tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7224036984844180612024-02-06T19:20:22.774-08:00Combat Jack With Today's MathematicsOld School, New School Need To Learn Tho'Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-39805755694903125802009-07-05T17:53:00.001-07:002009-07-05T18:56:16.563-07:00Dailly Mathemathics Has Moved!<span style="font-weight: bold;">Update yer Bookmarks & RSS</span>!!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You should be automatically redirected in 5 seconds....</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">If you're not redirected, go to www.daily-math.com or click on the photo below.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.daily-math.com/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSHuhKOV7BZR928Jn4UMNElJKIzwqQjxLJIOyehO4yQO4J59MAL_IL2B7cMYnbak2Ys7Y5l5LI7P40pAU1WXI26ym07FG-9tFEF7Dcukq86_zsqSSsfeBhVQdsqrP7nWUwSK6CLpAvd4/s400/we've_moved.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355144023706052866" border="0" /></a>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-9409097950737677682009-07-04T10:04:00.000-07:002009-07-04T10:15:09.120-07:00Rap Gaydar<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawA9fsHnLGrZCNdH767AHo4nnDrejmq5KJ1XUOdnNwEVyjYw2gcm1RiUFd-epBPFGGjCZNmU3hfW9se9G9cIMNlNebQpzaClSadKndBruCt0bBhuNpAv3QvvL3YeAmp84ZZZHsOjiwtQ/s1600-h/lamar1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawA9fsHnLGrZCNdH767AHo4nnDrejmq5KJ1XUOdnNwEVyjYw2gcm1RiUFd-epBPFGGjCZNmU3hfW9se9G9cIMNlNebQpzaClSadKndBruCt0bBhuNpAv3QvvL3YeAmp84ZZZHsOjiwtQ/s400/lamar1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354652105157172498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The homie Rafi from <a href="http://www.ohword.com/">Oh Word</a> just launched <a href="http://rapgaydar.com/">Rap Gaydar</a>, a spoof of YN's <a href="http://www.rapradar.com/">Rap Radar</a>. Methinks much funnier than <a href="http://www.pausepolice.com/">Pause Police</a>. Eff with him. [|||].Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-62723576298849219742009-07-01T13:53:00.000-07:002009-07-02T06:59:56.093-07:00Daily-Math.Com<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQADxarHUxTpyt6R_tobZ6LoZPcQVv2D0CqHQMvKSH7ijDyfQy9WWUBHwCSCjqwda73JAEvfBbBKXMuGj1BU3O_qxQURgU5QZlyWS9m0a1moEdAIXIhVAqGKxgJASW4lRs4eGEM7Pwbc/s1600-h/math.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQADxarHUxTpyt6R_tobZ6LoZPcQVv2D0CqHQMvKSH7ijDyfQy9WWUBHwCSCjqwda73JAEvfBbBKXMuGj1BU3O_qxQURgU5QZlyWS9m0a1moEdAIXIhVAqGKxgJASW4lRs4eGEM7Pwbc/s400/math.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353598796255379314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sit up straight! Raise your hands when you wanna say something. Classes starting next week. Mark it down, the re-launch. Daily-math.com. I'm excited. Heh.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-75538936109780394362009-06-30T05:47:00.000-07:002009-06-30T09:23:58.986-07:00Combat Jack Remembers Keith Haring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsRDdVYYjSjGdH_UVN8aKc5mh4PPh4vq7QHbZnOTRyXHBPTc_puOigxW348AI36pxth6CAlQ-I4pG0nVzALZgdlN3aNvKDT6ZU9DQ41dWXN2dtlG19t2JyEwf1-ErDX8gA0-RPNjAL9s/s1600-h/keith-haring.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsRDdVYYjSjGdH_UVN8aKc5mh4PPh4vq7QHbZnOTRyXHBPTc_puOigxW348AI36pxth6CAlQ-I4pG0nVzALZgdlN3aNvKDT6ZU9DQ41dWXN2dtlG19t2JyEwf1-ErDX8gA0-RPNjAL9s/s400/keith-haring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353124235429818274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm so effin lame right now. With this blog that is. Kids homes for vacation could be an excuse but excuses are tools for the incompetent (Blue Phi!). Honestly, I've been addicted, playing that new EA Sports <a href="http://fightnight.easports.com/home.action?sourceid=WKS10_EA-Sports-Fight-Night-4_Homepage">Fight Night 4</a> though. Game is dope, especially how they've marketed it as the ultimate Ali vs. Tyson simulator. I know it's just a game, but for years, me and many boxing fans' ultimate fantasy fight has been Ali vs. Tyson and who would win. I used to be inclined to say Tyson, just cause dude is from my era, hip hop's first official athlete and all. But now I dunno. In Fight Night 4, Ali stay murking Tyson almost every time. Like I said, just a game, but I'm saying. In real life though, who do you think would win?<br /><br />I used to be a real hater. Going back, the first person I remember professionally hating on was the late great <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keith_Haring">Keith Haring</a>. When I was in high school, I had to commute on the daily to Manhattan. I remember being on the subway, rush hour crowdedness making me swear that I'd have a career where I'd never have to ride the iron horse during rush hours in my adult life and peeping out the train car windows to see bizarre images posted up on black empty ad spaces, drawn out in white chalk.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvby1w9lyXiyiUmFYRKZXNR_48LsWc2foTRdE8L_mWQkX31OxFxPS58ia1Yrb1RGry-zZS6iAyJvgfPCUh9PjZCNrSWqeTOZlkcIPpR71BWinPpan2ODCF-eN4OZL8imbLrW-ccf2-mW8/s1600-h/haring_5av.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvby1w9lyXiyiUmFYRKZXNR_48LsWc2foTRdE8L_mWQkX31OxFxPS58ia1Yrb1RGry-zZS6iAyJvgfPCUh9PjZCNrSWqeTOZlkcIPpR71BWinPpan2ODCF-eN4OZL8imbLrW-ccf2-mW8/s400/haring_5av.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353104574989062114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxMrMZYgFS7TQdjrGiXlRjky8ybTI0dynlB7ZFDZQLOpB6INj-R8sDAuNuZjymWCcZNUFOt9dBvX3t_T37bRnRz24_SvFKi4HxlxND3UbxjOb11JIM9tp4hA2fXDTg1zjpucB5bC53ug/s1600-h/180px-Radiantbaby.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxMrMZYgFS7TQdjrGiXlRjky8ybTI0dynlB7ZFDZQLOpB6INj-R8sDAuNuZjymWCcZNUFOt9dBvX3t_T37bRnRz24_SvFKi4HxlxND3UbxjOb11JIM9tp4hA2fXDTg1zjpucB5bC53ug/s400/180px-Radiantbaby.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353108405792212338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'd see one, then another, and as the days passed, these pieces would become a common sighting. Radiant babies, barking dogs, all types of art to make them hellish train rides that much more pleasant. Didn't know who was tagging them at the time, just knew they were busy putting in work. But then, back in the early 1980's, New York was graffiti city. Artists like Fab 5 Freddy, Phase 2, Lee and KOOL 131 and Adrock were putting up burners like it was a day job. And to them it was. New York was a filthy smelly dirty little city, mad dangerous too, and the tag artists that were getting it in were doing their part in beautifying, as well as making my city the historic landmark that it remains today. Graffiti then was most definitely a part of the new Hip Hop aesthetic that was nurturing my young psyche then. But I never looked at those weird white drawings as part of the urban graf movement, even though, technically, it was.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjmiXFCFEoeH3bBn_ABtDturyhBy29v7hWQrNXns9YsrDIkK1gpJGya5MAGkhUO3bmmJs1yYua9dEDhwwzP-Vnv10TlsDrvS61Qk9VZxPZcbkWu4kxxp26gU8HsobvHjWdDi4hktPbPJI/s1600-h/History.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 359px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjmiXFCFEoeH3bBn_ABtDturyhBy29v7hWQrNXns9YsrDIkK1gpJGya5MAGkhUO3bmmJs1yYua9dEDhwwzP-Vnv10TlsDrvS61Qk9VZxPZcbkWu4kxxp26gU8HsobvHjWdDi4hktPbPJI/s400/History.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353106892222701314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Still, being that I was on my way to being a fine artist major, all that free street artwork was being soaked in. Around 1982, 1983, Keith Haring started gaining national and international acclaim. I began seeing the familiar works from the subway posted up in the newspaper and magazine articles, along with photos of the little scrawny white boy who had been responsible for them. Seeing how it was a white, and how fast he had achieved fame, I instantly called race shenanigans. Youth is a precious time, where most of us live by and through our passions, and being passionate about my culture, I was quick to call out anything I saw as fake, as commercial. So I let the hate flow. Keith's work was way too amateurish in comparison to the other graf artists I had grown to appreciate. Plus, he was white, not Latino or Black, like most other artists I was aware of, so this definitely played out like the art world was propping up it's next poster boy. My hate didn't matter though, as the 1980's continued to progress, Haring's work became more ubiquitous. Dude was doing shit for companies like BMW and <a href="http://www.popartists.com/Haring%20Watches.htm">Swatch</a>. Shit was disgusting B, especially how this fraud was getting money like that.<br /><br />Towards the end of the 1980's, I was now in law school, at Georgetown. One of my best friends and housemate down in Washington, DC was my dude Sam Gonzales, who went to high school with me and hailed from Spanish Harlem. Sam had a twin brother James, who was on his way to medical school. Sam was one of those Puerto Rican cats who knew everybody in Manhattan. One of his childhood friends was this dude named Adolofo Arena. Adolfo just happened to have landed a position as Keith Haring's assistant. It helped that Adolofo was gay, as it had been common knowledge that Keith also repped the rainbow set. [||]. Intrigued by Sam's connection to Keith, I let dude know how I felt Haring was one of the sham artists that helped corporations in co-opting the whole graf/ Hip Hop movement. Sam didn't give a fuck what I thought though. We had a break from school coming up, and since we'd both be driving from DC to NYC, his first stop, before I landed in Brooklyn, was Keith Haring's art studio down on Broadway, in the village. Not really knowing any celebrities then, I decided I'd tag along, see what Mr. Haring was like in real life. Probably let him know my thoughts about him for good measure.<br /><br />One of many buildings lining up Broadway, Keith's studio was almost impossible to spot. Back in New York, Greenwhich Village, the city was so effin alive, back in '87, '88. You had to take a real narrow and tight elevator which would bring you directly into the studio. Sam and I rode up and once at our destination, we entered a studio that was completely white, except for the paintings and artwork, drippings and shit that was evident that we had entered an artist's work shop. We were greeted by Adolfo, then Keith, who initially came off as a bit shy. Maybe dude was busy because he had just been commissioned by Germany to do some public artwork for kids. Or was it Japan? Still and all, dude was mad welcoming, any friend of Adolfo was a friend of his was his creed. Plus he loved Sam and James, being that they were twins. Haring made sure that we felt comfortable. Even pulled out his finest greenery to burn, and burn we did. Instantly I forgot all the hate, all the questions I had lined up about how dude was a fake, how he had used his whiteness to climb far and beyond his "fellow" artists in claiming fame, wealth too. Maybe I forgot because of his warmth, maybe it was the weed, but regardless, dude was incredibly cool, especially since he was as famous as he was. Maybe I was starstruck, but I doubt it since Keith didn't give off that self important vibe. Must have been one of the most down to earth cats I had ever met. But man, was his personal artwork insane. Not just the kiddie shit most people know him for. Haring was heavy into tribal art, or art that showed how tribal African patterns had been a source of his inspiration. Then he had his whole gay collection which I didn't really check, but it was there. The designs for companies like BMW who he had done some work for was unreal as well. Keith was complex with his. Deep too. Being that he had made it public that he had contracted aids, he also had a deep collection demonstrating how that disease was like a demon, ravaging through the lives of so many people locally, globally, how it had taken the lives of so many people around him, young talented artists, like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Michel_Basquiat">Jean-Michel Basquiat.</a> Keith knew he was living on borrowed time, and it showed in the volume of work he was putting out. Most importantly, Keith loved the kids. No R. Kelly pederast. Keith felt kids around the world were truly unrepresented, and gave hundreds of his pieces to organizations that repped children.<br /><br />Didn't realize then how big it was that I could casually burn an L and flip through Haring's personal work like that. And the more Sam and I would drop by his studio on the humble, and burn more L's and flip through more of his work, Keith became more flesh and blood, more human. It didn't matter that I was getting free shit from The Pop Shop, the store he opened in Soho to sell tee shirts and what not, or that he loved Mr. Chow's and was free with his money and wanted to share it with us, or at least what it brought. Well maybe those perks in knowing dude did. A little bit. I was working at Def Jam the last time I saw him. It was at the 3rd Bass album release party, December 1989. He was chilling dolo. One of the things that I really appreciated about Keith was that he wasn't on the celebrity shit. A lot of the celebs I know, no matter how many times I see them, it's like a game of ego chicken in figuring out who's going to greet whom first, or even if I'll be greeted (I see you Puff). Keith always went out his way to greet me, like it was nothing, like he wasn't the then king of the pop art world, like he didn't have millions in the bank account, like he wasn't dying of aids. Seeing him alone at the party, we dapped. I asked him how he was doing, how he felt, asking him about the aids thing without being that direct. He looked at me and said he felt great, even though he didn't. Said he was happy, even though his life was filled with sadness. Said he had mad work to complete, especially since he knew he had so little time left. Then he did what he did, he pulled out an L and we burned. Then we laughed at how silly the whole self importance of the music industry seemed, watching MC Serch dancing in a circle of fans a coupla feet away from us. Heh. Then we dapped, again, and I bounced. Keith Haring died two months later, on February 16, 1990. I'm still kinda mad at Sam and his brother James too. Knowing his death was soon coming, Keith left the twins a parting gift. Since they wore Carhart Jackets (who didn't then) Keith "borrowed" the jackets to paint two interlocking figures on the back of each jacket to demonstrate the closeness of their brotherhood, them being twins. Kniccas sold them jackets within a year after Keith's death. But I remain so thankful that Sam introduced me to Keith.<br /><br />When I drive my kids to school on the daily, now that they commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan to go to school, we are greeted by this ginormous mural of Keith's, on Houston, by Bowery. The kids love it, always asking me question about it, and about the artist. And whatever it is that I tell them, I'm thinking inside how ironic it is, how funny karma works, how Keith's work is one of the first things the kids see on their daily commute to school. One thing I tell them for sure is how Keith was one of the best that New York City had to offer. Peace to my dudes Adolfo, Sam and James.<br /><br />Keith Haring (May 4, 1958 - February 16, 1990)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfcbBAR4YGgK3BQ2x6TbNqG-NvylS_e5ML9L6QaciOgRSwTJxxLfxCRf-Ndun2WEKXFRNbyOhSS4mLmw6zVQ7kaSJ2kWRO5HA_U24sIPjT78gxClet3f1E3jqLHtV4_LVQRNZx1i_UWY/s1600-h/haringmural_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfcbBAR4YGgK3BQ2x6TbNqG-NvylS_e5ML9L6QaciOgRSwTJxxLfxCRf-Ndun2WEKXFRNbyOhSS4mLmw6zVQ7kaSJ2kWRO5HA_U24sIPjT78gxClet3f1E3jqLHtV4_LVQRNZx1i_UWY/s400/haringmural_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353125658904917986" border="0" /></a>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-72672375851051350652009-06-26T02:43:00.000-07:002009-06-26T16:36:48.110-07:00Michael Jackson - R.I.P. The King Of Pop<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNuZ0sbjaqNj5cGj0p3pVQlCOvzqWRZMlYLAReU-bdMPLhaj9T-ceeYtc998M-dNHbbOLH_LUAoPIztrURxvPzmlncVPqFIONzMyijGs6XeneRXO86oIf3Pm44J8W_FOi_Lkgimkcql-8/s1600-h/Michael-Jackson-michael-jackson-41268_1024_768.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNuZ0sbjaqNj5cGj0p3pVQlCOvzqWRZMlYLAReU-bdMPLhaj9T-ceeYtc998M-dNHbbOLH_LUAoPIztrURxvPzmlncVPqFIONzMyijGs6XeneRXO86oIf3Pm44J8W_FOi_Lkgimkcql-8/s400/Michael-Jackson-michael-jackson-41268_1024_768.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351596407133650882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You know I had to do a "What Michael Jackson Meant To Me" piece too. Eff being redundant though, the GREATEST pop icon of our time just passed, and being that dude's existence probably had more influence on me, you and how the world looks and sounds to us than we could possibly comprehend, it's only right that I give dude his proper respect.<br /><br />Early 1970's, Brooklyn. School yard of my elementary school. A coupla fellow first grade girls are mad fawning over Michael's pics in the latest Teen Beat magazine. Not that the Jackson 5 clan wasn't important, but Mike Jack had top billing from day one. Being that I always liked the girls, even at that age, I was intrigued by dude's swag, the whole afro thing was correct, plus other than Lincoln Hayes, the black character played by Clarence Williams III on my then favorite show "The Mod Squad", Michael was holding it down for us dark skinned dudes, so effin tired of how light skinted kneegrows were tightly holding the reins. Michael Jackson and Lincoln Hayes introduced to me at such a young age, how effin dope it was to be young gifted and Black. Prolly why I never envied my white counter-parts. Then there was the whole radio, television thing. "ABC" was like our little kid's national anthem then. WABC, (am radio ruled) kept that song pumping like the station's existence depended on the Jackson 5, on Michael Jackson. TV killed it too. From appearances to Flip Wilson, Sonny and Cher, Dick Clark's American Bandstand, The Mike Douglas Show, cot-damned every blasted talk show on air then, MJ dominated all that was young, hot and fly. Have to give props to white for showing how much doper Michael Jackson was too. They figured they would throw their bid in for flyest pop by adding The Osmonds led by Donny Osmond as the Jackson 5 and MJ's main competitor. They even had a hot single, "One Bad Apple" that sounded very similar to the Jackson sound, but the Osmonds and Donny could never ever come close. Like a flashlight to the sun.<br /><br />Saturday morning television cashed in too. On Michael mania. The advertising men on Madison Avenue tried every angle. I remember how they rocked the commercial for that sugar box cereal Alpha-bits, where if you brought a box, they had a 45 floppy record single of "ABC" as a cut out on the very box. Moms had no choice but to cop it for her baby boy. Two boxes. And even though I didn't even like that brand (shout out to Captain Crunch), I cut them singles out the back of the box, and kept "ABC" in heavy rotation. Oh shit, just realizing as I write this that that was my very first record I ever owned. My first hit of the music drug that I continue to be addicted to to this very day. God damn do I owe Mike Jack for that. Then came the Jackson's short lived live variety show and cartoon. The cartoon was meh, even then in my young mind, but I stayed tuned. By the time they dropped "Dancing Machine", later during that wonderful decade, seeing them dudes, seeing Mike kill it every time with the robot dance, there was no question who ruled the game. Not ever getting played out, them Jackson kniccas, that MJ knicca let you know that whole decade was theirs, they shit was as necessary as the 1970's air we breathed. And all we wanted was more.<br /><br />1979, at one of my girl's cousin's house. Right before I switched up my drug of choice to Hip Hop, my cousin's were still fawning over some Michael pics on the latest teen pop rag. My interest in them, the Jacksons, in Michael kinda died down. The ten year reign had come slowly to an end. Girl cousins talking about about how he still looked kinda cute, how he still had it. Older boy cousins dismissing him as being a "fruit cake", a gay dude. I didn't even know what gay was, but seeing how Michael started looking, talking, acting very different than the rest of us boys, I kinda got the gist. Still mad talented, but just a lil' bit out of touch for me to connect to. Still respected his gangster though. Especially how he started really going for dolo with the 1980 "I Wanna Rock With You" hit. Single and video. Probably the first music video I ever saw too. Damn man, you really stayed ahead of the game. Song was, still is tight. Video was mad on point, but yeah, so evident what my older boy cousins were referencing, dude had become slightly too pop to remain one of my idols. Shit was getting kinda hectic in the Brooklyn streets, and though I still rocked the music, I had to get my teen gully steez up. So I had to move on.<br /><br />Jackson stayed persistent for my attention though. Was a freshman at Cornell, too young to get in clubs, but stayed sneaking in to the hottest Black club in New York City at the time, Bentley's, on East 43rd street and Madison Avenue. I didn't even like Bentley's, with every one trying their best to be on that r&b swag, or that new and upcoming drug dealer New Jack City hu$tle. Never had money for dranks at the bar, and my word play was still a bit feeble to scoop up the honeys in the place. But it was at Bentley's, on the smoke filled dance floor, when I first heard "Billy Jean". That joint banged hard in the club. Gave me the courage to ask for a dance even. DJ Sugabear kept shouting how Michael was back, and he was right. That video, simple as it looks now, kept us urban kids locked in, warned Hip Hop even, that it was too small to eff with Jackson's talent. Little did I, did we know that "Billy Jean" was the harbinger for the tsunami that would be the Michael Jackson mania 2.0. As tough as I wanted to be, when me and some fellow students watched that famed "Motown 25" special live in our dorm's tv room, when Michael performed "Billy Jean" live for the first time, when nigga flipped how street dudes in New York were doing the moon walk, cat had me screaming out the "OHHH SHIT!" with the rest of them. This was the Reagen era in full swing, and damn if that performance didn't feel like the Russians finally let fly a nuke. That performance was big like that. The young King who grew into an effeminate teen put down his boot and decided that the 1980's was his too. And we all knew it. Didn't matter how much wierder he became, or whether he was banging out Brooke Shields, Elizabeth Taylor, Emmanuel Lewis or Bubbles, Mike Jack was here to stay.<br /><br />Funny story, back in 1987, when my shit was knee deep in Public Enemy and BDP and I stayed having the requisite ice grill on. And Fab 5 Freddy kept me tuned in to "Yo" on MTV, I was dating a diplomat's daughter in Washington DC. "BAD" was Michael's latest record, and I thought that I had outgrown dude. My girl came up on some tickets to see Michael perform live at Madison Square Garden in New York. When she asked me to drive her car from DC to NY to catch the show, I was like "FUCK that dude, corny ass weirdo". Still, I ended up driving her and her sister to NY, griping about it the entire drive. Griping even, as we stood on line at the Garden, EPMD blasting out the headphones on my Sony walkman. Fans dressed up looking like Mike, dudes too, shit was disgusting B. But my girl had the killer seats though. And even though I thought I was too hard to appreciate this silly little r&b/ pop event, each and every song dude performed rocked my world. By the time dude performed "Dirty Diana", with guitarist Steve Stevens of Billy Idol fame ripping the strings, and Mike, hoisted up on some crane, fog machine pumping out the fake billowing smoke, when dude ripped off his white button down, bird chested and screamed for what must have been a minute, so dope was his performance that I found myself standing in the audience, screaming at the top of my lungs with the rest of the 50,000 in attendance. Like a bitch too [||]. Lost my god damned voice at that. For that performance, that night, I became one of those weird ass fans. Show was the BEST I'd ever seen, and I seen a lot. On our way back to DC, my girl and her sister joked me out for my scream moment. But I wasn't ashamed then, still not ashamed now.