And what about the security measures taken by the couple? Some parents are claiming that such measures prohibited them from visiting their own children in the NICU. If true, that’s clearly disconcerting.
But of all the disconcerting elements which have surrounded the arrival of Blue Ivy Carter, none are more troubling to me than the song Jay-Z wrote in celebration of her birth.
It’s called “Glory feat. B.I.C.” (Blue Ivy Carter) Have you heard it? Or at least seen the lyrics?
You’re a child of destiny
You’re the child of my destiny
You’re my child with the child from Destiny’s Child
That’s a hell of a recipe.
That part sorta reminds me of How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Here’s more:
Bad ass little Hov
Two years old shopping on Savile Row
Wicked ass little B
Hard not to spoil you rotten looking like little me.
Wait. Did he just call her “rotten-looking”? Regardless, I’d probably be more inclined to spoil her if she looked like Beyonce. But maybe that’s just me. And Savile Row, huh? Because we’ve had real luck with this place called Baby Gap.
The most amazing feeling I feel
Words can’t describe the feeling for real
Yet you’re doing such a good job.
Baby I paint the sky blue
My greatest creation was you.
Really? Because I sorta liked “99 Problems.”
You don’t yet know what swag is
but you was made in Paris
and mama woke up the next day
and shot her album package.
Okay. Check, please.
Look, I want to be good with “Glory feat. B.I.C.” I really do. Because, on paper, I love the thought of a dad writing a song to his firstborn. His little girl.
But Jay-Z’s jumped the shark with this one. And I’m afraid he’s landed somewhere near Sting multiplied by Bono.
Because this song is so incredibly self-aggrandizing and self-indulgent. And any other negative adjective that contains the word “self.” Like the controversy that continues to swirl around the birth of Blue Ivy Carter, the song is caricature of itself.
But let’s back up. I understand why he wrote it. Becoming a parent for the first time is a transcenedental experience that anyone would want to share. Especially a first-time parent. But it’s difficult, if not impossible, to put that experience into words. Even for the most articulate and deep thinking among us.
And Jay-Z ain’t the man for the job. Articulate? You bet. But he’s about as deep as a thimble. Filled with sand.
From whatever pimp-ass island he chooses for their first official family vacation.
So given all than, I only have one question. Where were his friends during this whole deal? Because if I ran with Jay-Z and I saw him putting the finishing touches on “Glory feat. B.I.C.” in the studio, I would have done something.
Jay-Z! Drop down the headphones, put your hands in the air and slowly back away from the mixing board, you soft son of a bitch, you. You can thank me later.
But alas, no such friend stepped up. Or if one did, he or she was quickly dismissed. No big deal, though. Because “Glory feat. B.I.C.” certainly isn’t the first effort of its kind. (Though I’m pretty sure it’s the worst.) And it won’t be the last, either.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. So, c’mon, Jay-Z. You’re the man. Truly. But, knock off the daddy-rapping bit, okay?