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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Busta Rhymes: Public Nuisance #1

In that never-ending quest to achieve the all-too-important street credibility in hip-hop that will at the very least guarantee underwhelming record sales, a bevy of expendable marijuana moolies and a legion of stans at their disposal, rappers have gone to great lengths - even risking a prison term - to secure that position. Unfortunately, some just can’t seem to stay out of the clink long enough for their ass to heal properly. Pause.

What used to be an unfortunate circumstance has now turned into a clever marketing ploy. Combine a jail sentence with something much more deadlier - say, bullets, coke deals and child support - and you pretty much have the prototype for today’s multi-platinum rapper.

You would think that all these life-threatening experiences would translate into good music, but sadly that isn’t necessarily the case. Granted, 2Pac will forever receive my “Gulliest Rapper Ever” award for getting robbed by Haitian Jack, shooting himself in the balls and getting wheeled out of the hospital to court the next day, only to be sentenced to a couple years of back scrubs and pedicures from his inmate at Clinton Correctional Facility because the gold-digging skank who got passed around like an Xbox controller didn’t get a chain and some sneakers after blowing him and called rape, but most of the albums that followed were average at best. That “What’z Ya Phone #” shit almost made me throw All Eyez On Me out my car window. But I digress.

I’ve already mentioned this week how New York has a hard time keeping it together, what with internal strife and an overall disarray fucking up whatever progress they somehow manage to attain nowadays. Part of that could pertain that their representatives can’t stay out of the hip-hop cops’ radar for longer than a month. Fabulous got his leg ethered while getting some cheesecake a while back[1], Bad Boy bottom bitch Black Rob (try saying that three times fast!) is locked up for stealing the emblems off Maybachs and the house of G-Unit flunky Tony Yayo’s mother was turned into Swiss cheese a few weeks ago. But it’s Busta Rhymes who definitely takes the cake. Ever since he went on the BALCO diet and cut off his locks (presumably so that his lesbian baby’s mother won’t snatch out another shitload of them from his scalp like she’s done before), he’s spent more time with the fuzz than with his own family. Ever since his personal gooch washer (pause) Israel Ramirez was sent to the pearly gates last year, Bus-A-Bus has gone on to slap out a homosexual, snuff another person who supposedly spat on his car and Dragon Punch his former driver when the poor guy asked for his paycheck. Add to that the recent DUI charge he caught last week, and you can see that this isn’t the same guy who was mimicking The Last Dragon and Coming To America in his music videos a few years ago.

I guess I should have seen Busta’s newfound thuggery coming when he unceremoniously abandoned his rap style - one that was equal parts partying and apocalyptic - to live out his faux drug running fantasies on The Big Bang. But more than anything, he’s proof that New York is going through more bullshit than Tango and Chance. It’s kind of sad really; being a West Coast-raised, East Coast-loving anomaly myself, I used to believe New York would never fall off like they once proclaimed. But I should have known something was up when Snoop Dogg, Daz and Kurupt were punting Manhattan skyscrapers in that video. No wonder the South is mopping up the floor with them.

[1] If a platinum-selling rapper can’t even afford a competent cheeba stasher to fetch food and take a slug for them, what’s the point of having one in the first place?

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