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- » Name: Meka Soul
- » Location: Los Angeles, CA
- » Member Since: 04/09/07
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus
Favorite Things
I’ll actually try to make this quick, as by the time you read this I’ll be lamping with my family for the next few days and quite possibly won’t be doing my thing here for a while. Besides people, it’s the “holidays;” get off the computer and enjoy the sunlight for a quick minute.
In any matter, hip-hop in 2007 may have been known more for its quasi-homosexual, ass-backward beefing, increasingly sensitive, censor-happy, nappy headed hoeing, ottoman-humping, 2Girls1Cup-watching, illegal artillery-purchasing, “Crank Dat” bullshit than anything else this year, but those who delved a little deeper were blessed with amazing new artists, returning favorites and a surprisingly thick amount of events, songs, albums and concerts throughout the year. Hell, I couldn’t even be too pissy-mooded at a good chunk of stuff that dropped, and while I only purchased one album this year (more on that later), my appreciation and love for this culture strengthened. Without further adieu I’d like to present my list of dope shit that I came across this year of the rat.
“Keys Open Doors” by Clipse. Hell Hath No Fury dropped towards the end of last year, and damn if I didn’t continue pumping this shit throughout this one; shit, my iPod is currently at some 57 plays of this song alone. They may have sold chicken scratch, but the fact that they finally convinced the curly-muttonchopped Israelis to release the album after four years was their birthday present to me.
Lessondary Radio. 2006 was the year I also got an album from Brooklynati natives Tanya Morgan called Moonlighting, which instantly became one of my favorite joints. Ironically when I returned playing the .45 (more on that later) for DX I became a co-worker of sorts with TM’s Donwill. Lessondary Radio is essentially the only non-iPod music I not only listen to but enjoy as well. True story is that Don and I were both at the same Michael Jackson vs. Prince party in Brooklyn this summer and basically walked past each other. Speaking of peoples who never caught on to who I was...
Rock The Bells 2007. One of the perks of writing of this site (despite my literally two-year absence... apologies to my overlords on that one) is being able to attend huge concerts for free. Meeting Shake, Lexx, Andres, J and Brillyance for the first time, sitting back while people propped me but not knowing I was standing next to them at the same time (who knew you couldn’t tell who I was from a shot of half my face?), going apeshit to Pharoahe Monch spitting “Simon Says,” watching random people fuck and shredding my vocals reciting “Wu-Tang Clan ain’t nothing to fuck wit’!” was definitely the high point of my year.
Jay Electronica, Wale and U-N-I. While everybody (including yours truly) bitched about the surge of Soulja Boy shit cakes plopping all over music, I was introduced to these three regional acts throughout the year. The U-N-I are akin to a West Coast version of the Cool Kids, I still bump “Good Girls” all day long and Jay Electronica makes me take back everything I said about the South being a giant musical cesspool. Almost.
Clinton Sparks mixtapes. I’m not a huge fan of these shits anymore, but a good 75% of all the mixtapes in my iPod are from this guy, as he breathed life back into Pharoahe Monch and Kardinal Offishall. Not to mention, We Got It For Cheap, Vol. 2 is the best mixtape of all time.
I actually bought Pharoahe Monch’s Desire. Like Clipse, this tongue-twisting lyrical beast was held back by label politricks for nearly a decade. When he finally dropped his long-overdue second album, it was well worth the wait.
Prodigy gets his swag back. Say what you want about Punching Bag P (I know I have), but teaming up with The Alchemist for Return Of The Mac was quite possibly the greatest career move he’s ever done. Not only did he regain my faith in his music-making abilities, he actually one-upped his G-Unit weed owner. If Jay-Z’s over-glossy album had Al’s beats from this joint, I’d be calling it the greatest rap album ever.
I have a shitload more of the things that made my 2007 worthwhile, but I have to go grab my twin sister from the airport. So I’ll just finish off by saying shout outs to all DX bloggers, writers, editors, marketers and any and every person involved with this site, including my loyal c-piff pocketers 88andup and BMore. I thought I told you earlier, DX is the motherfucking future. Act accordingly.
Oh, and special shout outs go to that one constant, positive force that kept me motivated throughout the year. Soon.
A Day (3 Months) In The Life Of...
As a side note, you cheese wads may want to check out my ode to the almighty sneaker at Dallas Penn.com. While you’re there, hit up my co-dependant’s dedication to my favorite kicks on a woman (besides Dunks, of course), Fuck Me Pumps. Is it still considered ethically wrong to want to smash a co-worker?
Anyways, a while back I mentioned that I was going through some life situations that I was trying to work out. Now usually I’m not one to put my business out there [1], but I figure with the “holidays” (don’t ask why I don’t celebrate) arriving – not to mention the amusing visual I got of some smellbad concertgoer, um, literally cock-slapping our esteemed First Lady – I thought I’d switch up the tone for a minute.
Underneath the cynical attitude and nihilistic, somewhat racist (gasp!) ideals lies the spirit of a fighter since the day he popped out of his moms. Being the only son out of a family of 5 siblings, you’d be pretty hard-pressed to try to knock me down a peg, especially considering I’ve been scrapping for my ideals for well over two decades.
That’s not to say it hasn’t happened, however. Case in point: due to the then-impending writer’s strike that caused a trickle-down effect on the entire industry as a whole, I lost my job of two-plus years – that of an office manager at a top-5, award-winning entertainment company which produces everything from Jack In The Box commercials to Kanye West videos – in September. Filled with equal parts confusion, frustration and sadness, I took to the two thing that’s always had my back – music and journalism - to lessen the sting of suddenly being forced to collect unemployment, get repeatedly rejected at job interviews and work ungodly hours to make ends meet.
