Western Thought and the African Dilemma

The world is very troubled right now and I think a large part of that is due to how most people have been conditioned to think. Just the idea of thought itself is problematic. To many, thought is often seen as an active proposition — but at its best — thinking is more of a passive state. Thought is very elusive, as the harder you think, the less thoughtful you are.

The mind is like a glass; it’s most useful when empty.

The question is: With what are we filling that glass?

When Europeans colonized, raped and pillaged Africa, it wrought devastation upon the Motherland from which she still has yet to recover. Of all the atrocities the Europeans committed against Mother Africa and her peoples, perhaps the biggest was Christianity. Of all the infectious disease they brought with them, religion may have been the worst. The Europeans’ distorted recount on the history of Jesus has proved to be one of the most effective means of enslaving Africans. Shackles are easy to shake, but to free a conditioned mind is near impossible.

What I am expressing here is not anti-Jesus. I love Jesus, what I don’t dig is what has been done in His name.

The good news is that Black people have known themselves longer than not. With respect to the history of the world, African displacement — both physical and mental — is a relatively new construct. From that point of view, 500 years isn’t that long at all. Which means the amount of work required to remember who we are may not be as bad as some might think.

The biggest obstacle towards reclaiming Black Thought is not teaching Africans who have forgotten their old ways, but how to get them to think outside of the Western ideal.

New habits are easy to adopt, but bad habits die slowly.

We were taught that everything we practiced was wrong; our spiritual ceremonies, our gods, our relationship with the ancestors — all of it. Most African people are ashamed of their history and the only impression they have of it is typically the one they’ve been given.

Blacks in America are taught to be afraid of voodoo; that to connect and communicate with the spirits of the otherworld is evil and can be deadly. And if one violates what God and Christ wants, your soul will be damned to hell. This is all untrue.

The truth is: Our survival depends on ancestry. It is our insight into the past, present and future. Without a connection to them, we are not really alive. When a White woman bonds with her White Virgin Mary, she is connecting to her ancestor. As a Black woman, don’t you deserve the same?

This physical world is only a finite reflection of a vast spiritual universe that exists beyond. The ancestors act as intermediaries. We, too, are ancestors, but by denying our agents on the other side, we deny ourselves.

This ain’t no spooky stuff I’m talking about here. This is all about energy. Energy is a force of life and that which is living never dies; it just changes form. I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation in the traditional sense, or a heaven that people go to when they leave their physical bodies — but as energetic beings — our loved ones never leave us. And in that sense, an earthly loss is an ancestral gain.

We actually know all this already, but most of us have either forgotten or have suppressed it because we are taught to be afraid. The reality of it is there’s more harm in us not establishing a relationship with our ancestors. We need them. They also need us. We have a responsibility to help and heal each other. There’s an ongoing dialog that is to take place between us and them. In fact, there is no “us” and “them.” We are one.

We don’t learn anything, we just reawaken the dormant areas of our mind.

We are trained to think in binary terms, so if you are not for something, you must be against it. Life is more colorful than that. It’s almost like saying you can’t be spiritual and scientific. The idea that these are diametrically opposed to one another is a hindrance towards understanding the full spectrum.

For instance, there often appears to be a fundamental split between those who operate by logic versus intuition, whereas the only difference in my mind between these two things is the process by which how quickly one comes to a resolution. Another example of how the Western concept of time creates a conundrum.

Those who play music should be intimately attuned to negotiating between the physical and spiritual realms. Sound is an invisible but quantifiable force. We use physical instruments to produce a spiritual result. This is why music is a universal language. It defies category.

It’s why I don’t consider myself a musician at all. I am an artist, who at times uses music as a means of expression. Music is a very powerful tool, and the space from which it emanates within one’s soul is of primary importance.

The greatest artists are not working with music, they’re building sonic mythologies by which people can use to breakdown the elusive obstacles that tend to separate us from our best selves.

So, that is what music does at its best. So what can music do at its worst? Well, it can do just the opposite. It can be used to create or reinforce chasms with the individual’s mind/body/spirit or divide people up amongst themselves. Conversely, it can be used to bring people together.

Music is inherently empty, it takes a life lived to imbue a set of notes, chords and rhythms with meaningful purpose.

