Sorry about the lapse in posting continuity. The new year brought a super-cool new job, new money and new toolery. Now that I'm working 9 hours a day on a MacBook, things are a little more complicated and I haven't yet figured out some of the deets when it comes to grabbing images and such, so it looks like I'll be having to switch back and forth from my trusty PC (Sade) and this new laptop. Which is probably for the best; nothing like a bunch of weird blog posts that don't relate to the job sitting on a company hard drive to kill your career before it's really born.
So thanks for the patience, and especially thanks to THE GEORGIA BLOGROLL, which just added your faithful and humble narrator to its listings. I'll be back around in a few hours. Hey, at least I'm Twittering more often!!
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.
Ladies and Gentlemen: Your favorite blogger will not speak to you tonight. His time is up. I have taken it over. You were to read a post covering bullshit black gossip, stupidity in the form of “urban news” or the current legal fuckery of your favorite rapper—whatever you normally check for on the internet that has recently occurred in the world of Hip-Hop and/or politics. That is what you are going to hear.
For two years, you—the dying music industry of Atlanta—have been asking axing, “Who is Mike Jordan?” This is Mike Jordan speaking. I’m the guy who loves and values Hip-Hop. I’m the cat who does not sacrifice his love or his values. I am the dude who is relieving you of your victims and thus destroying your world.
And if you wish to know why your record labels are perishing—you who dread fresh, innovative, empowering and creative Hip-Hop music, I am the writer who will now present it to you on this post.
You, the A&R, music executive, program director, record label owner and--hell, yeah--magazine publisher, have said that this is an age of creative crisis in the music business and that southern rap’s sins are destroying Hip-Hop. But your chief virtue has been sacrifice. You have sacrificed innovation to sales. You have sacrificed empowering lyrics to demoralizing chants. You have sacrificed development to current market conditions. You have sacrificed art to commerce. You have sacrificed talent to hustle. You have destroyed all that which you held to be evil, and achieved all that which you held to be good.
Why then, do you shrink in horror at the sound of the Hip-Hop music that surrounds you in your Mercedes-Benz’s Bose stereo system? That music is not the product of your sins. It is the product, the rhythm, melody, lyrical content and chorus of your virtues. It is the moral ideal of your musical reality brought into its full and final perfection.
You fought for it. You have dreamed of it; you have wished it… And I am the man who is helping to grant you your wish. I am removing the sources of all those evils you are sacrificing—one by one. I am ending your battle; I am stopping your cipher. I am depriving your world of The 5th Element.
Writers do not represent the culture, you say? I am withdrawing those who do. Writers are insignificant, you say? I will withdraw those who aren’t. I’m showing them the way to live by another morality: mine. It is mine that they are choosing to follow. Will you soon be crying that this is not what you wanted? The culture of Hip-Hop in ruins, abandoned by its embedded and entrenched yet mentally emaciated writers, reporters and journalists is not your goal? You did not want us to leave?
You damned Atlanta. You damned Hip-Hop but never dared to question your code.
Yes, this is an age of creative crisis but it is not Hip-Hop that is on trial. It is your moral code. And if you wish to go on existing in this culture, what you now need is not to return to creativity but to discover it.
Sincerely Yours, Mike Jordan
a.k.a. The Underwriter a.k.a. the black John Galt a.k.a. The Best Writer Alive a.k.a. Jihad Ballout Jr. a.k.a. Perry A. Pelagreeno a.k.a. Mickey Reagan a.k.a. Grumpy McNasty
[This blog was inspired by Atlas Shrugged, a book that I highly recommend to any serious reader, writer or thinker.]
Jesus, I had no idea how zooted I was when they shot this video. That's what two Ls of Sour Diesel and plenty of vodka will do to you. Anyway, here's that video I told you about from the New York post.
Let there be no doubt that I was feeling extra glowy with those blue lights all around me.
Pardon my decision to stay away from the whole "Yay, Obama!" blog movement since Tuesday night, but just so it's said and out of the way, I am not only thrilled about our new President-Elect Barack Obama, but I'm ready to start working on what must be done. The celebration and shock factor can't last too long; we have this weekend and the inauguration to party. Every other moment will have to be used for progress so that we don't lose this opportunity. So don't get gassed.
