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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

10 Reasons Why The Saudi Royalty Is More Gangsta Than Your Favorite Gangsta Rapper

This was supposed to go up Friday, but the powers-that-be at my job insisted I come in bananas early today, so I'm not in the mood to post something new right now. Fortunately, behind every cynical bastard is an equally nihilistic woman, so without further adeiu, here's Drea once again...

Gangsta rap. I spent a large amount of my childhood filling my ears with it. Gangsta rap of all varieties: West coast acts like Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre; East Coast acts (especially of the Queensbridge variety) like Cormega, CNN and Mobb Deep...you name it, I heard it, and probably didn't dislike it. Some of these guys had serious talent, no denying that. But they all claimed that gangsta mentality. See, there's an issue though. That word: "gangsta" - it messes with me. As an unruly young'n I was immersed in an environment that put me into and around a lot of the things that those aforementioned rappers would yap about on their songs, give or take a little here and there. So technically, that should make me 'gangsta' in a sense...right? Somehow, I don't think so. So this brought up a mental conundrum that I was determined to solve. If these guys that called themselves 'gangstas' and 'thugs' didn't really seem to be that, in my eyes at least, then who the hell was? Then I thought back to issues that my mind seems to digest the best - government and politics.

With that being said, here are the 10 top reasons why the Saudi Arabian royalty is more gangsta than your favorite gangsta rapper:

1. Drug dealing.
"You know about them white blocks? Yeah I'm talkin' white squares, move 'em by the two's so they go by the pairs" - Young Jeezy "White Girl"
OK, so these guys like to deal in ounces, pounds, dime sacks, nickel bags...lots of green, a little powder, and probably some whiteboy chemical concoctions that they brew in their basement too.

The Saudis? They'll shit all over your wimpy ass pound. And piss on your bricks. Why? They got TONS. Prince Nayef bin Fawwaz al Shalaan was caught back in '04 moving two TONS of cocaine. And this wasn't to his homeboy down the street who just broke up with his girl. No. This is the international drug trade, and on a whole different level than getting one of your Mexican buddies to hop the border and give you a couple pounds. Oh, and he's not getting in much trouble for it. He's just a 'fugitive' of our country's NARCs. He's probably drinking his Turkish coffee and hitting a hookah in the comfort of his mansion as you read this.


2. Houses.
We've all seen MTV cribs. They got some nice mansion, possibly in Connecticut where they can design the next revolution in sex toys in the seclusion of their own walls, a Scarface DVD, a bottle of Cristal somewhere if they're really ballin' like that, and a neatly made bed that probably doesn't see nearly as much action as they say it does.

This time let's look at Prince Bandar bin Sultan bin Abdul Aziz Al Saud, husband of Princess Haifa bint Faisal. This guy was selling his over $130 million Aspen, Colorado vacation home in 2006. It comes complete with 24k gold fixtures, is bigger than the house our current idiot of a president calls his temporary home, and has 16 rooms designated for the prince to take a leak in (I'm sorry, but you just don't need 16 bathrooms). This guy, this one prince ALONE, also owns an estate in England. Don't forget his other family members' cribs, such as the vacation 'palace' of sorts situated in the French Riviera. Shit, these places would put even Scarface's place of residence to shame, and could probably give the palace of Versailles a run for its money too.


3. Rides.
Time to quote Jeezy again, because he's just such a good target. "I went from old school Chevys to drop top Porsches" - "Air Forces". Although I don't fancy them so much myself, a Porsche is undeniably a hell of a vehicle. Well...maybe not in comparison to...

...Our favorite 2-ton moving prince’s 747 jet. Or our ex-Aspen resident's personal Airbus A340. Oh, and don't forget their yachts, with their helicopter landing pads and all that.

4. Loot.
Do I even need to explain this one? Even if a rapper managed to go double platinum 10 times and not spend a dime of their profits, their bank account sure as hell couldn't touch somebody's that has "King/Prince(ss)" attached to their unnecessarily lengthy name. Especially if said royalty is pushing tons of illicit materials on top of the money that political types just seem to inherit out of thin air anyway.


5. Methods of punishment.
Your favorite gangsta rapper probably talks about how he'll blast the head off of anyone who tries to test him, then next thing you know there’s "a body in the trunk son", and they're tossing fingerprint-laced firearms in the river and finding a dumpster in Bumfuck to toss the body in. Basically, they're guilty and they know they couldn't fight the charge so they try not to catch one in the first place. Not to mention they blast fools over some stupid shit (word to Remy Ma).

Well, the Saudis have a different theory. Eye for an eye. And yes, I'm aware that Mobb Deep said the same shit, but I doubt they live it. If you steal from a Saudi? Well, I hope you don't mind getting a couple fingers chopped off...or maybe your whole hand. In public, I might add. And for those that think the American capital punishment system is flawed...they still do public beheadings in Saudi Arabia.


6. Allies.
Gangsta rappers have a close, probably tight knit crew that has each other's backs. I mean honestly, isn't that where the word 'GANGsta' came from? By being a self-proclaimed gangsta (notice I said being ***A*** gangsta, not being gangsta), you should automatically by definition have a crew that has your back. And they probably got some knives, weaponry, an inconspicuous looking whip for a hitch-free drive by, and some dirty gossip on your enemies. OK, that's nice and all...

But who needs that shit when you got access to UN conferences? Not to mention that you're sitting on a country-sized oil puddle. Everybody loves you! Even Mr. "Nuke-u-lar" Bush wants to be your friend! While your favorite OG rapper is running from the feds, the Saudi royalty is getting their asses kissed by them.


