"I Shook Up the World"

"I Shook Up the World...I'm a bad man", the young man from Louisville, Ky said. "I must be pretty", he yelled at the reporters and anyone else in the auditorium with his mouth wide open. "I'm only 22 years old, I fought Sonny Liston and I don't have a mark on my face!" He said amazed at the feat he had accomplished and the fact that he survived a clash with a titan. "I must be pretty! I'm a bad man!"

And he had every reason to be scared of the man he had knocked out in the first round of their second fight.

In his day, Sonny Liston was more feared than Mike Tyson and more trouble than George Foreman. He was built like a gladiator and his face looked like it was made to scowl. Thunder roared and lightning struck, on the rare occasions when he did manage to smile. It seemed like there was nothing in the world that could scare Sonny Liston. The one time heavyweight champ had been an ex-con and a known leg breaker for the Outfit (that's the Chicago arm of the Mob to you). He had more run-ins with the cops than DMX and probably served more time in prison than any two rappers you can name. He truly was a bad man.

On the other hand his opponent Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr, was a talented light heavyweight, with lightning quick speed and an awkward boxing style. He did everything wrong: he kept his hands down low instead of in a defensive position and he ran - alot, a whole lot. But mostly reporters and fight fans didn't like him because he ran his mouth. A lot. A whole lot. They nicknamed him the "Louisville Lip". He was just a kid they felt that needed a good butt whuppin'. And Sonny Liston would be the right guy to do it.

When they met for the second time in an auditorium in Lewiston, Maine (in a place that was normally an ice hockey rink) Clay, who had just changed his name to Muhammad Ali was not as scared as he was the first time they met. But he was nervous, for Liston was not a man to take lightly. One minute and some change into the fight, Ali hit Liston with a punch that very few ringside observers (or anyone else for that matter) saw. He called the punch 'the anchor punch' - which scientifically, isn't the greatest punch in the world. He learned it from the old black vaudeville performer Sambo. But nevertheless, it worked.

When Liston caught that punch square on his jaw, BAM, to the canvas he went. And, into history they went as well. Ali is now acknowledged as one of the greatest fighters ever and Liston...one of the scariest opponents a man could face.

One of the Best to Ever Do it

One of the first female MC's on the mic was from the Zulu Nation, her name was Queen Kenya. She rhymed on the mic in combination with Mr. Biggs and a guy by the name of Cowboy. According to Mr. Biggs, "It wasn't rappin like we know it now, but it was just little phrases."

But the old school chick who gets major props as being one of the first to do it - and do it extremely well is Sha Rock of the Funky Four Plus One More. Sha Rock had the voice and the rhymes.














"See if the sun don't shine and the rain won't stop,
We got a style called punk rock,
Just get up the chairs and just have some fun,
Cause there's two deejays the Funky 4 Plus One.
To the people out there we want you to know,
We are the ones with the magic controll.
Cause theres two deejays and five MC's,
Four of the fellas plus one is me..."

The other stand outs from this period are Lisa Lee, Debbie Deb, Pebblee Poo and the Mercedes Ladies - big ups to DJ Flame b/k/a La Spank.

In 1984 the script got flipped as far as female MC's went when two chicks battled on wax: Roxanne Shante and Sparky D









Roxanne had the punchlines but Sparky had the fire. She was strong and aggressive on the mic. Shante's voice was thin but her punchlines were damn funny.

In the late 80's and early 90's a new crop of female MC's hit the scene: Queen Latifah, Monie Love, Sweet Tee, MC Lyte and Antoinnette. Queen Latifah back in the days had the skillz - no doubt, she was top notch witness cuts: 'Wrath of My Madness and "Inside Out". She was raw. Monie Love - who is currently an on air radio personality in New York, was the another top rank contender.

But it was the fierce gangstress from Queens who was the real underdog here. Dubbed the "female Rakim" Antoinnette rhymed in a low monotone that insinuated a cold crushing death to her competition. First premiering on a Hurby Azor produced compilation her songs "I Got An Attitude" and "Hit Em Wit This" were official boom box classic material. But it was the classic 'Who's the Boss" that cemented her forever.

Unfortunately her career would go nowhere due to poor management advice. Somehow someway she got caught up in a lyrical war with MC Lyte, a Brooklynite whose actual technical rhyming skills could not match Antoinnette's, however her raw voice and punchlines made her a quality opponent. Lyte's manager and father told me himself that Antoinnette was actually better than Lyte.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=SX318Aa5X40&search=antoinette

Things You Can Buy

SOMETHING YOU CAN"T ...

CLASS

How Can I Be Down?

I'm always happy to see people go for their dreams, it's what separates us from the animals. The fact that we can dream, but more importantly work to achieve our dreams, is what makes us the higher species.

With that said, I don't know about you, but why have we lowered expectations for our kids? Case in point here's something from AllHipHop.Com:

“[V-103’s] Ryan Cameron will host a live remote from there along with Greg Street. It’s important that we let the ‘hood know that we know where we come from.”Block will also be giving away prizes such as studio time and the opportunity to record a demo. The block parties are being put on as part of a community initiative of Block Enterprises’ Turning Pennies to Dollaz Foundation. "

It seems like every other event I go to somebody is either giving away studio time or telling folks how they can get a deal. What's wrong with this picture?

If you know anything about the music industry you know one thing: Very few artists get rich selling records. I am not going to go into the mechanics behind getting a record played and all that but I will say this...it is hard to truly make money in the record business. No one talks about life after you stop selling records (should you ever sell a substantial amount), no one talks about the need for you to have some other skills besides rap, singing, beatmaking, deejaying, remixing and so forth and so on; without a marketable skill outside of the music industry you can find yourself at 35 flat broke and busted with very few options left in a still young life.

