The headlines say one thing. The streets say another. And the truth, like it always does, is sitting somewhere in the middle, waiting on time to expose it.

The FBI got involved. That alone tells you this ain’t no regular rap beef or contract dispute. When federal agents knock on your door, it’s already deeper than music. It’s deeper than pride. It’s about freedom now. And for Pooh Shiesty, a man who just came home trying to reclaim his position, this situation feels like a brutal reminder that timing in life can be everything.

Let’s be clear about what actually happened, because too many people online just running with whatever sounds the most entertaining.

According to federal authorities, Pooh Shiesty, real name Lontrell Williams Jr., along with eight other individuals, including his own father and Memphis rapper Big30, got hit with serious charges. Kidnapping. Conspiracy to commit kidnapping. That’s not light work. That’s the kind of charge that changes lives permanently if it sticks.

The allegations paint a picture that feels almost like a movie script, but with real consequences. Prosecutors claim there was a setup. A business meeting in Dallas. A supposed discussion about contract terms. That’s how it was presented. That’s how the victims allegedly walked into the situation. Thinking it was music business. Thinking it was negotiation. Thinking it was opportunity.

Instead, what they say happened inside that studio was something else entirely.

An armed takeover.

Guns drawn. Doors blocked. Jewelry taken. Contracts forced to be signed. One man allegedly had a weapon put to his head. Another reportedly choked to the point of near unconsciousness. And if that wasn’t enough, investigators say the whole thing was tied together with evidence that doesn’t just disappear. Surveillance footage. Cell phone records. Travel logs. Even ankle monitor data placing Shiesty at the scene.

That last part hits different.

Because this wasn’t a man moving freely with no oversight. This was someone already under federal supervision, already walking a tightrope between rebuilding his life and falling back into a system that rarely gives second chances.

And now here we are.

The raid came early April. FBI moving in heavy. Flashbangs. Evidence bags. Multiple arrests across states. Memphis. Dallas. Nashville. Atlanta. This wasn’t random. This was coordinated, just like the crime they’re accusing them of committing.

Now let’s talk about the part that got the internet in a frenzy.

Did Gucci Mane snitch?

That question alone tells you everything about the culture we’re dealing with.

Because instead of focusing on the seriousness of the charges, instead of asking how a man fresh out of prison ends up back in federal custody, the conversation turned into street politics. Loyalty. Codes. Who told. Who didn’t.

And that’s where things get complicated.

In the paperwork, there’s a line that shook people. It suggests that someone identified as R.D., widely believed to be Radric Davis, Gucci Mane’s real name, described Pooh Shiesty’s clothing during the alleged incident. That detail alone was enough for social media to run wild with the narrative that Gucci Mane cooperated with authorities.

But here’s the thing about paperwork and street rumors.

They don’t always tell the full story.

There have also been claims that Gucci Mane is not cooperating. That he won’t testify. That investigators didn’t even directly get information from him. Some reports suggest others involved in the situation may have been the ones talking instead.

That matters.

Because in Hip Hop culture, the word “snitch” gets thrown around too easily. It’s one of the most damaging labels you can put on someone. And sometimes it gets applied without proof, without context, and without understanding how real life works outside of street codes.

Let’s pause for a second and talk real.

The street code says don’t talk. Don’t cooperate. Don’t give statements. But what happens when business and street life collide? What happens when millions of dollars are on the line? When contracts, ownership, and legal obligations are involved?

That’s where things get blurry.

Because Gucci Mane isn’t just a rapper anymore. He’s a businessman. A label owner. A man responsible for investments, artists, and his own legacy. That changes the way situations get handled, whether people like it or not.

At the same time, the streets don’t care about that.

The streets only see loyalty.

And that’s where Pooh Shiesty’s situation becomes bigger than just a legal case. It becomes a reflection of a pattern we’ve seen too many times. Young artists rising fast, carrying the weight of their environments, trying to transition into a different life, but still being pulled back into old ways of thinking.

Pooh Shiesty had momentum. Real momentum. Before his first incarceration, he was one of the hottest voices coming out of Memphis. His energy, his delivery, his presence, it all felt authentic. That rawness connected with people. It made them believe him.

Then prison came.

And when he got out, there was anticipation. Fans wanted that same hunger, but with growth. With maturity. With focus. His single “FDO” hinted at that. It sounded like someone who understood the opportunity in front of him.

But life don’t always give you time to adjust.

Sometimes the past catches up quicker than the future can be built.

And now, instead of talking about chart positions or new projects, we’re talking about federal charges.

That’s the tragedy of it.

Because Hip Hop has always been about transformation. Taking pain and turning it into power. Taking struggle and turning it into success. But when the lines between the street and the industry stay blurred, that transformation becomes harder to sustain.

Now let’s get into the uncomfortable part.

Why do so many rappers still hold onto a street code that doesn’t protect them?

That’s the question nobody really wants to answer honestly.

The idea of not snitching comes from a place of survival. It was built in environments where trust was limited and cooperation with law enforcement could literally get you killed. That history is real. That context matters.

But what happens when that same code starts hurting the community instead of protecting it?

What happens when silence allows violence to continue?

What happens when loyalty to a code outweighs responsibility to your own future, your own family, your own people?

That’s where we need to start being real with ourselves.

Because not every situation is the same.

There’s a difference between telling on someone for personal gain and speaking up about actions that harm others. There’s a difference between protecting your circle and enabling behavior that leads to destruction.