7. Enemies.
OK, maybe not EVERYONE loves the Saudis. Because oil isn't everything, is it? If you're hiding in caves all day, you don't need much black gold in your life. Any guesses who I'm getting at yet? I'll give you some time...

Your favorite American-bred gangsta rapper has beef with rival lyricists, Joe-Schmoe on the block who banged his girl in high school and gave his girl the itch, and other so-called 'gangstas' that get in his way. Granted, if an enemy possesses a nice firearm and points it in my face, I'll get a little nervous. These random ass people can still take your life. But are you more scared of random ass hood-thug, or...

Bin Laden? Yep, Osama bin Laden himself. He's not a big fan of the Saudi royalty at all, despite his strong (and very wealthy) ties to the country. And if you ask me, I'd take a gunfight with homeboy down the block's 9mm over Bin Laden's AR-15 and suicide bomber connections any day of the week. Fuck that, homeboy down the street can bring five other armed friends and a couple of rabies-infested pitbulls and I'd still choose that over taking on Bin Laden.


8. Protection.
This one is also pretty simple-minded. Your favorite gangsta rapper probably has a bodyguard, or two, or maybe a few more. And a CCTV system at his crib...car alarms...simple and practical means of self-preservation.

No matter what, a government affiliate of any country will have better self-protection measures at their fingertips because...well...that's just the way of the world, as unfair as it may seem. But we're talking people who got beef with Bin Laden here, and they're still alive. Any self-proclaimed gangsta, regardless of how true to the term they actually act, needs protection. And any self-proclaimed gangsta should be aspiring towards a protection system on the Saudi level.


9. Territory.
Let's just say, I don't see any of your favorite gangsta rappers pulling a "Petoria" (see http://www.flatoz.com/. Click on season 2, and watch episode 218 for 30 minutes of hilariousness) anytime too soon, and until they do...well, holding down a city block or two doesn't compare to holding down one of the biggest countries in your region of the world.


10. Being real.
Rappers are slaves to the entertainment industry (save for underground independent-type artists with their own labels and what not). This means that they must conform to industry standards, which right now seems to be talking about and glamorizing the drug game, gun play, and banging Superhead. Aside from catching an itch from the ultimate music industry hoe, in my opinion it's safe to say that they don't really do so much drug pushing and gun shooting. If they did, they'd be locked up. We all know how black men + the system works. So yeah, I question the authenticity of your favorite gangsta rapper's subject matter.

The Saudi's don't have to talk about the shit they do. Media outlets will talk for them. On top of that, the whole world knows (or has access to info) about the shit the Saudis pull, and yet they're still seemingly untouchable. Even the mafia dons of the early 1900's couldn't pay off enough pigs and politicos to be THAT protected from the law.

<<Disclaimer>> This blog was for entertainment purposes only, and I in no way intend to promote a 'gangsta' lifestyle as one you should hope to achieve, because that shit is not cool. I am also not trying to glorify the actions of the Saudi royalty because, and as with any political leader these days it seems, corruption runs rampant and that's nothing to be proud of. So all you easily-influenced kiddies out there: behave yourselves and stay safe. And credit to Meka for sharing his blog with me for the day.

0 Comments             

Asians Are The New Black People

I’ve just had an epiphany: hip-hop is only dead to its Black contingent. And writing that sentence just hurt my heart a little.

Need more proof that Blacks could give less than a shit about rap? Ask anyone who believes that ringtones are the new platinum. If that doesn’t suffice, ask the ones who slob on the knob of some shitty rapper who will insult the same rapper he draws inspiration form.

Last Friday I attended Sneaker Pimps, a traveling art exhibition and concert, where I perhaps saw the saddest thing in my few years on this planet, aside from the over-abundance of meatwatcher jean-rocking battyboys and fake-ass posers. As the DJ threw on tracks such as “Verbal Intercourse,” “So Ghetto,” “The Show” and “Mad Izm” among other such instant vintage, the crowd moved with the pace of a deer caught in headlights. However, when “Fireman,” “Lean Like A Cholo” and “Big Shit Poppin’” were spun, the same crowd went apeshit. I never really thought too much of this amusing scenario, until Redman performed. I couldn’t help but shake my head as the sheeple shuffled their feet as he performed “Tonite’s Da Nite,” when thirty minutes prior the song was spun to no response.

What’s more amazing, however, were the Asian delegates whom I was able to chop it up with and build about hip-hop culture, the majority of which also happened to be the vendors, painters and a DJ to boot. In case you don’t know, Japan is experiencing a hip-hop renaissance similar to the Rotten Apple’s golden eras. At the same time, they hold the same appreciation for the Juice Crew and the Wu-Tang Clan as they do for Lil Wayne and Young Jeezy. Don’t believe me? Ask the slant-eyed record spinner who was spinning that shit concurrently Friday night.

A lot of humps jump on me since I talk about the vile nature of this hip-hop shit more than the “good” parts of it. The reality is that I love this hip-hop shit, and to see it in its current state sometimes frustrates me. This culture is supposed to be the voice of the oppressed, repressed and suppressed, as well as for the happy-go-lucky, carefree individuals. But instead it comes off as a drug-addled party machine with no respect for its elders. The tried-and-played-out tale of rappers having remorse because they sold poison to their community in order to get out of said community and afford some gaudy chain adorned in the ligaments and tendons of children in South Africa makes me quit this shit sometimes, and find solace in the arms of soul and jazz music. But like always, I return to the abusive hands of hip-hop, not unlike the woman who returns to her wife-beating husband, due to my unwavering dedication to this thing. And while the e-hobos like to shrug my jewels off as “tell me something I don’t know” banter, it’s that same lackadaisical attitude that allows the real purveyors to weed out the real from the original fakes who’ll eventually be serving my coma-inducing fast food while I’m on my deathbed.

