BACK IN THE DAY




















Now for the real reason we're here true believers: Next months Wax Poetics Journal will feature a story by yours truly, it is a feature about the 1977 battle between super jocks Pete D.J. Jones and Kool D.J. Herc.

I first heard about this battle in the book "Yes Yes Y'all an Oral History" by Charlie Ahearn and Jim Fricke. In one of the chapters Kool DJ AJ Scratch talked about a battle at the Executive Playhouse between Kool DJ Herc and Pete DJ Jones. AJ described it as being the turning point in both Flash's career as well Kool Herc's.

Two years ago I wrote this piece about the nomination of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame http://www.stealthmag.com/board/viewthread.php?tid=1907. As you can see I talked to damn near every hip hop pioneer out there. It was while I was getting a quote from Pete Jones for the story that he happened to have mentioned the battle in '77.

For those that don't know Pete Jones was one of the first black mobile disc jockey's in New York City in the 1960's and '70's. He and a guy named Cameron 'Grandmaster' Flowers (R.I.P.) were the first black mobile jocks to play around New York back then. Flowers, it is said, was probably the first cat out there with a complete system and awesome mixing techniques. As a matter of fact Pete Jones told me that, "Grandmaster Flowers was the smoothest blender I have ever seen in my life."

They played rhythm and blues for Black and Latino audiences all over the city. Pete Jones had a bigger rep back then because he spun at the biggest clubs and for the biggest black station: WBLS. Legend has it that Flowers opened for James Brown at Yankee Stadium sometime in the late '60's.

Back in the day Pete DJ Jones was the man. That's him today at somewhere near 65 years of age. It has been previously reported that he was from Brooklyn, that is inaccurate - he is from Durham, North Carolina. The part of New York that he lives in is the Bronx.











Anyway I don't want to give my story away, but while doing my research for this piece it intrigued me to hear about a time when the name Grandmaster Flash wasn't a legend. The first person I interviewed for this story was Kool Herc http://www.bumsquaddjz.com/interviews/?p=16. The little bit that Herc told me intrigued me so much that I reached out to Pete Jones again for this article. He put me in contact with two gentlemen: JT Hollywood and KC the Prince of Soul. They gave me a wealth of information that, unfortunately, I was unable to use for this piece. I had to narrow the focus of the story down and I didn't want to go too far out in left field. Anyway, through my home girl Christie Z Pabon I got contact in touch with AJ Scratch, the original source of the story. I had him dig a little bit deeper for me for this article. I wanted to take the reader inside of the club.

Ever since I wrote about Flash and the Furious I wanted to talk to two guys who were with Flash the whole time but who have never been heard from before: EZ Mike and Disco Bee. AJ gave me EZ Mike's info who then put me onto Disco Bee. I drove 3 hours to Greensboro, NC to go interview Bee on New Years Eve (gotta bring in the New Year right yo). Both Mike and Bee gave me a wealth of information that, someday, God willing, I will put to use. The early story of Flash and the Furious 5 is incredible.

I tried to get in touch with Flash through his manager Kool Lady Blue, but Flash said that he wasn't a part of the battle. But AJ and EZ Mike confirmed for me that he was.

I wanted to do something I have rarely ever seen done before in hip hop journalism, especially about that particular time, I wanted to tell a story - a compelling story. Which meant that I had to put things in context and use imagery in order to really tell the story right. I am quite sure that you will like what I have done.

My editors Andre Torres and Brian DiGenti got Phase II to do some work as well and Elemental Magazine gave us some pics and flyers of Pete Jones from back in the day. And oh yeah, while I'm at it strong shout to Charlie Ahearn for hooking us up with the pic of EZ Mike and Mele Mel. I reached out to Disco Bee for some pics but never heard back. And like we said back in the day: This is a revolution sureshot!

It's Been a Long Time...

Ok already I know I know it's been a minute since I've updated this thing, you know how it goes, life gets h-e-c-t-i-c.

Sometimes I simply don't know what to say to you - forgive me.

If your a fan of the Sopranos here's my prediction: You know the two Arab fellas Christopher keeps dealing guns to? Well, I'm thinking that they will be the source of his downfall. Here's why: In the first or second episode of the new season two FBI agents were in Satriales eating sandwiches when in walks Christopher. After a couple of seconds of minor chit-chat the subject of terrorism comes up. I think I recall the agent asking Chris if he knew anything about Al-Qaeda or terrorists in general. To which Chris said, "Oh fuggeabout it, I'm against that shit as much as you are - and Tony, fuggabout it, he hates that shit."

During this season though they keep showing the same two Arab guys buying weapons from Chris. In one episode Tony asks Christopher, "Hey, do you think those guys could be Al-Qaedas?'

The writers are setting something big up with this story line. What a better way to get to Tony than through Chris, but could Chris be a rat? Hell, most mob guys are now.

And speaking of rats.

The worse plague to hit our communities since crack is the whole "Stop Snitchin'" mess. Look, here's the deal: If you are a member of a violent and or illegal organization the "Stop Snitchin' thing should apply to you. By the code of the street you shouldn't be out there talking to the cops about what other people are doing. That ain't cool. Because you're doing it too.

Now if you are an honest, hard-working citizen who is just out to make a living, 'Stop Snitchin' should not apply to us.

If you are in a gang or some other nonsense and someone robs, shoots or rapes you - you have folks to back you up, you can exact justice as you see fit.

But if you are an ordinary person who is out there minding their business and someone shoots, stabs, beats or rapes you or a person you love, what are you supposed to do? Just let it go? Hell no, we can't we have to stand up to these thugs. Maybe it's time for us honest, law abiding folks to take up arms against those that threaten us.

In the city of Baltimore where this whole "Stop Snitchin' movement was started they now have a new slogan "Silence Informers". Witnesses are being intimidated with threats of violence, in quite a few cases they have been killed.

No wonder the Black community is looked down upon, it's because we glorify thugs. I have an idea for a new slogan how's: "Harm a witness - Hang from a stop light."

TO BE A DAD Part II

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT:
Dracula and Darth Vader

Once upon a time a very long time ago, a little boy tried to fall asleep in a basement. No matter how many times he'd shut his eyes tight, he was forced to open them. You see, his father had hung one of the creepiest paintings ever known to a seven year old, over his bed. To make matters worse, when the lights were out and it was completely dark, he'd swear to God he was seeing Darth Vader.