And too often, those lines get ignored.

In this case, the conversation about whether Gucci Mane “snitched” feels almost secondary to the bigger issue. A group of men allegedly used violence and intimidation in what was supposed to be a business setting. That’s not street survival. That’s a breakdown of understanding how to move when you’ve reached a certain level.

Business disputes are supposed to be handled in courtrooms, not with weapons.

Contracts are supposed to be negotiated, not forced.

And when those lines get crossed, consequences follow.

That’s not snitching. That’s reality.

At the same time, we can’t ignore the systemic side of this. The way young Black artists are often put into positions where they’re expected to navigate complex business structures without proper guidance. The way labels can exploit talent while presenting themselves as opportunities.

That tension is real too.

And it creates situations where artists feel like they have to take matters into their own hands.

But that doesn’t justify the outcome.

It just explains part of the mindset.

So now we’re left with a situation where nobody really wins.

Pooh Shiesty is facing serious legal trouble.

Gucci Mane is dealing with accusations that could affect his reputation in certain circles.

Fans are divided, arguing over loyalty instead of focusing on the bigger picture.

And the culture itself is once again having to confront the same questions it’s been asking for decades.

Where do we go from here?

Maybe it starts with redefining what loyalty actually means.

Maybe it means understanding that growth requires leaving certain mindsets behind.

Maybe it means recognizing that the same code that once protected people can also hold them back when the circumstances change.

Because at the end of the day, freedom is more important than perception.

Building something that lasts is more important than proving something in the moment.

And protecting your future should always come before protecting an image.

This case is still unfolding. Court dates are coming. Evidence will be examined. Stories will change. More details will come out.

But one thing is already clear.

This isn’t just about Pooh Shiesty or Gucci Mane.

This is about a culture at a crossroads.

And the decisions made in moments like this will shape what comes next.

So before we rush to label someone a snitch, before we pick sides based on incomplete information, maybe it’s time to ask a different question.

What does real loyalty look like in 2026?

Because if it still leads to situations like this, then maybe it’s time for a new code.

And that’s something the whole culture needs to think about.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother has a passion for poetry and music. One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother has a passion for poetry and music. One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

Not long ago, these were the stories hip hop used to escape. Now they are the stories following it. Offset, one of the key voices behind Migos, is reportedly recovering from a gunshot wound to the leg. Non life threatening, thankfully. But let’s be honest, the fact that we even have to say that says everything about where things are right now.

This is what makes moments like this hit different. It is not just about one incident. It is about a pattern that refuses to break. A cycle where success does not always mean safety, where making it out does not always mean staying out, and where the same energy that fuels the music keeps spilling into real life consequences.

You got a man who made it out. A man who turned ad libs into art, helped redefine flow in modern rap, and built wealth, family, and legacy. And yet somehow, some way, the environment still finds him. Or maybe he never fully left it. That is the part nobody really wants to sit with. Success in hip hop does not always mean escape. Sometimes it just means you are shining brighter in the same dangerous spaces.

Then you got Lil Tjay, a younger voice in the game, representing a different era but facing eerily similar realities. Even if his involvement in this specific situation remains unclear, the fact that his name can even be placed next to a story like this tells you everything you need to know about the current climate. This is a generation that came up watching the last one lose too many of its stars. And somehow, the lessons are not sticking.

What is going on with rappers these days?

That question gets asked a lot, but most people do not really want the real answer. Because the real answer is uncomfortable. It is not just about music. It is about environment. It is about ego. It is about trauma that never got addressed. It is about money coming faster than wisdom. It is about people carrying street rules into spaces that were supposed to be business moves.

Hip hop has always had a relationship with danger. From the early days to the rise of gangsta rap, the music has reflected real life. But there used to be a line. There used to be a separation between the art and the actions. Now it feels like that line is gone.

Too many artists are living exactly what they rap about, not in a poetic sense, but in a literal one.

You cannot build longevity like that.

Offset’s situation, whether all details are confirmed or not, is another reminder that fame does not equal safety. In fact, sometimes it brings more attention, more jealousy, more problems. You become a target not just because of who you are, but because of what you represent. Money. Status. Visibility.

And in a place like a casino in Florida, where money is already flowing and tensions can rise quickly, it does not take much for things to go left.

But here is where the deeper conversation needs to happen.

At what point do we start holding the culture accountable for what it continues to normalize?

Because it is easy to blame individuals. Easy to say this rapper should move different, that rapper should know better. But when the entire ecosystem rewards aggression, when disrespect gets more clicks than growth, when beef sells better than peace, you are dealing with something bigger than one person’s decision.

Hip hop today is caught in a dangerous loop.

Artists come up from environments where survival means being tough, being ready, being respected at all costs. They make it. They get money. They get fame. But the mentality does not always change. And the industry does not exactly encourage that change. If anything, it profits off keeping that edge alive.

So now you have millionaires moving like they still got something to prove.

That is a deadly combination.

And the fans, we have to be honest, play a role too. Not all, but enough. The same audience that mourns when something tragic happens is often the same audience that fuels the energy leading up to it. Hyping beef. Picking sides. Turning real life tension into entertainment.

Until it turns real.

Then everybody wants to post prayers and say it needs to stop.

It needed to stop before the shots were fired.

There was a time when hip hop felt like it was growing into something more balanced. You had artists talking about ownership, mental health, generational wealth. You had glimpses of evolution. But stories like this remind you that the foundation is still shaky.