176 Comments             

Where The Hell Is “Detox?”

Being an East Coast-loving anomaly currently situated in one of the more depressing parts of the Left Coast, I don’t exactly have a taste for a lot of West Coast rap, save for the random misogyny-fest that is “Ain’t No Fun” and a few other instances. Now that I think about it, my appreciation for New York – the multicultural aspects which happens to bleed into their hip-hop at times, not its current generation of blackface-ridden shitbag representatives, mind you – is primarily responsible for my innate disdain for most of the hip-hop from my state.

It also doesn’t help that most of the trash that spews from here remind me of this guy, but whatever.

In any case, a major rule in West Coast hip-hop is that if you were born and raised here like I was, it’s a must that you love the soundscapes of Dr. Dre, which is understandable since he is one of – if not the – greatest hip-hop producers of all time [1]. At the same time, part of the reason I think the West Coast holds him in such a high regard is due to the fact that he’s responsible – directly or otherwise – for how its hip-hop scene sounds to this day. Think about it: virtually every major act from here can be Kevin Baconed back to a guy who used to run around in a sequin bodysuit, from current comedy cooner Ice Cube all the way down to someone as craptastic as Lil’ 1/2 Dead. In a sense, you can blame Dr. Dre for allowing a ganja moolie like Tony Yayo to violate our eardrums, but I digress.

It’s that same blind dedication to Dre why people are still gassed for Detox, despite the fact it’s been pushed back for almost than nine years now, while many of the tracks slated to be on the album were instead passed off to other artists. I’d probably be excited for the shit, too had Dre not essentially relinquished control of his own label to Curtsy. It was mentioned on this section before that Dre has been reduced to nothing more than a beatmaking yes man for Fiddy, and after seeing how he poorly handled that situation with Game, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was under Young Hot Rod at this point. Pause.


If Dr. Dre were any old shitty producer like, say, Scott “What, Me Worry?” Storch, I’m pretty sure nobody would care for some long-delayed LP by some over-40 simp. But because he’s basically the only thing the West has going for them since hyphy was proven to be nothing more than a bunch of jackasses dancing on the hood of their cars and whatnot, the Left Coast will stay on his bozack, waiting for this non-existential shit to finally come out. And hopefully by the time it does, I’ll be in the Big Apple far, far away from that bullshit.

[1] Yep, even more than Primo. And Primo is a god to me. No Boosie and Webbie mmm-mmm kissing.

113 Comments             

Hip-Hop Cops

I had to do it again for the support duke has given me. Once again, here's Boston's own Mighty Casey...