But if you do need additional fuel to move with purpose through all the hatred and sodium of our GOP enemies friends who lost their asses in the election casino, I can't think of a better new album to download for the freeski purchase at this incredible moment in history than Q-Tip's new jaint The Renaissance. First of all, the Abstract Poetic is just timeless; that's all. If I had to select one person as a living definition of a true MC with staying power and obvious love and concern for the artform, it would be Tip without a question. Remember how badly I spazzed out when Lupe Fiaschoe came sideways out of his neck after botching the Tribe tribute at the VH-1 show? You just don't diss Tribe, and Q-Tip is Tribe, and Tribe is Hip-Hop.
From title to tempo, this album fits exactly into the groove of today, as if it were taylor made to remind us that artistry doesn't have to change if it's good enough to make the world change on demand. Within The Renaissance, the rhythm, basslines, record scratches and samples all blend together with Tip's signature ageless voice to create the same feeling one remembers from the days when the Native Tongues were the Wu-Tang of the world.
If you're looking for some type of lyrical gymnastics, I'd suggest you go cop some Lupe and an encyclopedia to guide you through whatever the hell he's talking about. With Q-Tip, you get the benefit of a guy who is confident enough in his talent and intelligence that he doesn't have to try to prove it to you; he just displays them and lets you decide whether it's digable or not. Simplicity has always been Q-Tip's most effective tool, and he uses it to sooth the savagery to which rap music has been addicted for the past __ years. And before you ask axe, I don't have a favorite jam on this album. The whole album is my favorite jaint right now. Jesus, this one is right on time.
It's hard to be in a bad mood when the beat starts bumping along and the keyboards and the words start dancing along to the drums. Even when you wake up like I did this morning, at 5:00am, because a nerve pushed through and cracked a molar next to an slowly incoming wisdom tooth, causing me to reorganize financial plans for upcoming dental expenses. Teeth suck.
It's a good thing that I can look forward to living under the rule of a black president soon, plus these aspirins are working hard enough so that I don't have to pop the hydrocodone horse pill I keep in case of emergencies like this. When you add The Renaissance to this mix, I am far from complaining. Life is a circus of happiness and pain, and you have to balance the two at all times. Music like this from my man Q-Tip proves that even with the loss of his Ummah partner Jay Dee/J. Dilla and most of his records in a house fire ten years ago, the brother is an unstoppable force.
My, these is motivating times!! Shout to the homie DALLAS PENN.
[Listening to Viva La Hova, the new mash-up of Jay-Z and Coldplay, trying to stay in a positive mood for the greatest day ever. GET LIKE ME.]
Out of all times to pass away, I believe that those who have either lost or will lose their lives before Wednesday of this week are victims of cruel, tragic timing. Appropriately and respectively, I'll begin with my thoughts on the unthinkable Hudson family incident, because the funeral was held this morning and you're probably already tired of hearing about it. I don't know if I'm more afraid of the fact that a human being could do something so ugly, so publicly, or if this is the new normal.
Times like these, when real people die from real bullets--especially when said real people are innocents--make it difficult to listen to some of my favorite gangter rap songs because the lyrics come a little too close to reality for comfort in this case. For what it's worth, I don't blame Hip-Hop or rap, or drugs or guns for what happened to Jennifer Hudson's family. I blame the lack of intelligent minds in abundance. But our world culture has to change quickly if we're going to stop thinking about doing crazy shit like this, much less making rap songs about it. We've got to adjust right now, especially with this first chance in history to truly change the world. While we're at it, there are a few people who deserve recognition and respect, who gave it all they had but somehow did not reach today like you and I.
To begin, I'll be honest and say that I'm completely flattened by the apparent suicide of Shakir Stewart, the Executive Vice President of Def Jam Music Group, who I've known personally for 11 years. I met pretty much everybody who was ever in a position to cut a respectable check in Atlanta back when the music business was really booming, like around the mid-90's, when I started interning for So So Def. I always liked to believe that Shakir was just lucky enough to beat me by three years to Atlanta because he was blessed with perfect timing, but the truth is that he was made for the job he was given, therefore he excelled. He was the deadly combination of an intelligent hustler who was somehow always a few steps ahead. One thing I remember him saying a lot is "Work hard; play hard." My thoughts are now with his family, the rest of his friends, family and co-workers from the LaFace/HITCO days, and especially L.A. Reid--he pretty much hand-picked Shakir to be his successor in the game, and now he's gone before fully reaching his potential, which was still probably two years away. I absolutely believe that Shake would have signed the next artist to sell 10-million albums. Seriously, I don't hate or fear death, but I hate this. And that's all I have to say about that.