<br /><br />Early 1990's. Working in a law office in the music industry. My boss repped singer/ songwriter Bernard Belle, brother of famed songstress Regina Belle. Dude was a monster with hits "I Like The Way (Kissing Game)" and "Let's Chill" by Guy. Bernard teamed up with Teddy Riley and they wrote/produced Michael's next smash hit. "Remember The Time" the first single of Michael's 1992 album "Dangerous". No question that I really "knew" that I out grew him, but that song was big, equipped with the Eddie Murphy and Iman video. Looking back, how I was involved in that, I'm realizing how much Michael helped my career, made me that more valid. Bernard stayed getting bigger and better deals because of his work with MJ which meant more exposure and money for my boss, and as a result, me, and I learned a lot of my legal craft behind that, negotiating thoose deals. I could now say I negotiated a contract with Michael Jackson. We was beyond the fan and consumer relationship now, Jackson was now, indirectly, but in a big way, influencing the entire direction at this stage of my professional career, before Jay-Z, Damon Dash, Roc-a-fella, Diddy and Bad Boy. And I'm really just realizing this now. Wow.<br /><br />Early 2001. Kanye West is sitting in my office, shopping for a new attorney. I knew Kanye from when my client Deric "D-Dot" Angelettie had signed him as a producer to his production company a few years earlier. Kanye was going on about how he was gonna start rapping and I was finding it very hard to believe dude. Plus, he's geeked about a new Jay-Z song with a wierd "H To The Izzo" name. Kanye's telling me how he flipped Michael Jackson, how he and Jay's gonna rule with "Izzo", and as much respect as I had for dude, all this talk about him rapping and "Izzo" was a bit much. WTF was an "Izzo"? A coupla months later, me and wifey driving to the Hamptons for a Puff "White" party, and I'm hearing Flex dropping bombs on Hov's new single, and me hearing "izzo", I'm like "that nigga Kanye". Later then, I snuck brought a copy of Jay's "Blueprint" album on September 10th, played it in the Expedition all night. Woke up the next day, learning about a new crew on the block by the name of Taliban (not that new). Driving in the afternoon, taking in how reality had become surreal, how the surreal had become reality, taking a break from the news, and bumping Izzo on the deserted ghost town like streets of Brooklyn, Michael Jackson's sample being the first soundtrack to our new world order. Mike and Jay. Then the whole Hot 97 thing, with Jay, and "Takeover", and Prodigy on screen, and Mike Jackson coming out on stage. King of Pop joining forces with the King of Hip Hop. Jackson fucking managing to stay relevant for four decades now. FOUR DECADES. Who the eff does that? And how, even though I never sat down and forced them to take heed, how my sons 12, 11 and 7 know damn near each and every Michael Jackson song. How they love the songs, even though Jackson has now devolved into their strange old white aunt with a catalog of hits.<br /><br />It's still way too early to decipher what Jackson's surprising death on June 25th, 2009 means. I'm realizing that now, as I write this, CNN in my background, on steady Jackson overdrive. Laughing at how his death cements how he's about to rule for several more decades. Shit is sad, really sad. But it's also the beginning of a celebration. As me and my sons were driving through Brooklyn yesterday, me blasting MJ out the speakers on Fulton street, I have so much appreciation for dude, for how in almost every way imaginable, he has subtly enhanced this thing that we call life. As much as we will mourn his untimely passing (when is it ever a good time for our heroes to die?), and we will, I am so effin geeked about how the party is about to begin. Life is good my peoples. I'm so ready to start living more. And I really and deeply want to thank Michael Jackson for making me realize how special he was, and how special it is that we all are able to experience each and every waking moment of this thing we call life. R.I.P. Michael Jackson. Thank you. Thank you for it all.<br /><br />Let's go!<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-_IN7uNVgbE&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-_IN7uNVgbE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-29886995671828617492009-06-23T16:58:00.001-07:002009-06-23T17:34:35.828-07:00Wale - "Back To The Feature" Mixtape<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLZVYdUqGodTdVvQ-zrQ_pLAYEYhhoIpW3sf1IcoopDRV2sFr45AOM-y93YH63nvEsLGHFc4TQel8yj_bhta450n34EPP1vbn3j6deW9V-fqr18zADS5CzG9s1HhtcVtyVkxb1zBJ-wk/s1600-h/b2tf_front.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyLZVYdUqGodTdVvQ-zrQ_pLAYEYhhoIpW3sf1IcoopDRV2sFr45AOM-y93YH63nvEsLGHFc4TQel8yj_bhta450n34EPP1vbn3j6deW9V-fqr18zADS5CzG9s1HhtcVtyVkxb1zBJ-wk/s400/b2tf_front.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350676952616080690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I discovered rapper Wale (pronounced "Wah-lay") last year when he dropped the genius Senifeld themed <a href="http://10deep.com/WALEMIXTAPE/">"Mixtape About Nothing"</a>. Knowing absolutely nothing about dude, to say I was greatly impressed would be an understatement. Especially since dude is from Washington, DC, a place I lived for a couple of years and hated deeply. I am too ig'nant to really appreciate Go-go music, but dude managed to rhyme over a couple of go-go sounding tracks which resulted in me appreciating DC and the go-go scene much more than I thought I ever would. Dude can spit with the best, and beyond the go-go influence, beats was crazy. On top of all that, the mixtape came complete with an authentic drop from none other than <em></em>Julia Louis-Dreyfus better known as Elaine Benes of the original Seinfeld sitcom. How official was that?<br /><br />So impressed, I went back and copped his first official mixtape, <a href="http://www.getrightmusic.com/2008/01/11/wale-100-miles-running/">"100 Miles And Running"</a>. This joint was a lot rawer and nothing less than straight fires. Made me take notice of a true up and coming rapper that deserves all the attention and accolades he gets.<br /><br />Dropping last week, I knew I had to jump on the latest piece, "Back To The Feature". Produced primarily by 9th Wonder and showcasing mad features with artists like Talib Kweli, Beanie Sigel, and Bun B (Features, get it?), this joint is complete from start to finish. Don't be fooled by that Lady Gaga joint on the radio that I hear people on Twitter dissing, and just to take you a lil bit further away from all the Drake uber-hype that's sweeping the country (<a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/02/drake-so-far-gone-mixtape.html">Drake is hot</a>, the hype is not) please believe that there's nothing out there, retail or free that is as hot as this. Please cop this at the original site <a href="http://www.walemusic.com/">here</a>.<br /><br />Run quote me: This is the hottest shit out on the streets right about now!Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-10689207465026535342009-06-23T04:52:00.000-07:002009-06-23T05:29:08.905-07:00Chris Brown Spared From Taking It In The Ayyy! [||]<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYso3_99V9crwsFMXdm2CP8KgZb3-ThKs6G1gJvlWlozHmoliRcJSPS4_0YQFyloJmzz8ejslX9zPQ-NLWiRvxoTIB6G0YoQsV8cpkgkgQb_JXyBvQPBWj8iqq0viZ3DXPEGEK40ulm8/s1600-h/article-1194851-05710BDF000005DC-129_468x363.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYso3_99V9crwsFMXdm2CP8KgZb3-ThKs6G1gJvlWlozHmoliRcJSPS4_0YQFyloJmzz8ejslX9zPQ-NLWiRvxoTIB6G0YoQsV8cpkgkgQb_JXyBvQPBWj8iqq0viZ3DXPEGEK40ulm8/s400/article-1194851-05710BDF000005DC-129_468x363.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350489689358131362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I like smart people. Smart people make smart decisions. They have the ability to put aside follosih things like sentiment and emotion in order to sensibly rationalize their way through some "tight spots". I'm sure you've heard how the light skinted homie Chris Brown made a very wise and smart decision yesterday. Going into trial, Brown was facing at least four years behind bars for man-handling that lil' island treat that is Rihanna earlier this year. He opted to <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/06/22/AR2009062202132.html">plead</a> guilty and landed 5 years probation and 180 days community service in his home state of Virginia.<br /><br />In addition, Brown is under a restraining order requiring him to stay at least 50 yards away from Rihanna, except at industry events, where he has to maintain his distance of 10 yards. Rihanna's lawyer requested<a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20286732,00.html"> </a><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20286732,00.html">a less-restrictive order</a>.</span><br /><br />Being a smart person myself, I'm seeing how <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/03/tina-davis-now-it-makes-more-sense.html">Tina Davis</a>, his manager, convinced him how there's like a legion of hardcore inmates having a rub fest waiting in anticipation for the 20 year old superstar singer to be incarcerated, how they were lining up to see who would become the lucky boyfriend to the troubled entertainer. Maybe she had him over for a lil' r&r, and as she was putting on him, "accidentally" popped in her dvd copy of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0079709/">Penitentiary</a>, the 1970's classic and brutal tale of how another light skinted dude (Leon Kennedy) got hisself locked up. If you haven't seen this, please run and rent it.<br /><br />Or maybe it's because he and "Ri-Ri" are still smashing. You know how ignorant and forgiving young love is. Why do you think her team wanted a less restrictive order? I'm now thinking Rihanna herself leaked them nude pics of herself earlier this year, just to make sure to remind Chris of what he'd be missing behind bars. The minute she walked into the courtroom, nigga was like "I'm pleading!!!".<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhb21NGsHxfdp7Tzk6xQ1vy_y3Gweo7Du92Jaad85RLPusLqAhNbwZFzh31w9vzhPIVo-0F9aKjy0q99Rp3qy7ArpZKSK000jD9_OC95r03D4igw-uQeERNaRkQYnz-M6Z70edSzu-1vw/s1600-h/lookingoodgwal.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhb21NGsHxfdp7Tzk6xQ1vy_y3Gweo7Du92Jaad85RLPusLqAhNbwZFzh31w9vzhPIVo-0F9aKjy0q99Rp3qy7ArpZKSK000jD9_OC95r03D4igw-uQeERNaRkQYnz-M6Z70edSzu-1vw/s400/lookingoodgwal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350489966030563378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Like I said, I like smart people. I might have to check for his next album release.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-36657920359843640272009-06-22T16:16:00.001-07:002009-06-22T16:24:39.042-07:00Best Rap Album/ Mixtape Outro Ever?I copped 50 Cent's latest "Mixtape/LP" "War Angel". It's <a href="http://thisis50.com/">free</a>. And it's not bad, especially since 50 has taken to rapping again. Sure, it's all about gun play, mayhem and death, but his raps sound like he didn't take a coupla years off to produce straight sing-songy basura.<br /><br />What really caught my attention though, was the outro, which, as hillarious as it is, has got to be one of the best outros ever. Peep.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bN-cuCEzwQY&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bN-cuCEzwQY&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Dunno about you, but I'm getting my outfit money ready for August 30th.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-35332760017358372582009-06-22T10:16:00.000-07:002009-06-22T16:12:35.218-07:00Black Eyed Peas Ain't Nothing To Eff Wit!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLwcuoUs5Ata0hOza-0ZQFxe5eXlUoEMZlVQNogx_FC7sLWnjhbUMF3G0z8ggWnTDKaFZS3ARU-EDNp7SLq9V-KyyujeTeTFbU6eORvkXSsdAV2D_fCu2WUukrzGjcEncGQBEQ5Ju9ZM/s1600-h/281x211.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLwcuoUs5Ata0hOza-0ZQFxe5eXlUoEMZlVQNogx_FC7sLWnjhbUMF3G0z8ggWnTDKaFZS3ARU-EDNp7SLq9V-KyyujeTeTFbU6eORvkXSsdAV2D_fCu2WUukrzGjcEncGQBEQ5Ju9ZM/s400/281x211.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350202898623252450" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Bloggers beware. If you know what's good for you, you'd better leave the Black Eyed Peas' name out of your mouth. So it's all over the news about how, in Toronto, at the Much Music Awards, Fergie of the famed group spotted gossip blogger Perez Hilton and stepped to him about how he stays <a href="http://perezhilton.com/2009-06-12-wtf-fergie">trashing</a> the <a href="http://perezhilton.com/2009-06-15-the-black-eyed-peas-have-a-feeling-in%20chicago">group</a> on his <a href="http://perezhilton.com/">blog</a>.<br /><br />Not happy with how Hilton responded, Fergie ran up to fellow member Will.i.am and pointed out Perez in the crowd. Allegedly, Will.i.am stepped to the famed pink crusader and ordered him to stay clear of dissing he, Fergie and the other members of the group. Infuriated that a member of the BEP had the nerve to step to him, Perez let off on a verbal tirade screaming out how Will.i.am was all types of faggot (as caught on tape <a href="http://www.tmz.com/2009/06/22/perez-vs-will-i-am-caught-on-tape/">here</a>). At which point, and in my opinion, rightfully so, the group's manager Polo Molina proceeded to duff Hilton out with the expediency. Polo, by the way, is a chap that sometimes goes about flying in private planes looking like a cocaine drug lord fried on that snow white white.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWQ94DK8Btn19vql8olrqUI74psq5YEq1NtBM4_kxk0hjqlUmQ3ACSYWddCfC6rwYiL3l77uCujI-RgLdFXwX5n9BtL6LqHPTbfrt6425Km7DV2TDV6g6c-76eRIL9P8dMVdMvptXCJU/s1600-h/21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 176px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWQ94DK8Btn19vql8olrqUI74psq5YEq1NtBM4_kxk0hjqlUmQ3ACSYWddCfC6rwYiL3l77uCujI-RgLdFXwX5n9BtL6LqHPTbfrt6425Km7DV2TDV6g6c-76eRIL9P8dMVdMvptXCJU/s400/21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350284745647581618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />That's when Hilton got all twittered up and dropping <a href="http://www.tmz.com/2009/06/22/perez-unloads-on-will-disgusting-human-being/">videos</a> about how embarassing it is for a gay man to have to get his ass beat up by members of a group that go around looking like they're members of the rap/singing X-Men.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBB4O11BEGUuJXa0ahzn-ZQmCI67spIx_LaE4ZbHcllAU37AniNzavkZm8AUt2MJ4Vkp3oT2_DimJp1Op36iXwo7zFVNGFI6PxCLZwPvE6Lr_rbfqzYpXt74pR4jACn1TPjFfN6cKIFCA/s1600-h/blackeyedpeas(2).jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBB4O11BEGUuJXa0ahzn-ZQmCI67spIx_LaE4ZbHcllAU37AniNzavkZm8AUt2MJ4Vkp3oT2_DimJp1Op36iXwo7zFVNGFI6PxCLZwPvE6Lr_rbfqzYpXt74pR4jACn1TPjFfN6cKIFCA/s400/blackeyedpeas(2).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350286774861266434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My question is WTF is up with Perez? Didn't he hear about how the BEP stay in beef, how they got all dance limberied up and proceeded to kicked ass at the punk taping of famed MTV's "Punked" <a href="http://www.hiphop-elements.com/article/read/4/6188/1/">gone wrong</a>?<br /><br />Dunno about you but I wouldn't be so quick to get all mouthy around a group of grown ass men who make their money going around dressed like fairy tale characters, especially since they have a penchant for flipping around and air twisting like it's nobody's business, and fake rapping while at it.<br /><br />Maybe Perez would have been better off cussing out the short lil fellow with the mowhawk. Or mebbe he should have dropped the dreaded N-bomb instead. It's all going so crazy when the homo dude decides he's going full gully against the rappers.<br /><br />Or maybe it's all that Boom Boom Powing they've picked up from their homie Curtis Jackson.<br /><br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/p2fE-oDuqWI&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/p2fE-oDuqWI&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-32271466947941060232009-06-19T04:50:00.001-07:002009-06-19T10:28:56.663-07:00"Why Did I Get Married?" Pt. 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpEdhvV71mILaf1QrSOXQkJAMmZ9QR_sWPSdiMSLGpjq90GtwOA6ys0ervz4R-NHPoLX5FLpFoZ669TzthZLIUG2fp-KWGEDIDvh6zBQNdSv3fwEjQUi39QJ4acbL0eyriXUn6x9BNDk/s1600-h/n1192903922_30175720_5694.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpEdhvV71mILaf1QrSOXQkJAMmZ9QR_sWPSdiMSLGpjq90GtwOA6ys0ervz4R-NHPoLX5FLpFoZ669TzthZLIUG2fp-KWGEDIDvh6zBQNdSv3fwEjQUi39QJ4acbL0eyriXUn6x9BNDk/s400/n1192903922_30175720_5694.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349083185776532290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Never imagined I would have to be responsible for so many people living under one roof. Life was so much simpler then. When I was running dolo. For self. Like, I could leave my home on Monday morning and not have to come back until a week later. And my home was fresh too. One bedroom apartment on 7th between Lincoln and Berkeley in Park Slope. When rents in New York were cheaper, and neighborhoods like that had more color. New York was banging too. The club scene was crazy, and I loved the many flavors of women the city had to offer. I finally started making some decent money and the city was my playground. Kniccas was feeling so good we even named our crew the Mack Pack. Sounds corney now, but believe me how we lived up to the name. One of our boys owned a ginormous brownstone in Prospect Heights. It was massive. Eventually his wife convinced him to put it on the market as they, with kids in tow moved to the suburbs of Chicago.<br /><div> </div><br />My cousin Fritz, a member of our crew, was overseeing the affairs of the Brownstone. Being that it took almost two years to sell the house and we were young and full of ourselves, we did what any fly 20 something year old dudes dudes with keys to a big house would do, we started throwing parties. House parties in Brooklyn is magic, the right parties though. We'd set up the dj set, pool our monies to cop liquors and beer kegs, made sure the women to men ratio was always in favor of the fairer sex, just cause we didn't want a hard leg fest resulting in niggas fighting and all damaging the crib, and we'd be set. After a couple of joints, the rep got bigger and eventually we'd have the whole place packed, people spilling out onto the street. Regular 9-5 cats would be building with music industry execs and maybe a handful of street hustlers. And trust also, that at the end of every event, I'd find something soft and warm to hold on to, back at my crib a coupla blocks away, as the sun started to rise.<br /><div> </div><br />On my birthday, which falls in July, we decided to go big with a party. Fun was an understatement. Black, Latina, Asian, European, dudes was in heaven with the line-up. I was rocking the timbs with some shorts and the Jordan 23 jersey, red-bandana'd up, even though Chicago had just kilt New York in the playoffs, (Bloods and Crips hadn't yet invaded NYC). Some of my boys who were correction officers were up in the piece and you know how grimey them cats be. Had me skied the eff up and a nigga don't even get down like that. Anyways, I'm having a ball, speeding, playing host when I felt a hand touch my calf. I looked down and saw the most beautiful chick I'd ever seen in real life looking up at me. Honey colored, Asian eyes, "Nice legs, I like guys with nice legs." she said. Heh. I locked in. Pimp talk flying 'cause she started first, plus from that shit that was flowing in my blood system, me being high as a satellite. Her name was Akim. That she was a Cancer too, her birthday being 10 days before mine. Told me her pops was Black, moms was Chinese, that she was straight Brooklyn all her life, even though we never saw each other. Her body was mad athletic, but the bottom was a certified fatty. Thick thin is what she was. So zoned in was I that other than making sure most of the guests were fine, I rarely left her side. Plus, I knew how competitive my dudes were, how hungry the other kniccas in the place was for something as exotic as her. For real, mad water was gathering in my mouth, thinking about how she was gonna get ate up like a plum later that night.<br /><div> </div><br />"Time to go, Akim", one of her girl's said, as the clock hit 4am. I was like "she's good, really". Akim pulled herself slowly from my grip, "gotta go, nice meeting you." Damn. I spit "Lemme get your number girl, I have to see you again." "Sorry I cant, you're cute, and I had fun, but I have a boyfriend." she replied. Annoyed at the tease, aroused by the challenge, I kept her hemmed up in my corner for like another 30 minutes, talk getting more accurate, more intimate. Doing my best to break her that night, at my party, on my birthday. Her girls getting more impatient, not getting the attention she was. Eventually, we hugged for like a minute, smelling, feeling so fucking good. Taking my number, she broke off and hopped in the whip. Me standing out on Park Place scheming on how I was gonna bag Akim.<br /><div> </div><br />The next day, I asked my crew who invited her, who came with her. My brain was sharper now, now that I hadn't had liquors and what not, so my detective skills was in action. Found out Roslyn invited her. Roslyn was one'a my boys's from High School's sister. After waiting two days for Akim to call me, I called Roslyn. Kinda ordered her to order Akim to call me. Told Roslyn I wasn't effin around either. Felt like the prince with the glass slipper in that fairy tale. But Akim gave me the intial open, she saw me first and caught my attention on purpose. Fuck how I was gonna let that one get away.<br /><div> </div><br />She eventually did call me. Playing games even. Like joking about how I was sweating her through Roslyn, tracking her down. Told her she was right too, how I had to sweat that, or be crazy, or gay. Laughter. Good. Learned a long time ago that I could bag she who I made laugh. Even with no dough in the account. Made her laugh some more, until I convinced her to laugh me her telephone number. She did. First down. Tough ass defense though. But now I knew I was in. Being single, I was definitely dating, but wasn't attached to anyone seriously. Wasn't even trying to get locked down with Akim either. I just knew though, that I had to have someone that fine in my life though. Ego, attraction, whatever, like I said, I was locked in on her.