"With great power comes great responsibility" - Peter Parker's Uncle Ben or somebody else, but I'm just gonna give him the credit
I'm not even really sure how to apply that to this, but mostly, a nigga's always wanted to say that in regards to myself. Ha!
Anyway, January 1st, & guess what? I have news to share...
I've been recruited for the war to bring truth, justice, & the (light-skinned African) American way to more screens, by way of Daily-Math.com.
The General himself, Combat Jack, has put together a team, in an effort to put boot to neck of this blog shit! Needless to say, I'm honored that he'd fuck with your boy in such a capacity, & I have something to truly appreciate in 2010, & I haven't even been awake an hour yet. As well as yours truly, there's:
Riggs Morales-former writer at The Source & A&R for Shady Records
Epiphany-of 'I Am The Life', at iamthelife.wordpress.com
Danja-of 'Danj Loves The 90's' at danjlovesthe90s.wordpress.com
Amp Geez-of 'Amplified Grammar' at amplifiedgrammar.blogspot.com
Dom Corleone-of 'Hold the Throne' at holdthethrone.com
Ice-of 'IceDotCom' at icedotcom.blogspot.com
He put the call out, & I, along with a handful of other talented cats, answered, & as we gather the weapons & map out the strategies, rest assured I'll be repping to the full, keeping it absolute, & taking my niggas (& niggettes) with me in to the stratosphere. Hopefully, y'all will continue to ride with your boy wherever this road is leading, because as I say like at least once a month, I do this shit for y'all. Talking to myself all day wouldn't hold quite as much weight, & people tend to shy away from schizophrenic dudes.
The schematics are still being worked out, so I'm going to let cats know when my first bomb drop's over there, but that's not going to change Reading & Writing, but rather expand the horizons & definitely make it do what it do. I guess I learned one more thing; important people notice you're grind when it's absolute. Or, in laymen's, real recognize real, if you will.
Happy new year, y'all.
Official announcement here:
http://daily-math.com/weblog/?p=2097
Friday, January 1, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Happy New Year, Bitches!
First & foremost, I want to extend peace, blessings, & prayers to all of you reading this. May your higher power be with you as we begin a new season of earthly life. Secondly, if you are reading this, congrats! You've survived another year on this God-forsaken planet, successfully navigating death, despair, poverty, disease (hopefully) & dozens of other misfortunate happenings that plenty of folks have succumbed to. So, no matter how bad things may appear, rejoice in your apparent resilience, & rest assured that, though another person's existence is by no means a measuring stick, there's always someone who's worse off than you. Whether that makes you happy or sad is your call. I'm just here to point shit out & provide commentary. All other assessments are yours to make. No need to thank me, but you are welcome, just in case.
However, I will thank you, for fucking with me. Pause-if that makes you uncomfortable. As I've stated several times, there's no tangible reason for cats & dogs & birds to come & read my words. I appreciate the fact that you deem me worthy of your time. Time, being the most expensive asset in the world, because once it's gone, it's gone, even if you're Marty McFly. When I was a kid, I was adamant on building a time machine, so once I got to a certain age, I could go back in time & do it again. When I grew up, I realized that even if I did that, I'd still grow old, but perhaps I'd be able to warn a youthful Tony Grands about avoidable missteps. Then I remembered some movies I'd seen about flux capacitors & space-time continuums, & my high started coming down, & I was off that. But anyway...
I want to share a few things I've learned this year, if I may. I've learned that the majority of your family has no blood relation to you. I've learned that life is short as hell, & if you're a Black man, over the age of 35, you are middle-aged. I'm creeping up on 34, so, yeah. I've learned that anger is a heavy burden, & forgiveness is an elusive state of mind, & the two cannot occupy the same space simultaneously. I haven't quite learned yet how to make the transition between the two, but I'm working on that. I'll keep you posted.
I've learned that women are easy to please, but men are too stubborn to see it. That one was actually a couple of years in the making, but now I have the solidified happiness to show & share with the world. I've learned that being a good parent is usually the deciding factor in the child's victories & failures. As well, I've learned that being a good parent is a trait that is born from humility, experience & a willingness to step back sometimes & let nature take it's course. I've learned that my parents aren't super heroes, or robots, but rather normal human beings, just like me. & no matter how hard I try, I'll never be a super hero, or robot, either. I've learned that mustard is good on any type of meat. Pause. I've learned that most adult humans can't digest milk, & those that can have a mutated gene. I've learned that A LOT of people don't really read the Bible, they just skim through to the "good" parts. I've learned that "the truth" is dependent on the eye of the beholder, like beauty, but actuality never, ever changes.
I've learned that more people love & respect me, than hate & despise me. I've learned that I love & respect more people than I hate & despise. Actually, I've learned that I really don't hate anyone, & quite possibly never have. Hate is a strong emotion. Stronger than most people can truly fathom. It's just such a fun word to toss around that it's lost it's edge, like "nigga". I've learned how gullible people fall in love over the Internet. Personality is the axis of attraction, even if physical qualities distract us. If one's personality is genuine, assuming they're being true, how could a bond not be formed, even without physical contact? I've learned that you don't have to meet someone in person for them to be a friend. & I've learned that a personal relationship with someone doesn't mean they're your friend, regardless of what they say. "They" always have something to say...
Don't you just love how Black folks love to end any ceremonious event with a shout out? On Court TV, I actually saw a dude rattle off "shout outs" as he was being escorted away for life imprisonment. Roffle mayo. Oh well, he'll think twice before he murders a prostitute again. But anyway, there's far too many cats who supported me over this last year or so, but I love y'all motherfuckers. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Thanks for the support, for believing in me, for the kind words, the intelligent exchanges, the real talks-when necessary, & basically being there for me, as well as giving me a reason to be here for y'all. Really though, I appreciate the appreciation.
Brand new year, brand new bullshit, same old nigga...Happy New Year, Bitches!
[tony's note: keep your goddamned gun(s) in the house tonight...please]
However, I will thank you, for fucking with me. Pause-if that makes you uncomfortable. As I've stated several times, there's no tangible reason for cats & dogs & birds to come & read my words. I appreciate the fact that you deem me worthy of your time. Time, being the most expensive asset in the world, because once it's gone, it's gone, even if you're Marty McFly. When I was a kid, I was adamant on building a time machine, so once I got to a certain age, I could go back in time & do it again. When I grew up, I realized that even if I did that, I'd still grow old, but perhaps I'd be able to warn a youthful Tony Grands about avoidable missteps. Then I remembered some movies I'd seen about flux capacitors & space-time continuums, & my high started coming down, & I was off that. But anyway...
I want to share a few things I've learned this year, if I may. I've learned that the majority of your family has no blood relation to you. I've learned that life is short as hell, & if you're a Black man, over the age of 35, you are middle-aged. I'm creeping up on 34, so, yeah. I've learned that anger is a heavy burden, & forgiveness is an elusive state of mind, & the two cannot occupy the same space simultaneously. I haven't quite learned yet how to make the transition between the two, but I'm working on that. I'll keep you posted.
I've learned that women are easy to please, but men are too stubborn to see it. That one was actually a couple of years in the making, but now I have the solidified happiness to show & share with the world. I've learned that being a good parent is usually the deciding factor in the child's victories & failures. As well, I've learned that being a good parent is a trait that is born from humility, experience & a willingness to step back sometimes & let nature take it's course. I've learned that my parents aren't super heroes, or robots, but rather normal human beings, just like me. & no matter how hard I try, I'll never be a super hero, or robot, either. I've learned that mustard is good on any type of meat. Pause. I've learned that most adult humans can't digest milk, & those that can have a mutated gene. I've learned that A LOT of people don't really read the Bible, they just skim through to the "good" parts. I've learned that "the truth" is dependent on the eye of the beholder, like beauty, but actuality never, ever changes.
I've learned that more people love & respect me, than hate & despise me. I've learned that I love & respect more people than I hate & despise. Actually, I've learned that I really don't hate anyone, & quite possibly never have. Hate is a strong emotion. Stronger than most people can truly fathom. It's just such a fun word to toss around that it's lost it's edge, like "nigga". I've learned how gullible people fall in love over the Internet. Personality is the axis of attraction, even if physical qualities distract us. If one's personality is genuine, assuming they're being true, how could a bond not be formed, even without physical contact? I've learned that you don't have to meet someone in person for them to be a friend. & I've learned that a personal relationship with someone doesn't mean they're your friend, regardless of what they say. "They" always have something to say...
Don't you just love how Black folks love to end any ceremonious event with a shout out? On Court TV, I actually saw a dude rattle off "shout outs" as he was being escorted away for life imprisonment. Roffle mayo. Oh well, he'll think twice before he murders a prostitute again. But anyway, there's far too many cats who supported me over this last year or so, but I love y'all motherfuckers. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Thanks for the support, for believing in me, for the kind words, the intelligent exchanges, the real talks-when necessary, & basically being there for me, as well as giving me a reason to be here for y'all. Really though, I appreciate the appreciation.
Brand new year, brand new bullshit, same old nigga...Happy New Year, Bitches!
[tony's note: keep your goddamned gun(s) in the house tonight...please]
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
HOW TO CARRY WEED...
There's nothing wrong with having a down ass partner. & rightfully so, there's nothing wrong with being said partner. We all need those people, or need to be those people in life. It creates & sustains balance. Yin & yang, so to speak. A king isn't a king without servants & council, & thusly, servants & council are formless without a figurehead to fall behind. In the Hip Hop world, the main dude, commonly known as the star, the breadwinner or simply "the boss", has an entourage, full of various characters; yes men, "security", barbers, gophers, groupie getters, "the gay guy", etc. But at the top of that hierarchy of hanger-oners is the weed carrier. One doesn't become a weed carrier overnight. It takes years of unsolicited, fellatious behavior with no regard for one's own dignity, esteem, & in some cases, manhood. Most often, the weed carrier's career begins as the sidekick, the go-to man who has stayed loyal, & risen through the ranks of come & go faces, to be crowned the coveted spot next to the breadwinner of the operation. Benefits include: standing directly behind the star in most videos, accompanying the star out on stage during performances to cover all ad-libs & forgotten verses, spokesperson for the star when the star's not available, laughing at all the boss' jokes-especially in public, & lastly-carrying drugs, guns, &/or anything the star has no business carrying on his/her person. A faithful, studious weed carrier can parlay his/her skills as a professional lackey into various careers. Notice the similarities between the words "carrier" & "career". Just saying. Plenty of today's celebrities began as weed carriers, most noteworthy is Flavor Flav, who eventually shucked, jived, & cooned his way into super stardom, surpassing that of his boss, Chuck D. Flav single handedly changed the game, & epitomized the role as mega-sidekick extraordinaire, dancing &"Yeaaaah booooyeeeee"-ing his way through Public Enemy videos, albums, & concerts, eventually dropping lucid verses on politically charged songs that he had no business yelling on. The crowned jewel of that leg of his success being a cameo on Ice Cube's 'Only Out For One Thing', in 1990. Also, see umbrella holder Fonzworth Bentley, back seat rappers Tony Yayo & Spliff Star, & Memphis Bleek. When Flavor stepped into the limelight on his own, he left a big ass pair of clown shoes to fill. Enters Memphis Bleek. With Jay-Z on his back (sort of) & the future on his mind, fleeting success is an ad-lib & a co-sign away, & Bleek has perservered just long enough to see it through. Maybe.
