November 2007 Archives
DJ Premier is my Chuck Norris
This is going to sound shallow, but it won't surprise the people out there who know that I feverishly keep my snob game tighter than convent vagina - but there are some things in life that I simply believe transcend opinion and become fact, and anyone in the slightest opposition of that is either acting like a wiseacre contrarian or happened to born with a mild case of retardation as a result of being the offspring of forbidden sibling "love". You don't necessarily have to believe that Michael Jordan was the best basketball player ever to touch a leather ball, but his "philandering, historical failure to ever take a stand on anything" ass better be in the discussion - same thing with Walter Payton when it comes to running backs, I actually elbowed a guy in the face once just because he gave me a very indifferent sounding "Ahh, he's alright" retort when talking about the great Stevie Wonder. That explains why "High Fidelity" is one my favorite flicks, primarily because I subscribe to the philosophy in the movie that "Its not what you're like, its what you like" - this is going to sound fucked up I know, but I can tell whether or not I'm going to get along with a person solely based on their tastes in music and movies.
But therein lies the rub, what's a chubby snob like myself to do when a woman I'm seeing, one who I feel is otherwise flawless - takes it upon herself to very cavalierly sully the good name of a man who I hold so near and dear to my heart? Let me explain. About a month ago, while ruining my liver amongst a slew of career alcoholics and women who look like they grew up next to nuclear reactors at my local watering hole - a very beautiful woman waked in, sat down, and sparked a conversation with me off of the strength of my primary ring-tone being Big Daddy Kane's "Raw". Immediately I knew she was a Hip Hop fan, "check", I asked what her nationality was and she said she was Portuguese - I thought for a minute and then remembered that broads of her ilk were the same women that Rakim constantly talked about in his songs, so "check" like a motherfucker. Granted, she was younger than I would have liked - but I quickly counted on my fingers like a retard doing long division and figured out that she's been legally drinking for 6 years, which was fine by me.(Besides, I haven't been lustfully touched since the first episode of "My Name is Earl" - time to relax the age requirements buddy)
We hung out a few times, nothing special, but she did seem like a very sweet girl who really knew her Hip Hop - which was a plus, besides, even before she saw my man boobs or counted my ceiling tiles for three minute intervals, we started having these inside jokes where we would admit to not really liking an artist that everyone loves. One day she called me and said, "I was never was a fan of the Beastie Boys, don't tell anybody!" - which I quickly retorted, "I won't, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm dating someone who smears shit on the wall!" I called her out of the blue and said, "I must really dig you, OK, I was never the biggest fan of Ultramagnetic. There, I said it!" - in which she responded, "..and you call yourself a Hip Hip writer, hang your head in shame fat man!!!" We were doing this back and forth for a while, it was pretty cathartic to admit which legendary groups we were indifferent about - until we were making out on my couch, me sticking my tongue down her throat while giving her an unlicensed breast exam - when she whispered some words in my ear that have haunted me ever since: "Honestly, I never understood the hype around DJ Premier!". That explains why I'm such a fan of "Curb Your Enthusiasm", when Larry was given permission by his wife to sleep with another woman for an Anniversary gift - he slithered off the miscellaneous dalliance with disgust when he learned that she was a republican. I slithered off the woman 7 years my junior the exact same way.
As I sat on the couch, I must have been shooting her the most horrified look imaginable because all she could say was "Oh shit" - in which I replied, "What are you, fucking nuts? DJ Premier is the best producer ever, that's not you giving an opinion, that's you being reckless!! Reckless I say!!" With still an erect, albeit unimpressive penis still making a tent in my pants, I nervously gathered every record, tape, CD, and Ipod song featuring a DJ Premier production - playing each track for her with painstaking patience, and after every cut saying "You have lost your fucking mind woman!!" Since insulting someones intelligence is the furthest thing from an afrodisiac, she grabbed her things and said "I'm going home, call me tomorrow!" - seeing her leave half naked, finally understanding that I've talked myself out of some panties once again I belted out an insincere "Um, I was just playing!!"