If I was an asshole the easiest job I could think of would be to be a hip hop cop. Rappers are the most blatant stupid criminals possible. You won’t need any wiretaps, photographs, surveillance or informants; just watch these guys dry snitch on themselves on record, YouTube and interviews.  Don’t get me wrong cops are assholes for fuckin with rappers rather than dealing with real criminals like rapists and murderers but hey this is America, the police love arresting celebrities and they love arresting black males, so rappers are like a wet dream for cops. Knowing such one would think that rappers would be more cautious concerning law enforcement.  Mafia dons have gone to extreme measures to hide there conversations, affiliations and dealings from the cops, from speaking in codes, secret meetings etc. most of what I know about law enforcement comes from watching the Wire. I’ve seen McNulty and Freeman go to extreme measures to decode beeper messages, drug talk and text messages going through extreme measures to get warrants and such. The Hip Hop cops should have it so hard, they don’t need to be smart to catch rappers, they don’t need to decode any messages all they need to know is basic slang, YouTube, some mixtape and albums, and the latest blogs to hear the radio interviews to find out a rappers cohorts, organizational structures, enemies, hang out spots, guns and drugs of choice. Rappers are probably the easiest targets besides bimbo actresses. Maybe if rappers want to avoid police they should stop bragging about their drug use, weapons, gang affiliations and criminal past and or present on record.
With all the recent arrests of rap artists one might wonder if the Hip-Hop cops are paying extra attention to rap due to the recent controversies. With Ja Rule and Lil Wayne both getting arrested the same night, is rapper profiling at an all time high. Given what I’ve read both artists will where arrested in Manhattan after cops smelled the scent of marijuana and raided their respective tour buses and Maybachs. No offense but I ain’t think the Hip Hop cops had shit to do with it. This is Manhattan fuckers you ain’t gotta be a rapper to be arrested all you gotta be is black, spitting on the sidewalk riding your bike on a sidewalk looking suspicious to get searched, having a burner and weed on you ain’t helping.  Was their extra police presence at the show I’m sure given the rate of violence at Hip Hop concerts and violence as well as violence between rappers you have to expect po-po to be deep out there, y’all ain’t hear Raekwon ‘mad police in Manhattan.’ Smarten up rappers you know they’re watching be cool. Cops love arresting blacks, celebrities and people who flaunt their illegal wealth, rappers fall in all 3 categories. Cam’Ron was on Hot 97 a while back talking about how his probation officer found out about his 50 beef through YouTube. If probation officers are getting on YouTube, the hip-hop cops must have every, mixtape, DVD, interview and album to find out about beefs and criminal affiliations.
I was arrested a few months ago for buying piff uptown, wasn’t fragrantly smoking in public just buying some weed, despite my many spins on BET UnCut I doubt the Hip Hop cops had anything to do with it. I was just the wrong color wrong place wrong time. It ain’t the rapper profiling I’m worried, its racial profiling every day thousands of black males without record deals are harassed wrongfully arrested beaten and generally mistreated. Black males who never proclaimed themselves on record to be gangstas, criminals, carry keys, guns and weed.  Just fucked with by the cops cuz of their color. It’s the brutality and the racism that affects black males without lawyer money that bothers me. Its messed up that rappers have to get fucked with but its kinda like running by a pitbull with a slab of meat in your back pocket and then complaining what assholes pitbulls are when they bite you in the ass. Cops are assholes black people have been for a long time; it’s your job as a criminal and or African American to make it as hard as possible for the cops to fuck with you. If a man named himself Billy bin Laden and sung songs about blowing up planes and rolling with Al Qaeda, do you think he might get harassed a little more at the airport? If George Michael had a song called Child Porn surfing don’t you think Dateline’s to catch a predator would have a fake 12 year old decoy boy hitting him up on instant messenger. Its kind of like Chappelle’s joke about women who dress like hookers complaining about being treated like hookers, if your shirt says you sell drugs, you pose with guns on DVD and constantly rap about criminal activity, how do you think police are going to treat you? The problem with gangsta rappers is that in order to be a successful rapper must expose your criminal past, connections and knowledge as much as possible and as a criminal, to be successful you should hide any criminal connections to avoid attention from the law. Anyone who has watched the history channel knows that gangstas always start their downfall when they start getting flashy and want to become celebrities. Recently BMF had several indictments on them in which the DA specifically mentioned their billboard in downtown Atlanta, one might think that their connections in the Hip Hop world might’ve also motivated the law to go after them especially as Hip Hop bling man Jacob the Jeweler was caught in their previous rounds of indictments.
Rapper profiling doesn’t seem like a major issue to me yet. The recent arrests of most rappers seem to stem from their own stupidity rather than ‘rapper’ profiling. Right before Ja Rule was arrested he was on YouTube wearing a supreme team shirt, connecting himself once again to the infamous gang that terrorized queens for years, and received numerous prosecutions from the government. Even Jon Gotti never wore a Gambino family T-Shirt and he suffered enough persecution from police. Rapper profiling has yet to affect revolutionary, positive Christian, humorous or abstract yet, so it seems the only profiling being done is on the gangsta rappers. Cops fuck with gangstas if you don’t want cops fuckin with you quit telling the world, you a gun packing, drug dealing weed smoking, violent gangsta, if you can’t stand the heat stay out the kitchen.     
When Ja was arrested he gave a Scarface-esque speech on how hip-hop isn’t what’s wrong with America it’s the media or the system not quite sure (say goodbye to the bad guy, you need me to point your finger at). However if Hip Hop wasn’t so busy playing the bad guy maybe it could actually make some legitimate attacks on the system but now one wants to here a neighborhood poisoning killer talking about the social ills of America. Mind you Ja Rule is the same rapper who proclaimed on a mixtape ‘murder inc, we laundering money nigga!!!!’
    With Hip-Hop under attack from the media it seems more than likely we’ll se a lot more rapper arrests in the future. Prosecutors want to be District Attorneys, District attorneys want to be governors, police chiefs want to be mayors and they all need bad guys to scapegoat to make them look like good guys for the upcoming elections. Now that Hip Hop has alienated the forces that would defend them Al Sharpton and the NAACP aren’t gonna fight for the same rappers they believe are denigrating the community. Cochran is dead now so all rappers got left is to keep on making their Jewish attorneys rich. Most likely most high profile rappers will be able to beat their cases sacrificing only lawyer fees and the occasional weed carrier. However as people’s attitudes towards hip hop change, even the black jurors who tend to be older will turn their backs on hip hop as support for hip hop from the black community (hip hop aside) has been eroding.
Even though we’re supposed to have freedom of speech and artistic license here in the US, this rarely applies to black people. In an ideal world, one should be able to say they what they want and not have to have the police fuck with them based on their ‘artistic’ statements, but this is far from an ideal world. Politicians and cops are assholes who want to seem like good guys and rappers are willing to play the role of the bad guys giving them the necessary distractions from real issues like the war, poverty and education, police brutality etc.  In the rap game it seems as if street cred has trumped creativity and skill as the number one factor in being a successful MC. But with that street cred comes police attention. Organized crime and the music business have gone hand in hand since prohibition when jazz cats had to play in illegal speakeasies. However you never heard Frank Sinatra shouting out my Carlo Gambino and the Five Families. They kept it on the low. Biggie once said real gangstas move in silence, if so these rap cats with their loud ass bragging on they guns drugs and thugs are the furthest thing from real.
If you a successful rapper and you don’t think your being watched do some research, read Derrick Parker’s book Notorious COP, the Hip Hop cops have been around for a while now nothing new, they got files on every major rapper for 4 years now.
Rappers you are being watched so act accordingly. Don’t expect Farrakhan, Jesse Jackson, the NAACP or any other civil right organization for help, Hip Hop had them jump ship years ago. Rapper profiling's here to stay you can’t want to have the whole world believe you’re a gangsta except for the police. Cops love fuckin with young rich black men and you guys are making it very easy. When rappers are advertising their price for kilos, drug habits, guns and gang affiliations for their street it puts them in a tough position, either admit you were lying and lose your street cred or say they were telling the truth and deal with the cops. One kid from my neighborhood once played me a track in which he bragged about what corner he sold drugs on, what drugs he sold for what prices and even who he got his re up from everything but a signed confession. If your black in America you don’t need to say you’re a criminal to get treated like one, so until the po-po starts targeting underground humor rappers, I’ll be way more worried about racial profiling than rapper profiling.

111 Comments             

Reppin’ Time

A little while back an interesting thought popped into my head while I was writing another piece: despite the fact my “location” under that picture says I’m in a city known more for running Jerry Buss out of town – despite the fact he helmed one of the greatest ever teams in sports – by robbing him endlessly as he stepped out of his car in the Forum parking lot, I don’t claim it as my city, nor have I ever cared to “represent” each of the cities I lived in, as many other people I know and see.