Bleek is the consummate weed carrier. Actually, I'm sure Jay-Z traded weed for illegal cuban cigars sprinkled with hobo ashes a couple million dollars ago, but for conversational purposes, Memphis is a weed carrier. & a damn good one, at that. When discussing with others about business dealings with the boss, integrity should never take a backseat to humility. "We ain’t do nothing yet [for my new album]… One thing about me and Jay, we don’t do forced music… If that’s the case I’da been all over these last [Jay-Z] albums." Now, while he could've said, 'Nah, Jay won't call me back, but it's all good 'cuz he be busy & shit," he opted for the more diplomatic approach, so as not to step on toes &/or make himself uncomfortable the next time he asks for a "loan". That's a smart, well mannered man, undoubtedly with a plan. "It takes a while; you can’t just take over a empire overnight."
"I got this joint called ‘Forever Roc Boy,’ [and] he might, he might wanna get on that because where I’m going on that, man, niggas gonna be mad at me, baby." Any good weed carrier knows that he must not only taunt other possible baggage handlers as often as possible, but keep the boss guessing by wafting blanket statements of what he's got going on. If the boss thinks the weed carrier is growing complacent, he will surely, & swiftly replace him with the next eager beaver in line.
A weed carrier's position does come with some confusing times. One's identity is usually sacrificed in the process if they're not careful, cautious, & cognizant. Truly, only the strong can survive in such a menial capacity, all the while still looking forward to a grander scheme. "Being that Jay’s my brother, and we represent it and we really got that love for each other, he blessed me with the right to [be able] to own [the] rights to everything of Memphis Bleek right now and do my own thing, and where I would own my own masters and all that. Ain’t that what we worked for? So, that’s the best thing. If he achieved it, why not show me the same light. That’s my brother, right"? Notice the rhetorical questions & the symbiotic rambling, so he doesn't forget that he's still his own man, while haplessly suckling the teet that feeds him. That's nothing short of genius. Up & coming weed carriers should note the poise & grace demonstrated, it could be the difference boning the groupies, or going to get them more liquor to drink.
A legitimate weed carrier finds opportunities to praise the boss, simultaneously showing other's why he's the chosen one. "If you really pay attention, man, everybody running around like as if Jay owed us something. That man did all he could do for us. So it’s like, once everybody got they contracts terminated and went to make they own decisions and wanted to go they own way, you had to pick up where you left off and do your thing." Indeed. & his thing is, sticking close to what's good. How can anybody be mad at that?
While the fickle public observes the weed carriers role as useless, somewhat of a dead-end job for kiss asses, the weed carrier is intently focused, careful to pat his own back as much as he strokes the necessary amount of balls. "Like, my loyalty to Jay, definitely that’s something lost in the game. If you really just pay attention to my career, I been down with Jay from before Jay was Jay, when he was known as Shawn in the projects, I been rollin’ with him, ‘til now. We went from borrowing sugar from each other house to this dude - “Yo, let me hold a G5.” And nothing changed. That’s my dude". With the exception of Flavor Flav, & blame the rumors of crack smoking if you must, a weed carrier's responsibility always allows wiggle room for association. As often as possible. Such leverage exposes opportunities for self-promotion, without appearing mutinous. Tony Yayo once used such manuevers, until he decidedly opted to glamorize 50 Cent non-stop, which is clearly the more lucrative decision. Why waste time rapping, when you can be another man's live action billboard. In a perfect world, that's gotta count for something.
The basic element of weed carrying, which is somewhat of a lost art in today's cannibalistic rap world, is Kool-Aid sipping. Though it has evolved somewhat since (the real) Jim Jones perfected it decades ago, the premise remains unscathed. Love your leader, follow him blindly, & hold on tight, no matter how much he strings you along. That's the only way to be granted admission into the spaceship, per se. "I never been the guy who made a mistake, took a L, then be in the public eye whining about it, blaming, pointing fingers. I never been that guy neither. From all you ever seen me is, whether my homie’s right or wrong, he always been right in my eyes, and I’ma stand 100% by him". The sky's the limit when eggregious co-signing has no boundaries. If the book 'The 48 Laws Of Power' had an ass backwards, Bizzaro-world, dyslexic edition, it would surely be the weed carrier's survival guide.
When it's all said & done, the weed carrier's job is to make his boss shine, & let people know that, while somebody has got to do the waxing, it's all for a greater good. A feel good story about self-affirmation, with the breadwinner as the nucleus, is the weed carrier's best friend. It's like a publicity hand grenade, for when the talent bop gun gets low on ammunition.
"Like, let me tell you something that just happened recently, right, you know they just did the tenth anniversary photo shoot for Roc-A-Wear? So they called me to come down there and do the picture or whatever. The Roc-A-Wear people tried to pay me, like they had a check for me at the photo shoot. And I’m like, “Nah, I can’t take that check.” I think the check was like for between I think like $7,000 to $10,000. And I’m like, “I can’t take that check.” And the dude he like, “Yo, why not?” I’m like, “Nah ‘cause this my homie's company. Why my man gotta pay me just to take some pictures? Like, this my nigga! We from the [same] projects. You don’t have to pay me. [Doing] this is nothing.” So then Jay called me the next day like, “Yo Bleek, why you ain’t take the money?” I’m like, “Yo Hov, that’s like me stealing from you, just taking money from you, c’mon. What I did for you yesterday took 15 minutes out my day, you don’t have to pay me for that. I’ma get the money some other way.” And that nigga said to me, “Yo that’s why I love you, you one of the realest niggas ever, you would never meet nobody else in the world who would do that...And that’s just the loyalty I have to my team...I’m always for my team first".
Nowadays, niggas are quick to jump to the head of the class. Gone are the days when a dude would politely sit back, & wait, & wait, & wait, & wait, without any obvious signs of his time coming, anytime soon, but still hold it down for the team. Or more specifically, the boss. Memphis Bleek deserves a special place in Hip Hop for that sheer determination. He realizes that if he can't drive the Maybach, he can at least ride shotgun until he get's dropped off at home. & not a lot of hangers-on can say that, with misguided-yet adament pride, & still look in the mirror as men the next morning.
Giving credit where credit is due, Memph Bleek is...the GOAT (of weed carriers).
*with assistance from HipHopDX.com*
Bleek is the consummate weed carrier. Actually, I'm sure Jay-Z traded weed for illegal cuban cigars sprinkled with hobo ashes a couple million dollars ago, but for conversational purposes, Memphis is a weed carrier. & a damn good one, at that. When discussing with others about business dealings with the boss, integrity should never take a backseat to humility. "We ain’t do nothing yet [for my new album]… One thing about me and Jay, we don’t do forced music… If that’s the case I’da been all over these last [Jay-Z] albums." Now, while he could've said, 'Nah, Jay won't call me back, but it's all good 'cuz he be busy & shit," he opted for the more diplomatic approach, so as not to step on toes &/or make himself uncomfortable the next time he asks for a "loan". That's a smart, well mannered man, undoubtedly with a plan. "It takes a while; you can’t just take over a empire overnight."
"I got this joint called ‘Forever Roc Boy,’ [and] he might, he might wanna get on that because where I’m going on that, man, niggas gonna be mad at me, baby." Any good weed carrier knows that he must not only taunt other possible baggage handlers as often as possible, but keep the boss guessing by wafting blanket statements of what he's got going on. If the boss thinks the weed carrier is growing complacent, he will surely, & swiftly replace him with the next eager beaver in line.
A weed carrier's position does come with some confusing times. One's identity is usually sacrificed in the process if they're not careful, cautious, & cognizant. Truly, only the strong can survive in such a menial capacity, all the while still looking forward to a grander scheme. "Being that Jay’s my brother, and we represent it and we really got that love for each other, he blessed me with the right to [be able] to own [the] rights to everything of Memphis Bleek right now and do my own thing, and where I would own my own masters and all that. Ain’t that what we worked for? So, that’s the best thing. If he achieved it, why not show me the same light. That’s my brother, right"? Notice the rhetorical questions & the symbiotic rambling, so he doesn't forget that he's still his own man, while haplessly suckling the teet that feeds him. That's nothing short of genius. Up & coming weed carriers should note the poise & grace demonstrated, it could be the difference boning the groupies, or going to get them more liquor to drink.
A legitimate weed carrier finds opportunities to praise the boss, simultaneously showing other's why he's the chosen one. "If you really pay attention, man, everybody running around like as if Jay owed us something. That man did all he could do for us. So it’s like, once everybody got they contracts terminated and went to make they own decisions and wanted to go they own way, you had to pick up where you left off and do your thing." Indeed. & his thing is, sticking close to what's good. How can anybody be mad at that?
While the fickle public observes the weed carriers role as useless, somewhat of a dead-end job for kiss asses, the weed carrier is intently focused, careful to pat his own back as much as he strokes the necessary amount of balls. "Like, my loyalty to Jay, definitely that’s something lost in the game. If you really just pay attention to my career, I been down with Jay from before Jay was Jay, when he was known as Shawn in the projects, I been rollin’ with him, ‘til now. We went from borrowing sugar from each other house to this dude - “Yo, let me hold a G5.” And nothing changed. That’s my dude". With the exception of Flavor Flav, & blame the rumors of crack smoking if you must, a weed carrier's responsibility always allows wiggle room for association. As often as possible. Such leverage exposes opportunities for self-promotion, without appearing mutinous. Tony Yayo once used such manuevers, until he decidedly opted to glamorize 50 Cent non-stop, which is clearly the more lucrative decision. Why waste time rapping, when you can be another man's live action billboard. In a perfect world, that's gotta count for something.
The basic element of weed carrying, which is somewhat of a lost art in today's cannibalistic rap world, is Kool-Aid sipping. Though it has evolved somewhat since (the real) Jim Jones perfected it decades ago, the premise remains unscathed. Love your leader, follow him blindly, & hold on tight, no matter how much he strings you along. That's the only way to be granted admission into the spaceship, per se. "I never been the guy who made a mistake, took a L, then be in the public eye whining about it, blaming, pointing fingers. I never been that guy neither. From all you ever seen me is, whether my homie’s right or wrong, he always been right in my eyes, and I’ma stand 100% by him". The sky's the limit when eggregious co-signing has no boundaries. If the book 'The 48 Laws Of Power' had an ass backwards, Bizzaro-world, dyslexic edition, it would surely be the weed carrier's survival guide.
When it's all said & done, the weed carrier's job is to make his boss shine, & let people know that, while somebody has got to do the waxing, it's all for a greater good. A feel good story about self-affirmation, with the breadwinner as the nucleus, is the weed carrier's best friend. It's like a publicity hand grenade, for when the talent bop gun gets low on ammunition.
"Like, let me tell you something that just happened recently, right, you know they just did the tenth anniversary photo shoot for Roc-A-Wear? So they called me to come down there and do the picture or whatever. The Roc-A-Wear people tried to pay me, like they had a check for me at the photo shoot. And I’m like, “Nah, I can’t take that check.” I think the check was like for between I think like $7,000 to $10,000. And I’m like, “I can’t take that check.” And the dude he like, “Yo, why not?” I’m like, “Nah ‘cause this my homie's company. Why my man gotta pay me just to take some pictures? Like, this my nigga! We from the [same] projects. You don’t have to pay me. [Doing] this is nothing.” So then Jay called me the next day like, “Yo Bleek, why you ain’t take the money?” I’m like, “Yo Hov, that’s like me stealing from you, just taking money from you, c’mon. What I did for you yesterday took 15 minutes out my day, you don’t have to pay me for that. I’ma get the money some other way.” And that nigga said to me, “Yo that’s why I love you, you one of the realest niggas ever, you would never meet nobody else in the world who would do that...And that’s just the loyalty I have to my team...I’m always for my team first".
