#put the last giant at the bottom for my homies who have not read the books which if we're speaking real is more than half of y'all

[lagosbratzdoll]

On Daenerys, Colonisation and Race Discourse within the ASOIAF Fandom

This has been on my mind for a good long while and honestly, as much as I would like to leave discourse in the pits, it has been bugging me intermittently over the past few weeks.

Far too many of you get on here and call people who like the fictional dragon-riding family, neo-Nazis and that sentiment is so prevalent, that white people feel comfortable telling me a black woman that I am a neo-Nazi for rooting for Daenerys Targaryen. I am upholding neo-Nazi power fantasies for wanting to see a little girl live at the end of a story. I am a neo-Nazi for wanting to see the rape survivor have the family she aches for and children with the man (or men) she loves.

Then, those same people go on spiels about how the systemic erasure of those who sing the song of the earth and other old races is not colonialism. That their removal from their home is not displacement but an agreement between two equal parties. The fact that the only place where those who sing the song of the earth exist in the present timeline is north of the wall, surrounded by the bones of their dead, is not a travesty. That the expulsion of the old races from their home isn't that bad and should not be condemned. 

Instead, people argue, completely seriously, that the harm that the First Men and Andals have caused is centuries in the past, so essentially the slate has been wiped clean. The logical leaps that are required to arrive at such a boneheaded conclusion are truly mind-boggling, and those who make such arguments are not good people. 

I am unsure how one could read those books and come away with the impression that the old races do not mourn the loss of their home. I am unsure how one could read The Last of the Giants[1] and Ygritte’s reaction to both the song and Jon’s dismissal of the ethnic cleansing of the giants then believe that the old races and the free folk have moved past their displacement. 

In Westeros, from the Wall to the broken arm of Dorne, they all speak one language despite the fact they are all different ethnicities and they all landed on the shores at different times. That is not the case in Essos, we have been introduced to at least six languages and in A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion notes that the Valyrian spoken in the Free Cities has evolved into nine distinct dialects, and they are well on their way to becoming different languages.

How would a continent as large and diverse as Westeros maintain its hegemony over the people if not for forced assimilation, discriminatory practices and violence? The brutal repression required to keep one house in power for thousands of years is nothing to sniff at. The suppression required to keep the vast majority of Westeros worshipping one (or seven) gods. The systems in place ensure that language does not grow or evolve amongst the highborns at least.

Centuries before Aegon's Landing the maesters were the definitive educational authority and even now centuries after, nothing has changed. The grey rats still decide who learns what and when they learn it. There's one in every highborn home, all correspondence passes through them, they are the healers and the councillors.

The circular logic gets even more blockheaded when you factor in the fact that Daenerys is far from the only white character in the books. She is not the only character who wishes for home. She is not the only character who draws strength from her ancestors, her bloodline and her magical creatures. 

Cersei draws strength from her family’s iconography, and the Stark children (Jon included) all draw strength from their direwolves, their home and their blood. Sansa, Arya and Bran wish to return home and their home was built on the indiscriminate murder and displacement of the indigenous peoples. Their home is built on centuries of rape, murder, exclusionary practices and sexual slavery. 

However, if we give the nonsensical argument that time erases crimes air; the Starks, Lannisters and Tullys are warring to settle personal grievances in the present timeline. As a consequence of that war, thousands (a modest guesstimate) of small folk, minor nobles and even some major ones have been raped, tortured, maimed and killed.

Despite all this, no one writes meta after meta about how Sansa and her siblings must surely die for justice to be had for those who sing the song of the earth, the free folk, the giants and all the old races that fled beyond the wall.  

People write meta about Cersei and how she must die, but those are typically more misogynistic nature. They typically argue that she must die not for the “crime” of being Lannister, but for the “crime” of being Cersei and “ruining” Jamie. 

I would not mind criticisms of Dany and her peace-focused approach to ending slavery because the approach is naïve and she gives the slavers far too much ground. However, she is learning, growing and self-critiquing. At the end of A Dance with Dragons, she has decided to embrace fire and blood, her knight is breaking the false peace which is a necessary step forward.

What I find offensive is people saying that she should have planned better before she abolished slavery. And that the death, violence, and sickness that arises from her quest to eradicate slavery is somehow worse than the death, violence, and sickness that already existed in Slaver’s Bay. 

This argument often downplays the horrific conditions and suffering that exist(ed) under the slave system in Slaver's Bay. Such arguments are often in poor taste and prioritise the lives and comforts of the slavers more than the people they have enslaved.

I would not mind criticisms of Dany if people applied that same critique even-handedly. The same people who believe that Jon and Bran have done much to rectify the evil that their ancestors perpetuated believe that Dany has not done anything to right the wrongs of her ethnic kin. They praise them for the non-existent steps that they have taken, but in the same breath, they condemn Dany for not being able to immediately end the plague that is slavery. 

It is perfectly alright to not like fictional characters, no law requires you to like certain fictional characters over others. However, what is not right is making broad accusations about those who do, it is beyond the pale. It is disgusting, and annoying, and trivialises real-world issues to score cheap points against fictional characters.

Equating the survival of a teenage survivor to the restoration of a fascist house or neo-Nazi power fantasy when such designations do not exist in the world of ice and fire is strange behaviour. Saying that the teenage survivor will eventually be manipulated and raped (again) before ending up dead on her manipulator's blade is also strange behaviour. 

