BEYONCÉ DEMANDS AN END TO GUN VIOLENCE (VIDEO)

BEYONCÉ DEMANDS AN END TO GUN VIOLENCE:

AFTER PARKLAND, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

HUMAN LIFE MATTERS MORE THAN MONEY FROM NRA LOBBYISTS.


Sources: FuseTV, Youtube

BEYONCÉ EXPOSES LEMONADE RELATIONSHIPS: ARE YOU IN ONE?

BEYONCÉ EXPOSES LEMONADE RELATIONSHIPS: ARE YOU IN ONE?

HOW MUCH WILL IT COST A WOMAN EMOTIONALLY & MENTALLY TO REMAIN IN AN LEMONADE RELATIONSHIP?

Sources:  Glamour, Billboard, YouTube

***** How Beyoncé's Lemonade Gave Black Women Permission to Be Emotional Without Shame

Almost a year ago, I was in the throes of a heart-wrenching breakup. It broke me. I had anchored my happiness and future into this one man, but, as British-Somali poet Warsan Shire says, you can’t make homes out of human beings. 

The linear, quick grieving process I had hoped for was nowhere in sight; It was long and excruciating. To make matters worse, I was suffering in silence because of prying eyes from our mutual industry peers. 

Finally, 10 months post-heartbreak, the words just poured out of me. I exhaled. Some months later, a woman (one of many he had had in and out of his bed) texted me. She had read my piece and tried to shame me—using my own words with her own dig: “Today is the day. Let go.” That’s the thing about getting emotional and showing your vulnerability—speaking your feelings is no guarantee of empathy. Even from other women. 

But Beyoncé's Lemonade allows black women to be angry and crazy because of that hurt and then to heal once we’ve recognized our power. And this, to me, is the true crux of Beyoncé’s Lemonade: For years, women have been called "crazy" or worse for showing their real emotions—and black women most of all.

women often aren’t allowed to be weak. Breaking is not an option, so we walk around Gucci down to the socks to cover the emotions we're told not to feel. Being given lemons and making lemonade is not only what we’ve always done—it’s what’s expected. 

We aren’t allowed to be angry or loud—even the First Lady got the Angry Black Woman label for expressing herself eloquently. We aren't allowed to be weak. We aren’t allowed to feel depleted. It defies the superhuman strength gene we are believed to carry—there’s a reason medical professionals think we feel less pain. Forget about being bitter. We are meant to be sturdy mules, carrying the weight of the world on our backs. But in private—and with our black girlfriends—we are free. 

Lemonade channels that feeling of freedom, giving black women the space to have intense emotions—to be angry and devastated by hurt—and then to heal. It rips off the mask and affirms that our feelings are valid, that we are powerful.

I wrote on Facebook about Lemonade being the journey of women coming into our own, realizing our power, and letting love be transformative, and a friend, in tears, told me: “Healing is so, so hard.” She said she had finally been able to admit that she was still mourning the dissolution of a five-year relationship. Beyoncé did that for us. She took our hand and said, "I know. I know."

Lemonade takes 11 acts to bring us from Intuition to Redemption, passing Denial, Anger, and Emptiness along the way. Beyoncé understands the transformative power of love in women's lives, and she uses Lemonade as a vessel to show black womanhood in its fullness—the peaks and the valleys. With "I tried to change.

 Closed my mouth more. Prettier, softer, less awake," Beyoncé makes us confront ourselves: How many times have we shrunk or contorted ourselves into bubblier and less-opinionated versions of who we are with the hopes that he’d stay? Bey has been guilty of this very thing. If a successful, beautiful superstar is not immune to shrinking herself for a man, there is no shame for us to have done it. Bey understands. Even she isn't exempt from comparing herself to "Becky with the good hair."

In Anger, Beyoncé is a sight of glory. Wearing a mustard yellow dress—a nod to the orisha Oshun—we see her breaking windows and asking, "What’s worse? Looking jealous or crazy, jealous and crazy? Or like, being walked all over lately...I’d rather be crazy.” Anger is held over black women’s head so much we sit in a pit of guilt just for feeling it, but Beyoncé just laughs through the rage. I imagine her laughing at this idea that women can’t react to the hurt men cause us. Anger fuels the realization of who she is. “Who the fuck you think I is?" she asks. "You ain’t married to no average bitch, boy.” In Apathy, Beyoncé tells us, “I ain’t sorry"—a pointed statement in a world where women seem to always be apologizing, even when we're not in the wrong. “Did he bend your reflection? Did he make you forget your own name?” Beyoncé wants us to remember our own names because it’s not about him. She’s refusing to be sacrificial for love. She’s throwing away victimhood. She is the captain of her own ship. “I’mma keep running ‘cause winners don’t quit themselves.” The pop star wants us to bank on ourselves every single time.

