HumanityCritic on “Being a Hip Hop Snob”

In my quest to find inner peace, I’ve relaxed certain behaviors of mine that I’m sure many garden variety sane people find unacceptable. On the violence front, I’ve taken great pains to be more flexible in my overall approach - instead of flying off the handle and crushing someone’s larynx at the drop of a hat, I now give the possible recipient of the aforementioned neck strike a couple of stern warnings before making sure that their feeble little world crumbles all around them. Instead of responding to side-eye commentary with a barrage of soul crushing insults and not so veiled threats, I’ve settled into a rhetorical sweet spot of very casually telling the person in question, “I’m the wrong nigga on the wrong day” and keep it moving. Not for nothing, but I have no problem whatsoever with the aforementioned changes in my life - I’m almost 40 years old for Christs sake, and alterations to my demeanor of that magnitude will not only keep me from an early demise but it may also give St. Peter a reason to give my application into heaven a serious look. But a change that I haven’t been so cool with, one that I’ve been wearing like an ill-fitting suit, has been my recent penchant for letting people off the hook who love monosyllabic Hip Hop.

Listen, it never fails. Every now and then I get suckered into co-signing arguments like this: “HumanityCritic, Hip Hop is a young man’s game. It’s generational and you haven’t gotten with the times. MC-Scratch-n-sniff isn’t your cup of tea, but that doesn’t make them wack!”

As I look at the grey hairs that have spread across my face like a virus, and hear the sporadic clicking of my trick right knee, I tend to hesitantly agree with this line of argument. These are the times that I let my guard down and say silly shit to myself like, “Yeah, they have a point. My parents didn’t like my music so it’s natural that I’ll feel a certain way about the next generation’s music. Maybe I should ease up a bit.” Then the next couple of months are feverishly spent trying to find the lyrical silver lining in a Lil Wayne of Wacka Flocka verse. Well you know what, go fuck yourselves. For all the forward progression that I’ve made in my life, one thing I won’t get in the habit of doing is participating in this bar lowering that we all find ourselves doing. Changing styles of Hip Hop are bound to happen, but wanting the man or woman who clutches a microphone for a living to complete a coherent sentence isn’t too much to ask. I’ll be more laid back on other facets of my life, but I will continue to be an unrepentant asshole when it comes to my Hip Hop standards.

But throughout my history of maintaining those aforementioned standards, there are certain acts of snobbery that I’ve learned to embrace. Here are a few:

Parting is such sweet Sorr..Oh!: A few years ago I had a girlfriend who left me for a guy who was in a local Hip Hop group. Like many lovers who just had their beating hearts forcefully ripped out of their chests, I was completely devastated. Distraught. Absolutely besides myself. That was until I just happened to wind up at a show where her new boyfriend was performing. Despite the fact that another man had stolen the love of my life, and was nightly exploring new depths of her nether region that my feeble penis didn’t even know existed - the fact that he was an inept microphone holder made everything automatically alright. I’m that much of a fucking snob. That actually goes for any new boyfriend of anyone that I’ve ever dated: Just let me find out that their Hip Hop tastes aren’t exactly up to snuff, or that they hold some silly Hip Hop opinion that drooling lunatics in padded rooms only dare utter out loud. No matter how intense the pain I was going through, clouds automatically start to part - a “new lease on life” exhilaration washes over my body - my deeply bruised heart immediately mends as if I had Wolverine’s regenerative abilities. It totally becomes a “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” where the entire relationship gets wiped from my internal hard drive. My snobbery runs so deep that I sincerely wish the best for the happy couple on the sole basis that there is now concrete evidence that all of this elite Hip Hop opinion needed to find a place where it was truly appreciated anyway. It’s sick, but then again I’m an asshole. Thank you Hip Hop.

