Six Degrees with KRS-1

I have been working on a series called "Six Degrees." It is my way of chronicling my brushes with Hip-Hop luminaries. The below encounter with KRS is probably one of the funniest and silliest encounters I experienced.

The time frame was circa 93-94 and the spot was a club called David’s. On this particular night “The Techa,” KRS-1, was scheduled to perform.

For those who are not from the 757 (VA,) David’s, to this date was the illist club the seven cities has ever seen. The building was an old movie theater that had been converted into a night club. Upon entering the club the area which had been the theater’s old lobby and concessions area was transformed into a lounge area with about ten tables and twenty or more chairs. What was perfect about this area was that the sound from the dance area did not bleed too heavy into the lounge area making it perfectly conducive for exchanging hellos and information. For those who may have forgotten or never knew there was a time when one actually had to obtain another’s contact info by writing it down on a piece of paper or napkin because your only source of vocal communication was a home phone or a pay phone, but I digress.

Once you passed through the lounge area the club immediately became a large open space. Imagine a theater stripped of all its seats; I’m talking about a 70’s era theater which were normally twice the size of the current era cineamax multiplex screening rooms. In the middle of the space was a raised oval dance floor that could accommodate approx 150-200 people. In the very back was bar located under a pinkish neon sign that read “David’s.” Take the trek up stairs and there was another lounge type area with a few pool tables and another bar with about ten stools. A couple of steps from the upstairs bar the old projection room had been converted in the DJ booth. To enter the booth it was a quick three steps down, the booth then jettison out about five to six feet giving a perfect survey of the entire club while rocking on the ones and twos.

Now on to the story, I get fresh dressed and ready to party and jump into my shitty sky blue Hyundai. At the time I thought that car was the shit, it had a sun roof, and I even put a decent sound system in it. Time would quickly prove that the line was a lemon. I mean, you still see old Ford Escorts and Chevy Nova’s on the road but when is the last time you seen a Hyundai Excel on the road?

When arrive on the scene I see a pretty good size line has already formed in front of the club, however, there would be no waiting on line for me. Due to the fact my god brother, Casper, was the featured DJ at the spot at the time I strode right to the front of the line like I was an international diplomat. I give the bouncer dap and hug the sister collecting the cover fees. All the while the brothers and sisters standing on line were definitely giving the screw face and wondering aloud why this white boy had head of the line privileges. Currently I have dreads down to my ass and a beard like a Taliban. But back then I was fresh out the Navy looking like a pretty straight white guy which I have no doubt only made the folks on line more incredulous about what they were witnessing.

With my entrance I’m feeling a bit like a star as I make my way up to the DJ booth to show love to my brother as well as the bouncers I encounter on the way. Trust me, it is never a bad thing to be known and have the bouncers in a spot on your side. Not on this night but on other occasions it proved quite helpful. There is nothing better then watching a cat bounced out of the club because he thought he could talk slick to you in front of your lady friend all the while you are laughing and taunting him like Nino Brown did to Ice T’s character in the playground scene from New Jack City.

As the club began to fill up I worked my way to a spot close to the dance floor that would soon turn into the stage for the Blastmaster’s performance. As is the case with Hip-Hop shows in a club the artist almost never arrives prior to 1am and I wound up standing in that spot in anticipation for like two hours. During this epoch of my life I hung on just about every word KRS uttered so I was going to make sure I was in the front of the crowd. Unwilling to lose my spot I didn’t budge for the whole two hours not even for a drink or to holla at any of the lovely ladies in the house.

After enduring the sweaty two hour wait taking an occasional knee to relive the pain in my back the Techa finally hit the stage. To this point the crowd was dense but everything had been chilled. KRS immediately got the crowd hyped launching right in with My Philosophy. It must have been the fourth or fifth song but the hypeness increased ten fold when the beat for the South Bronx dropped. When a crowed is rocking like this it is not uncommon for a body to two to bump into you. With the tenor of the crowd to this point of the evening being peace it was no big deal when I felt a couple of bodies bump up against me. Suddenly, I felt more then a bump but a push quickly followed by women screaming. As soon as I turned around a sea of bodies was scrambling and as it parted the source of the chaos was apparent.

Chairs were flying, fist flailing, and cats were getting stomped. No doubt shit was on. You know the routine when club fights gets out of hand. As the chaos was unfolding I started to look for higher ground to avoid the melee and quickly found myself on the dance floor stage. As the swarm of violence rapidly approached those of us on the stage had no where to go, including KRS. His hype man/body guard at the time Mick Boo of BDP had pushed KRS toward the railing and stood sentry in front of him. Momentarily distracted by the ruckus I saw an opportunity. I sliced through the crowed onto the stage with the grace of OJ and the power of Earl Campbell until I was mere inches form KRS. Just as KRS noticed me extending my hand to give a pound, Mick Boo turned around. In the space of a nanosecond Mick Boo went from looking like he was going to Mike Tyson my ass with one shot to an incredulous look of “really mutha fucka.” Mick allowed me close enough for KRS to extend his hand and give me a pound. Before I could even begin to retract my hand Mick unceremoniously shoved me back into the chaos to swim like a salmon upstream for my life. Doing my best Sweet Pea Whitaker I bobbed and weaved my way to the exit and the safety of the Portsmouth night. With my escape another chronicle in my instinctive travels through Hip-Hop culture came to an end.

Nas Dawud

Shit That Hasn't Changed

It's weak to speak and blame somebody else

When you destroy yourself

First nothing's worse than a mother's pain

Of a son slain in Bensonhurst

Can't wait for the state to decide the fate

So this jam I dedicatePlaces with racist faces

Just an example of one of many cases

The Greek weekend speech I speak From a lesson learned in Virginia (Beach)

I don't smile in the line of fire I go wildin'

But it's on bass and drums even violins

Watcha do gitcha head ready

Instead of gettin' physically sweaty

When I get mad I put it down on a pad

Give ya somethin' that cha never had controllin'

Fear of high rollin'

God bless your soul and keep livin

'Never allowed, kickin' it loud

Droppin' a bomb

Brain game intellectual Vietnam

Move as a team

Never move alone

But Welcome to the Terrordome

1990 Public Enemy-Welcome to the Terrodome.

With all bullshit talk of a "post racial" America, I can tell you a lot of shit down here in the Old Dominion is still quite the same.