Nothing Talks Louder Than Green Money

The Real Reason Real Hip Hop Doesn't Sell

Before digital downloads and mixtape exclusives, eager hip hop fans sat by their boom boxes with blank cassette tapes set to "pause" and "record", so that they could record the newest jams to hit the streets.

Mind you it costed nothing to record songs off of the radio, except for the cost of the tape. At that time the best MC's and DJ's of the 80's and 90's could be heard on late night mix shows on radio stations all throughout the country. Name a group...The Juice Crew - played on WBLS, WBAU, KZSU, KPOO, KDAY and many other stations; Main Source - same thing. The records were played everywhere, except there was one problem: People didn't buy the records because they taped them off of the radio.

At the same time the gangsta movement was rearing its head. These guys were selling records without radio play. In fact, they were selling more records than the guys who were getting some serious spins. Why was that?

It was because their fans talked with their dollars rather than their voices.

Soon the major corporations caught onto the buzz. The rule of business is: Go with what sells. Real hip hop (as we like to call it) didn't have the numbers that the gangsta's were getting. Do you see where I'm going with this?

If ya like real hip hop (and I know you do) you gotta support it. If you don't like Source Magazine that's fine. Buy Wax Poetics or Elemental. If you don't like your local radio station tune into Spinderella's 'Back Spin' or Davey D's "Breakdown FM". But for God's sake man, spend your money so that the people who make the kind of stuff we like can continue to bring it to us.

Recently the head of Cristal Champagne said that the attention that hip hoppers have given his beverage is 'unwelcomed'. Jay Z, one of the people who has long championed that brand is leading a boycott against them. What's wrong with this picture?

Let's start with this, Cristal is some of the MOST expensive stuff out there. I remember one night my cousin Gian and I were at a bar and G turned to me and said, "Yo cuz, let's get a couple of glasses of Cristal." Out of curiousity, I asked the bartender how much a glass of Cristal was, to which she responded $75.

My mouth hit the bar top. 75 dollars? I asked.
"Yes", she said.
'For one glass?"
"Yes".
"Get da fuck outta here!"

Now Jay, Diddy, Russell Simmons, Dame Dash and many others have been walking around name checking that crap everywhere they have gone for years. It is only fitting that those gentlemen lead the boycott. What the head of Cristal did was the equivalent of a pimp slap.

SMACK! Bitch where's my fuckin' trap?

(Pick any of the previously mentioned names) "Oh no daddy, I'm sorry I won't hold out no mo."

At industry events you would see those types walking around the party sipping Cristal out of the bottle with a straw. Yep, you sure would. Now look someone has said to them: "Get you and nigger friends and your nonsense and leave my company alone. Gone now. Shoo, you you you you porch monkies. Oh yeah, leave your money on the table. Got dam nigger."

He might as well have said all that when he made that statement.

It's the power of the dollar that will make that company get on its knees and beg for forgiveness.

The same kind of thing is happening right now in radio. The foolishness of the few has harmed the perception of the many. Meaning advertisers (fuck what ya heard about requests and all that the real Gods of radio are the ADVERTISERS) are backing away from certain Urban brands; namely hip hop radio. It is not working. Low ratings means low listenership equalling no interest but ultimately no advertising dollars. Thus, stations like KKBT having to change formats!

The winds of change are upon us, if you want real hip hop to come back - buy it.

THE ORIGINATOR

DJ HOLLYWOOD: STRAIGHT NO CHASER
by Mark Skillz

Every musical genre has its folk hero. In the tradition of the Delta blues men, it is said that the great Robert Johnson made a deal with the devil to give him the power to be the best blues man ever. In the early days of the rap scene, there was one name that was constantly evoked as the prime creator of the new sound of the street called rap, and that name was D.J. Hollywood.
For party-going New Yorkers in the '70's there were certain spots you had to hit, like The Loft, Paradise Garage, Justine's, and Zanzibar's. But for those that wanted to party in Harlem and the Bronx there were places like Charles Gallery, the Hotel Diplomat, Smalls Paradise, and Club 371. If you frequented places like these, you know doubt came upon a young man with crates of records and a golden voice.

Today at 50 years old, the original rhyme king is still doing his thing; he was recently honored on VH1's: "Hip Hop Honors Show". On his latest mixtape he will be spinning house and reggae as well as classics.

"I first made my name in Harlem because of a dance called the "Bus Stop"; I could "Bus Stop" and I could "Hustle". I was nasty at it. I wasn't Puerto Rican nasty at it- but I was good at it. I was making moves - looking good- I was really good at it. Every party I would go to people would say, "Let me see you Bus Stop! Before that, I had a rep as an entertainer; everything I did back then was theatrical. That's how I got the name Hollywood.

I was 14 years old when I left home, my mother and I just didn't see eye to eye. She had a lot of rules. My drive to go to school wasn't there. I wanted to breathe. I used to see the hustlers man, and I would just marvel at the hustlers. That was the world I wanted to be in.

I lived in the after hours clubs around Harlem. It was a whole lot of fun back then too. What they use to do in these places was: they'd cover the windows with big dark sheets, so that it would be dark as hell in there. I mean it was completely dark. You could go in there at night and not leave until like 3 o'clock in the afternoon the next day. Hustlers used to be in there playing cards, getting' high, drinking - whatever…it was an after hours spot.

I used to run errands for them, at 8 o'clock in the morning everybody in the spot would give me their keys to move their cars, they'd be like, "Here kid, go get me some cigarettes, and while you're at it, here's my keys go move my car." I was moving and parking Cadillac's at 14 years old.

