Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva!, by Big Freedia, Nicole Balin
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Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva!, by Big Freedia, Nicole Balin
Read and Download Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva!, by Big Freedia, Nicole Balin
From the eponymous star of the most popular reality show in Fuse TV’s history, this no-holds-barred memoir tells the story of a gay, self-proclaimed mama’s boy who exploded onto the formerly underground Bounce music scene—a hip-hop subgenre—and found acceptance, healing, self-expression, and stardom!As the “undisputed ambassador” of the energetic, New Orleans-based Bounce movement, Big Freedia isn’t afraid to twerk, wiggle, and shake her way to self-confidence, and is encouraging her fans to do the same. In her engrossing memoir, Big Freedia tells the inside story of her path to fame, the peaks and valleys of her personal life, and the liberation that Bounce music brings to herself and every one of her fans who is searching for freedom. Big Freedia immediately pulls us into the relationship between her personal life and her career as an artist; being a “twerking sissy” is not just a job, she says, but a salvation. A place to find solace. To escape from the battles she faced growing up in the worst neighborhood in New Orleans. To deal with losing loved ones to the violence on the streets, drug overdoses, and jail. To survive hurricane Katrina by living on her roof for two days with three adults and a child. To grapple with the difficulties and celebrate the joys of living. In this eye-opening memoir that bursts with energy, you’ll learn the history of the Bounce movement and meet all of the colorful characters that pepper its music scene. With her own unique voice and unabashed enthusiasm, Big Freedia tells how she arrived at this defining moment in music, and how Bounce ultimately has allowed her to become her own version of diva, one booty-pop at a time.
Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva!, by Big Freedia, Nicole Balin - Amazon Sales Rank: #58363 in Books
- Brand: Big Freedia/ Balin, Nicole
- Published on: 2015-07-07
- Released on: 2015-07-07
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.00" h x 1.10" w x 6.00" l, .0 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 272 pages
Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva!, by Big Freedia, Nicole Balin Review “On her show, Freedia comes off as affable and grateful — belying her diva persona — and these traits are only solidified and expanded in the book.” (Rolling Stone Online)“Whether detailing the highs or the lows, Freedia’s tales pop as much as the booty that made her famous.” (Out Magazine)“God Save the Queen Diva is a snappily dictated story of inverted cultural norms in the wards of New Orleans.” (Eastbay Express)“In Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva (Gallery Books) the rapper goes deeper, with a tale that is as much a capsule history of the bounce-music world as it is his own story.” (Times Picayune)
About the Author Big Freedia, born Freddie Ross, is a New Orleans hip-hop musician known for bringing “bounce” from the underground music scene to the forefront of the industry. Known for her supreme star power and charismatic charm, Big Freedia has performed alongside such artists as pop duo Matt and Kim, Wiz Khalifa, and Snoop Dogg. Big Freedia’s music success is complemented by her television stardom in the reality show Big Freedia: Queen of Bounce, airing on the Fuse network. Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva! is her first book.Nicole Balin was an editor at Parenting magazine and The Source, as well as a freelance writer for the Los Angeles Times, The Source Sports, Rap Pages, Huffington Post, and Blaze. Subsequently, she founded Ballin PR, which has represented artists including Linkin Park, Kool Keith, and Big Freedia.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Big Freedia
CHAPTER 1
THE GOSPEL
I FOUND CHURCH WHEN I was ten years old. It was the music that got ahold of me. At the time, 1988, my friends were checkin’ for Michael Jackson, Atlantic Starr, and Bobby Brown. It was cool, but my momma was all about the gospel. “It’s the Lord’s music,” she’d say. Momma never had to force church on me. Unlike so many kids in my neighborhood, I loved the sound of the choir, the drama of the sermons, the Sunday attire—all the fanfare that came with church. Mostly I loved the chance to be with my momma, Vera—and away from my stepdad, Donald. My first time at Pressing Onward was right before Thanksgiving. Donald was getting on my last nerve. He got on my case for the smallest infractions—I drank too much milk, I didn’t take out the garbage, I left the lights on. He’d badger my mom about how much she spoiled me. “Mind your own kids, Donald,” she’d reply. But he persisted. Truth is, she never really told him off like I know my momma could. One day Momma, Donald, and I were in the living room while I was grumbling about a homework assignment in which we had to write down all we were grateful for. I had managed a couple of things, but needed a few more and wondered aloud about it. Lawd, Donald jumped off the couch, looking like he wanted to deck me. “How you comin’ in here and not know what to be grateful for?” he asked, his voice an octave too high for my