The above quote from Public Enemy references an incident that happened here at Virginia Beach in the summer of 1989. What use to be the Black Greek weekend down here, in the summer of 89' turned into a gestapo riot by the Virginia Police and National Guard. Prior to 89' the weekend event had been gaining momentum making it the East Coast destination for most Black college kids during Labor Day weekend.

On this particular year the crowed swelled so large that Atlantic Ave, which is the main drag on the beach, became a sidewalk. It became virtually impossible to contain everyone on the sidewalks so kids were walking in the streets. Instead of simply closing off the strip to traffic, VA Beach's' finest decided they were going to force everyone to stay on the sidewalk. What better way to do that then to beat the shit out of a few people with billy clubs to get the rest to fall in line? Well between the alcohol, the disrespect, and really no place else to go, many decided they were not gonna to take it. By the time everything was said in down there was a Phalanx of uniforms of brutality marching down Atlantic Ave and millions of dollars in damage to shops and property.

By the next year the festival had been neutered to the point you had to park and ride to the beach and there was a curfew for being in the street. Quite Ironically one of the main security precautions that year was to close not only Atlantic Ave but all traffic going to that main portions of the beach save residents and hotel guests. By the next year there was no more Greek Weekend in Va Beach.

By 95' City officials made a concerted effort to change the image of VA Beach into that of a family destination. Soon there were cops on damn near every corner and for good measure they began closing the city parking lots at 2:15am. One must understand that bars have to stop serving alcohol at 2am down here. Meaning you got 15 minutes to get in your car and get the fuck out of VA Beach. Ah! but as one attempts to leave the cops are lying in wait to pull folks over for DUI. Even better they undertook a policy of "cleaning" the streets at this very time as well. So imagine leaving the club, rushing to get your car before it gets towed, while being pelted by the water and debris from the street sweeper. That is why you will not find my ass down at the ocean front after dark. To further promote their "family friendly" environment no cursing signs were placed on poles on every block.

What did the police learn from all these incidents? Well there is currently and investigation into widespread use of racial epithets by VA Beach police when dealing with people of color. In fact one bar sued the city claiming the police and their tactics were driving their patrons away and destroying their business.

The same type thing is going on in the Granby St. downtown part of Norfolk. All the clubs have a no jersey, no boots, and no baggy clothes dress code. Which on its face seems fair. What they don't say is you can wear fucking ripped tennis shoes, a ball cap on backwards, and ripped jeans. Over the last eight years or so Norfolk's once fledgling downtown has had a resurgence. About three years ago two of the major clubs downtown clientele was becoming predominately black. Then bam! new dress codes. A Dj friend of mine was working in one of the clubs at the time and when management was discussing the new rules with them he commented "oh this must be the no nigga rule." Which it is!

Some anecdotel evidence. Me and my Wis went to one of the sports bars in downtown Norfolk. It was about 7PM, I was dressed in a Perry Ellis Sweater, Tommy Hilfiger blazer, brand new dark blue Levis Jeans and a fresh pair of construction Tims right out of the box. She, as usual, is looking fly in her jeans, Italian boots, and a black turtle neck. We step to the door, the bouncer ask for I.D.'s and before we can get them out, he looks at me and says "your not going to be able to come in here with those on" pointing at my feet. What, but there are chicks in their with damn near no clothes on, whiteboys with hats on backwards, and Chuck Taylor's with holes in them, are you fucking kidding me?!

I have also been turned away from places because of my dreads, in fact there was a club in VA Beach, that recently lost a lawsuit due to an admitted no dreads and no braids policy.

Anyway the picture at the top is part of my "Where I'm from" photo collection I'm working on, as well as my feelings toward VA beach as a whole, and the downtown Norfolk area.

The possibility of change is upon us but never let us forget old habits die hard.

Just prior to hitting send on this post I saw the cartoon that was in the NY Post today. For those who have an understanding of our long and sordid history in regards to race and oppression need no explanation. For those who will defend it, well, like I said, we are far from being anywhere near "post racial." If there is even such a thing. Let us also not forget that NY, yes NY, was once the largest slave holding territory in the "New World."

What Up, What's Haapin"

(The Younger generation Of Amazulu's)

UZN Chapter Leadership Comes to an End

Well first up my three years as chapter leader for our local Universal Zulu Nation chapter came to an end this past Thursday night Jan 22, 2009. I give myself an overall grade of B during my time at the helm of the chapter. Early on things went well, we hosted round table discussions at Old Dominion University, put on Youth Camps, lobbied local radio stations to add variety to their play list, and organized B-Boy battles. For the firs year and a half our cadre was about 9 strong and active members. Brothers and sister were at all the meeting and participating in all the UZN sponsored events.

However, somewhere along the line cats started falling off. Some moved and some just had to put organizing to the side for babies and bills. Another reason is we had some internal beef that caused one of our most dedicated members decide he wanted to take a step back for a short period of time. Unfortunately instead of a short term absence his leave turned out to be permanent.

Another reason for the slow down in our chapter had everything to do with me. What I realized is although I'm not a follower by any means, I realized is I'm no leader either. Mine is not the personality to motivate and inspire. When brothers and sisters said they would do something I took them at their word for it. I'm not the type who is going to chase cats down and pressure them to do what they are suppose to door said they would do. But when one runs an organization that is a quality I'm now convinced is an attribute you should posses. My tacit when running our chapter I don't think did much to inspire others. I felt the other members had a respect for me but I guess I just didn't know how to light a fire under their ass.

Over the last year we have had a large infusion of youth in our chapter and I felt it was pass time to turn the torch over to them. The elders in our chapter were particularly impressed by one of our younger members named Guerrilla Will. He is a young brother with his head squarely on his shoulders, wisdom beyond his years, and the charisma to get others to follow. I expect great things will happen for our chapter over the next few years. I look forward to this new era for our chapter and plan on giving all I can in my wisdom and experience so that our young members can move positively into the future.

