Miles Marshall Lewis

Baby mama drama

How did an urban slang insult cross over into the political mainstream, and why is it so offensive?

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Baby mama drama

“Stop Picking on Obama’s Baby Mama!” Those were the words running on the bottom of Fox News’ screen Wednesday, during a discussion about right-wing attacks against Michelle Obama’s patriotism between anchor Megyn Kelly and conservative blogger Michelle Malkin. It’s not the first time intracultural urban language has ended up in mainstream conversation with wince-worthy results (the French speak of their leader Nicolas Sarkozy as “President Bling-Bling” on an almost daily basis). The term “baby mama” — or its sibling, “baby daddy” — graces two mainstream Hollywood films and one hit song, but where did it come from, what is its cultural significance, and why did it incite such outrage in Obama’s case?

Certain slang stolen from the urban community can be traced back to a specific origin: The onomatopoetic phrase “bling bling,” connoting flashiness, comes from “Bling Bling,” the 1999 hip-hop song by New Orleans rapper B.G., for example. With “baby mama,” following the breadcrumbs isn’t quite as clear-cut.

In Jamaican patois, “baby mother” dates back to the mid-1960s. Never a term of affection even from the beginning, the “baby mama” expression was humorously coined to refer to a woman who’s the mother of a man’s child, though unmarried and no longer in a romantic relationship with that man. Not the wife, therefore, but merely the baby’s biological mama. (Michelle Obama has been married to Barack for 16 years.) Similar to the stigma once attached to babies born out of wedlock (“bastards” is still the operative word for such offspring, according to most modern dictionaries!), “baby mama” carries the negative connotation of referencing a mother of so-called illegitimate children. The term was and is never used without derision; in fact, it’s not a term anyone in that situation actually uses to refer to the parent of their out-of-wedlock child. Though used with a certain amount of humor in the very beginning, “baby mama” is used disdainfully nowadays, when used at all.

If you detect a ghetto subtext to the phrase, then thank the numerous “baby mama drama”-themed episodes of tabloid talk shows of the 1990s like “The Maury Povich Show” and “The Montel Williams Show.” Who could forget all the chair tossing, the fistfights, the profanity of “The Jerry Springer Show” when baby mamas and baby daddies showed up for their cathartic 15 minutes of fame? Focused on infidelities and other controversial family situations, these programs did more for the mainstreaming of the baby mama than even the Top 10 pop smash “MyBabyDaddy,” the one and only success from Alabaman music producer Baron Agee, performed by B-Rock and the Bizz in 1997 (which spawned the answer song “My Baby Mama” by Miami bass music star Anquette, incidentally). When filming their video, B-Rock and the Bizz made sure to intercut segments of a parody talk show called “The Tricky Lake Show” (a spoof of “Ricki Lake”). B-Rock and Co. failed to set the world on fire with their follow-up album, “Porkin’ Beans & Wienes,” but they’d already done their damage.

Cable show comedians ran with the expression for years on the likes of BET’s “Comic View,” creating endless theoretical situations involving irate unmarried mothers as the punch line to their jokes. MC André 3000 dedicated the OutKast hit “Ms. Jackson” to “all the baby mamas’ mamas” back in the year 2000. Come 2004, Miramax Films had enough faith in the general public’s familiarity with the term to distribute “My Baby’s Daddy,” a comedy starring rapper Method Man with jokesters Eddie Griffin and Anthony Anderson. Going “from players to playtime” (according to the movie’s tag line), Meth, Griffin and Anderson update the fish-out-of-water 1980s chestnut “Three Men and a Baby,” struggling to change diapers, ironing grilled cheese sandwiches and such. Stale and clichéd, “My Baby’s Daddy” won the audience it deserved — that is to say, no one.

More likely to register on the radar of the Fox newsroom is “Baby Mama,” the recent Tina Fey comedy from Universal Pictures about an uncouth white working-class woman who acts as a surrogate mom for a white businesswoman. The harmless nature of “Baby Mama’s” success may have made the phrase safe for the snarky news producers at Fox, much in the same way that “You go, girl’ was Oprah-cized away from African-American culture long ago. At this point, songs by “American Idol” winner/single mother Fantasia (“Baby Mama”) and Prince (“Future Baby Mama”) are available on iTunes, not to mention several similarly titled tunes by Queen Pen, Lil’ Scrappy, St. Lunatics and a slew of other hip-hoppers. The term has been nearly divorced from its etymological roots, which suggest a lack of true parenting. But not completely.

The racial possibilities of Election 2008 have only just begun to be explored by the Republican Party and various right-wingers, and this “baby mama Obama” dis is merely the beginning. Though of course it does rhyme, and there’s the innocuous Tina Fey allusion, Fox News’ attempted subliminal ghettoization of Michelle Obama is still quite clear. Fox senior vice president of programming Bill Shine released an apologetic statement Thursday, saying “a producer on the program exercised poor judgment.” The whole thing might be funny if it didn’t have such a nasty stink.

Hip-hop’s biggest clowns

Are Gnarls Barkley's wacky costumes and goofy antics just a smoke screen for the massively successful duo's angst?

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Hip-hop's biggest clowns

If 20 years ago I had predicted one of the most popular bands of the post-millennium would sound like a mélange of Beach Boys surf music and Public Enemy sonic collage with the angst-ridden lyrical content of Depeche Mode — all created by a band that doesn’t actually play instruments — I’d have been accused of cribbing from Philip K. Dick.

