There’s one line in particular from Lupe Fiasco’s
new album, “Food and Liquor,” that I really like:
“I’d like to thank the streets that drove me crazy /
and all the televisions out there that raised me.”
It may not be poetry, but it’s clear that the rising MC
has an above-average awareness of what’s going on in the
world around him and the nerve to speak his mind.
In mainstream music today, artists that actually have something
to say are few and far between. Nationally televised allegations of
racism against the president aside, we have yet to acknowledge
someone that truly speaks on behalf of our generation.
But I am of the opinion that the voice that will distinguish
itself above the muddle isn’t the one that you’d
expect.
In fact, I say that it’s been in our midst for some time
now, quietly biding its time until its genius is understood.
And that voice is the voice of R. Kelly.
Almost a year ago, the R&B singer released “Trapped in
the Closet,” his infamous “hip-hopera,” on
DVD.
Since then, it has developed a cult following as one of the most
over-the-top pieces of entertainment in years, watched mostly for
its potential to elicit incredulous laughter.
For those of you who don’t know, “Trapped in the
Closet” is a twelve-part narrative that follows Sylvester
(portrayed by R. Kelly) as he uncovers layer upon layer of mystery
and infidelity in his urban hometown.
Hidden in the shroud of cheating spouses, accidental gunshot
wounds, terrible Southern accents and absurd cliffhangers, however,
are messages that are simply too important to overlook.
“Trapped in the Closet” is, first and foremost, an
undeniable act of narcissism.
Hanging in Sylvester’s bedroom is a huge portrait of R.
Kelly’s profile, silhouetted by yellow light. Many sequences
showcase Kelly as narrator, shaking his head in disgust or offering
commentary on the previous scene’s events.
Kelly surrounds his own character with asthmatic midgets,
homosexual church deacons, crooked cops, cheating spouses and
obnoxious housewives, while casting Sylvester in an authoritative
and almost heroic light that makes the rest look foolish in
comparison.
In one scene, Sylvester goes so far as to berate his wife for
sleeping with another man, despite the fact that he was with
another woman just the night before.
The music itself is just as self-indulgent. For the entire 40
minutes of “Trapped in the Closet,” Kelly uses the same
vocal melody atop the same music and only mixes it up with the
occasional volume swell.
The self-described “pied piper of R&B” even does
his own sound effects, literally voicing the sound of a ringing
phone or censoring a swear with a vocalized “beep.”
But what “Trapped in the Closet” also represents is
a man out of touch with reality.
In Kelly’s world, all spouses cheat on each other;
preachers hide their homosexuality from their wives; miniature
strippers hide in cabinets beneath the kitchen sink and guns are
drawn regularly to solve marital conflict. If I had a dime for
every time Kelly pulls out his Glock, the DVD would’ve paid
for itself.
And, as quickly becomes apparent when listening to
“Trapped in the Closet” with Kelly’s commentary,
the man thinks he’s some kind of genius for coming up with it
all.
Which is exactly why “Trapped in the Closet” is so
important.
We have, for the first time, definitive and concrete evidence
that the people we place in the public eye are self-absorbed and
ignorant.
In being so brutally and unabashedly ridiculous, Kelly is
documenting for future generations what it’s like to live
while being led by the Paris Hiltons and George W. Bushes of the
world. He’s become the martyr for a cause of which he’s
entirely unaware.
While those that have something important to say are usually
counter-culture rebels, Kelly has done more than any political
activist or ambitious artist ever could by whole-heartedly
embracing society’s absurdity.
Someday in the future, when my grandkids ask me what it was like
living in the early 21st century, I’m confident that my
“Trapped in the Closet” DVD will be answer enough.
Duhamel, A&E’s new music columnist, wrote this
column without even having to reach for his Glock. E-mail him at
dduhamel@media.ucla.edu.