Although season 9 of The Voice will not debut until September, already there are leaks about the new mentor teams this season.
It looks like Missy Elliott will be joining forces with Pharrell, while Selena Gomez will team up with Gwen Stefani to help with the mentoring. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s John Fogerty will team with Adam Levine, and Brad Paisley will join forces with Blake Shelton.
If this news doesn’t get you excited for the season 9 debut on September 21, we don’t know what will.
article via thegrio.com
Good Black News
On Wednesday, 200 girls in Harlem were treated like divas. The girls, ages 8-16, were received manicures, runway walk tutorials, makeovers and much more in an attempt to inspire them to feel beautiful, confident and informed.
The day-long event was the brainchild of Angela Simmons and her partner Kerri Berson Levine. The two, who had been friends for a while, had spoken about hosting an event for young girls often. Three years ago, through a partnership with the Boys and Girls Club, they launched what is now GIRLTALK #takeover.
In addition to the beauty component, there were fitness activities hosted by Pretty Girls Sweat, a yoga class. And in a classroom on the premises, health professionals spoke to the teenagers about healthy romantic relationships, reproductive health and puberty.
During this session, Simmons popped in to discuss the pressure many girls feel to engage in sex, perhaps prematurely.
She shared that she’s a virgin, waiting to marriage to have sex.
I had a chance to chat with Simmons and she explained that she felt it was important to share that story.
“I feel like in this day and age with social media, that decision is often made for them. So I want them to be able to make their own decision on what they want to do and to know that if they make the decision, they’re not an alien, they’re not by themselves.”
In addition to these lessons, the girls had a few surprises that day when 14-year-old Little leaguer and Espy Award winner Mo’Ne Davis showed up to give a slew of hugs, sign autographs and take pictures.
Later, artists Ne-Yo, Justine Skye and Simmons’ younger brother Diggy came through to meet the girls.
This won’t be the last time you hear of GIRLTALK #takeover as there are plans to take the program to other cities in the nation.
article by Veronica Wells via madamenoire.com
On Wednesday, 200 girls in Harlem were treated like divas. The girls, ages 8-16, were received manicures, runway walk tutorials, makeovers and much more in an attempt to inspire them to feel beautiful, confident and informed.
The day-long event was the brainchild of Angela Simmons and her partner Kerri Berson Levine. The two, who had been friends for a while, had spoken about hosting an event for young girls often. Three years ago, through a partnership with the Boys and Girls Club, they launched what is now GIRLTALK #takeover.
In addition to the beauty component, there were fitness activities hosted by Pretty Girls Sweat, a yoga class. And in a classroom on the premises, health professionals spoke to the teenagers about healthy romantic relationships, reproductive health and puberty.
During this session, Simmons popped in to discuss the pressure many girls feel to engage in sex, perhaps prematurely.
She shared that she’s a virgin, waiting to marriage to have sex.
I had a chance to chat with Simmons and she explained that she felt it was important to share that story.
“I feel like in this day and age with social media, that decision is often made for them. So I want them to be able to make their own decision on what they want to do and to know that if they make the decision, they’re not an alien, they’re not by themselves.”
In addition to these lessons, the girls had a few surprises that day when 14-year-old Little leaguer and Espy Award winner Mo’Ne Davis showed up to give a slew of hugs, sign autographs and take pictures.
Later, artists Ne-Yo, Justine Skye and Simmons’ younger brother Diggy came through to meet the girls.
This won’t be the last time you hear of GIRLTALK #takeover as there are plans to take the program to other cities in the nation.
article by Veronica Wells via madamenoire.com
Kiki Baker Barnes was chosen as the 2015 Administrator of the Year by the National Association of Collegiate Women Athletics Directors. Since 2006, Dr. Barnes has been the director of athletics at Dillard University in New Orleans.
Dr. Barnes also serves as president of the Gulf Coast Athletic Conference. She is currently conducting research on the relationship between coach’s influence, student engagement, and student-athlete success.
“Dr. Barnes is not just a leader at Dillard,” said Dr. Walter Kimbrough, president of Dillard University. “She is a leader for our conference and for athletics nationally. Her energy and initiative have been great, and we are proud of her accomplishments.”