Shout out's to;

Dan Tres Omi
Manny Infinity
Darnell
Phats
Novakane
Will
Travis
Seko
William
Larry
and everyone else who came through the last three years.
Peace,
Nas Dawud

In Solidarity

As many of you may know a young brother named Oscar Grant was gunned down by a BART police officer in Oakland this past new years day. For me the first video told me all I need to know. Now a second video showing the officer who had his knee on Oscar's neck when he was fatally shot had mere moments earlier punched Oscar with no provocation. No way were those cops in fear for their lives! No way are those who are demanding justice wrong for taking the streets! I'm a bit surprised however at the slow and measured response of Oakland's Mayor to this situation. You see this isn't your normal white or machine type candidate. No the current Mayor of Oakland Ron Dellums, was a very impressive activist back in the 70's. He has been on the forefront of progressive issues for his 30 plus years in civic politics. So his slow reaction on this issue is a bit disappointing.

The two best sources I have found in following this issue have been the Oakland Tribune, and the CNN Hip-Hop news source Davey D.

Keep the pressure on!!!

Infinite Road

With the accession of Barack Obama to the presidency on the heels of the commemoration of Dr, Martin Luther King Jr's., birthday it would seem far too many a pundit is pondering whether we are now "post racial" and the fulfillment of Dr. King's dream complete. As I understood Dr. King's "dream" racial equality was only one portion. Not only does President Obama's election no way provide racial equity on an institutional level, Dr. King's dream also included the eradication of poverty, and the ending of America's imperial use of violence upon other nations. Under the Bush administration these two core principals of Dr. King's dream were far from realized, in fact they were arguably made less attainable. With President Obama we have no guarantees but what we do have is more people believing that they can effect change in their lifetime.

Although President Obama seems intent on tackling the issue of poverty he seems all to amenable in continuing to beat the drums of Washington's war machine. While apparently moving forward in reducing the troops in Iraq, instead of bringing them home, it would appear he simply wants to shuffle at least 30,000 of them to Afghanistan, another quagmire in the making.

The election of a Black man as the United States President is indeed profound beyond measure, hell for all of Europe's lecturing and judgement of us; I wonder when a Algerian will be elected President of France, and African the Prime Minister of England? But I digress. President Obama cannot wave a magic wand and erase the generations of institutional racism, numerous administrations wrecking of our economy and the inequities that continue to plague us.

Yes the election of Barack Obama to the presidency gives many a sense of hope and ownership that has long alluded them, but the road towards Dr. King's dream is an infinite one. An immediate reminder was the shooting of an unarmed young Black man in Oakland on New Years day. Our institutions will always be imperfect as we human beings are imperfect. The question now is will this landmark in our history prove to be, as writer Tim Wise asked "adrenaline or morphine." Meaning, will we harness this moment to motivate us in continuing to strive for our higher-self, or will it prove, as I fear it will, for far to many as journey complete and a dream fulfilled?

We should use this time to reflect and take inventory on how far we have come, but more importantly, stay engaged in the work that strives to reach for our higher-self. The dream of Dr. King is simply a continuum in the philosophy of hope that has run through every generation all over the planet.

Broadcast From WZULU

Greetings earthlings, we have had meteor storms here on Planet Rock over the past few weeks and have been unable to communicate with your planet. However, our defenses proved steadfast and we are now again able to broadcast our missives.
Like all interplanetary funksters when things are copasetic and we have a few extra moments we like to dig in our crates, blow the dust off some vinyl and dig on some righteous tunes.
Currently in rotation on the play list at Planet Rock’s residential soul sonic force FM transmitter WZULU;

Soul Makossa-Manu Dibango- If you are a B-Boy or a “Hip-Hop” DJ no explanation necessary. If you are unfamiliar with this song and want to get at the essence of the connection between Jazz, Afro-Beat, funk, and Hip-Hop, this is a classic as Jimmy Castor Bunch “Its Just Begun.”

Hand Wanda-The Wild Magnolias- Got to say this is a recent discovery for me. This one got past me until recently when I was watching VH1 Soul series “Soul Cities” hosted by Author and Critic Nelson George. During an episode focusing on New Orleans when pressed by Nelson to offer a suggestion for a song that defines New Orleans funk, a well known local DJ suggested this song. It’s never too late to discover great music.

Do Your Thing-Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm band- This song as well as Charles Wright has been sampled numerous times. But it has been done in such a subtle manner that most cats do not know the original nor who Charles Wright is in the realm of funk. If you don’t know better get a late pass G (Not sure if the whole Flavor thing comes through in print.)

Green Light-John Legend and Andre 3000- Ok didn’t really have to dig in a crate for this one. This song to me rides and flows effortlessly, and John and Andre both sound great. The melody has an easy flow to it but an underlining bop that drives it giving a bounce to it. Got to say I’m a John Legend fan.

Honey-Erykah Badu- Ah Honey, you so sweet.

Turn Da Lights Off-Tweet- Kwame gets mad props for this beat. The shit is sexy, funky, and just makes you want to wind your hips slow. This shit gets me every time the beat drops and Tweet’s singing is intoxicating.

The Rain-Oran “Juice” Jones- “I missed ya today so much I followed ya” I was about to jam you and flat blast both of you But I didn't wanna mess up this thirty-seven hundred dollar lynx coat.” Classic Mac shit, these cats today could go back and take a page out of this brother’s player hand book.

Come Back, baby-Tower Of Power- To me this is classic 70’s quiet storm sound here. Great hook, sweet melody, and ya feel it to your core.

Super Natural Thing-Ben E King- This nothing but pure sweetfunksoul.

Inspiration Information-Shuggie Otis- Quiet as kept this kid at 17 wrote Strawberry Letter 23, not the Brothers Johnson (and it damn sure wasn’t Tevin Campbell’s song). This cat was a child prodigy (son of music legend Johnny Otis) that life circumstances took him in a direction that didn’t allow the rest of us to hear his musical progression. This song display’s all his potential and still stands the test of time. Ask a real soul musician who Shuggie Otis is and you may find yourself listening to a musical dissertation.

777-9311-The Time-Great band, Great Song.


Next Up RZA and Hip-Hop Music.

