Queen Latifah is restless. The makeup artist hovering over her is trying to apply a thin layer of eyeliner for the day`s videotaping and Her Highness can`t stop blinking.
”I hate makeup,” she says, shifting in the seat and looking highly uncomfortable. ”Some of them be trying to make me into some masterpiece or painting or something.”
Queen Latifah (pronounced Lah-TEE-fah), 20, is no picture-perfect lady. She real. Real enough to have been a def power forward on the basketball court back in her high school days in East Orange, N.J. Real enough to have begun her rap career as a human beat-box-a la The Fat Boys-at a time when all hip-hop girls did was dance seductively behind male rappers. And real enough to kick a rhyme full of politics and feminism that flows and sounds good enough to dance to, a feat that has taken her tunes to the top of Billboard`s black album, dance and singles charts.
The Queen of Rap, whose debut album, ”All Hail the Queen,” was released last year, stands apart from the girls` club of rap artists. Unlike Salt `n`
Pepa or M.C. Lyte and others, Latifah and British rap partner Monie Love are not into dissing other women. She`d rather not waste vinyl doing that. Instead, Latifah joins other Afrocentric rappers like De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest who focus on making positive statements along with money. So, many of her raps are pushing self-pride and dropping science, i.e., spreading cultural awareness.
”She`s one of the top `YO!` artists,” says Ted Demme, producer of ”YO! MTV Raps.” ”She`s probably taken over the reins as the top female (rap)
artist. I think her lyrics are incredible.”
And swift. One rap song asks:
Don`t you think it`s a shame
When someone can put a quarter in a video game
But when a homeless person approaches you on the street
You can`t treat `em the same?
The tune that has become Latifah`s anthem, ”Ladies First,” places ladies at the helm:
The ladies will kick it
The rhyme, it is wicked
Those who don`t know how to be pros get evicted
A woman can bear you, break you, take you
Now it`s time to rhyme
Can you relate to
A sister dope enough to make you holler and scream?
”I wrote `Ladies First` last summer,” says Latifah, who`s been rapping since she was 16, ”and it means just what it says. We should treat each other like we`re first and stop thinking we can`t do rap or anything else as good as men, you know?”
But equality is not about giving up femininity as Latifah (her real name is Dana Owens) sees it.
It`s about fusing the two. Just as her name-given to her by a Muslim cousin when she was 8-means ”delicate and sensitive,” Latifah says it`s all a part of who she is. She added the ”Queen” title to her name because it reflects her thoughts that black people come from a long line of kings and queens.
She wants to see women regarded the way members of the Flavor Unit-her fresh posse of rappers formed during her high school days-regard her. ”They treat me like an equal,” says Latifah, ”and they`re gentlemen at the same time.”
Eat her dust
Queen Latifah is jammed in by a Buick Skyhawk. It`s double-parked beside her metallic blue Jetta, halting her getaway. After laying on the horn and yelling ”Yo!!!,” Latifah backs up behind the car, squeezes through a tight opening and eases backwards into the Upper East Side Manhattan traffic-too brash to be boxed in. Now she is zooming up First Avenue, benzie box (portable stereo) blasting out salsa rhythms as her hands keep time on the steering wheel. ”Most of the people my age don`t listen to the stuff I do,” she notes, turning up the volume. She seems to handle her Jetta a lot like she handles her image. With control. But don`t tell her that. She`ll break on you. ”People expect me to have a set plan for this (image), as if I thought it all out,” she says as she idles at a red light. Because she`s in the public eye, she says, ”now I have to explain how and where it came from.”
She doesn`t have to explain anything to the pre-pubescent girl who has just spotted her cruising through a Harlem neighborhood, caught in a traffic snarl. ”Latifah?” asks the girl, staring into the car as the realization rushes over her. ”That`s Latifah! That`s Latifah!”
”That`s me, girl,” says the Queen as she screeches around a corner, leaving the young fan screaming, hand on her face and eyes popping.
Ms. Congeniality
”I always was different,” Latifah says, peeling out of a creamy white thigh-length jacket to reveal a black T-shirt with ”Made in Africa” blazoned across the back and black jodhpurs stuffed into tall, black leather boots. The Queen and her former high school friends did what most high school students do. Hang out. Chill. But they also sat around talking for hours and hours about issues. Especially South African apartheid, drugs and racism, she says. ”In high school I was popular but I wasn`t the type of popular other people were,” she says. Most people were popular for being cute or being sexually promiscuous, she says. ”I was just popular for being me. I was popular with the coolest people and the nerds and the introverts.”
Now Her Royal Badness is popular with 10-year-olds. And teenagers of both sexes. And the thirtysomething crowd. What makes her so down? Her album is far from a one-note rap attack. It`s laced with rhythm and blues, mixes in `60s funk masters like Sly and the Family Stone, adds some driving reggae beats and squeezes in a healthy dose of Latin-tinged disco house-mixed to perfection with the help of disc jockey DJ Mark the 45 King. And her lyrics speak the truth with a powerful but lucid vocabulary. Already dubbed the ”Aretha of Rap,” she`s got that appealing mixture of womanliness and warmth. Not to mention the fashion trend she`s begun.
Okay, let`s mention it.
By royal decree
In a musical world of scantily clad sexpot video divas, Queen Latifah doesn`t succumb. She prefers embroidered kufi hats, colorful cloth creations known as crowns and linen turbans dripping with chains. She dresses herself in African-inspired dashiki-style shirts and billowy print pants. Just in case you think she`s limited her look, her ”Dance For Me” video introduces a new style: military garb. She sports a khaki jacket loaded with medals, matching shorts, knee-high leather boots and her crown. Her directive to the audience: ”I order you to dance for me!”
In the beginning, Latifah did try wearing high heels and a dress. It wasn`t happening.
”The African gear was the most comfortable. And it`s always been that way,” says Latifah. ”When I had to take my first promo pictures, I went to this African clothing store in downtown Newark (N.J.) and had them make me an outfit. I never went back (to the other style) after that.”
Hail to the Queen
”Yo, this is Queen Latifah and you`re watching `YO! MTV Raps.` ”
Latifah is standing erect, feet spread apart, mike in hand, in the courtyard of Harlem Art Park, taping a promo for MTV with friends and MTV host Fab 5 Freddy.
It`s a wrap, time to go. She walks through the crowd, Nation of Islam security guards at her side; in a burst of playfulness, she starts running, a smile on her face. The fans gathered around take off after her, pleading for autographs as she slips back into her car. She signs her name on book bags, notebooks, homework assignments. They love her. How does she feel about the notoriety? She`s quiet for a moment.
”I want people to know I`m human. Like I make sure I don`t dress like this all the time. If I did, then it`s like I`m this perfect African queen . . . . They don`t perceive it the way I do.”
What about being a positive role model for black youth? ”There`s a difference between being positive and being perfect,” she says. ”God is perfect.”
Queen Latifah grabs a tissue, looks into her rear-view mirror, wipes the makeup off her cheeks, maneuvers her ride back into traffic and speeds off into the Manhattan evening.
