Beyoncé’s impact on music is undeniable, her influence spanning over two decades as she continually reinvents herself and her sound. From her early days as the lead singer of Destiny’s Child to her illustrious solo career, Beyoncé has pushed the boundaries of pop, R&B, and hip-hop, creating a catalog that resonates across generations. The playlist below showcases some of her most iconic tracks, such as “Crazy in Love” and “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It),” both of which exemplify her ability to craft anthems that become cultural landmarks.
Beyond the music, Beyoncé’s contributions to social issues are equally significant. Her 2016 hit “Formation” is more than just a song—it’s a statement on Black identity and resilience, with a music video that touches on themes of police brutality and the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Beyoncé uses her platform not just to entertain, but to educate and inspire. The inclusion of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s feminist speech in “***Flawless” is another example of how she seamlessly weaves activism into her art, promoting messages of female empowerment and equality.
Philanthropy is another area where Beyoncé has made her mark. She has consistently used her influence to support a range of causes. In 2017, she launched the Formation Scholars program to support young women in college, specifically those studying creative arts, music, literature, or African American studies. This initiative is a testament to her commitment to uplifting marginalized communities and promoting diversity in education.
Moreover, Beyoncé’s involvement in the Black Lives Matter movement further cements her role as an advocate for social justice. Her contributions have included financial donations, raising awareness, and dedicating performances to victims of racial violence. The song “BLACK PARADE,” released on Juneteenth in 2020, is a celebration of Black culture and a call to action, with proceeds from the song going to support Black-owned small businesses.
In a career filled with accolades and achievements, what sets Beyoncé apart is her ability to use her platform for the greater good. Her music continues to evolve, and with it, her commitment to social change. Beyoncé’s legacy is one of both artistic brilliance and a deep-seated dedication to making the world a more just and inclusive place.
As we look back on the musical landscape of 1999, it’s hard not to be struck by the sheer diversity and quality of singles that dominated the charts and airwaves. Straddling the end of one millennium and the dawn of another, this year produced an extraordinary array of hits that continue to resonate with listeners today.
Pop music was in full force, with young stars like Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys delivering earworms that would define the era. Spears’ debut “…Baby One More Time” and the Boys’ “I Want It That Way” became instant classics, their catchy hooks and polished productions setting a new standard for pop perfection. Meanwhile, Latin pop exploded onto the mainstream scene with Ricky Martin’s irresistible “Livin’ la Vida Loca,” a song that seemed to capture the exuberant spirit of the times.
But 1999 wasn’t just about glossy pop. Hip-hop continued its ascent, with Jay-Z’s “Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem)” showcasing the genre’s growing crossover appeal. Eminem burst onto the scene with “My Name Is,” his irreverent wordplay and controversial persona signaling a new direction for rap. R&B, too, had a strong showing, with TLC’s “No Scrubs” becoming an anthem of female empowerment and Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor” demonstrating the genre’s capacity for emotional depth.
Rock music, far from being overshadowed, produced some of the year’s most enduring tracks. The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Scar Tissue” showcased their evolving sound, while The Offspring’s “Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)” brought punk-pop humor to the masses. Alternative and indie acts like The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev pushed boundaries with “Race for the Prize” and “Goddess on a Highway” respectively, proving that innovative songwriting could still find a place in the mainstream.
Electronic music also made significant inroads in 1999. Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You” and The Chemical Brothers’ “Hey Boy Hey Girl” brought big beat to the forefront, while Moby’s “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?” hinted at electronic music’s potential for emotional resonance. From the dancefloor-filling “Sing It Back” by Moloko to the avant-garde “Windowlicker” by Aphex Twin, electronic artists were expanding the sonic possibilities of popular music in exciting ways.
The singles of 1999 paint a picture of a music industry in flux, embracing new sounds and technologies while still celebrating the timeless art of the perfectly crafted pop song. It was a year that laid the groundwork for the musical landscape of the 21st century, producing hits that continue to inspire and entertain listeners a quarter-century later.
The music of 2001 offered listeners a diverse array of sounds, reflecting the eclectic tastes and creative experimentation prevalent at the turn of the millennium. From hip-hop’s continued evolution to electronic music’s broader appeal, the year’s musical landscape was characterized by a spirit of innovation and cross-genre pollination. While not necessarily revolutionary, 2001’s musical offerings showcased artists pushing boundaries and audiences embracing fresh sounds across multiple genres.
At the forefront of this sonic revolution was Missy Elliott’s “Get Ur Freak On,” a track that redefined hip-hop with its bold beats and futuristic soundscapes. Elliott’s unique style blended traditional hip-hop with global influences, introducing a raw, hyper-sexualized energy that was both provocative and empowering. This era also saw the rise of Jay-Z with “Izzo (H.O.V.A.),” a masterclass in braggadocio that solidified his status as one of rap’s most influential figures. Meanwhile, newcomer Alicia Keys made her mark with the soulful “Fallin’,” combining classical piano with soulful vocals to create a fresh voice in R&B that earned her critical acclaim and multiple awards.
Electronic music found its way into the mainstream consciousness with Daft Punk’s “One More Time,” a euphoric dance anthem that transcended the dance floor, bridging the gap between underground rave culture and pop sensibilities. This electronic influence seeped into other genres as well, with acts like Gorillaz blending hip-hop, rock, and electronica on their debut hit “Clint Eastwood.” The cross-pollination of genres was further exemplified by Eve and Gwen Stefani’s collaboration on “Let Me Blow Ya Mind,” a standout track that seamlessly merged rap and pop elements.
Rock music in 2001 was marked by both innovation and nostalgia. Radiohead continued to push boundaries with the haunting “Pyramid Song,” a complex composition that resonated with fans and critics alike. Meanwhile, bands like The Strokes and The White Stripes led a garage rock revival with “The Modern Age” and “Hotel Yorba” respectively, influencing a new generation of bands. System of a Down’s “Chop Suey!” delivered a powerful mix of metal and alternative rock, addressing themes of life and death with intense energy. Veterans weren’t left behind, as evidenced by Bob Dylan’s “Mississippi” and R.E.M.’s “Imitation of Life,” both of which showcased the enduring relevance of established artists.
The pop landscape of 2001 was equally dynamic, with artists like Britney Spears (“I’m a Slave 4 U”) and P!nk (“Get The Party Started”) dominating the airwaves with infectious hooks and undeniable energy. Janet Jackson’s “All for You” brought a feel-good vibe with its upbeat tempo and catchy chorus. This era also saw the last major hit from Michael Jackson during his lifetime, “You Rock My World.” From the reggae-pop fusion of Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me” to the unexpected success of Afroman’s “Because I Got High,” 2001 offered a rich and varied soundtrack that balanced humor with storytelling, demonstrating that sometimes a catchy hook and a good story are all you need to make a hit. In retrospect, 2001 was a pivotal year that saw the emergence of new stars, the redefinition of established genres, and a time when music felt refreshingly unpredictable, with artists boldly experimenting and audiences eagerly embracing the new and unfamiliar.
Throughout the next however many months I’ll be counting down my 100 favorite albums, because why not. I’m up to number seventy-five.
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, which is actually a matter of perspective and guesswork on my part, for I don’t know where you are as you’re reading this. You may be in the land, which means it isn’t so far away. I got off track. Let me start again.
Once upon a time, in the faraway (depending on where you are) star-spangled, fur-festooned wilds of The Primal Republic, in the corn-fed, skyscraper-sprouting savanna of IllNoize, in the one-out-of-five-dentists-recommended village of Chickago, there lived a woman named Millicent O’Connell, who always wore three bracelets – one on each wrist. This story isn’t about her. I just promised her a shoutout. Hey, Millicent! What’s good, girl?
In Chickago, down the street from Millicent, lived the Phoenix, a magical fire chicken that theoretically could burst into flames and be reborn from its own ashes. Not that it ever actually did that – can you imagine the insurance premium hikes? The village of Chickago was founded by the Phoenix’s great great great grandfather, Bernard Q. Dinkles. It was a beautiful, prosperous village then, but it was seized by the Brown family through unsavory methods that involved mind control, phantasmagorical illusions, psychic manipulation, and the Macarena. Now Chickago was a rough place to live. When one pulls into the city, they are greeted by a sign that reads “Welcome to Chickago. Exit strategy recommended.” Their Girl Scouts, instead of selling cookies, sell kneecap insurance. Even a walk down the aisle requires a bodyguard.
The Phoenix wanted to escape Chickago, but he wasn’t blessed with brains, he wasn’t blessed with looks, and, based on the time I sat at the table next to his at Mary and Robb’s Westwood Café in the village of Los Angeles, he wasn’t blessed with fashion sense. What he was gifted with was an immense talent that needed some finessing to flourish, the same way a flower needs the rain or an uncut gemstone from the cyclops quarry mines of Helicon must be precisely faceted by a jewelry artisan’s skilled hands to fully radiate its inner fire.
The Phoenix could rap. Like, really rap. When he was on fire, he was on fire, though not literally on fire. I mean his rap skills were lit, but not lit because he wasn’t literally on fire. His rhymes were searing hot, but not actually searing anything, because, again, no actual fire was involved. To be clear, I’m using these terms metaphorically to indicate that his rapping abilities were impressively good, not to suggest any sort of combustion or flame-related incidents. While he showed incredible creative spark (though not literally on fire), he wasn’t ready for the big leagues just yet, instead spending his time sharpening his beak in Chickago’s dodgiest backroom clubs, where many have gone in and few have come out. Rumor has it that was the last place Amelia Earhart was seen, her final words being “Which way to the loo?”
Hoping to finally get his big break, Phoenix entered the Bloodsport Battlegrounds – Chickago’s most notorious underground rap proving ground. The Bloodsport Battlegrounds was owned by Bad Bad Leroy Brown, the baddest man in the whole damn town. Some say he was badder than old King Kong, but that’s not a fair comparison, as Kong was misunderstood and treated poorly by human beings who kidnapped and exploited him, whereas Leroy Brown simply was a douche. It was his not-so-great not-so-great not-so-great grandfather who took over the village of Chickago. Seeing the Phoenix sign up for the contest, Brown said to him “Why do you keep humiliating yourself signing up for these rap battles? You’re a loser from a family of losers. You have no talent. You’ll never make it. I shouldn’t even let you be-fowl my stage. Come work some hustles for me. It’ll be your only shot in life.”
The Phoenix wasn’t having it. “All the soap from a henhouse bath couldn’t lead me down your shady path.”
“You are going to get roasted, chicken. You’re going to end up with nothing, like your great great great grandfather, who I heard tasted delicious, by the way.”
The Phoenix entered the club just as the lights went down. A voice came over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, birds and manticores, please welcome the judges for tonight’s rap battle: OG Rap Pioneer Blaze Rhyme; People And Birds magazine’s Sexiest Wren Alive, MC Gyver; and from TV’s Married…With Children and Happy Days, Ted McGinley. And here’s your hostess for tonight – she’s brash, she’s provocative, she’s ruffled a few feathers in her lifetime. Rumor has it she’s the infamous Becky with the good plumage, give it up for Lady P.
