![]() I had to run grab a tape recorder because I couldn’t write as fast as it was coming to me. It took me thirty-one years to do this album-my entire life. Too prepared, maybe.Īnd because these are cynical times, and because every “big” album is called “classic” before it’s even in the stores, it’s easy to start believing that we are all being manipulated into thinking Jackson’s new album, The Velvet Rope, is art-pure emotion manifest-when the songs are really just an indestructible, strategically designed platform from which to maintain world pop domination. When you do that, you may sound too slow to yourself, like you’re talking through molasses but to the listener(s), you sound serene and confident. Whatever she talks about, she does it slowly. Janet Jackson, Alex Vaughn, Joyce Wrice, And More Did What Needed To Be Done This New Music Friday Talks about hitting a boy when she was 13 because he took her food. About her dissatisfaction with the way she’s dealt with mental trauma. She lives in Malibu with René Elizondo Jr., her lover of 11 years. She’s a 31-year-old woman who got her nose done when she was a girl of 16, who eats fatless soul food prepared by the chef she’s employed for ten years now, who walks the treadmill, counting the calories burned, tallying the surreal miles toward Global Stardom. When she walks into the sitting area of her suite-waist wee, eyes lined, lips laced bricky brown-she looks like she has since she lost the weight. “She’s changed” is what they whisper gleefully, “Janet said, ‘I’m eating what I want. That her butt is wide, her tummy plump and mushy. Right up until the moment I see Janet Jackson-in a penthouse suite at New York City’s Four Seasons Hotel-people are telling me that they’ve heard “Janet is fat now.” They heard on the radio or from some other reliable source that Janet’s been seen leaving KFC with buckets of Honey Roast. ![]()
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