Roy's Gangsta 17

Please excuse the profanity, but these needs to be transcribed accurately:

"My hand's fine. I ain't got no excuses, ain't got no reason to be here but the No.1 reason is to kick some ass. That's what I came for and that's all I got to cotdamn say!" -- Roy Jones Jr. at Thursday's Tarver-Jones press conference.

It was one of the few times I desperately wanted to take off my reporter hat and just be Vince. The Tarver-Jones press conference was that ill. It wasn't crazy. Like when Iron Mike tried to G Lennox. It was just gangsta and all because of my dude Roy Jones Jr.

I was searching for a pic to post, in case people hadn't seen the highlights on ESPN or what have you. It was gonna be the Twist blog's innagural pic, that's how ill he was. To see Roy up there with cap to the back and about three months of unshaven facial har was...I mean...sun is just a G.
As with many sports related things, yet another window into the cultural divide that seperates athletes and most media members. And me and most media members, for that matter. My nigga Kyle, a young star reporter for the Sentinel, calls me an apologist all the time because of the way I view things like this press conference. I hate that. I wanna call him a conformist in return, but I usually digress knowing that's not entirely true. And if HE thinks that, I can only imagine what the average media member thinks. But whatever...

To set things off you gotta realize that noone has seen or spoken to Roy since this fight was scheduled. And everyone was wondering if Roy was even gonna show up. On the ride to the Times Forum, me and my two co-wowrkers were wondering ourselves.

After we get there and the room slowly starts filling up. I see Big Corey, a kat my crew in Orlando hipped me to. I see lil Mexican George Diaz, Nascar and boxing writer for the Sentinel, one of the most cordial dudes you can meet. I see fatty-fat-fat Dan Rafael, ESPN's boxing guru. I see my uncle Tim Smith of the NY Daily news. All the boxing media heavyweights are there and a couple groupies slipped in there two. Nothin special though. But there was this PR gal. She was a gorgeous, petite Mexican number. She wore these form fitting gray slacks and slinky blouse, with stillettos that made her stuff poke out. I was clockin like Mekki Phifer. Even her cohort was a little fly, in a Kate Hudson kinda way.

Anyways, Roy was due at noon. Well, noon passed and there was no Roy. 12:15 passed, no Roy. The Mexican cutey was by ALL MEANS there...but no Roy.

12:20...what...a little comotion, heads start turning around. I look back and here comes Roy w/ his Pensacola gangsta troupe. He's smirking and he's strolling. He's strolling that nigga stroll (one I love so much), chest puffed out, head cocked in the air with his chin all the way up, arms swingin with rythm.

Jean shorts, crisp white Uptowns, T-shirt and the patchy beard. My heart started pumpin faster because I felt that vibe. I just wanted to shout, "Yeah nigga!" But I couldn't. I had to be a journalist.

Then he got on stage and spit the above quote and I almost lost it. My man in the section to my right, a Jacksonville jitterbug in Nate Campbell's camp actually did lose it. He was yelping. You heard him on that tape if you've seen snippets.

"WOOOOOOOO!! LOOOOOOORD HAVE MERCY!!! GO HEAD CHAMP!!! WHOOP SOME A$$"

Roy turned to him and smiled. At least somebody understood.

But it was so gangsta how Roy strolled through, got to podium, hit us with a novel's worth of info in 17 seconds and his appearance and jetted.

"That's all I got to cotdam say!" That's how he greased the ending and then he hopped off the podium and kept it movin. You don't know how hard it was for me to not get up and start actin like my father or Uncle Ronnie. Inside, I was doing what me and my crew did when Vince Carter caught the alley-bounce, put it between his legs -- in the air -- and threw the thunder down during the dunk contest. Or what me and my other crew did in San Fran when B-Nast dropped the Sonny-Billy on us for the first time and that alto-tenor head dropped like an anvil in an ACME cartoon. I wanted to throw my note pad in the air, cup my left hand around my mouth and yell "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO", while I stomped my feet like a Ferry & Wholers wino and pumped my fist.

Because, the point is, Roy got his tail whipped twice in a year. Once by Tarver and then, almost beat to death by Glenn Johnson. Vegas has Tarver as a signifcant favorite and some have even questioned if Roy is being negligent, considering the Levander Johnson death, by going back in the ring. I just finished a story about it a couple hours ago.

So just like Bobby Brown, just like James Brown and just like Jim Brown -- Roy is on his Defiant Nigga m.o. rght now. And he doesnt like Tarver or the media.

You know I love when black men act like themselves in front of media judges that hate who they are. After Roy's Gangsta 17 (what I'm calling it from now until I die), the writers got up, scowling, frowning and unhappy. Rafael, a bpxing big-wig, asked a group of his buddies, "Why do we put up this? Huh, why do we keep putting up with this?" And his boy answered, "Because we're idiots."

It's that mock-humility, insincere self-depracation that white sports reporters have perfected. The conversation can be translated, thusly: "Why does that jacka$% do this to us. He knows it affects how well we can do our job. So why doesn't he cater to us?" Buddy: "We're idiots for putting up with this too-big-for-his-britches-blackie. Someone needs to put him in his place. But we don't. So we're idiots."

Shut the EFF up bozos!

And here's where the cultural divide comes in. Because I loved it. And so did all the young black undercard boxers love it too.

I kicked it with my man Andre Ward. He ctually remembered me from when I did a piece on him for the AJC back in 2004. He was in Atl for the Titan Games, a primer for the Olympics. He ended up going to Athens and winning gold. He's a cool young man and a rising star with the gloves.

His reaction: "Oh you know I loved it. I was feeling it. Even the beard. He's lookin grizzly. You can tell he's been in the woods handlin his business." Ward left a little while later, turns out. He was only there to see Roy.

And my dude Nate Campbell had an even more applaudatory (check that nonexistent word..but it's hot aint it?) reaction: "I loved it! Loooooooved it. In the hood we call that livin like a savage. You know he's ready. And what more he have to say. What he said on that stage is all he needed to say. Then he stepped off and kept it pimpin."

You think when I called my man Gee on the cell he thought any different? Of course not.

Roy's Gangsta 17 was as much for the media as it was for Tarver. the way he emphasized COTDAM said it all. The way he moved his head as he stressed each syllable said even more. Go on Roy!

Scoop Jackson, one of my fellow apologists, had this to say. The thing is, I wasn't even a HUGE HUGE HUGE Roy fan. But you better believe I am now.

I mean, we haven't even discussed if Tarver gonna pummel Roy or not, because, after the Gangsta 17 I really think is ready. He knows whats at stake. And he's fighting against more than one opponent, at least that's what he feels.

Later that day, me and my man Cotey, our boxing writer, were yappin. And we got on Pretty Boy Floyd Mayweather and why he wasn't a huge star, even though his skills are breathtaking and stomach-dropping. And Cotey spit truth, "He's just a little too hard. He tries to be too hard and too hiphop."

Because of that, he can barely get pay-per-view off his own immense talent. he needs some italian goon like Arturo Gatti to get his paper. Then, coincidentally, me and some co-workers were at a restaurant later that night and got on Brett Farve. And I said plainly, "Brett is great. But he was also a stupid quarterback who made some of the worse footbal decisions ever. Was an addict, etc. If he weren't such a spitting-image of the Everyday Man, he'd not be nearly as popular as he is." I expected a mele. But it only took me maybe five minutes to prove my point.

Media and fans would APOLOGIZE for Brett all the time. He throws an interception and it's moxie. He calls out a teammate and he's a straight-shooter (like that clown played out each of his contracts).

Imagine Roy's Gangsta 17 was Brett's Good Ol' 17. And Brett walked in to the press conference with some cowboy boots, jeans, plaid shirt and Jack Daniels cap tht's been the rinse cycle a couple times. I magine if he stepped to the podium and ended his Good Ol 17 with, "I'm ready to whoop some tail and that's all the hell I gotta say yall."

He'd be speaking a lot of peoples language. Perhaps some of the guys could identify with that. Perhaps some of the guys in that press conference admired that gung-slinger steez.

It'd be, "Boy, Brett's on a mission, huh?" Or, "I'd hate to be the Vikings this Sunday." Very few jerks, very little mock-humility. Just a lot of inner fist-pumping -- not by everyone, but by a critical mass.

And that's cool. I don't mind that. I've never begrudged Favre's status with the media nd his fans. But I find fault with the double-standard.

Just think, if Pretty Boy Floyd looked and acted just like Brett Farve, he'd be one of the 10 biggest sports stars in America. period. Roy's Gangsta 17 is all the evidence you need for that.

Lord have mercy. Go head champ.

A Couple Things XIII

-- One of my coworkers is got promoted to the Tampa bureau. Doing weekly stuff, feature oriented, sweet gig. Anyways, we took him out tonight and I learned WAY more about my co-workers simply from their jukebox selections than I have in all of our conversations combined. music is so powerful. I may blog about their selections tomorrow.

-- the Jones-Tarver press conferences were SO gangsta. I'll post a blog about them tomorrow if it kills me. Just keep clickin back and there should be something before you leave work for the weekend.

Till tomorrow

Blogging live from the Jones-Tarver press conferences tomorrow. Yall musta fugot!

No water

Yo. I come home and my eff-you-see-kayin. excuse the child's profanity, but...I mean...MY EFF YOU SEE KAYIN WATER IS OFF!!!

And I don't know why. I just paid those mofos. The foul thing is that I can't even inquire about this until tomorrow morning. So now I gotta go to work and get a shower.

I'm about to pose a serious question to all of the Twist visitors that know me: Do the random things that befall me happen to you too?

I swear I'm the victim of the most can't-script-that annoyances in the world. Today is a perfect example. I come home sweaty from the gym, rushin to get to the meeting and, of course, the water is off.

I mean, I'm not Nisan Spicer -- who, back in the early 90s, used to finish ballin in his backyard around 7:10 pm, knowing the bookstudy started at 7:30...and just used to change his draws and run a soapy cloth over sandy-blonde-haired armpits. I can't do that. So this water situation was the most annoying occurence that could've went down in my present situation.

I can't tell you how many times this has happened and in how many ways. My life can eerily resemble a bad-good movie like Pure Luck.

When I think about it, though, it all comes back to my defiant shoulder-shrug that I give to punctuality. I'm tellin you guys, it's hubris. And I just can't stop it. All I can do is whine-blog about my self-induced travails and offer quasi-acknowledgements about my total disregard for scheduling and puncuality.

