Thanksgiving has always been about food.

We suffer through the awkward small talk and often anti-climactic football games for the sake of the meal that awaits us at the end of the day, and even then that "meal" is representative of ethnic cleansing and genocide. But there are a few other pros that lay outside of gorging yourself on mashed potatoes. The holiday always falls on a Thursday, which means you always have a four day weekend. Black Friday is also the following day, so despite whatever infuriating experiences you may have on Thanksgiving with your family, you can at least rest easy knowing you can go out and buy enough stuff to numb the pain.

These reasons alone are enough to warrant celebration. So while you clench your jaw through what is almost guaranteed to be a painfully long afternoon, why not curate some music to help elevate your mood and remind yourself that a four day weekend of relaxation awaits?

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Frank Ocean's intentionally elusive character has been a key ingredient in his rise as one of the last decade's most influential artists.

"If I start to tell a story and then I decide not to tell the story anymore, I can stop. It's my story," he told W Magazine last September. "The expectation for artists to be vulnerable and truthful is a lot, you know?"

The idea of staying true to yourself may not sound inherently groundbreaking, but for the last near-decade, Frank Ocean has spoken almost exclusively through his music, at times sprinkling loosies online merely for the sake of getting something off his chest. "There's something that happens when you say what you're doing before it's done," he said to W. "You're accountable for that version that you talk about... It's usually better for me to make what I make, put it out or don't, and then talk about it freely."

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Culture Feature

Celebrities React to the Presidential Debate: "Pls Vote"

Frank Ocean, Ariana Grande, and many more celebrities have shared their reactions to Tuesday's debate.

Frank Ocean Urges Fans to Vote

You may have noticed that Tuesday's debate sparked some strong feelings across the board.

It was a thoroughly upsetting night. One man screamed over everyone like a two year old while another man struggled to get a word in edgewise. They were both debating the fate of an entire nation and the futures of billions of people. Healthcare and the Earth's climate were on the chopping block. For most of us, it felt like a nightmare or a fever dream.

Even celebrities weren't exempt from the debate's horror. While most of them have long been able to remain "apolitical," no one was safe from what we saw on Tuesday. In a strange way, the debate was a vulnerable shared experience, one that makes it clear that no matter how powerful or influential a celebrity or political party may be, no one is exempt from the potential collapse of American democracy.

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Music Features

Why the "Progressive R&B" Grammy Category Is Still Regressive

Major changes need to be made in the music industry.

Frank Ocean accepts his Grammy for Best Urban Contemporary Album.

Getty Images

At the 2013 Grammys ceremony, Frank Ocean took home the inaugural award for Best Urban Contemporary Album.

Earning the singer-songwriter this newfangled prize was his lauded debut effort, Channel Orange, a record recognized as both alternative R&B and of a genre-defying class of its own, with the latter description somewhat explaining why it occupied such a vague space during that year's Grammy roundup. The album's unconventional sound incorporated a variety of musical subgenres, from electro-funk to ambient. And at the time, the industry players behind the creation of the "Urban Contemporary" category claimed its primary purpose was inclusion.

"When you look at the whole picture, it shows how diverse the musical tastes really are amongst our generation—and this category exemplifies that," producer and Recording Academy's Board of Trustees member Ivan Barias told The Fader in 2017. "It's indicative of a certain musical energy that encompasses all of the diverse genres of urban music…[This category is meant to] celebrate all of these other artists who tend to pull from different genres."

Recording Academy Board of Trustees Recording Academy Board of Trustees

In the context of Barias' statement, "other artists" denoted those who explored sounds outside of R&B's typical stylistic origins, while "different genres" referred to anything that wasn't R&B itself. However, it's this very ambiguity that has left Black artists, industry professionals, and music fans steadily skeptical of the "Urban Contemporary."

