Purple Sector…

I had officially gotten sick of this song, but damned if this performance didn’t breathe some life into it. It was great, props to Maya for performing on her due date with no signs of having the baby itself onstage. Peep the vid.

I love pricks. Jay-Z, KanYe West, all of them. Pricks make the world go ’round. So, if you see a prick, shake their hand before you stifle the urge to kick them in the balls.

Pricks are a ballsy breed nowadays. With the public’s craving, nay, addiction to peices of the lives of individuals who are more famous than us Jor Six-Packs, any wrong move can spell the end of any celeb’s place in the sun. How do they remain so true to their pricky selves? Why does A-Rod turn down kids in wheelchairs seeking autographs, when he knows a camera phone could catch it all on tape? Why does 50 Cent continue to run his mouth, knowing his album will flop like grandma’s mammories? Cuz that’s who they are. They’re born asshats, these people are.I have a pofound respect for jerks and pricks in the public eye. Why? In this world of celebrityism, any wrong turn can get the tide of public opinion turned on you like women at a shoe sale. I’ve met a great deal of stars in my life: Jay-Z, Manny, Papi, A-Rod, Jeter, Tom Brady, Randy Moss, Torry Holt, Yeezy, Mike Jones, Paul Pierce, Doc Rivers, Ray Allen, Tommy Lee, and on and on. Most of those guys? Jerks.Yes, you heard right. But they seem so nice in the public eye? Why? They need their status. it makes them who they are in their eyes. What is Alex Rodriguez without $25 mil a year and hella dingers? What’s PP without the number 34? Their average joes playing rec league ball, at the bar buying $3 vodka and cranberry drinks. What is Jay without rap? He’s a cocky, camelfaced guy who bags the baddest broad in the venue and wakes up early to get to his job at UPS. You get the feeling he could say “F this, I’m outta here.” and move to Dubai at any wrong public turn. Same for Ye. Why? They know who they are, apart from their skill in their field. I’m not talking arrogant, mean pricks, I’m talking exuberantly confident, prolific, top-of-their-field pricks. MJ was a prick, but who could stop him? He was the best when he stepped on the floor. Babe Ruth was a prick, but he changed an entire sport more than any one man in any other sport. They earned their prickdom, because no one was good enough to knock them down a few pegs. Nobody. So shine on, you crazy pricks, because until your star is eclipsed or burns out, we can’t take it from ya…… you bahstids.

Here’s an interview with Mr. Pro Keds himself speaking on his former partner, and Jimmy Jones, the man who ALWAYS looks like he could use a shower.

And here is the day 16 track from Philly Freeway’s Month of Madness, it’s called Start Wildin’, download it HERE

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.

I’m beginning to warm up to Ms. Santi White. She’s not MIA, she’s different, sorry I thought you bit Maya, Santi.

The beat is Ye, the verses are Jay, it’s one heck of a track. Peep the Zshare HERE

My girlfriend thinks I’m gonna post her gifts…….SIKE!

Cop #1: Spongebob BAPE Roadstas

I fall in and out of love with BAPE. I look and am amazed by the colors and caught up in my unwavering love of anything patent leather, only to see it faked a million times, and see someone rocking a beat pair of a model I’d kill to have on the subway, and then we part ways. it’s a vicious cycle. But whenever I come back, I have to break the bank. It’s just making up for lost time, you see. These are no exception. Yellow and Brown? SpongeBob SquarePants? COUNT ME IN!

Cop #2: 24 Hour Television x Bape Tee

I jacked Dan from Bodega’s steez on this one, HEAVY. i saw him with the 24 Hour radio in yellow and had to have one of my own, except i like this one better. And, it’s for charity. Massaging my growing materialistic ways and helping some people do some good deed?! Two birds with one stone, my friends.

Cop #3: Polka Dot Bapestas

Polka dots. Anyone who’s seen me in person can recount my profund love of and connection with polka dots. I may write my dissertation on them, it’s that major, folks. I dang near shed a tear when I saw these without a home. And then I gave them one.

Come to Papa, you sexy, sexy little things.

And now for something totally different.

I was listening to this while typing. it’s a classic. Peep some old Jay.

Here it is, Hype Williams is at the helm, it’s very well, done. Yeezy stretches the artform yet again. I’m genuinely pumped for this album, almost as much as I am for BP3. But Ye just can’t oust Jay from the top of my list. At least not yet. Here’s the video.

I was on HHDX this week, and a writer there had an article breaking down a bit of Mainstream Hip-Hop’s love affair with the underground. And then I got to thinking, and then I got to drinking, and then I got to crying, now my self esteem is sinking. But anyway,  What would be some collabs I’d pay top dollar to hear? I’m listing a few and Why!

#1 Kanye West and MF DOOM

Imagine this. Two of the heaviest samplers around, and my top two producers on the mic, on just one track, let alone an album! Kanye has a penchant for witty, sometimes intentionally corny, but self assured charismatic lines and songs, While Metalface is known for his ramble-esque, stream of conscious, obscurely referenced no-two-joints-are-ever-alike style. Splitting productin down the middle, or, hell, even co-producing every track (it could only be 12 tracks, no more, no less) Would almost certainly make for an album one part raw, one part flashy, eleventy billion parts Classic Hip-Hop.

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MIA is sampled, it’s gonna be a smash. Peep it here, first-ish.