Previously on Love/Hate...

In an industry full of horny ass niggas, The-Dream might be the horniest.

He’s the creepy groomsman scrolling OnlyFans at the wedding.

He’s the hotel guest demanding a late checkout for all the wrong reasons.

Pick any storage closet in Madison Square Garden, and at least two of his nine children were conceived there. And when the Ying Yang Twins set aside their drinks to whisper, “Wait ‘til you see my dick,” it was at the behest of one Terius Nash until proven otherwise.

It’s been 13 years since the nine-time Grammy Award winner blessed us with a major label studio album. (2013’s IV Play was indeed that shit.) But if you think he spent all that time away from the microphone twiddling his thumbs, you’d be sadly mistaken.

He dropped three projects during his supposed hiatus—with his Ménage à Trois: Sextape a bit bloated at 40 songs—and sprinkled his bedroom bravado onto albums from Diddy, Kanye, and every other equally problematic artist in the niggaverse.

But let’s not act like his pen hasn’t been penning this entire time too—as evidenced by his latest sensual assault, Beyoncé’s “Morning Dew (Donk).”

So now that he’s tended to his kingdom, it’s finally time to drop a new album and reclaim his libido-shaped throne. The only question is whether his crown still fits.

Previously on Love/Hate...

Sequels create expectations, and it’s clear that the intent behind Love/Hate II is to revisit what many consider the pinnacle of his career: his debut album, Love/Hate. But while I can personally attest that its lead single, “Shawty Is a 10,” had the clubs in a headlock back in 2007, “Bring That Body”—his reintroduction to the algorithm—fails to recapture that alchemy.

Its plodding bassline and monosyllabic chorus—in which The-Dream goes full Mortal Kombat to lure his prey “over heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere” from “that fake nigga over there”—haven’t exactly endeared themselves to his audience, with many flooding Blue Ivy’s internet to file their grievances. I, however, am on the opposite end of that spectrum and appreciate the seductive minimalism lurking beneath his autotuned exterior.

But therein lies the problem: Love/Hate II asks ardent fans to ignore the artist he’s become in favor of revisiting the artist he used to be. This framing requires us to embrace two contradictory ideas at once: acknowledge his artistic evolution while expecting him to be the artist he’s no longer capable of being.

That’s what we call self-sabotage.

That’s not to say Love/Hate II doesn’t have its moments. “24/7” is The-Dream at his dirty macking, dry humping best, and he almost sticks the landing on “Obviously/Juxtapose,” which attempts to shoehorn his prior “Yamaha”/“Nikki Pt. 2”/“Abyss” trilogy into two acts. But for the most part, this album is a recycle bin of melodies and motifs he perfected years ago.

This is reinforced by the fact that “State of Peaches” literally sounds like a reference track, with some of the most atrocious squawking in the history of Western civilization.

That makes Love/Hate II a disappointment on its own merits, but even more discouraging in the context of a sequel.

Joker: Folie à Deux wasn’t it either.

The-Dream will forever remain a first-ballot Hall of Fame pervert and one of my all-time favorite artists, but at this point, he’s become more like comfort food. Every now and then, he’ll surprise us with a bop. “Cedes Benz (Queen & Slim Version)” and “Gorgeous” immediately come to mind.

But you already know how McDonald’s fries taste.

I just wish he’d come to the same conclusion.

As a teenager, there’s nothing more sacred than your bedroom.

In a house full of cartoons and chaos, it’s the only reprieve from pestering mothers, incessant chores, and nosy siblings.

I mean, sure. All the dirty clothes piled at the bottom of my closet weren’t particularly sexy, but I’d like to think the Mugsy Bogues poster and indoor basketball hoop made up for it. As did my Sega Genesis, which would spend night after night standing lookout as I chose Streets of Rage 2 over a reasonable bedtime.

I took tremendous pride in the sanctuary I created, which is exactly why I felt so betrayed to find my mom sitting on my bed after I got home from school. But before I could address this blatant invasion of privacy, she pulled out a white cassette tape and shoved it into my face.

“What’s this?”

The answer was Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle, the debut album of some Long Beach Crip who would one day revolutionize pop culture. But was I about to tell that to a woman who had me competing for Bible Bowl trophies and whose native language was speaking in tongues?

I sure the fuck was not. So I called an audible.

“Why are you in my room?!”

Melvin was my OG. He was two grades older and somehow kept his Charlotte Hornets Starter jacket immaculate. My mom was terrified of drug dealers corrupting the “mighty man of God” she was raising, but it was the school bootlegger she should’ve kept an eye on.

And his catalog was no joke.

Diary of a Mad Band. Midnight Marauders. 12 Play.

Maxi singles. Mad Flavor mixtapes.

He was my portal to another world—and had everything before Sam Goody did.

Not that she cared.

“What’s on this tape?”

Melvin’s signature was those white cassette tapes. The handwritten labels were dope, but I always ripped them off in case my sister got nosy.

Every time he flew out to visit his dad in the Bronx, he came back with more heat—and more bruises he refused to acknowledge. We’d spend hours talking about the music he discovered—how some group called SWV would be the next big thing—but he never charged me for a single bootleg.

I paid my tuition in attention.

Doggystyle became our newest curriculum, and with scripture woven into the walls of my home, Martha Stewart’s best friend took refuge in my underwear drawer.

Or so I thought.

Mothers know the answer to the question before they even ask. But since there’s no greater satisfaction than the truth, it’s a battle of wills. A test of integrity.

I contemplated my fate, then glanced at her.

“It’s John P. Kee.”

Since “Wash Me” had become the official soundtrack to my mom’s Chrysler New Yorker, it was the perfect, sanctified alibi.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, studying the tape before meeting my eyes with her own. “Let’s go to the living room and listen to this together.”

I gulped as she rose to her feet.

“It is John P. Kee, right?”

“Okay!” I relented. With my allowance in jeopardy, I couldn’t wave the white flag fast enough. “It’s not John P. Kee!”

Without missing a beat, she strolled past me to the living room, twirling the incriminating evidence along the way.

“Oh, I know.”

In the living room, try as I might to persuade the judge, Snoop’s insistence that “bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks” undercut my pleas for leniency. His affinity for gin and juice only made matters worse. So by the time Nate Dogg got his balls licked on “Ain’t No Fun,” my face was already buried in my hands.

Her ruling was swift: I was grounded “until Jesus comes,” and any hope for salvation—or my allowance—was a distant memory. Then, as I grumbled under my breath and retreated to my room, she dumped salt in the wound:

“Just wait until your dad gets home.”

The next morning, after I eventually removed my father’s foot from my ass, I stumbled through the doors of Childers Middle School. As restless students swarmed the hallways, my Walkman and I were on the prowl for our next fix. I knew Melvin would let the jokes fly once he found out about Doggystyle, but he’d have a backpack full of H-Town and Tevin Campbell to ease the disgrace.

Except Melvin never made it back from the Bronx.

The morgue finally acknowledged his bruises.

(This feature was originally published in The Boombox.)

On August 3, 1995, amid rising tensions between Sean “Diddy” Combs’ burgeoning Bad Boy empire and Suge Knight’s menacing collective of Death Row inmates, literal outcasts André “André 3000” Benjamin and Antwan “Big Boi” Patton had the audacity to desecrate New York soil by winning Best New Rap Group at the second annual Source Awards.

Undeterred by the chorus of boos that tainted their victory, the defiant East Point Atlanta duo stormed the Madison Square Garden stage and surveyed their hostile surroundings. Then, springing into action like a tag-team wrestler, Big Boi stepped to the side and challenged his partner-in-crime to address their detractors: “So what’s up, Dre?” This prompted his cohort to lean into the mic and unleash a rallying cry that would sow the seeds for the South’s inevitable reign. “But it’s like this though!” he barked. “The South got something to say!”

In the years that followed, the same region that was once admonished for its unwelcome contributions to hip-hop folklore somehow has become its unlikely epicenter. Much to the chagrin of its elder statesmen, today rappers like Future, 21 Savage, and T.I. dominate the charts while their sound, style, and slang are emulated throughout the entire music industry. A far cry from quips like, “New York must stop biting and start writing/And start malice, when the hell we start bouncing?” from Dipset figurehead Cam’ron on his Harlem-charged street anthem “Let Me Know.” But while it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when it was that Southern Hip-Hop seeped into the collective consciousness of the rap industry and asserted its dominance, only one crew can lay claim to putting Atlanta on the map: the legendary Dungeon Family.

Myintrotoletuknow

The Dungeon Family tree is an intricate labyrinth of leaves (such as Janelle Monae, Killer Mike, and Future), roots (OutKast, Goodie Mob, Big Rube, and others), and branches (Cool Breeze, Backbone, and Witchdoctor). But the trunk of the tree, its backbone and very foundation, is comprised of Rico Wade, Ray Murray, and Sleepy Brown. Collectively known as super producers Organized Noize. In fact, as Big Boi affirms in the eye-opening documentary The Art of Organized Noize, “From them cultivating and molding us, and for us to grow and be who we are today, it’s because of them.”

As the architects of The Dungeon Family’s signature sonic template, Organized Noize paired traditional boom-bap snares with live instrumentation, obscure samples, and otherworldly musicianship in order to diversify the redundancy in hip-hop’s portfolio. This infusion of soul defied conventions and introduced much-needed warmth and depth to the musical landscape. “The intricate part of Organized Noize,” Ray notes, “is knowing how to trust your partner.”

The partners in question would converge in 1987. When once upon a time, Ray relocated from the southwest Atlanta suburb of Sylvan Hills to Big Gipp’s Greenbriar neighborhood in East Point, Atlanta. Already an adept beatsmith at such a young age, Ray piqued Gipp’s curiosities with his penchant for graffiti and willingness to teach his new neighbor how to rhyme. This crash course in hip-hop utility would prove fruitful, as they’d go on to join forces and proceed to pound the pavement as the promising duo Sixth Sense.

Elsewhere, T-Boz of TLC introduced aspiring artist Sleepy Brown to his future manager Rico Wade, which would then lead to a chance encounter with Ray at a recording studio. Blown away by Ray’s work ethic and his natural aptitude for crafting songs, Sleepy implored Rico to recruit him into the fold. And in what can only be deemed as fate, Rico was precisely able to do that since Sixth Sense had fallen out of favor with their manager and were floundering around as free agents. Organized Noize was officially in business.

Git Up, Git Out

If the coming-of-age fan-favorite film ATL is any indication, roller rink culture was kind of a big deal in Atlanta. Enter Jelly Bean: the preferred skating rink of choice for Atlanta’s debutantes, vagabonds, and cultural elite. But as its popularity began to wane, the owner offered to rent out an adjacent room outside of the building to Rico in order to offset his diminishing profits. Eager to build his first studio, Rico jumped at the $300-a-month offer. But his new recording home would be short-lived.

After one raucous recording session too many, his family was evicted from their home, forcing Rico to abandon his studio and to use that money to move himself, his mother, and his two sisters to a new house at 1907 Lakewood Terrace. More commonly known in East Point Atlanta lore as The Dungeon.

A makeshift studio constructed in the unfinished basement of their new home, The Dungeon is immortalized in countless songs and serves as the impromptu backdrop of their riveting Yo! MTV Raps debut. A dank crawl space with red clay for walls and imagination for windows, it served as a sanctuary for their continuous creative output. Part recording studio, part doomsday bunker, the collective was so committed to their craft that they slept on the floors, dropped out of high school, and only deserted their habitat to take showers.

“It was the only creative space we had,” Earthtone III producer Mr. DJ recalls, “So the climate didn’t matter. It was home.” And while sharing a single bathroom among 20 people sounds like the blueprint for a horror movie, it was those same conditions that strengthened their familial bond and allowed them to blossom into one of the most influential rap crews of all-time.

In Due Time

Dungeon Family offshoot P.A. (comprised of producer Big Reese, rapper Mello, and eventual Def Jam exec Kawan “KP” Prather) was the first act to emerge from The Dungeon’s rigorous training grounds. As the inaugural act on Savvy Records, spearheaded by “Mercedes Boy” songstress Pebbles, P.A. released their Organized Noize-helmed “Ghetto Street Funk” in 1993. But despite the album’s inability to move units, Organized Noize’s signature sound caught the ear of Pebbles’ husband, LaFace Records honcho L.A. Reid.

Infatuated by the stimulating soundbeds P.A. was spitting over, Reid invited Organized Noize to produce a remix for TLC’s smash hit “What About Your Friends.” But the ever-savvy (pun intended) businessmen, Ray, Sleepy, and Rico not only over-delivered with an addictive remix but cordially introduced OutKast to the masses by adding their animated performances to the track.

“The original vision of Organized Noize was based on us putting our careers to the side,” Rico divulges, explaining their plan of attack. “It wasn’t just about making music, it was about supplying the artist and helping them take their dreams to the next level.” This is exactly what happened next. But while LA Reid was immediately drawn to Organized Noize and developed a particular affinity for Rico’s integrity and warmth (“Rico is one of my ‘sons’,” he once gushed to Vibe), he wasn’t exactly fond of OutKast.

With Atlanta teeming with a wealth of unsigned talent, and artists like Usher and Toni Braxton already in tow, Reid acknowledged OutKast’s potential but wasn’t entirely convinced they were stars. He even implored Rico to join the group in order to provide the missing element he believed they sorely lacked. However, after Mercury Records forced Reid’s hand by offering OutKast a record deal, their imminent reign was only a matter of time.

As the first rappers signed to LaFace, Reid gave OutKast one shot to prove their mettle on the upcoming compilation, A LaFace Family Christmas. Which Reid viewed as an inexpensive way to showcase some of his latest signees, such as McArthur and the quartet A Few Good Men. Being street-savvy yet socially conscious rappers, OutKast was naturally reluctant to contribute to a Christmas album. But acutely aware that this could be the only chance the Dungeon Family had to jumpstart their careers, André and Big Boi dug deep and delivered what NPR dubbed “the greatest Hip-Hop humbug of all-time”: “Player’s Ball.” A funk-drenched, mistletoe-free dedication to the pimps, hustlers, and have-nots on Headland and Delowe who embodied the spirit of East Point Atlanta.