Recently, in response to seven years of criticism mostly stemming from the Black community, the Recording Academy announced its quick fix: rename the category to "Progressive R&B." In a new statement, the organization said this change was spurred by the current state of the music industry, and the rebirthed category will "highlight albums that include the more progressive elements of R&B, and may include samples and elements of hip-hop, rap, dance, and electronic music" as well as "production elements found in pop, euro-pop, country, rock, folk, and alternative."

But the Academy's decision to drop the "Urban Contemporary" tag is about as effective as slapping a Band-Aid on a broken limb—and to assume that the worst thing about the category was its euphemistic title is far too self-confident of the illustrious organization that has been repeatedly admonished for its own systemic racism.

Throw the whole word "urban" away, already

This is not to say the phrase "urban contemporary" wasn't problematic, because it absolutely was. In fact, Tyler, The Creator said, "I don't like that 'urban' word—that's just a politically correct way to say the n-word to me" earlier this year after winning Best Rap Album for IGOR; he was preaching to the choir. Black folks have been rubbed the wrong way about the adjective "urban" and the way it seems to be non-Black people's favorite term to describe various cool things invented by Black people: hip-hop, soul and R&B is "urban" music; streetwear is "urban" fashion; graffiti is "urban" art; and b-boying is "urban" dancing.

But in a failed effort to be politically correct, institutions shaping Western pop culture still effectively perpetuate incorrect stereotypes and generalizations about Black people—for instance, that all black people live in cities, or that our music originated from the ghettos of said cities rather than our roots in Africa, the Caribbean, and the deep south. Likewise, the phrase "urban music" blatantly defies its own etymology, as other genres founded in cities, like punk or EDM, are never lumped under the "urban music" umbrella. In 2018, Virgin EMI's Rob Pascoe shared a sentiment similar to Tyler's, asking the industry, "At what point can we get you to give up and just describe Drake's 'God's Plan' as a massive pop record rather than 'urban'?"

Tyler, The Creator Shares How "Urban" Category Feels Racist & Like Backhanded Compliment at GRAMMYs

It is Pascoe's succinct comment that points to the remaining, underlying issue—while the Academy's decision to call a wrap on the "Urban Contemporary" phrase seems progressive, the award category's entire presence stands far too tall as a barrier of segregation between Black and white artists, regardless of its updated, fanciful title. Let's not forget that a myriad of popular music's biggest successes at the moment, both commercially and critically—Rihanna, Beyoncé, Frank Ocean, and of course, Drake—are Black, and yet, the last Black person to win the most prestigious Grammy Award, Album of the Year, was Herbie Hancock in 2008. This discriminatory pattern was even suspicious enough to prompt Ocean (whose Channel Orange lost to a Mumford & Sons' LP for the 2013 Album of the Year) to pass on submitting his sophomore record, Blonde, for Grammy consideration altogether.

"That institution certainly has nostalgic importance," Frank Ocean said in a 2016 interview with The New York Times. "It just doesn't seem to be representing very well for people who come from where I come from, and hold down what I hold down." However, in stark contrast with the overwhelming whiteness of the "Album of the Year" category winners is the blackness of the Grammys' R&B genre, under which the novel "Best Progressive R&B Album" category will be housed (alongside, but distinct from, the ceremony's long-standing "Best R&B Album" classification), effective immediately.

And though it's natural for Black musicians to dominate a genre-field of Black music, it's questionable that very few of these artists—from the aforementioned luminaries to copious other stars, like Kendrick Lamar, Cardi B, The Weeknd, Pharrell Williams and Janelle Monae—have been able to break through the ceilings of the Rap and R&B fields and triumph in the esteemed "Big Four" categories. In this sense, the "Progressive R&B" classification is especially awkward, posturing as another way for the Academy to tell Black musicians, "We see you!" without really seeing anyone. Further proving the illegitimacy of the "Urban Contemporary" category is its frequent exclusion from the ceremony's main telecast. Thus, under the guise of inclusivity, both the new and old category titles are equal in true purpose: to appease the Black community and its musical artists who have been demanding impartial recognition for decades.