It's real sad...because I'm always on time for open bars.

All is right with the world

Yo, seeing Larry's ugly mug on the tube in the Season 5 premier of Curb Your Enthusiasm was pure bliss. I love everything about that show.

They set the season off beautifully. I Tivo'd it, so you know I'm watching it every day until next Sunday's episode.

I wonder how I'll feel when the new season of Sopranos or The Wire drops.

As I type, the Series Premiere of Extras is just coming on. It's like HBO meets BBC. I'll give it a chance. But it's not startin off well.

A Couple Things XII

Just some random thoughts that accrued over the weekend. Hope everyone has a bearable work week.

-- there's a new DVD out called No Direction Home. It's a Scorsese directed film biography of Bob Dylan, focusing on 1961-66 his most influential years. Incredibly, theyre airing the documentary on PBS Monday and Tuesday at 9pm. You know I got TiVo on it. But I still might kop the DVD at some point because of all the extras.

Bob Dylan is one of my few dirty secrets as Music Dude. The truth is: I really don't like him. I'm not the Lyric Dude, I'm the Music Dude and Dylan's voice is annoying and his music is just OK. And really, I'm cuyrbing my words there, at the risk of offending some huge Dylan fans.

I actually kopped The Free Wheelin Bob Dylan and Highway 61 and just never quite dug them like I wanted to.

But this much I cannot deny, his songwriting was powerful. Past powerful, actually. He really captures the change, unrest, confusion and discovery of the 60s. But that's just not enough for me. Two friends on seperate occassions once told me that I'd appreciate Dylan much more if I just printed out his lyrics and read them like a diary or social critique. I won't argue that. But then, why sing? Why play the guitar? Ya know. Dylan fans, let me know why I'm an idiot, please.

Anyways, I'm hoping Scorses can help paint a picture for me that might forge some connection, ya know. My hope is that after this DVD, I'll revisit Dylan and finally get it.

-- I know what it's like to be In The Zone. You know, like how Jordan was against the Celtics when he greased em for 63 as a rook in the first round of the 84 playoffs. Like Reggie in the Garden, '95. What, like 30 points in the fourth. And it happened at Gold Gym's for me.

I have a little routine. I come in shootaround, hit the treadmill, hit the weights, hit the gut, shootaround some more and then one last dance with the treadmill.

When I shootaround, I can't leave the court until I hit 20 shots. And I keep a conversion/attempt tally in my head. I started this routine this week and I've had horrible days 20-59, 20-55...some mediocre days, 20-48, 20-43(twice) and a good set 20-41. But today was ridiculous.

I started out 20-38. That's about 53%. No one shoots 53% from the field in the league. Now granted, I don't have a 6'9 defender in my face, and I'm not running off screens or off the dribble, but I think that's pretty good.

Still, from there I did 1.5 on the tread, work the arms and the gut and then headed back for my last set. The way I do it is that I don't start the tally until I make my first shot...and I did jive clang the first four or five shots. But then it started: net, net, net, butter, sauce, water, net, butter (I accompany all my made shots with descriptions).

I was on FIYAH. I finished 24-31. I decided to keep going after 20 to see how far I could take. I think I made my last 10 or somethin. And these were legit shots. All between 15-20 feet.

It was like I turned back the clocks to the 96-99 Twist. The kat that was butter from anywhere inside 30-feet. You ain't heard?

The Zone, for all of you that have never felt it (which means everyone beside me)...The Zone is a beautiful thing.

-- As I'm trying to drop these pounds I've decided no more beer, wine or dark liquor. That basically leaves rum, vodka and gin.

This Friday I stopped to see my man Pops at the strip-mall liquor store and looked for somethin cheap. I could've went with like Bacardi or Smirnoff -- but I decided to get real gutter and go with...check this name yall...RON CARLOS. What?! I know my niggas will be both shaking their heads in disgust and fallin out laughing.

We actually pride ourselves on simeautaneously having the tastes of connoseurs and homeless men.

Ron Carlos is a classic. 9.99 for a whole liter of rum. I aksed pops "Yo, Pops, is this like the bottom of the barrel?" pops, an old black man, shot back, "You gonna mix it with Coke right? Well then its all good boy. Now hurry up and get over here and get out your wallet so I can shut down. DAM!"

Actually, the 9.99 Ron Carlos isn't that bad. And plus, how can I pass up buying a bottle with the name Ron Carlos on it? I'm saving the bottle.

It also reminds me of how me and the crew always had codenames for liquor -- usually brandy. Ernie & James brandy was Elvin Jones, the great drummer in the historic John Coltrane quartet of the 60s. Christian Brother was Charles Barkely or Chris Berman. Paul Masson was Pete Maravich. You get the picture. So we'd be in the van, on the way to Toronto and it'd be, "Yo, sun, pass the Pistol Pete." As always, you have variations, so if this questions was posed in the liquor store, "Yo, what you wanna kop?" and you wanted to get that E&J, you might use the name of song, instead of the usual "Kop that Elvin." This time, it might have been, "Umm, let's go with that Love Supreme."

We were big on codenames and nicknames. In fact, most of the crew has nicknames, some are so widely used, you rarely hear their real name, others not so much; Aric-Rek, Ryan-Vino, Aaron-Dubb, Will-Willie Wu, Marlon-Marz, Craig -Liveass, Jarred-Red, Frank-Frunk, Charles-Chillout, Brandon-Nast, Shem-Sheez, Tony-Fella, Gerald-Christ, Rick-Pretty, Nisan-Spice, Vince-Twist...the list goes on.

Fun group. I miss my people.

A Couple Things XI

-- Busy Fridays. Not much to say. Although I did finally hit the gym. Feeling good. And running on the treadmill is much easier on my knee than the concrete. But I still gotta get this joint checked out.

-- I need to see an allergist ASAP. My allergies have been giving me tons of problems, especially with my breathing. And I have no puffer-type thing to give me instant relief. At night it gets real uncomfortable.

-- Sunday marks the sizth season of my favorite show Curb Your Enthusiasm. It all mark the end to a pretty good week of season openers. Arrested Development, The Office, and Everybody Hates Chris. were all great. I'm really crushin on the Chris joint. Soundtrack is hot, actors are hilarious and Chris is up there with Ron Howard on Arrested for the narration.

-- Anybdoy seen this United Way commercial, with a group of singers humming a real melancholy melody. I think Rueben Studdard is the lead voice. Anyway, it's an emotial 30 seconds. check it out and appreciate it.
-- That's about it for now. May add some other tidbits if something eventful happens.

Tuesday's with Mary

I've never read Mitch Albom's best-selling book Tuesday's with Morry. Is that even how you spell Morry, or is it Maury like Maury Povich? And is that how you spell Maury Povich? Don't know.

But I do know that my encounters with my landlord, Mary, are always eventful and amusing in their own little ways. So, I though, why not create a blog-series, a la Music Dude and A Couple Things, to bring them to the visitors. So here it is, the first installment.

Many of your are already pretty familiar with Mary. She's accomodating, caring, intrusive and old.

Today, she brought Don Murphy by my crib to fix my food degrader and the microwave oven.

Don is about 52, tanned and from Boston. Between the two of them, they were more entertaining than the paper I was reading. Some excerts from their 30-minute visit.

-- CNN was on the telly, coverage toggling between Rita and Roberts. So Don comes in and sees the weather map on the tube and we have this conversation:

"Why can't that stupid storm just go to Mexico. Leave us alone."
"Yeah, but then those people would be homeless and, god-forbid, dead."
"Yeah, but at least if it went to Mexico our gas prices wouldn't go up."

If you cant tell, Don's a humanitarian.

-- I'm the only black person in my whole community. That's not an exageration. I'm dead-up serious. I've been here two months, haven't seen a black person yet and my jogging route takes me throughout most of the community. So you figure I'm the only black dude ina community of about 1,500-2,000 people.

I say all that to reinforce the fact that all eyes are on me. At all times. My comings and goings and visitors are known by all in my immediate vicinity abd when I drive through other streets, it's probably, "Oh, there goes that new black reporter that just moved here a couple months ago." And my neighbors report back to Mary too, because some of neighbors are the old-nosey types. The kind that sit in front of their window all day, unless the Price is Right is on (when that's on, they turn off the lights and fantasize about Bob Barker, may get into a lil self-love).

So when Mary came by today she had a question to ask me. She got my attention by tapping on the paper I was reading.

Honey, is your mother a slight woman?
No. Mom's not slight.
Oh, OK. Well you must've had some lady-friends over here recently, huh? Yeah, you know the neighbors watch you and they said you had slim lady over here a couple times. She drives a white car right? Ha, ha. Ahhhhh, honey, that's nice that you've found a friend.
Actually, Mary, I haven't had any women over here since I moved in. Maybe someone came by and knocked on the door when I was gone.
No. They're talking about that girl that's been coming by lately. What's her name, Dear?
...Yeah. I don't know, since I haven't met her.
OK Dear...hey Don, I'm gonna run around the corner to Hazel's house. I'll be back in a jiff.

This story amused me, because 1) it substantiated what I always knew: I have nosey neighbors that watch me and then gossip to the whole community; and 2) these old geezers are blind as 23 bats.

All the time Mary was info-fishing, I knew what she was talking about, but didn't clarify things just because I refuse to facilitate her intrusions. But trust that I had the widest smile during this conversation.

My blind, busy-body neighbors weren't looking at a slight woman in a white car; they were looking at a slight man in a beige car. My co-sports reporter, Dave Murphy, is about 6'1, 170 lb. He stayed at my crib a couple days when he first started because he couldnt move into his apartment until Saturday and he wanted to get started at the gig ASAP.

So the old powder-puss geezers across the street saw an image and started gossiping. And since they only see shapes and the only colors they recognize are black and white; they figured it was a slender girl in a white car.

They probably refer to me as "Mary's buxom tenant with the black car."

Here comes Rita

I'll be going to bed in the next two to three hours. I fear that when I wake up, Rita will be wreaking the worse havoc our generation has ever seen.

This is depressing.

Nigga Please II

Vino, Gee and Maese all disagree with my Chappelle sentiments.

