[***Administrative Note: Being as today is the last day of Black History Month, I thought I'd pass on a link I received from a friend of mine in North Carolina that includes many pictures from the Civil Rights Movement, specifically the goings ons in both Birmingham and Montgomery, both hotbeds of civil rights activity. It really is an intersting special report from the Birmingham News, so get thee to a nunnery, and check out Black history as it was happeneing. ***]

I rarely listen to the radio anymore. I just usually watch MTV Jams to determine what the hot songs are right now since the hot songs usually have a video which is why I would be watching MTV Jams since they show videos and since I’m paying extra money a month for the digital package JUST so I can have MTV Jams and vh1 Soul (which both show videos, by the way) the least they can do is provide me the information on what the popular songs of the moment are.

So yeah…I don’t listen to the radio much. On the occasions when I do, sometimes I’m treated to a song or two that I actually like. Most times, I hear songs that I hate to admit I like or songs that I’d never pay my own money to own. Rarely do I hear a song that has any semblance of social relevance or is relatable to the common man. It’s usually bitches and money. Excuse me…that was not the right thing to say.

Big booty bitches and money.

And cars.

But then yesterday happened. As I drove home from work, I decided to listen to the radio. Anybody who lives in the Washington, DC, area knows that between the two radio stations here, WKYS (93.9) and WPGC (95.5), you will hear the exact same songs on either station…on repeat…all day long. Which is why I don’t listen to the radio much and just usually watch videos on MTV Jams to figure out which songs would be on the radio since those would be the popular songs…well…we already covered that.

Upon listening to the radio, WKYS to be exact, I heard a song of social relevance. I heard a song of truth and honesty. I sat in traffic, attempting to slow down to 40 MPH (to avoide the ticket-cameras that will take a picture of your ass for doing 46 in a 45 MPH zone…actually its more like your bumper and license plate but since Patra had the song “Pull Up To My Bumper” I assume it was more about ass than cars which is why using the word “ass” a few lines back is somewhat of a pun, not one of those “intended” puns, but a pun nonetheless) in the 3rd Street Tunnel as I made my way to New York Avenue.

What I heard in this song was a man’s realization. It was a man’s realization and admittance (and if that’s not a word, try admittation on for size) that he was human. It was a song that spoke of a problem, but wasn’t asking for help. It was the nature of man. Man doesn’t usually want help for his addictions or problems, man wants to wallow in them and receive the momentous short-lived euphoria we gain from the moments our addictions bring. We don’t want to lose the freedom our addictions bring to our locked-down minds and bodies.

This song was common to all mankind.

This song has social relevance.

This song was T-Pain’s, “I’m In Luv (Wit A Stripper)”.

No go ahead and laugh and say something to the effect of, “this nigga is trippin’.”

[***Sidenote: Yesterday I was perusing some old posts of mine when I came across a new comment on a post from last January about what happened to me at a club in Huntsville, Alabama. In this comment, the person told me that before I go talking about racism of any kind, I need to re-examine my use of the word "nigga" on my site. And though I don' t understand how the two correlate given that I am a black man and refer to myself as the dreaded n-word, which is clearly an argument for another day and can go on for many many days, it could very well be a valid point. However, I am the master of my soul, the funder of my domain, and illustrious words of the Youngbloodz, we here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises, "don't give a fuck" what you think. If I use the word nigga, it doesn't mean that racism, overt or covert, exists any less...AND...I'm Panama the Most Muhfuckin'. Apparently, they didn't get the memo. So, in case you missed what was in between the lines up there, and you are reading this right now....this goes out to you and you and you, let me clear my throat, and enunciate it properly...fuck you. Smile! ***]

The reason this song speaks volumes about mankind’s inner battle is because this is a real phenomenon that isn’t spoken about much in pop culture. Sure, there are many an ode to the ass bounceologists, but mostly in the exploitative manner. When was the last time you heard a song about a man exhibiting his desires over the strippers in a way that neither degraded or relegated the women to mere trinkets for a man to ogle over??

Not that this song doesn’t do those things, but I’m just saying, when was the last time you heard a song like that?

However, T-Pain does admit the fact that one of the Pole Proprietors has gained a spot in his heart. And let me tell you, he isn’t the only man to have this happen. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes to a friend of mine.

A long time ago, for one of our boys 19th (or 20th) birthday, somebody had the bright idea to take him to a strip club. Well, we were in Atlanta so that suggestion was not only a great idea, but everybody was on board. Strapped with a cadre of 1 dollar bills (actually we were pretty broke so we didn’t have so many), we ventured to a strip club. After being called out by the club management for sitting right up on the stage but not tipping well, we commenced to put our money into the stripper’s bank account. Then we got a lap dance for my boy.

I watched an entire relationship happen before my very eyes.

During the course of this lapdance, my boy had a look of true passion on his face. There seemed to be actual feelings occuring. In that 10 minute lap dance, he told her that he loved her.

You see, my boy fell in love with a stripper.

T-Pain’s song gives an anthem and a face to men everywhere who have fallen in love with strippers. Sure, you can’t touch them in some states and in DC they don’t even take off their bottoms…but that doesn’t change the fact that some men do fall in love with strippers. They are the fantasy we desire. They provide the elusive pleasure principle that many a man doesn’t receive from the cascades of women he may be involved with…unless he is dating a stripper.

Which usually doesn’t exactly conjure up thoughts of jealousy. Somewhere along the line, the buck stops at dating a stripper. Jury’s out on how fucked up this is or not.

But you see, that’s why this song brings so much to the table. He wants to bring this woman to his home to do that night thing, but he can’t wife her up. She’s a stripper for goodness’ sake. The moral dilemma of the Strip Club Connoisseur. The Thong Theorem. The ultimate question mark.

He’s in love, but what can he do with that love?

Nobody knows.

He’s in love with a stripper, as many a man is, but she’s a stripper and her job is to make other men feel important. There is agony, and pain. T-Pain to be exact.

She’s poppin’ and rollin’…she’s coming down from the ceiling.

Right into the hearts of man.

Finally, a song about the common man’s plight for love in all the wrong places.

Finally, a song about life.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 28th, 2006 at 9:40 am and is filed under A Life In The Day of Panama..., Learn Ya Somethin', Musicology, Truisms. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.