Its video, directed by a pre-“Diddy” Sean “Puffy” Combs, provided the hip-hop community with its first real glimpse into everyday life in Atlanta. The song became an instant smash hit, baptizing every College Park Cadillac in plush guitar licks and Sleepy Brown’s hypnotic chorus. But most importantly, it galvanized the rest of their Dungeon Family tree. Providing them the inspiration they needed to quit their day jobs and go all out to pursue their dreams as musicians.

I Refuse Limitation

With “Player’s Ball” foreshadowing OutKast’s bright future, LA Reid gave his now highly coveted signees the green light to record one of the most influential albums of all-time. Their platinum debut, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, arrived in 1994 and established The Dungeon Family as more than just an incubator, but torchbearers of a burgeoning movement. Goodie Mob’s seminal “Soul Food” and Society of Soul’s “Brainchild,” comprised of Rico, Ray, Sleepy, songstress Esperanza Brown, and in-house poet Big Rube, soon followed. But the song that would catapult The Dungeon Family into Billboard royalty and beyond was TLC’s landmark single, “Waterfalls.”

Produced by Organized Noize and written by in-house songwriter Marqueze Etheridge, its signature drum roll was created on the SP-1200 drum machine by complete accident. Ray had failed to set the correct tempo on the snare sample, bassist LaMarcus Jefferson built around what he had heard, and the rest is history. “Waterfalls” became an international smash. It dominated the Billboard charts for seven straight weeks, racked up a pair (only a pair?) of Grammy nominations for Record of the Year and Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group, and it propelled TLC’s sophomore album CrazySexyCool to exceed 11 million in sales. No longer pigeonholed as merely hip-hop producers, Organized Noize was ready to step out from behind OutKast’s shadow and take their grind to another level.

So off the strength of “Waterfalls”, and after resuscitating En Vogue’s career with “Don’t Let Go” (their Grammy-nominated contribution to the Set It Off Soundtrack), Organized Noize escaped their questionable publishing deal at LaFace and used their leverage to secure a $20 million partnership with Jimmy Iovine’s Interscope Records. Leading to subsequent releases from Dungeon Family adherents Cool Breeze (East Point’s Greatest Hit), Witchdoctor (A S.W.A.T. Healin’ Ritual), and secret weapon Lil’ Will.

They Don’t Dance No Mo

As OutKast and Goodie Mob’s careers continued to skyrocket, The Dungeon Family motif looked unstoppable. Organized Noize contributed to projects for R&B boy band Mista (starring a teenage Bobby Valentino), popular local DJ-turned-rapper Ludacris, Dogg Pound powder keg Kurupt, and other artists. Coincidentally, OutKast expanded their own enterprise to induct newcomers Slim Calhoun and Killer Mike into the fold via their short-lived Aquemini Records imprint. But with André’s interest in music waning, Big Boi took the reins and transformed the fledgling label into the moderately successful Purple Ribbon Records. The label became home to Timbaland protégé Bubba Sparxx and promising upstart Janelle Monae. But as fallen star Christopher Wallace warned us prior to his premature exodus, more money inevitably ballooned into even bigger problems.

With Organized Noize handling business in Los Angeles and the rest of the crew scattered throughout the country touring and pursuing other ventures, their familial bond began to erode. Ray, the sentry of Dungeon Family’s signature sound, buckled under the pressure of producing for so many artists by himself while Rico and Sleepy occupied themselves elsewhere. Plus, considering their $20 million investment, Interscope was running out of patience.

Dissatisfied with Organized Noize’s crop of homogeneous artists and their inability to achieve mainstream success, Interscope cut its losses and prematurely terminated its contract with them. In reflecting on the differences between LaFace and Interscope, Ray is candid in his assessment: “We had more freedom with Interscope, but less understanding. LaFace, because we had nurtured a group that they thought was good and then it becomes something, they were more willing to listen to what we had to say. As opposed to somebody buying into something that’s already successful.” But the rest of the Dungeon Family faced their own set of challenges.

Goodie Mob was feeling the pressure to replicate OutKast’s stratospheric success. So under LA Reid’s mandate, they abandoned their socially conscious subject matter in favor of more commercially viable fare. As such, their third album, World Party, was dogged by scathing reviews and weak sales. To make matters worse, Cee-Lo, their frontman and resident superstar in the making, was so discouraged by the direction of the album that he left the group to pursue his own solo endeavors. Backbone’s Concrete Law, while more in line with the traditional Dungeon sound, suffered a similar fate commercially. The only subset of their camp that was immune to the perils of fame appeared to be Outkast. Who kept hoarding Grammys, pumping out multi-platinum albums, and much to the dismay of the rest of their camp, becoming more creatively self-sufficient.

As the unquestioned leader and founding father of The Dungeon Family, Rico took Organized Noize’s tarnished reputation the hardest. Production opportunities evaporated, calls went straight to voicemail, and whispers circled the industry that the Dungeon Family’s best days were firmly entrenched in the rear-view mirror. To add insult to injury, Cee-Lo’s surging solo career featured courageous forays into pop, rock, and even Broadway sensibilities, yet minimal input from Organized Noize.

But the real salt in the wound came from OutKast’s decision to exclude Organized Noize entirely from their most successful release to date, the ambitious Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. An album that went on to take home three Grammys and sell over 11 million copies. A surprising omission that Rico still interprets as disrespect: “I gave you your opportunity... I don’t care how much hugs and kisses or whatever. We’re gonna have to do something else together to fix that. That was arrogant as shit... They never even thanked me at an awards show. They never said ‘Thank you, Rico Wade. Thank you, Organized Noize’. Ever! You can’t just erase me from the equation. You can’t.”

What further contributed to The Dungeon Family’s collapse was Rico’s insistence on artistic integrity. He was averse to creating music he wasn’t passionate about. So when artists sought his touch to create songs that weren’t true to the Organized Noize ethos, he’d deploy writers to contribute to those projects in his place. So with greed and envy already taking their toll, this decision would further dilute the Organized Noize brand.

With production opportunities scarce as the soundscape of rap shifted into more of a manufactured sound, infighting began to unravel the camp. Killer Mike, infuriated by stagnation in his career, ignited a feud with Big Boi that erupted into violence, and Goodie Mob fumbled without Cee-Lo’s participation. But for Rico and Sleepy specifically, cocaine and ecstasy became their undoing. The Dungeon Family was officially on the ropes.

Return of the ‘G’

Eight years removed from their last studio album, and with Big Boi now well into his stride as a successful solo artist, OutKast astonished the world when they announced they’d be reuniting for the 2014 iteration of Coachella. While rabid fans clamored for tickets and longed for the days of yore, their performances were marred by noticeable rust and a palpable lack of enthusiasm on André’s part. He would later tell the New York Times, “My head wasn’t there. I kind of fluffed through rehearsals. A few hours before the Coachella show, I get a message that Prince and Paul McCartney are going to be there. My spirit is not right, and idols are standing side-stage, so as the show started, I’m bummed. This is horrible. In my mind, I was already gone to my hotel room halfway through.”

But while OutKast’s performance failed to meet expectations, the Dungeon Family was back in the spotlight. Goodie Mob had reassembled on the heels of Cee-Lo’s own platinum credentials, Janelle Monae had blossomed into a force of nature moonlighting as a household name, and Killer Mike joined forces with underground legend El-P to form the juggernaut Run the Jewels. But the biggest surprise was that auxiliary member Meathead, formerly of Dungeon Family apprentices Da Connect, had reinvented himself into one of the most prominent artists on the planet: trap superstar Future.

The Dungeon Family was officially back in full swing, which is exactly where they remain to this day. With not only their own releases, they now have an undeniable imprint on the soul, sound, and style of today. André’s outlandish attire and penchant for eccentricity was the precursor to artists like Young Thug. Big name producers such as Big K.R.I.T., 9th Wonder, J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League, Sonny Digital, and Metro Boomin cite Organized Noize as direct influences. “I feel like every producer today, especially in the South, has a little bit of that Organized Noize DNA,” adds frequent collaborator Ludacris.

But let’s not forget about the rest of the squad. Though no longer involved, Cee-Lo lent his credibility to jumpstart popular singing competition “The Voice,” now in its fourteenth season on NBC. Last summer, Big Boi realigned with mentor L.A. Reid, Organized Noize, and the rest of the Dungeon Family to release his third studio album Boomiverse to critical acclaim. While André remains a well-documented recluse, you’d be hard-pressed to find another superstar rapper who doesn’t consider themselves a fan or have him firmly entrenched in their all-time Top 5.

So yes, the South does have something to say. And had André not braved that Source Awards crowd and reminded them of such, the argument could be made that an entire region of talented artists would remain unsung.

It's been a bumpy road for Chlöe Bailey.

After her critically acclaimed stint as one half of Chlöe x Halle, her hyper-sexualized solo endeavors have confounded fans and raised far more questions than they’ve answered. So eager to recalibrate after a string of flaccid releases—In Pieces debuted at No. 119; its follow-up, Trouble in Paradise, failed to crack the Billboard 200—she’s resurfaced with Resurrection. Billing this project as a mixtape is a convenient way to sidestep expectations. Yet handpicking Timbaland as her accomplice only invites them.

Record labels aren’t in the business of funding failure, so there’s plenty at stake. Any other artist with a Beyoncé co-sign, major label backing, and similar results would’ve been dropped already. So if this is truly Chlöe’s last time at the plate, her fate lies in the hands of a producer who’s sold over 100 million copies worldwide.

I’d take those odds.

The Timbaland of today is a far cry from his FutureSex/LoveSounds peak, a stint in which he, his protégés Nate “Danja” Hills and Jerome “J-Roc” Harmon, and Justin Timberlake remodeled the Billboard charts into their personal platinum playground. In fact, it’s been years since he’s produced an album—let alone a single—that’s shaken the table. Those days of revolutionizing popular music with his signature drum patterns and obscure sampling aren’t ancient history, but nowadays, he’s more closely associated with Verzuz—and backstabbing the same producers who idolized him by embracing AI.

For Chlöe, Resurrection presents the opportunity for artistic salvation. For Timbaland, it’s his best shot at redemption.

Armed with his newest disciples, production duo Mosley, the Grammy Award winner abandons his quest to conquer the future and instead reclaims his sonic palette from the past. The first single, “Talking Dirty,” is a prime example of this new modus operandi. Over an airy vocal sample reminiscent of Aaliyah’s “We Need a Resolution,” coupled with his own stutterstep drum pattern plucked from Missy Elliot’s “Beep Me 911,” Chlöe slithers over the track like the temptress she’s always aspired to be, unveiling her appetite for seduction as she growls into her prey’s ear: “Tonight, it’s me on top; tonight, boy, we won’t stop, so dirty.”

As the mixtape continues, Chlöe stumbles into a standoff on “Priorities.” After her lover accuses her of being selfish for prioritizing her career, he submits his two-week notice and requests “some time alone.” It’s a ploy rooted in the gender politics that far too often derail the ambitions of successful women. But instead of acquiescing, Chlöe flips the script: Either give her a reason to take her foot off the gas or move out the way for somebody who will. “Want me to lay off? Rich bitches don’t sleep; can’t put it on me unless you tryna sign a pre.” Far too often, women are manipulated into abandoning their ambitions in order to protect a man’s ego. On “Priorities,” she makes it abundantly clear that she’s having none of it. Either become the man she deserves or another suitor is welcome to take his place.

Timbaland’s craftsmanship is perfectly suited for declarations like these, as his more measured approach to Resurrection favors her defiance over his typical bombast. The bright congas, digital chirps, and self-sampling are still omnipresent—yes, that’s Ginuwine’s “Tell Me Do U Wanna” interwoven into “On Our Own”—but the production is less spectacle and more about providing Chlöe with the proper runway to unleash her potential. Previous muses like Justin Timberlake or Aaliyah were integrated into his compositions like instruments; Chlöe is treated like a garnish.

The entrée is complete; all that’s missing is her appetite.

While far too many of these songs end abruptly—of 13 songs, only three surpass three minutes in length—and Chlöe’s penchant for singing through her teeth is a bit of a distraction, the end result proves worthy of its namesake. Resurrection proves that Chlöe’s previous missteps were more about scale and perception: She’s been positioned as a star despite never earning that distinction. Sprouting in the shadow of Beyoncé will do that, but she’s her own artist who deserves the opportunity to blossom at her own pace.

The question is, after everything Beyoncé and Columbia Records have poured into their should-be superstar, are they even receptive to treating her like a prospect instead of the franchise?

At the very least, she’s inspired Timbaland to deliver his best material in years.

If you’re looking to build “the world’s first Museum of AI Arts,” Los Angeles feels inevitable.

I mean, sure. The traffic is shit, and delusional reality TV alums tend to confuse themselves with legitimate politicians, but California is the fourth-largest economy in the world—thanks in part to all the entertainment, venture capital, and Kardashian-flavored tourism the City of Angels is world-renowned for.

So eager to contribute to the chaos, media artist Refik Anadol has set up a 25,000-square-foot, multisensory complex dead smack in the middle of downtown Los Angeles and unleashed Dataland: a “digital ecosystem where human imagination meets the creative potential of machines.”

On the surface, that translates into an immersive—and extravagant—living art museum built on “permission-based” datasets. But with the deluge of questions and controversy surrounding the ethical and environmental impact of artificial intelligence, there’s also been plenty of backlash. Social media had already made it its mission to rake Anadol over the coals and dismiss his digital metropolis as “second-rate entertainment” before it even opened to the public. But since I’m Black, nosy, and impatient, I carjacked a UPS truck and decided to sneak into Dataland through a loading dock before its grand opening.

