How did I not know that Glen E. Friedman produced that Suicidal Tendencies album?, and other things related to Cypress Hill turning 20 today.

“L. Muggerud - L. Freeze - S. Reyes.” SO TOUGH. Best DMV names in rapdom.

1. I will never not say it: Intelligent Hoodlum is a waaaaay better name than Tragedy Khadafi.




2. The simplicity, functionality and aesthetic appeal of those Source ads from '91 still hold up in '11.  

Was it album art director Stacy Drummond who was responsible? If so: madam, excellent work.

Ms. Valentine taught me about the concept of “Chekhov’s gun” in 12-grade English - a literary technique in which an entity is introduced early in a story, but its significance does not become clear until later. Muggs says they recorded this album in the winter of 1990-1. In March '91, a video came out featuring the LAPD behaving like complete fucking murderous heathens. Ho-hum. Aaaaanyway, track 1 is called “Pigs,” it is about law enforcement officers, and in it - just like in nearly every song that follows it on the album - the boys make brutality (shooting, prison rape) sound fun and sing-song-y. There are all these well-placed la-la-laaaas in the album's stories about putting holes in human flesh, which is terrifying yet charismatic and amusing, like Jack Torrance or every character Joe Pesci plays.




3. Muggs tells Brian Coleman that PE and Ultramag were his favorites and the ones that influenced him most of all.

First of all, ME TOO, LAWRENCE MUGGERUD, even though I don't make beats (yet); second, NO FUCKING WAY, LAWRENCE. What I mean is: yes, upon listening to your compositions, one might be able to infer that you were influenced by the brothers Shocklee and that perhaps every night during the Cypress Hill crafting sessions you slept with one hand on your crate of most breaks-rich funk records. This influence also explains the New York-y feel to the group, which was probably Columbia's doing on some A&R bs - plus it was the Giants over the Bills in the '91 Super Bowl - but the fact remains I have a big problem with the videos being shot in NYC (even though '91 Q-Tip is always nice to see - the presence of Ice Cube in the video doesn't make it all ok, though! You're just throwing LA a bone with that one, gentlemen). PS, Larry: I'm not mad that to make “Something for the Blunted” you basically just let “Future Shock” play and laid some cheeba cuts on top. (Ask me about my feelings regarding Kanye and “Otis” sometime, and you'll understand how much of a compliment that is.) I'd also like to give you a special shout for using that “Tramp” bassline, which provides the whole foundation for the song, and for sampling THREE James Brown records on that same song. THREE. Swoon.



People don't put that creepy stop-motion walking-backwards craze in their videos anymore. I miss it.

Other things people no longer do: call dudes busters or marks; do the lift-up-the-knee stomp-dance;
wear bucket hats (other than DZA; he's the only one these days).

4. That “Phuncky Feel One” breakdown vs. the source of that breakdown (the JB's, “More Peas”): which is superior? This remains a heated debate in apt. 680.

“Phuncky” is a can of ginseng extract with a pinch of coke. I mean it's just pure energy. A party in a bottle, 2 in the morning, still jumpin 'cause your mama ain't home. But then you got the JB's! It's THE JB's! How can I deny them? There's the break at 08:28, takes my breath away, and just before that, James, as usual, chops it up with the song. He asks the song how it's doing, you know - makes suggestions for where the song should go, talks about the geographic areas where the people playing the song are from (Georgia; not DC). “We gave the people some. Can we give the bass some? Bass, you ain’t had none. When we give the bass some, let's take it to F...Can we take it to F?” UM FUCK YES MR. BROWN, AND OH DEAR, WHAT'S THIS, MY DRESS APPEARS TO HAVE FALLEN OFF OF MY BODY.






5. In 1990, there was no such thing as Death Row Records and, just as tragic with regard to my personal life story, no such thing as Starbucks in Los Angeles. Things were different then, that's all I'm saying, and the world was rather inadequate. 

