A World Without Writers = Hell

You, unlike me, might like to watch TV all the fucking time.

You might even find the stale jokes on modern television satires, sit-coms and African-American minstrel comic variety shows to still be funny, twenty-something years after the ideas were first stolen, then re-introduced to our society, then manipulated by corporate executive board members into everlasting money machines for witless stockholders and commercial advertisers.




I have a great respect for comedians, because they have always been brave enough to say something super fucked-up, knowing that you'll probably just laugh their jokes off as harmless comic relief from modern life. But secretly you agree, because these jokes are true, which makes them funny in the first place, I guess. These are our great orators and public speakers, because they are willing to expose their scariest creative thoughts to the public, knowing that they are nothing more than water cooler folly for the next work day. And nothing sucks like being a genius among Gumps, especially when they don't get the pun of your jokes and you never see the monetary benefits from being brilliant in your craft.





Some of our generation's dead greatest comedians first introduced the ideas of racial and cultural differences to society as grounds for comedy, just to have them stolen and abused, over and over, by the corporate suit society that controls modern media. Maybe that's why I support the writer's strike going on in Hollywood right now. Not just because I'm a writer, but mostly because I believe in equal pay for equal work, especially when it comes to creative minds. Whether the business counts blacks, Mexicans or women as its underling employees, we as "the talent" shouldn't be considered as just "help", at least in my opinion. We drive commerce.





You see, the truth is that Hollywood and the entertainment industry as a whole - not just comedy - is a comedy of errors, and the creative society has been essentially re-selling the same jokes around for the last forty years, acting like we can't come up with anything new. In my opinion, this is mostly because the writers want more for their hard work, which they deserve. Ask Dave Chappelle. 50 million just ain't enough. Put another zero behind that bitch's ass, and then I might hit it for life. If not, go get another welfare-happy sucker, because I want more for my mind - especially if you're getting 500-million for my ideas and I'm stuck with a measly 10%.




The truth about this whole stand-off is that the business is changing, and the suits don't want to include the talent in their estimates of incoming cash flow. They want us to be ignorant, yet the writers are infinitely smarter than them, so we figured out their scam and decided to rebuke their offer of little-to-nothing. We figured that it's high time to renegotiate those old-ass contracts so that they reflect the age of the internet. But of course, the suits will never go fully along with overturning power and financial freedom to the creatives. We're just not capable, at least in their minds, of keeping the lights on while pondering the next great gift to the entertainment media community, so they say. So the geniuses of new ideas will always be at odds with the prodigies of the old money establishment. But that's the great war anyway, so who am I to act like I won't fight for my freedom? If my ancestors did it - under hella worse circumstances - who am I to fuck tradition up?





I knew you'd understand. And if you don't, I always knew you were an imbecile.

Creative minds come with deep issues, oh my brothers and sisters. Better yet: uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. You already know my opinion on this one; the writer is the landlord. Without my shit, Mr. or Mrs. CEO, you have no floor upon which to stand.

Oh yes, THE UNDERWRITER is just that arrogant when it comes to his craft, and I figure that you should get like me. My advice for new writers is simple; get behind (nolo) any talent that you possess that can uplift you from the depths of society's sicknesses. I mean, the elites killed Jesus back in the day; why the eff wouldn't they destroy Hip-Hop and urban culture's finest? Hollywood is burning right now, and all the liquor in the cabinet couldn't make an arrogant Hollywood powerbroker capable of creating a hit television series on his own. The creative pen burns eternal, and if you won't invest in a Montblanc, you'll be stuck with a Bic.





There are at least two partners involved in the development of any successful new entertainment idea - those who fund it and those who create it. In the entertainment business, those who make the production connections sometimes feel more important than the very talent upon which they rely to make shit happen. Which is fucked the fuck up, if you ask your homie.

It is the ultimate negotiation point that without the creative minds of the writers, the enterprise of entertainment would wither and fall. So pay like you fucking weigh, bitches. I can write something that I own for free, whether I get paid or not. Tell that to the home audience.


Signed,
Michael Jordan
"THE UNDERWRITER"

New Hip-Hop Obituaries ...... The Drought Is Over.

Wanna hear something fucked up? Good. That's generally the vibe of Hip-Hop right now anyway, so at least you're in good company.


A few weeks ago I wrote a blog. Since Thanksgiving, I've been on a proper vacation from eulogizing Hip-Hop culture, trying to figure out just how this blog is going to be formatted in the new year. Like before, I was planning on writing a new obituary for doomed Hip-Hop stars every week. Then, like the tap water in Georgia, the drought sunk in and there was little to nothing to write about. So I started focusing again on the book I'm writing, while finding something else to do with my scythe...



But how the tides would soon change... Unfortunately for us all, the drought of death in Hip-Hop is always temporary, is it not? Looks like there could be plenty of work for me in the new year if things continue the way they're going.

Let's run it back, shall we?


