You might want to scoot the preggo of the stage. Real men are rapping.
In the "I Don't Care but I Have to Because It's a Big Thing Where I'm From" department, the folks at Coachella Fest, that God-forsaken music festival where drunk and tweeking concertgoers bake under 100+ degree weather in the middle of the California desert, has added British rapper M.I.A. to the Saturday, April 17 bill. She replaces popwreck (yes, I stole a term from Entertainment Weekly) Amy Winehouse who won't make it due to legal activity in Britain. The bill already has headliners The Killers, The Cure (Robert Smith=total pwnage for everybody else), and Paul McCartney (dude, he's still alive?)
I still hold M.I.A. accountable for one of the most awkward performances at the Grammys in recent memory. Of course, she was ready to pop at anytime with a proper Sri Lankan spawn. But she just was out of place with the "Rap Pack" of T.I., Jay-Z, Kanye West, and Lil' Wayne (when did they let rappers run the Grammy's. Darn it, bring back the Osmonds. Those dudes are real thugs.) The black and white polka dots didn't do her justice either. All I saw were three bulges on her torso. I was anticipating a scene like in Alien for one of those bulges.
See, I knew you wouldn't care.
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