Dismissing the horrors of colonialism, especially when the text shows you that the involved parties are still affected by it, is not normal and often veers into real-world imperialism apologia. While criticism and analysis of characters and their actions are valid and even encouraged, it is essential that we do not resort to sweeping generalisations about other people and that we keep criticisms of characters grounded in the text. 

[1]  

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth.

The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth

Oh, the smallfolk have stolen my forests, they’ve stolen my rivers and hills.

And they’ve built a great wall through my valleys, and fished all the fish from my rills

In stone halls they burn their great fires, in stone halls they forge their sharp spears.

Whilst I walk alone in the mountains, with no true companion but tears.

They hunt me with dogs in the daylight, they hunt me with torches by night.

For these men who are small can never stand tall, whilst giants still walk in the light.

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, so learn well the words of my song.

For when I am gone the singing will fade, and the silence shall last long and long.

#I do not like most of y’all. #Do not call people of colour you do not know neonazis to win points against a fictional character. #It is not my fault that most of your faves are boring and do nothing to drive the plot forward #take it up with george rr martin and stop villifying dany and her (mid) family. #The insistence that we must mind fandom etiqutte is tired as hell too especially because people use it as silencing tools. #“Yes I called you a neonazi but you are the real weirdo for finding my post so really it’s on you that you saw that.” #that’s how y’all sound. #If I see another post that equates enjoying dany to being a neonazi #i will make it everybodys problem. #Took a long break from this fandom because the rancid takes were overshadowing the good takes #and i’ve been back less than a year and the takes are even more rancid than before. #hotd opened an evil door that should’ve remained shut. #Cause why the fuck are there criston cole apologists? Why are there aemond and aegon ii apologists? It is a dark world we live in. #put the last giant at the bottom for my homies who have not read the books which if we're speaking real is more than half of y'all #now that i have gotten this out of my system #it is time to get back to demon slayer #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #asoiaf thoughts #asoiaf nonsense #if you saw the typos in the first version #no you didn't #edited this to add some thoughts I originally put in the tags because I felt it worked better there.

[exkernal]

Philosophy Class for Rock Bottom Demons: 1/3

A/N: I don’t know why I’m finally getting around to posting this old fic now, but I’m in a hellstrop mood

As Michael watches the humans snipe and scurry about (he doesn't care what Eleanor says, that cockroach analogy was on point) he thinks, this is rock bottom. A demon begging his torturees for help; that's as low as it gets.

Then Eleanor tells him he has to take philosophy class.

Does she forget whom she's dealing with? He's not some zit-speckled check out boy who will "remember" that he already scanned her margarita mix if she yells enough. Despite his appearance of bespectacled innocence, at his core he is pure immortal evil that has been torturing humans since before her grandmother's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother was even conceived, thank you. Does Eleanor know how much force is needed to pry the nail from a grown man's big toe? Does she know the sound a human makes when tossed into a giant juicer? No--but Michael does, and she'd best not forget it.

Except maybe he's the one who's forgotten whom he's dealing with, as Eleanor throws his words back in his face until he's well and truly cornered.

So now he's taking philosophy class.

Now this, this is rock bottom, Michael thinks, as Chidi, in all of his sweater-vested glory, hands out their neatly printed syllabi.

"Right. Now that we all have our syllabi--"

"Oh, dip," Jason says, his eyes impossibly wide. "Are you sure that's safe?"

Chidi blinks. His forehead scrunches up in that way it does.

"Pardon?"

"I mean aren't those those weird monster thingies that make you like mad horny?"

Michael catches Eleanor's eye, and they quickly look away.

"I--you're--no. Jason, you're thinking of a succubi. These are syllabuses." Chidi winces, as if the improper grammar physically pains him.

It doesn't clear things up.

"Chidi, man, if you need to see a doctor I know this dope one in Jacksonville. She accepts food stamps as payment and doesn't ask questions if you come in with jellyfish stings around your ding dong--"

"Jason, you're thinking of--you know what, never mind."

Then again, maybe it won't be so bad if he gets a front row seat to Chidi being tortured by his students.

                                                                                               * * * * *

The syllabus is garbage. Human philosophy is garbage. Every higher being knows that, even the stuck up angels farting around in the real Good Place.

(Not that Michael's actually met an angel before, but still).

He'll just have to fake it. Put on his best face, lure the humans into trusting him.

It'll be easy.

                                                                                                * * * * *

This is rock bottom, the knowledge of existence's fleeting nature. Of the expanding, gaping maw of the abyss that will devour them all as easily as dog-spiders devour human eyeballs. How can anyone expect him to go on like this, knowing the fate that almost certainly awaits him (because let's be real, Shawn will find out eventually)? Why was he even created all of those eons ago if this is his ultimate fate? How can existence even continue without Michael, who's always existed before? How can--?

It's okay. Eleanor's showed him. If he can just push those feelings down, and keep pushing and pushing and--

Eleanor's towering above him. Huh. Usually she's not because she's so ridiculously tiny. He remembers the reboots where she got so angry she physically attacked him--it was hilarious, like a chihuahua barking at a grizzly bear. Her eyes are more blue than green tonight, maybe because of her dress.

"All humans are aware of death," she says,"so we're all a little bit sad, all the time. That's just the deal."

"Sounds like a crappy deal," he mutters.

"Well, yeah, it is," she says, sitting down, "but we don't get offered any other ones."

Eleanor's gaze is absent of any judgement or mockery or disdain. He can't recognize what he sees, because no one's ever looked at him that way before, not humans or demons or Janets. It's not sad but not happy either; it's more like she somehow knows what he's feeling even if he doesn't say it, and that's okay. Her eyes tell him that it's okay.