So of course you and your boys are gonna want to make some music. There was nothing else to do. LA was dullsville. “Back in '94 I shoulda signed to Death Row,” today's Power 106 driving-around-in-the-Civic banger said to me. Ooh what a song, I thought to myself after that first verse/hook combo. Then I thought: Oh dear, all the mentions of firearms and ki's and ass; Banner would hate this even though he raps about those things too then he hides behind his master's degree. And then: No, Money Jay--back in nine-one you shoulda signed to Death Row. You want to be ahead of the curve, my friend. Ah well. I still have great fondness for the song, though in concept more than execution. Dudes are so braggy all the time in my ear canal that it's nice to hear some humility and remorse for bad decision-making every once in a while.

6. This is Cypress Avenue in South Gate, where the shit used to go down for our heroic trio - or at least where they would play football in the street until their families called them in for dinner.  

Does it look familiar? It should, because it could also pass for Andre Young's childhood street, or Pooh's or King Tee's or, I don't know, Arabian Prince's? Hell, it looks like Oxnard too - the street upon which Michael and Otis Jackson jr. played. The grassy, pretty, tree-lined-ness of LA neighborhood aesthetics lends itself perfectly to making songs when you are a young man, because it's boring, and there's little else to do. And my ears/heart/body thank the good lord for that.

7. November 3, 1990 – NBA on NBC starts airing. 

John Tesh's epic/corny ass composes the music; it's playing in my head as I write this. Do-do dododoDOdo-dooooo (that's how it goes). I knew this fact before I composed this post, because I have a massive nerd brain inside the head that sits atop my skinny-lady frame. What I didn't know is that this was also the year the flagrant foul was introduced. I'm not sure how all this dovetails with the recording sessions for Cypress Hill (winter '90-1, remember), but it seems important-? And then, 20 years later, Lil B does a song about his chain looking like John Tesh and girls doing things to him with their mouths because he looks like John Tesh, and in his spare time he introduces the term Mary Hart for a groupie. J/K. Lil B has no idea who John Tesh is.




8. Top 5 lines from “How I Could Just Kill a Man”:

1. How do you know where I'm at when you haven't been where I've been? Understand where I'm coming from. This is just skilled writing - specific and universal, like all great sentences.
2. Time for some action, just a fraction of friction/I got the clearance to run the interference. What does this mean/I love it/I've loved it from the first time I heard it.
3. ALL I WANTED WAS A PEPSI. Muggs, I see you. You got alllllll those Parliament and Bar-Kays records on your shelf, plus one precious copy of Suicidal Tendencies hidden in the back.
4. Actin kinda loco, I'm just another local/Kid from the street gettin paid for my vocal. Please see #1 (this one's not so universal, although it kind of is, because in the greater LA area, everyone's got label connects and/or a deal pending).
5. The hummin/comin at ya, how it's always going away then popping back up in the song, is something like perfection only that sounds trite so I won't say it. You can just tell Muggs puts his time in, though - he really fucking cares about the stuff he puts out. I will say that.

Honorable mention: putos. The way they just spit it out, so full of venom.



9. We're supposed to believe “Time 4 Sum Aksion” was produced by Erick Sermon, 

I guess back when he and CH were ‘90s buddies and used to...Ruffhouse together? (No? Teehee?...Groan. Sorry.) However, I know for a fact that “Time 4 Sum Aksion” was crafted by the hands of the basketball gods themselves, with care and love, for the purpose of having every high school team between the years 1992 and ’95 use the song as its warm-up music. And in a comical note, Wikipedia has a collection of “popular culture” instances in which the song appeared—a list of the 259 boxers/wrestlers/MMA dudes who have used the song as their intro theme. Not on the list: me, even though this song is my “getting fucking psyched to conquer the hordes at the DMV” motivation. Let's get ready to ruuumbllllllllle. Mr. Sermon also used it in “Cummin Atcha” from that same time period (I get it, Erick - you liked the first Cypress Hill album); that song's only remarkable for the liggedy-let the nines clap line, which reminds me that it was the height of the 9mm era, and I guess one could argue that we're still in that era, but honestly for the last 10-12 years in lyrics the mighty Desert Eagle has stolen the show.