<br /><div> </div><br />We spoke a coupla more times, always ending the convo on how I wanted that, needed that bad, she with the how she loves her boyfriend, how I wasn't her type, her type being over 6 feet tall and athletic (me being 5'8" and not trying to play games all day working up sweats and bruises with other men... [ll]). One day though, while at work, I get a call from her telling me how she was in my neighborhood, did I want to go out for lunch. Having just ate, I told her I hadn't had lunch and was available. I had her ride the elevator up, only because I wanted everyone on the floor to see the caliber of beauty I was working with. Then we walked, from 57th and Broadway to Trump Plaza on 5th Avenue. Found out she worked at some swanky eyeglass shop in the lobby of Trump. Even though she had a degree from Columbia University. My God, the summer dress she had on, looking more delicious than the night I met her. She played aloof, like a fairy flying around my head, I found more pimp talk to spit. Like how she needed a dude like me who was doing real things in the industry in her life, not her boyfriend who was in politics. Like how she moved like a wild cat and I was the one who could tame her, how it was obvious her boyfriend didn't know what kind of beast he had. She liked it too. Smiled and laughed. Telling me I was "safe" to hang with because I wasn't her type. Lunch ended way to soon, we hugged again, all the while I'm holding back from sliding my hands up her leg, from kissing her mouth. But damn if she knew where my mind was and loved how she kept me.<br /><div> </div><br />We were repping the legendary Melvin Van Peebles at the time. He just shot a short for a German company called "Vroom, Vroom, Vroom". He even had me play a role in it. He was using the "morph" technology that they had used in "Terminator 2" as special effects. I say this because I played... a motorcycle... that ended up having sex with the woman that rode me. (I think the movie is available on Netflix). Melvin had just wrapped and was having a screening in Tribeca. I invited Akim to join me. Maybe she'd be that more impressed with me, give her man the boot, or at the least, let me hit. The event was propers, and it was obvious I was running with good company professionally. She looked perfect on my arm too, catching stares not only from other guys that were there, but from women as well. After wards, I dropped a grip dining her at Mr. Chow's. We sat a couple of tables away from Bette Midler. Akim wasn't impressed though. Said having grown up eating authentic Chinese, she knew some way cheaper spots deep in Chinatown that would put Chow's to shame. We ended up back at my place. We talked, we laughed we kissed. But shit, no hit. Her boyfriend, "blah blah blah". Keeping cool though, I wondered why in the eff she was here with me if she was so cotdamned loyal. She eventualy left, left me with a mean case of the blue balls too, but I got that kiss, got to taste her, feel how tight and soft her body was, how good she smelled. I was getting closer. And it felt like it was coming sooner than later. Another 1st down. And regardless how tough it was, during the course of the game, the defense was weakening.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-79917200337255465012009-06-12T11:40:00.000-07:002009-06-15T07:02:07.950-07:00Combat Jack vs. Unkut: EPMD > M.O.P. Pt. 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcYVMEymWM0zkGsgPwl4h7YIMc7YYT9z9j3c5PE6R4g-NXb5C5i7dMRASiGx24THYePUnsLnohopkpzOwE00lrYeV1GUrzGvIgm4TYKspGPIcCs33o-eG7iDuQO7ajQrM8WI_5b7eTBE/s1600-h/epmd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcYVMEymWM0zkGsgPwl4h7YIMc7YYT9z9j3c5PE6R4g-NXb5C5i7dMRASiGx24THYePUnsLnohopkpzOwE00lrYeV1GUrzGvIgm4TYKspGPIcCs33o-eG7iDuQO7ajQrM8WI_5b7eTBE/s400/epmd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347222808701542050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I don't know whether I should be apologizing to or should be angry at some of ya'll. Apologizing in not realizing that a lot of ya'll might be a bit too young to fully appreciate the greatness that was EPMD, not being able to experience first hand how legendary this duo is. Or angry at how (and with no disrespect) ya'll have the nerve to side with <a href="http://www.unkut.com/2009/06/unkut-vs-combat-jack-epmd-great-but-not-the-greatest/">Robbie</a> on how M.O.P. outshines Eric and Parrish Making Dollars. Some of ya'll even felt ballsy enough to throw OutKast's name in the ring. No diss to the Atliens, Andre 3000 spits his heat, but I prefer rappers that aren't Dandies. Maybe I'm too old school and gully for rapper dudes to be dressing like Prince. No shots.<br /><br />But as promised and with no further delay, here are the incontrovertible reasons proof as to why EPMD is the Greatest Hip Hop Duo Of All Time:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Four consecutive back to back classic albums.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXN4N14kMTRc5BMYkppoLtWAjZWM1GuO-OfkMbcTD3CeLkThKqaTEJ-GvXGP73Jhpjm8UtUEuJsAE1EJ_o-M2lD9QECUkcSxeDHYxwzKaDwAbA7E3b-i4E8QslP91dZ2kDmdko6dtwkCY/s1600-h/epmdstrictlybusinesslogo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXN4N14kMTRc5BMYkppoLtWAjZWM1GuO-OfkMbcTD3CeLkThKqaTEJ-GvXGP73Jhpjm8UtUEuJsAE1EJ_o-M2lD9QECUkcSxeDHYxwzKaDwAbA7E3b-i4E8QslP91dZ2kDmdko6dtwkCY/s400/epmdstrictlybusinesslogo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347228026455433138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?gnkmvytwyed">Strictly Business</a> dropped the summer of '88. When that other rapper dude was busy moving weight and 1/2 of Mobb Deep was knee deep taking ballerina classes. Some claim that 1988 was the best year for rap albums, especially since that year was crowded with top tier legendary groups like Public Enemy, Boogie Down Productions, Big Daddy Kane, Eric B. & Rakim, N.W.A., Eazy E, Jungle Brothers, Slick Rick, Run-DMC. Ultramagnetic MC's, Too Short, Biz Markie, Ice-T, Stetsasonic, DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince, Kid 'N Play and MC Hammer dropping classic albums. Shit, even rapper chicks like Salt-n-Pepa and MC Lyte were busy getting it in with album heat rocks. Truth be told, when I started hearing "Strictly Business" blasting out of drug dude's Suzuki jeeps and b-boys boom boxes, I was unimpressed, being that I was too deep into BDP and fighting the power with P.E. Plus the fact that my ear was unaccustomed to hearing rappers spit over funk oriented beats. Then there was the duos' seemingly monotonous flow, Parrish Smith coming off a little bit more aggie and battle oriented while Eric Sermon's extra lazy lisp laden flow was more than off putting. Still, the more I listened to the album, the more I was drawn into how the seemingly on surface simple rhymes meshed brilliantly with the funk laced tracks. From the gate, EPMD established themselves as the masters of the funk, even before Dr. Dre, DJ Quick and the rest of the West Coast took over that sound. EPMD also established that they were from this album on, the architects of underground hardcore rap. They built the house that M.O.P. currently resides in. They also kicked off a series of songs about a chick called Jane, a series which would continue throughout their next three albums. Them starting said series in their albums was a first for rap as well as for rock albums. Hailing from Brentwood, Long Island, EPMD proved themselves to be worthy of being counted amongst their fellow rap peers as being on top of their game. Fans didn't lie either. Within 30 days after the album dropped, "Strictly Business" sold over 500,000 units earning the group their first gold plaque. I remember seeing EPMD perform with Public Enemy, Big Daddy Kane, LL Cool J and RUN-DMC down in Washington, DC. It didn't matter that they shared the stage with other rap icons, EPMD made sure they left an effin smoking crater where they stood, just to let both peers and fans know that they were no effin joke. And not with having 100 of they man's an' em clutter the stage like so many of today's so-called cRap acts do. Nah, these dude was official. Go ahead and cop <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?gnkmvytwyed">that</a>. Listen to this bitch right here with no interruptions and tell me I'm lying. I dare you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4fUNv5U19YtFVkZdjk7IAJMHpNpuLZbKFB5ipSkX6W8Iry0e88KE16u67JM_83EkbJ-TnE2faly55eZzT8GVLpOAZ3tDp8-hmpZNEYnS95JVEjlNvJpTuw2oUCj0ha6rZ12Wo-2NNQ0/s1600-h/epmd-unfinishedbusiness(Front).jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4fUNv5U19YtFVkZdjk7IAJMHpNpuLZbKFB5ipSkX6W8Iry0e88KE16u67JM_83EkbJ-TnE2faly55eZzT8GVLpOAZ3tDp8-hmpZNEYnS95JVEjlNvJpTuw2oUCj0ha6rZ12Wo-2NNQ0/s400/epmd-unfinishedbusiness(Front).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347421075124034882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?fmniykmegzm">Unfinished Business</a>, their second album, dropped in 1989 and came out fucking swinging. Once the bass from the first cut "So Wat' Cha Sayin'" bangs, it was clear that these dudes amped up that booom bap hardcore shit. That song's beat was one of the hardest, and at this point Eric Sermon and Parrish Smith cold mushed the sophomore jinx in the face by demonstrating that at this point, they had mastered their whole slow flow show. Not only had their delivery and production improved, but dudes managed to remain thoroughly hard core whilst at the same time feeling completely comfortable in showing how funny they could be. Tracks like "Please Listen To My Demo" had listeners laughing as the group walked fans through how they ended up getting a record deal and going from broke unknowns to the rap superstars that they were. In addition to the back and forth exchange and chemistry, dudes proves to be adept at story telling as well. So comfortable in their hardcore underground persona, Eric Serman p/k/a "The Green Eyed Bandit" let it be known that in the midst of slaying sucker emcees and busting caps, he was prone to break out in song mid rhyming. One of the stand out cuts is "Knick Knack Patty Wack" featuring the first of many dope rappers EPMD would discover and put on. Guest starring K-Solo, a rapper who killed game by spelling out words in his raps, the three traded verses and mics as they killed the beat bloody. It didn't matter even that K-Solo misspelled the word "bird" as "b-r-i-d", the song still rocked. The weakest song on the album "You Had Too Much To Drink", featuring a cheesy '80s electro rock sounding beat still comes off with the comedy as the duo drops a cautionary tale about drinking and driving. Guaranteed to be one of the funniest rap songs ever. Like "Strictly Business", "Unfinished Business" sold over 500,000 units, earning the group their second gold album. <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?fmniykmegzm">Cop</a> this album as well and tell me it ain't a classic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAw7IaMF78_n17SwGOgn9XSOyq7BwkSCfH_NWmHtFCjKFIHht3sLyXW5sSLTejf_EsqebjPsEJzFz80ia1k9xZTACcVXd0r-8wd4qWK_cNDGmKcaP61aWtasvPP69L9e-D8ClCl_A5E74/s1600-h/f97f024128a0fedb5b5ce010.L.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAw7IaMF78_n17SwGOgn9XSOyq7BwkSCfH_NWmHtFCjKFIHht3sLyXW5sSLTejf_EsqebjPsEJzFz80ia1k9xZTACcVXd0r-8wd4qWK_cNDGmKcaP61aWtasvPP69L9e-D8ClCl_A5E74/s400/f97f024128a0fedb5b5ce010.L.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347427821901449602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />How ill is the cover to <a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/176791228/EPMD-Business_As_Usual.rar">Business As Usual,</a> (1990) their 3rd album? Already managed by Russell Simmons' superstar management company RUSH Management, this album was their Def Jam debut. Signed initially to Sleeping Bag Records, the group was at this point, widely recognized as being unfuckwitable as far as being on top of their rap craft. Once the record company folded, it was a no brainer for Def Jam to sign them as they had already proven themselves to be rap superstars. Having famed comic book artist Bill Sienkiewicz illustrate the album cover further proved that EPMD was now certified as being in the big leagues, bigger budget and all. Still, the group maintained their hard-core underground aura with tracks like "I'm Mad", "Hardcore" and "Underground". So authentic were they that other rap icons pledged allegiance or claimed to be down with them. Most evident of this was rap legend LL Cool J who realized he desperately needed EPMD in his life in order to extend his rap shelf life. Featured on the track "Rampage", LL spits like he's so happy to be down and appear on the track with EPMD. Around this time, he also cops a bit of Parrish Smith's slow flow battle rap style and it shows on his own classic album "Momma Said Knock You Out", especially on the cut "To The Break On Dawn", which featured a brand new LL sounding very much like Parrish, the Mic Doc's student. Not deviating from their prior albums, EPMD continued to bring their brand of funk, gully, story telling and pure dopeness to fans ever hungry for more. Another highlight is on the track "Hardcore" which finds the group introducing the latest member to their growing posse, a young and very deadly Reggie Noble p/k/a "Redman". Like the first two, this album ended up selling over 500,000 units earning the group their third gold plaque. At this point, are some of ya'll still even considering M.O.P. as even being equals? <a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/176791228/EPMD-Business_As_Usual.rar">Grab this up,</a> let it bang on your cerebellum some, then let me know if you still wanna maintain such blasphemous thoughts.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJYzUoZzgp8F09yn_yZG0etzv-LB5ec20ByITFCO_Qva-Bblb6kd7Q90UdLtRGJuyKOzM0l9wkjR6WK0Hgy-A62Ye-n5dCqBJ_2mcnZ-6w09TyFDR9vr1RwpvP673K28aQuL4-7WrdsQ/s1600-h/EPMD+-+Business+Never+Personal-CDfront.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJYzUoZzgp8F09yn_yZG0etzv-LB5ec20ByITFCO_Qva-Bblb6kd7Q90UdLtRGJuyKOzM0l9wkjR6WK0Hgy-A62Ye-n5dCqBJ_2mcnZ-6w09TyFDR9vr1RwpvP673K28aQuL4-7WrdsQ/s400/EPMD+-+Business+Never+Personal-CDfront.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347434524752674322" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/176794336/EPMD.-.Business.Never.Personal.-.1992._192kb.by.Capo.for.www.BlackSounds.de.tf.rar">Business Never Personal</a>, (1992) the group's fourth album was with no question, the hardest one they dropped. Darker than the prior three and clocking in as their shortest (under 40 minutes), this was true black hoodie rap at its best. Maintaining underground status, EPMD took more creative chances with their story telling and concepts. "Who Killed Jane" proved to be the best of the series. "Headbanger" once again featuring Redman cemented these dudes as the best in the hardcore genre. "Cummin' At Cha" featured another collabo with the latest members of their squad, Das-Efx. Short and sweet, this album sadly resulted in the end of the EPMD era as the group disbanded shortly after it dropped, due to infighting, reportedly over money. As producer of most of the groups material, Eric Serman had been receiving the lion's share of dollars and allegedly both members of the group were allegedly involved with gun play and violence towards each other. Fucked up shit!!! Even though they would later put aside their differences and regroup in 1997, "Business As Usual" proved to be the group's last classic album, the fourth of four consecutive stellar joints. Like the prior three, this album also went on to sell over 500,000 units, earning the group their fourth gold album. Few duos kept it as gully, as hardcore, as underground as EPMD while at the same time getting their commercial props on. <a href="http://rapidshare.com/files/176794336/EPMD.-.Business.Never.Personal.-.1992._192kb.by.Capo.for.www.BlackSounds.de.tf.rar">Peep the album here.</a> Then let me know who in your top whatever ever dropped four consecutive classic albums in a row. Other than maybe A Tribe Called Quest, all I'm hearing is crickets. I took a drive from New York to Ohio several years ago with my former business partner. On the way down, I decided to play the four albums from front to back and back to back. By the time we landed in Ohio, dude was like, "wow, I didn't realize EPMD were that dope." No kidding asshole. As fires as they are, there's no way I'm listening to four M.O.P. albums back to back. Them dudes scream so much hardcore that I might end up cold punching my moms dead in her mouth. And that's where the genius in EPMD lay. As other groups straight strained their vocals to position themselves as being all rough, tough and stuff, these dudes did it on that mellow tip, jokes, singing and all. Everyone still knew they might get shot if you tested them. I lay the greatness of their albums out for you here. Feel free to play them all front to back and back to back. Then get at me. I'm waiting.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Showmanship</span> Like I mentioned earlier, these cats knew how to rock a show. I saw them several times and they always killed it. Small venues as well as large arenas like Madison Square Garden. Didn't matter. They always delivered. Peep this lil clip here and tell me M.O.P. can do this shit. Rap, dance, breath control and maintenance of gully. Go head, show me. Dudes were true masters on stage and as a customer, you knew you were always going to get your monies' worth.<br /><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://www.themeaningofdope.com/video_player.swf" class="embedflash" height="370" width="440"><param name="movie" value="http://www.themeaningofdope.com/video_player.swf"><param name="flashvars" value="filename=k9nzsArpR8xZnGpdk50c2zsArpR0c2ythhj70c2DU63LB00yGFiui518&stillframe=epmd.jpg&pgnum=7"></object><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Impact On The Genre</span> Not only did they build the house that hardcore underground rappers like M.O.P. claim, EPMD also affected the language that rappers and fans alike spoke. Phrases like "Audi 5000", "Swayze", "Ghost" are stiil used in certain circles of this here rap thing. That's crazy being able to add slanguage to a peoples' vernacular. EPMD did it several times, and with ease. They were that dope.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Rap Spin-offs </span>K-Solo, Das-Efx, Redman, Keith Murray. At the end of the day, EPMD alone remains responsible for introducing us to a slew of incredible artists. All I'm counting from M.O.P.'s end is Teflon. And he's awright.<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />5. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Most Influential </span>I can go on an on, but I'll end this here. Guaranteed, ask your favorite rap duos out, M.O.P. and OutKast included, who influenced them the most. Other than Run-DMC and maybe a couple of others, I can bet they'll all say EPMD. Ask Robbie even, as he goes in and continues to kill the game in them exclusive interviews he drops over at Unkut. Ask him to start asking rappers who influenced them, who fathered their style, who made them wanna be as dope as they wanna be, most cats will say without hesitation, EPMD. I see him at <a href="http://www.unkut.com/2009/06/unkut-vs-combat-jack-epmd-great-but-not-the-greatest/">Unkut</a> throwing jokes about the group's history, about their storied break-up, abot how Eric Sermon jumped out the window, literally, and how he stays as a prime suspect over at the <a href="http://www.pausepolice.com/">Pause Police. </a>But in the end, how relevant is all that extraneous activty when compared to the legacy that the group left us with? Like comparing apples to oranges.<br /><br />Not trying to come off preachy, but not trying to let shit fall through the cracks, give this group the effin respect and credit they deserve. EPMD remains the best rap duo of all time, bar none.<br /><br />This was a Combat Jack, Daily Mathematics Public Service Announcement.<br /><br />Blaow!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-70120312146580567622009-06-09T18:47:00.000-07:002009-06-11T10:02:39.469-07:00Combat Jack vs. Unkut: EPMD > M.O.P. Pt. 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggS_UW76dQHlu53fNis5srv_YLtej3gQdZrlY-qiwpogleOeIIUbupOWutVV2CPbmGQjsAwvje_LNUZvhM3bKlI6bamo83sSyzC1y6mIOGKoRGziSue9xxJsnu-YoCteobQbdHYJWon90/s1600-h/kaput.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggS_UW76dQHlu53fNis5srv_YLtej3gQdZrlY-qiwpogleOeIIUbupOWutVV2CPbmGQjsAwvje_LNUZvhM3bKlI6bamo83sSyzC1y6mIOGKoRGziSue9xxJsnu-YoCteobQbdHYJWon90/s400/kaput.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345509785216933378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It's been several days, sorry I kept ya'll. Don't know if its how<a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/05/june-ftw.html"> I claimed it the other day</a> but June has really been hectic, on the productive tip though. Getting that outdoors, away from the computers and firewalled from the Matrix, face to face Spring time. Face to face with some of my fellow internets fam even, the cats that stay plugged in to plug you in 24/7. Took some time off to see whats happening in the real world, and with real life flesh and blood people. Whaddup <a href="http://mayatheb.com/blog/">Maya</a>? The one dude that I should'a connected with but stays mad elusive is the homie Benhameen of <a href="http://pleasedontstare.com/">Please Don't Stare</a> fame. That knicca stay keeping it busy, and moving too. That's cool though, we'll catch up soon enough, especially since me, him and my dude and official leader of the Internets Celebrity movement, <a href="http://www.dallaspenn.com/weblog/">Dallas Penn</a> have been talking recently about joining forces to throw an Internets picnic possibly next month, possibly here in Brooklyn. It's a movement for real. DP, Ben, I had to put it out there.<br /><br />Then I'm running a Lyor Cohen piece with me and the original T.I. spitting out "fuck you's" to each other and with no smiles, just straight ice grills and what not through my head, letting that one marinate just a while longer. Working on the new Daily-Math.com site too, with the help of my younger brother Blackneck. Blackneck is crazy nice with his tech IT skills. Nice with the keyboard too. Peep his work over at <a href="http://imnotbarack.wordpress.com/">Barack's Alter Ego</a>. No nepotism. Anyways, I'm pimping my blog game up, just a bit. CJ can get wavy too. Peace to Max B.<br /><br />But I'm straight lying when I'm talking that being cut off from the Internets speak. <a href="http://twitter.com/">Twitter</a>'s been keeping a Black man plugged in and present like a muh fucker. Straight around the clock like a crackhead in the summer streets plugged in. If you're not yet jacked into the Twitter-verse, shame on you. You need to just grab two silk scarves and go David Carradine yerself, but with your socks on. [||].R.I.P. to <a href="http://www.laughingsage.com/images/kwaichang5.jpg">Kwai Chang Caine</a><a href="http://www.laughingsage.com/images/kwaichang5.jpg">.</a><br /><br />So a coupla days ago, I'm processing all the brain candy that Twitter has to offer and I see a tweet from fam Robbie of <a href="http://www.unkut.com/">Unkut</a>. If you don't know, Robbie is that white from Australia who's a grand master historian with this Hip Hop thing. Dude stays uncovering rare historical data about cats and the movement from way way back. Kills it with his interview game too. If you haven't done so yet, do yourself a favor and visit <a href="http://www.unkut.com/">Unkut</a> for straight edutainment.<br /><br />So in this one Tweet, Robbie's let's fly how "<span id="msgtxt2085938529" class="msgtxt en">M.O.P. are rap's greatest duo....yeah I said it." I check him to see if he meant that M.O.P. are rap's greatest duo...only after the great EPMD. Only because I assumed it was common knowledge to anyone down with this rap jazz thing that EPMD was only Hip Hop's greatest duo ever, especially a knowlegeable guy like Robbie. I really thought dude was joking, and that I was somehow not in on the joke.</span> Robbie then hits me with how he's all serious and how EPMD fell off on the fuckery tip and I'm like whoah, dude really believes that shit. Then this dude Chuck "Jigsaw" Creekmur chimes in and co-signs Robbie faulty claim. I never personally met Chuck other than through Twitter and he seems like a pretty smart and witty fellow, at least from what I pick up from his Tweet drops. Word on the streets even, is that he's the guy that created some big time fancy web-site a few years ago called <a href="http://allhiphop.com/">All Hip Hop</a>. You might of heard of it.