First, let me say this ; originally, the Nigga Please post was gonna be a part of another Couple Things blog, but I just kept goin. And in the back of my mind I knew that I had deadline-oriented work still undone, so my mind wasn't totally clear. Now, I stand by everything I blogged, but I do want to add just a few other things to my arguments, some clarifications, so to speak.

Chappelle: I'm not blamin Dave, as in, "Chappelle this is your fault, you should either stop using the word 'nigga' or ask Congress to pass a law that forbids white people from viewing your shows or attending ur comedy-concerts."

That's not what I'm saying. But this is clear, Chappelle's show has made the word 'nigga' no different than 'bitch'. That's just not cool.

See, although DC grew up in D.C., he exudes something that white people find irresistable. Probably because he's semi-dorky, smokes a lot of weed and white men think they could 'take him' in a fight. As smart and aware as he is, Chappelle is no more than a safe Negroe that makes them laugh. Chappelle seems like the cat that would go to college and have nothing but white friends, he's Their Type of Nigger. So, when he says "BITCH!" It's like one of their bros sayin "BITCH!" and they follow along. Chappelle says "NIGGA!" in that funny nasaly voice and next thing you know, his millions of bros are right there with him sayin "NIGGA!"

As much as white people listen to hiphop, they still know it's a black thing. That's indisputable. And the gangsta-motif throughout hiphop makes it that white people may aspire to be that, want to be that, envy that, but not necessarily identify with that.

Chappelle is worth $50 mil because white people identify with him. That's so powerful. He's been able to offer, at times, scathing social critiques and semi-militant sentiments, all the while maintaining a fraternal relationship with white people.

White people go to see Chris Rock to laugh at themselves and laugh at the powers that be. White people go to see Chappelle to laugh at themselves and the powers that be, but to ESPECIALLY laugh at his interpretation and depiction of blacks.

I argue with my boys about this all the time. They LOVE Chappelle. I'm not a huge fan. I think a lot of his stuff is mindless and B-rated (although just as much of his stuff is genious and A+++).

The fact that the stupid cartoonist used Chappelle to reconcile his cartoon is a blatant example of how white people are watching Chappelle and getting too comfortable.

It all goes back to W.E. DuBois notion of 'duality', one of the greatest social 'thoughts' ever. It highlights the dilemma that black people face: you can either do you, which is entirely American, the acceptance and motivation to act as an individual and care basically about yourself and, at the most, your family. But blacks jog while laboring under the burden of that 20-ton weight jacket. You can't just do you. You can't just act as an individual, because some of the things you do as an indivdual -- scratch that -- many of the things you do as an individual, impact the black community. Duality. Living for yourself and/or living in behalf of everyone that is some shade of your brown skin. It's a hellacious burden at times.

Chappelle must deal with this. Either decision is understandable. But he must know that because he's so likeable and because he's so popular, there legions of white people that are growing comfy with laughing at blacks. And that's cool, but not when laughing at can turn to 'taking light' that can turn to 'disrespecting' that can turn to 'dehumanizing'. It's not a slippery slope, it's manhole.


The Cartoon, The Cartoonist and his Editors

My dinner's ready now and it's looking to good to spend much time on this next issue. So let's see if I can, for once, be succinct and coherent.

I hate white people that are unapologetically insensitive. That's what the cartoonist was. I read him say, "I can hear a black woman saying that to someone like Kanye West." Does that give you the right to use a word that is the epitome of taboo for your race? No. Not at all.

And I point to the stereotypical depiction Kanye, the anti-thug rapper, as a typical thug rapper (either that or the poor blacks he sees when he's slummin in Gainesville). The bug-eyed court jester on the race card. And the sterotypical shape of Condi. That all spoke to a young..and let me stress YOUNG white dude that has many preconceived notions about blacks. Some warranted, but still..

And the cartoon was stupid. Cartoonist are supposed to provoke. But his cartoon isnt provoking what he wanted to provoke, "Did Kanye use the race card and how do OUR black people feel about his stupidity". Nah dumby, it's only provoked people to question your intelligence and the insane decision making of what was undoubtedly an all-white editors staff. If there was a black person on the decision-making team then Shame Shame Shame.

That Word Nigga.

My nigga Rick Maese is a friend of mine and he's white. He said in a comment to the previous post that he doesn't like the word to be used by anyone, including white people. And that's fine. I can see it making white people uncomfortable (at least certain white people). But in the end, I'll be cot dammed if a white person tries to influece the way I use the word. I'd never try to tell an Italian not use the word guido. Although there are very good reasons to discontinue the use of all racial epitaths, if people of that race wants to use it, so be it.

The word appears a lot in this blog, because I basically type whatever words come to mind and rarely go back and edit. Unfortunately, I've grown accustomed to using the word nigga a whole lot. But I always try to be mindful of not using around white people...for ne because I don't want them getting comfortable and thinking they can use it with me..and two, because I don't want to make them uncomfortable.

I haven't decided yet, but I may curb the use of the word Nigga on this blog. Don't know yet.

Nigga Please

--- I caught yesterday's Rays v Red Sox game at Tropicana field yesteday. Big Papi went off. But the highlight, or maybe lowlight, of the evening was toward the end of the day as me and the two co-workers I came with were leaving. They're both very talented writers, funny people and all together cool. Vanessa is a national/international reporter, working in the downtown St. Pete office...so although I was very familiar with her great work, I had never personally met her. She was real cool though. Kruse is one of my partners working at my bureau in Hernando. Once again, very cool.

But as we were leaving we spotted a young kat with a Kanye West T-Shirt that read, "Kanye says, "Bust doesn't like black people." A brilliant T-shirt that I'll definitely get my hands on...if they make it in 8X. So me and my left-leaning, witty, precocious co-workers have a good laugh and start discussing Ye's thoughts.

Inevitably, this cartoon ran in a University of Florida newspaper came up. Here's a story on it. And here is a letter to the student newspaper from the UF president.

Before getting to the cartoon. Two things scared. The fact that both of my co-workers thought the cartoon was funny and chuckled as we discussed it. And the fact that when talking about the cartoon they said the word "Nigga" out loud, all the while laughing. Like it's a joke.

I blame Dave Chappelle.

And so does the unapologetic cartoonist. He reasoned that hiphoppers always use the word and people fall out laughing when Chappelle and Charlie Murphy use it, etc.

I've been saying this since the first Chappelle season.. He's really, knowingly or unknowingly, making it seem OK for anyone to use the word.

I don't really have time to get into thjis at the moment. But it's a problem.

You know how Twist gets down, so you know I quickly let me two pals know that what they said wasn't cool and neither was the cartoon.

The cartoon is a whole nother subject.

I mean, everything about it was insensitive. Some questions:

-- Why are Kanye's pants WAY big? Kanye is not Lil Wayne. He wears mostly euro-cut jeans. So why did the cartoonist give him the stereotypical, ghetto-bum, 8-sizes too big jeans?

-- why sis the race card feature a black clown? what's that saying? That everytime a black person injects race into discussions he/she is nothing more than a dimwitted clown? Was Kanye a clown for being honest and voicing a far-reaching sentiment of the black community?

-- Condi is slim. Why does she have those wide hips? Don't get me wrong, I brush my teeth with hips and love the fact that the sistas get it from their mommas. But why give Condi those hips?

The answer is that the cartoonist thinks all these things about black people. He dwells solely in a mental realm where all black women have large hips, all rappers wear too-baggy jeans and black people mostly tend to be clowns.

That cartoon was not smart. That cartoon was not witty. That cartoon was not even provocative. It was foolish and it telling. It told on the cartoonist, told on Chappelle, told on those UF editors , it told on the problems that college and daily newspapers have with diversity (no way a black person would have let that pea-brained cartoon slide), it told on a whole buch of people.

Oh, and by the way, those prik-head UF editors still haven't issued an apology. They probably think all the picketing students are just clowns anyway. "Bros, bros, bros...layoff OK? We watch Chappelle...trust us, it's cool."

More Katrina

Why isn't Aaron Brown or Tavis Smiley mentioned as possible Peter Jennings replacements? I mean Katie Couric? Couric can deliver our evening news but some whip-smart like Smiley can't? Of course he can. But he's a nigger. And as much as I like change, I TOTALLY understand a network not wanting to put a black face in front of their millions of home viewers...makes perfect business sense. We can;t expect NBC, ABC or CBS to supercede time or influence change. That's just not what they do.

But why not Aaron Brown? Is he too left? Too old? Too ugly? Probably all three. But Ted Koppel was too. Anyways, I've adopted Brown into my family.

I bring this up, because I'm watching him right now and that thought popped in my head. Meanwhile, an absolutely HORRIFYING story is being told during this segment.

Apparently (and forgive me if this is old news), FEMA was sending away medical helpers if they werent FEMA sanctioned, because they were scared of possible insurance problems. As scary as that sounds. I'm gonna hit you with this horror story: FEMA was putting living human beings in the morgue. They called these rooms, Expectancy Rooms, which were basically sections of the Katrina morgues that hosted living humans that had been deemed lost causes.

This story gets more sordid day by day. And its sad, because as Nola gets more and more habitable and the news should get much lighter and hopeful, these debauched stories keep getting unearthed.

I think this week's Newsweek headline is past appropriate.

Saga continues yall...

The Larry King Telethon

Some of us may still be too shaken up to laugh at Katrina-related things. I've been past that stage. So I'm just warning you, the following novel-blog will contain statements making light of something that is admittedly still very dead-serious. I can't help it though. If something's funny, something's funny. I remember laughing out loud when a friend of mine blogged about backing out of his driveway and hitting an old man riding a bike. I mean, homeboy was severely shaken up about this (as he shouldve been) and I'm sitting in front of my computer adding elements to his story to make it in to comedy-skit. I have problems. But just warning you...some of the upcoming thoughts will indeed be serious, but others will stupid and uncalled for.

Anyways...onto this telethon. Now, I don't know if you've seen this or not, but it was about an hour-long show of Larry King providing segues from one performance to the next. So do me a favor and think about King for a moment. Please envision him. Think about how his face looks. Take a minute to recall the shape of his shoulders and how he's always leaning on the table. Back to his face...think about his glasses. And think about his voice as well. Actually here's a link. Go head and take a gander at his face and then come back to the blog.

OK, so we good? We got his face and voice etched in our mind right now? Good, because the editing on this show was ridiculous. I mean, his face would just appear mid-way through a performance.

"Folks that was the Harlem Boys Choir. What a moving performance by the Harlem Boys Choir...and now, Aaron NEVILLE!"

