CHRIS BROWN IS DEAD

Dag, my brothers and sisters. Just when it was becoming media overkill, and people were starting to ask axe that awful question, "Well, what did Rihanna do to deserve it?"... it seems that the guy who has been called "Usher's Replacement" (everyone), "The Young Mike Jack" (Nas), and "hot" (my niece G), is pretty much going to become one of the most reviled men in entertainment since O.J. Simpson, Ike Turner and Kobe 2004. You even have the whole "leave Chris Brown alone" campaign going on, where cats like this guy below share their intuitive thoughts on the situation they know so much about, because they know about shit like this. Plus, "how can guilt look so cute?"





Chris Brown had a great thing going for him, and I don't mean the love of the guy above. He was handsome [ll], talented, young, rich, famous, charming [ll] and even seemed humble. Not at all the type of guy you'd see in one of those animated cartoons, where "the bad guy" is terrorizing some pearly young damsel, as she cries for a superhero to save her from the terror. CB was winning awards, had almost completely wiped clean the spectrum of modern male R&B singers, and was well on his way to at least 5-10 years of upward mobility in his career. Then, his goon hand came crashing down, repeatedly, on a woman. A woman like any other woman, except that she happens to be one of the finest and most famous women walking the planet right now.





I say that the storm was settling, because the major news pundits were starting to weigh in on the subject of the violent beating of Rihanna. Once the major news networks start letting their hacks get at a person, it's only a matter of time before some cash-poor publicist/"crisis manager" would come calling, offering to vigorously defend CB and bring him back to comfortable levels of public relations. Sure, it wouldn't be easy, but people are forgiving when it seems that the media isn't being fair or letting you have the chance to either defend yourself on television or raise even more questions about your effery, like A-Rod's recent roid press conference. It was even looking like Rihanna might show mercy (read: weakness/love), and publicly forgive CB, to take the edge off the incredible shit stain he placed on his own career. T.I., Will and Jada, Terrence Howard and all other types of celebs who probably have their own private or public dirt, were coming out of the woodworks to try to help the rest of us understand that these things probably happen a lot more than we think, and that there are ways to fix them without demonizing the guilty party.





I had my questions as to whether or not there was some incredibly strange situation that led to this beating, even though it was never in question as to whether or not he deserved to be publicly denounced for his actions. You just can't hit women, under any circumstances, is what most people believe. I tend to think that if a woman raises a gun at me, she has earned the right to get her ass whooped, just like a man. Barring that, the only option is to walk away, if your temper reaches the level that you are seriously considering letting your fists fly into her face.

So you can imagine that I was waiting to hear what CB would have to say about the whole ordeal before passing any personal judgment against him. I was also not completely sure of what happened, and there had been no available pictures to document how severe the assault had been. But alas, oh my brothers and sisters, the picture of Rihanna is worth a thousand words, and all of them are the same: "Damn."





When you wake up tomorrow, Chris Brown will be just a figment of your imagination. You won't be able to remember the lyrics to any of his numerous hit songs. You won't think of him as you chew your gum. You won't be able to name three things he did last year in the public eye. All you'll remember is the busted lip, scrapes, scars and swelling on Rihanna's face. And you'll look at her eyes. Closed, but tight, revealing pain that seems deeper than anything physical. She looks helpless, confused, and emotionally hurt to the point that tears won't even fall. And though she is completely beautiful, she is, in the TMZ picture, the new, ugly face of domestic abuse.

This blog is in the memory of Chris Brown's career. It is dead and gone. Hope you ladies enjoyed the show while it lasted.

COMEDY IS DEAD: CHRIS ROCK RETURNS TO THE STAGE

I saw this guy at the Essence Festival in July, and all I can say is that he deserves his place on top of the black comics' game. There are funny comedians, hilarious comedians, wack comedians, dead comedians, missing comedians like Dave Chappelle, rising comedians like Katt Williams, and then there's the Rock.





What makes Chris Rock a great comedian is his diverse intelligence. He goes over a lot of ground in his live show, and even though his material has become much more vulgar, it has simultaneously become smarter and more worldly. Rock has become better with time, because he has not allowed himself to got the route of Eddie "I'm too busy with these wack-ass movies" Murphy, who he has always called one of his comedic mentors. But we all know that Eddie's shine has been supplanted by Chris's tenacity and consistency. Both men have selected or accepted some very suspect roles in some very dumb movies, but Rock has turned down the check to his own reputation's advantage. Eddie is just taking the check and showing the same cheesy, coony smile every time he shows his mug around Hollywood. And to think, Eddie used to be the funniest guy in the world...



