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Volume 71, Issue 61, Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Life & Arts

R. Kelly hides loads of hilarity in ‘Closet'

Stay Sick

Jason Gagnon

I'm the type of person who doesn't really have guilty pleasures when it comes to music. I can pretty much defend anything I happen to enjoy listening to whether it be the first Motley Crue record or Dee Dee Ramone's ill-fated attempt at hip-hop. But, I must confess that I am ashamed to have become an R. Kelly fan after watching the first 12 chapters of what will surely become his magnum opus Trapped in the Closet. Why do I enjoy the troubled singer's "urban soap opera" with such zeal? I believe it is the single greatest piece of comedy ever constructed. 

Before I delve into that, I've been having trouble figuring out just how R. Kelly came up with the plot lines and story for Trapped in the Closet. Did he take a break from cruising for dates on Internet teen chat rooms when the idea just miraculously came to him? Was he defiling another girl on video with his bodily fluids when inspiration struck? I don't know, but what I am sure of is that R. Kelly has become the new Michael Jackson. That guy had enough sense to leave the country (shacking up on a Bond villain-style island) after the hell storm of bad press he brought upon himself. But not Robert. Oh no. He just shrugged it off and came roaring back with an incredibly ludicrous tale of infidelity that involves cops, gay men, thugs and little people. 

R. Kelly has created a new niche for himself in compiling the Trapped In a Closet musical theater series, which follows the love-life escapades of a cheating man and his equally unfaithful lovers.
Photo Courtesy of Jive Records

Now, I can't imagine the major label executive who thought that releasing this insanity was a good idea. Who in their right mind could take this seriously as an actual well thought-out piece of songwriting? (Apparently Rolling Stone who showered the release with at least three stars, further proving their utter worthlessness.) Well, it turned out that way because no one really likes the songs, just the videos, which are wildly entertaining. But at some point when Kelly was playing this piece of garbage, where was a producer, friend, family member or anyone with a clear head to sit the man down and go, "What in the hell are you doing here? Don't you understand that this makes no sense whatsoever? Can I recommend a psychiatrist, my dear friend?" 

I really do hope this saga goes on forever. I'm sincere when I say this. It just seems to be getting more out of touch with reality with each chapter that appears on the television screen. We've gone from Kelly wanting to handle his first problem "Christian like," then shooting off a gun (why he had it on him is beyond me) at a cop having sex with his wife and then the cop discovering his fat white-trash wife has been cheating on him with a little person. Oh man, that revelation was the best part ever since he confessed that not only was he well-endowed (that's why he's called Big Daddy), but was the white chick's baby's daddy. R. Kelly, I salute you for the sheer comedic brilliance you have brought to my senses. The only way this can maintain its stupefying mystical attraction is if bestiality, scatology and geriatric sex are brought into the mix. If anyone can do it, Robert Kelly can.

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