My name is Michael Jordan. I am a survivor living in Atlanta, Georgia. I am blogging on the world wide internets. If you are out there… if anyone is out there…
In the future, there is only one man who survives the Hip-Hop holocaust.
It all started when it was announced in the mainstream media that there was finally a cure for the highly-contagious social disease known as “gangster rap.” Infecting billions of people worldwide, this mental condition known as GRD (Gangster Rap Disease) had brought the world to its knees in an unapologetic zeitgeist since the 1970s.
It was decided by a team of evil monks that the culture of Hip-Hop was behind this madness, and that there were three magic words that, if taken out of the dialect of the cultural language, would remove the power of GRD from earth. Of course, this would take time to spread among the proletariat, but the minds behind this movement were completely convinced of their righteous cause.
And so began the campaign to outlaw the words “nigger”, “bitch” and “hoe.”
No one stopped to think that by removing these three words, not only gangster rap but also Hip-Hop as a general creative force and lifestyle would be severely altered to the point of mutation. But before a general consensus could be met, or even a majority vote by those in power, an album was released that caused a seismic shift in the consciousness of all those who once referred to themselves as “b-boys” and “b-girls.” This album, while widely praised as the culture’s saving grace, was named possibly for the artist’s belief that he had outgrown his peers. He was freeing himself from the confinement of popular definition of the word “Black.” He was hailed as a genius—a title he fully embraced for himself—and was lauded as a signal of positive things to come. He was Kanye West, and he created the cure...
Graduation was a harbinger of the new times. After the album unsurprisingly outsold its competition, The Owners (the secret society of record company magnates) decided that this new format was indeed the future. Instead of financing music that could inspire a revolt, it was agreed that all new rap music would be quarantined for quality assurance. War was, indeed, not the answer. GRD was officially D.O.A.
People became parodies of their former selves—caricatures of the moral character that was once dominant in the urban ghettos and on the rural dirt roads of America and beyond. Gone was the threat of revolution, replaced by a belief that gentile music would overcome the oppressive powers of the world. Great acts such as The Wu-Tang Clan, even after sampling such groups as The Beatles, were outsold by candy corn children’s groups.
No one complained. No one cried “foul.” The new rules were accepted as religion. Soon, the media began to alter its reporting of rap music, and the culture itself began to bleed. Those who rebelled were executed or cast from their homes, only to be hunted and slaughtered by vampires, creeps, goons and demonic spirits.
The “cleansing” began with the graffiti artists. Then, concentration camps were built for the break-dancers, disc jockeys, radio personalities, party promoters… anyone rumored to be secretly involved with anything urban. When the emcees were rounded up and collectively destroyed, all that remained were the journalists, or “The 5th Element.” They fought valiantly, raging against the machine. Yet inevitably, one by one they were all consumed with grief, greed or complete indifference. They splintered into individual cells, making their capture and executions simple.
An idea that began as innocently as human life had become corrupted and maliciously redesigned. As gloriously as Hip-Hop had ascended to the top, it crumbled into dust...
Wake up, my child. Tomorrow is still Christmas, joy is in the air and everything is perfect in the world.
It was all a dream.
Yo, this dude, Elliot Wilson, right now, is on a major crusade. He's been vowing for months to post 24 blogs in 24 hours. It looks like he's going to go all the way, and the shit is going well. I'm trying to stay up to keep track of the fuckery, but it looks like he's running on an almost full tank. Then again, I can't help but to antagonize him a bit just to let him know I'm reading. Not that it makes a fuck of a difference. After all, he's EIC of XXL. I'm not.
If any of you that are among the living dead want to check this journalistic experiment out, CLICK HERE TO GO TO YELLOW NIGGA'S BLOG @ XXL. Click any item under the header "It Is What It Is." You'll see that he's on a serious journalistic journey tonight/today, and I can't help but to commend him. Who else has taken it this far?
PSA: The Underwriter supports journalists. Real ones. Not bullshitters. I wasn't sure that THIS was a good idea at first, but he's spitting some serious Hip-Hop history. It's very cool to read.
