Purple Sector…

DOOM (he recently dropped the Metal Fingerz) is one of the most creative cats in music period, and he has a lot of interesting things to say on the rare occasion he gives an interview. Aside from some hating last summer by a DJ who rocks with a group who was never all that good to begin with, he’s keeping heads happy. I tend to agree with what he says about his “impostors” and he goes into further detail HERE.

DOOM, your reputation preceeds you.

The Stanky Legg? The Ricky Bobby? REALLY?!

Now, before I start, don’t get me wrong, the south has given us some great Hip-Hop music. It brought us Luda, ‘Kast, The Geto Boyz, Goodie, UGK, Ball and G, Little Brother, TI, B.o.B., Nappy Roots, Tela, Mystikal, Early Cash Money, Chamillionaire, Dj Screw, Fat Pat, Hawk, Lil’ Keke, Master P, Trick Daddy, Slimm Calhoun, Devin the Dude, and so on. But, as of late, it seems like in order to get to the gems the south has to offer, you have to wade through a steady current of crappy, sub-par people who call themselves rappers. People from the south genuinely believe we’re hating on the south up Nawf, but we aren’t, we’d simply appreciate it if you had a stricter application process to be a rapper down there. It’s like anyone with a birth certificate and a valid permanent residence can don a hate and all white forces and get a record deal, showing up on BET at least two or three times a year. That’s got to stop. There was a time when, even though New York didn’t necessarily slip per se, but the west coast and south side were garnering the lion’s share of attention due to their new sounds and takes on what was largely a NY-centric music genre. When Elevators came out I was either 6 or 7, and I had never heard anything like it. Not only was the beat eerie without being cheesy a la the horror-rap phase, the lyrics were sharp and the chorus was infectious.  There’s nothing wrong with infectious hooks or lines, as long as they’re propped up by deft lyricism, and this is what so many artists out of the south tend to miss. We can hit dat Birdwalk only for so long, after a while, we want to hear what you think about different issues or your own life. Peepin in My Window, which is the best Goodie Mob song ever IMO, may have spooked me when I was a kid, but now I realize that that song was nothing to play with, the beat was amazing, it’s still hot today, and the chorus was simple, unlike the lyrics or rhyme schemes contained in the actual verses. Nowadays, in the south, it’s like, save for a select few, a rapper is either a great lyricist with no grasp on the concept of good/catchy hooks, or a great hook writer with no skill on the mic whatsoever. It doesn’t have to be that way, guys. Sometimes, we don’t wanna hear social commentary or life stories, we just want to see girls get after it on the dancefloor, and for this, the South is clutch. But more often than not, we (being those with brains) want to hear some realness, and, again, save for a select few, the south ain’t got nothin’ to say.

Word. I haven’t been on for a minute, family issues, ya’ll.

But Barrack got me thinking on some legitimate black pride stuff, what don’t we do best? I’m fully concinved at this point in my life that we are the best at everything and anything essential to human life and livelihood. Name it, we do it top flight. Music? Blues, Jazz, Hip-Hop, R&B, Spirituals. Athletics? I won’t get carpal tunnel listing our unmitigated dominance.  Poetry, Literature, Intelligence in general? Langston, W.E.B., Cornell, Michael Eric, Sister Souljah. Hell, even Jesus Christ was a man of color. We did it ya’ll. There’s no long ass spiel about this, but I just wanted to make that known, and I dare anyone to test me on this.

2008 was one hell of a year. It was hell at some points, and euphoric at a few others. For many of us, this year was filled with triump and gut-wrenching defeat, hope and despair in even shares. But here’s what I’ll remember, good and bad, from 2008.