10. That “Duke of Earl” sample makes no sense within the lyrical context of “Hand on the Pump,” but this is forgivable.

I knowwww I can’t afforrrrrd to stop is what comes into my mind, first thing, when I think of a break that's appropriate to the thematic and lyrical elements of an MC's story. On the opposite end of the appropriateness scale, Squeeze her, don't tease her, never leave her, while beauuuuutifully chopped up and placed in between J and K's stanzas, is a terribly irrelevant and dumb Otis snippet to use in a song about having lunch with Charles Schwab or whatever the fuck those two are yammering on about. If I may, J and K: I would suggest an Otis song about having dreams to remember, or the We don't want nothing but joy, y'all/Nothing but joy from “Cigarettes and Coffee,” in a song about jets and cash and being able to dodge charges in the American legal system just like Dominique Strauss-Kahn. You're welcome, J and K! Really, J and K, it was nothing. But I would like a co-producer credit, please.

So the use of this particular break makes no sense, but Duke duke duke, duke of just sounds really fresh in a rap song about hunters v. hunted and being fucked v. being the one doing the fucking; nothing less than that, but nothing more, either. I guess to justify its use, you could say the narrators are establishing their royal status within their social system - Sen and B are dukes, figuratively speaking? Really, though, it's just a sample that LA guys raised on K-Earth and Art Laboe wanted to use, so they found a place for it on the album. Why I can forgive inappropriateness when Muggs does it but I cannot when Kanye does will go down as one of apt. 680’s eternal mysteries - right up there with “how come some teenage boy actors can grow up and become fine, fine rappers (Mos) and others make me want to kill myself (Drake).”

.

.

When Steele cooks beef/The smoke'll never clear.

“The head of the Republican Party criticized Senate candidate Rand Paul on Sunday for questioning the landmark Civil Rights Act and said the Kentucky libertarian's views were out of step with the party and country.” [Reuters]


Heaven! Oh, it's heaven.

Republican in-fighting is a joyful, lovely thing, and it's all this lady needs on a this particular Sunday to wash away the grime and escape the miasma of urban woe. Michael Steele called out Rand Paul for his criticism of the Civil Rights Act; this was the correct thing to do, which marks the first time I've approved of Michael Steele's behavior. Rand Paul's already done a quick side-step, turn-around, backpedal, "nevermind" dance following the fallout from his remarks, because that's what shit-talkers always do. He also says he does, after all, support the Act, make no mistake about it, because shit-talkers are also liars. Anyway, the whole thing is fun, plus, YOU GUYS, this is just like Jimmy vs. Cam, only the Huffington Post is the arena instead of Kay Slay's show!

Unfortunately, this is unlikely to affect Mr. Paul's political trajectory, as people just do not give even a little bit of a fuck about Michael Steele and what he says. I bet even he knows it. This is not cause to feel sorry for him, since E-40 teaches that if you live by the dirt, you die by the shovel.




Mos Def - “Johnny Too Beef.” Because I must've posted BDP's "Beef" in a previous post. I must have.

mp3.







.

The 3 things on the Internet that have invaded my heart today.

Cherry + Rollins, Milan, 1963. [Roberto Polillo]

Sonny Rollins is the saxophone colossus,

that Duck Sauce song and its corresponding video* will never stop ruling,

Lil Jon is too old to still be making songs like that, and

anything produced by the good people at Organized Noize is fucking FUN, like music and life are sposed to be. I had forgotten about this; it's from '99. "Gold teeth and heavy Chevys, and talking slow/Afros & loud-ass Italian clothes" is the winner here, but that little shuffle in the drum pattern gets (a very impressive and nothing to be ashamed of) 2nd place.





#1 - Memphis bleak; there's a good piece at the Village Voice about the trials and tribs of Three 6 Mafia and 8Ball & MJG, penned by goofy looking white guy Ben Westhoff. (They always make the best writers, though, so it's OK, Ben.)







#2 - E-40, Clyde Carson, Husalah, "Lightweight Jammin." It's no "The Server"; let's just get that out of the way right now. But oddly, in defiance of the Lil Jon rule, E-40 will never be too old to make songs like this. And the way he talks about the beat while the beat plays is like a lightweight, Solano County version of James Brown talking to Fred and Maceo as "Doing It To Death" takes shape--describing the drums coming in just before they come in, talking about the effects that the groove has on his private parts, and stating with frankness the fact that he needs to be in the key of D in order to really get down there, in touch with his private parts. I tell you. People, it's bad.