Actually, lets sleep on this bed for a moment (and rewound that segue on my tivo at least three times). Let's take the Harlem Boys Choir for just a second. Hearing them sing all gospely and praise-the-lord-like and then to see King abruptly appear on the screen and speak in that voice is jarring and totally comical. It's like Barabara Walters hosting a Real World reunion special. And what about the Harlem Boys Choir? Theyre supposed to be BOYS right? So why did I count at least four old-azz niggas singing in baritones. One dude looked exactly like Harold Perrineau, better known as Link from the Matrix. That kat is no boy. Nigga you got an enough pubes for a Ben Wallace afro -- you are no boy.

And my man Neville. Come on Nev! What's his deal? really. Now granted, it's totally appropriate for him to do his thing at this telethon since he's a Nola native. But why is he considered talented? I havent done the knowledge on him, so I don't know if he's a great musician or songwriter...all I hear is that voice. It reminds me of an old lady that was in one of my congregations back in Buff. We used to call her Sister Shakies because her voice trembled when she talked and sang. Neville's voice, to me, is despicable.

Another thing that I've found comical: what's the difference between his shape and Hulk Hogan's? really, he's just as diesel, plus Hogan could never pull off rockin backwards kangos like my dude Nev. And Nev has the illest lip mole, this side of Cindy Crawford and Paula Abdul. Actually his mole is on his forehead, directly above his eyebrow, but really, that makes it worse.

But to see him up on a stage, singing in his voice, with that kango, some Levi 501 Blues, Doc Martin steel-toes and an Under Armour muscle shirt...well that was precious. Actually, he wasnt wearing any of that (all though he usually does), but he did have on dangling earings.

And then of course, the end of his song is cut and Lar's mug flashes to the screen. How can I not laugh?

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Another ridiculous example of bad editing was how CNN came from commercial..and it was some dweebish commercial, too...like a women's underwear commercial and then, with no introduction, no warning -- Russel Watson comes blasting on the screen singing in his operatic tenor. Mouth wide open like he's about to stick a watermelon in it. I mean, think about how jarring that is, you're looking at some white women with no hips or rear, dancing to Aretha Franklin in their panties and then -- booyah -- Russel Watson is taking us to the opera. One question.

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The telethon wasn't one huge laugh, obviously. It was actually mostly sobering I guess. To me, the poignant performance was Eric Clapton and John Mayer performing Broken Hearted which is such a gray-clouds tune. And I like how John Mayer never opened his mouth, he just sat there and played guitar. He's humble like that. He knew he was on stage with great artist, so he sat there like young dude and did what The Clap (double entendre in full-effect) told him to do.

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What made all of the performances even more heavy and weighty and sad; was the running scroll of missing children. I mean My God...and no we should not use God's name in vein, but truly and appropriately in this case: My God. It takes a lot to get me teary eyed (maybe not as much as before, but still -- a lot) and this one had a dude quite misty...especially during performances like Johnny May and The Clap. I mean, the scroll did not stop, even after the telethon and some ethnically-homogenous Asian anchor started another show (the ethnically homogenous anchor is a whole other blog)..the scroll was still rolling.

Actually the Asian-white lady had a segment on missing siblings. One's name was Glynn, the other two names were -- get this -- Robernique and Rodnesha.

Let Twist be the first to ntell you: Them two niggas is gettin found -- or as my people like say, "fount" -- I mean, just walk around Nola and Houstan yelling "ROBERNIQUE" or "RODNESHA"...there are only one of each on the whole planet. Their brother, Glynn, he's flying below the radar and gettin lost in the sauce, but Nique and Nesha have little to worry about.

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Not to get off the telethon, but that same show with the Asian-white lady anchor had this intro to a new piece,

"See how one celebrity is doing all she can to help the victims of Hurrican Katrina."

I thought it was gonna be about a celebrity, but don't you know that they had the audacity to use that as intro for a piece on Della Reese. DELLA effin REESE?! She's still considered a celebrity? I remember her for two things (outside of Touched by Angel where she plays the classic big black woman role of savior, comforter and uncanny sage...a classic Hollywood stereotype, just more tastefully done)..anyways, I remember her for gettin shot in the pinky toe in Harlem Knights and for the way Kim Wayan portrayed her on an in Living Color skit where she sold half-eaten bits of food called "Della Reese's Pieces"..and it'd be like a chewed on chicken breast, 1/3 of a biscuit, the crust of a slice of sweet potatoe pie -- hilarious.

But, after the celebrity intro, they have the gall to show Della, in all her splendor: some big, huge white sunglasses and a fur coat -- and we're talkin about a whole lot of fur to clothe that hefty heffa.

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Back-on-track though. I havent seen Leann Rhimes in a minute and she was on the telethon. She looks straight up grown. She's a perfect example of a young caucasian woman that was more meaty than white girls like to be (mostly baby fat) and then lost weight, but remains shaped like a realistic women. She's definitely slim now, but she's not on the Cocaine and Barf diet like Lohan, Richie and now...Hillary Duff. Have you seen some of Duff's new pics?! I thought she was too wholesome to get caught up in that gruseome black-hole, but she succumbed. She looks positively gruesome. What's goin on? If that ever happens to Trina I'm castrating myself.

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Easily the most hilarious moment of the night came when Larry King introduced Harry Connick Jr. Think about those two faces. And now think about a close-up of King, leaning over the table like King and then a quick, random cut to Connicck staring in the camera -- dead silence...and then a sudden leap into the white man's version of Nola blues. Think about that. There's a reason why King and Connick made great Simpsons cameos...its because they have two of the greatest Simpsons-ready faces of all-time. Theyre joined by Jimmy Walker, Steven Tyler and Rachel Dratch in the Top 5 Ready for Animation Faces.

And I won't even get into how he had all of these no-soul white men playing black music like they owned it. Actually, yes I will. Why not Nic Payton, why not Roy Hargrove? Well, obvioulsy, I know why. Because they arent platinum sellin artists. But why not? Theyre much better musicians than Connick. But I digress. All I know is that the illest pianist out right now, Robert Glasper, drops an album in early October. I guarantee u that Vino and I will be two of probably only two or three thousand Americans that buy his album. American jazz continues to be a shame that pales only in comparison to human tragedies.

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Is Gloria Estefan the Hispanic Cher? I think she is. Meanwhile, her voice still curdles my milk, but whoever wrote the song she sang on the telethon, is a great songwriter. Beautiful bridge.

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Sara McGlaughlin has a serene voice. My lil sis P put me on to that some years ago and she's defintely right. She had a duet with Josh Groban. Groban is a no-talent twit, however.

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I think I may buy my first country-western album ever. His name is Marc Broussard. He's a Loos-E-anna native. White dude. But that kid has got a bucket a soul. He sang this tune called "Home". he had all the vocal stylings, the emotion, everything. Seeing your home state drowning under disease-water will do that. Like I've said before, every ethnicity has soul -- even Asians. But I think tragedy and turmoil jerks it out. My man Broussard was feeling it. And I was lovin the fact that he had his Pops playin the guit-box with him too and harmonizing in the lower register.

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CELINE DEION. Woa. I think her moment was actually more startling than Kanye's moment, because she went on for four to five minutes, all the while fanning her teary eyes and waffing her hair to make sure her sexy stayed in tact.

Seriously, who can take her serious with that accent? not me. And it slays me to hear her talk and then here her sing. She's from Canada, but talks like she's Russian, but then sings like she's a hillbilly-bish with a mullet.

So she's raging on about the governments lack of response and ordering helicopters to resucue poor people from their attics, all the while fixing her hair and saying things like, "Ohhh yeah, I gave one million dollars! who cares about one million dollar?! There are people in their attics that cant swim and need water!" and saying foreign-sounding things like, "I'm an a sorry, but I am just to be a so frustrated!"

But she was powerful too,

"People are making such a big deal about people stealing 20 pairs of jeans or TVs. WHO CARES!?!?! They won't go far with it. Maybe these people are so poor that this is the only time they will be able to touch these things. Let them have that." Preach baby.

I mean, her reaction and thoughts were powerful. I can;t front on that. But try to check a rerun and see if you can make it through the segment without laughing.

Also, she called Kanye West "Consha West".

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Maya Angelou's poem was past powerful. The room got misty again. She set it off with something like, "when the land became water and water thought it was God". It was enthralling. I wish I could write that heavy. But she ended sooooo wack. "I'm Maya Angelou and I'm proud to be an American." Why? What about this tragedy makes one proud to be an American? She did speak of how America overcame slavery and the civil war...but has it really? has America really overcome slavery? Has it really overcome the civil war? To agree to those sentiments is to ignore the very plight of the people upon which Katrina has cast a 10000000 watt strobelight.

I mean The Clap was singing broken hearted and Nev was shake-singin Lousiana 1927 and 99% of the picture featured dark faces. Are they Americans? Are we Americans? If so, we have not overcome slavery or the civil war. I hate when public and pwerful black voices start that America crap. I know they think its uniting and proactive, but I, for one, also think its negligent and pass-happy.

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But of course, my favorite moments of the whole telethon involved some jazz cats.

Irvin Mayfield spit a genious monologue about how blues and jazz articulates the Nola people so well. Satchmo created modern jazz in the Nola and the blues was created in the Nola. The blues has everything to do with empathy and voicing the pain of the disenfranchised and providing amusical outlet for the depressed and those overcome with despair. But blues, as Mayfield so appropriately pointed out, always glanced at better days, at happier times. I mean, really, what better city and music to deal with this tragedy than the city and music (blues/jazz) that typifies the most resilient people on earth (blacks)?

And then, to close out the show, they played a lil Wynton Marsalis segment. Wynton is from jazz's First Family. His father is the great pianist Ellis Marsalis. Then you got Brabford, Wynton and Delfayo. truly great jazz family -- and they hail from the Nola. So theyre also like the Nola's First Family. Nola Ambassadors.

Wynton, as much as I hate certain things about his jazz philospophies and whatnot, is the single most important post-1970 musician, because he made jazz an American treasure, an American landmark. True, this has hampered jazz in many ways, but it's an incredible feat in its own right and Wynton, thorugh exhaustive research, tireless advocacy and sheer smarts and wisdom made it happen. he's a living musical legend.