"Oh my God, Dad, Darth Vader is coming to get me!" The little boy would say.
"Mark, go to sleep", the irritated father would say.
"But Dad, really, he is", the little boy would say.

In a huff the little boy's irritated West Indian immigrant dad would decend the stairs and go into one of his tirades:

"Mark, how many times do I have to tell you that Darth Vader isn't real, now cut it out and go to sleep."

Looking for anything to open his fathers eyes to the fact that there could possibly be "something" down there he said, "Weren't you ever scared of anything when you were my age?"

"Never", he said, 'I was too busy working to be afraid of anything, and if I was afraid of anything, I wasn't anywhere near as scared as you."

The little boy glanced up at the creepy-looking painting hanging over his bed. "Dad, what kind of painting is that? It scares me."

"It's called the vision of death."

"Huh?"

"It looks like a ghost or somekind of monster..."

'It isn't, now go back to sleep."

It wouldn't be until many years later over lunch that the little boy grown and in his mid-20's would ask his father about that god awful painting.

"Oh that", he said laughing before he goes into his story.

"When I was a college student I had this really weird roommate who was an artist. One day I came home and he was going on and on about life and death, and the meaning of death and God and all this other stuff. Now, he was saying all of this while he was painting this portrait. He was talking really fast and painting just as fast at the same time. Anyway, I got tired of sitting there listening to him, so I left and went to the store. When I came back the cops were all over the place. It turns out my roommate blew his head off while I was gone. I remember walking around looking at the blood everywhere and things and noticing that there was no blood on the painting, so I took it with me when I left and I kept it as a memento of him."

"And you hung it over my bed, knowing the creepy ass history behind that thing?"

The father shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well, y'know."

In disbelief the now grown man made a vow that he would never do that to his kids.

So fast forward to the present the little boy is now a full grown man rapidly approaching 40 with kids of his own. One night after reading "Pinnochio and the Whale" for the third time in a row, the father puts his foot down and says, "That's it, no more Pinnochio it's time to go to sleep."

His four year old to whom he gave his name to looks up at him and says, "Daddy".

"Yes, TJ."

"Can you turn the Nemo night light on?"

"Of course son."

"Daddy", the little boy says, "Is Dracula gonna get me?"

"No son, Dracula won't get you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive son."

"How do you know?" the four year old says.

"Cause I know", the father said in his Queens, New York accent meets Oakland, California attitude.

Sensing the fear in the little boy, the father lays down besides him.

"You know son, when I was your age I was scared of things too."

"You were?"

"Yeah, I was scared of Darth Vader."

"Is Darth Vader gonna come get me?"

"Nope, he's too busy flying around in outer space somewhere to come get you."

"But what if Dracula and Darth Vader come and get me?" The four year old asks.

"If either one of them guys comes through that window all you gotta do is call me, and I guarantee you that both of those idiots will go out that window faster than they came in."

"Well, what if a lion or a tiger or a bear comes?" the little boy asks.

"Hey, if a lion comes in here", the father says, "we'll beat that lion. If a bear comes in here: we'll beat that bear. If a tiger comes in: we'll beat that tiger. You and me, ok?"

The four year old frowns his face up really hard and says "Yeah, if a lion comes in here: we'll beat that lion", the little boy says as he balled his fist up and punched at the air. 'If a bear comes in here: we'll beat that bear!"

A warm smile envelops the fathers face. It's the same kind of smile a parent gets the first time they see their child walk. He laughs loudly on the inside before his son says:

"Hey, what's your problem? Are you scared or something? I'll protect you."

What Did You Name That Child?

Wu Tang Clan founder and member RZA knows how to keep it all too real.

"...and the children of RZA and Mills have equally interesting names: Shaquasia, Melchizedek, Understanding and Eternity Diggs."

Recently the RZA filed for divorce from his wife of six years. Turns out my man had two kids outside of his marriage, God knows what those kids names are but Shaquasia? Melchizedek? Come on man.

When I was coming up in the 70's and 80's I remember girls being given extra long names like: Sheila Tawanda Porshe Mercedes Jackson. Uh, yes you read it right, that is all one name. And they would say all of that while chewing gum and twirling their necks.

Then sometime in the 80's that shit got too far off the hook, girls just started making names up that were supposedly a mixture of French and African sounding names. Like Monique. Ok, that's a regular name but they would do things like add all kinds of other shit to it like Moniquay (yes, for real) or Moniqasia (yes, you read it right). After a while it became a game of one upmanship, if this one named her daughter Moniqasia, that one would have to name her daughter something like Nicole Janasia Usha Special ( yes, it is all one name and yes, you read it right).

Boys weren't spared either: Donavian, Xavian and all kinds of other shit started popping up in the late 80's and 90's. Now here is my question: How are these people supposed to find jobs with names like those? A white employer will get those resumes and automatically put them in the 'special pile', you know the pile don't ya? The pile of the folks that will not be working there.

I used to feel really sorry for my brother and sister when we were coming up. My brothers name is Malik. Poor guy, white folks called him everything but his name: Milk, Ma-lick and Mike, were what he was mistakenly called.

My sister Tadao (that is a Japanese name by the way) really caught hell: Ta-Da-O, Toledo, Tornado and all kinds of other mispronounced names were par for the course.

The times I really felt sorry for them were with the grandparents. "Ta-who?" "Ma-what?" They would say. "What happened to names I kind relate to?" They'd complain "Like Horace or or or Ulysses or Homer or what about that boy name, what's his name Andrew. What about names like those?" They'd complain.

"Well, we wanted to give them names that were different, that meant something", my parents would say.

"That mean somethin?" They would say jumping out of their chairs. "Hey, my cousins name is Ulysses. Ever read whaddya call that dere 'Greek Mythology', huh, Homer and Ulysses are in that. What about that?"

Alot of people take pride in their names - and they should. We should strive to give our children names that we and they can be proud of, but also won't handicap them when it's time for them to enter the real world.

Big Vito Was Gettin' His Boogie On










And you thought black hip-hop cats were the only tough guys on the D.L....Ha! Wait until you see "The Sopranos".

