• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Hip-Hop Stays Winning

In case you motherfuckers didn’t know, I live in the city of Inglewood, a good ten miles away from the closest beach, thus leaving me with no ocean breeze and no sense of serenity and calm, but a shitload of quick-nut motels, noisy Monte Carlos and low-flying airplanes that have probably permanently fucked up my hearing in ways I do not wish to know.

Aside from the zombie crackheads that occupy a Best Western down the street, the only thing mildly interesting about this city is not the Randy’s Donuts spot (which I, despite my two years here, have not gone to once, although their chocolate chip donuts look like that crack), with the gigantic pastry sign towering above it (if you’ve seen any of John Singleton’s shitty “urban dramas,” chances are you’ve seen the shit), but the strip mall adjacent to it, which houses – among the really cheap fast food joints – a gun range, a sex shop and a liquor store.

Travel a few miles inward, however, and you’ll end up in my neighborhood, where there are aspiring Ronaldinhos practicing on their soccer game, family cookouts galore and one faceless neighbor who calms my frayed nerves blowing jazz tunes from his trumpet every night.

The reason I bring up this scenario is because these yin-yang characteristics that surround my city also embody the spirit of hip-hop culture. Much like there is the average fake-ass über-thug secretly taking it from behind while behind the scenes, there are an equal amount of powerful and positive acts floating around out there as well.

An interesting thing about staying at home during the weekdays is the insane amount of shit I find floating on the Internets and television. After seeing crapterpieces like “Watch My Feet” (Chicago’s lucky that Tooda is keeping them relevant), it’s easy to see while conservative pundit assholes like Bill O’Reilly jump on hip-hop as if it’s giving the children AIDS. But most of us hip-hop fanatics know better, which is why despite the mainstream success for some, the love we have for the indy-rap crowd is unrivaled.

Much like A-Plus said a while back, we don’t need humps like Sweet Daddy Grace Sharpton using some bizarrely misguided logic to defend (or destroy, depending on which perspective you view it as) this culture, while intentionally shitting on it in the process. Perhaps if Slickback and Billbo could take the time out from their daily ambulance chasing, they’d understand that. But for the most part, I could give a shit about what they think, because their lust to burn hip-hop in effigy is only catering to that crowd who think Oprah is some sort of Black deity. Fuck Oprah.

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