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

Hip-Hop: Not For Old People?

Seeing as how I’m a lot closer to 30 than I am 20 nowadays, I’ve lately felt the need to switch up a couple of my lifestyle choices. Whereas spending money (or jumping in the line early enough to get in for free) for a night of dry humping at some random-ass club used to be my choice du jour, I now find myself preferring a night with friends getting shitfaced at the local Chili’s. I’ve obviously left the safe – and rent-free – confines of my mom’s house for Inglewood, and I’ve exchanged the months upon months of summer and winter vacations for eleven state-regulated days off work, give or take a few paid vacations. Hell, I’ve even dropped the quadruple-extra large shirts for sizes that’s less muumuu-like. That’s not to say I’ve gone entirely corporate; I still have more sneakers than suits, still somewhat of a scatterbrain and my arm hurts from the tattoo I recently received. But if there’s one thing I’ve noticed about myself the most, it’s my change in musical tastes. Whereas the likes of Coast II Coast and Dogg Food would get major burn in my iPod, I’ve now taken an interest in the soulful and worldly sounds I was raised on before my sister was crazy enough to buy me a copy of Please, Hammer, Don’t Hurt ‘Em.

I can’t remember exactly where I saw it, but a while back I read somewhere that hip-hop has an issue with growing up. I’ve always found its reluctance to stay in a club interesting, considering that most of its core audience moved out and into a boardroom. Not to mention that some of the better songs I’ve heard within the past two years are by rappers who are closer to 40 than I am (Clipse, anyone?). And while so-called “80s babies” (why didn’t you add that to the list, Brill?) like to bitch and moan about the old heads not wanting to give up their shine to them, I find it odd that they refuse to acknowledge the puppet masters behind the scenes, not to mention some of the prominent producers are well into their thirties. If anybody thinks for a second that a hump like Sickamore (who I personally blame for annihilating Lupe’s album promotion as well as stalling out Saigon’s career, but I digress) holds any significant weight in this arena has got to be out of their fucking mind. To paraphrase a Chris Rock skit I heard on regular c-boy Advakit’s mixtape I received a few days ago, while a rapper may be rich, the person who signs their checks is wealthy (and obviously an old TI).

If anything, the younger generation’s disrespect for the older heads of the game can be a bit unsettling. Had it not been for them, the kids would not have this means of expression today, nor would it have had such a substantial impact on them to boot. But it’s not like I give three-eighths of a shit; I’ll take a 70s baby over these young broads any day of the week.

120 Comments             

Maybe The Internets IS Killing Hip-Hop

A few days ago I was in my cousin’s basement “indulging” in KFC’s Honey Barbeque Boneless Wings, Madden NFL ’07 (they need to hurry up and drop that new shit already) and his iTunes collection. When the joint randomly switched to a song I liked, I asked him to turn it up.

To this day I still regret that request, because some ridiculously shitty Internets DJ’s watermark kept popping up throughout the damn thing, essentially fucking up the song itself:

Heh Heh Heh... Headshot.

And people wonder why I’ve dropped D-Block for motherfucking Hall & Oates.

Say what you want about the illegal downloading and its correlation with the drop in album sales [1]. Part of the reason the Internets may be fucking with music – particularly hip-hop – could deal with the fact that most people have to deal with a shitload of horrible “up and coming” DJs.

As much as I blast hip-hop music on the regular (a good 75% of my iPod is loaded with rap alone), it irritates the fuck out of me when I hear some retarded-ass “disk jockey” with a laptop and some shit yoked off of Limewire bark incessantly and unnecessarily over a song. I steal music because I don’t want to pay for the song jackass, not because it’s an “exclusive” from DJ Dirty Rice (what kinda extra shitty moniker is that?).

What pisses me off more is now that more extra-craptastic no-name humps think they can hop on an existing song and call it an “exclusive remix” as if they shared studio time with said artist(s). I guess it’s understandable when I hear some drugged-out coke fiend like (you guessed it) Lil Wayne [2] hop on a song by the Gym Class Heroes: maybe he’s tired of that Cash Money “trim” and needs some of that skinny jeans lovin’. Pause. But some unsigned hump that can’t even stay on beat? Not so much.

But the fuck do I know? Maybe that shit could get me a record deal that pays me well enough for me to get me the fuck out of my one-room mansion knee-deep in the so-called “City of Champions.” If that’s the case, be on the lookout for the new online mixtape by yours truly, the indeterminable DJ Shit Streak, called “The Mud Butt Diaries: You Got It For Cheap, But I Got It For Rupees, Volume 37.”

[1] Although I find it odd that nobody mentions the fact that while CD sales are down, digital sales are way up.

[2] You know, I’m really not trying to do this post I got in my head on why he’s not a really good rapper in a non-slanderous manner. But it’d probably get shot down as “hate” regardless. And maybe the tree monkey and BG had more in common than just more in Karrine. I’m just saying.

