RACISM AIN'T DEAD YET...

Before you go all Obama/Dr. King/Biggie Smalls crazy with the rest of your holiday weekend, I just thought I'd come back to say hello and burst your bubble with regards to race relations in America, and specifically in the south.

Absolutely 100% true story:


Last night, after doing research for the job, I went to my old bar hangout in Marietta, GA. It's called Churchill's Pub. You don't normally see a lot of black folks in and out of there, but they do come through. I get treated like some sort of celebrity by the staff and owners, simply because I've weathered 2 years of coming in consistently. Working across the street at another bar made it accessible, and the fact that they have really good food, free wi-fi and would let you order a pitcher of beer for yourself were enough to keep me coming, even though I would sometimes sense race hate from the other side of the bar. Which I never pay much attention to anyway, but sometimes I would actually engage the people directly with a sarcastic smile and a knowing look.

It wasn't that way last night, but there was this dude that I know pretty well from seeing him there a lot, sometimes with his mom and dad. He was hanging out with this guy that looked like he was born in a hunting jacket; like he literally fell out of a deer's coochie one morning, reached for a rifle and shot his own mother dead. This guy was short, pudgy and had extremely wild eyes -- probably from meth of coke or... who knows -- and did all he could to get my attention when he played "99 Problems" by Jay-Z on the Rhapsody jukebox. I gave him a salute and even played along with him when he shouted out the lyrics to the part of the song where the officer is talking to Jay. You know: "Cuz I'm young, and I'm black/and my hat's real low/do I look like a mind reader, sir?/I'ont know..."

This is ironic, because 20 minutes later, as I walk over to say what's up to the other homie, he meets me in front of the jukebox, like, "Are you gonna play some shit!!@?? (drunk as hell). I was like, "Um... yeah!?" And he was then like, "YEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" So I guess that meant we were cool. It had to mean he had established some type of relationship with me, at least in his mind, because not 5 minutes later, as I'm looking through the web, he does the irritating thing which people always do when I take my computer into a public place -- ask if I'll go to some stupid website or YouTube video. This time, I said "Sure," and actually found this really cool site that showcases a local artist who lost his arm or something and draws completely with his mouth. So I say to him, "That's actually cooler than I expected it to be, my man." And he says, "OH!!! YOU WANNA SEE SOMETHING COOL?!??!@@#%?! CHECK THIS SHIT OUT, MAN!!*#!"

That's when he pulls out his phone and shows me how he won last year's Halloween costume at a neighborhood party.





I actually got the guy to send that picture to my email address. That's really him. Now, if you're white and reading this, you might be thinking, "Aww, come on, Mike. That's not really racist! It's just a harmless joke! Stop being so damn sensitive and taking all the fun out of something that's not even that big a deal..."

True, true. Sounds great, but what was I supposed to say about the picture of his black dog, who he called his "down-ass nigger" and bragged about how well-trained he is, and why I'd love him, and why I should come over to their house to get really drunk(er) with the whole backwoods family.





I politely declined, shook my head a little and laughed. Finished my drink, turned back to him and asked a very simple question:

"So, did you vote for Obama?"

He said no.

I paid out my tab, walked over to the bartender and gave her a hug, tipped my waitress, threw the deuces to our shared homie, and after putting on my long, black winter coat and throwing my Macbook back into my leather shoulder bag -- looking like a future black senator, I might add -- I extended my hand to shake that of my new, ignorant-to-his-own-racism friend and said:

"You're actually a cool cat, besides your bullshit. Hope you think twice about your picture and the N-bomb in the future. Oh, and happy MLK day."

WHY ATLANTA IS DYING OFF

I tell you, oh my brothers and sisters, the times, they are a'changin' around this beeaieyach. So let me begin by saying that I hope you had a great Thanksgiving, and I hope that you're not only thankful for that gluttonous meal you ate Thursday afternoon with your fat-ass family, but you're also in the spirit of giving something to those who might be in worse need than you this winter.

Keep in mind that I'm not a fan of baseless charity; I prefer that people find something that they love and want to see bettered through personal investment. Deserving a gift is the ideal. But let's be fair; we're in a recession and there are hungry and cold people out there who may have fallen through the cracks under Georgia Bush's reign of terror on the American government. Prayer helps, but action is necessary in these times. Let's all pitch in.

Speaking of Georgia, since it is one of the states that I represent through my honorary position as Senator to the southern tri-state area of Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia, and I do most of my business in Atlanta, let me keep it ultra gutter and tell you what's really hood in the city that made me. Here, as food for thought, are the top 30 reasons why the City of Atlanta is pretty much dead. Listen to me now; believe me later on.


