I LEFT U FOR A WHILE, AND IT WAS WORTH THE WEIGHT
Peace! I'm jacking somebody' linksys on the homie's MacBook Pro real quick to let U know that I still exist. My name isn't Miranda Jane anymore, though. My name is Walasia Mirandajane Shabazz-Oxun. A mouthful I know, but ain't I always?
My fans will be hyphy to learn that I have about 75% of my Hip Hop cookbook complete, and am now testing recipes and seeking a good print photographer to get the "beauty shots" complete. And I suppose that will make the haters hate more.
Bizwise I'm doing exciting and fascinating things with CLEAR LABEL RECORDS, www.clearlabelrecords.com and owner/founder Tajai Massey (from the mighty Souls of Mischief / Hieroglyphics crew) as his GM. He has signed some incredible artists like Baby Jaymes, Deep Rooted, Chris Marsol, and more. I'm surrounded by light these days with the music clientele I'm blessed to affiliate with! He and I are also partnering up on a Media venture (marketing, radio promo, video promo, PR, press, viral), CLEAR LABEL MEDIA. For a menu/rates of services, reach us at CLEARLABELMEDIA at GMAIL dot COM. To request promo from CLEAR LABEL RECORDS, reach us at media@clearlabelrecords.com.
Bro. Tariq L from United Nations / Hemisphear / Konvict Music / etc. has finally launched his internationally-based label, SOUNDRIGHT MUSIC / SOUNDRIGHT INTERNATIONAL. I am also GM'ing this for him. He has a song called Fast Life f/ Tajh (formerly of the Boyz) that you really must hear. Reach us at soundright.intl AT gmail DOT com to request the MP3 and be added to the SOUNDRIGHT mailing list.
My young stunna of a Sun, Paco "TRUNKS" Youngel, has really come into his own as a mogul, label head, executive, A&R, shot caller, and Gunshow champion. His workout makes 50 Cent's Get Buff or Die Trying diet look weak and tawdry. With his new multi-tiered media (ad)venture GO*KID*GO, he and his posse are at the forefront of sound and are cutting a new swath in many fields of music, entertainment, tech, sk8, clothing, lifestyle and culture. He has this group called Flash Thompson that is so Gnarly, they have to be heard to be believed. You know you wanna...gmail me at LASANGELITAS at GMAIL dot COM if U want to hear this astounding aural innovation. If you want to sign Paco, his groups, his producers, his label, his lifestlye/marketing brand, or just want to pay him in general to ghostwrite for your wack rap acts you signed three quarters ago when you should've offered us a $500k advance and $250k marketing budget; I've got good news. He's become such a motherfucking BOSS, you can negotiate with him directly and bypass me and my murderous music-mogul-killa mouthpiece and get right at him, MAGNUMPACOY at YAHOO dot COM. Serious $$$$ and inquiries only, don't waste yourself or our time.
Besides the usual suspects, I have some new music thangthang's a gwan. One of these may surprise you, his name is 40 GLOCC and he's considered a "Gangster Rapper". He's actually extremely intelligent, his business savvy makes yours look anemic, and his music is DOPE. For music & vids from 40 GLOCC, TIP TOE, and his ZOO GANG affiliates, drop them a line at ZOOGANG333 at gmail dot com. He has some Ning thing too, I don't really even understand it and he does all this shit himself. Killer. I don't manage him, he's too ill, I don't womanage him, it'd be too much work, I'm just a culture consultant trying to create a new paradigm where nobody on my TV or radio or in my magazine has a cock & balls and wears skintight jeans. You'll never catch Big Bad 40 in anything resembling hipster trendoid fashion...we keep it real live gangster gully over here with white wifebeaters, white Ts, blue Levis, and clean kicks. Everything else is so...NOT FRESH.
So what about me, just "MJ"? Why don't you read me in Vibe, XXL, The Source, or another mag in print? Well...I guess those are questions for Danyel, Datwon, and whatever the damned editor of the moment is at The Sauce. I hate being pigeonholed as a "Hip Hop" writer who only knows about urban music. Anyone who ever categorized me this way, you're an asshole. I hate/love writing better than 99% of the men in the print media game and/or blogosphere (excepting of course Harry Allen, BONZ MALONE, kris ex, Kenji Jasper, to name a few). I should be able to make $5000 checks as an Editor at Large at a real magazine; but instead I'm guerillahustling and doing my own thing. But I digress.
Shouts out to Kevin Sakoda, LORD SCOTCH 79th (check his bloggieblog at www.12ozprophet.com, what up KEO?!) , my baby bro. Mike, and the many people who said they missed my eloquence. I just haven't been typing it or macroblogging, you should hear me on conference calls going Damita Dash on ninjas who thing shit is sweet or who haven't cut my gotdamnmufukkkking check on time. Or just check me out microblogging and cold getting dumb on TWITTER, www.twitter.com/WALASIA.
Finally, before I have to relinquish the borrowed MacBook Pro (p.s. If you owe me money, love me a lot, or just want to do a good deed, pay me back in MacBook Pro. This thing is butteryslickuiloquent. ) ... Waleed C-Rayz Walz Shabazz gave me this most beautiful attribute as a friend, brother, partner and one who knows my mind. He said that his twin sister would have been called Walasia, and I am his mental twin. My daddy ain't shit, and I been stopped using his janky name, and I always wanted to have a last name. Miranda was my born name, Jane was my Granny's born name. But that was first and middle. Becoming a Shabazz is such an honor and a privilege. I'm blessed by Allah and thankful for every Master Teacher who has added on with me over the years. The Shabazz attribute has many connotations for many people, all of them positive, and all anyone really needs to know is that I embody these attributes, as does Waleed, as do the rest of his Women and Children. I am not religious, I am a scientist, mathematician, statistician, sociologist, Master Teacher/Student, and a member of the greatest Research and Development department on Earth or any planet.
More later as we once again embark on unlocking the Master Keys to the Universe and debunking myths and destroying mysteries (and devils). It's that time again, time to ask yourself a question, and really analyze the answer. HOW DID WE GET FROM THE PYRAMIDS TO THE PROJECTS?
http://projects2pyramids.wordpress.com
http://pyramids2projects.blogspot.com
Visit the new page, HOW TO GET OUT OF THE PROJECTS AND BACK TO THE PYRAMIDS.
The new blog is @ http://projects2pyramids.wordpress.com
Nothing new is here...please enjoy the archive.
Peace
Jamaica, Nature's Koolaid
REVIEW/REFLECT: TRAGEDY, THE STORY OF QUEENSBRIDGE
Movie poster from Tragedy: The Story of Queensbridge, Still Reportin' album cover, & Tragedy and Ching Bing runnin' the streets of NY"You love to hear the story again and again/
of how it all got started way back when/
The monument is right in your face/
Sit and listen for a while to the name of the place...
The Bridge, Queensbridge/"
- "The Bridge", MC Shan
This is the actual, factual, true story of how I became a journalist, how I met Tragedy Khadafi (the person who re-named me "MJ"), and herein lies a review of the first documentary film about his life. Read about it...QB is the largest housing projects in North America, with 96 buildings. Over 3,000 miles away, in Mar Vista Gardens, one of L.A.'s smallest projects, I got my first tattoo from a cholo with an electric toothbrush motor for his tat machine. Sitting in the basement headquarters of 4080 Hip Hop Magazine some years later, I took a call from Zenobia Simmons, then publicist for Penalty recordings. That call would soon send me to Attica, New York to the Wyoming Correctional Facility, to visit Kiam "Capone" Holley and interview him. A small part of our Q&A would be published in Trace Magazine alongside a N.O.R.E. feature. It was my first trip to New York, and I decided to stay awhile.
The first temp agency I looked up in the yellow pages got me a job at "a record label, I think they do rap," Gee Street Records. I ended up working for Jon Baker as his personal and executive assistant. One day, he sent me up to Spring Street to deliver some papers. I walked in the building, went up to the office, and saw Sincere, Screwdriver, Agent, and the rest of the 25 to Life crew. A few minutes later, Tragedy Khadafi walked in.
Upon being introduced to me, he immediately realized who I was. "You're that lady, the writer, the one who been going to see Ki." He showed me mad respect, and mad love. He gave me some money from the stack in his pocket to put on Capone's books the next time I saw him. Tragedy told me that I had to keep in touch with him, and that he wanted me to come to the 'hood so I could see where it all started. Queensbridge - where they say that there's something in the water, something to make a majority of the residents nice with theirs when it comes to hustlin, rhymin, or both.
After 9 visits upstate to see Capone, writing our interview out on napkins and scraps of paper with the tiny golf pencils provided for visitors & inmates' card games; I was done. But I still had my job at Gee Street, and business had brought me in touch with Tragedy more than a few times for it to be a "coincedence". So I called him one day and he invited me to QB. I rode the train up, and called him from the payphone in the station. He gave me directions of where to walk up, so I went, and waited. And waited. When he finally did come to meet me he brought 20 or so youth from Queensbridge with him, and he told them, "that's Miranda Jane, she's a journalist, you want to be like her when you grow up, stay in school and you can be a writer like her." At that point I didn't really consider myself a journalist, but I felt golden.
It was 1997, really 20 or so years after the height of Hip Hop in New York, and the jams in the park, or in the case of QB, the jams under the bridge. So we stood in that spot, Tragedy and I, and we built a foundation for business, education, and friendship that stands to this day. It's been almost ten years, but we always stay in touch somehow even though we're constantly moving around the country. As a matter of fact, I had to save this as a draft a few lines back 'cause out of nowhere, seemingly, Trag called to give me his report on what's goin on out there. Mind detect mind, King...mind detect mind.
So when I sat down to watch the screener copy of the feature film, TRAGEDY, THE STORY OF QUEENSBRIDGE; I watch with my eyes accustomed to the gray, foggy environment of QB in the winter. My vision's already been acclimated to the poverty of the Queensbridge Housing projects, with it's endless towers filled with struggling youth and adults who've, in many cases, given up on life. Tragedy's own story, for the most part already known to me, is a multi-faceted kaleidoscope of pain, suffering, poverty, struggle, revolution, uprising, and...tragedy. The film reveals much about his personal life, his personal pain, and all that he overcame to become one of our generation's greatest unsung heroes of Hip Hop. With cameos from Poet, Delorean, Corleone, Capone, Havoc, Killa Sha, Littles, Marley Marl, Synysta, and many other QB MCs, artists, and 'hood legends, the truth about Tragedy Khadafi and his illustrious career thus far is finally revealed; as well as the real deal on how he lyrically fathered QB's most famous MCs.
Fact. Tragedy's father was a street legend who died at the age of 18. He never saw his son in the physical form, and Tragedy never saw his father save in dreams or later when his mother showed him a picture. Fact. Tragedy's mother became a heroin addict, leaving Trag and his brothers and sisters to fend for themselves; and Trag would often steal groceries from the nearby Associated supermarket to feed them. Fact. He started writing rhymes on the stoops, benches and stairwells of Queensbridge housing before he even became a teenager. Fact. Between working with Marley Marl, Poet, and Popps Mobb; Tragedy recorded songs like "A Tragedy" in his early teens, and became the youngest member of The Juice Crew; even performing in that legendary park under the bridge. Fact. Queensbridge legends like Nas, Havoc of Mobb Deep, Capone of C-N-N, and so many more would never have reached their status without the example and mentorship of Tragedy Khadafi. Fact. Tragedy's career was (and still is) put on hold more than once, interrupted by a run-in with the law and an unfortunate incarceration. Fact. Tragedy Khadafi isn't a criminal, he's a revolutionary from the street, and a 'hood educator. Fact. Tragedy, The Story of Queensbridge, is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the story of Tragedy Khadafi, an Intelligent Hoodlum, and his birthplace, Queensbridge Housing.
This film is a documentary, with certain events reinacted by family and close friends of Trag. At the moment the film is screening at various film festivals as the filmmakers seek distribution on the national and international level. Visit www.tragedymovie.com for more information and for trailers of the film. प्लेस अदद ऑउर म्य्स्पस.कॉम पगेस म्य्स्पस.कॉम/tragedykhadafi म्य्स्पस.कॉम/auraradio andIf and when you're able to see the movie in its entirety, watch with an open mind ऎंड an open heart, as some of the facts of this film contradict the media myths about QB certain of QBs sons. True story.
- MJ , Love is Love
OLD BITCHES DIE HARD
“They built it by walking across our collective backs. When I was at the source, Women ran shit literally and figuratively. We led the editorial meetings, we held down the fort, we provided the research, development, fact-checking, writing, planning and scheduling it took to print the most popular rap magazine on the planet. But we also provided the ass.”
—Miranda Jane, former and present Source staffer
A few weeks ago I did posts both here and on my own site on the insidious new trend known as minstrel show rap. Young jigs in ghettos across America, no longer content with making black people look stupid through normal means, have taken to reviving actual songs and dances from the minstrel show era.
A buncha other bloggers did posts on the trend as well and eventually the story was picked up by one of the columnists for the New York Daily News.
They’ve brought in a team of columnists not unlike XXL’s (a pure coincidence, I’m sure), which is made up of a who’s who of aging, non-writing Bol haters. The lone story posted today is by Adisa Banjoko, who’s leading a one-man boycott of XXL over that Lupe Jihadist bullshit.
Another post, by a 40-year-old sasquatch of a so-called hip-hop feminist named Miranda Jane (the quote above is from another blog of hers), is filled with bitter subliminal shots at yours truly. Then she goes on to rip off my minstrel show rap story right there in the same post. Shamelessness, thy name is woman!
And the magazine’s editor-in-chief has posted two entries so far, both of which make reference to XXL’s own Pravda Splinter. In one post, “Fahiym” is inspired to ask PS out on a date after watching Magic Johnson give a speech at some Hip-Hop Summit Action Network conference, but in the next one, he gets all mad because PS called the Source irrelevant on an episode of the Parker Report. Aww…Speaking of Blogging, I see XXL’s own kris ex has officially quit his blog here in order to spend more time smoking weed and looking at Internetsporn while he’s still young enough. It’ll be interesting to see who they bring in to replace him."
WELL COTDAMM BOL. IT'S FUNNY TO ME, 'CAUSE I'M ACTUALLY A FAN OF WWW.BYRONCRAWFORD.COM AND THE ONE KNOWN AS "BOL". I LIKE HIS TIMELINESS IN CALLING ME A "40 YEAR OLD SASQUATCH OF A SO-CALLED HIP HOP FEMINIST NAMED MIRANDAJANE"...ONLY YESTERDAY I HAD SOMEONE ASK ME IF I WAS 23, THEN MY FRIEND'S SUN GUESSED ME AT 24. NO ONE BELIEVES THE TRUTH, WHICH IS THAT THIS FRIDAY, APRIL 6, I WILL BE 33 2/3.
HERE'S TO STILL LOOKING LIKE A TEENAGER IN THE MID-THIRTIES, HAVING XXL.COM CALL ME ALL KINDA OLDBITCHES AND SASQUATCHES, AND HAVING THE SOURCE BITE THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF MY PIECE ABOUT MIXTAPE DJ'S VS. THE RIAA. DON'T FORGET TO CHECK THE O.G. SHIT FROM SOHH.COM AND RIGHT HERE ON PYRAMIDS II PROJECTS AFTER YOU'VE READ THEIR LITTLE SYNOPSIS.
sohh.com
'Pon De Replay: The RIAA Knocks The Mixtape Hustle, While Labels & Artists Turn Blind Eye
Monday - August 1, 2005 by Miranda Jane
In the early 1980s in Los Angeles, a young hustler named "Freeway" Rick Ross took some powder cocaine and cooked it up, creating a product known as "ready rock". Chances are the powder he used came from a contact based in Mexico or Central or South America. But Ross didn't have an airplane or a helicopter, and he wasn't the one bringing the coke into America, or assisting the locals in Peru and Nicaragua in getting the supplies needed to turn raw coca leaves into the illegal narcotic, cocaine. Many speculate that the manufacturer and distributor was in fact the U.S. government or one of its "shadow" subsidiaries. As Ross rose in wealth, fame and 'hood power', he acquired the accoutrements of the rich - cars, mansions, furs, jewelry, and beautiful women. High off his success, he hit the studio and released some recordings on L.A.'s underground scene under the name, "Freeway Rick". Rick was at the end of the line on the drug-money food chain, the head of the crew who'd be the last ones to touch a rock before it went into the hands, and pipe, of a consumer. So who was to blame, in the eyes of the media, in the "war on drugs"? Who took a loss, and was hit with a long stretch of time in the penitentiary, a casualty of this war? "Freeway" Rick Ross, the "retail distributor" of the crack game.
Fast forward to 2005, and there's a new dope game being played out in the streets, and in the corporate boardrooms at major record labels and distributors. While some are just pawns in a chess game, others are making decisions from inside the Recording Industry Association of America, the Internal Revenue Service, the U.S. Postal Inspector office, the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and at local and state police departments. On the flipside, mixtape DJs with decades in the game are dedicated to creating raw product - mixtapes - the CDs that function as Hip-Hop's primary source of promotion. This is Mixtape Incorporated, where Hip-Hop culture and corporate America are in bed together behind the scenes, and putting on a game face for the media and the public. Music is the uncut raw. Subject to copyright law, with the artist owning some rights and often "leasing" other rights to their record label and/or distributor, the fact remains that label representatives are giving unreleased tracks away to mixtape DJs like candy. The DJ is the businessman. He, or she, is using the original product - music - and cooking it up with a formula that includes blending, cutting, juggling, remixing; adding freestyles, drops, and exclusives from hot rappers and MCs. The final product is the mixtape, a smooth new blend of Hip-Hop, Rap, Breakbeats, Reggaeton, and R&B.
Different regions have varying criteria of what's dope in their neck of the woods. In New York, home of the mixtapes, DJs, and record labels; the bar is set high. Most of NY's top DJs have moved on from hustling mixtapes and their masters; securing major-label recording contracts, distribution for their own labels, producing DVDs, working in television, and moving their mixtape hustle to the world wide web on satellite radio networks such as XM Radio and Sirius or to online radio providers like AOL. Without a platform like NYC's HOT 97 or LA's KDAY to sustain them, southern Hip-Hop and rap fans use mixtapes as their radio stations. On the West Coast, mixtapes are a means to an end, a tool used for street promotions on an upcoming album, a hot new movie, or a specific brand of clothing or footwear - rather than as a product for sale on the streets.
Many consider Mixtapes illegal property. According to Diplomats capo Jim Jones, within the Dipset camp, "Mixtapes are like cigarettes [and] marijuana - cigarettes are the albums people put in stores, and mixtapes are the marijuana that you can't get in stores." The majority of actual mixtape DJs, true to the art form, would never release a CD compilation disguised as a mix, nor would they bootleg copyrighted material. They spend countless hours and dollars perfecting each release, ensuring their CDs are chock-full of exclusives, unreleased material, drops and freestyles from artists, remixed tracks, original beats, and unprecedented collaborations. Their CDs include original cover art, and some DJs even shrink-wrap their product before it is sold.
So what exactly is the problem, legally? According to Bradley Buckles, Executive Vice President of Anti-Piracy for the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), "State law requires that the true name and address of the person responsible for producing the CD appears on the label and the product. In all of the cases where you see local police involved, they simply did not comply with state law. With some of these products you almost have to listen to the entire CD to tell if it is remixed to the point of being original. You can't tell that by looking at the label. But the police look at the label and see no one is identified, or in some cases a false name and address is given, they might have the name and address of a legitimate label and we can take a look." Additionally, retailers are most likely receiving the attention of the RIAA because someone's called in a complaint against them, Buckles told SOHH.com.
There have been numerous raids conducted recently on retailers, and while none specifically targeted mixtapes per se, tens of thousands were confiscated as a result of these raids. One of the largest raids took place in Indianapolis, Indiana, at a store owned by Alan Berry. Contrary to the newspaper headlines that followed the raid, Berry was a reputable businessman with strong ties to the music industry.
"That's the thing that we are totally dumbfounded by, we were a Soundscan store. The record labels loved us. We'd get in-stores with artists like 8 Ball and MJG or David Banner. We'd get a box of Def Jam CDs to give away or scan through to get a higher place on Billboard. We bought so much and we'd been around for so long, we felt that what we were doing was what the Hip-Hop game wanted. We wouldn't fuck with counterfeits, bootlegs, none of that stuff. If I got wind of another store selling a counterfeit or a bootleg, I'd go talk to them about it. So we had no indication that what we were doing was wrong. We had police officers who would come in and buy mixtapes all the time, and I had one local police officer who offered to go to court for us if we went to trial," Berry told SOHH.com.
Mr. Buckles offered a possible explanation for Berry's raid. "We also get complaints filed by competing retailers, and we get complaints from consumers sometimes who buy a product and decide that it's a ripped CD and they feel cheated. Quite frankly, sometimes we will get complaints from record companies or from artists on piracy that they'd observed. In none of those cases does it make it automatically a priority. We have to assess those complaints and the context of all of the problems we've got going on and make decisions from there. Sometimes we engage in a lot of training for police departments as to what piracy is about, and what state laws are about. Sometimes we'll get a call from the police department and they'll ask for our technical advice. The implication of your question and what you've heard is perhaps there's some undue influence of some labels, targeting specific retailers, but that's not a major driving force on what we do on a regular basis."
Alan Berry bounced back after his shop was busted, opening a new location called Naptown Music. "We opened up almost a year ago, and we're selling mix CDs out in the open. I'm in defiance, like. 'Let's go to federal court." Now we have addresses on the back of our CDs, come on RIAA, come knock on my door. Let's get Eminem on the stand; let's get 50 Cent on the stand; let's get Interscope Records on the stand and see how it should be done. My point is that we've got this store open, tomorrow we could be raided and have federal charges put up against us, but in a way I'd be happy to do that. The state couldn't really do anything other than say we didn't have the addresses on the back of our CDs. That was the thing that burned me up, trust me I have mad respect for the artists and DJs, it just seems like [they should] stand up for people that are in the game with [them]. Why didn't anyone stand up and say this is wrong, drop these charges. We agree that the mixtape game works.
According to Berry, his store never sold bootlegs or burned copies of anyone's music or movies. "One of the biggest things that really killed us was in the local paper the headline was "brothers accused of bootlegs." That's the thing, the fact that the public, the RIAA, and the local police, they don't differentiate between a bootleg and a mixtape. There is a difference."
In other progressive activities, Berry has placed an op-ed in the New York Times and founded a new online venture to share mixtape-style music from peer to peer called LegitMix.com.
Responding to Berry's case Buckles said, "Well let me stand back and say I don't want to get into the facts of any particular case because it may be law enforcement information that I may not have access or may not be at liberty to share. Basically we have programs where we constantly survey the retail music market looking for people who are selling product that violates state or federal law in terms of copyright. This is something that goes on around the country, all the time, and we do it by generally surveying thousands of stores." So why doesn't the RIAA go directly to the DJs, instead of confiscating their mixes at retail? "I don't think you should assume we don't ever go after the source, sometimes you've got to start at the retail level. Everyone involved has to understand that certain activity is illegal. In cases like you've seen in NY and the Berry case, these are generally cases that don't have anything to do with federal copyright law - whether or not someone was authorized to use copyrighted material - it has to do with whether or not product was labeled in accordance with state law," he explained to SOHH.com.
DJ Jelly, one of the foremost mixtape kings of the south, describes how an anonymous call about bootleg clothing in the local flea market recently affected his business. "They just shut down one of my stores about two weeks ago. We have six retail spots, and one is in the flea market where I sell my DJ Jelly mix CDs. They arrested one of my partners. I mean, it's really a bigger problem for everybody involved in Hip-Hop - that we don't have control over what we do.
Atlanta's DJ Drama, also been affected by the recent raids; stressed that his products are original creations and should in no way be confused with illegal material. "I know some raids happened down here, I don't know which stores. I try to keep below the radar. I know most of the time they go more after the retailer than the actual DJ. One hand scrubs the other; the retailers are some of my best friends. The problem is that the RIAA don't really see the difference in bootlegs and mixtapes, and because they have that confusion the lines get crossed. If they go to the retailers that have bootlegs, that's one thing - mixtapes are another. It's ironic 'cause most of the mixtapes that I do, if it's not with the artists themselves, the labels are paying me to do it. For the RIAA to tell me I have to stop is bullshit. I mean, 75% of what I do is original material, and it can take anywhere from six months to one month to work on a tape.
In Miami, FL, Mr. Marc, owner of Mixtape.com and Mixtapes.com, was one of the first casualties in the war on mixtapes. "I started in 1993, I was pushing NY mixtapes to a lot of local stores in Florida. In 1998, I took it online and was the first mixtape site out there. I was able to buy 'Mixtape.com' and 'Mixtapes.com' because no one else owned them at the time. None of that brought any attention on me. I was carrying nothing but mixtapes, but there was a well-known rapper out there who put out his album himself through his manager, basically he'd left his label and started selling the album on the street. The manager approached me and asked me if I'd sell it on the site. I put it on the site, and got a cease and desist order from the record label saying that the label owned the masters. I sent the label the remainder of my CDs and I told them who I got it from, 'cause I thought they were selling legally. After that there was no other trouble, until a guy who claimed to own a store in a flea market started coming to my office once a week to buy wholesale. It turns out this guy was an undercover cop. The reason I bring up the rapper is when I was in court; they had a copy of the cease and desist letter. They probably saw the CD, went to my site, and then saw all the mixtapes; that's my assumption. I'm still shocked that all these big mixtape sites are up online.
The raids on Mr. Marc's business created a wave of fear that still permeates the Hip-Hop and music business in Miami; driving him to legalize the two websites. "What happened to me drove a big shock through Miami, there were just a lot of people scared. I do still listen to mixtapes, but only underground stuff. I never listened to the stuff I sold. Mixtape.com is now a clothing store. I sell a lot of independent clothing lines. I like to support them the same way I liked to support mixtapes. At least I know with fashion there's no way for me to get in trouble. I only knew the music industry. I used to do street team work and I just lost the taste for it after this happened to me. So, I started my own clothing line called Graff Gear."
PEACE TO ALL MY ARIES FAMILY - CHACE INFINITE, A-PLUS, B-BOY "OSH", SISTA ASIA, KILLA SHA, AND OF COURSE MYSELF, MIRANDAJANE. LOVE IS LOVE.
The Glitch in the Space-Time Continuum ... My Time Machine Needs a Tune-Up
I'll admit it. There's something wrong with me. I'm a mistake. A glitch in the matrix, I somehow slipped through the crack in the space-time continuum. You'd have to know my family to fully understand the meaning, but it's as if my Granny was my mom, I was her daughter, and my mom is my daughter. At least that's what was SUPPOSED to happen...
See instead of dropping in on this planet on April 6, 1974; I was supposed to drop in in 1944. That way, I could have dated in the 1950s. I never saw a prettier car than a '58 Cadillac. All I ever wanted was a promise, the truth, and a band of gold. And my true career goal is to become a housewife, balancing a baby on one hip, with a frying pan in one hand, and a toddler pulling on my apron strings.
The biggest red flag is the music. I love Hip Hop to death, always have, but for me it's always been Solid Gold, Killer Oldies, Slow Jams, and Doo-Wop. When I hear Gene Chandler singing "Duke of Earl", I don't say to myself, hey it's that Cypress Hill song (much as I love 'em). Nope, I just close my eyes, and imagine swaying to the music, my head resting on my guy's shoulder.
Even in the late 50s/early 60s, I would've been wearing Jimmy's ring like the girl in "Leader of the Pack". I would have had my run-ins with those "Mannish Boys". Naturally my man would be from the wrong side of the tracks, shit wouldn't be THAT different.
Dating, going steady, a promise ring, an engagement, a wedding...all of that reads like a fairy tale to me. I can count the women on one hand I know who've had things go that way. Sure there were a few babymamas back in the day, the result of messing with one of those ne'er do wells...but those babies ended up adopted by happy families, the mamas ended up in homes for wayward girls, and everyone turned out peachy keen!
True, I'd have missed the computer age, so no blog. But you know me, I would have kept the mother of all diaries.
My Surreal Life Goes On
Yet again I've travelled without a plan.
"She dropped everything, and ran."
A new night in a new place, I'm restless like late-night Xmas-eve. Laying in a strange twin bed, writing by the light of a lava lamp, surrounded by posters of pop princesses and a profusion of pink. Ensconsced with a menagerie of stuffed animals and all the precious playthings of a tween (nee child).
If I close my eyes tightly enough, can I drop off to sleep a nearly 33-year-old lady, and awaken as the wonder-woman-costume-wearing, someday-to-be-a-veterinarian (or-a-ballerina), feeding-my-meat-to-the-dog-under-the-table girlchild?
The room is cluttered, messy, but not dirty; as my rooms (and homes) often are as an adult. It's not that I'm immature, or lazy, or crazy - far from it. No, it's just that I had more than my fair share of cleaning, scrubbing, mucking-out, washing, laundering, and picking-up-after during my childhood to last me more than this lifetime.
So spare me your prejudgments, if you please. Leave me to my candyfloss, pony-filled, glittering stardust dreams.
(Baby), Your Time is Gonna Come
My face. Pretty on demand. Cute at sunrise, fresh and clean. Only for one moment in time was this visage ever too painfully beautiful to behold.
I saw the reflection of that hurt in your eyes.
Each and every time I was sweet, you chose to see a flaw. When I brought you dinner, you didn't care for the way the light hit me...not that I was ugly...just that my beauty was, in the eye of the beholder, secondary.
Days when you were sick half to death, and I nursed you back to health? You only appreciated my inner glow. The beauty from within.
Until one night, cold, crisp, clear and starry. I'd reached the point of no return, you see, Baby? And at that very moment, my heart turned colder than ice, and I erased the memory of you from my mind. Just then you gazed into my eyes; ashamed, so you quickly drew me into your embrace. Terrified, yet so drawn to me, when you saw the haughty, self-righteous, cold-hearted and utter beauty of my face.
PEP WILLIAMS I/V FROM WWW.ILLTEMA.COM
I've been working on this long, drawn-out, in-depth research study that will either end up as a magazine, a book or a series of articles. It started out being about Black skaters, then ethnic skaters in general as I discovered D.L. Castillo and Chico Breaves and Javie Nunez and P-Rod and Apache Skateboards, etc., etc. Then there's this thing we're working on about O.G. VENICE...a/k/a DogTown.