It started off slow at first. I’d freelance on a set or as an office runner for a day or two, then I’d be back to murdering folks in Halo 3 while eating children’s crack while waiting over a month for that job’s check to come to stave off insanity. To say it was stressful is an understatement; a few locks actually thinned out, I lost weight and my relatively young ass came across more gray hairs than I should ever have at my age. I became a recluse; limiting myself to solely grinding for something, looking for any meaning as to why I'm struggling to keep my electricity on, with nothing but my thoughts and muses to keep the battery in my back powered.
But like any strong-willed fighter I refused to quit. The jobs became more frequent and I started to see progress in my interviews, all while my journalism was improving (or getting more attention for all the “wrong” reasons, as if I didn’t plan that shit in the first place). Eventually the ultimate victory came in the guise of a two-headed dragon, as not only have I found employment at a better company but I’ve also secured my first print works in over two years, and I will be heading up the upcoming "blogging vs. journalism" dialogue for the Hip-Hop Journalism Association.
This blogging shit right here, it’s much more than talking shit, dropping racial slurs to see how far I can push the proverbial envelope and getting random-ass Internets message board kumquats to try to get me fired. This blogging shit has never been about trying to garner as many comments like this was a popularity contest. This is my crack music. This is my therapy. And at the end of the day this shit is hip-hop, mine and yours.
[1] Outside of the fact I just discovered either I’m really, really bad in Madden or the Eagles just suck like that. My guess is the former. Sorry, Brills.
Licensed To Swing
Food for thought for you little yentas: is it alright to fight a woman who acts like a guy? I’ve always gone by the theory that you should never fight a woman unless it’s only in self-defense, but I’m a little hard-pressed when it comes to those dude-girls that remind me of an effeminate Daddy Mack. I mean, I know it’s a woman, but when they go all Baby D from Next Friday and act like they have a set to begin with, does that make it okay to scrap with them like you would a guy?
A good case study would be something like that chick in the YouTube that said Remy Ma ate her box. Excuse me for a second...
* Throws up a little bit in mouth *
Yeah, just thinking about that visual makes my retinas detach. Anyways, after trying to stomach through that “interview,” [1] the whole thing had me wondering about the state of gender reversal in today’s Fast Food Nation-esque hip-hop scene. It’s bad enough when you have a bunch of quasi-homosexuals running around talking about killing babies and smooching surrogate fathers and whatever sideways-fruity shit, but now we have women who are more thugged out than their male counterparts. What’s next, rappers getting the panties in a bunch over a joke?
Waitaminute...
Man, that was pretty bitchmade. Shad Gregory Moss lost.
Anyways, I’ve always felt that – if necessary and there was absolutely no other choice – to fire off on a woman if it is in self-defense. But whenever I see one of these dude-girls, I honestly think it’s perfectly fine to cut a rug Ashy Knucks style should it actually get the gall to try to take it to that next level. You see, my theory has always been that if you want to get treated like a guy, then by all means you should get knocked the fuck out like one as well. I’ll be got dayumed if some bulldog dyke tries to Spike me like it’s the thing to do. I wish that would happen and me not react.
Real talk if a woman wants to dress, act, talk and look the part of male, they should receive the same respect men get; meaning, they should get taxed for child support, cracked over the head by the baton of a crooked-ass cop and – most importantly – slapped out by another man if they want to run up on him like one. Not only do I feel it’s right, it’s also the American Way. Otherwise, we’ll be having a fuckload of he-bitches running around thinking shit is sweet, letting random muh’fucks creep up on their asses. Pause, no Mickey Avalon of course.
[1] I swear, you give some random-ass clown a Handicam and he’s suddenly the next Morgan Spurlock.
Puff Daddy: The Gulliest Rapper Of All Time
A while ago I mentioned how today’s current hip-hop scene – in all its V-neck, questionable origins of teardrop tattoos glory – is loaded with more bitchmade material than a chick on the first day of what my friends and I lovingly refer to as “yuck mode.” In actuality this sideways-soft lifestyle has more or less been around since the beginning of (rap time), what with all those artists from the past all resembling the “tough guy” from the Village People. I mean damn, rocking smedium leather knickers in the summer? Kinda sorta suspect in my eyes.
But in any matter it’s gotten to the point where it’s more laughable (in a SMH/detrimental to society kind of way) than anything, because even the densest of listeners could (should?) be able to decipher the difference between what’s authentic and what’s bogus. Although the army of Stanleys came out in full force when one of this site’s own called out the questionable comments of one Weenie F. Bangkok (yipes!) last week, I was a little relieved that a few of them actually took those words with a grain of salt because not only does it show some traces of logical thinking in the youth (which is something I’m still a little unsure of), it also proves my theory of bitch asses bitches existing in hip-hop today.
If there’s something to learn from this trend, it’s that the more boisterous artists are probably the least likely to refuse a pegging behind closed doors while the ones you don’t expect are the ones putting in work. Case in point: Proactiv pusher and honest-to-God badass Sean Combs. Rappers should honestly study the blueprint from this guy, as he’s massacred more careers – both financially and physically – in his almost-20 year campaign than anybody.
As I’m sure you’re all aware Puff comes from a family of no-gooders. His pops used to run with that drug-dealing shyster Denzel portrayed in that movie I bootlegged but still haven’t watched. When he got killed, Sean and his moms were forced to move to Mount Vernon, where he began his reign of terror. Miraculously, Puff has gotten off each and every time he fell in trouble with the law. Getting people trampled to death at a Heavy D concert and selling clothes made with raccoon dog fur is one thing, but cracking people over the head with champagne bottles is only the icing on the cake.
