If you haven't seen it yet, I strongly suggest adding D.L. Hughley Breaks The News to your weekly schedule of television intake. Jesus knows that we don't need another hour of TV in our lives, but this one actually helps you to dissolve all the other nonsense available on the variable VH-1's, MTV's and BET's of the digital audiovisual world and learn more about what's really good in the world today. In a black comedy way, of course.
The first show I caught in full was the episode on the Sunday after Obama's victory. It was just perfectly timed for relevance, humor and appropriateness; it seems that someone in the higher offices of the CNN building is smart enough to realize that if you want someone to be able to apply comedy to the first black presidency, they'd better be black. Brilliant!
Wow; how the world has changed in the past six months, huh? Looks like change will continue to come well into 2009 and beyond, oh my brothers and sisters, and we've got to learn to live with the difference in order to have any input or effect on the future. Especially when the guy in charge looks more like America than any other candidate in recent history. Now that we've got a leader, we need supporters, workers and buffers. As long as we have intelligence, art and dialogue, we'll have a national discussion that will lead to something positive.
But enough of that. Seriously, D.L. Hughley is funny as hell. To be fair, I have noticed that his show can be somewhat off when it comes to the other characters that are featured. It's like someone took the Dave Chappelle idea and made it more politically astute but more watered down; sometimes the people overplay their posturing and the jokes fall flat, leaving a lot of pickup duty for the host. Luckily, D.L. has a knack for improvisation and delivery, so he always ends up with a good show. Personal opinion: I've always thought that he's best when he moves between politics and picking random people in the audience to roast. Sure, he's heavy on the profanity, but why the eff wouldn't he be? He's a black comic, for God and Pete's sakes, providing people of other persuasions than African-American rhetorical proof that you can get away with anything that comes out of your mouth if it hints at a strong intellect.
Anyway, here are just a few clips from the performance. Check him out when he's in your town, and support D.L.'s TV show so that CNN keeps cutting checks for black folks with creative, activist minds like mine.
Coming up next, Common (yes, that Common) comes to Birmingham this past weekend. But did he kill? Tune in tomorrow to see.
Anybody who went to an A.U.C. college or university in the mid-90's and remembers the 1995-1996 Morehouse Homecoming concert will understand why I'm writing this blog about the Maxwell + Jasmine Sullivan concert in Birmingham this past Tuesday night. Obviously, nooobody had heard of any Jasmine Sullivans back then, so of course the same went for Maxwell. But he was a new artist at the time, making rounds and paying his dues on the Chitlin' Circuit, and he was the unlucky bastard new guy that was scheduled to open for The Fugees.
If you remember Fall '95, that was the year when 2Pac's All Eyez on Me and The Fugees' The Score put Kanye vs 50 Cent numbers up on the Billboard charts, sparking equally lucrative tours, creative offspring and zealots of every sort trying to jump on either the west coast gangster rap or neo-soul bandwagon and ride that beeyotch to the top. So if you were opening a show for them and you weren't aready a star, you were taking a major gamble with your pride trying to "warm it up" for headliners that were obviously among the biggest names in the business at that time. You can imagine my crew's impatience, having executed a stampede to get past the line at King Chapel's doors for the concert, when the host announced some guy named "Maxwell" that was going to entertain us until Lauryn, Wyclef and Pras were ready to take the stage. Do remember how dude used to look back then, with the hair, glasses and either some dusty jeans or those kung-fu master linen scrubs.
Oh, my brothers and sisters, we booed that young man off the stage with glorious, reckless abandon, and I mean the whole crowd joined the chorus. I'm pretty sure I recall that he came on stage with a bar stool, an accoustic guitar and no shoes, maybe chancletas. Cats weren't having it. We pointed him away from the building with the same steadfast posture as carried by the statue of MLK out in front of the building, waving our arms and shouting for the music to cease. Hearty and magnificent in depth, the ringing and rolling boo went from side to side of the auditorium, with an awesomeness of vocal strength and determination that made it feel like a scene from the colosseum battles in Gladiator.
It was something like this...
But worse.