While I do not have a problem with those that do the same, and I can actually appreciate the fact that despite of their town’s uglier sides they show love to it regardless, I’ve personally never been the one to do the same. My reason, however, primarily has to deal with the fact that a) as long as I make it to my one-room mansion without being shot, stabbed, snuffed, robbed and/or killed, I could give three-eighths of a shit about where it is and b) thanks to my somewhat nomadic lifestyle, I’ve spent the past five years in three different cities. Shit, I’m in the (very barren) planning stages of uprooting myself to New York as I write this shit now.

My particular qualm with this situation, though, is the intriguing trend where some people like to rep the fact that not only are they from the ‘hood, they are “hood” as well. While I’ve been fortunate enough not to live in some gully-out-the-ass neighborhood so far, I find it odd when some people take pride in their city’s violent aspects. Not to sound like an uppity asshole, but I never understood why anybody would be happy that his or her city has a ridiculously high murder rate. If anything, that fact would propel me out of that bitch quicker.

But perhaps that’s the ass-backward nature of hip-hop, where its denizens have been convinced that being a well-educated, non-poison-pushing individual makes you an undesirable square Charlie in rap. Well, excuse me if I call shenanigans on that false proclamation; I’d much rather boast about being able to correctly count the change in your wallet than about how much weight I move. On a semi-related topic, wouldn’t boasting about a drug-happy past constitute as snitching on yourself? Anybody who’s dumb enough to put their business out there like that in this day and age must be out of their fucking mind. But I digress.

209 Comments             

Why Hip-Hop Still Can’t Make It

In one of my earlier posts on this section of the Internets, I explained how hip-hop is the only musical culture that doesn’t give a fuck about its fans or even its fellow man, save for when it’s time to “get that money.” But as usual, my ideals were misconstrued as “old man in the club” jibba jabba, which is odd considering that my age puts me in that same demographic the Hugo Chavezes of rap target that bullshit towards. So excuse me if I may come off as bitter because I encompass a higher level of thinking than most (word to Ms. Howse), and thus won’t fall for those insipid fallacies that are disguised as “good music” despite the fact it’s been forced upon us for some time now.

At the same time, those that do fall for the shit have the gall to call the rest of us out on it, dismissing it as “hate,” when they are sorely mistaken. Hitler’s “Final Solution,” Hiroshima’s ethering, Iraqi insurgents in Guantanamo Bay treated like pitbulls in Ron Mexico’s backyard and the overall fucking over of minorities? Hate. The fact someone feels that a popular rapper is wack, and nothing is going to change that opinion lest they turn water into the cure for The Germ? Not so much.

Many people (including myself) complain that hip-hop music has disintegrated into nothing more than minstrel-era dances (“Watch My Feet,” A.H.L.O.T? Holy shit; take me now, Black Jesus) and overused drug references, and that the people do not have a say in what can and should not get play, to which I call bullshit on. I once stated that the people who run this hip-hop shit are not the TIs that believe it’s a good idea to create a show that shows Reh Dogg in the shower (ayoooo...), it is the ones that purchase, copy, bootleg and steal this shit. We are the ones they are catering to, so contrary to popular belief, we do have the power to tell these motherfuckers, “Enough is enough.”

But who am I to say shit like I’m Raúl Castro or something? Most of today’s generation – my generation – prefer to post fruity-looking videos of themselves humping ottomans, shuffling their feet to a sample of The Lion King or having their sons puddy-pop on YouTube. Ain’t nothing “quasi” about that shit; that shit’s a full-blown, flagrant foul on homosexuality, with a dash of coonery thrown in for good measure. Does anybody else agree with me that YouTube is the new blackface?

But fuck if nobody wants to open his or her eyes, ears and minds to it. We’d much rather jump on the Internets to insult the next man, throw on some too-tight meatwatcher jeans and other such dumbass shit while whining how some tree-bark eating Jansport rocker doesn’t get enough shine. Yet we wonder why hip-hop stays losing.

79 Comments             

Originality? No Thanks

If you really think about it, hip-hop culture is nothing more than one gigantic rip-off of a combination of poetry, jazz, bebop and virtually any and every other Black-made genre in music (which essentially would be everything), and I don’t mean that in a negative connotation. Honestly – and if you really think about it – if it weren’t for the YTs yoking this rap shit out from under us, it may not have been as successful as it is today.

But leave it up to hip-hop artists to start fucking up everything as usual. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the new shitty trend of late (outside of using the words “Crank Dat” in your song title) is rappers assuming aliases of either drug dealers, the corpses of heroin-addled rock stars and – to a bizarre, non-straight manner – other rappers. I’d always thought that rappers who assumed aliases as if to compare themselves to some random-ass gringo responsible for pushing an inordinate amount of poison to either the androgynous cracka-ass crackas of the disco era or the destitute Blacks who stupidly sought the shit as a “way out of the ghetto” was pretty fucking gay, especially in the nineties when every rapper and their moms felt it was necessary to rap about faux-kingpin fantasies, which is kind of ironic, considering that some of the best hip-hop music came out during that time. Go figure.

I guess rappers also got the hint that running around in some sagging, bright pink slacks was pretty fruity also (hell, even Cam’Run started taking a liking to rocking Daisy Dukes with Timberlands. Yikes!), and eventually dropped that shtick altogether, though in a weird coincidence, the quality of records and record sales started to drop as well. But now the younger humps have pretty much tried to compare themselves to the old rappers. Throughout this sorry excuse of summer music, I’ve heard Bow Wow call himself this generation’s new LL Cool J, Fraggle Rock a young Raekwon and Silk Shirts as the new Primo. I actually want to see somebody call themselves the new Oaktown 357, or the second coming of MC Brains. Or better yet, I want someone to say they’re the next Kunta Kinte. I guarantee I’ll be the first person to buy their shit, and I may rock a fake stump on one of my feet as a sneak.