liking. “I didn’t ask you,” I responded, staring off at the blue-and-white plates hanging on the wall in the dining room. He took a step toward me. “Who you talking back to?” Louder now; spit was flying. I looked at Ms. V, but she said nothing. I was tired of Donald picking on me, and of all the kids at school calling me a fat sissy. I decided it was time to run away. “I hate it here!” I shouted and slammed the door so hard a plate fell off the wall and shattered. I really had to run now. Those were Momma’s favorite. I believe God puts people in your life for a reason. I was fuming on the front steps, planning my getaway, when Denise Fountain walked by. Red and pink barrettes lined each side of her braided hair. “What are you doing, Freddie?” she asked as she approached me. “Nothin’,” I said. “Why don’t you come to church with me? Sunday is the Lord’s day.” Her voice was always a little squeaky. I thought about it for a minute. “Which church?” “Pressing Onward,” she said. “It’s fun.” “Sure,” I said, standing up and skipping two steps to land on the sidewalk. At church, I followed Denise down the long burgundy carpet of the center aisle until we got to the front pew. Denise pointed to a bald, heavyset man. “That’s Pastor Squalls,” she said. Then to a stylish woman with chocolate skin and a short, curly hairstyle. “And that’s the choir director, Georgia.” The choir comprised eight women and an organist, or rather, a fabulous queen. His hairstyle was off the chain: he sported an immaculate fingerwave. I knew then that I wanted my hair that way one day. As they clapped and swayed in unison to songs like “Amazing Grace” and “True Praise,” I felt my chest relax and all the chaos from the day start to dissipate. They absolutely hypnotized me with their timing, harmony, and—let’s face it—their style. What I didn’t realize was how much I could actually love church—until I discovered Pressing Onward Baptist Church. It was right down the street from our house in Uptown New Orleans (in the Third Ward, not to be confused with the posh uptown) on Josephine Street. As a small child, I had passed it nearly every day, but the plain little brick building topped with a small wooden cross had never made much of an impression. I decided I was going to sing in that choir. I eyed the lady with the roller set again and I decided that I would make myself useful enough to her that she’d have to let me sing. Before we left the church that day, I made a point to introduce myself to Georgia. “Hello, Freddie,” Georgia said. “I’m so glad you came to church today!” I liked her instantly. “And I sure hope you will come back next week.” “I will, Ms. Georgia,” I said. And I meant it. Denise walked me home that afternoon. When I walked through the front door, my momma was on the phone. The second she saw me she said, “Here he is, I’ll call you back.” She put the phone down and glared at me. “Come here, child,” she said. I had to tiptoe over shards of blue-and-white porcelain to get to her. She grabbed my face in her hands. I thought she was going to smack me. “Boy, I’m so mad at you, I could whup your ass! I’ve been calling everyone looking for you.” She pulled me in close and hugged me hard. I realized she had been crying, and I felt terrible for making my momma worry like that. “Sorry about the plate,” I said, grabbing a broom from the closet and sweeping up the remains. “Baby, don’t ever leave this house without telling me where you are.” I wanted to tell her to tell her husband to get off my back, but I just said, “Yes, Momma.” “Where were you, anyway?” “Church, Momma. Pressing Onward,” I said. “I want to join the choir.” “Really? You never wanted to join the choir at my church.” “I know. There is something about this one,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t be offended. “As long as you’re going to church, baby, don’t matter which one,” she said. Over the next six months, I attended the little brick church every Sunday. I discovered that there were lots of projects I could start, besides joining the choir. The first: helping to feed the neighborhood kids. There were so many skinny-ass kids with raggedy clothes walking around the uptown, I told Georgia, “We’re a church. Let’s feed the hungry. It’ll get them to come to church too!” Her eyes widened in surprise and she took a step back. “Fantastic, Freddie,” she said. I decided we’d host a “Feed the Kids” day every Saturday. It took a month to plan, but I loved keeping everyone on task. I drew up some flyers and plastered them all over the neighborhood. “Feed the Kids” fed these hungry children the stuff they craved—fried chicken, red beans, salad, and a slice of cake. Next? I decided to raise money for a new stove. The one the church had was so old, it looked like it was from the thirties, and had only one working burner. I told Georgia I’d put on a Valentine’s Fashion Show for the kids. “The boys and girls can model, and we will sell tickets for five dollars a pop.” “Freddie, no one has money to buy new clothes for a fashion show,” she said. “They don’t have to buy anything new; they can wear what they have!” I answered, undeterred. “I don’t know, Freddie.” “Trust me, Georgia!” And she did. She let me plan a Valentine’s Fashion Show fund-raiser that no one on Josephine Street will ever forget. Kids from the church wore their own clothes. Every last one of them was so excited to strut