“Give me a beat!” Lady P yelled as she strutted onto the stage.
Yo, it's Lady P, the peacock queen,Got the brightest feathers that you've ever seen.I strut on the stage, I own the scene,In the world of birds, I'm the reigning queen.
I rap about the jungle, the sky, the trees,My rhymes are as colorful as my feathers, please.I'm the bird of paradise, the diva of the day,When I spread my tail, I take your breath away.
Everywhere I go, I bring the heat,With my peacock style and my hip-hop beat.So listen up, y'all, to my peacock rap,'Cause when Lady P's in town, all the mens clap.
“More like all the mens get the clap!”
“Yo, I heard that, Nicki. Don’t make me come down there. I’m not afraid to use these talons. Now, let’s start this battle. Welcome contestant number one, a hawk who goes by the name Ice-2CU.”
That’s right, I’m a Hawk, I fly with a crew, In the sky, we rule, there’s nothing we can’t do. Soaring high, living on the edge, Life’s a cliff, and I’m on the ledge. But I’ll keep flying, keep doing my thing, ‘Cause in the sky, the Hawk is king.
Ice-2CU bowed, as well as any hawk could bow, and Lady P returned to the mic. “Good start. Judges, what do you say? Blaze?
“Yo, my feathered dawg, Your flow’s wilder than a caffeinated squirrel in a nut factory, but them rhymes? Weaker than a jellyfish’s handshake! Your delivery’s like a snail trying to win a hotdog eating contest – slow and messy, feel me? You gotta tighten those bars until they’re squeezin’ tighter than an ample-bosomed grandma hugging her grandson Maurice who just graduated kindergarten and is now off to work at Nike! It’s a no from me, but keep hustlin’ you tuneless raptor!”
“Oooh. What say you, MC Gyver?”
“Oh, Ice-2CU, you brave, beautiful hawk! Your performance was… special! Your flow wasn’t quite there yet, but remember, even the Wright brothers didn’t soar on their first try! (Somebody check Wikipedia to see if that’s true.) With some practice, I just know you could fly higher than an average stepladder! It’s a ‘maybe’ from me, because I see potential in you. And if rapping doesn’t work out, have you ever considered mime? You have such expressive eyes! Keep reaching for the stars!”
“Dag, our judges are tough! What do you say, Married…With Children’s Ted McGinley?
“Well, hawk, I must say, your performance was surprisingly… not the absolute worst thing I’ve ever heard. When I saw you, I expected a trainwreck of biblical proportions, but you managed to keep a rhythm. Barely. It’s like watching a three-legged elephant attempt to tap dance. Your lyrics were about as original as a photocopied love letter, and your delivery had all the punch of a sloth on tranquilizers. If this were a competition for mediocrity, you’d win silver – because you’re not even good enough to win at being bad. It’s a no from me, obviously. I’d say don’t quit your day job, but judging by this performance, your day job is probably disappointing people professionally.”
“Maybe next time, hawk. We’re going to keep it going with contestant number two. It’s a pigeon who calls himself – wha? – Ice-2CU2 How’s The Wife Give Her My Best. Take it away, Ice-2-whatevuh!”
Alright stop, coo coo and collaborate Listen to my words, yo, I’m gonna elevate I’m the best of the birds, I eat seeds with my feet I rhyme so… something, my flow’s like concrete
Dodging pigeon lovers, they’re jealous of my thing Landing on cars, ’cause I forgot how to wing Got my crew with me, the Feathered Posse Finding water fast, ’cause we’re thirsty and glossy
So if you see me strutting, with a confident… uh… Don’t be a… what’s the word? This pigeon’s the bomb
Hard!I rhyme so hard, my flow’s like concrete! Hard!
To the sound of no hands clapping and no wings flapping Lady P returned to centerstage. “You really got a unique style, like, nobody else sounds quite like you do. Let’s hear from our judges. Blaze?”
“Yo, my coo-coo dawg! That performance was a hot mess! Your flow? Non-existent, like a bald eagle’s hairbrush! Those rhymes were flying around like loose bolts in a Boeing 737! And don’t get me started on your rhythm – it’s more off than soup prepared by an ample-bosomed grandma who was distracted watching Holing Up With The Haberdashers and accidentally substituted baby powder for paprika! It’s a hard no from me, but keep pecking away, you tone-deaf sky rat!”
“MC Gyver?”
“Oh, little pigeon! Bless your heart for having the courage to flutter up onto that stage. Your performance was certainly unforgettable! Your voice had a quality that’s hard to describe – imagine nails on a chalkboard, but if the nails were rusty, the chalkboard was actually a cheese grater, and it was all happening inside a jet engine. And your stage presence? So unpredictable! I never knew where you were going next – and I don’t think you did either. It’s a ‘no’ from me, but please don’t let this ruffle your feathers. Maybe consider a career in interpretive dance? Or perhaps professional hide-and-seek? Remember, even if you can’t carry a tune, you can always carry messages like your carrier pigeon ancestors!”
“And from TV’s Happy Days, Ted McGinley?”