<br /><br />Not wanting to get into a rant about the error of their ways, I offered Robbie the opportunity for him to validate his claim <a href="http://www.unkut.com/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">over on his site</span></a>, like there's some possible way he could, while I would continue to do what I do here when I drop that science. Plus I saw this as me doing the community service thing by letting Robbie know that on this one, he had to pump his breaks. No shots to my white, but ya'll know how ya'll do when ya'll become way too knowledgeable on that cultural shit, eff around and start rewriting things, next thing you know, it'll be common knowledge that Eminem discovered Hip Hop.<br /><br />So for the next few paragraphs, please allow me to break down in nothing less than cold hard fact, how EPMD is not only greater than M.O.P. as a hip hop musical duo, but remain to this day, the greatest Hip Hop Duo Of All Time.<br /><br />For simplicity's sake, ignore the fact that <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/04/combat-jack-salutes-run-dmc.html">RUN-DMC</a> ever existed.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVQarxTQnaRXZStBVB2ibJhjoVWkx25Aa5dapawn2ULrvcU9wB7IqaVvXQSh3s9AIWPUqkyKFpdIQYpmmeA5O_ebPCoIhYEOQT3VfFHzFkLT86i5-znJD-qZ-mP7ExxB4Ws9EB1mrgeI/s1600-h/mop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 325px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVQarxTQnaRXZStBVB2ibJhjoVWkx25Aa5dapawn2ULrvcU9wB7IqaVvXQSh3s9AIWPUqkyKFpdIQYpmmeA5O_ebPCoIhYEOQT3VfFHzFkLT86i5-znJD-qZ-mP7ExxB4Ws9EB1mrgeI/s400/mop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346029958936619170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In my opinion and to my knowledge, the greatest Hip Hop duo currently in existence, with no doubt, is M.O.P. Comprised of members Billy Danze and Lil' Fame and properly repping the Brownsville section of Brooklyn, the "Mash Out Posse" have been masters of that underground hardcore bang sound since 1993 when they dropped their first single "How About Some Hardcore?" The song struck a nerve amongst the rap fans that were fiending for that gritty classic New York boom bap sound. Did you know that the video for "How About Some Hardcore?" was directed by then unknown video director Hype Williams?<br /><br />16 years in the game, M.O.P. have been in it and fighting tooth and nail to gain the reputation of being the true kings of gully NY that they so much deserve. Endorsed by several of the genre's legends, including DJ Premier and Jay-Z, the closest the group came to receiving both critical and commercial success was with their 2000 release of "Warriorz", a classic cd containing two of their biggest hits "Ante Up" and "Cold As Ice", two joints that banged hard in the gulliest of clubs near you as well as receiving radio airplay. M.O.P. does hold the title in having recorded the hardest rap song ever made. It's been proven by the World's Council of Scientists that "Ante Up" is the hardest song known to man. Really. Heh.<br /><br />Signed to Loud Records/Sony/Columbia when 'Warriorz' dropped and poised to blow, M.O.P. got caught up in office politics when the label unexpectedly folded, instantly killing all chances of further marketing and maximizing in the capitalization of such a classic of an album. Stranded and left without a home, M.O.P. was soon signed to Roc-a-fella Records, then helmed by Jay-Z and Damon Dash. The group continued to show how much of a winning streak they weren't on when Roc-a-fella Records founding partners split, leaving a huge question mark over the future of M.O.P. as recording artists.<br /><br />Right after the Roc-a-fella split, things looked kinda bright for M.O.P. when they were signed to 50 Cent's new G-Unit label, along-side Mobb Deep. 50 wasn't playing with M.O.P. either, had them knicca's in the gym doing straight push-ups and calisthenics and what not. That must have been an effin sight to see. But for some reason, the union wouldn't last and the group left the label last year citing "creative differences". They managed to keep the internets buzzing recently, behind the fact that they've been steady working on their new album "Foundation" which is scheduled for commercial release later this year on E1 Records, formerly known as Koch Records. "Foundation" promises to feature joints produced by DJ Premier, Alchemist, Statik Selektak and Jake One. Expect some guest appearances from Busta Rhymes, Jadakiss and Heltah Skeltah. Little known fact, did you know that their second album "Firing Squad" held the title of being the most stolen cd from the HMV music stores in New York City back in 1998? That's really true. And really another example of how gully this group is.<br /><br />I so want M.O.P. to win. Ever since "Warriorz", I've been praying to the rap gods to bless them dudes with rap star fortune. I've always seen M.O.P. as having the potential of becoming rap's next Run-DMC. They are the ZZ Top of Hip Hop. All they ever needed was for someone like a Rick Rubin to get behind them creatively and marketing wise, give them the right touch to their sound, produce the right videos that would edge them into being recognized by the masses as being the true rock stars that they are. Hopefully they'll be able to pull it off with their next album. Trust when I say I'm keeping my fingers crossed for their win. Not only do they have songs for days, but will murk it dead and bloody with their lives shows. Seasoned veterans that they are, no one is doing that straight up scrunch your face up music as I'm punching your man dead in his face for scuffing my kicks in the mosh pit. Word to Brianna Latrise. They remain the greatest rap duo out today.<br /><br />But they ain't EPMD. Can't even hold a candle to them cats. And that's no way a shot fired. Just is, like how water is wet.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />NEXT</span>: Incontrovertible proof of EPMD being the Greatest Hip Hop Duo Of All Time<br /><br />Robbie must be smoking that meth, which I hear is all the rage down in Australia these days. You can peep his argument for M.O.P. <a href="http://www.unkut.com/2009/06/unkut-vs-combat-jack-mop-raps-greatest-duo/">here</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE: </span>That dude , Chuck Creekmur that I mentioned hit me with the tweet: "For the record I never said M.O.P. > EPMD." I stand corrected.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-20215050435340106342009-06-05T18:54:00.000-07:002009-06-05T19:10:05.588-07:00Jay-Z "D.O.A." Radio Rip<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyHYfUH_I0Ptq-tsyo3QzDixc34KpJ1XrAlFhJa6bCZV7ITadas86rHbViaPHgSdJfycOl2IXExZmHrCCzSsN0zkcKBL3Mgm1PRQC9MnMWDG07zkHKHrdWxGMMst6py2GelUI4J-SNYs/s1600-h/jay-z1-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyHYfUH_I0Ptq-tsyo3QzDixc34KpJ1XrAlFhJa6bCZV7ITadas86rHbViaPHgSdJfycOl2IXExZmHrCCzSsN0zkcKBL3Mgm1PRQC9MnMWDG07zkHKHrdWxGMMst6py2GelUI4J-SNYs/s400/jay-z1-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344027575198405474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The only 40 year rapper still doing it like this. History was made tonight as fans worldwide waited in anticipation as to whether Young or Old Hov was gonna be in the building. General consensus is that Jiggaman came back, and with an effin' vengeance. <br /><br />Further documented proof that Hip Hop is still alive.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.zshare.net/download/61001251a628e124/">Boom.</a>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-76950883795957045152009-06-02T22:27:00.000-07:002009-06-03T14:25:46.694-07:00Shyne, The Last Bad Boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxRxWGKtBCvy-Aa_urHf2cjNX-gIx5XU20W3Q8Sxfibgg8-vumF5WL8IOpDQxQ20Vr1KQWe2IoiqpC319Xte8rwz6xQEUzHYARtP5PWt_cAbN3mLvV2hI2p0bMRa_qrWj15oa5c4ybZs/s1600-h/shyne.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxRxWGKtBCvy-Aa_urHf2cjNX-gIx5XU20W3Q8Sxfibgg8-vumF5WL8IOpDQxQ20Vr1KQWe2IoiqpC319Xte8rwz6xQEUzHYARtP5PWt_cAbN3mLvV2hI2p0bMRa_qrWj15oa5c4ybZs/s400/shyne.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342968721458851362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />1997.<br /><br />It had to be around 9:30 am. I was in the office extra early that morning, like around 8:30. I usually got in a little after 10, but I had some contract work I needed to squeeze out. The phones usually started ringing at 10 am and after 11 the rest of my day would be held hostage by back to back meetings that I had lined up, going 'til around 7pm. Focused in the early morning quiet, I was interrupted by my office phone ringing, the 1st call of the day clocking in at around 9:45. I picked it up and was introduced for the first time to Manny.<br /><br />On the other end, Manny was fast talking, laid back, not frantic, but talking fast about this artist that I needed to hear. How he heard my name ring around from other Brooklyn cats that came through his barber shop which was located on Flatbush Avenue and Maple Street. How Don Pooh (who was Inga Marchand p/k/a Foxy Brown's Manager) had told him about some of the clients I repped and how some other heads present co-signed. How Clark Kent, also a patron to the shop, insisted that he call me in order to get their legal business proper and right. Fast talking about this kid named Shyne, who Manny wanted to manage, and how he was that next dude from Brooklyn to stand up and rep the borough thorough and how he wanted me to draft some papers on him a.s.a.p. Trying to get back to work, I told Manny I'd take a meeting with him later and what my fees would be for my efforts. Manny kept talking, wouldn't let me off phone. Said he had Shyne with him, up early and ready to take care of business, asked me if I wanted to hear him spit over the phone. Like I wanted to hear some dude rap over the phone at 9:45 in the morning when I was hard pressed to finish papers for a client that had paid me in full 3 weeks back. Manny was too good though, kept talking until Shyne did get on the phone and spit. Fire. I tell people this as I say it here, at the time, to me, Shyne sounded more like a younger version of the young Jay-Z then he did B.I.G., maybe it was because he'd heard how I had worked with Jay and Damon, or how his voice was coming out through the phone. But, the kid was dope. I squeezed Manny and Shyne in for a meeting that very same day.<br /><br />When they came through, Manny was all movement and words. He was a regular Brooklyn dude who knew some key people in the industry but needed an insider's co-sign to fully get in the door. Shyne was going to be the artist that would enable him to move from being barber shop owner to respected exec in the game. Most engaging and charismatic, Manny spoke like he was destined to make money. Spoke like he knew about having had money too. Later on, I'd hear rumor's about how respected Manny really was in the streets, how he stayed knowing the right people from all walks of life and how tight his money game really was. Shyne, the rapper born Jamal Barrow was more laid back. Looking like the 20 year old kid that he was, he spoke on how he was born in Belize, how his estranged father was a politician, the Prime Minister there, and how he and his mom had moved to Brooklyn in his mid teens because in Belize, they were shunned and not welcome in sharing in the wealth that his father had access to. He also spoke about how in just a few years, he had developed a knack for hanging out with the wrong people. Had done some grimy shit that resulted in making his every day in Brooklyn a dangerous one. How he had picked up rapping and really discovered he had a passion and a skill for it. How Big died and he was more than ready to put BK on his back. He spoke that confident braggadocio talk that rappers talk, but he came off as being decent kid who had seen some rough times and was more than ready to make a change with his life and for the better. By this time, I had my law partner and our assistants in the office. I asked Shyne to rap some more and he did. At that point we all agreed that dude was talented and that there was a deal out there to be made.<br /><br />Since Manny wanted me as his lawyer, I called Matt Middleton to let him know I was referring Shyne to him as a client. Matt was working as a D.A. in the NY District Attorney's office. A graduate of Howard Law School, Matt was good friends with a lot of people I knew and worked with in the industry. It was common knowledge that Matt would make that switch from DA to entertainment attorney soon. He was already moonlighting with a handful of his own clients and I felt Shyne would be a great add to his practice. We negotiated a management contract between Manny and Shyne. Manny paid me on time and in cash, which I had no problem with. I did have a problem having to meet him at his shop at night, in the basement, with dudes there helping to close shop as he counted through crisp paper bills. Manny was no doubt cool and on the up and up, but I still wasn't 100% comfortable with having to pick up cash in the basement of a barber shop on Flatbush Avenue and Maple street at 10pm at night from someone that I had recently met. I'd seen those scenes before in more than a couple of mob movies and wasn't even trying to remotely end up getting whacked.<br /><br />A couple of months passed. Manny prepping Shyne in putting a demo together. Shyne and Matt and Manny taking meetings during Matt's lunch breaks from his day job. One day I happened to run into my boy Darrell. Darrell was an A&R at Elektra Records, a label that was part of the Atlantic Warner umbrella. Elektra was run by the legendary music exec Sylvia Rhone. I stopped by Darrell's office to see what he needed, what Elektra was looking for, any songs, producers, or better yet new recording artists. What I needed was to get an artist a deal, take home anywhere between $25,000 to 75,000 based on the type and size of the deal. Darrell wasn't looking to buy big, but he shared that he needed someone to ghostwrite some songs for their artist, MC Lyte. Elektra felt she had one last record in her with them and they were on the hunt for new material. I instantly thought of Shyne, how he was always writing new shit. By this time, Matt had left his old job and he, I and a couple of other attorneys were office mates in our own office located on 42nd Street and Park Avenue. Grand Central Station. After the meeting, I went to Matt's office, told him I needed to take his client Shyne to a meeting with Elektra and about the MC Lyte thing too. I called Manny and let him know I was trying to get Shyne work as a writer, get his name out there one way or another. The following day, it was just me and Shyne waiting in the lobby at Elektra, waiting for Darrell to call us into his office.<br /><br />Shyne was more than ready. He pulled out a notebook with some material he had written for Lyte the night before. Rhyming from his book and from a female's perspective, Shyne had been diligent about his craft, professional about this opportunity and he killed it dead. Darrell was stunned, speechless and stammering about how dope Shyne was, how he so desperately needed his boss Sylvia to meet, see and hear Shyne, and as soon as possible. Elektra didn't have a strong Hip Hop roster while a couple of blocks away labels like Island Def Jam/ Universal and Bad Boy/ Arista were dominating the genre with artists like DMX, Jay-Z, Ja-Rule and others. Puffy himself had become a household name. Sylvia so badly wanted to talk shit to Def Jam, Universal and Bad Boy. Let the big boys know that she was to be respected as a serious contender in the game.<br /><br />The following day Matt, Shyne and Manny met with Rhone. She was blown away by Shyne and was more than excited to sign him. It was the end of the year though, and the industry was winding down for the holidays. She had the lawyers from Elektra working on the contracts. Shyne would be signed to Elektra as their top rapper. They had even dropped MC Lyte from their roster in anticipation of Shyne coming onboard. Matt was ready for a big check and I was ready to get a piece of it as my referral fee.<br /><br />A funny thing happened during the holidays. A lot of the same top execs liked to vacation at the swank island of Saint Barth's. It so happened that during this go round, Sylvia was hanging out with Chris Lighty who was then a big at Def Jam and Sean Combs. Story is as the weekend progressed, every time Sylvia saw either Puff and/or Chris, she'd taunt them with "Ya'll niggas ain't got shit on my next artist Shyne. You watch whose gonna be that top rapper next year." Especially when she had that liquor in her. So certain was she that Shyne was going to be signed, sealed and delivered by year's start, she felt free to talk shit. It didn't help that Clark had already co-signed Shyne to Puff, and hearing Sylvia's boasts only magnified his interest in the young Brooklyn rapper. What she didn't expect was once they were back in the privacy of their private lodgings, both Chris and Puff were heavy in research mode, calling every and anyone in New York City to find out if they knew anything else about this kid named Shyne that Sylvia wanted to sign and how soon they could set up a meeting with him. By the time she landed back in New York, Sylvia quickly and painfully realized that the decent deal she had placed on the table to lock Shyne down as an exclusive artist was now being flanked and dwarfed by both Def Jam and Bad Boy. Overnight Shyne and Manny were thrust smack dab in the eye of a biding war storm. Word spread like fire, Shyne was going to change the world. Execs from other lables tried to put a bid in. Shyne and Manny took all meetings. But it came down to Elektra, Def Jam and Bad Boy. Actually, once Def Jam and Bad Boy joined the party, Sylvia Rhone and Elektra became an after thought. There was no way in the world Elektra stood a chance once two of the biggest rap labels at the time put their offers in.<br /><br />Funny how I find myself repeating this over and over again and at the risk of sounding like a fan, a Stan even, but fact of the matter was that no star shined brighter than Puff's at the time. No doubt his glow was hot when Christopher Wallace was alive, but once he got himself together over the tragic murder of his friend and marquee artist, Puff's heat intensified by the multiples. The Combs' name became hotter than the Bad Boy label, hotter than hip hop itself. Hollywood, pop culture media, and non-related business legends like Donald Trump wanted to be affiliated with Puff in order to further lend credibility to their own existence. I remember having a convo with Puff's trusty attorney Kenny Meiselas as he himself was bugging out at the meteoric rise of his hottest client. "Puff right now is hotter than the Beatles!" he claimed. Of course Kenny's remark was off, but during them days, not by much. Chris Lighty, Lyor Cohen and Kevin Liles put their A game to task, shit Def Jam had indeed proven itself time and time again to be the Harvard University of rap, but Puff always had that way of getting in, in a way that no other label, no other music exec could ever match. A couple of meetings, some hang out time and it was a done deal. Shyne enlisted himself as a Bad Boy member for life. Puff did have to come out of pocket though, Manny was a true street dude and no way was he going to let Shyne sign a deal just on the strength of another man's hype. Matt Middleton received a great paycheck behind that deal, and in turn, he blessed me. I still thought it was funny how, as a new music entertainment attorney in the game, Middleton had to be one of the luckiest guys I knew, walking into that Shyne deal and then picking up Def Jam's soon to be mega star, Earl Simmons p/k/a "DMX".<br /><br />Shyne took in all of this new found attention that he received. I can only imagine what went through his mind, his mother's only son, virtually abandoned by his high office holding father, left to raise himself on the mean streets of Brooklyn, a wholly different country from where he was born, where he grew up, finally to be accepted by the top players of the surreal world of the music industry. Puff ate up the fact that he was victorious in his bidding war victory up as well. Shyne became a valued member of his entourage. On Grammy night 1998, I was at a post celebration party when Puff, Shyne and the rest of the crew made their grand entrance. Shyne was dipped out in the illest gear, rocking jewels that sparkled so bright they damn near lit the place up. It so happened that his attire was completely identical to Puff's. Being that I had a good relationship with him, I pulled him to the side, intent on giving him some honest advice, "Yo Shyne, no matter what you do, stay focused on your game man. No offense to either Puff or you, but don't get so caught up in dude's movements, in his lane. I've seen too many people crash and burn because they followed Puff's map as opposed to their own." Not looking offended, but definitely affected by my comment, Shyne backed up, looked and said "I hear you man, but understand, I'm a grown man, I'm my own man." During this short courtship period, Puff wasn't just the owner of the label as well as the top creative guy who had full and complete creative control over Shyne's music and image. He had also become Shyne's mentor, replacing perhaps the void left by Shyne's father. And for that, Shyne was indeed Bad Boy for life. Money, fame, power, Bad Boy was his new set and nothing was going to come between him and his new family, nothing. In return, as his voice changed slightly, and as was captured on new recordings, his voice being compared to the deceased crowned prince of the label, Shyne was treated like the prodigal son who had returned home.<br /><br />Hard at work and intent on making a classic album, Puff, Shyne and rest of the team went in. The instant change of lifestyle to Shyne was dizzying. It didn't help that Combs was currently involved in an uber high profile relationship with Jennifer Lopez, darling Hollywood star and credible mega pop start herself. Shit was like that Cinderella story for Shyne. And quick too. Still, the problems he had back in Brooklyn never went away, as a matter of fact, they intensified. Jealous by his rise, foes of Jamal Barrow made it loud and clear that there was no love for Bad Boy's newest star. Threats were made as to setting Shyne up, robbing him even. Then there was the fact that his mother still lived in the borough, unprotected from wolves looking for a come up against her son. True he did well with his deal with Bad Boy, but he hadn't yet reached the level where he could roam anywhere and freely with paid professional security by his side, moving with him at his whim and in tow. Plus, some beef started to brew between he and members of Big's crew Junior Mafia. Offended at the thought of Bad Boy's new rapper making a name for himself by "jacking" Big's style, it was now official that Shyne best not get caught out there alone and unprotected. As official as Manny's name was in the streets, Shyne more than knew what time it was. He'd already survived being shot in the chest, way before the music thing, and there was no way he was gonna allow himself to ever get caught out there like that again. Deal or no deal.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkUB2vODwHM0BiDHfuYf64a1sbY6kSeS_s__K5aOzvjdgfluh44BmE5oq2tDRaJ_-LycEJGYjSgbvnrPqJg_vBU4upfJqMoGj75Q-qvpMELnrcjIYX57V8kTVR7y8BblTkeDpntzwmqo/s1600-h/rap_jamalbarrow-.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkUB2vODwHM0BiDHfuYf64a1sbY6kSeS_s__K5aOzvjdgfluh44BmE5oq2tDRaJ_-LycEJGYjSgbvnrPqJg_vBU4upfJqMoGj75Q-qvpMELnrcjIYX57V8kTVR7y8BblTkeDpntzwmqo/s400/rap_jamalbarrow-.