Dr. Barnes holds a bachelor’s degree and a doctorate in higher education administration from the University of New Orleans. She also earned a master’s degree in communication and media studies at the University of Louisiana, Lafayette.
article via jbhe.com
NAACP leaders on Saturday kicked off a 40-day “Journey for Justice” march across the South, beginning with a rally in Selma, Ala., a city that played a pivotal role in the the 1960s civil rights movement, according to The Associated Press.
The goal of the march is to “call attention to the issue of racial injustice in modern America,” the report says. The trek will span across eastern seaboard states before ending in Washington, D.C., on Sept. 15.
The event began on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, where peaceful marchers were attacked by police in 1965 spurring the passage of the Voting Rights Act, which was signed into law 50 years ago this week. In November, the group led a march from Ferguson, Mo., to Jefferson City, Mo., in protest after Darren Wilson, a white police officer, was not indicted in the death of Michael Brown, an unarmed black teen.
“We know we can do the distance because our lives, our votes, our jobs and our schools matter,” said Cornell William Brooks, president and chief executive of the NAACP, reports Reuters.
“Let us march on, let us march on, let us march on till victory is won,” said Brooks, as he led about 200 marchers across the bride on the first leg of the journey, Reuters writes.
article by Lynette Holloway via theroot.com
article by Lynette Holloway via theroot.com
As reported earlier today, Dr. Dre announced the release of his first album since 1999’s 2001 today on his The Pharmacy show on Apple Music. The album is titled Compton: The Soundtrack and will hit stores on August 7. He confirmed the album is completely different than the infamous Detox project and that it was inspired by the forthcoming N.W.A. biopic, “Straight Outta Compton” (8/14).
For any doubters, Dre has released both the album artwork and tracklist. The LP will feature vocals from Kendrick Lamar, Eminem, Xzibit, Ice Cube, Jill Scott, Jon Connor, Marsha Amrosius, Snoop Dogg and many more. Check out the artwork and tracklist below.
1) Intro
2) Talk About It (feat. King Mez & Justus)
3) Genocide (feat. Kendrick Lamar, Marsha Ambrosius & Candice Pillay)
4) It’s All On Me (feat. Justus & BJ the Chicago Kid)
5) All In a Day’s Work (feat. Anderson Paak & Marsha Ambrosius)
6) Darkside/Gone (feat. King Mez, Marsha Ambrosius & Kendrick Lamar)
7) Loose Cannons (feat. Xzibit & COLD 187um)
8) Issues (feat. Ice Cube & Anderson Paak)
9) Deep Water (feat. Kendrick Lamar & Justus)
10) Jon Connor – One Shot One Kill (feat. Snoop Dogg)
11) The Game – Just Another Day (feat. Asia Bryant)
12) For the Love of Money (feat. Jill Scott & Jon Connor)
13) Satisfaction (feat. Snoop Dogg, Marsha Ambrosius & King Mez)
14) Animals (feat. Anderson Paak)
15) Medicine Man (feat. Eminem, Candice Pillay & Anderson Paak)
16) Talking To My Diary
article by Parfit via ambrosiaforheads.com
If you looked at the children at the edge of Conrad Cooper‘s pool, you’d think you were watching an ad for something. Jell-O, maybe. Or a breakfast cereal kids like. They’re that cute.
They’re lined up on the steps in the shallow end, 10 little ones, ranging from age 2 to 5. The boys are in board trunks, many wearing rash-guard shirts like the weekend surfers they might become years from now. The girls wear bright one-piece suits and two-pieces that show their childish potbellies.
They are a rainbow tribe: black, Asian, white, biracial. And every eye is trained on the large man in the middle of the pool.
Conrad Cooper has been teaching little kids (and some adults) to swim for 20 years now. His business, Swim to Me, operates out of his pool in the View Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. He has taught kids who scream with fright at being put in the water, and adults who never thought they’d ever be able to swim.
“After two or three times in the pool with me,” Cooper says, “they recognize, ‘OK, this guy is serious. He’s not taking no for an answer. I’m going to do this.’ ”
His families come from around the corner and across the ocean, because word of his effectiveness travels. “He does not fool around,” parents will tell you, “but it works.”
It’s not a method that works for everyone.