Puffy and parties are like a dime piece with the clap: sure it looks tempting to enter, but it’s probably not a good idea to do so. Nevermind the fact that he put one club out of business for when Shyne shot at somebody who threw money in his face [1], the simple fact that B.I.G. got shot to high Heaven in the middle of one of the busiest intersections in Los Angeles that was loaded with people coming out of a party and nobody knows a thing damn near 11 years later shows how frightening his pull is. How is it that three months later duke gets Sauce Money to write a tribute song that sells a brazillion copies, turning him into a legitimate star in the process, and Chris’ moms hasn’t been able to sleep at night because she doesn’t know who killed her only son? That’s some extra fucked up shit right there. He might as well have been the one behind the barrel his got damned self.
I thought that Biggie’s death would have quelled his rampage, but already Puff still continues to wreck shit today, having already slapped the shit out of some YT who had the gall to try to stop Puff from macking his fiancé and gotten his goon squad to fuck another person up this year, and we still have a good two weeks left. I may need to just stay at my mom's place to get drunk for New Year’s; for all I know I could get hit by a bullet shot into the air from the joint Puff was holding.
And if Puffy doesn’t get a chance to murk you physically, he’ll simply fuck up your 401(k) to the point you'll be pushing brooms until you're 78. Just ask G. Dep, Loon, Craig Mack, Kane, Hoodfellaz, Dream, Total, B5, Faith, Carl Thomas, Ness, Babs, New Edition, Mario Winans and any other artist whose career has stalled like a manual transmission with a busted clutch while under his ill-advised care. Shit, Styles and Jadakiss had to beg Puff for their publishing back on live radio! In shiny suits you were the man, homie...
A word to the wise: if you want to show how gully you are in rap, take a few pages from Sean Comb’s diary of destruction. He’s danced and dodged his way to millions, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake like The Undertaker at Wrestlemania. Fuck Malcolm and Martin, these humps should aspire to be like Puffy. Raise your glasses and toast.
[1] I wish someone would toss money in my face. I’d pocket that shit and keep it pushing. But maybe that's just me.
Tokyo Buffoons
I could turn this thing into a long dissertation about how hip-hop fucks with its audience's own self value system, but I just saw some expensive kicks with my name on them. Myself, in Wednesday’s comments section
Two days ago I mentioned how there are those schmucks still out there equating their material possessions with confidence. Now usually I’d simply call these homos dim-witted oxygen abusers for that fallacy, but not I’m beginning to see that’s it’s not necessarily their fault for being so easily manipulated into believing so.
Then again if someone is actually that retarded to believe so, I recommend a hearty dosage of the holy hand of fire across the face. I bet if people slapped the shit out of their children more often we’d not have them scrambling the brains of innocent bystanders in an open-air donkey market in the Middle East when they ether themselves with a prayer and some plastic explosives. But let’s save that tale for another time.
Next to their glaringly obvious attempts at making crack sales appear like a legitimate career choice (be sure you clinch and twist while you’re in there, homie. Naux haux maux, of course), rappers today are more label pushers than the ideal motivational speakers they used to be, so much so that I actually remembered about Artful Dodger via some random-ass rap song than from the novel he was in. Even I’ll admit that’s fucking pathetic.
And let’s face it, people: we’ve all been influenced somewhat into purchasing a whole heap of bullshit we really didn’t need, only to rarely use them at all. But when I saw a shitload of greasy-faced teenagers rocking their father’s old-ass blazers with the velvet elbows in the dead of summer, some shit just isn’t right to begin with. Hell, even during my college manwhore days I stocked my closet full of throwback jerseys, though in my defense I realized how dumb it was to try to rock a Wes Unseld joint to a job interview and pushed those bitches off like they were new on eBay.
I believe that hip-hop plays a huge role in shitting on its listeners’ own value system, and the cracka-ass (Israeli?) monopolies capitalized on the despondent demography’s utter lack of self-esteem to push expensive, gaudy products under the phony guise that they’ll gain social acceptance through their material possessions. This is why you see so many dingleberries getting shot, stabbed, robbed and snuffed the fuck up for some rubber, leather and nubuck fashioned into a $200 pair of Jordan sneakers: to get that same feeling I get when I slide into some vagina when they're around their peers, which is just wrong. I doubt that it’s really worth a lifetime of being used as currency in prison though, unless those that actually pull that shit off welcome the tingly sensation of another man touching him on the inside…
This all revolves back to what I feel is a lack of proper parenting. Had the children been trained to actually realize that rocking a chain made from the tendons of South African coalminers (no doubt employed by the Israelis) is not a proper expression of their own internal confidence, perhaps then we wouldn’t have so many homo thugs running around with fagtastic teardrop tattoos and more chains than the good ship Amistad. On an unrelated note, you wanna know how I know your favorite rapper isn’t a gangsta? If the muh’fuck wears makeup during a music video or commercial shoot, which, sad to say, is every fucking rapper that does a music video. And to think we all raise our glasses and toast these quasi-homosexuals.
A Year In Hip-Hop
This is why Boston keeps winning. I still haven't forgiven them for trying to force Benzino down our throats though. Get 'em Casey...
20 years from now when vh1 classic has a documentary how Hip Hop was in 2007 how will it be portrayed. How will it compare to the many great years in Hip Hop history. Is this the Fall chapter for the epic novel the rise and fall of hip hop. Folr me it has been one of the most entertaining years in rap ever. Not that the music was good, but the beefs arrests, drama and gossip kept me thoroughly entertained. No epic albums, groundbreaking singles profound lyrcists, profound concepts or new movements. While it wasn’t the music itself that entertained me the youtube clips radio and interviews and hip hop gossip and blog sites kept me informed on all the juicy beef and drama in the rap world. Rappers have turned from artists to celebrities thugged out Paris Hiltons who are recognized more for their personas than their music.
