Freedumb Song

This afternoon while walking downtown, a brother not much older than myself passed off a shrinkwrapped CD and a performance flyer. Now at first I was hesitant to accept the handoff, as being a hustle city alumni I know better than to believe any rapper is willing to provide product for free. But sure enough, the exchange was made sans commerce and he went about his way. Upon closer inspection, this brotha was representing himself a “rebelutionary” rapper, one of the chosen enlightened few who spat truth to the ignorant masses brainwashed by commercial crappery. I figured I’d bump the CD on my ride home, providing some free promotion for a fellow struggling artist who sought a better day for Black people. Following an uninspired introduction, he proceeded to launch into some of the most shameless, corrosive, and artless misogynistic drivel I’ve ever heard on wax. Several tracks worth, including one detailing how don’t nobody “got more hoes than him”. Swirling with flashbacks of Patricia Hill Collins funk with Kwame Ture, I reconsidered her warning that the revolution of the “Black man” really was intended just for those with dicks. There ain’t nothing revolutionary, progressive, or remotely Afrikan about weed smoking sista bashing under the guise of gun busting militancy. It ain’t work in ’68 and it damn sure ain’t gotten no better in ’08. So shut the fuck up, rabble rouser rapper, and go read a few more books before claiming enlightenment. Cause your current shine can’t lead a scared little boy out of a too-tight cardboard box of misguided masculinity.

Styles P - The Key

Real Rap

Rappers from Philly have a historically terrible penchance for the pen (and i ain't talkin bout the bic variety). Blame the city's seemingly ever escalating murder rate*, or more realistically, the fact that without the stable hip-hop industry infrastructure of NY or LA, there really ain't much else for a rapper in Philly to do other than whatever he would usually do when not rapping. And as Peedi Crakk among countless others has mentioned, that pretty much subjects one regardless of verbal talent and budding career to the same consequences of any other young brotha in said circumstances. So needless to say, some get caught up in the judicial system. And no matter the circumstance, each rapper ultimately generates a "free (insert name here)" campaign from the local hip-hop community.

While in no circumstances do I believe that this so-called justice system has any legitimate right to judge any descendant of enslaved Africans, in recent years I've come to understand that doesn't mean the accused is necessarily worthy of adamant (or even partial) support. Take the case of Cash Dollaz, an inarguably gifted emcee who without a shadow of any conceivable doubt (as per video evidence, victim confession, etc. etc.) disgustingly murdered, robbed, raped, and terrorized a couple earlier this year. Fuck that nigga. Hot bars does not excuse all injustices. Yet nonetheless, there seems to be a blightfully big blind eye turned to the terrors verbal trend-setters commit by their Black male peers. Pun, Biggie, and Kool G Rap are all perhaps equally prolific as woman beaters as they were influential and innovative artists. Mystikal videos don't just depict shakin it fast, but gang rape and extortion. And if we are to include all the countless spitters that pitch poison in the form of coke and dope curveballs, this paragraph could fill at least three legal tablets in tiny font. No, I don't expect rappers to be any better than their out of studio counterparts. But I am asking that their supporters think a lil more carefully about why exactly we want so and so "freed" more so than the countless political prisoners (from Jalil Al-Amin and Sundiata Acoli to Leonard Peltier) who are down for a real cause and or the innumerable brothas and sistas who don't enjoy the public profile to generate a (albeit ultimately fruitless) movement.

Enter Touch Money's Brick A Raw, who just this week apparently was sentenced to life in jail for a homi. While I'm in no position to judge the situation of what actually happened, and the court is no position to snatch away a person's right to freedom indefinitely, the fact of the matter is that catching a body coincides with the type of "real rap" he claimed to spit. Is it a shame he tried to make a living rapping about killing or a shame they took away his right to make a living off of an alleged killing? Both.

I'm neither a gangsta nor a gentleman and as such have little automatic empathy for either extreme. If the poetry is indeed a product of the environment as Uncle Russ continually reminds us, then all I'm asking is that perhaps a lil more thought go into connecting the dots from celebrating the artist to co-signing the (90% time) man.

Bricks - Criminal Background

* which, thank God, is dramatically down this year for some inexplicable reason that seems to underlie all homicide rates regardless of what criminologists crapshoot about.

AutoTune Is For Sap Suckas, TalkBox Is Strictly Trill

Lest you forget, or perhaps even worse, never knew. Teddy Pain/Lil Wayne/today's trend-hopping lame is the (very) poor man's Roger Troutman.