In 2006, M.C./singer Cee-Lo Green and producer Danger Mouse launched a one-off side project under the name Gnarls Barkley. The duo spent seven weeks in the Billboard Hot 100 top five with their omnipresent hit “Crazy,” and sold over 3 million copies of their brilliantly off-kilter “St. Elsewhere” album. With the equally eccentric “The Odd Couple” just out, one wonders if Gnarls Barkley will get laced into the sophomore straitjacket or will instead succeed at becoming the most preeminent rock duo this side of the White Stripes.

From the start, the duo set themselves apart as a mythic spectacle rather than just a rapper (Cee-Lo is late of the Atlanta-based hip-hop quartet Goodie Mob) and a producer (Danger Mouse is best known for merging Jay-Z and the Beatles on “The Grey Album”). They alluded to various pop imagery in promotional photos for “St. Elsewhere,” sporting ragtag Halloween outfits from “A Clockwork Orange,” “Superman,” “The Wizard of Oz” and many more. Gnarls Barkley made surreal visuals part and parcel of their musical package, in a way rarely seen in a group with roots in the keep-it-real hip-hop culture. (Other exceptions include Missy Elliott and OutKast.) Yet with next to no emceeing on “St. Elsewhere,” Gnarls stretched beyond hip-hop to pop, and so points of comparison for their cosmetic strategy extend beyond rap to acts like Devo or Daft Punk. Their wacky attitude seemed rooted in having nothing to lose; prior to “Crazy,” neither had had any experience with outsize success.

N*E*R*D, another hip-hop-related outfit with alternative-rock leanings, put out their 2001 debut album “In Search of …” in two different formats: an electronic version in tune with producer Pharrell Williams’ more traditional fare and a rock version with backing tracks performed by a band called Spymob. Seven years later, Gnarls Barkley have concluded that only one version is necessary to serve the urban alternative audience. “The Odd Couple” satisfies as completely as “St. Elsewhere,” but still fails to answer the question of quite how seriously we should take Gnarls Barkley.

Thankfully, the two don’t switch gears on “The Odd Couple” to chase the fluke of their accidental commercial achievement. Danger Mouse’s cut-and-paste dicing up of sampled instruments and live playing recalls trip-hop, in the stuttering snare drums on “Open Book.” (He’ll soon be producing albums for both Beck and former Tricky chanteuse Martina Topley-Bird.) The group sometimes plays things tongue-in-cheek — on “Blind Mary,” Cee-Lo sings of love for, yes, a blind girl named Mary — but it’s equally clear that Cee-Lo is targeting the same post-racial audience that pundits have discovered in the wake of Barack Obama. For example, “Would Be Killer” (wherein Cee-Lo entertains particularly homicidal thoughts) has something of a twin in the suicide-minded “Just a Thought” of “St. Elsewhere,” and neither, thematically, would sound very out of place on an early Black Sabbath album — a crossover pandering to the white rock kids. This post-black sensibility allows Cee-Lo to meld hip-hop and indie aesthetics to his heart’s content.

A career of middling success seems to have encouraged Cee-Lo to craft the music he’d really like to be making, which appears to be alternative-rock tunes. (See the last album’s brilliant Violent Femmes cover “Gone Daddy Gone.”) Unbeholden to rigid hip-hop audiences, Cee-Lo’s not ashamed to fly his indie freak flag. Gnarls Barkley’s fans are largely more white than black, practically by design. It’s funny to think of Cee-Lo — the rotund, 33-year-old black father of three — whining his way through the exurban-teenager targeted “Whatever”: “I don’t have any friends at all/ ‘Cause I have nothing in common with y’all … Shut up Mom, it is not okay.” While wiggers all across America have been aching for street credibility, Cee-Lo channels suburban boredom.

“The Odd Couple” has already been critically regarded as a darker album than its predecessor, with lyrics the Cure’s Robert Smith would instantaneously relate to. (On the closing track, “A Little Better,” Cee-Lo sings over a bouncy hip-hop bass line: “It’s probably plain to see/ That I got a whole lot of pain in me/ And it will always remain in me.”) But the visual jokes and pop culture referencing create a disconnect in just how sincerely one can take these guys. Gnarls Barkley lack authenticity as a rock group in the same way that Lindsay Lohan comes up short as a serious actress; even while savoring the performance, you can’t help thinking it’s all a bit of a plasticized put-on.

The masquerade costumes and occasional goofiness serve as a smoke screen for the angst. Their song titles alone (“Who’s Gonna Save My Soul,” “Run [I'm a Natural Disaster],” “Charity Case”) suggest that Cee-Lo wrestles with demons. But when looking at magazine photos of the group decked out as “Back to the Future” characters, it’s easy to miss Gnarls Barkley’s depth for their superficiality — and it’s impossible to gauge which is more important to them. The eerie final lyric on “The Old Couple” offers a clue, though. It refers to Cee-Lo’s mother, who became a quadriplegic after an automobile accident in the mid-1990s and died two years later, and his father, who died when he was 2 years old: “I wanna thank you Mom and Dad/ For hurting me so bad/ But you’re the best I ever had,” he sings in the fadeout to “A Little Better.” Gnarls Barkley’s high-concept clowning just may be the proverbial laughter that keeps us from crying.

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