“Well, Pigeon, that performance was a catastrophe of such epic proportions, it makes global warming look like a minor inconvenience. Your rhythm was so off, I think you might have accidentally invented a new time signature. Your flow had all the grace of an octopus trying to knit a sweater while riding a unicycle. And those lyrics? I’ve heard more coherent sentences from a toddler with a mouth full of marbles. You weren’t rapping, you were regurgitating verbal birdseed. I’d say it sounded like you were cooing rather than rapping, but that would be an insult to coos everywhere. This isn’t just a no, it’s a restraining order – I want your talentless warbling to stay at least 500 feet away from my ears at all times. Do us all a favor and stick to delivering messages – preferably ones that say you’ve retired from music.”
“Awww. Oh, well, Ice-whatevuh. At least you can say you tried and failed. Coming to the stage…do I even have to say his name? Y’all know who it is!” They did, but you, reader, may not, so let me fill you in. Big Strich a/k/a the Featherweight Fury was a massive, intimidating ostrich and the reigning underground battle-rap champion of Chickago’s East Nest. Initially dismissed as a Nepo baby (his mother is acclaimed stage actress Elaine), he made a name for himself by taking on all comers, eating them up and spitting them out (not literally 16% of the time). “Yo, Strich, I’s thought you was going on last but the Phoenix signed up to battle you just before the show started. Rumor has it he’s got heat. What do you say to that?”
This little chicken thinks he’s got heat? Even KFC would reject his meat. I ‘m towering tall, you’re barely knee-high, My rhymes are so big, they could crack the sky.
I may not fly, but my rhymes take flight, Soarin’ higher than any other hype. Droppin’ beats like seeds, watch the crowd erupt, This flightless wonder’s got the ultimate strut.
Step aside, little bird, let a real MC shine This ain’t a barnyard, this is for the divine. Your flow’s drier than the Sahara at noon My rhymes got more kick than a sandstorm in June!
Yo, these rhymes are yolky, got the smoothest delivery, Crack open my verses, taste pure victory. You wanna hide? Go find a tiny hole, This battle’s a runway, I’m taking control!
Yo, I’m the ostrich, the king of the beat, When it comes to rap battles, I don’t know defeat. Tall and proud, I stand above the rest, In the world of rhymes, I am the best.
I see you, chicken, trying to take my crown, But I’m the rap king, won’t let you bring me down. You may have dreams, but they’re about to pop, ‘Cause when I start rapping, I don’t stop.
This village is mine, there ain’t no doubt So do us all a favor – get the cluck out.
The crowd went wild as Big Strich exited the stage. “Oh, dayum,” squealed Lady P. “You sure you want to follow that chicken? Blaze, what did you think of Big Strich?
“Yo, my long-necked dawg, you are a legend, man! Your flow’s smoother than a greased-up penguin on an ice slide! Those rhymes? Tighter than the stitching in a sweater knitted by an ample-bosomed grandma. Your beats hit harder than an elephant breakdancing on bubble wrap! It’s a big yes from me. You’re going straight to the top, you funky flightless phenomenon!”
“I agree! MC Gyver?”
“Oh, Strich, you magnificent, statuesque bird! You’re not just a star, you’re a whole constellation! Your performance wasn’t just flawless, it was like watching poetry sprout wings and do the cha-cha. Your delivery was smoother than a penguin’s tummy slide, and those lyrics were like Shakespeare and Einstein playing tonsil hockey in the back of a DeLorean at Make-Out Point. And the way you own that stage? I think it now legally belongs to you! It’s an enthusiastic yes from me!”
“And from season six of Dynasty – there was a season six of Dynasty? – Ted McGinley.”
“Wow, Strich, you never fail to impress! Your performance was outstanding, as always. Your flow was impeccable, your stage presence was commanding, and you had everyone in the audience captivated. It’s a resounding yes from me. In fact, if I could vote ‘yes’ twice, I would”
“I see the chicken’s not being a chicken, ‘cause the chicken’s in the wings, so please simultaneously welcome and say your final goodbyes to the Phoenix!”
Big Strich, ostrich, head buried in delusion Your height’s your only strength, a genetic illusion Your legacy’s a mirage, a desert of content My bars are oases where real skills are spent
Kick game strong, but your lyrics are lame Big body, small mind, evolution’s cruel game Swallowing rocks just to keep yourself grounded I’m spitting fire while you’re left dumbfounded
You’re grinding pebbles, I polish gem after gem You think your rhymes are complex, but your skills I condemn This ain’t just beef, it’s a full-scale extinction Your style’s fossilized, no chance of distinction
Oh, Strich, ostrich, face facts and retire The Phoenix has risen, set this stage on fire So step off, ostrich, your reign is done, The age of the chicken has now begun.
With that the Phoenix dropped the mic. It was by accident, as his claws were wet with nervous sweat, but let’s keep that between us. [Editor’s note: Per scientists, birds don’t sweat. And vaccines are safe and the earth is round. Sure, Jan!] The ostrich bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat. The entire audience, including the snakes, rose to their feet. Oh, look at me, the author of this piece, writing a rhyme. Maybe I’ll enter this contest next time.
Though the winner, the Phoenix was stunned nonetheless when a legendary figure emerged from the shadows at the Bloodsport Battlegrounds.
“Good job, young’un. You smoked that turkey.”
“He’s an ostrich.”
“Wha – I KNOW he’s an ostrich. It’s an expression! Anyway, my name is Vaughn Barter, but everyone calls me by my initials, J.Z.”
“But your initials are – “
“Close your beak and open your ears. I’m here to help you fly, not debate hip-hop nomenclature. You got skills the world needs to witness. I want to take you under my wing.”
“Do you wear deodorant?”