Because you cannot build something lasting on instability.

And let us be real about something else.

The question of whether rap music is coming to an end gets thrown around every time something like this happens. And the answer is no. Hip hop is too powerful, too global, too influential to just disappear. But what can happen is a decline in quality, a loss of direction, a culture that eats itself from the inside.

That is how genres fade. Not overnight. But slowly, through repetition of the same mistakes.

When violence becomes a recurring headline instead of a rare tragedy, it changes how the world sees the music. It changes how the next generation approaches it. It shifts the focus from creativity to chaos.

And that is not sustainable.

Offset being alive today is a blessing. That cannot be overstated. A leg injury could have easily been something worse. We have seen it too many times. Names we still speak with pain. Careers cut short. Families left behind.

So yes, we are thankful he is recovering.

But we also have to ask what comes next.

Does anything change?

Or does this become just another story that fades after a few days, replaced by the next headline, the next incident, the next cycle of the same conversation?

Because if nothing changes, then the outcome eventually will.

And not in a good way.

The reality is hip hop does not need to end. It needs to evolve again. It needs artists who understand that growth is not weakness. That moving smarter is not selling out. That leaving certain environments behind is not forgetting where you came from, it is honoring it by surviving.

There is nothing strong about dying over pride.

There is nothing real about losing your life or your freedom when you already made it out.

And there is definitely nothing beneficial about fans constantly consuming that energy like it is just another form of entertainment.

This is a moment. Another one. And like all the ones before it, it can either be a turning point or just another entry in a long list of missed opportunities.

Offset is recovering. That is the headline.

But the real story is bigger than one man, one incident, or one night in Florida.

It is about a culture standing at a crossroads, again, asking itself the same question it has been asking for years.

When are we going to do better.

Because at some point, surviving is not enough.

At some point, we have to start living.

I ask you this, is Lil Tjay a b@tch for attacking Offset? Speak up!!

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother has a passion for poetry and music. One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

It starts with momentum. A young man gets hot, not just for a season, but in a way that feels like it could last. The streets recognize him. The industry backs him. The numbers line up. The fans lock in. For a moment, everything is moving the way it is supposed to.

Then something shifts.

Not always overnight, but fast enough that you feel it. The music is still there, the name is still buzzing, but the focus starts drifting. The business gets complicated. The pressure builds. And somewhere between the expectations of the streets and the demands of the industry, the foundation begins to crack.

That is where we are now.

The situation involving Pooh Shiesty and Gucci Mane is not just another headline to scroll past. It is not just gossip. It is not just another “rapper in trouble” story for folks to debate for a day and forget by the weekend.

This one cuts deeper because it touches business, power, and control.

A reported dispute tied to a recording contract has now turned into something much darker, something that forces you to look at the entire system around these artists. Because when things escalate to this level, you are no longer just talking about music. You are talking about decisions that can change lives, careers, and legacies in real time.

And the question that keeps coming back is simple, but heavy.

How does a man get this close to having everything and still end up risking it all.

This is sad.

There is a certain kind of hurt that comes when talent and self destruction collide in public. Not the usual disappointment you feel when an artist drops a weak project or misses a moment. This is deeper than that. This is the kind that sits heavy because you can clearly see the opportunity, but you can also see how fast it can all slip away.

The situation surrounding Pooh Shiesty is bigger than headlines. If the allegations are even halfway true, then this was not just about ego or street tension. This was about business. Contracts. Ownership. Control.

And once business gets mixed with street pressure, things tend to spiral fast.

By any real measure, Pooh Shiesty had positioned himself to win long term. Even after prison, his name still carried weight. His music still moved. His fan base was still there, waiting. That kind of second chance does not come often in Hip Hop. Most artists lose momentum and never get it back.

He got it back.

That is what makes this hit harder.

Because when a man still has value, still has demand, still has the machine ready to profit off him, you start asking a real question. Why does success fail to protect the very people it was supposed to elevate.

People will say it is just bad decisions. And yes, decisions matter. But that is not the full story.

Hip Hop has always rewarded proximity to danger. That is the uncomfortable truth nobody wants to fully sit with. The culture tells young artists to make it out, but never fully detach from where they came from. Stay real. Stay connected. Stay official. But also be a businessman, a brand, a corporation.

That contradiction breaks people.

You are expected to think like a CEO but still move like you have something to prove. You are supposed to be polished enough for endorsements but raw enough for credibility. And when you are young, coming from pressure, coming from survival mode, that balance is not easy to hold.

It is almost designed to fail.

Now when you look at the contract side of this situation, things get real cold, real fast.

If a contract or release was allegedly signed under pressure or fear, that document does not hold the same weight as a normal agreement. Business law does not respect deals made under intimidation. That is not negotiation. That is force. And force does not create a clean contract.

So even if something was signed in that moment, it likely would not stand as a legitimate exit from a deal.

That means the original recording contract could still technically be in place.

But here is the part people miss.

A contract being alive on paper does not mean the relationship is alive in reality.

Trust is everything in the music business. Once that is broken, especially in a situation like this, the paperwork becomes secondary. Labels are not just looking at clauses. They are looking at risk.

Can we release music
Can we promote safely
Can we put money behind this artist
Can we depend on stability

Those are the questions that matter.

And if the answer to those questions starts leaning toward no, then the label will move accordingly. They might suspend the deal. They might try to terminate it. They might just sit back and let the legal system play out while the momentum fades.