Peace,

Nas Dawud

The Possiblity

Something funny is happening to me on the way to the voting booth, I have decided I’m going to vote for Barack Obama. Despite Chuck D’s proclamation to not believe the hype, I have become somewhat caught up in it. I seldom concern myself too terribly with presidential elections, as I’m of the philosophy that local politics are the most important and deserve much more of my attention. I normally search out a third party politician that I find agreeable and vote for them. Over the years I have voted for candidates such as Lenora Fulina and Ralph Nader. Although I shared much in the way of their politics, my vote for them has been as much a vote against the status quo as it was an endorsement of the candidate. I work with the concept that until third parties receive some serious recognizable support we will forever remain mired in what has become a two party system.
Despite my protestations articulated above about being unimpressed with machine candidates, I find Barack Obama’s run for the presidency quite captivating. I view it as the accession of institutional power of the post Civil Rights generation. I see Barack as the first candidate for president who understands the complexity in the diversity of our nation. It is one thing to pretend not to be a racist-See the Clinton’s- but in Barack’s case, his is not simply one of liberal paternalism, but truly a journey of the post civil rights generation. Obama’s journey is so non-linear that it is not even completely identifiable to many Afro-Americans.
Obama represents the vanguard of the generations who are the inheritors of all that the civil rights, black power, equal rights movement, and other post modern struggles for social justice opened up. Ours are the first generations to live without the demarcation lines of segregation. We are the generations of the technical age. We are the Hip-Hop generation. The dialogue that is necessary for our future has change dramatically from just thirty years ago. But we also inherited the institutional stains of white supremacy and manifest destiny.
The forms of racism, sexism, and economic justice that our generations must tackle are quite different from just thirty years ago. To continue using 20th century tactics in the 21st century will only delay the inevitable change that is afoot. Yes, Obama is a machine politician, but he is also of this generation. Not only is he a part of it but I think he posses a profound understanding of this new materialism. Meaning he understands, or at least minimally, recognizes the shifting language of our current circumstance as a vastly diverse nation.
Although progress on social justice issue have been infinitesimal, it would be intellectual dishonest for me not to acknowledge that in the last forty years things have begun to take a new shape. Now, I don’t mean to imply that I think that an Obama presidency will suddenly cure all are our ills, hardly. But I can also say that as recently as three years ago I would have argued the possibility of a Black president in my lifetime would never occur.
So in the sense that Obama understands our nation as it is currently comprised he is indeed transformative. Even old guard liberals often seem incapable of truly understanding the vastness of American experiences. Obama not only understands it but embodies it.
Again, I’m not naïve enough to think that an Obama presidency would be a panacea for change on the level I fear far too many people have put their faith in. No one person is capable nor should be burdened with such a Herculean task, but I am also checking my cynicism enough to realize that his election is an announcement of the coming of new day.
I do believe that an Obama presidency is the first real signal that the days of white supremacy and manifest destiny are beginning to fade, that the doors of our institutions are about to be kicked open to the complexities of the post civil rights generations.
Just as John Brown’s, seizure of the armory at Harper’s Ferry, signaled the coming of the abolition of slavery, or Mrs.’ Park’s, refusal to go to the back of the bus, signaled the inevitable conclusion of segregation. I believe that an Obama election may very well be the first clarion call for the end of the strangle hold that white supremacy and manifest destiny has held on our institutions.
This is not to say I’m abandoning my leftist politics, not at all. But like my mentor Huey Newton, I understand the concept of dialectical materialism and understand that nothing can remain stagnant. I believe an Obama presidency will begin to open doors allowing for a serious hearing of issues that have long been regulated to the sidelines. It has already begun on the local level with folks like Kwame Kilpatrick, Corey Booker, and Jesse Jackson Jr.
I fear that a McCain presidency will only further hinder our progress into the future. Our nation is not only browning but those of us in the majority are beginning to shed the ways of our ancestors.
The revolutionary change that is necessary for our country to truly embrace its entirety is far from being immediately upon us. But voting for the McKinney and Clemente ticket will not help further this cause either. I say this not to discourage anyone voting for the green ticket, as I do not find it a wasted vote at all. But I do believe that if Obama can be elected, and change often being quite incremental, that not far behind our generations leader will not only be heard, but truly understood, so that maybe one day when our next entertainer turn politician runs for president it will be in the person of an O’shea Jackson instead of a Ronald Reagan type. Or better yet a McKinney and Clemente ticket will have a legitimate chance at making an impact.
I have not arrived at this decision easily, and may very well loose a couple of stripes with my more militant brethren. But I do believe that the potential in the possibility of an Obama presidency will absolutely help inch us towards a 21st century that embraces the totality of where we are as a nation.
Let the arrows fly, Peace.


***Quick Aside: For those that don’t know, Barack Obama is not the first Afro-American to be on the ballot in all 50 states. Nor would have Hillary Clinton been the first women on the ballot on all fifty states. That historical landmark has already been accomplished by one person, Lenora Fulina.
Fulani ran for President in 1988 as the candidate of the New Alliance Party. She received almost a quarter of a million votes or 0.2% of the vote. She was the first African-American independent and the first women presidential candidate on the ballot in all 50 states.

Nostaligia

Tink, Tink… anybody still out there?

For those who care I’m back. I had to take some personal inventory and decide what I want to be when I grow up. With my 39th Birthday recently passing and my life beginning to settle from recent struggles it seemed like an ideal time to reflect on self. Gordon Parks remarked on how important it was for us to look in the mirror from time to time just to check ourselves, and I think its quite important to take time for periodical self reflection.

Of course my life is far from fulfilled but I’m finding my footing and beginning to positively progress down the new path I have chosen. Still a lot of shit to carry, but hey that’s life, right? But the change has also provided many new opportunities, and with age comes the acknowledgement that time is more precious then I ever imagined. No more time to spare. More importantly, it is time for me to do it my way. With my acceptance of the short time allotted to us here, I also have surmised that to a certain extent Ayan Rand is right, living for ones self, is not necessarily a negative. I have lived my life trying to please others often at my own expense. I have chosen routes that my inner voice warned me were wrong, but my philosophical self said were the “right thing to do.” But alas, I imagine that is why they call life the beautiful struggle.

Now, no more ignoring the voice inside, as I realize it is the voice of wisdom, and I would be a fool to continue to ignore it now that I have this understanding. As Bob said “only a fool would lean upon his on misunderstanding.”