“Do I wear…? It’s an expression dumbass. It means I’ll mentor you.”
“Ah. ‘Cause when Henny Youngbird said he’ll take me under his wing he literally did that and it was stinky as he’d been flying all day and didn’t have time for a birdbath. I know scientists say birds don’t sweat but they also say vaccines are safe and the earth is round, so clearly they stupid.”
“Do you ever shut up? Don’t make me have to wire your mouth shut.”
“Sorry, J.Z. I’m all ears!”
With J.Z.’s endorsement and professional honing, the Phoenix’s ascent from the streets to success was finally cleared for takeoff.
From dawn to dusk every day for the following four months, the veteran beatmaker taught the young upstart everything he knew about how to write memorable lyrics, how to find one’s way around a recording studio, and how to make the perfect blancmange. (Two words: cinnamon sticks.) At the end of those four months, J.Z. felt his protégé was ready.
J.Z. brought the Phoenix to the offices of Barn Beats Records, the major label that had signed Furrrell Williams, MC Hamster, LL Cool Jaybird, and Snoop Dogg, to name but a few. As relayed by Barn Beats president Gordy the Music Lord-y to Billbird magazine on the eve of the release of The Phoenix’s debut album, “I was immediately struck by his talent, his creativity, his confidence, and his blancmange, which is to die for. With his debut album, this chicken will cross the road…into superstardom!” That guy is so corny.
The Phoenix’s debut album, Coop Dreams, arrived to incredible hype and did not disappoint. Fueled by the inescapable hit single “Through the Chickenwire,” the record soared to the top of the charts, rising like a, um, I’m blanking on the metaphor, but the Phoenix rose like that thing that rises. Listeners were lured in by the Phoenix’s innovative use of samples. One of his brilliant ideas was to take an excerpt of a Chaka Khan recording and speed it up so she sounded like a chipmunk on helium being played at 78 rpm. It captivated, enthralled, and delighted millions not named Chaka Khan.
Then there were the lyrics, giving an unvarnished voice to the discomfort, fear, deprivation and righteous frustrations experienced by marginalized poultry, from cramped cages to industrial farming practices. Fans flocked to the Phoenix’s raw, bold storytelling that vividly depicted the oppressive hardships and systemic injustices he endured while dreaming of escape:
Yo, coop life got me feelin’ so confined, Every day, same walls, same grind, Cluckin’ for freedom, but I’m stuck in this place, Gotta break out, gotta find my own space.
The unapologetic verses raged against the injustice of feeling trapped in Chickago’s unforgiving circumstances. Yet the soaring choruses inspired with the defiant, aspirational mantra:
Coop life’s cool, but it ain’t for me, I’m a chicken with dreams, gotta break free!
That struck a chord with fowl, fish and folks alike. Brothers and sisters, are we not each confined within our own metaphorical coops, yearning to break free from the limits placed upon us? Just as the noble fowl dreams of soaring beyond the coop’s confines, so too do we harbor lofty ambitions beyond the constraints of our daily lives. Let us embrace our inner poultry, for in the pursuit of our dreams, we are all but feathered brethren seeking liberation from the roost of conformity. Can I get a cluck cluck for those who dare to dream, who dare to fly high, who dare to live their lives beyond the ordinary? Let us rise up, let us soar, and let us proclaim our liberation! Can I get an amen? CAN I GET AN AMEN? How about bus fare? Can I get some bus fare, please?
The Coop Dreams album was hailed by critics as well. David Fricassee on Stereogum.com wrote “Coop Dreams is a ferocious, uncompromising debut that has The Phoenix firmly at the top of the pecking order,” while National Geographic, in their annual music issue, called it an “extraordinary hip-hop expedition, where rhythm and poetry majestically roam.”
It wasn’t long before The Phoenix ruled the rap roost. Follow-up albums such as Born To Run Free Range (“a soaring, sunbaked triumph sizzling with ambition and yolky charisma,“ said Mojo) and the live release Roosting at the Ritz (“This album finds The Phoenix spreading his creative wings and laying an impressively eclectic nest of sonic delights,“ wrote Toothpaste Illustrated) boasted guest talent such as his mentor J.Z., hometown hero Stickpin the Rooster, and Chaim Moskowitz of the band What A Maroon. The albums kept selling, the critics kept crowing, and the hits kept coming. In a cover story, Rolling Stone called him “The Chicken That Laid The Golden Egg.” Every artist wanted to work with him. Furrrell even had a hit song about the legend of The Phoenix.
His influence spread beyond the music charts. Adidas embarked on an adventurous venture with The Phoenix, launching a line of Phoenix-branded fashion featuring uniquely cut shirts designed by the visionary chicken himself. This partnership proved to be incredibly lucrative, setting new trends and raking in profits. The Phoenix, with feathers gleaming, was now perched at the pinnacle of success.
And in a tale as old as time, or at least as old as the clock on the back wall at Sarry‘s Hardware Store (“Need a hammer? We won’t nail you on the price!”), The Phoenix’s triumphs went to his head. He became arrogant and entitled, and believed his every cluck carried import.
There was a noticeable shift in public opinion of The Phoenix after he appeared on the televised telethon to raise money for The Institute For The Preservation Of Slightly Stale Bread (most refer to it by its acronym, TIFTPOSSB), where he went off script, announcing “The President doesn’t like black licorice!” The only reason this wasn’t a career killer is because nobody likes black licorice.