When I was 14, maybe 15 years old, I went to a spot on 167th and Amsterdam where this guy named W.T. used to play at. He was my first real inspiration to be a deejay. He had the two turntables and a mike mixer; with no cueing; see, what he would do was, between the records, as one went off and another came on, he would talk - I really liked his delivery.

I started playing at a couple of spots around Harlem; one was called Jet Set it was on 132nd St. and the other was called Lovely's it was on 148th St. I played at these spots 6 nights a week. I was partying all I wanted, and had all the "get high" I wanted too. That stuff later ruined my life.
A guy named Bojangles taught me how to mix. He played soul and disco stuff. Stuff like "Knock, Knock on Wood", "Melting Pot", and Sam and Dave's "Who's Making Love to Your Old Lady", stuff like that.

One of the greatest guys in Harlem though was named "Thunderbird Johnny", he was the greatest guy in existence, and he owned one of the after-hours spots I played at. I learned a lot from him.

I was a singer before I ever became a deejay. I had a natural flair for talking over the records. Before me everybody was just announcing. I had a voice. I used to like the way Frankie Crocker would ride a track, but he wasn't syncopated to the track though. I liked Hank Spann too, but he wasn't on the one. Guys back then weren't concerned with being musical. I wanted to flow with the record. As a singer that's what you're supposed to do. I guess I had a natural awareness of when to start talking and when to stop talking over a record.

Around 1972 I started making tapes of what I was doing in the after-hours spots. I would record them onto 8-track tapes, and sell them for like 12 bucks a pop. I went around to barber shops, restaurants anyplace where there was a bunch of brothers with money- I was there selling my tapes. Back then though; there was no dubbing, so I had to record each individual tape. It got to the point where, as soon as I would come outside, and say "I got tapes!" brothers would roll up and be like, "Yeah gimme one of those!"My tapes would be gone in a flash. People would rush me for them tapes. That was the real start of the mixtape game.

When the Rooftop was hot back in the day, man all them cats that had money was bidding on my tapes right there in the booth; I'm talking about your AZ's, and Rich Porters, and Alpo's and people like that, those brothers were buying the tapes for 150 - 200 bucks right out the booth - and I'm talking about cassette tapes."

People talk about me not being hip hop, well, it's because I spun the whole record, when the "get down" part would come on, I would keep it going. They practiced playing the obscure parts of records. I played stuff like "Paradise" and "Mambo Number Five" and "Scorpio"; but that wasn't a big part of what I did. I played for hustlers. I played for people that came sharp to the party. You really had to come correct at the spots I was playing at. Harlem was on some smooth shit way before the Bronx.

I had heard of Kool Herc and his partner Coke LaRock from a couple of friends of mine named Al and Coop, they used to play at the Hevalo on the nights that Herc wasn't playing there. They would come back and tell me about the obscure records they were playing and people diving on the floor and @#%$.

In 1975 I went to the Bronx and started playing at a spot called Club 371. That's when the Bronx got hip to what I was doing.

Around the time that I first started playing in the Bronx, there was this kid that used to hear my tapes. There was this friend of mine named Gary, he had a 98 Oldsmobile, he used to buy a whole lot of my tapes. I mean he had a lot of them. One day, I can't remember where right now, but there was this kid who was sitting in Gary's car listening to one of my tapes while Gary's car was parked in front of a basketball court. Later, I started hearing about this kid, people would come up to me and be like "Yo, Wood man, there's this kid named Starski, man he gets down just like you do, he sounds just like you and everything!" I call that an indirect influence.

Now there were two guys that I can say that I did teach. One was D.J. Smalls and the other was Junebug, God bless him. Junebug was the baddest deejay I ever saw. Period. He was a Puerto Rican cat that guy could blend his ass off, he could cut, he was the baddest deejay ever, and I taught him.

DJ Smalls kind of reminded me of myself. He was a kid who had a whole of determination; he just wanted to shine. I put a lot of cats down. I guess it was because people like Huey Newton influenced me. I always had a strong sense of black awareness. I was always about unity you know what I'm sayin'?

One day in 1975, I was at home playing records, and one of the records I pulled out was the "Black Moses" album. It was not popular at the time. So, there I was listening to this album, and I put on a song called "Good Love 6969". Isaac Hayes was singing this part that went "I'm listed in the yellow pages, all around the world; I got 30 years experience in loving sweet young girls." That record stopped me dead in my tracks. You see, before that record I had been doing nursery rhymes. But after that record: I was doing rhymes.And not only was I doing rhymes but I was talking about love. This was another level.

I thought to myself, what if I take what he's doing and put it with this? What would I get? I got fame, that's what I got. I got more famous than I could ever imagine. Everybody bit that rhyme. I would go to jams and people would be saying that rhyme, and none of them, not one of them, knew where it came from. It blew my mind.

Had I known that this was gonna be a billion dollar thing - I don't think that I would've been as good at it. God sent someone to show black kids a different way. I never knew saying rhymes over a phat beat would lead to all of this. But God knew it. God used me as a vehicle. It was something for everybody to have. When a lot of people are thinking on the same wavelength, you get a multitude of sounds. It says in the Bible "Let's make a joyful noise unto the Lord", well my joyful noise came as a James Brown record".

Be Careful What You Ask For

The last couple of weeks have been really tough - FYE has stepped up their game with more work - of which I am happy to get. The voice over business is a hard one to get in and even harder one to stay in.

So far this year only three of my spots have been rejected by record labels: LL Cool J ( they wanted a sexy female voice I ain't mad at that), Ice Cube and the Dogg Pound. Now the last two concern me because they said I sound like I'm from "the islands". Yeah right, which islands? Try Long Island! Yeah ok, I'm from Jamaica - Jamaica, New York. They need to getdafuckon with that shit. Honestly, i think its some petty ass shit they on, ain't no way in the world I sound like I'm from the islands, 99% of the time when people hear me speak whether it is on the phone, in person, on the radio they say, "Hey what part of New York are you from?" I haven't once in damn near 40 years heard I sound like I'm carribean. Except if I walk up to someone and say, "Hey mon, wha gwon and ting" - and that's rare. You gotta be a rasta for all that.