Because momentum is everything in music.

And once it slows down, it is hard to get back.

That is where the real loss comes in. Not just money. Not just contracts. Momentum.

Albums get delayed. Features disappear. Opportunities dry up. The public moves on. And in today’s game, people move on quick.

That is the part that hurts the most.

Because this was avoidable.

Back in the day, there was more structure around artists. Not perfect, but better. You had people in position who understood that protecting the artist was part of protecting the investment. There were mentors. There was guidance. There were people who would step in before things got out of control.

Now it feels like the machine is fine watching things fall apart as long as it can profit first.

And that is dangerous.

Because young Black men are stepping into million dollar situations without million dollar guidance. They are expected to navigate contracts, fame, pressure, and expectations all at once.

That is a heavy load.

And when there is no real support system, when there is no one pulling them aside and saying slow down, think, move different, then situations like this become more common than they should be.

This is not just about one artist.

This is about a pattern.

Too many talented young men get the opportunity, but do not have the structure to sustain it. They make it out, but cannot stay out.

And that is the real lesson here.

The goal is not just to get on. The goal is to last. The goal is to build something that cannot be taken away by one moment, one decision, one situation.

Because once everything starts crashing, the contract is the least of your problems.

Contracts can be fixed. Reworked. Fought over.

But lost time, lost freedom, lost momentum, that is harder to recover from.

And that is why this whole situation feels bigger than just a dispute.

It feels like another reminder that in Hip Hop, the opportunity is real.

But keeping it

That is the real challenge.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother has a passion for poetry and music. One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

The warrant was granted in order to find evidence of marijuana, drug paraphernalia, drug trafficking, and even kidnapping. The officers found no such evidence and no charges were ever filed against Afroman.

In 99% of such cases, that would have been the end of the story. But this particular case involves an artist who possesses a sharp and sardonic wit. Thus, while the search was routine, its aftermath was anything but.

Afroman, who was born Joseph Edgar Foreman, is best known for his song “Because I Got High”. (2026 marks the song’s 25^th anniversary.) As one might expect from a rapper who is known to be eccentric, Afroman turned the raid into an ever-increasing series of hilarious music videos.

Specifically, the videos poke fun at the officers who were involved in the incident. To date, they have been viewed as many as 20 million times on social media. One video, “Will You Help Me Repair My Door?”, features deputies violently taking down Afroman’s door. The officers then search his shoes and even his suit pockets.

The latter action inspired the artist to wonder, in a rhyme that could have come from Dr. Seuss:

“Are there any kidnapping victims inside my suit pocket? You crooked cops need to stop it. There are no kidnapping victims in my suit pocket.”

Perhaps the most famous scene in any of the videos features an officer longingly eyeing a cake on a kitchen table. In the appropriately-titled “Lemon Pound Cake” (which Afroman sings to the tune of The Drifters’ “Under the Boardwalk”), he intones:

“The Adams County Sheriff kicked down my door/Then I heard the glass break/They found no kidnapping victims/Just some lemon pound cake…Mama’s lemon pound cake/It tastes so nice/It made the sheriff wanna put down his gun/And cut him a slice (of what? Of what?).”

Amidst the playfulness, however, Afroman makes some serious allegations. One is that the officers disconnected his security cameras – and gave him the middle finger while doing so. Afroman also alleges that the officers stole $400 from his home during the raid. (The Sherriff’s Department said that there was a “miscount” but never returned the money.)

In response to the videos, the seven officers who executed the warrant – four deputies, two sergeants, and a detective – sued Afroman for defamation in 2023. They argued that the videos humiliated them and their families, caused them reputational harm and inflicted emotional distress. They sought $3.9 million in restitution.

The case calls to mind the free speech trials of other public figures (e.g., Larry Flynt, Luther “Luke” Campbell, Howard Stern), in that it raises questions of free speech – in this instance versus officers’ right to privacy while performing official actions.

During the three-day trial, Afroman was famously clad in a suit that was comprised entirely of images of the U.S. flag, bringing new notoriety to “Old Glory”. (Notably, he also wore sunglasses with the same pattern.) In his testimony, Afroman said he had the right to tell his friends and fans what police had done. He also testified that the raid traumatized his children, who were 10 and 12 at the time.

The jury ruled in favor of Foreman.

They agreed that Afroman’s use of his security footage in the videos is protected parody and social commentary. Thus, he may continue making videos – and making fun of the officers.

Following the verdict, Afroman said, “Police officers shouldn’t be stealing civilians’ money. This whole thing is an outrage.” It is strange indeed that the officers seem to be more concerned about being ridiculed than they are about being accused of theft.

Afroman fought authority. Authority didn’t win. There is poetic symmetry between the officers breaking down his door and his trial breaking down barriers to the First Amendment. And if anything is more sacred to America than free speech, it is capitalism. Afroman employed his creativity to poke fun at what he admitted was a traumatic experience – and made money in the process.

He then asked me if I had heard about the big announcement recently made by the NBA’s Atlanta Hawks?

I reached for my phone and was totally appalled by the Hawks’ announcement.

According to a press release by the Hawks, “Hawks to Celebrate Atlanta’s Iconic Cultural Institution ‘Magic City’ During the Team’s “Magic City Monday” Game Against the Orlando Magic on Monday, March 16.”

Yes, you read that correctly. An NBA franchise is openly promoting an event tied to a strip club culture built on the sexual exploitation of women, many of them Black.

