Post by Erica Kane on Oct 9, 2014 21:22:16 GMT
Hey guys. I found a NY times article on Bey and Ashanti basically comparing them and their albums.
I'll copy and paste for those who don't want to go to the site: www.nytimes.com/2003/07/06/arts/music-the-solo-beyonce-she-s-no-ashanti.html
A FEW years ago, Beyoncé made her declaration of independence: ''All the women who independent, throw your hands up at me.'' The song was called ''Independent Women Part I,'' and it was an anthem of self-reliance sung by Destiny's Child, a feisty pop republic made up of three women.
But they weren't equally independent: everyone knew that Beyoncé didn't need the others. That was the not-so-subtle message of ''Survivor,'' the title track from the third and most recent Destiny's Child album. Beyoncé taunted her former bandmates (two original members had left, and so had one of their replacements) while warning the current ones that they, too, were expendable: ''You thought I wouldn't sell without you, sold 9 million.'' That pronoun -- ''I'' -- is as specific as the sales figure.
If Beyoncé has a mirror-image rival, it's Ashanti. You might call her a dependent woman, though that's not an insult. She made her name by telling gruff rappers how much she loved them, singing stylized duets with Fat Joe and Ja Rule. She was, we were constantly reminded, the first lady (or, more often, ''princess'') of the Murder Inc. record label, and everywhere she went, some guy was shadowing her, shouting the label's catch phrase: ''It's murder!''
Ashanti's self-titled debut album, released last year, was a huge hit, thanks largely to a song called ''Foolish,'' on which she pledged loyalty to a man who didn't deserve it: ''I keep on running back to you.'' This was the antithesis of Destiny's Child's dogma: Ashanti sang like a woman who just couldn't help herself.
Both singers have new albums: Beyoncé, 21, just released her inevitable solo debut, ''Dangerously in Love'' (Columbia), and Ashanti, 22, just released her follow-up, ''Chapter II'' (Murder Inc./Island Def Jam). Each singer says her new album is a step forward, an evolution, a triumph -- that's what singers always say. But only one of them is right.
Even at its lewdest, Destiny's Child always had a knack for sanitizing the sleazy world of R & B. The group's 1997 debut single, ''No, No, No,'' had seductive lyrics, but the singers sang it like a nursery rhyme: ''You be saying no, no, no, no, no/ When it's really yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah.''
Most of the time, though, it didn't really matter what the words were. By 1999, they had perfected a style -- close harmonies, quick delivery -- that made it difficult to pay attention to the words. ''Say My Name,'' which helped revolutionize R & B with tricky rhythms and nimble vocals, stands as one of the great pop songs of the last decade, but singing along is nearly impossible.
R & B singers are supposed to be warriors in the battle of the sexes, but Destiny's Child stayed above the fray, keeping suitors at arm's length with a series of mild rebuffs. Despite the title, ''Bootylicious'' was more of a go-away than a come-on: ''I don't think you're ready for this jelly/ My body's too bootylicious for you, babe,'' they sang, and the chorus left no room for argument.
Then, having worked so hard to make herself seem unattainable, Beyoncé changed course. Over the last year or so, she has often been spotted with Jay-Z, and while she's been careful to avoid confirming or denying rumors that the two are a couple, she hasn't exactly quieted speculation by recording a series of duets with him; one of them, ''Crazy in Love,'' is the lead single from her new album.
''Crazy in Love'' is the best song on ''Dangerously in Love'' (the album is, oddly enough, named after an old Destiny's Child song); it's a simple, irresistible combination of triumphant horns and a wicked hip-hop beat. But the song also hints at what's wrong with the album: its vision of romance is profoundly unconvincing.
If Jay-Z and Beyoncé really are a couple, that might explain why their collaborations sound so tepid. When he teamed up with Mya for ''Best of Me Pt. II,'' Jay-Z spat out one clever, rude pick-up line after another (''That's high-school, making me chase you 'round for months/ Have an affair, act like an adult for once''), and on Missy Elliott's ''One Minute Man (Remix),'' he quoted ''Independent Women Part I'' while explaining the rules of a one-night stand. When he records with Beyoncé, though, Jay-Z's mischievous wit disappears; on ''Crazy in Love,'' he barely even makes reference to her.