Please Listen to my Demo: I’m totally fine with telling someone that I couldn’t give two shits about how horrible their presence on the microphone happens to be, but I have problems relaying the same stern message to someone I actually like. That’s why this local rapper has given me 10 CD’s that I have yet to listen to. Even though I’m aware that there is a 50/50 chance that he’s actually a serviceable wordsmith, the mere possibility of him being unable to stick the landing on a well crafted 16 is too much for me to bare - primarily because, well, as a snob I would be forced to tell him so in some pretty unflattering terms. So far I’ve gotten away with saying vague shit to him like, “Dude, you were more aggressive on this record” or “I really see a lot of growth in your writing this year” - all the while never hearing one solitary syllable.

Peanut Gallery: I heckle bad DJ’s, it’s what I do. Not only do I give them real-time commentary like, “Dude, you’re flailing up here - do you need me to take over?” - but I also give them a scouting report after the show of the “How could you play Pharcyde’s “Passing me by” and cut off Fatlip’s verse” variety. Let’s just say that a few men in the Hampton Roads are who claim to be skilled with both hands behind the turntables also want to exhibit the same ambidextrous ability on your favorite writer’s face.

Going Way Back!

Nas Dawud   

  So the other night I’m watching the movie.” Trading Places,” for like the one hundredth and who knows how many times. One of my favorite scenes in the movie is when Billy Ray is in jail talking cash shit about his bitches and the broke phone in his limo. Unimpressed and tired of listening to his obvious bullshit claims, two big burly "Barry White looking" brothers decide step to him advising, “It ain’t cool being no jive turkey so close to thanksgiving.

                                         

      One of the reasons I never tire of that scene has everything to do with the use of “Jive Turkey.”  As a kid when I heard someone preposition and action or claim with "jive;" i knew that shit was being broken down to the very last compound. Watching the movie this last time got me to thinking about other old phrases and colloquialisms from my youth I find myself wishing were still in use.

     From the early Hip-Hop lexicon one of the colloquialisms I miss the most is “sure shot.” Many of the first generation Emcees incorporated this phrase into their rhymes. Even some second-third generation crews like, GangStarr,Nice n Smooth, and the Beastie Boys used it. But alas, this concise and perfectly braggadocios Hip-Hop boast appears to be no more.

     An what happened to “Fresh?” Now days when cats use fresh it primarily denotes that their sound or gig is on an old school vibe. Which when you think on it for a second is a bit of an oxymoron, yes? But for whatever reason fresh didn’t survive and remain current in the Hip-Hop lexicon the way dope did. I guess there is no real explanation why some things make it and others don’t, but for me, fresh is doper then dope.

    Bite, Biter, Bit ,and Biting, sadly has also become largely extinct in the current Hip-Hop vernacular. The use of this varying term leaves no room for ambiguity. That shit is is a straight declaration that the culprit is disapprovingly straight eating off the accusers shit. To be accused of biting in Hip-Hop culture is to be perceived as committing blasphemy.

    Now on some just ole cool lost shit. I remember when cats dapped up by asking you to” lay some skin on me, on the black-hand side,” shouts of “Right On!” Conversations would open with “say blood?” And end with an emphatic“can you dig it?”

    Or even better, remember when folks referred to each other as Soul Brother or Sister?  Now this is not to make a judgment or imply other terms of recognition don’t have their time and place. But the reference to others as Soul Brother or Sister elicits a sense camaraderie, pride and certainly endearment, but it also implicitly recognized the unity in struggle. Not to say that a certain troublesome word doesn’t also imply endearment and a certain sense of connectedness. But currently  this troublesome words' employed usage gives the impression that it is the hedonistic capitalistic American materialistic money chase that unifies and not liberation from it. There is a reason James Brown was touted as "Soul Brother Number One" and not “Ni@#a number one," ya dig?

     Maybe it is my age and maybe like the many before me I too often view the past and my generation through rose tinted glasses. But it seems to me that there is a genuine lack of creativity today in everything from our educational system to the arts. Too often today’s lexicon seems to lack imaginative cleverness or even the couching of illicit subject matter with intimation. Far too much seems in your face reality TV "rachetness."Or maybe I am just becoming old and out of touch as my babies keep reminding me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZekLIdcwLM 

Public Enemy is #1

     

 Nas-Dawud.