THE UNDERWRITER'S TOP 30 REASONS
WHY ATLANTA IS DYING OFF:




1. Shakir Stewart's death (R.I.P.)
2. T.I. going to jail
3. Luda going Hollywood
4. Gucci Mane in jail
5. Young Jeezy cooling off
6. Soulja Boy
7. Jermaine Dupri running a club & destroying Janet's career at once
8. L.A. Reid in the Hamptons
9. 1/2-ass Janelle Monae project management by Bad Boy
10. Lil' Jon M.I.A.
11. Hot 107.9's A-Team fired; replaced by Ricky Smiley
12. Maurice Garland M.I.A. since 11/5
13. Gyant gaining fame
14. No clear cut female rap queen/leading lady
15. Jax death (R.I.P.)
16. DJ Drama still in legal limbo
17. Killer Mike fadeaway
18. Usher in career limbo
19. Dallas Austin on permanent vacation
20. Alfamega
21. Kaya becomes Club Vision, then torn down for Trump condos
22. The death of Freaknic (R.I.P.)
23. Mike Vick not coming back
24. Traffic
25. Price of a$$ & foreclosures ^; local economy & city budget down
26. Continued water (& weed) drought
27. Polow Da Don recent brick marathon
28. Still no Real World Atlanta
29. Chicago's comeuppance
30. No alcohol sales on Sunday except clubs & restaurants


To be certain, there is only one hope...




The Dungeon Family. The first shall be last and the last shall be first. Anybody who has been here since the mid-90s can tell you that even moreso than Dallas and Jermaine and only second to LaFace, the DF made Atlanta cool, so only they can reinstitute the groove and save the city. If that fails, expect me to speak to you from New York or Los Angeles in 2010.

Fortunately, there are three OutKast projects and one GOODie MoB. album on the way. Thank God. Shout to the homie Dallas in town for Turkey weekend.

LONG LIVE COMMON SENSE

Chicago's own Common came to my homestate last weekend, so I stopped by the all-new Club Sky to check it out. To be certain, this guy Common brings the women out in full force, and there were plenty of Lisa Lisas (80's version) in attendance. I wasn't alone, so I had to do the honorable thing and stay by the bar getting OVERTHROWED until dude hit the scene around midnight or so. Wouldn't want to look thirsty like the ladies, and man were they parched...





When I say that the ladies spazzed, I mean it. I knew that Common had fans, but I didn't know that he is, on the low, approaching L.L. Cool J status with the female rap base. Maybe on the high. And when I say that the high majority of these women were sexy, I say it because the shit is true, on the low.





Com came through, sat at the couch with an extra big bodyguard from Birmingham that my homegirl says she dated for a second. This dude was widebody like a walrus, but he had that roscoe/biscuit/heater/toolie/pistola on his hip, and his size alone was suggestive enough that nobody really tried to push up on Chi-Town's Nas like they couldn't control themselves. Yet he still managed to pull off his job without reaching for the burner and keeping an ill mean mug on his grill, just in case a heifer started acting a donkey, if you will. With his fat ass.





I let the ladies get their kicks and giggles before running up on Common, Bamma-style, and saying, "Thanks for coming to Alabama, cousin." He seemed pleased that he was so well received. It's funny, oh my brothers and sisters; most outsiders always seem super-surprised when they visit the state in which I was raised. They have a wide-eyed stare, and a simple smile that suggests that they didn't expect so much deep south love (NOLO). Common definitely enjoyed the crowd's response to his appearance.





From there, Common cut through the crowd with the assistance of the big dude and stood in the stairwell that led to the DJ booth and pool room--pretty much the only place from which he could effectively perform. He commenced to rock. See video below, and please don't bitch and moan about the darkness; just be grateful for the flashing lights of nearby cameras. You want better quality, I suggest you invest.


Here's the Com'z rocking "Go!" from his debut album on G.O.O.D. Music, Be...




Here's "Testify"...




Check the crowd response to "Universal Mind Control", the Neptunes-produced lead single...




From there, he dropped "The Light" (which would have come in handy for my camera) and closed up shop to loud applause and cheers. I have to say that I continue to be impressed by Common when it comes to longevity. He's one of the few rap artists that has been around for ten years of which I can still call myself a fan. Really, it shouldn't be much longer before we just stop fronting all together and put him in the Top 5 of all time. Like he said on "Get 'Em High": "Real rappers is hard to find--like a remote... control rap is out of."


Next up: Musiq. That's right; the cross-eyed R&B singer. I caught him doing his thing as well in Alabama, so I figured why not post it up. Check back tomorrow or the next day for that. And hey!! Thanks for giving me your attention for the last two years.

Make sure you cop Universal Mind Control when it drops (hopefully) on December 9.



"Should have my own reality show called, Soul Survivor."
-Common; "Get 'Em High"

FRIDAY NIGHT LIVE IN NEW YORK CITY

Visiting New York City is a surreal experience for anyone from the deep south. To be honest, I've always been against the idea of living in The Big Apple but happy to visit for a day or two. The feeling I've always taken away is that nobody should have to pay that much just to survive, no matter how cool the people are. But there is the key; the people in New York do make the city, and the environment creates a hardened (nolo) perspective--the NY State of Mind--that exists in even the most anti-social residents of any and every borough.