At the risk of sounding like an echo chamber I want to thank my dear brothers, I Self Ra, Humanity Critic, Fruquan, and Gunner, for the constant advice and encouragement. Also a special shout out to the lady in my life who is constant in her loving criticisms and esteem building encouragement.

Not sure if it is my age or my complete snobbish attitude when it comes to Hip-Hop shows-probably a combination of both- but I seldom get excited by upcoming shows that blow through this area. This, in light of the fact, that when I do take a peak at something other then VH1-soul, I realize, I have lost almost complete touch with what is hot. Shit at this point, I’m basically that drunken uncle at the cook out who is constantly going on about “how we use to do it back in the day.” Now it is me going on about how Lil Wayne can’t hold a candle to the GOD RAKIM, and Grand Master Caz could rhyme for fifteen minutes with no hook and never repeat himself. As I have resolved that Hip-Hop is a youth culture, and I’m no longer youth, however, that is no way discourages me form digging for that good shit I know is out there, and speaking my peace on the most important influence in my life, Hip-Hop culture.

We all have certain smells, songs, places, or something that immediately transports us back to a specific time in our lives. For me one of those stimulants is when I go to Zulu Nations anniversary celebrations in NYC. There is something about walking into the Kennedy Cultural Center in Harlem, with its hardwood gym floor, DJ’s on the stage (at Zulu the DJ’s on the stage normally consist of either Jazzy-J, Afrika Bambatta, Or Starski Luv Bug, which makes it all the more mind blowing,) and B-boys in a cipher that takes me back to when I was in JR high school, in a similar gym, rec-center, or in someone’s front yard with linoleum square honing my craft as a b-boy. To this day if I hear Planet Rock or Pack Jam my body unconsciously responds and I find my arms starting to tick and my body loosen, ready to unveil my arsenal of three break moves.

For me Hip-Hop has always been about more then just the music, it has been about the culture and its ability to inform. Even when I’m in a club and they play classic Hip-hop shit, to me an olsd school set just doesn’t give me that complete sense of authenticity without the B-boys, ya dig? The culture as laid down by the elders in the Bronx having been largely evaporated here in the states, largely becoming a cottage industry for the Emcees, seemingly forgetting, that for about the first ten years the culture was existence there were no rap records. Outside of B-Boy battles, which seldom get the attention they deserve, and events like Zulu Anniversary, much of what is billed as Hip-Hop has little dialogue with the foundation of the culture.

So a couple of weeks ago when I got the customary zero hour text from my man Emory-AKA DJ Ill-literate I was amped. When Ill and his partner in crime Cornbread, get on the ones and two, it generally turns into one of those rare occasions I get to time travel and experience an evening that provides the aura circa of 1982. A time when the culture thrived on who was the dopest B-Boy on the floor, the illest rhyme sayer, or maybe wrote the craziest tag, and not about who has the dopest car, and illest chain, ya dig? Back in a time when reverence for your name was given based on the showing and proving of skills in a battle.

A little context may be helpful here. My man Emory-Ill-Literate is a B-Boy scholar. I don’t just mean in the he can site or recite any verse put on record since 77’ type scholar. Well, he is one of those as well, but he is also a PHD type scholar. The real Ill thing is he got his PHD in Hip-Hop and education from Regent University. How fucking Ill is that? He got a doctorate, with Hip-Hop as his focus from Pat “I predict the world will end because gay people were allowed to have a day at Disney world,” Roberson’s school. Now that’s gangsta! This is the kid I want to be when I grow up, but I digress.

To me the thing that makes a DJ a Hip-Hop DJ juxtaposed to say a mix tape Dj or a radio personality DJ, is ones proficiency for digging in crates, and equally as important, the ability to mix while keeping the party rocking. Making a mixed tape or getting Emcee’s to Rhyme over some beats, although entertaining and impressive, to me makes one a producer not a Hip-Hop DJ. Don’t get me wrong you can be both, DJ Premier is a perfectly example, but when we are talking about the culture in its purest form, it is about a DJ that concurrently wow’s with their musical vocabulary as well as their ability to keep asses on the dance floor.

Ill-Bread, as Ill-literate and Cornbread are affectionately referred, provided, on the ones and two’s, another perfect capsule for time traveling, never ceasing to amaze me with the breadth of their musical jockeying while simultaneously demanding that booty’s wiggle. In attendance was a peace crowed that got what it meant when Dougie Fresh, exclaimed, “I just want to see ya party and enjoy yourself.”

Oh and like the days of yore they announced the gig with dope flyer's, not some glossed index cards with chemical ball, airbrushed, Buffy looking chicks on it.

Enjoy the flyer's and keep coming back.

Peace,

Where I'm From; Greek Festival

This is the second installment in my photo journal of the places I inhabit here in the Norfolk, Va area.

I have lived in the area since 1985, and my first exposure to a "Greek Fest" had nothing to do with folks from a Mediterranean Island. Nope , mine was the infamous 1988, Greek Fest, in Virginia beach, made infamous in PE's song Welcome To the Terror dome. Needless to say the Greek Fest held at the Greek Orthodox Church on Granby Street has never seen a phalanx of National Guards men beating the shit out of festival goers with batons. Nope this Greek Fest is a celebration not of college fraternity's, but a celebration of Greek culture.

Over the past five or six years I have made it a point to attend the Greek fest. Although I never have enough money to eat and buy all I want, it's always a enjoyable experience.

The food, although a bit expensive, is well worth the trip. If you want to avoid the crowd they provide a drive thru food service that always seems to produce an unending line of cars from the moment they open until they shut down for the evening. Yeah, I could go to the three or four Greek restaurants in the area, but the food always seems to taste better in the authentic festive atmosphere. As delicious as the food and wine taste, it is the art of the Greek Orthodox tradition that draws me to attend every year. I can never get enough of the beauty, detail, and power of Greek Orthodox paintings. One need not practice religion to appreciate the power of the art and how it speaks to our humanity. So this year I strapped on the camera for my annual pilgrimage and tried to capture the inspiring works of art inside the two sanctuaries.

