From East Atlanta to Battle Creek: JID and Tony the Tiger Become 'Day Ones'

Dreamville’s own Destin "JID" Route (left) and Tony the Tiger lock in for a 2026 campaign that attempts to turn 1990s cereal nostalgia into a high-speed hype anthem titled "HEY TONY!". The collaboration, which features a collectible "Day Ones" cereal box and a community-focused bowl game, sees the "The Forever Story" artist returning to his football roots at his alma mater, Stephenson High School, to inspire a new generation of youth athletes in Georgia. (Photo: WK Kellogg Co.)

The distance between the East Atlanta underground and a corporate boardroom in Battle Creek, Michigan, has never been shorter.

On Wednesday, WK Kellogg Co. announced that JID — the Dreamville standout known more for his dizzying double-time flows than his breakfast preferences — is the new face of Frosted Flakes.


The centerpiece of the deal is a reboot of the “Hey Tony” jingle, a piece of 1990s marketing that once lived between Saturday morning cartoons and is now being retooled as a cultural hype anthem titled “HEY TONY!” for the streaming era.

For JID, the move is a calculation rooted in the same nostalgia that has fueled much of the millennial aesthetic. “Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes and Tony the Tiger were a real staple in our house growing up,” the rapper said, framing the partnership as a "no-brainer."

But the track is only part of the play. The collaboration is leaning heavily into "drop culture," releasing a limited-edition "Day Ones" merchandise line and a collectible cereal box that features a custom illustration of JID alongside the mascot.

To give the campaign some actual dirt under its fingernails, the partnership moves from the studio to the field on Feb. 22. JID will host the “Day Ones” Bowl Game in Georgia, bringing out the Stephenson High School “Sonic Sound” Marching Band from his hometown of Stone Mountain to anchor a 7-on-7 youth football tournament. It is a full-circle moment for JID, who was a standout defensive back at Stephenson before an injury shifted his focus entirely to music.

While the corporate copy is thick with buzzwords like "motivation" and "potential," the journalistic reality is a bit more pragmatic. In 2026, a rapper’s "brand" is often as lucrative as their catalog. Seeing a technical powerhouse who built his reputation on albums like "The Forever Story" apply his machinery to a 30-year-old marketing gimmick is a reminder that even childhood memories have a market value.

The real question isn't whether the jerseys will sell — they likely will — but whether a "rapper's rapper" can breathe genuine soul into a corporate script. The culture will decide if the track belongs on a playlist or if it's just a well-executed commercial that loses its crunch once the milk hits the bowl.

The merchandise and limited-edition boxes are available exclusively through JID’s official webstore.

Rev. Jesse Jackson, Civil Rights Icon and Presidential Pioneer, Dies at 84

The Rev. Jesse Jackson, center, joins a rally for "silver rights" and employment in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 15, 1975. Jackson led the demonstration on the birthday of his mentor, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., to advocate for the Hawkins-Humphrey Bill and national economic equity. (Photo by Warren K. Leffler/Library of Congress)

For more than half a century, the voice of the Reverend Jesse Louis Jackson Sr. served as the heartbeat of the American struggle — a thunderous, rhythmic reminder that "Somebody" could rise from the slum, even if the slum remained in them.

On Tuesday, that voice, which once shook the foundations of the Democratic Party and echoed through the halls of global power, finally fell silent.

Jackson, the protégé of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the man who effectively pioneered the modern path for Black presidential aspirations, died peacefully at his home in Chicago surrounded by family, his daughter Santita Jackson confirmed. He was 84.

While a cause of death was not immediately specified, Jackson had spent the last decade battling significant health challenges, including Parkinson’s disease and Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP), a rare neurological disorder that eventually robbed the master orator of his ability to speak.

From Memphis to the Rainbow Coalition

To understand Jesse Jackson is to understand the bridge between the picket lines of the 1960s and the ballot boxes of the 21st century. He was there on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis when the movement lost its King, a trauma that Jackson carried as both a scar and a mandate for the rest of his life.