#3 - Nappy Roots, “Ride.” I thought this was gonna be corny and feel-good, and then I realized I'm pretty corny and I like feeling good. And when I let it play for longer than 45 seconds, I figured out that the song isn't corny. Ignore the corny white guy strumming while leaning against the car, though; focus instead on the cute doggy and Skinny's delivery, and of course the chorus, which makes me feel good. (XXL, thanks.)

(Why yes, I heard and saw that new Fashawn too; it leaves me underwhelmed and longing for the Mighty Mos rhyming/coal-mining original, despite Blu's presence. Can't win 'em all, Los Angeles. Unless, you know, it's the NBA we're talking about.)










* "I-can-doitanywaythatyouwantiiiiiit" is usually my line, but it's OK for someone else just this once.








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I'm ready Slick, are you?

It hurts to type this, but

as of this week in the year two thousand and ten,

BBD’s “Poison” is 20 years old. OWW. IT BURNS.



Someone allegedly named Dr. Freeze wrote and produced it (he later masterminded "I Wanna Sex You Up"), and the Bomb Squad (!) had a hand in making the rest of the Poison album. Right around April 1990, Mandela was released, Mapplethorpe was too gay and sexy for museums, all the Iran-Contra players were surprised that Americans did not care for that whole "arms for hostages" concept, and most importantly, BBD sang about the pain and pleasure involved in the pursuit of juicy, prized jumpoffs.

Below, go ahead and savor Biv's Raiders parka, Ronnie's mismatched footwear, G Rap’s big booming voice spitting out "poison!," oh dear, I just realized I'm suddenly so old but watch me and my creaky old bones giggin up a storm on the dancefloor! Life really just doesn't get any better than that moment when you're at the bar and the chorus swells, and everyone lifts their drinks and sings "It's driiiiving meeeee ouuuut of myyy miiiiind..." People, it's pop music and it is wondrous! BBD IN FULL EFFECT.






Relationships, it's true, do all seem so beautiful at the start. But when she lets you and your friends run a train on her, she's a hooker and I do believe it's time to look elsewhere for STD-free affection. Also, that thing between you two is not really something that can be called a "relationship" if you do anything with her that involves yourself and your crew. Anyway, 2 decades later, it would behoove us to heed the warning of Ronnie, Mike, and Ricky and still never trust big butt and a smile. Full hips & a blank stare*, though? Always trustworthy!




*


























"Rappers getting leery to hear me/G speaks in a new technique of fury." G Rap is me n' Raekwon's favorite MC.








.

HOLD ME.

Bye-bye, Def Jux.

- my RSS feed (Prefix).

Emo is, for the record:

Muddy Waters,
Billie Holiday,
everything sung into a mic in the greater DC area in the years 1976-1978,
Kurt Cobain from Bleach until like November '93,
and nothing, nothing else. Oh and Def Jux, of course. Almost forgot.

And either this story is true, and I'm sad and mad and feeling like 1998 might actually be over and like I'm going to faint and then awaken briefly just to take a bottle of Klonopin mixed with some opiate of my choosing and die,

OR

somebody's got a new record coming out. Industry drones, please email me the real story. My life hangs in the balance!











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.

I got a love joooooones for your body and your skintone

Men and women get jealous over their romantic partners for different reasons, says science, and it's all because we're unevolved beasts ruled by our lizard brains, seeking pleasure, food, water, and another beast to make babies with that won't run off and make babies with every other beast in the village.


But men and women differ on what kind of cheating they think is the worst - women are bothered more by men's emotional infidelity and a soulful kind of connection with other females, whereas men find women's sexual infidelity more painful and difficult to forgive.

“The widespread evolutionary explanation posits that men rank sexual infidelity as the greater sin because over the eons they learned to be hyper-vigilant about sex, as they could never be absolutely certain that their children were actually theirs. Women, on the other hand, became more bothered by emotional infidelity, because they are concerned about having a partner to help raise their children.” [LiveScience]

All of us Wu babies are well-versed in this logic. The rule for girls in Loud/Rawkus/Def Jam-based relationships is that you can do whatever you want, just a) don't bring shame upon this family and b) wear clothes that cover your ass. And when Meth told me in '94 Never ever give my p---y away, I LISTENED. Ticaaaaaal.