Well, he -- being one of the smartest people on earth -- is well aware of the Nola tragedy. It's his home after all. But he's also no-space attached to njazz and its essence, the same with blues...in fact, it was, and is, Wyton that is the a bizarro-harbinger of the blues=jazz message.

So what does Wynton do? Of course he could have played a heart-brusing piece of jazz that would have sent me into depression, but Wynton, the genious he is, recognized that blues and jazz not only articulated and still, somehwates, articulates The Struggle, but also hope and a way out or over The Struggle...and if nothing else, a mechanism to cope with The Struggle. So Wynton starts tappin his feet and blows notes so triumphant it'd make someone that lost a loved one smile.

And there you had it. The Nola waters were receding, people were returning home and jazz -- for the first times since the early 70s -- was once again a relevant language.

A Couple Things X

--- first off. As some of you may have already noticed, my mother posted three random blog comments this past Friday. One telling me I drank too much. Another calling me "my lively one" and ending it with, "Miss your smile". And another one -- my personal favorite -- where she expressed some amazement about the amount of blogs I posted recently. Only, she didn't express her amazement with something like, "Woa" or "Wow" or "Geesh"...she used a Linda Joyce Thomas special, "Shuuuwee man!" Moms is priceless, I can't stress that enough. One day I'll introduce you to her in a novel-blog.

--- Did anyone see this "straight to DVD" Carlito's Way prequel with Puff in it? Why? Why do a Carlito's way prequel, like 88 years after the first one came out. And what is Puff doin in it? And how embarrassed must Puff be that it didn't even get released in theaters? I mean, it has to be really bad if it's a prequel to a well known film, with a big star like Puff in it...and it STILL cant get into a couple theaters. But that's what yopu get when you subtract Pacino and De Palma and insert Jay Hernandez as a yopung Carlito and replace De Palma with Michael Scott Bregman...I don't care if he was the producer of the first Carlito -- he's no DePalma. His last movie was a blockbuster though. We all remember the Adventures of Pluto Nash don't we? I can just remember watchin that movie when I had a the lil dudes in my congregation over my crib for a sleepover (no MJ jokes) and me and my mna Big Mike tried to rent some wack kids movie's for them. So we kopped Pluto Nash, which even they hated, Ice Age, which was a hit, and it was my duty to pass Willow onto a new generation...they clowned me at first, but were hooked by the Megosh got shot in the calf by bow-n-arrow wielding Brownie.

Back-on-track, I'm checkin for the Carlito prequel, because I'm sure it'll be so bad that it's good. And I'd never miss a chance to watch Luis Guzman in action. He played Pachanga in the first Carlito...but in this prequel his character's name is...get this...Nacho Reyes. What?! Yes!

--- I went grocery shopping yesterday and spent a little less than $100. Crazy. But after I recognized that I easily spend $100 on eating out in about a week and I had just brought breakfast, lunch and dinner to last me close to two weeks; I also remembered that I'd routinely spend this much on myself back when I used to live alone. Grocery shopping for one, is quite expensive, since you're never really to get any true value for anything...value directly correlates with quantity, usually, when it comes to grocery shopping.

But I did get some good healthy food. Brough fresh fruit for the first time in a long while. and the fresh fruit down here is the bi-domb. I made a tropical fruit salad with kiwi, mago, papya and plaintain. Made a greek summer salad with brocoli, colliflower, tomatoe, shallot, gorgonzola (instead of feta), olives and some chicken I threw on the grill. Yes, the grill is in full-effect like 1988 hiphop. And I was out in my back yard in some some tight shorts, and extra small T-shirt and flip flops and a doo-rag, grilling my meat and sippin on some vodka. If it weren't Football Sunday, I'd have had on some tunes too...don't know if I'd have hiphopped my neighbors to death, so I'd have thrown on some neutral but still nasty enough for grilling-music, like some Cannonball Black Messiah or somethin.

--- You all may remember that ghetto black broad at the Orlando Hollywood Video that was always clownin my movie selections. The one that I said, "probably stood in front of her mirror butt naked and did the butterfly". Well I have a new movie-rental bane. She works at the Spring hill Blockbuster on Mariner Blvd.

I went in there this past Saturday to catch up on some films I missed during my too-broke-for-even-a-matinee days in DC a couple months ago. So I kopped Spanglish (I can't believe Tea Leoni wasn't an Oscar nominee last year. I guarantee you that if Annette Benning, Paltrow or any other darling played that role as wild, off-the-wall and dead-on as Leoni, they'd have been nominated. No one was gonna beat Swank's Million Dollar performance, but Leoni got the stiff shaft, she was just straight up entertaining and interesting)...and I kopped the Bill Murray/Wes Anderson joint, Life Aquatic.

So the young know-it-all white girl looks at me and says,

"Oh no. You won't like that. It's not what you think it is." What?! You know what I think it is? She obviously thought I was expecting it to be What About Bob or Stripes.

I said, "Why not. I love Wes Anderson films."

"Wes Anderson? Who is that?"

My point exactly you little Florida suburb hick. no your role. I mean granted, I was unshaven, dressed like I couldnt even get a gig pumping gas and I also asked her if she had "Cop and a Half" on DVD...but still, don't judge me baby. Leave that stuff up to me.

Anyways, I went on to tell her that I'm picking up this movie more for Anderson than I was Murray, since I loved Tennebaums and Rushmore. She understood. I'ma eff her head up when I come back and rent Notebook. ha.

--- Music Dude on Lil Brother comin soon. Maybe tonight. So hold tight Vino an aybody else. You'll know what to think soon.

--- Speakin of Lil Bro, they're comin to the Social in Orlando Oct. 4. Don't even ask if I'm attending or not.

A Couple Things IX

--- Busy Friday. Lots of errands, a feature that needs to be filed and football game tonight. So, I probably won't get a chance to post today. But check back around late afternoon for a possible Couple Things post.

--- Besudes that, everybody enjoy the weekend. I'm spending a full Saturday in Tampa tomorrow. So for the first time, I'll get a good idea of what I'm working with -- city-wise. Might also do a dolo (read: solo) double-feature this Sunday, since Curb doesn't start until next Sunday. Don't know which ones, yet.

--- Music Dude post Monday, for your reading displeasure. Will try not to have another "Lost" fiasco.

Music Dude corrections

You all don't know this. But I have a blog ombudsman, here name is Sumaya. Whether I'm innacurately accusing KG of living the good life or quiting wrong songs, she's always there to correct me. Usually punctuating her correction with something really smarmy like, "But I really enjoy your blogg, Vee!!!!!!" She's precious.

Anyways, she is right "Dance" is the song off Nas' God's Son album that solely addresses his mother. But my tune, "Heaven", only partially does so. My mistake. But I don't "Dance" too much, so let's just say the portion of "Heaven" that deals with Nas' mother, is the illest mother-related hop moment ever, to me. That was just a really moving song. But, once again, many thanks to May for keepin me on my toes.

Of a far more egregious matter, my long ramble on Wayner Shorter's "Lost" contained a glaring mistake. My man Stick's Shorter reprise was of "The Bug Push", not "Lost". "Push" is the very next song after "Lost" on Wayne's Soothsayer album. Everything I said about "Lost" I stand by, it's just that, while I was rambling on-n-on, I wasnt actually listening to "Lost" which is unexplainable and inexcusable. I can't really tell you what went on in my mind to allow me to ramble on for three-novels about the Strick reprise...I really can't, but forgive and thank Vino, (the only Jazz Jedi to consistently read the blog (the other three are stuck in 1756)), for bringing this to my attention.

He alerted me in a message the day after I posted the Kanye review. It was also very smarmy, since he tried to make it seem like he was earnestly seeking this song he'd never really heard, when, in actuality, he was basically saying "Yall know I got everything, so if I ain't heard it, then it probably don't exist." The message went like this:

"Yooo. Yo Twist, I mean, I gotta hear this Strickland version of Lost. I mean, where'd you get that? It ain't on Brotherhood and I'm pretty sure it ain't on At Last...so I mean, YO, put me on. Where'd you get it? I mean, if there's another version of Lost out there, then I'm tryin to hear it. But, I mean, where is it? I know I've never seen it. So, YO, hit me back and let me know what's the deal." Click. After me and Vino talked I immediately figured out my error.

When me and Vino sit down and listen, I still do some light teaching, but he is definitely, the undisputed Kop King. That niggas has more albums than he can fit in his house. And the CDs are scattered all over his apartment too. I wonder how his wife deals with it. I mean, this dude'll use a Charles Migus CD as a coaster for his beer. I think I found a Weather Report CD in his snack tray once. That's how music he has. So he's rightfully grown a nice-size chip on his shoulde when it comes to his collection, since it's that much more exhaustive than all the rest of our exhaustive collections.

So his message was much more of a statement than it was an attempt to locate some recording he wasn't down on. It made me smile.

Anyways, sorry for the mistakes yall...maybe it was the Shiraz.

Meanwhile, for all interested in jazz of for those who like to say they appreciate jazz -- head out to Borders or Tower right now and kop Wayne Shorter's Soothsayer it'll change your life.

A Couple Things VIII

--- I decided against the Little Brother review-blog last night. Just felt like it needed a couple more listens. My initial thoughts are this: it's a banging album. Although, outside of the skits, I didn't get as much commentary on the state of the industry as I'd have liked. But the Minstrel Show skits will probably go down as one 10 best skit collections in hiphop. They're priceless. I'm stuck on about 5 tracks right now, too, which is preventing me from really giving the whole album enough proper listens. I find myself listening to the same 5 songs over and over again, because that's how I get down. I'm called the Tippy-Top King, meaning that I will restart a song, sometimes 10 times, before it finally finishes...if it's slaying me like that.

Vino, meanwhile, has already called it a classic and said that it measures up to most any albums in the Glory Days (93-99). Don't know if I'm feeling that initially or if I ever will, which is why I'm giving it time.

I have probably a group of 10 people that can make me go back and listen to albums again if our opinions differ, that's how much I respect them as Music Dudes. Vino is one of those kats when it comes to hiphop and jazz. So, its like, if he's calling th e LB a classic, then I gotta really do some more knowledge before I make a final assessment.

Anyways, Vino, gimme a couple more days.

--- The music situation in this County is dire. No Borders, no Barnes & Noble, no Tower, not even a Best Buy or Sam Goody. Which means that, unless I wanna drive 20 minutes (with these gas prices), I'm stuck with Circuit City or WalMart. And also recognize that these places order albums based on their customers. So, just like a record store smack in the middle of the hood (as long as the hood is being gentrified by young-prof gays) won't carry Franz Ferdinand; My Circuit City and WalMart has the worse selection ever.

I was astounded when I saw, like, 20 copies of the LB. I mean, yeah, 50 Cent will show up everywhere from Bismark, North Dakota to Antarctica...but LB still flies a lil below the radar, so it was refreshing to be able to kop in my hood. But jazz? Fugedaboutit. Even some of that next-steez rock is nowhere to be found.

I was talking to one of our music critics here at the Times. This dude is acting as my punk/rock guide for that music. Someone to help me sift through all the music out there (I'm doing the same for jazz music with him). My rock collection is rather thick, but I'm trying to be a connoissuer(sp?) and it's easier to get there if someone already on that level can walk with you for a while, give you some tips. So, he's gonna take me to some shows in Tampa, hit me off with some CDs every now and then and vice-versa. Anyways, I was telling him how I dig this group My Chemical Romance. Well he told me that if I dig them, then I need to go kop this group Thursday (everybody I mention you can read about by click on The ill Music Source link I put on the site). So I went to Circuit City hoping against hope that it might be available to kop...but of course it wasn't. Which means, this weekend I will be hopping in the car and driving into Tampa so I can go locate the Thursday album and the couple others he has on the list.

You don't know how much this sucks, but it's my unfortunate reality at the moment.

--- As you know, I'm a Foodie and restaurant-freak. One of my fears was that it'd suck needing to drive into Tampa to get some good food at a nice restaurant...and it does suck...but I've managed to eat some pretty slick meals since I've been here and none came in Tampa.

Hernando is a weird county (or maybe its normal, I don't know) because you have Spring Hill and Weekie Wachee (keep gigglin M) that have streets like Norcrosse and Mariner that have all the requisite chain restaurants and fast food. US 19, the big street my neighborhood is located off, runs north-n-south through all the counties. It's your typical two-way, eight-lane street with every known chain -- from Loews, to Home Depot, to Fridays to Target to Chili's, blah,blah,blah...the closer you get to St. Pete/Tampa, the better the stores get. But on the east side of Hernando Cty is Brooksville, a small town that feels like a small town, not a strip-mall/subdivision suburb.

Well Brooksville has all these privately owned, passed-through-generations diners and restaurants and the food is consistently immaculate. You Mykonos, which was opened decades ago by a Greek family, then taken over by an Italian family and then one of the Italian sons married a Cuban woman and before you know it, customers were walking into the place, opening the menu and choosing from authentic greek, italian AND cuban fare. And if you spend more than $10 (tax/tip incl) then you must be paying for two.

Just yesterday, the Cty editor took me and my sports partner out for bruch at this spot called Farmer Johns. Apparently, John closes his diner down from April-August while he...well, while he farms. When its opened, its probably the best restauant in Brooksville. They probably have 30 different kinds of pancakes/french toast and crepes. About 10 different omelettes and the skillet things, which is probably a southern thing.

Then you can go to M.C. Chef's and get the ill gut-bucket southern fare. You know, fried chicken, fried green tomatoes, fried corn...fried water. Plus, check the name yall. M.C. Chefs? Is there anyway I'm not gonna be a patron?

You got BigUns BBQ, too, which is also one my favorite names. The servers are all BigUns, too. Big ol' women, with big ol' breasts and big ol' ankles and big ol' everything -- a whole bunch o' big ol' chins. And they serve big ol' plates of bbq too. Its a winner.

As far as food goes, Brooksville is murdering the rest of the County. I did get this nice chicken dish at this new, flashy brewery on Commercial Way in Spring Hill. It was mesquite grilled and served in a peach-creme sauce. I don't know if I enjoyed it because it was partcularly tasty or if it was because the taste was new to me. But that's about the only good meal I got in Spring Hill, excluding the authentic phillycheese steaks i kopped on Deltona. Philly's Best is owned by some real Philly transplants. My sports partner, Dave, is from Philly and he gave it the stamp of approval.

--- judging from the last quickie (can I call it a quickie) you might wonder what I'm tipping the scales at right now. Well, let me just say, that I've never fit worse in my suits and its now at a code-red level. So, after, I finish this coffee and get my shower, I'll be stopping by Gold's Gym to begin a membership. Jogging around my hood is cool and all, but it's dicey since my ability to jog is dependant on daylight and weather. Plus, I got get on some weights. I may even think about getting at a personal trainer, so he put me on a regimen. but it's time. I know you read that before...but really, it's time. I'm takin it back 1996-99.

--- Not having dental insurance over the past two years really Fd my choppers up. But I, went to the dentist yesterday and it was such a downer. No cavities, but my wisdom teeth need to be pulled and my cleaning is gonna be a mofo. Dr. Holbrook even had to prescribe an antibiotic to reduce the inflamation of my gums before I come back for my cleaning. They had this prcedure where they poked my gums and called out numbers...any number higher than 3 meant something was wrong. So my roll call went like this: 4,4,5,4,7,5,6,6,5,4,4,4,5,6,7,8,8,19. It was embarrassing. I could tell the hygenist was attracted to me and wanted to pull me in one of the dark rooms and get a little physical, she was being as flirtatious as possible...that was until she started calling out 7s and 9s and started thinking, "Who'd ever want to kiss this loser with gingivitis." Touche, honey...touche.

Meanwhile, my next month will be full of weekly dentist visits.

--- Compared to Justice Thomas' hearings, these John Roberts hearing are a true snooze. Where's John Doggett when you need him? Thomas was an Uncle Tom gangsta on some ol', "I think there's a pubic hair in my coke." Roberts is all, "I think I found some calcium in my milk." Lame-o.

Meanwhile, the panic of this dude becoming Chief Justice hasn't hit me yet. The NY Times and Wash Post print outs on this dude are literally sitting in a stack right in front of me, with a bottle of echinasea on top of it...I've yet to do the knowledge on him like I should. Since I'm lazy, someone please put me on.

--- My nigga Wolf Blitz was just on the tube and said something about officials expecting to reopen the French Quarter soon. That's good news. Meanwhile Ophelia is actin like she's gonna unleash her woman's scorn on the Carolinas. Lets hope things arent as catastrohic this go-round.

real quick

My man Vino has tasked me with droppin a Little Brother review ASAP. so it happens tonight. I've already listened to it at least four times. I think I'm ready to shut off the lights tonight and let you know what to think.

other random thoughts comin in a couple hours.

meanwhile, i'm off to the dentist, whcih should be incredibly eventful.

A Couple Things VII

Whenever I do these "Couple Things" posts, it drains me of my self-control allotment for the day and I usually end up doing self-destructive things for the rest of the day, like eating a whole pizza, drinking 3/4 a bottle of whiskey or watching 10 consecutive episodes of West Wing on Bravo until I finally fall asleep at 4:37 a.m. But I'm gonna keep trying.

However, many of the quick hits in this post are things I'd love to novel-blog about, but I may not get the chance. If some of my blogger pals read some of these and have been thinking about the same things or it sparks some interests, please post something on it...i'd love to hear a perspective.

--- 45 bodies found in a New Orleans hospital?! Yo, my stomach is turning and heart is beating faster right now, just thinking about the scene once N.O. dries up. It'll be the worse horror movie ever.

--- I work with a really smart guy here at the Times. His name is Michael Kruse. He's just a real sharp guy w/ a knack for sniffing out news. What sets many journalist apart is the ability to recognize when a story is being presented to them.

Well he filed a story on this white supramacy group, the National Vanguard. One of their current missions is to direct attention to the host of poor white people in Missisippi and Alabama that have suffered from Katrina, since Katrina has almost morphed into a "Black America" tragedy.

Ironically, I can feel some of what they're saying, since this is usually what happens to black people. Their plights and suffering gets overlooked.

But of course, this group goes about this in a way rooted in hatred and bigotry, so there message gets muted unless you're a skinhead or fourth generation racist.

But check the website, peel away their racism, bigotry and hate and see if you can't sympathize whith how they feel. These groups are usually made up of poor, disenfranchised white people who are misguided and feel America has forsaken its own to pander to Nigger Needs. Katrina's media coverage can do nothing but enhance these feelings. I mean, even I want to know about some of the people in the Delta. Up to this point, I haven't seen or heard as much. This is a good things, since America finally accorded some fellow-feeling and genuine angst to a plague effecting mostly dark faces, but I think we may have gone overboard. You know how liberal media outlets can get some time. Maybe the sympathy outstretched to my people in the Nola passed right over my white brothers in the Delta.

See...i have no self control. I'm stoppin there, cause I'll type for 20 more minutes. Ex to the next.

--- Did anyone besides me really get the full impact of that NBA All-Star benefit in Houston this weekend? EVERY super-duper star was there. KG, Kobe, Bron, Mac -- EVERYONE!!! Did you see how they were dealing with the people in the Astrodome? It was like they were making a return trip to the hood. No other league in America dances with the hood like that. They were huggin kats, laughin, throwin footballs. It was a great thing to see and let's you know just how much the hood identifies with NBA players and vice-cersa. Which, sadly, is why the NBA suffers much of it's media criticism. If those dudes could work a Fortune 500 banquet like that, it'd probably be rivaling the NFL for American sports supremacy.

And also, don't think for one moment that the NBA dudes would have come out in such full, starbright force if Katrina would've ravaged Helena, Montana. That's probably a bad thing...no, it is a bad thing, but it's a real thing. Katrina struck a chord with them, because they saw themselves in the people huddled in the Superdome and "looting" grocery stores. For many of them, it's how they grew up and they felt a duty to play in that game -- a duty.

And that's what people need to realize about the way America usually behaves. Senators, Congressmen, CEOs, they don't see "themselves" in the poor, especially not poor blacks, so when certain things go down that really decimate black communities, be it crack or gun violence -- the duty isn't there. Duty is really important when it comes to motivating urgency.

I gotta applaud my NBA niggas though. I just hope that at some point, people can start behaving this way -- immediately -- across the board.

--- great to see Bonds back at the plate.

--- the Little Brother album drops today. if you can, go kop. It will most likely be about as good as Kanye's, or at least in that realm of good music. But meanwhile check my boy Gee's comment on my previous Lil Brother post. It tells of just how sad BET hasn't gotten. For more info, check this rumor about BET programming. It makes me vomit.

--- Some blog ideas I hope to post soon: Me and my TivO. Barry Bonds, OJ and the black community. My Scary Moments at some of Florida's Backwoods Bars. Where Have You Gone BET?

Music Dude presents: The Kanye Critique

Yeah, it's finally here. A bunch of minor things I gotta get out the way before I get into the grits and biscuits of the post. I’m sure these minor things will result in a novel…so feel free to skip my babbling and head right to the critique.

--- Probably the two most cliché things in the world right now, are blogs and Kanye. I hate when things I appreciate become clichés. I'd like to think I caught onto this blog thing before it became cliché, but that's probably a blindly ignorant statement. But over the past two to three months, EVERYONE kopped a blog. It almost makes me wanna quit my blog. That's the type of dude I am. It's like, I wore button ups in high school, so when Jay-Z told the masses to get their "grown and sexy" on and kops some button-ups, I felt wack...the saving grace was that the button-ups every tom, dick and dong decided to rock were the wackest of wack and looked nothing like anything I'd ever sport or anyone even half-way fashionable (I'm 1/8 fashionable) would wear.Kanye is the new cliché that wrenches my massive gut. I like Ye a lot. He makes music I'm proud to promote and champion. But when white people start dropping your name as good music, it gives me pause. There are two types of whities. The Wiggers. Wiggers like 50 Cent and Ying Yang Twins. And the Posers. The Posers believe they validate hiphoppers music pass when they give them favorable reviews. Right now, Kanye is the hiphop dude that you can name drop that makes you seem knowledgeable or well versed. That's like me droppin Cold Play. But the foul thing is that, no matter how large Kanye or Cold Play's bandwagons get...they make deft music...so you can't just STOP liking them, even though you want to.That's what we used to do as teens. You used to have a fav group that got big or fav show that got big or fav style of gear that got big and then rebel individualist self in you made you quit whatever it was.I'm just not willing to do that with blogging or Kanye.

--- Time for me to get new speakers. Pops blew my current joints. But I can't really get to upset, because they're his. Back in 2001, about a month after 9-11, my lil cornball stereo broke down. I think Trane's Transitions shorted it out. So I called Pops like, "Yo Pops, my poor stereo is finished, Man. I'm musicless." Well, the very next day, he got in his van and embarked on what he called -- very insensitively, mind you -- "The 9-11 Emergency Burn Relief Voyage". (Note: we call the jazz music we listen to, "The burn". when we listen, we say "we're burnin". We say so, because the music we listen to supposedly seers the lobes.) Pops is an audiophile, so he has random equipment collecting dust. So he bought me this dope amp and two solid speakers.Well, in early August, when he helped me move in to my Florida spot, we threw on some Burn while we were setting things up. He put in some VSOP Quintet. We wanted to see how loud we could turn it up. That was perhaps the illest thing about having a crib to myself -- no neighbors within ear shot. So he started blastin and I walked outside to see if you could hear it from the street. The second I came back inside the crib, the speakers started shorting.Now, Pops -- an audiophile -- was telling me it was the amp. So I brought the amp home Labor Day weekend so his dude could look at it. In the meantime, he gave me a makeshift amp (makeshift to him, is state-of-art to us) to take back with me. I finally set it up today and found out that it wasn’t the amp, it was the right speaker. So, long story short, I need new speakers. Regardless, one speaker produces enough volume to give this Kanye a good home-listen.

--- Listening is a serious thing with me and some of my crew members. We all have our particular settings that we like. Back when I had my own spot in DC, I'd kop a CD, come home, shut off all the lights, poor some wine, cognac or brandy, pop the disc in my stereo and zone out.I have a listening primer-song. It's "Lost" by Wayne Shorter (So far, the particular rendition of Lost has been on repeat for the past hour). Wayne is the greatest American song writer of his generation. It goes Wayne, then Quincy Jones, then Stevie Wonder, then Burt Bacharach, then Paul McCartney. That's the top 3 to me and I guarantee you I'll win any argument defending that top...remembering of course that I'm talking music and arrangements and lyrics, not just lyrics.Anyways, this song "Lost" is a mofo. It's off Wayne's "Soothsayer" album. Wayne is a saxophonist and made his initial name in Miles Davis' great quintet of the mid-late 60s. Wayne, in fact, wrote much of that music, while Miles arranged it."Lost" is just an absolute heart-breaker. The jazz "head" (a jazz head is basically its chorus) may be the illest ever. It loops, it winds, it sings, it leaps, it falls, it jabs, its twists, it challenges, it extends its hand...it makes me shake my head each time I hear it and I've heard it well over 1,000 times.The thing about lost, too, is that I’ll prime with various renditions of Lost, because they’re all monumental. The way the song is written ensures that, even as the various musicians interpret it in their own way.

These days, all the young boys (we call any jazz musician under 35 a young boy) like to do "Lost" reprises. Bruce Williams was the first young sax kat that I heard reprise "Lost". I was in the front row of Twins Jazz on a Sunday night, alone of course, just listening. And Bruce was killin his set, murderin it...great set. Then after an interlude, he launched into the "Lost" head. I leaned back in my chair and let out a jubilant groan so loud, I think it threw the pianist off. I gave Bruce a hug after the set was over. Since then I've heard Abraham Burton do a reprise and I believe my man Vino told me Wayne Escoffrey performed a live rendition. But by far, the best and nastiest rendition is by my lil nigga Marcus Strickland. I feel like I was the Listener (although we aren’t musicians, my crew and I call ourselves Listeners…like jazz’s 12th man) that discovered lil Strick. He came to DC back in early 2001 with bassist Lonnie Plaxico’s octet. Strick was a lil 5’7, skinny dude, playing that big ol’ tenor sax. The big sax looked heavier than him, but he we handled it. Like a lil dude that’s got a big ol’ wife, but keeps Big Mama in check. Well, I’ve been checkin for him ever since. And, what young jazz dudes do, is they often put live songs on their websites as mp3s, since – as I’m sure you’ve heard me whine before – they can’t get recorded by a label.

The Strick reprise is so dope, because he makes the song sound so modern…not that Wayne’s initial recording sounds dates, it’s just that the rhythms and ethos that Strick articulates is something that is so Now. Plus, he has his lil brother, EJ, destroying the drums and my fav young pianist Robert Glasper on keys. Family always has a special connection in whatever they do. Probably the illest jazz album of the last 25 years was Black Codes of the Underground, that was Wynton Marsalis’ album and it featured his older brother, Brandford on tenor sax. Well they spoke to each other constantly during that album. When it came to harmonize it was like…it was just like some ol’ other stuff. EJ and Marcus Strickland have a similar relationship with their instruments. Jazz solos are rooted in call-n-response between soloists and the rhythm sections (rhythm sections being piano, drum and bass) and EJ is always on top of where Marcus is goin. And my Glass is a felon on the keys. His solo on Lost can get criminal at times. Just when you think it’s reached the apex, he keeps goin, throwing out the most soulful chords. The song is a monster and a great primer.

Well, back to the subject…I listen to Lost as a primer because it really gets your ears on alert. It’s like jogging before a workout. Lost makes your ears break a sweat and afterwards, your really ready to do the knowledge on whatever album your about to consume. (As I wrote that, Strick just blew a sax riff that made me twitch.)

--- So this is how I’m gonna do the critique. I’m gonna just put on the album and let it play all the way through and type my thoughts on each song as they come. Since most of my posts are stream-of-conscious, unedited and riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, you should be used to reading this type of babble. However, as soon as each song is over, I’m gonna quit bloggin on that track and head to the next.

--- One more thing, real brief…Ye has a short documentary-like show on MTV that semi-chronicles the makin of this album. It’s important for three reasons: 1) it’s fun and informative. 2) it shows how much of a Music Dude, Kanye is and let’s you get a whiff of him when he doesn’t smell so arrogant. 3.) another classic example of the media’s thirst and promotion of white-piracy.

--- Aight. I’m bout to dim the lights, poor this cup of Shiraz and get to bloggin. Let’s get it poppin.
**************************************************************

KANYE WEST -- LATE REGISTRATION.

-- Wake Up Mr. West: “Oh-ho-ho-ho”. That was the theme of my trip home. the reaction for everything comical.

-- Heard Em Say: The way this comes in is straight up gutter. Always loved the trippin snare. Also, big ups to Ye for koppin Adam Levine from Maroon 5 for this joint. He sounds similar to Timberlake, but unlike Timberlake, he doesn’t slut himself for black-approval. Levin is a soulful lil dude though.

“My Aunt Pam couldn’t put the cigarettes down, so my lil cousin pickin up them cigarettes now. His job claimin he actin to niggerish now. Is it because his skin blacker than licorice now?” A lil profound, but so simplistically rhymed.

Ye is one of the best producers on the mic, but that’s not saying much. His skills are marginal when it comes to spittin. But he has enough content and charisma to hold his own.

Brion’s influence apparent off the bat.

-- Touch the Sky: The ill thing about the Curtis Mayfield horn jacking was that my cousin DJ Digga’s (my real blood cousin) producing-partner had used the same horn sample from Mayfield back in 2004. I stayed with Digga for the first week of my AJC internship, I heard a lot of what they were cooking up..and I loved the track Taj made with the Mayfield horns. Matta fact, the “You on top of the world baby!” bridge actually sounds like my cousins voice. Eerie.

Lupe Fiasco spits the illest verse of the whole album. I’m sure it made my man Tony proud.

Love the hook. “I gotta testify. Come up in the spot lookin extra fly.”

Kanye is almost womanly with how much he puts into his look, but I gotta admit his ensembles are fly.

-- Gold Digger: It was ill seeing how Jamie flipped this in the studio. They gave us a look into it on the MTV special.

I can see no-rhythm white girls dancing to this in the club already. All shoulders-n-arms and no hips.

I used to dig this track a lil something. Classic Kanye-charisma track. Ill Ray Charles sample, with the ingenious idea of adding Jamie to it. But, as with any, No. 1 Billboard record, I’m sick of it.

Plus, this is also a classic Kanye tryna be extra ghetto track. He has an exceptional ability to, one hand, play to the music snobs and then, on the other hand, appeal to the lowest denominator.