One name kept coming up again and again, PEP WILLIAMS. Here's a really interesting Q&A from him...I didn't conduct this interview, it's from the online mag ILLTEMA.com. Check it out...>December 18th, 2006 
I was born in 1971 in Los Angeles. While growing up my mother was a teacher (Mrs.Espinoza) in L.A and she still teaches today. It’s funny because she use to teach at Venice High and some of the kids I sponsor were her students. I came up with my sisters and my mom. I lived with my grandmother for awhile too. I grew up in Huntington Park, Watts, and Venice. It was rough at times but it made me who I am.
<>
I saw my first skateboard in 1975 when I was 4. The way that happened was that my sister wanted one so badly, my parents actually got her one. My sister’s board was the GT Coyote 2. It was so fast. I still remember the big red wheels it had. It was about 2 feet long. Me and my sister Coti would fly up and down the driveway. I’m actually trying to find one now to cruise around on.
We always fought over that GT Coyote 2. I remember when she would go to school in Kindergarten, I’d be home so I could skate it. My sister is a year older so I wasn’t in school yet. My mom bought us roller skates thinking one of us could roller-skate and the other skateboard .Well I skated the left skate and my sister skated the right. They were so fast. Something just felt natural to me about skating with one foot.
I skated for years without meeting another skater. I didn’t really look up to anyone because I didn’t know anyone who even skated. Back then it was looked at as a habit you break out of and move on or grow out of it. I never did. Of course I had a bike growing up but I always had a skateboard also. I didn’t even meet another skater until I was 11. It’s crazy because I just skated for the love of it and nothing else. I felt as comfortable skating as I did walking. It was just a natural feeling.
I skated for six years straight without seeing another skater. In 1978 we moved to my grandmother’s house. They put my bike and our skates in the garage. I was bummed I couldn’t ride my skateboard or bike. It just so happened that my cousin had an old skateboard at his house. I think it was a Madrid. It was the first time I saw a wide skateboard with really big wheels. I was blown away. I skated that thing everyday. I actually learned how to jump off curbs on it. It’s crazy because that was in 1978. I would do it on my knees too. My neighbors didn’t really mind it because it was just me flying on the sidewalks and driveways.
I met John Conti when I was 10 in 1981. I never knew that older people skated. I was shocked. John was 5 years older then me. People would look at him and wonder why he was still on a skateboard at 15, but he skated anyway. It was crazy that people thought that way, but that’s how it was. I didn’t care, I still did it. We would skate a few hours together and then he would leave. I would skate about 7-plus hours a day. Even in the rain I had a spot at a school. I would wrap my board up in shirts and run to the 99th street school and skate the benches in the covered cafeteria area.
I was already street skating for about 6 years (street skating meaning tic-tacs and going on and off curbs) but he would always talk about pools. There were no pools near us so I just skated in the street. John still skates pools to this day, and he’s still good.
When I reached 13 years old my whole life changed. I made a fake bus pass and would ride all over L.A. One day I wound up in Santa Monica and decided to skate the bike-path. I skated through Venice and it was heaven. I met other skaters but they weren’t your average looking skater with the surfer look. They were more like a gang. My being from Watts at the time made it all love. We were all lil’ gang members back then.
We use to make fake bus passes at school. Back then it was stamps on a bus card and you just buy the stamp monthly. I would make mine out of construction paper, put it in a plastic case, and just cruise the city. I actually had Kareem’s (Campbell) pass for a long time after he got a car.
Kareem Campell is my lil’ bro. I first met Kareem around ‘87-88, about 18 years ago. We use to skate together everyday and ride the 33 bus down Venice Boulevard at night to get home. Sometimes the bus rides were the best. You didn’t know if you were going to get in a fight or anything but as long as me, Kareem, and my bro Herdon were rolling together it was going to be fun. I was just talking to Kareem a few days ago. He’s an amazing person. He came from nothing to running an empire, but he still owes me $2 from when we were little.
Malcolm Watson is another one of my lil’ bros. I watched him grow up on the beach. I think I first met Malcolm in ‘88. He was just a lil’ kid, then. It’s crazy because I use to tower over him and now he’s taller then me and I’m 6’1. I’m actually having lunch with Malcolm tomorrow. Stevie Williams is a cool guy. He came around later on. I’ve hung with him at a few clubs and events.
Whether I was alone or not I would always roll to the Valley or Beach. I would catch the bus to Thousand Oaks to go skate. It would sometimes take close to 5 hours, but it didn’t matter. T.O. had killer spots and there I made some cool friends who I skate with to this day. Mostly I would take the bus to the beach. I would skate the sand gaps, benches and curbs in Santa Monica. Actually they were the first gaps I skated in ‘86. I would skate with Natas there. Also that is where I really learned to railslide the famous Santa Monica curbs. Thanks to Dan Clements (lead singer of EXCEL). He taught me how to go as fast as I can and just hit it. Actually me, Dan, Jason “Wee Man” Acuna, Heavy Metal Chuck, and Herndon would skate there pretty much everyday when we were young. I’m thinking 1988.
My first Ollie I remember well. It was on the Corner of 97th and Clovis in 1985. I was riding one of my bros pro models so it felt even better. It was a Natas Kaupas deck with OJ wheels, and Independent trucks (of course). And I had my Vans sneakers on. I was so excited I called my Mom to come outside to watch. Back then I slept with my skateboard next to me. I did my first wall-ride in the Summer of 1986 at the 99th street school. I was actually skating there last month and still busting wall rides.
Back when I use to skate in school there wasn’t much to skate, just walls and benches. I would kill benches. I’d just go as fast as I could and do frontside and backside railslides and lipslides (disasters). I never got sweated by anyone because no one was skating like that in L.A. and the Valley, only in Venice. People had never seen it before outside of Venice and just wanted to see me do it again and again. This was in 1986.
I started going to Venice often after that and meeting more people. Summers I went everyday. My first skate mag was Thrasher Nov/Dec 86. For months I’d put skating pictures from the magazine all over my wall. Then one day I realized something. The people looked familiar and the spots as well. On the wall were all of my friends and I didn’t even know. From Christian Hosoi, Jesse Martinez, Eric Dressen, Tim Jackson, Jay Adams, Aaron Murray, and so on. It was a trip. I had no idea I was skating with the best guys in the world everyday. They were my bros and I didn’t know they were pro. It’s still funny to me how I didn’t know.
People ask me sometimes how I didn’t recognize my bros in the mags. Back then it was just about skating for me, nothing else. And the people in Venice were famous all over the world but that didn’t matter. They just wanted to skate. I think that’s why I got along with them so well because I just wanted to skate. I just thought they were cool pictures. So I put them on my wall. It’s funny because the photographer who took most of the photos from Venice in Thrasher is my bro Cesario “BLOCK” Montano. He actually shot me for my first cover for Thrasher Magazine’s May 91 issue.
The way I got that cover was because BLOCK shot it and because I was getting a lot of press coverage that year. Thanks to Tim Jackson, Aaron Murray, and a super big thanks to Eric Dressen. They kept me supplied with boards. My friend said something to me the other day that I didn’t even realize. Eric Dressen use to come to my house to drop off boxes of boards for me. At that time He was the #1 skater in the world. Imagine the top pro out now coming to your house dropping off boards for you? But I just saw it as my friend coming by.
Today, I’m still the same. I have many friends I hang with and some are very famous actors and rappers and I didn’t find out until someone told me or I was invited to a premier or something. If you are cool people I don’t care what you do. Let’s go skate or just hang.
For that same reason, I started claiming Dog Town around 1986. Not the company but the people from Venice. We were always down for each other and had each others back. I remember skaters being afraid to go to Venice because Dog Town was looked at as a gang. And if you got into it with one of us you had about 20 or more people to deal with and more on the way. From skaters, surfers, Crips, Cholos, and just homies. Dog Town isn’t just skaters, it’s everybody who was down for each other in Venice. But we all skated or surfed.
The Late 80’s were the best time. No one was really caring about getting sponsored. Then the 90’s hit. Skaters found out you could make a ton of cash. Special thanks to my bro Steve Rocco for flipping the skate industry on its head. At that time it was still hard to make a living only skating. I’d sell my boards on the beach to make money. Summer was cool because I toured a lot, but being 18 and having to pay rent was tough. But as long as I had my board who cared?
I don’t think it was one trick that changed the game in my opinion. What changed the game was the videos getting out to more kids. Then kids started making their own videos and that’s when it was over because skaters started becoming stars over night. Before, it took Thrasher or Transworld to make you popular. You did that by winning a contest or getting a lot of coverage in a magazine. In other words, you earned it. People call the skaters who get that over night fame, “video pros.” No disrespect but it is what it is. Many “video pros” make well into the six figures. I’m proud of them for coming up through skating. I’ve skated with just about all of them on tour or at the beach and not to knock them but thank god they had a good video editor. It’s all love, though.
I skated for Bronze Age. Tim Jackson hooked me up with the DogTown flow. I skated for Grind King too. Actually I was the tester for all of Donald’s products. I was the first to test and skate a Grind King truck. So if you skate Grind Kings, you’re welcome :)
Also Eric Dressen hooked me up with Santa Cruz stuff. I skated for Seek, Circle Skate, Pep Wheels(What I use to own), Slix Wheels and PepStar (My 2 companies).
I started PEP Wheels in 2002 with a partner. It went bad so I started SLIX Wheels which spawned PepStar Clothing. It’s going well and I’m building a really good skate team. I’m always looking for talent.
These days I’m just running my companies. I own Solo Distribution which sells blank skateboards all over the country and also Distributes PepStar, Suicidal Tendencies, Real Headz, and Break Water.
I was on the cover of the LA Times because they had heard of me and wanted an interview about me and my Blackberry. I conduct a lot of my business on my Blackberry. Most people I email or have a conference call with are in an office while I’m on my longboard, skating the bike-path in Venice and Santa Monica. And because of my Blackberry I can run my business and still skate the beach everyday.
Skateboarding today is more business-like. Meaning kids are skating to get sponsored. Not all, but many. It is rare I find people who skate just for the love of it. Also seeing kids skate because they heard it in a rap or a video I also think is cool. It’s cool that Pharrell and Lupe exposed many kids to skateboarding but we all know it’s a trend to most that will just pass. How can you skate with a $200 hoody and Bape sneakers and be
serious? It’s all good though.
The skaters I respect coming up you probably will never hear of most of them. They are just kids who could care less about what there wearing or if there is a photographer or videographer filming them. The skater I respect is a skater that just skates for the love of it, nothing else.
I’d like to shoutout my Mom and Family, Sev, RHD Crew,The whole DogTown Family,Tony Creed http://www.tonycreed.com, TLT Kicks, Suicidal Tendencies, Mike Muir, Aarec Baker,The Seventh Letter, Frame DTK and RIS Crew, Mara Milicevic, Rip City Skates, Miranda Jane Neidlinger, Sergio Arguello, Evan Cambell, Brenda Bourges, Tai Savet, Bod Boyle, Mike Hill, World Industries, Socrates Leal, Sal Barbier, Kareem Campell, and Illtema.com. Thanks for making 2006 real!
SUNSET BOULEVARD OF UNSOLD DREAMS
HOW'D WE GET FROM
TO
Sunset Blvd. 3-something aye-em. Walking fast, it’s cold, it’s raining, just trying to get back to the hotel room unscathed.
“Ay! Ay! Ay, bitch, you’re in violation for reckless eyeballing a pimp!”
My internal monologue said “Is this m’fucka for real? I have on Airwalk sneakers, khaki cargo pants, and a black t-shirt that says “Silence is Golden…Duct Tape is Silver” across the front. My eyes are done up, but there's no lipstick, blush, facepaint, none of that shit on my grillpiece. And I'm with bright blue hair, pinned up in a chignon with silver & rhinestone butterfly clips. Carrying a camo XXXL men’s coat from the Army Navy Surplus. And this fool thinks I’m some fukken whore.”
He kept talking, so I finally did look at him out of the corner of my eye. Very, very pretty man. Beautiful black sleek wavy hair in a ponytail…no perms for this guy. Nice lamb coat. So he looks like a smooth operator but spits like Mr. Gorilla Pimp-of-the-Year?
I can feel him coming up behind me, I can sense him over my shoulder. Too many oncoming cars for me to get to the other side of the street. Ah, fuck it.
“Check this out, homes, I’m not a whore. I don’t have to follow any of your “rules”,” I casually commented over my shoulder, direct yet not sharp in tone.
So I kept it moving, swinging my hips and diddy-bopping way more than I ever normally walk. Sassy! Those cars were finally clear and I made it across the street. Halfway into the intersection I tuned back into pimpn’s nonstop gutter monologue.
“Well Baby I see you hip to the game, you need to come see ‘bout some of this pimp’n over here, you’ve seen the rest come see the best…” Yada, yada, yada. I was finally out of earshot.
Little does he know, he can hardly handle any of this funkrock right here regardless. And if I ever were to become a whore, he’d be the second-to-last man in the world I’d choose.
But it’s nice to know the money’s out there for the making, taking and breaking if times ever get so rough that it’ll never happen, so don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Earthbody wise all the time on mines ninety-nine kinds of Civilized.
So XO to the next hoe,
Down and Gone
Miranda Jane, walking faster than your average pimp…>
AUTOBIOGRAPHICALLY SPEAKING...LIVE FROM LOST ANGELS, IT'S MIRANDA JANE
Logo for the film Shampoo (1975), in which I appear in a cameo performance with my beautiful mother as a newborn being breastfed in a bar scene as moms puffs on a joint (I'll have to ask if it was "prop trees" or b.y.o.b.). The scene is unfortunately cut when the film is aired on non-cable television due the breast being fed upon. My blood family was a mixed bunch of ancestors already by the time I entered the universe circa August 1973, made moreso upon my homebirth into the physical on April 6, 1974.
My first breath wasn't fetid hospital air recirculating disenfectant fumes like most - no nurse, no needle, neither City of Angels nor Cedars of Lebanon (Sinai) - rather the crystal pure nature air of Laurel Canyon - oak, pine, sumac, orange, eucalyptus, oxygen, and the most potent second-hand marijuana smoke known to man, woman or newborn child.
The closest person to a doctor there was an off-duty chiropractor, but none was necessaryfor the delivery of the most powerful medicine woman this family had ever known - until one dayI bring a daughter here, or if she's not in the divine plan; when I've trained one of my nieces - all of whom have the innate gift and certainly the wisdom.
I grew up surrounded on all sides by a perimeter of concrete jungle and ghetto heaven, but with the safe haven of the Holly Wood Hills all around me whenever I lay my head down to sleep. Instead of roaches and rats, it was scorpions, snakes, deer and coyotes.
My poverty was a paradise five days a week at home with my Mother, at least when comparedto the two torturous ones spend trapped in an opulent castle with an evil and dastardly villain - my Father - and his minion-slash-childbride, my wicked stepmonster.
No one ever got the story straight, but regardless my first memory is in the second house, the one on Lookout Mountain Avenue, in the bathrooom looking up as my father strikes my mother, she falls back toward me, and I fly back until the back of my head meets the cold porcelain of the bathtub.
While not the reason for his eventual departure and the obvious divorce proceedings, nor my mother's becoming so tired that she one day boiled a teakettle - lucky for him he awoke just as she was beginning to pour the scalding water into his ear canal...the memory stands alone.
Less than 18 years later, in that same bathroom in the morning dressing for school as my mother's new boyfriend beat her relentlessly in my brother's bedroom just five feet away, I again heard the sounds of a man's fist meeting my mother's face.
She knew that my gang friends would eventually remove the boyfriend by force, and if they didn't do it my play-brother would; so instead she chose. After trying to get through the locked door I'd left for school, only to be called into the office out of class once I got there to learn I'd suddenly become a homeless teenager whose only belongings in the world were now in trash bags in front of 8706 Lookout Mountain Aveue.
There are trillions of pieces to the puzzle of my life, and I'm a mere 32 years old. Since I never imagined I'd live to see 18, this is quite the accomplishment already. And I've only just begun to heat my many irons in the fire. These words are the only sword I'll draw, the only gun I'll load ammo into, cock, and let off. Nowadays.
Story of my life, how heaven must be missing an Angel. The only explanation I have, I learned from Teena Marie and Rick James - HERE I AM, YOU'RE PASSING HOLOCAUST...SCHOOLED IN VENICE, HARLEM, IT'S SO SWEET, THE SOUR SAUCE...I TOSS MY HEAD UP TO THE SILVER SKY, AND THEN I SIGH...LOOK AT ALL THE BLESSINGS IN MY LIFE.
MIRACLES NEED WINGS TO FLY.
(And that's not even Chapter I)
- Miranda Jane, fresh for '06 U sukkas.
FRIENDS ARE THE FAMILY U CHOOSE...>
I'm sitting on the couch in my best friend's living room in Minneapolis, MN. Her daughter TiTi is on the other side of the couch, feeding her baby brother S. Jr. for the first time in her life. My friend Rae is lounging on her chair to the other side of me, and Daddy, her HUSBAND is at work. There's a refrigerator full of food that I cooked, a freezer full of food I cooked, and more to come today - Roasted Chicken with Root Vegetables, and Lasagne with Turkey Sausage and homemade Garlic Bread. Also an Apple Pie will be baked today to go along with the massive Peach Cobbler already in the fridge and in the freezer.
When I first met Rae she was doing her first screening of her first big documentary film at her alma mater. I helped with the PR, not having seen the film or met Rae in person. When I first met TiTi she was still in diapers herself. Now she is so big and grown up, helping me in the kitchen with the homemade crust for the pies, asking me to wait until she gets home from her playdate before I start the Lasagne so she can help. She's doing an excellent job of feeding this beautiful little boy.
I notice there are fewer friends hanging around Rae's spot than last I was here. Now she's a married woman and she has a new infant. I hated to tell her what I know about that, but I said it anyway on the phone recently. A lot of females who say they are your friend or your "sister" or "sista" or that they have your back really are jealous of you and your accomplishments and your life, but they'll stick around through that. What they won't stick around through is a happy relationship, a beautiful union, a marriage, and a newborn Son. That's a little too much jealousy for most women to bear.
Ti's burping the baby. I'm more than impressed. He burped. He's impressive too, for a few-week old. She says it's good to be a big sister. I remember that feeling, and it was good.
Rae says it's strange to have a new little baby. But I can see from her face that she's happy, and that she's safe. She went through the hell, and now she has a real Love in her life, and things are right for her.
I talk a lot on here about my relations, and my relationships, and maybe more about men than I should. Shit most of my family has been in some kind of therapy, or on some kind of meds, or self-medicated with drugs, alchohol, or death of some kind. But I'm not the one. I'm a writer. I live, breathe, and observe. And what I'm seeing now is the truth. This is why we're here. Not just to procreate randomly/rapidly, definitely not to create more monkey business with babymamma/babydaddy drama...but to manifest the human family.
That's what's up.
Give thanks, everyday...
Nasira Miranda Jane
live from Minnesota
HEAVEN NO LONGER MISSING ONE ANGEL...ANDREA CECILIA BERNAL...QUEEN ACB
Peace. I've often questioned my path in this life, and wondered what led me to certain cities, to certain jobs, through certain struggles. In this case today an empty question has been fulfilled for me - did I go to Complex Magazine to edit stories about "bitches & dogs"? No. I went because my going led Rachel Raimist to go as well, and that led to she and Vee going to Chile to document Hip Hop in Vina Del Mar. When Rachel came home with the footage, there was an amazing B-Girl full of light and love and grace and inner beauty, who shared her journals laced with Tupac Amaru Shakur's lyrics and poetry, and with her own rhymes inside. She stood in front of a Chilean wall and blessed the Earth with her Graffiti. Her name is ACB...and she is Hip Hop. Through the message she sent me on that footage shot by Rachel and made possible by Vee, I learned that our culture is global, and that there are girls like me in every city, every ghetto, and every urban place people live. That even where people have NOTHING, through "inventos" they keep Hip Hop culture alive as they live and breathe. I was sad to hear of her illness after she was stricken with cancer. Today after a day full of high highs and low lows (and it's only 1:20 PM yet) I came to check my email and found this message, sent by DENZ KD. I send all the blessings in the universe to ACB's family and friends, and I send her my love in her new place. ACB...we never met, however I know you'll know me when I arrive. CHINO, send us some Montana up to the heavens when it's time, so we can bomb the skies. R.I.P. ANDREA CECILIA BERNALA message from VEE BRAVO:Hello everyone. It is with tremendous pain that I share with you the passing of our sister and friend, Andrea Cecilia Bernal, aka ACB.Andrea could no longer resist the pain and suffering of her cancer, which she bravely endured for nearly 15 months. On Sunday, November 19, 2006 at precisely 9:10 AM Andrea's spirit and soul left this earth in search of a better place, or as she often liked to say "el mundo feliz de ACB". Andrea was 25 years old.Andrea will be buried, November 20, 2006 in the Valparaiso region of Chile in a place called "el Parque del Mar".We invite her friends and family in New York to come pay tribute to our wonderful sister, share a story about her glorious life, and offer a prayer on her behalf.Date: Wednesday, November 22, 2006Time: 6-9 PMWhere: La Peña del BronxAddress: 11 Bruckner Blvd., 3rd Floor (corner of Lincoln Avenue and Bruckner Blvd.)Directions: From Manhattan and Queens: Take No. 6 Train to 3rd Avenue/138th Street Stop. Take last subway car, and exit at rear of the train station. You will be on Lincoln Avenue, walk towards the Major Deagan highway, walk underneath overpass, until you reach Bruckner Blvd.Peace,Vee Bravo
Where the Angels Fear to Tread (Heart of Darkness)
This is so much more than just me. It's so much more than just you. Greater than emotions. I only want to exhale, but you leave me so breathless; I can't inhale in the first place.
I felt your fear in the passion of your desire, the heat of our embrace, the depth of our kiss. My pain and your fear became as one, and the Angels hearkened.
Here on this Earth we live in a world of deception, as we've fallen greatly from grace. Image is everything, taste is nothing, desires are instantly gratified, and we spontaneously combust.
Must've got me too hot, and burned off my wings? I think not.
The culmination of my years on this planet, combined with your presence, manifested the wings with which I'm now permanently scarred. Sign your name across my heart, miracles need wings to fly...for those who chose to see my true Angelic ways and the unseen wings across my back, turn away, and deny.
Of all my paragraphs and parables, and all the parallels between us and among us; the words about you drift down from the heavens. I'm merely a conduit between the skies, the most high, my mind, my hands, the keyboard, the pen, the paper, the mic, the speaker.
All I have is this English to convey what God wanted me to say, but didn't give us the keys to unlock the mysteries. The Sanskrit, Hieroglyphics, Arabi, and the languages of the lost tribes float in and out of my consciousness; yet I struggle to retrieve them here and now.
But we're alone now, and I'm writing these words for you. You taught me precious secrets, a true love, withholding nothing. My time is limited...hard knocks too. When we've both loved so hard for the wrong reasons, and been so torn, shredded, dismembered, and nearly destroyed by love; how hard is it to fall hard, and truly take a leap of faith?
I've been known to do the impossible. And tell it like it is. I only ask one thing of you, and one thing only. Don't open the doors to heaven, if you won't let me in. Please don't touch me...if you don't love me...don't do it, sweetheart.
All those precious moments, when we found love on a two way street, the love we had stays on my mind; and I'm constantly elevated by the memories of your lips against mine. I'm refined by the heat of your touch, Black steel in the hour of chaos, the eloquence of my softness in your hands.
I implore you not to let me be lonely, let's not lose this on a lonely highway. I'm just that killer ride or die chick in the body of a girl from L.A., they used to call me Hawah but they blamed me for a snake being a snake, a man being a man, and the apple that fell far from the tree.
I cook, I clean, I rock, I write, I roll, I sew, I reap, and I sow.
Let a woman be a woman, and a man be a man. I don't care how you get here...just get here if you can. The greatest moments in this life are those which occur by divine right, the lesser ones are those we plot and plan.
Don't let my sunshine fade away. It's just like heaven, being here with you. I'll fly away, one of these days, and I hate to fly alone even in friendly skies.
But now, I have to give this up, this is no way for us to communicate. You can't really read this, or hear me when I speak.
There's only one way between us, the smoothest operation, for you to hold me in your arms, and stare into my eyes.
Mind detect mind. Magnetic connection, one Love, Allah's refection.
11/18/06 - FREE HABIT - VENICE SK8/PUNK/HIP-HOP ALL AGES EVENT...>
THANKS TO
FOR THE INFO...
1
MJ
Another Night in Dogtown...>
It’s morning, and I slept the night away. Alone for the umpteenth time. I wouldn’t note it or commentate about it, were it not for the few recent nights I spent, not alone, awake and restless in your bed. Your sleeping habits aren’t unattractive to me, just very abrubt. I learned more about you observing you sleep than I did during our conversations or watching you while you’re awake.
You snatched the covers away, as well as your embrace. The first time I traipsed across the freezing concrete floor to the couch to get another blanket for myself – which you also tried to snatch away. Granted you were sick and had a fever. I hated to wake you up because you looked like a perfect angel…so I didn’t. When you woke up I can imagine exactly what you did – noticed I wasn’t there, thought little of it, as you went to the formerly-empty fridge to heat up the Creole Pasta I made. And just like you said you would, I’m fairly certain you heated it up (if you even took the trouble to do that) then took the entire pot and a fork to your bed and grubbed.
You’re killer.
The second time, you were most likely exhausted. I couldn’t sleep for shit. Too bad I’m not one of those girls who goes on dates and fucks. Maybe I could’ve been worn out by you and caught a few winks. Maybe not. Fact is, that’s all supposition. I know that in one of my trips downstairs to the restroom, I gouged the inside of my knee on your bedframe corner and I had to stifle a scream. Had the worst bruise ever, of my entire life. So bad it’s still lingering in shades of red and yellow, faded from the darkest purple-black I’ve ever seen on my own skin.
When you woke up you sent me a message that you were missing me. Then another asking if I left candy on the counter. I knew, and I did. There were also leftovers in the fridge for you, once again. Call it brunch.
The other night I was shocked to get a text from you with a firm commitment. A date, if you will. 10 o’clock. It pulled at my heartstrings something terrible, gave me that tight feeling in my chest, the itchy palms. 10, 11, 12, 1. Better late than never. 2, I tried to rest. Couldn’t sleep. And you weren’t even there to snatch the covers. 3, got back up and made spaghetti from scratch. Kept messaging you so you’ll know that I’m not the one for you to say one thing then do another. Dude, don’t ever scorn me. 4:26 am…I told you that I can’t see you anymore. I’m not young, I can’t play games or wait around. I’m not a piece of bitch, or one of these snowbunny heiress broads you see taking drugs at the parties you frequent.
The next morning (yours), afternoon (mine) you responded. It’s cool. I had a great night for business.
Of course you did, and you always will. Since that message I’ve seen you more times than I ever saw you when I was hoping we’d end up together. I’ve fed you twice, both times in the car. And even though I explicitly asked you never to touch me again, you’ve insisted on hugs/embraces when you see me and when you leave me.
And although you’re the greatest man alive, in my eyes, and more attractive every time I see you…while your ancestry still stands, your accomplishments are awe-inspiring, your physical frame leaves me breathless, and I can’t stand to reminisce on the hours and hours and hours we spent kissing and in love…I feel nothing.
Don’t take it personal. Somebody already broke my heart. And if you don’t like the size…if you don’t like the fit…you can split…you can quit…you can exit. Anytime.
PRIVATE ENEMY (A REQUIEM IN MANY FORMS...PART II)
www.villagevoice.comThere were many ways I could have come across in this Village Voice cover story, which is one of the greatest truths never told previous to now. The truth shames the devil, and the truth shall set us free. The Most High shall restore all the days eaten away by the locust. The first shall be last, and the last shall be first. We believe these truths to be self evident, yet so many have worked against us to cloak them and to create an aura of mystery, masks, and miscontent. I exist only as Allah's Reflection; to shine back the energy given to us by the Suns of Light. We are one. To all of my Brothers, my Akhis, mis Hermanos y Carnales, and especially to my Sons...I thank U for your respect, protection, Love and Light. For you to speak my names on record, and issue the true word power to me - the Angel of Anaheim/Palestine...Mary Magdalena...Isis the Alchemist...Madame Moreaux...Allah's Reflection...MJ - was meant. It was for this purpose in this time to this planet I was sent. Ask yourselves always, whether you're reaching toward Enki or channeling Dogon, "WHAT WOULD CHIEF BLACK EAGLE DO?"
"Out on bail and awaiting trial for narcotics and weapons charges, Carey made a risky move in early 2000. Lacking a driver's license, he bought a fake one and used it to board a plane to Los Angeles.
There, he met Dumile. They came to negotiate with executives from Readyrock Records, who planned to release MF Doom's solo debut, Operation: Doomsday, and K.M.D.'s second and final album, Bl_ck B_st_rds. Carey contributed financially to and is credited as an executive producer on both albums.
Carey hadn't seen his friend in a while, as Dumile had moved to suburban Atlanta with his wife and their young son, Daniel Jr.—Carey's godson. After the meeting, the two men revived their bond and, stepping into a record studio, quickly recorded hours of songs, one of which Carey would use for Grimm's own The Downfall of Ibliys: A Ghetto Opera, which was dedicated to stepbrother–shooting victim Jansen Smalls. "I expected me and Doom to make good music and become legends," Carey remembers of the session.
Miranda Jane, a Los Angeles–based music consultant, came to the studio to interview the guys for Stress, a now defunct hip-hop publication subtitled "NY's Illest Magazine." She even brought along dinner for them: homemade jambalaya and smothered cabbage. "They had a really good synergy together," she recalls.
Jane, who later became Dumile's manager, was one of last people to see his face. Since Operation: Doomsday, MF Doom has taken to wearing a metal gladiator mask onstage, in press and album photos, and even in everyday life around people he doesn't know very well. "Hip-hop tends to be about who's the flyest, who has the biggest chain," Dumile explains. "So it's kind of like the mask is the opposite of that. It's like, it don't matter what he looks like, what race he is. All that matters is the vocals, the spit, the beats, the rhymes."
The mask has metaphorical implications as well, Jane says. Having been scarred by the music industry, Dumile was reinventing himself as someone who wouldn't be played for a fool. "Doom was concerned with making money right now and feeding his family by any means necessary," she says, adding that this differed from Carey's long-term goal of building a black-owned distribution company from the bottom up.
