Audio Gumbo

20 years is a mighty long time to share yourself with someone.  I know.  I’ve been close with my best friend since kindergarten, over 20 years.  She’s seen me at my most pathetic and she’s witnessed my most rewarding moments.  Hell, we’re past friends.  We’re family.  That’s the connection I feel with y’all.  To call myself a fan would diminish the kinship I feel when I ingest your rhymes.  To liken my two decades long support to some groupie shit would deprave the sincere admiration I hold for y’all.  I consider myself kin.  Like a distant cousin.  I know y’all, but I still don’t know y’all.  But what I do know is that despite the proximity of our kinship, the pride I have for ‘Kast is unfaltering.  I give thanks for y’all every time I slide Aquemini in my CD player and turn the volume up on Liberation, the first song to bring me to an emotional revelation.  I give thanks every time I hear Player’s Ball during the Christmas season and recollect on my introduction to southernplayalisticadillacmuzik.  I give thanks for two dope boys in a Cadillac when I press play on ATLiens and smile as my son chills in the backseat hollering “Hootie hoooo!”

Outkast is one of the reasons I grew up to be me.  I grew up to have an authentic, unapologetic sense of self because y’all showed me that is was cool to be southern, creative, original and funky.  Not to be ashamed of my slight country twang and laidback pronunciation of thangs.  Opening Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik and first, feeling complete shock that my young eyes were taking in a naked, brown body with fierce afro puffs on the CD, then experiencing a sense of pride because I understood that her body was being celebrated, worshipped.  Do you understand how dichotomous it is to be a Black woman who loves Southern hip hop?  I’m talmbout, bouncing my ass to bass music but giving the screwface to the misogynistic lyrics?  It’s tiring.  Now, I won’t pretend that y’all have never spit a questionable line, but I can say that you’ve never shamed my womanhood.  The Pimp and the Poet.  The two of you spoke to the many facets of my growth as a woman.   From Jazzy Belle to SpottieOttieDopaliscious to Slum Beautiful, I appreciated the stories you told of the women you knew.  They were multidimensional: dynamic, sexy, bold, struggling and sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup.  Those women were women that I could identify with as I matured.  Thank you for that.

Thank you for giving the world dope, intelligent Southern folk.  Thank you for being unfuckwittable.  Stank you.