Before "Brokeback Mountain" shattered any and all illusions of the cowboy lifestyle being off-limits to sissies, queers and any other non-masculine type role models, along came last seasons episode of "The Sopranos".

Meadow Soprano's ( for those of you who don't know, she's the bosses daughter) boyfriend arrived at work a little earlier than usual. He parked next to the only other car on the lot, leaned back in his seat to catch a snooze, but before doing so he looked at the occupant in the car next to him: It was the security guard, looking like he too was catching a snooze, but, he had his head back and his mouth open...hmmmm, maybe the guard met a hooker before work and decided to get a "little action" before his day got started.

But wait, the guard opened his eyes and looked to his left to see a car parked next to his.

Uh-oh, he's been busted getting his nob polished while on the job. Shame on him.

But just when you think the little young site secretaries head was gonna pop up: Surprise, it's big, fat, tough mob guy Vito! All 400 pounds of him.

Oh no. Vito is that you?

Last night during Johnny Sack's daughters wedding Vito was feeling "conflicted" during the ceremony. He was the most visibly disturbed person during the wedding. He kept looking at his ring, twisting and turning it around on his finger.

Two mob guys show up at a batty man club, they were there to pick up money. Neither one of those guys liked being there, "I hate this place", they said "Let's get the fuck outta here..."

Well, just as they're leaving who does the camera pan to? Big Vito, gettin' his boogie on in black leather with the hat and whip to match! Big Vito pulled him a man and was about to take him home too, that was until the two wiseguys saw him.

"Vito, you're a fag?" one of them said in shock and disgust.

"Hey guys", Vito said, as nervous as a deer in a headlight. "It's just a joke".

"Yeah right, Vito, you're a fag".

"It's just a joke guys...don't say nuttin."

The next scene Vito is at home pulling a .45 out of the drawer. It lokks like he's gonna kill both of em.

Nope.

The next scene he checks into a motel looking extremely worried, he takes the .45 out of his pocket and puts it on the nightstand next to the bed. Vito can't take the pressure of his "secret life" being exposed.

There has been alot of stuff in the last few years about men on the "DL". Lemme tell you something, I remember when the "DL" was a phrase used to describe cats (straight guys like myself) that were quiet, not tryin to mess with nobody and get in their business and shit like that.

Then around the same time some gay dudes wrote books about their lives on the "DL". What those dudes are are guys that mess with men and women, but don't want anyone to know that they are really gay. I don't care what they say: If you're messing around with a man, in a "no clothes on" kinda scenario: YOU ARE GAY. Don't give me that bi-sexual gabbage, your gay. It's alright, it's your business, it's your lifestyle, it's your choice. But you have the obligation to tell the women that you are seeing about your "Alternative choice".

Can You Say Impeach the President?

Breaking news: "I. Scooter Libby, former top aide to Vice President Dick Cheney revealed to prosecutors that President Bush authorized the leaking of sensitive information about Iraq to members of the press.

At the time when the scandal first surfaced, Mr Bush said, "Whoever is responsible for leaking such information in my cabinet will be fired."

Will Mr. Bush be following the noble example of former President Richard Nixon and resign from office?

This isn't a blow job in the Oval office my friends or allegations of lying under oath during a deposition in a sexual harassment case; this is treason.

JUST SHOW THE DAMN PIN

Democrat Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney is someone I usually admire, her stances on the war, Affirmative Action and a whole bunch of other issues over the years have made her someone I respect. However, the current situation she's in right now is bullshit.

Recently she got into an altercation with an officer on Capitol Hill. He asked her "Ma'am, may I see your ID?" And she kept walking.

He asked her again, this time he was trying to catch up with her "Ma'am, your ID please." He must've grabbed her by the shoulder or something because her next move was to turn around and sock him.

Uh-oh what did she do that for? Just cause your ass is an elected official does not mean you are above the rules.

She's crying racism.

Racism? Huh?

Did he stop her and say "Nigger woman, show me yo gotddamn ID?"

Or did he stop her and say "Hey Lil Kim, where's your ID?"

Or did he say, "I hate Tupac, nigger, show me your badge?"

If it wasn't one of those situations or some variation thereof, it is not a case of racism. Rather, it is a case of a Congress woman who doesn't feel like she should have to follow the rules. Every member of congress has a pin that identifies them as being a member. It's a simple thing, you put it on, show it to the guard when you come to the door and that's it. Turns out she never wears hers.

If I never had the experience back in the day of being a security officer I wouldn't know. I can't tell you how many times I'd have to argue with people over showing their badge and signing in and out. Some people have a problem with following rules. The first thing that comes out of their mouths is: "Why do I have to show you my badge?" Or "Why do I have to sign in?"

Cause it's the rules you retard.

Now look who's come to back Mrs. McKinney up

Don't these two dudes have better things to do? What about Lethal Weapon 5? What about an Uptown Saturday Night reunion, Geechie Dan Beuford back in e-f-f-e-c-t. I know they know the difference between racism and bullshit. Danny Glover is backing away from her like she's taking a swipe at his nuts or something. Mr. Belafonte needs to tell her in that cool voice of his "Sista, I know you're embarrassed by all of this, but, show the damn pin next time."

PICK THAT SHIT UP…



It’s time for a moment of socially responsible conservative thought. I told my new home girl the Golden Child, that like her, I too am a left-leaning liberal with right-wing views.

One day in 1942 East and West Oakland were beautiful places to live and raise your kids. As a matter of fact so were Compton, the Bronx, Bedford-Stuyvesant and many other places. Lawns were well kept. Trash was deposited into cans and picked up. People had pride in themselves and their neighborhoods. But a funny thing happened one day; somebody dropped a piece of trash on the sidewalk by accident. They new they dropped it but they were probably in a hurry to get to work. They probably thought to themselves, “It’s ok, someone will pick it up.”

Well someone never did.

And then an hour later while someone else was taking their trash out a diaper dropped out of their can and onto the ground. That person probably thought, “It’s ok, I’ll pick it up later.”

But they never did.

And the next thing ya know people just started leaving stuff in the street. Bags, used condoms, used tampons, soda bottles, food wrappers, leftover food and all other manner of human indignity. Soon a sure symbol of urban decay started to leave its ugly trail in the neighborhood: urine stains.