In the decades that followed, Jackson refused to be a mere footnote in history. He founded Operation PUSH (People United to Save Humanity) in Chicago, demanding economic equity for Black businesses and workers. He transformed the "I Am Somebody" chant into a psychological cornerstone for a generation of Black youth who had been told they were nothing.

But it was his 1984 and 1988 presidential campaigns that fundamentally shifted the American political landscape. By building a "Rainbow Coalition" of the disenfranchised — Black, Latino, poor white, and rural farmers — Jackson didn’t just run for office; he expanded the electorate. He proved that a Black man could win major primaries, secure millions of votes, and force the mainstream to address the needs of the "voiceless." Without Jesse Jackson’s 1988 run, the road to the White House for Barack Obama twenty years later remains unpaved.

A Complicated, Consequential Legacy

Jackson was never a simple figure. He was often criticized for a perceived hunger for the spotlight and faced significant backlash for his "Hymietown" remarks in 1984—an anti-Semitic slur for which he later offered a tearful apology at a synagogue.

Yet, even his critics could not deny his efficacy. Whether he was negotiating the release of American hostages in Syria, Iraq, and Cuba, or lobbying for D.C. statehood as a "shadow senator," Jackson lived in the fray.

As his health declined, he remained a fixture at protests, often pushed in a wheelchair to the front lines of the Black Lives Matter movement or to advocate for vaccine equity during the COVID-19 pandemic. He was a man who understood that "Keep Hope Alive" wasn't just a slogan; it was a survival strategy.

With his passing, the era of the "Old Guard" civil rights leaders draws closer to its conclusion, but the holes he tore in the walls of the American establishment remain open for those who follow.

Floetry Announces 16-City ‘Say Yes’ Tour With Raheem Devaughn

Natalie "The Floacist" Stewart (left) and Marsha Ambrosius are the R&B duo Floetry. The group announced Thursday they will reunite for the 16-city "Say Yes" Tour beginning in April 2026, marking their first extensive national run in a decade. (Courtesy Photo)

Floetry never fit neatly into the R&B machine the first time around.

When Marsha Ambrosius and Natalie “The Floacist” Stewart released “Floetic” in 2002, they brought spoken word to the center of contemporary soul at a moment when the genre leaned toward polish and radio gloss. The album went platinum in the United States, earned Grammy nominations and produced two of the era’s defining records, “Say Yes” and “Getting Late.” Then, four years later, the partnership dissolved.

Nearly two decades after their commercial peak — and almost 10 years since their last full national run — Floetry will return to the road.

The duo announced Thursday that they will reunite for the 2026 “Say Yes” Tour, a 16-city U.S. trek beginning April 9 in Newark, New Jersey, and concluding May 17 in Oakland, California. The run, produced by the Black Promoters Collective, marks their first extensive national tour together since 2016.

The announcement carries significance not because Floetry has been absent from playlists — their catalog has endured — but because the group’s history has been defined as much by fracture as influence.

After the success of “Floetic” and 2005’s “Flo’Ology,” tensions between Ambrosius and Stewart led to a split in 2006. Both artists later spoke publicly about creative and personal disagreements that shaped the breakup. Ambrosius went on to build a solo career that included Grammy nominations and high-profile songwriting credits, while Stewart continued performing and recording under The Floacist moniker, leaning further into spoken word and independent releases.

A brief reunion tour in 2015 and 2016 hinted at reconciliation, but sustained collaboration never followed.

This 2026 run appears more structured. The routing spans major R&B markets including Philadelphia, Chicago, Detroit, Washington, Atlanta and Houston — cities that supported neo-soul beyond its commercial peak. The bill also includes Raheem DeVaughn and Teedra Moses, two artists whose careers followed parallel arcs: critical respect, durable touring bases and limited reliance on mainstream radio cycles.