His reputation took a nosedive at the International People Who Do Something With Clothing Awards ceremony (you know, the IPWDSWCs). His designs for Adidas made The Phoenix a nominee. When guest presenter Ted McGinley announced that the Academy had awarded the Most Far Out Sewing Pattern to Swifty the Tailor, The Phoenix cockblocked Swifty, stormed the stage, snatched the mic and whined, “Nah ah ah. This award should be mine! I made that stitch famous!” Swifty’s rehearsed look of faux surprise turned into one of genuine shock. The chicken continued, “I suspect fowl play!” What a dreadful pun! Come on, Phoenix, do better!
What goes up must come down, say ignorami who believe that gravity is real. In the case of The Phoenix, that turned out to be true, as he underestimated the gravity of pissing off the Swifty fanbase. The unwashed masses had Swifty’s back. The washed masses had Swifty’s back, and soap and hot water. Other celebrities spoke out against him. “The best thing a person can do to destroy their reputation is to be seen with The Phoenix,” said Mel Gibson. Louis C.K. said “I’m going to choke the chicken.” (I think that was in reference to The Phoenix.) Pope Francis called him a “pussy ass bitch,” though he later apologized for his choice of words, saying he thought he was being asked about Joaquin Phoenix, and that the rapper The Phoenix was merely a “twat.” Fox In The Henhouse News announced that when it comes to The Phoenix, cancel culture was a good thing. He lost fans. He lost friends. He lost the blancmange recipe. Worst of all, he became a punchline. One night talk show host Ross O’NoUDi’int opened their show with this monologue:
“How about that Phoenix? He’s so full of himself that he sends himself Valentine’s Day cards just to read how loved he is, but he forgets to sign them, and because he’s so dumb, he doesn’t know who they’re from. Yeah, he’s dumb as a…uh…I’m blanking on the expression. He’s so stupid that he returned a donut because it had a hole in it. Plus it was one of those Bavarian cream donuts from Dunkin’ Donuts that doesn’t even have a hole! Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe he returned it because it didn’t have a hole. I don’t remember. He’s so stupid! And ugly! Whoa, is he ugly! If ugliness were bricks, he’d be the Great Wall of China. Wait – is that the wall they tore down? In Germany? Anyway, I don’t want to say The Phoenix is unattractive, but when he went to a haunted house, they asked him to leave because he was scaring all the customers, which is kind of the point of a haunted house, but still he shouldn’t have done that, because he didn’t work there and they weren’t going to pay him. Yeah, I don’t want to say he’s unattractive, but they considered putting his face on the $100 bill to stop counterfeiting, but it didn’t work because people pay with apps these days. What’s up with these apps? Am I right? And what’s up with his tiny beak? That’s the smallest pecker I’ve ever seen! That’s what she said! Um, not to me. I’m all set in that department. I’m like the Mona Lisa – well hung! Meaning that painting is fastened to wall of the Louvre securely. I don’t know anything about Mona’s shmekl. Oh, dang, I forgot to tell this one. Um, The Phoenix’s ego isn’t the only thing about him that’s gotten way bigger. I’m not saying he’s fat, but when he sits around the nest, he breaks it and that’s how he ended up with a stick up his ass. You sound like an acceptable audience! Stay tuned, because after the break I’ll be speaking with the hottest new rapper from the animal kingdom, Kendrick Lemur, and a little later I’ll be speaking with Ted McGinley from season six of Dynasty. There was a season six of Dynasty?”
The Phoenix’s talent remained intact while his ego grew as colossal as the cosmos, swallowing galaxies and warping time with its insatiable hunger for adoration. Critics appreciated his daring fourth album Autotune & Agony which found him abandoning rapping entirely, instead squawking like a sea lion that stepped on a nail during primal scream therapy (see The Journal of Animal Science and Research, Volume 6, Issue 3). While a bold artistic statement, the polarizing project’s sales plummeted to half that of its predecessor, predictably proving problematic for his proud persona.
However, things weren’t all bad for The Phoenix, for shortly after the release of that album he met someone who he loved almost half as much as he loved himself. It was at a charity auction to benefit – well, I’ll let the event’s emcee, Ted McGinley, tell you about it:
“We could raise money for the unhoused, but all of us in this room have multiple homes, so what would that get us? Or the hungry, but we have chefs, so how would we benefit? We’re here to tackle an issue that’s less exclusionary, affecting every being, rich or undesirable, and that issue is gravity. Think about it – if, for some ungodly reason, I find myself on one of my rooftops, I shouldn’t have to worry about falling and damaging my new Rolex. The homeless don’t grapple with such high-class concerns, though gravity affects them, too, in ways I don’t want to think about, for gravity is the great equalizer. Well, tonight we say enough! Your generous donations will make gravitational oppression a thing of the past. Every dollar raised at tonight’s auction will go to the Society To Eradicate Gravity, or GETS as it’s known familiarly among dyslexics.”
To this fundraiser The Phoenix donated his toilet seat. “Yo, I never used this, as I’m a chicken, and when I need to bust a grumpy I just do it on the ground.” Still, because he had owned the seat, he figured it would raise a few g’s. The two-inch wide hay doughnut ended up selling for $12.50 to an ostrich farmer with a fetish not suitable to repeat in this venue.
Also donating an item to be auctioned off was The Primal Republic’s favorite gazelle, the star of television’s Holing Up With The Haberdashers, Helena Haberdasher. Meek, reserved, demure: these are words that don’t apply to Helena. Saskatoon, dashiki, lasagna: these are just some random words.