Nowadays, niggas are quick to jump to the head of the class. Gone are the days when a dude would politely sit back, & wait, & wait, & wait, & wait, without any obvious signs of his time coming, anytime soon, but still hold it down for the team. Or more specifically, the boss. Memphis Bleek deserves a special place in Hip Hop for that sheer determination. He realizes that if he can't drive the Maybach, he can at least ride shotgun until he get's dropped off at home. & not a lot of hangers-on can say that, with misguided-yet adament pride, & still look in the mirror as men the next morning.
Giving credit where credit is due, Memph Bleek is...the GOAT (of weed carriers).
*with assistance from HipHopDX.com*
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
*no thinking cap required
No shots. Not even warning shots. Just saying...
Hip Hop, rap music more specifically, is mad mundane nowadays. That statement alone is one of the reasons Raekwon's 'OB4CL2' & Slaughterhouse's self-titled albums were so well received by the critical public at large. Also, this is why they didn't sell an ass load of albums, either. More on that later...
The Hip Hop fan has grown accustomed to a certain formula. Brainwashed, perhaps. We've graduated from accepting a mediocre beat, if the lyrics were hot (the '90s) to accepting a bland mixture of okay rhymes & so-so tracks (the '00s) to now, the end of 2000's first decade, & rap music is boring as fuck, for the most part. Sans a handful of artists who genuinely craft witty raps without a bunch of unnecessary violence &/or fantasy lifestyle, & it's the same song, over & over again. It's common knowledge that to be a successful rap guy, your chains, your guns, your cars, & your ability to get bitches ranks higher than your song crafting skills. If we get nothing else, that we get. Multiply that complete lack of originality by some trunk-thumpage that the hood rats & socialites alike can shake their tail fur at, & best believe, somebody somewhere will play your shit, loudly & often, however uninspiring it may be.
"Rewindability" is virtually non-existent at present, unless we're talking about DOOM, Slaughterhouse (as a collective), U-God & Ghostface Killa. Ghostface, not so much because he astounds with the verbiage, but because I don't smoke dust blunts. & even with some rewinding, most dudes still have no idea what the hell he's talking about, unless it's his dick. Pause. If I did smoke the leaf that dare not speak it's name though, something tells me he'd be the illest MC ever to grab the mic. I guess Eminem earned a spot in that group as well, but unlike most rap fanatics, I'm willing to admit that somewhere along his audio journey, Marshall Mathers hit me in the brain with so much awesomeness that I'm now hard pressed to be in awe at the majority of his current masterpieces. His genius has leveled off into normalcy, so to speak. He's more Kobe, less Lebron, if you smell my cologne. Once "greatness" has ascended to such an unattainable altitude, we come to expect nothing less than the best. Which, oddly enough, is detrimental to a degree. I guess that's why you don't mack a female with unmitigated A+ game in the first few months. God forbid you two fall in love, & you used all the heavy artillery just to score some trim. When she gets bored, you can't blame anyone but yourself.
Of course there's more than just who's on my preemptive list, but I'm only attempting to scratch the proverbial surface, not take roll call. This is literally a conversation that could last days, & thousands of words, which neither I nor your attention span is willing to commit to.
Now, you have some artists who by all means have the propensity be great, but operate under such a self-defeating agenda that they refuse to let their own light shine. Lupe Fiasco comes to mind, but he's so much smarter than the rest of us that maybe all this is part of a plan, & his plan is coming together like 2 lesbians on a double-edged deluxe gyrating vibrator. Ha! Kid Cudi is cut from that same cloth, also. In a strange turn of events, his quasi-depressing, melancholy approach at Hip Hop music has become his way of life, knocking cats the eff out & getting thrown off of ridiculously lucrative tours all in the name of anti-love. Toss in a Charles Hamilton, & not only do we see the dark side of "the Force" that Kanye West exposed to the world, but also the reason gangsta rap is on life support. Emo-thuggery is running rampant. Skinny jeans may not be able to conceal weapons, but man-bags & Louis Vuitton backpacks can carry guns, as well as plaid ascots & cashmere mittens.
I, for one, miss the days where I almost had to concentrate on rap music to enjoy it. As of late, it's more like having public conversations with some of my terribly less intelligent homeboys, over loud-ass 808 kicks that only muffle their ignorant jaw-jacking, but unfortunately not quite enough to drown them out entirely. There's no imagination, no drive, no real competitive spirit, outside of viral campaigns, tasteless personal attacks, & episodes of 'Candid Camera', with *insert your favorite rapper* doing his best Alan Funt impersonation. Hip Hop has allowed itself to go from two young, amped up tough guys smoking weed & intensely playing Chess, to two lethargic older cats drinking cheap cognac over a game of Checkers, in between nods & space-out moments. Even when they pick up a piece (no pun intended), everyone knows their next move. It's no wonder people get bored & stop watching them play.
Before the hoopla starts, I'm not one of those golden age veterans, who rubs miscellaneous bottles in hopes that I can wish us back to 1992. Hell, in 1992, I was still a virgin, so, yeah. But, I do wish that more effort would be put into making today's rap a sport again. Not a contact sport, because niggas don't fight any more, but a battle of wits, war of words, per se. Legend has it that, in their hey day, MC Ren & Ice Cube would sit in the studio & write against each other, for the same song. Whoever won that impromptu challenge, won the right to pen Eazy-E's verse, in addition to their own. Or, picture Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney working on 'The Girl Is Mine'. Cats may not hit the bowling alley for beer pretzels & White chicks after the studio session, but best believe they pushed one another to do their best, even if their best was only second place. I'll take second place over last any day of the Christian week.
There seems to be a growing surge of rappers who embrace the basic ethos that separates entertainers from MC's. That's a good look for the culture, plus it's not like folks are running out to drop hard hustled recession dollars on physical albums anyway, even when the record is a genuinely good buy. Ask Raekwon & Slaughterhouse. Might as well give the people what they need, because what they want isn't always what's best for them. Like prostitute sex, regardless how good she looks, she's still a hooker, & we know you can do better than that, mayne.
Hip Hop, rap music more specifically, is mad mundane nowadays. That statement alone is one of the reasons Raekwon's 'OB4CL2' & Slaughterhouse's self-titled albums were so well received by the critical public at large. Also, this is why they didn't sell an ass load of albums, either. More on that later...
The Hip Hop fan has grown accustomed to a certain formula. Brainwashed, perhaps. We've graduated from accepting a mediocre beat, if the lyrics were hot (the '90s) to accepting a bland mixture of okay rhymes & so-so tracks (the '00s) to now, the end of 2000's first decade, & rap music is boring as fuck, for the most part. Sans a handful of artists who genuinely craft witty raps without a bunch of unnecessary violence &/or fantasy lifestyle, & it's the same song, over & over again. It's common knowledge that to be a successful rap guy, your chains, your guns, your cars, & your ability to get bitches ranks higher than your song crafting skills. If we get nothing else, that we get. Multiply that complete lack of originality by some trunk-thumpage that the hood rats & socialites alike can shake their tail fur at, & best believe, somebody somewhere will play your shit, loudly & often, however uninspiring it may be.
"Rewindability" is virtually non-existent at present, unless we're talking about DOOM, Slaughterhouse (as a collective), U-God & Ghostface Killa. Ghostface, not so much because he astounds with the verbiage, but because I don't smoke dust blunts. & even with some rewinding, most dudes still have no idea what the hell he's talking about, unless it's his dick. Pause. If I did smoke the leaf that dare not speak it's name though, something tells me he'd be the illest MC ever to grab the mic. I guess Eminem earned a spot in that group as well, but unlike most rap fanatics, I'm willing to admit that somewhere along his audio journey, Marshall Mathers hit me in the brain with so much awesomeness that I'm now hard pressed to be in awe at the majority of his current masterpieces. His genius has leveled off into normalcy, so to speak. He's more Kobe, less Lebron, if you smell my cologne. Once "greatness" has ascended to such an unattainable altitude, we come to expect nothing less than the best. Which, oddly enough, is detrimental to a degree. I guess that's why you don't mack a female with unmitigated A+ game in the first few months. God forbid you two fall in love, & you used all the heavy artillery just to score some trim. When she gets bored, you can't blame anyone but yourself.
Of course there's more than just who's on my preemptive list, but I'm only attempting to scratch the proverbial surface, not take roll call. This is literally a conversation that could last days, & thousands of words, which neither I nor your attention span is willing to commit to.
Now, you have some artists who by all means have the propensity be great, but operate under such a self-defeating agenda that they refuse to let their own light shine. Lupe Fiasco comes to mind, but he's so much smarter than the rest of us that maybe all this is part of a plan, & his plan is coming together like 2 lesbians on a double-edged deluxe gyrating vibrator. Ha! Kid Cudi is cut from that same cloth, also. In a strange turn of events, his quasi-depressing, melancholy approach at Hip Hop music has become his way of life, knocking cats the eff out & getting thrown off of ridiculously lucrative tours all in the name of anti-love. Toss in a Charles Hamilton, & not only do we see the dark side of "the Force" that Kanye West exposed to the world, but also the reason gangsta rap is on life support. Emo-thuggery is running rampant. Skinny jeans may not be able to conceal weapons, but man-bags & Louis Vuitton backpacks can carry guns, as well as plaid ascots & cashmere mittens.
I, for one, miss the days where I almost had to concentrate on rap music to enjoy it. As of late, it's more like having public conversations with some of my terribly less intelligent homeboys, over loud-ass 808 kicks that only muffle their ignorant jaw-jacking, but unfortunately not quite enough to drown them out entirely. There's no imagination, no drive, no real competitive spirit, outside of viral campaigns, tasteless personal attacks, & episodes of 'Candid Camera', with *insert your favorite rapper* doing his best Alan Funt impersonation. Hip Hop has allowed itself to go from two young, amped up tough guys smoking weed & intensely playing Chess, to two lethargic older cats drinking cheap cognac over a game of Checkers, in between nods & space-out moments. Even when they pick up a piece (no pun intended), everyone knows their next move. It's no wonder people get bored & stop watching them play.
Before the hoopla starts, I'm not one of those golden age veterans, who rubs miscellaneous bottles in hopes that I can wish us back to 1992. Hell, in 1992, I was still a virgin, so, yeah. But, I do wish that more effort would be put into making today's rap a sport again. Not a contact sport, because niggas don't fight any more, but a battle of wits, war of words, per se. Legend has it that, in their hey day, MC Ren & Ice Cube would sit in the studio & write against each other, for the same song. Whoever won that impromptu challenge, won the right to pen Eazy-E's verse, in addition to their own. Or, picture Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney working on 'The Girl Is Mine'. Cats may not hit the bowling alley for beer pretzels & White chicks after the studio session, but best believe they pushed one another to do their best, even if their best was only second place. I'll take second place over last any day of the Christian week.