  Well it appears to be Public Enemy week here at the Nappy-Dawud blog spot. Earlier in the week my brethren Humanity Critic, revealed that his virginity was lost while being ridden to the romantic sounds of Welcome to the Terror Dome. Although my upcoming “first” with Pubic Enemy will not be quite as salacious, but for me it should prove quite monumental.  

    This Saturday I’m going to a concert with my twelve year old son for the first time. When I saw Public Enemy (PE) was coming to town as part of the Kings of The Mic Tour (De La Soul, PE, Ice Cube, and LL Cool J,) I knew this was that show. I have let a few old school shows slip through town without taking my son or even attending myself for that matter. But Public Enemy! Yeah we have to do this! No way, we can miss this one.

     Ironically, a week or so before learning of the concert my son and I were watching PE’s induction into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.  After the show I started to break down to him exactly how fucking unfathomable it was for me to see The Rebels without a Pause being inducted into the Hall of Fame. PE is the anti-establishment. They are The Clash of Hip-Hop. These brothers politicized an entire generation to not only question the powers that be but to fight them as well. And now they were being given an honor that was seemingly inconceivable some twenty plus years ago when they told the world “Fuck John Wayne.” But there they were taking their rightful place on that stage. Not sure if I deserved it but I felt a great sense of victory and vindication.

     PE’s message has never been served up with the folksy reflection of a Bob Dylan, Na; PE brought the noise with the chaos that was The Bomb Squad. The Bomb Squad sound provided the perfect siren of urgency to Chuck’s unapologetic declarations.   For me, cats like Rakim and Krs-1, stimulated the quest for knowledge and information. But with PE, Chuck’s voice provided the motivation to not only seek the information but to get up and get involved. Chuck’s booming bass voice compelled one to become active. PE made being the smart mutha fucka that knew some shit and was about something cool as hell. Opposed to portraying the cat with the biggest watch, and the trophy, tattooed, surgically altered Chick you can make it rain on, as the desirable image. That was their influence. What they gave society through their music assisted in creating an open space to re-evaluate society through the eyes of the first Black post civil rights generation.

     PE was quite influential in the development of my politics and the path I chose to walk in my young adult life. And now as my son creeps up on his teens it is time to start getting to the real with him. Early on in his life it was about providing a basic foundation and a safe place for him to be a baby. Now we are up to talking politics, how to deal with the police as a young Brown male, and how to treat young ladies. The moment I saw that PE was on the bill I knew this had to be our first show. How could it not be?

     To my great fortune a few years ago I was able to sit down and do an interview with Professor Griff. Quiet as kept Griff was the Google search engine that provided the fodder for many of Chuck’s wise words. Out of that interview I was able to engage in one of the more profound on the record conversation of my life. As I get ready to head to the concert I leave you with wise words being spoken from Professor Griff on the founding of Public Enemy.     

D: Were you political before you were hip-hop, i.e., were you a child prodigy of consciousness?

G: No it was something I grew into. Chuck and me went to a summer program called the African-American experience, where they taught African dance, African culture, African drum and dance, and that kind of thing. Plus, ex-Black Panthers ran it, so we got both sides of it. So that was at an early age your talking 9, 10, 11-years old. So by the time I was a teenager I was already there. So I had Qaddifi, Mao, and Che, on my walls. Being educated by ex-black panther and being groomed in the African American experience at that time, it was there already.

D: How did that morph into Public Enemy?

G: I think it did simply because Chuck being more so on the Black Nationalism side, and both of us having that experience in the African-American experience and being groomed by ex-black panthers. I think when I went off doing the thing of joining the Nation of Islam, always being militant, always into the martial arts at a young age. Then the cadets, and then the United States Military it’s like I was being groomed by a higher power to play that role in PE. So when everything hit it was like me and Chuck were already there mentally. It’s just we got together and I brought the soldiers in and we kinda took on that whole Black Panther look and ideology. Plus with the ideology from the Nation of Islam, and then from the grass roots movements that we were always connected with. I think it was a perfect blend and mixture to do what we wanted to do. It’s just that all we needed at that time was a vehicle to do it in and hip-hop provided that.