While I’m on the topic of yoking aliases, it’s (not really) interesting that some hump named Calvin Klein (who gets my vote as the “least threatening drug lord name of all time”) is calling shenanigans on Grandpa Simpson for stealing his life and rapping his way to millions of dollars and Beyoncé’s umbrella in the process. While I’ll choose not to reserve judgment on whether or not Sly Cooper did it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did yoke duke’s identity. At the same time, Calvin reminds me like the guy that does braids at my close friend’s salon, so pardon me if I call bullshit this time. But you never know, though; maybe dudes who look like they spend time in the mirror kissing their muscles (pause) could be a “legendary drug lord.” I doubt it, but whatever.

144 Comments             

Thank You, Kanye

First off, it should be noted that if you haven’t heard Finding Forever and plan to, or you don’t want to hear the highly opinionated thoughts of this blogger, you may want to visit one of my blogging brethren’s posts, lest you think that this is nothing more than (more) biased bullshit from me [1].

Anyways, last Friday was an unusually busier day for me on the Internets, as I was able to grab four albums I was actually enthused about attaining: two mixtapes starring “Dead Presidents” producer (and severely underrated and overlooked beatsmith) Ski Beatz (which I actually found on his MySpace page for free, if you’re interested in what samples were used in some of his best beats) and T-Dot rhyme slinger Kardinal Offishall, the latest release by Ski’s protégés Camp Lo [2] and G.O.O.D. Music underling Common [3]. While taking my mother out over the weekend, I had a chance to listen to all of them, and while I found Ski’s opus to be the most enthralling of the bunch (rappers take note: that is how mixtapes should be done), I found myself stuck on Finding Forever more often than I’m typically accustomed to, listening to the damn thing with equal parts disbelief, anger and frustration.

Now before some random-ass c-boy jumps on the comments section barking wild gibberish about this being nothing more than a different color of the same shit [4] (and not to sound like a fake-ass hip-hop fan like Oprah), understand that I have the utmost respect and appreciation for Common Sense. Songs like “Invocation,” 1, 2 Many,” “The 6th Sense and “The Questions,” among others, have gotten endless burn in my iPod, and I was even slightly thrilled when I heard he was running with Silk Shirts West, as he’d finally get that long-overdue recognition. Hell, when I first caught wind of “The Corner,” I instantly thought that it was Lonnie’s Midwestern equivalent of “Where I’m From,” a classic (yes I said it) heatrock in its own right. So, like my Southern blogging brother from another mother Mr. Burnett lamented recently, I’d never guess that Common would ever deliver something this underwhelming.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, seeing as how Common on a bad day will usually still shit on your favorite rapper on their best. But after listening to him name-drop the likes of Vince Vaughn, Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe, it’s glaringly apparent that he took the Jay-Z, “fuck this shit” route in rap. And why should he care about rap anyways? Unless you’re pushing ringtones, there’s no money to be made in that area, which is why you see Lonnie popping up more often than not in television shows and movies. If I were a rapper (and thank Xenu I’m not), I’d drop the mic for some Hollywood guap in a heartbeat.

Asinine lyrics, lazy similes and shitty metaphors aside, it’s almost as if the beats of “the new Primo” (that’s really some blasphemous shit, in my opinion) almost willed Lonnie to dumb down his lyrics. The better productions on the shit (and that’s not saying much) sound softer than a Twinkie filling, as Kanye tries to adopt a Dilla-esque sound, spectacularly crashing and burning each and every time. Ironically, one of the better songs, “The Game,” has Kanye trying to mimic the old Primo while Primo himself is scratching the hook.

Then again, it’s not like I’d expect anything substantially great from Silk Shirts nowadays. A while back when I stated that he hasn’t done anything thrilling since crushing his face in that car accident, the humps on this site were up in arms, trying to convince me that his work on the albums of his moolies Consequence and Rhymefest were instant vintage, to which I replied that since he could give three shits about them because it was pretty much expected that they weren’t going to sell records, he tossed them a couple throwaways as if to lessen the impact of their impending failure. Now that it’s been proven that he can even make a legitimate rapper sound like a weenie, I struggle to see how I’m the biased asshole now.

[1] Which is really not the case.

[2] I know, I know. One of these days I’ll actually support these artists. One day.

[3] Think about it: Lonnie’s boss is younger than he is. Even I don’t see the humor in that at all.

[4] Odd, I always thought that those diatribes are all the same, redundant thing also. Go figure.

94 Comments             

Anatomy Of An “Internets Gangsta”

“Listen mothathafuckas (editor’s note: Huh?), the next nigga to start talkin’ wreckless (sic), I'm going to send a virus to their IP address. Now thats (sic) a true internet gangsta!” – Perhaps unsurprisingly, some random-ass DX hump

So yesterday, my more sensible half dropped a post voicing his concerns about the newest addition to our blogging brethren Tigallo’s group’s decision to have MC Tree Monkey make a guest appearance on their upcoming album. Personally, I don’t give two shits if Fraggle Rock pops up on a track with the rotting corpses of Daniel Pearl and Jesus themselves; I can’t knock the hustle of anybody (I just mock them instead), no matter how oddball and asinine it seems on the surface. Shake could be right though about Gizmo rapping along the lines of his surprisingly decent “Hollywood Divorce” verse, but I more or less expect the same random-ass “Wobble Dee Wobble Dee” bullshit he’s been using to trick the public with since he fished out Camouflage’s rhyme book from his casket in the Gulf Coast a few years back.