In the end, loving herself is Beyoncé's salvation. “True love brought salvation back in to me," she sings. "Every tear became my remedy.” At the end of Lemonade, black women gather in the kitchen to cook soul food—a healing aid, to be sure—and Jay Z's grandmother describes making lemons out of lemonade. The power in matriarchies and sisterhood are solidified, crucial to our redemption. Loving ourselves will be our own salvation.

This ode to black women—because, truly, that’s what Lemonade is—reflects our own power back to us. That power does not only exist in being strong and confident and composed. That power is deeply connected to our raw emotions and our vulnerability.

I love that Beyoncé shows black women in all our beauty, from the elders to the black futurists (Quvenzhané Wallis and Amandla Stenberg); from the black queer women to Serena Williams; from the civil rights icon Leah Chase to the black mothers of sons slain by police violence; from black women with natural hair to symbolism of West African spiritual orishas. 

She wanted us to see the goddess in ourselves—and for the world to see it too. 

I don’t know if Lemonade is about Beyoncé’s marriage to Jay Z or if she’s channeling emotions through her mother’s public divorce from her father. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it's neither.

 What’s way more important than the speculation is that she used her platform to bring us back to ourselves when we needed a reminder. 

When we need a reminder that our natural curvy hips don’t make us “manly,” she showed us Serena twerking in a bodysuit. 

When we need a reminder that our culture is valuable long before it’s Columbused, she gave us images of black women in cornrows (re: not boxer braids). She reminded us that a black president and his black wife made it into the White House in racist America. 

She reminded us through a country song that there is no box they can place on our talents. She reminded us that we are not just our suffering—joy is always near. She reminded us that we must tell our own stories. 

We must uplift other black women. She reminded us that no matter what they say the work is what will last. She reminded us that sharing our stories—even at their most vulnerable—helps us shed the weight of carrying it all alone.

Beyoncé gave black women permission to be hurt, be angry, cry, doubt ourselves, feel empty, love hard, all without apologies. That our vulnerability is nothing to be ashamed of. And when we’re done feeling, we mustn’t ever forget the god within us. Because on the other side of healing we can move mountains. “If we’re going to heal, let it be glorious.”

PRINCE & BEYONCE'S 2004 GRAMMY PERFORMANCE (PURPLE EXCELLENCE)

PRINCE & BEYONCE'S 2004 GRAMMY PERFORMANCE:

AMAZING, BREATHLESS & PERFECTION

Sources: Grammys, Billboard, YouTube 

***** Prince and Beyonce at the 2004 Grammy Awards: The Story Behind How the Duet Came Together

Prince's death this morning (April 21) at the age of 57 brought one of the most remarkable careers in music history to a sudden, all-too-soon end. Throughout his nearly four decade career, the Purple One constantly reinvented himself and his music, leaving behind a legacy that is difficult -- if not completely impossible -- to describe in words. In that time period, his output was not only unrelentingly prolific, it was also consistently excellent, earning him 32 Grammy nominations and seven victories between 1984 and 2010.

But it wasn't just his recorded music that drew fans to Prince; his breathtaking performances and mystical aura elevated him to one of the true greats of his time, an artist for whom the phrases "legend" or "icon" almost seem like understatements. And on Feb. 8, 2004 the world was reminded of that fact once again as he opened the 46th Grammy Awards with a four-song medley alongside Beyonce -- who would go on to win five Grammys that night -- in a performance that is regarded as one of the greatest in Grammy history.

As news of Prince's death began to sink in, Billboard spoke with longtime Grammy Awards producer Ken Ehrlich about his first time meeting Prince, putting together that performance with Beyonce and the legacy he's left behind.

When did you first meet Prince?

I don't have the best memory for dates, but I know it was before Purple Rain. But it was a fruitless meeting; I think I wanted to have him do the Grammys, so we had a meeting, it was a very successful meeting, and I walked away thinking, "I don't think I'll ever see this guy in one of our shows." And then it was I think a year after that that he came and did "Baby I'm A Star" [in 1985]. And then after that I had him on a VH1 Honors show that we did and he was really amazing there. And then of course we had him on again when he was with Beyonce and then came and presented several times on the show. So I probably did more with him on television than most other producers because he just didn't do much TV. He knew it was important, but he was very careful about what he did.