When I speak of the African Dilemma and Black Thought, there’s a larger operation at play here. I speak of reclaiming what’s originally ours; that our gods and methods were good enough that we didn’t have to adopt those of our oppressor. And I’m not sure if the gist of what I’m saying here is an anti-West sentiment. I can’t say for certain that Western thought is intrinsically bad, but for the Black mind, it has proven to be quite harmful.

For the Black American community, music has been our greatest ally. It has swept contempt from the corners of our oppressor’s mind that the broom of justice could never reach.

The Black artist is needed to change the images his people identify with, by asserting Black feeling, Black mind, Black judgement. 

— Amiri Baraka

The commodification of our cultural language has served to put a damper on what progress we’ve made post-chattel slavery. Along with our desires to be accepted and assimilate into Western culture, it has been our downfall. To the point where the more superficially dangerous we appear to be on the outside, it’s likely we’re less of a threat to the system.

We’re slow to pay deference towards our great ancestors, but will hastily give our last dollar to adorn ourselves with the physical trappings of a failing capitalist structure that was designed to keep us on the outside. And we will remain this way as long as we allow others to define who we are, what we do and how we do it — and that’s no JAZZ.

We have been removed so far from our ancestors, for so long, we don’t recognize them when they show up. We’ve erected such a massive wall of protection just to survive, that we’ve obscured the vulnerability and humility needed to dialog with them. We have shut our ancestors out. Our circuitry needs to be rewired — posthaste.

Our strength is in our sensitivity.

We need to embrace our traditions now more than ever. The light on our recall is growing dim and the spark needs to be reignited, in the name of all things Black. We must work tirelessly to reestablish and fortify our genealogical ties with those who came before us so that we leave a better place for those to come.

Even though we haven’t really been listening, the ancestors still talk to us. Those whom I’ve known and many I don’t know have shown up in my life often — particularly while I’m in performance. There’s something about the bandstand that attracts a high ancestral presence, especially if you emit a certain energy that is conducive towards their kinship.

I don’t practice to sound good; I practice to prepare my temple for whenever The Spirit or The Ancestors decide to pass through my playing. If you don’t create a comfortable environment for them, they may not show up.

And — Black or not — we’re all African!


— Nicholas Payton aka The Creator of #BAM

Bill Cosby’s Thoughts On The #BAM Movement

In a recent interview Richard Scheinin asked Bill Cosby the
following (even though I’m not on a campaign to get rid of the word “JAZZ”):

Richard Scheinin: Trumpeter Nicholas Payton has a campaign to get rid of the word “jazz,” and replace it with “Black American Music, or BAM.” What do you think of that?


Cosby: I think that’s a wonderful idea. Since the Caucasian publications of European classical music refuse to identify that they’re talking about Caucasian people in Europe — they call it “classical,” in the sense of the world. So it’s like Major League Baseball: “And the Yankees are the World Champions!” (They) didn’t play Japan. They didn’t play Cuba. They didn’t play Puerto Rico.

OK, so this is a wonderful idea that Nicholas Payton has — and Max Roach said it, too. And Art Blakey said it, and Rahsaan Roland Kirk said it. I just wish they would all stay with it so that, when I’m listening to WBGO, they will say, “That’s Black American music, as interpreted by” so and so.

It is correct. Because — and this is not my mind speaking, but what I heard — this guy was asking John Coltrane, “Well, do you like classical music?” And John said, “Well, what type of classical music?” And, see, the person asking the question wasn’t ready. And John, who was a wonderful person, didn’t put him down. He said, “Well, I don’t know what you mean. Because there’s European classical music, and then there’s Japanese classical music, and then there’s Indian classical music.”

I think that that is correct. And when you think about it, probably the only hiccup is the word “black” to a lot of people, because they get scared of it. They become frightened, or they become jealous, and they don’t know why. But I think that, in music, they would have no problem saying, “This is Black American music.” In the United States, they would have a problem with it.

Has Hiphop and Sampling Killed Music?

It’s gotten to the point when I hear a new record that I dig — which is rare — my first thought is, “I wonder where they stole this from?” It’s really a shame that it has to be a point of consideration, but given the growing climate of musical plagiarism these days, it’s a valid concern.

What’s Really Going On Here?


As usual, I pissed some folks off with my last two posts about the Robin Thicke sues Marvin Gaye thing. See? Just to see that in print doesn’t feel right in my body. How the hell you gon’ sue an ancestor that you straight-up swaggerjacked? Though T.I. and Pharrell are involved in the claim, I directed most of my criticism towards Thicke because it’s his record and he stands to benefit the most from all of the publicity. It’s already the most listened to song on the radio, ever. Ain’t that somethin’?