Anyway, thirteen years later, though we believed we had killed his career at the time, it has become apparent that Maxwell survived our unrelenting Apollo-styled reception of his performance and progressed. Maybe he just wasn't ready for the stage back then. Maybe we just couldn't dig his "energy" and "swag." Either way, he continues to excel at the job of singing live and making women swoon. He will be around for a while for that reason alone, even if he does put on a weird show. On the low, I bet 80% of dudes hovering around 30 have used Maxwell (nolo) for at least 1 romantic interlude with a special lady in the last 13 years. Maybe on the high. All I know is that he's coming back from a 7-year hiatus, and the comeback looks like it should be a success thus far.
Happening as it was on the first Monday after The Day, the crowd at the BJCC was quite dapper and upbeat, even though most of the people there were probably just coming off a shitty first weekday like myself. You could tell that we were all riding the Obama high for as long as it would last. You did get a sense that people's smiles seemed to be worn naturally on their faces with nothing to hide, as if tonight's ticket price for a well-timed musical performance was an uncharacteristic luxury that we all deserved for showing up at the polls. Oh yeah - don't let me forget about the abundance of black women with jobs, nice dresses and other special qualities that you didn't get to see, because you were commenting on somebody else's blog. You lost.
Oh yes, my brothers and sisters, women love Maxwell, with all his weird "energy" and "swag". He's strange for different reasons than he was in 1995, which may be the key to his career as a performer at a time when nobody's buying albums. Back when we first saw him, this guy was earthier than dirt--even beating out Erykah Badu in a male sort of way. But now he's weird because he does weird dances and says crazy shit on stage about how sorry he is for missing that last show... which, from what I heard, was like six years ago and nobody even remembers.
Then he makes a public plea for free panties, asking the ladies in the front to throw them, and suspiciously he receives a pair that must have been pre-planned for trajectory. And what kind of heifer already has draws in her hand ready to toss in 2008? More fuckery occured when he spent an extended amount of time on the floor with the mic stand between his legs, hunching the air while looking up at the spotlight, possibly searching for an answer to a question I wouldn't dare pose.
Say what you will about his "energy" and "swag"; the guy can sing. And he can pack a concert hall in a major city at seat prices starting at $70, which is way more than he used to get when he was onstage chewing an incense stick. Much respect to him and the lovely Jasmine Sullivan, who played "new vocal Whitney" to Maxwell's "R&B Obama", putting a serious dent in the coffin of R&B music, if only for one night. Musical highlights include Sullivan's entire performance--this girl is serious--and Max's "Lifetime", "Til The Cops Come Knockin'", "Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder)" and "This Woman's Work."
(Jasmine Sullivan and her painter's uniform)
The moral of this concert is that if you have true talent you can get away with murder on stage. Jasmine knows that she is wrong for wearing a Dickies suit with the legs rolled up to the knees. And Maxwell is a good enough vocalist that you don't even mind his "energy" and "swag". He's a true musician, and for that he deserves respect.
If he comes to your town anytime soon, go ahead and take out a payday loan so that you can go to the show with some change in your pocket, find a thirsty woman and groove to the rhythm of romance and blues. Maxwell has come a long way from sporting farm attire to wearing a suit and necktie. Now, if we can just keep him away from the "party favors" backstage so he's not getting geeked up before the show, we'll have a new-school Marvin Gaye for years to come.
Is it me or did Maxie steal the infamous "Soy Bomb" dance? You be the judge, dear reader. I'm about to go to bed. If you live in NY, let me know what's good for the weekend. I'll be in town.
Shout out to "The Doo-Doo Man," who obviously has no self-respect that a check can't buy. I know I've made some mean and vicious deposits in the early part of this year, but nothing came close to feeling as if I were on the verge of losing my life. And is that really true about Elvis and ol' boy from The Bee Gees? Dag. R.I.P. to them, I guess.
Rolling Stone just dropped it's "25 Funniest Web Videos" list, and it already stole an hour of my Friday night, because I'm a nerd like that. I won't give it all away, but I had to put this one up again, because in my view this could have easily been #1:
R.S. used a different version, but I think the one ^ was actually much funnier and straight to the point. By the way, this happened in the "D", where it's so cold.
