If there is such a thing as anaphoric history, then the logic of that history is demonstrated and tested by way of epigraphic namesake relation

"There is a history of the embrace of degraded pleasure." What about the ways in which the R&B of my mind, today, is undermined by its own exuberant supplantation by the vulgar practice of Jay-Z— right-before-our-eyes capitalization of the value of black love and (of) hustle; he is a hedge fund. His vulgar practice is irrelevant to elaborating the love between us because it does not differentiate between transformative intimacy that is future-oriented and the consumable performance of black presence, which is always oriented toward what is already known about the black, all the symbolic causes of our danger. The vulgar practice is a fire-sale on the "all emotion" of the old R&B, trafficking in what Baraka views as the small-minded romantic hysteria of regular feeling (Beyonce's Lemonade) and peppers the old feelings, sweetens the deal, via performance of an emotional and affective repertoire that emerges from the time of rap mu-sic, alone. A terse awareness of the market value of the violence and isolation that gives our love its peculiarity. "The slave is the object to whom anything can be done, whose life can be squandered with impunity": the slave is "property of enjoyment." "I know that we the new slaves." [...]

the rapper says deftness, sleight of hand with the limited discursive materials of consumable black life, more about which below), borrowed from the beat-making repertoire of electronic dance mu-sic, which thrives on investment in the pushy invasion that occurs when sine waves deployed in vast open spaces make contact with bodies that intend to absorb thump, bodies invested in turning toward the direction of the sound, catching the wave of bass between them as intimacy/sex/euphoria. To make much or everything of a single ambient tone, to throw it about a cavernous space. Various studies in contrast/noise and synth overtake or emphasize the fun-damentality of the drop. In rap music, the open space of the club is the world space of the music industry, the anti-club, everywhere. In trap music, bass is threatened by the interference/meddling of the machine. Trap music's busyness or tchchiness, the way in which it ticks.
I am talking about now and about the future, about the beautiful and terrible "kind of consciousness" this new black music surfaces.

Speaking of "musical togetherness" then —even and especially as it is presently trafficked by a constellation of super rappers and producers who are indisputably mighty rock stars-think about Drake and Future's "Diamonds Dancing." Think of Future's extraordinary prolificity for which trapping is example and symbolical foundation.

Think black people who are "rock stars" think Hendrix chart domination supergroup, then think producer tag: Metro Boomin Want Some More Nigga. Think homo economicus. Think Jay-Z, and Kanye West's Watch the Throne as evidence of the possibility of a Drake and Future tour (think about the roots of all these words); think a realm where there are no women who are not strippers and drug mules and things like bikes one man swaps with another man. [...]