And by now, we all have heard about Senator Barack Obama's grandmother, Madelyn Payne Dunham, a.k.a. "Toot", who unfortunately left life behind for a higher existence, just hours before her grandson would be chosen by the people to lead the nation and become the most powerful man in the world. Not much more to say except "I'm sorry," which isn't enough or even appropriate, since I have nothing to do with it.
None of these stories are more tragic than the next, and none are to be forgotten. All serve to show that it is always darkest before the dawn, and things will always worsen before they change for the better. To you and yours, I offer my best hopes for a peaceful day and a glorious Wednesday morning, when we will together see the dawn of a bright new day while remembering to take an extra moment to remember those who we wished could stand with us as we celebrate the arrival of the future.
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.
David Foster Wallace, a great writer, IS REALLY DEAD. He wrote several books which were highly acclaimed and was considered a prodigy of literary undertakings. He was 46, married and a college professor. And he hung himself in his house this past Friday.
Great writers are mentally effed. I'VE SAID THIS BEFORE, and by God, I'll probably be proven right many more times before somebody says it about me--if I'm not already too late for that. But the genius-creative personality has always been something I've been drawn towards. For some reason, I could sense, by watching the video above, from where Wallace was trying to come with his thoughts. To be honest, I felt sorry for the person behind the tortured, beady eyes. You could tell that something was bothering him at the very moment that the cameras were rolling. His face and body language were sort of silently screaming, "But I'm being serious, people!" And then he shrugged and sank back into himself, realizing that people don't understand truth as much as they laugh at it.
What does this have to do with Hip-Hop, you ask axe? Well, Wallace once said that rap music was "quite possibly the most important stuff happening in American poetry today," [*] and he wrote a non-fiction book called Signifying Rappers: Rap and Race in the Urban Present, which if you didn't know is a NOD to the original gangsta rap pioneer Schoolly D.
I can dig this Wallace guy, and not just because he's dead. Moreso because he seemed to be on the same wavelength as me and other writers I respect and found success. That is, of course, pertaining to his ability to express his views with words, and not in his ability to hang himself. Some things I'd rather not know if I can accomplish, and killing myself is in that number.
YOU CAN READ an article, masterfully written by Wallace and published by the New York Times, about tennis champ Roger Federer OR check out a tribute written about him and see that dude was pretty official. R.I.P. to another great writer of the world, and knock another nail in the coffin of current creativity in its fearless form.
It's strange how this is always the type of subject that brings me out of hiatus. Hey, somebody's got to pick up the torch, I guess...
The news is that Bay Area rap star Mistah F.A.B. is "BEEFING" with the local Oakland Hip-Hop station, KMEL-FM. This is just another chain of events that sparked the creation of this new post, oh my brothers and sisters. Let's investigate the phenomenon of drug-promoting music and its accompanying culture as they relate to specific places on the American map.
Whether I'm a big fan of "Hyphy" music or not, you've gotta admit that it's dead, at least outside of Oakland's ungerground rap scene. As long as we're being honest here (and I don't know why we wouldn't be), most regional sounds that were sold as the next big things a few years ago are all dead.
I mean, look at "Screwed" music, and compare it to what happened with Hyphy. Both of these subgenres of Hip-Hop have been in existence long before some rich white dude decided to cut a mainstream check and put them both on. Representing Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee, I can attest to the fact that I've been hearing screwed mixtapes for close to fifteen years via cousins that visited Texas in the summer. It's nowhere near new. But what was new a few years ago was when Houston rappers Mike Jones, Chamillionaire, Paul Wall, Slim Thug and others started getting major record deals, one after another, all on the strength of a combined 12-month run of consecutive songs - all of which broke the local mold and went from regional to national recognition.
I admit, I was as proud as anybody else from the south that another state was finally getting its just due, as it were. But I also admit this: Screwed music sucks.
I never understood why people liked listening to rap songs that had been "screwed and chopped." Every time I've been forced to listen to any Screwed song for more than 15 seconds, it's always been depressing, sleep-inducing, boring and just... slow. Too damned slow. That shit would drive me to the depths of insanity if I ever got nabbed by terrorists and told that I'd be tortured with a 24-hour private Screwed and Chopped listening session if I don't snitch. I'd confess to all types of shit I've never even thought about doing to get out of that one. And I'd say that Gangsta Rap made me do it.