People are always saying that Hip-Hop is too violent. And the general response to this statement from those defending Hip-Hop's right to using violent and vulgar rhetoric is that actors like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone have killed more people on film than any thugged-out rapper has killed MCs on wax.
So I came across two videos of two different Rambos. One uses the machine gun and the other uses his mouth as a weapon. You tell me: Which of the two deadly MCs is really killing it?
BLACK RAMBO:
WHITE RAMBO:
Seems to me that our Italian-American brother John Rambo is way realer than the OG from Compton. Gangster rap stays losing.
I tried and tried not to post this video, but as you see I have failed. I was just going to let it go and let people find it on all the other blogs, but no. I just had to have it. Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, I present to you the absolute worst song and video that currently exists on earth.
How old are these kids, and why are they in a graveyard? What the hell is going on?
You probably think I'm somewhat crazy for using this whole "dead" concept as a means to creatively explore world topics, news and Hip-Hop, but I didn't start this trend; neither did Nas. The precedent was set in the south, but not in my home state of Alabama or my current Georgia home. When it comes to writing about dead shit, nobody beats Brad Jordan.
The legendary Mr. Scarface of Houston's Geto Boys is the original grim reaper of Hip-Hop. And I have a few YouTubes to prove my point.
SCARFACE: "I'm Dead"
This concept was ill and kind of funny at the same time.
SCARFACE: "I Seen a Man Die"
"I still gotta wonder why..." Always liked this one.
SCARFACE: "He's Dead"
More morbid music. Not a personal favorite, but it counts.
SCARFACE: "A Minute to Pray and a Second to Die"
Dude looks extra young in this clip. Damn, how many years has Scarface been in the game again?
SCARFACE: "Dying With Your Boots On"
There's enough cursing in this song to start a fire out of thin air. Damn!!
SCARFACE: "Hand of the Dead Body"
"Gangstas don't live that loooonnnng!"
Pay your respects. This dude is like the Crypt Keeper of rap.
I got an email today from a reader. Wow... this blog thing is getting out of control!!
"What's good Underwriter. I found this clip on the net and it look like something you may have put in to your blog. Anyway, give your boy a shout out!"
- Superninja
For the record, I hadn't seen this, but for the hell of it, I'll post it on G.P. Preshate it, Superninja.
I was lurking checking out the news today, and noticed that The Source hired Spike Lee to shoot two of the four alternate covers for its 20th anniversary issue. Shout to NAHRIGHT and MISS INFO.
Reader Challenge:
If you can find the typographical error on the cover of the 20th anniversary issue of The Source, you'll win THE UNDERWRITER'S WEEKLY PRIZE!!!
Sorry to say it, but it doesn't look good for the long-awaited sike comeback of The Sauce. Not that I'd buy it even if it was a classic; from what I hear, they still owe a few good writers I know a few thousand duckets. I can't get with that.
[please notice the phrase "Promotional Use Only" underneath "THE BOSS." True, true.]
If you haven't already heard - and it's everywhere right now - the rap career of "Rick Ross" is OFFICIALLY OVER.
The Smoking Gun has found records that *allegedly* show "Rick Ross", a.k.a. William Roberts, at some type of training graduation for correctional officers in Florida, shaking hands and smiling in a tight-ass brown and beige uniform.
This has been a two-week saga in the Hip-Hop world, as it involves a famous rapper (Roberts) that claimed to be a cocaine dealer and outlaw leader of his own Florida narcotics gang. He even went as far as naming himself after a California crack lord - "Freeway" Ricky Ross. As you would guess, being a one-time employee of the state prison system doesn't bode well for the reputation, especially while we're still in the "Stop Snitching" era. But creating the false persona of a criminal when you were actually trained to babysit them for the government is, if true, inexcusible and unacceptable.
Trick Daddy had already put the word out that Roberts used to be a prison guard, but without providing proof, it was just held as a possibility and an unfounded joke. But once the word got strong enough to spread, Media Take Out posted the picture, and the internet went nuts like Jesse. Soon after, Roberts put out his own YouTube joint, denying that he was ever a prison guard and saying that he would "see" Trick Daddy.