There seems to be a growing surge of rappers who embrace the basic ethos that separates entertainers from MC's. That's a good look for the culture, plus it's not like folks are running out to drop hard hustled recession dollars on physical albums anyway, even when the record is a genuinely good buy. Ask Raekwon & Slaughterhouse. Might as well give the people what they need, because what they want isn't always what's best for them. Like prostitute sex, regardless how good she looks, she's still a hooker, & we know you can do better than that, mayne.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Blood In The Water
"Controversial rapper Eminem has agreed to refrain from performing homophobic lyrics during an upcoming festival in the United Kingdom next summer... Eminem agreed to sign up after he was assured there would be no protests at the show, according to spokesman David Allison...Eminem also reportedly agreed to both parties demands that he censor his lyrics, to avoid confrontation with the gay rights groups in the country." - organizers of the Wireless festival, via AllHipHop.com
The thing I liked about Em when he first came out was that he was White. Let's be clear; who doesn't enjoy a frantic, nut-bag White dude in their crew? No homo. Not one who's under the misconception that he's somehow been transformed into a Black guy by magical association, but one who genuinely embraces his role as "the White dude", free to smoke ounces of hairy-ass electric blue grass from his bong & guzzle cheap, domestic beer until he passes out. That was Marshall, circa '93-'94, when I first got wind of him. He didn't want to be a nigga, & he made that clear. White ignorance is galaxies away from Black ignorance, but it's all the same cup of idiocy. Gucci Mane & Eminem are like kindred spirits, really though, both eager to capitalize from their willingness to be the eye of attention, at all costs. The only thing that truly separates them is skill level. Em, genuinely talented, & Gucci, well, not so much. & for the record, if Marshall Mathers were Black, don't kid yourself into thinking that he would have been equally as successful. There's plenty of Black rappers who are more talented than Em, but would never reach such a level of prominence. Racism is real, folks, like it or not.
The Eminem we all know & love unofficially died to me when I read this statement. Censorship? Word? Say it ain't so, Marshall! Isn't this the same dude he said something about beating Octomom to death with her fetuses, or something like that? & let millions of fans know that his step-dad diddled his glory hole? Surely a few fag references can't be bad enough to make him swallow his artistic expression. & if anybody fathoms the difficulty in swallowing, it would certainly be some-never mind. Regardless, what true artist allows his tongue to be tied? I could understand if Em was hungry, but dude's not starving at all. Just because he doesn't rap about the finest linens & crab meats & golden chariots doesn't mean he's not indulging. I mean, sure, he refuses to stop wearing those God-forsaken Jordan track suits, & until a year ago, he was the only White guy in America with enough balls to still be wearing a wave cap under a teamless fitted cap, but don't let his humble appearance fool you. What's the use of being one of the nicest rap dudes if you're so easily persuaded to edit yourself? I was under the impression that he "just don't give a fuck". How bad could a gay protest be, in the UK? No shots. Perhaps old age & sobriety have caught up with our proverbial bad guy. Expect Vanilla Ice to emerge from his Floridian cocaine binge & challenge Em to a rap-off in the near future.
I tend to stay away from Eminem conversations, because he has a very Tupac-esque following, but I think even the most adamant Shady follower would agree that such back-pedaling is tantamount to bleeding in a shark's den. I was completely fine with him orchestrating a face full of man crotch on national tv. I thought it was funny, except for the part where he attempted to have us believe it to be true, & that he wanted to kick Sasha Baron Cohen's Armenian camel saddle for waggling his snake charmer where Em's mustache should be, only to be outed by an Mtv executive online. To go through all that trouble of Spider-Maning that dude from the ceiling, dressed as Cee Lo Green, only to back pedal was a waste of a good publicity stunt.
On one hand, I do believe that once a celebrity reaches a certain level of exposure, at least a scant amount of responsibility should be taken for what's released to the public. But I'm a realist, & if motherfuckers are too dense to raise their own children, then don't be mad if they come home with eyelid tats & sexually confused behaviors. If Em wants to rap about whatever he sees fit, then as a man, he should stand by his original thought process. Why waste so much time & money, only to let a crowd of ambiguous stone-throwers decide what's best for the rest of the listening populous? When he did that performance with Elton John, to show the homosexual community how harmless he was, it made sense that he slowed up with the gay bashing afterwards. At that point in his career, it was a good move. A couple of records down the line, & one would be a bit hard pressed to find the same homophobic hatred that had existed on the 'Marshall Mathers LP'. But, to release 'Relapse', which was probably his most "important" album, rife with some of the most offending lyrics of 2009, & be tethered by a threat of limp wrist revolt is astounding. What I would do is, make them think I'm going with the program, hit the stage & go all out, possibly doing some new music, full of the most offensive lyrics I could think of. Not only would that be great publicity, but it would be a glimpse into part of the reason the world fell in love with Em to begin with. He could even take it a notch beyond, & get drunk on stage. What's the worse they can do to him. Not buy his records? Any existing fan of his music is sitting patiently by their computer's waiting for a hard body moment to restore faith in their musical messiah. Why not now?
Let us take a moment to notice the power & momentum that the gay community is achieving in the world today. Just saying...
Part of the charm of the Eminem phenomenon was his unwillingness to conform, & the fact that he could say things that the average young rap star couldn't. Imagine the alarms that would ring if Tony Yayo said he wanted to rape Brittany Spears. Not that he's a star, but you smell my cologne. Popular White females are the Holy Grail of Hollywood, & Marshall has made violent, sexually perverse threats at all of them. Had he been Black, he would've been White-balled for sure. Em should embrace that power & continue to pillage the world for their monies, like he's been doing.
Fuck biting my tongue, that shit hurts. & if you've ever tried to put a Band-Aid on your tongue, you know how much that sucks.
The thing I liked about Em when he first came out was that he was White. Let's be clear; who doesn't enjoy a frantic, nut-bag White dude in their crew? No homo. Not one who's under the misconception that he's somehow been transformed into a Black guy by magical association, but one who genuinely embraces his role as "the White dude", free to smoke ounces of hairy-ass electric blue grass from his bong & guzzle cheap, domestic beer until he passes out. That was Marshall, circa '93-'94, when I first got wind of him. He didn't want to be a nigga, & he made that clear. White ignorance is galaxies away from Black ignorance, but it's all the same cup of idiocy. Gucci Mane & Eminem are like kindred spirits, really though, both eager to capitalize from their willingness to be the eye of attention, at all costs. The only thing that truly separates them is skill level. Em, genuinely talented, & Gucci, well, not so much. & for the record, if Marshall Mathers were Black, don't kid yourself into thinking that he would have been equally as successful. There's plenty of Black rappers who are more talented than Em, but would never reach such a level of prominence. Racism is real, folks, like it or not.
The Eminem we all know & love unofficially died to me when I read this statement. Censorship? Word? Say it ain't so, Marshall! Isn't this the same dude he said something about beating Octomom to death with her fetuses, or something like that? & let millions of fans know that his step-dad diddled his glory hole? Surely a few fag references can't be bad enough to make him swallow his artistic expression. & if anybody fathoms the difficulty in swallowing, it would certainly be some-never mind. Regardless, what true artist allows his tongue to be tied? I could understand if Em was hungry, but dude's not starving at all. Just because he doesn't rap about the finest linens & crab meats & golden chariots doesn't mean he's not indulging. I mean, sure, he refuses to stop wearing those God-forsaken Jordan track suits, & until a year ago, he was the only White guy in America with enough balls to still be wearing a wave cap under a teamless fitted cap, but don't let his humble appearance fool you. What's the use of being one of the nicest rap dudes if you're so easily persuaded to edit yourself? I was under the impression that he "just don't give a fuck". How bad could a gay protest be, in the UK? No shots. Perhaps old age & sobriety have caught up with our proverbial bad guy. Expect Vanilla Ice to emerge from his Floridian cocaine binge & challenge Em to a rap-off in the near future.
I tend to stay away from Eminem conversations, because he has a very Tupac-esque following, but I think even the most adamant Shady follower would agree that such back-pedaling is tantamount to bleeding in a shark's den. I was completely fine with him orchestrating a face full of man crotch on national tv. I thought it was funny, except for the part where he attempted to have us believe it to be true, & that he wanted to kick Sasha Baron Cohen's Armenian camel saddle for waggling his snake charmer where Em's mustache should be, only to be outed by an Mtv executive online. To go through all that trouble of Spider-Maning that dude from the ceiling, dressed as Cee Lo Green, only to back pedal was a waste of a good publicity stunt.
On one hand, I do believe that once a celebrity reaches a certain level of exposure, at least a scant amount of responsibility should be taken for what's released to the public. But I'm a realist, & if motherfuckers are too dense to raise their own children, then don't be mad if they come home with eyelid tats & sexually confused behaviors. If Em wants to rap about whatever he sees fit, then as a man, he should stand by his original thought process. Why waste so much time & money, only to let a crowd of ambiguous stone-throwers decide what's best for the rest of the listening populous? When he did that performance with Elton John, to show the homosexual community how harmless he was, it made sense that he slowed up with the gay bashing afterwards. At that point in his career, it was a good move. A couple of records down the line, & one would be a bit hard pressed to find the same homophobic hatred that had existed on the 'Marshall Mathers LP'. But, to release 'Relapse', which was probably his most "important" album, rife with some of the most offending lyrics of 2009, & be tethered by a threat of limp wrist revolt is astounding. What I would do is, make them think I'm going with the program, hit the stage & go all out, possibly doing some new music, full of the most offensive lyrics I could think of. Not only would that be great publicity, but it would be a glimpse into part of the reason the world fell in love with Em to begin with. He could even take it a notch beyond, & get drunk on stage. What's the worse they can do to him. Not buy his records? Any existing fan of his music is sitting patiently by their computer's waiting for a hard body moment to restore faith in their musical messiah. Why not now?
Let us take a moment to notice the power & momentum that the gay community is achieving in the world today. Just saying...
Part of the charm of the Eminem phenomenon was his unwillingness to conform, & the fact that he could say things that the average young rap star couldn't. Imagine the alarms that would ring if Tony Yayo said he wanted to rape Brittany Spears. Not that he's a star, but you smell my cologne. Popular White females are the Holy Grail of Hollywood, & Marshall has made violent, sexually perverse threats at all of them. Had he been Black, he would've been White-balled for sure. Em should embrace that power & continue to pillage the world for their monies, like he's been doing.
Fuck biting my tongue, that shit hurts. & if you've ever tried to put a Band-Aid on your tongue, you know how much that sucks.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Are You Guccified?
Gucci Mane is easily the most popular rapper right now. Ugh. Next to the dump truck loads of hate that T.I. is receiving for an early, early release, Gucci Gucci stays in people's mouths (no prison humor).
Not since Lil Wayne's proverbial apex roughly 2 years ago has there been such an even playing field of adoration & loathing. Really though, Gucci is one of only 2 rap acts on the Billboard top ten, as of today, or something like that. Don't quote me. Funny thing, I've only heard his music twice; on a family trip to Shreveport, Louisiana, where I don't necessarily expect them to know any better (no shots, but you should see some of their street lights), & at a DMV picnic, the perfect culmination of food, liquor & ignorance. Imagine the horror that surged my veins when I saw 8 year olds shaking their future thong holders to Gucci explaining the different ways he can beat up a vagina. My word, not his. Actually, there was one other time, but I didn't know it was Gooch until later. There was 3 extremely greasy young cats, smoking weed in their car, bouncing around & repeating "I'm the shit, bitch!" in time with the music. They couldn't have been older than 18, with their neon clad t-shirts & untamed multi-mullets. But, they looked like those 90 year old ladies who, when they get the Holy Ghost, James Brown up & down the church aisles. Silly, out-of-touch me, I had know idea what the big deal was, but my curiosity was piqued as they drove away in their Kia Sportage. Yeah, a Sportage, so they were probably gay too, in addition to being receptive to awesomely horrid "music". When I found out that was a Gucci Mane song, the puzzle pieces began to take shape. Those poor kids were being Guccified, right before my very eyes. Had I have known that then, I would've lunged into that little car, & attempted to rescue them from their fate. By now though, they've probably already gotten eyebrow & neck tattoos, & more neon shirts. Raekwon help us all.
