I do not think it is just a coincidence that R. Kelly waited until November to release the DVD of Trapped in the Closet Parts 1-12. It is obvious that we are intended to relish these chapters while hiding out from family and friends on the glorious American holiday we call Thanksgiving. I know that some people enjoy this holiday, but I am not a huge fan. It’s not that I don’t like pilgrims or turkey or Jesus, but I simply find it overwhelming. These are people that I normally don’t interact with, coming together during my hard-earned vacation to question me about what I’m doing with my life, why the hell I would ever major in something silly like English when there are real majors like Economics and Finance, and asking why I chose to go to an all-girls school outside of Boston. As the Facebook group points out, Wesleyan is not spelled W-e-l-l-e-s-l-e-y.
Thanksgiving is a day for giving thanks, and being grateful for what we have. I am grateful for many things, and among them are Kelly and his contribution to the musical canon. No high school prom would be complete without such classics as Your Body’s Callin’, the remix of Ignition, I Believe I Can Fly, and even better, Feelin’ On Yo Booty. Everybody was thinking it, but R. dared to set it to music. While I am making small talk with people I hardly know and have little in common with (“You go to school in Connecticut?” “I drove through Connecticut once!”) I will be counting the minutes until Friday, Nov.25 and reciting lyrics in my head.
Perhaps my aversion to Thanksgiving is partly due to the fact that I do not like change. I am happier to eat the same Turkey Chef Salad at Weswings day in and day out than I am trying the vegetarian wheat-free reduced sodium pseudo-stuffing my second cousin contributes to our feast, or anything that involves the word gizzard. Thanksgiving, with all of its mystery cousins and uncomfortable interactions, just does not ring my bell. But I am mentally preparing myself to spend some quality time with the aforementioned relatives as well as Chicago’s own Robert Sylvester Kelly.
The reason I am so fascinated by Kelly’s latest musical feat is that it takes place in 12 chapters. Chapters are something I normally associate with books, not singles. My first reaction was one of pure shock: I could not believe that there were five whole chapters of this epic story. But when I found out that seven more chapters had been released along with all 12 music videos, I hardly knew what to do with myself. Trapped in the Closet isn’t simply a series of songs, it is a musical odyssey complete with adultery, homosexuality, excessive violence, and finally, a midget beat-down! This is an undeniably impressive and diverse collection. What possessed R. to set this dramatic encounter to music is beyond me, but I sure am glad he did.
R. Kelly’s musical talent is hard to fathom. In the words of Casey Otto ’08, “If Chaucer and Liberace had a baby, he still wouldn’t be half as awesome as R. Kelly.” The repetitive beat and constant crescendos in these chapters flatter Kelly’s nasal and somewhat southern-sounding impressions of the women in his saga, and as he points out on the commentary of the Trapped in the Closet Parts 1-12 DVD, many of the lyrics even rhyme. This dramatic story refuses to be confined by normal conventions and is devoid of a chorus, with Kelly instead choosing to bluntly narrate these character’s lives, almost like a salacious book-on-tape gone wild.
I am also fascinated by the broad range of characters in Chapters 1-12. Kelly is not singing about one-dimensional stereotypes: he is careful to emphasize that these are real people, with real people names like Gwendolyn, Rufus, Cathy, and Chuck. In the words of one Amazon.com reviewer, “R. Kelly should stick to peeing on underage girls.” But I disagree. Take, for example, the contents of Chapter 10, also known as literary/musical genius. Wikipedia.com has an extremely detailed synopsis of all 12 chapters, including Chapter 10, where Bridget is found to be cheating on James with a stripper midget named Big Man. Yes, a stripper midget. In this chapter, such lyrical gems as “Now the midget jumps out of the cabinet and stumps the policeman on his toe,” and “While the midget is kickin’ real fast, screamin’ out ‘Bridget, Bridget!’” Note the vivid descriptions and the artful rhyme of “midget” and “Bridget.” I don’t know about you, but I am starting to look forward to eating as much pumpkin pie as possible and retreating to the TV room in the creepy confines of my grandparent’s basement to watch the Closet saga unfold. It’s not a classy way to spend my break, I am aware. My mind’s tellin’ me no…but my body, my body’s tellin’ me yes.
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