The first major difference I felt was when I opened up my laptop at the Chili's Too in La Guardia. Nobody tripped. Not that I would have cared; I do it all the time in Georgia, Alabama and Tennessee, and nobody says shit then either, but the feeling that is displayed on their faces takes body language to a new level of expression, especially when it comes to looking like a hater.

As you see below, I've been riding with Obama since the beginning, and the sticker along with my smile should show you just how I feel if you're looking at me sideways. But again, that's what I'm used to in the south; in New York City I was reminded by the relaxed look on the faces of onlookers that I was among friends, even before I had branched out into the city. As a welcoming sign of acceptance and mutual political thought, it was quite a relief.





Being the third trip I've made to NYC since I've been old enough to drink, this was by far the best time I've had. After an incredibly janky flight, we landed and were towed into the gate as the flight crew threw on "The Sweetest Taboo." Don't ask axe me why our plane couldn't steer and push itself. At least the mood music calmed me down after all the turbulence and whatever else was really wrong with the damned plane. Thank God for Sade and solid ground.

Anyway, I was in town for an interview with a NY-based website that shall remain nameless until the word is official, possibly longer. If you haven't noticed by now, I'm really into anonymity. Fame is an unnecessary side effect to being effective at my craft, and I'd rather sacrifice the spotlight than the joy of loving the job. While I was hanging around SoHo, I visited The Huffington Post before taking the R train to 57th street to get up with the homie White Jesus.


[The homies White Jesus, David and Stella Artois]


Because I was already planning for and expecting a positive trip, I setup my iPod while still in Atlanta Thursday night with NYC-inspired music, to give me a better respect for the subway ride and scenery. While moving through underground Manhattan, I was listening to shit like "Pacifics" by Digable Planets on repeat. That's always been a song that reminds me most of how you NY cats live. Funny how it made much more sense when heard on the subway. You hear, through the headphones, the influences of the train itself in the music, through background noise captured in the track. The sound effect gives it way more clarity than if you were listening through home stereo or car speakers. Experiencing NY Hip-Hop in NY is like drinking Evian directly from a river stream in the French Alps, without the hassle of the plastic bottle. Fresh.




From there, I made the trip to the area (edited) where the homie White Jesus lives and works. Having a best friend who happens to have a good job (edited by request) is a perk in any city, but in NYC it makes a serious difference. The homie lives in an area that is straight out of Seinfeld or Friends. Very urban, but very sociable and lively. And very Jewish. Like the homie says, "It ain't Karate..." Inside joke. Think hard enough and you'll get it.

Back to the story, we got on some Ketel One at his crib, then took a cab to TriBeCa to get up with some other friends who live in town. They had the hookup on the leprechaun delivery, so we stayed put until around 11 p.m., chiefing that great, high-powered Sour Diesel and Apple Jacks. Legalize it!!!





Next, we hit up the apartment of a former co-worker from my bartending days. She had recently moved to Brooklyn, so we were able to visit her and her roommates on the way to the club for a few extra free drinks and our first game of "Thumper." If you've never played it, it's another one of those games that white people play when they're getting OVERTHROWED. And that shit is pretty fun, especially when you have some drunk white women surrounding you in a semi-circle and doing all types of crazy dances and gestures. Here's an example:





Moe finally had enough and steered us towards the party in Brooklyn before we got too juiced up with the party girls, who were headed to their own little shendig around the corner. We took another cab to the club, where all we had to do to get in free was agree to be interviewed on camera about how President-elect Barack Obama has inspired us. Supposedly this video interview will be available tomorrow on their website. If so, I'll post a link. If not, forget that I said that. But I did take a photo of the guys doing the interviewing, just for posterity and so that I'd look like a tourist.




The party was ehhh, but at least there were some other cats that I knew from Atlanta in the building. We spoke to a few ladies, drank more than a few G+Ts and stayed until around 3 a.m. The women were weird; they stared all night but were too timid to respond when we spoke, so I left it alone. Don't you hate a shy chick? Didn't really matter; I wasn't there to try my one-night stand luck; I was there to drink with the homies. Mission accomplished.




We'll leave all the other details out, but the moral is that I had a great time in New York. This was the way I always wanted to experience the city, and just when I've developed the proper mentality to deal with NYC, I see that the city responds to my demands. It gave me the impression that even though people swear up and down that it's an almost impossible lifestyle to lead, which I would have agreed with before this weekend, New York City is still the Mecca of American civilization and the birthplace of Hip-Hop. Because I've always been assumed to have originated in either NY or LA--yet I'm actually from Alabama--it felt like a homecoming of sorts. I can't lie; I pretty much fell in love with the city this past Friday, and I feel like I'm cheating.