“If you think this is someplace you can come and do monkey-walking by the side of the pool and sing songs … you’re in the wrong class,” Cooper says. A tall brown man with sun-bronzed dreadlocks and Pacific Islander tattoos, Cooper radiates authority, in and out of the water.
To hear audio of this story, click here.
Helicopter parents are politely instructed to find a landing place in one of the comfy chairs that ring the large saltwater pool — and stay there. Parents who want Cooper to teach their children have to promise to abide by his rules: They’re there to support the method, not to comfort their children.
That sometimes comes as a shock to his students.
“After two or three times in the pool with me,” Cooper says, “they recognize, ‘OK, this guy is serious. He’s not taking no for an answer. I’m going to do this.’ ”
If you looked at the children at the edge of Conrad Cooper‘s pool, you’d think you were watching an ad for something. Jell-O, maybe. Or a breakfast cereal kids like. They’re that cute.
They’re lined up on the steps in the shallow end, 10 little ones, ranging from age 2 to 5. The boys are in board trunks, many wearing rash-guard shirts like the weekend surfers they might become years from now. The girls wear bright one-piece suits and two-pieces that show their childish potbellies.
They are a rainbow tribe: black, Asian, white, biracial. And every eye is trained on the large man in the middle of the pool.
Conrad Cooper has been teaching little kids (and some adults) to swim for 20 years now. His business, Swim to Me, operates out of his pool in the View Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. He has taught kids who scream with fright at being put in the water, and adults who never thought they’d ever be able to swim.
“After two or three times in the pool with me,” Cooper says, “they recognize, ‘OK, this guy is serious. He’s not taking no for an answer. I’m going to do this.’ ”
His families come from around the corner and across the ocean, because word of his effectiveness travels. “He does not fool around,” parents will tell you, “but it works.”
It’s not a method that works for everyone.
“If you think this is someplace you can come and do monkey-walking by the side of the pool and sing songs … you’re in the wrong class,” Cooper says. A tall brown man with sun-bronzed dreadlocks and Pacific Islander tattoos, Cooper radiates authority, in and out of the water.
To hear audio of this story, click here.
Helicopter parents are politely instructed to find a landing place in one of the comfy chairs that ring the large saltwater pool — and stay there. Parents who want Cooper to teach their children have to promise to abide by his rules: They’re there to support the method, not to comfort their children.
That sometimes comes as a shock to his students.
“After two or three times in the pool with me,” Cooper says, “they recognize, ‘OK, this guy is serious. He’s not taking no for an answer. I’m going to do this.’ ”
The scene backstage last November at the American Music Awards, that annual gathering of pop perennials and idiosyncratic arrivistes, was carnivalesque: Niall and Liam of One Direction toddled about trying to snap a picture with a selfie stick, while Zayn, their bandmate at the time, smoked coolly out of frame; Ne-Yo was there in a leopard-print blazer two sizes too small; Lil Wayne was wandering around, alone, wearing absurd shoes. In the middle of it all, Abel Tesfaye, better known as The Weeknd, remained calm, slow motion to everyone else’s warp speed.
Allergic to these sorts of scrums, he found his way to his trailer to hang with his friends, five or so fellow Canadians, all of them art-goth chic, wearing expensive sneakers and draped in luxurious, flowing black. Tesfaye, 25, was dressed down by comparison, in a black corduroy jacket and paint-splattered jeans (Versace, but still). He stands 5-foot-7, plus a few more inches with his hair, an elaborate tangle of dreadlocks that he has been growing out for years, more or less letting it go where it wants. It spills out at the sides of his head and shoots up over it, like a cresting wave. Casually, Tesfaye did some vocal warm-ups and sat indifferently as his underutilized makeup artist dabbed foundation under his eyes and balm on his lips.
He’d just had his first flash of true pop success: ‘‘Love Me Harder,’’ his duet with Ariana Grande, the childlike pop star with the grown-up voice, cracked the Top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100. He was scheduled to make a surprise cameo here at the end of a Grande medley. Until that song and, in a sense, that moment, Tesfaye had been a no-hit wonder: a cult act with millions of devotees and almost no mainstream profile.