The year started off good. Cam and 50 stared beef with a hilarious interview on hot 97 that soon escalated into a high tech version of the dozens. I haven’t been as amused by beef since my days as a teenager watching my friends crack on eachother’s mothers, appearance, sex life quietly hoping that they wouldn’t get on me. Two arrogant witty motherfuckers dissing eachother I felt like I was watching Macho Man Randy Savage and Hulk Hogan talk shit about eachother in the 80’s. rap has become the talking before the fight without the fight. And just like school children rushing to the scene of a fight about to happen, my self and other rap fans like school children watching two kids about to fight gave our attention, hoping to observe the outcome. Unfortunately Cam got punched in the face by True Life eroding his street credibility and we lost interest.
Then came the deathblow for gangsta rap as we know it. Radio personality Don Imus during a discussion on the NCAA womens team brought up the anology of the Jiggaboos and wannabees from spike Lees School Days, to differentiate the physical appearance of the teams. The discussion soon turned to Don Imus, in a mock-black tone reffering to the Rutgers women’s basketball teams as some nappy headed hos. When controversy erupted over the statement, Don imus did what any man in power and in the public would do, blame someone else. The someone was hip hop. Imus claimed his statements were comdedic and satirical(I wouldn’t know seing as how I never found him in any way funny). Of course black comedians, and White comedians have said things ten times worse but none did so in the forum that welcomed respected journalists and politicians and had a solid middle class older following. Howard stern for years has tread on the line between racistand funny but he has always had Robin and other black sidekicks, to dampen the blows, Family Guy has managed an equal opportunity racist but at least they hit all bases. What really disturbs is not the racial humor of Imus and Stern, but the outright right wing racism of Limbaugh, Hannity, Coultier and O’Riley. O Riley’s comment on how he as surprised he was to see black people act ‘civilized’ at Sylvia’s, showed a much more deep seeded racism than Imus mean spirited joke. And Who did Oriley blame over the small controversy? You guessed it hip hop, saying that due to Hip Hop’s portrayal of African Americans he has a false idea of black culture . The fact that Oriley is a paid member of the White House Propaganda team known as Fox News is equally disturbing. The right wing radio support of the war, dehumanization of lost Iraqi life,warmongering, intolerance for other cultures races and religions is way more offensive to me than a old white man joking about nappy headed hoes.
Anyway Imus comments diverted the scrutiny from his commnts to rap. Oprah held a town meeting on Hip Hop, criticizing the violence, misogyny and drug use that is prevalent in Hip Hop. My only problem is that she didn’t goafter the multibational corporations that sell Hip Hop but Hip Hop culture itself. Its not the culture that promotes negative rap, its Clear Channel, Viacom, Universal, SONY BMG, Warner Brothers that decide what rap is promoted o the general public. 50 Cent responded to Oprah’s comments saying that it didn’t matter what she said because they had different audiences. Which is true, however their audiences are deeply intertwined. The majority of Oprah’s is middle aged, suburban white females and the majority of 50’ is teen and tweenaged suburban boys who are the sons of Oprah’s audience. So if mom won’t buy Timmy that 50 cent CD for Christmas because she hear rap loves guns and drugs and hates women and closely monitors her sons itunes he’s lsing out on sales. More than sales which were declining anyway, Hip Hop began losing its bread and butter, corporate endorsements, as companies began dropping their hip hop spokespersons due to negative backlash.
50 was the supposed to be the 1st savior for rap but even raps reigning multiplatinum king could not breathe new life into rap. His 1st two singles failed miserably and he couldn’t even start a beef, maybe if Cam didn’t get punched in the face 50 could of got one of his goons to shoot Freeky Zeeky before his album dropped and have a couple big diss trax for the album to hit the mixtape circuit, however 50 had no back story no shootings no beef no good music to promote his album, Curtis ‘Interscope’ Jackson, had hid album pushed back three months.
While many people hoped the Don Imus scandal would subside criticism of Hip Hop continued. Filmaker, Byron Hurt put out the dope documentary, Hip Hop Beyond Beats and Rhymes, which was a much more accurate knowledgeable, and poignant criticism from those outside the culture like, Imus, Sharpton, Oprah, Oreily and the like. The film showed an accurate depiction of the violence and misogyny in hip hop, backed up by interviews footage and lyrics from rappers.
Russell Simmons went on a book tour he turned into a Spanish Inquisition on Hip Hop defending modern day Hip Hop as poetry. However Russel lost all credibility to me when he defended De Beers and Blood Diamonds, proving that he will defend anything he has financial interest in, regardless of the immorality or negative effect on society. Russel’s other causes, seemed very out f touch from the real issues in the black community, promoting issues like PETA(for white women with pet dogs) and campaigning against anti-semetism. Seems s if Russell cars more for dogs and jews han he does black people.
BET had a town hall in negativity in Hip Hop which is kind of like playboy having a town hall meeting about nudity. The town hall reminded me of my old Columbia days in that I had to hear Michael Eric Dyson give 20 minute dissertations repeatedly(he was my Hip Hop Profesor). Brought in to defend Hip Hop were TI and Nelly, who passionately defended their brand of music. TI claimed that he only talked about ‘AAK’s and Tech Nines to trick young people into buying his album and hear the positive songs. Dam you tricky TI, baiting me in with your gun talk only to let me find outabout the rich cultural history of WEB DuBois and the Harlem renaissance. I guess he went to far trying to trick young people into buying his album when he bough that small Arsenal later this year hoping to reinforce the wy he tricks young people into buying his albums. Nelly, known more for his pp jams than his gangsta rap, was also put on the spot for his raunchy video, Tip Drill. While many years from now when the invent a credit card machine that can fit into a strippers ass, Nelly will be seen as a visionary. However women who exist outside of the strip club culture (Spelman College, Essence magazine) frowned upon it deeply. BET finally gave a voice to the women who have been criticizing BET for years on its depiction of black women.