Besides her television show and leaked videos of her grazing Ray J’s grass, Helena was known for her exquisite tapestry-weaving, and that night was auctioning off her latest masterpiece – an intricate, life-size rendering of Sir Michael Caine fashioned entirely from blades of grass.
The Phoenix and Helena locked eyes when bidding started for the first item – a hula hoop made of actual peasants. The bids ricocheted back and forth, until ultimately they went halvsies on the hula, each putting in 12 million dollars. Why not? It’s for charity, and good thing, too, for they forgot to feed the hula and it died. But don’t let that bring you down, for our lovebirds – well, one lovebird and one lovegazelle – did wed and were gifted at their wedding with a replacement hula hoop made of peasants by J.Z. Sadly, it died, too, but whatever. Our nabob’s nationally televised nuptials did well in the ratings, and that’s what matters.
While Autotune & Agony gathered digital dust, The Phoenix recklessly embraced the FLOCK – Fowl Loving Our Country’s Kingmakers. These birdbrains backed President Bad Bad Leroy Brown despite his anti-avian rhetoric and policies. To catch you up: Brown, the Chickago real estate baron, became The Primal Republic’s president after a SCOTUS ruling granted him total immunity, including to literally kill opponents – which he did, leaving five justices abstaining by being dead and the other four voting “please don’t kill me.”
The FLOCK provided Brown’s regime an ornithic veneer. Driven by self-loathing, fleeting power grabs, and ignorance of long-term impacts on nesting/reproduction rights, these useful idiots legitimized an ideology that would severely diminish all birds’ existence, like an avian version of Log Cabin Republicans.
By cozying to the FLOCK’s poisonous worldview, The Phoenix rapidly repelled his remaining original fans.
The Phoenix returned to conventional rapping with My Suitable Stark Dipshit Anarchy. The reviews were not kind:
“A messy, half-baked misfire that should have stayed in the nest.” – Spin
“Clawful rhymes and feather-brained lyrics.” – Rolling Stone
“Chicken shit.” – Christian Science Monitor
I tell you, these critics and their chicken puns will be the eggsocution of me.
His sales declined further.
And then he changed his name to Nick. Nick! Rappers aren’t named Nick. Nick is someone who asks to speak to the manager when his latte isn’t hot enough. No one wants to listen to a Nick, least of all the manager.
The Phoenix’s – I mean Nick’s next album, I Want To Speak To The Manager; My Latte Isn’t Hot Enough, made history as the first album in which 300,000 copies were returned to record stores. What’s so amazing about this is that Barn Beats Records pressed only 200,000 copies. The public was pressing their own copies just to return them.
Astonishingly, The Phoe – NICK sank even lower, announcing he was going “deb’tant 5” on the ‘roos. Nobody dislikes kangaroos, save for one hotel clerk in Melbourne. Per Nick, kangaroos were plotting to take over the world. Check out his tweetstorm (more like a tweetdrizzle):
After that, Nick’s career and reputation went up in smoke quicker than a Seattle Mariners fan’s dream of seeing the team in the World Series. Once beloved, Nick was now a social pariah. Former fans turn their backs in disgust. J.Z. distanced himself from Nick. Chaim Moskowitz demanded his vocals be removed from Nick’s first album (as The Phoenix). He got dropped by his record label, his agent, his manager, and his law firm, and was only kept on as a client by his P.R. firm of Drexler, Göring, Himmler, Goebbels, and DeSantis. He lost his wife, he lost his rizz, he lost his keys. (They’re in the left pocket of his brown hoodie, but I’m not going to tell him that. Cluck this guy.) Adidas severed their partnership with him. You know your public image is more toxic than Chernobyl when a company founded by an actual card-carrying Nazi named Adolph decides you’re too controversial to be associated with.
These days, the only creatures still singing Nick’s praises are Spark Goblins and Ty Dolla $ign. Rumor has it he started hitting the sauce. Famous Dave’s Rich & Sassy Barbecue Sauce. And let me tell you, there are some straight-up tragic tales in this world, but few are more pitifully depressing than a washed-up chicken chugging BBQ sauce like he’s Colonel Sanders’ bitch. The last the public heard from him was his announcement that he plans to produce pornographic films based on characters from The Bible, the first release being the Christmas story Spooged.
The end.
It’s weird to end the story like that, isn’t it? We were told Nick could reignite from his own ashes. Well, now’s the time. He has a shot at redemption, but only if he confronts his flaws with sincere humility. His career can’t get re-nested until after a long “low-broil” period atoning for his arrogance and re-embracing the values he so disdainfully scorched. Only by returning to his humble coop roots can Nick/The Phoenix regain his pluck. Only two paragraphs more of chicken puns, then I’ll put a fork in it.
In the end, the tale of The Phoenix is a cautionary one about the perils of intolerance and underscores the importance of staying aware of what truly matters in life. Sure, money can buy you a place to live, food to eat, a grass replica of Steve McQueen. A gold iPhone, a diamond-encrusted baby carriage, a ticket to space, a crystal bathtub, a ghost detector, a Supreme Court justice, as well as some silly things. Wow! Money sounds great! I got to get me some! Put a pin in that lesson. Let’s pivot.
Hatred breeds more hatred, leading to self-destruction. Talent and success are fleeting without grace and humility, for even the most brilliant stars can crash and burn. If you achieve fame and the power that comes with it, use it for good. You can spread a message of love and respect and compassion, or you be what the Pope calls a twat. Believe in yourself, keeping your ego in check. Stay grounded. Spread love. Uplift others. Don’t call yourself Nick.
There are more problematic artists to come on my favorite albums list.