Once Screwed music got outside of its natural habitat, it was a wrap, because, like Hyphy, it was built upon pillars of salt, or should I say "snow." You can't expect a whole nation to become localized to your city unless the music is that good. Country music comes from Nashville, Bounce music and of course Jazz both come from New Orleans and The Blues were born in the Mississippi Delta. They all spread throughout their regions to national and worldwide ears, but there is a distinct difference: These subcultures are build around actual rhythms, beats, sounds, harmonies and melodies. Without great songs and plenty of great artists down for the artistic cause itself, it just doesn't happen. It's gotta be about the artform more than the afterparty, and both had better be better than anything experience previously if you expect the story to spread. And I'm not saying that Miles, Dizzy and Bird weren't getting loaded on the daily, because we all know how that story goes. But they were still great musicians.
Every city has it's own style that can't (and maybe shoudn't) be made global, especially when you add in the quietly kept secret that - gasp! - Screwed and Hyphy music are both really about doing massive amounts of drugs and being proud enough to sing and dance about it, out loud.
Compare and contrast: As the soundtrack to the lifestyle of codeine and promethazine abusers, Screwed Music was made for Texans who sip "syrup", the mixture of the two drugs combined with Sprite, Big Red soda or any other sweet, carbonated ghetto beverage. Rap artists, taking cues from the "slab rider" culture of Houston, drink it in public and continue to make songs glorifying its consumption, even after it killed one of its most famous rappers - Pimp C.
In Oakland, Hyphy was created as the musical companion to taking Ecstacy pills or "beans", and the subsequent erratic speech, dancing and general behavior. To be high on E-pills, therefore, was to be "hyphy." Some of the Hyphy stuff I heard was nowhere near wack, but it was always a bit too crunk for my blood. And you've gotta be high to want to do some SHIT LIKE THIS. "Go dumb," indeed...
I've pretty much held the same stance against Hyphy since I figured out what it was about. You can't have any type of positive message in a type of music that outright encourages drug use. Now before you even try it ("But what about Gangster Rap?"), I would argue that the social commentary that exists in the Thug Life style of Hip-Hop is necessary to show that people are economically suffering to the point that they would risk their lives and others' to make a dollar. So they pick up a gun and do horrible things.
I've always felt that if you make the terror of the gangster lifestyle look as ugly as it really is, you will save some people from ever wanting to enter it, even if you attract those who would wanted to be gangsters anyway. I never wanted to be a gangbanger after listening to N.W.A. - not once. But it was cool to hear their stories, accentuated by gun shots, excessive swearing and less-than-romantic ideas about women. To me, it's the same as watching No Country for Old Men; it's crazy, entertaining as hell and a great piece of art, even though it's gruesome to the point that I wouldn't have wanted to be in any character's shoes in real life.
The only way I'm convinced that a person can have any positive influence from Hyphy or Screwed music would be to suffer a complete meltdown, go through intensive rehabilitation and emerge from the ashes of doom like the Phoenix. Either that, or the artist just overdoses and dies, causing enough grief from fans and guilt in the hearts of close associates to spark a movement of sobriety, removing all the momentum from the power of the drugs and placing it back in the hands of the people to create things that don't cause mental damage and self-genocide.
It's my theory that the reason why TEXAS MIGHT BE DEAD and HYPHY IS REALLY DEAD is because you can't mix narcotics with your music and expect everyone to follow mindlessly forever like the living dead. Eventually, people wake up and realize they've been drugged. And then what?
But I can't front; THIS SONG is still dope. But if you listen closely, it's not all happy. Just listen to the chorus...
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.
I just found an article on a blog called THE AFTER PARTY titled, "Hip-HopChivalry is Dead."
Wow. A blog after my own heart. Actually, The After Party has been around since December 2005, so I'm obviously late as hell. But I'm adding them to my blogroll, so everything is now right in the world.
Check out a snippet:
Yesterday I made a comment over on VSB about how it’s not trickin’ if you have it. I initially wrote it as a joke. A few minutes later, I thought about it. I do not trip when I have to spend money. I take pause and give thanks that I can afford to spend. This doesn’t mean I’m out medium pimpin’ buying things full price…Full price is for suckers. Like I said before when I wrote it first it was a joke. I even made reference to rappers.