It doesn't make it better, exactly, but maybe it's not rock bottom either.

                                                                                                 * * * * *

"It's so forking stupid! 'How can you tell if an action is good or bad blah blah blah?' Because of the points, dummy! The points tell you if it's good or bad, Professor Know It All."

"I feel you, bud," Eleanor says, lounging with her feet on the coffee table, a notebook propped up against her legs. "But--and don't rip my head off or whatever you guys do--"

"It's rip your head off," Michael says.

"Right. I'm just saying, maybe things would go a little better if you didn't rip the pages out of every book Chidi gives you."

She might have a point there.

                                                                                               * * * * *

"In this experiment, people continued 'shocking' patients even after they heard them beg and scream. The influence of authority was too strong, and overrode their moral instincts. So the question this possess is how do we stick to our morals in the face of conflicting authority? Yes, Michael?"

"I don't understand the problem. When your superiors tell you to up the voltage, it's a good thing. Why wouldn't I want to use the shocks--why are you all looking at me like that?"

All four humans stare at him like his human disguise just slipped.

Chidi squints. He rubs his hand against his forehead. Michael can see the sweat beading on his face.

"Michael, you're still thinking like a demon. From a human perspective, we don't want to torture people. I think you need another ten lines."

Michael sighs, but he doesn't question it.

"People good," he mumbles, as the chalk screeches against the board.

"Keep it up, bud," Chidi encourages. "You'll get there eventually."

                                                                                             * * * * *

"Why did you give me Les Miserables? That thing's almost as long as your stupid thesis!"

Chidi frowns. "Thank you, once again, for casually insulting my life's work."

"Come on, man, you gave Jason Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret."

"Did you seriously just compare your intellectual abilities to those of Jason Mendoza?"

"...fair point."

                                                                                           * * * * *

What was Chidi's problem?

Michael searches for Eleanor's eyes. She's good at explaining things; out of all of the humans, she makes the most sense. But Eleanor won't look at him. She actually looks away from him, following wordlessly after Chidi.

Michael doesn't understand.

                                                                                           * * * * *

"I can't high five that!" Eleanor shouts. "No matter how much I want to."

Michael turns away, laughing. She seems like she's mad at him too, but then he gets her laughing with the reddit story. Things can't be that bad if he can still make her laugh.

It doesn't last for long.

Eleanor tells him that this is entirely up to him to fix, then leaves, before he can think of a retort. He's left alone to wonder how the here he can worm his way back into Chidi's good graces.

Wait, what? Why does he even want to make it up to Chidi? He should be thrilled; he didn't want to attend those stupid, worthless, stupid, boring, stupid classes to begin with! Now he can have his proverbial cake (teaming up with the humans) and eat it too (no dumb classes). This is perfect.

Now he has more time to write fake torture reports instead of reading up on those old farts. Or complaining about reading with Eleanor and Jason and sometimes Tahani. Or seeing Tahani's shocked delight whenever he shares some surprising tidbits about her celebrity pals. Or trying not to laugh at the expression on Chidi's face during yet another of Jason's long winded anecdotes. Or sitting besides Eleanor, occasionally cheating off of her, each doing their best to make the other laugh. Now he doesn't have to waste any more time with any of that nonsense.

It's perfect.

                                                                                           * * * * *

There's something wrong with his chest as he watches Tahani clutch her diamond and Eleanor gush over her shrimp dispensary. It's warm, not warm like whenever he got too close to the fire pits, but softer, and not exactly unpleasant. He still doesn't get Chidi's deal, not entirely, but he's back on Team Cockroach, so everything's fine.

                                                                                           * * * * *

He's on his best behavior for his first day back to philosophy class. He doesn't rip the pages out of his book, doesn't talk about torture or mention humans' stupid anatomy. He doesn't even laugh at Eleanor and Jason's many jokes about happiness pumps, though that's partly because he doesn't get most of them.

                                                                                          * * * * *

Chidi passes back last week's philosophy papers. "Everyone's made great progress since we've started. You should be proud."

Eleanor leans over to Michael. "What did you get, bud?"

He shows her.

"Dang, A. Good for you, Michael."

"Well, I am a superior being," he says, rubbing his leg and smiling like a dope.

"Hey, we should celebrate. Do demons celebrate? Or is that just torture for you guys?"

It's just torture. He knew better than to ask Eleanor if he can have a go at one of them (like forcing Jason to listen to a blow-by-blow recap of every Jaguars defeat). Besides, he doesn't really want to, anyway.

Huh. Imagine that.

Instead he says, "In some of the other reboots, you would try to distract me from investigating the neighborhood anamolies by doing fun human stuff. We played aracade games, sang karaoke, went bowling--"

Suddenly, Jason jumps into the conversation. "Laser tag! Did you play laser tag?"

Michael thinks. "No, we never got around to that."

"Yo, homies, we have to play laser tag. I am a beast at laser tag. Me and Pillboi would do a bunch of shrooms and then go crazy all over the place. Also, I think I shot a mall cop once. Or maybe that was a dream."

Eleanor nods. "Laser tag could be fun. Don't know about the shrooms part."

She eyes Chidi, silently asking him.

"Definitely not," he says.

Twenty minutes later, thanks to Janet, Michael finds himself wearing purple plastic strapped over his chest and carrying a fake gun, surrounded by enough multi-colored smoke to fork up the humans' vision but not his. Without ever explicitly agreeing to anything, he and Eleanor have formed an alliance. He saves her from Jason's sneak attack, and together they shoot him in the chest twenty times.