But now, all we see is that TDD was on point. I don't think it's so unreasonable that a prison guard could become a rap artist, or even a cocaine dealer-turned rap artist, but why front for the camera? You don't have to lie to kick it. Bad day - William Roberts. Good day - Trick Daddy.
"Fake thug, no love / you get the snub / CB-4 'Gusto' / Your luck low / I didn't know 'till I was drunk, though..." Nas - The Message
Here's what happens when you try to legally represent yourself as an attorney in court, and you realize that you've dug your own grave. If all else fails, feel free to pull the fake heart attack card.
So classic I had to jack it (nolo). Please people, let professionals do their jobs. Shout out to Fresh over at C&D. As she said, this deserves an NAACP Image Award for "Outstanding Fuckery in a Daytime Drama." Hilarious.
In case you've been purposely avoiding the real world, President Mugabe of Zimbabwe was sworn in again this week, after *allegedly* losing the presidential election, forcing a run-off and then rigging the election.
Here's what a cartoonist employed by Time Magazine thinks about it all...
Question: Why is Bush considering sanctions against Zimbabwe instead of doing one of the famous "regime changes"? Oh yeah; he stole an election (or two) in his day as well. Almost forgot...
George Carlin, who was a hero to modern comics, IS DEAD. I remember watching him back in the day, and always feeling like I was watching a lecture that you could laugh at. Dirty words sprinkled everywhere. But did I ever laugh out loud? Not really. I always liked Richard Pryor a little bit better, but I can appreciate dry humor, especially when it represents the counterculture and its funny enough to make you think.
PRYOR = G.O.A.T. CARLIN = S.G.O.A.T.
But there's plenty of time for that debate. For now, may the man rest in peace.
In case you’re somewhat new to this seventh layer of Hell, which I like to call, “The Underworld,” you may not know that I keep track of who passes on, or in the funny cases, who kicks the proverbial bucket, from time to time. I mean, you’d think that a guy who calls his ink pen a "scythe" (and kills the competition) would at least keep an accurate account of who gets bodied along the way. Well, my weird friends, here is the bad news that you can depend upon me to deliver. In this case, we have one loser and two people who I don't think deserved their death sentences. But then again, I’m not God. Do me a favor, and please, pay your respects.
CAREER-DEAD/LEGALLY-DEAD (The Funny Part): RAS-KASS
I’m sorry, but this dude is a f*cking idiot. This same guy BECAME A FUGITIVE years ago, while putting out mixtapes against his label, Priority Records. As if they were the reason why the law wanted him. I’m sorry again, but po-po doesn’t come after you for not releasing an album within the time limit of your recording contract. You’ve obviously broken a bigger rule than that.
So he goes on the lam, either gets caught or turns himself in (I don’t care enough to research it), and does a couple years or so. Comes out claiming to be “The King of L.A.” As if Snoop wasn’t still around. As if The Game wasn’t responsible for bringing the first multi-platinum plaque back to L.A. in years. As if Ice Cube wasn’t still selling gold – independently. Cube made more money off of one independent album than Ras-Kass probably received his whole career in label advance money. Which is, of course, recoupable (look it up). If you remember, Game was upset enough at some of Ras-Kass’s rhymes that he gave Kass a black eye, to match his black revolutionary disposition, I guess. Oh, the irony.
Now, according to Illseed, Ras-Kass is in the first few months of a three-year bidsky for who cares what. As in, right now, while I’m typing and drinking beer, he’s in jail. But if dude really thinks he can even start that, “I’m the king,” dewshery again, when he gets out in 2011, he’ll automatically earn one title: The Dumbest Rapper Alive. God knows, I don't want to see another rapper jailed, but - word to Lupe Fiaschoe – a good vocabulary doesn’t always mean that you’re smart.
REALLY DEAD (No Humor Intended): Static from Playa and Juvenile’s Daughter
STATIC:
Do you know that Static was one of the best songwriters alive when he passed? Here’s what HIP-HOP ELEMENTS said about his passing:
Among the major hits Static wrote lyrics for are Aaliyah's "Are You That Somebody" and "Try Again"; Ginuwine's "So Anxious" and "Pony"; Nas and Ginuwine's "You Owe Me"; Pretty Ricky's “On the Hotline" and Truth Hurts' "Addictive."