Now, the poor guy is just a lost multi-millionaire, with a love child owned by Scary Spice, a recent snub at the Oscars and Johnny Gill as his last, best friend that he can trust to do anything for him if asked axed. What the hell happened to Arsenio? He would have never let his former BFF do a movie this lame...



All I know is that of all the funnymen out there who do their jobs by making people with senses of humor actually exercise their intellects, Rock is among the very best that existed. As a black comic, he dances across the fine line of telling the ugly truth and making it loveable, like a common pain that we all feel and have learned to live through together. He'll be in the history books if he keeps it up.

So watch his show if you have HBO. It's on right now if you're on the east coast; it plays at 10pm if you're on the Pacific side. Trust me.

THE GAME - L.A.X.: The Autopsy

I'm into true west coast gangster rap, because nothing else comes as close to the ugly realities of true life. And though some of you will doubtless disagree, The Game is, in my op, the best representation of Californian g-rap since the days of DJ Quik, N.W.A, Above The Law, M.C. Eiht and Westside Connection.

Tell the truth; Game practically bodied the entire G-Unit movement by himself just out of sheer will. His style has always been sort of the Pacific Coast yin to Curtis Jackson's Southside, Queens yang. Both have always seemed ready to be as disrespectful as necessary to lyrically embarrass their enemies, but when the two turned against each other, Game proved to be the better rapper, if not the smarter businessman.

L.A.X. continues the process of describing the City of Lost Angels to all outsiders. Like The Documentary and Doctor's Advocate, L.A.X. is heavy on the Dre-inspired soundscape, yet once again Dr. Dre makes no appearance behind the boards on production. In his place, Scott Storch (who needs the money), Cool & Dre, Irv Gotti, Nottz, J.R. Rotem, DJ Toomp, Hi-Tek and Kanye West all contribute some very high-def beats for Game's usual "I'm a Blood" steelo.





From the moment you hear DMX praying on the "Intro," you get a certain feeling that maybe God really does love the gangsters and vice-versa. X goes in pretty heavy with the prayer, giving the listener the idea that if he ever put down the microphone in the name of rap and picked it back up in the name of Jesus, without picking up the (you name it - pipe, blunt, bottle, needle, car keys, etc, etc...) again, he would probably have a congregation that would go far beyond the spiritual travesty that your boy Mason Betha pulled. Very dramatic and strangely appropriate.

From then on, you get what you expect. Game shows off his bounce-flow on "L.A.X. Files," which has a guy with a weird sense of tuning singing the chorus, but somehow it works out. From then on, the guest appearances start to flow in, with 'The Don Mega' Ice Cube showing up on the hook for "State of Emergency," Raekwon the Chef trading verses on "Bulletproof Diaries" and "My Life" featuring Lil' Wayne, which I can't get out of my head. Say what you will about Young Carter, but he can make your song pop if he really wants to, and the T-Pain device works well with him on certain tracks.

I have several favorite songs on L.A.X., and I've only been listening to it for 12 hours. Right now, my choices are "Ya Heard" featuring Ludacris, "Never Can Say Goodbye," "Cali Sunshine" and "Dope Boys," which knocks major. As a matter of fact, the only song I'm not really digging thus far would be the main single, "Game's Pain," featuring Keyshia Cole. Sure, she's fine, but that doesn't mean I have to be a fan. I think she's a little overrated, personally. Plus, I don't get the part that's supposed to be painful. Why didn't they name the song "Homage?" Whatever, I guess. But that doesn't mean I think it was a bad move to put the song out first. Black women love Keyshia, and so does urban radio. Can't call it stupid at all.

"Never Can Say Goodbye" and "Letter to the King" serve as the albums' two best songs for their creativity and depth, where he raps about the deaths of Tupac, Biggie, Eazy-E and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., respectively. Nas guests on the latter, as well as donating his vocal to the only interlude on the album, "Hard Liquor." "Angel" is another fly one that I played repeatedly on the drive from Atlanta to Birmingham this afternoon. And nobody can deny Chrisette Michelle, so "Let Us Live" wins on G.P. While I'm not crazy about Neo on a Game track ("Gentleman's Affair"), I do like the conflicting message. And let's face it: Game is known for being somewhat schitz.





Overall, by the time you get to the 19th track, DMX's prayerful "Outro," you shouldn't be mad at the Compton MC who has made his own way without significant assistance from Dr. Dre or 50 Cent since his debut album. L.A.X. is solid, and it will keep anyone from saying that Game was a flash in the pan, even if this really is his last LP as he has said. Hopefully, with the quality of this new joint, The Game will put the pistols away, stop with all the suicidal innuendos and realize that the game needs him.

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.

"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.