down the makeshift runway I had created by unrolling a giant roll of white paper in the backyard of the church. Proud parents beamed as I introduced each model. We raised around four hundred dollars from that show. Not only did we buy a new stove, but we had enough left over to paint the kitchen, too. After the fashion show, Georgia kept me close, and I grew to love her like a mom. “You’re special, Freddie,” she would say, and my whole body would flutter with excitement. That support I was getting from the church gave my self-confidence a much-needed boost. I wasn’t conscious of it at that age, but the unconditional welcome I was getting at Pressing Onward was something I wasn’t getting anywhere else—not at home, not at school. But my secret wish was that Georgia would hear my lovely voice and insist I join the choir. Finally, two months later, she brought up singing, but did so while throwing me a major-league curveball. “Freddie, we need some men in the choir for the tenor part. You wanna give it a try?” “I’d love to,” I said, tingling with excitement. “But we’ll need to do something about the fact that you’re tone-deaf.” Huh? I thought. I felt like I had been karate chopped. “Tone-deaf?” I repeated, just making sure I’d heard her right. Maybe I wasn’t Mariah Carey, but I did think I could hit a note. “Yes, but it’s not a big deal,” she said. “That’s a problem we can fix. We’ll start you in the choir now, and we’ll work together on your pitch after church.” The following Sunday, Georgia handed me one of those blue robes. I held it up to my nose, taking in the fresh detergent smell. I slipped it over my head and walked out behind the pulpit for the first time, alongside the other members. That new vantage point, looking out at the faces of the congregation, was positively electrifying. I knew most of the songs, so I was just concerned about my voice. As we sang “Never Alone!” and “Oh How I Love Jesus,” I forgot about Donald and those mean kids who hounded me about being an overweight sissy. It wasn’t just the lyrics; it was the way they were sung. I hope kids today understand the power of gospel music. In time, Georgia became my godmom. We are close to this day. I spent so many weekends with her singing and cooking. She was gentle and kind. And she was right about the practicing. Within a few months, my ear was near pitch-perfect. Also, I started to expand my range, learning to manipulate my vocal cords in ways I never knew possible, even from high falsetto to a low, booming bass. I started prancing around the house, singing loudly. It drove Donald nuts. My momma noticed too. “Baby, you have a beautiful voice,” she’d say. “Let’s get you lessons.” “Yes, Momma, I’d love it.” She found voice classes for me, and I started going once a week. I started walking around Josephine Street belting out loud tenor sounds that would reverberate through the whole neighborhood. That’s how I got to be known as the fat kid from Josephine with the funny operatic voice.
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Most helpful customer reviews
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. Hard to put down, this book gives an insightful look into the underground Bounce Rap scene By Rachel Jenkins I love the casual way this autobiography was written. Freedia uses expressions and references from her world, yet brings the audience along with explanations and an insider's look at a gender-alternate, gay underground Bounce musician from New Orleans who made it big just by being herself.It's easy to read, non judgmental, not so air-brushed as is typical in autobiographies. As a girly, overweight fat boy, Big Freedia was at first persecuted, but in high school he used his quick wits, humor, musical ability, and outrageous behavior to turn things around and become the school mascot. The darling of the school and local church, he secretly joined the underground Bounce rap scene and soon was making more money than his teachers. He allowed his gender identity to shift in the direction comfortable for him and didn't allow anyone else to define him..a successful strategy in this case.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. It's a great great story he's a great person By Amazon Customer I couldn't put the book down read it within 24 hours. then on January 1st I saw him perform front center stage I wish I could have brought my book for him to sign but I felt weird anyway if you show receipt he will give you a personal thank you and I sent the receipt to the email and I never got his thank you I know he's busy because it's Mardi Gras but I'm still waiting for his personal thank you because I pre-ordered this book and I've never pre-ordered any book . It's a great great story he's a great person, I love his show on the fuse channel season 5 is coming up you guys should watch
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. I Couldn't Put It Down! By Creole Pepper This memoir is well written. Because I'm a native New Orleanian, I was enthralled by the details and I understood the culture (learned some new things too:). I am very proud of Big Freedia and I truly fell in love with her mother. I highly recommend reading this fantastic, exciting and sometimes tragic life story of our own, Queen Diva.
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Big Freedia: God Save the Queen Diva!, by Big Freedia, Nicole Balin