57 Comments             

Meka Soul’s Top 5 Bangingest Females

Before I start this, I’d like to say that I am not disrespecting women in any way, as I find beauty in every woman from every race. That said, if there are any ladies out there that’d like to help me make my moms stop trying to find me a mate – and making me feel more pathetic in the process – the email addy’s right under the picture.

If there’s one thing I can proudly boast about (aside from my witty vernacular and striking good looks), it’s that I have this weird ability to predict the “next hot thing” in hip-hop among my friends. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been successfully able to guess that ringtones, throwback jerseys and (ugh) Kanye West would blow the fuck up. Now, I’d never consider myself the hip-hop (and heterosexual, mind you) version of Tim Gunn, but I tend to stay on my shit when it comes to meaningless trends.

With that said, summer is one of my favorite times of the year, in the sense that damn near every woman with a cola-bottle shape will be out showing their wares like an open-air strip club. In honor of this mid-year celebration – as well as drawing inspiration from various lists and posts – I’d like to present my own quick fix of women who are normally off everybody’s radar yet whose proverbial bathwater I’d drink, in no particular order. Feel free to add in your own underrated dimer as well.

1. Kerry Washington – My first time seeing this doe-eyed beauty was when she played a dyke in She Hate Me – another in a long line of Spike Lee disappointments – where she promptly straddled her ex-boyfriend within the first 45 minutes of the flick. Freaky tales aside, I knew she was that prototype when I saw her in I Think I Love My Wife. Anybody who wants to rock some fuck-me pumps during Smash Time is A-OK with me.

2. Malinda Williams – Another in the line of full-lipped quarter-pieces, Malinda was working with something when I saw her put it on that schmuck in The Wood. But I knew she was the one when I caught her at some random-ass Vibe Awards I volunteered for a few years back. You ever have that feeling where time seems to slow down? Yeah, Malinda put my whole shit on pause status. Pause, just in case.

3. Tamala Jones – While her acting skills leave a little to be desired, Ms. Jones has that classic, homegirl-next door look. She’s the type of chick that you don’t really pay much attention to until she grows up and steps out of the house in some crazy-fly outfit that puts you on stuck-mode. Seeing her gyrate with a fur bikini in Wu-Tang’s “Gravel Pit” video did that for me.

4. The female bartender/waitress at the club – Switching genres for a minute, these women are by far the most overlooked shorties of all time. With all the fake players & other greasy humps that parade a club looking for the first thing to dry-hump, the ones with the aprons picking up drinks are the most eligible out of all the broads you see at a club. Why? If the snug, jet-black jeans showing off the curves won’t do the trick, the simple fact that you know she has a job ought to.

5. That four-hootered chick from Total Recall – Do I really need to elaborate on this? Enough said.

***
UPDATE: At the behest of my blogging sister from another mister aliya, I've taken the liberty of adding links to picture of Ms. Washington, Ms. Williams and Ms. Jones, as well as some random-ass bartenders. For the... er... woman in the Total Recall flick, you'll have to search for that shit yourself. Meka Soul is for the childern.

102 Comments             

Rappers R N Danja

You’ll have to excuse my somewhat toned-down demeanor this time, as I’ve pretty much spent the past three days hibernating in my one room mansion. Sometimes staying away from the clusterfuck known as civilization tends to soften my mood. I guess I’m still salty that Pharoahe Monche’s latest album sold about 230 copies per state in his first week. Plus, I’ve been blasting that Jay Electronica joint found in my Southern blogging brother from another mother Opinion’s latest post. See aliya, we can play nice.

During the 4th of July I’d gotten into several conversations with my cousin throughout the day that touched on a variety of topics, from sports (trade Gilbert for Kobe), to politics (the Bush Administration is the most powerful gang out right now) to women (30 and over women is that crack. Sorry, Brill.) to our background (Nigeria stays losing) to music. While I’ll spare you the details of some of our more colorful banter, the most prevalent theme revolved around the poor sales record of great artists.

While it’s annoying to see so many no-hit wonders come and go quicker than Japan’s bullet trains, the reason they exist to this day is because the entire music game is a lot different than what it used to be. I don’t know if anybody’s noticed, but the entire music industry has taken a huge hit, not just hip-hop (although I think it’s taken the brunt of it). Record sales are down all across the board, and everybody’s trying to do whatever it takes to stay afloat. In that sense, it’s not surprising to see cats like T.I. pushing gas-guzzling vehicles. In his defense though, I’ve seen much worse. Damn, Chris.

As I’ve stated before, it’s frustrating to see genuinely talented artists otherwise fail miserably sales-wise. As much as I’d like to see them succeed, I already know it may never happen due to a variety of elements that are both in and out of their control. Whereas one may think that the lack of promotion lies solely on the label’s inability to properly promote their acts (as J-23 recently described to me how Jive’s underbosses pretty much Fat Manned Hell Hath No Fury), some of the blame can also be placed on the artist for their reluctance to promote their own shit.

