Written by:
Diane Anderson-Minshall
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this Issue of Curve:
Vol. 14#5
“I’m sitting at a table with Too Short last week and my homegirl blurts out, ‘Yeah, she’s the gay Missy Elliott,’” laughs underground rapper/hip-hop/gospel singer Miss Money. “Too Short’s looking at me like, ‘You gotta be kidding me?’ Then he gives me his cell-phone number and his two-way pager number and we’ll be hooking up again in a few days.”
Money — dubbed the gay Missy Elliott by her fans — still isn’t sure about the comparison. “It just doesn’t sound right, but at the same time, it says and means a lot. Missy is the No. 1 female hip-hop artist, so it’s a compliment. But I can’t be Missy. I can only be Money.”
And what a strange journey it’s been for Miss Money, a barely legal underground musical genius who has been singing for 15 years and is now building Money Talks, her own mini music empire in Houston, Texas.
“I started Money Talks … because I needed a holding company for the studio, my publishing and my releases — plus, no one would sign me unless I got me some weave and a few dresses,” she says. “I wasn’t about to close up shop because corporations weren’t feeling my image.”
This Louisiana-born, Texas-bred, Baptist preacher’s daughter remains a bit of an enigma. For one thing, she won’t divulge her age.
“Come on, now … let’s put it this way: Me and my ex-girl went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and they sold me a children’s ticket. Your girl is a youngster — believe that.”
For another, she’s an unabashed believer.
“Devout ain’t da word,” Money argues. “I am in love with God more than any woman I’ve ever been with.”
In rap circles, her devotion sometimes causes confusion.
“I was speaking to an MC and I was telling him how good Jehovah is to me. How he does all these things for me. The MC thought Jehovah was my boyfriend. I explained to my friend that Jehovah is more than a boyfriend or girlfriend. Without God, I’d be dead. No questions, baby, dead.”
Don’t doubt her: Money’s lyrics are filled with the darker side of humanity, from police harassment to racism to suicide. Why the heavy lot?
“Yeah, well, the police harass me because I’m black and it pisses me off so much that some days I wanna be with God. I don’t want to feel the pain of white people, gay and straight, hating me.”
Miss Money lost a songwriting partner to suicide, and she herself has contemplated it. Now she’s trying to raise awareness about it with her songs. That, she says, has meant a lot of sacrifices.
“I’m very extreme with my grind. I can’t maintain a decent relationship because of the sacrifices I make in crafting my sound. It’s left me very lonely.”
Her first drum machine was used as a pillow when she was homeless. She hasn’t seen her mother in half a decade and her father, unhappy with her coming out, has long departed her life.
All of this pain, though, makes for powerful music — Money’s special brand of soulful, gospel-esque anthems. It’s a strange fit with her hip-hop and rap roots.
“I tried furiously to break into R&B, but the labels kept telling me no one is going to buy my stuff because [of how I look and sing]. The only artists who would accept me were people in hip-hop so I began to interweave singing with rapping to get my damn foot in the door. Then I put “Maybe I Should Be Your New Wife” on Mob Money II and all of a sudden, labels are calling again. So weaving the two has helped me tremendously.”
Her religious roots — including parents who still feel she should be singing gospel — have made for strange bedfellows.
“There are days that I think about pursuing a gospel career. I can’t see myself being accepted as a gospel singer, even though we all know half of the men singing and playing gospel are on this side of the rainbow.”
Despite her hybrid approach, Money has fans aplenty.
“I’ve met a lot of my admirers, but I’m really uncomfortable with the idea of fans. …The last time I went out to a club to chill, people were pawing at me and gushing over me. It was embarrassing. But I know where I came from. I remember when ain’t nobody clapped, so I don’t get off on having a crew or entourage or posse.”
Perhaps that’s because her music is rife with messages about sin and redemption and human frailty. “This is the music industry. The people who write the checks don’t give a damn about a message. So I’ve had to balance that with my own integrity, and sometimes I’ve failed in that regard. Last year, this 15-year-old tells me that “Give Me a Freak” is her favorite song. I’m like, ‘Noooooooo.’ That song is not for a 15-year-old.”
Though being a black, queer musician in the South is still a trial (“I’ve been chastised for being too black, not appealing to white people or white lesbians”), Money says she’s staying put.
“I’m not chasing record-industry dreams; you want the industry to chase you. Now if Eminem can go from white boy in a trailer park in Detroit to top seller, Money gotta chance.”
Wanna rap? Go to http://www.missmoney.net . |