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343152565276799906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtl0qwheKSL28OjcuJF6Ls9_ij3-3XKndlxCX-xAzZHC2-Fx_c01hHWObeawi4zMRIA_kq1ihvfZxMh8K-hDXN_-YbJ69gb5W773SYZ2-TgEpGybmTqbDkuGRAf1GRMyhxb4V-mD5LFQc/s1600-h/P-Diddy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtl0qwheKSL28OjcuJF6Ls9_ij3-3XKndlxCX-xAzZHC2-Fx_c01hHWObeawi4zMRIA_kq1ihvfZxMh8K-hDXN_-YbJ69gb5W773SYZ2-TgEpGybmTqbDkuGRAf1GRMyhxb4V-mD5LFQc/s400/P-Diddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343153158762136466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I heard about the shooting incident the morning after it took place. Actually, on my way to the office, I overheard two girls talking first hand about how "all of a sudden they started shootin' in Club New York and we bounced." It didn't resonate until I peeped the news on NY1. How Shyne, Puffy and Jennifer Lopez were involved in a shooting the night before. How they went to the club to celebrate the end of a very good year. How one of the fellow party goers, Matthew "Scar" Allen, peeped the Bad Boy crew in the house and stepped to them, allegedly throwing money in Comb's face all the while making threats and what not. How even though Puff was more than protected by his security, Shyne pulled out and fired shots in the club, some claiming that shots were fired back. How three people had been injured by the gun play, and then the car chase from the venue, with cops hot on Puff's tail, and a gun being thrown out of his car during said chase. At the end of it all, Shyne and Puffy were charged with numerous crimes. Shyne was fighting charges of attempted murder in the second degree, assault in the first and second degrees, one count of reckless endangerment, criminal use of a firearm, and criminal possession of a weapon in the first and second degrees; Puff for felony gun possession, and one count of bribing a witness with a diamond ring he had received from Jennifer Lopez. The resulting trial was an all around cluster fuck, with both Shyne's and Puff's loyalty to each other being severely tested as ultimately one of them had to go down for what had taken place on that fateful frantic evening. In the end, Shyne, living up to being Bad Boy for life, kept by the code of no snitching as he assumed full responsibility for both being in possession of an illegal firearm and actually firing it within the crowded club. He insisted it was all in self defense. In the end, Puff was acquitted of all charges. Shyne was convicted on two counts of assault, including a first-degree count, for shooting one of the party goers in the face, reckless endangerment and gun possession. His sentence, ten years behind bars.<br /><br />To date, Shyne has been incarcerated for eight years. He's up for parole on December 1st, 2009, although it's been reported that his new legal team is pushing for an early parole hearing allegedly scheduled this month. I got a call from him a couple of years ago, and we shared a very brief conversation in which he said how he was holding up, how he was staying positive despite his surroundings, how he wanted to thank me for being instrumental in helping his career from the start. I told him how, even though I couldn't, how I wished there was something I was able to do during that whole ordeal to help him from landing in his current situation. That shit was real. Not saying that dude shouldn't have been held accountable for his actions, not saying that at all. Looking back on the whole thing, it's just another unfortunate story of a good kid with the best of intentions, getting caught up in a fucked up situation solely based on his environment and his more than dire circumstance of having to prove himself, having to fight his way out of a perceived life or death scenario. I hope that Jamal Barrow is granted and early parole this month. In my opinion, he's been through more than enough. And all for being a loyal kid, intent on protecting someone who had become a mentor and almost like father figure to him. Being that Puff has since completely cleaned up his business' original image, look, sound and reputation, Shyne remains the label's last true Bad Boy. Shyne my dude, keep your head up.<br /><br /><br />There is a happy ending to this story. My man and Shyne's former manager Manny is currently doing incredibly great as the celebrated fast talking and very media savvy manager of top songstress Keisha Cole. Keep doing your thing my dude!Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-74487391494033517172009-05-31T22:28:00.000-07:002009-06-01T18:52:45.575-07:00June FTW!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uE_eiJlubAXVkJpRNH2fSI8CU-eYQABtElmqePY6Klz09nRsKGPfVUup7AHQsCkCo9u7vJYdXQi32XSKutcdKxVC5G7v4RMWL4dtw6vstvBt4uRUDG94EuLDinZTW7usHkub1deOPPM/s1600-h/0199210896.sprint.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 303px; height: 410px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uE_eiJlubAXVkJpRNH2fSI8CU-eYQABtElmqePY6Klz09nRsKGPfVUup7AHQsCkCo9u7vJYdXQi32XSKutcdKxVC5G7v4RMWL4dtw6vstvBt4uRUDG94EuLDinZTW7usHkub1deOPPM/s400/0199210896.sprint.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342227460734680018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I've been running that a lot recently. For The Win! That phrase is dope. Just saying it, blogging here or letting it fly on Twitter makes me feel good. Feeling good is important. Essential even. It's good for me. You too. June is here peoples, does that make you feel good? I dig when the start of a new month arrives. Trying to face each 1st day as a starting point. Reinvigorate my determinations, my goals, my energies. Use those annual 12 dates to evaluate how I did between now and the one from last month, how much I accomplished or how far back I backslid fighting this round of life. Or not fighting, just showing up, ducking from the blows, blocking some, catching major ones too, a right to the jaw, a knockout punch landing solidly to the left temple. Lights out, bright blinking lights on and off. Waking up in confusion after the fight's over and wondering what happened between the moment I stepped into the ring and now. And if I fell off, on or around what day of the month was it? Just so I can better peep what my thoughts, words, deeds were then and are this time around. See what adjustments need to be made so the steps I took to ensure my fall off last month won't be repeated this go round. Knowing too, that if I fall off again in the future, which will most definitely happen, that I won't be down on myself. Get up, re-lace the gloves, and start swinging. For The Win.<br /><br />Cause and effect is strict. Hard body too. It don't care as to why you did certain things, what the intentions were, just what ripples were put in motion based solely on your acts. The big ones, and the small ones. The big causes we make are easy to see, because they're big. The smaller ones are the ones that get you though, the ones close to impossible to spot. Impossible to spot but so easy to do. Habitually. Tens to hundreds to millions of times even. Eventually, billions of tiny acts manifesting into big ones. Splashing, creating ripples across the universe, major waves too. And eventually, like clockwork, we get back all that we put out, a universal law like gravity. What goes up, must come down. What goes out, must come back.<br /><br />They say our actions are caused by our thoughts. Thoughts that turn into words. Words that turn into deeds. That being the case, our thoughts bring us to where we are. Thoughts bring into our reality what we think. And how many thoughts do we have, per moment, per millisecond, constantly determining what we say, what we do? You ever try to keep track of all of your thoughts? All of them and all the time? Better yet, you ever try to control your thoughts? Think about it. Think about it hard enough and you might get scared in realizing how much our brains, our minds that are like little computers, are so much in control...over us, and the control we have over our minds, not so much. Our thoughts are nothing but electrical currents. The greatest conductor of electricity is water. Isn't the human body made up of 75%, 80% water. Better yet, isn't Earth composed primarily of water? Isn't the Universe made up primarily of water? Think about it.<br /><br />Thoughts, words, deeds. Words are powerful. Words are becoming much more powerful by the moment now that technology has afforded each and every one of us the ability to connect to so many others, instantly, globally, electronically, though the power of the Internets. It astounds me when I take in the fact that based on a thought, any random or recurring one, at any moment can manifest into the deed of writing and shooting something off into the blogosphere where it becomes ingested into our collective consciousness, not knowing how many tens of hundreds of millions of effects will be caused, domino knocking into domino, endlessly across the universe. Who could have predicted that the advent of the Internet, an invention created by cold technology, would usher in the advanced evolution of man's thought power? The ability to virtually touch and effect any and everyone jacked into this matrix of life. And at the touch of a button. We're evolving right before our eyes. We are so far ahead of ourselves that we're actually behind. I think that in the next 100 years, our heads will expand, like how those aliens from outer space look. It almost has to, what with all this information we mentally ingest, process, store away, until we're ready to use said information in any manner we choose.<br /><br />Bad thoughts always seem to come easy. The pace of our daily lives in this new age of thought power almost require that we think bad of things. We're wired like that, a negative energy creating being always ready to shit on any thought, word, deed and in turn any possible positive outcome that seems too good to ever become true. Someone once told me that in a given setting, you can receive 100 heartfelt compliments and one complaint. And when you sit down to reflect on the events of that setting, the one that will ring most loudly is the negative one.<br /><br />So then we do the dance, where we eff up, or let our minds trick us into thinking we did bad, we fell off, to the point that we start to beat ourselves up, dirty little thoughts creeping in, and about how we might not be good enough, will never be good enough, won't ever accomplish this, that or the third. Worse yet, we slander ourselves with the one thing I truly believe to be a sin, self guilt. Allowing those little thoughts of guilt and doubt to creep in, until we eventually become what our thoughts created. To those that claim you have no idea what I'm talking about I call bullshit. That "I'm always on, never could fall off" parlay is certified grade A industry talk. Game talk. I know too well and intimately that kind of talk. Especially when it's show time. There's nothing wrong with game talk, just don't delude yourself into believing your own hype. You're just setting yourselves up for a bigger fall down the road, one you might not be able to bounce back from.<br /><br />Where am I going with this space aged type rant? Dunno. What I do know is that recently, two of my peoples very close to me have been diagnosed with Cancer. The disease. Two different healthy and VERY accomplished successful men that I've been fortunate to have in my life. One even, who never ever drank or smoked anything in his life, who played mentor to me throughout the years, ensuring that, based on his past experiences and his continued guidances, that I would always land on my feet, be back in the game, and for the win. He taught me that in this game of entertainment, one has to work double, triple, quadruple overtime to create the hype in one's name, in one's product, in one's brand. Then one has to work way harder to avoid falling into the trap of actually believing the hype they created, because once one believes their own hype, it's guaranteed game over. I've seen first hand many people in the industy eff that lesson up. I've dropped the ball with that one myself. The other one, a man so damned successful, with a beautiful wife, and stripes upon stripes of of victorious business ventures behind him, and both now facing this new kind of obstacle, looking at it face to face, eye to eye, and each wondering to themselves, "What the fuck way can I knock this bitch of an opponent out?" And me going in, deep and asking myself, "what the fuck do I do to support them, to pay back whatever lessons and opportunities they blessed me with, and without a trace of pity?" Or, "who am I to even think I can help them in any way since I've never had to deal with anything as serious as this?" Those little negative thoughts creeping back in, limiting my ability to dig deep into the universal collective that we all share for an answer, a solution.<br /><br />The greatest trick we've managed to pull on ourselves is creating the illusion of scarcity, of division, of separatness, of us vs them. Of good vs. evil. You do know the universe is anything but scarce though? Far from that, the universe is abundant. You do know too that we're not separate at all, not divided one bit. We're as separate from each other and the universe as an individual wave is separate from the ocean. Also too, that each and every one of us and at any given moment, has the potential for great good as well as great evil. And as long as we are alive as a species, the most important battle that we will face on a daily basis until either we cook ourselves up with them nukes we keep building and in storage, or until the sun burns out is that inherent battle between our innate negative selves and our higher enlightened selves. And through practice, although seemingly impossible, but if committed, we can control our thoughts, if we so commit ourselves to observe how we think and moment by moment. That's a lot of effin effort. But it is possible.<br /><br />Placing myself in a situation where my thoughts reach many, I want to do my best moment to moment, use this mighty tool of technology to create value in any way I can, so that it resonates positively to those my words reach, and hopefully resonates back with equal positive value. Trust, I'm not on some preachy, holier than thou vibe, I'm not that goody conscious knicca either. It's easier to sit here and type shit that will result in throwing folk under the bus, you've seen it, I've done it before, might very well do it again. And again. Especially with this thing called Hip Hop. Trust how I felt like clowning on that Eminem/ Bruno thingie from the MTV Movie Awards. But I also want to become that more aware, able to take full responsibility for all of the unseen and tangible actions and the causes I make. Become that dude that eventually becomes so fully aware that my thoughts and words and deeds create that kind of value that can be an endless source of comfort, encouragement and inspiration for myself and for my peoples, effecting us all to dig deep into our universal reservoirs, to find within ourselves that which will ensure complete victory over the destructive threats of things like Cancer that lay ready to rip viciously through our bodies until there's nothing left for us to justify our existence on this plane. In the here and now.<br /><br />June 1st is here peoples, a wonderful time of the year for self reflection, for re-determination, for rejuvenation. So sorry if this is not the type of stuff that brings you here, I can zone out like that. But I truly do respect you all, your humanity and all the individual scenarios that play out in your individual lives. And I truly want each and every one of you to take a step back, truly appreciate all that you are, all that you've accomplished, and most importantly, all that you want to be. Let's get out of the way of our success, out the way of our health and happiness. Life is a truly incredible blessing, even when that cotdamned rent is due, and each and every one of us are more than capable of becoming our best self's ever. I'm learning more and more to appreciate and to love every moment of life, and every instance of connect that I make with each and everybody that I come across during my time here. In person, or electronically, through the blog, email or Twitter. June is here my peoples. Let's go effin hard this month, harder than we did the month before. Let's do this month big, and most definitely For The Win!!!<br /><br /><br />Please note, I did not drop any types of hallucinogenic drugs such as ecstacy and what not during the writing of this post. Just sharing what I feel.<br /><br />And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-25982239972623052362009-05-29T19:25:00.000-07:002009-05-29T21:49:23.981-07:00"Drag Me To Hell" Movie Review<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfGBQrQNWfhT10j0g2Yh_zSrAmTgsMG-0eSu_YuR-9wQZy7IV6XkIj8nVW7g8i5l1DwLdG9PdgQ9yBY3i0a2Ob30h4JAvA_hZeZhhp4urdxpZ1yXRFK5xO-rRjMtJ3xmHbhQYRsLf3Cw/s1600-h/drag-me-to-hell-20090311013143009_640w.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfGBQrQNWfhT10j0g2Yh_zSrAmTgsMG-0eSu_YuR-9wQZy7IV6XkIj8nVW7g8i5l1DwLdG9PdgQ9yBY3i0a2Ob30h4JAvA_hZeZhhp4urdxpZ1yXRFK5xO-rRjMtJ3xmHbhQYRsLf3Cw/s400/drag-me-to-hell-20090311013143009_640w.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341437727324062306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Guaranteed Spoiler Free!<br /><br /></span></span>I figured I would take my 11 and 12 year old sons with me to see the new Sam Raimi flick "Drag Me To Hell", especially since it's rated PG-13. Having basically grown up with the Spiderman franchise and blowing their minds by having them view "Dark Man" earlier this year, they were psyched to see another Raimi production. I also groomed them over the years to have at least a sense of respect for the horror genre. Some nights, as I'd pop "Night Of The Living Dead" or "Halloween" in the dvd player, I'd beam as a proud father as I watched them from afar with their little faces frozen in fear as they took in some of my favorite scary movies from years past. Still, as we walked into the theatre, I could see some nervous glances coming from them, uncertain as to whether they would survive the hell they were about to witness. The result as the credits scrolled up the screen? We had an effin blast!<br /><br />Revered as a true master of horror after he dropped "Evil Dead", "Evil Dead 2" and "Army Of Darkness", fans have been eagerly awaiting Raimi's return to scary movies, especially since he blew up and became known to the masses as a bankable blockbuster director. From the opening scene, Raimi lets you know exactly what you're in for. Simple, brutal, blunt, loud and to the point, you know that beyond the confines of the safe little "real" world we live in, there are evil scary things laying right beyond the edges of reality, demons waiting patiently for any of us simple mere mortals to fuck up, eff around with the wrong ancient artifact or the wrong person to unleash or catch a curse giving them a pass to enter our world, long enough for them to exact all types of hellish fuckery and what not on that unsuspecting ass. Catch the right curse, best believe those devilish bastards will be taking your twisted ass back home with them, leaving your torterd soul to squirm in fiery damnation as you eternally burn in hell.<br /><br />You've seen the commercials and the trailers, you know whats next. How the cute Blonde bank loan officer Christine Brown (played by Alison Lohman) decides to play heartless as she denies the elderly gypsy woman Mrs. Ganush (Lorna Raver) an extension on her delinquent mortgage payments which will result in the bank seizing Ganush's home and leaving her homeless. How Mrs. Ganush curses Lohman with a special express one way ticket to Hell. How Lohman catches it every which way as supernatural forces torment the remaining moments of her life, how she desperately enlists the support of her boyfriend Clay Dalton (Justin Long), fortune teller Rahm Jas (Dileep Rao) and trusty exorcist in waiting Shaun San Dena (Adriana Barraza) to help her out of this jacked up predicament. Believe me, I can't give anything away about this piece, not because I don't want to but because there's nothing more to it than what you already know. No twists and turns, no "I didn't know it was him that did that" kind of moments, no surprise endings. None of that. Written by Raimi and his older brother Ivan, "Drag Me To Hell" is one of the simplest movies, plot-wise that you will see in a very long time. And that friends, is a very very good thing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-jFnNs5bXvr5ZMOnqjJDDHiv156zR32tPRrrfT6AvhEPXSTliYDOJuBPnOOJlMP250Fldpg6HcxeLmRCFrf_Bd6bWI4WXDMYEnZZdUzr2GiazBFfckjZ-DzSp9z6-A4TUZ98g4xtYSU/s1600-h/drag-me-to-hell-20090311013151336_640w.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-jFnNs5bXvr5ZMOnqjJDDHiv156zR32tPRrrfT6AvhEPXSTliYDOJuBPnOOJlMP250Fldpg6HcxeLmRCFrf_Bd6bWI4WXDMYEnZZdUzr2GiazBFfckjZ-DzSp9z6-A4TUZ98g4xtYSU/s400/drag-me-to-hell-20090311013151336_640w.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341453150372020770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Raimi didn't need anything to stand in his way as he created this masterpiece. Not even an R rating. I admit I was disappointed when I initially learned of the movie's pre-teen friendly rating but since 1981 when his first movie "Evil Dead" changed the game, Sam Raimi never let me, let us, the movie goers down. I knew for sure, with his return to horror, that "Drag Me To Hell" was going to be entertaining. And that is exactly what this movie is, pure unadulterated entertainment. No over the top blood and gore, even though the movie goes over the top and will gross you the eff out, especially since Raimi goes all juvenile and sophmore-ish with the gross out scenes, filled with so much wet nasty shit that you'd never want to witness and experience in real life. No over doing it with trying to scare you shitless, even though I jumped more than a couple of times as things went bump in the dark, in the night, and even during some very bright sun-light filled shots. Yes, you will be jumping, and jumpy through the entire movie as Rami lets loose with the frights and the chills. I was also concerned about some of the special effects and cgi scenes that were featured in the trailers and commercials. I hate movies that rely too much on obvious cgi special effects, maybe because the outcome always comes off looking way too fake for my liking. Raimi applied just the right amount of cgi, even where it looked like it might be too much, too fake even, but it all made sense, maybe because what was transpiring on screen was so god damned way out that the cgi made it all make sense, brought it back to Earth. You'll understand when you see this.<br /><br />What I didn't expect when I copped the tickets was how funny this movie was going to be. This movie is straight certified comedy, people in every aisle laughing loudly and almost throughout the entire movie comedy, EVEN as we jumped and screamed and ducked from the thrills and scares. And not funny in a sadistic "damned she got eff'd up" way. Or that nervous laughter to let up on the horror intake. I'm talking purposefully funny, in how the characters react to situations, the things they say, even as they say them with straight faces, and yes, even the way she and they get physically assaulted. I haven't laughed this hard at the movies since last summer when I peeped "Pineapple Express". I remember when I first saw "American Werewolf In London" and being blown away at how John Landis was able to deliver the perfect combination of comedy and horror. At the time, I thought that movie would forever be the best of that combo. No more. "Drag Me To Hell" snatches the title for "funniest horror movie" as it compromises nothing in it's delivery.