It’s Only Facts

Cardi B “Bickenhead”

Cardi B reminds me of a line written by a pre-Sonic Youth Kim Gordon in Art Forum in early 1983: “People pay to see others believe in themselves.” This is true of most rappers, but I think it’s particularly true about her. Everything about her – that booming voice, the ferocious lyrics, her life story – is a display of superhuman self-belief. Even in the context of a genre defined by scrappy outsiders, her narrative stands out as being about a woman who didn’t ask for permission and became huge through sheer force of will. She’s an instant icon of unapologetic female confidence and aggression, and exactly what pop music needed in this moment. She also stands in stark contrast with a lot of what’s going on in rap today – it’s not as though there’s a total lack of swagger out there, but who else is delivering this sort of classic hip-hop self-empowerment at this level right now and with this degree of intensity? There was a void in the market, and Cardi filled it.

As much as Cardi B delivers on rap’s core values, she’s also a subversive figure who recasts the stripper – so often a decorative and subservient character in hip-hop lyrics – as the dominating, money-making, trash-talking protagonist. “Bodak Yellow” and “Bickenhead,” her finest strip club anthems, convey a ruthless competitive drive and a desire to bend the entire world to her will. “Bickenhead” is particularly explicit but not at all sexy. She’s in total control of these men, and it’s not even eroticized in a BDSM way. She makes these guys sound like total rubes, and the raw confidence and power in her voice is so potent even someone as extremely un-Cardi B-like as myself can get a slight contact high. I’m sure you can relate.

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