I (H)Ate You

[January 14th, 2004] Dearest Kelis,

I do not wish to mislead, so I must start by admitting right up-front: I am a cannibal. As I sit writing this letter, your latest album, Tasty, is filling my oasis of warmth with an infectious thumping call and your sultry feminine response. It is, I announce with enthusiasm, my favorite R&B album of the year.

I cannot imagine you would be too interested in the opinions of a man seen by society as little more than an abomination to humankind, Kelis. But as you read this humble epistle, I hope your senses will be excited by the idea that someone like me has finally uncovered the true meaning of your music. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

During the holidays, I received a number of gift certificates to a large retail store. After perusing the various mops, cookware and digital cameras on sale, I made my way over to the CDs.

None of the offerings caught my eye, until I spied the curly locks and plump lips on the cover of your new album, Tasty. "Why does that name, Kelis, sound so familiar?" I asked myself. Imagine my surprise when I saw the photo of you on the back cover, sitting ever-so-seductively, on a giant ice-cream soda, as though you were a--dare I use the word?--cherry ready to be gulped down.

Then it came to me. I remembered your powerful song, "Caught Out There," which holds a special place in my heart. I purchased the new album with haste, and listened eagerly.

I, for one, am happy that you abandoned your aggressive feminine voice, adopting a more enjoyable obsession for Tasty--I speak, of course, of the joys of eating.

It is clear from your music that you see the body as little more than a meal, as I do--a meal meant to be coveted and consumed, satisfying appetites before being left to the worms. The intro track finds you pouring food down the gullet of a lucky slobbering man, commanding, "Taste this."

Then, of course, there's "Milkshake," where you brag "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard." And you turn the act into a family affair on "Sugar Honey Iced Tea" where you exclaim "You're just as sweet as can be/ Your momma must be made of sugar/ Your daddy makes honey."

Some people would dismiss this as all foreplay, but I don't, Kelis. I know that you're a serious woman. I know that your Milkshake is no sophomoric metaphor. That you want people like me to show up at your door one day for a feast. I believe that I am the man for the job because, as I stated before, I have a history with you, Kelis.

Three winters past, I had what you might call a houseguest. During his entire stay, he listened to your song, "Caught Out There," on his Discman. Whenever I stepped into his room, I could hear the song's funky beats, your voice screaming over them. I knew not what you were saying, but I was enrapt.

When I did learn your words, it created quite a funny moment. If you recall, during the chorus you exclaim "I hate you so much, I hate you so much, I hate you so much." During the beginning of his stay, I would hear my guest repeating this line, tugging at his doorknob. You can imagine my surprise when it turned out that he wasn't angry with me, but simply singing to himself. I, too, found myself singing the song as I listened to the Discman all through dinner with him. Of course, I spared the "h" in my recitation. "I ate you so much, I ate you so much, I ate you so much," sounded so much better to my ears. Ha, ha. I am a terrible jokester.

Since then, I confess, I forgot about you. I followed your producers on that album, the Neptunes, for a while. My, they have done well, producing albums for Jay Z, Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. Although I can't say I'm very happy with what they've done on Tasty. "Milkshake," the song they're playing on the radio just now, disappoints, with those bright electronic bleats drowning out your usually commanding voice. Thankfully those two produced only five of the tracks. Dallas Austin did fantastic work with "Trick Me," filling it with those bombastic beats and guitar loops serving as the perfect foundation for your reggae-flavored vocals.

Of course, the music on the album doesn't excite me nearly as much as your words do. Your message is the reason I'm writing you, Kelis.

In "Caught Out There" you hated the man who wronged you. Now you're inviting us all in for dinner. This is my note of acceptance.

Cheerio,

Andy the Cannibal