Separate is not equal—and today's R&B is anything but stationary

However, micro-aggressive racism in American culture is regularly veiled as "progressive thinking," and the Academy's diversity initiative isn't fooling anyone who's Black. Indeed, what is separate is not equal, despite the segregation the Grammys have immortalized—and notable is the trend in which most artists lumped into the "Urban Contemporary" category are making music that would arguably fit just fine in other, more widely-recognized categories, like Best Pop Vocal Album or Best R&B Album. For instance, knockout LPs such as Miguel's last three full-lengths and SZA's Ctrl have all been nominated for the Best Urban Contemporary Album award, although anyone with a pulse on Black music would consider these records to be exceptional and deliberate 21st-century R&B—not the "urban-like" products of amalgamated genres, nor "R&B lite." In that same vein, Black radio stars like Rihanna, Lizzo, and Khalid craft outstanding pop records adequate for competition in the Best Pop Vocal Album category, yet, the fruits of their labor are swept under the dismissive rug of "Urban Contemporary."


And while this categorical segregation is entirely unnecessary, it's also insulting to R&B as both an evolving genre and community of Black artists. As much as the new term "Progressive R&B" insinuates that rhythm and blues, along with soul, is regressive or stagnant if not actively pulling sonic inspirations from other genres like dance, rock or pop, it moreover restricts what it means to be a Black artist in contemporary R&B. Black music is subject to transformation just as much as any "non-black" genre, thus, its creators should be able to embrace alternative sounds without being othered—so if Bruce Springsteen's heartland rock Wrecking Ball and Coldplay's synthpop opera Mylo Xyloto can both earn nominations for Best "Rock" Album at the 2013 Grammys, what about Frank Ocean's Channel Orange is not R&B, or Tyler, The Creator's IGOR pop?

On January 21 next year, the Best Progressive R&B Album category will have its big, shiny debut at the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards—and under that imaginative title will be an assemblage of gifted Black artists, many of whose work will also be nominated for, but likely not win, the exalted Album of the Year award. Although it's unknown how many Black musicians and industry professionals were consulted before the Recording Academy decided to toss around some new verbiage and call it a day, one thing is certain: As with most other enduring American institutions established during an era of overt anti-blackness, the Grammys aren't going to eradicate its own racism via piecemeal reformation.

New Releases

Frank Ocean's New Singles Are Gifts: Read the Lyrics Here

Hear "Dear April" and "Cayendo" in their final forms.

Frank Ocean has finally released two songs, "Dear April" and "Cayendo."

After teasing the songs for months, performing them at his much-maligned nightclub event and releasing them on vinyl, the singles are finally on streaming platforms.

"Dear April" is a stormy, dreamy ballad from Frank to someone in he knows in the crowd. It feels like an anthem, and it's perfectly devastating, totally appropriate for quarantine. The acoustic version is mostly his voice layered over electric guitar, and lyrically, it seems to be about rebirth.

Dear April (Side A - Acoustic)

Dear April, the only face in the crowd that I know
Dear April, are you watchin' him?
Are you watchin' him dance?
Dear April, we were safe for a while
We were safe as the years flew by
If you could take two strangers
Lead them left and right
At a certain place and time
Like you took these strangers
And our two strange lives
And made us new
And took us through
And woke us up
I believe that no matter what it makes us do
Take us through it
And wake us up again
And what we had won't be the same now (Now, now)
But you will make something new
And it'll take you through this
You can take two strangers
Lead them left and right
At a certain place and time
Like you took these strangers
And our two strange lives
And made us new
And took us through it
And woke us up
I believe no matter what
Take us through it
And wake us up again
And what we had can't be the same now, now
But you will make something
That'll take you through
It'll wake you up again
Just like you made me new (You made me new)
Just like you took me through (Took me through)
Just like you woke me up (Woke me up, yeah)
You made me new
You took me through
You woke me up (Woke me up)


Dear April, are you watchin' him dance?

Dear April, are you watchin' him dance?