(Okay, fine. I was actually invited to pull up weeks before it officially opened to the public on June 20. But if rappers can lie for street cred, I figured I’d give it a shot too.)

My first impression of Dataland wasn’t the sprawling rainforest that greeted me in the Data Pavilion. It was the Discovery Portal, where I was equipped with a collar that emits an assortment of “bespoke rainforest-inspired” fragrances and a wrist sensor that monitored my galvanic skin response—essentially measuring my excitement on a scale of Donald Trump to crab legs.

Each device was specifically designed to prime my senses for the unknown. So, with uncertainty creeping in as I descended the escalator, the goosebumps climbing up my arms were all I could think about as Dataland’s inaugural exhibit, Machine Dreams: Rainforest, swallowed me whole.

Explaining the unexplainable is a tall order, but the euphoria I felt as I drifted through swirling bromeliads and neon butterflies was exceeded only by the laughter of my fellow attendees. I spent a good 10 minutes stumbling around in awe—fluorescent water lilies dancing on the ceiling will do that to a person—and didn’t realize how hard I was smiling until I met the eyes of grown men and women skipping around with childlike glee. Any experience that can lure the inner child out of prestigious guests and grizzled reporters is worth the price of admission. And to that end, Dataland unquestionably delivers.

This combination of astonishment and curiosity became a recurring theme in the Infinity Room, where Anadol’s Large Nature Model incorporates scents as part of its narrative arc. Priding itself on being trained on “nature’s inherent intelligence,” as opposed to our far more contentious human ingenuity, it tosses technology, art, and nature into a blender to conceive something truly remarkable: a hummingbird’s flight through the Amazon rainforest.

In total, Dataland features five galleries, each offering divergent—and sometimes interactive—experiences. Some will turn your stomach inside out, others transform your “emotional temperature” into an elaborate sculpture, but each fills the room with wonder and delight.

For those with deep-seated resentment towards AI—like me!—it was a relief to learn that this billion-dollar endeavor isn’t the environmental nuke I thought it was. Thanks to a Google Cloud server running on 87% carbon-free renewable energy, Anadol explained that the amount of juice required to generate artwork for each visitor is equivalent to a single iPhone charge.

That’s…impressive.

There’s also the fact that the generative art featured throughout the exhibit isn’t illegally poached from unwilling participants. Because apparently, not everyone’s in the business of aggravated robbery like ChatGPT or Suno. Instead, Anadol and company visited 16 rainforests themselves to compile weather data and visuals, filling in the gaps with a generous helping of images—over 500 million, to be exact—provided through partnerships with Getty, London’s Natural History Museum, the Smithsonian, and other institutions.

So their AI data is about as “ethically collected” as it can get.

Now, whether you feel any of this is necessary is entirely your discretion. But it’s abundantly clear that, despite any pushback or outrage, Anadol and his team went to great lengths to ensure that if Dataland is going to exist, that his AI Disneyland is as ethically sound as possible.

That said, the human element of Dataland is noticeably absent, veering much closer to spectacle than actual art. Gone is the authentic expression of personal experiences or ideas; Dataland is a regurgitation of ecological data. And without that emotional imprint, it lacks the same humanity that it extracts from its visitors.

More importantly, if the purpose of this museum is to champion artistic evolution and honor the vibrant natural world that inspires it, wouldn’t we be better off exploring nature than merely emulating it?

This is all by design, of course, but I suppose that’s also the point: Humanity is often imitated, but it can never be replicated.

Dataland isn’t the apocalypse I feared it to be.

With spring just days away from feeling like a distant memory, it can only mean one thing: summer has arrived and brought Father’s Day along for the ride. So without further ado, let’s get to these gift recommendations for the amazing daddying ass daddy in our lives.

Cloud Nine Grounding Hoodie

This Substack is named Laughter & Lexapro for a reason.

As someone who struggles with anxiety on a daily basis, any opportunity to preserve what’s left of my sanity is an absolute must. And as someone who owns approximately 739 hoodies, this one might be my favorite one yet.

Aside from the assortment of dope color schemes, what makes the Cloud Nine Grounding Hoodie unique is that it’s specifically “developed for those who experience anxiety and ADHD.”

That would be me.

And to that end, each of these magnificent hoodies is designed to feel like a weighted blanket, includes a “tactile sensory fidget patch” in the front pouch, and features a stress ball built into the sleeves. So if you find yourself incapable of hugging the daddy in your life every single second of the year, this is undoubtedly the next best thing.

Buy him 18 of these and thank me later.

Bardstown Bourbon Company Distillery Reserve Mars Single Malt Japanese Blend

These are very exciting times.

Not only is Steve Lacy emerging from whatever monastery he’s been hiding in for the last four years to drop a new album, but Kentucky bourbons and Japanese whiskies are swiping right and blessing our kidneys with limited edition offpsring.

Distillery Reserve Mars Single Malt Japanese Blend is what happens when Bardstown Bourbon Company whispers sweet nothings in Japan’s Mars distilleries' ear, and they jump in the same barrel, get frisky, and co-age together.

Kinky, right?

But in this instance, limited-edition means extremely limited-edition. So snatch one up for dad immediately before all his dad friends rub it in his face that they got theirs.

Google Pixelsnap Charger

If the dad in your life is anything like me, he has one too many gadgets: TVs, iPads, Playstations, noise-canceling headphones for when mom talks too damn much, etc. All of that stuff is a hassle to keep up with, but you know what would make his life easier? A wireless charger. And thankfully, Google’s Pixelsnap Charger is perfect for the task at hand.

And no, it’s not just for the Google Pixel. It works on any Qi2 device. That includes your precious iPhone or Samsung Galaxy for all the tech junkies out there.

Churrasco BBQ 4-Piece Carving and Shredding Claws Set

Did the dad in your life watch Deadpool & Wolverine and leave the theater with an insatiable urge to growl and stab things? Well, we sure as hell don’t want Daddy Dearest going to jail, so perhaps the Churrasco BBQ 4 Piece Carving and Shredding Claws Set is the next best option.

It’s sharp, it’s manly, and pulling meat has never been easier. Save your bail money for another crime.

STOKE Shoes

I’m not the most fashionable person, but I already know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. They might not be the sexiest pair of sneakers I’ve ever owned, but let me tell you: THEY ARE COMFORTABLE AS HELL.

IT’S LIKE DROPKICKING A CLOUD IN THE FACE.

And as someone who’s suffered, bled, and died in Chucks, all in the name of vanity for decades, STOKE Shoes are a long overdue change of pace. But more importantly, they’re literally made for dads.

Aside from being specifically designed for dads with wide feet, they’re not made for running marathons; they’re made for dads who put in some serious hours dropping their kids off at school, running errands, and being dragged around the mall by their nefarious wives.

Did I mention how insanely comfortable they are?!

Sip Elixers

Liquor is cool, but if getting high as shit is more your thing, then boyyyyyyyyyyy do I have a recommendation for you.

Sip Elixirs prides itself on giving you the munchies in the most efficient and enjoyable way possible, and speaking from personal experience, they are exceptional at doing exactly that.

With four moods to choose from (sleep, chill, party, and energy), three highs to pick from (10mg, 50mg, or 100mg), and an assortment of flavors at your disposal, Dad can customize his high and live his best life while melting into the couch.

Hysterical laughter sold separately.

CDN Smart Probe™ Thermometer

I can’t grill worth a damn, but assuming the dad in your life can, expect him to jump in the air and click his heels with glee if you buy this for him.

Why? Because the CDN Smart Probe™ Thermometer is the shit. It has customizable alerts and alarms, auto shut-off, remote monitoring via Bluetooth on mobile devices, is accurate as hell, and has an 81% chance of making your food taste better.

Okay, I made up the last one, but everything else is true, dammit.

Hardy Nutritionals Daily Essential Nutrients

Self-care is a lot like Jagged Edge’s “Let’s Get Married”: We ain’t gettin’ no younger; we might as well do this.

To that end, we have Hardy Nutritionals Daily Essential Nutrients, which prides itself on delivering micronutrient therapy: “every essential vitamin and mineral you need to fortify your body against serious problems like chronic stress, anxiety, depression, and even brain cell degeneration.”

And with nutritional deficiencies playing a part in mental health, consider this the first line of defense to improve Dad’s mental clarity, sleep, and get his mind right.

APOTHEKE 3-Wick Candle

Because no one’s house should ever smell like Funyuns and feet, I’m gonna need the dad in your life to put on his big boy pants and step his candle game up if he hasn’t already.

If you’re shopping for the modern man, you can’t go wrong with any of the APOTHEKE 3-Wick Candles. So find a scent that works for Dad and liberate his house from smelling like his laundry hamper.

In what’s become routine, the Knicks just embarrassed the Spurs—again.

Yet somehow, LeFrak City, Queens native N.O.R.E. is still unhappy.

After a lifelong allegiance to all things Madison Square Garden, most of us would be delirious with glee after our team just pulled off the greatest comeback in NBA Finals history. But the man who gave us “Super Thug”—fashionably late and proudly buried beneath a Knicks snapback, matching jersey, and an infectious grin—is perturbed.

“I need y’all to see me, man!” he rants. “My facial expressions are great!”

“About time you got interrupted for once,” I joke, to an eruption of laughter from his partner in crime, DJ EFN.

In the wonderful world of entertainment, technical difficulties are the norm. Yet much like the Knicks, despite seemingly insurmountable odds, the best in the business rise to the occasion—and dominate.

Since its inception in 2016, Drink Champs has done exactly that, blossoming into a cultural phenomenon in the process. It’s a fascinating tale of a time before every rapper in the universe had a podcast, but that's their story to tell.

So with the three of us scattered throughout the globe, and despite Zoom’s best efforts to turn N.O.R.E. into a mime, we chopped it up to reflect on their ascension into podcast demigods.

“I’m the Yalla Yalla! Y’all got to see me, dammit!”

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Jay Connor: So after 10 games in a year—my bad. 10 years in the game—

N.O.R.E.: [Laughs] You know what’s crazy? We knew exactly what you meant.

DJ EFN: Yeah, we knew exactly. [Laughs] We’re all on the same wavelength.

[Laughs] Nah, but congrats on 10 years in the podcast game. When y’all started back in 2016, the podcast space looked very different then. What was it y’all set out to do with the creation of Drink Champs?

DJ EFN: Several years before we started the podcast, we had a show on SiriusXM. It was just something we did for fun in my studio. It looked and sounded just like Drink Champs; it just wasn’t a business for us.

When we stopped doing that, we were trying to figure out a way to do that same thing we had so much fun doing, but turn it into some kind of a business. Not a business that would take over our lives, but something on the side we could do for fun and make some extra money. We never thought it would become the juggernaut it is now.

I had friends who were in the podcast space early, and they were always advocating for us to become a podcast. I had a homie named Godfree who had Gamertag Radio—

N.O.R.E.: Shoutout to Godfree.

The comedian?

DJ EFN: Nah, Godfree has Gamertag Radio. It’s a gaming and hip-hop podcast, and he was always pushing for us to get into the podcast space. So when he ended up connecting with CBS Radio, he was like, “Yo, I could connect you if you want a distribution partner for the podcast.” So I told N.O.R.E., but the timing wasn’t right, and it took a few years to finally get it together.

But we were always using the term Drink Champs. If you were hanging out in the studio with us, when we were drinking, smoking, or whatever, if you couldn’t hang, we’d say, “You’re not a Drink Champ.” I loved that term so much that I grabbed the .com of the website, grabbed the social media handles, copyrighted it, and had my boy Skam create our legendary logo. So when we connected with CBS, and they asked for some pilot episodes to see what we were gonna do, we were ready. I told N.O.R.E., “I got the logo, I got everything.” He was like, “Let’s do it.”

What we wanted to bring to the table was a show that shared all these conversations that were happening backstage or in the studio that most fans weren’t privy to. We wanted them to be a fly on the wall at these studio sessions, where people are drinking, smoking, and just shooting the shit about the industry, the culture, their journeys—and celebrate our guests, their careers, their legacies, and the culture as a whole. That’s why we created Drink Champs and what we set out to do.

Wait. Hold up. The XM Radio show being the precursor to Drink Champs is breaking news to me. That’s ill. I didn’t know about that. I always thought y’all jumped off the porch with the podcast.

DJ EFN: [Laughs] Nah, it had a crazy name. N.O.R.E. came up with that name because he wanted to include our crews and our homies. Shoutout to Leo G, who was at XM Radio. But if you go on YouTube and search Millitainment Crazy Raw Radio, you’ll see the clips. We had the same intro; we’re drinking Tiger Bone, we got our homies there. We just didn’t have too many guests at the time ‘cause we were in South Miami at my studio. It was a mix show, with my homie DeeJay K-N-S spinning records. We just had a lot of fun. Go check it out.

For sure. And your fans appreciate y’all for creating a platform that lets them be a fly on the wall. That’s what makes Drink Champs so special—and stand out from so many other shows because your guests feel so comfortable. Y’all were really one of the first of this magnitude to bring your homies on and create an environment of transparency and vulnerability so that we get the stories we’d otherwise never hear. Y’all even helped Mad Skillz and Jazzy Jeff peace things up after 10 years of not speaking. That’s crazy.

DJ EFN: Yeah, that was crazy.

N.O.R.E.: Thank you for noticing that.

Nah, but so many memorable moments on that show have been a testament to the energy you two bring to what you’ve built. We gotta salute that.

N.O.R.E.: And we made Rev. Run send Mad Skillz his hat.

[Editor’s Note: It’s all love now, but here’s the backstory on why Mad Skillz wanted to “beat the shit” out of Rev. Run of Run DMC in a past life.]

Yeah, Mad Skillz is my guy, so I remember that.

N.O.R.E.: Yeah, that’s the homie. He just won a Grammy. Big ups to him.

For sure.