Almost lost the chance to do the Shawnna spot for FYE, the label wanted more music featured in the spot and felt my voice wasn't right for it. I have cut and recut that spot so many times - it is crazy. The record comapany people are buggin- I don't blame em though, they wanna sell the records. I have been getting off work and going home to cut spots every night this week, I am so tired. With all of the work that i have done on that spot in particular I can't stop now.

The thing about me is this: Unlike alot of other cats that do voicing for hip hop I don't shout nor do I exaggerate the 'Street quality" of my voice - alot of dudes do, and i ain't mad at em, you use what you got to get where you tryin to be. I want to be able to sell anything urban: Hip hop, smoothed out R&B, classic soul, grown folks music, hell, sneakers, cologne, cars whatever... When your doing voice over work you don't want to get thrown into a box - SHOUTING gets you thrown into that one box. It sounds good when selling a hyped up song, it speaks to that audience - but will you be able to sell a car with that type of delivery? Or advertise a Patti LaBelle concert? I don't think so. I could be wrong though.

Anyway, I re-cut the Shawnna spot, my man re equ'd my voice, we got approved, the spot starts playing sometime around June 27th. And all is right with the force.

I gotta find a way to upload video and audio so you can see and hear what i do. So far this year I have cut spots for Ne -Yo, Ghostface Killah, Pastor Troy, Busta Rhymes, Field Mobb, Christian Milian, Jagged Edge, Black Buddafly, Shawnna and so many others that I can't remember right now.

I Believe In God Too But...

KIEV (Reuters) - A man shouting that God would keep him safe was mauled to death by a lioness in Kiev zoo after he crept into the animal's enclosure, a zoo official said on Monday.

"The man shouted 'God will save me, if he exists', lowered himself by a rope into the enclosure, took his shoes off and went up to the lions," the official said.
"A lioness went straight for him, knocked him down and severed his carotid artery."
The incident, Sunday evening when the zoo was packed with visitors, was the first of its kind at the attraction. Lions and tigers are kept in an "animal island" protected by thick concrete blocks.

Don't Miss the Train

Climb Aboard the Train

With one sponsor, a small television studio space and a vision; radio jock Don Cornelius scrapped up the money to produce what would become a Saturday morning staple in millions of African American homes: Soul Train.

Starting out in August 1970 with one sponsor – Sears and Roebuck, in the television studio of Chicago’s WCIU, Soul Train caught the Windy City like a hurricane. Through word of mouth the black community climbed aboard the train five days a week for an hour of peace, love and soul. It was the first time that black folks were depicted on television as young and hip – they wore whatever the latest styles were in the hood. Long Afro’s and bell-bottom jeans, hip huggers, thigh high boots, cornrows, t-shirts worn with multi-colored jeans, and jumpsuits (there was once a line called “The Boogie on Down Suit”) were all on display.

By the time the show went national Johnson and Johnson were sponsors. Commercials hawking the benefits of using Ultra Sheen and Afro Sheen were beamed all across the country. And hey why not, we had to have some kind of hair products to keep out fro’s right.

The real highlights of the show were the music and dancing. Those were the days when folks would ‘get loose’. No posing allowed. If you weren’t feeling the funk you weren’t allowed aboard the train. Dances like ‘the stop and go’, ‘the bump’, ‘the hustle’ and ‘the bus stop’ were done with so much energetic soul that you would think the dancers were made out of rubber. Couples danced together – not all over each other, but with each other. Their moves accommodated their partners.

And then there was the infamous Soul Train line that introduced us to Soul Train dancers like Damita Jo Freeman, Big Lou (you couldn’t tell that brother nothin’) Jeffrey Daniels, Fred “Rerun” Berry and later the Puerto Rican chick with the devastating body (and moves to match) Rosie Perez.

At the end of the day the musical performances were what people tuned in for. The immortal Marvin Gaye sang to the crowd like he was one of the gang. Wearing a rolled up beanie cap and sweater to match Marvin sang to the ladies – not performed, but sang. He held hands and looked into their eyes as he sang the lyrics “My body wants ya…”

The untouchable Al Green, with band and all, poured his soul out as he sang ‘Love and Happiness’. And did a moving rendition of “For the Good Times” (Lawd have mercy!).

When the Jackson 5 were on Soul Train it was a done deal. Michael – before he became God’s strangest child, danced like a miniature version of James Brown or Jackie Wilson. The whole place was in a frenzy when they performed ‘ABC’.

But we can’t forget when the Godfather of Soul James Brown performed there. Fuggetaboutit. The Godfather took the whole show over. He’d even go so far as to change the name of the sign from reading “Soul Train’ to it reading ‘The JB’s”. Most people would go on the show and do one or two songs – not James Brown; he broke out his whole revue: Sweet Charles, Lynn Collins, Vicky Anderson all of them got camera time.

The show captured a special time when the community determined what was fly. There was no one trying to sell a lifestyle to anyone. It was what it was. Self-expression. If you look back you’ll see images of musicians who didn’t care what in the hell they were wearing, it wasn’t about that for them. It was about playing the music and being real about it. There were no fashion model artists or dancers – that shit isn’t soulful or real. How real could a drummer be if he’s worrying about his hair while he’s playing? Soul is the essence within – it has nothing to do with the outer person. That is a shell.