The next day, White Jesus had a meeting at his job (edited) and I had a hangover that was not ready to quit before noon, so I woke up, popped a Claritin with a bottle of Pellegrino like the elitist I am and went right back to sleep on the couch. I woke up able to breath and refreshed, ready to hit the Sour Diesel again and grab a slice with the homie before hitching a cab ride back to La Guardia to make my grand exit.

On the way back, I had a great convo with the cabbie, who almost turned me down for a ride from the area (edited for White Jesus's anonymity), but changed his mind because "I talked to him with respect." My man was of Arab descent and a hard-core Democrat. We talked the whole ride about the historic implications of an Obama adminstration and how we've got to work as a world community to keep our differences from becoming rivalries, no matter how far apart we are geographically, ethnically or ideologically. When I arrived at the curbside check-in for Delta flight 925, he wished me good luck on being offered the writing job and thanked me for the conversation.

Jesus. I think I love New York. Don't be mad, Atlanta. Just step your game up before I leave your tired ass.

DIG THIS: ROLLING STONE'S 25 FUNNIEST WEB VIDS

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.

LEGALLY-DEAD MCs: ASSISTED STAGE DIVING IS DEAD

It was announced that your boy Akon is heading to court on December 1st, unless he has somebody to snitch on or accepts some type of plea bargain. It appears that his fan toss last year didn't go over so well; the 17-year old boy that got literally "throwed off" during a concert performance either decided to press charges or the state of New York just took the liberty of filing them itself.

ANOTHER ANGLE:



Either way, if I were a major Hip-Hop/R&B star, I would think twice about helping a fan to crowd surf. Hell, there's even another person who was in the crowd that says she suffered a concussion because the airborne dude fell on her when Akon did the human shot put. Jesus; these days, everybody is a potential plantiff. Let's see how the judge sees it. Akon better hope that he finds an African judge. It won't be good news if he gets somebody that looks like Wapner.

BUN B @ THE LOFT: The Autopsy

Contrary to whatever the eff you thought, this blog represents Hip-Hop culture first. Check the column to your top right if you didn't already know. I know I get deep into the political game, but that doesn't mean that I'm devoted to Democrats more than I'm down to listen to your demo. More on that later...

There were mad weirdos in attendance at The Loft for the free Scion Metro concert performance of Bun-B @ The Loft in Atlanta. But it is my eternal opinion that weirdos, not gangstas, make the world go 'round. So that's why I felt so at home when the infamous Bun-B of UGK put on with a live band in my city. Word to world music, it was a great time.





Speaking of which, man, that damn band known as Orgone is all dat and dim sum. I got a chance to speak with FANNY FRANKLIN, the lead singer of ORGONE, and she was mad cool, even if our conversation was to remain off the record... What I will share is that she told me that the band was going through internal issues like all musical outfits, but she felt the love when she hit the stage with the group and she appreciated the fact that I recognized her outside of her stage constume. "That shows you were paying attention..."





By the way, she had an ill resemblance to the love of my life, Sade. So of course I was entranced. But not only was she fine as hell; the band was extra dope. And I can't help but point out that the main guitarist looked a lot like the drummer from the Muppets' band.







My girl in Alabama told me that Bun-B's recent performance this past week in Birmingham was quite lackluster. I told her that it was probably because Bun had no real incentive to give his all to the Magic City. Birmingham is not a major market, therefore it accounts for a very small amount of record sales. Bun-B doesn't really have to care about how the 'Ham feels about him or his stage performance. There is bigger money in bigger markets.

Yet the bigger reason to be excited about Bun's appearance in Atlanta was because he was performing with Orgone. He even admitted on stage that he had never before performed with a live band. Now, I don't know how true that statement is, but I take Big Bun at his word. After all, he does continue to keep it triller than any other rap artist in the game - southern or not.

Bun is naturally dope when fronting a band. It makes a southern Hip-Hop fanatic wonder why he hasn't tried a nationwide tour with The Roots or a southern derivative thereof. The south has a long history and wide heritage of birthing and building great musical artists with live instrumentation. If Bun wants to build a new career, I think he'd do great with a band of seven or eight hard-core cats in the background, not just a DJ. On that note, maybe JD was right...

Of course, Pimp C is dead, so UGK will never be the same. Of course, there will never be another UGK, because we are in a new era of Hip-Hop. Of course, Bun-B is affected by the death of his partner-in-rhyme, because they were the dynamic duo. But that doesn't mean that we can't appreciate the lyrical ability of a solo southern MC that has always been one of, if not the most efficient and exceptional rap artist from the south, besides Andre 3000. When you add the elements of live music in this mix, you might mess around and get pure magic, like last night in Atlanta.