For her part, Beyoncé explains how ''Your love's got me looking so crazy right now,'' but her vocals -- as deft and accurate as ever -- convey none of the giddy rush that the lyrics describe. Near the end, when she trills, ''You're making a fool of me,'' she sounds decidedly unfoolish, as Ashanti once put it.
The first half of ''Dangerously in Love'' has some impressive moments -- Beyoncé arpeggiates her way up and down the scale whereas most of her contemporaries merely slide, and it's fun to hear her mimic the pizzicato line in ''Naughty Girl.'' But it's not much fun to hear her try to sing like a ''naughty girl,'' and by the time the album's ballad-heavy second half arrives, you may start hoping that the other two Destiny's Children will show up to set things right.
They don't, and it's not just their harmonies that are missed; it's the girl-group exuberance. Together, the three might have found an amusing way to flirt with Jay-Z, or Sean Paul, or Big Boi, from OutKast. Without them, Beyoncé hedges her bets, retreating to the safety of torch songs, like the creepy bonus track ''Daddy,'' where she croons, ''I want my unborn son to be like my daddy/ I want my husband to be like my daddy.''
Maybe this album is merely a misstep, and maybe Beyoncé has yet to record the brilliant solo album that people expected. Or maybe it's proof that she isn't quite as versatile as she seemed. She's a strong and independent singer, no doubt, but maybe she seems strongest and most independent when she's got a posse behind her.
By contrast, Ashanti's new album doesn't arrive bearing the burden of high expectations. Because of her gentle, breathy vocal style, she's been dismissed as a lightweight; when she was nominated for a Soul Train award last year, tens of thousands of people signed an online petition of protest.
This should be a terrible time for Ashanti. Her label, Murder Inc., is under investigation for alleged ties to drug dealers. And these days, her former duet partner Ja Rule is keeping a low profile -- still licking his wounds, perhaps, after losing a vicious war of words with 50 Cent. Barely a year removed from her successful debut, she is already an underdog.
But Ashanti's greatest asset has always been her blitheness. Groomed for stardom ever since she was a kid, she treated Murder Inc. as if it were her own personal Mickey Mouse Club; if she felt out of place, she never showed it. And so she floats through her new album as if nothing's amiss, never pausing to wonder whatever happened to Ja Rule, who's conspicuously absent.
The lead single is ''Rock Wit U (Awww Baby),'' and it shows off everything that's right about the album -- it's the kind of song that drifts into your head before you even realize you were listening to it. The lyric sheet reproduces every ''awww'' and every ''baby''; the words form a pattern on the page that mirrors the song's hypnotic appeal.
Nearly every song on ''Chapter II'' is this appealing, and although the beats are diverse -- ''I Found Lovin' '' resurrects the squiggly sound of 1980's pop, and ''The Story of 2'' is a swinging piano ballad -- Ashanti's approach never changes. The singing is restrained, the lyrics are simple (there are virtually no three-syllable words), and the attitude is breezy.
There are hardly any guests on this album, but Ashanti does fine without them -- in fact, her sweet nothings sound even better when they're not interrupted by the salty nothings of rappers. ''Chapter II'' isn't perfect, but once you edit out the skits (which are, without exception, excruciating), you're left with an album that's graceful, beguiling and above all, light, in the best sense of the word.
There's more than one way to declare independence, after all, and whereas Beyoncé announced hers with a brassy single, Ashanti tucks a similar spirit into every not-quite-heartbroken lyric. She's not trying to convince us she's crazy in love. On the contrary, she dismisses old boyfriends (and, perhaps, duet partners) with the same noncommittal sigh she uses to welcome new ones, and this unflappability suggests a kind of strength. In her own willowy way, she's a survivor, too.
Photos: Beyoncé, above, and Ashanti, below, have both just released new albums. If the independent-minded Beyoncé has a mirror-image rival, it is Ashanti. You might call her a dependent woman.
