"Hot Ghetto Mess"
As I sit here in the aisle seat of the very back row of this cramped, packed airplane, trying only to imagine where we are – as my surrounding view is limited to the 3 seats in front of me and a series of zippers and potbellies of the people in line for the bathroom - a realization occurs to me.....nearly every single person's body on this entire plane has initimately rubbed my left shoulder and arm as they’ve passed by. While the line they are standing in, nearly 5 people deep at all times on this 5 hour flight, slowly creeps foward to the 2 small, stinch-filled boxes with pee-stained toilet seats, papertowel-overflowing trashcans (and yet mysteriously wet floors and sinks), I have started to count the number of times per minute I am violated (If not by their ass, then certainly by their bellies or boobs or pungent perfume) as they lean in and half-mount me to allow another person to pass in the already ridiculously narrow aisle. I mean seriously, have they no concept of any personal space? I just busted the last passerby leaning in and actually reading this blurb I am writing about him! Maybe I should type in big size 26 letters "Please kindly remove your giant ass from my arm." or "While you're back there, can you ask the flight atendant for a bottle of vodka? Actually, make it 2. One to dull my overwhelming annoyance and the other to sanitize my germ-infested left arm/shoulder/face." Anyway, in these moments of complete and utter violation, I have a sudden inspiration to write about one of the other great violators of our time: R. Kelly!
**NOTE: For clarification purposes, throughout this blog entry the afore mentioned violator may be referred to by any of his family or hood names at any time, such as: “Robert,” “R,” “Robs,” or my personal favorite, "Kells." Just wanted you to avoid the confusion I went through in trying to figure out who all of these different names belonged to.
You might be thinking, how in the world did Kim end up writing about this hot ghetto mess?? Well, let me tell you. Last November, I was originally booked on the Bruce Springsteen tour. At the very last minute, there was a crewing mix-up, and I was told I would not be joining the Springsteen tour, BUT, because it was their fault, they would pay me anyway until they could figure out what to do. So while I am sitting at home on me arse, getting a full paycheck, I was thinking, "This is too good to be true man!" Ah ah ah, never tempt fate like that. Fastforward to phone call from company owner: "Kim, I need to try and recuperate some of the money I have paid you, so I need you to replace a guy on the R. Kelly tour." So out the window flies my adamant refusal of ever doing a ghetto rap tour!!! Even though I've heard the many, many horror stories, I had to continually ask myself, "how bad can it really be?" else I might not have been able to get on the plane.
First things first, I am leaving the beautiful, balmy sunshine of Arizona in December to meet this tour in Kansas City, and upon landing, this is what I see out the airplane window....
So as you can imagine, I'm already pissed off. Then, once I arrive to the arena, I have to stand outside in this blizzard for 30 minutes waiting for someone to bring me some credentials to allow me into the building (yeah, I'm a real security risk compared to ole Robs, with his rape charges and the many other miscellaneous charges his "entourage" is facing/has faced....but we'll get to all of that later!) Finally, they allow me in. When I arrive to the video production area, I learn that they "forgot" to fire the guy I am replacing the night before. ?????? What?! So now, I have this very large gentleman (who is also a personal space invader) with foul breath leaning in to tell me with his extreme southern accent...."Hey! I'm Ricky, nice to meetcha! I heard there was this girl here to replace me...something about Springsteen mix-up or something. I'm not sure why I'm being fired...I hope I didn't make anyone mad...I wonder when she's gonna get here..." To which I responded with an overly dramatic tap on his shoulder, and by mouthing the words, "That's me." Genius. So, I essentially get to fire the guy I am replacing. Sweet. We are off to a running start already with this mess and I haven't even started working yet.
Fast forward to the first show that night. I was totally unsure of what to expect, but a really good cue might have been the mischievous smirk on my director Jody's face (he's on the right in the pic below) when he said, "It's a really good show Kimmy! Seriously, you, especially, are going to love it."