But I’m getting too far ahead of myself.

Anyways, after a brief period of commentary from the c-boys about said post, the whole shit deteriorated into a cyber-shouting match, not unlike that prison game in which inmates drop their pants to see which person has the largest piece on them (pause), punctuated by that colorful observation at the top of this post. I could go on and correlate its numerous grammatical and punctuation mistakes to my theory that America’s current school system is severely fucked up and hyper-underdeveloped, but once again I’d be digressing from my point.

Not to be judgmental or anything (right...), but when did it become “the thing to do” for these retarded assclowns to pop up on the Internets and start spewing random-ass shit about flying over to another part of the country to pass out eye jammie tickets to a person they’ve never even seen or met face to face? Granted, I’ve received my share of homoerotic jibba jabba, but for the most part I’ve ignored it whenever some schmuck gets out of pocket, save for that infamous instance earlier this month, and I try to take the higher route whenever some herb e-retaliates because some not-so-endearing words were exchanged about their favorite junior high school dropout “rapper,” because let’s be honest, anybody who takes pride in dishing out e-threats or feels they need to insult other c-boys and bloggers to get their point across is about as lame as the Stanleys who defend that same shithead artist who doesn’t even care for them.

I could be wrong, however. Maybe these weenies have put in so much work in “the streets” that they figure the next step is to take over the Internets Tony Montana-style, what with it being such an ever-expanding cesspool of gankable music, free porn and pop-up ads. If it’s because of that bizarre logic, it would prove much more beneficial to walk up to the office of your service provider and proceed to smack the flames out of its employees’ asses, rather than bark down on “Blue Steel, Mack 10 Foe Life!,” as they are the ones responsible for providing the access to allow such bullshit. Or better yet, take on the Internets inventor, Al Gore. He’s not doing anything meaningful nowadays; why should we give a fuck that we are plunging this world into a state of despair and destruction on a daily basis, when “Chimichonga69” called you out of your alias?

I think that in my particular case studies, said chumps would like me to put their name in my blogs so they can feel gain some sort of bizarre self-esteem boost, not unlike the child who hasn’t been hugged enough, because I’m cool like that. Perhaps if I had a pair of honkers like my blogging sisters, I’d receive the prerequisite “Come over and see me sometime!” rants (do those work?) instead, even if my writing style remained the same. Besides, any feedback received is always proof positive that us bloggers are doing our job well and bringing more traffic to this site, which are the reasons our overlords throw us a piece of bandwidth in the first place. So in that sense, I can sleep easier at night knowing that I stay winning.

122 Comments             

An Open Letter To Phonte

Now, it’s been a wild minute since I put one of these shits together (what year did the Lords Of The Underground come out?), so you’ll have to excuse me if this seems a tad on the rough side. Also, apologies are in order if my compatriot Meka Soul breaks from recording “Alter Egos: The Next Generation” with T.I.P., Black Ty and Brillyance Star and bullyfoots his way onto this post, but you know how that duke rolls sometimes. Anyways...

Dear Phonte Coleman,

As a resident columnist on this site, it was an honor to learn that a member of one of my current favorite crop of musicians would be joining our esteemed stable. I have been a fan of your group since the days of “Speed” and “Whatever You Say,” and was amused at your crew’s original website, which documented everyday yet hilarious scenarios such as your partner Big Pooh’s inability to stick at a job for longer than a month, and the super-low budget video for the aforementioned “Speed.”

When your team got signed to that major label, while I was enthralled at the fact you three would receive shine on a grander scale, I was also a bit worried because of the way they handle hip-hop acts. I mean, you guys didn’t have a pauseworthy moniker like Webbie, leather-so-soft baby hair like Sean Paul and weren’t running around like the ambiguously gay version of A Clockwork Orange a la Gnarls Barkley. Meanwhile, Apathy’s been waiting for ice cream to be made in Beelzebub’s lair before his shit can come out, while Lupe Fiasco has a seemingly larger issue to deal with than underwhelming sales. Cocaine is a helluva drug.

I guess it was ok though; I mean, if Cliffy could trick over a million people into buying his audio Frisbee, your label surely could have convinced the same people who do that suspect shit in Donwill’s last blog to buy an album with actual substance, right? That’s when things all started to go wrong. Those nappy-headed hoes at B.E.T. wouldn’t play your video until months after the album had actually came out, then your own tall Israeli had to kick the bucket. I find it funny now that the channel would try to package some shit sammiches with mayonnaise as if they weren’t feces burgers regardless, but I digress.

While I am somewhat distressed that a piece of your team’s trifecta departed, I am still anticipating your next release, especially since it is coming out on your original home label. However, when I found the track listing a few days ago, I was a bit disturbed at the third track’s guest star. While I am not questioning the motives of you, Pooh or anybody related to your upcoming project, I do have one teeny-tiny, simple request that comes from not only a fan, but a person who has bought not only your sophomore album, but the promotional shirt for it as well (which hilariously riled up my superiors when I wore it to work):

Please, for the love of God, Allah, Buddha and whatever multi-armed elephant deity Apu Nahasapeemapetilon worships, omit the verse of Lil Wayne on “Breakin’ My Heart.”

While I understand the connotations of bridging the gap between the mainstream and underground audiences by having a “rapper” of his stature appear on the song, showing Southern unity and your appreciation for the guy, I do not wish to listen to an overrated artist violate my eardrums while trying to keep up with you and Pooh’s rhymes, failing miserably in the process. While I do understand his immense popularity sometimes, I cannot stand for his overly simplistic, scatterbrained and dreary raps annihilating any and every hope of the song being better that it's going to be.