Anyway, I'm going to leave it at that. I haven't promised to stay up all night; that dude made the money-back guarantee. If he falls short or starts spitting that jibber-jabber, make sure you leave a comment telling him to wake his ass up. If he keeps going like this, I'll have to give him the G.O.A.T. Award for this effort. Even though he's probably looking like this right now...
Not only is YN the Editor-in-Chief of XXL Magazine, but he's also a member of the original Ego Trip gang. Those cats have been putting in work since I started reading rap magazines that weren't named "Yo" or "Word Up." And I probably have all but 3 issues that XXL ever printed. No, you can't check my archives. Matter of fact, don't even come near the house if you don't want to be red-dotted or scythed.
If you're still awake, give YN a shout. God knows he probably needs it. This shit can't be easy...
UPDATE: Man, this dude is going in. It's 7:33 EST, and I'm still standing. CHECK THE STATS. You gotta love it. I have no idea how the hell I'm still up and at it, but the day/night belongs to XXL, YN and Hip-Hop.
Looks like a few rappers who cranked that Kevorkian in 2007 are trying to do a Rob Zombie on your homie. We'll start with Lupe.
Hell no, I haven't forgiven him for his refusal to admit he was wrong for not knowing the lyrics to one of the most memorable songs in rap music history. Tonight, I can pick any place that plays 1990's NYC rap and they'll play "Electric Relaxation." The shit almost never fails. And the lyrics that Lupe forgot - a classic 8-bar rhyme structure - are so unforgettable that not only dudes but females recite it word for word, every time, even if they don't know the rest of the song.
And it go a little som'n like this:
"I like 'em brown, yellow, Puerto Rican or Haitian
Name is Phife Dawg from the Z.U.L.U. Nation
Told you in the jam that we can get down
Now let's knock the boots like the group H-Town
Ya got BBD all on your bedroom wall...
But I'm above the rim, and this is how I ball
A gritty little sum'n on a New York street
This is how I represent, over this here beat
Talkin' bout you..."
Phife Dawg - "Electric Relaxation"; Midnight Mauraders (Jive)
Now, I didn't have to look any part of that up on the internets; I just know it because I know my Hip-Hop history. Now, here's the YouTube of the '07 VH-1 Hip-Hop Honors Awards. Mind you, I didn't put that script on the video, but I seriously co-sign every word.
Maybe I'm just a damned purist. But if I wasn't sure that I could learn those lyrics, I would have had to seriously question my right to perform them during a tribute to the group that made Lupe Fiasco's presence in rap music possible. I'm not Lupe, but I know that nobody could do what Q-Tip, Phife, Ali Shaheed Muhammad (and Jarobi?) did to the game. They made it possible to not be a thug and still rock the crowd.
Man, I'm sorry, but I can't condone a rapper with a skateboard not knowing this. But maybe you can. After all, HITS MAGAZINE ONLINE IS REPORTING that Lupe will sell somewhere in the neck of 160k this week. Does this mean that rap fans are fickle, or that they don't care?
Just to be fair, I did hear from a good source that
And those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Ask Lupe how he feels in five years, when the new rapper (if rappers still exist) can't name a single song he ever made. If you ask me, I'll say it's poetic justice. Abstract, even.
SOMEBODY put my favorite gangsta rap album of all time on the internets. If you want it, go get it.
CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD.
Don't ask; don't tell...
CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD.
Don't ask; don't tell...
"I knew a man once who said, 'Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back.'"
The fear of death is a tremendous undertaking. When you think about it, we're all here to do what we do and move on for the next model. Some of us don't want to look at the clock; we'd rather get cosmetic surgery and look good losing (I know what you're thinking, and no - that's not what I meant. RIP...).
It takes bravery and fearlessness to face the fact that you will one day be gone, and until you see that day as poetic justice, you may never reach your level of potential. At least, that's what I was told.
Some people are so afraid of death that they refuse to discuss it or to acknowledge it. They'd rather avoid mortality than own up to reality. Sometimes you can't blame them; I mean, the shit is hard to look at. Isn't that why the classic image of The Grim Reaper usually has a skull or a blank space for a face?