Let me take it a step further. He also wrote “We Need a Resolution,” “Rock the Boat”, “More Than a Woman,” “Same Ol’ G” by Ginuwine, and one of my favorite songs that you’ve never heard, “Joy,” which was on Timbaland & Magoo’s first album. When I tell you that song is the truth, you should not only believe me; you should either go buy the album or download it. Trust me, the track is hard to find. But if you’re interested in finding out about even more songs he wrote that you might love, CHECK THIS SITE.
This is one of those stories that I find a little depressing, because dude was the serious truth. He could rap, sing and write, and I always told people that he was dope, even though I liked the fact that I knew something that other’s didn’t. Selfishness… yuck. He was probably one hit away from being a star in his own rite. Now, he’s gone, because of something nobody saw coming. R.I.P., Static. Cheers 2 U. At least it’s better than a bullet…
JELANI DELESTON - JUVENILE'S DAUGHTER
This one is… man. Four years old. Yo, I can barely even speak on it, because I have no idea how to comprehend it, how to cope with if I were a father, or how it could happen in the first place. Basically, Juvenile’s daughter – yes, that Juvenile – WAS KILLED by her older half-brother. He also killed his mother and another sibling.
When this type of tragic shit happens, it makes you wish you had the power to keep people from suffering in the first place. Then again, that might be vanity, which is a deadly sin. Let's just pray that Jelani is beyond the trials of this life, and is now freer than anyone on Earth - laughing and enjoying eternity, while waiting for us to join her and everyone else whose spirit was true enough to cross over into Nirvana while still somewhat innocent.
They say the good die young...
“This ain’t funny, so don’t you dare laugh.” – Slick Rick
Yo, before I even start this, let me say that THE HOMIE is a good friend. I consider good writers, especially local ones, to be La Familia, no matter where you're from or what you believe. I'm all for some Hip-Hop writers' renaissance shit, where we all stay in contact when it's possible, just to trade ideas and bounce shit off of each other, or at least keep bullshit from spreading and infecting the culture we've helped create.
I was so throwed when I checked Garland's blog, REZIDUE, and saw an image of a big, metallic canister of ether above one of his posts. My first thought was, "Damn; who pissed of M. Geezy?"
Then, I read the post. He went in on himself, on some Little Brother, "Can't Win for Losing" type shit, describing and detailing how his name came under attack on the hate-infested internet. Garland kept it 100 and told the truth - he had recently been "ethered", or became an "LOL-COW," as they call it, on the extremely popular Hip-Hop blog, NAHRIGHT. And it all happened when he decided to co-sign the Cunninglinguists as a respectable act in Hip-Hop, on a post about Nas's alleged Nigger album commercial. For the record, I have to co-sign as well. Shout to my homie Chuck Babb, who's down with the Cunnys.
The beautiful thing here is that Garland went against the rules, and he just might end up on top of this whole fuckfest if he pimps the game. I mean, if you wanted to make a joke out of my name (which might be hard, since I'm Michael Jordan), I'd use it to my advantage as well. It goes with the greatest rule in public relations: There's no such thing as bad publicity. But it also goes against the biggest rule in business: Never acknowledge the competition. The point is, it's a gamble either way.
For the record, don't you dumb-asses out there get any dull ideas and try me like that. No disrespect to Garland, but I'll thrash you on some totalitarianism type shit. Plus, I have famous friends, like Garland, whose name may get to platinum status - all on the backs of haters. I will be completely unsurprised when dude flips this into some fame shit and makes internet haters into unlikely cheerleaders. Ain't it ironic?
Damn the devil to hell; I'm so tired it doesn't make sense - the post I was going to publish tonight, that is. Your homie had a long week, and although I'm anxious to put up new material, which is fired up and ready to go (Obama '08), I just can't post this mentally-tarnished buffoonery that I just pooted onto my laptop screen. Really, you deserve better. Plus I might be drunk too. Just maybe.
Anyway, expect dopeness tomorrow. I'm about to have another Bud Select and a smoke, and from there I'm going to watch Superbad until I pass out. Hope your Friday night is as relaxing as mine. Just so you can't say I left you with nothing, here are a few vids of some of my favorite deceased comics below.
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