Interviewer: When you talk about “gods and earths” and “mathematics” what are you talking about?
Erykah Badu: I’m talking about the teachings of Clarence X. He came from the Nation of Islam, and he founded an organization called the Five Precent Nation, which means five percent in the sense that five percent of the people in the world have knowledge of self and understand like we understand. Ten percent profit off of that information and just preach it to gain fame for themselves. Eighty-five percent follow or don’t know or don’t care. So that’s the percentage part. I thought that was a smart philosophy.
[Late Night Blog Post] Badu Keeps Millennials Spiritually Woke
The vibes that shoots out from Badu’s vocal chords offer comfort, simplicity and truth – something that millennials are craving as times become increasingly hard.
From the back to back slayings of young Black men to the increased gentrification of African American culture, Badu speaks to the soul that begs for freedom.
Although her most recent release, “But You Caint Use My Phone” protrudes the Badu’s colorful aura, her first and second album, “Baduizm” and “Mama’s Gun,” writes the conscious script for woke millennials.
In songs like “On & On” and “Didn’t Cha Know,” Badu spits knowledge that tends to go over the heads of many, spitefully poking the third eye of those who claim to be conscious. Her analogies are hard to decipher, but once understood, the richness of her message is awe-inspiring – literally. Her approach is poetic, forcing one to read between the lines to find the truth, even if it’s ugly.
Her ability to connect with her inner self acts an template for those seeking confidence; although humorous, her tweets and music spell out life lessons that changes the way millennials eat, act toward their peers, and express themselves artistically.
Badu defines millennial consciousness. Without her, the confidence found in many to be true to who they are would vaguely exist.
They take, and try to manipulate, re-create. Beautiful ghetto girls’ cornrows turned to “boxer braids”; Bantu knots from the Zulu tribes of Africa the Motherland turned to “twisted mini-buns”. See they put a white face on it and call it new, call it theirs. Honey, you can imitate all you want. You can take our styles, our facial features, our skin; but what you can never have is our aesthetic, our DNA. Our ancestors’ blood runs hot in our veins. When we do our hair, their spirits are guiding our hands; their voices whispering instructions into our ears. That’s blackness. Beautiful blackness. True black…ness.