Did anyone catch Solange Knowles on Letterman Monday night? I caught a glimpse of the performance on accident and was reminded, yet again, how much it sucks to be in the shadow of a sibling/spouse/parent who is bigger, badder and better than you at everything. An individual you will be compared to and will never be good enough to satisfy those who became enamored with your loved one/rival.
Solange is an average, but pretty performer who tries really, really hard and because of this I know that if she weren’t the other daughter of Tina and Matthew Knowles, the parents who produced Beyonce, she would be doing anything but singing. She’d be in college. Or she’d be working at a bank or sewing in your weave. But she wouldn’t be singing for her supper.
Not everyone can be Janet Jackson. Most are Tito Jackson. Not everyone is Eddie Murphy, but if Solange is lucky she can find her own niche like Charlie Murphy whose career was reborn once he started playing a thug life version of himself on the Chappelle Show and famously recounted tales of slap fights with Rick James.
Maybe Solange had slap fights with Rihanna or Jamie Lyn Spears or something. Maybe she got in a scuffle with Jennifer Freeman or Kyla Pratt or Meagan Good or Jurnee Smollette or [insert young blacktress here]. Maybe she’s a better actress than her sister? Or designer? Or she could run for senate? But by singing and performing she is just ramming her head into a giant brick wall of Beyonce.
Every performance Solange gives will be like she just had to come on stage after her sister ripped it up dress in an homage to Josephine Baker while singing “Crazy In Love.” It doesn’t matter if Beyonce isn’t anywhere in the room. That’s what everyone is thinking.
She’s a cute kid. It’s a shame really. Especially the dancing. The dancing looked extra crazy. Some described it as “Suge Avery-esque.” I would have gone with seizure-esque, but see, this, this is what happens when you’re Beyonce’s sister and you have no hips because you’re skinny and you look ridiculous trying to dance like a wild woman like she does.
But shake that weave any ol’ way. You’ll figure it out on your own.