I believe, in order to be a pop icon, there has to be an unlimited amount of ignorance within ink-covered arms distance. Remember how there was that one retarded kid at your school who EVERYBODY knew? Even the bullies, barely above him academically, had mad love for that critter. It's that same neanderthal appeal that draws massive amounts of clearly sane people into these pop culture phenomenons, subsequently lowering their standards & expectations to become part of the movement. Gucci Mane is as clearly a celebrity as he is a fool, so why would his celebration be any different? Answer: it's not.
Congratulations! You've been Guccified.
Nowadays, all the things that made a rapper an "MC" have been forsaken, lost, forgotten & replaced by the cloak of douchbaggery. Skills have taken a back seat to finance. When the argument is made that Gucci obviously lacks said skill set, the response in most cases is a warm-hearted, "Stop hatin', bitch! Gucci gettin' all dat paypah, fuck boy!". Or something to that effect. Talent is now overshadowed by appearance. Like a preacher; never mind how sincere his message may, or may not be, what truly matters how nice his suit & watch are, or in some cases, how fancy his robe is. Gucci is so high up on the "look at me" ladder that he doesn't even need to wear shirts. No clothing manufacturer's wares/wears can exemplify, or contain, such a tremendous amount of nigganometry. Seriously, Gucci is so hood that his magical tattoos probably incinerate shirts as soon as they touch his canvas-y flesh. Or maybe I'm over thinking it, & to him, it's not worth the hassle of pulling a $500 scmedium tee over your arms when they're covered with Wonder Woman bracelets & 2-3 divers watches.
[tony's note: gotta love that irony of divers watches on niggas that don't swim...]
For all Gucci Mane's mono-syllabic word play & modernized shuck & jive (complete with "chains & whips"), he seem cognizant enough to have embraced the concept of "hate". There are hordes, legions if you will, of anti-Gucci Maners, who spout nothing more than his hopeful demise. Publicity is publicity, whether good or abundantly bad. & on some level, he must understand that if one takes the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci", then they have, in essence, taken the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci". If he doesnt, then he wouldn't have so much zing in his voice when he scoffs at the haters who make him so, umm, popular. Dig, if X-amount of people continuously tell me how bad something is, at some point, if only out of sheer boredom, I'm going to try it at least once. Like the time I boned a really skinny girl just because I'd heard how unsatisfying an experience it would be.
[tony's other note: do not try that at home...]
My big homie Combat Jack had a drop on Daily-Math.com about how enamored he'd become with Gucci, against his will. Although I value his opinion as much as Dallas Penn's, I wasn't quite sold on giving G. Mane a voluntary listen until I got to the comments of the drop. "Wow", I thought aloud. 95% of the responses made this guy sound like the worst rapper ever. So naturally, I set aside any preconceived notions one would have about a nigga named "Gucci Mane", & gave him another shot. The music wasn't that bad. The music, meaning the instrumentation, production & mix-down of the song, mind you. The lyrics, however, made me feel like I forfeited my junior & senior years in high school. I found myself thinking twice before using any words with less than 3 syllables for the duration of that day. In his defense, though, I've never heard him say that he's the best rapper alive, or anything remotely close. I'm sure he'd confess to being extraordinarily mediocre, if his lexicon allowed either word. & I'm positive he couldn't care less about not having that accolade. Him receiving the newest cover of XXL doesn't help matters either, because there's undoubtedly a nation of under achieving up-&-coming rappers who'll follow his mold, without ever once attempting to be clever on the mic. & every time they see him count a stack of dough, or yank one of his slave chains in gaudy, tastless defiance, they'll lick their lips, knowing that the rap game ain't what it used to be.
Gucci Mane's success stems largely from his buffoonish behavior reaching comical levels. One would be hard pressed not to note that everytime he has an important album release date pending, he has an equally, if not more so, important court date looming as well. Coincidence? Possibly. Hilarious? Without a doubt. America's love affair for such stupidity is nothing new, but Hip Hop was an untapped resource for such idiocy about 15 years ago. Now, rappers provide just as much levity as Wee-man & Steve-O, back in their hey days, putting raw chickens in their adult diapers while wading a river chock with crocodiles. Imagine, as entertaining as "we" thought 50's online antics were over the last year or so, just imagine how funny it was to a room full of caucassian stuffed-shirts, who'd enjoy monkeys jumping around cages & throwing shit at each other just as much. If the monkey's hump trees, that's a bonus.
For what it's worth, God bless Gucci. I hope his success is long lasting. His kids should be straight, his bills should be paid, & just maybe he'll put all his profit to good use in his community. Yeah right. That nigga needs more jewelry & cars. He says so himself like, on every song. Even still, good luck & Godspeed Radrick, Dredrick, or whatever his momma named him.
Not since Lil Wayne's proverbial apex roughly 2 years ago has there been such an even playing field of adoration & loathing. Really though, Gucci is one of only 2 rap acts on the Billboard top ten, as of today, or something like that. Don't quote me. Funny thing, I've only heard his music twice; on a family trip to Shreveport, Louisiana, where I don't necessarily expect them to know any better (no shots, but you should see some of their street lights), & at a DMV picnic, the perfect culmination of food, liquor & ignorance. Imagine the horror that surged my veins when I saw 8 year olds shaking their future thong holders to Gucci explaining the different ways he can beat up a vagina. My word, not his. Actually, there was one other time, but I didn't know it was Gooch until later. There was 3 extremely greasy young cats, smoking weed in their car, bouncing around & repeating "I'm the shit, bitch!" in time with the music. They couldn't have been older than 18, with their neon clad t-shirts & untamed multi-mullets. But, they looked like those 90 year old ladies who, when they get the Holy Ghost, James Brown up & down the church aisles. Silly, out-of-touch me, I had know idea what the big deal was, but my curiosity was piqued as they drove away in their Kia Sportage. Yeah, a Sportage, so they were probably gay too, in addition to being receptive to awesomely horrid "music". When I found out that was a Gucci Mane song, the puzzle pieces began to take shape. Those poor kids were being Guccified, right before my very eyes. Had I have known that then, I would've lunged into that little car, & attempted to rescue them from their fate. By now though, they've probably already gotten eyebrow & neck tattoos, & more neon shirts. Raekwon help us all.
I believe, in order to be a pop icon, there has to be an unlimited amount of ignorance within ink-covered arms distance. Remember how there was that one retarded kid at your school who EVERYBODY knew? Even the bullies, barely above him academically, had mad love for that critter. It's that same neanderthal appeal that draws massive amounts of clearly sane people into these pop culture phenomenons, subsequently lowering their standards & expectations to become part of the movement. Gucci Mane is as clearly a celebrity as he is a fool, so why would his celebration be any different? Answer: it's not.
Congratulations! You've been Guccified.
Nowadays, all the things that made a rapper an "MC" have been forsaken, lost, forgotten & replaced by the cloak of douchbaggery. Skills have taken a back seat to finance. When the argument is made that Gucci obviously lacks said skill set, the response in most cases is a warm-hearted, "Stop hatin', bitch! Gucci gettin' all dat paypah, fuck boy!". Or something to that effect. Talent is now overshadowed by appearance. Like a preacher; never mind how sincere his message may, or may not be, what truly matters how nice his suit & watch are, or in some cases, how fancy his robe is. Gucci is so high up on the "look at me" ladder that he doesn't even need to wear shirts. No clothing manufacturer's wares/wears can exemplify, or contain, such a tremendous amount of nigganometry. Seriously, Gucci is so hood that his magical tattoos probably incinerate shirts as soon as they touch his canvas-y flesh. Or maybe I'm over thinking it, & to him, it's not worth the hassle of pulling a $500 scmedium tee over your arms when they're covered with Wonder Woman bracelets & 2-3 divers watches.
[tony's note: gotta love that irony of divers watches on niggas that don't swim...]
For all Gucci Mane's mono-syllabic word play & modernized shuck & jive (complete with "chains & whips"), he seem cognizant enough to have embraced the concept of "hate". There are hordes, legions if you will, of anti-Gucci Maners, who spout nothing more than his hopeful demise. Publicity is publicity, whether good or abundantly bad. & on some level, he must understand that if one takes the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci", then they have, in essence, taken the time to say, or type "Fuck Gucci". If he doesnt, then he wouldn't have so much zing in his voice when he scoffs at the haters who make him so, umm, popular. Dig, if X-amount of people continuously tell me how bad something is, at some point, if only out of sheer boredom, I'm going to try it at least once. Like the time I boned a really skinny girl just because I'd heard how unsatisfying an experience it would be.
[tony's other note: do not try that at home...]
My big homie Combat Jack had a drop on Daily-Math.com about how enamored he'd become with Gucci, against his will. Although I value his opinion as much as Dallas Penn's, I wasn't quite sold on giving G. Mane a voluntary listen until I got to the comments of the drop. "Wow", I thought aloud. 95% of the responses made this guy sound like the worst rapper ever. So naturally, I set aside any preconceived notions one would have about a nigga named "Gucci Mane", & gave him another shot. The music wasn't that bad. The music, meaning the instrumentation, production & mix-down of the song, mind you. The lyrics, however, made me feel like I forfeited my junior & senior years in high school. I found myself thinking twice before using any words with less than 3 syllables for the duration of that day. In his defense, though, I've never heard him say that he's the best rapper alive, or anything remotely close. I'm sure he'd confess to being extraordinarily mediocre, if his lexicon allowed either word. & I'm positive he couldn't care less about not having that accolade. Him receiving the newest cover of XXL doesn't help matters either, because there's undoubtedly a nation of under achieving up-&-coming rappers who'll follow his mold, without ever once attempting to be clever on the mic. & every time they see him count a stack of dough, or yank one of his slave chains in gaudy, tastless defiance, they'll lick their lips, knowing that the rap game ain't what it used to be.
Gucci Mane's success stems largely from his buffoonish behavior reaching comical levels. One would be hard pressed not to note that everytime he has an important album release date pending, he has an equally, if not more so, important court date looming as well. Coincidence? Possibly. Hilarious? Without a doubt. America's love affair for such stupidity is nothing new, but Hip Hop was an untapped resource for such idiocy about 15 years ago. Now, rappers provide just as much levity as Wee-man & Steve-O, back in their hey days, putting raw chickens in their adult diapers while wading a river chock with crocodiles. Imagine, as entertaining as "we" thought 50's online antics were over the last year or so, just imagine how funny it was to a room full of caucassian stuffed-shirts, who'd enjoy monkeys jumping around cages & throwing shit at each other just as much. If the monkey's hump trees, that's a bonus.