N.O.R.E.: That’s one of the best things about Drink Champs: when I speak to a fellow artist, and they tell me they’re getting their quota back. That they’re back outside and living. That to me is like, “Wow.” Because I don’t feel like anybody has a time limit. These European artists? These rock artists? They live on forever. They’re still touring right now, and they’re 900 years old. So why are we putting a time limit on rappers? That shouldn’t exist. They call it “washed up,” but people aren’t washed up. They’re seasoned.

We want to give them their flowers, man. One of the best things I could ever do is just like look at an artist and—maybe they don’t have a lot going on at the time. Me and EFN will say, “I would love to have them on the show.” And once they come on, I can look on their Instagram, they’re in Europe and—

They’re poppin’.

N.O.R.E.: They’re all over the place! And I’m like, “Holy moly guacamole!” This is the real gift of what we’re doing. Not the money, not the accolades. But when we can actually say, “Homie Headphones hasn’t been outside, but Homie Headphones is lit again.” It’s so beautiful, man.

DJ EFN: That was what was important to us: to create a platform to fill that void. To start with our peers, and the artists before us, and give them a place to go. When we started, you had to be an artist that was considered current or relevant. But for us, we care so much about the culture that you never stop being relevant.

The pioneers and our peers, anybody that’s truly contributed—whether you’re someone that’s well-known or not but were a key contributor to the culture—that’s who this platform is for. To come tell your story and let people who might not have known or forgot come on and remind them what you contributed and who you are.

To that point, what role has your show played in humanizing those artists? In the 90s, when y’all were coming up, the only avenues to get your story out were radio or magazines. But now, for better or worse, artists have much more control over their narrative.

N.O.R.E.: I love that question. Being famous is a hard thing to do, man. It’s really, really, really hard. So I feel like every hip-hop artist who has had success—even if it’s one single—they’re heroes. I live this. At the end of the day, if you’re a construction worker, you can take off your construction gear, and you’re done for that day. I never take off my construction gear. Never. And anyone who’s ever been even a little bit famous, they can never take off their construction gear. They’ll always be who they are.

DJ EFN: One thing I want to add—because we haven’t mentioned this in any other interview— it was always important to me that we come from two different places. N.O.R.E. is from New York; I’m from Miami. I’m a DJ; I was on the marketing side, the behind-the-scenes side of the music industry. Then you have N.O.R.E., being the legendary artist that he is. It’s two different POVs, and we cover a lot of ground for the culture, which helps balance everything. There might be someone who’s a legend to me that N.O.R.E. wasn’t really thinking about, and once we have them on the show, he understands what that person means to a region or to hip-hop culture as a whole. I love that about the show.

That’s a really good point. As a journalist, it’s dope to interview “The Man,” but sometimes you get a better story when you interview the person next to “The Man”. Because they might be more candid or willing to speak on things that the superstar won’t. So with N.O.R.E being a platinum artist, “running laps around the English Channel with a cocker spaniel”—

DJ EFN: [Laughs]

N.O.R.E.: You wild! [Laughs]

—and you being a DJ, dropping mixtapes, being on marketing teams, managing artists and producers, making all the moves behind the scenes, you offer two entirely different perspectives from the same experiences—which allows you to fully contextualize the whole story. You know what I’m saying?

But with you guys being so active in your careers when Drink Champs first started, was it difficult to transition from everything y’all already had going on to pivoting into podcasting full-time?

DJ EFN: I wouldn’t say that it was difficult, but it was an adjustment, for sure. We didn’t think it was gonna be something that would completely take over our lives. We thought we would just get together once a week, like we did with SiriusXM, and that’s it.

Yeeeeeeah, podcasting doesn’t work like that.

DJ EFN: It completely took over our lives. I always feel that everything we had done up to that point prepared us to take advantage of the immediate success of Drink Champs. Everything I’d done as a mixtape DJ, as a marketing person, a street team person, management—all that stuff leading up to this helped me. I applied all those skills I learned; all that experience.

We own this. It’s not like we had a lot of outside help. We did this completely ourselves with distribution partners—which we love, like Revolt and everyone we’ve had in the past who have all been really great—but in the beginning, it was just us. It’s the same with N.O.R.E. I think everything he’s done in his legendary career was a huge factor in our success. We applied all of our experience, and dumped it into Drink Champs.

One of the people who’s had a profound impact on me as a creative and eventual journalist was Reggie Ossé, a.k.a.—

N.O.R.E.: Combat Jack. Yeah.

DJ EFN: Rest in peace, man.

Word. Combat Jack. The podfather. What influence did he have on how you guys approached Drink Champs and your journey as podcasters?

N.O.R.E.: Reggie was my first lawyer.

Yeah, I remember.

N.O.R.E.: I’ll be honest with you: He didn’t negotiate the best deal for my group, Capone-N-Noreaga. But as a man, he came up to me—and he documented this; he actually said this on camera—and he was like, “Yo, if there’s one thing that I ever regretted, it was negotiating the Capone-N-Noreaga deal.” I fully forgave him in real life. It was a deal where negotiations started on Monday and closed on Wednesday. He expressed the fact that—how can I say this? That man has passed away, and I love him—he invited me on his podcast, and we sat down and talked about it. This is all documented.

He said, “Sorry,” and I one million percent accepted his apology. Me and him were great. He has a legendary episode with us and Jack Thriller where we called 2 Chainz. It’s one of the greatest moments in Drink Champs history. So I always want to give Combat Jack his flowers and send love to his family. His son is out there doing crazy! And I love that.

DJ EFN: Let’s not forget that Combat Jack and the Loud Speakers Network reached out to us early and said, “That thing you guys did on SiriusXM would be a great podcast.” They even sent us equipment because they wanted us to join their network. Early! I’d say maybe two years prior to us finally launching Drink Champs.

Loud Speakers was killing back then.

DJ EFN: Yeah, they sent us equipment twice. N.O.R.E. just wasn’t ready to start the podcast at the time, so I sent the equipment back. Then they had another convo with us. N.O.R.E. seemed like he might be ready, so they sent it again. Then we weren’t ready. I’m not going to just put out N.O.R.E.—we weren’t ready. So I sent the equipment back again. And with that opportunity, we just didn’t end up going with them.

N.O.R.E.: Who’s the other guy from Loud Speakers?

DJ EFN: I forgot the other guy’s name.

You mean Chris Morrow?

N.O.R.E.: Chris! Yes! We gotta big them up because they really had the vision for us first. It’s the truth.

DJ EFN: Yeah, they were one of the first. And when we launched, and it was an out-of-the-box success, Combat Jack congratulated us. He really welcomed us into this space. They are the pioneers.

N.O.R.E.: I want people to know that. Rest in peace, Combat Jack.

He definitely had a big impact on so many podcasters in this space, so I’m glad y’all were able to peace everything up and become friends before he transitioned. But circling back to how the podcast industry has evolved over the past decade, you guys and Joe Budden were among the first to launch podcasts as successful rappers. But now it seems like every rapper—whether they’re a seasoned vet or just trying to catch a buzz—has a podcast. Y’all gave everyone the blueprint.

N.O.R.E.: My momma might have a podcast! [Laughs]

Shit, you might be right. [Laughs] But to that point, do you feel like your peers share your respect for the craft? Or are they just trying to hit a lick and stay in the algorithm?

DJ EFN: Most of those artists that have podcasts now came to Drink Champs, and we advocated for them to start one of their own. We were always telling them, “Yo, you should start a podcast.” I can’t speak to their intentions, or how they feel about what they’re doing, but I’m proud that we’ve opened up a whole new lane for people to make a living off of—if their music wasn’t doing that for them anymore. It’s another way to stay in the culture and still contribute. So I’m proud of that.

I want to circle back for a second. Earlier you mentioned the role that your distribution partners have played in your success. So how did you guys come into partnership with Revolt? How did that relationship come about?

N.O.R.E.: After Godfree connected us with CBS, we were like, “Nah, man. We need a hip-hop network for our hip-hop show.” And Revolt just stepped up. It’s been history ever since. CBS was a great partner for us as well, but they just weren’t a part of the culture.

DJ EFN: But remember, N.O.R.E. Just to be accurate, it was simultaneous. CBS was our audio partner. We had the vision and the foresight to start filming video from the beginning, but that wasn’t the main thing for the first six months. Then we connected with Revolt through our relationships there. N.O.R.E had a relationship with [former Revolt chairman] Puff; we had Rahman Dukes, who used to be at MTV—

N.O.R.E.: Wasn’t Shaheem Reid there?

DJ EFN: Later on, yeah. And I had a documentary series called Coming Home on Revolt when it first launched. So we had that relationship. But they saw what we were doing in the podcast space, and they had the vision and the foresight to say, “This needs a visual platform.” To us, that was dope because I don’t think there was any other podcast—definitely no hip-hop podcast—that was on cable TV and backed by an entity like Revolt. So yeah, the partnership has been beautiful, and they’ve been great with us. We’ve had different audio partners, but the visual partnership with them—both linear and digital—has really stood the test of time.

I was about to say: I don’t want to go all Soulja Boy on you, but I really feel like y’all were the first to popularize visuals on that level. At least from the hip-hop perspective.

N.O.R.E.: You said it, not me. [Laughs]

When you started talking about a separate deal with Revolt for the visuals, I was like, “Damn.” I know Combat Jack had his situation with Complex, but the podcast was strictly audio.

N.O.R.E.: Yeah, it wasn’t leenier.

DJ EFN: Linear, yeah. [Laughs]

N.O.R.E.: Linear! [Laughs] Y’all know I’m dyslexic. But big up to Revolt; they’re great partners. We wanted to own our stuff, but they allowed us to do partnerships with other entities.

That’s real. Some of the best advice I ever got was years ago, when my homeboy Van Lathan told me to never sign an exclusive deal. ‘Cause unless the framework of the deal looks right, you limit yourself and can get caught up in some bullshit.

N.O.R.E.: At one point we had Mass Appeal; we had TIDAL. It wasn’t cross-collateral.

DJ EFN: Yeah, they weren’t competing deals. They all contributed and helped, so it was mutually beneficial to everybody.

N.O.R.E.: And Revolt allowed us to do that. So that’s the reason we’re celebrating 10 years—10 years!—of greatness, of us being together, and we’re still having fun. Shoutout to the Revolt staff.

DJ EFN: The Revolt staff has been great for years. We also gotta make sure we mention we’re dropping the 10-year anniversary episode on June 18th. We wanna make sure everybody checks that out.

We got some surprises? Or…?

DJ EFN: It’s going to be just a very—there are some surprises, but it’s a very nostalgic episode looking back at our 10 years.

Definitely looking forward to that. So after 10 years and 500-plus episodes, who’s one person you’re still dying to interview, and one person y’all would love to have interview the two of you? Besides myself, of course.

N.O.R.E.: You’re definitely first. [Laughs]

DJ EFN: Me personally, I’m such a history buff in terms of the culture. I love that we’ve had Grandmaster Flash and Grandmaster Caz, so I want Kool Herc on the show. I would love to give Herc his flowers. I think the culture needs to see him on our platform and hear his story—his story’s been told—but do it the Drink Champs way.

N.O.R.E.: I’m sorry to double down on him, but yes. Kool Herc.

DJ EFN: Melle Mel as well. To me, it’s all the pioneers. Come on our show, take advantage of our platform. Let’s celebrate you. Let’s have fun. I don’t consider us an interview show, to be honest with you.

That’s interesting. What type of show would you consider it then?

DJ EFN: It’s a celebratory conversation. We’re celebrating your legacy; celebrating the culture. And we’re all able to reap the benefits of the culture. That’s why I want the pioneers to come on. This was all built on their backs. They created the foundation.

If we’re talking about being a pioneer and creating a foundation, then have a recommendation—and this recommendation came to me literally this morning.

N.O.R.E.: I love it.

Are y’all familiar with Sean Thomas, a.k.a. Barney Rubble?

DJ EFN: No, man. I’ma be honest with you. No.

So he’s a keyboardist and producer that was a member of the Death Row Players, the in-house musicians back in the day at Death Row Records. He played for Daz, he played for Dr. Dre, he played for Warren G, he played for all those dudes. He’s been super low-key for a while, but within the last month, he’s been on Instagram showing how he created a lot of those classic songs by himself. “21 Jump Street,” “Murder Was the Case”—

N.O.R.E.: Wow.

And he’s talking about how far too often in this industry, these keyboardists and guitarists are taken advantage of and dismissed as “session musicians” instead of the songwriters and co-producers they actually are. He’s like, “Nah, I was never told what to play. I created those songs from scratch. I was in the room by myself, playing to a drum loop, and I came up with all the ideas, the chords, the creativity—I did everything.”

DJ EFN: Oh, wowwwww.

He’s literally the Death Row sound, and nobody has any idea.

DJ EFN: How have we not heard of him?!

That’s what I’m saying! It’s crazy. Y’all gotta get him on Drink Champs immediately.

DJ EFN: Yo, thank you for that.

N.O.R.E.: Yeah, thank you. And we gotta have you on the show too.

Oh, no doubt.

DJ EFN: I tell people it’s okay not to know, but if you care about the culture, if you care about something, it’s not okay to not want to know. You know what I’m saying?

Big facts.

N.O.R.E.: Word. That’s a great saying.

Drink Champs has given us so many incredible moments throughout the years, and I’m proud of everything you two have created. Did you guys have any final thoughts after 10 years in?

DJ EFN: We’re just really grateful to the viewers and the fans—we call them the Drink Champs Army—our whole staff that’s a part of the production, and to our partners. Revolt has been nothing short of amazing. We own our IP; we own our show. But still, our partners act like they have an equity stake. That’s how much they’re involved in making sure we’re successful.

We’re really grateful to Revolt, and obviously Black Effect, who’s our other audio partner. And thank you to Revolt, man. For everything they’ve done after 10 years, we’re still here.

N.O.R.E., what you got?

