Untitled

I'm an old school R&B Head
The kind that appreciates Marvin Gaye, Smokie Robinson, and "you're my darling, darling baby" Barry White, The music buff who appreciated a vocalist pushed up against one instrument
And no backing
Only riffs when it comes from their soul
And takes ample time to paint a story with their instrument
Their voice
R&B nowadays is closer to Pop
Riffs are artificialized melissma taught to them
Growls are emphasizing tools that make them think they're really giving it to me
But Aretha didn't growl
She didn't need to
And she still gave you all that you needed
Patti remained incomparable
And as I find myself
Comparing
I'm disappointed
To find those with art worthy are shelved
Or pushed into obscurity
Promoted poorly
Or tainted by the industry's bright lights
Polite crooners
Allow their fame to take a transformative property on themselves
Yielding a drunken buffoon
So impressed with his own reflection
Give me an artist who doesn't even own a mirror
And only talks to media when they interview em naked strumming their guitar swaying in a hammock
Those that heal with their poetic musings
Should caress their membranes
But instead we have little divas running around the club blaming stuff on alcohol when it was their sober mind's fault its owner fell in love with a stripper
This poem didn't have a title
And didn't really rhyme
It was just me yearning for a generation to free its mind
Don't know who's listening
Who really does these days?