk your membrane, interludes perfectly suited for midnight session dice games and simpleminded, vexing ballads that would provide an ample soundtrack to 110 Ways To Confuse, Manipulate and Vic' shorties and still have them coming back for more.
Indeed, after one listen of Baduizm you're left wanting to bring homegirl in from all the drama this universe has dealt her. Take "Certainly" where she cries "who gave you permission to rearrange me, certainly not me…" before the even more pitiful whine: "turn my back and then you slipped me a mickey." Makes you wonder if mama ever sat her girl down and told her the real about those innocent-looking "flyboys" chillin' at The Tunnel every other night. Then there's "Next Lifetime" where she plays the part of a confused lost waif, stuttering upon her "situation" and then suddenly waking up and realizing she's actually in a "relationship." And just to prove that her wraps may be fitting a lil' too tight on her scalp she reaps a full jar of wet hankies on the laid-back "Drama" lamenting on life's usual trials and tribulations.
I know. I know. Sounds like Ms. Badu has pulled the ole' "I don't have a phone…" on this penpusher. Not the case. You see, I've checked Badu on the screen and in person with the whole "spiritual" package included-the head-wraps, candles, breaks for a sip of that herbal tea-seemingly a trip to a land of bohemian, New Age, yet hip B-girls, that instead of pulling me in, wouldn't have me paying two bits, much less 3 dollars and six dimes for. Rather than a mien of the oft-mentioned Ms. Day, the feeling here is moreso of a young Ms. Ross, with that-oh-so-lovely allure of wanton appreciation on record, but upon becoming better acquainted we see the corrupt side of new-found stardom— a combo of huffy mannerisms and control freakish attitude.
"Erykah Badu has saved hip-hop and R&B" yelled one rag. Yeah those artforms may need to be rescued from the nooses hanging around their necks, but let's all take a sec' and seriously come to our senses before we put anywhere near that type of pressure on a 25-year-old "flower child" and instead maybe we should just take Baduizm for what it is and what it is not.
– Cleon Alert