The Ass-Whoopin’ of an election

Let’s be honest here folks. I know when it happened, I was on that nice, it’s an honor, “Yes We Did” tip, but, this wasn’t a race, it was a royal, Harlem Globetrotters Vs. the Green Team style ass-whoopin’. Not your garden variety, just for the hell of it whoopin’, the kind that only happens in the clutch, MJ exploding for 35 with the flu and your teammates asking you why you can’t guard him when he’s sick as a dog type ass-whoopin’. Tiger Woods riding his golf club like Happy Gilmore on the 13th hole cuz he knows he got this style ass-whoopin’. Somebody coming to your party at YOUR house, putting their snowy feet on YOUR oak coffee table, DARING you to say something, and then slapping you down,  American Pimp style ass-whoopin’. It was never even close. They stopped counting earlier than they had to for almost three elections past. He won by nearly 8 percent, but popular opinion and consensus hasn’t been that lopsided since the backlash against New Coca-Cola, Or Kwame’ Polka-dots. The man played it cool (in the words of a close friend, like a “real cool ass nigga”), outclassed and outjabbed the opposition for the knockout. This was De La Hoya – Pacquiao, Mike Tyson – Francois Botha HERE bad. Ass Whoopin’. And yeah, yeah, the concession was nice, but on some real stuff, forget that. John McCain was playin for keeps, he let Sarah run her mouth, and then they got slapped in them. They lost hard like the Raiders in the ‘02 Superbowl, minus the 14 points they put up late in the 4th quarter. PWND.

Celtics take #17

I’m ranking these in order of severity of the whoopin’. This is a close second. FINALLY. After my entire teen and adult life watching my favorite team wallow in suckiness, they make some right moves, aided by a former Celtic (once a C, always a C) and take it in dominating, crushing at times, Randy Moss in Minnie “I play when I wanna” style. Paul outdueling King James? Bomb. KG running roughshod over Pau? Bomb. Leon off the bench doing it ALL?! Bomb. Big Baby, being Big Baby, Rondo coming into his own, Ray getting hot at just the right time, Sam I Am scoring in bunches, Eddie drainin’ 3’s, Poze fouling hard and doing what he does best? BOMB. The defense was amazing, they moved almost in sync when the ball did, and though they lapsed, you knew that there was never a game that would genuinely get away from them. They delivered in classic green fashion when the time came, each contributing, no one doing more than their role, coached amazingly by a man I swore to hate until he left but now find myself growing in respect for. They represented out there. Anything is possible.

Goodbye, Yves S-L!

Yves Saint Laurent was the prototype for greatness in the fashion world. Everything he did was elegant, stylish, loving, amazing, beautiful. He got his start at 21, and since then, for 50 years, if it’s hot, if it’s new, if it’s to be admired, desired, envied, he was at the helm, steering whatever ship it may have been. He never fell behind, never played it safe, never let age loosen his grip on what great fashion was, is, and would or should be in the future.  The fashion world lost a favorite son this year. Rest in Peace, Yves. Au Revoir.

Who dat said dey gon’ beat Lil’ Wayne?

Quite simply, he was omnipresent in pop culture for this year. Award shows, commercials, features, products, news, controversy, hate, criticism. He was the LeBron of Hip-Hop this year, it was his official coming out party. Though critical of his work and his dedication, no pun intended, his work ethic is unquestionable, unwavering, and that is to be commended. Very simply put, he lives what he does, and he loves what he does. How long he allows himself a place on this earth remains to be seen, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt he’ll do this until he drops, and there is nothing bad to be said about that kind of love for any one legal thing. Congratulations on your newfound success, Dwayne, I hope you find the inspiration to keep them talking.

Talking Heads, And the People Who Listen
I’ve always been a news channel junkie, always will be. But, with this year being the first time we’ve had a viable black man run for Prez, I’ve seen the rampant, blatant, unrepentant, unchecked bias, racism (overt and covert) and hatred spewed by not only many in the media, but many laypeople. The internet seems to have taken the place of the gun, fist, shoe as the way to express hatred and anger. A truly cowardly move by most who indulge. I understand disagreement, I understand anger, resentment, prejudice, bias, even racism to a point. But if you’re any of those things, ADMIT IT. Don’t hide behind some BS front and make yourself seem noble or just behind your facade. I can’t take issue with you if you own up to what u feel, even if it may not be PC or popular. However, to masquerade as something else to save face while pumping your hateful agenda gets no love from yours truly.

Happy New Year to all, be safe, be alive, be loving, be caring, and do whatcha’ like in 09!

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, Jordan Lebeau and Lee Beard Present to you:

Long Weekend!

(Cheers, deafening applause)

Seriously though, Lee, the beat king and Me, Jordan, Mr. Awesome himself, hooked up, minus the alcohol and drunken regret, and formed a duo by the name of Long Weekend. Why Long Weekend? We bounced name

How does one “keep it real”? And How does one keep it fake?