DeVaughn, a Grammy-nominated vocalist often referred to as “The Love King,” has maintained steady visibility through independent releases and touring. Moses’ 2004 debut “Complex Simplicity” has grown in stature among R&B listeners over time, frequently cited as one of the genre’s cult classics of the 2000s.

The lineup suggests a targeted audience — not casual nostalgia seekers, but listeners who came of age during the early-2000s neo-soul wave and have stayed with it.

Presales began Thursday through the Black Promoters Collective using code BPC, with general ticket sales scheduled for Friday at 10 a.m. local time.

2026 Tour Dates

• April 9: Newark, NJ — NJPAC
• April 11: Baltimore, MD — Lyric
• April 12: Philadelphia, PA — The Met
• April 15: Chicago, IL — Chicago Theatre
• April 18: Detroit, MI — Masonic
• April 22: Washington, DC — The Anthem
• April 24: Charlotte, NC — Ovens Auditorium
• April 26: Durham, NC — DPAC
• May 1: Atlanta, GA — The Arena at Southlake
• May 3: Jacksonville, FL — Florida Theatre
• May 6: New Orleans, LA — Saenger Theatre
• May 9: Houston, TX — Bayou Music Center
• May 10: Grand Prairie, TX — Texas Trust
• May 14: Phoenix, AZ — Celebrity Theatre
• May 15: Los Angeles, CA — The Novo
• May 17: Oakland, CA — Paramount Theatre

Floetry’s influence is measurable. “Floetic” was certified platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America and received Grammy nominations for Best Contemporary R&B Album and Best R&B Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals. “Say Yes” reached the Top 10 on Billboard’s Adult R&B chart and crossed into the Hot 100. More broadly, the duo helped normalize poetry as a structural element within commercial R&B rather than a novelty interlude.

Still, a reunion does not automatically equal restoration. The intervening years — and public commentary from both artists — underscore that the partnership has not been seamless.

What this tour represents is less a sentimental return than a recalibration. Floetry’s catalog remains intact. The question has always been whether the dynamic that produced it could function again in real time.

In 2026, audiences will see whether that chemistry still holds.

Police: Rapper iHeartMemphis Barricaded in Home, Livestreamed Standoff Before Arrest

Richard Colbert

Ten years ago, Richard Colbert — better known to the internet as iHeartMemphis — was the joyous face of the Vine era, teaching the world to "Hit the Quan" in a viral loop that felt like innocent, low-stakes fun.

On Tuesday, that nostalgia crashed through a garage door in South Florida along with a Tesla.

Colbert was arrested in Plantation, Florida, on charges of written threats to kill and resisting an officer without violence following a bizarre, seven-hour standoff with a SWAT team. It was a grim contrast to the dance crazes of 2015, trading the choreographed joy of a Billboard Top 20 hit for the chaotic, pixelated reality of a mental health crisis broadcast in real-time.

According to the Plantation Police Department, the rapper had barricaded himself inside a home on Gatehouse Road, leading to a tense exchange with authorities that neighbors say had been brewing since Monday. But the details captured on Colbert’s own Instagram Live painted a more erratic picture.

Amid footage that showed a gun and his own Tesla — which authorities eventually pulled through the garage door to gain entry — Colbert could be heard hurling insults at law enforcement and making declarations that veered between grandiosity and paranoia.

"Please, please save me y'all," he said at one point during the stream, claiming that clouds in the sky were spying on him. "I'm begging you. I don't got nothing. I don't want to hurt nobody."

Perhaps the most telling moment came when he addressed the audience directly, denying he was a danger to himself while invoking another polarized figure in hip-hop.

"Listen, I’m not Kanye," he told viewers, referencing Ye’s own public battles. 

For those who only remember the hook, iHeartMemphis was a defining architect of the mid-2010s "dance rap" bubble. His debut single "Hit the Quan" — inspired by Rich Homie Quan’s dance in the "Flex (Ooh, Ooh, Ooh)" video — peaked at No. 15 on the Billboard Hot 100. It was a massive commercial success that cemented his place in the digital zeitgeist.

