While the above intro errs on the side of the dramatic, this is not a joke. C tha God is dead ass serious in his claims that Lil Wayne is wicked. Recently, he started referring to Weezy as the devil. He doesn’t mean literally with horns and a pitch fork riding shotgun. His issue is with Wayne’s feeding of all that is bad in urban America to our children in a cool, glamorized sort of way. The glorification of gang violence, the public drug use and Wayne’s lack of a moral code have just pissed C off to the highest level of pistivity and he feels we all should be just as angry. I really hope C knows that plenty of folks agree.

I’m really not sure if this started with the BET Awards or not, but that’s where I picked up the trail. One of the last performances of the night was the ill conceived ode to banging every girl on planet earth (I’ll pass. Thanks.) which came complete with pre-pubescent dancers in tow. Since then C has called for the station he works for to stop playing Wayne’s music.

Then a couple of days ago, a recording of Wayne being interviewed by someone from Ozone surfaced. And believe it or not, all of Charlamagne’s suspicions were confirmed by Wayne himself. Wayne told the reporter:

“Fuck what they think, the world think. We real. I have four teardrops on my face and I have to look my momma in her eye everyday. I can’t lie to her. Fuck what they think, the world think, we real. My moma real with it. The first day I got a tear drop, ask my buddy he was with me, I lied. I called her and asked her can I get it when I already had it. What she say? When you get it come by me so I can see how you look with it cause I was thinking about getting one my fucking self. Like we don’t play no.. I don’t… I’m not gonna rap about you. Man I will murder you, your family, your child, a newborn. I don’t give a fuck. I could never go to hell cause I’m gonna take over, bitch.”

Sigh…

I’ll be honest. I don’t believe a word of this nonsense. I think Wayne is locked so tightly into the trajectory of his image that he has no choice but to say things like this. I also believe that somewhere deep within the recesses of Universal, there are some suits applauding his confirmation of his hell bound gangsta.

Is Lil Wayne the devil? Of course not. However, according to both Wayne and Charlamagne, he’s worse than the devil. Feel how you want about Waynes right to say or do as he pleases because he has tons of money, but the bottom line is C is right. Our children are way too impressionable to contend with a pop culture icon and win without our help. And I’m not really interested in giving anyone my money who claims they would not hesitate to pop a cap in my kids ass. I roll with Charlamagne on this one.

Yes. That’s it. Peddle that to the kids. They love that shit.

Tales of urban blight fill his head. Too much television before he went to bed? Is that what he saw when he peered out of his window as a small child? Possibly. If it is, then he still feels the pain to this day. He builds his verse with the blessings of those who don’t care about us and then unleashes; pandering that pain to the next generation. So powerful. So real. If you close your eyes and think hard enough, you can smell the crack burn. You can feel the rush; the heart palpitations. You can count the money that purchased that leap from a cold harsh reality into a deeper pit of hell.

But you can’t knock that.

It’s your responsibility. You are the parent. He is not a role model. Funny. You target weak minds for consumption of that mental crack, the most impressionable of the lot; those who take the parents discretionary income to fill your coffers. It’s their heads you need to sneak into. Their attention you must garner. You need enough cake to barter your way out of the responsibility you are afraid to claim for the perpetuation of the cycle. Those who you influence are those that you ignore. I’m not a role model. Not true. You are. You couldn’t grab their minds if you weren’t. Then you run and hide from what you had a hand in creating for the right price.

But you can’t knock that.

I am a parent; a parent who plays musical buttons with the radio in the car when the mini-me rides shot gun. I am a parent who looks to any and all avenues to introduce my child to what is so important to me; what made me pick up my own pen and pad in the first place. But it’s hard. The canvas that once held a myriad of thoughts, dreams, tumult and turmoil is many times depthless. I will not shrug my shoulders. I will not. It used to take a village. The spirit of nurture would rise in us all. We were the caretakers regardless of who pushed that bundle out. No longer. Many allow these minds like sponges to absorb it all. No shield from the ugliness; no disdain for those who attempt to reason with them on such a low level. We explain. They try to understand. But the media is a bitch. Its omnipresence permeates us all. It’s just harder for them to fight.

But you can’t knock that.

Fuck that. With all due respect to those who will not agree, fuck that. We are all responsible. We all have had our fingers sullied by our part in continuing the cycle. I will not shrug my shoulders but I will not judge those who do either. It takes a lot to see past the surface. The whips. The chips. The honey dips. All of the accoutrements of a life that is ruled by the surface; the pretentious; the transparent.

Nice car; but at what price? Big crib; but at what price? Deep pockets; but at what price?

Consider the hustle… knocked.

Now, I have watched enough episodes of Intervention to realize Juelz wasn’t just going to fess up the first time this topic was broached. But I also remember him and Weezy F. Baby chasing the purple power ranger in the animated, Where Is Camron movie. But I think the source of his intoxication in that movie was crack. Funny that Cam compared sizurp to crack when discussing Juelz’s addiction when he explained the rift. Maybe those boys at Broken Equipment knew more than we thought they did.