With the advent of the digital sale, it’s now become easier for those who don’t want to sift through an entire album to grab their favorite song(s). This may have been a double-edged sword however, as now labels have actually signed acts to singles deals, making the lifespan of an artist even shorter than before, as well as causing former distributing powerhouses such as Tower Records to vanish. Can we really be pickle-faced at the industry for trying to force-feed us crap we won’t see within a year?

Rappers and fans alike can bitch and moan all day about missing that “real hip-hop,” but the fact is today’s scene is not going to change any time soon. “Real” music is out there, and they’re not that hard to find. I’m one to talk, though; I’ve only bought one album this year myself, and I have a spindle full of CD’s that house nothing but the MP3s I’ve “collected” over the years. But that’s just the contradictory nature of the business these days.

27 Comments             

My DNA Is In Your Music

“Now they on my meat like ice in the freezer.” – Sheek Louch

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my twenty-some-odd years on this planet, sadly it’s that some schmucks younger than me tend to be more sensitive than they should be at their age. I’ve always found that to be a little odd, especially considering that four sisters and a mother raised me; by that logic, I should be flagrantly gay (don’t front) and therefore ridiculously thin-skinned to any and every negative comment said about me. Interestingly enough, their strong-willed values have taught me to be able to stand tall in what I believe in, strive for perfection in anything I do and – most importantly of all – not to openly weep like a fruitbag whenever someone rubs me the wrong way.

A funny thing about hip-hop is that while no ideas are original, there are still those humps that get asshurt whenever someone who is undoubtedly more popular than them expounds upon their ideas (in other words, I’m making their blog tighter). Hip-hop has changed greatly since its much-ballyhooed “Golden Age” eras in the late-eighties and early-nineties, and unfortunately many things today have become stale and bland, sometimes forcing people to report on similar topics. Had I known some hump was going to post something I'd written a week ago, perhaps I should have posted it then. At the same time, I - as well as another blogger here - have had our own shit duplicated here on various occasions, yet we've taken the higher ground and refused to publicly bark about it. Personally, I think that all the crying is nothing more than a bitch move; I mean, it’s not my fault that the other person (or in this very special case, persons) are zero for everything they’ve tried to do here. Besides, I personally never thought for a second that the readers here would be quasi-remotely interested in drops about a stolen, faded Pelle Pelle (people still wear that?) hoodie and some shitty Tyler Perry sitcom anyways. Maybe it’s because I find more captivating material in a Bella Donna flick, but I digress.

Since I’m on the topic of unoriginality, it shouldn’t be a surprise that with the advent of the various bloggers and writers that roam the Internets, many of those established composers are used as muses for fellow up and coming bloggers and writers. What doesn’t make sense to me is when I see some random-ass hump who uses the same slanguage from both the established and new jacks attempt to bullyfoot (pause, no fruity) their way into the game while calling “swagger jacker” on their obviously far superior counterpart, while at the same time using the same tactics made popular by said superior. I’m usually all for the enhancement of my fellow man, but on the other hand, I could give three-eighths of a shit about some coastally-confused hump (Chicago or Atlanta?) who nobody else here really acknowledges trying to toss spitballs at the throne.

I find it disheartening whenever I see some non-factor, shitbag excuse for a “writer” feebly attempt to play ball with the big boys, especially when it is one who hasn’t even been in the game long enough, nor has went back and properly studied the founders of the game. Really, if my first encounters with hip-hop were during the shiny-suit era, my shit probably wouldn’t be taken seriously either. At the same time, although I was not brought up on the foundations set by E-Sham, Sequence and countless other architects, I’ve at the very least traveled to, studied, watched and heard their stylings to try to understand why their force is still prevalent to this day. Ironically, these same folks who don’t do the same simply decry their music as irrelevant while pretending to display their gaudy, knob-shining “love” for the likes of Common, Tooda, Lupe Fiasco and other “default” rappers [1], as if nobody can’t see through that fake shit.

Perhaps if my esteemed overlords never granted yours truly an outlet to voice my opinions, many of the readers here probably would dig irrelevant rubbish about greased-stained sweatshirts and half-tarded delusional talk about being the next John Lennon; I more or less think it’s a shittier version of Peter Tork, but whatever. I do consider it an honor however when younglings attempt to insult me, similar to when a child curses at their parents for the first time. It just proves to me who runs the yard, and who’s asshurt because their shine got yoked before they had a chance to rock it. At the same time, I shouldn’t be too enthralled; if some Mon Chi Chi-looking “journalist” and a faux-Rick James hump can’t handle a little criticism or competition every now and then, maybe Gargamel and Azrael shouldn’t play the game in the first place. Until then, leave the training wheels and Pull-Ups on until you’re sure you want to take that next step up to the majors [2].