How the NBA’s corporate office is allowing this association with their brand should tell you all you need to know about their views on the Black community, especially Black women.

Just an FYI, seventy percent of the NBA is composed of Black players.

So my question for the owners of the Atlanta Hawks and the commissioner of the NBA, Adam Silver is very simple:  “Who determined that a strip club, Magic City, was a “cultural institution” of the Black community?

This is the type of “soft bigotry” perpetuated by white liberals that always goes unchallenged by sycophantic liberal Black athletes and entertainers.

Am I the only one that is offended that a professional sports team, whose Black employees comprise seventy eight percent of the workforce, would unilaterally declare that part of the cultural identify of Atlanta’s Black community supports pornography and the sexual exploitation of Black women?

For the uninitiated, Magic City is a notorious strip club in Atlanta that attracts some of the biggest names in sports and entertainment, along with drug dealers and various other criminal elements.  It has been the scene of many murders and other criminal acts.

Why would the NBA associate its brand with such an establishment baffles many.  They are one of the wokest leagues in professional sports.  They “claim” to be for women empowerment, yet they are promoting a strip club that makes its money by sexually exploiting women, specifically Black women!!!

Atlanta has long been identified as a major hub for the trafficking of underage girls.

According to the state of Georgia, Atlanta has historically been a significant center for child sex trafficking in the United States due to its transportation infrastructure and high-profile events such as the NFL’s Super Bowl, MLB’s all-star game and the U.S. Olympics, etc.

Atlanta ranks second nationally in human trafficking prevalence, after Washington, D.C.  It is estimated that the sex trade in Atlanta generates close to half a billion dollars in revenues annually.

Many of the children sex trafficked have been brought into the U.S. illegally by various drug cartels.  Those who support open borders never want to address this issue.

Many sex trafficked girls end up working in strip clubs and the NBA is very aware of this feeder system.

Let us peel this onion back even further.

The Atlanta Hawks are owned by the husband and wife team of Jami Gertz and Tony Ressler.  They both publicly “claim” to be practicing Jews.  If they are, how does supporting pornography fit into their religious faith?

They are radically liberal when it comes to engaging with the Black community.  As with most radical liberals, they never miss an opportunity to condescend and poison the Black community.

There is indeed a way that seems right to a radical white liberal and the end thereof are the ways of death to the Black community.

As radical white liberals are wont to do when they want to perpetuate anything negative in the Black community, they always find a Black person to be the face of their issue.

In this instance, the Hawks pushed out their token Black female, Melissa Proctor as the face of this idiotic idea.  Proctor is the Executive Vice president & Chief Marketing Officer for the Atlanta Hawks.

If you have issues with what she has approved, please reach out to her on social media and include a link to my column.  She needs to publicly address this issue.

As a Black female, she approved the Hawks endorsement of pornography night on next Monday.

Please make it make sense.  A woke Black female co-signing on the sexual exploitation of young Black girls.

Where is radical loudmouth Stacy Abrahams on this issue?  Her whole political career was based on “women empowerment” and Black girl magic, not Black girls at Magic City!  Where is Georgia’s Black U.S. Senator and ordained minister, Raphael Warnock?  Where is civil rights legend Andy Young or former Black female mayor, Keisha Bottoms?  I guess she does not have a problem with Black women making money showing off their bottoms?  Where is serial fornicator and self-identified preacher Jamal Bryant, who has dropped his fair share of money at strip clubs.

It is ironic that March is celebrated as Women’s History Month.  It has been so designated since 1987.  It began as a weeklong celebration of women’s contributions to culture, history and society organized by the school district of Sonoma, California, in 1978.

In 1980, President Jimmy Carter issued the first presidential proclamation declaring the week of March 8 as National Women’s History Week. The U.S. Congress followed suit the next year, passing a resolution establishing a national celebration. Six years later, the National Women’s History Project successfully petitioned Congress to expand the event to the entire month of March.

Woke organizations like the Atlanta Hawks are very well aware of the significance of the month of March to women’s issues!

As if this were not ironic enough, the loudest voice in opposition to the event has not come from within the Black community, it has come from a white player from the San Antonio Spurs, Luke Kornet.

Here is a white kid from Kentucky that seems to be more bothered by this event than all of the woke Black players in the NBA.

And not one peep from the women of the WNBA.  I should not be surprised at this because most of these woman are lesbian and the root word of lesbian is hypocrite.

Not a word out of Queen James, er, LeBron James from the Lakers or Golden State coach Steve Kerr.

Just look at some of the ignorant statements uttered by prominent Blacks attempting to justify this exploitation of Black women.  Click on this link.

The most ironic of all ironies is the video of club owner’s daughter.  She is a stripper at her father’s club.  How can any father promote the sexual exploitation of his own daughter?

Click on the above link.  It is cringeworthy and disturbing.

Oh, and by the way, according to Magic City’s own website, in order to reserve a table at the club, “you must provide your government -issued photo ID and credit card.”

I thought Blacks did not have government issued photo IDs; and to require one is considered racist.  Hmm

There is nothing magical about the city of Atlanta and the Hawks promotion of pornography and the sexual exploitation of Black women.  But there is definitely something mystical that the owners of the Atlanta Hawks and the leadership of the NBA think this event is appropriate and endearing to the Black community.