Tuesday’s arrest is a stark reminder of the volatility that often waits on the other side of viral fame. Colbert was booked into the Broward County jail on the felony threats charge and remains in custody.

‘Jealous Kind of Fella’ Singer Garland Green Dead at 83

The cover art for Garland Green's 1969 debut album, "Jealous Kind of Fella," features the singer in his prime. Green, whose title track became a defining anthem of the Chicago soul era, died over the weekend at the age of 83. (Courtesy of Uni Records)

Chicago soul lost one of its essential voices this week.

Garland Green, the Mississippi-born, Chicago-bred singer whose 1969 hit “Jealous Kind of Fellow” became a defining anthem of romantic vulnerability in the late-’60s soul era, has died. He was 83.

The news was confirmed Monday in a public Facebook post by Marshall Thompson, founding member of The Chi-Lites, who wrote that Green “has passed away this morning” and described him as a Chicago hero who “will never be forgotten.” Additional details were not immediately available.

Born Garfield Green Jr. in Dunleith, Mississippi, in 1942, Green was the tenth of 11 children. He relocated to Chicago in 1958 during the latter wave of the Great Migration, arriving at 16 and immersing himself in the city’s rapidly evolving soul scene.

According to multiple biographical accounts, Green was discovered while singing in a pool hall, where local entrepreneur Argia B. Collins heard his voice and helped finance his musical training at the Chicago Conservatory of Music — a formative investment that refined his raw gospel-blues delivery into something both streetwise and orchestral.

 

His breakthrough came in 1969 with “Jealous Kind of Fellow,” released on Uni Records. The song climbed to No. 5 on Billboard’s R&B chart and No. 20 on the Billboard Hot 100, establishing Green as a prominent voice in Chicago’s lush, string-driven soul movement. The record’s restrained anguish — equal parts pleading and pride — made it a staple of dance floors and stepper culture for decades.

While the single remains his most widely recognized recording, Green maintained a steady presence in soul throughout the 1970s. He later recorded for Cotillion Records and worked alongside notable musicians of the era, including Donny Hathaway, further cementing his place within Chicago’s interconnected soul network.

 

Though his commercial visibility waned as disco and later R&B trends shifted, Green continued performing. He relocated to California in 1979 and recorded intermittently for independent labels before stepping away from the studio for an extended period.

He returned in 2012 with the album “I Should’ve Been the One,” a late-career project that demonstrated his voice retained its grit and emotional clarity. In recent years, he continued making select appearances, including performances well into his 80s.

Green’s passing marks another loss in the lineage of Chicago soul architects whose contributions often ran parallel to — but distinct from — Motown’s more heavily mythologized narrative. His catalog may not have been vast, but his signature record remains embedded in the city’s musical DNA.

Lil Jon’s Son, DJ Young Slade, Found Dead at 27 in Georgia Park

Rapper Lil Jon, left, poses with his son, Nathan Smith, following Smith's graduation from New York University in a photo posted to the late producer's social media. Smith, 27, known professionally as DJ Young Slade, was found dead Friday in Milton, Georgia, after being reported missing earlier in the week. (Courtesy of Nathan Smith/Instagram)

After a frantic, agonizing three-day search that held the city’s music community in a suspended state of collective prayer, the worst fears were realized Friday afternoon. Nathan Smith, the 27-year-old producer and DJ known to the world as DJ Young Slade — and to Lil Jon simply as his only child — was found dead in Milton, Georgia.

The discovery came around noon, when divers from the Cherokee County Fire Department recovered Smith’s body from a pond in Mayfield Park, a quiet green space just hundreds of feet from the home where he was last seen running barefoot and disoriented on Tuesday morning.

For a generation raised on the high-octane, tear-the-club-up energy of Lil Jon, the statement issued by the hip-hop legend on Friday was jarring in its devastating quiet.