D: That’s what I was going to ask you, why music? With you coming up in the Nation and Chuck in Black Nationalism why not something like Uhuru? Why did you guys decide on music?

G: I think we had already did those things. I was already teaching I was already having study groups; I was already having classes and training people in martial arts. So it just happened at the right time. R&B couldn’t have done it. Jazz couldn’t have done it. Gospel couldn’t have done it. Blues couldn’t have done it. It took something like hip-hop, which incorporated all those genres of music to do it. Hip-Hop was militant enough, Hip-Hop was outspoken enough, and Hip-Hop was to the left. They said at the time Hip-Hop wouldn’t last for 20 years. That was perfect for us to start a revolution.

The time I lost my virginity to "Welcome to the Terrordome"

- HumanityCritic

Listen, I say a lot of wild shit on twitter, I acknowledge this. But the problem with saying outlandish things on that particular social media platform is that people tend to think that you're kidding when you couldn't be more serious. For example, I relayed to my twitter followers that I told my therapist that I only have "fear of death" panic attacks when I masturbate. Sure, it got some chuckles, but it happened to be the absolute truth. (I've have indeed, on more than one occasion, ran out of the room with my dick in my hand while hyperventilating as Jazmine Cashmere gave the performance of a lifetime on my computer screen.) Another true story that people thought was just me trying to be funny was the time I inserted my very unimpressive penis inside of a woman in the bathroom at my father's wake.(I was in desperate need of consoling.) Again, people thought that an incident that forced my sweet mother to momentarily interrupt her sobbing just to say "Boy, why do you smell like pussy?" was made up out of thin air. Again, that happened.

But the one story people really have a hard time believing is that I lost my virginity to the Public Enemy song "Welcome to the Terrordome". Yes, that really happened as well. If I'm being technical about it, if basic penetration means that you've popped your proverbial cherry, then I actually lost my virginity when I was 13. But I feel weird counting that since it was only a quarter of a stroke, and I'm still up in the air about which orifice the little guy down there wound up exploring. In my room, right before I had to go to track practice, during my Junior year of High School, is when a cute light-skinned girl named "Jane" ushered me into manhood. Here is some background:

For a virgin, I sure talked a whole bunch of shit that made me seem like a grizzled veteran in the fine art of pelvic thrusting. "Jane", who had been on the receiving end of the aforementioned shit talking and fictitious accounts of my sexual exploits decided to call my bluff one day. "Ok, I'll be at your house at 2:30 today. Be ready for me!" Immediately beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I even think my left arm got numb for a moment. But because my desire to accomplish sexual completion in something other than crumpled pieces of tissue paper outweighed the possibility of me sexually under-performing, I decided to go through with it.

Because my grandmother lived with my family, and always sat in the front window watching people all day, getting "Jane's" fine ass into the house was something out of "Oceans 11". She had to park her car down the street, quietly come through the front door that I left ajar for her as I distracted my grandmother at the back of the house - all the while I'm not so subtly giving "Jane" directional hand signals, kind of like cops give each other as they are searching a house for a suspect. I eventually make my way up to my room to meet "Jane" for our scheduled tryst, her hopping on me and passionately kissing me the moment I entered the room - truly stuff straight out of a John Hughes movies. After minutes of making out and dry humping that could cause a wildfire, she asks "Do you have any condoms." Of course I did, because I was the type of virgin that had condoms by the boatload - confidently knowing that any day my world would be flooded with various types of exotic vagina. What arrogance.