[1] And by “default,” I mean the jackasses that always want to bring up those names as if to show they have a wide-range appreciation for hip-hop music. I have no respect for those that feign appreciation for Big L, yet can’t name the rest of the members of the Diggin’ In The Crates crew without a Wikipedia search. You have no wins en mi casa; I see right through you, Judas. But maybe that shit’s just an attempt to get some ass; I mean, if I ran around a city rocking the finest wears imported straight from TJ Maxx, I’d be desperate too.

[2] If you two really needed my attention, all you had to do was ask. And seeing as how Chip and Dale need all the help they can’t afford to get, it’d be my civic duty to teach them how to stunt. Here’s a topic to work with: “Kobe Bryant Is The New 2Pac.” That oughta bring in those “big numbers,” right?

64 Comments             

Ran Out Of Ammo

Have a safe 4th of July, everyone. And don't worry; school's in session tomorrow.

4 Comments             

Amerikkka Won

Usually, this is the part of your day where you hop on this section of the Internets to see which shitty rapper will catch a bad one from me. You’ll also see some random-ass hump or two flood the comments board defending the honor of said shitbag rapper with an almost-incestual appreciation. However, with site being “the source for hip-hop news,” I feel it’s a must that other issues must be addressed. Just because they are not hip-hop per se doesn’t mean the shit doesn’t affect the hip-hop community.

Unless you’re either living under a rock, this country we live in – while allowing certain freedoms other civilizations cannot enjoy such as, say, the ability to call someone like Rick Ross a pussy hoe without fear of retribution – has remained the oppressive, unruly society built on the bloodied and scarred backs of a slavery system that prevalently exists today [1]. This same system has implemented a variety of rules, each which have been designed to keep shitting on the young, urban demographics. Instead of teaching them about upliftment and prosperity, those same urban demographic instead are taught that showing off their ridiculously expensive materials possessions is the embodiment of success. Who really gives a shit about running around the ‘hood in a vehicle whose emissions are poisoning the environment? As much as I hate to say this, we all in our own “unique” way are destroying our children’s children’s future. I sometimes sit back and realize that my great-grandseeds are going to be the strongest dorsal fin-having kids in the neighborhood, and they still may not be able to land a high-ranking, well-respected position because their flippers are bigger than the other kids’.

It agitates me when humps run around claiming they either run a block or own a city. If those words held truth they wouldn’t be shook whenever someone of a higher authority comes in and shuts the shit down. Not a lot of people realize that the Bloods and Crips were offshoots of the Black Panther Party after COINTELPRO systematically destroyed them. Originally supposed to carry the ideals of unity, solidarity and family established the Panthers, Bloods and Crips manipulated those virtues and turned on each on some petty quest for some invisible “block power” that usually gets snatched up quickfast by the law if they feel gangs step out of pocket. Word to my Internets wifey Drea, the government has the means to infiltrate, assimilate and annihilate any and everything they deem is posing a threat with virtually no resistance at all thanks to seemingly unlimited funds. Why do gangs feel like monarchs once they “own” a couple blocks? That shit’s like small fish compared to a government that runs a couple countries.

It also confuses and irritates me whenever I see a gump praise some shitbag rapper’s “street credibility.” Selling nicks and dimes, popping a couple hand cannons here and there and other nonsensical shit that tears your community from the inside out ain’t shit when the real gangstas can get their own man ethered on a higher scale and only get a slap on the wrist. I actually give props to Itchy Fingaz  for popping his own boy, and then making him apologize for the shit as if it were his fault he got blasted in the face. If that ain’t the definition of gully, I don’t know what is.

I’m not saying that we all should stand up and take on our oppressors blindly, nor am I saying we should drop everything and start the revolution; hell, I’m probably gonna make some custom Dunks later on today and work on my next tattoo's design, plus I don’t have that kind of power to move a crowd on such a large level [2]. But I would like the hip-hop community to at the very least sit back and reflect on this shit. This world is much bigger than your block, your coinage and your blammer. And if people took just perhaps five minutes thinking and acting upon something as simple as that thought instead of getting asshurt because I say I don’t like Southern hip-hop music, perhaps this society could be a more inhabitable place for our past, present and future.

[1] And I’m not talking the OG Kunta Kinte-style shit either. If half your paycheck gets yoked from you before you even get paid, that’s slavery. If you have a PhD and you drive a taxi to feed your fam, that’s slavery. I could keep going on, but I’m trying to make a point here.

[2] Then again, certain humps here get pickle-faced when I jump on their favorite shitbag “producer,” so you never know.

44 Comments             

New York Won, But Not Really

Before I even start this shit, I have to honestly say that this mixtape should garner mad Justo awards. If not, that’ll be a greater injustice than Lupe Fiasco getting snubbed for that fake-ass B.E.T. Award.