"Yes!" Micheal shouts.

"Eat that!" Eleanor screams.

"Aw, man," Jason says, with the same dejected look as when he popped Pikachu.

He and Eleanor high five.

Then his chest lights up.

"Ooh," Tahani says, smiling like she can't believe her luck. Michael can't either. "I'm starting to get the hang of this!"

She notices the murderous glint in Eleanor's eyes, and bolts into the smoke.

"Don't worry, I'll avenge you," Eleanor tells him, then she shouts after Tahani, "You're going to die, you sexy skyscraper!"

That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him.

                                                                                    * * * * *

So he can't marbalize Janet. And also may have teared up in front of her, despite no known demon ever crying before. So what?

                                                                                    * * * * *

Eleanor Shellstrop is an enigma. Nothing about her behavior on Earth indicates she should be able--or willing--to sincerely change, and yet she has. She has a limited human brain yet she keeps outwitting him. No one can rile him up like her, yet no one understands him quite like her, either.

Also, he made him a paperclip bracelet that one time.

That's why he visits her instead of Chidi when he's feeling frustrated with ethics. Because even if she is a human, she understands him more than his own kind ever did.

They sit across from eachother. In the artifical light, he can't tell if her eyes are more blue or green.

They talk a while, and in the end, she tells him that she believes in him. That she believes it will all work out. He doesn't fully understand why, but the words stay with him long after he leaves, keeping a smile on his face that he can't wipe away even if he tries. He's still smiling when he walks into his office and sees Shawn at his desk.

                                                                                   * * * * *

Shawn tells him it's everything he ever wanted, and he can't disagree. Because it is. As an apprentice, toiling away on others' designs, he dreamed of the moment that his own work would be recognized. Micheal the Architect, senior staff member, exhalted in the Bad Place.

It would be so easy to snatch the pin, place it on his lapel, and pretend that the last few months never happened.

He's not sure what will happen to Janet, though. It's not like they can realistically sneak her back to the warehouse. Maybe they'll reboot her, and reuse her for a replica neighborhood. As for the humans, he knows exactly what will happen to them; they'll be tortured forever. He tries to imagine it. For some reason, he keeps going back to the moment that Trevor threw his arm around Eleanor, prepared to take her to the "Bad Place," and the way she looked, resigned and disgusted all at once.

He remembers stretching his hand out to her, and her accepting. He remembers leading her back to the fake Good Place.

It turns out he's already made his choice.

He doesn't even regret it.

                                                                                    * * * * *

He collapses into Eleanor's arms like a puppet whose strings were cut, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I was so worried for you! You're my friends and I wanted to save you!"

Eleanor whispers that it's okay. He wishes he could believe her, he really does, but he can't escape the fact that they're completely and utterly forked. The humans still think he can get them to the real Good Place, but he knows that they don't have a chance. They're at the end of the road. They've seemingly run out of options.

But maybe he can figure it out, if he stalls long enough. He's done it before when he thought he hit rock bottom, and he can do it again. He always figures something out.

                                                                                    * * * * *

He doesn't figure it out.

                                                                                    * * * * *

The Shellstrops are right about one thing: drinking really does help.

He tells stories about past reboots that get everyone laughing. Someone (Eleanor or Jason, he can't remember which) suggest Never Have I Ever. Michael figures out the trick after two turns, getting everyone, even Janet, out with gems like "never have I ever been rebooted," "never have I ever smashed food holes," "never have I ever had a beating heart," and "never have I ever been to Earth." By the time they try to gang up on him ("never have I ever tortured humans," "never have I ever worn a fake human suit," and Jason's "never have I ever worn a bowtie", which gets both Chidi and Tahani fuming  because Micheal and weird turtle dealers aren' t the only one's who wear bowties, Jason) it's already too late.

"That's not, that's not even fair," Tahani says, swaying sligtly. "How do we even know--can you even get drunk?"

"I can," Michael says with dignity. "It just takes longer."

"Prove it!" Eleanor starts up the drunken chant, getting the others to all chime in. "Prove it! Prove it!"

So Michael downs an entire bottle of whiskey in one go.

In retrospect, that might not have been his smartest decision.

                                                                                   * * * * *

In the end, Eleanor's the one to come of with the crazy, bound to fail plan. The humans slowly trickle back to their beds, since humans need to be well rested before facing off against impossible odds, until it's just him and Eleanor left sprawled on the blanket, their legs stretching out before them. Eleanor rests against his side. Tonight, in the Michael-made starlight, her eyes look more green than blue. There's a pleasant buzz in Micheal's brain, leaving him light and (despite everything) happy.

"Micheal," Eleanor says suddenly. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"Not particularly," he says. "Why?"

"You said that me and Chidi were 'in love,'" she starts to use air quotes but gives up halfway. "But now we're not. Or he doesn't feel that way, or can't decide what way he feels, I don't even know. I don't know if it's me--if there's just something unloveable about me."

Something about that statement hurts Micheal, but he's not sure why. He's no good with feelings talk--he only just learned what 'guilt' means. But Eleanor was there for him when he needed it (a smile across a table, a hand patting his back) so he gives it his best shot.

"Chidi's just Chidi," he says. "He's trapped in his own Chidi world, which, just between us, is what made torturing him so fun. There's nothing wrong with you. Whatever Chidi's dealing with, it's not beccause you're 'unloveable' or whatever."

They're quiet for a moment.

"Hey, Micheal? Do you really think kissing is that gross?"