My aim here is to not defecate on your immense credibility as well as the respect and appreciation I hold for your entire team at all; it is just to let you know that I do not anticipate that particular song because of that guy popping up on it. Weasel F. Fraggle has always been that sharp, stabbing pain in my hip-hop heart, and if in fact you do leave him on there, I may have to learn Pro Tools just so I can delete that part of the song when it’s finally released.

A concerned fan,
N.

167 Comments             

Rap Groups, An Endangered Species

For all this jibba jabba of this blogger being nothing more than a nihilistic, biased “hater,” mentions of what I actually do enjoy have come and gone without much notice, save for my affinity with sneakers, video games, illegally obtained music and – like every red-blooded, heterosexual male – ass and titties.

Talk about being an eligible bachelor. Ladies, if you’re interested, you know how to find me.

In any case, one of the few things I like more than talking shit about your favorite quasi-homosexual rapper is the kinetic rhyming oomph of a really great rap group. While most humps like to slob on the knob of some random-ass overrated rapper, I prefer the stylings of a two- (or more) man army. Pause?

Whereas a solo artist usually relies on some wild presence on the mic, I like how the members of a group draw energy from each other, bouncing beats, rhymes and life like a tennis match. That shit is something you’ll never catch when one rapper is surrounded by a cornucopia of bag handlers, each of them screaming over each other as if doing so would promote them to some sort of higher holding position. I know I’m not the only one who’s been to a concert and wanted to throw those shitbag motherfuckers off the stage, Prince Be-style.

I give shout outs to artists like Heltah Skeltah, Raekwon and Ghostface, Camp Lo, my Long Beach brethren Brillyance’s favorite group, Clipse (kidding, of course) and countless others who, despite the obvious benefits of going solo, have continued to work together for so long. It’s that form of brotherhood that agitates me more whenever I see some no-talent blather like he’s just received a Fisher-Price My First Rhymebook set in the mail the other day. I could give three shits about someone who rocks glasses straight out of the Geordi La Forge collection.

For all the talk about crews falling apart at the seams, I commend those that have managed to keep bringing that same fire for years. What sucks is when groups actually split up, only to rarely see that same level of success when its members go for dolo. If anything, I wouldn’t feel any remorse if this ass-backward trend of shitty solo rappers became a thing of the past. As long as there are more Soul Positions and Tanya Morgans and less Boosies and Webbies, perhaps this hip-hop shit will be all right after all.

***

As a bonus, I’ve included one of my favorite group/duo songs of all time. If this shit happens to get played at a titty bar I’m at, I may be compelled to empty out the most-of-the-time slim contents of my checking account, make it drizzle, then proceed to slap fire out of a stripper to get my rent money back. I doubt it, but whatever.

Camp Lo - Luchini AKA This Is It

141 Comments             

“Some Tall Israeli Is Running This Rap Shit...”

“Or I don't know anything about hip-hop because I'm white?” - Fellow DX blogger Shake

On weekends I usually try to steer clear of my personal computer since my job sometimes requires that I spend a shitload of time on it, save for when I read the news, throw music into my iPod [1] or rapidspaceupload the latest edition of Ass Parade from my “connect.” So when I hopped onto this section of the Internets this past Sunday, not unlike when a whore gets called back by her pimp, I had a chance to read my Vegas blogging brother from another mother Shake’s post about dog violator Michael Vick’s current situation. While scrolling through the comments section, I was somewhat bemused (but not really) at how the topic veered off from whether Ron Mexico is guilty of having dogs shot, lynched, gang-raped and a whole heap of other extra-fucked up shit to the tried-and-true rants about racism.

Leave it to us porch monkeys to call shenanigans on everything!

Let’s get things perfectly clear: whether Vick is guilty or not (he’s at least guilty by association: the damn thing was ran at his house for crying out loud!) is for the courts to decide. However, if this was a well-known NFL player who happened to be a paleface, gook, Jawa or wetback, the result would still be the same. Had Ronnie tried to work on his throwing accuracy (I swear I've lost so many Madden games because of that deficiency) instead of having pitbulls run up in each other American Me-style, this shit may have happened to his hooligan brother, and we subsequently wouldn’t give a shit.

Another interesting aspect is the fact that a sell-out buffoon like Jason Whitlock is quick to throw the blame on the hip-hop culture, as if DMX himself forced Vick at gunpoint to pull this dumb shit. What’s funny to me is that today’s hip-hop imagery is prevalently controlled by a bunch of crackas and tall Israelis (who in turn are using what the idiots today believe is the “hot shit,” but I digress); by that logic, wouldn’t all those YTs be responsible for Ron-Ron thinking it’s a great idea to host canine bukkake sessions in his backyard? Perhaps if Mr. Whitlock’s fat ass would take a second to stop listening to his urges for a Luther Burger and thought about that, perhaps he wouldn’t have looked like the jackass A-Plus so eloquently described a few days ago.

I’ll save judgment for Vick until later but from what I’ve read so far, whomever accountable for that shit is one seriously fucked-in-the-head person. At the same time, targeting hip-hop for everything wrong with society is becoming rather trite. Let’s just hope they actually don’t ban hip-hop like I mentioned before; I really don’t want to be used as currency in San Quentin because I got caught playing Ready To Die.

[1] Let it be known that while I roll with Brillyance and Shake on the whole “fuck the iPod” deal, I unfortunately have to have one since Apple computers won’t allow anything else. Monopolies are a bitch.

93 Comments             

Somebody’s Gotta Defend It

You know, for all the talk about hip-hop dying in the sense that everybody would either run around looking like the rap version of the Ambiguously Gay Duo or munch on tree bark and rock Jansports wh