The next evening, as I got drunk with my best friend Danny and complained about having to possibly abandon another relationship - I made her innocent opinion seem as if she had told me that she once had a cock, or was a republican. That's when I unloaded the following diatribe on my childhood friend:
"Listen, if she was a Lil Wayne fan that would have been easier - she'd have to play that shit on her own time - and I would never address that pink elephant in the room like it was a brief stint of lesbianism she participated in while she was in college. But Premier, I mean, as far as producers go - when you go through the multitude of classic singles that the man has done for people, you still have to negotiate the Mt. St. Helens of legendary material that is the Gangstarr catalog! Besides, not only have I come to the conclusion that DJ Premier can save anyone's career - it has always struck me as odd that more MC's don't make the simple choice and only use Preemo production for their albums - instead they pick music makers of lesser skill and the product is sub-par at best. Imagine how better Nas albums would be if he simply got Premier to do the beats, shit man, there are a shitload of artists ranging from Lauryn Hill to Killer Mike who'd thrive under Premo. The man can do anything!!(Looking at my friend seriously) Anything!
Danny: So, DJ Premier is your Chuck Norris?
HumanityCritic: Yeah, I guess so..
Fun DJ Premier facts:
DJ Premier doesn't produce tracks, he works miracles.
Cancer gets yearly mammograms for early DJ Premier detection.
Some say that music calms the savage beast, premier's production peacefully euthanizes ornery animals.
To say that Premo's beats are heaven sent is a bit of reckless hyperbole, even though God himself occasionally sends him break-beat records and sample ideas.
My mother has always said "If she can't use your comb, don't bring her home" in terms of me ever marrying a white girl - but her 30 year stance dramatically changed after I introduced her to a Caucasian Premier fan named Becky.
Our government's "War on Terror" is a joke, not because its unwinnable, but because attacks on our blessed soil would stop if we simply made "Full Clip" our National Anthem.
After meeting DJ Premiere, Quincy Jones could be heard saying "I'm never washing this hand again" amongst a string of prepubescent-sounding giggles.
Stevie Wonder claimed that DJ Premier was the sole inspiration for his 1963 hit "Fingertips" - even though Premo wouldn't be born for another 3 years.
When a paraplegic suddenly started to rhythmically nod his head back and forth during a rehabilitation session, doctors thought they were witnessing a minor miracle - until one of them heard "Mathematics" playing in the distance and said "Goddamn you Premier!!"
Sure, Chuck D was upset that his voice was sampled in the song "10 Crack Commandments", not only because the song talked about cooked cocaine - but because he was privately ashamed that the beat, momentarily, had him seeing the upside to dope dealing.
DJ Premier is so good at picking samples, sometimes he uses them before the original artist has even recorded it.
In an attempt to rehabilitate young delinquents and keep them out of Prison, simply playing Gangstarr's "All for the Cash" was an effective deterrent - but they went back to their less abrasive approach, having the kids being yelled at and physically intimidated by mass murderers.
DJ Premier doesn't have to manually scratch records anymore, all he does is stand over both turntables and the records miraculously scratch themselves - I mean, tremble with fear.
I recently emailed Premier the sheet music to Rachmaninoff's 3rd Piano Concerto, not only did he send it back with corrections - there was a posted note attached with "Yawn" being the only word on it.
Sure, Jesus turned water into wine - but could his black-hippie ass turn "Group Home" into a listenable group? I didn't think so..
The music of Premier is so powerful that I still yell things like "Put your fucking hands in the air" and "Run Your shit" while having sex - that's the price you pay when you lose your virginity to "Just to Get a Rep".
DJ Premier is so beloved in Japan, that 90% of the women there want to have his baby - not to milk him of his hard earned funds mind you, just to say that they have a Premo Remix.
DJ Premier scored a Tyler Perry movie and it was still unwatchable - the man is a producer, not GOD!