(By the way, Meth is just fine with me giving my emotional intimacy, daily reports on the events of my life, requests for foot massages, and frequent music nerd discoveries away. Sigh. No more rappers for me in twentyten, you guys.)





I swear to god I hope we fuckin DIE together. This is, coincidentally, exactly what Marvin Gaye told Tammi Terrell back in '67. “You're All I Need to Get By.”

mp3.



You You're Awesome - “For the Queen.” An apt. 302 girly classic, discovered last year. Swoon.

mp3.




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Holy Ghost! mixtape. Cuba. Science letdowns. Sexy: men vs. women edition.

1. DFA sneaks up from time to time and reminds me of its rather Ninja-Tune-ish/Def-Jux-y consistency and longevity. (Other than that song with the screaming about the jealous lovers that everyone freaked out about because it was...white dudes playing diluted disco?)





This here is the Holy Ghost! mixtape, which in apt. 302 is a clear reference to that song “Holy Ghost” by the Bar-Kays that was later lovingly molded into the Beastie Boys' “Hey Ladies” and Tupac's “Trapped.” There's some KRS in here, a lot of that bass-and-sirens combo that I thought I would've tired of by now, and something called “Greetings from Ghostface” that are some pretty sweet words where I come from (next to "Up next, another episode of Law & Order: SVU").



A.

mp3.


B.

mp3.







2. After a decades-long period of admiration for the island's health care and education policies, Black activists are being more critical of Cuba regarding racism. [LA Times]

What about Jesse here looking like life cannot possibly get any better? That pic of Malcolm and Fidel is kinda played out, and you're a damn liar if you say you don't want in on the scene above.

“A group of 60 African-American artists and thinkers have launched a rare (and) unprecedented attack on Cuba's human rights record, with a particular focus on the treatment of black political dissidents.” They've noted increased violations of civil and human rights for those Black activists in Cuba who dare raise their voices against the island's racial system, and signed an official statement calling for changes.

“What has changed (since the '60s and '70s) is a heightened understanding outside Cuba of the plight of the island's large Black population, which remains increasingly marginalized economically and underrepresented in the highest echelons of government.” I believe that these critics are now catching up to those who have been outraged at Cuba's treatment of my friends The Gays for years now. My boyfriend Cornel West is part of this group that created the official statement (also: Ruby Dee, of course! So dope) and probably, dare I say, the brains behind it. And I bet you he did it all while wearing a nice suit and spectacles.


'90s rap song tie-in time! Regarding the nation of Cuba: you still haven't freed Assata, so until that happens I'll be borrachada de Bacardi. Tony G produced this, along with DJ Pooh's "Whoop Whoop," an anthem which descended from heaven to emanate specifically from '94 Nissan Maxima speakers, is about some crucial Cube vs. Kam & Pooh beef that tore this city apart in the late '90s (it's ok, they're friends again now!), and has lyrics you would be legally required to know by heart if you lived within a 50-mile radius of LA County.









3. “Top 10 Science Letdowns” [Scientific American] is rather amusing because it's basically a bunch of grown-ups whining about things we dreamed of as kids that haven't come true yet even though it's THE FUTURE RIGHT NOW.



Dumb science is not working fast enough, clearly. We don't have flying cars and we can't live forever. No hoverboards. Mental illness is still a mystery. The planet is sweltering and will probably blow up soon. What this amounts to is basically a Stack of questions with no answers/Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS. This make me wanna stay on tour for days! Heee.

Outkast - "Bombs Over Baghdad"

4. “Men's bodies and minds agree on what's sexy almost always. Women's bodies and minds? Less so.” - Science Daily, openly discussing sexual arousal under the guise of “important science nerdery.”




In studies, researchers found that “men's subjective and physiological measures of sexual arousal showed a greater degree of agreement than women's. For the male participants, the subjective ratings more closely matched the physiological readings indicating that men's minds and genitals were in agreement. For the women, however, the responses of the mind and genitals were not as closely matched as men's, suggesting a split between women's bodies and minds.”