Staff Writer; Raynard Jackson

This talented brother is a Pulitzer Award nominated columnist and founder and chairman of Black Americans for a Better Future (BAFBF), a federally registered 527 Super PAC established to get more Blacks involved in the Republican Party. BAFBF focuses on the Black entrepreneur. For more information about BAFBF, visit www.bafbf.org. You can follow Raynard on Twitter; RealRaynardJ; on Gettr: RaynardJackson.

Can also drop him an email at; RaynardJ@ThyBlackMan.com.

More than forty years later, it remains a masterclass in how voice, music, and lyrics can come together to celebrate love and the beloved.

Some songs don’t just fill the airwaves. They stay with you. They become lasting expressions of emotion, capturing joy, heartbreak, longing, and everything in between. “You Know How to Love Me” is one of those rare tracks that continues to resonate with anyone who’s ever wanted to feel understood.

At the center of its lasting power is Phyllis Hyman’s voice. Rich, sultry, and soulful, she elevates every lyric, moving in harmony with each instrument with effortless grace, and delivering it all with a sincerity that lingers long after the music fades.

What makes this song stand out is how its emotional depth rides atop an irresistible groove.
The drums shimmer and drive with perfect precision, keeping the track buoyant and full of life. It’s the kind of record that pulls you onto the dance floor even as it tugs at your heart. That contrast lies at the core of its brilliance. The song sounds like a celebration but speaks like a confession.

Written by the legendary duo James Mtume and Reggie Lucas, the track showcases Hyman’s powerhouse vocals over lush arrangements that blend R&B, soul, and disco into a seamless emotional experience. Mtume and Lucas not only wrote and produced the song but also performed on it. Lucas played guitar, while Mtume handled percussion, keyboards, and synthesizers. Both contributed background vocals, adding warmth and texture that perfectly complement Hyman’s voice.

The synergy between Hyman, Lucas, and Mtume turns the track into something both vibrant in its grooves and deeply rooted in truth. This is R&B in its purest form.

At its core, “You Know How to Love Me” is an intimate love letter. It speaks to a connection grounded in trust, understanding, and emotional reciprocity.

Two lines in particular capture the heart of its message:

“You know how to love me / Right in a special way.”

In just eleven words, Hyman affirms a love that feels personal and profound. A love that meets her exactly where she is.

Then there’s this:

“You’re the real that I feel / Never go away.”

Here, the song reaches beyond romance toward something deeper: a grounding presence, a sense of emotional certainty. This is not about fantasy. It’s about a love that feels like home, consistent, comforting, and true.

Later, Hyman leans fully into that certainty:

“Seeing’s believin’ / Don’t you know you’re a dream come true / Ain’t nothin’ deceivin’ / ’Bout the way that I’m lovin’ you, yeah.”

These lines reveal a mature devotion, a love that doesn’t need convincing, only living.

In a world where love is often portrayed as fleeting or transactional, the song reminds us that love is a soul-to-soul journey, about being seen, heard, and held emotionally as much as physically.

That’s why “You Know How to Love Me” remains more than a hit record. It’s a lesson in melody and a lasting anthem for anyone who’s ever longed to be truly known and cherished.

Artist: Phyllis Hyman
Track: You Know How to Love Me
Album: You Know How to Love Me (1979)
Songwriters: James Mtume, Reggie Lucas
Producers: James Mtume, Reggie Lucas
Executive Producer: Larkin Arnold

Lyrics from “You Know How to Love Me” performed by Phyllis Hyman.
Written by Reggie Lucas and James Mtume.
© 1979 Arista Records.

Rewind: Play That Back – Rediscovering Iconic Tracks – 1.

With this entry, we launch Rewind, revisiting iconic tracks that do more than move us. These are the songs that speak to the soul, mark moments, frame memories, and retrace the paths of our lives, the stories we’ve lived, and the ones still unfolding.

A collective thank you to the artists, songwriters, producers, musicians, engineers, and music professionals responsible for shaping the sound and soul of these recordings.

Staff Writer; Patricia “Trish” Brooks

This sister is an accomplished writer with decades of experience in the music industry. Originally from the Midwest and now based on the West Coast, Trish draws deeply from the rich legacy of African American history, crafting stories that inform, uplift, and resonate across generations.

She is a contributing writer for the LA Sentinel newspaper and a proud voice for platforms like ThyBlackMan and ThySistas. When she’s not writing, Trish embraces a wellness-focused lifestyle and curates soul-stirring playlists that feed both the spirit and the culture.

Above all, Trish is a devoted follower of the one true God and remains firmly grounded in her faith, which guides her work and daily life.

Follow her journey on Instagram: @trishwilloughbymusic.

Feel free to reach out to her directly at: PTBrooks@ThyBlackMan.com.

What makes Jay-Z compelling is that he speaks from the inside of Black aspiration without pretending that the climb is clean. He understands fear, ego, hunger, pride, and contradiction. His quotes read like footnotes to a longer American story about mobility. They show how success changes the way a person thinks about risk, loyalty, money, and responsibility to community. Each line carries a lesson that stretches beyond music.

Below are nine statements that deserve close attention. They are not motivational posters. They are reflections on power, pressure, and possibility. Each one still speaks directly to the present moment.

Taken together, these quotes outline a philosophy rooted in awareness. Awareness of fear. Awareness of lineage. Awareness of dignity. Awareness of responsibility. They remind us that progress carries tension. Ambition is emotional as much as economic.