His face twists in disgust. "Yes. But to be fair, I think a lot of human bodily functions are disgusting."

"Cuz we're like cockroaches," Eleanor nods sagely.

That's not...entirely right, but he can't figure out why.

"Sooooo," she says. He knows that look in her eyes. "Does that mean you wouldn't ever try kissing? Just to say you tried it?"

He barks out a laugh. "When would I ever get the chance to try it?"

"Well, we could. Right now. If you want."

Michael feels too warm again. He's having trouble meeting those more-green-than-blue eyes. He's suddenly aware of how close they are, pressed together like this.

"Why--would you--you, you actually want to?"

"Sure."

He's always trusted Eleanor before when it came to human things. And he can't lie to himself: he does like the feel of her in his arms, pressed so closely that he can feel her heart beat, away from everyone else. He doesn't want it to end.

"Okay," he says softly.

It's a little awkward at first, because Micheal doesn't know what to do while Eleanor shuffles around, positioning herself in front of him. She closes her eyes, so he does too. Her hands are on his back and her lips press against his. It's...nice. Her lips are soft and warm and not as gross as he expected.

She pulls away too soon. She leans forward, like she wants to sit on his lap, but loses her balance. He catches her before she faceplants the grass.

" 'm okay," she says.

A voice in his head, which sounds suspiciously like Professor Buzzkill, tells him she's not.

"Okay, it's time for bed," he says. "Sleep it off."

She lets out a disappointed whine, but she doesn't fight him. He pulls her to her feet and walks her back to the clown house. Just as they reach the door ("Ya know," Eleanor slurrs, "tonight I'm not even gonna mind the creepy clowns watching me sleep."), a terrible thought occurs to him.

"Eleanor? Was I a rebound?"

"What? Pff, no. You're not a rebound. You're...you're Micheal."

He pretends that he knows what she means.

                                                                                       * * * * *

Why didn't he grab another pin? Stupid, stupid. Eleanor watches him fumble through the jackets, trying not to freak out, but he can feel the tension radiating off of her from the seventh dimension.

It's too late. Shawn's on the balcony. He has two options. He could go through the portal after the others, leaving Eleanor behind to be torture. Forever. Or he could give her his pin, be retired for sure, while Eleanor has only a slim chance of winning her case.

Once, there wouldn't have even been a choice. He doesn't want to be retired. He remembers his existential panic when Chidi explained death to him. He thought it was the worst possible fate.

Now, peering into Eleanor's panicked face, he can think of another.

She doesn't understand as he explains the trolley problem, not until he removes his senior staff pin and pins it on her dress.

"No," she says.

"Take care of the others," he says. He is sad that he won't get to see them all on the other side, but he knows that they're all in good hands if Eleanor's there to guide them.

"Goodbye, Eleanor," he says, pushing her through the portal. He's tempted to kiss her before she goes, because that warm feeling is building up in his chest and it needs an outlet,  but there's no time. He hopes she understands all of the things he doesn't say, because he sure as hell doesn't.

She vanishes. She's safe now, he thinks as he waits for Shawn to reach him. He knows that he's facing rock bottom--in all of eternity, only eleven demons have been retired--but he can't find it in himself to care.

#the good place #hellstrop #michael x eleanor #eleanor shellstrop #michael (tgp) #fanfic

[mixtapekings]

Listen Review of DaBaby’s ‘BLAME IT ON BABY’ Album by djbooth.net

‘BLAME IT ON BABY’ is an album that says, “I’m on the way,” not, “I have arrived.”

DaBaby, born Jonathan Kirk, lives life full-throttle. He raps fast; he lives fast. He is the antithesis of stillness. Following the release of two commercially successful albums―Baby on Baby and KIRK―the Charlotte, North Carolina native is positioned to take over the music industry.

Although it’s only been seven months since the release of KIRK and the success of popular singles “BOP” and “VIBEZ,” DaBaby returns to the spotlight with BLAME IT ON BABY, a new album featuring Future, Megan Thee Stallion, Roddy Ricch, and more.

The decision to release BLAME IT ON BABY now—the cover is the first to acknowledge the COVID-19 pandemic—means DaBaby will forever be associated with this moment in human history. When hip-hop looks back on 2020 and the months of quarantine, they’ll remember DaBaby releasing BLAME IT ON BABY, and how the album made them feel. At least, that should have been DaBaby’s goal when he decided to unleash the project.

In usual 1-Listen fashion, the rules are the same: no skipping, no fast-forwarding, no rewinding, and no stopping. Each song will receive my gut reaction from start to finish. 

1. “CAN’T STOP”

DaBaby has arrived. “Ain’t no stopping a nigga like me.” He’s talking that talk. He breathes confidence. I like the production. It’s airy. A subtle bounce. He’s feeling himself. He’s a rapper on fire. “I only answer to God.” “CAN’T STOP” sounds like it was recorded after a soldout show in Madison Square Garden. I like it. Verse two is refreshing. Not as explosive as the first. Brag raps. Big brags. “When I get in my feelings, I make niggas feel it.” That was a strong, “Bitch ass nigga.” This is a man I wouldn’t try to stop. Juggernaut rap. DaBaby is a rap giant. 

2. “PICK UP” feat. Quavo

“PICK UP” is slower. Kind of ambient with a bounce. Interesting. He sounds like he’s rapping slower, taking his time. “I look better in person.” Ha. He glows confidence. “PICK UP” is cool. I’m not sure who made this beat, but… Quavo! Quavo raps like a professional football coach. I mean that in the best way. A man on the field, commanding, the confidence of a leader. The Nick Saban of rap. I like him on this better than DaBaby. It feels more natural than the songs on Quavo’s solo album. “You already know I’m the goat.” Okay, sir. “PICK UP” is fine. 