N.O.R.E.: Walking around New York City, I’m seeing the fans. And they know that we’re celebrating 10 years. They’re saying, “Congratulations.” It’s like, wow. This is something really, really, really beautiful. And now hip-hop is controlling media. I love that. I love the fact that if I want to see sports now, I can go to a hip-hop sports show. If I want to see fashion, I can go to a hip-hop fashion podcast. I love the fact that we stepped it up.

Now, should it be credited to us? Saying that we were the first one at the forefront? Yes. But I’ll let y’all say that. [Laughs] Let me not say no more.

But that’s the thing though: How many times have we seen people not get their due because they didn’t speak up?

N.O.R.E.: People get offended. [Laughs] But to our fans, man. EFN just said it: Drink Champs Army. They’re really holding us down. They’re crazy maniac fans, and we love them. They stuck with us, so I just want to say thank you to the fans and thank you to our partners throughout the years. Revolt has been a blessing for us; iHeart and Black Effect. Big up to TIDAL, big up to Mass Appeal, everybody at CBS.

DJ EFN: We also can’t forget to thank all the amazing guests that have trusted us to come on the show. We’re a guest-heavy show, and without them, we wouldn’t be here either. They’ve trusted us; we’re in Miami—

N.O.R.E.: Repeatedly too!

DJ EFN: We’re not in the cities where everybody usually does press runs. We don’t even want that. Our thing is, don’t come on a press run, just come to the show and hang with us. But without them, we wouldn’t still be here. So thank you to every single guest that’s trusted us and made the effort to come through.

Word. I’m glad we got to chop it up, y’all. To 10 more.

N.O.R.E.: To 10 more!

Kung fu flicks are a lot like Drake: you don’t come for the triple entendres or sociopolitical critique; you come for a good-ass time.

And if there’s anyone in cinema who has mastered the art of hand-delivering exactly that, it’s stunt performer, fight choreographer, and professional ass-beater Kenji Tanigaki, who’s arrived on American shores just in time for Father’s Day with his latest foray into flying fists and feet, The Furious.

I’ve been extremely fortunate to have never experienced a kidnapping, but if I had an 11-year-old daughter named Rainy (Yang Enyou), and she got snatched up by some twisted child trafficking ring, I would imagine I would be pretty fucking pissed. This perfectly explains the temperament of mute handyman Wang (Xie Miao), and why he’s hell-bent on setting a Guinness World Record for how many bones he can break within one hour and 53 minutes of runtime.

Featuring some of the most insane fight choreography I’ve ever seen—treating somebody’s legs like uneven bars in order to do front flips on the floor is some other other shit—The Furious is eerily similar to extra-lean ground beef: it’s 90% ass kickery, 10% flimsy plot. But that flimsy plot is particularly timely, as we have a corrupt justice system bending over backward to redact protect the wealthy elites harming children. Sound like anyone you know?

Fortunately, Wang’s sidekick, Navin (Joe Taslim), is equally adept at impromptu orthopedic surgery. As they scour the city for Navin’s missing wife and Rainy, the beatdowns and brutality are as glorious as they are gory. Deploying everything from bike pedals to frozen heads as weapons, Wang and Navin slap a fresh coat of paint on trope after trope—tearing new assholes and cartilage along the way like a side-scrolling Sega Genesis beat-em-up.

The Furious makes a grand total of zero attempts to reinvent the wheel, and when the blueprint is executed so masterfully, the end result is one of the best kung fu flicks in years. More importantly, in an American society simmering with rage—in part due to our dwindling economy and political climate—Tanigaki delivers the exact catharsis that far too many of us crave. So if stab wounds and barefoot car chases can momentarily alleviate the constant gloom that awaits us after our morning coffee, then bring on the fisticuffs.

Lastly, if you haven’t done so already, please teach your kids kung fu.

You never know when it will come in handy.

The Furious premieres in theaters on June 12.

“I’m tired.”

After a career that’s spanned three decades—contributing to countless albums, signing on with Dr. Dre’s Aftermath Entertainment as an in-house producer, and collecting five Grammy Awards along the way—DJ Khalil has earned the right to collapse into the brown recliner backstage.

The Gibson Showroom in Los Angeles is uncharacteristically quiet, but within hours, it will transform into the Seattle native’s latest creation: JUST KREATE, an invite-only, one-night-only, live experience featuring five handpicked musicians that will be chopped up and flipped into a limited-edition 40-piece sample pack.

Because apparently, when you’re not preoccupied with gathering platinum plaques and Top 40 singles like Infinity Stones, this is how you kick off Black Music Month: by giving back to the producer community.

So exhaustion be damned, the other half of Self Scientific had plenty to discuss about his longstanding relationship with KRK Systems, the science behind sample packs, and his feelings about AI infiltrating the music industry.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Jay Connor: You’ve been in the game for decades, working with everybody from Celine Dion to Jon Batiste to Dr. Dre. So as a five-time Grammy Award-winning producer and sonic architect, what role has KRK played in that journey?

DJ Khalil: Man, I’ve had a relationship with Dustin at KRK for a while. We’re like brothers—literally. We’re always thinking of cool ways to collaborate, and over the years, he’s supported everything I’ve done. At every turn, we’re trying to find really cool ways to support the creative community.

So it’s safe to assume you use KRK products pretty often?

I’ve always had different setups. I have my regular setup, but I also have other setups. I try different speakers all the time. During the pandemic, all I used were KRK.

Oh, word?

Yeah, I created a lot of dope stuff on that.

Shit, we heard. [Laughs]

[Laughs] I appreciate that. It’s funny because I have the eights. I don’t know if they’re the Rokits, but I love their monitors, man. I believe in them. I love what they do.

For sure. Now, how did this JUST KREATE collaboration specifically come about?

Dustin and I have been talking about it for a while. I want to do a series that’s kind of like Tiny Desk, but that involves musicians in different configurations. And I’m gonna have different producers curate it, so this is the first testing ground for it.

Oh, that’s hard.

Yeah, I’ve already talked to The Alchemist about it. I’m gonna have them curate what they want the band to play. It could be Argentinian progressive rock or whatever. And I’m gonna make those sounds and configure it to what they want to do.

Damn, that’s crazy. Yeah, I hit Focus… earlier and he said he’s coming through. So you might need to add him to that lineup too.

Of course! These are all my boys, so I’m gonna have them all do it. But this is just the beginning. I’m figuring out how to pull it off.

And I’ll be pulling up for every single one of them.

Word! [Laughs]

You’ve been the sauce behind so many big names and big songs, with 50 Cent’s “I Still Kill” being one of my favorites. How do you approach creating a song versus creating a sample pack?

A sample pack is different because the purpose of it is to give to other producers to use, you know what I mean? When I’m working on a song with an artist like 50, you’re cutting a record from their perspective—with their lyrics, and all that stuff. So the approach is different.

When I’m doing sample packs, it’s really just whatever flows. I might do the whole thing; I might bring in musicians. It’s way more experimental. It doesn’t always have a format. But when I’m working on a song, it’s got to have a format. It’s got to have chords.

When you’re constructing a sample pack, you’re probably also thinking, “What will they want to use?” Because as a producer, sometimes you want the quirks and the little things to add in or chop up.

Yup. That’s true.

You might even accidentally create something and be like, “Oh, shit. We gotta keep that in there.”

Exactly. Having mistakes in there and all that, you have a little more leeway with sample packs. Whereas with a song, it’s supposed to live forever.
So you have to perfect whatever serves that record. That’s the difference.

I got you. For those who are unfamiliar, how would you describe what a sample pack is?

A sample pack is just—in terms of what I’ve done—it’s a bunch of compositions, and you give producers access to the stems. So if you have a song, you can literally break it apart. You have the drums isolated, the lead synth and the chords, the rhodes, the guitar—all that stuff is separated. You can take those different elements and create something new with them. So it’s really just giving people the tools to create. It’s going beyond record digging because back in the day, you were stuck with whatever was on the record. Now, you have software that can make stems. So this is just another way to inspire producers.

Yeah, when it comes to sample packs, it’s interesting seeing so many big names churning them out now—like Don Cannon with Cannon’s Revenge or Jake One’s Snare Jordan series. I know Illmind has been doing those for a minute too. He was one of the first to jump on that, right?

Really, I was one of the first.

Talk your shit! [Laughs]

I’m just saying. [Laughs] Nobody was doing that. And they’ll tell you. I wasn’t necessarily making sample packs to give to people, but in terms of creating samples and giving them to other producers, I was definitely one of the first. For sure.

Respect due.

Now, other people have turned it into a business. I never looked at it that way. I just wanted another way to collaborate with other producers. But selling sample packs is dope. It’s created its own ecosystem.

What made you decide to pivot from creating music for artists to creating sample packs for other producers?

When good kid, m.A.A.d city came out, that introduced a whole new crop of producers. The sound changed, and I felt like my generation of producers wasn’t left behind, but there was a new crop that popped up. There was a new sound, and what those new artists were into is not what we typically did. So the best way to collaborate with them was to give them the music. They knew how to make the drums and all that, but they were still sampling actual records and getting killed on the publishing. So doing this was a way to collaborate with newer artists and producers. I felt like it really paid off.

At the time, you had Mike and Keys, THC, DJ Dahi—that was the shift, right? It was a whole new crop of producers that were ill. You know what I mean? I just remember being in the studio with Dahi, and he was playing stuff that was just—

“What the fuck.”

Dog! I couldn’t have even imagined that production could go there! So I had to adapt. What I like to do—boom bap—was not popular.

And that was your life’s work.

Yeah, I had to look at things differently, but they still needed dope music.
So it’s worked for me.

I remember when De La Soul dropped And the Anonymous Nobody... How they brought in a bunch of musicians, knocked out over 200 hours of jam sessions, then sampled from everything they recorded. Is that essentially what we can expect with JUST KREATE?

Yeah, this is just a short demonstration of what we typically do. I do jam sessions every Tuesday at my crib. We open it up to musicians, cram into a room, and just come up with stuff. And if it gets placed, then everybody eats.

So what I’m doing with JUST KREATE is bringing it out for people to enjoy, because what these musicians offer is just incredible. This is more of an abridged version of those sessions. Those are usually like 3 hours. This is only like 30 minutes.

Aiight, I got you. With so many producers using sample packs and other tools, how do you feel about producers starting to incorporate AI into music creation?

I think it’s dope.

Really?

You still have to be dope, no matter what. You still have to have taste. As a producer, you’re a tastemaker. If you have an ear, and you know how to use AI, I don’t see anything wrong with it. I use it. I’ve made some dope stuff with it; I’ve made dope stuff without it.

I think it also depends on the intent behind it. There’s a difference between using it as a tool and using it solely as a means to create. As creatives, we inherently feel compelled to create. I can’t see you sitting in front of a laptop and just being like… [Pretending to type] “Okay, I got a song!” You know what I’m saying? People like us have to be intricately involved. “Okay, let me take this piece and—”

[Laughs] Yeah. There are people who rely solely on AI. You’re starting to hear it now with Suno. You can hear it. As soon as the song comes on, you’re like, “That’s Suno.”

How can you tell it’s Suno? What is it you hear that’s different?

You can just tell. [Laughs] As a person that listens to a lot of music, I can hear it.

After three decades in the game, your ear is trained, bruh. [Laughs]

[Laughs] Yeah, and it’s gonna wear out—just like everything else. It’s industry standard at this point, but you’re gonna have to come up with something new.

(This essay was originally published on Spotify.)

To those in the business of digital media and entertainment, Combat Jack—known to his inner circle as Reggie Ossé—was often seen as a mythological figure; a deity of sorts who was not only instrumental to the rise of the Roc-A-Fella and Bad Boy Records empires, but also forged his own podcast network, the Loud Speakers Network.

For podcasters of color, Loud Speakers—with its robust roster of popular shows that includes the Charlamagne tha God-helmed The Brilliant Idiots, Van Lathan’s The Red Pill, and the cultural phenomenon known as The Read—is much more than the mecca. Its inception ushered in a new era of black and brown voices demanding agency in a heavily white-dominated medium, and served as the catalyst for many crusades into digital media. But for all its acclaim, influence, and fanfare, it wouldn’t exist without its crown jewel, The Combat Jack Show, which delved into the triumphs and tribulations of hip-hop’s most intriguing and impactful personas.

The Accidental Podcaster

“Reggie never really had any designs on getting into podcasting,” says Matt Nelson, senior producer at Gimlet and Ossé’s co-conspirator on Mogul, hip-hop’s first narrative storytelling podcast. “He didn’t really know what a podcast was.”

After spending the ‘90s and early 2000s as an entertainment attorney for JAY Z, Diddy, and other major artists, Ossé dabbled in blogging before eventually making his mark in internet radio with the groundbreaking Combat Jack Show, which blended Howard Stern’s lively ensemble approach with hip-hop’s flair and fervor. But when building renovations derailed his studio access, he put out the word on Twitter that if Combat Jack was to continue, he was gonna need a little help. Enter Loud Speakers’ eventual cofounder, Chris Morrow.

“Chris popped up and basically said [to Ossé], ‘You know I can give you an hour and a studio,’” Jonathan Mena, executive producer at Loud Speakers, says. “Because [Morrow] was working for a radio company at the time.”

Sure, it required recording after hours and deploying other guerilla tactics, but the new studio was a significant upgrade from their previous headquarters. It was readily available and—most importantly—free. Morrow also had access to top-tier sound engineers, which gave Ossé a significant advantage in sound quality over many of his competitors.

Bigger Ideas

Morrow saw beyond just a single show. He envisioned an entire network brimming with thought-provoking opinions and diverse voices that were urgently needed in a blossoming medium where neither felt welcome. So the motley crew—comprised of Mena, Morrow, executive producer A-King, writer and editor Matt Raz, Ossé, and others—got to work. And on June 1, 2013, the dream officially became a reality on the strength of a $500 budget.