I love my people, but I will not tolerate any talk whatsoever about white people ruining the ghetto. I won’t tolerate any talk whatsoever about a secret society of white conspirators who scheme and plot day and night on ways to make black people look bad. There is no excuse, none at all for our neighborhoods to look the way they do.

I remember when I was 14 years old and I was hanging out with some friends, who shall remain nameless. We went to Mickey D’s, ordered our food and ate while we were walking down the street. When we were done we threw our trash right there on the ground. I was taught better, but you know what happens when you’re a teenager right?

One day while I was out with my mother I had something in my hand and threw it on the ground and kept walking. My mother, in disgust said, “Fool, what are you doing?”

“Nothing”.

“If you don’t pick that shit up…” she said as her eyes became a fire at the same time her index finger pointed to the ground.

“Ma, everyone throws their trash on the ground”, I said as stupid as can be.

“Oh, so that makes it right?”

“I dunno”.

Then she said something I will never forget…

“Mark, how do you think the rest of the shit got on the street?

Hmmmmmm…

Then she said, “Now pick that shit up.”

To Be A Dad

TO BE A DAD

There has been a lot of stuff in the news lately about the “problem with black males”. A recent study said that black men are more disconnected from society than ever before. What no one really talks about is the fact that in the last twenty years black woman have advanced further than black men.

I remember reading an article not too long ago that discussed how men, regardless of race, were not furthering their education and were not entering into corporate America in numbers that equaled women.

If you doubt that women are advancing further in this society than men, then take a trip downtown, I don’t care which downtown, pick one, but go down there either in the morning, noon time or when everyone is trying to escape from work: 5:00 on the dot. Take a head count. What do you see? Count the number of white women you see. Then, count the number of black women you see. Now, count the number of black and white men you see. Okay we all know that you aren’t gonna find too many brothers down there, but I can guarantee you that black and white women outnumber even white men in corporate jobs. Why is this?

In the last twenty-five years, some smart people somewhere looked at the plight of little girls and addressed certain problems: self-esteem, education and role models. They correctly surmised that if little girls from the time they were very small were exposed to the same things that little boys (especially little white boys) were exposed to, they would advance. Thus, society turned its attention away from boys (because from the time that this society was born it has been a male dominated one) and on to little girls. Things like “Take your daughter to work day” came into being. I always thought things like that were cool. I’m somebody’s husband, brother, son, nephew, uncle and the role I cherish most: father.

In my short time that I’ve been on this planet, it never ceases to amaze me, the number of women I know that have been raped and or abused, I can fully understand why there has been a lot of focus on the problems of women. I can appreciate that.

One day when I was frustrated while potty-training my oldest son, I decided to get a book about the subject. All of the mothers I know seemingly forgot how to potty-train. I was shocked when I got down to the bookstore to find that not one book, not a single book about potty training had either a picture of a boy on the cover, or made any reference to boys in any way in any of the books. Everything was ‘she’ or ‘your little girl’ or something like that. No ‘he’ or ‘your little fella’ or ‘little guy’, none of that. Why? Because we have turned our backs on our sons.

There are no more Boys Clubs, because someone said that it was discriminatory against girls so it has to be the Boys and Girls Club. Activities that used to be exclusively for boys: baseball, football and basketball now include girls. Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against little girls or little girls playing with boys, but boys need to have those things that are exclusively for boys.

As far as black males go, yes, I agree there is a problem; society turned its back on black males a long time ago. Some smart people somewhere need to recognize that the problems are: hopelessness, poor self-esteem, education and role models. Black fathers have been missing in action for quite some time.

I’ve lived long enough to know that there are two sides to every story; we never really hear the stories from black men that abandon their families. But for those that have I’d like to share a story with you.

I was fed up with the cost of living in the Bay Area, a place I will always love. I had to make the drastic decision of how to get out. My wife and I agreed that I would leave ahead of the family to go live in South Carolina. It’s much cheaper to live here.

Anyway, for five months I was away from my wife and kids. And it was hard. I have never ever had insomnia a day in my life, but I developed a severe case of it while I was away from my family. It was so bad that it started affecting my vision. In another words, a brother is gonna need some glasses soon.

Anyway, finally the wife and kids joined me out here, our sons 4, 2, and two months were excited to see their dad. As I was happy to see them too.

The other night I left my kids with their older cousin while I showed my wife the town. When we came back home at midnight I was amazed to see them awake. They know that when its time to go to bed, its time to GO to bed. At first I thought it was my two year-old that was the culprit.

But nah, to my surprise it was this one, my four year old, he wouldn’t stop crying.

And he isn't one that cries or whines much.

Just as I was about to rein more terror than Osama Bin Laden, my wife alerted me to something: separation anxiety. For five months my kids hadn’t seen me. They were used to seeing me everyday. We played together. We ate together. I disciplined them when they need it. All of sudden they were without their dad.

My four year old said that he’s had dreams about Batman and Dracula, and how Batman was going to bite him. No matter how many times I told him that Batman was the good guy and that Dracula was the bad guy, he wasn’t having it. I took him and his little brother by the hand and walked them upstairs to their room. I read them their favorite story: Pinocchio and the Whale. After that they still wouldn’t go to sleep. So what did I do? I lay there with them until we all fell asleep. They needed the security of their dad in a foreign place.

ONLY IN THE SOUTH...










Can you go to Wal Mart and get carded while buying a DVD.

My wife is the church going one in our family, come 11 o'clock on a Sunday morning (I don't care what the holiday is) I'm fast asleep, I ain't goin' nowhere but my living room. When the "Passion of the Christ" came out a few years back I wanted to see it, but never got around to it. So, there we are in Wal Mart walking past the DVD of the "Passion of the Christ", my wife being the good Christian she is, scoops it up real quick. Personally, I wanted to get "The Mack" on DVD, I've had the video for close to 20 years now.

Anyway, we get to the check out counter and "WOOOOOP, hold it now", says the clerk, "I need to see some ID for this purchase."

I started checkin' the cart out to see if my wife snuck some wine in there or something (she's supposed to be breast-feeding). The next thing I know the clerk is holding the "Passion of the Christ in her hand.











"This film contains language that is offensive and has scenes of graphic violence, you need to be over 18 to purchase this movie."