Anyways, with all the talk of shitty record sales, punches at brunches and this, that and the third region falling off at this section of the Internets, it’s easy to miss the fact that although there hasn’t been a single rap album that’s crossed the gold barrier [1]. The only saving grace, however, is the fact that many good albums have come out this half-year, perhaps more so than there were in the entire year of 2006. And perhaps surprisingly, most of them have come from east (north?) coast-based artists.

That’s not to say that the other coasts haven’t had good albums either. I’ve already mentioned that Devin The Dude probably has one of the best hip-hop albums of the year, and I’m pretty sure my Left Coast blogging brother from another mother Brillyance (or is it Brillyance Star?) could tell you of some of the bangers that came out from our neck of the woods. But at the risk of sounding like a South-hating bastard (because we all know I’m not), there’s been a shitload of God(dess)-awful music that’s been pumped out of that region this year that’s clogged the ears of those who yearn for good hip-hop.

The  (not-so) worst part about it is that the forerunners of the South scene have all but disappeared. While most humps are quick to blame it on the overall drop in record sales that is affecting the rappers, I beg to differ; it finally seems that people are waking up and realizing that they were bullshit artists in the first place. Young Jeezy and his merry band of crack carriers bricked, while T.I.’s newest joint is nothing more than a coaster for my nightly cups of Ovaltine. Perhaps if this shit sammich doesn’t sell, he can blame the whole thing on his “alter-ego,” or whatever the fuck he’s jabbering about. But when some random-ass Internets Celebrity with too much time on his hands creates a parody of Lil Wombat that’s better than any of the original’s mixtapes, something is definitely wrong.

It’s really a shame, however, when some of the better artists aren’t doing the numbers they should be doing despite their critical acclaim, simply because the music doesn’t resemble current “tastemakers’” sounds. In this individual’s honest opinion, the person getting the greatest shaft is Pharoahe Monch, who not only has two near-classic [2] albums under his belt, but he can rap circles around your favorite Southern shitbag artist. Honestly, I’ve never understood why critics and fans alike would consider a mixtape of all things a “classic,” but I guess in today’s misguided scene anything’s possible. And for all the yelping everyone will do (go buy his muh’fuckin’ album sucka!) we all know Pharoahe’s gonna tank worse than Keith Closs’ career. Sad, really.

[1] And no, R. Kelly is not a rapper. He’s a geriatric degenerate/dyslexic genius who’s too old to be rocking cornrows.

[2] I really hate using that word in that manner, but compared to the other turd burgers I’ve listened to, his shits are like Pepto Bismol to those other fuckers.

157 Comments             

The All-Seeing Eye Of The Government

For all the machismo and testosterone running wild on this site, I felt there was a need for a woman’s perspective on things. So without further adieu, here’s Drea...

With the ever so anticipated iPhone dropping today, all the hype got me thinking about technology's true impact on society.

Here I sit, behind one of my most appreciated pieces of technology, my laptop. If it wasn't for this thing, I'd probably be flunking out of college, and completely ignorant to the world. This one item allows me to get news, REAL news, not Fox News, about any and everything happening in the world. It allows me to express my thoughts, feelings, and beliefs to the public, which Meka is so graciously giving me an outlet for through his blog. It tells me if it's going to rain, it entertains me with music and games, hell, there's not much that it doesn't do.

But is it REALLY all that great?

No! Technology, and I do mean phones and other things besides computers seem to have made our society a much more dangerous and corrupt place. Essentially everything you do can be tracked. Every move you make, everything you download, everything you purchase, everybody you call, you name it. Around 1998 the FCC started to put a little thing called E911 into effect. By 2001 every cell phone sold in the US had to have the capability to be tracked, so that if you placed a 911 call from your cell they would be able to find your location quickly to come to your assistance. All of this is done by a wonderful little system called GPS. We've all heard of it, many of us probably have little GPS systems in our car, helping us tackle the maze of city streets.

GPS is a system of satellites constantly orbiting earth that use a quite simple system to locate a GPS unit on the earth's surface. Many people don't know however, that the GPS system is owned by the US Department of Defense, has been around for a couple decades now, and they spend thousands and thousands of dollars for it's upkeep every year. And we all know if it's not about the war, our government is stingy with the money, so why are they so interested in the GPS system? The government operates it at a different and more accurate frequency than the public has access to. They can see a penny lying on the sidewalk from the pictures our satellites are able to take. In that sense, you'd see that it's not that hard for the government to watch and see if your favorite rappers, weed carrier, bag holder or bling handler even jaywalks. The system was originally put into orbit for obvious military reasons.

Every one of our cell phones has the capability of being tracked, but how many of us stop to really think who might be doing the tracking?

Type in GPS tracking in Google, I dare you. You'll find a load of websites selling covert devices so you can spy on your cheating spouse or track your teenage kids. Wow, I feel so safe and secure.