In the realm of music, 2017 proved to be a year of vibrant eclecticism, where established artists continued to push boundaries and emerging voices made their mark. The year’s soundtrack was a rich collection of narratives, each song telling its own story, whether it be Kendrick Lamar’s thought-provoking lyricism on “HUMBLE.”, or Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow,” an anthem of confidence and empowerment.
The year also saw artists like Future and Lil Uzi Vert pushing the boundaries of rap music, while Lorde and Portugal. The Man offered a more introspective take on pop. Drake’s “Passionfruit” and Calvin Harris’ “Slide” were the smooth, rhythmic tracks that became the backdrop of many summer nights, showcasing the seamless blend of R&B and electronic music.
Veterans like Harry Styles and Miley Cyrus reinvented themselves, leaving behind their pure pop personas for more mature, soulful expressions in “Sign of the Times” and “Malibu,” respectively. Meanwhile, SZA and Sampha delivered deeply personal albums that spoke to the complexities of relationships and self-discovery.
The indie scene was no less vibrant, with King Krule, St. Vincent, and The War on Drugs each offering a unique sonic experience that defied mainstream trends. And let’s not forget the poignant comeback of Kesha, who reminded us of the redemptive power of music.
As we reminisce about the tunes of 2017, it’s impossible not to feel the excitement and energy they brought into our lives. Each track on this playlist brings its own flavor to the table. It’s not just about the songs; it’s about the memories they evoke, the feelings they stir, and the way they become the soundtrack to our lives. Let’s crank up the volume, lose ourselves in the melodies, and celebrate the music of 2017.
Dr. Dre is one of the most influential figures in hip-hop history. As a rapper, producer, and entrepreneur, he has shaped the sound and culture of rap music for over three decades. He is also a philanthropist who has donated millions of dollars to various causes, especially in the fields of arts, technology, and education. However, he is not without controversy, as he has faced accusations of misogyny and violence against women throughout his career. In this blog post, we will explore the achievements and challenges of Dr. Dre, and how his music reflects his life story.
Dr. Dre was born Andre Romelle Young in 1965 in Compton, California, a city notorious for its gang violence and poverty. He began his musical career as a DJ and a member of the electro group World Class Wreckin’ Cru in the early 1980s. He then joined forces with Eazy-E, Ice Cube, MC Ren, and DJ Yella to form N.W.A, a group that pioneered what became known as gangsta rap and brought the realities of the streets to the mainstream. Their second album, Straight Outta Compton (1988), was a landmark in hip-hop, featuring songs like “Fuck tha Police,” “Express Yourself,” and the title track, which showcased Dre’s production skills and the group’s raw and rebellious lyrics.
However, N.W.A soon fell apart due to internal conflicts and legal disputes. Dre left the group and co-founded Death Row Records with Suge Knight in 1991. He released his solo debut album, The Chronic, in 1992, which introduced the G-funk style, a subgenre of rap that used heavy samples of funk music, synthesizers, and melodic hooks. The album was a huge success, spawning hits like “Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang,” “Let Me Ride,” and “Dre Day.” It also featured the debut of Snoop Doggy Dogg, who became one of Dre’s most frequent collaborators and protégés.
In 1996, Dre left Death Row Records after a violent incident with Knight and founded his own label, Aftermath Entertainment. He faced some initial setbacks, as his first compilation album, Dr. Dre Presents: The Aftermath, received mixed reviews and sales. However, he bounced back in 1999 with his second solo album, 2001, which was another commercial and critical hit. The album featured songs like “Still D.R.E.”, “Forgot About Dre,” and “The Next Episode,” which reaffirmed Dre’s status as a rap icon.
Dre also established himself as a prolific and influential producer, working with artists such as Eminem, 50 Cent, The Game, Kendrick Lamar, and many others. He helped launch the careers of some of the biggest names in rap, and earned multiple Grammy Awards and accolades for his production work. He also expanded his business ventures, co-founding Beats Electronics, a company that produces headphones, speakers, and streaming services. In 2014, he sold the company to Apple for $3 billion, making him one of the richest and most powerful figures in the music industry.
Despite his success and fame, Dre has also faced criticism and controversy for his treatment of women. He has been accused of assaulting and abusing several women, including his former girlfriend Michel’le, TV host Dee Barnes, and rapper Tairrie B. He has also been called out for his misogynistic lyrics, which often degrade and objectify women. Some of his songs, such as “Bitches Ain’t Shit,” have been seen as glorifying violence and rape against women.
Dre has apologized for his past actions and expressed regret for his mistakes. He has also tried to distance himself from his violent and sexist image, and focus on his positive contributions to society. He has donated millions of dollars to various causes, such as the USC Jimmy Iovine and Andre Young Academy for Arts, Technology and the Business of Innovation, which he co-founded with music executive Jimmy Iovine in 2013. The academy aims to foster creativity and innovation among students from diverse backgrounds and disciplines. He has also supported other initiatives, such as the Compton High School Performing Arts Center, the Global Fund, and the Michael J. Fox Foundation.
Dr. Dre is a complex and controversial figure, who has both inspired and offended millions of people with his music and actions. He is a rap legend, a musical genius, and a business mogul, who has changed the course of hip-hop and popular culture. He is also a flawed human being, who has made mistakes and hurt others, and has supposedly tried to atone for his sins. He is a man behind the beats, who has a story to tell, and a legacy to leave behind. Today’s playlist consists of 30 examples of his best work, either as a rapper, producer, writer, or some combination thereof.
