…my new video notice is a song meant to uplift all of the single strong Independent mothers/”s —Deniro Farrar, in a tweet dated Jul 24, 2014
By I was patrolling the Internet, scanning the horizon for things to opine upon, when I stumbled onto what some have referred to as an “anthem” in the crusade against the latest First World Problem tempest-in-a-teapot, “street harassment”—a song/video by Charlotte, North Carolina’s own Daunte Qushawan(!) Farrar, better known by his stage name (which is much better to spell and pronounce, I might add), “Deniro” Farrar.
The song, called “Notice,” is Farrar’s ode to the Sista on the Block, who is ever the victim, don’tcha know, of “street harassment.” Such rappers are not at all uncommon in urban Black life; they form a part of the constellation of Black America’s Nice Guy™ contingent and White Knight Corps, though we Negroes don’t refer to these gents as such; we refer to them as “Conscious Brothas.” Though considerably overlapping with Good Black Men™, they are in fact quite distinct as a group, perhaps the most standout feature about them being that they are “creatives” of varying stripe—rappers, “spoken word artists” (a cutesy way of saying “poets”), sometimes bloggers/writers, video/film/photographers, and the like. Conscious Brothas mark themselves out as vastly different from more straight-ahead Gangsta Rappers like, say, a 50 Cent or a Cassidy, by not imbibing thetruth supposed “misogyny” of the former’s lyrical stylings and instead devoting themselves to extolling the virtues of the Sistahood, come what may.
(Examples of this would include the likes of Common, Dwele, Raheem DeVaughn, Talib Kweli, et al. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of all of these artists, and have them all on my playlists, though I admit I’m not much of a “Dirty South” rap fan—too much of an Old School East Coaster for that. But I just had to stand up and tell the Truth—and shame the Devil.)
Of course, like the Nice Guy™ in White America, Conscious Brothas are every bit as ulterior in their motives, as the video you can see attests to. But I’ll make it clearer in my review and deconstruction of it and the accompanying lyrics.
And Now, Our Feature Presentation …
So, let’s begin with the music video for Farrar’s “Notice,” shall we?
The video opens with Farrar shirtless and more tatted (read: thugged out) than a Dathomirian Sith Lord, eating a sandwich and perched atop an old Caddy in a driveway overgrown with grass and weeds, observing Sista Baby Mama heroically strapping in her two babies into the car from across the way. The opening lines go like this:
“Clocking in clocking out, another day another dollar You can’t even pump your gas, without some niggas trying to holla
I just want you to know I noticed (4x)
You go to school And go to work. Cash your check then go home single parent all alone. God damn girl you strong
I just want you to know I noticed (4x)”
Those who study film and the like know and understand well the primacy of importance such opening shots of a film make: they establish the tenor and tone of the presentation and focus the attention of the viewer in that regard. Clearly, Farrar’s intention is to focus our attention on the hood of Black American life—the under/lower working classes, NOT Prince George’s County. This is hugely important because as it has been painfully admitted by even the Social Justice Warrior (SJW) forces themselves, in hand-wringingly, angst-ridden fashion no less, “street harassment” is a “problem” that is undeniably wrapped up in race and class—poor Black men. Which gives the aforementioned SJW contingent all kinds of cognitive dissonance agita, their pet causes clashing like the Titans of Greek myth. Gotta love it!
Farrar’s video, barely 60 seconds in, firmly disabuses the notion or idea that “street harassment” is a “problem” all men are guilty of—it is an issue that has to do with poor Black men—which raises all kinds of really juicy questions the SJWs of the world run away from like roaches when the light comes on. What questions, you ask? Read on …
Baby Mamas Can’t Be Choosy
“It’s 5 in the morning, and you ain’t had no sleep Cause your youngest baby teething, just 1 of your lil 3
Your baby dad is a statistic, another dead beat Shit my daddy was the same, so my Moma raised me
But she still found a way, to overcome a break free Working job after job, 1 or 2 or maybe 3
To put food on the table, making due with ends meet So I know about that pain that you feeling, and it’s deep
And he beat you like he’s strong, but that really means he weak Now your plotting for revenge, wanting to killem in his sleep
But shit we all humans, and ain’t no body perfect No I anit making excuse but that nigga just ain’t worth it”
The above passage comes from the first verse of “Notice,” where Farrar lovingly describes the travails of the Baby Mama—something he and, sadly, far too many Black men in our time know just a little too much about, having been a product of a Baby Mama himself—and he “salutes” the supposed “strength” of these ladies—kinda like what Ms. Fantasia did a few years back in her ridiculous spectacle of a song “Baby Mama.”
Of course, nowhere in Farrar’s verse is there any mention whatsoever of the role said Baby Mama of his affections(!)—or indeed his own mama—had in their predicaments. No, nothing they did is their fault; it is solely the fault of the men they chose to lay down with and get up with proverbial fleas.