A lot of Hiphop heads and DJs found my thoughts on the subject highly offensive. Me using terminology like “sampling” and “interpolation” immediately set them off. But as I’ve found since I’ve been writing heavily the last several years, most people can’t read — and if they can read — they can’t comprehend. As I said, I hate repeating myself, but I find myself having to do so because some people just don’t get it. Rather than throw my hands up in the air or tell them to go fuck themselves, I’ve had to develop the art of learning how to make these virtual encounters a teaching moment. You never know when you can help someone turn the corner of their own understanding.

“When it comes to the truth,  folks have a short attention span and are low on patience.”

— Nicholas Payton

First off, I never said that the Thicke song — if we can call it his or a song — was a sample or Hiphop. I said that his rip is where sampling culture goes wrong. And I never called his song an “interpolation,” I said Marvin Gaye’s song was an interpolation of blues, funk, good disco, cha-cha-cha and other Caribbean elements. Let’s be honest: Marvin himself stole music from other people, but I don’t recall him having the hubris to sue someone he knowingly ripped. Now that’s all I care to speak of in this post about Thicke’s wack ass.

Access Denied!

SuzeOrmanDenied1I may lose my Hiphop card with the following sentiments, but I don’t really care, this needs to be said. I think it’s time to reassess what sampling and Hiphop is doing to Black culture. And I hope those who need to hear this can approach it from a stance of critical thought and not get their panties all in a bunch whilst reading this.

At the risk of coming off like an old fuddy-duddy, Hiphop is a predatory art form — and over the years — has more and more become a bastion of musical cannibalism. As many people know, Hiphop has roots in DJ culture; taking the best parts of records, making loops, sampling sounds and an MC rockin’ the mic, all in the spirit of keeping people on the dance floor.

Keeper Of The Drums

I’m not anti-sampling, but: If they’d had samplers in Africa back in the day, mothafuckas woulda never learned how to play the drums, then who would you sample?

“Nick, several years ago, I met a young brother, and I asked him, ‘What do you do, son?’ He said, ‘I make beats.’ I said, ‘You make beats, huh?’ He said, ‘Yeah.’ I said, ‘Naw, son, IIIIIIIII make beats! Can you sit down here (on the drums) and make a beat?’ He said, ‘No.’ And I said, ‘Alright, then, you don’t make beats, you TAKE beats!’ ”

— Marvin “Smitty” Smith

Culture Vultures

VulturesIt’s become a parasitic culture that glorifies picking over others’ remains, indulging in the sonic equivalent of sloppy seconds, and finishing off in a bukkake over the souls of our great ancestors. And if the necrophiliacs can’t find someone dead to fuck over, they will find some young upstart who desperately wants to get in business so bad that he or she is willing to sign away their publishing rights for a chance to be on a hit record. If this young cat reaches a level of fame, he or she typically continues the cycle of abuse, by finding another young upstart to initiate in the business — textbook case of the oppressed becoming the oppressor.

What’s baffling about it is the entitlement that has become pervasive within the Hiphop community. Like if some grave, I mean, crate-digging producer found a dope two-bar section on a relatively unpopular record, samples and/or loops it and it becomes an international success, that producer feels like he or she did you a favor by reinvigorating your has-been, never-been ass. They put you on. Not only do they not owe you money, you owe them, because now a bunch of kids who never cared about your music, may actually give a shit about you.

Wow. Thanks?

It’s the dream of many so-called jazz musicians to get on some Pop star’s band for the perceived clout it may bring to their brand. But it’s all fakery. Most of these Pop stars don’t have as much money as they claim and tend to pay low salaries. When you’re making mediocre music, you don’t need to surround yourself with the best musicians. And the stars that are smart enough to get good musicians, usually wind up ripping them off for their talents and claim songs that the band members have written as their own.

Jack The Rapper

It used to be that if you wanted music at your party or event, you had to hire musicians. With the advent of the phonograph player, it became increasingly popular to have a disc jockey instead. Why not? It’s much cheaper than hiring a band. But at what point does our soul suffer by not hearing live music? What are the spiritual ramifications of being in a room with real instruments that move air and possess the propensity to change the molecular structure of a space? How much more intense is the real thing over a recording? They say, “Music soothes the savage beast.” Then I’m curious as to the cumulative effects of what samples do to that beast over time. From my observation, it appears to make people more aggressive.