He was very, very shy and very, very quiet. I've been to Paisley Park a couple times and I don't ever remember him talking much above a whisper. Maybe that's just the way he was with certain people, but he had this demeanor about him that was like a serenity, this kind of calm that he wanted to project. And what always amazed me was that he would project this calm backstage or wherever -- he was cordial, but he was never effusive -- and then when he got out on stage it was like, "That's not the same person I was standing on stage with." That's just what he was like. He would turn the switch on and off.

How did the performance with Beyonce at the Grammys come together?

When we did the performance with Beyonce, he wanted to do this and in the beginning she was reluctant, she was hesitant. It was a big year for her; it was Dangerously In Love, and I had booked her on the Grammys so she knew she was going to do that. But then I think I might have gotten a little sign of interest from Prince, so I went to her and initially she wasn't sure she wanted to do it. I tracked her down at a photoshoot, it was her and her mother, and we talked about it and she finally said, "Yeah, I'll do it, as long as I can do my other number on the show." [Ed. Note: Beyonce performed "Dangerously In Love 2" solo later in the telecast.] 

So I called him and told him that she agreed to do it, and this is what was amazing about him, because that was like on a Tuesday night and it was only three weeks from the show. The next night I got a call asking me if I'd go out to CenterStaging in L.A., which was where he was rehearsing. He had a band with him -- I think it was the New Power Generation -- and he didn't say why he called, he just said, "Can you come out here tonight at 8 p.m.?" So I went out and the studio was kind of dim, the band was already set up and as we walked in it was as though this whole thing was kind of set up for us. And he just walked over, took a guitar and played the whole medley. 

In one night he had laid out the whole thing, and not just his part, but her part as well. The whole thing was just... It was just amazing. And I'll never forget it, he finished playing it and he took the guitar and kind of slung it up so it was over his shoulder and he looked at me and it was like this, "See? See what I can do when I want to?" It was probably the lightest moment that we had when we worked together, but it was definitely one of the best. He knew I was gonna love it and he knew that she was going to love it. And then when she came to do it and rehearse with him, she was remarkable with him. He was in charge and she was learning from him.

Why was she initially hesitant?

It was nothing more than she thought this was going to be her big moment on the Grammys, she had worked so hard and was so proud of that album, I remember, and she just didn't want anything taking away from it. Not that she thought Prince would take away from it... She thought, "Man, this is going to be the moment of my life, why do I have to do more than that?" And afterwards of course, she was thrilled by it. She thought it was one of the best performances she'd done in her life. It's up there [among the best in Grammy history].

Do you have any other stories of working with him that stick out in your mind?

There was one VH1 show where the icon for the album -- I can't remember which album -- was a huge penis, and that's what he wanted to use on stage. It was, I mean... Look, it was a big penis on stage, that's what it was. If you looked at it a certain way it looked like a rocket, but it was a penis. And he was so proud of it; matter of fact, if I remember, that was his condition for doing the show was that he have that set. And we laughed about it afterward, but we weren't laughing about it before.

I enjoyed him. If you approached him like a mortal, it was better. It wasn't as though he demanded to be [treated] Godlike, you know?

What would you consider to be his musical legacy?

It's too broad of a question, to be honest. I can tell you this: we did his pay per view when he re-emerged probably around 2004 or 2005, whenever it was, and we did his pay per view from Staples Center around that time. And I was a Prince follower right from the beginning; I'm a fan, I do TV shows but I love the music. And what struck me then was how much he had grown as a guitar player. He was always a great guitar player right from the beginning, but he didn't showcase it as much early on, it was more about stage presence, more about James Brown moves; it was an attitude. But [at the pay per view] for me personally, that was when he became more of a consummate musician.

I still remember there was one day when we were rehearsing in Staples, no audience, and he just let loose with a seven or eight minute guitar solo; it wasn't even a song, we were just in rehearsal. And all of our technicians, all of our guys setting up cameras or laying cables, putting up lights, everybody just stopped to look at him because nobody had ever seen anything like that. I love guitar players; he was right there with the best of any of them. I think he was really proud of what he was able to do.

You brought him back in 2015 to present Album of the Year. Why did you want to invite him back?

Because he's Prince. He never wanted to say much when he would come on; we would write copy for him and he was said, "No, I'll just say this." He always had a reason... It was just right. He had the cape on, there was this hint of mystery, but at the same time he was just accessible... I enjoyed what limited relationship I had with him. He was just unique, he was special. There was nobody quite like him. And I also loved that as original and unique as he was, you could see James Brown in him, Jimi Hendrix, so many people who came before in him. And it was important to him to be the conduit between what he had grown up with and what he is passing on to another generation. It was obvious that he was passing on his riff.