Turn on Soul Train today and you’ll see that, like yesterday, it reflects the times were living in now. Nobody dances with reckless abandonment anymore. There are no bands. The music isn’t soulful – even though the theme song is based on the shows original theme, there is something missing, the music doesn’t inspire the dancers like it did back then.

Don’t believe me check for yourself.

Back Rubs and Hand Jobs:

Back Rubs and Hand Jobs:
The Politics of Diss-cussin’ Black in the Age of Cosby














It’s time for some real talk. For the last couple of years Bill Cosby has been touring the country castigating black folks – in particular ghetto black folks about their behavior. The reactions have been stunning: A whole lot of folks silently agree with Cos. Not surprisingly a whole lot of other folks are pissed. Ok so what is he saying that has folks in an uproar?

Well, he says black men have failed as fathers and as heads of family and community. He says that too many of us know the words to every difficult rap song but refuse to read a book or go to school. He says that mothers do too much crying after their child has been shot or arrested, and questions where they were before their children got into all of that trouble.

Yo my man, let’s be real here, Cos is not saying anything new. I’ve heard Malcolm X and Minister Farrakhan say the same things. Hell, I’ve heard Elijah Muhammad say far worse. The reaction from the folks that don’t like what he’s saying is pretty much a “where does he get off” kind of thing. When reminded of things Elijah Muhammad, Malcolm X and Farrakhan have said, many say, “Well, when they say it, I know it’s out of love.”

Get da fuck outta here.

The days of telling folks stuff to make them feel loved is over. Enough with the verbal hand jobs, truth is truth. Grown folks need to grow up and keep it real. You want love stay in the strip club or better yet go to Craigslist. You get no back massage and wack off over here buddy.

Let’s start with this: “I have no problem with Jesus or God," he said in the afternoon as he addressed an audience that included many foster parents and grandparents and social service providers. "I have a problem with people sitting there and saying that Jesus and God will find the way.”

That’s real talk. We are a God fearing people, but one too many of us are looking for either a heaven in the hereafter or a mystery God to come down to Earth and change our circumstances. It’s that kind of thinking that puts people in a reactive mindset instead of a pro-active one. How many times have you heard someone say, “We just gotta wait for the good man in the sky to make things right”…? Those words are used when people have given up trying.

I believe in God just like you do, but in this world, if you don’t back your faith up with action: you’ll be stuck like Chuck somewhere, up the river with no paddle, or life jacket. That’s real. Prayer is healthy and it’s good for the soul, but if your present circumstances entail an environment that isn’t healthy for raising your kids, you’re a fool for doing nothing but praying.

Here’s what Russell Simmons has to say about all of this: “Judgment of the people in the situation is not helpful. How can you help them is the question.”

How about this, let’s start with two words: personal responsibility. We are all responsible for our own actions. If your house is a mess, it is no one’s fault but your own. You can’t fault white people cause your ass is too lazy to bend down and pick the crap up off of the floor of your home.

One too many times I have heard and seen young brothers and sisters say, “they need to stop building jails and build some schools.” Yep, that’s true. But why is it an Asian kid can go to the very same schools and walk out with an education and black kids walk out with nothing? They get the same books in the same settings, but, one group of folks are ‘too busy’ to learn.

My first job was delivering newspapers when I was 13 years old. After that at 15 I worked at McDonald’s. Granted, when I worked there, the crew was predominately black. Go to places like California and New York and tell me who’s behind the counter now? Even when I was working at Mickey D’s there was a set of brothers back then, that said, “How much you makin’? $3.35 I never would work for that.

Those are the same fools filling jail cells today.

One reason some folks are mad at Cosby is because he is airing out our dirty laundry. Well, I have news for you, are you ready for this? Are you sure? Ok. Here it is. Our dirty laundry, which you are so upset about, gets aired out everyday. All you have to do is turn on the TV or radio. But it doesn’t stop there, go to the magazine stand, our dirty laundry is on full display there too. Bill Cosby ain’t making this stuff up.

A lot of folks say Dr. Cosby is out of touch; he’s a rich guy that has forgotten what it’s like to struggle. I think not. Once you’ve come up the hard way you never forget it. Remember this is a man that worked his way up out of the ghetto of Philadelphia. You don’t make up characters like Weird Harold and Mush Mouth and all of them if you didn’t grow up knowing people like that. But you know our folks, if we didn’t see you struggling, in our minds; you came from out of nowhere.

Never mind the fact that the brother has earned the right to say what is he is saying. I can only imagine the behind the scenes battles he had to wage with television network executives, in order to get his shows produced. Keep in mind that he is the first black man to portray a character on television that wasn’t a butler, or a slave, janitor, jive talking pimp, or butt-scratchin’, head-scratchin’, jig-dancin’, eye balls bulging buffoon. He did a show in the ‘60’s called “I Spy”. His character was a Rhodes scholar as well as secret agent. That was a huge accomplishment for a black man back then. Hell, that would be applauded today.

Got What It Takes

So things have been really crackin' on the voice over side of things, FYE http://shop.fye.com/category2.aspx?loc=50466 has been showing a brother mad love the last couple of months. I've done Mobb Deep, Jagged Edge, Ghostface, DJ Quik and a few others.

I started voicing spots for them back in February, the first one I did was for Ne-yo. If you ask me, sonically, it's the best one I've done so far. And I've been crazy busy with those spots the last couple of months. I've only hit two bumps in the road: LL Cool J and Ice Cube.

With LL they wanted a female with a sexy voice to do his spot, the Poetess from LA ended up gettin' that gig. I wasn't mad - she's been doing her thing for a minute anyway, knowI"msayin?

Now Ice Cube was some other shit, I put in a lot of work on that spot ie; late at night and early mornings recording the vocal. And what happens? That nigroid decided he wanted to do it. What the fuck...stick wit actin' and rappin'. I ain't too mad, cause I still get paid a little somethin. But you know, it's the business, the client gets last say as to their product.