For what it's worth, God bless Gucci. I hope his success is long lasting. His kids should be straight, his bills should be paid, & just maybe he'll put all his profit to good use in his community. Yeah right. That nigga needs more jewelry & cars. He says so himself like, on every song. Even still, good luck & Godspeed Radrick, Dredrick, or whatever his momma named him.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Night Before: A Holiday Poem By Tony Grands
'Twas the night before Christmas, & all through da hood,
one time stayed on watch for cats up to no good,
The stockin's were hung up with tacks by the door,
'Cuz it ain't no damn chim-a-neys on the first floor,
All day there was clamor & noise in the street,
'Cuz the gas man done came & he turned off the heat,
But that's not enough to stop niggas from blazin',
What potheads will do to get high is amazin',
They gathered their quarters & counted their nickels,
But left out the pennies 'cuz the weed man is fickle,
Who cares 'bout the weather-the rain & the breeze,
As long as there's Swishers & bags full of trees,
Egg nog is for squares & the taste makes 'em squimish,
So real nigs celebrate by sippin Olde English,
All they want from Santa is intoxication,
& not to get knocked for parole violation,
Too high to sing carols-the words they'd forgotten,
Called up a few hoodrats & asked 'em what's poppin',
"Ain't nothin'" the rats said & bid them farewell,
Cuz broke dudes can't help them with their hair & nails,
No gas for the heater-but they still had power,
& all the Doritos 4 dudes could devour,
They played PS3-Madden 10 as always,
Then heard heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway,
The rent was past due & the landlord was comin,
They sobered up quickly-tried to think of somethin',
He banged on the front door confusin the thugs,
That spent all their rent money on booze & drugs,
"Hold up!" they yelled out & started to panic,
Not knowin' what he said 'cuz he's speakin' spanish,
"It's Christmas, amigo-show us some compassion!",
What he said translates into "Fuck your Black asses!",
"By this time tomorrow you'd better be gone!",
"Or you'll sit on your couch while it sits on the lawn!",
They pleaded but he wasn't moved one iota,
They offered him weed, chips, even a soda,
He said "Never mind this-I'm calling the cops!",
Then a noise from the roof caused the landlord to stop,
"On Dancer, on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen",
Niggas ran to the broken window in the kitchen,
"On Dasher, on Prancer, on Comet, on Vixen!",
The landlord was too shocked to continue bitchin',
"Whoa Rudolph" the voice said-it sounded so odd,
& niggas was so high they thought it was God
The voice started laffin'-so seemingly jolly,
One nigga said "That's Joe the Crackhead, prolly",
They opened the door & looked at the front entrance,
A White man? Around here? That's quite suspicious,
No badge on his jacket-no gun in a holster,
He had a big velvet bag over his shoulder,
He said "Ho Ho Ho"-they looked 'round for Renee,
But that Hoe was home, she don't work holidays,
The niggas stared at 'em-wide eyes & dropped jaws,
One said "What the fuck? Is that Santa Claus?",
Just then Santa waved-turned around & he vanished,
The landlord amazed, mumbled somethin' in spanish,
The landlord just walked off, clearly in awe,
& the niggas couldn't figure out what they just saw,
Went back inside-looked at the clock & their watches,
12am, then they saw all types of boxes,
With laughter so nervous-like something was funny,
First box that they opened had bills & rent money,
They counted & counted it-like they were rich,
That really WAS Santa? Damn-ain't that a bitch?
They called up the landlord & told him no worry,
Your money's right here-come get it & please hurry,
He said he'll be there in the mornin'-"I'm tired",
That shit freaked him out-he went home & got wired,
Just then they heard *pop pop*-a thud in the bushes,
They ran to the window-all shovin' & pushin',
Some car tires screechin & somebody yellin',
Laid out was poor Santa-got shot in the melon,
Headed to the rooftop, he started to fly,
Just as some young knuckleheads did a drive-by,
The reindeer had fled-scared away by the sound,
& their master-dear St. Nick-was dead on the ground,
They dialed 911, but what could they tell 'em?,
That Santa caught a hot slug in his cerebellum?,
Even when it's real people cops take 'bout an hour,
So they got Santa's corpse & put him in their shower,
Some hours passed by & cops finally came,
They told them what happened-with no one to blame,
So the cops called for back up & pulled out their cuffs,
No witnesses either, they were shit outta luck,
In back of patrol cars-headed down to the station,
Charged with murder one & parole violations,
The coroner took Santa to the morgue in his van,
To perform the autopsy that was part of the plan,
But when they arrived & opened up the back,
The stretcher was empty & the white sheet was flat,
"This is some kind of joke, it must be" it was weird,
But the joke was on him, Santa just disappeared,
But still, the cops kept them niggas in cages,
They been doin' this type shit to Black folks for ages,
The moral of this story-to say the least,
is follow your gut & don't trust the police.
one time stayed on watch for cats up to no good,
The stockin's were hung up with tacks by the door,
'Cuz it ain't no damn chim-a-neys on the first floor,
All day there was clamor & noise in the street,
'Cuz the gas man done came & he turned off the heat,
But that's not enough to stop niggas from blazin',
What potheads will do to get high is amazin',
They gathered their quarters & counted their nickels,
But left out the pennies 'cuz the weed man is fickle,
Who cares 'bout the weather-the rain & the breeze,
As long as there's Swishers & bags full of trees,
Egg nog is for squares & the taste makes 'em squimish,
So real nigs celebrate by sippin Olde English,
All they want from Santa is intoxication,
& not to get knocked for parole violation,
Too high to sing carols-the words they'd forgotten,
Called up a few hoodrats & asked 'em what's poppin',
"Ain't nothin'" the rats said & bid them farewell,
Cuz broke dudes can't help them with their hair & nails,
No gas for the heater-but they still had power,
& all the Doritos 4 dudes could devour,
They played PS3-Madden 10 as always,
Then heard heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway,
The rent was past due & the landlord was comin,
They sobered up quickly-tried to think of somethin',
He banged on the front door confusin the thugs,
That spent all their rent money on booze & drugs,
"Hold up!" they yelled out & started to panic,
Not knowin' what he said 'cuz he's speakin' spanish,
"It's Christmas, amigo-show us some compassion!",
What he said translates into "Fuck your Black asses!",
"By this time tomorrow you'd better be gone!",
"Or you'll sit on your couch while it sits on the lawn!",
They pleaded but he wasn't moved one iota,
They offered him weed, chips, even a soda,
He said "Never mind this-I'm calling the cops!",
Then a noise from the roof caused the landlord to stop,
"On Dancer, on Cupid, on Donder, on Blitzen",
Niggas ran to the broken window in the kitchen,
"On Dasher, on Prancer, on Comet, on Vixen!",
The landlord was too shocked to continue bitchin',
"Whoa Rudolph" the voice said-it sounded so odd,
& niggas was so high they thought it was God
The voice started laffin'-so seemingly jolly,
One nigga said "That's Joe the Crackhead, prolly",
They opened the door & looked at the front entrance,
A White man? Around here? That's quite suspicious,
No badge on his jacket-no gun in a holster,
He had a big velvet bag over his shoulder,
He said "Ho Ho Ho"-they looked 'round for Renee,
But that Hoe was home, she don't work holidays,
The niggas stared at 'em-wide eyes & dropped jaws,
One said "What the fuck? Is that Santa Claus?",
Just then Santa waved-turned around & he vanished,
The landlord amazed, mumbled somethin' in spanish,
The landlord just walked off, clearly in awe,
& the niggas couldn't figure out what they just saw,
Went back inside-looked at the clock & their watches,
12am, then they saw all types of boxes,
With laughter so nervous-like something was funny,
First box that they opened had bills & rent money,
They counted & counted it-like they were rich,
That really WAS Santa? Damn-ain't that a bitch?
They called up the landlord & told him no worry,
Your money's right here-come get it & please hurry,
He said he'll be there in the mornin'-"I'm tired",
That shit freaked him out-he went home & got wired,
Just then they heard *pop pop*-a thud in the bushes,
They ran to the window-all shovin' & pushin',
Some car tires screechin & somebody yellin',
Laid out was poor Santa-got shot in the melon,
Headed to the rooftop, he started to fly,
Just as some young knuckleheads did a drive-by,
The reindeer had fled-scared away by the sound,
& their master-dear St. Nick-was dead on the ground,
They dialed 911, but what could they tell 'em?,
That Santa caught a hot slug in his cerebellum?,
Even when it's real people cops take 'bout an hour,
So they got Santa's corpse & put him in their shower,
Some hours passed by & cops finally came,
They told them what happened-with no one to blame,
So the cops called for back up & pulled out their cuffs,
No witnesses either, they were shit outta luck,
In back of patrol cars-headed down to the station,
Charged with murder one & parole violations,
The coroner took Santa to the morgue in his van,
To perform the autopsy that was part of the plan,
But when they arrived & opened up the back,
The stretcher was empty & the white sheet was flat,
"This is some kind of joke, it must be" it was weird,
But the joke was on him, Santa just disappeared,
But still, the cops kept them niggas in cages,
They been doin' this type shit to Black folks for ages,
The moral of this story-to say the least,
is follow your gut & don't trust the police.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Some Coal For Your Stocking.
Or Merry Christmas, Motherfuckers!
How would you feel if, as a kid, you heard rumors of a happy, fat, possibly drunk White dude who, on Christmas Eve, goes from house to house to drop a load of goodies on good kids? To add to the legend, this guy has countless movies, TV shows & sightings, starting the day after Thanksgiving, so there's no doubt in your young mind that he exists. You may even see him at the mall or the grocery store with a friendly smile & an inviting lap, & even if your parents warned you about personal contact with costumed adults, they make an exception with this cat, even leading you by hand to receive his embrace. Really though, I'm not too partial to my own kids sitting on my lap, so one can't help but wonder about this type of guy's agenda. Never mind the fact that your "house" is covered in security bars & devoid of a chimney, urban mythology says that this clown will be there, satisfying all you material needs, no matter the obstacles. My aunt used to tell my cousins that Santa had a spare key, & that's how he got in. No dice. My uncle had the spare key, & in between crack cocaine binges & trips to the pawn shop, he was nowhere to be found. Anyway, if Santa's not there to deliver the goods, you're left with 364 days to ponder your apparent wrong doing, & correct your mistakes.
I was never allowed to buy into the Santa stereotype, as a kid. My father & mother worked damn hard all year long, too hard to hand over credit to some imaginary character for any possible happiness I may receive. That would be like if I was complemented on how cute I was as a kid by a stranger, them pointing at me, & saying "hey, he did all the work!" Some of my fondest Christmas memories are me looking at my gifts, & always finding a few that said "from Santa". Word? To my mom's credit, though, she used to drink a lot. Personally, I think the real reason the Santa myth was created was to be a convenient scapegoat for the masses. Not only could immeasurable amounts of children's behaviors be modified, but if mom &/or dad can't afford gifts, blame it on Santa, or in essence, the kids themselves. That's some fucked up shit.
"Sorry Propecia, I guess you were bad this year. Santa didn't bring you anything."
Maybe my parents did themselves a disservice by not letting me believe; perhaps they would've saved tons of money Hot Wheels race car tracks & gadgets that wouldn't survive to see the summer. I've always been fascinated by how America chooses to "control" it's child populous by means of boogie men, but fear is indeed a powerful tool in brainwashi-I mean leadership. Santa may have been the lower classes "get out of Christmas free" card, & they didn't know it. Goes to show the long reach of capitalism, word to Valentine's Day. The whole ideology behind gift-giving is for the gifter to express to the giftee whatever sentiment is implied. In laymen's terms, I want you to know that it's from me.
Or, as my dad always said, "Santa Claus my ass..."
& to think, on a day sanctioned to celebrate Jesus Christ, we expected to buy our bad ass kids $200 worth of reward. I say, fuck Santa, fuck Christmas, & buy your kids all the bull shit they deserve when they deserve it, i.e. good grades. If, as a society, it's up to a stranger to motivate our kids to be the best they can be, we are failing miserably.
When my kids were small, we would go outside & look at the neighborhood Christmas lights on our block. One year, one of them asked me where our Christmas lights were. I pointed at our house, & said "you see those lights on in the house? Merry Christmas." A little later, they unwrapped dinner. All jokes aside, although I've never celebrated what some would call a traditional Christmas, I've always attempted to make sure my kids were happy when they woke up that morning. My parents did it for me, so if nothing else, it's a learned response. Condition stimulus, if you will. A psychological reaction to ambient jingle bells & faux snowfall draped over anything from store window displays to front yard nativity scenes. But, also, as tradition demands, my kids have never received a present from Santa. You haven't lived until you've watched a requisite Christmas movie with a sarcastic six year old who knows better than to believe in this St. Nicholas dude.