Aside from GPS, 30 years ago, how much did you hear about child molesters? Granted, I wasn't alive 30 years ago, but I've been around long enough to notice the instances go on the rise. How do these people tend to find their victims? The glorious Internet, of course.

Microwaves, cell phones, video game systems...we've all heard that they cause health problems - cancer, carpel tunnel syndrome, eye problems, but yet when a new phone comes out or the PS3 drops, we're all lining up to buy one.

Sure technology gives us conveniences, but is it really doing us that much good? If anything it's distracting us from real issues. It entertains us while our soldiers are losing their lives in Iraq. It's taking away loot from your favorite music artist. It's bringing the dreaded illiterate voice of President Bush into my ears every night.

So rest assured that when the new iPhone drops, your local kiddie-banger will be enjoying his teenybopper porn on his new piece of glorious technology that he can take anywhere, some non-driving-capable girl driving an SUV in which she can barely see over the steering wheel to start with will crash into somebody because she was trying to use the damn thing while she was operating her vehicle, and a local drug dealer will get busted because he talked hot on the phone and didn't know it was tapped.

"Just put a rag on your face when you ride, you don't want them satellites to take your picture" - Dead Prez

38 Comments             

What’s Going On?

If there’s one thing we can all agree on here, it’s that Tuesday’s B.E.T. Awards show was a certified shit sammich. When I watched bits & pieces of the show on the television and Internets, I honestly didn’t expect something that horrendously awful to be broadcasted. At the same time, this is the same channel that’s feebly trying to pass off shitty straight-to-DVD movies as “blackbusters” (whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean), so it’s not like I should have expected Topdog/Underdog or something.

If anything should be learned from all of this, it’s that the B.E.T. Awards should be considered a harbinger of more bad shit to come. I may be looking a little too deep into this, but it seems like as soon as some garbage rapper decides to step out of pocket and onto someone else’s face, the hip-hop world goes to Hell a little quicker than it should. As soon as that one guy treated Dr. Dre like Glass Joe at the Vibe Awards a few years back, in the months that followed Shirley Chisholm, Johnnie Cochran, Luther Vandross and Richard Pryor among others passed. And I’m not gonna even touch the kiss of death that was Hurricane Katrina. And look at this year; Kanye allegedly had too much “sippy-sippy” (is that what they’re calling it now?) and showed his ass Dirt McGirt-style at some random-ass MTV Awards show out in Europe to kick off this year, and everything’s gone straight down the shitter.

2006 wasn’t a good year for piff pocketers either. I’m pretty sure that if “bullet-taking” wasn’t left out of the job description, most people probably wouldn’t want to hold an umbrella over your favorite rapper for a living. We already know that Busta Rhymes’, T.I.’s and Eminem’s lackeys were picked off in a rather convincing fashion, but the worst one of all (though definitely the funniest of the bunch) may have been Nelly’s moolie Ali, who supposedly got tasered by the fuzz so bad he ended up shitting his pants.

Now here we are almost seven months into the year, and hip-hop hasn’t seen one platinum-selling act. On the other hand, Fat Joe got two random-ass Mexicans ethered, Cam’Ron got his retina crushed by Tru-Life for looking at Jay-Z with the  “come hither” eyes, Tony Yayo slapped a kid for wearing the wrong shirt, Foxy Brown’s shoulders, chest, pants, shoes and hearing aid got gaffled by her ex-boyfriend/pimp's nappy headed hoes and T.I. sucker-punched some hump who named himself after the African warrior who was killed by his own brothers at a brunch of all places. What’s next, somebody’s gonna get their ass kicked at a country club? Wait a minute...

Things are really fucked up in hip-hop, and if things continue the way they’ve been going, I may have to quit this rap shit just so I can hold on to the privilege of sleeping every night. The last thing I need is someone to pop my kufi off on some random-ass, Grand Theft Auto-style shit.

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Lil Wayne & Jay-Z Can Both Bite My Ass

In case you didn’t know, there is a difference between bloggers and writers. Writers are supposed to bring an unbiased, newsworthy sense to the masses. They’ve been responsible for the way many – if not all – of us think, what they prefer and what they listen to. With such a powerful influence on our very being, is it any wonder why journalism is one of the most volatile, dangerous and disrespected professions around? A journalist going out to cover the Middle East is just as much a target as a soldier.

Bloggers, on the other hand, are the Internets equivalent of that drunken uncle in your family who sits in that corner recliner at your family barbeque always stirring up some shit. Whereas writers are more or less storytellers, bloggers will shit on that story and give their own, often fucked-up point of view on it. The rules and integrity reserved for journalism goes flying out the window. Bloggers won’t win any Pulitzers, and some (like all of us humps here) are usually compensated in insults. I sure as shit won’t be able to pay my rent with a virtual “fuck you homo,” but I digress. However, bloggers are almost solely responsible for the cipher element in hip-hop to remain relevant today. So while bloggers may not be able to sit at the grown folks’ table, they bring forth much more entertaining – and in some cases better – debates than your average writer.