So: what women want to think of as sexy is not really what our cells and hormones and bloodflow respond to*. This, of course, explains my troubling shamelust for Kim K. Because I’m gross. So gross you probably shouldn’t talk to me anymore. Gross.

Basically, even though we ladies really really want to think of smarties and nontraditional beauties as hot, our physical responses betray us. I, for example, want to think Rachel Maddow is pretty, because this would mean I'm defying that American thing of manufactured hotness. Instead, I like gorgeous dummies like Padma, that Bar Refaeli and her waist-hip situation, and various other glossy blank types on my TV screen. In the grand tradition of Things Women Have Always Done, this results in a lot of tiresome mental anguish. We try to psych ourselves out continuously and it's dumb. Get a grip, ladies. Knock it off. (This includes myself.)


*Except for Joan from Mad Men, because at the Women Conference last year we all agreed that it's OK to pine away for her. She's like sexy kryptonite, that one.








. . .

Dude I totally got a white Members Only jacket today, no lie.

.
I hear that Ironic '80s Jackets are doin it real big right about now, plus there's a new Jay-Z album out, a Democrat in office, and Brett Favre is putting all his heart and sweat into being an excellent QB. Ringin in '97 in style, kid!


Because I like Bass as well as Drum, I've decided to incorporate a little of both into this here post. Nine-seven, nine-seven. Swoon.

roni size - "brown paper bag"

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NAS: Variations on a theme. (basically I just wanted to post some JB's.)

1. OH LOOK, somebody took a picture of the inside of my head.




2. I forgot to wear my "showgirl who jumps out of a cake at AZ's party and becomes Nas's personal cigar-lighter" costume for Halloween this year! Aw damn.

2010, look out for me in my getup, prepare to analyze how it evokes notions of power and control. (The part of Nas to be played by Nas next year. I hear he's single now.)









3. Nastradamus is 10 years old this week. Like sands through the hourglass, kids.

My excitement meter isn't at Illmatic-turning-20 levels, of course, but what can you do. Also, the whole "It could've been worse" argument for a god MC turning out sub-par work several years after his masterpiece is always comical to this particular god-MC-fan lady blogger.





PS, I like you about 50 times more than usual when this comes on at the club and I look over at you. I mean, I see sparkles around your face, I hear birds chirping, I wanna take you home to meet my mom and see if the family dog deems you acceptable:


It's at 02:34, lazy ass. (If you can't take a whole 8 minutes out of your day to listen to a JBs song in its entirety, it's over for you, buddy. Abort mission now.)


. . . . .

A decade and a half, courtesy of a bunch of rappers in my record collection

.
Year recognize year, AKA

Watch me use the hell outta my master's degree, AKA

Stuff like this is what I think about at work all day, AKA

“A year, ten years from now, I'll remember this;
not why, only that we were here like this, together.” - Adrienne Rich.




Harold! Monch! Jeruuuu!




So cool and ol' school like '8-4
The one your little mami windin' up her waist for.

Mos Def, “Close Edge”




Fool, you know me, I've been down since '85
Sellin dime for dime, doublin up my paper every time
I live the life of crime, ghetto life from day to day
Made me throw up both my hands, now get the fuck up out my -

Scarface, “Git Out My Face"




I don't bug out or chill or be acting ill
No tricks in '86, it's time to build.

Eric B & Rakim, “Eric B Is President”




'87! That was my favorite shit, god.
Polo shit...everything. Everything was lovely.

Wu, “Can It Be All So Simple”




I'm known to be the master in the MC field
No respect in '87, '88 you'll kneel.

EPMD, “So What Cha Sayin'”




NINETEENEIGHTYNINE the number, another summer
sound of the Funky Drummer.

Public Enemy, “Fight the Power.” Duh on you if you thought anything other than this one was gonna be used to rep the year 1989.




1990, Chubb Rock jumps upon the scene
with a lean and a pocket full of green.

Chubb Rock, “Treat 'Em Right.” Duhhhhhh, the sequel.




I grew up as a Christian so to Jah I give thanks
Collect my banks, listen to Shabba Ranks
I sing, and chat, I do all of that
It's 1991 and I refuse to come wack.