That said 2007 was not a good year for black women in hip hop. Lil Kim came out and no one cared. Eve caught a Hollywood starlet, pre requisite DUI. Foxy Browns tantrums finally came back to haunt her as she was sent to Rikers, Gucci shoed in all. Female rappers paid for their images with their freedom. Just as the gangsters wifeys often have to do time for supporting their gangsta boyfriends, the very few relevant females rappers have been doing time at an excessive rate. These days the only way you can find an article about a woman in a hip hop magazine would be in the eye candy section.
2007 also brought about the disposable hip hop artist. With ringtones becoming a lucrative way to make money, and the album, not so much, the ringtone has superceeded the album in terms rappers being known for their albums which should contain a variety of different songs, topics and styles, messages, and good lyrics. However with a ringtone all people are looking for is a catchy phrase, jingle or repetitive chant. No one is looking for social commentary or a profound concept on a 15 second ringtone. Shop Boyz, Mims, Huey, Soulja Boy, all had popular singles that translated well into ringtone sales but not well into album sales. Labels are trying to sign more disposable rappers who can put out a novelty single to sell ringtones rather than signing quality rappers capable of creating good albums.
With album on decline, its no wonder that the rapper the media, hipsters and the streets(not the internet streets) have proclaimed as the hottest MC this year, Lil Wayne didn’t even put out an album. With just collaborations, guest appearances and mixtape tracks, Lil Wayne had enough juice to call himself the best rapper alive without being questioned. With Hip Hop under attack for negative content,guns, misogyny and drugs, Lil Wayne might not be the best posterboy. Having been arrested for guns, proclaing his blood affiliation, and singing the praises of sizzurp(codeine) and prescription pills, Lil Wayne does not make him a god roll model for the thousands of urban youth who look up to him. Wayne recently bragged to O-Zone magazine about his tattoo tears(symbols for murders) and how he would kill opponents along with their newborns. Despite Hip Hops propencity for violence few would condone the killing of newborns even if it came from rap beef. The statement reflects a growing trend of disrespect for children. With Camron threatening to piss on Nas baby daughter, to Tany Yayo slapping Jimmy Henchman’s son, which resulted in gunman shooting up Yayo’s mother’s house, where his sister and her child were living. This type of violence is disturbing even to the most hardcore criminal. Even Scarface refused to take part in harming children.
While guns and misogyny have been saturated into rap culture for sometime now,Hip Hop has not been affected by hard drug use the way Jazz, Rock and Roll and R&B have been. While rappers have always promoted weed and alchohol, hip-hop has traditionally frowned on hard drug use. With the exceptions of ODB and DMX few rappers have delved into the world of hard drugs and fewer still have been open about it. A recent study showed that weed use was on the decline while prescription pill use is skyrocketing. While pill use has traditionally been a Caucasian problem a few rappers have been bragging about pill use and some have been even speculating that it was pill use that resulted in the death of Pimp C. Sizzurp use also continues to spread from Houston to the rest of the country. Many have speculated that Sizzurp use led to the deaths of DJ Screw and purple Moe, who knows how many non celebrity deaths it has caused. Interestingly enough it is phizer that has lobbied extensively against the legalization and regulation of marijuana that makes many of the prescription pills that rappers and others are using. Hopfull rap will not be plagued by the addiction and overdoses that has plagued previous forms of black music.
2007 also gave birth to one of the best marketing plans Hip Hop has ever created. After being delayed several due to lack of a buzz, reigning Soundscan king 50 cent’s album was set to drop on September 11th. Universal which owns both Kanye’s Def Jam and 50’s Interscope took the opportunity to drop Kanye’s album the same day setting a clash of the Titans. The showdown was made to look like a prize fight, with photoshoots trash talk, and media types predicting to winner. 50 faced a different opponent in Kanye, not another gangsta rapper who he could belittle and mock for not being as tough as he was but a metrosexual, church loving Jon Mayer collaborating producer. The match was meant to determine the direction of hip hop. While both represented materialism and arrogance, Kanye represented the old school native tongue aesthetic with a lil Diddy in him vs 50’s oversaturated corporate sponsored gangsta. Perhaps white America was tired of 50, or Kanye had hotter singles, or Don Imus ethered gangsta rap as a whole genre. Kanye was not the only non gangsta to be successful. 2007 served to be the year of the Huxtable in Hip Hop. Not only Kanye, the product of two college proffessors, but Talib Queli also the product of two college professors and Common the product of an ABA player and a high school principle all had successful albums this year(in contect. However the year was not that great for Kanye as he lost his biggest support system his mom. While I grieve for Kanye’s loss, I find it ironic that the man whop put so much emphasis on image lost his mother to an unnecessary surgery to improve her look. Recently his mom had written a book and become a much more public figure and perhaps felt the pressure to look younger. Ironically if she had heeded her sons advice on Workout Plan and went to the gym she might still be alive today.