The next few pictures are of the stain glass windows in the main chapel. To me they are awe inspiring. Their size and detail give the sanctuary its sense of being the conduit of something bigger then ourselves. This I think runs through eastern religions, even in Islam, the scale of the art in the Masjids gives a sense of spirituality that moves me, but is impossible to articulate. I guess some would call it "the spirit moving."

(My Wis looking upward for direction)

My fascination with Christian art, particularly Catholic, Greek and Ethiopian Orthodox, came during my youth while living in Spain. I remember visiting massive cathedrals lined with gold and some of the most inspiring paintings I have ever seen. I was completely blown away by the detailed craftsmanship of everything from the pillars to the pews. The time and commitment from the community in building these structures, often times over a couple of generations, to me, symbolises mans ability to unite. When I stood in those cathedrals as a child the opulence and scale not only spoke to the praise of something higher, but also served as a reminder as to our size in the grand scheme of existence.

When viewing these paintings one can almost smell the incense waifing through the air, along with murmured chanting in ancient Greek.

(Above is the front of the Church above the pulpit)







(This is in the foyer of the main chapel, I believe)































This and the one that follows is from the ceiling of the smaller chapel. When you look up to this the blue background truly gives you the sense of the sky. Looking up to this provides the same sense of tranquility as looking into a summer night when the stars seem within grasp.















When looking above and beholding such beautiful art, it makes for an easy transition to a meditative state.





(Above is in the front of the smaller chapel, behind the pulpit)

(This piece hangs inside the smaller chapel)
This painting is captivating to me for both its detail and power. I can stare at it for hours.

The babies keeping their traditions alive.

Victory For Ricky D

MC Ricky D, AKA Slick Rick, long immigration journey has finally come to an end http://wcco.com/entertainment/slick.rick.pardoned.2.732101.html.

Rick is arguably the best story teller in Hip-Hop music history. Although Ghostface has been given him a run for his money of late, however Rick still wears the crown in my estimation.

I actually had a chance to see him last summer at a place called the Jewish Mother in Virginia Beach. When I heard he was coming I was amped as the Jew Ma can't hold more then a couple of hundred of people. In fact, the Jew Ma is so small, there is no back stage, the artists enter from a side door right off the street onto the stage . So to have the opportunity to see a legend that close-up was indeed the rarest of treats.

Rick did not disappoint. He did all his hits and had the crowd rocking and sweating in that tiny box. But the thing that stood out most to me was how humble the brother was. Despite his trunk jewelery, and arrogant swagger as an Emcee, Rick was mad cool. During his last song he was signing autographs for the crowd. Cats were handing him their vinyl and he was signing the records right there from the stage while still performing. Even after the show on the street next to the venue he kept singing autographs and taking pictures. And not in the, hurry up and get this shit over with way, but giving each person his undivided attention.

Tthroughout the show he constantly thanked the crowd for the love and support, especially upon his release from prison. He seemed genuinely humbled by the love. Which was a breath of fresh air in this day, when so-called Emcees, who can barely form a sentence, walk around like their shit don't stink and act as if the world owes them something. But I digress.

Rick has to be in most Hip-Hop snobs (that right MR. Rodriguez nothing wrong with being snobbish about this shit LOL) top ten list of Emcees. Rick's rhymes have been more akin to watching a movie. One thing I always thought separated him from many Emcees was his ability to show vulnerability. While most Emcees spend too much time discussing how many hoes they have, or how fly there material possessions are, Rick found ways to add humanity to his rhymes. The song "The Moment I feared" serves as an perfectly example, where he discusses getting yoked by some Brooklyn cats as well as fearing being raped in prison. Now that's real! Not in the bullshit way most talk about "keeping it real." Normally when cats are hollering "keeping it real' it is a justification for some hedonistic endeavor that has nothing to do with most peoples lives.

There has been talk recently of a new Ricky D Album tentatively titled "The Adventure Continues" but in a recent interview Ricky said it was not happening. Rick intimated he was waiting for a mature audience niche before attempting to put another album out. Rick if you hear this I would tell you that audience is out here and we are starving to hear something from you! I implore you, get to the studio!!

Anyway, Big Up to Governor David Patterson, who is obviously not blind to the facts, and allowed one of Hip-Hop's finest to stay put here is the U.S., and inshallah provide more bangers in the future.

Quriks

My brother I self, AKA Dan Tres Omi, tagged me to do provide six quirks. So here goes;

1. I cannot stand to eat food with no shirt on. Just seems gross to me. Further more I can't stand to watch anyone eat food without a shirt on, even is she is as fine as all out doors.

2. If your going to listen to my CD's, they MUST put them back in their case when finished. This is true for DVD's as well. I have put far to much money into my music and movie collection and it should be handled with care. This also means I generally don't loan my shit out either.

3. I have never, and to this day still do not, eat my cereal with milk on it. Not sure how it started cause I don't remember ever eating it any other way. I didn't think much of it until I was in the Navy and people constantly remarked how odd they thought it was. I guess I just don't want my cereal squishy.

4. Not sure if this is so much a Quirk as it is a sense of taste. When I make or get an apple martini made I replace the Vodka with Crown Royal. I tripped upon this little tasty treat when I was in Atlantic City about two years ago. I was at the Sounds Of Philadelphia restaurant inside of the Bally's hotel and they had a drink called an "Philly Apple." Which was basically a apple martini with Crown Royal vice Vodka. Makes all the difference in the world. I suggest you give it a try.

5. Ok this is an odd one. I can't count the number of times I have had someone come up to me or I have even recognized them, had an entire conversation, and couldn't remember their name. But that is not my quirk. The quirk is I never ask, I just keep on talking but never ask their name. An example; their is this dude at the gym and we both recognized each other, and for the past three weeks we have spoken each time we see each other, and even given each other dap. But can't remember his name, and for whatever reason I always feel odd asking. Kind of a Larry David moment.

6. Ok last one; I never put my good books in my back pack. I always hand carry them as I cannot stand for the pages to become dog eared.


The rules of the game is I'm to tag six others to do this. Problem is, I don't have six friends, and only two in the blogosphere, and one of them was the one who hit me. So Amadeo if your up to it, the mic is all yours.