<br /><br />As the final credits rolled, with me, my boys and the rest of the audience clapping, still laughing, still marveling at the horror we just witnessed, still taking in all the understated over the top moments and regaining our senses as we prepped to re-enter the real world, when lights came back on, I realized that what we all shared as a collective audience after this short and sweet gem was over (99 minutes in length) was nothing but sheer fun. Without shitting on the seriousness of the genre while at the same time, not taking said genre nor himself too seriously, Raimi once again demonstrates why he's a master of his game. I might have felt a bit guilty as I tortured my boys when they watched "Halloween", might have crossed the line even when they sat through "Nightmare On Elm Street", but none of that guilt, that 2nd guessing myself took place here. This movie should fall under the category as being a funny entertaining piece that incidentally happens to be a horror flick. Without going too far, I'd venture to say that this movie provides full "wholesome" entertainment for the entire family, kinda in that roller coaster amusement park kinda way. I urge you all to run see this. Bring the entire fam (get a sitter for kids under 11), make this that first date joint, take your moms even. Even those that hate scary pictures, please see this and trust that you haven't been entertained like this in a long time.<br /><br />Back in 1981, when he was an unknown independent director unshackled by the constraints of Hollywood and its suits, then 22 year old Raimi went buck wild and held nothing back as he and his brother Ivan had fun shooting "Evil Dead" on a shoe string budget. Watching "Drag Me To Hell", it's so obvious he had just as much fun making this, like he was 22 again, only with a bigger budget. "Drag Me To Hell" will definitely make you feel like a kid again. And in a very good way.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-41070471018278509032009-05-26T13:01:00.000-07:002009-05-26T22:33:53.702-07:00Combat Jack On Kedar Massenburg<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNkWWhfFepZzHjP8cMmqBZxhyfNzCrx6hyj8N6c5XOIZjkd-mTZEB40KcADiFdbMcDxIgn1cGBPjtUGEXqG_1ij4b7ujDW3QMsscVr8lhxvrA69B9X54gl6RA9dXknxQa1vIn3iSgE6k/s1600-h/1337173418_5bde2995dd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNkWWhfFepZzHjP8cMmqBZxhyfNzCrx6hyj8N6c5XOIZjkd-mTZEB40KcADiFdbMcDxIgn1cGBPjtUGEXqG_1ij4b7ujDW3QMsscVr8lhxvrA69B9X54gl6RA9dXknxQa1vIn3iSgE6k/s400/1337173418_5bde2995dd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340282221527363586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I don't remember specifically when our paths crossed, but from what I remember, he knew me before I knew him. I didn't really know how impactful I was in the industry at the time, being that 1st entertainment attorney in the game that claimed hip hop culture. The attorneys before me were at closest, of the '70's soul and '80's r&b school. The rest of them were Jewish. But I stood out, people took notice, and I couldn't keep tabs on the hundreds of people I was meeting when I jumped in the industry. I do remember being at a music conference when dude informed me that he had just been admitted to the bar as an attorney. From the gate though, it was clear that Kedar Massenburg wasn't interested in repping music clients as a living, he had his eyes set on a bigger prize. I learned that he was from the mighty borough of Brooklyn, that his brother was Daddy-O of Stetsasonic fame. I even remember him cutting his entertainment teeth as Stetsasonic's manager. We always kept it moving, but whenever we would bump into each other on 57th and Broadway, or at some industry related function, Kedar was always talking money, big money.<br /><br />I started to take note one day in the summer of '94. I was chasing some model chick at the famed Coffee Shop restaurant in the Union Square section of Manhattan one lazy Saturday afternoon where I inadvertently bumped into him. As we talked, he started picking my brain about label deals, joint ventures and partnership deals with major labels. Being that I was still learning from the attorney who was training me, I gave him some answers that I had overheard from my mentor as she was negotiating the bigger deals. Kedar was hungry for knowledge, especially in learning how to come up on the big deals. The chick I was chasing had brushed me off so I opted to talk more shop with him. He was with an unknown young songwriter and future recording artist. Introduced him to me as Michael Archer, p/k/a D'Angelo. Kedar was going on about how he and dude were going to change the game. He invited me to check out some unreleased songs D'Angelo had recorded as we rode in Kedar's brand new drop top Benz. It was crazy, riding in the Benz, driving through the city, me, Kedar and the unknown D'Angelo, listening to joints that were banging. You don't need me to tell you how ahead of the game his music was. Kedar kept going on though, about how he wanted his own label, was going to have his own label. He wasn't showing off either, he was more like a very proud kid that had completed an incredible science project, ready to share with the world his accomplishments and ready as well to claim all the rewards that he knew he already earned, way before they were presented before him. Kedar was very proud indeed.<br /><br />Being that he stood at around 5'5", off the bat you knew Kedar had the Napoleonic thing going on. Especially whenever anyone mentioned Puffy around him. I made the mistake once of saying something about Puff's deal with Arista, and Kedar went the fuck off on a tirade. "Fuck Puffy, he ain't the only nigga making money in this game!!!" Thrown off by his outburst, I backed off. I didn't get the impression he was hating or being envious of Puff in any way, he seemed more like he was tired of always hearing Puff's name associated with success and money when Kedar himself, set in launching his own empire, his own dynasty was barely if ever mentioned in the same conversation. I wish I earned $100 every time I'd hear Kedar say "Fuck Puffy, he ain't the only nigga making money in this game!!!" It was almost comical how he would go all "Eff Puff" whenever someone mentioned Sean Combs' name in his presence, almost like he was subconsciously waiting for it. In retrospect, it all makes sense now. Like I mentioned many times before, during that period, Puff really was the center of the music industry universe and almost every credible producer, a&r and exec was following his movements, so much to the point that they'd recklessly swerve way out of their own lanes in order to emulate Combs. Most of those execs eventually crashed and burned, eff'ing themselves out of the industry. Kedar was different, was loud about being different in that he had his own vision which was completely different from the hip hop influenced r&b and r&b influenced hip hop movement that Puff spearheaded. If it took him "hating" on Puff to stay focused on his vision, his goal, his lane then so be it, let the Puff hate flow.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOdHv9NbZEiG7e4Jd1WMYoHr0ky6989nEejXMsklB2vEHUjUbAt8uSD-wr6zA5ksTcV94jFvkuSEqZQ1sturvIJhBd70lljd6cidQpmRyUh-lk4OlSJ5j-L6G1M4eWjU3O6tlFBt3ynEs/s1600-h/1zl7le0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOdHv9NbZEiG7e4Jd1WMYoHr0ky6989nEejXMsklB2vEHUjUbAt8uSD-wr6zA5ksTcV94jFvkuSEqZQ1sturvIJhBd70lljd6cidQpmRyUh-lk4OlSJ5j-L6G1M4eWjU3O6tlFBt3ynEs/s400/1zl7le0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340282356112528674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />D'Angelo's album "Brown Sugar" was released in June 1995. That album was a monster. Although r&b, it didn't exactly fit neatly in that category, especially with its jazz, soul and more than subtle hip hop influenced undertones. The industry took note and Kedar capitalized overnight by coining the term "Neo Soul" as the brand of music that D'Angelo dropped. In one fell swoop Kedar had "created" his own genre of music. I don't really eff with what they're calling "Neo Soul" these days, too much coffee shop, incense burning and dread locked for my taste, but when it dropped, when that sound was new, fresh and original sounding, Kedar did what so many couldn't do, he created his lane, peeped his own niche market ripe for the picking and summarily locked it down. It helped that Kedar had picked up the r&b crooner Joe under his management company. Joe also had buzz on the airwaves and Kedar had the industry where he wanted it, eager and ready to eat from his hand, and on his own terms . Fuck Pufff and Bad Boy for real, he set up shop, his own Kedar Entertainment label at Universal. Made them pay for "giving up his freedom". I'd run into him more frequently and whenever I'd congratulate him, or ask him how things were going, he'd let out that "Fuck Puffy" line. He kept it real though, one of the few industry execs that really spoke his mind and remained uncompromising in how he viewed his role in the music industry. He stayed getting in people's ass as well. Dude wasn't one for the bullshit and if he felt it was coming his way, he go off in a minute. To many, he was an asshole, unnecessarily aggressive, verbally combative, you know, that Napoleonic thing. But even though I saw many times and firsthand how he would go off, I always found him to be respectful, at least where I was concerned. He was one of the few Black execs who congratulated me when I got married. More than a few others were discouraging by reacting like I eff'd up. I got the impression that Kedar valued the concept of family. He stayed looking for a mate to claim too. He loved smart women, especially fellow attorneys.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1LgAi9l9pYZ8tshoz-bh-Uz4HDaIRXHnWDrGK0AWvaegqLL0welHoZf95Yy1toQWqBp7uh-oC2uD2C76b4ko9YI3s1LLjU6A2wOIVZz6e5VT612JGxmT_E3DS6srxxQUFGA6u9WB8fU8/s1600-h/60350299.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1LgAi9l9pYZ8tshoz-bh-Uz4HDaIRXHnWDrGK0AWvaegqLL0welHoZf95Yy1toQWqBp7uh-oC2uD2C76b4ko9YI3s1LLjU6A2wOIVZz6e5VT612JGxmT_E3DS6srxxQUFGA6u9WB8fU8/s400/60350299.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340290591947064418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />He stayed being on a roll too. Dunno how he kept consistent, where he found the unique artists gifted with their unique artistry, but he stayed finding them. His next artist, the first on his label, was Erykah Badu. Her album "Baduizm", dropped on February 11, 1997. Badu was dubbed the "Queen of Neo Soul" as that genre gained a female spokesperson for the movement. The record made a lot of noise. The T.I.s at Universal loved him, better yet, tolerated him for the time being, the market that his brand and his artists spoke to championed him as a visionary. I made it a point to remain on Kedar's radar. Be it me shopping a new act or just connecting to build, Kedar's doors were always open. I think he dug the way me and my firm stayed keeping hot acts too. Sometimes, he would ask what I thought of this or that act that he was considering signing, or what I felt was hot on the streets. Not that I was an A&R, but he knew I stayed in the streets, in the clubs, he respected my opinion. Kedar stayed candid too, about how even though he was the new Black dude in the limelight, the minute he wasn't hot or had a series of flops, the T.I.'s would have him disrespectfully escorted out the building with the quickness. Especially since he made it a point not to kiss ass. No doubt he loved the fame and the money he was making, the luxuries he was able to buy, but he stayed away from the Kool Aid. He knew that as the highest ranking Black man in the Universal building making as much noise as he was, that at any given moment, he was expendable, that his head would be the first to roll. I think that's what kept him on point, and competitive, and aggresively cussing out fools. From my vantage point, he fought hard on behalf of his artists. Kedar stayed checking anyone he felt was trying to shit on him, his brand, his artists. He was also known as a taskmaster to anyone who was on his team. Not as abusive as other execs like Damon Dash, but Kedar seemed like he was ready for a battle at any moment, with anyone. He loved his artists though, and it seemed like every time he turned one into a household name, they'd flip, drunk in the heights of their stardom and turn to bite the hand that launched their careers. D'Angelo eventually fell out with Kedar. Erykah stayed giving him mad drama.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRHV6BtbG7gi-7k82xpPMMGSF3r-m7b0oOiqiLI-TeE2D0ptZTSSnzFOqhcMlWLAp1FkE9RKwYFSeBWZ271itZIZ606KYFaVCXXnT1djnIOOnqCWcezhQmfSfWmh1KRaLmbnmX4zNph4/s1600-h/169551.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRHV6BtbG7gi-7k82xpPMMGSF3r-m7b0oOiqiLI-TeE2D0ptZTSSnzFOqhcMlWLAp1FkE9RKwYFSeBWZ271itZIZ606KYFaVCXXnT1djnIOOnqCWcezhQmfSfWmh1KRaLmbnmX4zNph4/s400/169551.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340313225140486354" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It was around this time that I got a call from him. Said he had been thinking about it and wanted me to rep two new artists that he was signing. One of them was Chico Debarge. The younger brother of the '80's brother act DeBarge, Chico had a troubled past, having been imprisoned and serving time for drug trafficking. Kedar loved Chico's pedigree, while at the same time seeing how his stand alone bad boy image would fit perfectly as his next Neo-Soul ambassador. Being that the relationship between Kedar and D'Angelo had deteriorated to the point that their issues were being "worked out" legally, Chico was tapped as as that next dude. Plus, after his stint in prison, Kedar saw the potential in marketing DeBarge with a image far different from his prior glammed out one he previously shared in connection with his asscociation with his DeBarge brothers. Referring clients my way was big on Kedar's part. Other than Puff who referred a couple of clients our way, Kedar was one of the few execs of his level that referred work my way. He knew how rough it was out there for young Black attorneys and unlike other execs like Chris Lighty who made it a point to steer clients away from their Black attorneys and into the arms of the white firms, Kedar understood the importance of supporting Black owned businesses. Like I said, a lot of people may have bad things to say about him, I don't have one.<br /><br />Chico was mad cool when we met. It was apparent that he had been through a lot. He also felt good about the direction that Kedar wanted to take him. The studio sessions were amazing, seeing dude in action, hearing the soul, the musicianship, the pain flowing from within his life and out onto his work. It was a humbling experience for me. Exciting too. Intent on making sure things went as smooth as possible, Kedar made sure Chico had everything he needed in order for him to deliver the quality album Kedar was expecting. Personally, I think Kedar gave artists way too much, especially how at any given point and out of the blue, artists would flip and play that "I'm being taken advantage of" victim role. "Long Time No See" was released on November 18, 1997. Another classic record. Played like a rap album, but in r&b. Was received with critical acclaim. Unfortunately, because of it's sound and Kedar's association, Chico and the album were both unfairly compared to D'Angelo and his work. Although it did well, it wasn't as major a success as D'Angelo's "Brown Sugar". Too early and too soon to get out from under D'Angelo's shadow. Soon after the album dropped, Chico hired a two man management team. Real niggerish goons they were. Reptilian even. Thuggish and all about getting money by any means necessary, Chico's management seemed more intent on damaging Chico's relationship with Kedar for the purpose of squeezing more money from the label instead of building on the headway and goodwill the two had established. As Chico's new management was busy trying to devise way of getting Chico off of Kedar's label for the purpose of signing elsewhere for more money, I remember getting an angry call from Kedar, screaming, cursing, accusing me of trying to get Chico to double cross him, stab him in the back, how eff'd up I was, especially since he referred Chico to me. We fought, and even though he definitely made some enemies along the way, we cleared shit up. Over the years I learned by observing him that the harder you went at Kedar, the harder he would come at you leaving nothing resolved in the end. The more I deflected his attacks without counter attacking but hearing him out as I made certain he heard me out, all the while standing my ground, the calmer he'd become. Chico eventually bounced as my client though, claimed I was deep in Kedar's pocket when I was far from it.<br /><br />Having delivered successful records, Kedar was next tapped for his most difficult task yet, resurecting the once legendary Motown Records, a label that was now under the Universal umbrella. He also retained a Vice-President position at Universal. Well beyond it's heyday of the '60's, '70's and even '80's, Motown had become a struggling label. Several seasoned execs had been hired as it's head with the goal of reviving Motown, but time after time, they each failed to breath life into the dying label. Still, Kedar seemed like the most likely candidate to succeed. Not only was he a proven success, Kedar seemed like a throwback to the record men of the past, the Berry Gordy's, the Clive Davis', passionate about the music, determined to instill showmanship through intensive artist development, intent on preserving the culture as well as being concerned about the general well being of his artists. We spoke when he was working on a Motown Stevie Wonder project. Not only was he amped in working with a living legend, he was confident that he was able to make him modern, current. Kedar seemed like he finally found the project he was waiting his entire life to work on. Dude was genuinely happy, like working with Stevie was the culmination of all his prior efforts. Plus, he made sure his hands were dug deep in Universal's pockets and as long as he delivered. Kedar made sure Universal paid him like they respected him. The money he made was, of course, very respectable. He no longer had to cuss Puff from afar as it was now well known that Puffy wasn't the only nigga making money in the industry. As head of Motown, he worked with artists Brian McKnight, Bebe Winans and Michael McDonald and also introduced Neo Soul artist India Arie. We did a couple of deals with me landing some of my clients on the Motown roster. Even though Motown never regained the luster it once held in the music industry, in Black and pop culture, Kedar was successful in ensuring that Motown broke even after more than a decade of losses.<br /><br />After a good run, Kedar quit his position as head of Motown. Word was that the higher ups were planning to prepare an "exit" package for him, not in a good way and definitely not in connection with his performance. Politics was the culprit. When he inadvertently found out they weren't being straight with him, Kedar stepped to those in charge, calling them out and demanding that they be men enough to be straight with him. When they continued in playing dumb, he flipped them the finger and left with all his dignity intact. He left with good coin as well. Like he should have. He played his chips right though. Word is he currently owns a vineyard and through a partnership, actually has his reputable own French wine K'orus on the market. Crazy, I'm wondering if he's the only African American to be that high up in that industry. Eff that Crunk Juice and Sizzurp, Kedar kept it rich and classy. He also keeps his hand in music, but away from the razzle dazzle of lies, deceit and politics of the majors as he runs his independant label Kedar Entertainment Group, where his cornerstone artists remain Joe and Chico DeBarge.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUy0e_58JK2qwVPsayMlQmFi5MTvNde55Xus1MfzPYdcMPYsdzJiod537R16U3JQEW8Odg0xNpbN2BCPS7lifr8Xq3hRUsWzlQ6cKgtPiVoYmCj4rq6HLN859czP1q0lxWeeCR2bBowaI/s1600-h/1337173270_90a8fe11b6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUy0e_58JK2qwVPsayMlQmFi5MTvNde55Xus1MfzPYdcMPYsdzJiod537R16U3JQEW8Odg0xNpbN2BCPS7lifr8Xq3hRUsWzlQ6cKgtPiVoYmCj4rq6HLN859czP1q0lxWeeCR2bBowaI/s400/1337173270_90a8fe11b6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340333201658337938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Not saying that Kedar Massenburg is a man without faults, this isn't that kind of Stan piece. Talk to several others that worked closely with him, I guarantee you'll get a different story, a different opinion of the man. I've heard their stories too. All sides can be true and valid. Still, in an age where our music has become disposable, where the concept of artistic development, class, honor, passion and originality is at most laughable, I look back a few years and can say with honor that I had the fortune to work with legendary execs like Kedar. I write this because we don't get to celebrate the accomplishments of men like this too often. Kinda like dudes like Kedar never existed. Not being a pessimist, but I write this because I feel that the game doesn't produce execs of this caliber anymore. And it won't be for a long time coming.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-46622032589023906052009-05-22T11:28:00.000-07:002009-05-22T11:43:10.900-07:00LATE PASS: I Think I'm In Love<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vmmAzVAaKPY&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vmmAzVAaKPY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />I don't really follow this Charles Hamilton rapper dude with the Sonic The Hedgehog fetish too much. I think I'm kinda too grown for that. Plus, I'm not trying to post up every event that goes down in hip hop. But this lil clip right here that's been circulating across the blogosphere of late is a real gem. Peep Charles. Peep the woman featured in the video. Peep what goes down. Really, shorty's whole steez, from her hair game, to the lil rasp in her voice, to the really cute around the way girl look she rocks so reminds me of the girls I used to love when I was a yung'un coming up in Brooklyn.<br /><br />None of my shorty's ever rocked me like this though. She most def has a future ahead of her.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-53122537351568865752009-05-22T10:12:00.000-07:002009-05-22T10:46:49.233-07:00"Gangsta Bitch" - Chronicles Of A True Hustler, Pt. 6<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8hw9GE3oQYpRiG3lo2MgNohOtuMimbr9b-J1BsNotBcrMxFPx863qAJ4mejJDEQajYfNhuUUpzgJk9HbSlNpHPnZCanU1XsII6pEsfmpc84EgXAI1oys-A8B-rntSGo0s0qYr20NJVM/s1600-h/n1524882089_117340_3156.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8hw9GE3oQYpRiG3lo2MgNohOtuMimbr9b-J1BsNotBcrMxFPx863qAJ4mejJDEQajYfNhuUUpzgJk9HbSlNpHPnZCanU1XsII6pEsfmpc84EgXAI1oys-A8B-rntSGo0s0qYr20NJVM/s400/n1524882089_117340_3156.