I was totally content with letting this blog die a slow, crusty, gangrene-ish death. I'd been hired at a new company, which at first completely kicked my ass and killed any possibility of free time, much less the mental capacity to blog about anything. The funny thing is that even while I didn't update, the blog kept a quiet little buzz, and even received some anonymous comments from time to time, including prayers that I'd one day be castrated by my own scythe.
And while the buzz died down considerably (which happens after 2 years of nothing), the praise for this whole experiment remained somewhat steady, the only buzz I was trying to build was the kind that came from quality vodka, Hoegaarden, or $14 South African wine to settle my nerves after a day on the job, and from writing whatever prose I could conjure up from my cold, janky heart, especially if there was a freelance check involved.
I have to admit that it was the anonymous comments that made me want to start again. Sure, many of them are in Chinese characters, and seem to be the kind of stuff that nobody should click on, that is if they prefer not to have their laptop explode or emit Agent Orange through the speakers. But some of the comments were actually encouraging, and some of my friends still ask if I'm doing the blog anymore.
So here's what I'm gonna try to do, since we're all dying anyway I've become better at time management. I'll make better attempts at keeping this thing current. That might mean one or two posts per week for a minute, but I'll try to keep them worth every effort put forth by your ever-yellowing eyes.
Yes, bitches. I've made it. 31 years, and not a single bit of evidence that would suggest aging. Maturity? Surely. But I'm a child of God, and I retain my youthful spirit and I remain young at heart. I love being alive at this point in time.
Can you believe that we actually have a black president?! I mean, take away the horrible recession, the toxic sludge in the Tennessee River, the still-unfinished business in New Orleans, the pointless violence in Gaza, the ignorant racism of the Republikkkan party--especially in my beautiful south, the lack of self-belief and the persistence of power-lust and you have a serious opportunity for change. And, as you can tell, I'm not one for the fantasy way of seeing things. I see dead people.
I also see live people. I see the chance to make the miracles that we think only God has the power to perform actually happen, with our own work. And I'm ready to make my mark on the world. We're not in a recession, as it would relate to the richness of the human mind. We're more capable of thinking our collective way out of this mess that we've made than at any point in human history. Why waste it?
Give me the green light. I can go all night. And all year. And all my life. I've been ready to go, and right now is as good a time as any in my term on this planet. Let's all get serious about life this year. Let's not substitute anything for hard work and dedication. As my man White Jesus always says, "Get prolific."
If you read this blog, peace and blessings to you in 2009. Thanks for supporting writers and readers.
We're getting close to the end of this chapter, my brothers and sisters. And what I will tell you is that we need some motivational mottos for the coming year. We've still got Republikkkans on that racist b.s., Israel and Palestine are still beefing and the media is still hyping the recession. But there's good news all around, if you can sift through the seasoning salt.
Me? I'm taking the next 48 hours to determine what will stay and what must die in my own cypher. In the meantime, while I get my green on, here is a list of possible mantras that you might hear me drop once the ball in Times Square falls. Feel free to use anything you like in your own dialog with other progressive peoples. Add one if you wish!
THE UNDERWRITER'S AULD LANG SYNE IN 2009:
Time to shine in 2009 (Be a star)
On the grind in 2009 (Don't wait for anything; go get it)
Smoke some Pine in 2009 (Why not?)
Vintage wine in 2009 (Spoil yourself)
No Calvin Klein in 2009 (Pause. Nolo.)
Grow some spine in 2009 (Where your heart at?)
Free your mind in 2009 (The rest will follow)
Please stop lyin' in 2009 (Real talk.)
Gon' get mine in 2009 (Get yours!)
First class flyin' in 2009 (As long as you're paying)
Fly design in 2009 (Swag is dead)
Not left behind in 2009 (Stay ahead of the curve)
Style divine in 2009 (Do it like Jesus would)
Deserve to dine in 2009 (I gotta eat)
Lead the blind in 2009 (Dumb rappers need teachin')
No mo' cryin' in 2009 (You can complain, but who'd listen?)
Beat Ben Stein in 2009 (Get money!)
Get off the vine in 2009 (Gossip and rumors are for girly boys)
Read, then sign in 2009 (Don't get jerked!)
Don't rewind in 2009 (The movement moves forward, not in reverse)
Clean vagine in 2009 (Because feminine hygiene rules)
Fresh behind in 2009 (Gentlemen: wash your draws)
This could go on forever. The point is that 2009 does not have to be lame as hell. Power to the people, wisdom, success, health, strength, honor and happiness to you and yours. And be safe out there on Wednesday night, whatever you do.
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"
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.
Please don't mind my absence. I've missed updating the blog more than you know. The only problem is that I've recently moved, and I have no internet connection at the new spot. So I'm having to hit various places and post new content whenever I can, and this week has been especially hectic when it comes to free time.