CAREER-DEAD MCs:
Saigon





It's not like anybody really cares if he ran from Prodigy and Mobb Deep on the night when Prodigy styled on him onstage and he retorted with a Vietnamese knuckle sandwich. So this altercation actually could have gone far in the promotion of his upcoming album. I mean, that "punch you in your face" music only works if you really do it and the crowd can see it happen.

Instead, Saigon apparently became discouraged by shifty music industry policy, missed release dates and probably the lack of a major hit single that could service radio (nolo). And publicly bickering with your label head/producer can't be good for business either. Whatever the case, he posted THIS MYSPACE BLOG announcing his resignation from the rap game.

Sure, we've heard it before, but now it's such a cliche that we as fans are probably hoping it's true. I mean, if you're going to be believed when you speak, at least keep your word and keep it consistent. The worst thing Saigon could do would be to release a new mixtape next week. On the other hand, waiting two more years until he stops feeling some type of way about his contractual situation won't help him to create a buzz either. So...





Let's face it. Only a few of us really care anyway, which really shows that this might have been the best move.

Sayonara, Saigon. Sorry to see you give up so soon. The game needs real MCs, not quitters.

Oh, and speaking of Mobb Deep...


LEGALLY-DEAD MCs

Prodigy




Since it was officially announced that the Mobb Deep MC was going to have to do a three-year bidsky for... whatever, gravity seems to be weighing in. Prodigy has spoken out on radio about his sentence, and how the government is turning him into Malcolm X.

At first, this sounded like some premiere P-Double bullshiite. Then, just a few days ago, he goes and RELEASES THIS SONG. Needless to say, this one is on par with Mos Def's classic "The Rapeover" for it's unabashed truth and lack of fuckgiving. Fan of the man or not, you have to admit that Prodigy is a unique rap artist who can always come back with a dope song, regardless of how many times he's been robbed.

Keep your head up, P.



REALLY DEAD MCs:
Pimp C




This one is crazy. I wasn't as much of a fan of Pimp as I was of Bun back in the days when UGK were the true underground kings. I'm talking back in the early nineties, when other regions outside of The Souf were listening to either Snoop, Biggie, Twista or whoever was close to them geographically.

In Alabama, Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, Louisiana and every other state along the Gulf Coast, Pimp C was that dude. I almost didn't want to admit that I thought Bun B was the better rapper, because people would look at me like I didn't know what was up. I'd get the side-eye, like, "Ok, little dude. Yeah, Bun obviously reads more books, but Pimp is the rawest cat in the game. End of discussion."

I know a lot of cats, from my friends to my favorite southern rappers, are feeling like this is a major loss. They're right. As we see, every notable urban magazine was starting to quote Pimp c for his relentless pursuit of the code of honor among d-boys. Since so many rappers essentially stole his style, you can easily say that he left behind a slew of stepchildren in the rap game. Not all of them will represent him to his own level of personal standard, but at least we'll get a shitload of tribute songs, unreleased recordings and remixes.

You know what Jadakiss said on "We Gon' Make It"...


Rest in peace, Pimp C.

Stay Trill, Bun-B.

UGK For Life, and even in death.


EXTRA:

"Smoke sum'm, bitch."

CHIVALRY IS DEAD

Let’s look back at the Democratic debate, which I caught a day late on CNN last week. If you believed what you read after the debates, when the opinionaters got to talk their shite, you’d think that Obama came across like a floundering, light-skinded stutterer, not sure how to stand up to Hillary’s steely reserve. But that’s not what I saw. He seemed sharp and determined to stay on message. That’s all you can expect from someone running for the highest office in the land, especially negus. And maybe that’s why the polls look very different from what we were told to expect after the debates.


Maybe the media powers want to portray Obama as the alternative/antithesis to the modern “Curtis” portrait of the black man. Maybe he’s weak. Soft on crime, inexperienced and uncertain when to attack. Or maybe he’s a gay, coke-snawting Newport candidate. Not the qualifications of a nuclear football runner, you might say. So in his best opportunity to assail Hillary on her inconsistencies, maybe he dropped the ball by not being tough enough. Everybody expected B’lack Alabama to step up his attacks at the Democratic debate in my favorite city, Floss Vegas. But instead, according to the next-day news, he kept it too low-key, and let Joe Biden run away with the steak. Or was this all part of the plan...





If you axe me, I’d say that ‘Bama knows he’s in top condition to at least be V.P. under Hillary, if not President. I don’t want to pretend that I know what he’s thinking, but I’d bet he already has a plan B for what happens if she takes the nomination. Newt Gingrich already predicted how the Democratic ticket will look in 2008. This was my suspicion all along, oh my brothers and sisters…


Maybe that’s the point. If ‘Bama is really not in it to win it, he would have effed up on a presidential level by now, or been exposed. But the game is about money, and you must remember that he’s raised more than anyone in the race, if you count money that isn’t his own. But he knows that Hillary has the old guard on her ass, plus she’s such a fucking lady.