"I got a different agenda," Dumile agrees. "It's about getting money, and that's that. I got children to feed." As for Carey: He "ain't got no kids."
Shortly after the L.A. meeting, Dumile returned to Atlanta, and Carey to the penitentiary. During his three-year confinement, he was transferred to institutions all over New York State. "I've been moved and moved. . . . Most of them wasn't wheelchair accessible," he says.
"I remember visiting him up in Fishkill, New York, and the facilities were a little better," recalls Elinor Tatum, a friend. "But he told me about how, before, he'd basically had to crawl to the shower. In another case, medical staff didn't want to have to change his catheter, so they gave him a drug that kept him from having to urinate. He got very ill because of it, because he was not eliminating the way he should have been."
Yet Carey found ways to make the most of a miserable situation, working on his chess game, teaching himself to cook, and studying the music industry.
"I got my hands on Billboard, Forbes, Fortune—anything that dealt with marketing," he says. "And I learned the business models of people like Quincy Jones, Russell Simmons, Tommy Mottola, and Jimmy Iovine. I basically took my years in prison and I used it as college."
Dumile visited him only once during that stint. Adding insult to injury, upon Carey's 2003 release, Dumile told him that the album deals with Readyrock had fallen through. He'd struck new deals to release Operation: Doomsday and Bl_ck B_st_rds, but they would pay the two men only a fraction of what was guaranteed by the original agreements.
"Dumile promised that he was going to do something to make it right, to get some thing to me," Carey says. "But he never did."
Answers Dumile, "It's funny how motherfuckers want to complain about how 'The Villain jerked me, and this and that.' I'm like, 'Get a lawyer!' "
SOME PICTURES ARE WORTH MILLIONS OF WORD.
WWW.MYSPACE.COM/RASKASS. 'NUFF SAID.
OUTRO,
NASIRA MIRANDA JANE
LAS ANGELES...>
ASK AN ANGEL!
LASANGELITAS@GMAIL.COM
VILLAGE VOICE FULL LENGTH...
Private Enemy
Two New York rappers dreamed of stardom.
MF Doom got it. MF Grimm didn't. (NB...GRIMM'S GOT IT NOW!)
by Ben Westhoff
(NB's by Miranda Jane)
November 7th, 2006 1:32
Sometimes you need to cut niggas off like a light switch. MF Doom, 'Deep Fried Frenz'
I don't deep-fry friends/Grimm Reaper nuke 'em/Hearts don't mend/Brothers turned to enemies, nigga/Enemies I eat them raw, nigga/MF Grimm is god of war. MF Grimm, 'Book of Daniel'
Percy Carey is a strong man. The 36-year-old South Bronx rapper, known professionally as MF Grimm, has broad shoulders and chiseled arms, the result of a daily routine including sit-ups and push-ups; he also regularly wheels himself six to eight miles in his wheelchair. Once an NFL-caliber outside linebacker and middleweight boxer, Carey was shot and nearly killed by rival drug dealers in 1994. He eventually recovered his vision and speaking ability, but he may never walk again. "I wronged a lot of people, but it's balanced out," he says. "And that's why I can live with myself in this chair."
Although Carey was once poised for mainstream success, his years as a drug-dealing thug led to a lengthy imprisonment, stunting his rap career while friend and onetime recording partner MF Doom was blowing up as a simultaneously whimsical and menacing underground supervillain. Now Carey feels that Doom has forsaken him, and he's fighting back with a dis track, a triple album, and a multifaceted company hawking everything from horror movies to energy drinks.
For a man who calls himself Grimm, Carey is optimistic, but he knows things could've been different. He grew up in a loving middle-class family on the Upper West Side. "I had decent parents that would always try to do for me," he recalls. "From a young age, I was taught right from wrong, how to be a man, to be a hard worker." Morgan Freeman, the family's next-door neighbor, quickly put Carey to work; the actor thought a three-year-old Percy—who then had an Afro and a potbelly—would look great on Sesame Street's stoop. Freeman put Carey's mother in touch with the show's producers, and for the next four years Percy regularly held court with Oscar the Grouch, Mr. Snuffleupagus, and the gang. "One episode, I lost my tooth, and me and Big Bird had to go through Sesame Street and try to find it," Carey remembers.
As a teenager, he spent countless hours at his friend Jorge Alvarez's 97th Street apartment. The guys played video games, smoked weed, and honed their rapping skills. Eventually, a young man from Freeport, New York, named Daniel Dumile joined their rhyme circle, well on the path to becoming MF Doom.
"Doom was more conscious at that time," Carey remembers. "He stood for something big. He was for black culture. I rhymed about beating people up, about shooting at people, trying to make money."
Guns and drugs were quickly becoming his reality. As a Park West High School student, Carey rarely went to class, preferring to shoot dice in the hallways, get high in the bathrooms, and chase girls everywhere. He was expelled for assaulting a school dean: "We beat him up in the snow. He was on drugs, and he owed us money for dope. So we kicked his ass."
In the following decade, Carey built a mini–drug empire and a reputation for shooting enemies without remorse. "He was a fucking murderer. What do you want me to say?" longtime friend Sebastian Rosset recalls. "I have other friends that are a little less organized with that shit. He was a little more organized."
Nonetheless, rap remained a passion, and Carey spent increasing amounts of time making music with Dumile. Influenced equally by the styles of KRS-One and Dr. Dre (both of whom he eventually collaborated with), Carey tells straight-ahead gangland narratives in his raps, peppered with political—and at times New Agey— messages. With Dumile, he formed a clique, Monsta Island Czars (M.I.C. for short), named after the mythical home of Godzilla. For stage names, Grimm and Doom shared the "MF" prefix, which Carey says stands for "Mad Flows" or "Mother Fucking." After Dumile began wearing a mask, it took on another meaning: "Metal Face."
During the late '80s, Dumile founded the group K.M.D. with his brother Subroc and had a minor hit with "The Gas Face," a collaboration with affiliated group Third Bass. K.M.D.'s playful, politically conscious debut, Mr. Hood, came out on Elektra Records in 1991, but tragedy befell the group two years later when Subroc was struck by a car and killed. Shortly thereafter, Elektra dropped K.M.D. and refused to release their second album, Bl_ck B_st_rds, which featured an African American cartoon figure hanging from a noose.
Alone and depressed, Dumile disappeared from the music scene for five years, turning to Carey for support. "Things was on the downslope," Dumile admits, on the phone from his Atlanta studio. Carey is "like a brother," he says. "We've been through so much hard times. When we were both struggling, we had each other to lean off of."
Things got worse. On a snowy January day in 1994, shortly after getting his hair cut in Harlem, Carey stepped into his stepbrother Jansen Smalls's car en route to a meeting with an Atlantic Records representative, who was courting Carey for a record deal. But just as Smalls turned the ignition, bullets riddled the car, puncturing Carey's left arm, gut, neck, and lungs. Smalls was killed instantly.
"It was a blizzard, and snow was all over the windows, so I couldn't see much," Carey recalls. "There were several different people shooting, and the whole car was annihilated. I don't know who shot me. I was dealing, and when you get to a certain plateau, everyone knows you, though you might not know who they are. They think that doing something to you will benefit them, whether it's for a rep or financially."
At Harlem Hospital Center, doctors ripped open his rib cage to remove bullets, and for months afterward he couldn't see, hear, or talk properly. Spinal cord damage confined him to a wheelchair, and larynx damage affects his speech to this day. But his afflictions didn't stop him from dealing dope. Five years later he was pinched on narcotics and illegal-firearms charges and imprisoned for three years. Upon his release in 2003, Carey pledged to reform his ways and had reason to believe things were looking up.
During Carey's incarceration, Dumile found success as a solo artist, assuming aliases from Viktor Vaughn to King Geedorah and collaborating with increasingly famous artists. (His next album, slated for release in early 2007, will be a collaboration with Wu-Tang Clan's Ghostface Killah.) Known for his dense flow and intelligent wordplay, Doom's become a hero or villain to hip-hop heads worldwide. His 1999 debut album, Operation: Doomsday, was a big seller by indie standards, and Carey, who, before his incarceration, helped finance the album and supplied samples in his role as executive producer, expected fat royalty checks. More importantly, he and Dumile could resume making groundbreaking music together, now with an audience to receive it.
But it wasn't to be. Dumile had left his friend in his dust. He says they grew apart, but Carey feels betrayed. "I consider him a brother to me, and it shouldn't have gotten to the point where it's at," he says, adding that his visionary former friend has changed.
"Sometimes the line of genius and acting crazy is so thin, you might fall over the line and need someone to bring you back." Carey's modest apartment in a gentrifying South Bronx neighborhood overlooks basketball courts, a concert pavilion, and rows of tidy houses. From the pale brick building's open windows, mothers yell in Spanglish for their kids to come home for supper. Inside, his abode is a shrine to hip-hop and comics. Action figures still in their plastic cases line the walls à la The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Most belong to Carey's roommate, rapper Robert Warfield, who became a member of M.I.C. in 2003, around the time Dumile dropped out. Warfield, a lanky Puerto Rican, plasters Transformers stickers on his recording equipment and assists Carey when he needs it, both with his record label and in pushing him up steep hills or lifting him up out of his chair when he needs to zip up his pants. Though Carey navigates the world with the relative ease of a man who's spent one-third of his life in a chair, there are still a few spots beyond his reach.
"There's nothing cool about being shot," Carey says. "It hurts. It changed not just my life, but also the ones around me. People have to help take care of me. I can't do shit on my own sometimes."
On this drizzly late-September day, Carey sits atop a towel in his black wheelchair. He rolls himself out into the hallway at the request of a photographer named Dumas, who has come all the way from Brussels, Belgium, to take his picture for an Internet site called 90bpm. ("Le 1er magazine de la culture Hip-Hop en France depuis 2000.")
Carey has dark skin, a thin goatee, and a muscular upper body that looks like it could still absorb punches. From beneath a backward-tilted ball cap, his deep-brown eyes stare menacingly back at the camera. He doesn't smile. But immediately after the shutter snaps, the veneer fades. "You got enough light?" he asks.
Though even now his lyrics don't always reflect it, Carey has renounced his violent past, and he's exceedingly polite. He calls men "sir" and women "ma'am." His deep voice contrasts with his still childlike personality—he prefers candy to beer and remains a comic-book fanatic.
It was his interest in superheroes like Superman and Green Lantern, in fact, that helped convince DC Comics to publish his life story as a graphic novel. Next fall will see the worldwide debut of Sentences: The Life of MF Grimm. Written by Carey and illustrated by Brooklyn artist Ronald Wimberly, the book will be released on DC's Vertigo imprint, known for titles like V for Vendetta and the Sandman series.
"There's a lot in common with comics and music, in particular the underground aspect of it," says Vertigo executive editor Karen Berger. "Certain songwriters, certain hip-hop artists, they're storytellers. That's the beauty of it. Percy has so easily moved from writing songs to writing a graphic novel. He's a great storyteller, and he's now found another medium to tell his stories."
Carey and Berger are also in talks to develop a comic series called Candy Land, set in an urban ghetto controlled by gangs of sugar-filled personalities. "There's a crew called the Donuts, led by Choco, a chocolate donut," Carey explains. "Chewy P. Newton, he's the political one, and tells kids they shouldn't be out there using bleached flour and refined sugar."
Comics aside, Carey's days are dominated with running the company he founded in 1999, before he went to prison, Day by Day Entertainment. Its musical arm has become a major independent hip-hop player in recent years, securing worldwide distribution and selling nearly 100,000 units by Carey's count. That figure includes 10,000 or so of an MF Grimm–MF Doom collaboration called Special Herbs and Spices, Volume One, released in 2004 though produced years earlier.
Originally conceived as a vanity rap label (NB...I DON'T THINK PERCY AND I WERE VAIN AT ALL IN IT'S CONCEPTUALIZATION!) Carey's release from prison three years ago Day by Day has taken on more than two dozen artists (Rob Swift, Hasan Salaam, Mudville) and now features a successful rock 'n' roll division (Serengeti, the Shadow). Carey is also in discussion with Verve to collaborate on a pair of jazz albums. Day by Day's film division is set to release a low-budget, straight-to-DVD Australian horror movie called When Evil Reigns. Finally, there's an energy drink called MF Potion in the works, not to mention a makeup line featuring lip gloss, blush, fragrances, and soap.
"There's not a lot of products for women of color, from my understanding," Carey says. "It has to do with the pigments. A woman my complexion, normally, whatever type of makeup they use has elements of pink in it. But they need something that's based in yellow."
Expect Day by Day cosmetics at a store near you this summer.
His varied projects aside, Carey's focus for now is his own new triple CD American Hunger. After spending much of the '90s working on other people's projects (he wrote songs for Kool G Rap's classic album 4, 5, 6 and, he says, Dr. Dre's The Chronic, though he's uncredited for his work on the latter), it's his fourth solo album, following The Downfall of Ibliys: A Ghetto Opera, Digital Tears, and Scars & Memories.
Released in July, Hunger is among the most ambitious projects in rap history, featuring 60 tracks, including collaborations with hip-hop royalty like Large Professor and PMD of EPMD. At its heart a pop album, it sashays between themes of love and loss, redemption and revenge, flirting with the political but finally settling on the personal. "Trapped in the belly of the beast/Trying to get regurgitated because I am the feast," Carey raps on the first of the album's three title tracks.
Making a three-hours-long album is, of course, insane, but Carey somehow makes it work, partially through his compelling story and partially by stacking the deck with top-notch underground beat-makers like St. Louis's DJ Crucial, who plans to release his own album featuring the 12 songs he produced. "I was told it could not be done, but I like to do things people say can't be done; gives you a reason to still be on the planet," Carey says. "They can say the other 59 of them suck, but if somebody likes one song, I'm happy." (American Hunger is available at daybydayent.com for $13.50.)
A recent, largely praiseworthy Spin print review called Carey "the rapper who's taken almost as many bullets as 50 Cent." Wrong. "He was shot nine times, and I was shot 10 times," Carey grumbles, referring to both the crippling 1994 assault and a 1986 party in which he was shot in the stomach, knee, and wrist.
The Spin review also notes the album's Molotov cocktail of a final song, "Book of Daniel," which threatens Dumile by his first name and his stage name from his K.M.D. days: Zev Love X. "Zev Love X used to be merry/The mask took control of you like Jim Carrey," Carey raps over a blistering acid-rock sample, adding: "When the bullets start flying, who's gonna hide you?"
"You ain't a man/You a character," puts in crewmate MF Mez, adding, "M.I.C. gave you life/And we can take that shit away."
"Book of Daniel" is a response to a track on Doom's biggest success story to date: The Mouse and the Mask, his 2005 collaboration with superstar producer Danger Mouse, he of the Beatles/Jay-Z mash-up The Grey Album and this year's buzz phenom Gnarls Barkley. A goofy, literally cartoonish venture featuring the voices of the Cartoon Network's Adult Swim stable (itself a favorite of Doom's largely white, frequently stoned fan base), Mask was a critical and commercial smash. The Washington Post called it "the craziest, coolest CD of the year," and it reached 41 on Billboard's album chart.
On the Mask track in question, "El Chupa Nibre," Dumile obliquely references his past: "Once joined a rap clique, Midgets into Crunk/He did a solo on the oboe, could have sold a million/Then the Villain went for dolo and cited creative differences."
Carey sees the "Midgets into Crunk" line as a dis of M.I.C. "I view 'Midgets' as saying he's big-time and we're small. And he probably thinks crunk is like a fad, so that's just his way of saying we're out of here."
"I never looked at it like that—if I want to dis niggas, I'll say it straight up," Dumile responds. "But, if the shoe fit . . . you know what I'm saying? People can take it how they want to take it. If somebody feels offended by it, that's on they own self."
Whether or not Dumile intended to hurt him, Carey reacted viscerally and immediately crafted a response. "He just gets in [the studio] and starts ripping this verse, and I'm just like, 'Oh my gosh!' " recalls producer DJ Crucial. "I'm looking around at everyone, 'cause Doom is like everyone's favorite right now."
"Book of Daniel" has listeners around the country duking it out on Internet message boards. Some see Carey's rage as justified, while others find the song a pathetic attempt to cash in on Dumile's celebrity. "Maybe Grimm looked at his sagging sales and said, 'Damn, I need to start a beef with someone,' " reads a comment to a blog posting about the song written by someone calling himself "i'm the skwidawd."
Carey insists "Book of Daniel" is not a publicity grab. "I do mean what I say. If I'm going to kill somebody, I'm gonna kill them. Am I looking to go hunt him down and kill him? Nah. But can it get to the point where someone could get hurt? Yeah. It's about respect. People get beat up for less."
So-called "dis tracks" are commonplace in rap music, of course. But "Book of Daniel" is different. When Carey isn't threatening Dumile, he's appealing for reconciliation. "Come home, Zev," he pleads near the song's end. "I can't act like I don't have no love for him," Carey says now. "I care about him so much that it caused the conflict that we have today. The more I speak about him, the more it becomes to the world like I'm bitter toward his success. He was bound to be successful, but the plan was for him to direct that success toward the others. If our plan is to get up over a wall, and I push you up and help you get over the wall and you don't throw a rope for me, then it's going to be an issue."
Dumile hasn't heard the song, but says he has no time for Carey's issues.
"It's funny, how, once it gets to where the name is getting recognized, everybody want to act like they got a problem with the Villain," he says. "I ain't got no friends. As soon as you think somebody's your friend, that's when you gotta watch out. When you're successful, there's always somebody that's cornering you, somebody that used to be your friend, talking about, 'He did this, he did that.' I open up my home to people, help people, and then motherfuckers turn around and try to stab me in the back." (NB...HMMM...SPEAKING OF OPENING UP YOUR HOME TO PEOPLE AND HELPING THEM THEN THEM TURNING AROUND AND STABBING YOU IN THE BACK, DANIEL DUMILE THOMPSON...ISN'T THAT EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO ME IN BROOKLYN?!)
Out on bail and awaiting trial for narcotics and weapons charges, Carey made a risky move in early 2000. Lacking a driver's license, he bought a fake one and used it to board a plane to Los Angeles.
There, he met Dumile. They came to negotiate with executives from Readyrock Records, who planned to release MF Doom's solo debut, Operation: Doomsday, and K.M.D.'s second and final album, Bl_ck B_st_rds. Carey contributed financially to and is credited as an executive producer on both albums.
Carey hadn't seen his friend in a while, as Dumile had moved to suburban Atlanta with his wife and their young son, Daniel Jr.—Carey's godson. After the meeting, the two men revived their bond and, stepping into a record studio, quickly recorded hours of songs, one of which Carey would use for Grimm's own The Downfall of Ibliys: A Ghetto Opera, which was dedicated to stepbrother–shooting victim Jansen Smalls. "I expected me and Doom to make good music and become legends," Carey remembers of the session.
Miranda Jane, a Los Angeles–based music consultant, came to the studio to interview the guys for Stress, a now defunct hip-hop publication subtitled "NY's Illest Magazine." She even brought along dinner for them: homemade jambalaya and smothered cabbage. "They had a really good synergy together," she recalls.
Jane, who later became Dumile's manager, was one of last people to see his face. Since Operation: Doomsday, MF Doom has taken to wearing a metal gladiator mask onstage, in press and album photos, and even in everyday life around people he doesn't know very well. "Hip-hop tends to be about who's the flyest, who has the biggest chain," Dumile explains. "So it's kind of like the mask is the opposite of that. It's like, it don't matter what he looks like, what race he is. All that matters is the vocals, the spit, the beats, the rhymes."
The mask has metaphorical implications as well, Jane says. Having been scarred by the music industry, Dumile was reinventing himself as someone who wouldn't be played for a fool. "Doom was concerned with making money right now and feeding his family by any means necessary," she says, adding that this differed from Carey's long-term goal of building a black-owned distribution company from the bottom up.
"I got a different agenda," Dumile agrees. "It's about getting money, and that's that. I got children to feed." As for Carey: He "ain't got no kids." (NB...YOU'RE RIGHT, DOOM, HE DOESN'T. NOR DO I. I HOPE THAT IN YOUR HEART AND SOUL YOU REALIZE THAT OUR FAMILIES ARE JUST AS IMPORTANT AS YOURS. THAT'S WHY YOU FEEL GUILTY WHEN YOU LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND ANOTHER REASON YOU HAVE TROUBLE SLEEPING AT NIGHT.)
Shortly after the L.A. meeting, Dumile returned to Atlanta, and Carey to the penitentiary. During his three-year confinement, he was transferred to institutions all over New York State. "I've been moved and moved. . . . Most of them wasn't wheelchair accessible," he says.
"I remember visiting him up in Fishkill, New York, and the facilities were a little better," recalls Elinor Tatum, a friend. "But he told me about how, before, he'd basically had to crawl to the shower. In another case, medical staff didn't want to have to change his catheter, so they gave him a drug that kept him from having to urinate. He got very ill because of it, because he was not eliminating the way he should have been."
Yet Carey found ways to make the most of a miserable situation, working on his chess game, teaching himself to cook, and studying the music industry.
"I got my hands on Billboard, Forbes, Fortune—anything that dealt with marketing," he says. "And I learned the business models of people like Quincy Jones, Russell Simmons, Tommy Mottola, and Jimmy Iovine. I basically took my years in prison and I used it as college."
Dumile visited him only once during that stint. Adding insult to injury, upon Carey's 2003 release, Dumile told him that the album deals with Readyrock had fallen through. He'd struck new deals to release Operation: Doomsday and Bl_ck B_st_rds, but they would pay the two men only a fraction of what was guaranteed by the original agreements.
"Dumile promised that he was going to do something to make it right, to get some thing to me," Carey says. "But he never did."
Answers Dumile, "It's funny how motherfuckers want to complain about how 'The Villain jerked me, and this and that.' I'm like, 'Get a lawyer!' " (NB...DOOM, ARE U, LIKE, "GET A LAWYER"?! REALLY. WHAT KIND, ENTERTAINMENT OR IMMIGRATION? CIVIL OR CRIMINAL? SPEAKING OF LAWYERS, ARE ALL OF YOUR LAWYERS IN TOUCH WITH SADE'S PEOPLE? ANITA BAKER'S? ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE YOU'VE SAMPLED? THIS COULD REALLY BECOME A TOUCHY ISSUE, THAT'S THE THING ABOUT LAWYERS, THEY BEGET OTHER LAWYERS...IT BECOMES QUITE THE QUAGMIRE.)
Nonetheless, Carey was willing to let bygones be bygones, and he thought Dumile felt the same way when he invited Carey to perform at an MF Doom concert at Times Square club B.B. King's last year.
"I wasn't going to do any more shows," Carey says. "It's a very uncomfortable feeling sitting down and having to rhyme. It's like boxing—you don't want to be a boxer in a wheelchair. You want to stand up and fight."
But the chance to be with Dumile was more than he could pass up, and in a video of the concert DVD Carey has, he looks as happy as a kid at his first baseball game. "All the people on the sides know MF Doom is hot, MF Doom is hot, MF Grimm is hot," Carey raps from his chair at the beginning of the show, wearing a heavy sweatshirt and winter cap. "This is my brother, I love him," he adds as the lights are cut and Dumile bounds onto the stage, clad in a Patrick Ewing Knicks jersey and, of course, his silver mask. He continuously shouts out Carey throughout the set, using his other stage names, Jet Jaguar and Grandmaster Grimm.
"It felt good being onstage with him," Carey recalls. "It was good to see him rock. And after that, I thought we would be back to normal. It's apparent that he didn't think so." Carey heard "El Chupa Nibre" shortly thereafter and became convinced that Dumile had fundamentally changed since their days as teenagers on 97th Street. "I think he's caught up in an image he can't escape from. He has to be a villain."
Dumile doesn't entirely disagree. "The whole Villain thing is really like looking at how other people see him," he says. "The oppressors usually look at the people they're oppressing as the villains. But the oppressed are the heroes to the people, so I just accept it now. I'll be the villain. I'll be the hero to the hip-hop world." (NB...SO WHAT YOU'RE SAYING IS THAT YOU'RE THE OPRESSOR. I'M GLAD YOU ARE AWARE THAT YOU'RE OPPRESSING THE PEOPLE WHO'VE WORKED TO HELP FURTHER YOUR CAREER, ESPECIALLY THE ONES WHO'VE HELPED YOU WITH YOUR RHYMES OVER THE YEARS AND WHO'VE DONE FLAVOR VOCAL APPEARANCES ON YOUR PROJECTS OR BEEN 9/10THS OF THE GROUPS YOU'VE PUT OUT UNDER YOUR AUSPICES.)
Carey's apartment is full of cardboard boxes, some packed with promotional T-shirts and copies of American Hunger. Others are troves of old mementos. After digging around for a few minutes, Carey produces old copies of Right On! magazine, a locally based hip-hop fanzine aimed at young girls in which he once authored a column called Grimm Reaper's Harvest. Also in the boxes are photos from Carey's Sesame Street days and a picture of him standing with DJ Roc Raida in the early '90s, before Carey was paralyzed.
Eventually, Carey packs up the boxes and puts them away, along with the Doom concert DVD. The sun has gone down in the South Bronx, and the interview is almost over. But before that happens, he'd like to show off a new trick he's been working on.
"I'm learning how to stand up," he says, moving from his wheelchair to a leather recliner and motioning for Warfield to hand him his aluminum walker. He grasps the walker's soft handles and, trembling, pulls himself up. After a few seconds of struggle he extends, fully vertical, his muscular arms supporting his underdeveloped legs.
"I fully expect to walk again, but it's difficult for me to put a timetable on it," Carey says, after sitting back down. "It's not my body anymore. My body's back. It's just, there's a lot of things I've got to overcome in my mind."
(NB...IT'S NOT ABOUT MIRANDA JANE, IT'S CERTAINLY NOT ABOUT DOOM. IT'S JUST ABOUT PERCY "GRIMM" CAREY...THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND. WE'RE DONE WITH DOOM, UNLESS SCOTCH COMES BACK AND WANTS THE MASK BACK. THE FIRST SHALL BE LAST, AND THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST. NEXT UP...TRUNKS. CHECK OUT A TRUE MC & LYRICIST ON THE
HIP HOP GAME AUDIO SECTION - THE TRACK IS CALLED "DANCES WITH WOLVES" F/TEK & STEELE OF SMIF'N'WESSUN AND KARDINAL OFFISHAL FROM THE FORTHCOMING LP, "BRASS KNUCKLE BULLIES", A&R DIRECTION BY MIRANDA JANE...2007 WE ROCK ON. 11)
SHE GET IT FROM HER MAMA (CAN'T HIDE IT IN PAJAMAS)...>
UNITY...THE ROLL CALL
NEXT UP...L.A....DECEMBER 7...IT'S GOING DOWN...
THANK U ALL FOR UNITY, IT WAS REFRESHING AND UPLIFTING AND EDUTAINING...AND THE STAGE WAS LIT THE FUCK UP.
AG I MISSED U PERSONALLY BUT U ARE ONE OF THE ILLEST OF ALL TIME & U KILLED IT WITH THE WHITEBOYZ/COKE LINE...SO TIMELY, SO APROPOS
KRONDON, SAME DEAL, ONE OF THE BEST MC'S EVER BORN AND RAISED IN L.A. SINCE BANCROFT DAYS BUT NOW THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS IT.
SLICKDADDY YOU ARE SAN DIEGO'S FIRST EVER BLACK ROCKSTAR AND YOU ARE BIGGER THAN ANY STAGE YOU'LL EVER STAND ON. LEAVE 'EM BASS-CHASIN, YOU'RE AMAZING.
SS/SS...SELF SCIENTIFIC'S #1 FAN TIL THE DAY I DIE, AND PROBABLY IN THE HERAFTER. SICK SYMPHONIES TO THE HEART. "BLACK AND BROWN COME FROM THE SAME SEED" AS ALWAYS CHACE TRUE INDEED.
DJ KHALIL U ARE THE MOST PURE CONDUIT OF MUSICAL ENERGY EVER PLACED ON THIS EARTH BY ALLAH.
RAS U ARE UNFUCKWITABLE LYRICALLY OFF THE DOME OR WRITTENS AND I THANK YOU FOR CHUNKING'EM WHEN WORDS WERE NOT ENOUGH.
ALCHEMIST WE'VE RARELY CROSSED PATHS BUT WE'RE TWO OF THE ONLY WHO ARE DOWN BY LAW IN L.A. AND Q.B. 25 II LIFE FAMILY, SOUL ASSASSINS, HOWEVER WHATEVER, WHENEVER, WHEREVER.
MARK LUV, L.A.'S ZULU KING, ALL RESPECT DUE.
MR. CHOC & TRULY OdD...I REALIZE HOW HARD U WORK JUGGLING THIS REAL HIP HOP WITH THE RADIO SIDE OF THE GAME AND NEVER DROPPING A BALL OR DROPPING THE NEEDLE IN THE WRONG GROOVE. C.A. ... ALLL DAAAAAY!!!
BIG MUGGS U FUKKEN ROCK, HOMES. THANK U FOR MAKING IT HAPPEN FOR L.A. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. AS ALWAYS THE ILLEST ON THE WHEELS OF STEEL, HANDS DOWN.
TOLO, JOEY, HI DEF FAMILIA...THANK U FOR ALWAYS HAVING THE JUICE FOR ME WHETHER I CHOOSE TO TAKE A SIP OR BUY MY OWN GLASS.
CHACE JOHNSON, THANK U FOR EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE FOR ALL OF US AND FOR ALL OF THE OPPORTUNITIES.
CHACE INFINITE = ONE OF THE GREATEST MCS OF ALL TIME.
BIGGA B, U WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN. U KEPT US OFF THE STREETS THAT ONE NIGHT WHEN WE WERE AT YOUR SHOW INSTEAD OF DODGING BULLETS, AND U SAVED OUR LIVES.
PEACE,
MIRANDA JANE
LAS ANGELES
P.S. BIG UP TO MY TRUE L.A. FAMILIA THAT WAS IN THAT BITCH LAST NIGHT
B-FINN
SISTA ASIA
PSYKO "CHOCOFLAN" VELAZQUEZ
DEDAN SKILLZ - S.O.L.A.R. PANEL
THE WHOLE BARBERSHOP/LIKWIT CLICK
KAM
MY NEW-SCHOOL YET TRUE-SCHOOL CARNALAS LINDA/ESTRELLA AND VANE
ALL THE CHOLOS (REFORMED AND OTHERWISE), BLOODS, CRIPS, PUNKROCKERS, SICKSIDE SOLDIERS, SUI'S, AND OTHER ASSORTED O.G.'S AND STREET-CREDENTIALED ATTENDEES WHO MADE A CONSCIOUS DECISION TO KEEP IT PEACE...KEEP IT LOVE...KEEP IT SAFE...KEEP IT UNITY.
AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, THE SPIRITS I FELT AROUND ME AT ALL TIMES...FROM MY BLOOD TO MY LOVES TO MY THUGS TO MY BRUHS. EVERYONE WAS IN THE HOUSE, FROM MC TROUBLE TO OL'DIRTY BASTARD/A-SUN UNIQUE. WHEN ONE DOOR CLOSES, AND ANOTHER OPENS...TAKE HEED TO WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE.
GOD BLESS YOUR LIVES
U.N.I.T.Y.
THIS IS ME...I WAS HERE...FUCK YOU (a/k/a my INFAMY DVD REVIEW)
Total Kaos (TKO) representing L.A. for INFAMY...A Graffiti Film (Image Entertainment/QD3 Collection)
The illmatic metalwork of SABER AWR
My feelings were mixed when the DVD came across in the mail this morning. Just the list of featured artists
TOOMER
SABER
"JASE"
ENEM
EARSNOT
CLAW
gave me pause, deep breaths, huge ups and downs.
I'm thankful that anyone is distributing any graffiti documentary in these days and times, believe me. I'm pleased that director Doug Pray mixed things up a bit in terms of representing NY, LA, and other smaller cities. It's fortunate that any female artist ended up in this flick.
The film is heavy with footage, interviews, and of course art - trains, walls, empty L.A. "riverbeds", freeway signs, etc. - courtesy of TOOMER TKO (Total Kaos) of Los Angeles, CA. He is the star. He sets off the film with an anecdote relating the Native Americans' feelings on "Mount Rushmore" directly to today's feeling of the average american citizen on Graffiti. That someone came in and took a mountain that did not belong to them, carved it in the images of the head thieves in charge, and who the fuck want what?
TOOMER is a brilliant, intelligent, gifted product of the L.A. streets. He explains the genesis of his crew, TKO, "we're not a gang, we're not a boy scout troop...we're a bunch of vandals who hang out...". He describes the life of a graf artist in the streets of Los Angeles as being stuck in the middle - "gangs don't like you, cops don't like you" and gives countless examples of racial profiling and of he and his crew members being painted as the cholos and gang members they worked so hard not to be. He casually mentions his felony convictions for Graf, explaining that he has been arrested, done his time, come out, and done it again...it's his mission in life. TOOMER suggests that gangs tag walls to mark their territory, but that Graffiti artists and writers do it to say, "THIS IS ME...I WAS HERE...FUCK OFF".
Kicking it on the porch with his homeboy B-Real of Cypress Hill, TOOMER looks as on B-Real breaks it down. "The streets...are the galleries. You can see the art for free. But you might pay for being in the wrong place."
Another Cali legend, SABER AWR/MSK, is represented beautifully in the film. His mother explains that SABER is her son, but also an urban legend of sorts. That he is raceless - some people think her son is Mexican, some think he is Black, some think he is a "short white kid" (he's actually tall). He goes on to explain the myth further - that the rumours of his demise have been greatly exagerrated. (NB - one of the only pieces of art I ever considered purchasing from a gallery was a SABER piece crafted entirely from metal in his savage letter style which many find indecipherable. I am a fan of SABER.)
He further describes the precipice of his Graffiti persona (and his life in general) - that he'd just chosen his name, SABER, based on the combination of the letters; when suddenly a car ran down a woman who was standing close by and her head split open. He turned around to see his homeboy being jumped on the other side of him by some bangers. Hence the uber-wildstyle of SABER's letters - now I understand.
With respect to the rest of the individuals in the film, this is a review, and I will offer my opinion. I mean no disrespect to any of the other artists profiled. EARSNOT IRAK is the physical embodiment of the alife/l.e.s./hipster-graf scene and I applaud him for it. I've never heard of "JASE" but my brother-from-another-mother, JASE TWC/KIL, is one of L.A. OG graffiti artists and while Philly is not L.A., the respect for the originators must stand. Kind of like the homie CHINO BYI telling me there are some fake BYI-wannas running around Los Angeles these days... All due respect to CLAW, she's getting money, and she's also repping hard for the L.E.S. boho/fashionista scene. However I would have wanted to see MUCK or BLUE or TOOFLY or LADY PINK featured in her place.
And I will take this moment to flip the words of the mighty LORD SCOTCH 79TH a/k/a KEO TOP to dismiss "Joe Connelly, the Graffiti Guerilla"..."HE DIDN'T GO OVER US, WE WENT UNDER HIM". He can cover works of art with buff until his arms fall off, but the creative energies of the artists he disrespects and attempts to remove are alive in spirit. And when his life expires and he breathes his last breath, he'll see the other side in another place where real Graffiti Guerrillas run shit and there are a lot of back-to-the-essence B-Boys and B-Girls waiting to return the favor.
p.s.
In the midst of writing this on my lunch hour, the ether sent me the answer as to why TOOMER TKO and SABER AWR had so much screen time. Edwin Licona of Image Entertainment took this project on as his first venture as a Producer, in conjunction with his own company, Above Ground Rule Films. He explains a little of how it came together with Director Doug Pray. "It was a combination of a lot of things, and I partnered up with another group called Paladin a music label we distribute. It started about two years ago, that litttle documentary that you see took two years to set up. We just identified some of the graf writers that we wanted to feature, it was a combination of a lot of people being in the right place at the right time. As far as the soundtrack, at that moment in time i was able to get a pre-superstardom Kanye West song and we got KRS 1, Talib Kweli and MF Doom, we got a lot of good stuff."
DAMN
KIM GETS 8 MIL LESS. MTV News reports that a Manhattan judge ruled Tuesday that former Source magazine editor Kim Osorio is entitled to $7.5-million in damages for her wrongful-dismissal verdict against the hip-hop monthly mag and former owners Dave Mays and Raymond "Benzino" Scott, not the $15.5-million first announced by Osorio's lawyers. The Associated Press reports that Judge Jed Rakoff ruled that the three defendants owe $4-million collectively, not $4-million each. Osorio was awarded an additional $3.5-million from Benzino for her defamation claim and another $500-thousand in lost pay.
This is retarded. I was hoping Kim was going to send all these fools to the cleaners. However, as Dave Mays himself once told me "I don't pay no settlements and judgments and shit, I've got those shits stacked up on my desk!"
MJ INTERVIEW ON HIP HOP GAME!
I HAVE TO GIVE PROPS TO BRIAN "730" KAYSER FOR THE QUALITY FEATURE-LENGTH INTERVIEW HE CONDUCTED ON YOURS TRULY FOR ONE OF MY FAVORITE SITES, HIP HOP GAME.CHECK THE INTERVIEW RIGHT HERE...FRESH TO DEATH!
Leave the Guns (and the Crack, and the Knives) Alone!
After working another 11-hour day, then commuting home on L.A.'s fascinating public transportation system, the last thing I want to do is get back online only to read about Snoop getting busted, Havoc and Alchemist being arrested, another rapper I've never heard of being shot, etc., etc., etc. While these are certainly headlines in the "rap rag" onlines that dominate what passes for Hip Hop journalism on the "internets" I KNOW that something positive happened today in the world of Hip Hop and the urban music biz. Someone signed a big deal, or started a new venture, or made money with one they've been at for a while. Furthermore, someone on the underground/indie/grassroots/alternative/Hip-Hop scene did something worthwhile today, something newsworthy, something beneficial, affecting social change or edutainment or politrix or our "worth" within the music business.
The problem is, no one's writing about that. It's all sensational. It's cool to be shot! It up's your street cred to get arrested packing heat in your car! And we all know that more street cred = bigger record sales. Or if we're not talking about that it's something about hoes or alleged-homosexuality/homothugism. Talking shit about Superhead and Nas' babymoms Carmen openly and trying to diss Kim O. subliminally. Or how about the rumour that Jay-Z is breaking up with Beyonce 'cause one of the verses on his new album talks about the trials and tribulations of their relationship? Better yet, the photo circling the internets of Lil Wayne and Baby (p/k/a The Birdman) "kissing" each other...where any asshole can see that they have their hands clasped in greeting and are leaning in to give the man-dap-almost-hug, but the camera angle hits it like their faces are going to meet.
Get the fuck out of here with all that shit. I appreciate sites like Bossip.com or GossippingBitches, 'cause they're keeping it ugly about the fact that it's a lot of pomp, hype, innuendo, double-entendre, gossip and Rap & Bullshit. When I'm on AllHipHop.com, or Sohh.com, or TheSource.com (which is surprisingly/amazingly/incredibly dope right now in terms of design and MUCH of the content! Go, J.Mill! Go, Fahiym! Go, Big Ced!!); I don't want to read about this type of shit. It's defeatist and does nothing to promote positivity. It's actually warmongering, dry-snitching, and promoting the agenda of the cops and the government; who'd love to see every rapper shot - dead - or at the very least shipped off to do a nice long bid in the nearest maximum security penal facility.
Or haven't you heard, that's where the new-millenium slavery is taking place; where men and women who look just like you are forced to live in subhuman conditions while manufacturing products that you use every day for mere pennies a day, which goes into a "restitution" account anyway and not to their families on the outside or toward their food, toiletries, and other basic needs.
Oh but wait, you just want to party, and bullshit, and party, and bullshit. Well, Hip Hop started out with parties, when Herc DJ'd his sister's going-back-to-school party in the BX; or when Bam started posseing up with mad heads to unite in Peace and have fun, Zulu/Gestapo style. So does that mean that Hip Hop is going to end on some bullshit? We're close people. We're almost fucken there.
I know many of the most brilliant, lyrically adept, cerebral, thinking, clever, talented, gifted, compelling, linguistic MCs in America. And very few of them are doing more than eking out an existence with this Hip Hop shit. And it's not 'cause they're "backpack rappers" (I made that term up in the early 90s anyway, ask Bilal Allah or Allen Scott Gordon if you hate/doubt), or 'cause they're "underground". It's 'cause Jibbs has a record deal. Cause his chain hangs low, and it wobbles to and fro. It's 'cause DJ Webstar and some nameless homegirl of his have a song about m'fukken Chicken Noodle Soup...with a soda on the side. This is not Hip Hop. This shit put the "rap" in crap. This is the new R&B...I call it Rap and Bullshit.
TO ALL LABEL HEADS, HIGH-LEVEL MUSIC EXECS, AND MOST PARTICULARLY ALL ARTIST & REPERTOIRE (A&R...DOOOHHH...THAT'S WHAT IT STANDS FOR!) MEN. I AM ISSUING YOU A CLEAR AND PRESENT WARNING. IF YOU SIGN ONE MORE OF THESE IGNANT BASTARDS, OR PUT OUT ONE MORE SONG THAT IS ASININE AND WITHOUT A SINGLE IOTA OF RELEVANCY; OR IF YOU PUT OUT ONE MORE "FIRST LADY OF "X"" AND DRESS HER LIKE A STREETWALKER AND BUY HER GHOSTWRITTEN RAPS AND CALL HER THE 2007 MC LYTE...
I WILL SUICIDE-BOMB YOUR OFFICE.
AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME COMING.
Please
End
Aggravating
Crappy
"Entertainment".
Miranda Jane
The Terrorist Journalist
2007? 9!
NINA SIMONE - REMIXED & REIMAGINED
As the child of a Jazz player, I grew up with haunting voices swirling around my head. There's the famous story of my Pops playing in the band behind Billie Holiday at the Grammy Awards back in the day, when she turned around to wave at him and say "Hello, Buell". And with the exception of Billie, and Ella, perhaps no other woman's voice is as moving as that of the illustrious Nina Simone. Legacy is presenting a brand-new Nina Simone album...well, sort of. Some of her classic songs have been remixed by a variety of DJs/Producers from Coldcut (remixers of Eric B. & Rakim's Paid in Full) to Jazeem to DJ Logic; in a variety of styles and tempos. And while Jazz purists (Hello, Buell, if you're reading) may take umbrage at this remix concept, anyone of the Hip Hop generation who isn't already a fan of Miz Simone should definitely take a listen. And to those purists, who are undoubtedly on some Be-Bop shit as much as I'm on some Hip-Hop shit - remember this. Our movement is the rebirth of yours, we're your children in Soul if not by blood; and the spirit of Jazz - free, modern or otherwise - is alive in this Hip Hop generation of which I'm so blessed and proud to have been born into. This unparalleled voice of hers lives on, haunting as ever. Reimagine that."So while you imitatin' Al Capone / I be Nina Simone and defecating on your microphone" — Lauryn Hill Click here to download "Turn Me On" - alternative versions not available on the CD!
http://www.sendspace.com/file/9jcg0z - Vocal Mix
http://www.sendspace.com/file/k0f329 - Main Mix
MYSPACE PAGE:
http://www.myspace.com/ninasimoneTRACKLIST:
1. I Can’t See Nobody (Daniel Y. Remix)
2. Funkier Than A Mosquito’s Tweeter (Jazzeem’s All Styles Remix)
3. Ain’t Got No - I Got Life (Groovefinder Remix)
4. Save Me (Coldcut Remix)
5. Turn Me On (Tony Humphries Got U Turned On Dub)
6. Here Comes The Sun (François K. Remix)
7. Westwind (Organica Remix)
8. Go To Hell (Mowo Remix)
9. My Man’s Gone Now (DJ Wally Remix)
10. The Look Of Love (Madison Park vs. Lenny B Remix)
11. O-o-h Child (Nickodemus Remix)
12. To Love Somebody (Chris Coco’s Stadium Rocker Remix)
13. Obeah Woman (DJ Logic Remix)
THINGS TO DO IN DENVER WHEN YOU'RE DEAD...
MJ on WWW.THEINDUSTRYCOSIGN.COM
1,000,000 THANKS TO BIG CED WHO HIT ME UP ABOUT THE "WISE WORDS" COLUMN AND TO EBONY UNDERWOOD AND BILAL ALLAH FOR THEIR CONTINUED "COSIGN" AS WELL...>
Wise Words: Miranda Jane
Written by BIG CED - THE INDUSTRY COSIGN!Monday, 16 October 2006
Miranda Jane
Urban Music Consultant
Las Angeles Consulting
Santa Monica, CA
"Not everyone can be an O.G., however everyone should strive to be a G - a Gentleman/Gentlewoman, a Gladiator, a General, and a Gracious human being."
"Don't simply CALL yourself a writer - a writer writes."
"Be respectful toward everyone, until they cross you, but never expect to receive recprocity in this. Respect yourself, and those who deserve your respect."
"Don't call it a comeback, I've been here for years! I've got tattoos older than some of these kids."
"All money ain't good money."
"I love my job, and your company is wonderful, and I hate to leave - but when my paycheck bounces - SO DO I."
"There's a huge difference between the music business and music. Music is a creative form of expression to be spread freely throughout the atmosphere for all to enjoy. The music business is simply the art of war."
"Those who can't do, also can't teach. If you can't do it, how can you show me how to do it. I'll show YOU how to do it!"
"Be more like Wendy Day, everyday. Take it one day at a time, but help someone on every single one of those days that you're able. If you never helped anyone, who would help you if you were down."
"Video killed the radio star."
"The top tier media are there for two reasons – to gain control of your mind/attention and to thusly be able to guide you toward purchasing products and spending money. And I don't just mean magazines - media includes radio, television, entertainment conglomerates AND the liquor companies that own them."
"Walk like a general. Don't be a soldier of fortune."
On being a woman in the music business...
"There's a fine line between a journalist, being a fan, and being a groupie - male or female."
" I challenge the women who are taking their clothes off for the camera to tell the directors, producers, and stylists on these videos to say “NO” in a loud, clear voice. If more of the video model contingent were willing to fight for style and class, rather than lay down and take what is given to them, I think a change could be made."
"Our stories, must be told in order to counter-balance the negative imagery of women that’s forced on the world. If we do not raise our own individual voices, we will not be recognized and we will continue to be marginalized and stereotyped."
"I’ve noticed that men will mistreat/victimize women who are willing to remain silent in the face of their abuse, or with women who enable these behaviors. In the workplace each individual woman has to decide for herself how much she is willing to endure, and she has to make a conscious decision to confront someone who crosses her line of endurance. Of course there are certain individuals who continue to extend their disrespect, and we have every right to choose not to work with someone after we've realized that they are a lost cause."
"Finally, when you’re faced with a situation where you have to fight or flee, and you don’t feel up to either choice; take your anger out through creative means. And in the workplace, if things are getting too hectic to maintain, update your resume, go on interviews, develop a firm handshake, and always go where they offer you more money."
Miranda Jane was born into the music business and the art form, daughter of renown Jazz bassist and producer, Buell Neidlinger and Jazz drummer, Deborah Fuss. She's worked in the Hip Hop field since the age of 13, and she is now 32 years old. She has A&R'd projects for MF DOOM/Madlib "Mad Villain" and Bay Area upstart TRUNKS. Former editor of STRESS - NY's Illest Magazine, Complex Magazine, and The Source. Her freelance writing has been featured in the L.A. Weekly, RIME Magazine, Elemental Magazine, Mass Appeal, TRACE, and many other publications. Also a co-founder of the first-ever all-elements celebration of women in Hip Hop - B-Girl Be, along with Rachel Raimist and Intermedia Arts in Minneapolis, MN. Miranda has consulted to many artists in the industry with regard to marketing, promotions, radio, television, press/publicity, and A&R - Thirstin Howl III, Tragedy Khadafi, Saafir and Hobo Junction, C-Rayz Walz, Joker the Bailbondsman, Self Scientific PMD, Hit Squad, Hieroglyphics, and many others. She's the former general manager of Angeles Records, an L.A.-based label owned by DJ Muggs of Cypress Hill, seasoned music executive and MC Aaron "Chace Infinite" Johnson, and DJ Khalil (Self Scientific/Aftermath). She currently works at The Gary Group in Santa Monica, CA in the Media/Television advertising department. In her "spare" time she blogs at
http://pyramids2projects.blogspot.com
LAS SCANDALOUS '06 STYLE
IT STARTED OFF AS A NORMAL, EVERYDAY WEEKEND IN L.A. TAKA-BOO SWOOPED BY THE CRIB TO PICK ME UP, SHE HAD THE GIRLS, THEY WANTED TO SEE THE BUTTERFLIES AT THE NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM. BET.
SO WE HIT THE CORNER AND MADE OUR WAY SOUTHEAST. THE CLOSER WE GOT TO THE MUSEUM, THE MORE BURGUNDY AND GOLD WE STARTED TO SEE. NO, IT WASN'T A BUNCH OF WAYWARD BLOODS ROCKING KOREAN-SWAP-MEET CHAINS AND MEDALLIONS...IT WAS THE OTHER RED & GOLD MEAT. THE UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH CENTRAL. TROJANS, THAT IS. SO 'CAUSE OF THE COT-DAMN FOOTBALL LUNACY, NOT ONLY WERE THE GIRLS CRYING 'CAUSE THEY WEREN'T GOING TO GET TO SEE THE DAMN BUTTERFLIES; ME AND TAKA-BOO STARTED SEEING THESE OUT-FUCKING-RAGEOUS SIGNS FOR PARKING. $40 PARKING. $65 PARKING. THEN, THE MOST STUPID SHIT I'VE SEEN IN A LONG TIME, $80 PARKING. SEE, WE EVEN TOOK A PICTURE.
OH BUT WAIT, IT AIN'T OVER, YOU M'FUCKAS. ON OUR WAY BACK MORE NORTH AND WEST TO THE OTHER MUSEUM, THE LACMA SHIT, WE HIT THE GAS STATION ON CRENSHAW AND VENICE. THE OFF-BRAND ONE WITH THE CHEAP-ASS GAS. I WENT IN TO PAY, AND I NOTICED A SIGN TAPED ABOVE THE BULLET-PROOF-GLASS ENCRUSTED LICKASTOWE CASH REGISTER. THE SIGN HAD TWO SURVEILANCE PHOTOS AND IT READ "WANTED FOR BEER THEFT PLEASE CALL L.A.P.D.". LOOK, I EVEN TOOK A PICTURE OF IT. I WANTED TO STEAL THE SIGN SO DAMN BAD, SO I COULD COME BACK INCOGNITO AND SEE THE SIGN OF THE PRINTED-OUT SURVEILANCE PHOTOS OF ME STEALING THE BEER-THEFT SIGN READING "WANTED FOR BEER THEFT SIGN THEFT, PLEASE CALL L.A.P.D.".
BUT IT'S NOT '92 ANYMORE, I'M NOT OUT ROLLING WITH BIG CUERVO AND BIG LEFTY IN THE REGAL OR THE MALIBU CLASSIC. TAKA-BOO IS OUTSIDE WITH HER BABIES IN THE STATION WAGON, AND I HAVE A PLAIN OLD REGULAR JAY-OY-BEE I HAVE TO BE AT EVERY MORNING BEFORE 9 A.M.
ANYWAY, I DIGRESS. WE FINALLY GOT TO LACMA AND THE FASHION EXHIBIT WAS NOT THAT BULLSHIT. EVEN MEN WERE LOVING THE DRESS DESIGNS. WE SPOTTED THE GNARLIEST HIPSTER-BOY T-SHIRT EVER - IT READ "THE EGO HAS LANDED" WITH SOME FRED PERRY OLIVE-BRANCH DESIGNS AND A TINY LITTLE EAGLE LOGO. KILLER, FO'SHO.
THEN ON THE CORNER OF WILSHIRE AND FAIRFAX, IN THE OTHER LACMA PART THAT USED TO BE O.G. ORBACH'S (WHAT YA'LL KNOW ABOUT THAT, ZODY'S AND OKI-DOG?!) WAS THE BEST MUSEUM EXHIBIT EVER. THERE WAS ALL KINDS OF GRAFFITI, AUTHENTIC AND OTHERWISE, REPRESENTING L.A.
IN GLASS CASES THERE WERE STRANGE EXAMPLES OF GRAF PARAPHENALIA, AND THERE WAS A TV SHOWING FOOTAGE OF THE BELMONT TUNNEL BEING DESTROYED BY BULLDOZERS OWNED BY THE CITY OF LOS ANGELES. I SPOTTED MY BIG CUZZO'S HOMIE HYDE K.G.B. IN THE VIDEO WATCHING THE CARNAGE.
SO WHILE THE GIRLS MADE COLLAGES, AND TAKA-BOO CHOPPED IT UP WITH WHO-KNOWS-WHOM ON THE CELLIE; I TOOK A FEW MOMENTS TO GRAB A MARKER AND PUT UP ALL THE HOMIES FROM L.A. WHO REPPED IT AS GRAF ARTISTS AND MCS AND DJS AND BBOYS; AND WHO ARE RESTING IN PEACE. I PUT UP BIGGA B TOO 'CAUSE HE ALWAYS SUPPORTED THE CULTURE.
WHEN I THINK OF ALL THOSE NAMES - G-NICE K.I.L., SK8 C.B.S., BIGGA B, DJ ROB ONE, PROBLEM K.I.L., SCOUT ONE K.G.B., AND DJ DUSK - I HAVE SO MANY MEMORIES, GOOD AND BAD, BUT NONE OF THEM, NOT ONE, WAS A GANGBANGER. I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE HAVE ATTENDED THIS EXHIBIT, BUT I HOPE THEY GLEANED THE CORRECT LESSON FROM IT, WHICH IS THAT GRAFFITI IS AN ART FORM, TAGGERS SHOULDN'T BE VILLAINIZED, AND NOT EVERYONE WITH A CAN OF PAINT OR A PAIR OF BROWNIES ON IS OUT TO KILL YOU OR SNATCH YOUR POCKETBOOK.
ANYWAY, THE L.A. I KNEW AND LOVED AIN'T DEAD. THE HOMIES AREN'T DEAD, THEY CAN'T BE, THEY'RE JUST IN ANOTHER REALM RIGHT NOW, PARTYING HARD. I CAN ALMOST HEAR THEM BUMPING EGYPTIAN LOVER AND THE L.A. DREAM TEAM. I CAN ALMOST SMELL THE KRYLON FUMES (HEY, MAN, WE AIN'T HAD NO MONTANA BACK THEN!).
I LOVE IT HERE AND I'M IN NO RUSH TO LEAVE THIS PLACE, BUT I'M READY IF I DON'T GET TO GO. SO THE NEXT TIME YOU CORNBALL BO-HIPSTER-HO FASHIONISTA BITCHES IN YOUR CUSTOM KICKS AND THE GEAR YOU BOUGHT AT A-LIFE POP $1200 BOTTLES AT THE CLUB AND DJ AM IS ON THE WHEELS OF STEEL, POUR OUT SOME OF THAT FOR MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY WHO GAVE THE STYLE TO THE PEOPLE YOU BOUGHT THE STYLE FROM...OR I WILL SNATCH YOUR POCKETBOOK. THIS IS FASHIONISTA ASSASSINA RIGHT HERE. O.G. L.A. TO THE HEART. DOWN AND GONE.
- LA MUNECA
It's the Carter...Shawn, That Is
"Shawn “Jay-Z” Carter has been appointed co-brand director of Anheuser-Busch’s Budweiser Select. The rapper, who is currently the president of Def Jam Records, will develop future strategic marketing and advertising for the beer brewer and also participate in Budweiser Select planning sessions to provide insight on different brand programs. Jay is the first celebrity to ever participate in the development in one of the company’s beer brands. He’ll take part in new ads for the beer company including one which includes scenes from his new video for “Show Me What You Got,” shot in Monte Carlo and Nice, France. All of the ads cross-promote his new album Kingdom Come, which drops on November 21st." (from MTV Radio Facts, media types email Bridget.Bland@mtvstaff.com to subscribe to this newsletter...) Also, from the lovely gentlemen at www.allhiphop.com, "Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter is teaming with ESPN Original Entertainment to create a scripted boxing series titled Hit Men. Hit Men will focus on the lives of a multi-cultured group of struggling athletes who work out at The Hit Men Boxing Club, a gym that is run by former boxer Frank Cerrones. According to ESPN, the series is executive produced by Jay-Z and Def Jam. The pilot episode was written by John Eisendrath (Beverly Hills, 90210, Playmakers) and will be shot in Louisiana starting in the first week of December."I'm really proud of Hov. He just rocked shows in Africa and all over the world, after he'd sworn he was retired. Every time I watch "Fade to Black" I'm inspired by his work ethic. When I see the money being spent on The Roots, I get a tingly feeling in my chest because I know that Jay is over there fighting for them to win. He's so dope his own A&R's are leaking his album...and he's their BOSS!! I'm not always proud of him, like when he records songs like Big Pimp'n where he's really advocating being a trick while promoting the image of being a "pimp". But still, he's done more than anyone else I've ever known of coming from the Marcy Projects in Brooklyn, New York. Love to love you, Hovito. Grand opening...grand closing? You know the difference between a Bitch and a B.MJ
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop & dead prez Address the FCC - NYC 10/19
Join R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop and M1 at The Town Hall Meeting on Diversity and Ownership of the Media
Thursday, Oct. 19th, 2006 at 6 pm The Kaye Playhouse at Hunter College East 68th St. (between Park and Lexington) New York City
As a show of solidarity and unity, R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop is asking everyone coming under the banner of Hip Hop culture to wear something red.
Directions: Take the 6 Train to 68th/Hunter College or the F train to the 63rd Street/Lexington Ave.
Visit us:
R.E.A.C.Hip-HopPresent Your 2 Minute Testimony!
Make your voice heard on issues of ownership, localism and diversity in the media. Prepare a two minute testimony to read at the event on how these issues effect your organization, constituencies and your communities.
M1's Lyrics from "Turn Off The Radio" by dead prez
"What's on the radio, propoganda, mind control And turnin it on is like puttin on a blindfold Cuz when you bringin the real you don't get ro-tationUnless you take over the station. And yeah I know it's part of they plans To make us think it's all about party and dancin And yo it might sound good when you spittin your rap But in reality, don't nobody live like that.""Platinum don't mean that it gotta be hot. I ain't gotta love it, even if they play it a lot. You can hear it when you walk the streets, How many people they reach, how they use music to teach. A "radio program" ain't a figure of speech. Don't sleep, cuz you could be a radio freak."
Join R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop (Representing Education, Activism and Community through Hip Hop) and M1, of Hip Hop group dead prez, on Thursday, October 19th, 2006 at 6 pm for a Town Hall Meeting/Public Hearing on Diversity and Ownership of the Media with FCC Commissioners Michael Copps and Jonathan Adelstein, community leaders, media representatives and concerned citizens, at The Kaye Playhouse at Hunter College in Manhattan.
Join us as we speak out and provide testimony to the FCC on behalf of our members and the greater Hip Hop community. This is an occasion to show solidarity and represent real Hip Hop culture and music. We will focus on ownership as opposed to reform. The FCC should be granting licenses for new Hip Hop radio stations. We need it! We should already have it! We need to demand it! We go there to claim our space within the larger Media Reform/Justice Movement that claims to be left and progressive but in essence excludes people of color and Hip Hop from the conversation and the planning of activities.
We are fed up with the payola induced chokehold that corporate radio giants Emmis Communications and Clear Channel have on our public airwaves. We demand the inclusion of artists whose music would bring a balance to Hip Hop radio from pioneering DJs and Emcees from the 70s, through the decades, to today's underground and unsigned hit makers and beat makers. No one should have to pay for play! We will no longer tolerate the racist, sexist and heartless comments made over the last 18 months by shock jock style morning show hosts.
Be there Thursday! Turn off the radio! Demand what is your right! Free Hip Hop music from greedy corporations who have little care as to what poison they broadcast into our communities and into the ears of our youth!
This meeting is sponsored by the National Hispanic Media Coalition/National Latino Media Council, the National Association of Hispanic Journalists and the National Institute for Latino Policy and in partnership with Free Press, a national public policy group.R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop acknowledges the elected officials such as Councilman Charles Baron (East New York), Councilwomen Yvette Clarke (Flatbush), Councilman John Liu (Queens), and Assemblyman Ruben Diaz (Bronx) for doing the right thing.