Sometimes I forget how gullible & naïve people can be, in regards to what real life is. My son & I were having a rather detailed conversation one day, in a Burger King, about how & why people allow their kids to believe in Santa. I never stopped to survey the folks around us, which there was quite a few, & a mother decided to not only listen, but include herself into our conversation. In front of her kid, she started actually rationalizing why Santa might be real. Instead of dismissing her with a "crazy bitch" label, I engaged in the conversation, with the same intensity as I did with my child. Her final statement, obviously out of sheer frustration was, "Well, you gotta let a kid be a kid though, right?", to which I replied "True, & I teach mine not to lie. What type of example would I be if I didn't follow that simple instruction?". He son was intently listening the entire time. End game.
Happy holidays, people.
How would you feel if, as a kid, you heard rumors of a happy, fat, possibly drunk White dude who, on Christmas Eve, goes from house to house to drop a load of goodies on good kids? To add to the legend, this guy has countless movies, TV shows & sightings, starting the day after Thanksgiving, so there's no doubt in your young mind that he exists. You may even see him at the mall or the grocery store with a friendly smile & an inviting lap, & even if your parents warned you about personal contact with costumed adults, they make an exception with this cat, even leading you by hand to receive his embrace. Really though, I'm not too partial to my own kids sitting on my lap, so one can't help but wonder about this type of guy's agenda. Never mind the fact that your "house" is covered in security bars & devoid of a chimney, urban mythology says that this clown will be there, satisfying all you material needs, no matter the obstacles. My aunt used to tell my cousins that Santa had a spare key, & that's how he got in. No dice. My uncle had the spare key, & in between crack cocaine binges & trips to the pawn shop, he was nowhere to be found. Anyway, if Santa's not there to deliver the goods, you're left with 364 days to ponder your apparent wrong doing, & correct your mistakes.
I was never allowed to buy into the Santa stereotype, as a kid. My father & mother worked damn hard all year long, too hard to hand over credit to some imaginary character for any possible happiness I may receive. That would be like if I was complemented on how cute I was as a kid by a stranger, them pointing at me, & saying "hey, he did all the work!" Some of my fondest Christmas memories are me looking at my gifts, & always finding a few that said "from Santa". Word? To my mom's credit, though, she used to drink a lot. Personally, I think the real reason the Santa myth was created was to be a convenient scapegoat for the masses. Not only could immeasurable amounts of children's behaviors be modified, but if mom &/or dad can't afford gifts, blame it on Santa, or in essence, the kids themselves. That's some fucked up shit.
"Sorry Propecia, I guess you were bad this year. Santa didn't bring you anything."
Maybe my parents did themselves a disservice by not letting me believe; perhaps they would've saved tons of money Hot Wheels race car tracks & gadgets that wouldn't survive to see the summer. I've always been fascinated by how America chooses to "control" it's child populous by means of boogie men, but fear is indeed a powerful tool in brainwashi-I mean leadership. Santa may have been the lower classes "get out of Christmas free" card, & they didn't know it. Goes to show the long reach of capitalism, word to Valentine's Day. The whole ideology behind gift-giving is for the gifter to express to the giftee whatever sentiment is implied. In laymen's terms, I want you to know that it's from me.
Or, as my dad always said, "Santa Claus my ass..."
& to think, on a day sanctioned to celebrate Jesus Christ, we expected to buy our bad ass kids $200 worth of reward. I say, fuck Santa, fuck Christmas, & buy your kids all the bull shit they deserve when they deserve it, i.e. good grades. If, as a society, it's up to a stranger to motivate our kids to be the best they can be, we are failing miserably.
When my kids were small, we would go outside & look at the neighborhood Christmas lights on our block. One year, one of them asked me where our Christmas lights were. I pointed at our house, & said "you see those lights on in the house? Merry Christmas." A little later, they unwrapped dinner. All jokes aside, although I've never celebrated what some would call a traditional Christmas, I've always attempted to make sure my kids were happy when they woke up that morning. My parents did it for me, so if nothing else, it's a learned response. Condition stimulus, if you will. A psychological reaction to ambient jingle bells & faux snowfall draped over anything from store window displays to front yard nativity scenes. But, also, as tradition demands, my kids have never received a present from Santa. You haven't lived until you've watched a requisite Christmas movie with a sarcastic six year old who knows better than to believe in this St. Nicholas dude.
Sometimes I forget how gullible & naïve people can be, in regards to what real life is. My son & I were having a rather detailed conversation one day, in a Burger King, about how & why people allow their kids to believe in Santa. I never stopped to survey the folks around us, which there was quite a few, & a mother decided to not only listen, but include herself into our conversation. In front of her kid, she started actually rationalizing why Santa might be real. Instead of dismissing her with a "crazy bitch" label, I engaged in the conversation, with the same intensity as I did with my child. Her final statement, obviously out of sheer frustration was, "Well, you gotta let a kid be a kid though, right?", to which I replied "True, & I teach mine not to lie. What type of example would I be if I didn't follow that simple instruction?". He son was intently listening the entire time. End game.
Happy holidays, people.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
...word to David Blaine.
It's almost that time, people.
ATLien ex-trap rapper Clifford Harris d/b/a T.I.(P.) is set to be released from federal custody within the next several months. Appropriately, the 'Net is buzzing with his name again. If you're not familiar with his year-ish prison term for attempting to purchase a mexican village's amount of firepower, then congrats! That means that you actually have a life rife with things of genuine importance. Unless, of course, you're a denizen of the world wide Hip Hop community, & it's surrogate attachment to the World Wide Web, where information is never limited or scarce. & in that case, you know almost every detail of this man's life.
In reality though, none of us truly know what this dude's been through over the past couple of years. A chain of events that more or less began with his best friend/personal assistant Philant Johnson being shot & killed in front of him. An act that T.I. has shouldered the responsibility for. So much so, that immediately following, T.I. apparently decided it was necessary to take matters into his own hands. Or at least take the steps to do so, attempting to purchase said weaponry for speculated retaliation. Fast track to today, with his pending release date from a mid-west federal facility being tossed back & forth between gossip websites & teenage girl's big mouths. After his conviction, but before his "leave of absence", Clifford went balls to the wall on a campaign to change the lives of at-risk young adults, even going so far as to having a reality show geared toward their self betterment. A proverbial road to redemption, as opposed to their obvious roads to perdition.
With being a spectacle, comes backlash. T.I. has been called a snitch, bitch & everything in between since his relatively light sentence was handed down. Even some of the "fans" he had turned their respective backs, based on nothing but second hand rambling & mere speculation. For legal insights, though, email Combat Jack. It's always entertaining to read/see/hear all the negative energy hurled at this man out of sheer ignorance, or a half-assed "knowledge" of how the legal system operates. Of all the derogatory slurs thrown around in regards to T.I., who most of these critics have never met, & won't ever meet, "fraud" is my personal favorite. In the last 3 days alone, I've read/seen/heard him called a fraud more times then the requisite "snitch".
Word? What exactly did he do to be labeled a fraud? Please, someone clarify this for me. & really, save the "keep it real" speech for underage pot heads who believe the government is tapping their cell phone & AIDS is only a Black man's disease.
Case in point; Bernie Madoff. He lied, schemed, scammed, shimmied, fanagled, hornswaggled & nigga-rigged his was to a fortune, ruining thousands of unsuspecting lives along the way. Bernie Madoff is a fraud, really though.
Arnold Schwarzeneggar. He lied, mislead, made empty promises, proposed change, ran smear campaigns, all for the sake of becoming California's governor, only to turn around & destroy it's economy, ruin it's job market, punish hard working citizens with layoffs & furloughs, etc. Arnold Schwarzeneggar is a fraud, really though.
Milli Vanilli. God bless the dead one, with their awesome lip-syncing, horrible hair extensions, & those ridiculous biker shorts/sports coat combos, was a fraud, really though.
Dig?
If anything, from my vantage point, he seems to have fallen victim of not being able to make the discernment between real & fake. Although, I believe that now, it's an easier task to accomplish. Prison has a way of enlightening cats beyond their perceptions of themselves. After all, it is intended rehabilitation, & I, for one, think that it works, for the most part. I've said it before, I predict he'll reemerge anew, with a story to tell & a lesson to teach. If I'm wrong, he's a douche nozzle, & deserves every bit of ill will he receives. Somebody's gotta take a stand against negative lifestyles & fabricated realities. So, why not somebody millions of misguided kids, & their equally as misguided parents, listen to?
But, beyond his ordeal, is the fact that so many rap fans take Hip Hop music as some sort of tutorial for life. It's not. Not one iota. Especially the rap dudes who make truck loads of money by pimping their perverted fantasies. In all realness, what they say can be 100% truth, but by no stretch of imagination does that qualify it to be studied, followed, & executed like some sort of history lesson. If I believed everything rappers said, I'd have dozens of kids, millions of ill-gotten dollars & multiple charges on me, from kidnapping to drug trafficking to murder. I used to listen to Eminem heavy. That alone would have had me in a padded room, word to 'Bonnie & Clyde'.
Just because T.I. had some street-worthy lyrics about a lifestyle that he may or may not have partaken in, doesn't make him a role model. Therefore, why does anything he says have any weight? My dad used to tell me all the time, as a kid, "don't smoke cigarettes." He did this, as he...smoked a cigarette. Did I call him a fraud? Was he fake? Or a bitch? Of course not, & this is a man that I've loved all my life. Clearly I'd be hurt if he didn't practice what he preached. So, how is it that a complete stranger, who the only connection I have with is through anonymous music, can hurt me so much with words without any tangible girth? Well not me, but you smell my cologne.
Maybe it's the lack of things the youth have to grab on to, that makes us gravitate towards bull shit, then cry "Bull shit!" when we knew it was bull shit all along. Or maybe, since there are no more heroes, we turn to bright & shiny things, like moths, in hopes of something that's not really there. Entertainment is the biggest optical/auditory illusion ever. Everybody involved in it is no different than David Blaine as far as I am concerned, & I know damn well that nigga can't fly, catch a bullet in his teeth or hold his breath for a week straight, even though I've seen him do all those things with my own eyes.
[tony's note: weezy might prolly wanna get in touch with blaine right about now, & learn the art of invisibility...]
ATLien ex-trap rapper Clifford Harris d/b/a T.I.(P.) is set to be released from federal custody within the next several months. Appropriately, the 'Net is buzzing with his name again. If you're not familiar with his year-ish prison term for attempting to purchase a mexican village's amount of firepower, then congrats! That means that you actually have a life rife with things of genuine importance. Unless, of course, you're a denizen of the world wide Hip Hop community, & it's surrogate attachment to the World Wide Web, where information is never limited or scarce. & in that case, you know almost every detail of this man's life.
In reality though, none of us truly know what this dude's been through over the past couple of years. A chain of events that more or less began with his best friend/personal assistant Philant Johnson being shot & killed in front of him. An act that T.I. has shouldered the responsibility for. So much so, that immediately following, T.I. apparently decided it was necessary to take matters into his own hands. Or at least take the steps to do so, attempting to purchase said weaponry for speculated retaliation. Fast track to today, with his pending release date from a mid-west federal facility being tossed back & forth between gossip websites & teenage girl's big mouths. After his conviction, but before his "leave of absence", Clifford went balls to the wall on a campaign to change the lives of at-risk young adults, even going so far as to having a reality show geared toward their self betterment. A proverbial road to redemption, as opposed to their obvious roads to perdition.