The Loud Speakers Network’s initial rollout consisted of quirky Fan Bros—since rebranded as the For All Nerds Show—the self-proclaimed “voice of the urban geek”; Sneaker Fiends, helmed by The Combat Jack Show alums Dallas Pen and Premium Pete; and Reality Check, co-hosted by writer JasFly and NY Delight, which among other things is notable for bringing the celebrated and distinct voice of Kid Fury into the Loud Speakers network.

“What made the Loud Speakers Network so groundbreaking was that it was nothing like anything that existed before,” Shanita Hubbard, educator and author of the forthcoming book Miseducation: A Woman’s Guide to Hip-Hop, says. “It was a complete game-changer. We had never seen or heard from so many podcasters who looked and sounded like us, and shows like The Combat Jack Show and The Read inspired millions of other black and brown creators to join the revolution and discover their own voices.

“The podcast industry is only as diverse and inclusive as it is today because of the barriers that Combat Jack and the Loud Speakers Network tore down,” Hubbard adds. “Someone had to be first, and they never get their due as pioneers.”

Boosting the Signal

Another often-overlooked fact is the role that The Combat Jack Show and other Loud Speakers Network creations played in legitimizing podcasting as an entertainment medium. Their tremendous influence and popularity proved there was a viable audience for authentic, hip-hop-influenced content outside of radio. Ossé created a blueprint that spiritual successors like The Joe Budden Podcast, Questlove Supreme, and Drink Champs would later emulate.

“Reggie’s impact is undeniable,” A-King says. “If you’re in podcasting, it’s your responsibility to acknowledge that.”

On a wide scope, remnants of Loud Speakers Network DNA exist in many shows that are currently being produced. The network developed a signature conversational tone and a wealth of segments that address everything from wellness to comic books to fan mail, exploring the full breadth of people of color and debunking assumptions that black and brown people are a monolith. In doing all that, the network has provided other podcasters with potent examples of popular topics and forums, and specific playbooks for how to actively engage with a community of listeners who are otherwise often overlooked.

Ossé deserves credit for a lot of that. “Combat Jack is the godfather of hip-hop podcasting. That’s not an opinion, it’s facts,” Morrow says. “His impact on the medium was immeasurable. He set the tone for all hip-hop podcasts to come by insisting on only putting out authentic, organic content. Then once he’d helped elevate those sorts of conversations, he used Mogul to prove that highly produced, scripted podcasts could work in the space as well. Every hip-hop podcaster owes an enormous debt to him.”

And Ossé’s brilliance extended far beyond just podcasting. “Combat Jack’s influence transcended the podcast world. He challenged me to think differently about methods and vehicles of storytelling,” Hubbard said. “I’m forever grateful to him for teaching me that lesson.”

And though he succumbed to colon cancer on December 20, 2017, the legacy of Combat Jack lives on in the various shows he created and influenced throughout his incomparable career.

Additional Reading: An Ode to Combat Jack, One of My Heroes

It’s not exactly a secret that the only thing in worse shape than our economy is that orange idiot’s sanity, but it’s been particularly gruesome for those of us in entertainment and media.

It seems like every other day, another round of layoffs, budget cuts, or mergers is announced, and with them comes a deluge of stress, anxiety, and uncertainty for hard-working creatives throughout Hollywood and beyond.

This is part of the reason it’s so important that we as creatives remain vigilant about preserving our mental health, and why—as someone who consumes at least 20mg of Lexapro on a daily basis—I’m grateful to organizations like Three’s A Crowd, the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health, and the Take Action Los Angeles Initiative for seeing our struggles and being proactive in helping us to address them.

On Saturday, they held Creative Reset, a free mental health event in Inglewood, in which creatives were invited to partake in a “museum-style wellness experience.” This consisted of approximately seven or eight wellness activations throughout their studio, with each designed to “help participants slow down, reflect, and reconnect.”

And because I don’t play about my mental health or wellness, these were some of my favorites (each was led by an expert or facilitator on site):

• A movement station, where participants were taught how to stretch and encourage physical activity throughout our work days—because apparently my penchant for spending 12 hours at a time hunched over my laptop in my draws isn’t healthy

• A recovery and relaxation station, where a massage therapist was kind enough to remove approximately 37 knots from my back

• A sound bath station, where a symphony of singing bowls helped put my mind and nervous system at ease

• A financial therapist, who offered tools and guidance on managing financial stress and the emotional aspects of money, as well as how to navigate these perilous, overdraft-fee-ridden times

• A Postcard to Your Future Self station, where each of us was encouraged to write some words of encouragement “to the version of ourselves we’re becoming”—and each postcard will be mailed to us in six months

There were also stations focused on breathwork, food and nutrition—with snacks!—creative writing, and other opportunities to address mental health and wellness. And I loved the fact that it was truly a Choose Your Own Adventure experience, where you could participate in the activities that interested you and skip the ones that didn’t.

It was also a dope opportunity to find support, exchange resources, and build community with others affected by everything going on, since far too often we operate in complete isolation.

I tell people all the time: As creatives, we destroy ourselves for a living. Poor eating habits, inconsistent sleep, not staying on top of doctor appointments or treatments, minimal exercise, unpredictable work schedules, and you have to be a little off to see the world the way we do—then convey those impossibilities to an audience that doesn’t always appreciate or acknowledge your sacrifice.

This life is not for the weak, so shoutout to everyone involved in Creative Reset for providing creatives with an opportunity to properly address our mental health as a community during Mental Health Awareness Month.

And for every other creative fighting the good fight, please make sure you’re being proactive about your mental health and well-being as well.

Nothing about the COVID-19 pandemic was particularly fun. But while everyone else was terrified of a single cough—or toilet paper going extinct—my biggest struggle was the isolation.

Splitting rent with roommates is a foreign concept, so living alone was familiar territory. But as a social butterfly crammed back into his cocoon by a global quarantine, the only friends I had left were my thoughts and abandonment wounds.

They say an idle mind is the Devil’s playground, so when I wasn’t preoccupied with Clubhouse musicals or The Tiger King, I spent my afternoons climbing across those monkey bars—reflecting on the family who failed me and the scars they left behind.

After decades of pouring from an empty cup into a mother who felt far more filial than maternal, my survival instincts demanded distance. Which is why when my sister called to ask if our mom could expect to hear from me on Mother’s Day, a blunt response spilled out.

“Why would I do that?”

The entire purpose of Mother’s Day is to celebrate the women who’ve had a profound impact on our lives. To express gratitude for their guidance, honor their sacrifice, and relish their unyielding support. But since that sure as hell wasn’t my experience—quite the opposite, to be honest—I didn’t see the point in lying to either of us by handing out a consolation prize.

Nor would I pretend to.

In the following days, when my father—who became an afterthought after he cheated on my mom and discarded their marriage like a rotting carcass—got wind of this, apparently, he wasn’t happy.

That’s when a text came from a number I hadn’t seen in eternity.

“I hope Josh doesn’t have to do your job.”

Josh, of course, being my sister’s husband, with the implication being that the onus now fell on my brother-in-law to roll out the red carpet for Mother’s Day. If he wanted to shower my mom with flowers and brunch reservations, then more power to him. Keeping my distance was purely about protecting my peace, not about punishment or animosity.

But more importantly, whoooooooo did my father think he was talking to me like that?

I don’t know what would possess a man I had barely spoken to for decades to think he could confront me about my decision, but since when does audacity care for rationale?

My therapist and I had spent months unpacking why I prioritize everyone else’s needs over my own. How I became hyper-independent because I quite literally never received any guidance or support from the same parents who were supposed to protect me from the rest of the world.

As a result, I became the overly attentive, compassionate person I never had, but lost myself in the process. Always speaking up for everyone else, but never advocating for myself.

So as I sat there stewing inside, staring at that text, I realized that after a lifetime of letting things go—constantly being the bigger person for everyone else’s benefit but my own—that it was no longer worth it.

So my thumbs fired back.

“I know this isn’t the same guy who invited me to his wedding two weeks in advance.”

It was true.

Years prior, before the coronavirus hurled the world into despair, he hit me with a last-minute “Oh, by the way!” invitation that just so happened to involve his third (or was it fourth?) marriage. But being a broke ass twenty-something at the time, a flight, a rental car, and a hotel on a whim wasn’t happening.

That wasn’t a problem for my sister, though—since she got her invite an entire year before mine.

It was a dick move on his part, and he knew it. So being reminded of something he thought I’d forgotten went exactly as you’d suspect.

“Then I guess I don’t have a son anymore,” he clapped back. “Have a nice life.”

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder in my entire life than when I saw that text.

Whoooooooooooooooooooooo, boy.

Can we get the obvious out the way?

Clearly, my decision to distance myself from my mom didn’t warrant being disowned. But in that moment, my hysterical laughter didn’t come from hurt—it came from his delusion. For him to think that he was depriving me of something—his guidance, his protection—when I hadn’t had access to anything but his apathy since I was a child was actually hilarious.

Genuinely laugh-out-loud funny.

And as someone whose parents have done a number on me, I can acknowledge we all have demons. But whatever he’s fighting internally wasn’t my responsibility to fix—and I honestly felt like he was doing me a favor.

After a lifetime of disappointment and deceit, neither of us had to pretend anymore.

“Then get the fuck on then,” I typed back. “You never were a father anyway.”

I blocked the number, then indulged in my favorite pastime: an edible.

Which brings me to Katt and Kevin.

On Sunday night, during the Roast of Kevin Hart—the grand finale of the weeklong Netflix Is a Joke festival—after ripping the Jumanji “actor” to shreds in front of millions, Katt and Kevin squashed their longstanding beef. Considering these dudes have seemingly been at war since In Living Color got canceled, the magnitude of the moment wasn’t lost on me—or the rest of the universe.

“Me and this man have been at odds for years and years,” Kevin told the crowd. “Katt, we have an opportunity in real time—this is live television—to put our fucking beef behind us. I am offering you an olive branch of peace. I want to be a brother. I want to be a friend, Katt.”

Then they hugged and will presumably live happily ever after.

But while everyone else was in awe of the two icons, setting aside their pride and ego in the spirit of forgiveness, I immediately thought of my father. The same father who randomly texted me a few days ago after more than six years of silence.

“I miss my son.”

I keep my ghosts in the past, so his anguish snuck into my Unknown Senders.

And it’ll remain there.

Before reconciliation can even begin with an apology—a nuisance he bypassed entirely—it starts with an assessment. And on the day he decided he no longer had a son, he lost the right to ever discard me again.

I can acknowledge a void, but I can’t miss a father I never had.

So while I’m happy for Kevin and Katt, and truly hope they’re able to build a fruitful relationship both personally and professionally, forgiveness is also about choosing yourself.

Not everyone deserves access to you.

While most 12-year-olds spend their mornings ducking chores or shoveling cereal into their faces, Juliano Valdi spends this particular morning buried beneath a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap, rattled by disbelief.

“You did?!” he asks.

“I sure did,” I respond.

Like millions of others in the digital diaspora, I, too, was mesmerized by the promising young actor dancing alongside co-stars Coleman Domingo and Jaafar Jackson in a viral clip—yes, that viral clip—from The Jennifer Hudson Show. The only difference is I have the luxury of telling Juliano just how widespread that video of his curls bouncing down the hallway has been. (29 million views and counting.)

The show’s “spirit tunnel” has blossomed into a pop culture phenomenon since its inception, and upon bringing it to Juliano’s attention, the former Nickelodeon star utters a prototypical, pre-teen response:

“That’s coooooooool.”

Since the release of the blockbuster biopic Michael, Juliano’s life has been turned completely upside down. Gone are the days of his undeniable star power being confined to small roles, as his full repertoire as a singer, actor, and performer has finally been unleashed on the big screen.

But while becoming the King of Pop has endeared him to a new audience, and all the trappings of fame that come with it, it’s abundantly clear he’s still just a regular kid at the end of the day—who has yet to fully comprehend how much his life is about to change.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Jay Connor: Yo, you’re poppin’ right now. How does it feel?

Juliano Valdi: It feels great! I’m really, really happy that I got this role—especially playing someone who I’ve looked up to for such a long time. It’s just an honor to be part of this film.

Saying “somebody you looked up to for such a long time” is wild considering you’re 12 years old. [Laughs]

I know! [Laughs] But I’ve looked up to Michael since I was like 5.

Well, that begs the question: How did you come across him at such a young age?

My grandmother showed me a video of “Smooth Criminal,” and I loved his dancing, his work ethic, and his singing. The way he makes music is really different from everybody else. That’s why he has the best-selling album of all time, with Thriller. Because he did something that no other artist could do—or thought of doing.

And now you’ve had the opportunity to help bring that to life on screen. What’s it been like to see the fans’ reactions to the movie? With people dressing up, dancing in the theaters?

It’s really awesome! How they dress up like Michael to really get in that spirit. I hope they enjoyed the movie. We worked really hard on it.

Looking at those box office numbers, I think it’s safe to say they enjoyed the movie. I remember you cuttin’ up at the premiere too, homie.

[Laughs] Thank you.

Now, you play Michael at a very pivotal stage of his career. Are there any similarities in who he was at that age and who you are now as an actor and performer?

We’re both really dedicated. You know how Michael was dedicated to perfecting his singing and dancing? I dedicated my life—and a lot of my time—to practicing his dance moves and how he moves his body. How he sings and talks. Everything like that. We have really similar work ethics, and we also like hanging out with our cousins. We love to play with our relatives. That’s something we have in common.

I love that answer because, obviously, a big part of Michael’s story is that he didn’t get to enjoy his childhood. And it sounds like—whether it’s you, whether it’s your family, whether it’s your team—you’re all collectively making an effort to ensure you don’t suffer a similar fate. What are some of your hobbies outside of acting and performing?

I like playing basketball.

Oh, that’s dope.