In other news DJ Drama got busted for mixtapes, Stack Bundles died, Ja Rule proved that despite what 50 did to him he could still get arrested in this town, Prodigy has to do some real time. The next new York rapper(Saigon, Papoose, Maino, Uncle Murder) hasn’t come to save the day. The veteran South brought some credibility back their region with Scarface and UGK dropping albums that where well reviewed and sold relatively well and Andre 300 dropping killer cameos, it hard to argue that the South has no social commentary or intelligent lyrics.
What will 08 bring? A lot of Wayne? Will hipster hop blow up? Who will get shot, who will go to jail? Who will be another Hip Hop scapegoat for what’s wrong with America. Will hip hop have a resurgence or fade away like disco? I’m sure there was a lot of good rap music in 07 but as the saying goes if a tree falls in a forrest and noone hears it, does it make a sound. However 07 was great for the bloggers, bad for the listeners and great for white America as a scapegoat. I will continue to follow hip hop, checking blogs, watching youtube and listening to radio interviews. Rap has become the Sopranos, people only pay attention to see who gets killed or arrested the music has just become a soundtrack to the beef and drama. Its unfortunate that rap has taken such a bashing in the media, if it hadn’t maybe rappers could help get Obama elected. As of now an endorsement for Obama from a rapper(besides will Smith discounting Kidz and the Hall and Jin) would likely hurt his cause more than help it. The once vibrant political force of hip hop has been displaced with thuggery and no politician wants to be endorsed by a thug.
Good Clothes
Before I start this off, a few observations:
One: anybody who honestly thinks that motherfucking Jermaine Dupri and/or Young Jeezy actually have and use a Boost Mobile phone plan should get the ever-loving shit smacked out of them.
Two: who or what in the fuck is a Mickey Avalon? And was I not the only one who instantly wondered what kinda fuckery is going on when he popped up in that commercial?
Anyways, not to front like we’re all friends here but I thought I should mention that outside of my family, select close friends and whichever God(dess)-like deity’s allowing me to wake up every morning, I could really give less than half a shit about other peoples’ opinions about me. Not to say that I’m some über-arrogant, seemingly invincible prick (right...), as I am aware of my own faults and personal issues, but it’s just that I was raised to not care if some wild random asscunt felt as if it were their personal duty to attempt to check my own ego.
As if. It may have worked when I was getting mollywhopped by the Mexican bullies in the fifth grade, but once I saw them a good 15 years later selling gaudy, smellbad toilet waters on a stand-alone kiosk in the mall? Not so much.
I bring this up because of an interesting scenario I witnessed the other day while copping a button-up at the local Marshall’s (don’t front). As I was digging through the wreckage, I was standing next to another guy with a pile of gear draped over his arm talking to his friend on how he was – and I’m quoting verbatim right here - going to get mad bitches at some nondescript party going on later in the week. I could talk about how ridiculously impossible it is to pull anything while rocking a pair of Jnco jeans, but then I’d be taking this post into another direction.
Now I’m not knocking ol’ boy’s methods on possibly getting burned from raw-dogging some ‘Wood rat, but I’ve always found it strange when grown-ass adults cop gear in hopes of attracting the masses’ already short attention spans to over-compensate for their utter lack of self-confidence which in turn fucks up their overall idea of their self-worth, which has got to be one of the more disheartening things I've ever seen. By the time I’d hit college I couldn’t care less what other people thought of me, and I essentially started wearing (and for a short while, designing) clothes that only impressed one person: myself. But I figure due in part to today’s Log Cabin Republican-style, ass-backward cultural norms people feel the need to look a certain way as if to gain acceptance from their peers. Excuse me if I call bullshit on that logic though; unless I’m trying to land a or work on a job you’ll never catch me buying some shit to look cool for or to impress other people. If that’s the case, why not save the trouble of buying clothes and simply give that spending money to them?
Now that I’ve crossed that plateau into a (slightly) higher tax bracket where I’m no longer limited to purchasing last year’s styles today at a Burlington Coat Factory, that doesn’t mean that I’ll eschew Sears or the swap meet for some bananas expensive boutique to cop my 501s. Not only am I getting the same quality shit for a lower price, but it’s a showing off of my own confidence within myself each time I swipe my debit card. By the way ladies, that’s a gold debit card I use.
Hipster-Hop: The New Backpack Rap
This weekend I flipped through my collection of music and came across an album and a mixtape I’ve not listened to in some time: Redman’s Muddy Waters and Clipse’s We Got It For Cheap, Vol. 2. Going back to these joints I couldn’t help but remember when these artists were at the top of their respective games: Redman’s intoxicated, frat-boy demeanor and Pusha T and Malice’s intricately complex coke raps were the stuff of rap purists’ wet dreams. Being an East Coast hip-hop loving anomaly living on the West Coast I automatically assumed I was the only hump that didn’t solely listen to the likes of Kausion and motherfucking Mr. Short Khop, and I'd never find like-minded peoples around my neck of the woods.
In actuality, I'd stumble across a group of peoples that actually did share my sentiments. Unfortunately a good majority of them belong to the so-called hipster crowd, an audience I more or less don’t understand what the deal is. According to its Wiki hipsters are nothing more than elitist, quasi-homosexual schlubs that listen to “alternative” musical genres and front like they’re better than everybody else. Hmm... If I didn’t know any better, you’d think it was describing me... nah. I like Biggie Smalls, sneakers and pussy too much to ever fall into that category.
Then again, I could also say that I once fell into its predecessor way the fuck back when I was barely passing junior college: the alleged “backpack” crowd back when DMX, Ja Rule and Jay-Z were the original Murder Inc [1]. When Rawkus Records had their magical run between 1997 and 2001, I could clearly recall when there were oodles of funny style tree bark chewers proclaiming that Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Company Flow and Pharoahe Monch were the second coming of the Native Tongues family (which in itself was the forefather to the hipster music genre). Eventually being a genuine fan of them took a backseat to associating their music with coolness, and every Blue Ribbon-guzzling, Air Max-wearing, meatcutter jeans rocker were on their proverbial nuts.