I'm not here today to explain or to expound on metaphysical philosophy. I'm here to be real and to say things you're scared to speak into existence. Fear is a muh-fuh. It won't let go of the prisoners it takes, and it doesn't pick and choose or pretend to care. It consumes people to the point which they can no longer see the world as an organic entity.
My motto - for today - is don't throw it away, recycle it. Maybe you believe in reincarnation, or maybe you're going to hell. Either way, you should get like me and plan/promote your posthumous place on this planet. Think about the party, and make it like a New Orleans second line.
Anyway, here are a few famous quotes for all you suckers who are scared of the future. Come to the scythe, my child...
"Death most resembles a prophet who is without honor in his own land or a poet who is a stranger among his people."
"There is not a grain of dust, not an atom that can become nothing, yet man believes that death is the annhilation of his being."
"On the plus side, death is one of the few things that can be done just as easily lying down."
"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome."
"What I look forward to is continued immaturity followed by death. "
(NOLO to this picture...)
"Death, the most dreaded of all evils, is therefore of no concern to us; for while we exist death is not present, and when death is present we no longer exist."
So the Democratic presidential candidates had another debate in Iowa. That's in case you care enough about politics to know that the Iowa caucuses are coming, and that this is the first state in the Union to hold a primary election for the office of Supreme Overlord of America. You do, of course, remember that right to vote we have, that so many people fought and died for, don't you? And we are less than 12 months from the first Tuesday in November 2008, are we not? But who cares about life on earth anymore, right?
As you know, or again, maybe not, Senator Barack Obama of Illinois is cranking that Ike Turner (RIP) on Senator Hillary Clinton of New York in all the polls except national ones, which of course don’t count until the Democratic National Convention and nomination time. Not only do the numbers show the black man running in sync with Clinton in Iowa, but in a surprise shift HE HAS "TRIMMED" HER LEAD IN THE NEW HAMPSHIRE POLLS to less than one percentage point. This is relevant because Hillary invested a lot of cash and staff personnel in N.H. early, setting it up as a political firewall state to stop rival candidates from taking her current status as frontrunner, much like Mitt Romney has done quite effectively on the Republican side of thangs. He can lose Iowa and still run away with the nomination.
The difference is that it seems to be working more in Mitt Mormon’s favor than Billary’s. If Romney loses Iowa, he’ll still own Mike Huckabee in N.H., and keep his status as the GOP contender to beat. If Hillary loses Iowa and New Hampshire to Black Alabama, that will mean that my man will be the true Jesus Christ Superstar of the Donkey party, as the artists have predicted... Nolo.
If it were my call, considering that Obama could possibly get the nod but is currently running almost 20 points behind Hillary in Michigan, where ol' Mitt used to be
Obama has a classic line when he is asked whether or not he would consider joining Hillary Clinton on the Democratic ticket. His response goes something like, “Well, that all depends on whose name is on top.” Maybe that’s not a direct quote, but it’s close enough that I’m comfy-cozy with it, and I suggest you get like me. ‘Bama also killed onstage during Thursday night’s Democratic debate with a quick and classy comeback to a question from the audience. To the query of how Obama planned to create changes in foreign policy with so many former Clinton fluffers, HE RESPONDED WITH THIS LINE .
Anyway, as long as Black Alabama lets Billary lead without a challenge, he’ll never know what could have been – if only he listened to his inner Pimp-C (RIP) while running for the most powerful job in the world. He can’t debate Hillary on experience, and he can’t criticize hers too sharply, or else when the GOP Swift Boaters come for him she’ll leave him defenseless and without a friend. Let’s face it, it’s hard for a black man to let a white woman lead him, unless it’s Hustle and Flow, his name is Deejay and he’s flat on his ass in Memphis, Tenn. Whoa… that reminds me of the other consequences of being the American H.N.I.C…
RIP Dr. King, of course.
But Obama’s definitely picking up steam. And it seems to be stronger than a temporary swell in ground support; it seems legitimate. Let’s see if it lasts. If not, it would still be good to see him standing next to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and President Hilary Clinton, secure in his historic role as the first black Veep of the USA.
Word to REVEREND AL SHARPTON - pimpin’ ain’t dead.