"Hold up a sec", I say, "Now, I know I have a baby face and all, and the sweatsuit probably doesn't help the situation either, but you've got to know that I am, if not your age then older. Let's be real here", I say trying to find the humor in the situation, "with this gray stubble on my chin, lady how can I be under 18?"

"That doesn't matter, it could be hereditary".

"Wait, wait, wait", I say, still trying to come out of shock and back into my senses, "You mean, you want us to show you ID to see a film about Jesus Christ?" What kind of Jesus Freaks run this place?

"Uh huh, yep that's right", she says.

Now to be honest with you I'm no Christian but...how graphic can the language in a movie about Jesus Christ be? And don't forget "The Passion of the Christ" is in a foreign language, English wasn't around in his days true believers.

Now I do believe that it is a violent movie, cause, once again, and I'm being 100% Oprah honest with you...if it was me that had to die for your sins, sheeeit, we'd all be in hell. From my limited studying of the Good Book, I hear they beat that dude damn near to death. This would be the first movie in a long time that showed a brother getting beat down since Bleek and Giant caught a bad one in Mo Betta Blues.

So like I said, if it was me, that had to die for your sins like that ie; the whip, the crown of thorns on my dome, carrying a cross for mad blocks in the heat and all and not nan ni99@ offered me a drop of water...you mofo's would burn in Satan's Kitchen.

So back to the story.

After we showed ID for the movie the clerk advised us of another law down here: "No buying clothes on Sunday before 1:30 pm".

"What?" I said.

"Well", the clerk said, "it isn't a law, but this Wal Mart will not sell clothes before 1:30 pm on Sundays", she said with a smile.

"Well I''ll be", I said. Only in the south.

IT TAKES A FOOL....


"Big Love" is a new show on HBO about a guy somewhere in Utah who has three wives and seven children. All I can tell you is that I have one wife and three kids and they are more than enough. Only a fool would have three wives...

I Never Promised You A Rose Garden…

One of the biggest songs on AM radio in the early 1970’s was a Country/Western song called ‘Rose Garden’ by a singer named Lynn Anderson. The hook went: “I beg your pardon, but I never promised you a rose garden”.

As a little kid I had no idea what in the hell that song was about. I heard it every time my father and I were in the car together. The moment the song would come on he would instantly crank the volume up and laugh as he sang along with the hook. In a voice that sounded eerily similar to Sidney Poitier (at least to me he did) my dad – singing all of the wrong notes, would continue to sing that song until well after we got out of the car. The song, I surmised had some special meaning to him.

If you’ve ever been in a relationship where you – or the one you’re with, complains about your life together, the quickest response is usually to say “Hey, nobody’s perfect.” Or you say what Lynn Anderson said so poetically “I never promised you a rose garden.”

Nowadays it looks like President Bush wants to sing that song to us. And judging by the latest headlines he has a lot of singing to do: “IRAQ IS ON THE VERGE OF CIVIL WAR”. His response: “I beg your pardon...” The next headline: “IRAN THREATENS PAIN ON U.S.” His response: “I never promised you a rose garden.”

In all honesty I have something to admit to you, during the 2000 presidential election, to the consternation of my family, I was a rat’s hair close to voting for George Bush. I was fed up with the way the Democratic Party has taken the Black vote for granted. All a white Democrat has to do is throw on a dashiki and show up to the biggest Black church on a Sunday morning and clap as close to on beat as he can, and BAM: He gets the Black vote. I wasn’t havin’ it. No more, I said, a candidate must come with some concrete facts and a plan before he gets my vote. So, in that spirit I figured “hey, let’s hear what this Bush fella is talking about.”

Let’s put it this way, that Tuesday election in 2000 I didn’t cast my vote for Bush.

When he got into office I figured, ok, here’s there let’s see what he’s gonna do. Well, not too long after getting into office 9/11 jumped off. I was all for going to Afghanistan and kickin’ ass over there. But then he started mentioning Sadaam Hussein’s name one too many times. I was still heartbroken over the World Trade Center. I reasoned to myself that we should hear him out about going over there. I was scared of being attacked again – like everyone else. He insisted that they were very close to having a nuclear weapon. In some speeches he said they were two years away from acquiring a weapon of mass destruction. Which was a lie.

Bush mentioned our intelligence reports in his speeches, which, have now been confirmed to be totally and completely inaccurate. He said, “Based on our intelligence and other evidence.” He never said what that evidence was.

His reasons for going over there just didn’t sit right with me. The only valid point he made, as far as I was concerned, was that the Iraqis kept thwarting the inspection process. One of the conditions that the Iraqis agreed to when they surrendered back in 1991 was that they would allow open and free inspections. The inspections never really went right, there was always a delay. We imposed economic sanctions on them. They were suffering.
But they had nothing to do with terrorism.

When we finally got on the ground there after the whole ‘shock and awe’ thing we found no weapons of mass destruction. Nor did we find any terrorists. They’ve found their way there now, but they weren’t there before.

The war in Iraq, which many of us thought would be a rerun of the lightning-quick 1991 war, is turning out to be the worse conflict we have seen as a nation. This war may be worse than the one in Vietnam. Everyday that we spend over there is another day that we have pissed off more Arabs. This is a war that we cannot win.

What we don’t understand is that unlike us, when our nation was being born, there was a movement that led up to the Revolutionary War. There was a movement from within the country, people were pissed off and were organizing themselves to make change. That’s what separates us from them. We as a people wanted change. There was no movement on the ground in Iraq to overthrow Sadaam. There was no movement or rallying cry around Iraq for democracy. For us to say, ‘Here we have gotten rid of Sadaam for you, now go ahead and elect a government so we can leave. Your destiny is in your hands man, God love you.” Is total bullshit. That country has been around since the time of Noah’s Ark and they have known nothing but kings, emperors, rulers, shahs and whoever else can wear a crown. To expect them to have democracy after three years when they didn’t ask for it is wrong.

It's Hard Out Here For A Real Hip Hopper

By Mark Skillz

Many people dismissed a movie about a Memphis pimp going through a mid-life crisis who turns to rap for his salvation. It was called ‘trite’, ‘exploitative’ and corny. But it was one of the best movies of 2005. The film’s title song “It’s Hard Out Here For a Pimp” had heads boppin’ in movie theatres, but no one would’ve guessed that the song, by Three 6 Mafia would’ve won an Oscar.