Of course, we all benefit from the convenience of digital technology, but at what cost to our cosmic consciousness? Genuine human interaction has been replaced by virtual communication. Social networks have usurped social engagement. Some of the most highly celebrated musicians today are praised for their ability to sound like samples. Really? Is that where we are with it?

The Right Way To Steal A Song

“[a]fter one of the shows, one night somewhere, James called me into the dressing room and grunted a bass line of a rhythmic thing (demonstrates), which turned out to be ‘Cold Sweat.’ I was very much influenced by Miles Davis and had been listening to ‘So What’ six or seven years earlier and that crept into the making of ‘Cold Sweat.’ You could call it subliminal, but the horn line is based on Miles Davis’ ‘So What.’ I wrote that on the bus between New York and Cincinnati. The next day we pulled up in front of King Records studio, got off the bus, got in the studio, set up, and I went over the rhythm with the band. By the time we got the groove going, James showed up, added a few touches—changed the guitar part, which made it real funky—had the drummer do something different. He was a genius at it. Between the two of us, we put it together one afternoon. He put the lyrics on it. The band set up in a semicircle in the studio with one microphone. It was recorded live in the studio. One take. It was like a performance. We didn’t do overdubbing. ”

— “Pee Wee” Ellis

Contrary to those who believe that Miles got So What from James Brown, it’s actually the other way around. And Miles and Gil Evans got it from Ahmad Jamal. So What came out in 1959; Cold Sweat was recorded in 1967.

Now you can hear between Ahmad’s New Rhumba and Miles’ So What, that Miles — like Ahmad — uses the bass as the melody and has the chords do a call-and-response juxtaposed against the bass statement. Ahmad plays the chords first, then has the bass answer, but Miles reverses the order and has his chords answer the bass in an “Amen” cadence. And whereas Ahmad has 3 chord stabs, Miles only used two. So, if you’re going to rip someone off, this is the classy way to do it.

It Ain’t Stealin’ If You Really Wrote It

Sometimes similarities between songs are purely coincidental and is not the act of plagiarism. Like the tune Leo: Rosebud written by Hal Galper and recorded by the Cannonball Adderley Quintet in 1970 on their album, Love, Sex, and the Zodiac. The main theme of Leo: Rosebud sounds very close to Bob Marley’s and Peter Tosh’s Get Up, Stand Up, which came out in 1973. The thing is, Love, Sex, and the Zodiac wasn’t released until 1974. Could it be that someone heard the other’s song, or that each composer was just hearing a similar melody?

I Hear A “Clique” Every Time

2565-1-clockwork-metronome-clickBack in the day, bands — drummers in particular — were imprisoned by having to play with ye olde “click track.” A click track is a device that is used to sound a “click” at however many beats per minute one desires. It’s comparable to what a second hand is on the watch to minutes and it’s used to subdivide and determine fractions of beats or phrases. That dang click track got rid of a lot of drummers who couldn’t play to that synthetic time machine.

To me, time is a fluid concept. It should not be metrically static. Stable, yes, but not static. Our hearts don’t constantly beat at the same rate. Throughout the day, our heart rate fluctuates according to what activities we’re engaged in. Can you imagine how listless life would be if our heart rate or blood pressure stayed exactly the same all the time? Having a margin of mobility in any given circumstance makes an endeavor more adventurous.

“And many recent recordings of pop music demonstrate how music is killed by a metronome for they are as square as a draftsman’s T. For the convenience of recording engineers, each player has to record their part on a separate track while listening to a click track — a metronome — and the clicks are then used to synchronize the tracks while the technicians adjust them to their taste and mix them. I know talented young musicians who can’t do it; we can understand why. Nothing compares with a recording of a live performance in which the players provide each other with the time-framework.[…] if you want to kill a musical performance, give the player a click track!”

— James Beament

So, yes, a drummer who chronically drags or rushes is problematic. But sometimes tempo is supposed to speed up or slow down. This idea that the tempos must be static to make it easier for the DJ to mix records is bass ackwards. Can you imagine if back in the days of the classic Palladium, Eddie Palmieri has his congueros play to a click track?