Cam then responded to Juelz saying he wasn’t lying. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

Now of course, I could play devils advocate and say lets take a look at Cam for a second. Juelz did say he had a small umm…. problem with Percocet. Almost everyone has seen the infamous 60 minutes interview during which he suggested it would be completely acceptable to allow a serial killer to wipe out the entire neighborhood so he could retain his “I don’t snitch” merit badge. And if you have seen that, you surely have seen Cam’s cooneriffic presentation on The O’Reilly Factor. Cam and Dame Dash went straight playground on O’Reilly; taunting him into possibly having the intellectual high ground for a change. Then wrap that up with Cam’s “a few clicks behind the beat” Harlem flow and you might just have an addict blueprint. He talks slow. His reasoning capabilities are non-existent and he reverts to child-like behavior when stressed. Sounds like someone who’s massacred more than a handful of brain cells partying too hard to me.

I don’t know who is telling the truth; neither does anyone else except folks with access to that circle. Jim Jones is regularly seen puffing on a tree or two, but we all know that is completely acceptable in the Hip Hop nation. Then again, this alleged phone conversation between Cam and Jim may lead some to believe Jim’s trees might be burdened with some strange fruit considering he doesn’t even recall talking to Cam. Does A&E do group interventions? I’m just saying. How funny would it be if Freeky Zeeky was the sober, level-headed one?

I hate to think about that because I strive to be an individual. A lot of us do pride ourselves on being uber independent thinkers and forget that some of our thoughts just kinda sneak in there via the group sync feed. Once it’s there, it’s adopted as ours and we forget we usurped it from someone, somewhere…. sometime.

Anyway. What am I talking about? I was on a site that’s run by a writer I really respect checking out what he thinks is the really good new new. Shit you would be listening to if it weren’t for what these artists did in the past. Shit you would be listening to if it weren’t for group think. My rap writer idol then goes on to give a “ridiculously solid” co-sign to the sophomore offering from a young rapper who will remain nameless because I’ve cut him up enough recently at the other gig.

Ha Haaaaaa…. This has to be a joke.

I re-read and re-read. I tried to pull the bottom of my screen down hoping that the punch-line was hidden somewhere. But alas, it was not. This dude was serious (no jones). But what shocked me more than anything after I really thought about it was…..

I haven’t heard the album.

I’m like what the fuck is this dude talking about? This kid sucks. I’m going to delete this cat from my favorites and get rid of his RSS feed! But how can I disagree if I’ve never listened to the music?

Damn.

First and foremost, this took some heavy duty balls. It is not often that the respected Hip Hop critic gives the bubble-gum, “I’m just here for the ice and tats” crew the time of day on their sites. Not these Hip Hop encyclopedia thumping historians. No way. But he did and he explained the album cut so wonderfully that I actually took the time to listen to it. It didn’t change my opinion of this young man **cough** Soulja Boy**cough**. But it did open my eyes to the fact that we don’t allow for the development of artists anymore. And once the group think ushers in the Hip Hop Nation’s opinion, it’s hard as hell to wipe that slate clean.

Why? C’mon that’s any easy one. You submerge yourself in that underground funk because its soooo passé to give a shit about mainstream. You listen to a couple of MF Doom or Brother Ali jawns and then proclaim your status as the “real” Hip Hop know-it-all. Which, of course, comes with a steady diet of baby bashing and giving straight hell to the younger cats who aren’t there to entertain your bitter old ass anyway. It would be know-it-all suicide to admit you listen to what’s not “real.” Been there. Done that.

So yeah, not only did I call up what appeared at the time to be an almost miraculous post by one of the finest to ever do it **cough **Brandon Soderberg**cough**; I also called up my inner uber-independent thought. I still can’t bring myself to vibe off that silliness, but at least now I can say that’s because I gave it a fair shot and created my own opinion. So I guess I will re-install the RSS feed and me and my writer idol will just have to agree to disagree. Not that he gives a shit what I think. That is what made that post so awesome in the first place

I know there are folks who have these massively sincere and generous ideas of what that means to them. They want to engender world peace, end hunger, save the woodchucks. However, if you listen to Hip Hop, it would appear the majority of this nation has a more selfish agenda. The rap proletariat’s moon isn’t made of cheese. It’s made of money, power and respect.

The world according to Tony Montana dictates that the money comes first. If that’s the case then the penniless wield no power. It also means no one will respect you if you are broke. So how much money is money? What does your fiscal bottom line have to be before somebody respects you? Does it matter where that money came from? Selling your soul to Satan for a tricked out ride and a shiny chain is common and I would assume totally respectable if it doesn’t. Our ass backwards view of wealth also comes into play as we see folks with the so-called accoutrements of success.

When I see some brand spanking new rapper with $100,000 worth of ice on their body as they drive by in a car worth just as much, I don’t see someone who has money. I see someone who had money and then chose to give it away. Or worse yet, someone who is being paid with things instead of cash. The only power that provides is magnetizing you to every gold-digger (male or female) who decided they would rather rape and pillage your moon than shoot for their own. There isn’t a damn thing respectable about that.

