By Shea Serrano
Kreayshawn played at the Roxy recently. (Here's Rebecca Haithcoat's review.) A lot of people hate her. Hate. HATE. Lots. Like, A LOT.
One guy disregarded her creative existence entirely, saying, “White America likes to see white people rap, even if they're bad at it. It's part of a misguided notion that white people doing 'black things' [is] complex and therefore noteworthy.” (This guy.)
Another guy made a video attempting to pick at her carcass, though it mainly just made you kind of obliquely dislike Europe a little. (This guy.)
One woman said she spelled her name like an idiot, and that she was probably being insincere yet unironic about who she purports to be — namely, a drug dealing, gun toting anti-consumerist that will snatch your bitch at her leisure should she choose to. Which means that she is, at worst, a cultural parasite, and, at best, a cute cultural parasite. (My wife.)
Shit, if that interview she did with GQ is true, even dogs hate her; apparently, they just run around, biting her in the face any ol' chance they get. (This interview.)
And, I suppose, those who question her common sense aren't totally without ammunition; she did, after all, manage to let loose an n*bomb on Twitter, even if it was supposedly paraphrasing DMX or whatever.
And, I suppose, those that question her rap acumen aren't totally without ammunition either; that “freestyle” she did on the Cosmic Kev show was like that part in the war massacre scene at the beginning of Saving Private Ryan where the one soldier was walking around in a stupor, carrying his own dismembered arm.
But hating Kreayshawn is about as justified as hating the sun for giving you sunburn, or hating the Internet because someone took a picture of you trying to deep throat that Bud Light bottle at that graduation party that one time and it ended up on LMAO Twitpics.
You can't fairly hate Kreayshawn or her wares because her hype — at least, within the mercilessly thirsty blog and Tumblr shantytown, anyway — has usurped her everything. She is controversy bite-sized. As such, her music — mostly tumbling drone atmospherics and stylized stream-of-conscious lyrics that function best when you listen to it with your brain turned off — gets rated with equally forceful paws. It can only ever fail.
Everything she does or says is IN ALL CAPS, ALL THE TIME. HAVE YOU EVER TRIED READING AN ENTIRE EMAIL THAT'S BEEN TYPED IN ALL CAPS? THAT SHIT GETS INFURIATING QUICK. AFTER A WHILE, YOU DON'T EVEN PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT IT'S ABOUT, YOU JUST SIT THERE FRUSTRATED, LIKE, “WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?! WHY IS THIS IN ALL CAPS?!”
“Gucci, Gucci” isn't anything more than “Gucci, Gucci.” It's just a song where a clearly self-aware hyper-braggart who happens to be a white girl who's probably done a bunch of aerobics makes a joke about Arby's and lies about her lifestyle some. It's not a firm actualization of the devolution of rap music, it's a formula for getting rich, son.
Hate Kreayshawn? Nah, nah. Never that. That shit kreay-kreay.
V-Nasty though? Yeah, she's an ignorant broad.
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