A Tribe Called Quest, “Jazz (We've Got)”




Dirty Rotten Scoundrel and my name is Jeru
utilizing my tools in '92
MC's step up in mobs to defeat us
when we rock knots and got props like Norm Peterson.

Gang Starr (Jeru's verse), “I'm the Man”




A one-to-three, he be home the end of '93
I'm ready to get this paper, G, you with me?

Biggie, “Gimme the Loot”


At the block party everybody jocked (who me?)
It's the MC sucka ni--as envy
I got my contract in 1993 and
I shall proceed.

The Roots, “Proceed”

mp3.

(It was a draw between 2 heavyweights. Also: 93 til infinity/kill all that wack shit. 'Course.)




'94, Big Gipp, Goodie Mo, Outkast, a vision from the past
Hootie hoo, my white owls are burnin kinda slow.

OutKast, “Git Up, Git Out”




1995, Elijah is alive
Louis Farrakhan, NOI.

Ice Cube, “Enemy”




Gimme a second, I swear
I will say about my rap career
Til '96 came ni--as I'm here
Good-bye.

Jay-Z, “December 4”




Rosco P, young G, I don't speak I just squeeze
'97 P will make you drop to your knees.

The Clipse (Rosco P's verse), “Chinese New Year”


What, you ain't know about them country fried sessions?
Does that Likwit hit in '97 answer all yo questions?

Nappy Roots, “Lac Dogs and Hogs.” Kentucky in '03; let's move there, you and me, you know, start a farm and a new life together, go to the batting cages and use our Louisville Sluggers, fueled by these kinds of glorious sounds:





An eye for an eye, you know my science of life
Is you man or mice, thugs or the cowardly type?
I kick the '98 shit for your ears to list
Ni--a P where you headed it's time to pass kids.

Mobb Deep, “Nighttime Vultures”




STILL
gettin mine in the
one nine nine. Nine.

Common + Sadat X, “1-9-9-9.” Rawkus ('91-02) forevvvvvs, how many times I gotta tell you.




I'm also preemptively including

“You my pet, my poodle chicken noodle's on the rise
Open your eyes and see my life
Rap moves on to the year 3000.” - Kool Keith.


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.

.

.

My humble prayer to the hip-hop gods. And Jesus.

SF, '93. Lance Dawes photo.

I’m not a terribly religious girl but I do pray for good, goodgood hiphop music.

Some new Souls of Mischief, produced by Prince Paul (!!, !!!!!!, etc), will allegedly be released into the cosmos on 12/01/09. Please oh please let this not be terrible I ask of Jesus when I kneel and pray about this every night.


I'm not expecting another achievement like 93 Til, or any singles on par with “Cab Fare” 'cause that's damn near impossible even with my super high degree of confidence in the Power of the California Emcee. Still, I'm wishing and hoping that this collection of songs does not disappoint; I need confirmation that a tolerable album by aging '90s rappers is not such an elusive thing. Also, in tangentially related news, I just found out that Ron Artest wore #93 when he played for Sacramento in tribute to these dudes! DAMN, RON-RON. Let's go out for coffee sometime and talk about how No Man's Land is underrated. Hella underrated.

In a scenario ripped straight from my daydreams, the boys recorded the album like so:

rented a house across the Golden Gate Bridge, stayed there for like a month, had Prince Paul come out to the house, got rid of all the TVs and distractions, and made music every day. (And then they magically made it 1993 again. And they all said hella, like, hellllla times.) The end.

Uhhhmmmm....I find myself unable to concentrate and complete this post. Go listen to “Cab Fare.” You won't regret it, promise. So many good lines; it's like Oscar Wilde moved to Oakland and started working and smoking with Del -

Payin their green to see what color my house is/Feelin like Del, 'cause they would sleep on my couches.
All the other drivers knew that my car was spectacular/'cause I had a tight, very bright yellow Acura.
Damn I'm glad black men drive them cabs, too.
Plus a nice Rocket Ismail reference (before it was embarrassing to be a Raider fan).

And when you're done with that one: “Spark.” (Sorry to be so bossy; it's just that I know what's best for you)


PS: just after minute 2.