Then there is power. The only kind of power I pray for is of a personal nature; being able to hold my tongue or fists when people around me get out of pocket, being able to say no when grandma offers me that second slice of cake and being able to let bullshit walk regardless of how much I want to be vengeful. Now that’s power. These industry dudes see it in a whole different light though.

Tastemaking and agenda setting in Hip Hop aren’t physical control. They are mental control. The sheep are generally herded to whatever pin the powers that be see fit and most go with the flow, bobbing their heads to the piped in beat. If you see it that way, then power for most of us is a fallacy. It can even be worse for the artists. Do as you are told by the suits or catch a one way ticket back to whatever it was you were doing before you started rhyming. I guess the only power you have at that point is picking a window or an aisle seat and that too is totally based on whether or not you have those extra $15 that afford you that choice. Honestly, I think that’s more power than that artist would have ever had if they stayed.

Then, there is respect. The promise of anonymity and the lack of physical confrontation have made the internet a very disrespectful place. Many writers and their readers have made disrespect their shtick. Artists as well spend more time disrespecting the Hip Hop brethren than they give to their latest projects and in their beef downtime lament how little respect they receive.

You want to be respected? Then act like it. Youtube videos with 28 dudes pointing guns at the camera do not command respect. They command pity in most cases; fear in others (very few others). Spending months, sometimes years bitchin about what some other rapper said about you when you are standing on the brink of obscurity does not command respect. It commands a head tilt and a question mark because you didn’t try to make the most of that golden opportunity. Sometimes doing everything right doesn’t command respect because whether you like it or not, there are some people who will never respect you.

The bottom line?

Money in itself will never bring you happiness. Power is wielded by the educated and respect is something you have to give to receive. Recognize that the labels sell you fantasy and your favorite artist rarely tells you their truth. Understand that allowing your dreams to be handed to you through a music video is as far from powerful as one can get. And realize how incredibly impressionable the Hip Hop Nation has become. It’s up to you to determine what your moon is, not some suit at Sony. I don’t give a damn what Lil Kim says.

A few weeks ago, (and no, I still can’t let the shit go) I was formally chastised. I was told to clean up my act. I was told I was a problem. He suggested I was a bigot. What was the catalyst of this young white male’s outburst? I used the word Negro.

Just so you understand the context, I wrote that the package a particular white lyricist wrapped himself in was bothersome and schizophrenic. I wrote he didn’t have to constantly surround himself with his merry Gang-o-Negroes to get the respect he so desired. I suggested his attempts at being hood appeared contrived and using black people as props was not a good look.

What I found most interesting about this young man’s anger was not his issue with my vernacular because I can be harsh. It wasn’t that he disagreed with me. That happens often as I am wrong more than I would like to admit. It was that he lashed out at me when it was clear the person cheating with the race card was the emcee. It concerned him not that a black person had an issue with his favorite dude. He didn’t care about that.

I’m still, I swear, I’m still mystified by this guy. “You have no right!” he cried. I have no what?!? I have no what?!? He was so out of pocket it was ridiculous.

Look, I understand the hopelessly optimistic see Hip Hop as one big color-blind world party in which all of us fans hold hands and sing Kumbaya amongst mountains of cd’s and mp3’s. And while the music has drawn us together, it’s not just the music that ribbons through our relationships. The music is the catalyst, but there are still understandings and acceptances. There is still respect. The door is open and you are more than welcome to come in, but know the vernacular caste system still applies.

Just because you are a fan, it doesn’t mean you get carte blanche in the black community. It doesn’t mean you can consider yourself black and it doesn’t mean you can tell me what’s acceptable when I either talk to or talk about my folks. I would never be so presumptuous as to do that to you.

So pull the reigns and stay in your lane, please.

It can be a comfy situation, but it is a comfort that, for me, always has a bit of contention thrown into the mix. I can’t speak for anyone else, but there are times when I’m at an event or I’m viewing video from the event and I’m like, “Damn, there are a lot of white people here.” Do not get me wrong. I am not saying that’s a bad thing. Lord knows the world can use a little “see past the obvious” pixie dust spread around. And I’m included as a needy recipient as I wade through all the convoluted issues that swirl around this subject in a state of confusion. But as the non-black audience grows, you know there is always someone who feels a little too at ease.

There are some non-black folks with Hip Hop and other general elements of black culture engrained in them so deeply that they drop the n-bomb without a second’s hesitation. I know that their friends do not censure this behavior because to many, it’s no big deal. They don’t mean anything by it. It’s a term of endearment. He’s a black dude who was born in a White/Latin/Asian mans body.

Whatever.

How yall do is how yall do. It’s not up to me to tell you what should happen in your circle or what should come out of your mouth. But how are you going to tell me what is acceptable for me? Balls. Big ass huge fucking balls, I tell ya.

Of course, me being me, the next thing I wrote incorporated the word Negro over 100 times. The article had no meaning except to showcase my wonderfully imaginative use of the word in a multitude of contexts without repeating the same thought twice. I was actually very proud of it. One day, I will figure out how to use it.