They actually fooled the TIs as well, even convincing MCA to sign a distribution deal with Rawkus, which would have been an ideal set up for both artist and label Israeli to cake up lovely. However the one thing missing from the equation was the fact that backpackers don’t buy records to begin with, either out of claiming to go “against the grain” and not support the curly-muttonchop aesthetics of said Israelis, or just being plain broke from copping all those ugly-ass Nike Blazers at Urban Outfitters [2]. Long story short Rawkus crashed and burned worse than Cory Lidle, Mos Def has ditched rap for movie guap, Pharoahe Monch sold about 8 copies of his last album (and I actually bought one too!) and Mad Skillz has been limited to long-played out yearly “Rap Up” tunes. Fast-forward to now where the Clipse sold about 8 copies of their last album (and I actually bought one too!) and Redman couldn’t even break wind much less break 200,000 copies of Red Gone Wild. Coincidence? I highly doubt that.
If today’s music weren’t so god(dess)-awful, I’d blame the hipsters for single-handedly destroying rap music as a whole. In my eyes they’re akin to leeches, sucking the financial life and career longevity out of rappers, then unflinchingly moving on to the next act to mooch from. Shit, they’ve already gotten their claws in the likes of Ghostface Killah and Lupe Fiasco. Good thing they don't like West Coast music nowadays; after what they did to Dilated Peoples and Xzibit, I'd be a little concerned for... um... Blu & Exile or something.
[1] What’s funny is that when they were together they were all accomplished, top-selling acts, and now that they’re apart they couldn’t sell out their mother to the cops. Sad, really.
[2] That’s got to be the most contradictory thing I’ve ever seen. For real folks, tall Israelis aren’t just running this rap shit; they’re running this world shit. Deal with it already.
The Gift And The Curse
So I’m down to the last days of this shoot, and I must say that despite the hours (waking up at 4:30 in the morning is a bitch) I must say that I’m enjoying my time listening to these actors, actresses and other artists speak their peace on what inspires and motivates them. If both the stalkerazzi and deranged Stanleys shined their knobs because of the things they’ve said rather than the shit they’ve done I’m pretty sure there’d be a lot less Crazy Gideon types running around Fat Manning trains and Turks the way Lawrence of Arabia did.
Then again, I couldn’t tell you who’s running this rap shit into the ground: the secret sect of curly sideburn-rocking Israelis or the knob slobbers themselves. As far as I’m concerned though I’d have to lean towards the maniacal tendencies of fans because we’re all well aware of how apeshit stupid they can be. Whereas before I’d be more fearful of some hump trying to yoke me for my sneaks, now I have to worry if some schizo Rufus Blaq fan wanting to snuff me because I think his music is a gynormous piece of anus? That’s some bullshit!
It’s one thing to have love for, give props to and show respect for an artist that tickles your fancy. But the level of Stannery has gotten so inane that – if I was a more caring individual – I’d be worried about the mental conditioning of these asscunts. It’s almost as if their life long dream is to be touched on the inside by their favorite rapper.
Naux haux maux on that last paragraph.
With the advent of the Internets things have gotten even more ridiculous, what with nay saying dickheads wanting you to circle your crib if you make some harebrained, quasi-racist remark that gets their leopard-print bloomers in a bunch. I’ll admit watching a couple idiots cyber-squab can be amusing sometimes, but in the end it’s really not that serious to scrap with some faceless chump you’ll probably never meet. I swear though, if fruity comments were currency I’d be a fucking Brazillionaire by now.
I never understood where all of this originated from, since I personally don’t see the hype most of the time. It’s pretty retarded to want to murk somebody for their ideals though as if one is waging some holy war against a group of people because their way of living doesn’t match their own. Waitaminute…
* Thinks about it*
Damn, those tall Israelis are running this rap shit.
The Elementary School Dropout
Like I mentioned yesterday, I’ve spent the past few days working on set for an upcoming commercial featuring a few celebrities. For those that aren’t from around my way, working in (shit, even living in) Hollywood is always an interesting experience, and things as simple as a 30-second commercial are an incredibly long and often tiring process. Case in point: today’s “expensive” music video will cost a few hundred thousand bucks – a far cry from the multi-million dollar affairs that ran wild in the 90s – and will take a couple 20-plus hour work days to complete, excluding the editing so that it doesn’t look like a piece of shit when you watch it on your piece of shit television or computer screen. Contrary to what you muh’fucks see on the boob tube it’s not necessarily a land of fake tits and Clorox bleached hair, and – not to sound cliché here – it’s quite difficult to try to “make it” in this business.
In spite of this glitzy-less nature, a lot of potentially life-altering lessons are almost always learned on each and every set. A perfect example of this was during yesterday’s shoot, where John Legend [1] talked about the importance of education in today’s society, and while he believed that attaining at the very least the ability to properly work the cash register at a local In-‘N-Out is essential to survival, it’s pretty much a given that you don’t need a college degree to do certain jobs or, in some cases, become successful.
What makes his words that much more resounding (aside from the fact that he's a Yale graduate) is that I now know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Prior to me entering the “real world,” I believed that my freshly dipped college degree would allow me to indulge of the finest of high-paying professions when I graduated some three years ago. Fast-forward a few months later and I was pushing off pots and pans at the local Macy’s. The humps couldn’t even put my black ass in the clothing section... but I’m digressing right now.