3. “LIGHTSKIN SH*T” feat. Future & Jetsonmade

“LIGHTSKIN SH*T” doesn’t sound like a Jetson beat. A good bounce. DaBaby has a good melody, I can see it being popular on Instagram. There’s going to be some interesting discourse around this one. Future! Sonically, this is so bright for Future. I like Future’s voice on this. He sounds a bit like Thug. He’s talking that talk. “Hard to fall off I’m super relevant.” He killed it. “LIGHTSKIN SH*T” isn’t a bad song, but it’s not gripping. 

4. “TALK ABOUT IT”

Wheezy! Whew! “TALK ABOUT IT” is the one. Infectious. I love hearing the word “Jit” in rap songs. It’s so Southern. DaBaby is swagging. So much life. So much pride. “TALK ABOUT IT” is the song Drake should be on. Started from the bottom now I’m here rap. A keeper. He’s good, real good. “All a nigga know is hustle.” You want to follow him to the top.

5. “SAD SH*T”

“Let me do some sad shit.” Man, this record don’t sound sad. He’s singing. Is he trying to get his girl back? I don’t know what’s happening. He’s switching pitches. He sounds like a possessed Young Thug. Now he’s back on his pimping. Was that a Migo ad-lib? Nothing makes sense. Is that a vocal sample? How is this song still building? “You ever got your heart broken, nigga?” Man, what is happening. How is this song still going? DaBaby songs aren’t supposed to last this long. Where is Rich Homie Quan? If Rich Homie would’ve made this same song, I’d be crying in the club. “SAD SH*T” has too much performance to be sad. 

6. “FIND MY WAY”

“Wait a minute, who are you?” Ha, I like the drop. “FIND MY WAY” is boring. By far, the slowest DaBaby has ever sounded. The songs don’t progress with any purpose. He’s so still. “FIND MY WAY” isn’t saying much to me. That Melly line wasn’t it. I like the line about him being a hero. Man, skip.

7. “ROCKSTAR” feat. Roddy Ricch

I’m excited to hear Roddy. I know my sister-in-law is somewhere ecstatic. DaBaby leaning into this type of melodic rap creates the ideal setting for Roddy to skate. So far, “ROCKSTAR” is alright. A nice flow switch. The PTSD line got me. Oh man, he just mentioned the murder in Wal-Mart. Crazy. Roddy! The million-dollar voice. I hear so much music that sounds like him. He’s skating. He is Tony Hawk, and “ROCKSTAR” is his skatepark. “ROCKSTAR” is a fine song. It could be a big single, but I don’t feel compelled to hear it again.

8. “JUMP” feat. Youngboy Never Broke Again 

“Cha-ching.” The bounce! NBA YoungBoy has a voice that projects with charisma. Yeah, this is good. Real good. It’s a single. It’s going to be a Black Air Force 1 summer. Such an infectious song. “Made a song in 10 minutes and went platinum.” I love hearing DaBaby brag about his accomplishments. “I make it jump like crack in the ’80s.” Voices from Baton Rouge jump in your veins. Southern rappers have such a natural bounce in their voices. It’s a cheat code. Youngboy ate. Keeper. DaBaby’s second verse is charming. These two are a good combo. I didn’t expect much, but they align as if they were kindred spirits. 

9. “CHAMPION”

“Yeah, I took the cash route.” His words are embedded with passion. The melodic flow works for him. “CHAMPION” reminds me of Rich Homie Quan, but Quan was belting it out. DaBaby sings from the heart, but Rich Homie sang from the gut. DaBaby’s a champion. Rich Homie Quan was an angel.

10. “DROP” feat. A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie & London On Da Track,

I don’t like “DROP.” DaBaby’s singing is not selling a product I want to buy. He’s just not offering much here, and I’m not a fan of the production. A Boogie sounds more at home. So many artists sound like A Boogie. Or does A Boogie sound like so many artists? I can hear “DROP” on the radio. It’s not striking, but it’s kind of pleasant in a commercial rap way. “Why the fuck wouldn’t they want to rob me?” Well, that’s one way of putting it, Boogie. “DROP” is a skip.

11. “BLAME IT ON BABY”

Ahh! These keys. His voice. Yep, this is personality. This is speed. This is rhythm. Where was this energy!? He’s talking that talk. I have been waiting for “BLAME IT ON BABY” all album. Yep, yep, yep. “I know I’m on top, I’m a target.” He’s taking off. A rocket ship is taking off. “Slow down, slow down.” WHERE WAS THIS ALL ALBUM!? Jesus, man. Let’s go!

12. “NASTY” feat. Ashanti & Megan Thee Stallion

Of course, he sampled Ashanti’s “Baby.” This is cool. I imagine JaRule will appreciate this effort. I can hear “NASTY” on the radio. DaBaby reminds me of Ludacris at times. He’s a rapper with a striking personality who raps with vivid lyricism. Of course, London made this track. Megan! Oh, this a hit. If people could go outside, the day parties would eat this up. It’s so familiar. It’s so nasty. She gave DaBaby the verse “NASTY” needed. Tina Snow raps. “NASTY” worked better than I expected. I was worried it would be cheesy. I spoke too soon. Why is DaBaby still rapping? This song doesn’t need to be this long. Ashanti sounds fine, but I didn’t need additional vocals. “NASTY” could’ve ended three “babies” ago. Brevity people, brevity. 