So whatever session drummers weren’t put out of work from the click track, the drum machine finished the job. And whatever cats weren’t replace by keyboard sequencing, sampling got rid of them. Now keep in mind, I’m not against any of these tools, per se. But when they become substitutes for real craftsmanship, years of practice and apprenticeship, we dilute the art form, and both the music and the listeners suffer.

Band In A Box

By accepting this as the new standard, we’re sending a message to our kids that it’s okay to learn just enough piano to program an electronic keyboard. That’s saying the years Herbie Hancock or Mulgrew Miller put in at the piano becomes an expendable part of our history and it becomes okay to learn enough of their “tricks” to get over on the masses. And if you can’t play it, then just sample it.

mzi.nqqdiegiThere was a time where a piano was a common part of every household. Almost everyone had a relative who played well. Signing your child up for piano lessons were commonplace. It wasn’t about them being a professional musician, but music had a high value in society, and folks understood that being in touch with the arts made for a more compassionate and intelligent human being. Every school had a band or music program. And whether you liked it or not, you grew up listening to what your parents listened to — I’m talking pre-walkman, pre-iPod days.

This is before American Idol, when you used to have to pay dues in someone’s band before you were signed to a record deal. Marvin Gaye sang backup in the Moonglows and was a session drummer for Motown before he embarked on a career as a leader. He worked diligently for 10 years as a solo artist before he reached his magnum opus, What’s Going On. Even that song itself had several incarnations before it realized its “Eureka!” moment.

Without A Song

What happened that everybody out the ‘hood wants to be an MC these days? When did the art of singing a song lose its appeal? All anybody wants to do is kick a verse. Everybody wants to be a producer, a beat maker, or a rapper, and none of that is usually synonymous with making music anymore. What about playing an instrument? Kids today would rather play Guitar Hero than learn to play the guitar.

I saw an interview once with producer James “J Dilla” Yancey speaking of being in the studio with D’Angelo and feeling like he wanted to sample everything he heard. I thought that to be a curious statement. As much respect as I have for Dilla, why not learn to play that way? Then you wouldn’t have to sample it. I get that Hiphop at its origins is a pastiche of preexisting records, but sometimes they sample shit when they don’t need to.

Dilla is the exception though, he gave life to everything he did. He represents the best in Hiphop, but many who have come in his shadow, got the wrong idea of what makes Dilla great. All these Dilla clones, but very few understand his feel.

For example: My favorite jawn on Erykah’s last album was Gone Baby Don’t Be Long.

For the drums and chord pads, a sample from Arrow Through Me by Paul McCartney & Wings was used:

Pretty cool, but I’m sorry, you could save yourself a lot of money coming up with something just as hip and original on your own. A lot of New Yorkers snub New Orleans producer Mannie Fresh ‘n ’em, but I tell you what, them cats prided themselves on being as sample-free as possible. Keep all that money!

And when artists don’t clear samples, or use breakbeats from a drummer who ad libbed them on the session, the money doesn’t always go to the people it should. It’s heartbreaking to see master musicians die penniless when their works have made millions for others.

Sampling is cool, but when you learn an instrument, you don’t need a sampler.

Life Is A Sample

As humans, we are all analog samplers, and we can use our senses to recall or replicate any mood or vibe our creativity will allow. But if you haven’t done the homework, and your knowledge is limited, you have no choice but to tread on someone else’s output.

The more generations we cultivate with a lack of appreciation for the arts, and don’t take time to instill a sensibility for musical virtuosity, we do damage to our community. We’re creating generations of people who don’t know the power of real music, and as a result:

Mediocrity is the new genius.

So to someone who hasn’t experienced the magic of Got To Give It Up, Blurred Lines may appear to be a cool song. But it pales in comparison to the original. And the fact that most people either don’t know the difference, or may prefer the impostor, is sad.

Please support live music, real musicians, and stop intentionally pirating records and compositions.


— Nicholas Payton aka The Savior of Archaic Pop

Thicke’s Got To Give It Up (Pt. 2)

Since Gaye’s Got To Give It Up is in two parts, I thought it would be fitting to make my post in two parts.

I knew that a lot of folks would be pissed off at the first line of my previous piece being, “Wow, another case of a White dude stealing Black music.” And that would color the way some folks would read and interpret the rest of the piece, but, when I think about what’s so fucked up about it, the White part is it.