Bun took control of the stage as soon as he stepped on the platform. With Orgone's assistance, he ripped through such classics as "Draped Up", "Big Pimpin'" and other UGK timepieces before cutting his hour-long stage set short around 1:30 a.m. Trust me, I was happy enough to pay my tab and leave after that, but that was before I saw what absolutely blew my mind...




Ceelo, Khujo, Big Gipp and T-Mo - all in the same room in Atlanta. I shook hands with all four of the original members of the Goodie Mob, telling them that I missed their music yet I was extremely proud to see them together again. Trust me, that shit is a major accomplishment. I would go so far as to assume that only one other brother did the same: MAURICE GARLAND. And I didn't even see Garland, but he got the flick, so props to him for having the camera ready.

If nothing else, the Scion show definitely showed that Bun-B is the true king of the south when it comes to Hip-Hop. Not Scarface, not T.I., and definitely not Lil' Wayne. Some will try to say that Bun is too old to claim the crown, but the truth is that nobody has been around as long and can still pull a devoted and loyal crowd like the still-living lyrical half of UGK.


Hip-Hop will never die, especially not in the south. Feel free to kill yourself if you can't stand the reign.

THE GUEST LIST IS DEAD

Hope you RSVP'd in time for the Bun B show tonight at The Loft, because I sure as hell did. I'll be somewhere in the crowd after 10pm, throwed like a horseshoe. Holla at your boy if you see me.

I'll have a review for you out-of-towners later tonight or early in the morning. If I don't get overthrowed.

In honor of tonight's concert, let's crank a little bit of that good old UGK for posterity's sake.





PIMP C LIVES!!!

"PINEAPPLE EXPRESS" - The Autopsy

Saw it last night with my Bahamian homie Ahmahl and my white girl connect Ponton. We got properly zooted while the previews played and rushed in to find seats at the beginning of the movie. The plot of Pineapple Express is pretty simple. It's a weed film. The star and co-writer of the film, Seth Rogen, makes a purchase of "Pineapple Express", a rare strain of cannabis which, in all likelyhood, PROBABLY EXISTS IN REAL LIFE as a result of the tropical climate and transcontinental winds that pass through Hawaii and Canada. And you already know that islanders and Canadians get extremely zooted like every day.





Dale, the main character played by Rogen, witnesses a murder, and he and his weed dealer, played by James Franco, are being stalked by the local weed kingpin and his corrupt cop girlfriend. Strange fuckery ensues.

The movie is pretty classic, and the dialogue is hilarious, full of half-baked ideas and half-cocked concepts. A very funny detail is that their marijuana-induced paranoia actually saves them from being killed immediately after the main character sees the murder and flees the scene of the crime. Like Rogen's first runaway hit, Superbad, this movie has some very wild parts (selling weed to high school students?), but actually comes across as a morality tale of sorts. Lots of subject matter, including love, marriage, friendship, responsibility and loyalty are displayed in the two-hour timespan of Pineapple Express, and since my buzz was strong enough to last the whole duration, I was pleasantly happy.





There is a lot of nolo-esque stuff going on towards the end, but besides that I can't really complain. If you have friends, roll up a couple and have a smoker's night out (no cigarettes!). If you don't, look for Pineapple Express on the net, or just wait for On Demand or Netflix or whatever. As a stoner film, it makes more sense to catch this one on DVD, just because you'll have the ability to munch out as much as you want without having to deal with movie theater prices, and the movie is definitely a collector's item. But if you have some friends who are down, it's definitely a good idea to watch it on the big screen after putting a stick or two in the wind. Good times.

RAP NERDS DON'T DIE - THEY MULTIPLY

CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL STORY of how The Underwriter, your faithful and humble narrator, took part in a high-definition Hip-Hop discussion with four other pure rap nerds with presidential status in the game.


Shout to Billy X. Sunday, a.k.a. Dallas Penn, of XXL and iNTERTETS CELEBRITIES fame, for hosting a great Hip-Hop debate right chea on my stomping grounds of Cobb County, GA. The homie let me know early that he would be in the ATL this week, so I made a point to get up with him and a few friends at Taco Mac on the East-West Connector (near Six Flags) to discuss such relevant and immediate issues as The Dark Knight, Fonzworth Bentley, Lil' Wayne and of course the only five albums that a person could take on the Mothership. In attendance were Maestro (producer: Lil' Wayne's "3-Peat") and frequent XXL commenter Twerkolater.

It was a great night in Atlanta for rap thought. We consumed drinks, cigarrettes and topics like intellectual cannibals. Nobody was given too much free reign over their opinions, but everybody's words were respected and we all left feeling as if we had fleshed out our own ideas about how the game should be and how things really are today in the world of Hip-Hop culture.


And I was throwed like a horseshoe. I'm surprised DP even remembered any of this fuckery, because he seemed as drunk as I was. Shout to him for staying on point and delivering the story. I went home and crashed like Dale Earnhart (R.I.P.).



Until next time, Chea!