13. “AMAZING GRACE”

“A nigga barely read the scripture, but I’m spiritual.” I like this. It’s honest. I’m not in love with the mix. I feel like a tighter mix would’ve made this one pop. There’s a rawness to “AMAZING GRACE”—a demo that was too good to record again. Not a grand finale, but a memorable one. 

Final (First Listen) Thoughts on DaBaby’s BLAME IT ON BABY:

DaBaby’s BLAME IT ON BABY is an interesting album. Musically and lyrically, the work is not a massive departure from the winning tricks and acrobatics that made Baby on Baby and KIRK successful releases. But, instead of introducing a new perspective or revealing anything about himself that we didn’t already know, DaBaby repeats familiar tropes alongside famous friends and over contemporary productions.  

At best, BLAME IT ON BABY reaffirms DaBaby has the charisma of a rap star. He has the voice, confidence, and style to be a giant among men. But does he have the songwriting? BLAME IT ON BABY, on first listen, makes you wonder. There are some high highs, like “NASTY,” “UP,” and “TALK ABOUT IT,” but, as an album, BLAME IT ON BABY isn’t undeniable. 

DaBaby is still a new artist. Emerging into his stardom. BLAME IT ON BABY is an album that says, “I’m on the way,” not, “I have arrived.”

from Listen Review of DaBaby’s ‘BLAME IT ON BABY’ Album by djbooth.net

#Albums #News #BLAME IT ON BABY #DaBaby #DJ Booth #Yoh Phillips

[mistertcat]

25 Lessons from Age 25

1. HOME IS A VIBE

Throughout my whole life, I always thought home was a place. A city, a state, four walls and a hard-wood floor. I don’t believe this anymore. With my family and friends spread out across the country like a cream-cheesed bagel, I realized now that home is as much everywhere as it is nowhere. It’s in the memories and the songs and the thoughts that race through my mind as I fall asleep. Ain’t no place like it. 

2. SUMMER IN THE SOUTH IS LIKE WINTER IN THE MIDWEST

It’s the kind of lock-yourself-in-and-binge-watch weather that I though only existed in the dark days of Midwest winter. Except in the South, an Irish Coffee does not soften the blow. No liquor nor liquid can save you from this wet heat. It’s like being trapped inside of a beached whale. Just embrace the sweat. Just breathe. It’s the price one pays for 70 and sunny in December.

3. THE SOPRANOS IS THE GREATEST SHOW OF ALL TIME

I don’t know why it took me so long to press play on episode one. Probably some combination of fears. The fear that one cultural phenomenon from the early 2000’s could never live up to the hype. The fear that 7 seasons might as well be considered a hobby. In any case, the fear wasn’t warranted. The character depth on this show could home a giant squid. It’s simply the best.

4. NFL KICKERS ARE VALUABLE 

Every August, I offer up my emotional wellbeing to the 53-man roster of the San Diego Chargers. And every year, they find an innovative way to lose games – spiraling me into a fit of heated disappointment for 2-3 subsequent days. This year, my anguish was at the feet of 5 incompetent kickers. Never in my life have I seen so many different people do equally shitty at the same job. 9-7 could have been so much more.

5. TALES FROM THE CRYPT

I don’t really know what crypto currency is and I don’t really care to do the research. All I know is that my roommates convinced me to buy some. Now, on a daily basis, I’ve either lost everything or I’ve exponentially multiplied my money. It’s a great way to inject some crippling fear into your otherwise stable life.

6. I CAN ROUGH IT

We were warned that humans should not go to the Appalachian Mountains in such hazardous winter conditions. “That’s cute,” they said. “I love camping and I would never do that,” they said. I laughed this off as I soaked up the rays of the mountain sun. At the tender hour of 6 PM, I knew they were right. Never in my life have I been so cold, but I survived the night. 

7. THE GRIND IS REAL

My dentist recently told me that I grind my teeth when I sleep. I didn’t really believe him until my first night with a sleep-in mouth guard. I woke myself up 3 times from chomping down on that bad boy like corn on the cob. Touché mister dentist…touché.

8. HOW TO EAT CRAWFISH

It’s way harder than it fuckin looks, and everyone has a style that they think is right. The most effective way for me: Rip off that head, slurp the juices, crunch the sides of the tail lightly, peel back the shell, and eat the meat. Repeat until you are disgusted with yourself.

9. DON’T SKIMP ON THE FISH BOWL CONDITIONER

Instead of running out to PETCO to grab another bottle of water conditioner, I thought I could stretch out the last remaining bit among two bowls and re-up for the next round. The next morning, I found both of my Beta fish (Pepperjelly and Kyrie) dead at the bottom of their tanks. The scene will stick with me until I too am dead. I’m so so sorry guys. 

10. KEEP IT SALTY

The easiest way to turn your body into Gumby and your brain into gum balls is through a hot epsom salt bath. I don’t know what they put in that stuff, but I am hooked. You ladies had this shit down a long time ago and I applaud you for it.

11. HOW TO FLY ON AN AIRPLANE

I flew on more planes this past year than I did the 24 years prior combined. With lots of practice, you learn little things that assist on the journey. Firstly, download your Spotify playlists before the flight so you can listen in the sky. Secondly, use the debit card with the bad strip and they will give you your Gin & Tonic for free to avoid holding up the line.