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Ernest Hemingway fights pretentious symbolism, kicks a can.

“There isn't any symbolism.
The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish.
The sharks are all sharks, no better and no worse.
All the symbolism that people say is shit.
What goes beyond is what you see beyond when you know.”

Cenobites - “Kick a Dope Verse.” Kool Keith + Godfather Don + Bobbito/Fondle 'Em + '93.



Scared federal bureau, fuck investigation/No phones, no beeps, fuck communication. Cenobites are members of a religious group living together in a monastic community. Kool Keith is obviously the head monk, holier to me than the Dalai Lama, even though I don't buy for a second that he practices asceticism (try it somewhere else, Big Shot on the East Coast). In summation: what goes beyond is what you see beyond when you know.



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YouTube understands me in a way you never will.

Per my boyfriend YouTube (the only thing on the Internet that really listens to me and really understands my wants and needs), I am doper when trolling for online content than I am in real life. YouTube's suggestions for me prove it.

Lookie here. YouTube purports that I am a '70s genius/self-destructive comedy lover, a Zev Love X dork, a '90s Afrocentric medallion-wearer who is protected by the red, the black, and the green, plus I drive a Camaro and sometimes do a teeny bit of coke with my long-haired Caucasoid funkster friends*:



Also, says YouTube: I like pretty ladies (Christina Hendricks, Sarah Shahi; SWOON), I'm a 17 year old dude from Queens in 1990, a 17 year old dude from Queens in 1997, plus I'm a breaks dork (Harold Melvin, The Dramatics, Caldwell!, Curtis):



I'm still a 17 year old dude from Queens, in love with Black Moon, but goddammit YouTube: it's '93, not '03! 2 songs from Total Eclipse, and nothing from Enta da Stage? Points deducted. It's nice to know that I'm still a '70s R&B breaks dork (Harold Melvin, again. Curtis, again. Plus Brass Construction), and oooh, I like Big Shug, slightly obscure Gangstarr associate! YouTube, you've redeemed yourself for the Black Moon error:



YouTube knows I like some pretty ladies, so now, says YouTube, I'm a lesbian. YouTube wants a threesome, I do believe. It knows I'm a '70s soul nerd (again), a lovesick girl listening to Art Laboe and Wishing on a Star, and wants me to give Main Ingredient's version of “I'm So Proud” a shot, even though The Impressions' version is the be-all, end-all.” You're reaching here, YouTube:




I'm a Wild Pitch dork, a Monch fanatic, a RZA fanatic, a Rick the Ruu-ler fanatic. YouTube spent about 3 seconds on my blog, then took the easy way out here. I do like the inclusion of a Juice soundtrack banger, though. YouTube also knows that when I cook beef/the smoke'll never clear:




* Tried to find the mp3 of this; couldn't. Still friends?

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CMB! We all we got!!

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On Thanksgiving I be passin out turkeys like Nino Brown, baby!

Look at what the Internet has placed before me:

Lennon* plus Snipes plus hiphop times nineties divided by Ice T equals texty tee I must have if I am ever going to smile again during my lifetime.

I've said I need things before. Many times, in fact. Those were lies, all lies. The only item I need in order to survive is the screenprinted, 100% cotton one above, because what else is there to wear when I take over The Carter?? I'll sport it and then you people will be forced to finally respect my hustle.

Therefore, GIMME.

What I've forced on you above is yet another post written solely so I'd have an excuse embed a Fucking Classic Video from a Bygone Era. Today, it's the video for this song. THISSSS SONNNNG. I love it, I need it, I wanna be on it. If this song came to Crazy Girls during my shift (Fridays at 11), it would get a free lapdance. And you, DJ Aladdin, darling, I know I say this to all the musically-inclined boys, but MARRY ME. How can I be down???

Special appearances by pagers galore, 19-year-olds with fifty-thousand dollar cars, and the one and only Michael G. Tyson:







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PS:

Nice nod to the OG name of the “Live at the BBQ” guy. That font, though. It's the wrong one, brought back from the “Breaking Logan’s Heart” Years ('97 - present) probably just to torture me. Dude, make um say appropriate typeface. I need some Old English, STAT.