On my long ride home I heard the line again in a rap song. I have NEVER heard a man who can afford nice things for himself AND a mate complain about spending money. I want to focus specifically on dating. The topic on VSB was about bitter men. Men who brag about not being chivalrous. The example that was tossed around was how some men refuse to pay for dates or even refuse to plan inexpensive thoughtful dates. Someone over there mentioned six chicken wings. Not a thoughtful date.
Click that link above to read the entire post. I'm off to the Bun-B show, hoe.
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.
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.
I can't even go into too much detail about how sad this is. I just hope that INGRID RIVERA is finding some comfort in Heaven after experiencing hell in her final hours on earth. Unfortunately, some men are rapists, killers and cowards - all packed into one body. And those men - not the drug dealers - deserve to die. Kill 'em all, I say, and let God Satan sort 'em out.
If you want to read the story of what happened, CLICK HERE.
Rest in peace, Ingrid. May you never be forgotten, and may your name live on to keep other unsuspecting females from being led into dangerous situations with guys they don't know and shouldn't trust.
I'll tell you this much. I have hella female cousins. If this would have happened to one of them, you'd find the guy's head on top of the Georgia Capitol with a scythe still hooked through his ears. I don't play that shit.
Nobody wants to talk about this, but Americans and especially minorities are still getting burnt and worse from unprotected sex. And Hip-Hop needs to step up its involvement in community health awareness before rappers have to start doing shows in quarantined city neighborhoods and free health clinics. Your favorite killer disease, AIDS, has come back from the dead to destroy your mind, body and soul.
Advocacy groups say new government estimates will show at least 35 percent more Americans are infected with the AIDS virus each year than the government has been reporting.
Government officials acknowledge they are revising the estimate, which they say is not yet complete.
But advocates are pushing for the government to release the number now. They say that the delay may be partly political, and that it's hurting prevention funding.
Sorry to take away from your laughter or light-heartedness while visiting, but I just wanted to send a friendly reminder that STDs are still out chea and still very deadly and contagious. Every time I ride through Birmingham, I see a big-ass downtown billboard (that should be promoting cheeseburgers or real estate or some new movie) saying that syphillis is running rampant through the area. Which means that you literally can't fuck around out there in B'Ham, or anywhere else if you want to be safe.
[I bet Photobucket deletes this image. If so, I'll put another one up by the end of the day. Damn, I hate being censored...]
See, the logic in my mind always told me that condoms are too damn thin to be taken seriously, and they do pop every now and then. This means that even if you tried to protect yourself, there's always a chance that you might end up catching herpes, syphilis, gonorrhea, HPV, Hepatitis or even HIV from a one-nighter with some fool you don't know very well. Now, I'm not saying to avoid using condoms; any protection is better than none, but not even a condom can keep you from catching crabs. Those little critters don't need to get past a condom to give you the blues. I consider myself very lucky to have never experienced the crustacean movement.
Seriously, I know it's still summer, and people are still having sensual seductions. And it won't be for another month or so that people will start settling down with a significant boo in time for autumn, which is the most romantic season of the year. But you might want to go ahead and start slowing down now, just to be ahead of the curve.
Don't say I didn't try to told you. And don't act like you're blind to the pandemic. It'll only keep getting worse.
You don't know how happy your faithful and humble narrator is right now. My laptop, a.k.a. "Sade", is back from the seventh layer of Dante's Hell, and all credit is due to the Harlem homie Stephen. If you need computer services and have no idea what you're doing, or just put too much shite on your hard drive and get a corrupted Windows file (like I did), CHECK HIM OUT. I'm giddy as a mofo right now. Can't say that enough.
Being confined to a desktop computer for the past two weeks was shitty as hell. But I guess I should be thankful for what I've got, so I won't complain. Now, I'm back at the bar, about to hit the pool table and on beer #3. Life is good; I cherish the day.
Speaking of which...
"I cherish the day... I won't go astray; I won't be afraid. You won't catch me running." Sade - Cherish the Day
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.).
[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
My laptop is officially over. It died on Wednesday, and I still am in a state of denial. For the time being, it's going to be difficult to post new images, but I should find a way around it soon enough.
I am going to miss the little bugger (NOLO), but I did back up most of my shit a few months ago, so it's no big loss. Plus, I had over 200 albums stored on the hard drive, so I guess I was kind of asking axing for something like this to happen.
Well, it finally did. Mourn with your boy.
Actually, eff that. Let me bounce back on these hoes with a second line for "Sade."
I need a moment, y'all. See, I almost felt a tear drop. Nas - "Can't Forget About You."
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