So, there you have it. One little dude attempting to explain to me why I as a black woman could no longer talk about my people like that got me so exacerbated I had to write something just to vent my unhappiness with the situation. His stab at righting my ignorant wrong exposed an ease this kid has that he needs a refund on. And I’ll bet you a million dollars he has about 100,000 friends he needs to carry to that store with him.

Exhale.

Maybe now I can uproot this e-confrontation from my psyche and throw it in the garbage where it and angry commenter’s favorite emcee belong.

I thought about this as I read the below question for about the 70-11th time on some site, somewhere.

“When is his old ass going to sit down and let these young cats get some shine?”

Since I am a 70’s baby and counted as one of the Hip Hop community’s relics, I immediately jumped to the defense of the old heads. Everyone knows you are not technically old in your mid 30’s, but folks in the Hip Hop community don’t age normally. There is some sort of dog year’s manifesto that has been ratified so 33 is like the new 72 or something. However, the catalyst of said manifesto is the concept that there really hasn’t been a large group of older folks contributing to the artistic development of the genre until now. It is uncharted territory and the wrinkle it is creating really needs to be ironed out.

My opinion is severe in its simplicity. If you can still do it, do it. I’m not sure where these younger folks are getting the idea from that someone is going to just move to the side so they can get some time in the spotlight, but they need to return it for a refund. The last I heard from the coalition of life lessons, you had to earn your stripes; regardless of what industry you want to call home. If someone needs to sit down for you to stand up then you probably don’t deserve to be noticed. And anyone who actually believes that they are entitled to that kind of red carpet treatment needs to pack their cord and move out of their mother’s womb immediately.

Now, I can acquiesce enough to the 80’s and even ’90’s babies to say there are some folks who need to stop. Dispossessory orders need to be filed and the Hip Hop Sheriffs need to make them vacate the premises. However, all of the artists I feel that way about are not dinosaurs. Some folk’s creative paths have shorter life spans than others and there are some rappers who exhausted their creative quality half-way through their first single on their first album and all of them aren’t 30.

That considered; if an emcee still has things to say and creatively awesome ways to say them; why should he shut it down? The discretionary income that tends to find its way to music moguls doesn’t normally flow from the accounts of the older folks. If the tweeners and their older siblings are buying some 30-year-olds album in mass, then obviously he’s still linked to the musical mind sets of the younger purchasing community. Don’t be mad at him for that. Your favorite 20-year-old emcee needs to work towards making that same connection. If he is as dope as you claim, it should be a possibility for him, correct?

The younger emcees have the opportunity to walk in the footsteps of those who have taken similar paths and I think they and their fans need to respect that. Conversely, if a youngster is that hot; white hot, burn down the studio with his lyrics hot; then he doesn’t need “Move Bitch!” to be his anthem. He can get straight to “Ante Up!” and rob a dude for his fan base.

Give mic up! Give rights up! Give deal up! Give fight up! Get out my booth! Dude, time up! Ante Up! Give everything up!

And believe it or not, when that happens, even the oldest, most jaded fan will have to applaud and respect that shit. The geriatric cases have no issue with the next reign. We, especially, are longing for someone to take the genre into its next evolution because no one can do it forever. Unfortunately though, all that whining about these old men stealing some young homie’s burn is respected by no one. So man up, stuff that bottom lip back into your face and rip that crown from emcee over-the-hill’s hands because he is most definitely not going to give it to you.

It’s not easy to notice at first, especially down south with all the regional garbage that gets thrown in to break the Wayne monotony. But once you remove the one hit wonders and the baby cousins of someone with a little pull, who do you have left? There have been times, and I’m sure most of you can attest to this, when I have turned on the FM radio in my car and heard a Carter III incarnation on every hip hop station available in Atlanta at the same time. It’s now starting to move in that direction with Paper Trail. Not that I have issues with those albums (well I do, but that’s not what this piece is about). However, if the programmers didn’t play Whatever You Like 86 times a day, there might be a little extra space to play something else. Hence my desire to shout out the underground whenever it’s possible.

Not that I’m forecasting doom or gloom, but I’m not planning on turning the radio on at all after 808’s and Heartbreak drops. For one, I think I’ve heard enough of that album already and secondly, can you imagine the spins those singles are going to get. Not only will he get love from most hip hop stations, the top pop 40ish stations are going to hop on that bandwagon too. It will be Kanye all day, all night, live and memorexed. We are going to be Love Lockdowned to within an inch of our lives as the rest of the relevant artists beg to hop on the re-mix and old school hip hip terrorists start breaking into studios and blowing up auto tune machines. And while all of this craziness is occurring, there will be some seriously talented emcees sitting on the sidelines watching from the beyond the newly installed hip hop glass ceiling.

I know, I know; it’s all about the sales. The sales drive the spins and then the spins drive more sales. So if everybody is buying it, why the hell do we have to hear it on the radio too? That’s a sad little cycle that strangles the genre and pisses me off. Then you have all this syndication going on that kills a lot of the local market. You don’t hear what going on in your backyard when the show you are listening to is being broadcast from 1000 miles away. Damn shame.

