If a bear craps in the woods and nobody’s there…does his shit stink? And what does it sound like when somebody rolls over in his grave? Philosophical questions of this sort constantly occupy my mind. And I rarely had any of the answers until this morning when the soundtrack to the latter jumped out of my computer. I now know the sound of AHMET ERTEGUN, founder of ATLANTIC RECORDS, rolling over in his grave. It’s in a video of a new artist his old label signed.
DANIELLE BREGOLI, aka BAD BHABIE, has already garnered 23 million views on You Tube for her new release THESE HEAUX (pronounced predictably, these ho’s). Even more predictably, the rap describes how all the other bitches are fake while she’s not! How utterly trendsetting and original. You’d think she invented the twelve bar blues!
Even at age 14, I recognize character traits in this young “lady.” I’ve seen them all too frequently in the employees at American you-know-whats. And just as sure as I knew I’d find one of those Favor Flav chicks in a whorehouse (which I, of course did), I have a feeling that’s where you’ll find Ms. Bregoli in a few years…that is…if she hasn’t managed to kill herself or get murdered before such times as the gloss wears off her incredibly thin veneer and there’s nothing left for Bhabi to do but sell her remarkably mature (at her age) and attractive body. One thing you have to give her: She has been blessed in the physical realm. Exactly why pop culture worships the all body/no mind ethos is a mystery to me. And it ain’t about my age. I’d have known she was completely full of shit 45 years ago!
And now to my point: Ahmet Ertegun was a purist in the most exacting sense. He delved into authentic rhythm and blues music and built an empire based on spiritual truth. When he was alive, there were no bull shit artists on his label. From Wilson Pickett to Ray Charles to Ruth Brown and even his soulful white boys (Cream, Buffalo Springfield), all the music was blues-infused. Real blues! Not bull shit from an insufferable, precocious and incredibly repulsive 14 year-old. Above the din of the preposterously predictable “These Heaux,” I can hear the sound of Ahmet rolling over in his grave. And that’s a good thing. Because if I couldn’t, I think I’d just have to kill myself.
Here’s the little stinker now: