Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises Presents…Panama’s Propositions

Unless you’ve been living under Chris Rock, crack rock, or rock (paper, scissors), you know that Jay-Z has a new album coming out on November 6 entitled American Gangster. Said to be inspired by the identically titled movie coming out November 2nd starring Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe, Jay has allegedly harkened back to his recently questioned drug dealer past and revisited the emotions and trappings of a drug dealer success story.

I like writing pseudo-critic-like. Except I don’t. Which is why I hate that last sentence up there. Oy vey.

L’chaim!

So Jay has a new ablum coming out and allegedly watching the rise and fall of Frank Lucas, one of Harlem’s most notorious motherfuckers, gave rise to Jay’s latent creative spirits. Lucky us since his last attempt at creative spirit gave us Kingdom Come. And we all know how that one ended. In case you don’t though, it ended bad. Though I did like some songs, its just that the bad songs were quite possibly the worst of his career.

And lest we forget, he did make The Blueprint 2 which had like a gazillion wack joints on it. Either way, after Kingdom Come, most of us are a little skeptical about this new album for a few reasons. For one, I HATE(d) Blue Magic. I know some folks love that song.

Two, Puffy is responsible for at least 6 songs on this album. Now that’s not to say that Puffy-induced works haven’t been classic. It’s just to say that Puffy-induced works haven’t been classic since a certain now-waxed-out figure was blocka-blocka’d in Los Angeles.

R.I.P. Christopher Wallace.

Then the snippets of American Gangster hit the net and I’ll be honest and say I was less than enthused. In convo’s with my boy I said I’d reserve judgement until I could hear the whole songs because a snippet really doesn’t give you all you need to know to judge something, though I was even less excited after hearing them.

What a difference a day makes. Word to Esther Phillips. It appears that some sap leaked that damn Jay album onto the net (minus two songs, “Ignorant Shit” and “Party Life”). So like every other nigga, I got it and listened sat outside on the curb while some fellow decided to play the entire album over and over again long enough for me to accurately review and ingrain the songs in my mind.

Can I say I love this album? I can? Good. I love this album. This is some of that real hip-hop shit that folks have been waiting for Jay to make for a while. None of this is really radio-friendly, not even the two Neptune’s songs. Go figure?! So let’s discuss shall we?

Here’s the rundown. Thirteen “album” cuts and two “bonus” cuts. Six joints by Puffy and his new Hittmen Sean C. and LV (so I suppose that means Sean C and LV produced them and Puffy came in and hit a button, said, “take that, take that” and wham, he’s the producer), two tracks by the combo of No ID and Jermaine Dupri (I had no clue No ID was on So So Def), one DJ Toomp track, one Neptunes album cut, some nigga named Bigg D (pause) and one Just Blaze cut. Features include Lil Wayne on a song called “Hello Brooklyn 2.0″ (WTF?) and Beanie Sigel on “Ignorant Shit”. And the immortal Nas.

I’ll just go track by track since I’m starting to bore myself.

“Intro”

Idris Elba is on this. Who’d a thunk just a few short years ago that gotdamn Idris Elba aka Stringer Bell would be the most indemand motherfucker in the Black community? Not me. All the dudes want to be him and all the women want to fuck him. I’m well on my way, he was studying Economics at a community college in Baltimore and I got a degree from a prestgious school in Atlanta. But I live close to Baltimore (enough, anyway) so I can go get that Associates! By the way, I don’t care for this, it’s an intro.

“Pray” (Produced by Puffy, Sean C, LV)

I presume this is Beyonce “praying” on this joint. Eh…I’ll pass. In fact, I don’t care for the first 4 tracks as a whole. All produced by Puffy and ‘nem. I wonder what it feels like to “produce” with Puffy knowing nobody is going to care who you are because you’re working with P. “I added a bell so I’m a producer” Diddy.

“American Gangster” (Produced by Puffy, Sean C, LV)

Yeah, honestly, I listen to this shit so infrequently I don’t even remember what it sounds like. That’s how much I don’t like it. My listening starts at track 5 and this is track 3. Another Puffy ass-sandwich.

“No Hook”(produced by Puffy, Sean C., LV)

But you so needed one. Here’s a good time to mention that the whole “no hook” thing is an over-arching theme on this album. There are no conventional catchy hooks a la everything post Reasonable Doubt. No hooks = hip-hop.

“Hello Brooklyn 2.0″ featuring Lil Weeziana aka Weezy F. Baby (please say the Baby) (produced by Bigg D)

This was apparently a song for The Carter III but Jay heard it thru his old homeboys who now manage Lil Wayne and Jay wanted it. This shit knocks so hard. It’s all 808 knock and old school feelin’. Lil Wayne actually is kind of good as hell on this joint. Though he ain’t rapping, more like sinapping. Not quite singing, not quite rapping. Sinapping. Or Ringing if it suits you. Though ringing might imply he’s a phone. And he’s so not a phone.

“Roc Boys”

Fuckin’ amazing joint where Jay pays homage to all the unheralded elements of the drug game, namely the Duffle bag which has made SUCH the come up this year. Between this song and the “Duffle Bag” song, we should see Duffle bag sales go up tremendously in the next quarter. Yay for drug paraphanelia! The horns on this song are everybit as scrumptious as pie. And Americans love pie. This is one of the Puffy joints that is fire.

“Sweet” (produced by Puffy, Sean C, LV)

Another Hittmen joint (they got like all the first songs save the joint with Lil Wayne). I should not here that this LV is not the fat nigga that was singing with Coolio on “Gangster’s Paradise” but another LV. Apparently L and V are just popular letters. Word to the word Love. And Live. Live Love. Word. Life. This joint bangs like Ricky Martin. Simply, it’s sweet. Has some real 70′s blaxploitation sound to it. Just listen. Or if you’re Musiq and can’t spell or use a space bar, jusslissen.

“I Know” (produced by Pharrell)

Strangely subdued for a Neptunes/Pharrell joint. It doesn’t sound radiofriendly despite sounding radiofriendly, if that makes any sense. Hmm, I just re-read that. It doesn’t make any sense but I’m sticking by it. Here’s an example, in college, me and my boy used to always see this girl who had all the elements of a fine chick (nice hair, nice skintone, nice body, nice eyes) but somehow she just wasn’t fine. We used to call her “All For Nothing”. This beat has all the usual Neptunes radio hit elements but its still not radio. It however is fuckin’ hot in a chimey type of way. Ironically entitled “I Know” since I don’t know what he’s talking about on it since I never really listen, I just skim thru it. Teehee.

“Say Hello” (produced by DJ Toomp)

This shit bangs so hard. Strangely (I guess not considering its DJ Toomp) it sounds similar to “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” except more pleasant in scope. I must say that Toomp is a pretty diverse producer. And he’s a guaranteed hitmaker. T.I.? You listening? When you get ot of jail in 2017, call Toomp back up for your comeback album.

Now is a good place to mention, this album gets progressively better as it goes along. It’s like each joint gets that much more focused lyrically and that much better sonically. That’s some damn good sequencing Jay. Damn good.

“Success” featuring Nas (produced by No ID and Jermaine Dupri)

Dude…this might be one of the best hip-hop songs to come out in years. This beat is uber-fucking ridiculous. And simple too. Simple 4 bar loop. Jay focused as THE fuck and speaking about all the niggas (DeHaven, Calvin “Klein” Bacote) who’ve been speaking about him over the past few months. Fuck them niggas. In fact, he shits on you niggas. Jay thinks success sucks cuz of the stress and he likes the taste of Ace of Spades. I’ve never even had Moet Rose. Guess I’m not successful. Jay and Nas are both great on this shit. They need to do an album together of straight hip-hop banger like this. For real. I’ve had this shit on repeat The dude who’s been playing this out of his car while I listened on the curb has had this shit on repeat for days.

“Fallin’” (produced by Jermaine Dupri and No I.D.)

Despite the beat-jacking accusation by Ski Beatz (of “Dead Presidents” and Camp Lo) fame, this beat is pretty good though I think “Success” is hands down the best shit on the album. Jay discusses the downfall of the drug dealer. Man, being a drug dealer sounds like it sucks. For reals. Word to hip-hop. Wonder why so many niggas do it? Hmm…me no know.

All in all this album is solid like a motherfucker. Every needs this joint to hear Jay back in the clutches of what he does best, speaking from the hustler’s end, not the end of the dude staring at pieces of art in a gallery in Paris. Hell, most niggas can’t tell you where Paris is on a map, nevermind not ever going to an art gallery.

And seriously, I get Gwynneth Paltrow and the Kill Bill chick mixed up all the time. This album ain’t classic, but it’s a banger.

Cop that shit.

Word.Life.

Homecoming is often a difficult time of year for me. I venture back to Atlanta, as do all my friends, with the thought that I have to return back home to DC in just a few days. And it isn’t even like we’re reliving our college days. We get drunk and act a fool everywhere — not just Atlanta.

But I also love Homecoming way beyond words. I live for Morehouse/Spelman homecomings. And strange enough, it seems like me and my compadres are the only group of folks still coming out in full force. Literally, we ALL always come to homecoming and party hard. Or as hard as one can party when approaching 30 but not quite there yet. For instance, one of my boys, Padre (is what I shall call him) is becoming such an old fogey that he got beat up by the Bitch Beach Mobile.

We rented and were givein a PT Cruiser. The very night we got into the car the first time, he hit his old ass knee on the dashboard and wasn’t right all weekend. Poor sap. While we’re talking about fucked up, let me tell you about fucked up. I go by the book and go get my car from the airport ticket counter. My girlfriend? Chicks ALWAYS have drama.

We end up with a PT Cruiser. She ends up with a damn 300M. You know, the Fake-Ass-Phantom. All that room for one person whereas we have 3. Life is an ugly bitch sometimes. Word to Grace Jones.

Anyway, this homecoming was way more low-key than any I’ve ever been too. Last year was such a blow-out good time I don’t even remember most of it. I’ve seen pictures floating around but you know, short of the pictures with actual proof, I can neither confirm nor deny that I was in any of them.

Confused much?

Unlike last year, when we showed up at my boys house and ended up ODing on the worst whiskey known to man…this year we couldn’t even find the liquor in the house. I mean we searched hi-and-low.

You know, I know I’m getting old at this point. For one, on Saturday night…PRIME HOMECOMING NIGHT, what did me and my friends do? Went bowling. And by the way, I SUCK at bowling. A lot lot. Though on Friday night we ended up hitting Compound. Let me tell you how much I love that place. Their sound system is amazing.

Another sign of old age — when you care about how the sound sounds in a club. Of course, I ended up spending lots of dough in there and drunk. Word to the wise–when going piss in the bushes, make sure you pay attention for any sleeping homeless men who might scare the living fuck out of you if you aren’t careful in some damn bushes off of Marietta Blvd.

I’m just saying, niggas at night in bushes might scare you shitless. Luckily I just had to piss.

You know, its interesting. The older I get, the less actual homecoming, with respect to planned activites, we seem to do. We spend more time spending more time together as a unit. Kind of our own little show of a decade of solidarity. The people I came into college with are still the same people I’m friends with now and in some sense that’s damn near amazing. I know people retain college friends forever, but we still do all the same shit together at any given opportunity. We travel together for the hell of it. We get drunk and destroy cities together for the hell of it. If my boy is going to be in Alaska…shucks, why not go to Alaska.

I feel genuinely lucky in that regard. Most, if not all but two, of the chicks we normally hang with from the good ole college days balked at homecoming this year. Which sucks. I miss my friends…a lot.

And mostly, I miss being with my friends in Atlanta. Though the way it’s looking, that won’t be lasting forever since all of us (though one person needs some convincing) that we’ll all be there since I want to live in Atlanta. I love the city. I love the weather. I love the red dirt.

F.I.L.A.

So basically, I just wrote all that nothing to say:

Keep hope alive. One day Al Sharpton will shave his head.

Thank you.

By now, most folks have heard about the uproar in Detroit where a promoter decided to throw a party where Lightskinneded womenses and Libras got in free. If you haven’t, please do read the article.

*smoke break*

You back? Well, welcome!

I’ve heard numerous individuals discussing this story and lots of folks have harassed this young man for his colorism and ignorance in deciding to add fuel to the color cocophony in this country by further dividing an already divided race of people who’ve been hurt enough by white people’s focus on skin color. Why–oh why–would we do it to our own.

Poor fellow. He’s gone and cancelled his party and listened to the cries of the men and women who speak out against such atrocities in our community.

They should all eat a dick and die.

From the heart.

It’s amazing how stories and intentions can get totally misconstrued and fucked the fucked up through the little game we call “Telephone”. Hell, read the headline to the linked article. I first heard about this through some club promoters in DC telling me about this “light-skinned party” in Detroit and how this guy was throwing a party for lightskinned people. No mention of the Lightskinned FREE that night or that it was a party for everybody. We actually then engaged in a discussion of what kind of self-hate party we could throw in DC.

We landed on “Light and White in White” — a party where only lightskinned people dating white people could come through as long as they were wearing white. We’d serve fried chicken martini’s with watermelon slices. It’s amazing the ignorance that’s possible when you get enough like-minded ignant motherfuckers in the same place. Viva la imagination!

Anyway, upon further review, it turns out this promoter, DJ Lish, was planning on doing upcoming parties in a series, if you will, that would include dark skinned and the nebulous “ain’t light but ain’t dark” or better known as the “caramel” sisters.

IGNANT SIDENOTE: You know we have too much food in America when Black folks take to describing our color in food terms. I ain’t never met an African who refers to him or herself as a Chocolate drop. Perhaps coicidentally, there’s some starving ass motherfuckers over there too. You get to calling yourself Choco-Latay and you just might get cannibalised. Too. much. food. in. America.

Let’s delve a little shall we? Was this fellow slightly misguided? Perhaps. Any time you decide to throw skin tone into the mix with los Negros, you’re welcoming criticsm. Face it, we’re still a bunch of people who are psychologically and literally paying for our God (or whoever you pray to) given blessings. And because of that, skin tone issues are largely a sparkplug for outrage.

Hmm, fuck that.

Let me rephrase this (which is the source of this dude’s problem). Ever since the slavery days, lightskinned and dark skinned folks have been at odds. Sometimes blatantly, sometimes latently. Think about the barbs thrown our way. People ALWAYS resort to using somebody’s skin tone when making disparaging comments.

“Lightskinned bitch thinks she’s better than me!”

“Dark skinned motherfucker lookin’ like midnight!”

And we wonder why white people do it.

Thing is, implicit in both of those statements lies the problem. There’s a clear ideology about how skin tone plays into society. Light is right and dark is, well…dark. And we’ve all bought into it in some way shape or form. It’s a sad state of affairs but its unfortunately the state we live in. It’s like living in Montana when you know California exists.

It’s like rain on your wedding day. Oh wait, that’s actually ironic.

Or not. Am I the only person who got slightly peeved that she called so many things that weren’t actually ironic, ironic? She kept noting coincidences, not ironies. Though I suppose saying, “Now isn’t it a coincidence” doesn’t have the same punch. But I digress.

Dark skinned people constantly get the short end of the stick. And it sucks. But you know, that’s not really lightskinned people’s fault. It’s white people’s fault, but much like Black-on-Black crime…

…we STAY robbing the wrong people.

Yes, Black people stay losing.

So here comes DJ Lish, who from my perspective only made one real mistake.

He threw the wrong party first. But let’s think about this. How many of you people are party promoters? And for those who’ve been doing it for a while, how difficult is it to come up with something that actually draws people in? Promoting sucks. There are really not that many things you can do as a promoter to really draw folks in short of random gimmicks. Enter DJ Lish.

And he had a good idea. It’s a winner, a gimmick catered to the very women most men harp on in the media. Light chicks.

“…and all the wavey light skinned girls is loving me now…” ~ Jay – Z “December 4th”

Wrong or right, it’s true. And I’m sure a lot of light skinned reading chicks probably hate the lightskinned-points they get, but they sure don’t mind the attention. But the point is promoters need gimmicks to draw people in. Promotion is an ugly game.

So he picked the Light and Libra party. Bad move bucko, but not a bad idea. You should have just started with the Sexual Chocolate first because niggas hate color schemes, but don’t mind Chocolate as much as we mind Light-skinned preference. We actually love it when people of darker-hue receive recognition.

Read: India.Arie’s fanbase.

I think the outrage wouldn’t have been as loud for that party. Color me stupid and call me Renee but I think that our color issues intra-racially are far more skewed towards wanting to knock light-skinned “bitches” down a peg or two. So of course, any party that celebrates and benefits a woman’s light-skinnededness is going to catch hell. And the purveyor is going to catch wreck.

I wish this DJ would call me because I’d love to tell him not to listen to the motherfuckers who called for his head and have decided that he realizes he was wrong and should work on being a better person.

Fuck them.

Is he naive? Clearly, he thought he was just going to throw a party that allowed light-skinned chicks to gain entry free one night, but what he got was national attention and articles and phone calls. Playing with skin-tone is playing with fire, bucko. You can still play that game but you have to play it smarter. It’s actually a win-win. You throw that first Sexual Chocolate party and you can’t NOT throw the other two.

That’s how you stay winning.

But this dude has been reprimanded and scoffed at and I think that’s total bullshit. Not a bad idea, just bad judgement and decision-making on his part. Intra-race issues will be present forever, but everything ain’t as terrible as we want it to be.

Except the “Light and White and White” Party…there’s just no excuse for that one.

Word to Al Sharpton.

And the church said…

DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! JAMES!!!!!!!!!

T.I.

What. The. Fuck?

Look, I don’t care if the hip-hop police are out there or not trappin’ niggas left and right trying to take a brotha down. As a convicted felon, you need to be smarter than that shit, right?

For those that don’t know, don’t show, or just don’t care about what’s going on in rap music, everybody’s favorite trapper, T.I. got busted on Saturday after his bodyguard-turned-informant basically handed his ass over to ATF on a count of buying .9mm automatic machine guns and silencers.

Feel free to go to CNN.com. It’s front page news. On CNN.

And then can go to vh1.com to read an entire account of what happened.

What are silencers? Glad you asked. According to taped conversations, T.I. provies the answer. You see when you fire a gun, sometimes it makes a loud noise and there is a flash of fire. So, T.I….what is a silencer?

“No flash, no bang.”

I’m SO getting that put on a T-shirt the same day I get my t-shirt that says, “I got good credit”.

Free T.I.

Those are the NEXT hood shirts coming to a ghetto near you.

And he had guns in the house…in a safe…in his bedroom. Loaded automatic weapons. And he’s a convicted felon. As my homegirl Liz just stated, “T.I. is the posterboy for when keeping it real goes wrong.” And boy is that shit ever true. I honestly don’t understand this situation at all. Whether or not he was being targeted is unimportant. And do you know why? I’ll tell you why…

…he’s supposed to ASSUME he is. I guess Tip forgot to reiterate to T.I. the rules of the game.

Rule #1: If you are a convicted motherfucking felon…HIDE YOUR SHIT.

And according to the 10 Crack Commandments courtesy of the Notorious B.I.G.:

Rule #3: Never trust nobody, your mom’s'll set that ass up properly gassed up.

His bodyguard sent him up shit’s creek. That nigga flipped like the little Chinaman in Ocean’s 11, 12, and 13.

You know, I feel bad for T.I. (kind of). You’d think the nigga had his shit together or was at least well on his way to getting all of his shit together. But the fact that he had numerous automatic weapons and was out buying more just reeks of a dude who can’t let shit go. Michael Vick just got fucked the fuck up behind his niggas snitching on him and now T.I. is going down behind something like this.

First, Prodigy of Mobb Deep gets 3 and a half years in the bing. And now T.I. is well on his way to the jail house in the Feds. Not Fulton County. Federal pen. Sure when he comes out he’ll have even MORE credibility but short of his lawyers being able to pull off the entrapment defense, he might be gone for a dime or more. And by the time he gets out nobody will care anymore.

I hope this shit works out for him in the end mostly because we don’t need anymore Black men in jail, but got damn, when niggas do dumb shit, we really go the extra mile.

If we could only show that kind of dedication in education…

Free T.I.

And I’m not talking about his debut album’s sales totals either. Besides that was like 2006 or some shit.

As of now, most people are aware of Lupe Fiasco’s flub at the vh1 Hip Hop Honors tribute to A Tribe Called Quest (ATCQ) on Monday night. He fucked up the words to “Electric Relaxation”, one of Tribe’s landmark and most famous songs. The song comes from Tribe’s album Midnight Marauders, which is one of my favorite hip-hop albums ever. I wrote about it a long time ago but I’m too lazy to link to the post. Sue me.

(Incidentally Lupe plans on suing Vibe magazine for defamation of character for their flub of semi-fanning the flames by using a little bit of time-line trickery by printing an interview with Lupe done before the Hip-Honors show that seems way fucked up when read AFTER the Hip-Hop Honors show.)

Courtesy of vh1, here’s a link to the all of the events that have occured under Fiascogate. (Click the link)

My opinion on this whole affair is kind of two fold. Lupe fucked up some lines to a rap song, big fucking deal. I think the part that’s fucked up is his approach to discussing why he fucked up. For one, he probably shouldn’t have engaged anybody in this debate but he did and came off like a dick. Luckily, I wasn’t a fan of his anyway but whereas his previous lack of interest in ATCQ and their catalog was kind of a non-starter his now stubborn stance on his intention to never listen to it in its entirety or even care that it is a landmark album is kind off-putting. Phonte from Little Brother (whose response I largely agree with) got one thing right; Lupe is definitely benefitting from being placed in the same vein as folks like ATCQ.

Interestingly enough, I wouldn’t put him there myself. Sure, he’s a “positive” rapper–a term I loathe, by the way–but I’ve never felt he was Tribe-esque. He was just not 50 Cent or Young Jeezy in the way that ATCQ and De La Soul and the whole Native Tongues weren’t NWA or Spice 1 or Ice T or King Tee for that matter. Granted, on The Low End Theory, Tribe did take on some social commentary and subject matter, but on Midnight Marauders, not so much. So it’s kind of a what-you-are-because-of-what-you’re-not kind of deal in my mind.

But Lupe’s become the guy-du-jour. For fuck’s sake, he was one of GQ’s men of the year or some shit, and for no good reason mind you. His album (executive produced by Jay-Z) was alright but it didn’t change anything. More people were talking about Lupe because of his deviation than for his artistry. Which is more a sad testament to us than it is to the greatness that is Lupe. He’s so different and he wears colorful clothes and tight-pants and likes cartoons. He’s a hip-hop nerd. Truthfully, if Pharrell hadn’t saddled up to him so that they could be hip-hop nerds together, my guess is that there’d be some uber-gay pocket-protector Trapper Keeper beatdowns between them (musically of course) with Kanye officiating in a pink Polo and Cole Haan loafers.

And at least Pharrell doesn’t claim to be a skateboarder like Lupe does…and he isn’t.

One of Lupe’s defenses during this whole “scandal” (if we must put a term on it) is that he didn’t grow up on ATCQ but on Spice 1, NWA, and Eightball and MJG. Hmm, me too. NWA is my favorite group of all time and similarly, De La Soul’s album, de la soul is dead is my favorite album of all time. But I listened to all that same shit Lupe was listening to so I have to wonder how the fuck he glossed over Tribe. Granted, I wasn’t the biggest Tribe fan until later. But when I did start paying attention I was stuck. Midnight Marauders is one of those albums I can take with me anywhere and will buy the second I think I lost it. Who cares if I find it later, I lost it then. And I have to have that album. It’s part of me.

It’s also one of the albums that makes its way everywhere and everybody knows and respects. Nobody says that it isn’t worth listening to. So why not pick it up Lupe? At this point, he ain’t listening to make a point. Which is a stupid point. In the Kay Slay interview, when Mr. Drama King himself asked him if he had listened to it or if he planned on it, Lupe responded with, “no, I haven’t listened to it yet. I’ve been busy with my album.”

That’s the second stupidest shit I might have ever heard in my life. The first?

Any of George Bush’s speeches from 2001-?

Anybody who knows about the music making process knows that you listen to all types of shit when making music. It’s called inspiration. Also, the fuckin’ album doesn’t even clock in at longer than an hour. The nigga’s from Chicago. He could pop it in while he’s sitting in traffic and finish it by the time he got to a Harold’s from O’Hare.

There’s another thing that gets lost on me in regards to this whole debacle and that hasn’t been mentioned.

He had to get lyrics to TWO songs in a tribute. “Electric Relaxation” and “Scenario”. And he didn’t have to do Busta’s part since Busta did his own part on “Scenario”. I’m a Tribe fan, but they weren’t exactly kicking physics or being overly complicated with rhyme patterns or anything. A sampling:

“by the way my name’s Malik, the 5 foot freak//let’s say we get together by the end of th week” ~ Phife Dawg, “Electric Relaxation”

Hell, you can take two hours and memorize a good four songs on that album since the verses ain’t exactly difficult. Do niggas mess up lyrics? Sure, I was at an Outkast show in Atlanta where Andre 3000 fucked up his own verse. Hell did you see Kanye fuck up his verse on “Everything I Am” on Saturday Night Live? It happens.

However, all he had to do was memorize a damn verse and spend time reciting it for a TRIBUTE. All he had to do was focus on that shit because it’s a tribute. ONE verse. Kanye fucking up is kind of endearing. Hell, he’s human and he shows us all the time through his arrogance, pride, and passion. But this was a tribute show to ATCQ. The least you could do was not fuck that up. In fact, the only difficult part of “Electric Relaxation” is the damn part in the hook where the voiceover says “Relax Yourself and some shit that even 15+ years later I have no clue what’s being said”.

Lupe fucked up. He shouldn’t have and he could have nailed it but he didn’t. However, his uberfucking studity in the way he’s handled it is what made it a problem.

“I’m not backpack rap,” says Lupe. Okay, nigga. Whether you are or not, ATCQ and specifically Midnight Maruaders is just one of those groups that everybody who’s really into the art behind hip-hop know. How can you not? It’s arrogant to so adamantly deny yourself an album because “that ain’t you”.

Who cares what you grew up on? Who says you can’t expand your horizons? Most of us interested in music do at some point. Tribe isn’t obscure and they had 3 platinum albums in pre-Master P/Puffy dominated rap world. And how the fuck are you going to be so big-up in respecting Tip and his musical legacy if you don’t actually know what the fuck it is that everybody seems to respect so much?

In short, Lupe’s an idiot.

Thank you and goodnight.

PS – Who in the Blue Fuck thought Missy deserved to be honored?

I’ve long contended that Starbucks is the “man” that everybody claims is holding them back. I might have been slightly premature in my judgement as Apple and Steve Jobs just might be up making a strong case for that title.

And lo and behold, Apple and Starbucks work together. The fuckers.

Well, my love for Apple and iTunes in particular is a problem. Albums that I can’t find in stores or that I have to order from Japan are available so of course, I cop them spending my hard earned government dollars on them. Techonology at your fingertips is a dangerous dangerous thing.

Something I tend to do on occasion is read the reviews of albums that ordinary people like you and John Legend write on various albums. They range from stupid to pretty damn spot on and “professional”. Which brings me to the reviews written about Soulja Boy’s latest offering to the hip-hop canon, souljaboytellem.com.

You all know who Souljaboy is. He has the song “Souljaboy (Crank That)” and unless you’ve been living under a rock or sleeping with the enemy, you’ve heard it. A million times over. You’ve probably tried to do the dance until you realized it takes hours of practice and quite frankly you’re a grown ass man so why in the hell would you be spending hours of your grown ass man time practicing a dance made popular by a kid who’s t-shirt is 36 (chambers) sizes to big for him who doesn’t even do his own dance in his own video and who came up with a dance called the Roosevelt which is in no way related to either of the two presidents with that last name or anybody named Rose Svelt.

Also, is it just me or is this nigga not the most unintelligble motherfucker on the planet. Seriously, as an ATLien, even I can’t understand 90 percent of what he’s saying and I’ve been a translator for people who come to Atlanta. Perhaps I’ve been in DC too long but gotdamn. Somebody get that man a Hooked on Phonics book. STAT. Dude sounds like he ate Detroit.

Word to Rich Boy.

Now, I haven’t actually listened to the album and have no intention of doing so. His first song, though fun to listen to and dance to in the club, has left me with no desire whatsoever of listening to anything he may ever offer up of my own volition. Nope, if it comes on in the club then so be it. I’m held hostage to the confines of Sodom and Gomorrah’s offspring. However, I just might be alone seeing as no less than 400 people have written reviews of this man’s album on iTunes.

That means they listened to it. To the surprise of nobody but possibly Souljaboy himself, the reviews were largely terrible. There were quite a few people ( I actually read through the reviews) who seemed amazed that this is what passes for hip-hop today. A lot of the standard responses.

And to those people I ask:

Da fuck is wrong with you?

Were you REALLY listening to Souljaboy to find that good shit? Are you the same idiots who bought D4L (remember them?) and expected a musical smorgasbord of social commentary over luscious instrumentals that beckoned your emotional core…and got “Laffy Taffy” and “Betcha Can’t Do It Like Me” which required the musical talent of a 2-year old?

In fact, I’m slightly convinced (though I can’t prove it) that the producer of “Betcha Can’t Do It Like Me” stole the idea for the songs main riff from a child who was playing with his “My First Keyboard” toy from Toys ‘R Us (probably the online store since real stores suck balls).

Anybody who listens to Souljaboy and is disappointed needs to do us all a favor.

Kill yourself.

I can’t believe that people not only took the time to listen and be disappointed (at what? what gave you expectations) but to be disappointed enough to actually write a review asking for a rating system that allowed the user to award less than one star. Idiots.

I found myself laughing constantly at the reviews of bitter and disappointed fans or “fans” though I have to say I think that anybody who actually took the time to listen to Souljaboy’s album probably doesn’t really listen to rap anyway and more or less listens to the radio for all of their aural lessons in music. I ain’t judging. Do you.

However, I’m sticking up for Souljaboy on this one. What gives you fuckers the right to be disappointed by a nigga who wasn’t trying to give you expectations in the first place?! That’s just not fair. If anything, you should appreciate an artist who aspires to low expectations and provides you the kind of shit that you don’t have to actually listen to in order to appreciate it. The joy of artists like Souljaboy is that they don’t require you to think or posit any type of real emotion.