UPDATE:

CLICK HERE FOR MAESTRO'S BLOG


CLICK HERE FOR TWERKOLATER.

MONDAY NIGHT LIVE: EWF @ CHASTAIN PARK

I did absolutely nothing today, because I was OVERTHROWED last night. However, it was for a great reason.

Your homie hit up the Earth Wind and Fire concert at Chastain Park in Buckhead. If you're ever in Atlanta and someone offers you tickets to Chastain, take them. Even if it's a KKK rally. There's no such thing as a bad show at Chastain. Everybody gets slizzard, shares good food and dances and sings. Always a good time, but when EWF is in the building, you know it's going down like Johnny Gill in a bathhouse. Nolo.





Maurice White, the founder of the group, no longer tours with EWF, but Philip Bailey, the guy with the high-high pitched voice, is still holding down the vocals. And when I say holding down, I mean it. Dude went from the low-low register to something in the Mariah zone. Amazing.





The show started at 8:10 PM and ended at 10:00 on the dot. The band went through all the mellow tunes first, then got it supercrunk towards the end with "Let's Groove", "September", "Fantasy" and all the others. For an encore, they came back with "Keep Your Head to the Sky." Great show.




Backstage, I got up with Verdine White and Ralph Johnson. Verdine asked axed me where the weed was. I gave him my business card.

THE MOURNING AFTER…

Shout out to COX RADIO, my corporate sponsor, for providing the free room and tickets to the 2008 Essence Music Festival, which went down like a laxative. Made me feel regular again. Maybe you’ll catch the real rundown in a magazine or newspaper or something, if I feel like selling it.

In case you need it, here’s a quick list of what to do and what not at Essence 2009, for anyone who didn’t make the event this year. Just a head’s up: next year’s show, which is being headlined by Beyonce, will certainly be just as crunk. If you can get there, I suggest you make the trip. For the record, there are more women than you can shake a scythe at. Don't take my word for it, just ask axe somebody.

On with the list, and off with your head...


1. IF YOU DRIVE FROM ATLANTA, GET SOMEBODY ELSE TO RIDE WITH YOU

I drove a rental down I-85 and made it to New Orleans in about 7 hours. The drive wasn’t that bad, but it would have been much cooler if I had somebody riding shotgun to offset any suspicious vibes I had that the cops might have been following me, which they weren’t. But it’s not very cool when you see thirty to forty cars pulled over in a row between Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. Very, very sketch. I’m still shook and I’ve already made it back safe and sound.


2. DON’T STAY AT THE RITZ-CARLTON IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

Sure, it’s at the top of the food chain when it comes to nice hotels. And most of the celebrities had rooms there, so it was cool to be walking outside to Canal Street and seeing people like Lynn Whitfield and Kenya Moore walking past you on their way in. Plus, I got my room for the freeski, so I can't complain too much. Then again...

On the other side of that, there’s the snitch factor. Not that I would dare be dirty in the most esteemed hotel of the upper class, mind you… Let’s just say that I had a funny feeling Sunday night while I was getting "prepared" for the concert, and less than 10 seconds after, the cleaning lady came and knocked. After that, I was pretty much sketched out for the remainder of my trip. Plus, the ladies at the check-in/check-out desk tried to play me with some extra charges, which I deaded immediately by being proactive enough to check my balance before checking out.

An Ill side note:
On my way out of the hotel on Sunday night to the Superdome, right after the cleaning lady interrupted my session evening, I was walking down the hall, on my way to the elevator, and saw a Swisher Sweet box laying in front of a room. Next to it was an iPod Nano and a rope of disco ball-colored beads. Guess what was in the Swisher Sweet box? Can you say, "Dro?" Better yet, can you say, “Free iPod?”

Then again, maybe you should stay at the Ritz, with those type of free goodies. But I’d recommend the W. It’s way more jumping and way less sketch.


3. DON’T BE A HOT BOY

I said that I would consider going to the 9th Ward to investigate the progress after Katrina. That was until I realized that the locals would much rather come to us in the French Quarter than invite us back into their territory. When I say that New Orleans has it’s own culture, I mean it. And those people can spot an outsider pretty damn quickly. Ever heard of a ghetto pass? Get one, or you probably won’t be welcomed into the Mac-Melph-Callio.

Still, I got plenty of local love (nolo), probably because I’m from Alabama, and I know when and how to use local words and phrases like “out chea”, “baby” (pronounced “bey-be”) and “boy, that’s cold.” Get like me.


4. BRING CASH (WHERE IT'S SAFE)

There was so much authentically-fly art being sold by street vendors that I felt like a loser when I realized that I couldn’t buy a single painting on Visa or AMEX. Most of it you’ve probably seen at your local Black Arts Festival, but some of the stuff was simply incredible. And the good shit was not even that expensive - $150 could get you something unique and exclusive, and I'm killing myself for not coming up on this ill Obama painting that was set against a newspaper backdrop. I can't even describe how cool that shit was.