My man Aundrae from KJLH called me up and said he's got some work for a brother to do. I'm looking forward to it, I like voicing promos that shit is fun - especially concert promos. They have Keith Sweat, Ginuwine and Joe coming up in June. I gotta stay on my hustle so that i can get more clients - voice over work is hard - but it's fun, once you have the finished product.

The Last of the Great Slow Songs

Time to talk about some grown folks music. If you're under 35: prepare for an education.

Back in the days before booty-shakin', pole dancin' and Crunk. Hell, before hip-hop was a million dollar industry, singers sang in sweet falsetto voices. Groups wore color co-ordinated outfits on stage and did sycnopated dance steps.

But the cornerstone of every group was a great slow song. The Dells had what may be one of the best slow records ever "Stay In My Corner". From what my father and uncles (and anyone else with salt and pepper hair) told me that song was the ultimate 'blue light' party record. Junior Marvin probably holds the record for holding the longest note on a R&B track.

"If you stay - stay darlin'.
Stay in my corner.
You'd make me oh so proud - stay darlin'.
Stay in my corner."

My best buddy Rod Loche once told me what his older brother Lionel said about that song: "Man, when that song came on you had to find a girl to dance with, or you were weak."

For a cinematic example of what I'm talking about, please refer to my good buddy Eric Monte's groundbreaking classic film 'Cooley High'. In the scene at the house party Smokey Robinson's smash hit "Ooh Baby, Baby" came on and everyone - except for Pooter, grabbed a girl. "Stay In My Corner" had the same effect.

"I'm just about at the end of my rope,
But I can't stop tryin',
I can't give up hope."

That's how you know when a man loves a woman, when he can't give up hope - that's deep.

Anyway Al Green has made more classic love songs than any artist you'll find today. But by the late '70's early '80's soul music was no longer 'soul music' it was starting to miss something. Peabo Bryson held it down for a second, but the last great slow song was by three kids from LA.

The year was 1981. Two of them had been Soul Train dancers for many years. The other one, I don't know where he came from, but he made the group better. They were called Shalamar. The song was called 'This is for the lover in you'.

Now you gotta be old school to love this joint. I remember when they did that song on Soul Train, the camera panned to the silhouette of Jeffrey Daniels 17-inch long afro. Howard Hewett was rockin' a shag. Jody Watley had braids (I think).

"This is for the lover in you" was the last great slow record that people requested at house parties. After that I don't really remember people going crazy over slow songs anymore. When that song came on: it was time to grab a girl. If only I could remember the girls name I danced with back then. Oh wait, it was Monique, I was at camp in Virginia and we had a light weight crush on each other. There was some kind of dance at the camp one night when that song came on. She made me dance with her. She didn't have to talk too long, mind you. She must've had C cups back then, I had no problem rubbing up against that girl.

That song remained popular until somewhere around 1984. I had a crush on a girl named Eugenia, we danced to that song at a party at the Boy's Club in Hayward.

After that song got too old, is when you stopped seeing people slow dance. Mother fuckers wanted to do some freaky ass shit after that. You can't even play a slow song at a club anymore cause everyone would rather freak all over each other than to take their time and whisper some real smooth rap shit into a girls ear. No wonder hooking up is so hard to do now. Love is lost.

THE CORNIEST SHOW IN AMERICA

America's Funniest Home Video's has got to be the corniest show ever. Rarely, if ever, does someone with an outright funny video win on that show. It's always the corniest, stupidest shit that wins.

Now I don't watch the show that much - just when the cable is out.

I remember the first time I saw it someone had sent in a video where they were walking on a brick wall or something and fell off and busted their head. Now that was funny to me.

Do you know what won though?

Some cornball went to go meet his girlfriend at the airport and he wanted to propose to her. So what did he do? This idiot had six of his best friends walk up to her one by one and give her a rose and there he was at the end of the line with a rose and got down on his knee and asked her to marry him in the airport. Disgustingly corny right?

Last night I'm watching it and someone sent in a tape of a squirrel running through their house. Now that is some funny shit, cause the squirrel was tearing that house UP.

Do you know what won?

Some lady trying to get her daughters attention by doing the 'Running Man' and the 'Cabbage Patch". Get the fuck out of here.

I know one reason it's corny, is because they gear the show to attract 'Middle America'. All I have to say to those folks in Middle America that laugh at that corny ass shit is: Go buy a better sense of humor.

Can you tell me what this guy really does?










He doesn't rap. He doesn't sing. What is it about this dude and his music that people in the Gospel world are going crazy over?

This One's For You

Hey I just wanted to take time out to thank you for reading this blog. I try to share as much with you as i can about myself. Yes, I am a hip-hop journalist - but I find that to be too limiting. I am an artist, a man, a father, a husband, a brother, an uncle, a son and a friend; defining myself as just a "hip hop writer' for me, doesn't fully encapsulate who I am. That's why I throw stuff in there about my kids and all that kind of stuff. I want you to see the real person.

I believe if I share things with you like my views on any given subject (hell read through this blog I think i'm pretty honest about where I stand on everything) you get a better sense of me as a person and an artist. Now lets get one thing straight though - I will not be devulging every little thing about my life, my sex life with my wife is off limits (previous encounters with women before my marriage are open for discussion).

I like Howard Stern - I don't think he's a racist, I admire how open he is about his life with his audience. But unlike Howard, I ain't tryin' to put my marital business out there cause, I ain't trying to see divorce court. Nope not me.

Not many people leave comments and I understand, it's cool to lurk. I just wanna say thanks for lurking around, when you get a chance spread the word. I might say things here and there that will piss you off. Sorry if I do. I try to be as responsible as I can while still being honest.