Peace

Arts and Culture

Since I last checked-in much of my time has been spent attending arts and culture events. I have also continued snapping pictures (one of which-the Alvin Ailey banner is mine) and caught up on a couple of Woody Allen films, Cassandra’s Dream and Melinda and Melinda. But even more enjoyable over the last few weeks I have had my pick of some serious Jazz and stage performances. During the last few weeks there has been an Ella Fitzgerald birthday celebration, and the 12th annual Virginia Arts festival taking place here is the seven cities. When it came in deciding which shows to attend my eyes were bigger then my stomach so I had to make decisions on what events to attend. Just to give an indication of the level of entertainment that blew through here the following is a list of artist I didn’t get the pleasure of checking out; Dave Brubeck (yeah that Dave Brubeck), Foreplay with Bob James, Kathleen Battle, and the Ramsey Lewis Trio. Again, that’s who I didn’t get to see.




For the last two years or so when I make my annual winter track to NYC, I tell myself that I’m going to plan it around seeing a performance of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Of course like many things for one reason or another this plan has fallen by the wayside, largely because of late I seem to find myself lost in a sea of dreads in Flatbush section by day, and dipping into Jazz clubs, in the Ft. Greene section of planet Brooklyn at night. So immersed in BK that when I get back to VA I find myself shouting out “718,” knowing I’m not from there (see Joell Ortiz on that.) So needless to say, when I saw that Alvin Ailey was scheduled to appear at this years Virginia Arts Festival, getting lost in Brooklyn was no longer an excuse. When I eyed the calendar I realized that the show would be on a weekend that I had my babies, perfect, this is mandatory exposure for them. As I see it they may not appreciate or understand certain things that I expose them at the time, but at some juncture down the road, inshallah, a light will turn on. The hope is that I can somehow provide them with a foundation for appreciation of art, if not now, maybe later in their lives.

Ok, normally the only time I wear a tie is when I have dealings with the Judicial System, which over the last two years has been a bit too often. But this was a Sunday, the theater, and an Alvin Ailey performance, and dressing to kill was quite necessary. I must say my Wiz had my daughter looking as cute as I have ever seen her, and my son and I, actually looked as if we had a bit of class. After being groomed it was off the theater.

I have to say from the opening curtain until the end of the performance based entirely on reputation I expected to be blown away. I must say however the first piece, Firebird, although enjoyable did not capture me. Not to mention the worst of all fates for a dancer occurred as one of the performers actually fell mid-way through the performance. The next piece, The Golden Section, was filled with high energy. What I found interesting about this performance was their use of the wings of the stage. A good portion of the dancing was stage left or right not center stage.

As this is the 50th anniversary of the Alvin Ailey theater we were privileged to see them perform their signature piece Revelations. This was without a doubt worth the price of admission. One cannot help but be mesmerized by the vibrant colors and the fluid movements of the dancers. The strength and elegance of their bodies is absolutely phenomenal. Not only are you lurid in by the dancing, and the accompanying gospel music has you dancing along in your seat. My daughter was absolutely engrossed in the performance which is saying something because normally I can’t her to sit still or be quiet for anything. My son seemed to enjoy it as well, so hopefully the seed of an appreciation for arts and culture has indeed been planted.

Much of modern interruptive dance can often be very dense in deciphering, Revelations, however, is accessible without losing quality or emotion. It’s theme of course is the refection of Black American struggle through the prism of the church. But it also conveys the universal desire and struggle for “betterness” in humanity, as the Honorable Robert Nesta Marley would say.


The week prior to this was adult night. April 19th through the 25th The Ferguson Arts Center at Christopher Newport University held their 11th annual Ella Fitzgerald music festival. Like I said earlier had to make a decision on which show I was going to attend which was no easy process. After going through the list which included the likes of Dave Brubeck, Bob James, and Ramsey Lewis, I decided on the show the featured Al Jarreau. Two reasons I made the choice I did; Cassandra Wilson and Cindy Blackman. Don’t get me wrong, I have been listening to Al Jarreau since probably 83 or 84, but the chance to see both of those ladies made the decision a little easier.

I stumbled across Cassandra Wilson years ago while reading the Jazz Times and found her voice to be quite sultry, and her appearance quite attractive. I After reading the article I grabbed a couple of her albums and have been a fan ever since. Consequently I had been itching to see her live for quite some time. But outside of a Jazz Festival years ago in D.C, I never really had the opportunity to catch her.
On record her voice is sultry and warm much like the feeling one feels when snuggled in a warm blanket, in front of a fire, with a good book, and glass of wine. Although the beauty of her voice comes through live, the smoothness of it served more of a lullaby then capturing vocal experience. For me the best part of the show was when her band opened playing Duke Ellington’s Caravan. They kept the core of the original but layered it more with Arabic sounds making it one of the best renditions of the song I have ever heard.

Cassandra’s pianist, John Baptiste, went into an upbeat crowd pleasing solo after the other members of band had exited from the stage upon completion of Cassandra’s set. Baptist’s solo captured the crowd more then Cassandra’s entire performance which turned out to be the perfect segue way for Al Jarreau's entrance.

Prior to Cassandra almost putting me to sleep, Cindy Blackman provided a mouth watering opening to the show. My first exposure to Cindy came when she began drumming for Lenny Kravitz. Cindy’s style is still bad ass rock n roll but her music is all Jazz. Her band was tight, at times they sounded like something from a Bitches Brew era Miles Davis, while at others like the “gentle side” of John Coltrane. Cindy directed her band flawlessly. Her bass player did all the heavy lifting holding the melodies of each song, while Cindy and her saxophonist took turns soloing. To me their sound dialogued so well with the past that if you closed your eyes you got the feeling you walked into a band jamming at the Five Spot circa late 50’6 to early 60’s. I imagine even Stanley Crouch would have enjoyed this performance.

From the moment AL Jarreau hit the stage it was obvious he is a veteran who has perfected craft. His voice was immaculate, his stage presence absorbing, and his personality intoxicating. He acted a fool telling joked and interacting with the crowd in a way that never interrupted the show, but in fact, enhanced the entire experience. I was completely blown away. The words fail me in articulating how well Al sounds in person. I can only recommend that if you have the chance to hear him that you not hesitate to go.