I know I didn’t.

In recent years “Crunk” and all aesthetics attached to it have been the Willie Horton of modern day hip-hop. Black intellectuals and hip-hop purists alike have singled this sub-genre out for being the cause of everything that is wrong with hip-hop today. The grillz, the bling, the tats, the white tee’s and the country slang have all been made symbols of everything that ails the hip-hop movement. In a lot of corners the mind set is: if they would go away we could have our hip-hop back.

In a perfect world maybe, but we live in a world that is far from perfect.

Hats off to Three 6 Mafia they did their thing, they represented their hood in the best way they knew how. Hip-hop is all about expressing who you are to the greater world. Whether it’s Crazy Legs kicking his legs around at 60 miles per hour, or D.J. Roc Raider on the cross fader, or an MC from Tennessee spittin’ a hot verse into a microphone, or Futura 2000 tagging a wall; it’s the artists way of expressing the following mantra: I AM. I BE.

Whether or not you agree with the subject matter of the song, you still have to take off your hat to those brothers, they didn’t start rappin’ last week, these are some guys that have been on the grind, for many years now, they deserve that award.

But what’s sad about all of this is that while Three 6 Mafia were being celebrated on one side and dismissed by the other, a whole other scene, a truly sad scene was being played out on the campus of Stanford University.

Hip-hop pioneers Busy Bee and KRS One hijacked a recent panel discussion on hip-hop to the shock and awe of all that attended. They called journalists and scholars to task for not really representing the culture. They angrily questioned the legitimacy of a panel that discussed hip-hop, but without the presence of any Bronx pioneers. They constantly uttered the refrain: “I am hip-hop”, as if no one else in attendance had any connection to the culture as well.

What was more shocking than KRS One’s repeated outbursts were his threats against my colleague and brother journalist Adisa Banjanko. To everyone’s surprise he threatened Adisa with bodily harm, called him a “FBI agent”, “a traitor to the movement” and “a fraud”.

I know Adisa and I’ve known of Adisa’s work for many years now, if there is a pioneer hip-hop journalist, Adisa – among a few others, is surely it. I remember when the brother used to write into The Source magazine, you could find his comments, religiously, on the ‘letter to the editor’ page. It would always say “The Bishop of Hip Hop”. Speaking of those days, here’s a mission for you true believers, find the The Source cover with Ice Cube on the front in 1991 and look at the letters to the editor page and tell me what names you find there. If you look hard enough, you’ll see the first scribblings from yours truly.

Adisa is a guy who loved hip-hop and Black Nationalism and found a way to carve out a niche for himself in this culture of ours. None of us that write about hip-hop do it out of anything less than a total and complete love for the culture. It is hard to do something for little to no money when you don’t love it. I’ve told many a young and aspiring journalist that if you’re going to write about this thing of ours, the man you should look to for inspiration is Adisa Banjanko. To call Adisa a ‘fraud’ and an ‘enemy to our movement’ is not only counter-productive, but its as wrong as the day is long.

At one time KRS One was the standard bearer for what a hip-hopper could be.

For Busy Bee and KRS One to dismiss the journalists and scholars who write about and study hip-hop is counter-productive. We all need each other in this thing of ours. Without writers who are passionate about the culture artists stories go undocumented. What many people don’t know or forget is that before the Internet, Source magazine, XXL or any other media outlet, hip-hop got poor coverage. You could count the number of media outlets on one hand that accurately reported on hip-hop music.

I can understand why a guy like Busy Bee would be frustrated, beyond his appearance in the movie “Wild Style”, and being the first brother in hip-hop to be lyrically ambushed on stage in 1980 by Kool Moe Dee, the only other noteworthy credit in his career was a hot record he did back in ’88 called “Suicide”. Before 1990 guys like him were luckier than a four-leaf clover if they got two inches of column space on a page.

KRS is a different story all together. He has graced every magazine cover in hip-hop for the last 20 years. Throughout his career KRS has made statements to reporters that not only left writers speechless, but readers as well. Like many of us, he is a study in contradictions: Afrocentrist, Humanist, scholar, poet, teacher, scientist, hard rock and many other things.

Kris Parker, the man, the artist grew up in public. I’ve heard him on numerous occasions say things that baffled me to no end: “George Bush is a great president”, “I am a scholar”, “Don’t vote”, “I am the God of Rap”, “I was a seminary student”, ‘I am the living embodiment of hip-hop”, “fuck education” and so many other things that I’ve walked away in disbelief each time.

This latest public outburst is helping to destroy the credibility of a man who once lectured at prestigious universities all over the country. It’s like standing across the street watching a reckless driver and a voice inside your head says, “Yo, he’s about to crash.”…And then it happens. As a fan and as a brother in the struggle I think it’s time for KRS to take a break and take stock of what’s going on around him.

With all of the passion we all have for hip-hop, we often times come off, individually and together, as if we had divine ownership of her. Many of us act like because we heard or were into the music before someone else, that it means that we somehow love it more than anyone else does. Hell, I tell people all the time that the music found me in 1978. God reached down out of the clouds and said, “Mark, you are hip-hop...”

It’s kind of like sibling rivalry, the oldest brother feels like he is inherently closer to the mother because he was born first, that makes him somehow or another more special that the rest of the children. The middle children always feel like they have to fight for attention and the younger ones, forget about it, they’re spoiled.

It’s time we all grew up and got passed our beefs over who’s real hip-hop and who’s rap, who’s living it and who’s not. There are more pressing issues that we as adults have to confront that affect our community than something as trivial as who loves hip-hop more. Hip Hop belongs to the world, not to one man, or one city, or town or borough; but the whole world. We are all hip-hop.

MarkSkillz@aol.com

Brokeback Mountain: Whatever Happened to Hoss Cartwright?

The biggest blockbuster this year isn't set in space, nor is it an action packed adventure, well, there's action, so to say, but not the kind of action you'd expect from a cowboy movie.

Who would've thought that a movie set on the frontier would garner this much attention? Not me.