I grew up about 10 minutes north of Boston, in a little, predominantly white and Asian town called Malden, in a housing project across the street from one of the best schools in the state. I attended Private schools through High School, and am enrolled in a private college. I spent every second weekend with my father in his third floor apartment just off Blue Hill Avenue in Dorchester, where, while not the hardened ghetto-esque place like Harlem or Watts, per se, is no sweet place to live and grow.  Going back and forth from one place to another was culture shock every time, and these places are thirty minutes away from one another on the MBTA. The landscape in the Dot was less inviting, there were fewer places to gather, fewer inherently safe places for kids, and hell, even adults to go in the day or night time. The houses were vertical, and any single or two family housewas almost assuredly poorly kept inside and out. The doors and windows were barred; my father had nine bolts and locks on the door to his house. Nine. Police cars took up the good parking spots during rain and snowstorms. We used big, flattened MD 20/20 bottles as bases when we played kickball or baseball in the street. Three of my closest friends in Dorchester, all of whom are either dead or in jail, had at least one parent hooked on some illicit drug. Even my father had his struggles with alcoholism. I don’t know of anyone’s mom or dad who was a manager or mid-to-high ranking worker at a firm, bank, or cushy white collar job. Everyone was in survival mode there, and, from the great lengths of time I spend in areas like it when my mind can take it, still is. Malden was just the opposite. No bars on doors, we used rocks for bases, fewer (visible) addictions in adults, more white-collar jobs, less illegal activity, more inviting landscape. When I told the kids where me and my mom lived, I had to fight to get home that day. Why? I was told I was a sellout, an Oreo, a whiteboy, that I wasn’t real. No kidding I wasn’t real, I was too busy being eight! Ever since then, I’ve had a hard time grasping exactly what ’real” means to most people who invoke it or claim to keep it so.

From what I understand, “keeping it real” is some sort of creed to keep your life immersed in the life you were forced to lead out of the struggle you faced during. To keep true to the habits, worldviews, thought patterns, and desires you formed while doing your time at the bottom of the American Social Totem Pole. Any deviance from said things is looked upon as selling out, being fake, or trying to be like these white boys out here. If that’s the case, where is the line between real and fake? I spent about 30% of my formative years with my father in environments that would breed so-called “real niggas”, and I’m currently enrolled in a Private University, own my own business, so on and so-forth. My style of dress, talk, and self presentation, however, are derived largely from what I learned in “the hood.” However, my vocabulary, worldview, goals and aspirations came from just the opposite influence: my education and upbringing. What would I be? I look like a street kid, walk, talk, dress like, listen to the same music (to an extent), enjoy many of the same activities, places, and things as a street kid. Yet I’ve been told I talk white, and that no “real niggas” would use words like “myriad” or “bricolage.” WTF?! When is the quest to be and/or stay real superceded by the desire to be your own person? When does one lose the cookie cutter and decide to be their own version of themselves?

Furthermore, what is the benefit to being “real”? Does it add years to your life, length to your male organ, money to your checking account? Or does it only serve to keep a bunch of people who happen to share skin tones, ancestry, and socio-economic forces bound together in a negative way? Clearly, I believe it to be the latter. See, while I don’t think they ever had a name for it, staying “real” is as a part of black culture as slavery and Jim Crow. Think of who we would label not real: House Niggas, Michael Jackson, Kanye West, Jay-Z, Cornell West, Bill Cosby. Why? because they’ve developed a common disdain or disapproval for black mainstream culture? Because they made a way for themselves and a select few others out of the poor situations they may have been born into (not the house niggas)? Because they’ve taken their stature as celebrities or public figures to point out some of the shortcomings of the group of people they may not only love, but undeniably belong to? That’s why? Those are the realest things EVAR! My mom is a real nigga. Why? Because she was the second youngest of five children in Albany Georgia, graduated from college two years early, earned two Master’s Degrees early, had children, provided for them, instilled in them a love or learning and a sense of morality, and worked hard for eveything she loved, needed, and wanted to hold dear. That’s real. Outcries against any one person or small group of persons who go against the grain of “real”, simply because it may be ahead of its time, or the harsh truth, or that person’s own vision, is not real, that’s fake, to me. Go ask someone in your neighborhood about any of the people I mentioned, aside from my mom. If they tell you any of them aren’t “real niggas”, do your homework. Look at their quality of life, worldview, sense of morality and individuality. Now duplicate this with ten or so other “real niggas”. Notice a trend? I propose that every one of those real niggas dresses the same, talks the same, listens to the same select few artists, will see the same terrible movies, and probably have eerily similar Facebook statuses. Why? Here’s why, in my opinion. The quest for common personality or identity traits doesn’t do anything to make any of the chasers any better or more quality individuals.  Keeping it real is like joining a cult, of people who frown on innovation, originality, individuality, outspokenness, and anything generally progressive or uplifting in nature. These are the same kind of people who you’ll find wearing wifebeaters and baggy jeans with wallet chains and those annoying skullies with the brims, with dingy, creased white AF1 Lo’s and low-budget knockoff stunna shades at a party. Oh yeah, you’re both real, and a poor excuse for a Shawty-Lo lookalike, you artard.