Yeah, I like playing video games. I like hanging out with my chickens, and, of course, hanging out with relatives: my aunt, my cousins—all of them.

Aiight, I have to ask because now I’m nosy: What did you name your chickens?

[Laughs] I have two pet chickens. So there’s a big one called Hazel—because they’re both girls—and the small one is Penny.

Shoutout to Hazel and Penny. I know they’re proud of you.

[Laughs] I hope so.

Now, as you’ve come to realize since Michael’s release, his fans are no joke. So how did you all ensure that your portrayal was as authentic as possible?

I trained day and night, working with Michael’s real choreographers. They helped me perfect all of his movements: the way he grabs the mic, and how he uses his hands during his performances. I also worked with a vocal coach. She actually sang with him on “Can You Feel It.” She was that high note. [Sings] “Can you feel it!”

Oh, wow.

Yeah, she helped me sound like Michael when he’s singing. And then on my own, I practiced getting his mannerisms down and how he talked regularly. So I really had some awesome people in my corner to help me perfect this role. And, of course, my family was there to support me as well.

Okay, now I gotta ask this because I was at the barber shop earlier and—

I see you got that fresh cut, huh?

I had to come correct for you, man.

[Laughs]

So when I walked in, they were talking about the movie and how great a job you did. But they were like, “Was that really him? I wonder if he can really sing.” I wasn’t having it. I told them I’d come straight to the source and ask.

It’s kind of complicated. When I was singing “Who’s Loving You,” when it was acapella? That was me singing. But when it was with the music, that was me and Michael’s voice. They made a bit of a mix, so it sounded like him but also like me. So nobody could tell. And on “I Want You Back,” at the beginning, where he’s like, [Sings] “Uh-huh, huh, huh!” That was me singing right there.

Okay, I had no idea. Because in some other biopics… Woody McClain killed it as Bobby Brown, but then we found out it was Leon Thomas singing. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but I love that you sang your own parts. You did your thing.

Thank you so much!

Now, even though you’re only 12, you’ve been in the game for a minute. Working on projects like Arco with Natalie Portman and Mark Ruffalo, The Loud House on Nickelodeon, etc. How did those previous roles help you prepare for this one?

They definitely encouraged me to work harder. I was focused and just wanted to make sure this was by far the best performance of my career.

You can’t get any bigger than Michael Jackson, so mission accomplished, my guy. Has your experience with this movie influenced the type of projects you want to do moving forward?

This project encourages me to work harder so that the next project can be even better than the last one. I hope to book more roles I like—maybe another biopic of Michael Jackson. I want to play an older version of him. That would be really cool.

Never say never. But aside from playing Michael, what other types of roles appeal to you?

I want to do more movies. I want to work with actors who’ve been in the business and whose movies I’ve watched before. I’d really love to meet them on set and not be the only main character. But I also want to do movies where I am the main character and have that shine. So people can focus on me.

Listen, man. Your future is extremely bright, and we’re all incredibly proud of you. I can’t even begin to imagine the offers that are pouring in for you right now. So keep killing.

Thank you!

Is there anything else you want to say to your fans?

Thank you so much for your support! I’m really glad that you’ve been a part of this entire journey, supporting the cast and me, and all the people who worked on this movie for hours and hours. I’m just really grateful. I love you guys.

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The U.S. is at war, and the economy is shit, but if the mothers in our lives can continue to hold us down, the least we can do is honor and celebrate them.

So with Mother’s Day rapidly approaching like a meteor, here are some affordable gift recommendations to help you do exactly that.

I’m just here to help.

Nevra Skin

Mother’s Day seems like an opportune time to support a woman-owned business, and Nevra Skin’s vast collection of serums, botanical cleansers, balms, and all-natural wizardry will keep your mom glowing and gorgeous year-round.

Just make sure you leave some space in the fridge next to all that Pepsi, since these products work best when they’re chilled to “maintain maximum effectiveness and deliver clean, fresh results.”

Google TV Streamer 4K

Every mom deserves a good binge session, and I’m 98% sure that the Google TV Streamer 4K is the all-in-one entertainment hub that’s been missing from her life.

Doesn’t she deserve 4K HDR Dolby Vision with Dolby Atmos 3D sound? Wouldn’t she appreciate plenty of storage space to download apps like Netflix and Spotify? Shouldn’t she be able to control all her smart home devices from her TV? And I’d bet she’d really love to be able to chat with Gemini to find the remote for her.

So you know what to do. Snatch this up immediately so she can spend her weekend staring at Sterling K. Brown.

Bohdi Bottle

I mean, plastic bottles are cute, but don’t you think it’s time for an upgrade?

I don’t think you want the woman who brought you into this world drinking from anything that holds odors or can leach chemicals. Which is exactly why it’s time to upgrade to something that’s cleaner, safer, and a little more sophisticated—like borosilicate glass.

The Bohdi Bottle is leak-proof, toxin-free, and comes in eight different colors. So ditch that boring ass Stanley and thank me later.

Earthly Threads Serene Bamboo Robe

If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout the course of my life, it’s that women love a nice robe. Thankfully, Earthly Threads Serene Robe offers the exact type of elegance the mom in your life deserves.

Whether it’s the deep side pockets, the tie waist, or the unimaginably soft bamboo comfort, this robe is a guaranteed win for any mom in dire need of some timely relaxation.

Luc Belaire Alcohol-Removed Rare Rosé

With everyone drinking less and less, and mocktails all the rage, there’s no better option for the mom in your life looking for a non-alcoholic, premium sparkling rosé.

Whether it’s for brunch or a quiet night at home, the newly-launched Luc Belaire Alcohol Removed Rare Rosé is crafted in France by fifth and sixth-generation winemakers and offers opulence without the alcohol.

Bar & Bar Shampoo and Conditioner Bars

Every mom deserves a good shampoo bar, and since they’re all the rage, the one in your life is no exception.

Bar & Bar prides itself on offering a “luxurious, plastic-free system of seven targeted shampoo and conditioner bars she can mix and match for personalized, high-performance results.” And with science-backed ingredients and that woman-owned business touch, your mom’s hair couldn’t be in better hands—or bars.

Itzy Ritzy Belong Utility Backpack Diaper Bag

Aside from a pitstop at Starbucks, nothing makes life easier for a new mom on the go than the right diaper bag. And with its countless pockets, water-resistant lining, changing pad, and stroller straps, Itzy Ritzy is definitely onto something with their Belong Utility Backpack Diaper Bag.

Built for “both the practical and playful moments,” this backpack fits everything from laptops to toys, making a day in the life of a busy mom as stress-free as possible.

Be Rooted Let Your Mind Run Free Wellness Planner

As much time and energy as the mom in your life spends taking care of everyone else, now’s the opportune time to give her the gift she’s likely in dire need of: self-care.

With Be Rooted’s Let Your Mind Run Free Wellness Planner, she can keep track of her fitness goals, stress levels, and other priorities throughout the week, all while staying mindful and motivated. It also includes guided prompts and ample space for reflection to help her stay on top of her health and protect her peace of mind.

Trigger Warning: This story contains descriptions of fatal violence.

We’re in the midst of an unprecedented rise in violence against Black women. But more specifically, it’s femicide—“the intentional killing with a gender-related motivation”—that’s creating irreparable harm in our communities.

According to UN Women, throughout the world, a woman is killed by their intimate partner or family member every 10 minutes. The agency further describes this disturbing dynamic as such:

April has been particularly gruesome in regard to Black femicide, with high-profile cases—and lingering suspicions of these heinous acts—becoming a weekly occurrence.

This is why I’ve made it a point to shed light on this crisis: to honor many of the lives that were stolen and to amplify the need for accountability, compassion, and prevention.

Dr. Cerina Fairfax

From CNN:

What makes Cerina’s murder particularly disturbing has been the deluge of Black men attempting to humanize and center her killer. Here’s some additional reading on this disgusting behavior, courtesy of Dr. Stacey Patton.

Vice Mayor Nancy Metayer Bowen

From Coral Springs Talk:

Described as a “rising star in the Democratic Party,” the fervent environmental justice activist was about to announce a historic run for Congress. This one hits home for me, as she was the best friend of a good friend of mine.

Pastor Tammy McCollum

From Beliefnet:

According to Rev. Dorothy Boulware, McCollum’s murder is a “shocking symptom of a much larger problem: Black women clergy and faith leaders dealing with abuse, harassment, or worse, from men in the church—and in their personal lives.”

Victoria Alexander

From the Philadelphia Inquirer:

She’s remembered by her colleagues and residents as “a compassionate and attentive presence.”

Qualeshia “Saditty” Barnes

From FOX 2 Detroit:

According to 11Alive, Barnes had made the dean’s list while pursuing her nursing degree.

Barbara Deer

From the Chicago Sun-Times:

Per Juneteenth Illinois, where Deer served as Executive Director, she was a member of the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority and enjoyed volunteering and sewing.

Davonta Curtis

From the Chicago Sun-Times:

Additionally, here are 10 ways you can help end violence against women.

At this point, we’re all at least vaguely familiar with the life and legacy of one Michael Joseph Jackson.

His impoverished upbringing in Gary, Ind., has been well chronicled, as has his subsequent “discovery” and tutelage under Diana Ross. Some of us were even lucky enough to witness his ascent to superstardom firsthand. First, as a spellbinding pubescent with the Jackson 5 as early as 1964, before soaring to even greater heights as a solo act—earning the distinction, and the illustrious crown, of the King of Pop.

Then that’s when things went…left.

The fascination with children; the Elephant Man’s bones; the words “to the Badd!!”; the endless succession of plastic surgeries.

The allegations; the court dates; the tabloids.

The tragic demise in 2009.

The documentaries.

Unpacking all of this is already complicated and confounding, but especially when Lionsgate tasks you with untangling an epochal career that spanned five decades, and funneling it into a mere two hours of runtime. A feat of this magnitude is beyond the capabilities of most, but thankfully, Antoine Fuqua is equipped for the job—and proves it as the director of the highly anticipated biopic, Michael.

The strength of Michael lies in its self-awareness: This is a film that’s less about spectacle—a trait that's inherent to all things Jackson—and more about how Michael’s ambitions are contextualized and presented to the public. From his father’s devious machinations, to the pressure—and guilt—Michael navigates while keeping his family’s musical empire afloat, it becomes almost immediately clear that the greatest obstacle to his salvation is the family holding him hostage—musically, literally, and figuratively.

Yet despite this encumbrance, his family is presented as more of an ominous threat than a distinguishable one. Because unlike the 1992 miniseries The Jacksons: An American Dream, Fuqua’s incarnation isn’t a family affair—nor a five-hour odyssey.

Instead, Michael is laser-focused on its subject, and its subject only, with his brothers portrayed as ancillary emotional baggage instead of three-dimensional human beings. There are glimpses of life to prove they exist, but if you expect to revisit Joe’s rampant adultery or Jermaine’s tumultuous exit from the Jackson 5, this ain’t the movie for you.

And don’t even ask about Janet.

So instead of watching him quarrel with, and overshadow, his siblings, Michael explores the mythology and unwavering conviction of one of the greatest entertainers the world has ever seen. More specifically, it deconstructs his relentless pursuit of perfection—and the rewards and consequences therein.

He had to be the biggest artist.

“You’re confident, you’re strong,” he mumbles to himself under his breath in the studio. “You’re the greatest of all time.” The result is “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” the fiery dancefloor anthem that helped elevate disco and thrust Michael into musical immortality.

He had to have the biggest song.

It’s not exactly a secret that MTV wanted no parts of our Black asses early on. But Michael—and his manager, John Branca—ensured that would change forever once “Billie Jean” usurped their airwaves.

He had to have the perfect face.

“My face isn’t symmetrical,” Michael laments before his first nose job. “For the photographs and all. I have to be perfect.”

It’s a tragic realization that serves as the impetus for decades of self-mutilation.

Yet for all his ambition and talent, every hero has a nemesis. And sadly, Michael’s was his own father. We’ve all heard stories of the horrors that Joe Jackson inflicted upon his wife and nine children, and it’s Coleman Domingo who’s tasked with executing a similar balance of villain with visionary.

With his portentous presence and intimidating leer, he steals every scene with relative ease, disguising Joe’s sinister motives behind altruism. But what makes Domingo’s interpretation of Joe Jackson so terrifying isn’t what he does on screen, it’s what his family—and orbiting music execs—believe he’s capable of.

It’s an Oscar-worthy performance, peppered with vicious jabs like, “What kind of son fires his father? You’ve got a lot to learn about family.” It also demonstrates how, far too often, parents only want their children to succeed on their terms, as Michael is subjected to a barrage of insults and bullied into a Victory tour he wants no parts of for his perceived insolence.

In closing, Michael isn’t a perfect movie, but very few are. The decision to omit his famous brothers and sisters almost entirely—despite their decades of contributions and achievements—was deliberate, but curious. Especially considering how intertwined their collective popularity was throughout the ‘70s and ‘80s. That said, for Black folks, there’s a holy trinity of music biopics: 1998’s The Temptations, 2017’s The New Edition Story, and the aforementioned The Jacksons: An American Dream.

Michael is firmly entrenched in that echelon, and deservingly so—not because it mythologizes the man who taught us to moonwalk, but because it understands the unfathomable cost of becoming him. Perfection didn’t define Michael. It was the pursuit of it—and everything we lost with him.

Michael premieres in theaters on April 24.

Jerry West is kind of a big deal.

Aside from having impeccable taste in player acquisitions—he was the architect behind the 1980s “Showtime” Lakers before luring Kobe and Shaq to Los Angeles to jumpstart the next dynasty in the 2000s—he was nice as fuck on the basketball court.

Like, 12-time All-NBA, nice. 1960 Olympic gold medalist, nice.

1972 NBA champion, nice. NBA 75th Anniversary Team, nice.

The only player in NBA history to win Finals MVP while playing for the losing team, nice.