UPDATE: Clinton apologizes for campaign flunky reminding us that Obama used to get throwed on that George Bush and Christina Aguilera.
Damn!! See what happens when you send an intern to do the boss's job?
One of those mindless flunkies from the dead sea of Hip-Hop internet forums recently asked me if he could volunteer his services on the weekend, which drew a firm "NOLO" and a fast "Fuck Off" from yours truly. But then this loser kept begging, saying that he deserved a chance. He needed a mentor, and since I pretty much rule everything in reach of my scythe, I guess he thought I would help. And he consistently sent dead flowers to my ladyfriends with my name on the giftcard, which actually turned out to be a great method of brown-nosing that I'd never before imagined. Now I have a gang of hot girls coming through the crib on the late night to crank that Jada Fire and cook breakfast for your boy in the morning, believing that I'm now ready for marriage.
So while I was getting some underlovin this morning from my new chick...
This idiotic intern of mine took my Scythe List and claimed the life of the wrong man. The name on the docket clearly reads "Mike Terner", but this illiterate scumbag accidentally scythed one of Hip-Hop's most influential persons. You guessed it...
What a tool. Anyway, let's celebrate Ike Turner's life today. Whatever your opinion of the man, the myth and the legend, he's been name-dropped in countless rap songs.
Check the catalog:
"My life's like kinda what my wife's like
Fucked up, after I beat her fuckin' ass every night, Ike!"
EMINEM - "Who Knew", The Marshall Mathers LP
"Put your fingers up if you love hash and cash
I been that way since Ike Turner was kickin Tina ass"
REDMAN - "On Fire"; Muddy Waters
"I wanna holla at that boy Ike Turner
You gotta know it's 'bout the paper and you learn her
About gettin on the corner for your daddy
What love got to do with it, I'm in the Caddy"
PIMP-C - "I'm a Hustler"; The Sweet James Jones Stories
"For now, we gonna plot and premeditate this murder
I heard a nigga say that you can't fuck with Ike Turner
So I'm gonna be that nigga who put these hoes out
Blacked out, locced out
Ready to go all out
And rip a heffa's grill out"
DRE DOG - "Ike Turner"; I Hate You With a Passion
"But if I tell her to turn her head, and I get a light turn up
I'm subject to might turn up, and flip into Ike Turner"
YUNG RO - "Head Turner"; Undagrind
"Make a slick kid mackadocious
Stay away from young girls, I crack a ol' bitch
Wifebeater, like Ike Turner
Carry five heaters and like 9 burners"
PACEWON - "Won"; Telepathy
Oh well, another Hip-Hop pioneer gone with the wind. I thought you knew it was gonna be a cold winter. Rest in peace, Ike. Hope that for your sake God is a man, or your ass is eternally skewered.
MY HOMIE BUCKLIFE put me up on a couple other famous Ike drops from B.I.G. that I didn't remember when posting. New York, forgive me. Or go eff yourself. Your choice.
"Sade...ooooh I know that pussy tight
smacked Tina Turner, gave her flashbacks of Ike"
The Notorious B.I.G. - "Dreams"; Unreleased (sike)
"That's why I pack a nina, fuck a misdeameanor
Beatin motherfuckers like Ike beat Tina
(What's Love, Got to Do)
when I'm rippin all through your whole crew..."
The Notorious B.I.G. - "Machine Gun Funk"; Ready to Die
Biggie Smalls is the illest... (RIP)
Oh, yes, good reader. The world is crazy. It's getting live outside these days, even when it's dead. But the young, everlasting UNDERWRITER still has fits of happiness every now and again, even in the sarcastic sense of the word "happy." Sometimes I'm just happy to get through another day of the falsery of this fonky ass world. Other times, I'm happy to have cold beer and the purpitrator on deck during the Autumn drought in Georgia. So hell no, I don't feel like partying all the time. Shit is wicked on these mean streets and dirt roads of America. Sometimes it makes sense to sit at home and do you (nolo). It beats being an unlikely casualty. With all the fucksmanship that has been going on in the world recently, it's all about safety and patience these days.