So, if you want to really keep it real, do yourself a favor: be yourself. Do what you want and need to do on your own terms. No stereotype or strict, rigid set of rules or guidelines ever made anyone any better of a person. And that’s real.

Sorry Shawty-Lo.

Celebrities are strange animals in our culture. They are almost equal parts hated and loved, some feared, some revered, many envied, and yet with the label of celebrity comes parts of life many would shudder to wish upon their worst enemies. People who, many of which came from beginnings like yours and mine, possibly worse, to achieve nation or worldwide notoriety and recognition for their efforts, style, mind, deed, or otherwise. Most people adorned with the C label are here today and gone tomorrow, destined to show up on Hollywood Squares or some I Love the (insert something lovable here) show in a few months/years. But then, there are the few who become so good at their craft, so outspoken, so interesting, that they merit a longer stay in the public eye. These are our Oprahs, Tyras, Jay-Zs, Bonos, and Angelinas. All of these people were faced with the same opportunity to go down as flashes in their field’s pan, and through their own creativity, perseverance, talent, drive, or sheer luck of the draw, managed to jump every hurdle in sight to become megastars. Jay-Z sold out the MSG in 55 minutes and 48 seconds. Oprah dictates the eating, reading, dressing, and thinking habits of millions of women across age, language, and color barriers the nation over. Are these people simply wired by our creator to be more extraordinary individuals? Were they born on a day the stars aligned just right? I don’t believe so at all. Rather, these people have all recognized, tapped into and effectively used what I would call the power of celebrity.

Being a celeb is like being the cool kid in the 8th grade. If you do it, and you can pull it off, chances are, those less cool or less well known will attempt to do it like you do, maybe even better, in hopes of being associated in the minds of others with whatever it is you may embody or represent to the middle school student body. However, what you do with your powers are different. We all know the kid who everyone liked who decided to be a dick to the less cool, lesser known kid or group of kids in class, simply because he knew he was cool enough to escape being  labeled a dickhead. And many of us know the kid who most people or everyone liked who still did well in school and tried to include everyone, generally trying to be nice about the fact that he was the coolest thing since Giga-Pets (remember those?!) Both recognized their celebrity in their setting. And both used the power of their celebrity for what they saw fit. One of those kids may have been big man on campus for a while, but I bet penny over blood nickle that the kid who decided to be an asshat to the ones around is probably friendless, has developed a mild to moderate drinking problem, maybe at least 10 pounds overweight, and can probably be found wearing the latest rap or country video fashion trends at a party, giving middle fingers in pictures and telling girls about their “sweet racks.” Not so cool anymore. However, the kid who used it positively is probably still one of the coolest guys or girls you know if you stayed in contact. The same can be said about national and international celebrity.

Those, in my opinion, who use their newfound position in life to do nothing positive or promote negativity, are gone as fast and harshly as they burst on the scene. However, the ones that recognize the label and use it for what it is worth, while attempting to do some good for the people stay on the scene like Herpes at a frathouse. 50 Cent embodied and still embodies everything outsiders look in and see wrong with Hip-Hop Culture. He was not only unapologetic about it, but he embraced this fact and used it to propel the success of four albums. What’s the name of 50’s newest song? When’s his album dropping? Do you care?! No, No, No, of course you don’t, unless you’re the cool kid who was a bully in 8th grade. In which case, you shouldn’t be reading, it’s for squares. You should going to see the new Vin Deisel movie, or seeing how many beers you can drink in 15 minutes with an inner ear infection on the edge of the Grand Canyon, jerkoff. However, Jay-Z who, to some, in all truth, still embodies a lot of what people see wrong with Hip-Hop, elevated his personal status through his business acumen, his philanthropic work, his humanitarian attention, and a change of subject matter (to a large extent, not fully) in his music. He ditched the baggy jeans for the bowties and the Timbs for the Lou Vuittons with the red bottoms. Jay is damn near 40, has never been exceptionally cute, cannot sing, dance, or play basketball well, and just may be the father of mad undercover children. But Jay is here to stay. Luck of the draw? No, the power of celebrity.