Reading Jay Z through a historian’s lens reveals a man documenting the psychology of upward mobility in real time. His voice captures the sound of a generation negotiating wealth, memory, and identity. That negotiation continues. And that is why his words still demand attention.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother has a passion for fitness, poetry and music. One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

The confusion surrounding jazz origins does not come from a lack of evidence. It comes from a long American habit of confusing access with authorship. Jazz was created before it was recorded. It existed before it was named. It functioned as a living language before institutions attempted to formalize it. To understand jazz honestly, one must separate creation from commercialization, origin from documentation, and invention from profit.

New Orleans at the turn of the twentieth century was unlike any other city in the United States. It was a port city shaped by African, Caribbean, French, Spanish, and American influences layered within rigid racial hierarchies. Music was not confined to concert halls or private parlors. It moved through streets, neighborhoods, churches, social clubs, and cemeteries. For Black residents, music was not optional. It was a means of expression, communication, and cohesion.

One of the most important foundations of jazz lies in the survival of African musical traditions on American soil. Congo Square represents this continuity. Enslaved Africans and their descendants gathered there on Sundays to drum, dance, sing, and maintain rhythmic practices carried across the Atlantic. These gatherings preserved polyrhythms, call and response structures, improvisational variation, and collective participation. This was not entertainment in a modern sense. It was cultural memory refusing to disappear.

The musical logic preserved in these spaces did not vanish with emancipation. It merged with other Black American forms including spirituals, work songs, blues, ring shouts, and church music. Brass bands became central to Black community life in New Orleans. They played funerals, parades, celebrations, and gatherings of mutual aid societies. Music marked life transitions and affirmed dignity in a society that routinely denied it.

Jazz emerged organically from this environment. It was not invented by committee. It was not theorized before being played. Musicians learned by listening, watching, and participating. They absorbed rhythm, phrasing, and improvisation as lived practice. Jazz existed before it had terminology. It existed before it had sheet music. It existed because it was necessary.

The earliest architects of jazz were overwhelmingly Black musicians. Buddy Bolden is often cited as one of the first major figures. His absence from recorded history is frequently misused to undermine his influence. In reality, it reveals exclusion. Recording access was restricted, and Black musicians were often denied entry into early studios. Bolden’s impact is documented through oral histories and the musicians who followed his style.

Jelly Roll Morton, though famously self promoting, acknowledged that jazz emerged from Black life. He understood African American musical foundations and did not present jazz as a European creation. Louis Armstrong carried the New Orleans sound into national and global consciousness. His phrasing, tone, and rhythmic intelligence transformed jazz into an international language. Armstrong’s genius was not simply technical. It was expressive. He made instruments speak with human emotion shaped by lived experience.

The musicians closest to jazz’s birth never expressed confusion about its origin. They did not credit white America with inventing their language. That claim appears later, from observers who encountered jazz after it was already formed.

One of the most common arguments supporting the white creation myth points to European instruments and harmony. Trumpets, clarinets, trombones, pianos, and Western harmonic systems are cited as evidence of European origin. This argument confuses tools with imagination. Instruments do not dictate meaning. Harmony does not invent feel.

European musical elements existed in America because America was structured by European colonization. Black musicians did not choose that context, but they transformed it. Jazz treats time differently. It emphasizes swing, syncopation, and rhythmic elasticity. It bends pitch and values tone as expressive language. Improvisation becomes identity, not decoration. These features align with African musical traditions and Black American expressive culture.

Influence is not authorship. If influence equaled creation, no culture could claim its innovations. Authorship belongs to those who assemble influences into something new with a distinct logic and voice. That is what Black musicians did.

Recording history further distorts public understanding. Early jazz recordings were often made by white bands, leading some to confuse documentation with invention. Recording companies were white owned and racially exclusionary. Black musicians were frequently denied access or forced into caricatured performances. White bands were recorded first because they were allowed to be recorded first. That is not evidence of origin. It is evidence of power.

This pattern appears across American music history. Blues, gospel, rhythm and blues, and rock and roll followed similar trajectories. Black creators developed the forms. White intermediaries recorded and marketed them. Over time, visibility replaced origin in public memory.

White musicians have played jazz since its early years and made meaningful contributions to its spread. Participation, however, is not creation. Learning a language fluently does not make one its inventor. Mastery does not erase origin.

Jazz is often described as freedom, but that freedom is structured. Jazz is disciplined spontaneity. Individual voice exists within collective responsibility. This mirrors Black American life under constraint, navigating rigid systems while maintaining dignity and expression. Jazz can carry humor and pain simultaneously. It reflects resilience.

As jazz entered institutions, it gained prestige and preservation but also risked sanitization. Technical mastery was often emphasized while social origin was softened. This created space for revisionist narratives that framed jazz as refined only after institutional approval.

The white creation myth persists because it answers an unspoken question about who is allowed to represent American greatness. Jazz forces the nation to confront the fact that some of its most admired art was born from those it oppressed. The myth offers avoidance. History offers evidence.

White people did not create jazz. They encountered it, learned it, recorded it, marketed it, and built institutions around it. Jazz was already alive when white America noticed it.

The tendency to rewrite jazz’s origin is not limited to casual commentators. It appears in subtle forms within education, criticism, and cultural storytelling. Jazz is frequently described as America’s classical music, a label that brings prestige but also distortion. When jazz is framed primarily as a national treasure without confronting the racial conditions that produced it, the story becomes incomplete. The music is elevated while the people who created it remain marginalized.