So it’s up to the fans really to keep the other 95% of the performers on the radar. I bought one mainstream album this year. Then I gave it away. I try to promote those who don’t get radio play, but yall don’t wanna hear me. I guess maybe I should start forecasting doom and gloom.

Why?

Because Plies is on the cover of the December Vibe and the caption next to his picture reads, “The Future of Rap.”

Can you hear me now?

Shelz…

In the weeks leading up to this historical election, I kept up with two races; the Presidential race and Georgia’s senate race. I honestly had no idea Proposition 8, a measure to ban gay marriage in California, was being fiercely and expensively fought thousands of miles from me. I learned later that similar legislation was on two other state ballots, but it is California’s struggle with this issue that captivated me.

Of course, my first thought was why can’t these folks in California make up their damn minds? I thought this was already decided. Didn’t Ellen marry that Porsha girl? Why are they still fighting about this? Again, as someone who has never been to California, I always thought of it as one of the few places in this country where gays could collect and live without all the bigoted rhetoric and restrictions that plague…. well… almost everywhere else. I guess I was wrong.

The most mystifying part of the passage of this proposition was the percentage of the black vote that made it happen. As we were drawn to the poles in record numbers to vote for President Elect Obama, we put our stamp on other races that happened to be occurring at the same time. Its being reported that African-Americans sided with the ban to the tune of 70%. So as we accepted and praised the new day, the change, the hope and all the other awesome semantics that came with electing our first African-American President; we totally shut down those same dreams for another group; a group that is not mutually exclusive to us. In one breath we said “Yes We Can” and “No You Can’t.” The irony of it all is quite disturbing, but probably lost on those who voted Yes.

Look, I don’t know what its like to be gay; just like I don’t know what its like to be an Eskimo. However, I do know that as I walk in my shoes I have no tolerance for unnecessary obstacles in my path; obstacles put there just because I am black or a woman. And I can see past the differences far enough to know that other folks feel the same way. So as throngs of citizens spend their time determining how someone else should live and then funnel millions of dollars into making sure they get a say in how someone else should live, I sit in astonishment.

I mean what kind of issue is this? Seriously. Is this a religious issue? I can understand how a country founded by the religious, but for religious freedom could be a little confused. Is it an ethical issue? I mean they said there was a lot of Mormon money funneled into the fight. I can also see how a group of people who rally for the ability of their elders to marry and impregnate children could be a little confused too. Many a black pastor claimed the proliferation of gay marriages could ruin the black family structure. I’ve always found this a topic worth discussion. However, would that be in the same way addiction, poor public education, an unfair justice system and all the other accoutrements of black life in this country have affected the family unit? And if the marriage ban sticks, do they think gay couples will immediately break up and begin living straight lives? I’m no expert, but I don’t think so. It’s way too convoluted for me to point fingers of blame, but clear enough for me to realize that path of logic is the abyss of oversimplifying.

You don’t have to agree with the “lifestyle”. You don’t have to participate in the lifestyle. You don’t have to know any g2y people. You don’t have to like any gay people. But what you should try to do is realize we all have lives to live and we should all have the ability to live them as close to happily as possible. So while your busy thumpin’ folks over the head with your dust covered, ain’t been opened since May of ‘96 bible; stop coveting what your neighbor has, taking the Lords name in vain and disrespecting your ‘rents.

So as the vote by mail ballots, law suits and appeals start to flood in; I think about those two little old ladies who got married in June and were immediately embraced by the media. The pair had been together for 50-something years maybe? These are the people they are fighting; these two little old ladies who by the estimations of many don’t have the right to live their final days as they please.

Not only is that amazing, but it’s amazingly sad.

Shelz…

I know that times have changed and crossing-over is now protected by the Hip Hop Bill of Rights. Artists who attempt to conquer a large, diverse market have to extend diversity in their track list. A couple songs with R&B chicks, something with rock undertones, niggas singing their own hooks; that’s what we have. Those who have the ability to incorporate more than the street folk into their audience are King. They perpetuate images of living in fancy houses, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on jewelry and vacationing in the Hampton’s with some seriously un-Hip Hop like compadres.

But is that where you should be getting your daily dose of griminess from? What of the actual dude on the street? You know, the guy you can check in ciphers at schools, skate rinks and battles across the country who catches niggas like deer in the headlights of his flow? Folks check for him because of his talent. Not because he’s got those limited edition AF1’s coming out. You would think folks down with the cause would feel this dude; support this dude. But guess what? We don’t.

This past weekend was the World Series of Hip Hop; a battle competition that was not producer or hook driven. It was two rappers, two mics and a tight fit on a hot ass stage. The reviews are mixed about the competitors and their performances and that’s understandable. That is not what distresses me. What distresses me is the general apathy for the event in the Hip Hop community. I hear, hear and hear folks complaining about dudes rhyming about pushing bricks knowing they live in Malibu and the last brick they saw was the Peruvian stone their interior designer picked out for their new 3-story fireplace. That’s not gangsta they say. I’m not suggesting that you need to rhyme about illegal activity to pull the streets; but battle rap and those who create and express Hip Hop for the low low are the foundation of what gets tidied up, watered down and presented to the masses. If we don’t support the dudes on the corners honing their verses, who is going to be the next man representing your beloved genre to the world? He’s going to be that same studio concocted bullshit that you claim you are tired of.