As the house lights go out, there is a nervous jitter amongst the crowd......I can't tell if it is the anticipation of seeing one of the greatest wonders to ever come out of the Chicago ghetto, or if it is because the rigorous security screening process has made the crowd edgy....airport-style metal detectors, bag search, and full pat downs included.
Suddenly the crowd erupts into mayhem as the spotlights find their mark, and the reflection of what has to be 100,000 pieces of sequence on Kells white jacket blinds the audience as he makes his entrance from the back of the arena through the audience to the stage. Below is a shot of him on our video screen, where you can see the hood part of the white sequence jacket and it's nuclear white reflection. Oh...by chance are those sequenced sunglasses, too? Why yes, yes they are. Somewhere in the world, Liberace is turning over in his grave at this gross misuse of gaudy kitsch.
Surrounded by security (real and fake officers to enhance the audience's belief of his need for protection from the "haters" - pronounced 'haytas') and several members of his entourage, he climbs the steps to a make-shift boxing ring where he refuses to enter the ring until his posse holds the ropes open for him. Already in the ring are a harem of women parading around in near nothingness and carrying signs to inform us that "The Champ Is Here." And if that were not evidence enough, the music, the crowd, and the posse are all shouting "The Champ is here, the champ is here...get your mother fuckin hands in the air!" while making C's with both hands and flailing them about (I assume that is the international sign for "Champ"). Well! The Champ must be here indeed!
At this point, I would like to tell you that the show got better...but if I said that, I would not be accurately reporting the truth. The set list included songs like, "Can I Strip For You?" where R appears to be standing in silhouette and graciously taking off his clothes for us to adore his body. Below is a picture as he removes his shirt, and the second picture when he drops his pants around his ankles. I especially like how the shadow effect allows us to only imagine what we can't see.
But not to worry, because in the next song, "My Temperature's Rising" he uses a sequenced cane (seems to be an abundance of sequence for such a big playa/gangsta ) to insinuate the size of his you know what as it "rises" from the floor to his waist.
By the time "Lonely Tongue" rolls around, where he talks about "this lonely tongue wanting to taste somethin' sweet, and I ain't talkin 'bout no candy..."
the ladies in the audience have worked themselves into a hot, horny, tizzy!!
Just when the ladies can't take it any more, he eases on up to the "roll-on" bar with his buddy and rap partner (whose name escapes me right now as I am too busy trying to remember all of Mr. Kelly's first names). The tequila/henessy/hypnotiq shots are served up by the "bartender" which is really just Colin, our bitter, grungy stage manager shined up in a tux.
After the boys have bonded over a few drinks, what would you expect to be the next logical direction for the show to go?? That's right, say it with me kids, "L-A-P-D-A-N-C-E." The song "I Fell In Love With A Stripper" can best be summed up by the last lyric in the song....."I wanna lick it, wanna stick it, if I could I'd put my whoooooole damn head in it....cuz I fell in love with a strippeeerrrrrr."
Thank you R. Kelly for that authentic ghetto gibberish. I'm just glad all of the youngsters in the audience with their parents (true story) got to hear that sexually explicit number! Families that witness lapdances together, stay together...or is it pray together stay together....I always get those two mixed up.
On a sidenote, the dancer who performed the lap number was quite talented and limber. She was so enthralling that it took me until the second to last show of the entire tour to realize that there were other dancers up on the balcony stage simulating a whole other set of lewd, lascivious acts while the lap dance was going on. Wife: "Honey, should we take the kids to see Hannah Montana or R. Kelly?" Husband: "Hmmm........Well, they're going to have to learn about bisexual strippers, blow jobs, tag-teaming women and peeing on underage girls someday, might as well get it out of the way while we have this ‘golden’ opportunity." Wife: "You're so right honey - we'll take em to see Kells! Tell ya what, we'll even get the kiddos drunk on the way - whaddya say?"
Oh, but we aren't done yet.
This is another one of my favorite parts of the show. This is where Robert gets serious for a moment. I'm all busted up over his sentimental words. Really.