With being a spectacle, comes backlash. T.I. has been called a snitch, bitch & everything in between since his relatively light sentence was handed down. Even some of the "fans" he had turned their respective backs, based on nothing but second hand rambling & mere speculation. For legal insights, though, email Combat Jack. It's always entertaining to read/see/hear all the negative energy hurled at this man out of sheer ignorance, or a half-assed "knowledge" of how the legal system operates. Of all the derogatory slurs thrown around in regards to T.I., who most of these critics have never met, & won't ever meet, "fraud" is my personal favorite. In the last 3 days alone, I've read/seen/heard him called a fraud more times then the requisite "snitch".
Word? What exactly did he do to be labeled a fraud? Please, someone clarify this for me. & really, save the "keep it real" speech for underage pot heads who believe the government is tapping their cell phone & AIDS is only a Black man's disease.
Case in point; Bernie Madoff. He lied, schemed, scammed, shimmied, fanagled, hornswaggled & nigga-rigged his was to a fortune, ruining thousands of unsuspecting lives along the way. Bernie Madoff is a fraud, really though.
Arnold Schwarzeneggar. He lied, mislead, made empty promises, proposed change, ran smear campaigns, all for the sake of becoming California's governor, only to turn around & destroy it's economy, ruin it's job market, punish hard working citizens with layoffs & furloughs, etc. Arnold Schwarzeneggar is a fraud, really though.
Milli Vanilli. God bless the dead one, with their awesome lip-syncing, horrible hair extensions, & those ridiculous biker shorts/sports coat combos, was a fraud, really though.
Dig?
If anything, from my vantage point, he seems to have fallen victim of not being able to make the discernment between real & fake. Although, I believe that now, it's an easier task to accomplish. Prison has a way of enlightening cats beyond their perceptions of themselves. After all, it is intended rehabilitation, & I, for one, think that it works, for the most part. I've said it before, I predict he'll reemerge anew, with a story to tell & a lesson to teach. If I'm wrong, he's a douche nozzle, & deserves every bit of ill will he receives. Somebody's gotta take a stand against negative lifestyles & fabricated realities. So, why not somebody millions of misguided kids, & their equally as misguided parents, listen to?
But, beyond his ordeal, is the fact that so many rap fans take Hip Hop music as some sort of tutorial for life. It's not. Not one iota. Especially the rap dudes who make truck loads of money by pimping their perverted fantasies. In all realness, what they say can be 100% truth, but by no stretch of imagination does that qualify it to be studied, followed, & executed like some sort of history lesson. If I believed everything rappers said, I'd have dozens of kids, millions of ill-gotten dollars & multiple charges on me, from kidnapping to drug trafficking to murder. I used to listen to Eminem heavy. That alone would have had me in a padded room, word to 'Bonnie & Clyde'.
Just because T.I. had some street-worthy lyrics about a lifestyle that he may or may not have partaken in, doesn't make him a role model. Therefore, why does anything he says have any weight? My dad used to tell me all the time, as a kid, "don't smoke cigarettes." He did this, as he...smoked a cigarette. Did I call him a fraud? Was he fake? Or a bitch? Of course not, & this is a man that I've loved all my life. Clearly I'd be hurt if he didn't practice what he preached. So, how is it that a complete stranger, who the only connection I have with is through anonymous music, can hurt me so much with words without any tangible girth? Well not me, but you smell my cologne.
Maybe it's the lack of things the youth have to grab on to, that makes us gravitate towards bull shit, then cry "Bull shit!" when we knew it was bull shit all along. Or maybe, since there are no more heroes, we turn to bright & shiny things, like moths, in hopes of something that's not really there. Entertainment is the biggest optical/auditory illusion ever. Everybody involved in it is no different than David Blaine as far as I am concerned, & I know damn well that nigga can't fly, catch a bullet in his teeth or hold his breath for a week straight, even though I've seen him do all those things with my own eyes.
[tony's note: weezy might prolly wanna get in touch with blaine right about now, & learn the art of invisibility...]
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Douche Nozzle of the Decade
'Entertainment Weekly' just announced that Kanye West's debut album, 'College Dropout', is the album of the decade. Whether I agree or not is unimportant. What is important however, is that I'm always suspicious of a bunch of White people telling me how good something is. I'm almost positive the exact same thing happened in Africa, some half a millennium ago, when a bunch of filthy, underweight, scurvy-infected pirates convinced a handful of tribal patriarchs that their servants & field hands would enjoy a trip on their big, shiny boats. You see where that got us, right? If I was a (bigger) douche nozzle, I'd say that by that same standard, people should've been leary of Barack Obama. Just saying. Anyway, these so-called "Best of..." lists are always funny to me, because who decides who wins & loses? Somebody somewhere is always winning some type of award, but who the fuck has the say so?
Case in point; Flo Rida's album 'R.O.O.T.S.' was nominated for a Grammy. Dude, the only people I know that have his album are horny fat chicks & openly gay guys. Not that I condone either lifestyle, but I don't judge. I'm not to familiar with the Grammy nomination process, but I know Flo Rida's music is shit biscuits. No shots, but I just don't get how his music is worthy of such a prestigious accolade. That 'Low' song is at least a year & a half old, & it's not even on this 'R.O.O.T.S.' album. It would appear he's paid a visit to those homo's & hippo's, but what do I know? The closest I've ever been to a "Grammy" was not being able to pronounce my mom's mom's name correctly as a toddler, so eff my opinion regardless.
I don't know if Kanye's album was they best of a ten-year period, but it was damn good. & I don't need a bunch of soccer moms who think fist-bumps are cool to convince me of that. Hip Hop-wise, I'd be more apt to say it was 50 Cent's 'Get Rich Or Die Tryin', but I like my music with a little aggression. Kanye, even when he throws out a curse word or two, is always a safe bet. On the other hand, I'd definitely give him the "Douche Bag of the Decade" award. The only possible way he could be more of a jerk is if he shaved off his mustache. Only a tool bag would carry around man bags & wear a shag long enough to trick uppity negro babies into thinking it was cool, then swiftly cut it off. Only an asshole would walk a red carpet holding a bottle of Hennessey, swigging away like he hated his liver, on camera. I know hard body alcoholics, with no morals or standards, who wouldn't do that, because they know how pompous they'd look. Poor & dirty, but pompous nonetheless.
Many have said it before, but Kanye's "life threatening" car accident was indeed the turning point in his life, & career as well. But, the audience missed the point. The song 'Through The Wire' wasn't about overcoming adversity to become a champion. It was a direct slap in our faces, an advertisement that he was now transformed into a bigger, stronger Kanye. & he's better than everyone. That's the kind of impetuous attitude one must have to walk into Louis Vuitton's home building & demand an internship. Shit, niggas wouldn't walk into Macy's & demand a job, so that's an example of the elephant balls dude's got tucked away in his mandex jeans. Let us be reminded that this man went on record, research if you choose, saying that he would prefer to be referred to as Martin Louis the King, Jr. Wtf?
I'm positive Kanye smokes clove cigarettes. If you've ever met anyway who smokes clove cigarettes, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
One has to wonder, if you will, what types of shenanigans this cat has up his sleeves for 2010. He'd be hard pressed to top schmedium mohawks & sunglasses that resemble window blinds. If he & Amber Rose get married, like they're rumored to do, then he will have legitimately become rap music's David Bowie. A misunderstood sonic genius, trapped in shiny, too small clothing with an exotic, overrated model by his side. & before Brad Garrett & Mike Tyson made it trendy to spaz on paparazzi, Kanye was in Europe, surrounded by what seemed to be flamboyant superheroes, screaming at the top of his shirt-constricted lungs about his right to privacy. The same privacy one forfeits once they decide to tread down the road of popular music. The same privacy that douches expect to have, as you go out & support their products, even when they do their best Peter Frampton impersonations.
[tony's note: peter frampton was using the vocorder long before roger troutman...]
Since these "list" are so important to modern society, unlike homelessness, disease & poverty, I'm sure he'll end up on some "People to watch" compilation with other like-minded doorknobs. Expect him to buy some African kids, move to Russia, get a reality show, or stop wearing shoes altogether, within the next 10 years.
[tony's next note: if i left out any jackassery, feel free to remind me...]
Case in point; Flo Rida's album 'R.O.O.T.S.' was nominated for a Grammy. Dude, the only people I know that have his album are horny fat chicks & openly gay guys. Not that I condone either lifestyle, but I don't judge. I'm not to familiar with the Grammy nomination process, but I know Flo Rida's music is shit biscuits. No shots, but I just don't get how his music is worthy of such a prestigious accolade. That 'Low' song is at least a year & a half old, & it's not even on this 'R.O.O.T.S.' album. It would appear he's paid a visit to those homo's & hippo's, but what do I know? The closest I've ever been to a "Grammy" was not being able to pronounce my mom's mom's name correctly as a toddler, so eff my opinion regardless.
I don't know if Kanye's album was they best of a ten-year period, but it was damn good. & I don't need a bunch of soccer moms who think fist-bumps are cool to convince me of that. Hip Hop-wise, I'd be more apt to say it was 50 Cent's 'Get Rich Or Die Tryin', but I like my music with a little aggression. Kanye, even when he throws out a curse word or two, is always a safe bet. On the other hand, I'd definitely give him the "Douche Bag of the Decade" award. The only possible way he could be more of a jerk is if he shaved off his mustache. Only a tool bag would carry around man bags & wear a shag long enough to trick uppity negro babies into thinking it was cool, then swiftly cut it off. Only an asshole would walk a red carpet holding a bottle of Hennessey, swigging away like he hated his liver, on camera. I know hard body alcoholics, with no morals or standards, who wouldn't do that, because they know how pompous they'd look. Poor & dirty, but pompous nonetheless.
Many have said it before, but Kanye's "life threatening" car accident was indeed the turning point in his life, & career as well. But, the audience missed the point. The song 'Through The Wire' wasn't about overcoming adversity to become a champion. It was a direct slap in our faces, an advertisement that he was now transformed into a bigger, stronger Kanye. & he's better than everyone. That's the kind of impetuous attitude one must have to walk into Louis Vuitton's home building & demand an internship. Shit, niggas wouldn't walk into Macy's & demand a job, so that's an example of the elephant balls dude's got tucked away in his mandex jeans. Let us be reminded that this man went on record, research if you choose, saying that he would prefer to be referred to as Martin Louis the King, Jr. Wtf?
I'm positive Kanye smokes clove cigarettes. If you've ever met anyway who smokes clove cigarettes, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
One has to wonder, if you will, what types of shenanigans this cat has up his sleeves for 2010. He'd be hard pressed to top schmedium mohawks & sunglasses that resemble window blinds. If he & Amber Rose get married, like they're rumored to do, then he will have legitimately become rap music's David Bowie. A misunderstood sonic genius, trapped in shiny, too small clothing with an exotic, overrated model by his side. & before Brad Garrett & Mike Tyson made it trendy to spaz on paparazzi, Kanye was in Europe, surrounded by what seemed to be flamboyant superheroes, screaming at the top of his shirt-constricted lungs about his right to privacy. The same privacy one forfeits once they decide to tread down the road of popular music. The same privacy that douches expect to have, as you go out & support their products, even when they do their best Peter Frampton impersonations.
[tony's note: peter frampton was using the vocorder long before roger troutman...]
Since these "list" are so important to modern society, unlike homelessness, disease & poverty, I'm sure he'll end up on some "People to watch" compilation with other like-minded doorknobs. Expect him to buy some African kids, move to Russia, get a reality show, or stop wearing shoes altogether, within the next 10 years.
[tony's next note: if i left out any jackassery, feel free to remind me...]
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