Before I was born the most popular movies and TV shows were set in the wild, wild west. This was back when men were men, real men; we used a knife to shave with and cold water - no shaving cream. Everybody carried two guns and a knife and chewed tobacky. You had to be a rootin' tootin', gun-shootin' dude back then. Cowboys were real American heroes, they were the shadow of the American silhouette. Men with names like John Wayne, Matt Dillon (the marshall not the actor), Josey Wales, Black Bart and Jessie James were the pure definitions of white male masculinity. Before black men were proud to be black, we wanted to be outlaws or lawmen like Marshall Wyatt Earp.

The other cool things about cowboys were that they always had cool songs to sing while riding on their horses, "Happy Trails" and "My Rifle, My Pony and Me..." damn makes you misty-eyed doesn't it?

When Star Trek was being marketed to the studios in 1965, the producers of the show pitched it as a 'cowboy movie set in space'. Back then, only geeks were into science fiction, that is one of the reasons that there are phaser and fist fights; most of the television watching audience was into westerns and you can't have a western without a good bar room brawl and a gun fight, now can you?

One of the most beloved characters of the old western TV shows was a guy named Hoss Cartwright. He was a big lovable, gentle guy with a 10 gallon hat (I think it was a 10 gallon hat, what do I know, I'm from New York and California) a single gun and ham-sized fists. He represented the American silhouette by being strong and fearless, yet, fair and decent. He was as American as apple pie.

The cowboy went out of 'vogue' so to say once spies, sci-fi and karate flicks came in. Now the cowboy is back, and he ain't nothing like Hoss Cartwright or Nick Barkley. A movie like "Brokeback" raises many questions about what those guys could've been doing out there in the dark in the middle of the night on the 'range' all that time. Two dudes alone 'together' by the camp fire...yuck...but anyway.

'Brokeback' opens the doors to different perspectives of sexuality and friendship. This movie could not have been made in 1961. I would've paid good money to be a fly on the wall, if some exec producer would've walked in Louie B Mayer's office and said: 'Hey, how about a cowboy flick about two guys who are friends who are conflicted over their feelings for each other?" Mayer would've said: "What kind of conflicted feelings?" The exec would've said, "Well, you know, romantic ones..."

"BOOM" was all you would've heard as that producer was being thrown out of that office.

A story about two cowboys having "feelings for each other" and the consequences of their relationship make you miss Hoss Cartwright.

Gotta Have it…


The one thing that separates Homo sapiens from all other beings on Earth is the ability to articulate thoughts and feelings. As far as we know no other mammal possesses this ability, it is divinely unique to men and women. Dogs can’t do it, cats can’t do it and as far as modern science has learned neither can the birds or bees.

Probably from the time man first learned to sing or write he expressed an innate need for one thing. That one need that transcends race, age, time, place, class or any other division…

Love.

At the root of every story is our need to be loved.That's right L-O-V-E. Shakespeare wrote about it. Billie Holiday yearned for it. The Greeks went to war over it. The Beatles celebrated it. Bernie Mac demands it when he is on stage. We can’t live without it. Some of my favorite songs have the word 'love' in it's title: "I Wish You Love" by the late Joe Bataan, "I Want Your Love' by Chic, 'Walk Away From Love' by David Ruffin, "When Love is New' by Arthur Prysock, "Distant Lover" by Marvin Gaye and "Gimme Some of That Good Ol' Love" by Masta Ase. Yep, even the hardest of the hardest cat needs love.

In 37 years I’ve learned a couple of things; the first thing is that love starts with a healthy perspective of self, if you don’t love you no one else will either. And beware of the type of love you have for yourself. If you have an unhealthy image of who you are you will attract all of the WRONG kinds of people. Even the best-looking people have poor self-esteem.

One of the biggest obstacles a person can face to finding that one love or that true love that they have been looking for all of their lives is loneliness. Navigating our way around loneliness can be like trying to skate around quicksand. Loneliness will make us act against our better instincts and settle for relationships that can be dangerous. That nice smile or banging body is often the disguise worn by a devil. Great sex is good but if the person doesn’t meet our other standards they can potentially be the worse kind of trouble.

Uncle Tom Revealed


One of the ugliest terms thrown around by black people isn’t ‘nigga’ or ‘bitch’, no, there is a term even viler than those words. It’s a term whose original meaning has been lost through the generations and twisted and turned around so much so that it is to the point where no one really knows what the definition is. What term could be uglier than ‘nigga’ or ‘bitch’?

Uncle Tom.

I’ve used it, you’ve used it, and most of the time when we do use it, we say it to a member of our race who we perceive as not ‘acting black’. Well now, what is ‘acting black’? Is it mean muggin’ strangers and using four letter words in every sentence? Is it walking around with you’re pants sagging down so low that people can see your skid-marked drawers? Is it speaking poor English? What is ‘acting black’? And more to the point what or who is an Uncle Tom?

The true story of Uncle Tom is one that bares little resemblance to the way the term is being used today; in fact it has been completely distorted. Josiah Henson was enslaved on a farm in Maryland for 30 years. In 1849 he wrote a book about his years in captivity. It is his story that Harriet Beecher Stowe used as the model for her anti-slavery novel ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’. A little known fact that has been lost to time and ignorance is that Henson was a runaway slave.

According to Henson’s account of his life, he had in fact been loyal to the man who owned him, a white man named Isaac Riley. He was so trusted that Riley appointed Henson to the position of plantation manager. At some point during his enslavement on the Riley plantation, Henson broke his arm while protecting Riley during a physical altercation, his arm never properly healed and left it somewhat deformed.

Sometime in the 1840’s Riley went bankrupt and sent his slaves – including Henson, to be in the service of his brother in Kentucky. As the slaves were crossing into Ohio, which was a free state, members of the party refused to proceed onto Kentucky because, technically, they were free. Henson, alone with his wife, continued on to Kentucky. At some point he returned to Maryland where he asked Riley for his freedom, Riley said no. Henson and his wife then escaped to Canada. It is there that Henson founded an all black settlement called Dawn. Its purpose was to be a place where fugitive slaves could get a brand new start.

Not content with the thought that he was free and his people were not, Henson returned to the United States where he was an active member of the Underground Railroad. Henson is said to have helped countless numbers of slaves escape the south and enter the free north.

Deeply moved by Henson’s account of his life, Harriet Beecher Stowe traveled to Canada and interviewed Henson for an anti-slavery novel she was working on. In her book “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” Stowe’s protagonist dies after receiving a beating for being disobedient to his master. Stowe’s book would eventually go on to sell over 300, 000 copies. It was a book that was celebrated in the north and reviled in the south.