See, I think human nature is inherently good. So, I think we all want to see our celebrities do good, because many of us, if not all, live vicariously through these people. I know when I see KG pump his chest, part of me wants to get up and do it myself, until I realize I’m in a public place and everyone knows my name. So, the celebrities who use their ability for good go further than those who do nothing or wallow in negativity. Which brings up the train-wreck celeb. Why do we love them? I think we love them so much because we all know how train-wrecks end: grusomely, with few survivors leaving how they came in. We see these figures doing nothing positive and think to ourselves “well, if their going to keep down this road, we may as well enjoy the ride.” I think that by watching these poor souls crash and burn we are subconciously judging and castigating them for failing to live up to our desired role of celebrity: goodwill and the positive benefit of all. Along the way, we get to point and laugh and thank God or Allah or Zoroaster that we didn’t turn out that way, warning kids that if they emulate the kid in 8th grade who bullies the others, they too, may wind up like Kevin Federline. And Kevin Federline doesn’t get invited to the cool parties, or get valentines from the cute girl on Valentine’s day.

Damn I wish I had those DoorKnockers!
Intended as an antidote to the onesided and boring representation of contemporary female Hip Hop culture, Anattitude Magazine presents strong independent women from around the Hip Hop world with a special focus on a variety of gender styles.

This is definitely one of the dopest publications of the female side of Hip-Hop I have found. Complete with every element of hip hop and these girls really have credibility with the Old School hard hitters like Roxanne Shante,Sparky Dee,Lady Pink, and famous 80’s photographer Martha Cooper.

Definitely worth a look at.
http://www.anattitude.net/index.html

I don’t get it.

There was a time, around when I was in kingergarten, when people realized that Hip-Hop was not one large animal, but rather, a pack of them, each serving a purpose under the umbrella. Now, it seems, Hip-Hop, in the minds of many of its so-called fans, can only be one or two things. If it’s gun talk, it isn’t Hip-Hop. If it’s dance music, if it’s not Boom-Bap, if there are no James Brown Samples, if it’s “hipster”, if it’s dope music, it can’t be Hip-Hop. To be totally honest, this isn’t all our fault. There was a time when the music stations and channels were as such that if you didn’t want to hear gunplay music, you could switch from MTv to The Box, and hear some conscious, enlightened music, and vice versa. Now, certain parts of the music/culture have been so pumped up that we grow to hate on them, in spite of the fact they still do have an important role in the culture and music’s space. It’s like curling with one arm, and leaving the other alone to atrophy. Both are important, but because a lack of attention, one fails to play the role it should. Does that mean the weak arm should be cut off? Of course not. It’s not the arm’s fault its owner isn’t using it to its full potential. Instead, the owner/user should take the time to review its importance, and even out usage of both arms. That way, not only is he maximizing the weak arm, he’s going a long way to make sure he doesn’t do permanent damage to the strong arm by overuse. Get it now? All the stuff on the radio, the gunplay, the mysogyny, the beat-driven, lyric lacking dance music, the self indulgence, all have a place in Hip-Hop. They shouldn’t be hated, though we should hate the fact that we get much too much of them. The fact that corporate America is sapping them dry of their money making ability, shouldn’t take away from the fact that they still have a valuable place in the grand scheme of things. Instead, we as consumers of the Music should support projects that don’t get as much shine (Murs, Atmosphere, Killer Mike, Ice Cube, GZA, etc.) until radio catches on and brings the selection we crave. in short: Don’t hate, son! just BUY whatchu like, and if we all do, they’ll give it to us more frequently.

Has an interview over at hipHopDX, who continue to assert themselves as the number one hip-hop site around. Fela is one of my favorite acts, his music seems inately hip-hop to me, which is a feat in and of itself, considering where when and how it came about. HERE is the link to a very good interview, and below is some good father and son action (naux haux maux on that one)