WHEN THE REVOLUTION WAS TELEVISED

It was the fall of 1986, I was young and impressionable, the Black Nationalism that my parents preached and tried to indoctrinate me in seemed, at that time in my life, to had been a million years ago.

Hip Hop was to my childhood what Motown had been to my parents generation; it was the soundtrack of my youth. It was the depository that encapsulated the sounds of a generation in transition. Ok, no, there were no real great love songs made during my youth that captured the innocence of young love. No, there were no soulful breakup records that could've mended my broken 17-year-old heart at that time. Why? Because a strange thing happened in my youth, Black music was no longer soulful. There was plenty of rhythm but no blues. We didn't lead protest marches against the man; we bought into the system and wanted to reap the same benefits that white folks had for centuries.

I once heard Isaac Hayes talk about what the civil rights movement meant to he and his generation; he said that, "Somewhere, somebody dropped the ball [when it came to civil rights]."

And he was right, we did, but I think we picked up a different ball.

To say my generation was lost in 1986 was an understatement. The Jheri Curl, which had replaced the Afro, was on it's way out of style, but was hanging on like Vanilla Ice being dangled over a balcony by Suge Knight. Three to four finger rings, trunk jewels, sweat suits, and beepers were status symbols as well as cultural statements back then. How did all of that make a cultural statement? You know what it said? It said: I'm Rich Bitch!

Black male singers, in the 80's, were androgynous-Jheri Curled wonders to which the term "soul" could hardly fit. Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, and Otis Redding had real masculine images; they were men of self-determination and pride. The guys that were supposed to inherit their mantles 30 years later were sissified excuses for men. For real they were. They wore lingerie and worked day and night to make their race as ambiguous as their sexuality. They were not good images for young black males.

If the R&B singers of the 80’s were poor examples of black masculinity then the music emanating from the streets of America was going to totally flip the script. Street fashions and lingo were slowly working its way into the American lexicon, slowly seeping out of the Black paradigm and into the cesspool of mainstream America that was once inhabited by Wally and Beaver Cleaver.

Just when white folks caught on to bad meaning good: bad became def, then dope, then stupid dope, and dumb became cool too. Who could imagine, that all those years that Black folks fought for equality that “dumb” and “stupid” would be cool. Who would’ve guessed it? Not only was “dumb” and “stupid” down, but also the culture of the drug dealer was now the order of the day. Before cell phones were a necessity, beepers were the thing to have – but you were automatically singled out as a drug dealer if you wore one because they (drug dealers) were the one’s that popularized them.

That was until a few guys from Roosevelt, Long Island came along and totally disemboweled that mind-set. At a time when no one wanted to be black – most popular Black musicians back then wanted to be mixed – and gay - this group that called itself Public Enemy came along and declared the unthinkable – We’re Black! And not only were they Black but they were Black and proudly militant.

Militant? What’s the big deal about being militant? Well, back then all of the militants were gone. There was a time – in the 60’s and 70’s – when you’d see these guys on the news and in the streets carrying papers, wearing sunglasses, preaching on stepladders, yelling into bullhorns, and carrying signs that said: “Fuck Whitey”. But by 1986 those guys were on the endangered species list, you saw militant brothers back then like you see American Indians today: rarely, seldom and never.

The leader of the group, this guy named Chuck D spoke of strange things, things I hadn’t heard in years, like he talked about a “mind- revolution” and raising up 5,000 black leaders, and boycotting trunk jewels because the Africans that dug the gold up didn’t own them; he talked about “A Message to the Black Man” and that this guy named Farrakhan was the “Prophet that I think you ought to listen to”. This was heavy stuff. He had a song called “Sophisticated Bitch” that I couldn’t understand at all (back then), my 18 year old ears couldn’t comprehend the line: “Now she wants a man with an attaché”. It didn’t make sense to me until I tried to talk to a sister with a corporate job, then, BOOM it clicked: She thinks she’s better than me!

When they dropped the classic “Rebel Without a Pause” I fell off of my bed and sat on the floor in a state of shock for 4 minutes. The saxophone squeals that they lifted from the JB’s and layered over the break “Funky Drummer”, cemented the groups legacy amongst the giants of hip-hop. There were rumors that the sax squeals were metaphors for bombs being dropped on the racist white masses. That summer, Chuck D sounded like a prophet disseminating his message from up high.

Finally here was a group that spoke to issues much larger than my immediate existence as a teenager. Chuck D was the first rapper, that I knew of that could really do a stimulating interview. He talked about how the duty of young Black men was to grow up and be responsible to our communities and our families. These guys opened up a door that my parents had led me to 18 years before, but it wasn’t my parents holding the door showing me the way in, it was these guys who showed me that I could be a man, I could be a b – boy, I could be proud of being black and still be a man. I didn’t have to totally compromise myself and the values that I was raised with. That’s why I write what I write today.

COOL AS ICE

When I got out of high school in 1987 there were two books that I was actively reading: The Autobiography of Malcolm X and a book called "Pimp the Story of My Life by Iceberg Slim". Both books had a profound impact on me.

After I first started reading his work I asked around about him "Oh, he's dead" people would tell me. "He didn't really write those books" others would say.

Long before I knew I was destined to write I was obsessed with the works of Iceberg Slim. So obsessed was I that in 1990 I wrote him a letter. I didn't want the secrets of the pimp game, nope, I ain't cut out for pimpin' yo, I wanted his secret: "Man, where did you learn to do that with words?" I asked.

In all of his books there were certain phrases and metaphors he would use that were absolutely beautiful to me, like this one: "As the sun decapitated the moons head with a golden axe", or this one: "He disappeared like a wisp of smoke."