Moral:
This is why ‘Bama and Clinton are going at it right now, to show that a black man can slap the ish out of a white lady just as well as her husband could, if not better.





You can be a gentleman all you want, but you’ll never run shit. Real power stays in the hands of the gangsters and true power moves quietly. If ‘Bama’s going to be nice, he needs to start working on his gavel game as president of the senate. There’s plenty you can do from Dick Cheney’s seat. Word to Henry Kissinger.


Expect a Clinton/Obama White House in 2009.






So what, I'm late. Kill me. Oh yeah, you can't...

BABY, I'M A STAR

Welcome back to Hell, my friends. Yeah, I took a good ass break from this blogging thing. Let me say it for the record – this blog is a work of art in progress, and yeah, I’m taking my time. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.


No, I’m not going around looking for readers on other’s blogs. How can I win like that? Nah, homie, I’m going for big numbers. Call it catalog building. You’ll hear more about me when the new year hits. Until then, it’s all practice and commitment.


So when you see your boy administering a thrashing to certain “nameless” commenters on popular blogs like XXLMAG.COM , don’t think I’m easily distracted. I tend to think that the spirits of late, great authors and writers are being channeled through my fingers when I get down to the bidness of building this catalog. Therefore, if you’re looking for fame off me, look elsewhere. This is going to be one of those bourgeoisie blogs, with a twist of dark humor. It’s being designed for readers, with writers in mind first.









When it comes to the role of writers, we hold a prominent position in the food pyramid of any culture, but especially Hip-Hop. We don’t usually create the art we critique, but we could if we wanted. Instead, we are charged with explaining the relevance (or lack thereof) of the art form’s recent renditions to the general society at large. If we fail, then the product or idea might still be successful, but it would not be adequately supported by the cabal of gatekeepers known as journalists, therefore it could be horribly misinterpreted and misunderstood, at best. At worst, we’d have another great artist without a base. That term “media darling” isn’t such a bad thing, when you have nothing else on your side. Ask some of the greats…










Think about it: would you want your first album, movie or book reviewed by a person outside of your culture first? Wouldn’t you be setting yourself up for disaster?




You have to commend those of us who work hard trying to find anything relevant to discuss, then finding the motivation to actually create words to describe these artists, movies, paintings, parties and what not to the masses. And you can only use the word “crunk” so many times before people wonder what else you have to say. Not that we don’t still have an abundance of “crunk” rappers running around getting that ringtone money…








But these cats, popular in name as they might be, would be nothing without the co-signature of journalists like THE UNDERWRITER and several of my friends who shall remain nameless. We’ve all carried the burden of having to cover some imbecile with a record deal, just to get an extra $500 in the bank by the end of the month. And we hated every keyboard stroke (nolo) necessary in the process, because we know in our hearts that we’re only submitting and supporting the sorry, sloppy seconds of a music business that eats its young.

Not me, my boy. THE UNDERWRITER is in the joyous throws of a self-imposed exile from music-related journalism. That’s until the big boys come knocking (nolo) with a big story and a timely check. Until then, I’m writing what the eff I want, because if I can make you famous, then I can certainly do the same for myself.

Shout out to all the journalist cats and kittens whose blogs I visit. We know what’s up.

ROSES

An intelligent, proud and determined lady has passed away, leaving behind a son who in her lifetime became the biggest rapper in the world.





Craziness.


I can't help but to think of Aaliyah right now, just because of the relevance to the Hip-Hop generation. I remember being gloriously throwed on the Saturday night of the weekend that Aaliyah died. I woke up late for chuuch the next day and arrived just in time to lean on the armrest of the pew and catch a little bit of the pastor's sermon. As he finished, he mentioned that he knew that the youth might be distressed because of the superstar that had died hours ago, but we would have to stay strong. It wasn't until I got home and checked the internet and television news that I realized that the dopest solo female act of the 1990's had just... died. In a plane crash, of all six million ways.





Wow.


That's kind of what I think everyone is feeling now that a good dude lost his mother, who is obviously his inspiration. Notice I didn't say "was." It's a little too sad for me to even write it out correctly, because it seems like it's all ridiculous. Can't be true.





Dr. Donda West, mother of Kanye, passed away this past Saturday evening for reasons that are currently unknown. All we know right now, with any certainty, is that she had recently undergone cosmetic surgery.


Let's try to be respectful and wait for an official word on what exactly happened. My mother is very much like Dr. West, in that she still teaches college after 29 years, and has her own issues with my lack of interest in a bachelor's degree. He and I are in the same year of age, so I can fully relate to how I might feel after losing what everyone around me knows is my best friend.


With respect to the family, friends, loved ones and anyone ever touched in any way by Dr. Donda West's spirit, let's move from here to a place that she would have dreamed we'd reach. Let's pray for her son, and let's remember to love the only woman most of us will ever trust - Moms.





Peace.