The only thing George managed to rap was her African wax-print hair tie. Saying she was a queen is about the only thing she spit throughout 3 rounds and it worked! George choked in the cypher round and battle round and at that point, I questioned whether her confidence and representation as the “Lauryn Hill and Erykah Badu, neo-soul sister, womyn rapper” was competing for her. Granted, we are all queens in our own right and thus do not need any particular qualifiers to indict/incite ourselves into our power - yadda, yadda, but how are you going to call on the ancestors and not deliver? She used the “queen” trope and did not rise to the occasion of Black women queendom once. In any case, at least Fantasia won the competition the women of Rhythm + Flow, however, were a disappointment to watch.įelisha George, from Cardi’s New York squad, was undeniably the biggest disappointment for me. Which is what I was afraid of for a rap competition show – it’s basically why American Idol was a “no-for-me-dog” after Fantasia. ![]() Rhythm + Flow didn’t feel forced or, as the term of the series would coin it “gimmicky” at all. T.I, Chance The Rapper and Cardi B were all necessary representations of hip-hop culture and each brought an essential element of hip-hop into perspective during panel deliberations. From quality production to the credible artists and producers that came out from every city to support their state and corresponding “judge”. ![]() Not to be mistaken with that horrid 2005 Hustle & Flow film, Netflix did a number with this one. ![]() The latest culprit, that you’ve either been aggressively avoiding as your Netflix cue summons you to click on the competition show that is a “98% match” or have tuned in weekly as new episodes were released, is none other than Rhythm + Flow. What is a new Netflix phenomenon if one doesn’t spend a whole day binge-watching the entire series.
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