Too bad I spent most of my cheese on hurricanes, pina coladas and gumbo.


5. DON’T PARK YOUR RENTAL ON N. RAMPART AND BOURBON ST.

Bourbon Street was ridiculous. And the atmosphere was electric. But I don’t believe that even the crunkest of street parties gives somebody the right to stand on top of someone else’s (literally, not mine) Jeep, unless of course ninjas were shooting and people were just trying to get out of the line of fire. So maybe those dirty bootprints were just from some lucky fool who had a MJ-inspired vertical and got away from certain death. I applaud that. Now, if I would have caught said local dancing to Lil' Boosie and Webbie on top of a car I was too cheap to have insured? Let's just say it he would have been "down bad."

Speaking of which, Bourbon Street did get shut down on both Friday and Saturday night/morning around 2 a.m., because locals were either engaged in massive street brawls or just good-old murder capital shoot-outs. From what I heard, some cats did unfortunately get bodied. Sorry, I was throwed off the hurricanes and too happy to get shot for the home audience. Tell CNN to save my eulogy and celebrity tribute for later.

My 2008 Essence Festival motto: "I'm too cool to die for a rental car."


6. GO TO THE CONCERT

The good people from Cox Radio, with whom I was chilling, were not trying to go to the actual event. They spent most of their time either in the hotel or on Bourbon St. getting throwed and trying to be like your faithful and humble narrator. Made no sense, especially when Chris Rock, Mary J. Blige, LL Cool J, Jill Scott and even Keyshia Cole (no, really) tore it down at the Superdome. And I was there to see it.


Proof, in the form of photo images and video, is forthcoming, once I get some sleep. For now, I need to unwind, relax and detox. Reserve your room at Hotel Underwriter (The W) today, or miss tomorrow. In the meantime, holla at a playa when you see me in the streets, trick. And don’t drop your iPod or Swisher Sweet box on my hotel floor unless you won’t miss it.


“I feel like lying / down in a cigar; roll me up and smoke me, ‘cause I feel like dying…”
- Lil’ Wayne; "I Feel Like Dying"

THE ESSENCE OF DEATH: THE UNDERWRITER INVADES NEW ORLEANS

Sorry to spring this on you, oh my brothers and sisters, but your faithful and humble homie is OUT CHEA IN NEW ORLEANS for the Independence Day Weekend and the annual Essence Music Festival. And it is already going down - something serious. I couldn’t pretend to remember how many drinks I’ve sipped or chugged since 8 p.m. Central time, including the one sitting next to my laptop as I post this blog. But I’m feeling quite righteous, and I can’t even say that it’s all due to the free-flowing alcohol.





There’s something special about The Crescent City. Sure, it’s a dirty, filthy, shitty, stinky, swampy mosh pit of wet, dripping, moldy, ass-smelling poop water, but it’s still one of the most beautiful places in the world. New Orleans is one of those places that, when you visit, you feel immediately jealous of everyone who's from the city, even if it is basically a death trap for poor people who celebrate and dance in the face of death. They have their own language, their own style, and eff what you heard; second lines are crunker than the club in any city.

Back to the point. I’m sitting here at my sound-proof suite at Hotel Underwriter (The Ritz-Carlton on Canal), finishing my lukewarm Heineken and giving myself the proper ten minute break from my next beer to consider just what needs to be covered during my trip. Here are some story ideas I’ve come up with so far:



THE 9TH WARD (How much progress has been made? The French Quarter looks just fine, but is it really back to normal?)


BOURBON STREET (The street band was illie.)


HURRICANES (The drink, not the natural disaster. I vote yes.)


THE DIALECT (I haven’t heard so many “whoadies” in years.)


THE ESSENCE FESTIVAL (Oh yeah; there’s a concert in town! Who knew?)



Yeah, it seems that the gods have either smiled down or screamed up at me with all these amenities. I got hook-up tickets to the entire three-day festival, which includes Frankie Beverly and Maze, Kanye West, Chris Rock, Mary J. Blige, Rihanna, Jill Scott, Chrisette Michelle, Chris Brown, Patti LaBelle, Musiq, Morris Day, etc, etc, etc. The room at the Ritz is on company money, and most of the food is going to be provided. It’s going to be a great weekend for music, eating, dancing, clapping and celebrating in the birthplace of jazz.


That is, if I actually make it to the venue at all. I’m on some Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas shit this weekend, in the sense that I might not even make it to my own assignment due to out-of-town drunken fuckery. Not at all in the sense of having a briefcase full of ether, mescaline and weed. That seven-hour dolo drive from Atlanta shook me up something horrible, and I wouldn’t have considered bringing as much as a half-smoked roach on the road in the rental with me sike. I’ve never, ever, ever-ever-ever, taken a road trip and seen as many police pulling people over, so just making it to the N.O. without a $300 traffic fine was just fine with me. Thank God for cruise control and seat belts.





