"BLACK SUMMER"

Yo, I’m not the only one who thinks that this summer is going to be a permanent memory. And I’m only saying that so that the lames out there can wake the fuck up and start taking advantage of this moment in time. We’ve been waiting for some type of real movement, and it looks like we’ve wished it into existence, while working through the trials and tribulations of the last eight four-hundred years.

Now, let’s not get too excited. After all, the weather is crazy right now. Am I the only one who has noticed that cyclones, earthquakes, tornadoes, mudslides, wildfires, floods and droughts all seem to be showing up a lot more these days, with devastating results? I didn’t even mention hurricanes or heatwaves, because we know that’s coming soon. So, yes, it’s going to get even worse than it is now before the summer is over, if that’s imaginable. That’s a dark forecast for the planet.





But that’s not why I named this post “Black Summer.” Well, it’s not the only reason. Second of all, Lil’ Wayne officially jump-started and ghost-rode the Hip-Hop whip, which means that the south has risen once again. And because other signed rappers know the release schedules of major labels, they knew that it would be in their best professional interest to release their projects in the aftermath of a financial windfall. I’m very happy with the music that’s being released right now, and again, I’m not the only one. Energy is in the air.

Third, this is the summer before the first election in which a black man was the nominee of a major party. That’s fucking major. You and I know it, even if you don’t agree with my political philosophy. But the power of the black electorate is finally visible, and it now demands respect. We have a legitimate stake in this election, and I’m not even trying to say that you should be biased towards your race if you’re black. I don’t even worry so much about Obama’s ethnicity; I just think he’s a smart dude who is perfect for these crazy times. And others agree.

Black Summer, a.k.a “The Summer of ’08,” will go down in history as a great moment in the story of America. Shit, I might even go on and record that mixtape/EP that I keep threatening to deliver before August. Maybe. Until then, and until Hell freezes over, I hope to be here, happy and healthy, to deliver the story like Tim Russert would have done. So let’s make this summer one to remember for the ages, before the Reaper comes knocking for our souls. And try not to have too much fun…





Viva la Vida!

FRIDAY THE 13th: NBC's TIM RUSSERT (R.I.P.) vs. R. KELLY

There was a subtle divide between intellectuals and philistines today on Atlanta radio. I was running errands in Atlanta this afternoon, and around 4pm, when I’m usually listening to “All Things Considered” on NPR, I suddenly had an urge to tune in to V-103.

Ryan Cameron, my old boss and mid-day radio personality for V-103, was talking to Johnny Gill. We won’t get into that right now, but I’ll post the audio if I can find it, because Ryan slipped in [NOLO] a few subliminal jokes while interviewing Eddie Murphy’s new best friend (sorry, Arsenio). Hilarious, I must say.





As he wrapped up the Johnny Gill interview, Ryan announced that the R. Kelly verdict was expected to be announced at any moment, so everyone should stay tuned. So I flipped back to NPR, because I know that “any moment” in radio means at least ten minutes. Back on the brain-worthy side, the voices of NPR were talking about THE DEATH OF TIM RUSSERT. I was like, “Whoa! Ol’ dude from ‘Meet the Press?’ Nah…” But yeah. Russert, only fifty-eight years old, died on Friday the 13th of an apparent heart attack. Life is stranger than fiction, and the profession of journalism is harder than life, maybe harder than Lexington Steele [NOLO]. No Terrance Dean.

But seriously, I always thought Tim Russert was the next Lil' Wayne of journalism. His steelo was always to confront people in subtle ways, so that the viewer or reader could decipher some truth out of all of the lies that politicians tell on a regular basis. He was obviously a Democrat, but he played it pretty fair throughout his career, as far as trying to seem bipartisan. Check this out:


Russert, 54, is a lawyer who started out as a Democratic political operative, signing on with Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan and gradually developing a reputation for devastating effectiveness at shaping coverage. He once leaked word to two reporters that the senator's Republican opponent had distorted his own military record, knocking the candidate out of the race and prompting the New Yorker magazine to observe that the man had been "russerted." In 1984, Russert made the jump to network news as a mid-level executive.
SOURCE: Washington Post


I’m sure that, if I looked hard enough, I’d find some shit he’s said or insinuated that I wouldn’t like. But who cares now. I’m sure Russert never saw his early death coming, especially in one of the most exciting political seasons ever. He was getting plenty of work all around television as one of the hardest interviewers in the game. And now, he’s dead, like many potential game-changers before him who were called back to the essence before the human race was ready to let him go. “Wow,” I thought, as I listened and realized that one of the major players in journalism was gone, just like that.

So I flip back to V-103, right before the announcement of the biggest story in negro news. Sure enough, as I predicted, The Pied Piper got off, exonerated of all charges. Pedophiles, urinators and statutory rapists – rejoice!! You just got another reason to continue to do you.





So the question is, who owned the day? Will this day be remembered as the day that Tim Russert, renowned journalist, passed away untimely? Or will it forever be known as “Kelly Day?” Which outcome is the weirdest?

You be the judge. I’ll be the executioner.

“SO, WHY 'THE UNDERWRITER?'"