When Tesfaye came out from the shadows midway through Grande’s performance, the crowd screamed. For two minutes, the singers traded vocal riffs and unflinching eye contact, Grande playing the naïf and Tesfaye the aggressor. The performance was quick and sweaty, and seconds after it was over, Tesfaye was already speeding for the exit, stopping only for a quick embrace from Kendall and Kylie Jenner. When he reached the parking lot, a yappy talent wrangler for an entertainment-news show sensed an opportunity and asked for an interview. Tesfaye gave him an amused half-smile and kept walking. ‘‘Hey!’’ the guy shouted in desperation, fumbling for a name before landing on the wrong one: ‘‘A$AP Rocky!’’ Tesfaye turned his head and said, ‘‘C’mon, man,’’ arching an eyebrow, then picked up the pace.
Even though he had just performed for an audience of millions, Tesfaye was still, to many of them, a total stranger. When he began releasing music in 2010 — murky Dalí-esque R.&B., sung in an astrally sweet voice, vivid with details of life at the sexual and pharmacological extremes — Tesfaye chose to be a cipher. The only photos of him in circulation were deliberately obscured; he didn’t do interviews. His reticence was an asset — fans devoured the music without being distracted by a personality. Their loyalty was to the songs and, in a way, to the idea of the Weeknd. He was happy to stay out of the way.
The scene backstage last November at the American Music Awards, that annual gathering of pop perennials and idiosyncratic arrivistes, was carnivalesque: Niall and Liam of One Direction toddled about trying to snap a picture with a selfie stick, while Zayn, their bandmate at the time, smoked coolly out of frame; Ne-Yo was there in a leopard-print blazer two sizes too small; Lil Wayne was wandering around, alone, wearing absurd shoes. In the middle of it all, Abel Tesfaye, better known as The Weeknd, remained calm, slow motion to everyone else’s warp speed.
Allergic to these sorts of scrums, he found his way to his trailer to hang with his friends, five or so fellow Canadians, all of them art-goth chic, wearing expensive sneakers and draped in luxurious, flowing black. Tesfaye, 25, was dressed down by comparison, in a black corduroy jacket and paint-splattered jeans (Versace, but still). He stands 5-foot-7, plus a few more inches with his hair, an elaborate tangle of dreadlocks that he has been growing out for years, more or less letting it go where it wants. It spills out at the sides of his head and shoots up over it, like a cresting wave. Casually, Tesfaye did some vocal warm-ups and sat indifferently as his underutilized makeup artist dabbed foundation under his eyes and balm on his lips.
He’d just had his first flash of true pop success: ‘‘Love Me Harder,’’ his duet with Ariana Grande, the childlike pop star with the grown-up voice, cracked the Top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100. He was scheduled to make a surprise cameo here at the end of a Grande medley. Until that song and, in a sense, that moment, Tesfaye had been a no-hit wonder: a cult act with millions of devotees and almost no mainstream profile.
When Tesfaye came out from the shadows midway through Grande’s performance, the crowd screamed. For two minutes, the singers traded vocal riffs and unflinching eye contact, Grande playing the naïf and Tesfaye the aggressor. The performance was quick and sweaty, and seconds after it was over, Tesfaye was already speeding for the exit, stopping only for a quick embrace from Kendall and Kylie Jenner. When he reached the parking lot, a yappy talent wrangler for an entertainment-news show sensed an opportunity and asked for an interview. Tesfaye gave him an amused half-smile and kept walking. ‘‘Hey!’’ the guy shouted in desperation, fumbling for a name before landing on the wrong one: ‘‘A$AP Rocky!’’ Tesfaye turned his head and said, ‘‘C’mon, man,’’ arching an eyebrow, then picked up the pace.
Even though he had just performed for an audience of millions, Tesfaye was still, to many of them, a total stranger. When he began releasing music in 2010 — murky Dalí-esque R.&B., sung in an astrally sweet voice, vivid with details of life at the sexual and pharmacological extremes — Tesfaye chose to be a cipher. The only photos of him in circulation were deliberately obscured; he didn’t do interviews. His reticence was an asset — fans devoured the music without being distracted by a personality. Their loyalty was to the songs and, in a way, to the idea of the Weeknd. He was happy to stay out of the way.