This sentiment hits even harder whenever you see a marginally talented artists earning a shitload of money from mediocre skill sets. It would seem on the surface that it’s just an image the beak-nosed yarmulke rockers provide to disguise their own terrorist endeavors, but I’d like to think that it’s more or less who the rapper knows as well. I mean, why else would we see all these space wasters popping up all the time? I sincerely doubt it’s due to their academic prowess.
Even more powerful than that is the fact that my progress in my career – both journalistic and otherwise – has been on the strength of who I know, not what. And to my credit I’ve maintained a decent level of success. But it seriously makes me wonder if all those years (and money) I spent in college were really worth it in the long run. I’m not saying college is a bad thing, but when I’ve not really used something that took me four years to attain outside of slapping it on my résumé, I can’t help but feel gypped.
[1] A.H.L.O.T. isn’t the only one who’s been around the block.
OK, And?
I’m posting this early, as I got to be on set to work a commercial shoot and probably won’t get to look down on my adoring audience’s random-ass negative comments about me as if it’s going to affect my blunt/fucked up state of mind and/or make me stop unleashing the wrath of my madness here, because this is where the Oliver Twists that jump on this section of the Internets to talk wild that jibba jabba on the c-section also come here to see my middling opinions as if it were gruel.
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
Poetical waxings aside, I’m going to be the first person (well, the first person here, but whatever) to put it out there, because as bad as it may sound it’s a painful reality: while it's disheartening to hear that Pimp C died, his death is not going to convince me to start a candlelit vigil (or even give a cyber-eulogy for that matter) in his honor. Death, as unfortunate as it seems on the surface, is as natural an occurrence as the poisoned air that fills our lungs each and every day, and as sad as it is to have struck down Chad Butler, I refuse to let something like that fuck up my day.
What’s really going to suck about this (from my perspective at least) will the plethora of phony tributes, false proclamations and other shit bludgeoned on our collective asses now that he coincidentally passed on the born day of Shawn Carter, similar to the way these Stanleys “pay tribute” to rappers going to prison with “Free (insert name)” shirts. I barely give a shit about Punching Bag P’s impending jail sentence either, by the way.
A similar scenario happened earlier this year when all-star piff pocketer Stack Bundles was sent to the pearly gates, and every two-bit mixtape trapper and Dip Set MySpace goon was making tributes as if he personally helped them carry their stash. It’d be pretty fucking ludicrous for me to attempt to do the same, especially considering I never really dug the music in the first place, so when I see those that do the same thing I detest, I can’t help but call shenanigans on their fallacy.
Yes, it sucked that the life of someone relatively young (yes, 33 is young, even in hip-hop years) is gone. But throwing up online condolences – especially if you’re like me and really didn’t care too much about the music in the first place – is flat-out wrong on all kinds of levels also. I’m pretty sure some of this post’s 13 comments will consist of the typical bullshit I’m used to by now but it’s not like I’d give a shit about those also, because me doing something like this:
“R.I.T. PIMP C! I HARDLY KNEW ‘YE!”
isn’t going to mean much on my conscience nor make it seem sincere.
No Mo’ Play In CA
A little disclaimer: some wild random music bender I went on while scouring the Internets inspires this post. So you’ll see a few of those songs here.
I have a dilemma. Perhaps someone can help me out.
See, I’m not the biggest fan of West Coast-based hip-hop. Maybe it’s due to the fact that my first two rap albums ever were Please, Hammer, Don’t Hurt ‘Em and Ready To Die thus leading to an obvious bias, its obsolete, laid-back, G-Funkian sounds that’s been a staple for the past two decades or the fact that I hate Chuck Taylor’s, flannel shirts and Dickies and don’t have or want that “Indian” texture to throw a perm in my hair, but I’ve never really gotten into the music scene too much over here outside of the lesser-known, one- and no-hit wonders. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and the Dove Shack, anyone?
Anyways, this sentiment hit me somewhat when I’d read about local sensations like Wale and The Cool Kids, which had me thinking: are there any artists out here that I can find somewhat listenable without being reminded of Rappin’ 4-Tay [1] or even worse, Dru Down so much? Granted they may have knocked when I was in high school, but I find it a little odd that I still nod my head to “Hurricane” like it came out the other day.
Then it had me thinking: maybe the TIs who run rap know what I’ve always assumed and simply ignore West Coast rap music because there’s no money to be made from it thanks to its deterioration into the most ass-backward genre out today. The only person who’s seemingly managed to escape the Matrix so far has been Snoop Dogg, but now that’s he’s more or less accepted looking like a caricature of his former self it’s surely easy to make as much duckets as they can from him before he goes completely apeshit crazy.
The real problem, however, is this coast’s unwillingness to not sound like a shoddy Dr. Dre knockoff. For all the shit he’s caught over the years, I’ve yet to see anybody try to evolve from his sound, and virtually every major artist here can be Kevin Baconed back to him. I mean, they tried that hyphy shit, but once it was discovered that it was nothing more than a bunch of drugged-out Tourette syndrome patients the Israelis have tried to bury that underneath a mound of shitty “juke” songs. But when Dre is the best thing the West has ever produced, you can’t really blame them for not wanting to shed that mantra.
I’m probably not looking as deep as I should, but I’ve yet to find Left Coast artists who at the very least can keep my attention for more than five minutes. Perhaps if I eschewed my haterism for a little bit, I’d be able to find something other than “I Got 5 On It” to play more often. But then again, if they can’t stop looking like this, then I don’t see that happening any time soon.
[1] His two singles are quite possibly where my own “wishy washy, argumentative-just-for-the-fuck-of-it sucka” shit comes from, but whatever. That’s why you can’t turn your eyes from me anyways.