Attack of the Independent Women: Part I

Scrutiny by: Nikki "Crunkmaster Flex" Sowers

     Unless you're an amazingly devout WXJM listener or have been in exile in some subterranean hell for the past year, you have no doubt been exposed to an obnoxiously indefatigable trend (aren't they all?) in pop radio. I like to call this onslaught of banality "Destiny's Child Syndrome."

     Ironically the origin of DCS, as I call it, stems not from the aforementioned R&B divas, but from TLC, another feisty group of sister soldiers. With the release of "No Scrubs," TLC signaled the beginning of what seemed to be another Year of the Woman. In the song, the group lambasted shiftless men who suffer from delusions of grandeur. In other words, sorry motherf*#@! who think they players or something.

     At any rate, the women declared that they would rather be alone than waste their time on a slack-ass guy. And, with one fell swoop, TLC established themselves as pioneers of the "I Gets Mine" Era.

     Meanwhile, the members of Destiny's Child must have been taking note of the staggering success TLC was enjoying, for shortly thereafter, the gals launched their own assault on the male species. It was mid-1999 when I first heard the lyrical masterpiece that is "Bills, Bills, Bills." It was a blatant declaration of codependency and bitchiness. Kudos for the latter, but I gave the song a hearty boo for its unbelievably skewed views on dating. Okay, let's see, I won't go out with you if you can't pay my Adelphia bill. Where's the logic, folks?

     Despite the screwy sentiment, the music of Destiny's Child is heroin for the ears. I knew that their songs were promoting heinous, money-grubbing principles, but damned if they didn't make me wanna shake that ass! So, out I went and purchased "The Writing's On the Wall," feeling content, but at the same time, slightly nervous that a roving band of feminists might bludgeon me in the mall parking lot.

     Months pass and I am finally introduced to "Independent Women: Part I." I loved it immediately and unabashedly. Apparently, so did others. "Independent Women" was a drastic departure from the days of "Bills Bills Bills." Destiny's Child emerged as an enigma wrapped in a hair weave. Out with submissive cattiness and in with the independent woman. While DC still pales in comparison to the original independent sasspot, Mary Tyler Moore, the girls showed that they could pay their own bills and still have some dough left for the blingity-bling.

     The house they live in? Yep, they bought it. The rock they're rockin'? That's right, they bought that, too. It was a great single and a great day for pop music. And of course, like any good (that's just industry talk for filthy stinkin' rich) record producer will tell you, if something works, do it over and over again until it is completely bastardized. Viva commercialization!

     And that's exactly what happened. Coinciding with the Destiny's Child explosion was Pink's feeble creep to stardom. She was straight outta the hit factory. Tough but foxy siren with magenta coiffure makes her own way without the help of boyfriends. Sound familiar? Pink's signature anthem, "Most Girls" is one of the more irritating offenses on my list. With her lunchmeat-thin vocals, Pink arrogantly praised her pseudo-independent lifestyle. Shorty got a car, shorty got a job, shorty can pay her own rent? Well, so do I, bitch! Where's MY record deal?!

     Unfortunately there is still more fuel for the fire being produced. The most recent offenders include Mya and the perennially annoying media juggernaut we've come to know as Jennifer Lopez. J-Lo is particularly vexing because not only does she unnecessarily remind us that if she wants to "floss" she's got her own, but goes on to say, "What I need from you is not available in stores." Am I supposed to buy this crap coming from one of the world's most notorious label whores? So, her love for Puff would be equally as strong if she had met him sitting out on a stoop in the Bronx eating a tomato sandwich and sporting a pair of Zips? Don't front Lopez, we know the score.

     Heed my advice, R&B wenches. This better be the last time I have to address this issue. There will be no more mention of "icing", paying bills, or shopping in general. I suppose we are all still material girls living in a material world, but if Madge can put those days behind her, so can we. Please, stop beating a dead "Bugaboo."