I'll copy and paste for those who don't want to go to the site: www.nytimes.com/2003/07/06/arts/music-the-solo-beyonce-she-s-no-ashanti.html
A FEW years ago, Beyoncé made her declaration of independence: ''All the women who independent, throw your hands up at me.'' The song was called ''Independent Women Part I,'' and it was an anthem of self-reliance sung by Destiny's Child, a feisty pop republic made up of three women.
But they weren't equally independent: everyone knew that Beyoncé didn't need the others. That was the not-so-subtle message of ''Survivor,'' the title track from the third and most recent Destiny's Child album. Beyoncé taunted her former bandmates (two original members had left, and so had one of their replacements) while warning the current ones that they, too, were expendable: ''You thought I wouldn't sell without you, sold 9 million.'' That pronoun -- ''I'' -- is as specific as the sales figure.
If Beyoncé has a mirror-image rival, it's Ashanti. You might call her a dependent woman, though that's not an insult. She made her name by telling gruff rappers how much she loved them, singing stylized duets with Fat Joe and Ja Rule. She was, we were constantly reminded, the first lady (or, more often, ''princess'') of the Murder Inc. record label, and everywhere she went, some guy was shadowing her, shouting the label's catch phrase: ''It's murder!''
Ashanti's self-titled debut album, released last year, was a huge hit, thanks largely to a song called ''Foolish,'' on which she pledged loyalty to a man who didn't deserve it: ''I keep on running back to you.'' This was the antithesis of Destiny's Child's dogma: Ashanti sang like a woman who just couldn't help herself.
Both singers have new albums: Beyoncé, 21, just released her inevitable solo debut, ''Dangerously in Love'' (Columbia), and Ashanti, 22, just released her follow-up, ''Chapter II'' (Murder Inc./Island Def Jam). Each singer says her new album is a step forward, an evolution, a triumph -- that's what singers always say. But only one of them is right.
Even at its lewdest, Destiny's Child always had a knack for sanitizing the sleazy world of R & B. The group's 1997 debut single, ''No, No, No,'' had seductive lyrics, but the singers sang it like a nursery rhyme: ''You be saying no, no, no, no, no/ When it's really yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah.''
Most of the time, though, it didn't really matter what the words were. By 1999, they had perfected a style -- close harmonies, quick delivery -- that made it difficult to pay attention to the words. ''Say My Name,'' which helped revolutionize R & B with tricky rhythms and nimble vocals, stands as one of the great pop songs of the last decade, but singing along is nearly impossible.
R & B singers are supposed to be warriors in the battle of the sexes, but Destiny's Child stayed above the fray, keeping suitors at arm's length with a series of mild rebuffs. Despite the title, ''Bootylicious'' was more of a go-away than a come-on: ''I don't think you're ready for this jelly/ My body's too bootylicious for you, babe,'' they sang, and the chorus left no room for argument.
Then, having worked so hard to make herself seem unattainable, Beyoncé changed course. Over the last year or so, she has often been spotted with Jay-Z, and while she's been careful to avoid confirming or denying rumors that the two are a couple, she hasn't exactly quieted speculation by recording a series of duets with him; one of them, ''Crazy in Love,'' is the lead single from her new album.
''Crazy in Love'' is the best song on ''Dangerously in Love'' (the album is, oddly enough, named after an old Destiny's Child song); it's a simple, irresistible combination of triumphant horns and a wicked hip-hop beat. But the song also hints at what's wrong with the album: its vision of romance is profoundly unconvincing.
If Jay-Z and Beyoncé really are a couple, that might explain why their collaborations sound so tepid. When he teamed up with Mya for ''Best of Me Pt. II,'' Jay-Z spat out one clever, rude pick-up line after another (''That's high-school, making me chase you 'round for months/ Have an affair, act like an adult for once''), and on Missy Elliott's ''One Minute Man (Remix),'' he quoted ''Independent Women Part I'' while explaining the rules of a one-night stand. When he records with Beyoncé, though, Jay-Z's mischievous wit disappears; on ''Crazy in Love,'' he barely even makes reference to her.