Let me explain why . . .

To this point, Robin Thicke has built his celebrity around Black music, and the core of his fan base is Black people—Black women in particular. I recall seeing an interview of Thicke on TV One years ago where he said explicitly that Marvin Gaye was his favorite vocalist. That really resonated with me, as anyone who knows me, knows that Marvin is my fave, as well. And after Miles Davis, he is my favorite musician, period.

It is incredulous to me that someone who owes a tremendous debt of gratitude for his success to the Black community, and who has a Black wife, and biracial kids, could be as callous to sue Marvin Gaye’s estate as a preemptive strike against his blatant theft of Gaye’s material. All respect due to Funkadelic, but I hear no resemblance to their song Sexy Mama, as some suggest.

The “White Man stealing Black music” is cliché, really, but we never should become so desensitized to wrongdoings that we simply let it pass by unacknowledged. To those who say Pharrell was complicit in the plagiarist act, I say, yes, but it’s ultimately Thicke’s record and the onus is on him to do what is right. Besides, Black men have typically sold out their brothers and ancestors for a piece of silver. Just this year alone, Russell Simmons publicly disrespected Harriet Tubman, and Lil’ Wayne, Emmett Till. Two iconic, Black ancestors exploited and used for laughs and shock value. But that’s where we are with it today; everything’s a meme, and no one is above being a target.

And the whole argument that Pharrell’s participation makes it less racially offensive, is very similar to when Whites pull out the “Well, Zimmerman’s not White,” card or the “Well, the Black community doesn’t get as upset about Black-on-Black crime as they have the Trayvon Martin case?”

Racism is not about an individual act; it’s a collective system that hands out rewards and privileges to Robin Thicke that Marvin Gaye never got to enjoy.

“Pharrell and I were in the studio and I told him that one of my favorite songs of all time was Marvin Gaye’s ‘Got to Give It Up.’ I was like, ‘Damn, we should make something like that, something with that groove.’ Then he started playing a little something and we literally wrote the song in about a half hour and recorded it.”

— Robin Thicke

So, Mr. Thicke, how do you go from knowing you “composed” a song something like Marvin’s, to suing his estate to protect your ass? See the problem is that he knows—legally—he didn’t steal any copyrightable elements. Since groove, chord progressions, rhythms, blues and vibe are not legally copyrightable, he technically didn’t steal the song. In other words, of all the things that are indicative of Black music, the most important elements are not able to be copyrighted. Another example of African ideals being seen as invalid through the Western/European lens.

Just because something is legal doesn’t make it right. George Zimmerman was found not guilty of murder, but that doesn’t mean his act wasn’t morally wrong. The problem with the American justice system is that any act is both legal and illegal. What side of the law you might find yourself all depends on who you are, who you know, and how much money you have.

Robin Thicke is the George Zimmerman of copyright infringement. By suing the Gaye estate, he evoked the musical equivalent of Stand Your Ground.

I think what needs to happen here is a rewriting of copyright law. But then again, even when someone directly samples your recorded work—as in the case of flautist James Newton vs. the Beastie Boys—you still might come up short. Because Newton is a Black man who played music imbued with the Black aesthetic, the judge ruled that the 3 notes, albeit important in Mr. Newton’s composition, were not enough to constitute a song. Not only did James Newton lose his case, but I think the Beastie Boys wound up suing him. Sound familiar?

This all plays into the narrative that when you’re Black in America, there is not value to your life or your creations. Not only do your possessions not belong to you, but you don’t belong to you. You don’t own anything. You are a slave.

“We tried to do everything that was taboo. Bestiality, drug injections, and everything that is completely derogatory towards women. Because all three of us are happily married with children, we were like, ‘We’re the perfect guys to make fun of this.’ People say, ‘Hey, do you think this is degrading to women?’ I’m like, ‘Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I’ve never gotten to do that before. I’ve always respected women.’ ”

— Robin Thicke

I also think it’s interesting that he openly admitted to degrading women in the video and had this summer’s biggest hit, whereas Rick Ross lost endorsements and became the whipping boy of feminists for glorifying rape culture by talking about putting a molly in a girl’s drink unbeknownst to her and having his way, as a result. It’s cute when a White matinee idol does it, but let a big Black guy do it, and everybody’s in a tizzy.

