Have you ever heard that phrase "When I do good, no one remembers; when I do bad, no one forgets"? This is the story of candy-rapper Chris Brown's life the past few years since he beat the ever-loving shit out of ex-girlfriend Rihanna for no cognizant reason other than he is a 21 year old child with millions of dollars and shitty tattoos.
But the rub on that old adage is that if you continuously make bad music and do bad things, like freak out when confronted about the Rihanna incident - for which you have shown almost no remorse - then there is no good for anyone to remember.
Because you know what, bashing a window with a chair backstage at Good Morning America is a cherry way to show the world, and all the ladies (ah yeah), that you are a grown-ass man. Chicks like feeling like you would beat them for making a phone call. Sure they do.
CHL remembers the time that Justin Timberlake himself was visibly stunned by Brown's dancing at an MTV awards show. That was power. Even Michael Jackson was into Brown's work. Pretty big accolades from two of the best male dancers of the past 40 years or so.
But Brown squandered it all by trying to act hard, beating up a beautiful pop singer that, even though she talks like a pirate, is now a sight more talented and successful than Brown will ever be. Have you seen her new Rolling Stone cover? Would you beat that with anything but hugs, kisses, back rubs, and loving?
CHL is no stranger to temper tantrums like Brown's, but we left the destructive ones behind in our early twenties. It just feels uncomfortable now, and we would rather light up a cigarette, drink a beer and crank up the Strait than have some pubescent blow-up. And were taught growing up in our Christian household that hitting a woman was basically Satanism, so we would never touch a woman in anger.
We made a playlist for Chris Brown to listen to settle the fuck down if he feels like it, and maybe pick up some musical tips. Maybe he can channel his physical anger into something musical and start a grindcore band and date some hot crust-punk chick with sweet zombie-bat tattoos in a sensitive area.
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to the mission of the Houston Press. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Houston’s stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
Or hell, just start smoking a lot of pot; that's supposed to calm you down. Whatever works.