For her part, Beyoncé explains how ''Your love's got me looking so crazy right now,'' but her vocals -- as deft and accurate as ever -- convey none of the giddy rush that the lyrics describe. Near the end, when she trills, ''You're making a fool of me,'' she sounds decidedly unfoolish, as Ashanti once put it.
The first half of ''Dangerously in Love'' has some impressive moments -- Beyoncé arpeggiates her way up and down the scale whereas most of her contemporaries merely slide, and it's fun to hear her mimic the pizzicato line in ''Naughty Girl.'' But it's not much fun to hear her try to sing like a ''naughty girl,'' and by the time the album's ballad-heavy second half arrives, you may start hoping that the other two Destiny's Children will show up to set things right.
They don't, and it's not just their harmonies that are missed; it's the girl-group exuberance. Together, the three might have found an amusing way to flirt with Jay-Z, or Sean Paul, or Big Boi, from OutKast. Without them, Beyoncé hedges her bets, retreating to the safety of torch songs, like the creepy bonus track ''Daddy,'' where she croons, ''I want my unborn son to be like my daddy/ I want my husband to be like my daddy.''
Maybe this album is merely a misstep, and maybe Beyoncé has yet to record the brilliant solo album that people expected. Or maybe it's proof that she isn't quite as versatile as she seemed. She's a strong and independent singer, no doubt, but maybe she seems strongest and most independent when she's got a posse behind her.
By contrast, Ashanti's new album doesn't arrive bearing the burden of high expectations. Because of her gentle, breathy vocal style, she's been dismissed as a lightweight; when she was nominated for a Soul Train award last year, tens of thousands of people signed an online petition of protest.
This should be a terrible time for Ashanti. Her label, Murder Inc., is under investigation for alleged ties to drug dealers. And these days, her former duet partner Ja Rule is keeping a low profile -- still licking his wounds, perhaps, after losing a vicious war of words with 50 Cent. Barely a year removed from her successful debut, she is already an underdog.
But Ashanti's greatest asset has always been her blitheness. Groomed for stardom ever since she was a kid, she treated Murder Inc. as if it were her own personal Mickey Mouse Club; if she felt out of place, she never showed it. And so she floats through her new album as if nothing's amiss, never pausing to wonder whatever happened to Ja Rule, who's conspicuously absent.
The lead single is ''Rock Wit U (Awww Baby),'' and it shows off everything that's right about the album -- it's the kind of song that drifts into your head before you even realize you were listening to it. The lyric sheet reproduces every ''awww'' and every ''baby''; the words form a pattern on the page that mirrors the song's hypnotic appeal.
Nearly every song on ''Chapter II'' is this appealing, and although the beats are diverse -- ''I Found Lovin' '' resurrects the squiggly sound of 1980's pop, and ''The Story of 2'' is a swinging piano ballad -- Ashanti's approach never changes. The singing is restrained, the lyrics are simple (there are virtually no three-syllable words), and the attitude is breezy.
There are hardly any guests on this album, but Ashanti does fine without them -- in fact, her sweet nothings sound even better when they're not interrupted by the salty nothings of rappers. ''Chapter II'' isn't perfect, but once you edit out the skits (which are, without exception, excruciating), you're left with an album that's graceful, beguiling and above all, light, in the best sense of the word.
There's more than one way to declare independence, after all, and whereas Beyoncé announced hers with a brassy single, Ashanti tucks a similar spirit into every not-quite-heartbroken lyric. She's not trying to convince us she's crazy in love. On the contrary, she dismisses old boyfriends (and, perhaps, duet partners) with the same noncommittal sigh she uses to welcome new ones, and this unflappability suggests a kind of strength. In her own willowy way, she's a survivor, too.
Photos: Beyoncé, above, and Ashanti, below, have both just released new albums. If the independent-minded Beyoncé has a mirror-image rival, it is Ashanti. You might call her a dependent woman.