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338700022607595810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Previously: <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/04/cant-knock-hustle-chronicles-of-true.html">Pt. 1</a>, <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/04/theres-rules-to-this-shit-chronicles-of_16.html">Pt. 2,</a> <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/04/ante-up-chronicles-of-true-hustler-part_23.html">Pt. 3</a>, <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/05/shes-dead-chronicles-of-true-hustler-pt.html">Pt. 4</a>, <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-is-gang-and-im-in-it-chronicles-of.html">Pt. 5</a><br /><br />Just in time to wrap up the week, as well as to bless ya'll with some reading material during this Memorial Day weekend, the homie T just dropped his latest installation of "Chronicles Of A True Hustler". T, for real my dude, thanks so much for putting in so much of your time and life stories onto this blog. It's really appreciated from my end. To you, the reader, I now present to you, Pt. 5 of Chronicles Of A True Hustler:<br /><br /><p class="western"> <span style="font-style: italic;">Despite the new threats brought on by our move to build up DVP, I still had to commute across town to Bay View/Hunter’s Point for summer school, 21 Hayes to the 24 Divisadero. Phillip Burton Consent Decree Academic High School was an old school with a new name. Chicken, who grew up in HP went there when it was a junior high school named Pelton. He said he fucked his 7</span><sup style="font-style: italic;">th</sup><span style="font-style: italic;"> grade teacher. Yeah right, and if so, I wasn’t so lucky. After my 9</span><sup style="font-style: italic;">th</sup><span style="font-style: italic;"> grade year I was invited to leave by Mrs. Howell, the Principal, who very candidly explained that she didn’t see me succeeding there. I admit, I wasn’t taking school seriously. Mrs. Howell did me the favor of letting me transfer to another school to prevent her from having to go through the trouble of expelling me. </span></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western"> Galileo was where I should‘a been any way. It was where kids who attended Francisco Middle School graduated to. I wouldn’t have lasted long with a daily bus ride to enemy territory, so Gal was the move. But, had I not returned for that summer semester at Phillip Burton I would have never met Rachel. Rachel was Italian. With a last name like Guido, what would you expect? Standing about 5’5’’, thick-cut, thick brown hair, I thought she was cute. I sat directly behind her and Ice sat to my right. Ice was DVP and would be my dealing partner for a while. All three of us cracked jokes and made the time fly. Rachel and I hit it off. She wasn’t like other girls. </p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western"> On our first date, I told her to meet me at the Valley at 8pm. When she got there, she was supposed to page me with the secret code I’d given her, which she did. But, by the time I got to the turf, there was a crowd gathered in front of Ed’s Liquors. Pushing my way through the crowd, I realized that Rachel was on the ground tussling with one of the young girls from the set; pulling each other’s hair with one hand and punching each other in the face with the other. I wasn’t about to get involved in that shit. Rachel came to the turf for the first time and was already hot. I was feeling how she was handling herself, though. She wasn’t afraid to throw ‘em. But, she was going to have to fight her way out of this one on her own. I wasn’t siding with her in a beef on our first date.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western"> She was so gangsta. Sitting behind her in typing class I had no idea how deep her grind was. Even though I had seen my uncles either pimp or marry white girls I never thought I'd ever be with one. Either white people are just like black people, or Rachel was the blackest white girl I had ever met. Rachel’s stepfather, Sonny, mentored her in the art of paperhanging, what old school hustlers used to call identity theft. Sonny was a master. He had tutored many a white girl in the art of long drag; paperhanging plays could sometimes take weeks to set up. If you got a good run, it could last for months. She also cared for her two younger sisters while her mother served a bid on forgery charges. Sonny was old school, had to be in his 50s though he looked much, much older. His right hand man was another OG named Mohammed, who always dressed in a 3-piece suit, overcoat and brim…never said much. And when he did cosign Sonny’s crazy ass, you wouldn’t hear much more than a mumble. They were both hooked on heroin. Sonny had been addicted for so long he had a permanent curve in his back that kept his head low and made him lean forward when he walked. Even if you and Sonny were the same height, he always managed to seem like he was looking up at you.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western"> Sonny and Rachel would buy a Spread, the remains of a stolen wallet or purse after all the cash had been taken; driver’s license, credit cards, check book. If the original owner bared even a remote physical likeness to Rachel she would assume the woman’s identity, opening new accounts at multiple banks. Next, they made cash deposits of their own money into the various accounts and allowed the money to season. This was called padding the account. Once the account was seasoned, checks and credit cards were issued and the shopping spree began.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western"> Armed with a new, fully-loaded counterfeit Spread, they went from mall to mall, city to city; Stones Town Mall, Serra Monte Mall, Tan Foran Mall, Macy’s, Wilson’s Leather, Nordstrom. Focusing on big-ticket items they used fingernail polish remover to remove markings from receipts that identified the transactions as charge or check purchases in order to return items to the retailer for cash refunds. If that didn’t work, they sold items on the street at a discount. Rachel was the first person I ever knew with a Louis Vuitton handbag in 1986. Nordstrom’s was their favorite because of their high level of customer service and lenient return policy.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western"> Sonny didn’t like me much. He complained to Rachel that I was a bad influence on her because I was a dealer. I distracted her from her hustle. It was actually the opposite. We were both very competitive. At the end of our respective grinds we’d meet up at the house and see who had clocked the most. I’d be pulling crinkled up, nasty smelly ass bills from out of my socks, all my pockets, secret stashes in my clothes…and I’d call it, $3,700 for the day. Rachel would go into her Louis Vuitton and pull out over $5,000 in crisp clean $100 bills. </p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="western">Rachel was a hustler.</p> <p class="western"><br /></p>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-16522418264555348382009-05-20T07:11:00.000-07:002009-05-20T10:34:12.700-07:00"Puff, I Got One Too!!!"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEianpzv_DI1zmiBPzHJIlHzBvzdFUz8_TBbk-f0dnfbQC2sb18xwJhFauWaHh4QU90QXuVxfzcoCV3jrIrbc2Dm1anqF9IUyalpi5cNqq-fTS6OW_3CU_xppD69DGpCrWc2NHVhq4xZqM0/s1600-h/diddy-w04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEianpzv_DI1zmiBPzHJIlHzBvzdFUz8_TBbk-f0dnfbQC2sb18xwJhFauWaHh4QU90QXuVxfzcoCV3jrIrbc2Dm1anqF9IUyalpi5cNqq-fTS6OW_3CU_xppD69DGpCrWc2NHVhq4xZqM0/s400/diddy-w04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337909279890576386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />LEVERAGE. Defined as positional advantage. It means having an advantage over others, particularly when negotiating a deal. Leverage is key. If you ever find yourself having the upper hand in a deal, never ever give up your positional advantage.<br /><br />Summer of 1996. I was representing Chico Debarge as he was recording his album "Long Time No See". Album was fires. Chico was nutso. Not in a good way either. But this post ain't about Chico. One day, while having Chico sign some papers in a midtown recording studio, I met a young songwriter who was working on some songs for Chico. For the purposes of protecting the innocent, let's call the dude Jake Nimbles. Jake had an attorney, but he sat in as I talked shop with Chico. As I was leaving the studio, Jake asked me for my card.<br /><br />The next day or so, I get a call from Jake. Says since he already has an attorney, he wanted me to manage him. I told him I don't do talent management on account of how that's the worst job to have in the music industry. It's only worth it if you KNOW your talent will yield money for your efforts, and sooner rather than later. He was persistent though, told me to hear him, hear his music out first before I made a decision. I set up a meeting, just to be courteous to dude. So Jake shows up and starts playing me his music. HOLY MOLEY, Jake's shit is beyond ridiculous, beyond bonkers too. Song after song, I'm hearing hit after hit, and not on that crappy The Dream level ish that's currently effing up the radio, I'm talking Prince, I'm talking Stevie Wonder. Jake Nimble is an effin musical genius!!!!<br /><br />So I'm reconsidering his offer and we shake hands. I tell him to give me 3 months to rock with him with me as his manager, let me land a lucrative publishing deal for his services as a songwriter. Incidentally, right after I met with Jake, my office gets a call from Diddy's Bad Boy office. My office had that reputation of housing very talented producers and songwiters and the call was about Puff needing a songwriter for this current project he was working on. I call Jake and tell him about the call and his voice over the phone goes all quivery, shaky, like dude is about to cry. Let me tell you more about Jake.<br /><br />Jake was about 21, 22 years old. His story is the same tragic story you hear about in the news when it comes to stories about the Black family. His mom died from the needle when he was just a kid, pops nowhere to be seen. Already having a kid at an early age, Jake hustled drugs to feed his family and keep a roof over their heads. Having been busted and convicted as a felon, Jake did some time behind bars and was recently released. On top of all that, Jake was incredibly smart, like Einstein smart. Dude was comfortable talking theories relating to quantum physics and alternate realities smart. His smarts also made him a little nutty as well.<br /><br />Understand the time too. In 1996, Puffy (it's still very hard for me to refer to dude as Diddy) was basically the center of the urban music industry. Everything he touched at the time turned multi-platinum, plus, B.I.G. was still very much alive and killing every track he rhymed on. Jake's quivering voice was an indication of how he felt his dreams were coming true, how he was Puffy's biggest fan, Stan even. He kept repeating over and over how this wasn't really happening, how he must have been dreaming. This whole opportunity was a chance for Jake to finally do right in his life, to finally escape the cycle of suffering and pain his family had experienced for so many years. We go ahead and set up a meeting with Puff at his midtown recording studio Daddy's House. Before I go on, let me tell you more about Puffy.<br /><br />Somewhere along the line, Puff mastered the basics of the Jedi Mind Trick. What I mean is that dude, in all the times I've met with him in business settings never lets you on to what he's<br />thinking, especially when he's listening to something you're trying to sell him. As a matter of fact, he's always acted like he was completely disinterested in whatever it was you were trying to get him to pay attention to. I've literally seen him make grown men cry on account of how he would act like what you had was pure garbage, even as he was doing back flips inside on how hot your material was. Acting like this, plus the fact at how dude is basically a living legend almost always gave him the advantage of having way more leverage over whomever he was negotiating against. I knew this going in, Jake didn't.<br /><br />So we're in the studio, playing hit after hit, Jake is all nervous, sweating even, because Puff is busy cleaning his nails, talking on the phone, calling his assistant in to make sure she ordered the right flavor Snapple, flipping through the Source magazine. The more Puff is acting like he's disinterested, the more I know he's shitting his drawers on how insane Jake Nimble's music is, and I'm already counting the million dollars in my head that I'm about to squeeze outta Bad Boy. So we end the meeting, Jake looks like he's ready to kick rocks and Puff's about to bounce when Jake notices Puff's tattoo on his inner forearm. You might know about it. It's a tattoo of a scroll and on the scroll, there's a quote from Psalm 23 that reads "<em style="font-style: italic;">Yea</em><span style="font-style: italic;">, though I </span><em style="font-style: italic;">walk through the valley</em><span style="font-style: italic;"> of the shadow of death</span>" and what not. So Jake tells Puff how dope the tattoo is, we all shake hands, dap and bounce.<br /><br />In the elevator, Jake is all sweaty, nervous, whining about how he fucked up, how he and his music is pieces of shit, how he should have taken that post office job his baby's mother told him about a week ago and I'm tryna tell him collect himself, stay focused and cut all that nonsense out. Lo and behold, by the time get to my office, I have THREE calls from Puff not only saying that he wants to use Jake on his project, he's also offering us a deal and kinda begging me not to take Jake anywhere else.<br /><br />So I call Jake at home and let him know the good news. I hear a thud and nothing. I'm thinking he fainted. Funny thing happens though. Jake's music is so incredible that it's getting around the industry and by the end of the week, I shit you not, we get two more offers on the table, one from Universal and one from Warner Chappell, the music publishing arm of Warner Brothers. Being that we have three offers, basically a bidding war, Jake and I are sitting on a mountain of leverage, ready and waiting to count the fortunes these entities are about to throw our way.<br /><br />So word gets back to Puff that we have two other deals on the table and he personally calls my office one day on some cuss out shit. Oh, he's cursing me out about how I used his name to drum up interest from other companies and how much of an eff'd up person I am, and how I'm finished in the music game, and my mother is all types of goat and such. As he flinging hateful words my way, I'm laughing inside because I'm really seeing first hand how much he needs Jake in his life and how he's realizing how much he's about to invest in my kids' college funds. I try to diffuse the situation by clappping, saying "bravo" and telling Puff how much he's learning from all them acting classes he's been taking and how convincing he's sounding. I think that made him laugh a bit, he wasn't expecting that, and when he calms down, I tell him that Jake is still open in negotiating the right deal with him. Puff demands that we meet him the following day to see what it is we need in order to close the deal as quickly as possible.<br /><br />Even though we had our choice of deals, I knew Jake wanted to sign with Puff. At the time who DIDN'T want to sign with dude? I think if I was talented, I would have wanted to sign with Puff myself. I tell Jake what transpired and he shows up to my office the next day for our meet up with Puff. What I wasnt expecting was that when he showed up, Jake instantly pointed straight to his inner forearm, gleefully stuttering in excitement as he proudly displayed a brand new tattoo, IDENTICAL IN ITS ENTIRETY TO THE TATTOO HE SPOTTED ON PUFF'S ARM A FEW DAYS AGO!!! WTF!?! I'm seeing the leverage we built quickly going down the drain and I lose my cool. "What the fuck you doing man, you fucking crazy? Puff takes one look at your fucking tattoo and he'll give us goddamn peanuts on this deal!!!" "This shit is unacceptable and you WILL not let that man see your arm until we cash the fucking checks, you got that?!?" Going off like that, I could tell I threw Jake off, which was good, shock some sense into that knicca's noggin. Even though it was July and like 90 degrees and muggy I marched dude to the nearest Modell's and brought him a brand new hoodie. As he slipped the hoodie on, I ordered him to keep his arms covered during our meeting, let me do what I do to get the best deal possible. He nodded in agreement.<br /><br />So we get to Puff's, and he's talking about how he didn't appreciate how we got other labels involved and before we start talking deal points, I look around a see Jake's hoodie tossed aside on the floor, Jake all wide eyed, happy and all crazy looking as he stutteringly proclaims "Look P-P-P-Puff, my new tattoo, I got it the d-d-d-day right after I met you, hee, hee, it's incredible right? Incredible! Yea do I walk t-t-t-through the valley.....wow, P-P-P-Puff, I got one too! Where do I sign?"<br /><br />POOF! Like that, our leverage instantly disappears, like it never even existed in this whole scenario. I'm also a bit creeped out because I'm thinking dude lost his damn mind, really. I look at Puff and I could tell he was a bit creeped out as well, like I just delivered his biggest stalker right to his door step. We end up doing the deal for like 200k, I'm calling the other companies, explaining that they can keep their millions and we keep it moving.<br /><br />On a good note, Jake's still writing with Puff, with Bad Boy, and he's had a steady string of hits coming out of that shop ever since. On top of that, he's still making good money and lives down south with his wife and kids. We keep in touch and he turned out to be a really good dude. We still even go back and laugh about that whole deal and that tattoo thingie. I'm really glad he's one of the few cats that can honestly say nothing bad about his financial relationship with Puff.<br /><br />But every now and then, I'm thinking how much we really could have g'd off had he not gone and got that stupid fucking tattoo on his arm.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jmrANhDH0UY&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jmrANhDH0UY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />I wish I could make these stories up.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-440470153754919892009-05-18T11:16:00.000-07:002009-05-18T11:27:48.303-07:00I'm Kinda Like A Big Deal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMOHFbrGyI5A4eBz5RNjjySvvlganatXPjlIS6tIgZpxEhM_l49PjvGfAgJjNbkoZrnJDOH0b5n08MqJi2xRQ37oNUnkBAVoRitvBtSVE-CIBo9B9mGcL91klOhZp2WgO5YRUfmG7bAq4/s1600-h/Nas+banner+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMOHFbrGyI5A4eBz5RNjjySvvlganatXPjlIS6tIgZpxEhM_l49PjvGfAgJjNbkoZrnJDOH0b5n08MqJi2xRQ37oNUnkBAVoRitvBtSVE-CIBo9B9mGcL91klOhZp2WgO5YRUfmG7bAq4/s400/Nas+banner+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337229715305192498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The homie Mookie over at <a href="http://defthought.blogspot.com/2009/05/interview-combat-jack.html">Def Thought</a> thought it would be a good idea to interview me. I was most definitely interested as well as honored. Didn't know he would go that in with regard to my background, but he was able to get more shit outta me on his site that I usually drop over here. If you so inclined to do so, peep the interview in it's entirety over <a href="http://defthought.blogspot.com/2009/05/interview-combat-jack.html">here</a>.<br /><br />I think dude did a great job, if I may say so myself. Heh.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-69247550349904264012009-05-14T18:15:00.000-07:002009-05-15T08:58:18.755-07:00Return Of The 2000<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkg9kBlO-_6LSBOLMjtlWrg3UgFSanb9ntxlMwXhXXPBAdi6IwiR7LTnCLmJxhFWH0DhC2_50vBE6RMsEypXrmpt1TuGLLCOzSh73m3KSx2hQPsXejmoJwxDpKWA6OFq8pEsLYrjNFPA/s1600-h/n567372365_9361.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkg9kBlO-_6LSBOLMjtlWrg3UgFSanb9ntxlMwXhXXPBAdi6IwiR7LTnCLmJxhFWH0DhC2_50vBE6RMsEypXrmpt1TuGLLCOzSh73m3KSx2hQPsXejmoJwxDpKWA6OFq8pEsLYrjNFPA/s400/n567372365_9361.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335853307447445906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So word on the Internets is that I fell off because I cut back on my standard 2000 word posts, which, I guess, is what keeps a bunch of ya'll coming back. Or I fell off on account of how I stopped dropping behind the scenes stories about my days as an attorney in the music industry. Or how I don't really get personal about my daily life anymore. The homie Dallas was like, "CJ, how could you fall off if you ain't never been on yet? Still nigga, you need to feed the beast" I hear him though. Especially since that Vibe Top 50 Blogs list clearly put me in my place. Heh. But yeah, I admit, I did fall back on them long ass posts. Maybe because them shits is hard as hell to keep dropping day after effin day. And for free too. Plus, there's days that I wake up realizing that I don't have shit to write about. Or how some of my industry stories might either be too revealing or too boring for you. But, still and all, I'm a firm believer in giving the people what they want. So I'ma wing this one on some free association ish, you know, go with the flow. Hope you like it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Secret Wars</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkclWBjnW1Vh1QXrHF_ZwYGD4ax8G9QK6FQgNC-DahIKwYDcohyphenhyphenBtMOAmR_PV6Hszqfi7nusJHGB_hYQe6iv0CjyZR0RiK2Jqt4jOKXfQ379xSH7VojmXsxs9_7bR1CRUNdoKJhwPfkg/s1600-h/456fd58d-0032f-03321-400cb8e1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 344px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkclWBjnW1Vh1QXrHF_ZwYGD4ax8G9QK6FQgNC-DahIKwYDcohyphenhyphenBtMOAmR_PV6Hszqfi7nusJHGB_hYQe6iv0CjyZR0RiK2Jqt4jOKXfQ379xSH7VojmXsxs9_7bR1CRUNdoKJhwPfkg/s400/456fd58d-0032f-03321-400cb8e1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335868395420315106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Back around '92, '93, there was a secret war going on between LL Cool J and Jay-Z. At the time, LL was sitting on top of the world, especially after he dropped his classic "Mama Said Knock You Out" LP, which was bonkers. LL was untouchable, having earned the title of being a battle rapper as well. Jay-Z, Dame Dash and Clark Kent was on the hunt though. No one was effin with then with regard to giving Jay a shot as a credible artist and they figured if Jay was known as the dude that kilt LL in battle, record labels would take note and give him that much sought after deal. Dame and Clark had the plan laid out, whenever LL was spotted by either of them, they would page each other and Jay and get him to meet at whatever location LL was. This went on a couple of times. Once contacted, Jay would roll up to the club, bar or whatever venue and lay in the cut, waiting for his opportunity to attack LL in battle. Dame would polly with, then taunt LL about how Jay was nicer than him, was ready to take his spot even. LL's ego would result in him agreeing to go head to head against the young and then unknown challenger. They would take the battle to the parking lot, outside of the venues and away from the crowds. And battle they would. Dame and Clark would end up in my office the following day, laughing about how Jay lit that ass up. Every time too. They was a bit sour too, cause after each battle, LL would kill the vibe, crush Jay's high by flinging the "yo, my next record is dropping next month, uhm, when's yours coming out again, scrap?" line at him. Jay, Dame and Clark didn't like that shit. Not one bit. I'm betting those battles are the reason LL is still kinda aggie towards Jay. Don't let his words fool you. Since I was never physically present at any of these "secret wars", I stay begging Clark to let me interview him about those battles for one of my drops. He stays telling me no. I feel I'ma land that soon though. Soon.