(NOTE: his Broke-fi-Broke fraternity skits wear on. Frat niggas must hate the way he gets on the Greeks. But I feel the way. Outside of a few, black frat niggas are the corniest of corny.)(

-- Drive Slow: I love the fact that he made an ill track with a southern white dude. I’m like Ye…I don’t mind these southern dudes anymore. Matta fact, kinda dig em. Not on some ‘solid music’ steez, just on some entertainment steez.

Paul Wall is one of the kats that I think is slick.

The horn riff is magnificent. Sounds like the same sax riff that Evil D used for the Sh*t Iz Reel joint off the Black Moon. Both trax were exceptional. Plus I like how Kanye had the hollow snare and the slidin hi-hat/

“My cars like the movie, My cars like my crib. I got mo TVs in here than where I live” I thought that was dope, just because Ye spit it with a lot of personality.

-- My Way Home: A Gill Scott Heron sample. This song alone is more thoughtful and substantial than 50% of College Dropout. Common’s good for that. To this day, I only have two Scott-Heron albums. Shameful.

“Might not be a bad idea if I never went home again.”

If you grew up in the hood you understand.

-- Crack Music: I like the way Ye starts his verses off. “How do we stop the Black Panther’s? Ronald Reagan cooked up the answer”. Referring to Reagan’s plan to drop coca and crack in the ghettos. So profound, because it's true. That's unwelcome news for some of my white and/or suburban visitors, but its absolutely. Ye sets off another verse with Bush reference and anthrax that I'm not entirely sure I agree with.

Track ends up sounding semi-revolutionary. Like, you’d put this on if you were marching to the capitol hill steps.

I love The Game. I just think he’s such a genuine dude. And I feel Ye putting him on the chorus.

Keisha Cole is a principle of the “la la la laaa” in the background. I mention her, just because she is one sexy vixen and I’d be on time for that.

Brion’s fingerprints on the end of this track. Some real dark chords and then some eerie string arrangement. Its what sets this album apart from every other hiphop album.

-- Roses: “I ask the nurse did you do the research? She asked me ‘Can you sign some T-shirts?’ B***h is you smoking reefer? Can’t you see that we hurt?” Come on Kanye…can’t u do better than that?

“So many aunties we can have an auntie team” Come on Ye!

Those are two examples of how he lacks as an emcee. But he also has this other line where he says, “My grandfather tryna keep it together he SKRONG” replacing a ‘t’ with a ‘k’ in ‘st’ words is a Chicago thing…and Ye knows that that line right there will be repeated by so many lil girls and white people. He’s smart like that, even thought it’s a wack line.

Meanwhile, very honest song. I imagine that if you had a sickness or death in the family recently, this is especially powerful.

Backup singers sound like Patti LaBelle and Ceelo Green, but the liner notes don’t say so.

-- Bring Me Down: I hate this song. Brandy is wack. Sorry. She’s not a great singer. Her voice is weak. Now if he got Fantasia on the track, he might be into something, cause that wide-mouthed chick has got some soul. Brandy is very light.

“Your girl don’t like me, how long has she BenGay?” Come Ye!

This is the least impressive song on the whole album.

-- Addiction: So sexy.

I’m grooving right now. I don’t even wanna type, ‘cause I just wanna do my groove thang right now.

“Roll up the doja, Henny and c-c-c-cola” Wack, but so catchy. That's classic Ye. It's now my mission to ask a bartender for a "Henny and c-c-c-cola."

Congas add that element that very few hiphop producers have the prescience to roll with. And the Etta James sample is right on point.

Watching the MTV special and seeing how he layered the track to make it a whole beat was very revealing.

Plus, as a young Christian dude, the contents of the song are semi-identifiable.

The end of the track is dumb. Don’t know where he was goin with this. But to his credit, is sort of like the new millennium-hiphop version of the way old should niggas used to talk at the end of tracks. Its like the hiphop version of the last 40 seconds of a Chilite song. You know, where they’re talking in the highest pitch, saying things like, “Oooh baby. I just wanna sit you down on the couch and pour you a glass o’ wine and love real tender-like.”

-- Diamonds from Sierra Leone: Never liked this track. But the first verse does mean a lot as far as bringing to the forefront how all these rap and drug niggas kop these diamonds that our people in Africa die over.

And as always, the white man profits ridiculously.

Not especially moved by the whole Roc-a-Fella, Jay/Dash quarrel and where Ye fits into that. My fav new Jay joints are the joint he did about the summer and his remix to the Mike Jones “Back Then”

Ye was real extra in this video too.

-- We Major: Cot Dam! When this song drops my chest cavity vibrates. I kid you not.

Really Doe’s verse is wack. But his name is gangsta.

The hook is wack (until Nasty lends his raspy vocals to it).

“Until you have a daughter, that’s what you call karma and you pray to God she don’t grow breast to soon” I feel that so much. So many niggas go around sluttin women out and it’s like, “Sun, would you want your daughter getting done like that?”

Nas comes off as usual. He remains the most important artist in hiphop because he’s our moral compass, not to mention a gremlin on the apparatus.

My nigga Tone hates all the singing on the album. He thinks it’s popish. I don’t agree. If he had Avante on every hook, then yeah. But its actually singing with some thought put into the arrangements and it has an old-soul feel to it. I mean, Sally-Sue from Fairfax, Virginia probably doesn’t even appreciate the singing on this album. It’s not that type of pop-R&B, like throwing Ashanti on the track.

My thing is, stick with what works. Like, I hate the fact that John Legend was all over Common’s album, because I always loved the way Bilal sounded on Com trax (Bilal is the illest out right now. It goes Bilal, D’Angelo, Sadiq, Musiq, Dwele, Raheem DeVaughn….then John Legend..and it’s a shame, cause Legend is immensely talented, there’s just something corny about the music he produces). Well Ye almost force-fed Legend on Common, but then when it came time for his album, he pushed Legend to the side and used some schmuck named Tony Williams..this is sacrilegious, since Tony Williams is the name of the greatest jazz drummer – and therefore drummer period – in the history of music.

But this dude Williams’ voice is kinda lackluster. A lil disappointing.

I do like the end of the track when Ye comes back on the track for the ride-out.

Brion doing great things on the keyboard again. As much as I’ll scream white-piracy for years to come, Brion was really doing his thing on this album and really made his presence felt.

-- Hey Mama: I hate this song. This is a song for mama’s-boys, women and white people – not music dudes. But mama’s boys, women and white people make up about 85% of America, so smart move Ye…just not the right move.

The illest mother song is, “Heaven” of Nas’ God’s Son album. Check it. Its powerful, emotional and loving. This track is sappy and stupid. Save this for Boy II Men. When he starts singing at the end, I throw up in my mouth.


-- Celebration: It’s crazy, but I thought of two friends. One was Chuck, you’ve read much about him on this blog. We had a hiphop session and he has the world’s weirdest and nastiest taste for food. The other was Kyle, he’s a former co-worker of mine at the Orlando Sentinel. I thought of both when I hear this track.

I thought of Kyle because he seems to idolize Dave Chapelle…he punctuates many sentences with “Sun!”, which I would’ve thought only white people did, but that was Kyle’s move and he made it work. Well when I heard this track, I could just see my dude K, after he had a couple glasses of that good stuff, with his arm around someone, cheesin as wide as the Sahara, singing along with this track. I know it’s happened.

Now I thought of Chuck, because Chuck loves to sing along with tracks, as I do. I just remember sleeping on my futon this summer, in their living room, and it’d be like 3am and Chuck would be in his room playing some EASports game singing along with Lenny Kravitz, or something, in the most brain-battering falsetto ever. So there’s no way he hasn’t had this joint on at 2:30 am, playing Madden 2006, singing along while he tweaks his team in the Franchise mode.

-- Gone: Cam’ Ron sux. The Otis Redding sample is on point. I need more Otis in my collection….currently I just have a greatest hits.

No Consequence track was iller than the track Ye did w/ Consequence for his first album that never made it on the actual album. Cons has a nice lil flow, although I hated him on that last Tribe album.

I love how Ye reappears on the track after the strings take a looping solo. The dark strings over the sterile drum tack is a lethal combo.

“What the Chi got to offer an 18-year-old? Sell drugs or get job, you got to play Euro.” I can feel that. That’s what a lot of dudes feel are the sole options for a young black dude.

*******
BONUS TRAX ---

-- Diamonds (w/o Jay-Z): Not a fan.

-- I’ll Be Late For That: OH MY! This is my anthem right now. The track slays me.

BTw: I’ll be late and/or on time for: Christina Milian, Eva Mendez, Serena Williams, Sanaa Latham, Megan Good, Jessica Beal, Halle Berry, Trina, Beyonce, Eva from Top Model, that Asian chick I worked with in Virginia, Erykah Badu, Amel Lareiux, Theresa Randle, Regina Hall, Kim Bauer, Vanessa Bell Calloway, Scarlet Johansen, J-Lo, Shakira and the women of Washington, DC.

Back to the track though, it’s a Music Dude classic. He actually has someone playing a Fender Rhodes piano…that’s just never happened in hop before.

This is an example of a Groove. And that’s all that I dig on. The lyrics, as usual with Ye, aren’t anything special. But the groove, mixed with the bridge, mixed with the sped-up sample, mixed with the fender-bender chords…immaculate.

The Saturday I came home to Buff, there was a whole host of people in town. About half of us that moved away, came back and that Saturday all the returnees and the current Buffalonians were supposed to get up and head to one of these chic club/lounges that keep poppin up around the Elmwood area. Most people got in Friday and everyone was at this anniversary party Saturday evening. I got in Saturday and skipped the anniv shindig and linked up w/ Rek and Vino, probably the only kats that didn’t hit the Thorton’s anniv thing. We immediately went to the LQ store and kopped 1.5 liter of single malt scotch and 12-pack of brew. Headed back to Rek’s crib (Rek’s wife was at the anniv thing so we were rollin like we roll), and started Listening. Started off with some blues…played this Hendrix blues track from a live performance, then a Miles blues track and then Rek pulled out this kats we’d never heard of and slayed us. Then we started just goin off, playing songs all over the board. The night ended with Rek and I playin this Ye track at least 7 to 8 times in a row and singing along long with the chorus until we were horse. By the time Rek and Vino’s wives got to the crib and started rousting us to get ready to meet the crew at Lotus, Rek and I sprawled out on beds in separate rooms, toasted off the single malt. I didn’t see everyone until the following night.

I was late for that.