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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Nas: WTF?!

You know, real talk is that I have issues when it comes to one Nasir Olu Dara Bin Soo Chimichonga – or whatever extra’d out names he got – Jones. See, if it wasn’t for duke’s seminal debut masterpiece [1], coupled with Christopher Wallace’s frosh effort, you probably wouldn’t even be reading this shit, because I’m sure I would have stuck to listening to the same soul, world and R&B music my sisters would bump. And too much of that shit is proven to be more detrimental than anything. Have you seen Maxwell?

The problem I’ve had with duke is that he tends to make the most Bizarro World choices for his career. But being a fan I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt each time. Sure he’ll switch out from rocking bubblegooses, Timbos and skullys to pink suits and pointy white hardbottom tap dance Ben Vereen specials and back again at the drop of a peso, but haven’t we all been guilty of not sticking to the script? If anything, his contradictory nature is the preeminent example of the quintessential human being. It’s like when I was in college and, even though I associated myself with the pseudo-“conscious,” nag champa crowd, I found myself wanting to poke the brick-thick power forward with the jellified donkey on the women’s basketball squad when I was in college. Repeatedly. From the back.

Oops, went off on a wild random tangent there.

At the same time, his flip-floppy behavior has also become a nightmare for anybody who dares be in the vicinity of that shit. Running around and talking about going back to the “country of Africa” while oxing down Jamaicans in Belly was one thing, and coming out with some ugly-ass 310 Motor shoes [2] a good five years after the “rapper-sneaker” trend came and went quicker than a Wes Unseld throwback was somewhat troubling, but when Lil Homey reneged on the original titling of his album – which, if he kept, could have possibly been the single-most important thing to ever hit hip-hop (and yes, bigger than BET Uncut!) – should have been a sign for everyone. But supporting Shaq’s request for Kobe to describe the taste of his ass cheeks (extra naux haux maux) – then I see this shit over at eskay’s - pretty much re-deaded any interest I held in him. I mean Benzino? Word? What did he do, promise you a Hip Hop Weekly cover? Duke hasn’t done anything memorable in rap outside of having his goons knife up Paul Pierce. I’m still wondering if he’s gonna return on that fucking white horse he promised to do so after he got kicked off The Source for calling women all kinds of slut monkeys and whatnot.

So here we are, back at square one, wondering where in the blue hell Nas is going with this shit. My guess is that he’ll play the revolutionary role he’s been doing since “One Mic,” drop another underwhelming album (although I heard his mixtape was hard as shit!) and go back to twisting out Kelis. And in the case of the latter, I can’t be mad at that. Shit, if I were in his shoes – and good thing I’m not – I’d be too busy climbing out of Kelis’ walls to worry about ever dropping an album again, and popping up periodically to rag on Soulja Boy or some retarded shit.

[1] Illmatic > everything else he’s done after. Tell me I’m wrong.

[2] A little trivia for anybody who’s ever bought a Hurricane Game sneaker: 310 Motor Shoes produce Hurricanes. 310 Motor Shoes are owned by Skechers. Skechers are made by the same yenta who made LA Gear shoes. So basically anybody who rocks Hurricanes or Nas shoes are pretty much rocking the bastard stepchild of those shoes that would light up when you walk. No wonder why the rap game is softer than baby wipes.

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