So as you flip thru your brand new Ice Cream catalogue, expound on the brilliance of the vocoder and stare down your nose at anyone who cant push more that 200,000 units; know that there are dudes out there who are developing the next hot musical strategy and they probably aren’t doing it from a corner office. They do it in hoods all across the nation for the love of the genre. Until, of course, they too get picked up by a major, given a fake name and swag and their own personal map to cross-overville.

Damn this industry really suck sometimes.

I guess with the completion of the DNC this week, I will start with hip hop and the vote.  While I’m sure many of you are under the impression that the entirety of the hip hop universe has adopted Mr. Obama as their future leader, you are mistaken.  We learned this week that some artists will not be pulling the Democratic lever come November.

Of course you have to look at those who do not have a vote; the felons.  Now this is a topic that has garnered some attention recently as the ex-con rate grows by leaps and bounds in the hip hop community.  Artists like T.I. have adopted the phrase “Respect My Vote” as they watch the presidential election unfold from the sidelines. And of course it makes you wonder if they had respected their own vote back in the day, would they still have it?  But as circumstances evolve and people change, the right to vote probably also changes in priority ranking.  Should ex-cons be able to vote?  I don’t know, but the debate is percolating so we will have to see what happens.

Then you have Dead Prez.  Lawd knows I respect these cats as much as a stranger can, but their emphatic disdain for the pseudo-Democratic system we have in this country has led them to a place where they don’t see the point in voting.  Stic Man and M1 were in Denver, but not celebrating.  They were protesting.  Bringing power back to the hands of the people is their mantra and they don’t feel it will happen through the process we have available to us.  But they are in the mix and standing up for revolutionaries everywhere.  And I am more than comfortable with their decision to work the system as they see fit. 

Then we have some who will vote Republican.  Daddy Yankee stood up with McCain in Phoenix this past week and said this is my candidate.  All I can say is he is entitled.

But for the most part our lyrical sons are coming out in force for the Obama/Biden ticket.  From Kanye to Lupe to Banner to Nappy Roots to Nas; their call is clear and strong.  Some bloggers have turned their noses up at the political rhetoric in current releases, but I say it’s the most united I have seen this camp in years and I love every minute of it.  So unless you are out there with Dead Prez fighting the power from the outside in, vote because you can.  Vote so simps like Yung Berg can feel comfortable in any city because there are enough police to protect him. Vote so we can fix this fucked up economy and Diddy can go back to flying private. Vote because I told you to.

Just. Damn.Vote!!!!!

I tend to give hell to the hip-hop Mensa crowd; those rap fans with the hefty IQ’s who over-tax the game with their constant babbling about the lack of cerebral fodder in the music. Don’t get me wrong, I can enjoy a decent metaphor just like the next fan, but some folk aint happy if there isn’t a Where’s Waldo of language trickiness going on. Just so they can sit for hours and pick out all of the Master’s level word constructs. Extra smart people can really suck ass at times.

But what of the flip side? I recently let some writer friends of mine read an article I wrote about the struggling indie rap scene in Detroit. Neither of the pair is a rap fan and they are both novelists, so you already know they can be condescending as hell about my chosen path. After reading the piece, they both asked the same question.

Them – “Who is your audience for this?”

Me – “Ummm. Hip hop fans interested in the Detroit underground?”

Then – “Do you think they will understand this?”

Me – “Did I leave something out?”

They both looked at me like I was stupid. Then they suggested it wasn’t what I left out, it was what I put in.

Them – “I just don’t think the average hip hop fan is going to understand your point and you might want to take some of these big words out.”

Yeah, I get it. Dumb it down.

It seems my friends believe that your average John Q. HipHopFan has the intellectual capacity of a ten year old child. “But what about me,” I asked? They suggested I am an enigma; that rap fans don’t tend to come in smarty-pants packages. And the lyrics completely support their theory.

Now I’m not going to sit here and rattle off names and quote bars because we know the truth. Intellect has nothing to do with how many facts or stats or words you can memorize and regurgitate. Intellect is all in the application. And if a young man with a shitty ass inner city public education (cuz we know many of our urban schools are shitty) can relate and apply what he knows to the world at large and make you really think about what he’s spitting, whether he is using ebonics or not, that makes him pretty smart.

Some of our favorite musical sons have admitted to not bothering to hit the books when they were children. I’m not suggesting that’s a good thing. But what I am suggesting is that these young men have developed understandings of complicated musical patterns and an even more complicated business without the asset of a gold star education. That almost makes them smarter than my struggling novelist friends if you think about it.