SincerelyRosa Clemente, Spokesperson for R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop & M1 of dead prez
http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?t=h76kgzbab.0.rvshujbab.bso96ibab.290&ts=S0212&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.HipHopLivesHere.comBACKGROUND
Last week, the FCC began a series of public hearings on media ownership that covers issues of localism, diversity and ownership caps. This is a revisiting of a controversial issue stalled by the Third Circuit Court of Appeals in the Prometheus v. FCC ruling of 2004. Many feel that lifting ownership caps will result in greater concentration of media ownership, the loss of local owners and a decline in minority ownership. Critics point to Clear Channel as an example of what happens when ownership limits are removed, Clear Channel now controls over 1400 radio stations and most provide little or no local content. More recently it was revealed that past FCC studies on local ownership were 'buried' by the previous FCC chair, Michael Power, when the results contradicted his position on the loosening the rules. Los Angeles hosted the first two meetings on October 3rd and hundreds of concerned citizens and media professionals attended and gave testimony. The FCC also has a 'Notice of Public Rule-making' in process on this issue. Media Alliance has a guide to filing public comments for NPRM Docket 06-121 at their web site (deadline Oct 23).
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop History
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop has been in the forefront of the Hip Hop media justice movement since 2005. Our initial call to action was in late January 2005, when commercially owned Hot 97 aired its now infamous "Tsunami Song." As other communities who were targeted by this incident began to speak out and organize against Hot 97, it became apparent that a crucial voice was missing in this public protest: the voice of the Hip Hop community. Thus, with the help of a few Hip Hop heads, artists, and community organizers, the Hip Hop Coalition was born. Since the birth of our coalition, we have been actively targeting Hot 97 for numerous offenses to the communities they claim to serve. Though we came together in response to the "Tsunami Song," it is understood that our fight against corporate media includes much more than that. It is a fight to reclaim Hip Hop culture from corporate media's co-optation, unbalanced representation, and exploitation, as well as to support and create the balance that is so direly needed on our airwaves and other public media. We assert that our efforts are to not only demand ethical corporate accountability, but also to protect, preserve, and regenerate the great legacy of Hip Hop culture by Representing Education, Activism and Community through Hip Hop.
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop Mission Statement
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop is dedicated to encouraging and creating fair and equal representation of the diversity of Hip Hop culture, including, but not limited to; race/ethnicity, nationality, class, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and disability. We are a pro-active body made up of activists, artists, teachers, performers, organizers, writers, educators, students, parents and individuals all dedicated to positive change within our communities. We believe Hip Hop's true legacy belongs to the people, and we strive to utilize Hip Hop as a vehicle of social and political justice to promote education, information, and empowerment for the masses, while preventing the dissemination of negative stereotypes, discrimination, and violence. For more information please visit:
http://www.HipHopLivesHere.com.
INFORMATION COURTESY OF:
Christie Z-Pabon
Tools of WarA Member of R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop
email:
http://us.f313.mail.yahoo.com/ym/Compose?To=toolsofwar@gmail.comweb:
http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?t=h76kgzbab.0.vlljjwbab.bso96ibab.290&ts=S0212&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.myspace.com%2FToolsofWar
HEROES IN THE CITY OF DOPE...>
ZION I & GROUCH ARE...HEROES IN THE CITY OF DOPE Category: Music
I am sometimes so jaded by this business of music, that I forget to be a fan. So on Friday night in the LBC I had the pleasure to see a BRAND NEW band that won my heart & soul.
HEROES IN THE CITY OF DOPE
This supergroup from the Yay Area features Zion and Amp Live from Zion I and Grouch from Living Legends. I believe that anyone can get down with their sound 'cause from what I heard at the show the beats are super-duper-hyphy and the lyrics are socially & politically conscious without being trigonometrically cerebral. It's only right for something coming out of Oakland in '06, the home of the Black Panther Party in their 40th anniversary year.
So check these cats out and definitely spend your money with them tomorrow if you have $20 burning a hole in your pocket...for once don't spend it on a sack and a blunt, or a wack album where most of your hard-earned goes to a major label which is really a liquor conglomerate on the low.
They're coming to your city, hopefully, check the tour routing below...
Upcoming Shows
Oct 10 2006
6:00P
IN STORE!!! Amoeba Records SF
San Francisco, CA
Oct 13 2006
8:00P
Brittania Arms - record release party
San Jose, CA
Oct 14 2006
8:00P
Game Stop After Hours Show
San Francisco, CA
Oct 15 2006
8:00P
Wow Hall
Eugene, OR
Oct 17 2006
8:00P
Doug Fir
Portland, OR
Oct 18 2006
8:00P
Chop Suey
Seattle, WA
Oct 19 2006
8:00P
The Plaza
Vancouver, BC
Oct 20 2006
8:00P
Nightlight Lounge
Bellingham, WA
Oct 21 2006
8:00P
Other Side
Missoula, MT
Oct 22 2006
8:00P
Zebra Cocktail Lounge
Bozeman, MT
Oct 25 2006
8:00P
Urban Lounge
Salt Lake City, UT
Oct 26 2006
8:00P
Aggie Theater
Fort Collins, CO
Oct 27 2006
8:00P
The Black Sheep
Colorado Springs, CO
Oct 28 2006
8:00P
The Larimer Lounge
Denver, CO
Oct 29 2006
8:00P
The Abbey Theater
Durango, CO
Oct 31 2006
8:00P
The Cavern
Dallas, TX
Nov 1 2006
8:00P
Emo's
Austin, TX
Nov 3 2006
8:00P
Sunshine Theater
Albuquerque, NM
Nov 4 2006
8:00P
Chasers
Scottsdale, AZ
Nov 5 2006
8:00P
Club Congress
Tucson, AZ
Nov 6 2006
8:00P
Orpheum Theater
Flagstaff, AZ
Nov 7 2006
8:00P
Casbah
San Diego, CA
Nov 8 2006
8:00P
Knitting Factory LA
Los Angeles, CA
Nov 12 2006
8:00P
The Catalyst w/ Saul Williams
Santa Cruz, CA
Nov 16 2006
8:00P
Odeon Theater
Saskatoon, CANADA
Nov 17 2006
8:00P
TO BE ANNOUNCED
Red Deer, CANADA
Nov 18 2006
8:00P
Side Track Cafe
Edmonton, CANADA
Nov 19 2006
8:00P
hiFi Club
Calgary, CANADA
Nov 20 2006
8:00P
The Royal Hotel
Fernie, CANADa
Nov 22 2006
8:00P
Hume Hotel
Nelson, CANADA
Nov 23 2006
8:00P
TO BE ANNOUNCED
Kamloops, CANADA
Nov 24 2006
8:00P
TO BE ANNOUNCED
Whistler
Nov 25 2006
8:00P
TO BE ANNOUNCED
Victoria, CANADA
Nov 28 2006
8:00P
Great Scott
Boston, MA
Nov 29 2006
8:00P
Nectars
Burlington, VT
Nov 30 2006
8:00P
Sonar
Baltimore, MD
Dec 1 2006
8:00P
Southpaw
Brooklyn, NY
Dec 2 2006
8:00P
Fire
Philadelphia, PA
Dec 6 2006
8:00P
Call the Office
London, CANADA
Dec 7 2006
8:00P
Blind Pig
Ann Arbor, MI
Dec 8 2006
8:00P
Abbey
Chicago, IL
Dec 9 2006
8:00P
University of Wisconsin @ Madison
Madison, WI
Dec 10 2006
8:00P
7th Street Entry
Minneapolis, MN
Thanks for reading...
P.E.A.C.E.
Links
http://www.heroesinthecityofdope.com
http://www.zionicrew.com
http://www.therealgrouch.com
http://www.omrecords.com
http://www.ballinpr.com
LA COKA NOSTRA...REPPING LOST ANGELES 100%
http://www.myspace.com/lacokanostramusic
THE SUPER HEROINE...A Requiem in Many Forms
An excerpt from a letter to an executive I wrote this morning...just thought I'd share with anyone who has any further misconceptions..
"On another note, I'm sure you've heard about the bad blood between Doom and myself, and Doom and MF Grimm, and Doom and Lord Scotch 79th (the first ever Jewish MC! and the man who made the Doom mask and most of the artwork for Doom's most well-known album covers), and Doom and his former crew Monster Island Czars. So I can't happily support any Doom-related project at any time in an way, unfortunately, until he makes good on his debts to us and speaks to the press to clear confusion about our work with him and the credit we should have received for much of his work from the Doomsday and KMD re-release era through the MadVillain project era.
I was Doom's personal manager for quite some time, and I actually conceptualized, A&R'd and negotiated the Mad Villain album. I also started conversations with Ghostface Killah's management after telling Doom he should submit reels to Ghost and Meth, and gave a reel to Ghost's people. I'm certain I'll never be credited or compensated for any of that either!
Stonesthrow Records, Chris Manak and Egon are in the wrong about the MadVillain project - I was never paid by either party nor given proper credit for my work - but I never had an agreement in place with them and in the end it's Doom's fault for a) never paying me my percentages on the Stonesthrow work and b) not standing up to them to ensure I received a co-A&R credit on the project. I'm not the get-an-attorney type AT ALL, and Doom was someone I considered a close friend to all of us, so mentioning this situation to you and to the press is about all we can do while still remaining civilized and professional.
I'm a huge fan of D&%$#$ M@*&# though, and also a fan of Doom, although my senses are so colored by the experience that I can't listen to any of his music, which is sad. Sorry to lament to you, however as someone who pays Doom you'll not experience this side of him - it's just everyone on the other side who should be paid by Doom who goes through this. Not that my support is needed for a D@#&$!D*^! project to blow up (again), or that my speaking out about this will take away any but a very few fans/sales...
That's all some really ancient history, so I won't mention it again, and in the future tense I'm working with Tragedy Khadafi and his label 25 to Life - www.myspace.com/tragedykhadafi ; also consulting on his behalf for marketing/press/publicity/radio promo/tv for his new deal with Uprising Records, and his joint venture with Nature Sounds with my dear friend Devin Horowitz. Besides music stuff I've been working on an autobiographic project with Tragedy for the past few years, so working toward finalizing this as a book and a script about his life.
Furthermore consulting for C-Rayz Walz who is making the transition from leaving Def Jux to self-distribution. www.myspace.com/crayzwalz Working on setting up tour routings in the US and overseas for Walz and for all of the artists I'm working with/for.
As always, still working with and consulting for Percy "MF Grimm" Carey, who owns Day By Day Entertainment and Day by Day Publishing - www.daybydayent.com , and has a comic book coming out through a joint venture with DC comics in '07. We're focusing mainly on his online publication, American Hunger, and moving toward making it a print magazine.
Managing/Consulting for an amazing artist from SF called TRUNKS (or Paco Camino), who has 3 albums done and ready for manufacturing/distribution/marketing - production from Doom, J-Zone, 9th Wonder, DJ Khalil, DJ Evil Dee, Mr. Walt, and features from Thirstin Howl III, R&B artists Bilal and Res, George Clinton, and others (many of which are the product of my A&R work with the exception of 9th and George Clinton). I've been working with him since he was 13 and I was 19, and what am I now, 32? He's way too ill for a major-label deal, so he does his day job as entertainment/content/gaming executive for Nokia and continues to fund his studio time.
...
Sorry for the book, but you did ask about my universe, and hey I'm a writer...what can I say?
All the Best,
Miranda Jane
U THINK U KNOW...BUT U HAVE NO IDEA
EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW - TRAGEDY KHADAFI SPEAKS OUT ABOUT THE DRAMA WITH NEW-SCHOOL BROOKLYN MC MAINO
AS TOLD TO NASIRA MIRANDA JANE
The text message simply said, "Did you hear what happened to Tragedy?" Naturally, my heart dropped into my stomach. Don't send me a message like that, ever! I hit him up, didn't reach him, he's in the streets doing what Khadafi does best - run them. So I went online and did a little research. Apparently there was a fisticuffs at T.I.'s birthday party in New York recently, and all the websites were saying that Maino, the kid from BK who ran with Lil' Kim, had bested Tragedy Khadafi in a physical altercation. Believe me, after 10 years of knowing Trag, and having spent time with him in his 'hood, if you know like I know, no one (Freddie Foxxxx or Just Ice, MAYBE) is whipping Trag out...period. Of course anyone can shoot anyone else, and anyone can buck-fifty someone, that goes without saying! I mean, hand to hand combat, it's not happening, I don't care who this kid is.And that's not even the fucken point. First of all, this is a damn business. THE BUSINESS OF MUSIC. Rap all you want about how hard you are, real bad men move in silence, and real great ones are generals in command of an army of bad men who move in silence. No matter what your beefs are, within this business, fighting and cutting and shooting is just more black-on-black violence or just more negativity period. And if people were getting hurt or killed for breaking contracts or owing money or any of that shit, MF DOOM would be in heaven many times over. Not only was I pissed that people were saying that Tragedy got beat up at a party by some cornball young cat who I've only heard one song from ever on a DJ Stage One mixtape (Minneapolis!)...I fucking hate the media. I HATE IT. Tragedy is a legendary MC, he's the leader of the entire Queensbridge street movement, he's a businessman and entreprenuer, he's a father...I could go on and on and half the story would never be told. But the damn bitches (men included) who own/operate all these gossip-column-sounding "Hip Hop" websites don't ever spend time lauding his accomplishments, or giving much needed awareness about his records! Of course there are many mags that have supported him, and one of the best features of my entire career was when I told his story from his own words from a 120-minute interview we conducted while I was at Complex Magazine but was printed in Elemental Magazine. I appreciate deeply the mags and websites who have supported Trag, and who have supported my work about him and other conscious, positive, independent, underground, political, socially relevent MCs and artists. So I wanted to give some background about the situation, enough of me fucken talking, who cares what I have to say?! You can google the gossippingbitches who mentioned the Tragedy/Maino alleged-altercation stories your damn self, or more importantly just keep reading and learn what really happened fromTragedy himself. And I quote...
“Basically it’s a situation where we were going to do a mixtape deal with Maino, and my partner didn’t necessarily wanna do the deal, but I pushed for the deal ‘cause I kinda liked his vibe a little bit. Time went on, he signed off on the agreement, when I got it back my partner didn’t want to sign the executed agreement on our end, and technically there was no deal – Maino never delivered a master so there were no monies owed to him.
From what I gather from sources close to him he’s a bit frustrated, he’s riding the coattails of lil kim, I guess Universal isn’t pushing him the way he thought they would. Anyway, At the T.I. party I tried to talk to him, and at that time I’m totally unaware that there’s a gripe at that level between us as we haven’t talked in a few months.
I wouldn’t want to walk into a trap. I go to a T.I. party or an industry party, I’m there to get my network game on, to be social. I’m not getting into any wars, that’s what I left the hood for.
I’m hearing a lot of rumours that Maino fucked me up I don’t even like saying his name and giving this any energy, the fact is it wasn’t even him who hit me. I got hit with a chair in my back, with a champagne bottle in my face and a bottle in the back of my head. From what I gather it was 5 to 7 of them who were physically hitting me. I have a little scratch on my face, they ain’t fuck my sexy up, I’m still young and pretty and hitting hard.
I’m not even concentrating on it but I’m hearing so many rumours about it, and I don’t want things to go unchecked. It’d be one thing if I owed him money, e’one who knows me knows that I’d keep my mouth shut if I was in the wrong. At the end of the day were in a business. If he feels some kind of way about my company there’s a way to confront things. You don’t want to savagely beat somebody in this industry, who’d want to do business with you? Now are people are gonna feel reluctant to invite Tragedy Khadafi to a party? No. Because Khadafi was confronted in an aggressive way and did what he could to survive. Would they want to invite Maino to a party? No. Who’s to say he’s not unhappy with Universal…what’s he gonna do? Shoot a Universal staff member at a party, I mean think about it.
A lot of this game is based on negative sensationalism. You’ve got a lot of people who don’t care about that stuff – is Maino gonna come with a good record? Will Tragedy Khadafi come back to save Hip Hop, will he put his stamp on something like he did with Capone-N-Noreaga’s War Report record? Is it possible for another street record to be commercially successful? Those are the questions ad the stories we need to concentrate on as opposed to focusing on someone becoming irate and resorting back to the primitive skills we learn in the streets - that’s not general status, it’s not thinking like a boss, and it’s counter-productive.
On a real note, for the fans of Tragedy Khadafi and 25 to Life Records, I’m working on a compilation with Uprising Records, a collaboration of Queensbridge and Queens artists. I’m also putting out a new solo album through a joint venture between 25 II Life and Nature Sounds in the first quarter of 2007, and I’m working on closing some deals with Havoc and Scram Jones for the 2nd quarter. Lastly, myself,Cormega and Nature are putting a supergroup together.”
Real words from Trag on the situation! Just wanted to clear that up. Let's focus on this last paragraph, people, please. Also I have to say that Trag, his brother Christ Castro and I are in the process on a book about his life and a related movie treatment/script. It's been many years in the making, on my part, and obviously their whole lives in the living. I first mentioned the book project in my bio/press clips packages circa 2000, and I've been working on it, in my brain, since I first heard GRAND GROOVE and ARREST THE PRESIDENT. So I'm excited and happy that the first book project I'll be authoring is a collaboration with someone I respect as an artist, as a businessperson, and as a man.
And for MY fans, I promise, the 2nd book WILL be the first volume of my autobiography, which is also in progress - spanning from the pre-history on my Communist/Labor organizing Grandparents, my Jazz bassist father and Jazz drummer mother, my early years in Hollywood, and ending with my short-lived career at The Source - with everything on the years in between within those pages.
And finally, for a young girl reading this somewhere in Ghana, or in Wichita, Kansas, or in London, UK - who doesn't know anyone in the music business or listen to Hip Hop or read The Source or know that Queensbridge Housing is the largest housing projects in Northern America...here's the lesson.
You can be from anywhere in the world. You can come from the slums, or from a broken home. Even if your father doesn't love you and he leaves your mother and your family behind, or if you're an orphan with no parents; or if you're young and pregnant and confused. Even if you were born with HIV/AIDS; or if your friends and neighbors are disappearing at the hands of death squads or are victims of "ethnic cleansing". Even if you or someone you love is incarcerated, or a victim of police brutality. Even if you live somewhere without running water, or paved roads, or if you have a tin roof on your house and a dirt patch as your floor...EVEN IF YOU'RE ALL THESE THINGS AT ONCE, YOU CAN DREAM, PLAN, VISUALIZE, PRACTICE, ACT, BUILD, GROW, OVERSTAND, EFFECT CHANGE, AND CREATE FRUITION. DON'T EVER GIVE UP. AND DON'T EVER STOP SPEAKING OUT IN WHICHEVER FORMS YOU CHOOSE. NEVER BE SILENCED. AND ALWAYS LOVE YOUR LIFE.
One Love to my true readers...
NASIRA MIRANDA JANE
U DON'T LIKE IT? GET OFF MY BRAND NEW SHIT!
YEAH YEAH. I'm sitting here realizing if I don't start writing about some music shit, I'm gonna stop getting free shit in the mail, so here we go!First off, check the illness/insanity at SUCKAREPELLENT.COM. I wasn't up on them until they hit me up on My Space for an interview, which is now up on their front page. Speaking of interviews, shouts to a great journalist named Ben Westhoff who's currently writing an MF GRIMM feature for the Village Voice (it's been time!) and had the good sense to interview me as a secondary. I hate that anytime I talk about MF GRIMM, who is a legend in his own right and an extremely astute entreprenuer in Hip Hop and Publishing, that it's always all about Doom. I loved KMD, and a lot of his production as MF DOOM, and as a person he is a decent man at heart - but FUCK - he owes a lot of cash and a lot of credit to a lot of the homies. Nuff said.My peer in this bi'ness, Q Salazar, former news editor at SOHH.com, is rocking a new online magazine news section at HIP HOP CRACK. No disrespect to anyone, but since I hardly ever read about Hip Hop anymore on AllHipHop.com, it's time for some brand new ish, nahmean? Also, while everyone's busy making Rupert Murdoch more richer, trip on over to CRACKSPACE for some other shit. The O.G. homie BIG CED is now heading up The Source Online, so you no longer have to be skerred to visit www.thesource.com. It took a big ass broom, but it seems like a lot of the dirt is swept away over there and hopefully the mag will return to somewhat of it's former glory. Me, I'm just trying to maintain up in this bitch. I have a good-old regular 9 to 5 J.O. now, so if you're a record label or entertainment company who needs television advertising or any form of advertising, head on over to www.garygroup.com and someone'll hook you right on up.Money, while the root of all evil, unlike Love, will pay the bills...I'm just trying to make some of it before I'm 40, and not let it make me. New music I'm looking forward to - A-Plus' LONG AWAITED solo LP "My Last Good Deed" from the fam at www.hieroglyphics.com; J-Minix's debut LP "Ghetto Hummingbird" (he's E-4o and D-Shot's little cuzzin, and this man can SAAANG and rhyme!); C-Rayz Walz' new new new good good good shit, THE DROPPING; and something that actually has me juiced about Hip Hop and Rap and the biz and all that - RAEKWON THE CHEF on AFTERMATH. As long as he cops some beats from DJ KHALIL, that is. Shame 2 the devilPeace 2 the FamilyMiranda "Mothafucken" Janep.s. Speaking of NEW SHIT, I started a jewelry company, did ya'll know about that?! Check out some designs at JOYERIA ASSASSINA/KILLER JEWELS. Holidays are coming up, cop a custom-made pair of earrings for that special woman in your life, fellas. Ladies, do you. Love is love.
CALL IT DE JA VU…
Born in Venice, Harlem. It’s so sweet, with sour sauce. I toss my head up to the silver sky, and then I sigh…look at all the blessings in my life.
“You’re better looking in person than in your pictures,” he said to me the first time we met, finally. I snapped a mental picture of him at that moment. You always have to save a trump card, so I didn’t say it. “You’re the perfect male specimen your damn self!”
There weren’t any breaks in conversation. Down Crenshaw, across Venice Boulevard, past World on Wheels, up La Brea, past Leonardo’s Dancehall, across Wilshire. Keith Sweat came on the radio in the background. Make it Last Forever. Somebody slap me, because it could be 1989. I’m lost in the ether, somehow.
Starbucks, over Iced Green Tea Latte and Pomegranate Smoothie, I sensed he was a Gemini, and I was right. My last experience wasn’t a good one, but I have to let bygones be bygones. After all, this date is 15 minutes in and he’s opened every door for me, acted the perfect gentleman. Flashing back in my head to our conversations before we met. “I don’t understand how you could still be single,” I revealed to him. “I’m the most single man you’ll ever meet,” he deadpanned, leaving me to listen between the lines. Player with a passport, I know. 100% rock star to the heart, I realize. Former runway model, so I’ve heard. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Across Wilshire, up Norton. Dropped me off at home, said he had a meeting, he’d scoop me back up later. Bath, hair, skin, scent, feet, face. I won’t lie, I packed a little bag in case it was like that. Dressed, chillin, listening to Sade’s Sweetest Taboo, he rang. Outside in ten minutes, did I have any tea? Ten minutes later, two cups of steaming Chamomile Mint with fresh Orange, me out the door. Sipped tea and chatted under the starlight on the stoop. I learned more. Stars sparkling up above me, sparks flying all across us.
Teacups in hand, we strolled around the neighborhood, smelling the flowers in the air. Crisp, dark, clear, beautiful L.A. night. Crenshaw so close, yet so far away. Secret doorways, weeping willows, “I’ll bet if you picked one rose, they’d call security”…I’ve walked these streets since I was able to walk – how in the hell does he have me seeing things I’ve never seen before? Where did he come from?
Back in the truck, headed east. Up Western to Sunset. Sunset east to Sunset and Hollywood. Drinks in a low-down bar, Chinese theme, all-gay female DJ night on the wheels of steel. Pearls of Wisdom, followed by an Orange Bang. Good Luck. Mine, apparently.
Played the couch all night, in each other’s ear. The music was as wild as this experience. Boz Scaggs, L’Trimm, Ray Parker Jr., 2 Live Crew, Til ‘Tuesday, Foxy Brown, Con Funk Shun, B-52’s… After we shut the bar down, we left out the back door and headed back into the night.
Parked in front of my house, we talked for hours. Took another walk around the blocks. Same sky, same spiderwebs, same sparks. My arm hooked through his, as if we’re strolling around at 4 pm instead of 4 am. Through the courtyard of the Los Altos, up to the door, he showed me the lobby. My family has lived on this block since before I was born, but you’re showing me something I’ve never seen in my life on this block. Who are you?
Back in the truck. Sunup is imminent. Lean back. First kiss. Breathless. I mean I literally could not breathe. I nearly asphyxiated, not that he knows that. Can’t show them any weakness, no matter how much of a gentleman he is. It’s still Dogtown. Push it to the back of my mind. He’s as sweet as cherry pie…wild like Friday night. He’s got me singing (already) Ooh La La La La La La Lalalala, Sweet Thing. And I can feel this for sure, for sure. I’ve been here before. I’ve been here before. Floating. Beyond the clouds. Melting. Hotter than July.
6 in the morning, slid in my front door. I’m on another planet, but back home to where I grew up. Just a kiss, that’s all it took. That’s all there was. Up for 27 hours, but still not sleepy. If I were a bell, baby I would ring for you.
Who knows what tomorrow brings? I only know one thing. Who are you to say, what he does when I’m not around? Just because I fell in loooove with…Cassanova Brown.
YOU'RE NOT IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA...YOU'RE IN NORTHERN MEXICO
Friday night began with homemade burritos at my Mama's house. Everything is organic, and the refried beans are made from scratch on her stove. I left full and happy.
I had been sad earlier because the homegirl Miz V had invited me to Mexicali for her cousin's quincenera, and the trip was cancelled at the last minute due to some family trouble of V's. I've never been to Mexico, which is ridiculous really, since my cousin's widow is from Zacatecas and they go all the time to visit.
So Takara decided to take a short break from motherhood, deservedly so, leave the kids with their father and head out for a night on the town with me. We started in the Sunset Junction area at an art gallery called Thinkspace, which was crowded with bohipsterhos up the ying-yang. The art was amazing though, a lot of different mediums in use and a lot of women artists. The highlight was bumping into Mr. Trigger as we left the front door, and me getting the heads-up from him. Then when we pulled the car out to go to our next destination, we got a lovely glimpse of him taking a piss on the tree on the corner. They were serving free beer and wine, so I suppose...
We were headed to Venice (well actually Culver City) to see DJ Daz spinning at some place called Carbon, which I'd never heard of before. So heading south on LaBrea we passed Leonardo's, which I've been passing my whole life, always wondering what sort of night life goes on in there. In the late 80s/early 90s, you would see dozens and dozens of tricked-out SUVs in front of Leondardo's on a weekend night, resplendent with Mexican flags painted on the rear windows, or the name of the owner's hometown "Jalisco", "Oaxaca", "Michoacan", etc. Most of the men would be wearing cowboy hats, some with blue jeans, some in suits. And the ladies would always have on heels, dresses, and a lot of sparkle.
So I said to T, hey, check out Leonardo's, I've always wanted to go in there. Always up for adventure, she hit the block, parked the car, and we slid into the spot with ease as she talked the doorman out of the $12/each cover charge. I felt underdressed in an off-the-shoulder black t-shirt reading "Silence is Golden, Duct Tape is Silver", jeans, and white-and-red Air Force Ones. I was most certainly the only woman, possibly in history, to enter these hallowed halls sans high heels, wedges, sandals, or other fancy footwear.
We sat down and were quickly asked to dance. The music was not our everyday rhythm, to say the very least. It was Norteno night, and the band was playing long sets of songs where I could catch a lot of the lyrics (tales of love lost) and get in the groove of very little of the beat, if there was a beat to be found. My dance partner was a) about 5 or 6 inches shorter than me and remember, I'm wearing sneakers; b) also wearing jeans and a t-shirt; and c) a dance partner's worst nightmare, he had one move which consisted of grabbing me by the hips and two-stepping me around in circles, off beat. Glancing over at Takara, she was doing slightly better in the appearance department, and her partner seemed to be a little bit more in the groove than mine, but I just decided to smile and have fun.
Doing it big at a nightclub in NY or LA means buying a bottle, or four, at a reserved table. Bottle service at Leonardo's consists of a steel bucket full of ice, replete with 12 bottles of Corona Extra and a small platter of lime wedges. The reserved table to the front of us was full of cowboy hats, but my aspiration was to dance with one of the two tallest gentlemen in the club, who were both decked out in white felt cowboy hats, two-piece woolen suits, and cowboy boots. They were definitely the big ballers up in that spot, but they never sat down or took dance partners while we were there.
Every man was a gentleman in Leonardo's. When we went to dance we left our purses on the table, after seeing everyone else's purses on the table unmolested during the dance numbers. A man with red, white and yellow roses walked around the club and did brisk business. The woman who danced with Mr. Two-Step after me got a red rose, and deposited it in her bottle-service bucket upon returning to her seat. Even in my jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, I had many, many admirers and most every man in the club circled our table at least once.
When we left it was still early, and we ended up at the Carbon place. It was a disaster. I don't think Daz was spinning, 'cause the soundtrack was Rap & Bullshit. It was packed. The stressed us at the door and asked us to stand in line by a stinking garbage dumpster. When we got inside the clientele was underage and overhyphy. We walked in one door, and out the other.
Face it, the average rap night at some busted bar could never compare to Leonardo's - a flashback in time to when people danced as couples, music was romantic, women were ladies, and men were gentlemen - even if they were also Caballeros.
VIVA LEONARDO's!! Even though I didn't get to go to Mexicali, I did get to go to Mexico this weekend, after all.
FEAR OF AN OMINPOTENT LIQUOR/ENTERTAINMENT CONGLOMERATE
Maybe the title of Lupe Fiasco's LP, FOOD & LIQUOR, isn't so dumb after all??
By David Lieberman, USA TODAY
NEW YORK — Vivendi's (V) Universal Music Group put itself in line to become the world's No. 1 music-publishing company on Wednesday after its $2.1 billion offer won a widely watched bidding war for Bertelsmann's BMG Music Publishing Group.
If approved by antitrust officials in Europe and the USA, Universal will pick up more than 1 million copyrights for an eclectic array of songs from artists including Coldplay, Barry Manilow, Christina Aguilera, R. Kelly, the Bee Gees, Elvis Costello, Puccini and Ravel.
Universal already has about 1 million copyrights, including those of Paul Simon, Elton John and Bernie Taupin, Motown's Holland-Dozier-Holland, Madonna, Prince, Leonard Bernstein and Kiss.
