A Superfan's Open Letter to Celestial Being and Music Icon Jamie Foxx

Image by Noisey Canada

Sometimes the best things in life are given to us by accident: parents, spare change, children. But for me that accident took the form of Eric Marlon Bishop—better known to the rest of the world as Jamie Foxx. When I was nine, after months of pleading, my mom tried to purchase Will Smith’s genre-defining album, Willenium. I vividly remember tearing through the bag with delight, knowing I would come face to face with the mythical image of Smith on a balance beam welcoming me to another year of “Will 2K.” Instead, I was met with the face of Bunz from Booty Call in an oversized red suit for an album called Peep This. Apparently Willenium had sold out, so the cashier suggested that my mother buy your album instead. At the time, I felt robbed and cheated out of the delights of “Wild Wild West” and the simple poetry of “Freakin It.” But after listening to your magical debut, I realized at once I was supposed to have this album. Not because the singing was particularly spectacular but because I saw the potential in you to be one of the greatest artists of our—or any—generation.

You once bravely revealed in an interview, “If I were an animal I would be an eagle.” And as I played through all 13 songs on Peep This, I felt a rush of wind lift my spirits. Unlike other artists I was listening to at the time you were transparent with your vulnerability while exuding strength. When you wrote “How my heart breaks, how the tears they roll / There's an empty space, inside of my soul / but don't let the sun go down” it spoke to me at a time when I was having trouble expressing my own feelings and emotions. And was spoken in a way that no other artist before you or after you ever had. You didn’t hide behind thong-inspired soliloquies like Sisqo or try to hearken the beginning of a new year. Instead, each song taught me a new way to love, to connect with another human being, and every time I played the album, the sun would shine. I became more confident in school, singing, “we don’t need permission / to try out a new position” to my crush, landing myself in detention for sexually suggestive language. And when I was feeling sad or blue, almost without fail I could turn on my computer and you were right there to inspire me.

Back in 1999 people still thought of you as a comedian, but I knew better. I told them that you were a singer first and that you would be the future of R&B. Sure enough, you would realize the greatness I knew you had, as the world saw the same musical genius I did after “Slow Jamz” and “Gold Digger.” I found myself on an express train bound for the best Christmas (December 27th, 2005 exactly) gift a boy could dream of: your sophomore album, Unpredictable. After years of waiting, this had become my new Willenium. I was first in line to buy the album, using my gift card to buy multiple copies so it would further boost your sales. I memorized all the names in your liner notes while memorizing the album posters, which quickly wore out due to constant study. We were in this together, just me and Eric Bishop. “I’ve got you,” I thought. “We can do this.” Unfortunately, that wretched songstress Mary J. Blige usurped you on the Billboard charts, taking the number one spot you so rightfully deserved. We were so close to number one. But though she may have beaten you in sales, I took solace in knowing that years later you'd never sing about crispy chicken. Your victories were my victories, and boy did we ever start winning. Oscars, Grammys (you accepted the Best R&B Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals for “Blame It” from my third favorite album Intuition, while I spent five months trying to find the checkered suit you wore on the red carpet). While I’m sure some were surprised, I knew you deserved it. The album and its subsequent follow ups detailing your insecurity amid celebrations of your extravagant lifestyle and odes to to pregnant women. Layer after layer, you laid yourself bare, and the people finally got it and bathed you in the gifts you so richly deserved. And I cherished them all, Eric, watching like a proud parent who gleams over their child's seventh place certificates and participation ribbons. But then tragedy hit.

I keep a picture of Eric at my bedrest to keep the negative spirits away

You once said in another interview that when it comes to love, “men break” and that’s exactly how I felt for the last year. Broken. I thought I had honed in on your pattern: a three-year wait between 2005 and 2008 for Unpredictable and Intuition, a two-year wait between 2008 and 2010 for Intuition and Best Night of My Life. Being the master strategist you are, I knew you would drop an album in 2012. But there was none. I stayed strong for us and survived off your songs from the Rio 1 and 2 soundtrack. Days came and went as I listened to the yellow canary bird anthem “Fly Love” searching for an answer behind your abrupt musical absence. Nevertheless, it still wasn’t enough. I needed you, Eric. I needed you to show me that love was something to be given, as well as received. To go beyond dinner and a movie and genuinely ask a woman, ”Why not be my dinner, while makin’ a movie?” You also taught me the importance of safe sex, crooning about how when we “pull a freaky episode, I got my beretta if a nigga comes through.” You were the person who I looked to for fashion, how to arrange and present my facial hair in a way that let people know I was rugged but sophisticated. You did all this while showing heart, planting trees for Earth Hour, caring for your children, and doing all the things I knew I needed to do if I wanted to become a man like you. And without your guidance I didn't know what to do. But when you believe in something so strongly it becomes reality. And that’s what happened to me. To us.

On July 18 2014, during a brief layover in Miami before leaving for my grand aunt’s funeral in Jamaica, I sat waiting in the airport trying to balance my lopsided carry-on suitcase. It was around 11:15 AM when something—maybe that same thing that originally put Peep This in my disc drive—told me to turn around. That’s when I saw you: Perfectly tinted onyx glasses, a distinctive jawline with your pursed lips showing your dazzlingly white teeth while you and your bodyguard whizzed past on the bag carrier. You almost ran me over, but in truth I would have gladly taken the hit if only so I could meet you, my idol. No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t be worthy of such an honour. But I just desperately wanted to meet you.

My heart kept beating for the rest of the day, whether from having nearly been a victim to vehicular manslaughter in Terminal Three or from knowing that my meaningless existence crossed paths with your greatness. And yet in that moment I truly understood the reason why you’ve been able to resonate and touch people across the globe. It was so simple. You were an avatar of us as our best selves, the version that is naturally charismatic, confident, and talented. In life we are all told to be great at one thing, to be one-dimensional, but that wasn't for you Eric. No, you knew you could do it all and be it all—actor, singer, comedian, sex symbol—and excel at it, earn critical accolades for it, in a way that many artists aspire to but few succeed at. Nothing could or would stop you, and you pushed until the world believed it. 'Til I believed it. And with the release of your new album, it’s clear that you’ve found a second wind.

After five years of waiting for this release I just want you to know that Hollywood: A Story of Dozen Roses, is filled with all the greatness I’ve come to expect. In it is the love, the tenacity, and the innate certainty that has made you a star in my eyes and so many others. “Like A Drum” and “Text Message” showcase your rich alto range while you croon, elsewhere, “I’m jumping out the window with my heart on fire”—a feeling that also brushed over me when I imagine a world without your voice. I just want to thank you, Eric, for you. You’ve made me better. You’ve kept me alive with all 129 (plus hosting Young Buck’s Chronic 2006 mixtape and two unreleased tracks) of your officially released singles. And maybe one day, just as I let you into my home you’ll let me into yours… so I won't have to watch you from the roof of your pool house.

Jabbari was promptly fired from his role as Noisey Canada staff writer after completing this. Follow him on Twitter.