No, they just ask you to be present. And in this world of fatherless babies and single-mothers, isn’t being present all we should ask for? Why think when you can just stare into the stars courtesy of artists like Souljaboy. Sure you might get a little bit dumber but education is overrated anyway.

What gives you the right to think his album is bad when the only songs you have from him weren’t good in the conventional sense in the first place? Shame on you. It’s not like you were listening for depth. You can barely understand him. But there you fuckers go levying your own insecurities on a boy (he’s just a boy) who’s decided to make music that just requires you to be breathing.

Souljaboy is for the people. He doesn’t get deep so you don’t have to think. And that’s what the people want.

Souljaboy loves the kids. Because he is one.

And being “one” is hip-hop.

So you go Souljaboy. I might not listen to your album–ever–but I support your cause.

Now watch me YUUULLLLL, Souljaboy.

Watch me YULLLLLLL.

Mayr-wige.

Mayr-wige is dat bwessed institution dat bwings us togeva today.

Translation:

Marriage is that blessed institution that brings us together today. Well, Saturday actually. But boy was it blessed.

So after that sloppy introduction let me tell you that I went to a wedding this weekend. Rather, I was in a wedding this weekend. As an usher.

Come a little closer.

That’s it.

A little more.

NEVER be an usher in a wedding. It requires so much random work its ridiculous. I had a good time and I wouldn’t take that time back. But unless I’m a groomsmen, I’m planning on planting my happy ass right in the pews with the rest of the love-viewers.

Now the point in bringing this up is that I witnessed something at this particular wedding that serves as a cautionary tale to all those young whippersnappers thinking of embarking on marriage and the ensuing planning and ish. I’ve been to no less than 5 weddings since last May. And I was in 4 of them. And I ain’t NEVA seen no shit like I saw at this wedding.

Let me unfold the story.

We’re at the part most people come to see at a wedding. YES YES!!! The bride is nearing her triumphant entrance into the sanctuary. Myself and the other usher are preparing to head down the aisle to roll the white carpet out for her…

YES YES!

Two young men tasked with the responsiblity of walking in with bells and screaming at the top of their lungs “THE MARRIAGE OF MALCOLM AND BETTY!” (well not really, but you get the drift) begin their walk into the sanctuary and then…

…the pastor says stop. He motions the two young men to stop. He tells them to walk out of the church and that we should roll out the carpet first, ya know, the white carpet that only the bride is supposed to walk down untouched.

The wedding coordinators shriek in horror as this man has managed to completely RUIN the wedding proceedings.

Ladies and gentleman, the pastor actually STOPPED the wedding so that he could have things happen in the manner in which he felt it should happen. It’s not in my nature to not like a man of God.

I do not like this particular man of God. Nevermind that the actual change he made wouldn’t have made any real difference for the wedding and was totally unnecessary. He just felt it should go the way he viewed it. It was not, so he made it do what he wanted it to do.

He…is a bad person.

The night before at the wedding rehearsal, he changed up the entire setup that was previously coordinated by those who coordinate such things. Perhaps we should come up with a term for them…perhaps…wedding coordinators. He decided he wanted to coordinate.

And coordinate (and confuse and discombobulate) he did.

I can’t even go to this church ever because of this man. As long as he’s the pastor, I couldn’t go. My god wouldn’t want me worshipping with his god.

While the proceedings were going on I just kept thinking to myself, when I get married, things will be made very clear to the pastor and everybody involved that it is MY WIFE AND I’S wedding and that ain’t NOBODY gonna wrest control of ANYTHING.

Mind you, the bride and groom told the pastor they wanted something to occur in the wedding.

He said, “no.”

At their wedding. They paid this man.

My god and his god might fight if that were to happen.

So, I leave you with three simple rules for getting married:

1) Make sure you’re marrying somebody you want, not just somebody you knocked up. Marrying somebody you knocked up (or got knocked up by) is such the bad look.

It is hip-hop. But it is not smart.

2) Make sure that you let people involved in the wedding know details that they need to know way in advance. If they are Black, they will need much advance notice.

It is rule. It is fact. We are Black. We need details.

And last but not least…

3) Do not ever let a grown ass man take control of your wedding and ultimately do shit his way which will ruin you doing it your because he felt that his way was better when truly its your day and your way should trump his way because your way is what you paid for not his way.

Apparently, Joe Jackson ain’t the only nigga who had control issues.

Word to Janet Jackson.