I must say living outside of a large metropolitan area it can be quite exhausting to locate venues with consistent, real, jazz music. Unlike say NYC, I can’t just head downtown and walk into a place like Blue Note or Frank’s Place and catch real jazz musicians in a jam session. Recently the city of Suffolk closed down the only viable Jazz club in the area. Besides periodic events like The Ella Fitzgerald birthday celebration, real Jazz music in this area is at a premium to locate. All of which leads me to a bit of a rant. In June across the water the annual ‘Hampton Jazz Festival” is set to take place. Problem is there is no organic Jazz to speak of on the bill. Here is the line up to play over three days time; Gladys’s Knight, Boney James with Jonathan Butler, Raheem Devaughn, Chrisette Michele, Jill Scott, Kenny G, KEM, Maze, Joss Stone, and Dave Koz with Peabo Bryson.

First of all how the f&#k did Joss Stone find her way on this bill? Secondly, and more importantly, where is the jazz!!! If you are thinking or going to argue Kenny G is jazz then I have no further words for you. Kenny G is to Jazz what, well, what Joss Stone is to soul music, a horrible, uninspired, imitation. Yeah, yeah, one can make a somewhat viable argument that Boney James and Dave Koz are jazz. But all too often their work approaches the elevator friendly music of Kenny G. But more to the point, even if those two artist qualify as Jazz, the concerts are suppose to be part of a “Jazz festival”, but only highlight two questionable Jazz acts.

I have lived in the area since ‘84 and it has always been this way. I think that it is past time for them to reconsider the title of this event. Maybe the “Hampton Soul Fest, or “Hampton R & B Festival” would serve as a better title. I mean in a place starving for true Jazz, labeling this event as a “Jazz Festival” serve only to further frustrate the search for legitimate Jazz in this area.

Aiight I’m out.

Brother George's

Fairly recently I picked-up a camera and began snapping photos of everything I saw trying to ascertain whether or not I have an eye for the art. After randomly snapping pictures I thought it would be more productive to create a specific project for myself and seeing as I am far from having the funding to finance a trip to either Spain or Egypt, I figured I would start with something closer to home. So with that in mind I have begun taking pictures of places and people that I frequent and influence me here in the Norfolk, VA area. The working title of the project at the moment is “Where I’m From.” Although the project is far from complete I thought my blog would be the perfect place to work through the process. The first place that jumped in my mind was the Self Improvement Educational Center. It is an oasis of knowledge and health located in the center of the Park Place, one of Norfolk’s most notorious neighborhoods.

Sad to say during my grammar and high school years I did little more than just enough to get by. Meaning I basically rote memorized my way through school. I eventually joined the Navy and it was there I quickly realized the importance of having an education and more importantly direction. I found myself fascinated with the conversations about religion, culture, and politics I was hearing some of the older cats engaging in during off hours in the berthing compartments. As much as I wished to join in I had no frame of reference to add to the conversation other then the jingoistic perspectives one receives from public school education.
So it was sometime during my first year in the Navy I decided for the first time to pick-up a book for no other reason than to expand my mind. I don’t recall how I came across them but I got a hold of a copy of ; The Last Speeches of Malcolm X, and The Philosophies of Marcus Aureilus. After I tore through both of those books I was ready to devour more.

The sign on the building says it all “Self Improvement Educational Center.” I had passed by the store numerous times but for one reason or another never bothered to stop in. With my recent discovery of Malcolm and the numerous Islamic references being dropped in Hip-Hop music at the time, I wanted to learn more about the subject and something told me that the store on 35th and Newport may just have what I was looking for. Not only did I find the information I was looking for but I found a place that would guide and support me to this very day.

The guide I found came in the way of the proprietor of the store George Welch, known throughout the community as “Brother George.” In fact Brother George’s presence is so ubiquitously linked to the store that no one ever refers to it as the “Self Improvement Educational Center” but simple as “Brother George’s.” Back when artist such as Check D and KRS 1 were dropping science in their songs about historical figures and events, it was Brother George who directed me to what books to read. Not only did he direct me to the proper literature but he was always available to provide an explanation and insight into the new information I was digesting. Once I became heavily active in grass roots organizing I could always count on Brother George to allow us to use his store for meetings, video showings, or even a press conference. As a member of the paler nation Brother George never once made me feel as if I wasn’t welcomed in his store, as I’m sure others have had something to say about it, but from the day I walked in to his store Brother George never blinked an eye and has never been anything but supportive of myself and my endeavors. In fact it was Brother George who provided me with one of the more memorable moments of my activist life.

During the run up to the Million Family March in assisting the local Nation Of Islam contingent Brother George invited local grass roots organizations out to help assist in drumming up publicity and getting people bussed up to the march. At the time I was running the local chapter of the International Family and Friends of Mumia-Abu Jamal chapter and in that capacity received an invitation to help organize. As the March date approached Min. Farrakhan went on cross country speaking tour to further advertise the march. When the Minister arrived here a personal meeting with local activist and city official was setup at his hotel and I was asked to be a part of the meeting. Not only did I get to meet and talk with the Minister but a picture of me at the meeting appeared in The Final Call newspaper. As I was preparing to leave the meeting Minster Albert who was running the local NOI temple at the time asked if I would give some opening remarks and an update on Mumia’s case later that evening prior to Minister Farrakhan speaking a local church. Needless to say I was honored and horrified, honored that I was going to get to speak before the Minister but horrified that I would be speaking before the Minister ya dig? Anyway I got my fifteen minutes that evening and because of my association with Brother George I can actually say I spoke on the same dais as Minister Farrakhan.

My story is only one of hundreds of brothers and sisters who have stepped foot in Brother George’s store. It is place one can feed their body proper nutrients and their mind right knowledge. On any given evening there will be brothers in a cipher discussing anything from Dr. Ben to Jazz music or the benefits of holistic living. For years I have stopped by at least twice a month to get a bean pie and a Final Call newspaper. Now days I take my babies for their bean pies and more importantly their exposure to a place that could hold the key to unlocking the vast potential of their minds. I have been to book stores similar to Brother George’s from New York to San Diego but this is the one I call home and it is the one for me that all other are compared. Although Brother George has talked of turning the store over to a younger brother of late no matter who is running the store, to me and I think most others, the Self Improvement Educational Center will always be “Brother George’s.”


Nas Dawud and Brother George.