Sometime in the 1900’s is when Henson’s character in ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ would be twisted by black leaders who called any black person who disagreed with their solution to black people’s plight an Uncle Tom.

In the 60’s the definition of an Uncle Tom got even more twisted, any black person who ‘spoke white’ or who had high aspirations was called an Uncle Tom. To some twisted people the mere act of smiling in agreement with a white person is grounds for that person to be called an Uncle Tom.

By this definition a black bank clerk who does their job extremely well can be called an Uncle Tom by the black sanitation worker who doesn’t like the way the black bank clerk spoke to him.

At one point Malcolm X called Ralph Bunche, Thurgood Marshall, Roy Innis and every other civil rights leader on the other side of Elijah Muhammad an Uncle Tom.

Sidney Poitier, Sammy Davis Jr and many other black stars in the 60’s were also called Uncle Tom’s by radical blacks.

As loved and revered as Dr. Martin Luther King is in the black community, when he was of this Earth, he too was called an Uncle Tom, not just by radical blacks, but by Northern blacks who lived in ghettoes like Chicago, New York and Detroit. In the documentary "Eyes on the Prize" there is a scene where Dr. King is on a street corner in New York and a young brother tells him, "Yeah, well, we ain't goin' for that non-violent stuff up here, this is New York, that ain't happenin' here." King was not fully embraced in the North when he was alive.

In the 90’s MC Hammer was called an Uncle Tom because, well, we just didn’t like him.

Mind you some of those that are often called Uncle Tom’s have been termed that because their motives were under suspicion. Like Ward Connerly for instance, in the 90’s he took up the fight against Affirmative Action because he, in his heart of hearts, thought that it was wrong that Blacks be afforded special privileges because of our skin color, and that we ought to be judged by the same standards as everyone else. To some degree he was correct. But what was lost in his argument was that Black people, because of racism are at a disadvantage in getting jobs, housing and bank loans.

Connerly, because of his efforts, was seen as being accommodating to whites, he knowingly played into the hands of California’s then right wing, arch-conservative Republican governor Pete Wilson.

Connerly fought against the better interests of his people.

There is no doubt that Josiah Henson had been accommodating to the white man who owned him. At that time disobedience could earn the slave the stinging lash of the whip. The smartest slaves learned how to maneuver their way around the people who owned them so that they could escape the repercussions of brutal corporal punishment. Henson extolled certain virtues that made him a leader: loyalty, courage, strength of spirit and forth-rightness. He stood as a man for what he knew to be right. And he did something that only the bravest of us would dare to do: He risked his own life to help free his people.

Nowhere in his account or in anyone else’s account of his life, is Henson seen as a buck dancing, 29 teeth showing, handkerchief head-wearing, stooped over, 'happy-to-see-you-massa-suh' buffoon. Contrast that with today’s gold teeth-capped, wild-haired, buck-dancing, ‘they-ain’t-tryin’-to-give-a- nigga-shit’ buffoons, and you tell me who the Tom is.

MarkSkillz@aol.com

Could you do it?

Like a whole lot of other people that have 're-migrated' to the South, I came here because it is more affordable. And it is. Down here you can really have the home of your dreams, and it won't cost you a million dollars and your first born child. No, down here you can have a nice four bedroom, 3 bathroom, full-sized kitchen, 2 car garage, deck out back and porch up front for 159,000, and have plenty of yard space to go with it.

In the Bay Area - where I'm from, for 159,000, you'll be living way out in the woods somewhere and would have to drive 2 hours PLUS to get to work everyday.

So, anyway, here I was at work today browsing the web looking for houses and look what I came across for 375,000 bucks:

"This home has been in my family for over thirty years. I grew up in it during my teen years. The home is over two hundred years old. The home was built around the late seventeen hundreds to around 1800. It is constructed from the heart of Pine trees. Probably from Pine trees on and near the property. The home is surrounded on ten acres of almost level land. The home is about 4500 square feet. "

Wow, 4500 square feet! In San Leandro I lived in a 850 sq foot apartment. My friends have bought homes that are 2000 sq feet for the same asking price as that house. I now live in a 1450 sq foot townhouse...but 4500 square feet, I can't imagine it. What would I do with 4500 square feet? Ok, living room, dining room, kitchen, family room, study, bathrooms - and now we get to the bedrooms: ok Master bedroom, TJ's room, Malcolm's room, Jarred's room, Aaron's room and guest room. WOW, there is still space left! And the ten acres of land! What to do, what to do? Ok, recording studio, gym...I'm running out of ideas. Damn, I could entertain all kinds of family and friends in a spot like that. But then, I saw something I overlooked:

"It is an old Plantation Home"

I had to step back and do like Black Rob and say: "WHOA!" I don't know. I don't think I could live in a plantation. Even if I did buy it, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. According to the ad it says it was built in the 17 and or 1800's - that means at the peak of our captivity - somebody had slaves working that property. The ad also says: "It is contructed from the heart of Pine trees. Probably from Pine trees on and near the property." Guess who chopped the trees? The same somebodies that dragged the trees and cut them and built the house.

Slavery is our holocaust. Even though no one I know - or ever met, was ever a slave, the effects of it still effect black people 140 years after it was abolished. No I have never picked cotton, tobacco, sugar cane or anything else that comes from the ground - and it's because of the legacy of slavery that I absolutely r-e-f-u-s-e to pick anything now.

Now, we are in a time when Black people - in this country, have more wealth today than ever before. There are more Black professionals today than there were in the 60's when the Civil Rights Bill was passed. Black people own all kinds of black nostalgia ie; the Mamie dolls, Sambo posters etc., etc,...Will the day ever come when we own plantations?

The sentiment behind owning Sambo posters and the like is that, we should own our legacy no matter how painful it is. But a poster or a doll are different from the blood, sweat and tears that went into building plantations.

I couldn't live in one for all the reasons previously mentioned and, because doing so, would alienate me - and my family, from the local Black community. Word of a black person buying a plantation in the South would spread faster than a Tupac mixtape. Black folks would show up out of nowhere in the middle of the day, just to get a 'look' at who bought that damn house.