So here are some links to recent announcements of unexpected good fortune for a few lucky bastards in the news. Of course, this is all depending on what your definition of "good", and of course, "is", is. Enjoy.
BOBBY PETRINO - No More Bird Flu (AJC.COM)
AMY WINEHOUSE - Because The Recording Academy Loves Geek Monsters (NYTIMES.COM)
MIKE HUCKABEE - Mitt Romney is my Fluffer (DESMOINESREGISTER.COM)
YOUNG BEAR KILLER - King of All Children (YARDBARKER.COM)
Scooter Libby Pardoned? Nah. JACKIE RAY CLAYBORN? Word!! - I Guess George Bush Cares About Black People After All (AP)
Oh, and shout to Ike Turner. More on that later...
Centanni, baby. May you continue to live long and prosper. Or die slow and surrender. Your choice.
You, unlike me, might like to watch TV all the fucking time.
You might even find the stale jokes on modern television satires, sit-coms and African-American
I have a great respect for comedians, because they have always been brave enough to say something super fucked-up, knowing that you'll probably just laugh their jokes off as harmless comic relief from modern life. But secretly you agree, because these jokes are true, which makes them funny in the first place, I guess. These are our great orators and public speakers, because they are willing to expose their scariest creative thoughts to the public, knowing that they are nothing more than water cooler folly for the next work day. And nothing sucks like being a genius among Gumps, especially when they don't get the pun of your jokes and you never see the monetary benefits from being brilliant in your craft.
Some of our generation's
You see, the truth is that Hollywood and the entertainment industry as a whole - not just comedy - is a comedy of errors, and the creative society has been essentially re-selling the same jokes around for the last forty years, acting like we can't come up with anything new. In my opinion, this is mostly because the writers want more for their hard work, which they deserve. Ask Dave Chappelle. 50 million just ain't enough. Put another zero behind that bitch's ass, and then I might hit it for life. If not, go get another welfare-happy sucker, because I want more for my mind - especially if you're getting 500-million for my ideas and I'm stuck with a measly 10%.
The truth about this whole stand-off is that the business is changing, and the suits don't want to include the talent in their estimates of incoming cash flow. They want us to be ignorant, yet the writers are infinitely smarter than them, so we figured out their scam and decided to rebuke their offer of little-to-nothing. We figured that it's high time to renegotiate those old-ass contracts so that they reflect the age of the internet. But of course, the suits will never go fully along with overturning power and financial freedom to the creatives. We're just not capable, at least in their minds, of keeping the lights on while pondering the next great gift to the entertainment media community, so they say. So the geniuses of new ideas will always be at odds with the prodigies of the old money establishment. But that's the great war anyway, so who am I to act like I won't fight for my freedom? If my ancestors did it - under hella worse circumstances - who am I to fuck tradition up?
I knew you'd understand. And if you don't, I always knew you were an imbecile.
Creative minds come with deep issues, oh my brothers and sisters. Better yet: uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. You already know my opinion on this one; the writer is the landlord. Without my shit, Mr. or Mrs. CEO, you have no floor upon which to stand.
Oh yes, THE UNDERWRITER is just that arrogant when it comes to his craft, and I figure that you should get like me. My advice for new writers is simple; get behind (nolo) any talent that you possess that can uplift you from the depths of society's sicknesses. I mean, the elites killed Jesus back in the day; why the eff wouldn't they destroy Hip-Hop and urban culture's finest? Hollywood is burning right now, and all the liquor in the cabinet couldn't make an arrogant Hollywood powerbroker capable of creating a hit television series on his own. The creative pen burns eternal, and if you won't invest in a Montblanc, you'll be stuck with a Bic.
There are at least two partners involved in the development of any successful new entertainment idea - those who fund it and those who create it. In the entertainment business, those who make the production connections sometimes feel more important than the very talent upon which they rely to make shit happen. Which is fucked the fuck up, if you ask your homie.
It is the ultimate negotiation point that without the creative minds of the writers, the enterprise of entertainment would wither and fall. So pay like you fucking weigh, bitches. I can write something that I own for free, whether I get paid or not. Tell that to the home audience.