Other bidders weren't disclosed.
In addition to getting revenue when CDs or downloads are sold, music publishers collect royalties every time their songs are performed on radio, TV, movies, ads, concerts, online or even built into toys.
That has made it a coveted arm of the music business even as anemic album sales and piracy have staggered record companies.
The acquisition "is a unique opportunity to grow our music-publishing business and enhance the value of Universal Music Group," Vivendi CEO Jean-Bernard Levy said in a statement.
While the deal would give Universal the most copyrights, it still would have major rivals: In the second quarter, EMI controlled 19.8% of songs played on U.S. radio stations monitored by Nielsen Broadcast Data Systems. Warner/Chappell had 13.8%, Sony/ATV 10.5%, Universal 10.2% and BMG 7.3%.
"Only a handful of copyrights really matter," says Larry Mestel of Primary Wave Music Publishing, which has rights to Nirvana, Daniel Johnston and music from movies including Ben Hur. "The rest just clutter up the system."
Privately owned Bertelsmann put its music-publishing unit on the block to help repay loans it used to buy back a 25.1% stake owned by Belgian billionaire Albert Frere.
But BMG chief Thomas Rabe said in a statement that "Bertelsmann remains fully committed to its recorded music business through its partnership with Sony in Sony BMG Music Entertainment."
BMG publishing generated $234 million in revenue in the first half of 2006, about 2% of the total for Bertelsmann, the company reported on Wednesday.
While that's flat with the same period last year, operating cash flow for music publishing grew 30% to $38.4 million.
Separately, Bertelsmann settled the Vivendi piece of a lawsuit by several music companies.
The lawsuit alleges that loans Bertelsmann made to Napster helped the file-sharing service operate longer than it otherwise would have. Universal will get $60 million, while Bertelsmann admitted no liability.
WILDING IDLE
I was supposed to see my friend on Thursday. Then Friday. Then Saturday. When Sunday finally rolled around, and he said we'd see each other "for sure" that day, I got up, I got dressed, I called him again, and I left a message. "I'm going to see Idlewild at 1:25 pm at Magic Johnson theater, so if I don't hear from you before then, that's where I'm at, and when I'm done I'm going inside the mall to pop at dudes." (That last part was a joke.) I ended up at The Grove instead, but of course I was by myself at 1:25. As soon as the movie started - after a really crazy preview for a movie called Black Snake Moan (go to the movies now just to see this preview) with Samuel L. Jackson, (fine ass) David Banner, and Christina Ricci - I was instantly transported into another world. The first shot of a vinyl record spinning on an old phonograph, focused on the grooves, tighter and tighter until the grooves become snapping, moving, dusty, old-school black & white film strip. The movie is inside a record, get it? Idlewild is the best movie I've seen in years. It is the best "musical" film I've ever seen, bar none. Bryan Barber, the director, is without question the best "music video director" to ever cross over to the big screen. The costumes in this film are blow-your-mind (Delfonics) amazing. The casting brilliant - cameos from Macy Gray to Cicely Tyson to Miz Patti LaBelle - are perfect characterization. And, like most MCs who are really, really dope MCs, Big Boy is an excellent actor, his big personality seems made for the silver screen. Andre 3000 (or as we call him, Andre 9000) is obviously the musical catalyst for Idlewild, seeming to control the score, the soundtrack, the piano, the grooves, and the soundwaves themselves. Yes, there are obvious similarities between Purple Rain and this film, or at least between Prince and 9000. A couple of don't-I-remember-that from Harlem Nights moments. But that's part of what makes this film great. You can tell someone from my generation made this movie, and don't kids today deserve to grow up on their own stars? The answer is that the mere existence of this film will steer young people down paths of greatness - screenwriters, music supervisors, costume designers, directors, dancers, musicians - which means that this next generation will have a few less rappers and a few more superstars.Idlewild is so good, I saw it twice in one day. My friend finally materialized on the phone during the final act of the movie, he picked me up at the Grove, and after delicious Italian food (I had some Melanzane Rolatini stuffed with roasted red pepper, carmelized red onion, and goat cheese - but that's another story) we headed to the Avco in Westwood and I fell right back into the grooves of that record. The moment I remember most was a musical scene, where Big Boi is rhyming about relationship issues slash babymama drama. He's suited and booted, the shake dance girls are decked out in feathers, sequins, and glam; and he delivers a line in his rhyme that reminds me I never want to do the dating-the-artist thing again in my life. "I'm married to the music, dedicated to the wax".
An Unrequited Love / A Lust Unresolved
I remember the way you looked at me the first time we met.
I remember feeling the same way. Together we left it unsaid.
Years passed. We reconnected, in a sense. I remember the first meal I cooked for you. Jerk Chicken, Mofongo, Plantano Dulce, Yellow Rice, Black Beans, Smothered Cabbage. I remember the way you looked at me while you were eating that plate.
Years passed. I saw your face in my dreams, your photograph in a magazine, your image on the television screen, your music came through my stereo speakers, even though it was few and far between.
Years passed. I had a chance to learn your ways. You told me I was an angel. I cooked breakfast, lunch, dinner and breakfast. You thanked me. I was honored.
I remember the smell of garlic cooking would bring you running to the kitchen, just to stop and check me out. I reminisce on feeding you those meals. I think back at the times we touched, ever so briefly, the time we kissed each other's cheek.
Sitting at the table, I felt you standing behind me, but I didn't turn your way. When you reached over and touched a lock of my hair, your fingers brushed the nape of my neck. It made my heart leap in my chest, and it made me jump in the chair. You told me at that moment, I'm sorry, I would never want to touch you wrong. My eyes held back tears, and I said nothing, my thoughts louder than a bomb. "Don't open the doors to heaven, if you won't let me in."
I remember walking by the room where you lay on the couch, just barely asleep. To look at your face in that moment was to see a perfect angel, fallen to earth, in the form of a man. The first time you ever saw my face made-up was in that room. I came around the corner, our eyes met, and you did a double take. You always thought I was beautiful, at that moment you knew.
I remember when you told your child to make sure that I didn't leave. I would never have left, had you asked me to stay. Especially if you had asked without speaking. I remember talking about our Grandparents, and family, and the uselessness of bitches, and the possibility of the meaning of life. You always asked about my Mother. You're the only one I could ever have brought home to her, even though without having seen you she told me to watch out for you.
Now it's only what I recall. The day you picked me up. The night you brought me home. Neither one of us wanted to part. I couldn't be the one to make the first move. You wouldn't ask me to stay with you. Deep down, aside from all the flirtatiousness, all your women, you're still that young, shy boy. So I leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, I didn't know it was the last time. (Is it the last time? When I pray, I pray that it wasn't.)
All I have is these memories to keep me faithful. Before you came along my heart was cold. You showed me I could love again. In you, for the first time in my life, I truly saw my reflection. It was a revelation to me. I'll never forget you.
You made me feel brand new. The love we (almost) had stays on my mind. You must have put a spell on my mind, I'm (still) under your power. I found love on a two wa street, but lost it on a lonely highway. It was just like heaven being there with you, you are like an angel, too good to be true...but after all, I love you, I do. My sunshine has faded away, baby.
The light shot diamonds from your eyes. I'm in the wilderness, you're in the music in the man's car next to me. You could see it in my pride, and the raven in my eyes. You tried to show me a better way...I didn't know what I'd been missing. When you spoke to me (with your eyes) I was always listening. No place for beginners or sensitive hearts. Sentiment is left to chance. No need to ask.
His eyes are like angel's.
But his heart is ... cold.
U.N.I.T.Y.
When I was far, far too young to go to a bar or legitimate nightclub, I was lucky enough to be born and raised in L.A. and privy to some on-the-under information known only to a certain circumference of individuals. By the grace of God and the brainchild of "Bigga B" (R.I.P.), I saw some of the greatest Hip Hop concerts to ever take place in ANY city, right here in the City of Angels...all before I even turned eighteen. You never knew what amazing lineup would happen next (A Tribe Called Quest and Souls of Mischief is the last one I remember) or what fantastic/obscure/unusual venue would host it (the ATCQ/SOM show was upstairs in an empty suite in a mini-mall in Hollywood - one of the great loves of my life was going up one escalator, I was going down another, we met a few years later..the rest was history). It was Unity, it was bigger than life, it was a chance to dance and during that golden age when Hip Hop met love and romance. And there was always this big man standing at the door. He never loomed, like other men of his stature. You knew he was in charge, but he never lorded that over you. He was nice, but firm; there were no handouts, on the principle that if one went in for free, everyone would have to go in for free.
It's crazy 'cause I never got to work with Bigga B personally, and I never got to know him personally. Then he passed away. Even more painful and shocking, in many ways, to me than the death of my own cousin Scout, because no drugs were involved. Bigga B's heart simply gave out, at a very young age. But his influence has been felt ever since. In degrees of seperation, in business and in friendship, having worked with Bigga or having known him - or even having attended his UNITY events - is the mark of a true denizen of the Los Angeles Hip Hop community and the music biz in general.
Outside of L.A., some of you may be saying, yeah, yeah, yeah. But please believe, without this man, you'd never have heard Wu-Tang or the Alkaholiks or Xzibit - or at the very least you'd have heard of them a day late, and they'd have come up a dollar short.
So I'll leave you with Hannibal Tabu's eulogy to Bigga B, courtesy of Damage Control. And I'll leave you with one word.
UNITY
hannibal tabu's damage control
at the speed of life
Bill Operin was a big guy. At least six and a half feet tall, posessed of girth that’d make a pro wrestler think twice. Bill could shout from the back of a club, music blasting, and be heard backstage. He practically invented living large, apologies to Heavy D.
In 1994, Bill, or “Bigga B” as he was more popularly known, walked into this hip hop spot Project Blowed, at 43rd Place and Leimert in LA. Now, as your average hip hop head was maybe 5’7” and possibly 160lbs, this guy comes in like the ocean parting for Leviathan. I worked the door at the time, and as a rule had a “fuck everybody” rule -- I asked Bushwick Bill and Chuck D to pay, as I figgered they could afford it. Bill spoke to me in a calm voice, promising reciprocity at his door as he just wanted to trade off love and work together. He and promoter Orlando ran Unity, the longest running underground concert series I ever heard of, so it sounded cool. I am so glad I didn’t trip.
Over the next few years, Bigga hit us up almost weekly. A promoter for Loud, he was always hustlin’ -- brought Wu Tang to LA for $10 a ticket, and we got to see Method stagedive into hard floor in a display too funny to recreate. Bigga and I would chat on the phone, him asking me which underground heads I knew, should he include on his guest lists. We never got personal or no shit, but we had a great working relationship and he was an honest sword who wouldn’t bullshit. Back when nobody took me seriously as a journalist, he did, and gave me some of my first wristbands, first little industry love. I saw a ton of great shows, and the two of us continued the underground work that people who don’t wanna be MCs do.
Bigga was a true underground evangelist, to borrow a page from the Artifacts. He was the A&R who brought the world Xzibit, one of my personal favorite lyricists, the resurrection of Likwidation. He gave love to all kinds of acts -- Heltah Skeltah, OC, Dilated People, Gravediggas, Blak Forest, Visionaries or a host of other people, put into jam packed rooms fulla heads lovin’ them. No radio commercials. No web sites. Just fliers and energy and hard work. That was Bill.
It seems that Sunday, May 2, 1999, while in Arizona working with Bad Azz, Bigga B left the mortal coil, a victim of a heart attack. 33 years old. Okay, he was this huge frickin’ guy, but by no means did he deserve to die. Hip hop lost a great deal when he left us.
At his West Angeles COGIC funeral, hardcore fools in suits and sneakers or heads in stocking caps and black jeans cried like schoolgirls. The Poetess, the Alkoholiks, and a host of other luminaries were on hand to say goodbye. Dammit, Bill, you wasn’t supposed to die.
In that I’ve already taken a vacation from journalism in using the word “I,” it just needed to be said. Bill Operin needs to be honored and remembered as an integral part of hip hop. We need to take care of ourselves, but more importantly, appreciate the people around us. I’d been planning to take Bill to lunch for six or seven months. Now I never will. I regret that, even thought he’d have probably ate me into the poorhouse.
R.I.P. Bigga B.
The Business of Music (Part I)
Those of you who know me personally, or professionally, have probably heard about my Mama before. Familywise, I've had rough and rocky relationships with my parents for most of my life. But now I'm in a place with my Moms where we're really cool, and we spend a lot of time together. It's so true, the old adage, if you don't know your history you're doomed to repeat it. My mother was a musician. She was a Jazz drummer, and a damn good one - in a time when there were no female Jazz drummers to speak of. But she fell in love with a musician, married him, had his children, gave up her dreams, stopped playing music professionally, and eventually stopped playing music...period. She's not bitter, she's better. I wasn't there, or I was too young to remember, but most likely my mother was my father's manager, in the sense that she probably managed to make happen, or assisted in making happen, all of the behind-the-scenes eventualites that led to my father becoming well-known, then famous, then infamous, then rich.I've heard more of the history about her time with my father over the past few months than in the last 31 years preceding this one. We also talk a lot about music. And we talk a lot about money, and the business, and commercialism/materialism, and control. She and her husband school me about Rock & Roll, Folk, and (gasp) Country... I school her and her husband about Hip Hop, Rap, Soul, R&B (the real shit, not that Ashanti shit). Through my eyes, they see the pitfalls of being in the business of music. Through my ups and downs, they see how fucken hard it is to make a living at this shit. But after really listening to me and learning there's a difference between Rap and Hip Hop, between 50 Cent and Tragedy Khadafi, between UMVD and Day by Day; my Moms finally understands my struggle. And the struggle of all the artists I've supported, assisted, managed, helped, and added on with over the years. From the old days (Saafir) to more recent years (MF Doom), and all the days in between, chopping it up with her has brought me to a realization. The music business is what it is. Groups like Self Scientific, dead prez, Hieroglyphics...MCs like Trag, I Self Devine, Trunks, C-Rayz Walz...supergroups like Monsta Island Czars, S.O.L.A.R. Panel, The Anomolies...they're against incredible odds to even make it onto the radar in this game. There's already one group this year, The Roots, and one MC this year, Talib Kweli, that THEY are going to allow into the system. It's like those long-ass lines for buses for Katrina victims that never showed up or showed up way late and way short. That's not a new thought for me, but this one is, I said it to my folks today. "It's so hard for the people I'm friends with and the people I work with to make it. And it's so hard for me, knowing them, their girls, their children, their parents...they can't afford to buy a house or really live. It's nearly impossible to make it into the moneymaking game in this business of music. And as an extension of that, it's been hard for ME to live. I've put in so much work, but it's not my fault, I can't look at it like that. And to be honest as long as we're making a living, it's better to be below the radar. I can't say that what happened to B.I.G. or what happened to 'Pac wasn't something more than random violence, or beef, or whatever - when you're reaching people on the levels of major radio and major television, globally, huge concerts, you're controlling the youth. And that fucks up the game for the people who are currently in control of the youth. So sometimes it's better for us to have Toyota and two-bedroom house money; not Bentley and twenty-bedroom mansion money. This way they don't see what we're doing, or hear what we're saying. Under the radar."More laterMJ
AMERICAN HUNGER
I have to shout out MF GRIMM, one of the illest MCs to ever do it. He's been so often imitated, and bitten so hard, by so many famous ones on so many occasions. I remember YEARS ago he and I used to sit on the phone for hours at a time, building, building, building, and laying the foundation for what he'd eventually call Day by Day Entertainment. Then one day he told me he had to go away for a while. Sentenced to four years to LIFE, even his closest friends wondered if Grimm would realize his dreams from within the belly of the beast. I, for one, remembered that he'd come back strong from attempts on his life. That he'd regained his sight and hearing, and the use of his upper body, after one of those attempts. Visiting him in Fishkill "correctional facility" I knew they couldn't keep him down, or put out his fire. By the grace of God, and with help of a few earthly citizens - and even some folks in the government - Grimm came home from that bid. He told me about American Hunger long ago. Releasing a triple CD, again, naysayers said he couldn't do it. I'm so proud of him - the album has been selling out everywhere, and has been the # 1 album in sales on UGHH.com for the past two months since its release. There's even a graphic novel by and about Grimm coming out in 2007 through Vertigo/DC Comics entitled "Sentences: The Life of MF Grimm". Please support this great man, this amazing MC, this indestructable cat Grimm; if you haven't already. You can check out all things Grimm at www.mfgrimm.com, and visit his distribution/entertainment conglomerate at www.daybydayent.com.
Iron...Like a Lion...in Zion
I'm just an Aries guest in a Leo's house.
August 3 - Virgilio "VEE" Bravo - one of my first editors and one of the few cats in "Hip Hop journalism" (who's now making movies) whom I really, truly, deeply respect.
August 4 - Waleed "C-Rayz Walz" Shabazz - Father. MC. Energy. Light. Sun. Old Soul. BX Representer. King. Love. Physical embodiment of God. Back-Getter. Wall-Raiser/Razer. Razor Sharp Intellect. Friend. Brother.
August 5 - Gregory "BEEF" Jones - One of my co-conspirators in the legendary NYC party series "SNEAKER PIMP'N" (the original and best, all these west-coast ones are fradulent imitations thereof). One of the VERY few cats working as a music/film/television exec whom I love and respect with genuine authority.
August 7 - Cecil "Mike" Neidlinger - my physical brother, who turns 30 today. He told me he spent yesterday flashing back (too many 'shrooms back in the day), but that he listened to some music and they went away. See, music biz people, we ARE doing something that helps people. He's never recorded anything commercially, but he's by far one of the illest MCs you've never heard.
August 11 - Rachel "Lil' Rachel" Buenviaje - one of my "daughters" in the game, whom I helped raise up alongside Rachel "Big Rachel" Raimist when we were all at Ecko/Complex. She's now on her way up in the marketing department at Nike. Look for her, she WILL do it big.
August 13 - Percy "Tragedy Khadafi" Coles - famous/infamous MC who started things off in Queensbridge for these young boys like Nas, Mobb Deep, etc. My friend, confidant, and brother from another mother since '96.
August 17 - Earl "DENZ" Jamison - the Graffiti king of Chicago, IL. A man I love and respect, who has incredible artistic talent and is a genuine, good, great, responsible, respectable, respectful man.
August 31 - Aziz "Castro" Chapman - Tragedy's younger brother, my ace, my inspiration, and my favorite pen pal. The youngest in charge in my family circle. Around the time Lil' Rachel's name starts to gain fame, look for this cat to start really running shit in his own spheres of influence.
I hope I'm not missing any of my Leos, if I forgot your born day hit me up... I love ya'll, I have to, a ram and a lion should never bump heads with each other.
L.A. CA All Day,
emjay
DIVINE FORCES
When I first met & interviewed Fidel Rodriquez, he was doing a radio show called Seditious Beats on public radio. The show had been removed from mainstream radio, where it was on in the middle of the night/crack of dawn, but Fidel's voice, his movement and his activism were proved too revolutionary for clear channel radio one.
Today his movement is known as Divine Forces Radio, and he's a force within the community of Hip Hop generation activists. Last night in East Los Angeles, at an outdoor concert held at Self Help Graphics, Fidel did the impossible - gathering together Black and Brown (and Asian and white) at a Hip Hop event with a) children of all ages, b) profits donated toward education (real education for youth, not the los angeles unified school district), c) no alcohol, d) no violence, e) gang unity, f) no involvement/approachment from the lapd. There was even homemade tacos for sale, a table representing Fidel's wife Sol's store IMIX Books, and other vendors selling handmade jewelry and clothing. Aztlan Underground, Olmeca, Immortal Technique, DJ Icey Ice/Beat Junkies, Self Scientific, Sick Symphonies/Psycho Realm and others performed under a clear, moonlit L.A. sky.
I didn't have a tape recorder (although pictures are forthcoming from Miz Vanessa's cellphone) so pardon my paraphrase.
Fidel, MCing a portion of the show. "We're here tonight to deal with Christopher Colombus, but that wasn't his name. He was Cristobal Colon, and when we talk about DECOLONIZATON we are talking about the deconstruction of colonialism, named for Colon. That motherfucker. And when I say motherfucker, you know who I'm talking about right?" (Somone in the crowd screamed out "RAPE" - see, none of us here are illiterate or ignorant...) "I'm talking about the slave master, who came in and fucked our mother."
As always, behind every great event, there is a great woman. I was not at all surprised to see Carmelita Sanchez (World Famous Wake Up Show) quietly/quickly running shit from behind the scenes. I'm hopeful knowing that she's been doing this for over 20 years, she's a mom, and she still looks great and gracefully juggles the dozens of balls one has to keep in the air to pull off an event like this one.
While there were more than a hundred die-hard "Sick Side Soldiers" who'd waited for hours to see Psycho Realm who were damn near ready to riot, Self Scientific MC Chace Infinite performed a few tracks from the Change LP and announced that Self Sci and Sick Symphonies are working on a collaboration album called Black and Brown. He also took a moment to talk about the history of L.A. unity between Blacks and Latinos; and about the inclusion of Native/Latin American peoples in the African diaspora.
And although there was a this-is-not-a-game slampit to rival any 1980s L.A. punk rock show during the Aztlan Underground , there was NO violence. I have to repeat myself, ZERO violence.
I know there are a lot of people who read this blog because I've written for some big-name rap magazines, and because I'm known in the music industry. And I want them to read and re-read this post. And most especially, click on some of the links herein and learn about some of these artists, organizations, and the movement of Hip Hop activism, Los Angeles style.
Because like Immortal Technique so aptly said on stage last night, "Mothafucka, you are NOT in southern California! You ARE in NORTHERN MEXICO."
p.s. I have to thank my homeboys Tone Lopez and Joey Castillo, Hi Def Management, for making the night go smoothly and for staying true even now that they're blowing up. Our crew deserves all the success, we have earned this, and it's been time.
Streets are Watching/Their Eyes Are Watching God
Meditating in the bath a few nights back, right after listening to 18 With a Bullet, I had a strange feeling about one of my dearly beloved friends. The next day another friend told me he'd been shot a couple of weeks back, but that he was recovering.
Last night a few people on MySpace posted bulletins that Prodigy of Mobb Deep was murdered in Queens near 43rd. I still haven't been able to clarify if that is truth or rumour.
Today I went to the location where my friend was shot to assess the energy level, and cleanse what I could. After coming home this news story appeared in my email box - 5 Murdered in New Orleans - and then right after perusing The Bishop on the Israel/Lebanon violence and the lack of Hip Hop blogger/media reaction I happened upon this news piece about an alleged Muslim-against-Jew shooting in Seattle.
There's a pattern here, and it isn't for the faint of heart. Random violence. Black-on-Black violence. Violence overseas and on this soil based on race/religion/ethnicity. Rumoured "rap violence" again. There's a maelstorm of hatred that makes the recent weather patterns look like Spring rain. I don't know if Paris is burning but you can almost smell the singed Cyprus trees from here.
A Halal butcher and a Kosher butcher follow the same ancient guidelines when killing a chicken - all over the world. In other religious practices, such as Santeria, the blood of a chicken is for certain rites and the meat becomes an offering to the Saints. In Indonesia the chicken has great significance during the Hindu cremation ceremony. In the 'hood the poorest kids eat the grimiest chicken fried in yesterday's grease, no one cares how the meat is slaughtered, or even if it's authentically chicken - only in America.
And only in America, to paraphrase Malcolm X, can all these chickens come home to roost. To quote my dear friend Aziz, "If you ain't fam, you food."
Are you ready for war?
The Internet Rumour...R.I.P. Prodigy (Mobb Deep)?
I read this in a bulletin on MySpace when I came down to blog. I was upstairs listening to Tragedy and Littles on the Reloaded CD, which I haven't heard in months, so if this is true I had QB on my mind. The last time I was supposed to see Prodigy was at B.B. Kings, but he had an episode of his sickle cell anemia acting up and he couldn't come out to perform. I hope this is yet another internet rumour...if it's true, God bless P's life.(I found this notation later this morning on MySpace..."Sorry..... it was late, I was drunk, and I read it from some-one else's bulletin.I think it was a fake! Plus, whoever write it, doesn't know how to write too good.")R.I.P. Prodigy MOBB DEEPPolice are searching for the person responsible for shooting a man outside a Queens, New York home. The victim, 32 year old rapper Albert Johnson also known as Prodigy from the gangster rap group Mobb Deep, ran for help and collapsed moments later and died from bullet wounds according to 5 local witnesses.Emergency crews responded to the scene and tried to save his life, but by the time they got there he was already dead. Crews closed down 43rd street in order to search for evidence and witnesses, causing major backups. It's out of the question whether the shooting appeared to be rap-related. Albert Johnson leaves behind his wife and two children, an autopsy is yet to be issued
KEEP ON MOVING (the time will come for the rain)
Los Angeles. Hot summer night in the city. Insomnia squeezes, but it don't choke. Back II Life acapella in the headphones. I'm down, take a look around. Sirens blend in the background...187? 211? 2:40, the beat finally drops in. However do you want me? How (ever) do you need me?
Flashback to the basement club in Minneapolis - Stage One used to play this cut sometimes. I was so happy just to walk to the club at night by myself. Listen. Then walk home alone. Solitary refinement.
Flash further back to NYC. Tuesday nights, Bar XVI, Evil Dee and Mr. Walt. It was just a little hole in the wall. Same shit, hope over the Williamsburg bridge by myself, walk in the spot, kick back. Listen. Go home alone.
This year I feel like I'm wasting away inside this house, my youth is slipping away from me, and I can feel it. Steady, are you ready?
Flash way back to 1989. When I was with Stephan. When we were in love. When he was still alive. My first time hearing Soul II Soul I was with him. Why when I was 15 did I have love, a man, a car, and a home? I don't have any of those today. Cold fresh air, feel the melody that's in the air.
I know why Stephan and I broke up. But I'll never know what made him tie a noose for himself, or take that last slip into darkness. I'll always wonder. What made me strong enough to carry on? Even after so much has gone wrong for me, after the bottom has dropped out of my life time and time again...I'm still here.
I live at the top of the block, there's no more room for anything more. I'll state my name, my claim to fame. Look, it's more writing on the wall. Tell me...however, do you want me? I wonder?
Back to life? Back to reality.
Reciting a lil' poetry for ya'll...>
Misunderstood
People said this relationship could never work
We don’t have enough in common
They’re too far apart, the dates of our birth
True, U and I come from two different worlds
Fate brought us together in the same universe
Shipwrecked on this multifaceted lovers rock
A blessing and a curse
Two of a kind
The broken-hearted patient and his vigilant night nurse
So many enchanted evenings, melancholy, spent apart
Encapsulating in letter form what is inside two hearts
Her soulfulness enough to make even a thug cry
His brilliance alone can light up the night sky
Though everyone would trespass against us
Without understanding, they’re on the outside, looking in
Still our friendship grows across space and time
Despite physical separation, our souls intertwine
With all due respect for He who brought us together
Our bond will endure through even the worst weather
Eventually we’ll arrive at the one place we can be together…
Forever
Some Fake Shit VS. THAT REAL
Will the REAL B-Girls please stand up? Or bust some floor work?Big up ASIA ONE, PEPPA, G.I. JANE, LADY CHAMP, and all the rest!
Bastardization of a B*Girl - Part I
On a telephonic two-woman consciousness-raising session this morning, Rachel Raimist soon-to-be-PhD and I did our usual brainstorm-connect-feminist-powers-activate mindmeld and magical things started happening. I suddenly received an email from California's largest adult-entertainment company asking me to interview for their office manager position; she simultaneously received a mysterious e-missive from an anomoly/anonymous video-network insider to make immediate contact.
Outside looking in, we've been there, done that. On the surface, we've scratched underneath it, next. Behind the scenes? We've both made that scene, and then some, for far too long. But undercover? Don't think I won't do it. The spook who sat by the whore...oh wait maybe I've already worked that job...
Cryptic femisms to the side (aren't they always?), HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM.
For years I hesitated to label myself a B-Girl because I am neither a Bronx girl nor a Break girl, although I do possess a modicum of footwork and what a professional B-Girl would call "Hip Hop Dance skills". But I'm a purist. Of course I'm a dyed-in-the-wool, to-the-heart, Mi-Vida-Loca B-Girl in more ways than one; I have the Hip Hop tattoo on the back if you're confused about my pedigree.
So in the name of sisterhood, and trying to retain the bit of Queenliness/Royalty that we women of the Hip Hop Generation posess, a few years back I said fuck it; if you're down for this struggle and you're not a total bitch; if you didn't start listening to Hip Hop when Diddy re-invented the re-mix ghostproduction...you're a B-Girl.
Because, here's the rub. B-Girl is one of the only positive attributes we have left. I'm blessed with cultured, refined gentlemen around me who address me as Queen. But let's fact facts, most women my age (and most are younger by half) are getting called another B-word, and it's bitch, if it's not beee-yotch.
A B-Girl is bold. A B-Girl is beautiful. A B-Girl is someone who cares about this culture. A B-Girl might listen to Nelly as a guilty pleasure, or watch a T.I. video 'cause he's Plan B. A B-Girl might have a pair of tight jeans, or a favorite pair of heels or sandals; she might employ a weeve or braids or other hair magic to acheive her look now and then. She might get her M.A.C. on every once in a while just to remind ya'll she knows how to give good face.
A B-Girl, above all else, is intricate, mysterious, complex, and BEGUILING. She might use her skills to pay the bills, but she ain't got to use what she got just to get what she want. A B-Girl knows that she might not get what she wants, but she shall proceed to get what she needs.
B-Girl Asia One talked about Headspin Janet as one of the first B-Girls. Crazy Legs RSC mentioned her name as well. Historically B-Girls got their start in the Bronx and elsewhere in New York. Some were down with Rocksteady Crew, some were Zulu Queens. And those ladies could Break...in some cases better, stronger, and faster than the B-Boys.
I think Headspin Janet passed away, and some of the other First Ladies of Breaking have also gone back to the essence. And I know that as sick as BET's "B-Girls" have made me to my stomach, this shit probably has them rolling over in their grave.
So if you love Hip Hop, and you're tired of tired hoes masquerading as cultural constituents, I think it's time to hit up BET and let them know where Hip Hop lives. And while this B-Girl flick isn't my favorite representation (especially now that some random chick will be the "star", at least it shows the true struggle of a break girl. And like Julia Phillips said, "if you can't be best, be first".