So before we start she demands, "Put on some music!". I'd like to say that I didn't own any traditional mood music, or that what I wound up playing was already in my radio's tape player - but no - getting my first unadulterated fuck on to Public Enemy's "Welcome to the Terrordome" was completely a conscious choice. After she giggled because she thought I was joking, and after that smile faded to garden variety bewilderment when she realized that I was dead ass serious - that's when the magic started to happen. And by "magic", I mean telling her that I had a back injury just so she could ride me - saving me from the embarrassment of clumsily playing the "Is it in?" game. I wish I could brag about how long I lasted, but if I did I'd be lying. Go listen to the song "Welcome to the Terrordome" - I started convulsing, making the "Oh!" face, and curing my toes around the same time Chuck D says "Hear my favoritism roll "Oh"/ Never be a brother like me go solo." To her credit "Jane" was very nice about it all, kindly lied to me about wanting to see me again, and as far as I know never told anyone that I clumsily came faster than a "Biggie is the greatest MC of all time" argument.

So yeah, if my future girlfriend or wife is reading this, there isn't anything disturbing to take away from me playing a Public Enemy song during sex. No deeper meaning about what kind of sex I participate in because of that experience, nothing like that. Just know that I may occasionally fuck you to some wildly inappropriate shit. If I on M.O.P's "Ground Zero", or Rakim's "Microphone Fiend" - just go with it. I'm still that sweet guy that you fell in love with.

"TRUF" is Not The Truth!

    

Before we go any further, no, this post has nothing to do with Paul Pierce.
     Now I will be the first to admit that there has always been a delicate line of what constitutes rebellion and vandalism when it comes to graffiti art. I know when I have facilitated youth workshops on Hip-Hop, or even when teaching my own babies about the element of Graff writing, I find myself carefully choosing my words when attempting to contextualize what constitutes protest art and what is vandalism. No matter how carefully I parse my words depending the on the time, location, and perspective in which Graffiti is being viewed, the line between art and vandalism will always be debatable.

    That said, I do know vandalism when I see it. For real though, writing shit just for the sake of doing it, or as an pathetic attempt at appearing a young contrarian, by no means makes one a Graff writer. Especially if it is some bullshit, weak ass, bubble letters that have no artistic or socially redeeming value.

    Well, I’m here to call bullshit on a wack ass vandal in the Norfolk section of Ghent who shamelessly utilizes the tag “TRUF.”  This “writer” has over the past eight to nine months become a nuisance to the community.

     To date this vandal has tagged the façade of two of the oldest condo buildings in this historic neighborhood, a local restaurant, and a Lutheran Church that services community by providing food and recreational activities to those truly in need. Recently while walking back from my favorite juice spot I noticed “TRUF” had hit “the jeep.” The jeep is a converted mail truck that is a ubiquitous part of the community landscape that can assuredly be found parked in front of the local free trade coffee shop. This is unnecessary destruction of private property in no way constitutes Graffiti art.

    There is nothing socially or politically redeeming in “TRUF’s” bullshit. Not only is there nothing redeeming in these cowardly acts but “TRUF’s” actions unfortunately serve to sully the reputation of true Graffiti artist. So while assholes like this run free far too many real artist are regulated to being defined as criminals.

     True Graffiti art should be reserved for strategic public spaces with the intention of beautifying an environment or giving a platform for the voices of those who feel muted from the broader society. That is why Graff artist of the early eighties bombed dilapidated buildings bringing beauty to the blight of their crumbling neighborhoods. The bombing of subway cars was an attempt to use the public transportation to carry their names and street throughout the five Burroughs. Today Graff artist such as Bansky are quite particular in their public displays while many Graff artist are afforded spaces to explore their art and express their outrage while receiving proper recognition.

    The “TRUF” does nothing but create eye sores in an otherwise eclectic and artsy section of the city. “TRUF’s” antics are reminiscent of those of “SPITS” from the movie Beat Street. For those that don’t know, in the movie SPIT would vandalize recently done pieces by true Graffiti artist.

      One can only make presumptions of what narcissistic shortcomings prevail on jerks like this to undertake such fuckery. So at the risk of sounding like the proverbial old guy telling the kids to get off his lawn, TRUF, for real, just stop it! Really! Just fucking stop! Because the truth of the matter is “TRUF” you ain’t shit.