12. HOW TO MAKE A GOOD GIN & TONIC 

I had a new-found love and appreciation for this drink in 2017. It’s sharp, yet refreshing. Sophisticated, yet simple. Just a damn good drink for the night time hours. Pour 2 shots gin and 2 ½ shots tonic over a ¾ full glass of ice cubes. Top with a one-second squirt of lime juice. Stir and drink with a colorful bendy straw. Add a splash of orange or cranberry juice if you are feeling “tropical.” Enjoy.

13. THE RAPPER’S WRITING PROCESS

There’s something magical about the driver’s seat that I just can’t get from sitting down at a desk. As much as I like to write, I’ve never written a song on paper. I start with a line in my head and say it out loud and build it bit by bit, so by the time it’s done I already have it memorized. With the beats blasting, I can write and recite over and over until it’s polished. Sometimes at night I drive up and down the same strip of Canal St. while I work on a song. I probably look like a drunkard, but process is process.

14. KENDRICK LAMAR HAS MY BACK

DAMN. came out about one week before I moved from Omaha to New Orleans, and it served as the soundtrack to my re-location. It was the sound of a transition of styles. Something new, scary, and exciting. Fast forward six months, and I’m feeling lost. I see Kendrick live on stage at Voodoo Fest, surrounded by thousands of people chanting “We gon’ be alright!” in unison. His presence alone feels like some sort of divine intervention. He was my support system throughout this whole thing.

15. BEWARE THE SPICY SALADS 

I learned this lesson twice at 25. The first time was a pre-packaged Cajun salad at Louis Armstrong Intl. Airport in New Orleans. The pink dressing made my eyes water and I was completely taken off guard. It was a good burn. The second time was at the Chili’s in the Dallas Fort-Worth Airport. Their chipotle ranch dressing was spicy on a practical joke kind of level. When the waiter asked if I wanted more dressing we both laughed in a “fuckin good one” kind of way. My subsequent flight was the worst of my life.

16. I CAN ROCK A CAP

I always thought that my head was too small or misshapen for hats. I experimented at age 15 and hated the results. Since then, I have largely avoided the idea altogether. One Autumn day, I tried on a random hat hanging on the coatrack and my whole view changed. My head was made for the so-called “dad cap.” My hair might not last forever, but a new door has been opened when it comes to cranial decorations.

17. DON’T BET ON THE SPREAD

You might as well buy something instead of just throwing your money away on sports betting. “Oh, Creighton is a 9-point underdog to Gonzaga?! This is too good to be true!” Creighton lost by 17 and this was the first and last time I will bet on a sporting event. Even at the casino, you play games and get free drinks. Sports betting is a hot date that never shows up to the restaurant. Enjoy that cold dinner alone, Tyler. You deserve it.

18. CLOTHES STEAMER > CLOTHES IRON

Light, compact, effective, and efficient. I don’t know how I got by without one  of these gizmos before. Just put that shirt on a hanger and blast away with some steam. It’s almost too easy. Word of caution: DO NOT use the clothes steamer while you are wearing the clothes. I did this and got a Burger King looking grill mark burn on my chest for about a week.

19. I HAVE A THING FOR FRENCH GIRLS

Namely, French girl singers of the 1960s. France Gall, Brigitte Bardot, Françoise Hardy, and the like. I have no idea what they are saying in their joyous tunes, but it’s so buttery that I don’t care. I feel like I understand it nonetheless. I also met Marion this year, a real-life lady from France. She loved to dance and I will miss her.

20. ALONE TIME IS A GIFT

I took this for granted when I had my own apartment with just me and my cat Pancake. I could do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and got very little pushback on my lifestyle choices. If I cleaned up, it stayed clean unless I made a mess. If I wanted to sleep in, I slept in. It was simple. Now, with two roommates, I’ve learned to cherish the time I get alone. You never know how long it will last.

21. I CAN FINISH AN AUDIOBOOK

It’s always been difficult for me to read an entire book. I get bored, my eyes get tired, and after a while, I’m just reading words while thinking about food or when I fucked up “memorable” in the 5th grade spelling bee. “M-O-M...do I have to finish?” My love of podcasts has been around since my late teens, so it seems pretty obvious that audiobooks might be a good way to absorb some literature. Obvious or not, it took me several years to figure that out. I’m very happy to have gained valuable insights from Chuck Klosterman, Malcolm Gladwell, Tina Fey, and others this past year.

22. THERE ARE MANY DIFFERENT TYPES OF POOLS

Back in Nebraska, I knew of three types: home, public, and country club. I figured that this was just how pools worked in the United States. I was wrong. There are all sorts of weird pools. Swanky rooftop pools with all attractive people and $15 drinks. Tiny park pools that look like Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater creations. And then there is The Drifter. A pool for the punk scene where tops are optional. What a world we live in.

23. AMAZON PRIME IS AN INCREDIBLE DEAL

I had my entire living arrangement shipped for free to my doorstep in 2 days. Bed and desk and chairs - everything. The works. If it can be bought, you can buy it on Amazon. On top of that, you can watch Transparent, Mozart in the Jungle, and One Mississippi. If that’s not worth $100, I don’t know what is.

24. TALKSPACE THERAPY IS MY SHIT

Thank you for everything Jenise! 

25. YOU CAN MAKE NEW FRIENDS, BUT YOU CAN NEVER REPLACE YOUR HOMIES

You know who you are. You know all of the dumb shit we’ve done. You were there through all of the bad breakups and shakeups and opportunities to eat chicken wings. It has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated. I love you guys and gals to death.