One of the things about blogs is that they usually (and sometimes unfortunately) garner more attention if they make a mention of some current craptastic artist. I knew that shit before I started even marking my territory, which is why I occupy a couple slots on that list to the upper-right of your screen [1], and one of my shits has hovered in one of the top-2 spots since I got here. Sadly, the ones that are genuinely enthralling (such as Brillyance’s Friday spotlights) are avoided like The Germ, which sucks for those who actually have something good to say.

Speaking of that top-2 blog, whenever I go back to read the shit from time to time, although it’s obvious that I was in a different state of mind then, I’ll still stand by my opinion of Weasel F. Fraggle being one of the most overrated and shittiest rappers of all time [2]. But as much disdain as I have for the rapping wombat, I will acknowledge his immense presence in the game today, albeit in the sense that out of all the artists out today, Wheezy sounds the least like the first 20 seconds of Cabbiedonna’s Dragon Ball Z-inspired “freestyle” on my blogging brethren Donwill’s recent post [3].

At the same time, I really don’t give a shit that he’s beefing with Jay-Z, as if the shit will make hip-hop forget that he likes to get rear-ended by his fake-ass father. Grandpa Simpson hasn’t done anything remotely fulfilling in rap for years now, and it seems like every shitbag hump who can rhyme “thing” with “bang” will go at him for a little face time on the Internets. But here’s the question that does intrigue me: do so many people feel like they have to go at Jay to build up their reputation? The obvious answer to that could pertain to Jigga being the greatest lyricist alive right now, and the theory that in order to be the best, you have to beat the best. Think about it: nobody’s going at Rakim, Slick Rick or Big Daddy Kane for props now, right?

But if you ask me (and I know you’re not), I believe that these humps are really attacking him out of a sense of envy and urgency. And as much as I rag on Jigga, I can respect that he has enough common sense not to jump headfirst into a meaningless beef. It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t care too much about rap anymore with his current streak of lethargic rhymes, since he’s already made his impression on the game, not to mention he’s probably balls-deep in the hottest light-skinned chick of my generation while I’m switching out the coffee filters at my job. I can even understand his reasoning to throw a couple lazy jabs here and there as well; they’re not so much for the purpose of defending himself than they are for the bizarre, backgammon-like way of setting his opponents up to fall flat on their face when their album does drop. Jim Jones’ and Cam’Ron’s shit sammiches both failed to even go gold despite the buzz they got from their nonsensical beef with Jay, and I’ve already noticed that Weasel’s wig has been pushed back to next year.

But in the end, who gives a flying fuck what everybody thinks? One of the more prevalent arguments I’ve seen more often than not is the “he’s making more money to care about you” logic a lot of Wayne Staynes throw out to their detractors. By that half-tarded reasoning, wouldn’t that mean that he doesn’t give a shit about a random-ass c-boy’s virtual support outside of tricking them into buying their newest audio violation also? I’m pretty sure Jay’s not climbing out of Beyoncé (or Wayne climbing out of Baby, for that matter) to check this shit if it’s not making them richer than they already are.

By the way, this is not a diss to aliya. Lord knows I don’t need to be cyber-pistol whipped by someone I respect here too.

[1] It’s also because I write damn near everyday, but whatever.

[2] I believe the proper designation was “Garbage On A Tape.”

[3] Seriously Don, what the fuck was that shit? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that Vegeta would have popped out of nowhere, and the two of them would start exchanging Spirit Bombs or something.

338 Comments             

Rappers And Reverends Don’t Mix

At the risk of sounding less desirable to the three women who read this shit, I am not a religious person [1], nor have I been to church in months [2], nor have I actually stayed awake during a service in years. In my ever-so-humble opinion, religion is nothing more than hypocritical psychobabble scaring the shit out of its followers into following its “guidance” to near-fanatical levels of insanity. However, since I believe that there is a God(dess) out there who is responsible for the directions of all our lives, I don’t really have an issue with anybody who actually looks to religion as a means of “searching for the truth,” so to speak.

My major qualm with the church however is their immense contradictory lifestyle. Alongside a certain, sand-dwelling bunch of towelheads misconstruing the teachings of their random-ass God(dess) and running into crowded shopping centers with C4 strapped to their chests [3] ethering little kids and the like, I personally don’t get down with those who are guilty of doing the same things they preach against and attack.

It’s not unusual nowadays to see preachers running around stunting as much today’s rappers or the pimps of yesteryear. The final draw for me was seeing piss-poor patrons giving what’s left of their WIC checks to some gaudily-dressed minister in a car that’s rims cost more than the piece of shit I drive to work.