"Cayendo" is a Spanish verb that means "to fall" or "to fall down." The song, which is a mix of Spanish and English lyrics, is about unrequited love and longing.

Cayendo (Side A - Acoustic)


No hablará de mí, ni hablará de esto
Lo que él quiere de ti, yo no se lo negaría
Si esto no me ha partío', ya no me partiré nunca
Si puedo soportar lo que siento, ¿por qué me 'toy cayendo?

You stood me up, you lay me down
You know too much, I can't be proud
I still really, really love you, yes, I do
When I still really, really love you, like I do

If you won't, then I will
If you can't, then I will
Is it love to keep it from you?

No hablará de mí, ni hablará de esto
Lo que él quiere de ti, yo no se lo negaría
Si esto no me ha partío', ya no me partiré nunca
Si puedo soportar lo que siento, ¿por qué me 'toy cayendo?
¿Acaso voy cayendo?

You stood me up, you lay me down
You know too much (Too much), I can't be proud
I still really, really love you, yes, I do

Ocean has said that his forthcoming new album is inspired by "Detroit, Chicago, techno, house, French electronic" and that it would be a "full motion picture fantasy." But if you think that these new, spare songs indicate that Ocean is finally peeling back the layers of mystery that surround him, you're wrong.

"The expectation for artists to be vulnerable and truthful is a lot, you know," Ocean said in a Rolling Stone interview last year. "When it's no longer a choice. Like, in order for me to satisfy expectations, there needs to be an outpouring of my heart or my experiences in a very truthful, vulnerable way. I'm more interested in lies than that."

The singles are Ocean's first since 2019's pair of singles, "In My Room" and "DHL." Ocean's last full-length project was 2016's critically acclaimed Blonde, though in between he released a few gems including a cover of "Moon River" and launched his Beats Radio 1 show.

Ocean was born Christopher Edwin Cooksey in Long Beach, California, and he grew up in New Orleans. He enrolled at the University of New Orleans to study English, but after Hurricane Katrina destroyed his home, he transferred to the University of Louisiana and Lafayette and soon dropped out to move to Los Angeles to pursue songwriting. After collaborating with Tyler the Creator's Odd Future collective and writing extensively for other artists, Ocean launched his solo career with "Thinkin Bout You."

Frank Ocean has made two songs and their remixes available exclusively via vinyl, which has some fans praising his innovative approach to music distribution—while other fans (say, those who don't have record players) are feeling slighted.

Ocean premiered the tracks for the first time back in October on his Beats 1 radio show "blended RADIO" and announced the vinyl release months ago, and now the songs have finally arrived. Fortunately, fans who didn't order the singles can sate their thirst through a few clips that several anarchist fans posted online. The songs, entitled "April" and "Cayendo," can be heard in part thanks to a few posts that have managed to gain immortality through digital shares.

Frank Ocean - Cayendo (Sango Remix)

Ocean was supposed to headline Coachella this April, an event that was postponed to October. Still, his headlining gig had fans thinking that 2020 would see Ocean releasing new work, and even his first LP since 2016's Blonde—an album that topped many best-of-decade lists and continues to resonate as strongly as ever, especially in uncertain times.

For a while, thanks to that album's success, Ocean seemed to reach a kind of godlike status in the music industry. He was reclusive, mysterious, and untouchable, a genius in the truest sense. But his more recent efforts at PR, like the PrEP+ club event he hosted in New York, fizzled a bit as fans criticized the event's lack of inclusivity and sensitivity.

"I'm an artist, it's core to my job to imagine realities that don't necessarily exist," Ocean clarified in a Tumblr post about his intentions behind the event.

Most likely, Ocean's decision to release new songs via vinyl is just another part of his great vision of a better or different world. Unfortunately, visions of a better world are always disconnected from the actuality of this world, and Ocean's vision means we'll all have to wait for the privilege to stream the songs until an indefinite date. Knowing the artist (or rather, knowing the reflection he wants us to know), it'll pay off at some point—we're just operating on his time.