Respect the Architect.

Lesson Of The Day

I'll never voluntarily listen to Slum Village.

Poet Laurete of Death

What. the. fruck. This dude is the definitely drawin with subsequent bars of fury. If he wrote all this in jail, then most of these rappers on the streets have nooooooooooooooooo excuse.

C-Dot (Trouble Makers) Live From Parkside:

Dialectical Materialism, My Mello

I abhor consumerism, misogyny, and Black fratricide. Yet as the music on this page thus far clearly illustrates, I still garner much respect for and satisfaction from culture that coincides with these conditions.

For the saddening yet consistently reified fact is that contrary to privileged liberal revisionism, corporate boogeymen did not swoop down from the hills one day and poison the loving peaceful streams of consciousness flowing joyfully from the mouths and minds of rap's founders. Milk D threatened to smack women down on "Top Billin". The lower case g himself Rakim Allah stayed adorned in gaudy gold rope chains. Schoolly D waxed poetic about popping his gun the same year I was born. All these unsettling phenomena have existed in varying forms and been articulated repeatedly both within broad dimensions of modern life and the art that reflects/directs it. It's not as if rappers stopped advocating sexism, capitalism, and Afrikan genocide that these forces would cease or even lighten their spiritual, mental, and material burden. If that was the case my father's generation would be the shining pinnacle of revolutionary respectability, and they're certainly not. For better or worse, hip-hop has democratized the means of musical production, distribution, and subjectivity so that young Black and Latino men can develop and articulate our expressive potential as never before. Yet this does not mean that it's needed or beneficial for anyone, even ourselves, to listen. The true testament of its value is to be reflected in our actions towards and beyond oneanother, and our ability to ultimately maneuver the vehicle of rap to whatever lanes need to be explored towards more just lives.

So in the meanwhile, I will continue to promote that which I feel reflects the best that this form has to offer, even when its content may not coincide with the change I may want to see. Because as Huey Newton so wisely taught, it is within the crevices of such contradictions that truly innovative ideas trickle into action.

Plus most of that so-called conscious shit don't bang like it should. And I'll be damned if progress has to sound like pots and pans. Best believe most of those mediocre coffee shop dudes (*cough* Little Brother) really don't be sayin much of anything, they just don't say those things which trigger the hip-hop content cops (of either conservative or so-called revolutionary stripes).

The Coup - Not Yet Free:

Raw Footage

As any nucca between 16 and 25 in Philly will tell you, there are entirely too many rap DVDs. While they were originally innovative and captivating during the early 2000's, since the decline of Big Star's pioneering 2rawforthestreets series most are majorly trash. However, when all the planets align just right, the Philly rap DVD format can still capture the candid finesse and fury that inspires spitters to hit the lab twice as hard, fans to raise their standards twice as high, and a&rs to listen to the streets twice as deep.

Ceza - Headshot 3:

Case In Point: Saigon Interviews Himself

Sai Giddy interviewed himself about his favorite aspects of life and in the process transformed an old jingle used in Mazda commercials into a certified '04 mixtape banger. Lyrically dense? Nah. Creative without being corny? Absolutely.

"My Favorite Things"

Got The Whole Block Mad At Me...

Though today's top hit topography certainly suggests otherwise, at one time it was damn near blasphemous to bang down south music in the northeast. But my co-d Ross always knew what time it was. I ain't ashamed to say that "trill" was a part of our regular vocab back in '01. So of course you know my man had much love for the Slow Mo. This right here is a criminally slept-on banger that grows betters with age like a fine jailhouse fine. It truly embodies all that is so unique about the Block Beataz and their team: highly creative while refreshingly familiar, richly textured and diverse while retaining cohesion. And who knew anybody could flip SWV into somethin so cool yet sinister.

Without a doubt the perfect soundtrack to whippin the Cutlass Ciera down Broad Street late night in light rain with a choppa in the trunk. R.I.P./R.I.U. to the General.

"Doin My Dirt"

The Future Sound Right Now

My college was arguably the hipster capital of God's known universe. As such, I have had ample opportunity and exposure to their strange yet captivating ways. At said college, my room was arguably the northeast epicenter of Slow Motion Soundz, the best movement moving in rap since the Wu-bloodkin.

One day, a skinny white man known as Diplo brought them together in an 'awkward' embrace... but then, that embrace turned shockingly beautiful. and mo than a little freaky.

enter the bombastic bastard child that is "Bama Getting Money (Diplo Remix)".

Amen.