He follows this sincere, touching statement with photos of people he claims that have paved the way for him, such as Martin Luther King, Snoop Dogg, Sydney Poitier, Kanye West, and one of my personal inspirations: Bob Marley.
So, let me get this straight. It's because of who people like Martin Luther King and Bob Marley were - crusaders for the equality of all human beings, pacifists, and the epitome of love and respect that you, R. Kelly, are what you are...a man who recently was accused of statuatory rape with a 13 year old girl after urinating on her, a man who travels with a harem of no less than 5 women employed to be “on call” at all times…a man who refers to himself as “the Champ,” and frequently raps about gang violence. Well, it’s good to know that Mr. King and Mr. Marley didn’t die in vain, I guess. And that someone who was so inspired by them could carry on their message so well…
Let me step off my soapbox for just a moment so that I can wrap up this train wreck! After that poignant moment in the show, he would then lapse into the sweet, slow, lullaby of “Big Booty Girls.” And this is where I must commend him for announcing that he didn’t want to leave the big women out, he wanted everyone to feel included…
“All you big booty girls, stand up and turn around for me…..cuz your big juicy booty is all I want to see….
I'm lookin for that juicy booty, all around this place, I wanna find a juicy booty that will sit upon my face! When I find that juicy booty, there'll be nothing more to seeeeeeeee........So all of you big booty giiiirrrrls....stand up and turn around for meeeeeeeee...."
So, just to let you know, my job for the majority of this show was to film the audience. I don’t know if it was really my job, per se, but I sorta made it that way because I really could only focus on the 'artist' on stage for very short periods of time. So when Kells would tell these big booty girls to stand up and turn around, they wasted no time obeying him (as any bitch would if she know what’s good for her). And the most entertaining part of the show is when I would locate these big women with their voluptuous “booties” and we would put them on the screen.
The moment they realize they are on camera, they would freak out, jump up and down, slap their ass while sticking it in the air, hug everyone around them for their “airtime” achievement….anyway, I really wish I had a picture, because the hysterics would bring tears to my eyes!
Anyway...here is one of the dancers in her final bouncing up and down "pose" for this song....
Which matches the Grammy-award winning lyrics of, "Booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty, etc." (said as fast as you can roll the word off your tongue - try it! It's kinda fun....booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty......)
Finally, the encore began with a film roll of a few other songs that "R" couldn't quite fit into the set list (and what a shame...)
The first a song about how awesome he is, I'm sure. (I never really listened to this part as I was usually relocating to a different camera position or tying my shoe, or smoking a cigarette while trying to light the stage on fire, who knows....) But the costumes for this video must be commended! If you look closely, the dancer behind Kells is wearing a black wife beater (ok, come on, no pun intended there!!) suspenders on backwards and what the hell is hanging off there heads???
The mind reels with ideas as to what these coal miner-style head lights are used for??????
Next song, we have the obligatory woman with a lollipop in her mouth.......original.
And finally, we hit paydirt! We get to see R. Kelly in his underwear - or is that a diaper?? That song was apparently about being caught by his lover's husband and how if the husband was more of a man, like Kells, then they wouldn't be in that situation. Original.
Finally, the show wraps up with a jungle scene, complete with tribal costumes for the dancers and a ridiculously huge white bearskin coat that Kells wore. I really wish I had pictures of this, but I had to shoot camera during this part. It was actually the only theatrical number that had choreography and any thought whatsoever put into it. But don't be disappointed, it was still about sex. I believe the song was called, "Whine for me," but I'm not sure.
Well after a long day of blood, sweat, tears (from the laughter), and the objectification of women....I was ready to head for the bus! But holy shit, which one of these 17 buses is mine???? I learned that the 5 crew buses were parked usually 1/4 mile from the loading dock doors while the 12 other buses for artist and "entourage" were the ones closest to the building. Sweeeeeet.