“I am extremely heartbroken for the tragic loss of our son, Nathan Smith,” Lil Jon said, confirming the news that had begun to ripple through industry text threads earlier in the day. “His mother, Nicole Smith, and I are devastated. Nathan was the kindest human being you would ever meet. He was immensely caring, thoughtful, polite, passionate, and warmhearted.”

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For those who track the lineage of Southern hip-hop, Nathan Smith was the heir apparent to a dynasty. He wasn't a "nepo baby" coasting on a famous surname; he was a skilled technician — an NYU graduate who mastered the boards and possessed an ear that his father frequently credited as the secret weapon in his later career. They were a fixture together, often spinning back-to-back sets at major festivals where the chemistry was undeniable.

The circumstances surrounding his death remain a blur. Police say Smith walked away from his home early Tuesday without his phone or wallet, prompting a massive search involving K-9 units and drones. While the investigation is technically active, authorities were quick to note Friday that there is "no indication of foul play," leaving a grieving family to grapple with a tragedy that feels as senseless as it is final.

“We loved Nathan with all of our hearts and are incredibly proud of him,” the family’s statement concluded, asking for privacy in a moment where the entire culture feels the loss.

Watch: 50 Cent Turns Doordash Super Bowl Ad Into Savage Takedown of Rival Diddy

If pettiness was a currency, Curtis Jackson would be the Federal Reserve.

While most brands are spending $8 million for 30 seconds of airtime to make you cry about Clydesdales or nostalgic car rides, DoorDash just let 50 Cent do what he does best: monetize his enemies. In a new campaign released Thursday ahead of Super Bowl LX, the rapper-turned-mogul officially graduated from "Internet Troll" to "Corporate Troll," and the result is a masterclass in disrespect.

The spot, titled "The Big Beef," is technically about getting food delivered. But let's be real — this is a diss track with a corporate budget. And yes, he absolutely went there with the prison sentence.

The Art of the "Big Beef"

The commercial opens with 50 Cent sitting on a leather couch—bottle of his own Branson Cognac visibly placed on the table, because of course it is—addressing the elephant in the room with the smirk of a man who knows he’s untouchable.

"It's come to my attention that everyone's calling me a troll," he says. "Some have said even the 'King of Trolls.' First of all, I'm flattered. But I'm done with all that."

He then claims he would never "literally deliver beef when millions of people are watching," before the screen cuts to a title card that simply reads: "50 Cent Would."

From there, it’s open season. As he unpacks a DoorDash bag, he offers a tutorial on how to handle "beef," noting that it is "more of an art than science." And this is where the references start flying over the heads of casual viewers and landing directly on the chin of Sean "Diddy" Combs.

The Breakdown: How 50 Cent Dissected Diddy

If you blinked, you missed the daggers. Here is how 50 Cent turned a grocery run into a breakdown of his rival:

• The "Puffs" Gag: While explaining that "you don't want to be too obvious," 50 pulls out a bag of Cheese Puffs. He holds them up just long enough for the "Puff" reference to register, stares at the camera, and deadpans the line about subtlety.

• The "Combs" Disrespect: The most blatant moment comes when he reaches back into the bag and pulls out a multipack of hair combs. "Oh, they sell combs," he says, examining the package with mock surprise. "What a coincidence." He then tosses them over his shoulder like trash.

• The "Branson/50 Months" Synergy: This is the killshot. 50 pulls out a bottle of his own Branson Cognac, noting that it pairs perfectly with beef. He then delivers the line that made the timeline freeze: "Aged 4 years... or 50 months, who's counting?"

The Context (For Those Who Missed It)

This is a triple-layered joke. First, he's plugging his liquor (Branson VSOP is aged 4 years). Second, he's referencing the passage of time.

Third, and most ruthlessly, he is mocking Diddy’s specific prison sentence. For those who haven't checked the Bureau of Prisons roster, Diddy was sentenced to exactly 50 months in prison last October. 50 Cent isn't just throwing out a random number; he is using his own product's specs to mock his rival's incarceration.