So I’m not sure I will be giving any more of my work to those writer people. Lord knows the boogie set really make my ass itch. But what I do know is I may cut some slack to the hip hop Mensa’s. Maybe their wearing of their IQ’s on their sleeves presents a positive image for the game. Maybe they are the ones allowing the rest of the brainiacs a place in the cool rap universe that dweebs never had before. And maybe if we push their pocket-protector wearing asses out front from time to time, we can avoid bullshit conversations like the one I just had.

The beginning of this debate actually finds us backed up a few years ago when Nas suggested a certain popular radio station in New York had something similar to a payola program going on. The station denied the allegations, but Nas stood with his word. However, on the eve of the release of a new album, Nas rescinded his comments and accepted an interview to promote the album on that same radio station. It wasn’t a question of integrity until investigation determined his original allegation was somewhat true. People of course were confused about his cowering in the midst of his marketing blitz.

Then there was the sentence heard round the rap world. I swear I truly rue the day those hideous words rolled off his tongue. Hip Hop is Dead? It was most definitely a phrase that made people take notice of not only the state of hip hop, but the messenger as well. Heralding him as thoughtful and fearless, many a fan agreed and picked up the catch phrase. They assigned the genre a date of death and started wearing black in the wake of its passing. But what was the point? This death knell was the pre-cursor to the release of his album; a hip hop album. Maybe it was figurative and not literal. Maybe this was his attempt at CPR. I’ve never quite understood that movement outside of it adding a mystique to the less than stellar release.

Now we have the album formerly known as “Nigger.” Imagine his disappointment when the label folks stepped in and said we aren’t taking this heat. Or maybe, imagine him folding easily because he knew all along that the title wouldn’t make it. That his original desire for the controversial word to adorn his cover art would be enough. Was it a ploy from the beginning? Some people believe it was.

So whether you lean to the left or the right, it’s definitely a topic worth considering. If Nas is the truth as many a head says and he is bringing us his hip-hop reality, unapologetically and with the weight of the execs on his shoulders, then he should be commended. But if he is using hot button topics, issues that cut to the core of most urbanites for no more than tugging at the buying public’s purse strings, then he should be escorted out of the hip hop universe.

Not two weeks later, me and ole girl went to an after party thrown by some well known rappers at a hotel in downtown Atlanta. We hadn’t been there for 20 minutes before she disappeared into a dark room leaving me alone with some A&R dude whose line was, “Do you know how to give a massage?” Needless to say, the closed door my friend was behind got the knock knock and again I had to listen to tales from the squeaky mattress all the way back to the west side.

Now I’m sure you are thinking, well that’s your friend. Of course she is going to share. Well, I was the first to hear because I was there. Everyone else she knew found out the next day. Knowing you got down is one thing. But knowing how you got down, how long you got down and how many other niccas were involved when you got down is straight TMI. Some chicas need to stop with the pomp and circumstance and just put their puddy on the NASDAQ.

Let’s take Mos Def’s wife. This chick has passed the who-who to anyone with a couple of dollars in their hand. She claimed she had to be offered at least $4000.00 dollars to get on a plane and when she got to wherever “he” was, it was service for service. The laundry list of athletes is long and impressive. Only thing though, the vaginal muscles behave completely opposite of most others. The more work they get, the more they relax. I guess at this point she could fit a gallon milk jug in there. But anyway, while hawking her book (because you know there is always a book), she says Miss Supahead Steffans has nothing on her and her next book (yup, she’s already planning a sequel) will give you all of the lock-jawed, slack-muffed details.

Then of course we have to talk about the hooker to the stars wanna-bes. They move to the A in mass, tie up the machines in the gym and then loiter around the club bars every weekend. They stick out their Payless shoe adorned feet in an attempt to trip the chicks with the VIP bands on because no one has bought them a drink since 2003. These chicks are truly the most pitiful of all because as the night wears on, their standards drop. At 10:00pm they wanted Big Boi. By last call, that weird dude standing in the corner with the long nails and the tie-dyed jumpsuit on will do. And if they do pull someone who doesn’t have an over drafted checking account, they tell every scandalous detail to all of their hoochie-ass bird friends who spend the next several months plotting how they can get ole dude in a bathroom stall without their friend seeing.

So ladies, I know it’s hurtful when it’s free and niccas still won’t take it, but understand having someone’s son sniffing behind you like a hound is overrated. And for the vaginal vending tycoons who plan to take over the financial landscape one back seat at a time; at least have the decency to not post your on the job pics on youtube. Save the stories for your memoirs and remember what Granny said. A lady always leaves something to the imagination.

First and foremost I must speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Now I don’t care who you are, where you are from, what set you claim, what clique you roll with; if you have taken your time to put together one of these lists and you don’t have Pac, Biggie or both on it, you are brain dead. No, there is no recourse. No, your opinion about Max B being wavy doesn’t count. Write the names down on your pad before the hip hop counsel votes your dumb ass off the island.

Next we have those who have actually spoken up and said it. They believe they deserve recognition for being the best, one of the best, the best alive, the best alive or dead so on and so forth.