Black America is rife with such twisted thinking and inculcation, a glorification of mothers no matter what—nor is it anything new. As YouTube personality Tommy Sotomayor makes clear, the rot runs very deep, to such an extent that even the late great Tupac Shakur is guilty as charged:
“When I was young me and my mama had beef Seventeen years old kicked out on the streets Though back at the time, I never thought I’d see her face Ain’t a woman alive that could take my mama’s place Suspended from school; and scared to go home, I was a fool with the big boys, breakin all the rules I shed tears with my baby sister Over the years we was poorer than the other little kids And even though we had different daddy’s, the same drama When things went wrong we’d blame mama I reminice on the stress I caused, it was hell Huggin on my mama from a jail cell And who’d think in elementary? Heeey! I see the penitentiary, one day And runnin from the police, that’s right Mama catch me, put a whoopin to my backside And even as a crack fiend, mama You always was a black queen, mama I finally understand for a woman it ain’t easy tryin to raise a man You always was committed A poor single mother on welfare, tell me how ya did it There’s no way I can pay you back But the plan is to show you that I understand You are appreciated”
As Sotomayor rightly points out, ONLY in Black America are women to be held in high esteem for making such horrendously harmful choices in life—having multiple babies out of wedlock with clearly disreputable men, behaving badly in a multitude of ways, allowing more men to run through them than Grand Central Station, and unabashedly chasing down Mr. Big in varying permutations—indeed, Black women will actually get offended for suggesting that their actions account for their experiences(!). Black women demand to be treated as “ladies,” “queens,” “goddesses,” and, this is my favorite one, “dutchesses”—all while acting a fool, twerking up a storm, getting shotout by a bunch of ne’er do wells, and having babies by multiple Baby Daddies, and that’s for starters—but they get to demand that a man “step correct.”
Really?
Perhaps with all that “education” they’re getting, they would do well to study a bit about cause and effect: every action has an opposite and equal reaction. When you make bad mating choices as a woman, you cannot expect anything BUT consequences to flow therefrom—for years to come. Black women who choose to become Baby Mamas to disreputable men have forfeit alldemands claims toward respectability—in fact, and this again is the deep irony being shown in “Notice,” the very Good Black Men™ they’ve been cajoling with White Feathers are nowhere to be found in the bowels of Black American street life—they don’t reside, nor work, nor socialize there—and here, we see Assortative Mating rear its ugly head. By becoming Baby Mamas and engaging in other disreputable behaviors, said Black women have indelibly stamped themselves as being utterly unfit for the Better Off Brothas of Black America—and rightly so. “Them Niggas tryin’ to holla” are said Sistas’ assortative mating equal—and water always meets its own level.
Enjoy!
Et Tu, Mr. Farrar?
Let’s go back to Farrar’s lyrics, shall we? Here’s the second and final verse from the song “Notice”:
“You threw on some yoga pants, that compliment your figure, just to run and grab some milk, you weren’t worried about no nigga
But they always try and holler, but never step correct Making comments bout your ass, showing blatin disrespect
But you always keep it real, and put them niggas back in check They break their necks whenever they see ya, damn near causing wrecks
And that’s when you’re in you’re scrubs, they ain’t even seen you when you dressed Got them kids wit no stretch marks, damn girl you blessed
Making moves on you own, you ain’t worried you ain’t stressed Plus you never hit the club, cause you know it’s full of mess
Trying to hold it in the road, and let GOD do the rest Niggas throwing money at you, but you ain’t even impressed
You clocking in clocking out, another day another dollar You can’t even pump your gas, without some niggas trying to holla
I just want you to know I noticed, you ain’t alone So any time you wanna talk don’t hesitate just hit my phone”
If you go back and listen to Farrar’s seranade closely, you’ll notice, pardon the pun, him imploring the Baby Mama of his affections to “just hit my phone” in the event she “wanna talk”—and “anytime,” no less. Here, Farrar tells on himself, big-time, and no doubt the Sistas will lap it up like catnip—he’s engaging in what evolutionary psychology recognizes as derogation of competitors—a formidable mating tactic that both sexes employ, and here we see it in quite florid fashion on Farrar’s part. As I’ve said above, Conscious Brothas’ entire spiel is one of “See? I’m so much better than those knuckle-dragging cretins over there because I feel your pain,” and despite the utter banality of the enterprise, so many Sistas fall right into the trap. For this reason, I for one, cannot dispute success—and it is a successful mating tactic.
It’s just a blatantly dishonest one—which is hugely important for this discussion.
Why?