But what’s the most fucked up thing is a preacher’s inherent need to taste the flesh of another male, whether it’s the little choir boy who picks up the music books after service or some drugged-out man-whore with some shitbag Southern rapper’s namesake. I don’t know about you, but the last thing I need is some quasi-homosexual hump telling me I need Jesus. That’s some grade-A Fagitry right there.

So with all the internal problems they face on the daily, how does the church feel that they are fit enough to take on hip-hop? Last week I read about some random-ass church’s “Take Out The Hip-Hop Trash” billboard campaign or some shit, and now hip-hop’s first sell-out Kurtis Blow [4] now plans on "burying" the dreaded n-word alongside the NACCP, even going as far as holding a procession for the whole thing.  Pardon my Igbo, but that has got to be the most ass-backward hustle I've ever seen. I mean, who's honestly going to listen to the same organizations that have a penchant for giving dry butt service to little boys instead of Communion?

In light of cracka-ass geezer Don Imus’ infamous statements, I find it sad how every hump comes out of the woodwork to attack the language in hip-hop, as if it is the cause of all the problems in the urban society. What they fail to realize is that they are also perpetrating the issues that plague hip-hop as well. If anything, censorship should start in the family: if parents don’t want their children listening to the shit, then it is their responsibility to make sure they don’t, not some rich-ass fagboy priest. Come on now, would you take Ma$e’s rants seriously? That boy is more confused than anyone.

[1] I am, however, a spiritual person. And yes, there’s a difference.

[2] My moms made me go with her for my birthday.

[3] You know, for a country that’s supposed to have economic inconsistency, they sure do have a shitload of weapons at their disposal. I’m just saying.

[4] He was the first jig to start rapping about Sprite in its commercials. Tell me I’m wrong.

49 Comments             

It’s Cheaper To Keep Her

Question: When is it okay to cheat on your woman?

Answer: When your net worth resembles the national debt.

Contrary to the belief that I’m nothing more than a nihilistic, hypocritical asshole that throws the term “cracka-ass cracka” out like candy on Halloween, one of the few things I do believe in is the sacred traditions of a healthy marriage [1]. More than the primary means of preventing your children from going all Chow Yun Fat on a college campus, it’s pretty much the only way for a man to not have their balls tickled more than once a season. Pause.

But what happens when the love is gone? Before, the easiest way for women to hit men where it hurts was to take the children (which I don’t see as a bad thing at all). But thanks to this era of “women empowerment” anthems, more and more females find that it’s much more fulfilling taxing a man for almost half of his shit, which is just wrong.

Case in point: when news hit that former NBA champion and G.O.A.T. baller Michael Jordan was about to get taken for over $150 million from his horse face ex, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It’s shit like this that makes you not want to wife somebody in the first place. Not to sound like the dick on this site (but let’s face it, it’s probably way too late for that), but you have to assume that the gold-digging skank probably had it in for his money from the gate. I mean, how could you not cheat when the mother of your children was known to come home smelling like Dickey Simpkins of all people?

Now comes word that Bugs Monkey’s babymuddah wants in on whatever money he made from Coke buying Vitamin Water. Not to say I’m Curtis’ number-one fan (I don’t even bother stealing his music off the Internets anymore), but that’s complete bullshit. Much like when Clear Channel sued the shit out of YouTube shortly after they were sold for over a billion dollars, waiting on someone to enter a higher tax bracket before trying to yoke them for their ends is on some extra-fucked up, borderline Mafia shit. While on the surface it may appear that the skeezer is trying to “support their child,” you have to be a complete dumbass to not know that this whore is trying to get some kind of personal gain from all of this. You know she already gets more than enough to take care of the little man and herself in the first place. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to need (or want, for that matter) more G-Unit clothing; that shit doesn’t even sell in Burlington Coat Factory anymore.

It’s a well-known fact that men are not favored when it comes to divorce and paternity courts. So why even bother with marriage when you’re a gajillionaire? You’d have to spend more time worrying about what she’s not going to gaffle from you than the actual marriage itself, which in the long run would destroy the shit altogether. Rich people and marriage = Effed In The Ay.

Besides, it’s never been a cool thing to be married, much less have a girlfriend, in hip-hop anyways, what with every rapper claiming they have a main chick, mistress and a young chick on the side [2]. The exception to this rule would be Jay-Z, but obviously aware that in his old age he wasn’t as proficient in bagging a model chick when you more or less resemble Joe Camel, he inexplicably managed to get one of the hottest jaundice-toned chicks ever. But you know even he had to trick a little to pull that shit off.

My solution to all this? Whether you slide up in some random-ass chick raw and get her pregnant, or do get married and you can’t keep your johnson out from between a nasty groupie’s legs, screw around on the broad when you’re a broke-ass bastard. She can’t get you for half of nothing. Or just dump her and only have sex with white women altogether. Shit, it works for Polow Da Don.

[1] Which is quite possibly the complete antithesis of hip-hop.

[2] In R. Kelly’s case, however, they’d all be one and the same.

79 Comments