NEP-POE-TISM
In the neverending search for a career move, I've been looking toward using the family name, the Father's (in)fame, and the Hollywood inside game to a) make much more money, b) break out of the horrid/torrid "urban" mold that I've been so wrongfully pigeonholed into and c) tell/sell some of the incredible stories I've lived, witnessed and seen my friends and homies live through. Shit, people see The Source Magazine on your resume and think you're a) illiterate, b) bankrupt, c) a sex-industry worker or d) all of the above. Of which I'm none of the above.
Not for nothing did I a) grow up in Hollywood AND Laurel Canyon, b) spend all that time at Spago afterparties as a pre-teen, c) traverse and travail to Ojai with the family of Harold Ramis (Ghostbusters) and d) save a treasure-trove of mental pictures of various Hollywood and music-biz types sniffing freeze-rock-sugar-cane-blow. I might have been six years old, but trust me I have a memory like an elephant and a mind like a steel trap. Fear me.
After the infamous Neil Portnow liked me until he realized I was my father's daughter so I didn't get the Jive/Zomba gig which was bad, but now that he's El Jefe de los Grammys y NARAS or whatever the fuck it's called today it's even worse...I gave up on THAT side of the family.
So today my poor Mom had to regale me with the story of how she sent a scathing personal letter to an old family friend who is a huge Hollywood producer about how she left her cell phone ringer on during my Grandma's funeral and that she should basically burn in hell for all eternity because of this fact. Mom, don't feel bad, I WANT to work for a woman who leaves her cell phone on during funerals. Trust me she makes the last 15 years of Rap & Bullshitty Business look like nothing with that very act. And when I become the next Kathy Nelson and I'm music-supervising ALL the huge blockbuster films, guess whose tracks will end up in my circular file? You know who you are. Anyways I left a message for the big-time Hollywood producer lady and we'll see if she calls me back.
About an hour later, my Mom calls my cell again (twice in one day, this IS a record) and says, oh oh oh I forgot someone. Linda Perry. Do you remember her? She was at Lorimar Records. Well, of course there's no more Lorimar Records. There's not even anymore a Lorimar Pictures. But, lo and behold, Linda Perry has a MySpace! Of course she does, 'cause she's 4 Non Blondes Linda Perry. And Aguilera Linda Perry. Linda Perry Rocks! And even though my Mom stopped playing drums after appearing on only one album, Marty's Garage, and she may not be rich, or big in Hollywood, or current on her record labels and movie studios, one thing is true. SHE ROCKS TOO.
p.s. I'm at the library posting this and two really cute teenage girls, one with naturally red hair in a fly cornrow design, vocally admire my chain. So I say well my friend KEL, he's a graffiti artist, and he's sort of famous, he makes these... And the redhead girl says, "Oh, my Daddy is a graffiti artist too. He's from WCA. His name is WISK." I LOVE L.A.
Here's One for the Dream Book...
When I woke up this morning I heard the echoes of the last line of my last dream of the night."What did you do, raid kris ex's wardrobe?" Spoken by me, in my dream, to an audience of thousands (or billions 'cause I think we were broadcast live on TV). Followed by raucous laughter all around. Okay let me backtrack. It was an event of immense proportions. The red carpet to end all red carpets. The concert-slash-award show-slash-celebrity roast of the millenium. VIP passes to this thing were like platinum, a press pass was like plutonium. I couldn't talk my way in to save my life, I wasn't on the list, I couldn't flirt with the security enough to garner an entrance for myself. I tried all the gully back-alley entranceways to sneak in. Wasn't happening. I couldn't figure out why I wasn't on the list. I went to an upscale boutique and totally changed my style, a gown and stilettos, they whole thing. You know how you teleport places in dreams, and don't have to pay for shit. Then I slid in the middle of a pack of "video models" and somehow passed inspection, and greased right on in there. Everyone was there. I took a seat deep within the crowd. A funny thing happened during the awards presentation. No one in the crowd applauded for any of the candy-coated shit that was winning. As a matter of fact the glitterati came out of their seats and shouted out the shit that should've won, and why. It turned out there was no one in the crowd but us critics. The journalists. The writers. The hacks. Bonz Malone, Allen Scott Gordon, Carlito, Caramanica, exo, Danyel Smith, Dream Hampton, Kenji Jasper, Jazzbo, The Blackspot, Black Dog Bone, Meshack Blaque, The Bishop, Davey D, Gotti, Timmhotep, Miles Marshall Lewis, Datwon, the list goes on and on...anyone and everyone who ever wrote a word in print (or even on 360hiphop) was in the house. And when it came to the punchline, it was funny, but I swear kris U were on some House of Boateng-ol'fly shit - I was bigging you up (and it was T.I. who raided your wardrobe, so I guess he was fly too). The line got a lot of laughs, but not at anyone's expense. The after-burn lasted me well into the day. When I woke up, for the first time, I really felt like I was a part of something. Something deep, big, meaningful, impactful, resonant, long-lasting and pristine.It was all a dream, but it made me want to start my own magazine.Almost.So if someone has a really illmatic dream book in their posession, please hit me up and let me know...what does it all mean?Peace to the scribes supreme, from 1 Queen.
CRAZY GNARLY...DRIVE SLOW HOMIE
The bitch is back. Oh, sorry, I mean the crazy bitch is back. That's what former friends/employers/co-workers/even some relatives call Miranda Jane in front of her back.
CRAZY BITCH
But hmmm....never to her face.
Love the video for DRIVE SLOW. The space-time continuum hits a vortex-varial for the cameras when Kanyeezy, Paul Wall Baby, KING T.I., and friends meet shifty camera angles of glistening rims, diamonelles in the teeths, RIMS, slick-appears-wet paint, and of course fo'sho the Vegas strip. Sort of stop-action photography for a cinescape to fast for the lense to capture.
To MY homies and ex-homies, in the literal sense, drive slow...but please don't drive syrup-slow. Lean to the side...but don't lean to far, babies.
So, loved the video, but is anyone listening to the song? Or have we stopped paying attention to the words altogether? It's kind of an anthem/anathema for man-hoes...SLOW down, drive slow homie, watch for "hoes". Since we don't know which came first - the chicken, the egg, or the chickenhead - maybe it's wise to leave the responsibility up to men. Isn't THAT a novel concept? Since we were made from their rib and all... (Love to Bambaataa, but I always followed moreso the Knowledge Wisdom school of thought anyway.) Ahhh..1,2...1,2.
The hallmark of a Kanyesque track is apparent, even if you don't pay attention to the rhythmic american poetry part. The sample is ear-catching, indeed. Oh but did you know - it's one of many versions of the classic old-school soul jam, WILDFLOWER. Most know the standard by The New Birth, true heads know the illy live version by the O'Jays, and even I don't know who did the version sampled for the Drive Slow beat.
But it IS ill that today's nod to the men to Drive Slow utilizes that classic soul ballad which came from so many male singers, also a cautionary/pre-cautionary tale in a way, that Wildflower. Moreso a song from a male perspective, about a woman, directed toward men, to take heed/listen and SLOW DOWN (DRIVE SLOW HOMIE)...
She's faced the hardest times you can imagineAnd many times her eyes fought back the tearsAnd when her youthful world was about to fall inEach time her slender shouldersBore the weight of all her tearsAnd a sorrow no one hearsStill rings in midnight silence in her earsLet her cry, for she's a ladyLet her dream for she's a childLet the rain fall down upon herShe's a free and gentle flower growing wildAnd if by chance that I should hold herLet me hold her for all timeAnd if allowed just one posessionI would pick her from her garden to be mineBe careful how you touch her for she'll awakenAnd sleep's the only freedom that she knowsAnd when you look into her eyes you won't believeThe way she's always paying For a debt she never owedAnd a silent wind still blows That she can only hearSo she goes...
Don't know who wrote the lyrics, don't feel like looking it up. It mighta been slick-talk R&B preacher-pimpin', but that's just my 21st century millenium thrust mechanism kicking in (for my own protection). More likely, WILDFLOWER WAS A LOVE SONG.
I remember MEN who used to play that song for me, and listen to it with me. The two that most quickly come to mind are both passed away now, their lives cut short. One from a brutal murder, the other from an equally brutal suicide. Actual MEN, now deceased. Much like love.
DRIVE SLOW HOMIE
AS A MATTER OF FACT...STOP...AND SMELL THE WILDFLOWERS
LOVE IS LOVE
MIRANDA "Insane in the Membrane" JANE
BLOG WHILE YOU STILL CAN...
VERBATIM FROM DAVEY D. IF YOU READ ANYTHING THIS WEEK/MONTH/YEAR WORD-FOR-WORD, THIS'D BE THE THING TO READ...An Open Letter to Hip Hop About Some Real Important ShytDear Folks who say they Love Hip Hop, I wish there was a way to make this issue of Net Neutrality more interesting. I wish there was a way to spice it up and make it compelling like some sort of beef within the rap industry. Maybe I should get Brad and Angelina to talk about it instead of their baby. Maybe Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton can utter a few words and force us to take more of an interest. I wish Cam'ron spent his vast money holding press conferences, dissing punk ass Congress for taking tainted money from Verizon, SBC, and Comcast instead of going after Jay-Z. Im glad Jay-Z ignored Camron, unfortunately he remained silent as the President of Def Jam on this important issue. We'll see what happens after Def Jam finds it difficult or too costly to send out their e-post cards alerting me and others of their latest releases I'm sorry Miss Jones on Hot 97 was so upset and enraged that she felt compelled to make headlines calling Mary J Blige a bitch for not shouting her out at last weeks Summer Jam. Its too bad that she didnt use her 3-4 hours a day of airtime in the nations largest city to call the greedy Congress people who accepted money from these corporations Bitches. There aint gonna be any shout outs if the Senate follows Congress in passing this bill. Maybe she'll step it up when her parent company Emmis finds that folks from all over the country can no longer easily access their archived interviews on their website. It's too bad that many of us found this issue 'too complicated' and 'too overwhelming' and hence directed our attention to Ludacris and Ice Cube's beef with Oprah. This is the feedback I got after stories ran on my website as well as AllHipHop. Shyt I'm sorry Oprah was too busy telling Ed Lover that she really does love Hip Hop and that she listens to 50 Cent and his violent ass all damn day instead of alerting her millions of viewers about the issue of Net Neutrality. Im sorry that KRS-One and others used these Internet airways to tell us about the Hip Hop Nation they want to build, but didnt issue a call to action to protect a main arm of our communication. Whether youre a Hip Hop or Rap Lover the elimination of Net Neutrality is gonna impact you.. Here's what's happening folks. The house has gone passed the COPE bill and rejected proposals to insure Net Neutrality. Those who sided with the Comcast and Verizon are well aware that the ability of ordinary people to communicate to the masses is a problem because its been the only thing holding them accountable. For the last 5 years, the biggest stories about government corruption, corporate swindles, global warming and no weapons of Mass Destruction has come through Internet bloggers who were able to push an issue to the masses and force Fox, CNN and other News outlets to pay some sort of attention. Anyone who is an activist and championed causes ranging from Election fraud and Diebold Machines, police brutality Freeing Mumia, Global warming, Media Reform and Saving the South Central Farm in LA just to name a few this is will especially hit you hard, because the Internet and its neutrality provisions have enabled many of us to counter biased mainstream media outlets get information out about particular causes all over the world. Yesterday that ability took one step closer to coming to an end. The mantra being sung on Capitol Hill is Shut it down, Shut that shyt down and redirect traffic to a handful of places and media outlets that they can influence and control. Like Ice Cube said 'Laugh Now and Cry Later', because many of us will soon be crying when we see the Internet gets parceled up and we start paying outrageous tolls for basic amenities. And speaking of which why didn't Ice Cube talk about this issue instead of not being invited on Oprah? Anyway your next steps should you choose is to call your Senator's office and tell them to stand up and protect your interests. Ignoring this, waiting for others to take on your responsibility or acting like the issue will simply go away will not change this. While many of you may shrug this off and think it doesn't apply to you, stop and think of all the activities you do on the daily that involve the Internet. Such activities range from using phone cards which use Internet connections-(Many of y'all didn't realize that) on down to peeping your favorite blog... Many of y'all like to surf and check out my site, AllHipHop, Sohh, HipHopGame etc.. Folks that shyt is about to change in a big, big ,big way. You're soon gonna be left with only being able to peep monthly issues of The Source and XXL, who neglected to address this issue. The Source bypassed this in their Media Watch column and Elliot Wilson from XXL obvious saw his shyt talking editorials as more important then keeping you informed. I guess I can understand, all these Hip Hop Internet websites were eating into business. All you artists who felt like you can easily get your music out there via Myspace and the other sites, that's about to change Oh yeah lets not forget the punk ass RIAA who like to sue everybody. They stayed silent on this and in fact while all this is going on they have quietly lobbying Congress to change laws so that they can fundamentally change the copyright laws in such a way that it will make it damn near impossible to pass things around via the net. Please read about this here: http://www.kurthanson.com/archive/news/060906/index.aspand here http://p076.ezboard.com/fpoliticalpalacefrm70.showMessage?topicID=453.topic Also lets not let Steve Jobs and his vast i-tunes network off the hook. Perhaps I missed it, but I didnt see him alerting us when you went to download your favorite song or stepped into his stores. Perhaps he figures hes rich enough to pay for the inevitable increases while the rest of us cant. In other words controlling 90% of the market is not enough. Shame on former Black Panther, Congressman Bobby Rush for selling us out and supporting these corporations. Shame on the National Coalition on Black Civic Participation and any other Civil Rights group pretending to represent our interests while selling us out and taking the money to front for these groups. And while Im glad former Congressman Ron Dellums did well in his Mayoral bid in Oakland, we should not forget that hes also a lobbyist with one of his main clients being Verizon so shame on him as well. Hows Oakland gonna be a world class city that is a beacon for new technology and innovation when his client is one of the main people trying to shut down the Internet? In closing I'm gonna say this and it may be sobering for some... It's what my pops told me after I got caught fuccing up and then went home and tried to kiss up to him so I wouldn't get in trouble. He told me to stop acting like a wuss and start acting like a man. He told me it was time I grow up and accept responsibility. He then punished me for 3 weeks not for the fucc up, but for me trying to kiss his ass instead of owning up to my mistakes. This is about to happen to all of us... My point is this. Hip Hop is over 30 years old. We're not kids no more. This industry is not run by kids. To not involve ourselves in shaping the institutions that we rely on to get our information and music out is irresponsible. Thats some thing to pond about. Here's another breakdown on this issue courtesy of www.playahata.com Peace out for now Holla at your Senator before you holla back at me... Davey DHouse Rejects Net Neutrality The First Amendment of the Internet the governing principle of net neutrality, which prevents telecommunications corporations from rigging the web so it is easier to visit sites that pay for preferential treatment took a blow from the House of Representatives Thursday. Bowing to an intense lobbying campaign that spent tens of millions of dollars and held out the promise of hefty campaign contributions for those members who did the bidding of interested firms the House voted 321 to 101 for the disingenuously-named Communications Opportunity, Promotion and Enhancement Act (COPE). That bill, which does not include meaningful network-neutrality protections creates an opening that powerful telephone and cable companies hope to exploit by expanding their reach while doing away with requirements that they maintain a level playing field for access to Internet sites. "Special interest advocates from telephone and cable companies have flooded the Congress with misinformation delivered by an army of lobbyists to undermine decades-long federal practice of prohibiting network owners from discriminating against competitors to shut out competition. Unless the Senate steps in, (Thursday's) vote marks the beginning of the end of the Internet as an engine of new competition, entrepreneurship and innovation." says Jeannine Kenney, a senior policy analyst for Consumers Union. In case there was any question that Kenney's assessment was accurate, the House voted 269-152 against an amendment, offered by Massachusetts Democrat Ed Markey, which would have codified net neutrality regulations into federal law. The Markey amendment would have prevented broadband providers from rigging their services to create two-tier access to the Internet with an "information superhighway" for sites that pay fees for preferential treatment and a dirt road for sites that cannot pay the toll. After explicitly rejecting the Markey amendment's language, which would have barred telephone and cable companies from taking steps "to block, impair, degrade, discriminate against, or interfere with the ability of any person to use a broadband connection to accessservices over the Internet," the House quickly took up the COPE legislation. The bill drew overwhelming support from Republican members of the House, with the GOP caucus voting 215-8 in favor of it. But Democrats also favored the proposal, albeit by a narrower vote of 106 to 92. The House's sole independent member, Vermont's Bernie Sanders, a champion of internet freedom who is seeking his state's open Senate seat this fall, voted against the measure. Joining Sanders in voting against the legislation were most members of the Congressional Progressive Caucus, including its co-chairs, California Representatives Barbara Lee and Lynn Woolsey, as well as genuine conservatives who have joined the fight to defend free speech and open discourse on the internet, including House Judiciary Committee chair James Sensenbrenner, R-Wisconsin, and Intelligence Committee chair Pete Hoekstra, R-Michigan. The left-meets-right voting in the House reflected the coalition that has formed to defend net neutrality, which includes such unlikely political bedfellows as the Christian Coalition of America, MoveOn.org, National Religious Broadcasters, the Service Employees International Union, the American Library Association, the American Association of Retired People, the American Civil Liberties Union and all of the nation's major consumer groups. House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, D-California, opposed COPE, while House Speaker Dennis Hastert, R-Illinois, and Majority Leader John Boehner, R-Ohio, were enthusiastically supported it. Among the Democrats who followed the lead of Hastert and Boehner as opposed to that of Pelosi were House Democratic Whip Steny Hoyer and Maryland Representative Ben Cardin, who is running for that state's open Senate seat in a September Democratic-primary contest with former NAACP President Kweisi Mfume. Illinois Democrat Melissa Bean, who frequently splits with her party on issues of interest to corporate donors, voted with the Republican leadership, as did corporate-friendly "New Democrats" such as Alabama's Artur Davis, Washington's Adam Smith and Wisconsin's Ron Kind all co-chairs of the Democratic Leadership Council-tied House New Democrat Coalition. The fight over net neutrality now moves to the Senate, where Maine Republican Olympia Snowe and North Dakota Democrat Byron Dorgan have introduced legislation to codify the net neutrality principles of equal and unfettered access to Internet content into federal law. Mark Cooper, the director of research for the Consumers Federation of America, thinks net neutrality will find more friends in the Senate, at least in part because the "Save the Internet" coalition that has grown to include more than 700 groups, 5,000 bloggers and 800,000 individuals is rapidly expanding. "This coalition will continue to grow, millions of Americans will add their voices, and Congress will not escape the roar of public opinion until Congress passes enforceable net neutrality," says Cooper. Cooper's correct to be more hopeful about the Senate than the House. But the House vote points up the need to get Democrats united on this issue. There's little question that a united Democratic caucus could combine with principled Republicans in the Senate to defend net neutrality. But if so-called "New Democrats" in the Senate side with the telephone and cable lobbies, the information superhighway will become a toll road.
KNOW OUR NAMES...OR DIE TRYING
PEACE AND BLESSINGS TO MY SISTERS IN THE STRUGGLE...ROSA CLEMENTE, CHRISTIE Z-PABON, RACHEL "RAE ONE" RAIMIST, B-GIRL ASIA ONE, DJ KUTTIN KANDI, MONALISA MURRAY, RAQUEL WILSON, ELLENE MILES, JENNY "EVOLVE" NAGLER, JENNIFER "J-LOVE" CALDERON, EBONY UNDERWOOD, WENDY DAY, VIOLET BROWN, KIM OSORIO, SISTA ASIA, ECHO HATTIX, SHELLY O'NEILL, ASYA SHEIN, TALIA RODRIGUEZ-SHAKUR, LADY SUKARI, AND ESPECIALLY MY MOTHER, DEBORAH FUSS-HOCHMAN. I LOVE U ALL SO MUCH. SO MANY PEOPLE WILL READ THIS PARAGRAPH AND HAVE SOMETHING NEGATIVE TO SAY ABOUT ONE OR ALL OF US. OUR STRUGGLES ARE NOT IDENTICAL, BUT WE WORK TOWARD THE SAME GOAL. WE LOVE OURSELVES, FIRST AND FOREMOST, AND WE LOVE OUR MEN WITH THE SAME VIGOR AND PASSION. NOBODY KNOWS OUR NAMES; AND WE ARE SO MISUNDERSTOOD. WE PUT ON A MEEK FACE WHEN THE TIME COMES, BECAUSE OUR STRENGTH TERRIFIES THOSE IN POSITIONS OF POWER. ALAS, OUR TIME IS NIGH, AND THE MEEK SHALL TRULY INHERIT ALL. MIRANDA JANEINDUSTRY (AGAIN), STILL IN THE STREETSR.E.A.C.Hip-Hop Asks Hot 97"Where Is The Love?"
Steps of City Hall NYC at 10:30 am on Wed., Feb. 15th, 2006
Where is the Love?
Not at Hot 97! Join R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop and NYC Council Members Yvette D. Clark, John Liu and Leroy Comrie at 10:30 am on Wed., Feb. 15th, on the steps of City Hall in City Hall Park across the street from 250 Broadway (cross street: Chambers St.) Manhattan NYC 10007.
DIRECTIONS Take trains 4, 5 or 6 to Brooklyn Bridge; 2 or 3 to Park Place; N, R or W to City Hall; or 1, A, C, E, J, M or Z to Chambers/W.T.C.
More Directions
PRESS Press please contact R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop publicist and spokesperson, Rosa Clemente at knowthyself@mac.com for more information.
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop
Resolution Condemns the Bigoted Remarks of Ms. Jones on The Hot 97 Morning Show
The R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop coalition (Representing Education, Activism and Community Through Hip Hop) is proud to join New York City Council Members Yvette D. Clarke, John Liu and Leroy Comrie, along with Hip Hop artists Kuttin Kandi, M1 of Dead Prez, Immortal Technique and others as they introduce a resolution condemning the bigoted remarks by Hot 97.1 WQHT personality Tarsha Nicole Jones (aka Ms. Jones). Council Member Clarke will also introduce a resolution calling upon the Council's Committee for Consumer Affairs to hold a hearing regarding the practice of payola at New York City's radio stations. We are calling on members of the Hip Hop community to join us on Wednesday, February 15th, 2006 on the steps of City Hall at 10:30 am to demand corporate accountability and responsibility.
One year after airing the infamous Tsunami song, Hot 97 continues to air racially offensive remarks against Asians, African-Americans and Caribbean members of our community, which happen to make up the majority of their listenership. As members of the Hip Hop community, we were once again outraged to hear racially offensive remarks coming across the airwaves from Hot 97. This time their target was Transit Workers Union Local 100 labor leader Roger Toussaint. By calling Mr. Toussaint a "dumb coconut" it is clear that Hot 97 has no intention of using their airwaves for the public good. The increasing racism and hatred from Hot 97 comes under the management of program director, John Dimmick.
Rosa Clemente, spokesperson for R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop explains, "We can no longer tolerate these attacks against members of our communities. This is the second set of racially offensive remarks under the watch of program director John Dimmick and we will no longer let corporate interests and the need for ratings ruin the culture of Hip Hop. We are calling for the removal of Mr. John Dimmick and Ms. Tarsha Jones immediately. We are also demanding that Emmis Communications (parent company of Hot 97) CEO Jeff Smulyan and President Rick Cummings, meet with members of the R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop and members of the New York City Council to face the music and their radio listeners. We applaud Council Member Yvette Clarke's legislative initiatives and are happy to join forces."
About R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop (Representing Education, Activism & Community Through Hip-Hop) formerly known as "Hip Hop for Social Justice" was the founded by DJ Kuttin Kandi. R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop is a diverse coalition of artists, activists, Hip-Hop legends and historians, journalists, educators, students, and parents within, and in alliance with, the greater Hip Hop community. Members of R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop include Afrika Bambaataa, Rosa Clemente, Kevin Powell, J-Love, Christie Z-Pabon, Allison Faelnar, John Kim, Thomas Mariadason, Kari Kokka, Lisa Fager, Adisa Banjoko, Paul Porter and many others.
Our initial call to action was in late January 2005, when commercially owned radio station Hot 97 aired its now infamous Tsunami Song. With a long history of radio programming that is racist, sexist, and obscene, Hot 97 produced and broadcast an offensive parody of the We Are The World song which became known as the Tsunami Song.
The parody included bold racial slurs and unapologetically mocked the deaths of Asians and Africans. In the aftermath of one of the world's most devastating natural disasters, Hot 97’s racist Tsunami Song parody was broadcast continuously for 4 days in late January 2005. Though it was played exclusively on Hot 97 airwaves, it was disseminated internationally via that station’s website. The song not only offended people across the world. People around the world called for immediate action against the radio station. In New York, R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop has been at the forefront of that movement.
Since the birth of our coalition, we have been actively targeting Hot 97 for numerous offenses to the communities they claim to serve. Although we came together in response to the Tsunami Song, it is understood that our fight against corporate media includes much more than that. It is a fight to reclaim Hip Hop culture from corporate media’s co-optation, unbalanced representation, and exploitation. Our fight is also to support and create the balance that is so direly needed on our airwaves and other public media. We assert that our efforts are to not only demand ethical corporate accountability, but also to protect, preserve, and regenerate the great legacy of Hip Hop culture by Representing Education, Activism and Community through Hip-Hop.
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop Coalition is dedicated to encouraging and creating fair and equal representation of the diversity of Hip Hop culture, including, but not limited to; race/ethnicity, nationality, class, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and disability. We are a pro-active body made up of activists, artists, teachers, performers, organizers, and individuals all dedicated to positive change within our communities. We believe Hip Hop’s true legacy belongs to the people, and we strive to utilize Hip Hop as a vehicle of social and political justice to promote education, information, and empowerment for the masses, while preventing the dissemination of negative stereotypes, discrimination, and violence.
PEACE! Christie Z-Pabon
Tools of War
email: toolsofwar@aol.com
R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop http://www.HipHopLivesHere.com
THIS IS DENZ ONE. HE'S AN O.G. GRAF ARTIST FROM CHICAGO, IL. HE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHING LINE DENZ UNORTHODOX. HE'S HOLDING A TOASTER HE PAINTED...PEOPLE PAY A LOT OF MONEY FOR THIS HOT-ASS SHIT. GIVES A WHOLE NEW MEANING TO BURNT TOAST. BIG OG DENZ IS A LEO. HE'S GOT A MOHAWK UNDER THAT HOODIE. DENZ IS A BLACKXICAN. NO SPANISH SKILLS WHATSOEVER, BUT HE'S GOT A MEAN DOWNHOME COUNTRY-ASS ACCENT. FAM, WELCOME DENZ TO THE FAM...>- DENZ71/MIRA22 -
Flashbacks (Call it DeJa Vu)
The statue of Myrna Loy in front of Venice High...it's been torn down,but they can never take away the memories. VENICE, class of 1992...Miranda Jane
Yesterday I went to my friend Takara's housewarming party on the Eastside of L.A. Hard to warm a house there that's really an apartment, when she's an O.G. Venice girl to the heart, three generations back. But we did it.
She has two daughters, gorgeous little girls, and another in her belly ready to come here in just 5 weeks. She amazes me because even though we were apart for so many years, from age 18 until now, she and I are so much alike. But so different because I never became a mom. Her daughters' father went to Venice High too. He was punk rock after it was cool, while it was cool again, and he still is punk rock today; even though he listens mainly to roots Reggae...which I suppose is very Punk Rock.
The surprise came when Sarah walked up the stairs into the apartment. I remember Sarah from high school. Very sweet, very blonde, very beach lady. She has two daughters and a son, and she married, yes married, Doug, her high school sweetheart. She told me that I should call Summer, who was her best friend but a good friend of mine for the couple of years I was at Venice...Summer is married with four kids.
A few weeks before I "found" Takara on the internet, I was hoping and wishing and praying that the Angels would send me a Venice boy. I told Takara this the other day, and she said, "an old one, or a new one?". Really either one would be fine, but for me, 'cause I wasn't born and raised in Venice, 'cause all of my boyfriends were gangsters in Venice, and 'cause I left Venice for many, many years...all of the old ones are dead or in prison or I can't find them to save my life.
The only one I'd really, really want to find is Darrell Jason Powell. I hope he got out. I'm pretty sure he did. He was smart, and his older brother didn't seem like he was going to let him be one of the lost ones. I remember driving on the freeway with Darrell one day, when the Bronco II did 70 to zero in 2.2 seconds. The axel fell down out of the car. He got out, took off his t-shirt, and his wifebeater, put the t-shirt back on; and he used the wifebeater to somehow tie the axel back together which lasted long enough to get us to a gas station near the 'hood. Darrell if you're out there I'll never forget that. I liked him because he was young, and so beautiful, and we rarely talked. We never filled the airspace with bullshit conversation just to do it. We said what needed to be said, and that was it.
Maybe I can find another guy like that... That would make me happy. Talk a lot less, to me, and especially about me...and we'll do just fine. Maybe I can find a Venice boy. At this point in my life he could be almost any kind of guy, and we'd have some things in common. I've loosened the rules a lot in the past couple of years, so now I'll take you if you have children. As long as you're a father...I don't need a babydaddy anywhere within a 10 mile radius of myself. And as long as you have your children's mother in check. I cannot, and will not, participate in some bullshit.
Sarah noticed me feeding the kids, and cleaning up after them, and washing dishes, and generally revolving around the domesticities so that Takara could enjoy her party and her family and give her youngest a bottle; and she looked at me so sincerely and said, "Wow, Miranda, you're going to be the best Mom someday."
I always liked Sarah, even though we were polar opposites, we could always peacefully co-exist. I just never knew what a prophet she was.
EARTH GRAFFITI (LOOSE IN THE SKY, WITH DIAMONDS)
I am the woman I am because of Graffiti. I only started studying/practicing a "New York" style of Graf a couple of years back...although I've been tagging and painting since Bancroft Jr. High. My cousins repped the original KGB Crew in Los Angeles - Kingz of Graffiti Bombin, Kidz Gone Bad... Their work from the 80s is still living on certain walls in L.A. and beyond. One member, Gajin Fujita, went on to become a fine artist of the highest caliber.
My years in New York I was blessed to work with and for KET ONE at STRESS and later at Complex Mag. I count among my dearest friends, even if I don't get to see them as often as I'd like, KEO TOP a/k/a LORD SCOTCH 79TH, WANE 1 COD, KEL 1ST, DOC TC5, CHINO BYI, and a few of their folks that I've met a few times, hung out with, and been geeked to meet like DURO CIA, STAY HIGH 149, MARE 139, and LADY PINK.