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Clark Kent and Japan</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeLjGSrc9wFKXq0XS_FfzjSIxGQGM0hhvIaphl7FKXy2bcaDGILgVD2MpjLLtTsYtJjA2EYRdwqUPGtPSfjTSDsXfAVYA7ilRK_mUbleD32fc1sYfBE1gqdEZpQG3J46Gpbb35wqYQAM/s1600-h/dj-clark-kent-sole-collector-magazine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeLjGSrc9wFKXq0XS_FfzjSIxGQGM0hhvIaphl7FKXy2bcaDGILgVD2MpjLLtTsYtJjA2EYRdwqUPGtPSfjTSDsXfAVYA7ilRK_mUbleD32fc1sYfBE1gqdEZpQG3J46Gpbb35wqYQAM/s400/dj-clark-kent-sole-collector-magazine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335868855970193010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I met Clark through Damon Dash. I think we were at a Das-Efx recording session at some studio. Around that time, I was dating this artsy chick named Angela, you might of heard of <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/02/realest-shit-i-ever-wrote.html">her</a>. Anyways, Angela had picked up a pair of cowboy boots for me. Said I was rocking the Timbs way too much. The first day I rocked them was when I went to the studio and met Clark. The minute we met, Clark started going the eff off on me on how I wasn't a real Brooklyn cat, and a Black dude rocking cowboy boots was the corniest type of knicca walking the planet and all other types of abuse. I was heated as shit about how dude mouthed off, still, I was a professional there to do business and kept it moving. Clark is one of the most opinionated dudes I know. Anyways, we ended up doing so many deals together and grew to respect each other to the point that I'm most definitely sure that he forgot that it was me that he insulted on that fateful day.<br /><br />Anyways, I ended up doing this one deal where this Japanese company hired Clark to judge a DJ contest in Tokyo, Japan. All expense paid trip, with accommodations at the TOP four star hotel at the time. Clark made sure we negotiated for two tickets as Damon Dash, still a new jack in the game, wanted to experience Japan in all it's glory. So I close the deal, and Clark and Dame are prepped to go. Like three days before their trip, Clark calls me and lets me know that since Damon at the time had never been out of the country, he didn't have a passport, and there was no effin way he was going to be able to get on a plane headed for the far east. Because I had mine, he asked me if I minded taking Dame's place. B, my bags were packed with the quickness.<br /><br />So after a 14 hour flight we land in Tokyo. It's a Friday night and we instantly hit some clubs. The Japanese treated Clark like he was a god, especially since his skills as a DJ was a thing of legend to them. Naturally, the Japanese chicks were all over dude. At the end of the night, we ended up taking two chicks back to the hotel. All while in the cab, then the lobby, then in our separate hotel rooms, communication between us and the chicks was kinda comical, kinda difficult since Clark and I didn't speak a lick of Japanese and the chicks didn't speak a word of Engrish. Clark and I ended up smashing them broads though. Funny shit is the next morning, when we all reconvened for breakfast, right when we were about to part ways with our new friends from the Orient, one of the broads says in her best broken English: "your hotel much better than De La Soul". Clark and I were speechless.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sonia<br /></span><br />Angela didn't break my heart, she just turned out to be nuts, and when it ended, I was relieved that it was over. Sonia did though. I was at a party down in the Wall Street area. She was there too. A real cute "thick-thin" fair skinned honey with a short cut. A Black girl with natural Blonde hair. Maybe it was her smile. Or the green eyes. Or the way she rocked the Timbs and how they looked with her cut-off shorts. We talked briefly. She said she was a lawyer too. Ah man homie, shit was too perfect. She lived in DC but her best friend was a well known video director who lived in New York and she would come up to the city every week. After the party, I walked her out. The summer night was filled with magic, especially when I saw how she filled her shorts. My game was on point too. Her whole presence had me on bold mode, and I was most definitely focused on the win. I played her mad close, walking circles around her like lion to prey. She loved being preyed upon too. Unfortunately, she had to get ready for her drive back to DC early the next morning. She walked up to her Jeep (tm) and right before she hopped in, she kissed me lightly on my cheek. GOD DAMN, I was open.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>You already know how I did it, mad calls one the phone, long distance too. My name in the music game was starting to spread, but my paper was still kinda short. Sonia came from money though. Her pops was on the executive board of some major tobacco company.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>She grew up in some mansion type home in Connecticut. Even though her family was kind of conservative, Sonia had a rebellious side, she wanted to walk a bit on the wild side. At the time, I was mad cut, I stayed in the gym 24/7 and my shit was 5%/10% body fat. Plus, I stayed in the streets, in the clubs, in the studios, looking for that next star of a client, or that next broad to smash.<br /><br />Every other weekend, she'd come to Brooklyn or I'd drive to DC. I fronted too. One of my boys Norm, made a shitload of money working on tours with acts like Whitney Houston, Guy and Jodeci. On weekends when he had to fly out of town, he'd automatically toss me keys to his Benz. Whenever Sonia came to NY, or I'd drive to DC, I stayed in the Benz. She knew I had chicks on the side, and I knew she was seeing other cats too. That was the word on the street, how she stayed playing lesser negroes. But our chemistry was right. Her favorite drink was my favorite as well, and when we drank Tequila together, we'd always end up falling way deep inside each other.<br /><br />There was a couple of times when Sonia was scheduled to come to Brooklyn, when I would miss her call. I didn't have a cell phone then. I'd get home and check my answering machine. I'd hear her message, that she was in Brooklyn, and that we'd connect before the weekend was over. The times that I missed her though, I wouldn't hear from her until like Sunday night, right before she would leave, headed back to DC. Hmmmm. I deduced that she was either hanging out with her girl, the video director and that they didn't need me as a third wheel, or that another nigga from Brooklyn had peeped her style, had found a way to snatch her precious time from me. I knew Sonia played the game well, but damn, in my hometown. I wasn't jealous, we both sized each other up and knew what kind of person we'd be effin with. In fact, her boldness made me like her style that much more. Plus, I was confident that the other cat wasn't giving her what I was, he wasn't giving her what she needed.<br /><br />We took a trip to the country of Jamaica. Away from the states, our work, her other Brooklyn lover. Man, the open that I felt when I met her intensified. Even though I laughed inside at what the other dude in Brooklyn was missing, what I had all to myself that week, I wasn't too cool with having to share her once we got back to the States. As we were laying in bed, overlooking the ocean view, she initiated the issue. "I have to tell you something, you know I date other people, right?" I told her I knew. Then I carefully cornered her, "I know you're effin with a Brooklyn dude too." Still playing the game, I could tell she dug they way I put the pieces together. I went in "You know, I'm really feeling you, and that Brooklyn dude, you might want to cut that out right now. I know how you and me do Sonia, and we're only going to end up hurting that other dude's feelings. So I'm ready to cut my birds loose for you, for real." She told me she wasn't ready to do that. She then proceeded to tell me who the other dude was. Said she "had" to tell me who he was. When she did, I was stunned, insulted too. Dude was a well known film cat who had mad paper, but pound for pound, he wasn't effin with the rest of my attributes. I let her have it "if you're effin with dude, you know it's only for the money, because there's no way he has ANYTHING on me!" She claimed she was "torn". I laughed it off, and decided to keep it moving. No way was I gonna ruin the mood of our trip. I knew that eventually she would see the error of her ways, especially since I knew how corney the other dude was. Our last couple of days in Jamaica, I made sure to put it down extra heavy, for good measure and just on gp.<br /><br />A week after we got back, me to New York and she to DC, this other dude releases the BIGGEST movie of his effin career. I open up a copy of the Daily News, I see a picture of Sonia standing next to him at the screening. I'm on the train and the lady sitting next to me is flipping through a copy of People magazine when I spot a picture of them together. I'm hanging with my boys watching the game and all I'm seeing sitting court side is Sonia and this nigga!!!!! Once again, I'm getting joked out by my crew.<br /><br />Now Sonia and dude become a public couple, but she's still calling me and now on the low. Now she's sneaking to my place for the back shot. Problem is, I'm not with it no more. No way I'm creeping behind that corney ass dude. Eventually, I had to break it off. Dude had edged me out as he was now that main cat and I was on the side. The last conversation we had, she was mad at me for not wanting to continue our thing. I liked it how mad she sounded, the last bit of satisfaction I was able to get out of the whole scenario, knowing she was mad at me cutting her off from what the film cat could never bring. Be it ego or pride or both, I didn't have it in me to move forward. That was years ago. She and dude ended up getting happily married. I still see them in the news from time to time. She's seen me an wifey too. When she first saw her, I glimpsed some of that jealousy pop up. That's what beautiful women do when matched by a beautiful woman. And wifey stays a dime after 12 years and four kids together. In the long run, I lucked out and ended up with just the right one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAL0JFamhGAA-14YT17Yugp8JCuvEnJbwyVNql5K1e6kNSeJARwWuU2poKC6g4nYUwXBrZNkjCVdEUt9yQbW1FPHnLOg3GMYWSZEtDqlskGfHoSRUIJNlxA6_3b1IsTyOZBfuUPF_1e0Y/s1600-h/s567372365_907812_314.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 87px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAL0JFamhGAA-14YT17Yugp8JCuvEnJbwyVNql5K1e6kNSeJARwWuU2poKC6g4nYUwXBrZNkjCVdEUt9yQbW1FPHnLOg3GMYWSZEtDqlskGfHoSRUIJNlxA6_3b1IsTyOZBfuUPF_1e0Y/s400/s567372365_907812_314.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335900345771320434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Wifey</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Blogging</span><br /><br />I wish I could write as well as Byron Crawford. Not the hate, that's just his lane, his gimmick, I'm talking about his style, not only the words, but the way he dissects topics and switches to the next issue, then wrapping up his drops perfectly. In my opinion, pound for pound, he's the best writer in the game. I'd hate to have to go pen for pen against dude. I'd go for it though, go for it with gusto, just hoping it never happens.<br /><br />Dallas Penn is, or at least I believe, my best friend who blogs. That dude's way is some kind of magic, like the only blogger in the world who doesn't get hated on. He's like the magical negro blogger, but without the coonery. It really does feel like he's my brother from another borough. Dude has been in my house breaking bread with me, wifey and the kids. Not only is his future getting brighter by the moment, but I truly believe once we stop bullshitting and eventually team up on some project, we will effin kill the game. Dallas, I'm waiting on you homie.<br /><br />Still trying to figure out how Eskay stays making all of that money. Not to get in dude's pocket, but the street estimate in terms of what he makes is what I want to make doing this shit. Soon too. I'm impressed by his game. Not mad at his game at all.<br /><br />This blogging shit is really addictive. Not to take anything away from rappers, from emcees, but whenever I get to writing, really writing, I feel like how a rapper must feel when they think they just spit some hot fiyah. Maybe I'm delusional, but bloggers are the new rappers. And I spit hot fiyah. I'm also starting to see bits of hate coming from some of my fellow bloggers. It's all good though. I'm learning that words are powerful, especially when amplified through the power of technology. If you notice, I'm throwing fewer people under the bus than I did when I started out four years ago. I'm not trying bring no types of bs to my life, I'm only in this shit for the win!Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-17069566691661678272009-05-13T06:50:00.000-07:002009-05-14T18:05:46.304-07:00A Challenge To Joell Ortiz<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_7yZl3yVWC-CKBpcNidR-NF0v7RCI14nNzxGcYEZDp3wu9Xzor6r1Fcskv2MwC8pFDOsvWx01YekcOm_wX4Q1WOHt0OQ1RpHn2NjaZqot-wtmo8sK5s5AIrjvEbaBZ_U6EVR0ZWLzUs/s1600-h/joellortiz.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_7yZl3yVWC-CKBpcNidR-NF0v7RCI14nNzxGcYEZDp3wu9Xzor6r1Fcskv2MwC8pFDOsvWx01YekcOm_wX4Q1WOHt0OQ1RpHn2NjaZqot-wtmo8sK5s5AIrjvEbaBZ_U6EVR0ZWLzUs/s400/joellortiz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335305568048020994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Whaddup B? Our good homie <a href="http://www.dallaspenn.com/weblog/">Dallas</a> was the first person to ever put me on to you a coupla years ago. I checked your performance at Fort Greene Park two summers ago. I even brought my kids with me. No lie, you killed it homie! I've been following your work ever since. I truly dug your album "The Brick: Bodega Chronicles" as well. Very solid work for a first album. Me being a Brooklyn dude for life, and having had the opportunity to have worked with some of the best that BK has had to offer (Jay-Z, The Notorious B.I.G.), I can honestly say with utmost sincerity that you rep our borough well. A salute and props on that.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEpNAe8etHdOe19p8vaX54lY9nr864HQaDt0nBF8BPkl-qnI5jEfnPfBsZ2giQerCrTyO7BqNLhNUeKi5_55yQFZoiS12Kx36QBWh-W6Y9k7TrvHz_xhDnAWCpHwvAvsrGU_zuGfz3adY/s1600-h/slaughterhouse_logo_c.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 369px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEpNAe8etHdOe19p8vaX54lY9nr864HQaDt0nBF8BPkl-qnI5jEfnPfBsZ2giQerCrTyO7BqNLhNUeKi5_55yQFZoiS12Kx36QBWh-W6Y9k7TrvHz_xhDnAWCpHwvAvsrGU_zuGfz3adY/s400/slaughterhouse_logo_c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335309260212925602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />On top of that, whose effin with Slaughterhouse? Nigga, a four man crew consisting of solid emcees is dangerous and I'm grateful to you, Joe Buddens, Crooked I and Royce The 5'9" for that. There hasn't been a crew bringing it like ya'll in like... forever. That "Move On" joint is on instant classic status. Thanks for that as well. Slaughterhouse is THE rap super group and I will be checking for ya'll like a fiend.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKPH-1XfVzhj4ds66fu56t2zGwQo5axDwWBPDrC0ja1r6WFDZPId0hitHWGp4hEVdGhHjtZuoo6yJCDLLJ9B2otkdTegzwajkbw831cNoAibR1uHGg8lw7y4JnbstsSZiXTEDjCkGOoc/s1600-h/3528372510_33f3726a59.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKPH-1XfVzhj4ds66fu56t2zGwQo5axDwWBPDrC0ja1r6WFDZPId0hitHWGp4hEVdGhHjtZuoo6yJCDLLJ9B2otkdTegzwajkbw831cNoAibR1uHGg8lw7y4JnbstsSZiXTEDjCkGOoc/s400/3528372510_33f3726a59.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335310425555292498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Plus, I just now downloaded your latest mixtape, "Joell Ortiz Covers The Classics (Hosted By DJ Green Lantern)" via <a href="http://www.missinfo.tv/">Miss Info</a>. I haven't had a chance yet to listen to it in it's entirety, but judging from your previous body of work as well as the buzz it's getting, I'm sure I won't be disappointed. Plus, you get props just on the artwork alone. I'm remain very impressed.<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I just now read your comment you wrote in connection with my <a href="http://dailymathematics.blogspot.com/2009/05/eminem-relapse-album-review.html#comments">Eminem "Relapse" review</a>. I'm glad that you read the Daily Mathematics. I do have to say that I'm surprised at your reaction though. Disappointed as well. Especially this part:</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />"maybe if your gettin 2 grown and have 4 kids a wife and a friend in the hospital maybe you shouldnt listen to rap anymore and pick up a Celine dion cd or some shit because u obviously have lost touch with rap good rap music 2/5? for real what did u give lil wayne? Stop being a hater Combat WACK"</span></span><br /><br />For real B? I'm a hater now? I shouldn't listen to rap anymore? Plus I'm whack? All behind my review? Cool. I'ma let that fly on the strength of my respect for you and our peoples. But. Let me be clear, there's no hate or whack here potna. I ain't a new jack either. If Eminem isn't in my top 10 list, he's at least in my top 20. Dude in his prime would murder almost anyone, bar none. But you know this. On top of that, Dr. Dre remains my favorite hip hop producer of all time. And that stands even though he hasn't dropped anything recently that matches his past classics.<br /><br />When "Relapse" landed in my hands, please believe that I "ripped" the packaging off, eager to listen to that "heat" that I expected from Em and Dre's reunion. I went in with full concentration my dude. What I heard though, was very much sounding like a poor version of Em's classic "The Marshall Mathers LP" or "The Slim Shady LP". Now a poor sounding version of "The Marshall Mathers LP" could might of been hot in 2000, but it's 2009! Ain't no one checking for that shit today. Unless they are part of that die hard crew of Eminem Stans. Maybe it's just that I expected too much from Em and Dre and "Relapse", in my opinion, proved to be a major let down. What's really funny though is that, in your comment, you claim that you're not a huge Eminem fan. However, most (if not all) of the shots fired my way in connection with my review came from certified Stans. So I'm asking you Mr. Ortiz, are you a closet Eminem Stan?<br /><br />What I'd like to do, Joell, and with your permission of course, is to challenge you as to the merits of your claims in calling me a hater. And whack. And a new jack. When you have the chance, please go through my entire body of work as the blogger known as Combat Jack. If you can present to me and the readers a clear and systemic pattern of hate seeping through my words, then I will fall back and accept that I am a hater. And that I'm whack. And that I'm a new jack. And I don't need to be listening to rap no more. See, I'm giving you a fair chance for you to prove your words right and me wrong. Back them shits up my dude. Now, you don't necessarily have to accept this challenge, shit we all have more important shit to do. But if you can entertain me (and the blogosphere) just a bit, the challenge is officially placed and firmly on the table. I'll even up the ante and say here and now, that if you do accept this challenge and are able to clearly prove to me and the world all that you claim, that I'm a hater, that I'm whack and that I need to retire from rap, I will officially retire from Hip Hop, Rap and blogging. Word Bond (no 50 Cent). In the event though, that you are unable to back up the validity of your words, then I wager that you officially record a record proudly declaring yourself as one of Eminem's biggest Stans ever. And that you personally record a Combat Jack fan record. I really need my own theme song right about now and it would be a great honor if you were the one that recorded it. You game?<br /><br />The ball is in your court now. Please feel free in proving me as being a hater and as whack. Simple as that. And please understand that this is no shots fired. I wouldn't do that, especially since you're that nice of an emcee from the mighty borough of BK capable of easily destroying me in one verse. Just a friendly gentleman's challenge. What's it going to be sir? Until then, I'm claiming you as "Joell Ortiz, The Official Em Stan".<br /><br />And as per your request for me to "pick up a <span style="font-size:100%;"><span>Celine Dion cd or some shit", heh. That won't happen, only because I'll be too busy banging "</span></span>Joell Ortiz Covers The Classics". "Crime Pays" too.<br /><br />Get at me Joell. I'm waiting.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE: </span>Joell's people got at my people (Dallas) and was like "WTF is CJ doing going at Joell Ortiz?!?" They clarified that they ain't that type of blog cats to be leaving no disrespectful comments on blogger's comment sections. I respect that. I respect them too. I take back everything I said. Joell, that mixtape is a gem too potna. I needed that. Still looking forward to that Slaughterhouse joint. Respect.<br /><br />Fuck though. I'm thinking that I really need a theme song now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE #2: </span>Last I checked, Eminem's "Relapse" still sucked.Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-60632008007336564362009-05-13T06:37:00.000-07:002009-05-13T06:46:34.771-07:00I Eff'd Up!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTr4JvN3fjTocOCVW_7K2PVjAUpeZS0H6DzINhj-WPhb-pXitl3XnpqrxzqSGcUMKG_7_4MGpGG6FqVGiwg1nPPqtKPJYhlWQU8Qq0nNEEmp3cwbxak53zvnXWmZFk3ko1gnvfbeMgZM/s1600-h/012.PNG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTr4JvN3fjTocOCVW_7K2PVjAUpeZS0H6DzINhj-WPhb-pXitl3XnpqrxzqSGcUMKG_7_4MGpGG6FqVGiwg1nPPqtKPJYhlWQU8Qq0nNEEmp3cwbxak53zvnXWmZFk3ko1gnvfbeMgZM/s400/012.PNG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335303048705010818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Fucking Cam'ron. I hate that his albums require multiple listen to's before judging the final product, eccentric bastard. Been banging this piece for a week now. An acquired taste yes, but fuego nonetheless. A public apology to all Cam fans.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb5mO_EngvbowAo16MEn2l3dT7RmaRsb5oGTxSlbyVQnK1ezwGyCUtnAtr1V5hFGIFTdX3Ww0Ewo-eAKH8FRNYDFzbNndfPiPa0GjzS4ZYZgnai3IiqWkMubfleZfEVZwCYb_jhSn0rw/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 83px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb5mO_EngvbowAo16MEn2l3dT7RmaRsb5oGTxSlbyVQnK1ezwGyCUtnAtr1V5hFGIFTdX3Ww0Ewo-eAKH8FRNYDFzbNndfPiPa0GjzS4ZYZgnai3IiqWkMubfleZfEVZwCYb_jhSn0rw/s400/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335303808312967490" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb5mO_EngvbowAo16MEn2l3dT7RmaRsb5oGTxSlbyVQnK1ezwGyCUtnAtr1V5hFGIFTdX3Ww0Ewo-eAKH8FRNYDFzbNndfPiPa0GjzS4ZYZgnai3IiqWkMubfleZfEVZwCYb_jhSn0rw/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 83px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb5mO_EngvbowAo16MEn2l3dT7RmaRsb5oGTxSlbyVQnK1ezwGyCUtnAtr1V5hFGIFTdX3Ww0Ewo-eAKH8FRNYDFzbNndfPiPa0GjzS4ZYZgnai3IiqWkMubfleZfEVZwCYb_jhSn0rw/s400/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335303808312967490" border="0" /> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb5mO_EngvbowAo16MEn2l3dT7RmaRsb5oGTxSlbyVQnK1ezwGyCUtnAtr1V5hFGIFTdX3Ww0Ewo-eAKH8FRNYDFzbNndfPiPa0GjzS4ZYZgnai3IiqWkMubfleZfEVZwCYb_jhSn0rw/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 83px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb5mO_EngvbowAo16MEn2l3dT7RmaRsb5oGTxSlbyVQnK1ezwGyCUtnAtr1V5hFGIFTdX3Ww0Ewo-eAKH8FRNYDFzbNndfPiPa0GjzS4ZYZgnai3IiqWkMubfleZfEVZwCYb_jhSn0rw/s400/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335303808312967490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">+ 3/4</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Killa!Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722403698484418061.post-24227570796540927012009-05-12T08:01:00.000-07:002009-05-12T08:12:51.171-07:00Late Pass: Wanda Sykes at White House Correspondents' DinnerI kinda slept on this, but yo, Wanda stays keeping it 100%. Not mad at her at all.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lJR-WzMjCGA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lJR-WzMjCGA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdkEHIjsXQI&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdkEHIjsXQI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Combat Jackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02476273851405957321noreply@blogger.com3