Because the entire “premise” behind the Sistahood’s White Feather Campaign is tocajole appeal to Black Men to “intervene” on their behalf against them dastardly Nigga Neanderthals (you know, the kinds said Sistas often breed with?) on the street “tryin’ to holla”—and to do so on noble, selfless grounds. Only, as Farrar himself clearly states, he very much has a personal, vested interest in the matter: he too is tryin’ to get in them yoga pants—he’s just going about it in a very different way. A way that the very same Sistas who complain about being “objectified” and the like quite like.
“Who, Whom?” indeed.
Trust me when I say, boys and girls, you cannot make this stuff up.
So, yes, I agree with the Sista SJWs out there—Mr. Deniro Farrar’s “Notice” does indeed bring much-needed context to the indoctrination discussion about “street harassment”…
… in spades.
Thanks, Deniro! Keep up the great work.
More—much, much more—your correspondent has to say about these matters. Stay tuned …
Mumia Ali, aka "Obsidian" is a Men's Issues blogger from Philadelphia who focuses on Sexual Politics, Class, and Race, from the male perspective. He is a cofounder of the Men's Issues blog collective known as Just Four Guys.
Source/AVfM
X art by WB7
“In a time of universal deceit—telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” —George Orwell
The song, called “Notice,” is Farrar’s ode to the Sista on the Block, who is ever the victim, don’tcha know, of “street harassment.” Such rappers are not at all uncommon in urban Black life; they form a part of the constellation of Black America’s Nice Guy™ contingent and White Knight Corps, though we Negroes don’t refer to these gents as such; we refer to them as “Conscious Brothas.” Though considerably overlapping with Good Black Men™, they are in fact quite distinct as a group, perhaps the most standout feature about them being that they are “creatives” of varying stripe—rappers, “spoken word artists” (a cutesy way of saying “poets”), sometimes bloggers/writers, video/film/photographers, and the like. Conscious Brothas mark themselves out as vastly different from more straight-ahead Gangsta Rappers like, say, a 50 Cent or a Cassidy, by not imbibing the
(Examples of this would include the likes of Common, Dwele, Raheem DeVaughn, Talib Kweli, et al. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of all of these artists, and have them all on my playlists, though I admit I’m not much of a “Dirty South” rap fan—too much of an Old School East Coaster for that. But I just had to stand up and tell the Truth—and shame the Devil.)
Of course, like the Nice Guy™ in White America, Conscious Brothas are every bit as ulterior in their motives, as the video you can see attests to. But I’ll make it clearer in my review and deconstruction of it and the accompanying lyrics.
And Now, Our Feature Presentation …
So, let’s begin with the music video for Farrar’s “Notice,” shall we?
“Clocking in clocking out, another day another dollar You can’t even pump your gas, without some niggas trying to holla
I just want you to know I noticed (4x)
You go to school And go to work. Cash your check then go home single parent all alone. God damn girl you strong
I just want you to know I noticed (4x)”
Those who study film and the like know and understand well the primacy of importance such opening shots of a film make: they establish the tenor and tone of the presentation and focus the attention of the viewer in that regard. Clearly, Farrar’s intention is to focus our attention on the hood of Black American life—the under/lower working classes, NOT Prince George’s County. This is hugely important because as it has been painfully admitted by even the Social Justice Warrior (SJW) forces themselves, in hand-wringingly, angst-ridden fashion no less, “street harassment” is a “problem” that is undeniably wrapped up in race and class—poor Black men. Which gives the aforementioned SJW contingent all kinds of cognitive dissonance agita, their pet causes clashing like the Titans of Greek myth. Gotta love it!
Farrar’s video, barely 60 seconds in, firmly disabuses the notion or idea that “street harassment” is a “problem” all men are guilty of—it is an issue that has to do with poor Black men—which raises all kinds of really juicy questions the SJWs of the world run away from like roaches when the light comes on. What questions, you ask? Read on …
Baby Mamas Can’t Be Choosy
“It’s 5 in the morning, and you ain’t had no sleep Cause your youngest baby teething, just 1 of your lil 3
Your baby dad is a statistic, another dead beat Shit my daddy was the same, so my Moma raised me
But she still found a way, to overcome a break free Working job after job, 1 or 2 or maybe 3
To put food on the table, making due with ends meet So I know about that pain that you feeling, and it’s deep
And he beat you like he’s strong, but that really means he weak Now your plotting for revenge, wanting to killem in his sleep
But shit we all humans, and ain’t no body perfect No I anit making excuse but that nigga just ain’t worth it”
The above passage comes from the first verse of “Notice,” where Farrar lovingly describes the travails of the Baby Mama—something he and, sadly, far too many Black men in our time know just a little too much about, having been a product of a Baby Mama himself—and he “salutes” the supposed “strength” of these ladies—kinda like what Ms. Fantasia did a few years back in her ridiculous spectacle of a song “Baby Mama.”
Of course, nowhere in Farrar’s verse is there any mention whatsoever of the role said Baby Mama of his affections(!)—or indeed his own mama—had in their predicaments. No, nothing they did is their fault; it is solely the fault of the men they chose to lay down with and get up with proverbial fleas.