Why It Works

In an era where Super Bowl commercials try too hard to be "viral," this one succeeds because it feels authentic to who 50 Cent is. He isn't acting; he's just being the same guy who executive produced Sean Combs: The Reckoning.

Most importantly, he’s multitasking. In 40 seconds, he sold you a DoorDash discount, promoted his own cognac, and danced on his enemy's legal grave.

Authentic is one word for it. Ruthless is another. Either way, 50 Cent just proved that while other rappers release diss tracks, he releases business ventures.

Lamonte McLemore, Architect of the 5th Dimension’s Sound, Dies at 90

The 5th Dimension features (clockwise from top left) Ron Townson, Florence LaRue, Marilyn McCoo, LaMonte McLemore and Billy Davis Jr. in a promotional photo. McLemore, who recruited the members to form the "Champagne Soul" quintet that broke racial barriers in pop music, died Tuesday at age 90. (Photo by John Engstead/Courtesy of 2911 Media)

The smooth, anchoring bass of “Champagne Soul” has gone silent.

LaMonte McLemore, the founding member of The 5th Dimension whose vision — both musical and photographic — helped define the aesthetic of the 1960s and 70s, died Tuesday at his home in Las Vegas. He was 90.

According to a statement confirmed by Jeremy Westby of 2911 Media, McLemore passed peacefully from natural causes, surrounded by his family. He had been recovering from a stroke suffered several years ago.

It is impossible to overstate just how critical “Mac” was to the architecture of pop culture. He wasn't just he figure with the warm baritone on “Up, Up and Away.” He was the connector, the scout and the glue. McLemore was the one who assembled the Avengers of vocal harmony. A former minor league baseball pitcher with a golden ear, he first recruited Marilyn McCoo — whom he met during a photo shoot — for a group called the Hi-Fi’s. When that dissolved, he called up his old St. Louis friends Billy Davis Jr. and Ron Townson, and then brought in a schoolteacher named Florence LaRue.

LaMonte McLemore, the founder and bass vocalist of The 5th Dimension, poses for a portrait. McLemore, known as the "glue" of the six-time Grammy-winning group and a groundbreaking photographer, died Tuesday at his home in Las Vegas. He was 90. (Photo by Benny Clay/Courtesy of 2911 Media)

The result was The 5th Dimension, a group that smashed the color barrier of pop radio. In an era when Black artists were often boxed into specific R&B lanes, McLemore’s group wore colorful bell-bottoms and sang Jimmy Webb and Laura Nyro songs with a sophistication that forced the world to listen. They were “Black joy” before the term existed, winning six Grammys and topping the charts with anthems like “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” and “Stoned Soul Picnic.”

McLemore’s legacy extended far beyond the grooves of a vinyl record. For over 40 years, he was the lens behind the legendary “Beauty of the Week” feature in Jet magazine. He didn't just take pictures; he celebrated the Black woman in a way that mainstream fashion magazines of the era refused to do. He shot the cover of Stevie Wonder’s first album, became the first African American photographer hired by Harper’s Bazaar and saw the culture when the rest of the media looked away.

LaMonte McLemore looks through his camera lens in this undated photo. Beyond his musical legacy, McLemore was a celebrated visual artist who spent four decades shooting the iconic "Beauty of the Week" feature for Jet magazine and became the first African American photographer hired by Harper’s Bazaar. (Courtesy of 2911 Media)

In a joint statement, his longtime friends and bandmates Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr. said, “All of us who knew and loved him will definitely miss his energy and wonderful sense of humor.” Florence LaRue added that his “cheerfulness and laughter often brought strength and refreshment to me in difficult times,” noting that they were “more like brother and sister than singing partners.”

McLemore is survived by his wife of 30 years, Mieko, his daughter Ciara, his son Darin and his sister Joan.