Sometimes I wonder how far I’m going over the heads of my own dearly departed readers. In moments of personal inquisition, I sometimes ask axe myself, “Do they get what I’m putting out [NOLO]?”

Here’s my best explanation of the pseudonym that I, Michael Jordan, use to best match my own literary shadow. In four equal parts, I’ll now explain my motives with this blog to you, oh my brothers and sisters, so that you won’t think I’m too far off my meds with this whole weird experimental writing fuckfest.


1. The “Underwriter”



Hit up Dictionary.com. The definition of an “underwriter” is someone that either guarantees an insurance policy (I co-sign Hip-Hop) or finances something. Let’s just say I’ve paid my dues, so I feel like I can speak my mind.


2. The “Under” Writer



I was born a black/Native American/white guy in Nashville, Tenn. I was raised in Huntsville, Ala. And I live outside of Atlanta, Ga. With my dirty Dixie pen, dipped in the blood of my ancestors, I represent my tri-state area of the south like a senator and I always look out for homebase. Since I’m used to the Gulf Coast, I tend to be somewhat biased towards any state east of the Mississippi River and below the Mason-Dixon Line. Get it?


3. The Underwriter



Everyone knows about The Grim Reaper. Everyone seems to be scared of him, but these days, people still, for some reason, worship death. So why the fuck not start a blog that made a parody out of the modern fascination with death culture? At least it's better than a cult.

For God’s sake; niggas wear silver and rhinestone belt buckles made in the shape of the poison logo! I’m not afraid of death, but if you are, I’m sorry. You should get over it before we all perish. Plus, why not laugh at something that is coming our way eventually? Should we really be scared, as much as we say, “This is dead,” or “that is dead?” Hell no. We should embrace the humility of our humanity. I feel it’s my duty, since I have little feelings left for this game, to take the role of Hip-Hop’s Undertaker and use some black humor to demolish the status quo, so say hello to Joe Black. Since I’m a dope writer, I do it like I’m doing it for The New York Times. So don't be such a little bitch about it; geez!


4. The Under-Writer



I love the underdog, like everybody else. So I love to look out for cats like Lupe Fiasco, until they start believing that they’re so “Cool” that they can shit on legends like Q-Tip and A Tribe Called Quest. Nope, I still haven’t let that one go. But I still think that Little Brother Phonte is one of the best rap acts in the game today. So I’m going to keep telling people that Phonte Little Brother deserves more attention. But they still need 9th Wonder…


To wrap it all up, this is the voice of my shadow, which has developed over the ten years I've spent working in the entertainment industry. I get paid to make people look better than they deserve to look, and the checks almost never come on time. So you’ll have to excuse the seemingly negative undertone of my style. I really mean no harm, and like Common, one day it’ll all make sense. Until then, to be honest, you can ignore it or applaud it. But I appreciate all perspectives and support from my readers. Just don’t come incorrect, or you will get literarily buried alive.


Viva la Vida!

THE UNDERWRITER NEEDS HATERS

Ok, so my plan with Mr. Pussy, a.k.a. "Anonymous", didn't produce any real results. Dude, you should be fucking ashamed, whatever your name is. Because, of course, anybody that comments on The Deadliest Blog in America should know better than to challenge the landlord. But I thought you were willing to debate The Best Writer Alive, on some real intellectual ish! Come on hoe; where's the bravado?

But really, I don't want that to affect all of the other potentially great haters of the world. Yes, hate is dead, but this blog is also dead, so I still accept hate in all of its unholiness. Like W said, "Bring it on!" If you have hate on your heart, let it out.

I'm sitting at my favorite drunken safe haven, having a discussion with others about why you need haters. And I just realized that even though I have haters in abundance, I need them to speak louder. And I'm not going to ask axe nicely much longer. You don't want me to speak easy; it'll get ugly.

So please, haters, let me know if you catch feelings. It's not necessary to comment on this one, but in the future, come up with a name, for God's sake. And tell me how you really feel, for real. Or stay the fuck off my blog.

Hey, at least I'm honest.

THE EXECUTIVE IS DEAD

Courtesy of OnSMASH and Smarten Up Nas, here is DJ Kay Slay's "Streetsweeper Radio" response to J.D., who recently took the piss and told his blog TheMostAccess.com that the Hip-Hop DJ is dead.


CLICK FOR AUDIO RESPONSE.


Living in Atlanta, you get used to Jermaine Dupri saying whatever he wants, and nobody says shit, because it is perceived that he holds the cards. And maybe he does. But if you ask axe Kay Slay, a lot of executives have been spending too much time at the Terrance Dean barbeque holding balls, which is the real reason why artists like Janet Jackson can't sell anymore.


DEADLY QUOTE:
"Another problem we got with the f*cking executives and the higher ups in the industry - too many of you niggas is f*cking each other! That's the f*cking reason why y'all can't pay attention to what the f*ck a hit record is, because you're too busy trying to find out where the hit asshole is!!



*I just died*


After all of the drama, Kay Slayed em. Wonder who's going to spin those TAG Body Spray records for Don Chi-Chi now?





UPDATE: Greg Street Weighs In.