Black America is rife with such twisted thinking and inculcation, a glorification of mothers no matter what—nor is it anything new. As YouTube personality Tommy Sotomayor makes clear, the rot runs very deep, to such an extent that even the late great Tupac Shakur is guilty as charged:
“When I was young me and my mama had beef Seventeen years old kicked out on the streets Though back at the time, I never thought I’d see her face Ain’t a woman alive that could take my mama’s place Suspended from school; and scared to go home, I was a fool with the big boys, breakin all the rules I shed tears with my baby sister Over the years we was poorer than the other little kids And even though we had different daddy’s, the same drama When things went wrong we’d blame mama I reminice on the stress I caused, it was hell Huggin on my mama from a jail cell And who’d think in elementary? Heeey! I see the penitentiary, one day And runnin from the police, that’s right Mama catch me, put a whoopin to my backside And even as a crack fiend, mama You always was a black queen, mama I finally understand for a woman it ain’t easy tryin to raise a man You always was committed A poor single mother on welfare, tell me how ya did it There’s no way I can pay you back But the plan is to show you that I understand You are appreciated”
As Sotomayor rightly points out, ONLY in Black America are women to be held in high esteem for making such horrendously harmful choices in life—having multiple babies out of wedlock with clearly disreputable men, behaving badly in a multitude of ways, allowing more men to run through them than Grand Central Station, and unabashedly chasing down Mr. Big in varying permutations—indeed, Black women will actually get offended for suggesting that their actions account for their experiences(!). Black women demand to be treated as “ladies,” “queens,” “goddesses,” and, this is my favorite one, “dutchesses”—all while acting a fool, twerking up a storm, getting shotout by a bunch of ne’er do wells, and having babies by multiple Baby Daddies, and that’s for starters—but they get to demand that a man “step correct.”
Really?
Perhaps with all that “education” they’re getting, they would do well to study a bit about cause and effect: every action has an opposite and equal reaction. When you make bad mating choices as a woman, you cannot expect anything BUT consequences to flow therefrom—for years to come. Black women who choose to become Baby Mamas to disreputable men have forfeit all
Enjoy!
Et Tu, Mr. Farrar?
Let’s go back to Farrar’s lyrics, shall we? Here’s the second and final verse from the song “Notice”:
“You threw on some yoga pants, that compliment your figure, just to run and grab some milk, you weren’t worried about no nigga
But they always try and holler, but never step correct Making comments bout your ass, showing blatin disrespect
But you always keep it real, and put them niggas back in check They break their necks whenever they see ya, damn near causing wrecks
And that’s when you’re in you’re scrubs, they ain’t even seen you when you dressed Got them kids wit no stretch marks, damn girl you blessed
Making moves on you own, you ain’t worried you ain’t stressed Plus you never hit the club, cause you know it’s full of mess
Trying to hold it in the road, and let GOD do the rest Niggas throwing money at you, but you ain’t even impressed
You clocking in clocking out, another day another dollar You can’t even pump your gas, without some niggas trying to holla
I just want you to know I noticed, you ain’t alone So any time you wanna talk don’t hesitate just hit my phone”
If you go back and listen to Farrar’s seranade closely, you’ll notice, pardon the pun, him imploring the Baby Mama of his affections to “just hit my phone” in the event she “wanna talk”—and “anytime,” no less. Here, Farrar tells on himself, big-time, and no doubt the Sistas will lap it up like catnip—he’s engaging in what evolutionary psychology recognizes as derogation of competitors—a formidable mating tactic that both sexes employ, and here we see it in quite florid fashion on Farrar’s part. As I’ve said above, Conscious Brothas’ entire spiel is one of “See? I’m so much better than those knuckle-dragging cretins over there because I feel your pain,” and despite the utter banality of the enterprise, so many Sistas fall right into the trap. For this reason, I for one, cannot dispute success—and it is a successful mating tactic.
It’s just a blatantly dishonest one—which is hugely important for this discussion.
Why?
Because the entire “premise” behind the Sistahood’s White Feather Campaign is to
“Who, Whom?” indeed.
Trust me when I say, boys and girls, you cannot make this stuff up.
So, yes, I agree with the Sista SJWs out there—Mr. Deniro Farrar’s “Notice” does indeed bring much-needed context to the indoctrination discussion about “street harassment”…
… in spades.
Thanks, Deniro! Keep up the great work.
More—much, much more—your correspondent has to say about these matters. Stay tuned …
About Mumia Ali
Mumia Ali, aka "Obsidian" is a Men's Issues blogger from Philadelphia who focuses on Sexual Politics, Class, and Race, from the male perspective. He is a cofounder of the Men's Issues blog collective known as Just Four Guys.
Source/AVfM
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