I've been reppin' L.A. a lot recently on P2P; I want to show my love for NYC and particularly the BX this morning...here are flix from some of the best to ever do it. Michaelangelo's soul controls ya'll hand.
Rest in Peace to my cuz, SCOUT ONE KGB. Keep Bombin' Primo, I love U.
XO
MIRA22
There are few people I respect in the magazine game. J-Mill, full name Jeremy Miller is one of them. I can talk. I was not born and bred inside The Source. I'm the sole female voice of the third generation of writer/speaker/activist/revolutionary in my family. Crack killed 4080. The truth killed STRESS - NY's Illest Mag (Rest In Peace) - STRESS and publisher KET ONE refused to participate in advertorial and in selling ads in exchange for fake-nice reviews and accolades. Keeping it really real kept STRESS from being published into the next millenium.Becoming a men's magazine full-fledged, mocking/aping the Culture it was built to represent killed Complex; although to the naked eye it's still breathing. The best writers of this generation who cover Hip Hop, Culture, Graffiti, urban music, and street politics have one thing in common - they no longer are willing or able to write for these guys. In my opinion, it's really high time for a new periodical. I'm not the one to start it, but if you build it I will come. As an editor, a writer, or a consultant. I don't sell ads, never have, never will. There's a fine line between art and commerce. I don't cross it. The line is right here. I. Don't. Step. Over. The. Line. DOWN...but never outMJ
My New Bio...>
MIRANDA JANE
Miranda Jane has been writing her whole life – even when the words get in the way. The daughter of world-famous Jazz bassist Buell Neidlinger (Cecil Taylor Quartet, K2B2 Records, session musician for Disney, X-Files, etc.), she started working in the music business in her early teens doing street and club promotions. By the age of 20, Miranda was the office manager of famed Bay Area recording studio THE GRILL (Tupac, Richie Rich, Mac Mall, Saafir, E-40, Dwayne Wiggins, Master P & No Limit, etc. all recorded there) which at the time housed the now-defunct 4080 Hip Hop Magazine. A phone call from Penalty Recordings PR woman Zenobia Simmons changed Miranda’s life forever when they discussed rapper Capone of C-N-N’s unfortunate incarceration. Miranda wrote him, took his collect calls, and flew to New York to interview him inside the walls of Wyoming Correctional Facility in Attica, New York. MTV was there for his release, but no other journalist interviewed him in the bing. The rest is history.
With the blessing of mentors Bonz Malone, Ernie Paniccoli, Allen Scott Gordon, Alain “KET” Mariduena, Jeff Chang, and kris ex; Miranda Jane has functioned as the West Coast editor of STRESS, NY’s Illest Mag (the only person to ever hold the title), worked as the Senior Editor for the launch and first year of publication of Complex Magazine, an Ecko Unlimited company, and as the Associate Editor for The Source. Her work has been published in the L.A. Weekly, Mass Appeal Magazine, MeanStreet, RIME Magazine, and on dozens of online publications including Platform.net, 360HipHop.com, BET.net, and many more.
Born into the music business, she’s no stranger to the record industry – having managed and/or consulted for artists MF Doom, Tragedy Khadafi, dead prez, Thirstin Howl III, Hieroglyphics, and many others. She conceptualized and A&R’d the Stonesthrow Records LP, “Mad Villain” a collaboration between Madlib and MF Doom, which went on to SoundScan over 60,000 copies and counting. A sophomore MadVillain album is currently being recorded.
Most recently, Miranda Jane has worked with DJ Muggs (Cypress Hill, Soul Assassins), Chace “Infinite” Johnson (Self Scientific), and Khalil “DJ Khalil” Abdul-Rahman (Self Scientific, Aftermath) – owners of the Fontana/UMVD-distributed record label Angeles Records - consulting on Marketing, Promotions, Press, and Product Placement, as well as the general direction of the label. The first two albums from Angeles, DJ Muggs vs. GZA/The Genius’ “Grandmasters” and Self Scientific’s “Change” were included in the L.A. Times Top Ten Hip Hop albums of 2005 charts.
While Miranda Jane has lent her gifts with the pen to over 40 publications and had her words in print in 12 languages, covering topics ranging from organic/natural health and beauty, to Hip Hop, to hard-hitting business news and current events; ironically it’s her personal memoirs that have touched readers most deeply and been her shot heard ‘round the world. Founded in May, 2005, Miranda Jane’s online diary/blog website has been read by millions of fans worldwide and is internationally known and globally accepted as one of the sites logged onto daily by the intelligentsia and moguls within the business. Read her immaculate words here at http://pyramids2projects.blogspot.com/.
RIOT B*GRRRLS
Hi, my name is Miranda Jane, and I'm misunderstood. To know me, you have to understand my family history. My mother and my aunties raised me. My grandmother was the matriarch, the pinnacle, the arch-feminist...the one who would flaunt whatever it was they didn't want her to flaunt; and who would discount and stomp on whatever it was they wanted her to cherish most dear.
In the 50s, one didn't divorce. So my Grandmother, Audrey Tufli-Fuss, stayed married to a husband she felt she didn't need until her last child was out of the house. My Grandfather, Oscar, promptly moved to digs of his own in nearby Laurel Canyon. My grandmother would go on to champion the Gay movement, the Feminist movement, the Native American movement, 
the Black Panther party, the Communist party, and everything else representing the anti-establishment where she could help organize people, lead a march, make a slogan, or effect change.
My mother, Deborah Murray Fuss Neidlinger Helms Hochman...who is now happily married to the Hochman and I'm certain her name will remain Deborah Murray Hochman for life...was a rebel. Oh, the crazy stories. Detained in a straight-jacket downsouth while on a days-long bad acid trip. Her days working as a playboy bunny cocktail waitress in one of Hef's first establishments, serving drinks to Mafiosos. The hippie years. The punkrock years. All I know for certain is what I saw, and what I heard.
When I was very, very young, my mother and her friends were at the forefront of L.A.'s "New Wave" music scene; the main players were my Godfather Peter Ivers, who was later mysteriously murdered in his downtown loft although he was a Black belt in Karate, Judo, 
and 
other martial arts. One of the minor players, Tequila Mockingbird, stayed in my head. All my life. Her name was catchy but that's not why. She was a big, beautiful, Black woman with an electric-green mohawk. At least that's the first hair I remember her having. I'd later see her in an Annie Lennox video, and although NO ONE 
KNEW HER NAME or 
that there would 
be no Eurythmics nor Annie Lennox if not for
TEQUILA MOCKINGBIRD...still she had arrived on my MTV.
My moms went on to work at an odditorium slash clothing store, Steps Into Space, and she went on to design her own clothing line, Milky Wear. Mostly leggings. And while wearing homemade clothing to school as a young youth filled me with shame at the time, I'm now proud that my mother made clothes. She was a young, beautiful divorcee with two children, living in a dusty Laurel Canyon house that was paid 
for, yet falling apart. Instead of letting her circumstances - my father's newfound wealth, his abandonment of us all, his abuse, his new wife - she became creative instead of crazy, driven instead of delusional. Mom, I love you for that.
Many people may not agree with the way my mother raised me, her daughter, her firstborn child. She first passed me a joint at the age of 9. She gave me hashish for my cramps when I was 12. And close to that time, at a house party comprised of a way-out melange of her friends, my friends, some random gangbangers who happened by, the Laurel Canyon intelligentsia, and some of the important behind-the-scenes Hollywood players of that day and time; one of said players passed around some coke (powder, not rock). My mom told me I should try it if I wanted to. I did a line and wasn't impressed with the results. (Who knew I'd later rock it up and sell it out of my dorm room when my father gave me $100 a month spending money to get me through college and I had too many classes to have time for a mall job!).
I remember a road trip where my mom was talking to her friend in the car. I think it was Karen L. They were telling each other about some recent sexcapade. At this time I already had way more body than my mom, which meant I was 11 or older. I was halfway listening, until my mom said "Well, it's a good thing you don't need tits to fuck!". They both laughed. I was embarrased, but only because I had big breasts and theirs were tiny. I was very young and they were very middle-aged.
Years later I saw the photo shoot of my mother 8 and 1/2 months pregnant with me, out in the woods of Laurel Canyon, fully nude. Her face was beautiful, her hair was long and luxurious, and her body looked amazing. Demi Moore in Vanity Fair is nothing compared to my flowerchild Mama in pregnant resplendance. I had a nude photo shoot of my own only a few months later, also in the hills, laid out on the floor amongst some fallen leaves. For those who care, the shoot included beaver shots and the whole nine yards. If there is a nude photograph of my father anywhere, there is a God because I haven't seen any of these photos.
A short time after my first photo spread, pun intended, my mother and I "came out" in the film "SHAMPOO" starring Goldie Hawn and Warren Beatty. My mother is in the bar scene, wearing a dress, smoking a joint at the bar while breastfeeding me, with her breast exposed. Naturally the scene is cut when Shampoo airs on TV. At just months old, I was famous. And paid! I think they made a check for me for $1,000...I have to check on my Social Security statement to be sure.
I started taking serious photos at 10, and the most beautiful shots of me to this day
are circa those years, shot by my mom. No one other photographer has captured my beauty the same way. But she is a really, really good photographer.
About six months ago, I started noticing this Suicide Girls shit everywhere. I peeped some of the images, and I wasn't too impressed. Bad lighting. Tattoos for the sake of having a gang of tattoos. Girl on girl on girl for the sake of guys liking girls on girls. Faux punkrock style reeking of fashionista tendencies, not Suicidal ones. I'm not hating, GET MONEY girls, but there is a past, present and future for everything.
I had been had the notion to do some pinups. I wanted to get into slightly better shape, just for my own edification, but stay Rubenesque as always to show the world that big, beautiful women are to be respected and valued and prized for their size. I wanted to do my own photo shoots first, then show them to certain of my homegirls to show them not to be scared, and ask them to pose too. I never really wanted this to be an internet thing, because I value print photography, and Black & White, and I wanted to replicate the old-style movie posters and Pinup-girl Calendars of the 30s, 40s and 50s. I wanted B-Girls and Graf artists like Asia One, Peppa, A-B Girl, MEOW, and others to get down with me on this project to show that we're all different colors and sizes and shapes, but we represent HIP HOP CULTURE until the death.
So my idea is RIOT B*GRRRLS, lauding the Riot Grrrls, all B-Girls and Break Girls and Bronx Girls, and flipping "porn" on it's ear to include aspects of the feminist movement, showing women of all sizes, shapes, colors, races and ages who LOVE MEN, BUT LOVE THEMSELVES FIRST. You know, MY SHIT.
So here are some of the images of inspiration. I have to shout out my inspirations of beauty. My Granny, the most beautiful face ever photographed. My Mommy...still the most beautiful face EVER. My Auntie Judy, who was the baddest bitch in her day, and came out on the front cover of LIFE MAGAZINE on July 29, 1957, looking BEAUTIFUL in her role as a babysitter reading a book to a toddler. And like all the women in my family, my Auntie wasn't just another pretty face, she also edited a crucial anthology of children's books, NON-SEXIST BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.
Finally, I have to shout out the two most glamourous women I've ever known, Ms. Takara Spencer and Ms. Vanylla Chile. Besides myself, Ms. Miranda James.
ONE THING WE HAVE IN COMMON...WE ALL GIVE GOOD FACE! (Boys, get your minds out of the gutter...for once...and don't cut your noses off to spite your faces.)
XO
MJ
LA
2...8
I HEART CARLITO RODRIGUEZ
Just checking back over some links I haven't peeped in a while, since I had a much-needed free day today. Man, Carlito is the shit. When he was the Editor in Chief of the sauce, he made it so much better than it ever was. As a writer, an editor, a reader...I respect this man! Here's a DOPE, killer, straight acesino article from his blog joint, http://antistat.blogspot.com/ Hit him up on his comments section to show the love. Yeahdat.
I had a deep-ass conversation with Thirstin Howl III the other day about race and color, and he said he don't believe in the shit. Same for religion. That they're all the same, just different permutations. He's the original Lo-Life Nuyorican, Puerto Rican born in New York, so he should know. Check out his song "Cahelo Con Calma" which utilizes the Jr. Gong "Welcome to Jamrock" beat and melody, but in puro Espanglish. He recently shot a video for the track in Peru, so keep your eyes peeled for that too. Anyway, I digress, back to the damn Carlito Rodriguez jawn. MIRA!Vamos A Rapiar
Latinos and Hip-Hop Music
by Carlito RodriguezRafy Miyares, a young man born of Dominican parents, stands on the corner of 180 Street and Broadway in the Washington Heights section of New York City, a neighborhood known as much for its epidemic amount of illegal drug activity as it is for being the major enclave of the Dominican community in America. Although the colors and brand names may differ from the next individual, his uniform of Polo Sport, Mecca jeans, Avirex leather jacket and Tims betrays him as one of the many hip-hop heads in the New York metro.
Lightweight headphones perched lightly on his ears, he’s nodding his head and swaying his torso in time to the latest from Busta Rhymes. His eyes dart across the street as he spots one of his boys: “¡Tigere, ven aca!”
The two engage in rapid-fire conversation, effortlessly switching back and forth from English to Spanish, finally ending the exchange with a hearty pound and the requisite, “One, m’nigga…”
“Anyway,” says Rafy, turning his attention back to the subject at hand, “it don’t matter to me if Busta’s Black, yo. Why should it? If the nigga’s nice, he’s nice.”
When asked why he refers to himself and Busta with a word that many Blacks have deemed off-limits to non-Blacks, he replies, “Aw, man, look at me. I ain’t exactly white, y’know? I know my history, kid. Besides, I got mad friends that are morenos [Spanish word meaning “Black people” which comes from moros, the Spaniards’ word for the Moors, a North African Muslim people who invaded and occupied Spain for over 700 years]. They know the deal, B. I ain’t tryin’ to shit on ’em. That word just means ‘a dude’ to me.”
Three thousand miles away on Cesar Chavez Boulevard in East Los Angeles, a region of L.A. county recognized for its overwhelmingly Mexican population, Jesus Gutierrez leans on the shiny front fender of his metallic-blue ’64 Impala, sporting the East Los customary pressed Dickies, Black Flys, freshly shaved bald-head and monochromatic tattoos for days. Careful to lower the volume whenever the ever-present LAPD cruiser strolls by, Jesus blows the smoke from his cigarette while seemingly meditating to the eerie horns and uptempo rhythms of “Stone Garden” from Psycho Realm. The occasional other cholo who happens by is greeted with a casual, “Orale, homes,” and a laid back nod of the head.
“Fuck yeah,” he answers to a previously asked question, “it definitely matters that Psycho Realm is Mexican, ese. They’re representin’ la Raza. I ain’t got anything against the negros, dude, but it’s cool to see my own people up there.”
Rafy and Jesus are not unlike countless Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Dominican, Columbian or any other Latino kids who populate the hip-hop nation. But although hip-hop is lauded as—and expected to be—the great unifier of the disenfranchised masses of Urban American Youth, it is a culture which mostly everyone—from the media to academia to some of the very heads who claim to live it—defines as “Black.”
For Latinos, that persistent labeling shouldn’t register anything more severe than a slight annoyance. After all, a quick perusal of a history book or two will show that along with inheriting a religion and an entire language from the Spaniards, Latinos have inherited quite a bit from their African antecedents, as well. If the one-drop rule means anything, Black is Black.
But when “Black” is used more as a definition of culture than as a definition of outward appearance, defining hip-hop culture as “Black” leaves the impression that any other cultural group who participates must somehow negate its own identity and assume the identity of the dominant group. That simple annoyance becomes a big pain-in-the-ass. And when Latino hip-hop kids are asked by non-hip-hop Latinos to explain why they’ve “sold out,” the negative feelings grow exponentially.
“I still remember when Luis, my best friend, who’s Puerto Rican, once said to me, ‘Why you always listenin’ to that gorilla shit?’ because I was always into hip-hop. Damn. I ain’t understand that shit, B. I mean, I expected that kind of shit from my older brothers, who were not only on some anti-Black shit, but on some anti-Puerto Rican shit, too. But from a Puerto Rock?!”
In that quick breath of a statement, Rafy touched upon touchy subjects that have plagued the Latino and Black communities of New York for some time.
In simplest terms, the Blacks—already feeling the ever-tightening choke-hold of America’s policy towards its darker denizens for three hundred years plus—didn’t exactly appreciate the Puerto Ricans coming over in droves during the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s, and snatching up some of the few jobs available to non-whites.
Worse, some of these mira-mira muthafuckas are so light-skinned, they even think they white!The Puerto Ricans—already aggravated beyond recompense because of Uncle Sam’s insistence upon controlling the fate of their homeland and its precarious economy—didn’t appreciate having to uproot their lives, and leave their beloved Borinquen for the colder, literally and figuratively, climes of New York.
Worse, the morenos say we’re dark-skinned whites and (of all the fuckin’ nerve!) the whites call us ‘niggers with straight hair!’And the Dominicans—already fleeing a thirty-year dictatorship and the subsequent corrupt governments that followed its demise, not to mention an all-out invasion by US troops in 1965 and a rapidly widening gap between extremely rich and desperately poor—didn’t appreciate having to put up with any uppity attitude from a bunch of wannabe-American Boris who couldn’t even keep their own country for more than seven days in 1898 when they won their independence from Spain and lost it to the Americans within a week.
Worse, people confuse us with the maldito prietos, like we look like them or something!
Such attitudes, while not necessarily representative of the majority, reflect the ongoing struggle to maintain a sense of self in a country which demands that its newcomers—both the voluntary and involuntary kinds—jump into the great melting pot, while asking them to discard most of the flavor they’ll be bringing to the stew.
By the time Kool Herc and company were doing their thing in the Bronx, those feelings definitely still existed, but after years of having shared the same stifling air-space, Blacks and Latinos in New York were co-existing with relative peace. And because of their linguistic, religious, and cultural similarities, Latinos in the area—who were primarily from the Caribbean—were doing the same amongst themselves.
On October 12, 1492, an Italian explorer and his three-galleon entourage, traveling under the auspices of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabela of Spain, stumbled upon the Bahamian island of Guanahaní after wandering around in the Atlantic Ocean for several months in search of a westerly route from Europe to Asia. Incorrectly assuming he’d succeeded in his mission by landing in India, Cristobal Colón—or “Christopher Columbus,” as the English would later call him—dubbed the curious natives “Indios” and immediately claimed the island for the Spanish crown, christening it “San Salvador.”
The indigenous folk, an openly friendly lot whose ancestors had crossed the Bering Land Bridge from Asia into North America some 10,000 or so years prior, had no way of knowing Colón’s intentions when they greeted him and his equally pale-skinned cohorts with as much hospitality as they did awe. These natives—Arawak by name, although Colón’s mistaken identification persists to this day—offered all types of assistance to the newcomers, including directions to Cubanacán, a larger mass of land about a hundred miles to the south.
Colón, still believing his calculations to be correct and that he was in Asia, set sail a few days later and upon landing at the larger island, sent a delegation ashore to demand gold from the Emperor of China. Needless to say, he never found the Emperor, or any other Chinese for that matter, but instead encountered three other groups of Arawak: the Siboney, the Mayari and the Taino.
Not long after arriving on Cubanacán (or “Cuba,” for short), Colón and his men sailed eastward until they landed on yet another island, this one also claimed in the name of Spain and her Catholic monarchs. Christening it “La Hispaniola,” Colón decided to return to Spain and tell the King and Queen of his amazing “discovery,” leaving 39 of his men behind while he sailed back to Europe.
Hip-hop’s earliest history records a number of Latinos who, along with the likes of Bambaataa, Flash, Coke La Rock and other pioneers, were right up in the parks DJing, MCing, breaking and bombin’. By no means predominating, but far from occupying token positions, brothers like Disco Wiz, DJ Charlie Chase, Ruby Dee, Whipper Whip, O.C. and Devastating Tito, among others, were indicators of a Latino presence in hip-hop music. In the early ’80s, a group named Mean Machine even paid homage to its Latino roots by recording their self-titled single, the first rap song recorded entirely in Spanish.
As hip-hop, primarily Rap music, gained in recognition and began its spread across the country, the mainstream media began their usual practice of affixing their own neat labels to phenomena they couldn’t—or didn’t care to—understand. Before long, Latinos were rarely mentioned in discussions of hip-hop, unless of course, for the patronizing acknowledgements of their contributions to breaking and graffiti writing.
And as often happens when outsiders with above average power and influence stake a claim in an indigenous culture, history was re-written to the point where even the subjects of that history forgot reality and accepted the infiltrators’ versions of truth. Latinos were relegated to the ranks of consumers, not creators, of the artform, and even that title was later stripped away when mountain-climbing guitar players at record companies decided that Latinos do not buy or even listen to hip-hop.
Worse still, younger Black kids who didn’t realize they were witnessing false hip-hop history in the making, looked upon any Latino kids who just happened to be lyrically or turntablistically adept as bizarre anomalies, wandering ronin of some sort who were not accepted by their own and therefore sought to find a home in hip-hop.
Big Pun, an artist on Loud Records who has become one of the most anticipated MCs after appearances with Fat Joe, the Beatnuts and his own promotional singles, “You Ain’t A Killa” and “I’m Not A Playa,” recalls the times when his worth as an artist was based not on its own merits, but on the fact that he’s Puerto Rican.
“In the beginning it was like that,” he says. “People would say, ‘he’s nice… For a Puerto Rican.’ After I went through [Fat Joe’s single] ‘Firewater’ and ‘You Ain’t A Killa,’ people were like, ‘Oh, he’s niiice.’”
Fat Joe, of Puerto Rican/Cuban lineage, adds that even when the general consensus towards his own ability to rock mics was positive, record label heads told him that he’d be too difficult to market.
“When I first came out, I felt like being Latino was an obstacle,” he admits, “even though I looked upon me being Latino as an advantage because we’re bilingual, meaning we have two audiences checking for us: the hip-hop niggas and the Spanish niggas who wanna represent for the patria. But the label niggas—even those who were Black—was like, ‘Yo, you dope, money, and I know your crew is hot, but you’re Puerto Rican. And Puerto Ricans ain’t for hip-hop. It’s a Black thing.’ That shit was fuckin’ my head up.”
With parents, older relatives and even contemporaries who never became involved with hip-hop castigating them for listening to “that jungle music” (never mind that Salsa, Merengue, and damn near all other forms of Latino music and rhythms have their origins in Africa), Latino heads now also had to prove themselves to their long-time comrades, the same Black kids with who they fought the same daily wars against the many ills of a second-class existence, side by side in the same ghetto trenches.
By the time Colón returned to Hispaniola—present day Haiti and the Dominican Republic—almost a year later, all 39 of his men had been killed for looting the native settlements and raping the women. The Spaniards, as those 39 sailors had proved to be their idea all along, put their campaign of total subjugation and domination in full effect across the islands. And although the Arawak tribes—particularly the proud Carib, a fierce, cannibalistic group—fought bravely, they were no match for the Spaniards’ advanced weapons and war-making technology. In their unquenchable thirst for gold and silver, the Spaniards eventually overran virtually all of the Caribbean, down into South America, up into the lower parts of North America and across to Mexico and Central America, finally running out of land at the Pacific Ocean.
In time, because of the inhumane work conditions and their lack of immunity against diseases brought to their lands by the Spanish, the Arawak began dying off at a genocidal rate. The Spaniards, having already been importing African slaves to work in Europe, began replacing the natives with the Africans, and before long, despite “official” attitudes against it, miscegenation occurred, resulting in a conglomeration of appearances, practices and philosophies.
Thus began the cataclysmic relationship among the Spanish, the Africans and the native peoples of the Western Hemisphere. It is this relationship between the conquerors, the conquered and the forcefully imported labor that has produced the entirely new, distinct, hybrid cultures, nationalities and ethnicities that collectively make up the Latino people.
Already feeling the sting from accusations that they had somehow abandoned their native cultures, Latinos equated the Blacks’ excluding them from the hip-hop fold with betrayal. Indeed, quite a few Latinos, particularly those from the East Coast, abandoned Rap music altogether for the uptempo dance grooves of club music—or “freestyle,” as it was more popularly known.
Ironically, most freestyle songs used the Planet Rock drum pattern as their basis. And almost as a reminder that the Latino/Black relationship was a stronger bond than previously suspected, some even dubbed the sound “Latin Hip-Hop.”
Those Latinos who remained faithful to the beats and rhymes made do with what was available for aural consumption. Rap was rap, after all, and whether or not an artist was Latino didn’t matter to them. Perhaps because of a greater awareness of the inherent multi-culturalism of the US, but more than likely because the masses simply could not front on the distinct flavors that Latinos added to the hip-hop barbecue, the tide slowly ebbed and more Latino rappers appeared in the wake.
This time, however, it wasn’t the Puerto Ricans and Dominicans in New York who would storm the beachhead. Instead, two artists from Los Angeles, Mellow Man Ace, a Cuban rapper who dropped a club-friendly, yet blazing single named “Mentirosa” and Frost, a Mexican brother who released the anthemic “La Raza” in honor of Mexicans in L.A. and Latinos everywhere, forced people to notice that Latinos were most definitely a part of hip-hop.
A major turning point came in 1991, when a three-man group, also from L.A., made their cannabis-scented debut into the hip-hop consciousness. When word spread beyond their hometown that two of the members were Latino—one a Cuban and the other Mexican—Latinos across the atlas lost their minds. Better still, Black kids—and white kids, for that matter—did too, and Cypress Hill racked up platinum sales for both albums that followed their self-titled first.
Centuries after Hernando Cortés, and 550 other Spaniards landed at the Gulf of Mexico in 1519 and eventually wrestled Tenochtitlan (present day Mexico City) from the Aztecs, Mexicans living in what later became the border states of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California suddenly found themselves foreigners in a land they had been occupying for generations.
The United States, in accordance with the Manifest Destiny-fever that was sweeping the ever-growing countryside, flexed its imperial might and wrestled the above mentioned territories from Mexico. Virtually overnight, what used to be routine travel from one village to another became a trek across an international border, replete with anti-Mexican sentiment on the northern side of the dividing line.
Beginning in 1910, the tension was augmented when the Mexican Revolution caused thousands of political refugees to flee their war-torn country and seek subsistence in the US. In Los Angeles particularly, the urban economy thrived because of this incoming wave of cheap, unskilled laborers, and by 1925, L.A. had the largest population of Mexicans outside of Mexico City.
As could be expected, this new group faced ill feelings and discrimination not only from the white Americans (more commonly known as “Anglos”), but from those Mexican-Americans who’d made their homes in the States before they even were states. Slowly but surely, however, this last group would eventually predominate, and in present day Los Angeles, despite the subtle and not-so-subtle governmental attempts to supress it, one can’t ignore the overwhelming influence of La Raza.
“Out here,” says Julio G, the Mexican/Puerto Rican DJ on L.A.’s 92.3 The Beat, “Mexicans go through our own struggle. We’re right next to Mexico. We’ve got problems with the government, the police. We’ve got the gangs… People want to scream out.”
Offering his opinion of why more militant Latino rappers have come from the West Coast than the East, he doesn’t downplay the existence of similar problems that Latinos in other parts of the country are faced with. And as usually happens whenever different groups in the “minority” don’t recognize the value in combining forces, relations between Blacks and Latinos in Los Angeles are always tense.
“East Los doesn’t really mix with the Blacks,” he says. “A lot of that mentality comes from jail, where it’s automatically segregated, and I don’t want to say that it’s only East L.A. that thinks like that because people think like that all over. But in South Central, it’s different. It’s like a middle ground. You’ve got your Blacks and Latinos in the same community. I’m not trying to make it sound like there’s a race war going on. There’s not. But out here, Mexicans don’t get confused with Blacks. Out there [New York], Puerto Ricans and Blacks are kind of the same mix.”
Widely respected by listeners of both Aztec and African descent, Julio has the ears of the streets tuned in to his #1 rated show every night from 6 to 10, faithfully. And he uses that power to ease some of the tension by bringing about more awareness and understanding between Blacks and Latinos about their respective cultures.
“As a Latino, I want to grow,” he declares. “And I want my people to grow with me. I work at a Black radio station, but since I came in, I’ve done my own shit. I’ll speak Spanish on the air, but I’ve had Tony Muhammad, the Nation of Islam’s Los Angeles minister on the show. I’ve had Rakim on the show talking about the Five Percent. I want to learn about other cultures, so everybody can grow with me.”
When the major media announced last November that the Latino population in the United States now constitutes the largest “minority” in the country, they did so twelve years ahead of schedule. Earlier predictions, based on immigration and childbirth rates, targeted 2010 as the year when the descendants of the African-Arawak-Aztec-Carib-Inca-Maya-Mayari-Pueblo-Siboney-Spaniard-Taino-Yaqui mixture would represent the second largest group in America.
That fact alone is enough proof that the Latino influence on all aspects of cultura Americana—including the one which began when some Black and Latino kids in the Bronx took all their angst and flipped it into new styles of music, dance, art, fashion and writing—will continue to grow and reflect our population numbers. In so doing, Latinos in the US add a little more sabor to an already flavorful pot, thereby re-creating ourselves and our hybrid culture.
Nowadays, one doesn’t need to search too hard to find Latinos—and Latino-isms—in hip-hop. Not only have artists like Fat Joe, Cypress Hill, The Beatnuts and Big Pun gained accolades for their work, but Black artists are finally doing more to acknowledge the Latino presence, as well. From Raekwon’s prolific crime tales chock full o’ Columbians and Dominicans to Puffy’s recent “Señorita” to the Coco Brovas’ “Spanish Harlem,” more and more non-Latinos are giving props to their Spanish-speaking brethren.
Interestingly enough, what may have once been considered a hindrance to a promising career in Rap music is now a boon. Artists like Noreaga, AZ, and Royal Flush—a Puerto Rican, a Dominican and a Cuban who were not readily recognized as Latino—re-affirm their roots proudly, joining others like A.L.T., Power Rule, Funkdoobiest, A Lighter Shade of Brown and Hurricane G, among many others, in the ranks of Latino MCs.
But it doesn’t end there. The top-rated hip-hop radio shows in the two largest markets in the country, New York and Los Angeles, feature DJs Angie Martinez, a Butta Pecan Rican, and Julio G, respectively. The man largely responsible for the successes of Lil’ Kim 
.jpg)
