CHIVALRY IS DEAD

Let’s look back at the Democratic debate, which I caught a day late on CNN last week. If you believed what you read after the debates, when the opinionaters got to talk their shite, you’d think that Obama came across like a floundering, light-skinded stutterer, not sure how to stand up to Hillary’s steely reserve. But that’s not what I saw. He seemed sharp and determined to stay on message. That’s all you can expect from someone running for the highest office in the land, especially negus. And maybe that’s why the polls look very different from what we were told to expect after the debates.


Maybe the media powers want to portray Obama as the alternative/antithesis to the modern “Curtis” portrait of the black man. Maybe he’s weak. Soft on crime, inexperienced and uncertain when to attack. Or maybe he’s a gay, coke-snawting Newport candidate. Not the qualifications of a nuclear football runner, you might say. So in his best opportunity to assail Hillary on her inconsistencies, maybe he dropped the ball by not being tough enough. Everybody expected B’lack Alabama to step up his attacks at the Democratic debate in my favorite city, Floss Vegas. But instead, according to the next-day news, he kept it too low-key, and let Joe Biden run away with the steak. Or was this all part of the plan...





If you axe me, I’d say that ‘Bama knows he’s in top condition to at least be V.P. under Hillary, if not President. I don’t want to pretend that I know what he’s thinking, but I’d bet he already has a plan B for what happens if she takes the nomination. Newt Gingrich already predicted how the Democratic ticket will look in 2008. This was my suspicion all along, oh my brothers and sisters…


Maybe that’s the point. If ‘Bama is really not in it to win it, he would have effed up on a presidential level by now, or been exposed. But the game is about money, and you must remember that he’s raised more than anyone in the race, if you count money that isn’t his own. But he knows that Hillary has the old guard on her ass, plus she’s such a fucking lady.





Moral:
This is why ‘Bama and Clinton are going at it right now, to show that a black man can slap the ish out of a white lady just as well as her husband could, if not better.





You can be a gentleman all you want, but you’ll never run shit. Real power stays in the hands of the gangsters and true power moves quietly. If ‘Bama’s going to be nice, he needs to start working on his gavel game as president of the senate. There’s plenty you can do from Dick Cheney’s seat. Word to Henry Kissinger.


Expect a Clinton/Obama White House in 2009.






So what, I'm late. Kill me. Oh yeah, you can't...

BABY, I'M A STAR

Welcome back to Hell, my friends. Yeah, I took a good ass break from this blogging thing. Let me say it for the record – this blog is a work of art in progress, and yeah, I’m taking my time. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.


No, I’m not going around looking for readers on other’s blogs. How can I win like that? Nah, homie, I’m going for big numbers. Call it catalog building. You’ll hear more about me when the new year hits. Until then, it’s all practice and commitment.


So when you see your boy administering a thrashing to certain “nameless” commenters on popular blogs like XXLMAG.COM , don’t think I’m easily distracted. I tend to think that the spirits of late, great authors and writers are being channeled through my fingers when I get down to the bidness of building this catalog. Therefore, if you’re looking for fame off me, look elsewhere. This is going to be one of those bourgeoisie blogs, with a twist of dark humor. It’s being designed for readers, with writers in mind first.









When it comes to the role of writers, we hold a prominent position in the food pyramid of any culture, but especially Hip-Hop. We don’t usually create the art we critique, but we could if we wanted. Instead, we are charged with explaining the relevance (or lack thereof) of the art form’s recent renditions to the general society at large. If we fail, then the product or idea might still be successful, but it would not be adequately supported by the cabal of gatekeepers known as journalists, therefore it could be horribly misinterpreted and misunderstood, at best. At worst, we’d have another great artist without a base. That term “media darling” isn’t such a bad thing, when you have nothing else on your side. Ask some of the greats…










Think about it: would you want your first album, movie or book reviewed by a person outside of your culture first? Wouldn’t you be setting yourself up for disaster?




You have to commend those of us who work hard trying to find anything relevant to discuss, then finding the motivation to actually create words to describe these artists, movies, paintings, parties and what not to the masses. And you can only use the word “crunk” so many times before people wonder what else you have to say. Not that we don’t still have an abundance of “crunk” rappers running around getting that ringtone money…








But these cats, popular in name as they might be, would be nothing without the co-signature of journalists like THE UNDERWRITER and several of my friends who shall remain nameless. We’ve all carried the burden of having to cover some imbecile with a record deal, just to get an extra $500 in the bank by the end of the month. And we hated every keyboard stroke (nolo) necessary in the process, because we know in our hearts that we’re only submitting and supporting the sorry, sloppy seconds of a music business that eats its young.

Not me, my boy. THE UNDERWRITER is in the joyous throws of a self-imposed exile from music-related journalism. That’s until the big boys come knocking (nolo) with a big story and a timely check. Until then, I’m writing what the eff I want, because if I can make you famous, then I can certainly do the same for myself.

Shout out to all the journalist cats and kittens whose blogs I visit. We know what’s up.

ROSES

An intelligent, proud and determined lady has passed away, leaving behind a son who in her lifetime became the biggest rapper in the world.





Craziness.


I can't help but to think of Aaliyah right now, just because of the relevance to the Hip-Hop generation. I remember being gloriously throwed on the Saturday night of the weekend that Aaliyah died. I woke up late for chuuch the next day and arrived just in time to lean on the armrest of the pew and catch a little bit of the pastor's sermon. As he finished, he mentioned that he knew that the youth might be distressed because of the superstar that had died hours ago, but we would have to stay strong. It wasn't until I got home and checked the internet and television news that I realized that the dopest solo female act of the 1990's had just... died. In a plane crash, of all six million ways.





Wow.


That's kind of what I think everyone is feeling now that a good dude lost his mother, who is obviously his inspiration. Notice I didn't say "was." It's a little too sad for me to even write it out correctly, because it seems like it's all ridiculous. Can't be true.





Dr. Donda West, mother of Kanye, passed away this past Saturday evening for reasons that are currently unknown. All we know right now, with any certainty, is that she had recently undergone cosmetic surgery.


Let's try to be respectful and wait for an official word on what exactly happened. My mother is very much like Dr. West, in that she still teaches college after 29 years, and has her own issues with my lack of interest in a bachelor's degree. He and I are in the same year of age, so I can fully relate to how I might feel after losing what everyone around me knows is my best friend.


With respect to the family, friends, loved ones and anyone ever touched in any way by Dr. Donda West's spirit, let's move from here to a place that she would have dreamed we'd reach. Let's pray for her son, and let's remember to love the only woman most of us will ever trust - Moms.





Peace.