Then, after he decided to stop breaking everyone’s ankles on the court for a living, he continued his reign of terror as a coach—remember that pit stop at the Western Conference Finals in 1977?—and front office exec, where, with the keys to the kingdom, the Lakers blossomed into the gold standard in professional sports, and the moribund Memphis Grizzlies flourished as a perennial playoff team. He then went on to sprinkle his Midas touch on the Golden State Warriors—who ran up two championships during his tenure—and the Clippers before he passed at the age of 86 in 2024.

So simply put, Jerry West is basketball.

That’s why he was inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame on three separate occasions: as a player (in 1980), on behalf of the 1960 U.S. men’s Olympic basketball team (in 2010), and for his unprecedented success as a general manager and advisor (in 2024).

Oh, and the NBA logo? That’s his silhouette.

So if there’s a professional athlete in the history of Western Civilization who’s deserving of an Amazon MGM Studios documentary, it’s Jerry West. And in Jerry West: The Logo, director Kenya Barris peers behind the mythology to reveal the person—and every ounce of pain—buried beneath.

Early in this doc, the man who collected an astonishing eight NBA championships as an executive offers a candid confession: “I learned so much from winning, but more from losing.” And as the byproduct of an impoverished, abusive household, it becomes almost immediately clear that for all of the accolades he accrued later in life, the crippling losses began early.

His childhood was fraught with violence, and sadly, it only escalated after his older brother, David, joined the military and was killed in the Korean War. It’s hard to imagine spending the holidays with your brother’s casket next to the Christmas tree, yet as devastating as David’s loss was, Jerry insists that the tragic death of Kobe Bryant decades later was just as emotionally catastrophic. We also learn that the first time Jerry’s wife ever saw him cry was when Magic Johnson was diagnosed with HIV in 1991.

While Jerry is somber as he revisits these ghosts of the past, it’s his friends and family who contextualize the true extent of his anguish through their own firsthand accounts. He’s described as withdrawn and emotionally inaccessible—greeting his sons with handshakes instead of hugs—and affable one day, then struggling to even get out of bed the next. He even admits that he doesn’t use the words “I love you” because he “doesn’t know if it’s inside of me.”

Further fracturing his psyche was the toll that basketball took on him. Despite being synonymous with winning as an executive, losing seven consecutive NBA Finals to the Boston Celtics as a player clearly broke something inside of him. So much so that his son reveals that his father almost had a panic attack upon returning to Boston Garden as the Lakers’ general manager, and that the family is forbidden from ever wearing green.

We often view Jerry through the prism of invincibility, as he’s widely considered one of the greatest players, and the single greatest front office executive, in the history of the sport. But how he viewed himself wasn’t framed by his achievements, he was framed by calamity—and the trauma that burrowed itself deep within his soul until his dying day.

For the casual fan, Jerry West: The Logo is a compelling collection of riveting interviews and obscure archival footage, presented through Barris’ curious lens. But if you’re anything like me, it’s the juicy morsels of compassion and candor that make this documentary such a satisfying treat.

Jerry West: The Logo is available on Prime Video on April 16th.

Mike & Nick & Nick & Alice is hilarious.

It’s also a bit aggressive with the ampersands, but there’s a good reason for that.

You see, Mike & Nick & Nick & Alice is what happens when mob bosses & time travel & after after parties & chloroform & Gilmore Girls &—hold up. Let’s try this again.

On the surface, Mike & Nick & Nick & Alice sounds eerily similar to just about every mob movie in the history of Western civilization: Mike (James Marsden) is sick and tired of shooting people in the face for a living. So, of course, on the night he finally decides to call it quits, his fellow career criminal, Nick (Vince Vaughn), convinces him to hit one last lick before Mike hangs his jersey in the rafters.

Did I mention Mike partakes in ravenous, extramarital sex with Nick’s wife, Alice (Eiza González), behind his back? Oh.

Naturally, this illicit love triangle is the perfect recipe for a vengeful bloodbath. But because Mike & Nick & Nick & Alice is hellbent on giving the tired mob movie trope the middle finger, it adds a completely unhinged twist to the equation: a time machine.

Yes, you read that right: a time machine.

And as with all things that involve semi-automatic handguns and time travel, foolishness and fuckery ensue for approximately 107 minutes of runtime, as Nick arrives from the future to save his BFF Mike in the present from a murderous crime boss (Keith David).

I did mention Mike is fucking Nick’s wife, right?

Just making sure.

If this all sounds like complete and utter insanity, it’s because it absolutely is. But that’s also what imbues this movie with its undeniable charm: the outlandishness of it all juxtaposed against the conventional “one last job and I’m out” trope. We’ve been down this road before, with Robert De Niro in Heat, Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven, and approximately 7,391,528 other instances of a contrite mobster running back on stage for one last encore to the audience’s delight.

But with a time machine?

This has gotta be a first.

Mike & Nick & Nick & Alice isn’t without its missteps, however.

That whole Wong Kar-wai smeared visual aesthetic that director BenDavid Grabinski sporadically deploys is confounding, and if gratuitous amounts of camp isn’t your ministry, you might find the tone of this film off-putting.

Hell, you might even mistake it for parody.

That said, it’s borderline criminal that this excellent cast, with their excellent gags, won’t get the opportunity to be drowned in laughter and box office receipts since they’re skipping that whole extravagant theatrical release thing in order to take their quirkiness and snark straight to Hulu.

But just remember: Even though wacky sci-fi action comedies might be condemned to streaming services in this day and age, that doesn’t make them any less worthy of praise or accolades.

Some movies step up to the plate and swing for greatness. Others stumble into cult classic status by sheer force of personality. Because sometimes, all it takes is a time machine, a generous dose of betrayal, and absolutely no interest in behaving.

Mike & Nick & Nick & Alice premieres on Hulu on March 27th.

Behind every confident man is a woman protecting his ego.

And as a New York Times bombshell investigation revealed on Wednesday, the latest—and most heinous—example of this disturbing reality is courtesy of civil rights icon Cesar Chavez.

I won’t pretend to have intimate knowledge of his work to establish The United Farm Workers, or the decades he poured into activism and environmental justice. But now I do know that every achievement, every accolade, he accomplished while standing up for the rights and liberties of marginalized Mexican Americans came at an unimaginable cost: the purloined innocence of the same women and underage girls he was supposed to be fighting for.

Two things can be true: the farm labor movement was instrumental in ensuring farm workers received fair wages, labor rights, and safer working conditions. It even played a crucial role in getting California’s 1975 Agricultural Labor Relations Act passed. But no movement is perfect, and even those that empower and uplift are entirely capable of harm.

As the incredible work of reporters Manny Fernandez and Sarah Hurtes proves, Dolores Huerta—an iconic civil rights activist and community organizer in her own right—wasn’t the only one who survived unspeakable horrors at the hands of Chavez. But what makes her unique—and her circumstances especially tragic—is that as the co-founder of The United Farm Workers, of which Chavez’s entire legacy is built upon, she was tasked with concealing her abuse in service to what she believed to be the greater good.

“I am nearly 96 years old,” she wrote in a statement on Wednesday. “And for the last 60 years have kept a secret because I believed that exposing the truth would hurt the farmworker movement I have spent my entire life fighting for.”

In her statement, she not only details the sexual abuse she suffered but also reveals that those encounters resulted in the birth of two children—children she was denied the opportunity to love, cherish, and raise as her own.

“I chose to keep my pregnancies secret and, after the children were born, I arranged for them to be raised by other families that could give them stable lives,” she wrote. “Over the years, I have been fortunate to develop a deep relationship with these children, who are now close to my other children, their siblings. But even then, no one knew the full truth about how they were conceived until just a few weeks ago.”

So not only did Dolores spend decades of her life standing side by side with her abuser—championing his reputation; protecting his ego—she did so because she felt she had no better way to fight for her community.

“I carried this secret for as long as I did because building the movement and securing farmworker rights was my life’s work,” she wrote. “The formation of a union was the only vehicle to accomplish and secure those rights, and I wasn’t going to let Cesar or anyone else get in the way. I channeled everything I had into advocating on behalf of millions of farmworkers and others who were suffering and deserved equal rights.”

I can’t even begin to imagine the amount of sacrifice that takes.

To love your people—and their progress—so much that you suffer in silence, all while the monster who tried to break you is revered for his fortitude and character. Time and time again.

Streets and schools are named after him. Parks, plazas. Libraries and holidays. He even has a Presidential Medal of Freedom—the highest civilian honor our government can bestow.

And throughout all of that—the boycotts, the union negotiations, the advocacy for women’s rights, possibly even the 1965 Delano Grape Strike—she clung to his secrets.

Buried them in her womb and protected them with her life.

I don’t know what’s next for Dolores and the other survivors, but I find it fascinating that Chavez is facing more outrage and accountability from the grave (he died in 1993) than our sitting president is for similar behavior.

I also hope that Dolores and every other survivor are rewarded with the opportunity to properly heal now that they’ve been so courageous in sharing their truth.

May the rest of their days be free from protecting any more male egos.

Sí, se puede.

(If you are a survivor or if you have been impacted by any type of sexual violence, please visit the Dolores Huerta Foundation website, where you will find a list of resources for support.)

SPOILER WARNING: Don’t read another word unless you hate yourself enough not to be keeping up with the latest episode of Paradise.

Yo, I don’t know what type of performance-enhancing drugs Dan Fogelman is on—this man needs to be tested IMMEDIATELY—but he took a series that was already exceptional, sprinkled it with pixie dust, and has somehow made it even better during its sophomore season.

Considering this is the same dude who subjected millions to unspeakable amounts of emotional torment every week with his most popular creation, This Is Us, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. But Dan has become synonymous with the Emmys for a reason, and he’s definitely keeping that same energy with his latest concoction, Hulu’s Paradise.

We Outside!

When last we left Sterling K. Xavier Collins, he had escaped the Ninja Turtles’ lair and taken to the friendly skies after learning that his beloved, beautiful, Black-ass wife, Teri, had survived the zombie apocalypse. Naturally, after spending eight straight episodes inside that sealed bunker, we all could use a little fresh air. But instead of picking up where Xavier’s trek to Atlanta left off, we’re cordially introduced to…

…a post-apocalyptic Graceland, of all places.

Such a seismic shift in setting was jarring at first—trading in all the chaos and claustrophobia of last season for sunshine and rainbows stolen car batteries was not on my bingo card—but it’s nice to finally get a little elbow room. We went from sleeping on the bottom bunk to swimming in a sea of sheets and pillowcases in a California king.

I mean, sure, life on the surface isn’t exactly ideal: billions of people were either nuclear wintered, supervolcanoed, or megatsunamied, so what’s left of Trump’s America is in worse shape than his ankles, but this expansion in scope offers limitless story potential. No longer are we trapped in the library with Jeremy, or in the shower with Xavier and that Gabriela lady that wasn’t Teri. Now we get to frolic and play in Elvis’s basement, scour for blankets to swaddle in a Waffle Barn, and pick fresh tomatoes at an Atlanta post office.

I guess the end of the world ain’t so bad after all—especially when you’ve got some unexpected company.

Who All Gon’ Be There?

You really thought we’d finally escape that stuffy-ass bunker and wouldn’t stumble upon some new friends to play with?

From the jump, we’re introduced to Annie—the should-be doctor whose years of solitude at Graceland greatly contribute to her childhood trauma and inability to trust others. This, of course, becomes a bit of a problem when Link magically appears to knock her up. But even more so when—after he’s forced to chuck up the deuce and leave her behind—she’s reluctant to seek help during the birth of their daughter. Thankfully, everyone loves Xavier, so naturally, Annie takes a liking—and a gun—to him before bestowing upon him his “holy charge”: he’s gotta take the baby to its father because ummm…Annie’s dead, y’all.

Yeeeeeah.

So as if Xavier doesn’t already have murderous scavengers stabbing him in the ribs in this dystopian wasteland, now he’s gotta burp babies and heat up bottles because Link doesn’t do condoms?

A Black man’s burden, indeed.

But with Annie buried next to Elvis in the backyard somewhere, don’t think the parade of new faces comes to an end. Oh, no no no. We’ve got a cartel of thieving-ass kids; Henry Miller, a quantum entanglement professor who was kind enough to euthanize his wife before headbutting a bullet; Henry Baines, the Trump-adjacent successor to President Cal, whose necktie of choice is a slit throat; Bean, whose adolescence and curiosity bring some much-needed levity to an otherwise forlorn future; and punk-ass Gary, who needs his punk-ass beat expeditiously.

Considering mailmen are entrusted with everything from Christmas gifts to dildos, you’d think they’d be some of the most virtuous inhabitants in the entire universe. But nope! Apparently, a nuclear winter brings out the worst in all of us, because this motherfucker Gary really aint shit. While the depths of his ain’t shitness have yet to be determined, murdering your best friend is a pretty good start—and it’s safe to assume he’d love nothing more than for our lord and savior Xavier to suffer a similar fate.

But it’s Link in particular who’s the most compelling of this new influx of allies and antagonists. As the de facto leader of the largest faction we’ve come across yet, who is Alex? And why is Link so hellbent on killing them?

So many new friends! So little time!

#ThoseFlashbacksTho

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And with all the success he’s had with This Is Us and Only Murders in the Building, Dan Fogelman continues to tantalize us with delicious tidbits of the past.

Oh, so that’s why Gary’s descent into villainy is so tragic.

Oh, so that’s how Xavier and Teri met.

Oh, so that’s why Graceland meant so much to Annie.

Oh, so that’s why Billy and Jane ain’t shit.

Oh, so that’s why [a bunch of other things I can’t speak on yet since I’ve already watched the rest of the season]!

Hell, if it wasn’t for flashbacks, we’d have no idea how charismatic and layered our favorite corpse, Cal, was. So shoutout to them for doing the Lord’s work in both providing context and raising the stakes to astonishing heights.

Now, who needs a breath mint?