Once I finally made it to my bus, this was usually what I would see....
Our driver. He was actually one of the highlights of this whole tour. Again, his name escapes me, but that's because he always called me "Baby" or "Shuga" and I called him my "Shuga daddy." He really was one of the sweetest people on this tour! And he would always make sure there was some bus food left for me by the time I got there (which was always either fried chicken or ribs - all kidding aside!) Our driver even stopped on the way to work one day and took us all out for breakfast at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffle which is a famous breakfast joint in L.A. where the serve fried chicken and waffles at the crack of dawn! It was actually really good-even at 7 a.m.!!
Another great part of the after-show bus rides was our friend, Joel - R. Kelly's barber who was apparently exiled from Rob's bus to the video bus because of some sort of tiff they had. The great thing about Joel was, he didn't do much all day but shop, talk on his cell phone and drink Hennessy. So by the time we got there, he was quite chatty and loved to tell us stories of all the women he was involved with and even better, about growing up with Kells in the ghetto. He had all the dirt! I would love to put them in this blog, but I'm afraid that I could somehow get myself or Joel in trouble for repeating. (So call me and I'll tell you over the phone..hahahaha). Anyway, needless to say, not one of the stories improved my opinion of ole Kells!!! And I'm not at all shocked by the recent trial outcome:
R. Kelly was acquitted on all 14 counts in his child pornography case today. The Chicago jury reached a not guilty decision after less than eight hours of deliberating. Kelly was facing a minimum of four years (and a maximum of 15) in prison if convicted of videotaping himself having sex with an underage girl. Prosecutors claimed she was as young as 13 at the time of the taping—she's 23 now—despite her refusal to testify in the case.
One of the prosecution's main witnesses was a friend of the alleged victim, who said she had a threesome with the pair. On the other hand, the singer's legal team argued the man on the tape doesn't have a large mole on his back and Kelly does.
Just like his song, "Money Make The World Go Round," it also buys off witnesses. That's all I have to say about that.
Anyway, it was quite the learning experience.......wait, no it wasn't. It was 2 months of my life that I'll never get back! hahahaha
And I won't dare say I'll never do another ghetto rap tour, but I'll say that I'd rather be doused in gasoline and set on fire
than have to do one again!
Based on the overwhelming sell-out crowds (right), I won't have to.
Signing off from da hood......Kizzle Dog Hamizzle
Booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty booty..............................
"There are two ways to live your life, one is though nothing is a miracle, the other is as if everything is." - Einstein
We sorta eased into South America with a week long run in Mexico, beginning with Monterrey. As I walked into catering for some coffee before starting the work day, I was greeted by The Mexi-mafia caterering predators. They lined the wall of the room, their eyes scanning, their wheels turning, watching, never moving an inch, or uttering a word, waiting for the instant you scooped the last piece of mystery meat from your plate or slurped the last bit of café con leche…. and then BAM! They would swoop by and wisk your dishes away to some top secret tub behind the tent and return to their position with a cool, steely expression like they had just thrown a body wearing cement shoes in the bottom of the Hudson River. Hey, when the boss man says no plate will be used twice, you listen to him, got it? 
Despite the cold-blooded caterers and their alarming dress – the food was very tastey and quite spicey! 
Apparently they don’t have “Maximum Height” signs in the Department of Transportation Budget as the safety hatch to our roof was nearly ripped clean off by a low-hanging power line. I say “nearly” because, as we pulled over to a public bus stop our rather large driver stepped out to survey the damage and began a conversation with a man waiting on a bench under an aluminum sheet propped up by two-by-fours, after which the man scurried up on top of the bus and finished the job, handing the safety hatch down to Senor Plump Driver. Not sure of what to do with it, he shoved it in one of the luggage bays under the bus and we were once again on our way. I hope we didn’t knock out power and cause anyone to miss the rest of their Mexican soap opera (have you by chance caught a clip of any of them? They make our soap opera actors look like Nobel Laureates!)