Ludacris – Now I mention him because he’s the most recent pissed off artist to claim he was robbed of his GOAT-ness. MTV posted a list of the top 5 and surprise, surprise; Luda wasn’t on it. Now I can’t see why Luda believes MTV is an authority on hip hop. Hell, they have suckas on Sucka Free Sunday every week. Take a chill pill Ludz. And truth be told, even if MTV did know what the hell they were talking about, you still shouldn’t have been on it.

I guess the issue is folks have short memories or none at all. If you are a ‘90’s baby and Tha Carter 2 is your idea of old school, yeah, Luda might make your list. But how can we forget about those who were blazing the trails when these snot nosed southern rappers momas were picking peaches? Rakim. KRS-1. Masta Ace. I don’t know if any of these cats should make the list either, but they are all better than Luda. With Pac and Big already on the list because I said so, he takes an L by default.

LL Cool J – Forget he’s a hard body, lip-licking piece of middle aged fleshy magnificence. He was dropping bombs when I was still catching the cheese bus to school. He has the staying power of a champ and has produced one album that has shown its cover on a couple top whatever lists. But let’s get real. The ladies don’t always pick their favorite rapper based on lyrical content. And if it wasn’t for the ladies he’d just be Cool James, that hot dude at the gym with the chapstick fetish. Don’t think so LL.

Lil Kim – What?!? You didn’t know she staked a claim to the GOAT club? Yeah, she did. This I find amusing. This chick isn’t even the best femcee of all time. She’s not even the best femcee right now. I swear even Lil Moma could run lyrical circles around this gal. She had her niche and she worked it well. But playing prison legal pin up girl to dudes in orange jump suits who haven’t seen a pair of panties in 15 years does not make you the GOAT. I did totally love Quiet Storm, but that’s when we thought Prodigy was the GOAT. Lol. Look, I’m going to create a list she could totally top. Best living New York femcee with plastic parts that have been squeezed by Diana Ross. Yups, girl you are now official!

Weezy F. Baby – Riding the crest of the Tsunami known as The Carter 3, this dude is totally feeling himself. He has told the critics and the Mixtape gurus to fuck off and he is all about those who catch that syrupy vibe with him. I have to admit, I wasn’t as disappointed as I thought I would be in his project, but the GOAT? Hellz no! His lyrics are hit or miss to me. Flashes of brilliance followed by, “What did he just say?” But he’s young and still growing as an artist. We’ll check back with him in a few. But by then there will be 8,129 others screaming, “You can’t fuck with me!”

Whatever.

Anyway, I’m done with this craziness. Hell if I know who the best of all time is. I know who I like. My kid raps in the shower and he has some promise. So I say CJ Da Don is the GOAT! Hey, he’s got just as good of a chance as anyone else in this blog.

Shelzzz…

So what did he say? Well, he again addressed the Quinton Hatfield interview, attempting to half-ass retract the meaning behind his telling Hatfield that he didn’t receive any royalties. A claim his Manager, Sha Money XL, denies.

“When I made the statement, ‘I ain’t ever seen no royalty check,’ I didn’t say that shit saying that the nigga 50 done took money from me or none of that whole shit. Or that the nigga owe – I said it ’cause it’s real. And when I say shit, I mean the shit. He took it in a different way. I guess the nigga felt like I’m airing out family business or whatever.”

He also mentioned something about Fifty getting his hood card revoked while he (Buck) can still march freely amongst his former neighbors.

“He feel like he got a whole lot ’til the nigga hit rock bottom and he got to crawl his ass back up. The difference between me and a motherfucking 50 Cent is that I could hit the gutter and I can get back in the streets. He couldn’t go back or do the same.”

The rest was simply blah…blah….blah… Oh, except one statement; “FUCK G-UNIT!”

Now understand Buck is a featured artist on T.O.S. And also understand that while he was relieved of being part of the crew, he is still under contract with said crew. In other words, Mr. Buck’s work is still pretty much at the mercy of Fifty. In a world where keeping it real tends to eclipse rational thought and wise actions, Buck may be the latest rapper to be the catalyst of his own realistic undoing.

Does he have the stature to stand alone? Probably not. Doing your dirt all by your lonely was left to Treach and that didn’t work for him either. More than likely Buck will be released and immediately absorbed by some other clique. Some folk are pulling out the crystal balls to predict a Buck-Game release. But that will undoubtedly require yet another lame beef track that a lot of us will not be interested in hearing. The South meets the West in some juvenile hater’s club context. Excuse me, but I think I’ll pass. But according to recent reports, The Game is already making plans to invite Buck into the fold.

So, what’s next? I don’t know. The last I heard, Terminate On Sight had been pushed back from its last scheduled release date to 7/1. I think the response to his work on this album will be somewhat of a barometer of things to come. Buck has fans; a lot of them. Buck has skills; a lot of them too. However, this business does require some decent negotiation of the forked roads and the forked tongues. And this seems to be Buck’s shortcoming. I mean his invite to the Unit was born of Yayo’s unfortunate incarceration. If Yayo wasn’t the kid-slapping, gun-totting, bail-jumping predicate felon that he is, would we even know about Buck? Well I guess that’s neither here nor there because he is with us now; at least for the time being.