Anyway, forget all of that. Excuses are like pee-holes. Just so you know, I'm going to be getting it on tonight when it comes to the blog, because I feel like I've been wrong by not updating like I'm 'posed to. Thanks for bearing with your boy through my bear market of blogging. I'm still negotiating, but the bailout is coming soon; I promise. Until then, just watch TV or something. Matter of fact, THE DEBATES ARE ON TONIGHT @ 9PM EST!!
I'm going to put something up very soon. Preshate the patience, and at the same time, you're all welcome.
If you know somebody that's a Libra, give them a pound today. Michael Jordan, otherwise known as THE BEST WRITER ALIVE, is celebrating a birthday today, oh my brothers and sisters. In memoriam of his dead Myspace blog and the success of this weird, savage undertaking that you are now reading, he decided to post one for nostalgia's sake. I mean, KANYE WEST might be reading it, or at least some great writers from around the globe. Might as well flex some mental muscle from MJ's Think Tank.
This one was called "The Birthday Blog." It was posted two years ago on Tom's Rupert's social networking site. Since we're two years past, I went ahead and updated it for flow and maturity. Enjoy it like it's the last blog you'll ever read.
As hard as I tried not to do this, I broke down 30 seconds ago and decided to write a blog on my birthday. My honest intention was to just clog the Bulletin Board with announcements and irritate people the way they do me everyday. I figured this one time it was for a good cause; those bastards never mind asking me to "CLICK HERE TO SEE MY TITS!", so I don't mind telling everybody that I was born 100 years ago today. At least that's what my profile should say if it's working. How old am I really? Well, I'll admit to being old enough to have finished college (which I haven't), old enough to have put 10 years in the music/media business, wise enough to know that kicking a dead horse won't make it trot and young enough to get carded faithfully when ordering a drink.
Some of the things I've learned thus far are listed below, in no particular order:
- Family is most important. True friends are family, and everyone else is an outsider.
- Women will get you killed.
- The truth is a joke. Try telling a Republican that they're ruining the world. I bet they laugh.
- Never plan your day around someone else's schedule. I've been telling myself that for 12 years, and it's finally kicked in, giving me the ability to feel great about being self-centered and to stop worrying about anyone else's actions.
- You don't necessarily have to put God first. He/She is first anyway, and you're going to figure it out the hard way unless you embrace the grand reality of life.
- I'm the best writer alive. And yes, I mean it.
- Some people never change, for better or worse.
- With the exception of what we call "Kush", Drugs are Bad. Mmkay?
- Most people don't read. They just look at the paper and criticize the pictures.
- You can't work for someone who can't pay you.
- Politics are important, because if you have to put up with liars, you have to pick the ones who are most sincere.
- For some reason, Black people are a threat. Don't ask me why.
- The music industry doesn't exist, like the Mafia or the illuminati.
- Sex cures anything. Except STDs.
- Having musical talent can and will save your life.
- Gossipping men are most likely perpetual masturbators. Eventually they run out of friends and sympathizers.
- Celebrity Blogs are like right-wing radio: destroying our collective conscience day after day after day...
- By the time you read this, I'll be tipsy off some high quality red wine. Spoil yourself; no one else will.
- You have to find something to live for before you start considering what you'd die for.
- Capitalism has good and bad points, but it's still a better system than anything other current model.
- People think that love is about sacrifice, but it doesn't have to be. It could simply and purely be about love, if you think about it.
- Grudges will get you nowhere, but not all things should be forgiven easily.
- You can't compete with someone who doesn't see you as competition.
- There are some moments, people and incidents that you never get over. In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets.
Wow. And to think, I was just telling everyone a week ago that the new Travis Barker/DJ-AM mixtape, FIX YOUR FACE, is my current favorite CD for the house. By some incredible stroke of luck or gift from God, both men SURVIVED a plane crash yesterday. I was so blown away that I didn't even want to post it, because it seemed like a story out of a graphic novel. It's crazy to think that they could have easily died in the crash, like the other four passengers, R.I.P. Seriously; wow.
Did the Hip-Hop angels intervene? Were they rewarded with their lives because both men represent the ongoing effort to use Hip-Hop culture as a means to a unified end? Did their recent musical effort justify the allowance of their lives? I think so, oh my brothers and sisters, but don't misunderstand that assume that I'm saying that the other four deserved death because they didn't drop a mixtape last month. I just believe that these two are obviously important to the world. And I think that somebody upstairs realized that they needed to be here, like Kanye, after his crash, or 50 Cent and The Game, after being shot.
Think about it. Hip-Hop is survival music. It exists to strengthen the minds of those who will not only listen but actually hear the message of death defiance. Now, nobody can say that they don't know the struggle of survival--sheeit; they both fell out of the sky and allegedly extinguished their own flames. Say whatever you will about the mixtape, but you can't convince me that Barker and AM don't have a purpose.
So with this post, I salute Travis Barker and DJ-AM, and I offer my condolences to the families of those who were lost in the tragic crash. So what they're white; they're also our brothers, and we should be giving thanks to God for their survival, because it symbolizes the entire culture's defiance in the face of what some would assume to be certain death.
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