This dynamic creates a strange contradiction. Jazz is celebrated for its sophistication, discipline, and emotional intelligence, yet the Black communities that birthed it are often discussed as if they stumbled into brilliance rather than deliberately shaping it. This framing reinforces an old hierarchy where Black creativity is treated as instinctive rather than intellectual. Jazz challenges that hierarchy because it demands recognition of planning, structure, theory, and intention embedded within improvisation.

Improvisation itself is frequently misunderstood. In jazz, improvisation does not mean randomness. It means spontaneous composition within a shared framework. A jazz musician must understand harmony, rhythm, form, and group interaction to improvise effectively. This requires discipline, memory, and deep listening. These skills were developed through community practice long before they were written into textbooks.

The African roots of this approach are essential. In many African musical traditions, music is participatory, dialogic, and communal. Call and response structures reinforce collective identity while allowing individual expression. Jazz inherits this logic. A solo is not a departure from the group but a conversation with it. The band listens, responds, and adapts in real time. This relational intelligence distinguishes jazz from many European traditions that emphasize reproduction over interaction.

When white musicians learned jazz, they learned this language from Black musicians. They did not independently invent swing, blues inflection, or collective improvisation. They encountered a living tradition and entered it. Many acknowledged this openly. Others benefited from a system that rewarded them more generously for the same language. That disparity is part of the story but not the origin.

Economic access played a significant role in shaping public perception. White musicians often had greater access to recording contracts, venues, and promotional networks. As jazz became commercially viable, those with access were more visible. Over time, visibility was mistaken for authorship. This mistake was not innocent. It aligned comfortably with existing racial hierarchies.

The recording industry did not merely document jazz. It shaped its public image. Decisions about who was recorded, how they were marketed, and which styles were promoted influenced how audiences understood the music. Early recordings often emphasized novelty or spectacle, reinforcing stereotypes rather than presenting the full depth of Black musical innovation.

Despite these distortions, Black musicians continued to push jazz forward. The music evolved through swing, bebop, hard bop, modal jazz, and beyond. Each phase reflected ongoing dialogue within Black musical communities about expression, resistance, and possibility. Bebop in particular represented a deliberate shift away from commercial accessibility toward artistic autonomy. It was complex, fast, harmonically daring, and unapologetically intellectual.

This evolution further undermines the white creation myth. Jazz did not stagnate after entering the mainstream. It continued to change in ways driven primarily by Black musicians responding to social and artistic conditions. The music’s internal debates about freedom, form, and direction mirror broader struggles for autonomy and self definition.

Institutional recognition eventually followed. Jazz entered universities, concert halls, and cultural foundations. This brought preservation and legitimacy but also tension. Institutionalization can freeze living traditions into static forms. It can privilege certain narratives over others. In some cases, it encouraged sanitized histories that emphasized technical lineage while downplaying racial context.

Yet even within institutions, serious scholarship consistently identifies jazz as a Black American creation. The myth persists not because experts are confused but because simplified narratives are easier to sell. They avoid uncomfortable questions about exploitation, inequality, and cultural theft.

The claim that white people created jazz often functions as a provocation rather than an argument. It invites outrage while sidestepping evidence. It relies on the assumption that sophistication must originate from Europe and that Black communities are incapable of sustained intellectual innovation without external guidance. Jazz stands as a direct refutation of that assumption.

Jazz demonstrates that complexity can emerge from marginalization. It shows that constraint can produce innovation rather than limit it. The music’s emphasis on voice, interaction, and adaptation reflects a worldview shaped by survival under pressure. That worldview did not come from conservatories. It came from lived reality.

Authorship matters because it shapes how societies understand themselves. When a nation celebrates an art form while denying its creators full recognition, it reveals unresolved contradictions. Jazz is often used as a symbol of American freedom and individuality. Yet that symbolism rings hollow if the Black origin of the music is minimized or denied.

Acknowledging Black authorship of jazz does not diminish anyone else’s contribution. It clarifies lineage. It places musicians accurately within history. It allows participation to be honored without erasing creation.

The persistence of the white creation myth also reflects broader anxieties about cultural ownership. As discussions of race, power, and history become more explicit, some react by attempting to reclaim authorship retroactively. Jazz becomes a battleground because it is both undeniably American and undeniably Black in origin.

History does not support the claim that white people created jazz. Geography does not support it. Testimony does not support it. Musical analysis does not support it. The claim survives only through repetition and selective memory.

Jazz belongs to the world now. It is played, studied, and loved across cultures. That global reach does not erase its origin. It confirms its power. Cultural exchange does not negate authorship. It honors it.

The truth about jazz is not fragile. It does not need protection through myth. It withstands scrutiny because it is grounded in evidence. Jazz emerged from Black communities in New Orleans, shaped by African musical memory and Black American experience, and carried forward through discipline, imagination, and collective effort.

White people did not create jazz. They encountered it. They learned it. They participated in it. They helped spread it. They sometimes profited disproportionately from it. None of that changes the origin.

Jazz is not an accident of history. It is a deliberate act of creation born from necessity and vision. It reflects a people refusing silence and finding voice through sound. It stands as proof that brilliance does not require permission.

The record is clear when examined honestly. Jazz was created by Black Americans. The myth that claims otherwise reveals discomfort with that fact, not evidence against it.

Jazz remains one of America’s greatest contributions to world culture precisely because it carries the depth of its origin. To honor jazz fully is to honor the people who made it possible.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother has a passion for fitness, poetry and music. One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.