But regardless, I will come up with a story to tell, and it’ll probably be waaay better than what actually happens at a music festival produced by a magazine for elegant, mature women of color. I just don’t see it being as crunk as Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza or even Summer Jam or Birthday Bash for that matter, but I could always be proven wrong. We’ll see. Trust me; if something unexpected happens, I’ll give you a first-hand report. Unless I’m too busy drinking Hurricanes and eating gumbo on Canal and Bourbon to actually be there when it occurs. So there it is. I’m on a much deserved vacation, yet I’m still on the clock as a writer since our work is never over. I've always believed that a writer never really works, but never really has a vacation, because he or she is always doing both at once.


But I’m going to stay throwed off the bourbon, hurricanes and a stomach full of ABITA, the locally-brewed beer of New Orleans. So you can rest assured that I’ll be in creative think-mode throughout the journey, but I'll try not to lose focus. I mean, am I here to entertain myself or do the job?

Wait, I forgot; I’m not getting paid for this. So it’s definitely the former.



“I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death…”


BTW: EVERYBODY OUT CHEA IS BUMPING THA CARTER III.
I’m just saying…

NAS IS A SURVIVOR

See, I’m old school Hip-Hop, but not at all an old head. I can appreciate what the youngins are trying to do with it, but nothing beats some classic lines and lyrics from the rap era when it was all about quality. Cats like me throw out one of my favorite rap lines when having a conversation with BUCKMEISTER FULLER or WHITE JESUS, two of my best homies. Cat like you, I call you a “gladiator.” Word to Killa Cam.


Here are just a few of the lines that I might use at any given moment when dealing with music industry dewshbags. Especially when the time and the wine are right. This time, we’re taking liner notes from the boy Nasir, who’s Nigger Untitled album has a FIRM RELEASE DATE of July 15. I don’t want to cover too much old shit, because the youngin’s can’t relate. But here are a few of my favorite recent quotables from Nasty Nas that I think bear repeating for the true Hip-Hop heads out there. Not counting The Nigger Tape, his most recent mixtape with DJ Green Lantern. I figured I’d give you a reason to even check it out, if you’re really that late on hearing it.


Hell, I might as well help promote something worth listening to. You can ask axe anybody - The Nigger Tape is pretty damn dope, so I expect the new album to be HD. I’m excited. It’s gonna be a hot summer.


“I squeeze nipples like pimples
To get the pus – get it?”


“Nazareth Savage” – Street’s Disciple, disc 1
(That might be a triple entendre right there, if you think hard enough. Nolo.)


“The lane was open and y’all was droppin’ that garbage shit
Y’all got awards for your bricks
It got good to ya
You started tellin’ the bigger dogs to call it quits?!
What?!!”


“Carry on Tradition” – Hip Hop is Dead
(Seems aimed at Dipset; makes sense too)


“Miserable cats, hunger painin’
Get off your ass, stop complainin’!
My crew be in Montego Bay
Macarenin’
Marinatin’ while you home,
Waitin’ your arraignment…

…Certain cats they wanna kill me,
They ice-grill me,
But on the low,
Niggas feel me.”


“You Gotta Love it” – The Lost Tapes
(I love it. Self-explanatory; haters need a life)


“Ma, I’m sorry who the fuck I am
I can’t trust my fans
Out of luck, no constructive plans
My friends stay powdered up
I’m so drunk, can’t stand
You said if I would sober up
I’d be a powerful man.”


“Stillmatic Freestyle” – Unreleased
(This song, over the "Paid in Full" beat, rattled Jay-Z into making “The Takeover”)


“Sometimes I can’t help but feel helpless…
I’m having day-mares in daytime
Wide awake, try to relate…

…Human beings like ghosts and zombies
President Mugabe -
Holdin’ guns to innocent bodies
In Zimbabwe...
They make John Pope seem godly,
Sacrilegious and blasphemous…”


“Road to Zion” – Welcome to Jamrock (Damien Marley)
(Shows you how Hip-Hop actually pays attention to politics and humanitarian crises)


“You can’t revolve me, embalm me
Calm me or harm me
Rob me or dodge these bullets I’m bussin’,
See, that’s malarkey you yappin’
I open up the tri-pod
And put the Gatlin on,
And I start clappin.”


“Hustlers” – Hip-Hop is Dead
(I’m also a fan of The Game. Shit talk can be wildly entertaining when done correctly)


“Puttin old niggas verse the yougin’s
Most of our elders failed us
How can they judge us?”


“Be a Nigger Too” – Untitled
(An ill line on many levels… even my Mom agrees)


Good artists, real Hip-Hop artists, deserve better support, publicity and promotion. This way, they don't have to die first to get the cover of your favorite magazine. Word to Jadakiss.

"You know dead rappers get better promotion."