That was poetry baby, pure poetry.

He never responded to my letter. I still bought all of his books anyway though - except for Mama Black Widow, I just can't read stuff about batty men like that.

Anyway, someday if God is willing, I will write the definitive Iceberg Slim article or book. I'm going to get Peter Muckley's book and see what he's done. I want to get to the real story, I fear that too much time has gone by for me to talk to old cronies or whatever have you but, there is a story there.

They say before he died in 1992 that he sold some six million books - that is incredible.

Ya Could've Won Kid

Paris Bennett was kicked off of American Idol last night, while I was sad to see her go, I was not surprised.

Paris is an awesome singer I believe the full potential of her talent will be realized someday but as a performer she doesn't have it right now. I remember being blown away by her during the audition phase. She was incredible. But when it came down to the performances, I sat there watching her saying to myself "Where did all the magic go?"

For me her best performance was the Stevie Wonder night - she got down. Tuesday night she sang a Mary J Blige song and it was really good, but that first song she did "Kiss" by Prince was horrible.

Best of luck in the future kid you'll be okay.

Some Land of Our Own

Imagine advertisers beaming real time 24 hour satelite feeds into one lone tiny country: 'We Got Yo' Bling' the commercials would say. Overhead Goodyear blimps would bare flashing signs proclaiming: "Get Yo Mack On" at Anderson's Lincoln (make a right off of exit 3). That's what you would see in an all black separtist country.

Actor/producer/director Charles S Dutton is producing a 10 part mini-series for HBO it's a fictional story about a group of African- Americans who receive reparations and are given a separate state within the United States. HBO is leaning towards not developing it, but we'll see. Hey, anybody can dream.

The dream isn't new. Black leaders as far back as the 1800's advocated separation between Blacks and Whites. Marcus Garvey and Elijah Muhammad built their movements on the very idea. At one time I really believed in separation - I don't now and here's why.

No sane person can dare claim that we weren't bought here against our will. However, once here we helped (hell, we did the hard work) to build this nation. African Americans have fought in each and every war since this country's inception. We fought hard to be accepted into the fabric of this society, to turn around and walk away would not only be foolish, but it would be a disservice to the memories of those that fought and were brutalized and died for our cause.

There has always been (and will probably always be) a set of folks who get fed up with this country and its laws that say "Let's go back to Africa!"

First of all - there is no one to go back to. Let me rephrase that: There is no one there waiting for us to return to. And while we're at it, where in Africa would we go? The Congo? Oh hell no, they haven't known stability since before Patrice Lumumba. I got one for you, how about Liberia? Nope, nope, nope that's how they got into all that trouble over there in the first place. A group of us left here and went 'back' there - the trouble was that the people who were "there" didn't appreciate us coming there. Won't work.

Ok how about a separate Black state here? Ok where? How's North Carolina. Well, I live in South Carolina so it wouldn't be hard for me to move, but what about the white folks that live there now, what would happen to them? What about the companies that are there, where would they go? What about those folks that have married inter-racially or are products of an inter-racial relationship (there is alot of that kind of thing jumpin' off right about now, especially in the South) where do they go.

But for arguments sake lets just say there was a new Black state here, do you know what would happen? Forget about slave catchers coming for us, oh hell no, they would use modern day slave catchers to catch us and keep us broke. Do you have any idea of who I'm talking about? Madison Avenue.

They would beam all kinds of bullshit to us through the internet, our cell phones, TV - they'd invent new devices to sell to us so that we could buy whatever it is that they are selling. "Get Yo Grill Tight Padna" is what the signs would say along the freeway from our country to their country.

Not In My House Ya Won't

So here's me: moved into a fresh pad, remodeled townhouse, new appliances the whole nine and them some. I've been feeling real good about this place until last night that is, I found a scout.

Now originally being from New York I am no stranger to roaches. There is a saying in NY: If your neighbor has 'em - you have 'em. It has been years since I've seen one of those things. In California we had to deal with ants - in New York, you know, ants ain't shit - roaches are some mother fuckers though. They will survive any act of terrorism. Nuclear fallout. Global warming all of it works in their favor. Those mother fuckers will adapt.

So back to the scene. I'm in my bathroom last night and happen to look up at the ceiling. "Is that what I think it is?' I thought to myself. "Oh hell no", I said, "not in my new pad!"

Now remember I'm from New York I know how to deal with these bastards.

I got my shoe out and creeped real slow into the bathroom - those little fucks can see ya know. I stepped real lightly onto the tub, and slowly - but gently, put my hand on the shower rod.

That little fuck moved quicker than moonshine through an alcoholics stomach.

But remember: I'm used to dealing with these fuckas.

He ran to the wall as I raised my hand - just as I was about to hit him - he did a back flip off the wall down to the tub.

"You think your slick" I said.

I give him credit he was quick - but not slick.

He hit the tub and was using the momentum of his fall to catapult himself upward so that he'd be able to fly away.

That was until my shoe landed on him BAM.

It was a red one. In New York those fucks used to come out of the walls and jump all over the place. You'd chase those things and they would run up your refrigerator and jump off the top of it and after it landed on the floor it would look up at you and say "Asta la vista" and be gone. Thank God it was a red one and not one of these countrified mother fuckers. Roaches here in the south are as long as your finger. If my wife would've seen one of them, she would've started packing right then and there.

But the south is different from New York. In NY if you have roaches you could call your super all day and he'd look at you and shrug his shoulders and say in his Puerto Rican accent, "So whadda ya wan me to do? You have a roach, I have a roach, we all have roaches."

I called my property management and told them: "Oh so sorry sir, we will have someone out immediately to take care of the problem."

Which makes me feel better, because just as I was killing that scout I told him: "Not in my house ya won't!"