Which raises the greater mystery of how Rhythm + Flow will acquit itself of the question that’s been haunting the musical reality genre for years: Can these shows still discover stars, the way American Idol managed at least fitfully in its early years by introducing Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, and Chris Daughtry? Those days seem long ago, and while the rotating hot seats on The Voice have reeled in high ratings for more than 16 seasons now, it’s mostly been to the benefit of the careers of judges such as Blake Shelton and Adam Levine, rather than many of the competitors. They range from the gruffly woke D Smoke, the competition’s best pure songwriter, to Denver’s besuited and bespectacled Old Man Saxon (who cites old-timey influences like swing musician Cab Calloway and blues comedian Rudy Ray Moore), to Rhode Island’s baby-faced but hard-nosed Puerto Rican rhymer Flawless Real Talk, to Chicago’s raggedy, slam poetry–honed Big Mouf’ Bo, who gets grief from the judges for her short temper. But there’s no denying the array of personalities and talents. There are arguably many more busts than bangers among the total bars doled out by the wannabes whom the show recruits via extensive audition sessions in its first four outings-at clubs in L.A., Atlanta, Chicago, and NYC-as well as in the full episode “challenges” (cyphers, rap battles, a mini music video festival, and a competition involving building a track atop a classic sample) I’ve screened so far. Solely as a suite of character studies and social documentaries in miniature, then, Rhythm + Flow repays its viewing time. Send me updates about Slate special offers. (The first four episodes premiered last week, three more were released today, and the last three are set for next Wednesday reviewers could preview all but the final two.) What sets Rhythm + Flow apart from two decades of American musical TV contests is not only that it’s about hip-hop- tried before, but never with mass success-but that its berth on a streaming service lets it toss away the “family friendly” tone of broadcast TV sing-offs. Austin called a performative utterance-a sentence that enacts its own reality simply by being stated, like a wedding vow. It’s almost what linguistic philosopher J. “This ain’t The Voice, motherfuckers,” guest judge Snoop Dogg proclaims early in the run of Netflix’s new rap-competition show, Rhythm + Flow. It’s Time to Retire the Black Woman Hair Trope in Film and TV But It Does Tell Us All About Someone Even Worse. The New Elon Musk Biography Doesn’t Tell Us Much About Him. An Insider’s Look at the Bizarre Corporate Culture That Brought Us
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