What’s also quite revealing here is that the song, in which Mr. Thicke committed a cultural crime against Marvin Gaye, has been his entrée and acceptance into the Pop world. He went from being a fairly popular Urban artist to a mainstream sensation, overnight. He may take this as encouragement to continue in this fashion. Why not? His shenanigans have done nothing but made him an even bigger star.

As a White man, I know Thicke is not personally responsible for what his ancestors did, nor should he necessarily feel guilty by virtue of being labeled “White,” but when he turns around and steals from a Black artist whom he purports to admire, he’s no better than his White predecessors. He’s following in the footsteps of all the other White cats who stole Black music and their money.

Don’t just pay tribute; pay royalties.

— Nicholas Payton

In business, the way you show respect is through financial support.

So, I know many of you are tired of hearing it, but many of us are tired of it happening. So, to you White folks, who get upset every time a Black person calls out racism—just pause—and imagine how we must feel.

On the heels of Marvin’s song, Thicke has broken the record for the highest radio listeners ever recorded—ever—and reached No. 1 in 102 countries. He’s got the greatest radio ratings ever, and not only does he refuse to give a portion to the Gaye estate, but he sues. Wow.

He’s missing a golden opportunity to pay back an artist he’s indebted to. Instead, he’s decided to just rip him off.

I ain’t mad, nor am I surprised, but I am disappointed. Thicke should know better. And unless he apologizes, and pays a percentage to the family, Blacks should stop financing his career.


— Nicholas Payton aka The Savior of Archaic Pop

Thicke and Co., Got To Give It Up To Marvin

Wow, another case of a White dude stealing Black music. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. This is where sample culture goes wrong and morphs into entitlement culture. I don’t know how the “composers” of Blurred Lines are even suing Gaye’s estate and insisting they didn’t do an exact rip of Marvin’s tune. I’m down with writing a piece that is influenced by another cat’s style, changing certain key elements and ultimately making it your own, but this is just wrong.

And their whole defense that the song is in tribute to an era or genre, not a specific song, is wack. First off, Gaye’s Got To Give It Up doesn’t really sound like anything else from that era. It contains a certain musical artifact that is uniquely its own—which is why it’s such an iconic sound. The song is an era within itself. Not even Marvin created anything exactly like it again. Its elements are a cultural interpolation of blues, funk, good disco, cha-cha-cha and other Caribbean elements.

Let’s break it down in specific musical terms:

1.) The sparse square wave sounding bass line is almost identical in its function to both songs. The motif is that the bass line drops beat 1 of each bar or every other bar, leaves some space, then ad libs a little bit. This is a recurring theme throughout. Blurred Lines does exactly that, except they change a couple of the chords. Maybe that’s what they mean by “Blurred Lines.”

2.) The use of the cowbell is also a central part of both songs. The only difference in the songs—and in general—is whereas Gaye’s piece is more fluid and less pattern-based, Thicke’s interpretation is rhythmically static and doesn’t really go anywhere.

3.) They didn’t even try to change the keyboard. The upbeat chord stabs that give the song a slight Reggae feel (or should I say, ReGaye) is central to the character of the tune.

4.) They even codified that background chatter atmosphere Gaye frequently employed in his songs during this period of his work. How you gon’ turn organic party sounds into a cliché?

5.) The drums are the same: 4-on-the-floor with a snare backbeat on 2 and 4 with the occasional accent on a half-closed sock cymbal.

In short, they dumbed down the hipness of the original and turned Gaye’s classic opus into a fake, Macarena-esque, line dance, limbo party type club anthem.

How low can you go?

This is symptomatic of the lack of respect younger cats have for The Masters. The nerve of this even having to be an argument is ridiculous.

The funny part to me is that Gaye had to foresight to call it Got To Give It Up, almost like he knew 35-some-odd-years ago that some young punks would try to steal his shit.

Dudes: Give it up to the master—and most importantly—give up them royalties to Gaye’s estate.

ARTISTS: (if I can even call you that) Please write some original material. I’m tired of turning on the radio and thinking I’m about to hear Marvin Gaye’s Got To Give It Up, The Commodores’ Night Shift, or Mtume’s Juicy Fruit, and hearing your thievin’ behinds.

It’s tantamount to getting your tastebuds ready for some Kool-Aid and opening the fridge to find out somebody’s selfish ass done almost drank it all and ain’t left but a swallow!


– Nicholas Payton aka The Savior of Archaic Pop