A Guitar is a wack MC's arch nemesis
When a solitary person expresses their disgust concerning one your unique idiosyncrasies, you can simply chalk it up to them being the one who has the "problem" - but when scores of people make it their business to tell you the exact same thing, it automatically gets upgraded from "fluke" to "inconvenient truth".(minus the melting polar icecaps and it being 80 degrees in motherfucking October!) For the past few weeks I've stopped scrolling craigslist for "delivery ass" and decided to navigate the turbulent waters of dating like most normal human beings - courting a slew of beautiful women by taking them to the movies, museums, and having in-depth conversations at fancy restaurants while openly wondering if my future disgruntled ex-girlfriend is going to order from the "in-car mouth-hug" side of the menu. The one thing that I've learned about myself from these women, to my utter dismay I might add, is that I'm as irritating as a suede condom - I'm so used to being called an asshole, I had to really find out what these women found so irritating about me. One of the women told me that she found my habit of giving a person the "wrap-it-up" hand-sign when their story runs a bit too long for my liking sort of irritating, another woman was bothered when I told a young writer "..for your own peace of mind, only mercilessly diss artists that you wouldn't give two shits about if they happened to meet their untimely demise" - this black republican broad that I was dating found it "irritating" when I hit a guy in a bar and then later explained it by sarcastically saying "We have fight them over there so that they don't follow us over here!" Also, during sex she wasn't too thrilled when I kept constantly saying things like "I gotta stay the course"(to keep me from climaxing too soon)", asking if I could put it in her "Black-Site", and right before that magical moment screaming "I have my hunting vest on, I'm about to give you a Dick Cheney!!" Not to split hairs here, or insult the intelligence of the lovely ladies who are open to being talked about on this blog if we ever do indeed date - but everything that I detailed securely falls in the "asshole" category that I'm used to.
But it got me to thinking, and I know that I'm the master of hamfisted segues here - but a couple of things in Hip Hop irritate this chubby scribe to no end. For example, every song by a female rapper or singer that is dedicated to "Thugs" - not only are those songs usually littered with tired suburban cliche's of what a thug is, we are bombarded with videos where scantily clad closeted homosexuals mean-mug the camera for at least 4 minutes. I love MC Lyte, she is a legend and one of my personal favorites - but she started this nonsensical trend with that fucking "Roughneck" song and I'll never forgive her for ass for that. Another thing that irritates me more than pillow talk from Fran Drescher, especially over the past year or so, is the time honored Rap/hardRock collaboration - a joining of forces that usually ends up with the listener wanting to put an unregistered firearm directly into his/her mouth.
Its not that I'm against the music industry's version of interracial marriage, done right and it can be a force to be reckoned with - when Anthrax got with Public Enemy to remake "Bring the Noise"(video above), it was a magical force that would blow Harry Potter's feeble little mind. My problem is, especially lately, is the trend of all these abysmal Rock themed Rap songs that completely offends the sensibilities of all the Hip Hop fans raised in the 80's - a unique lot that came up during a time when MTV was taking baby steps, forcing Hip Hop fans to also become acquainted with "AC/DC", "Black Sabbath", and even groups like "A-Ha" and "Flock of Seagulls". Besides, whenever I hear some young black brother regurgitating the same old lame rock rhetoric over layered guitars that he hopes will garner him some big "ringtone dough" - I sincerely start to pray for the day when I can publicly beat them with a bag of Bad Brains CD's. From that miserable song with R. Kelly featuring Ludacis and Kid Rock, the Rock remix to that MIMS "This is why I'm hot" garbage, Travis Barkers valiant attempt to give the already down-syndrome sounding "Crank That" a rock upgrade - and even though they won "Ringtone of the Year" at VH1's Vibe Awards Special(my bosses), The Shop Boyz' "Party Like a Rockstar" is a fucking abomination. Listen, outside of my belief that Sade's music is best enjoyed while you are pelvically making a late-night mistake and that the spoken word chick in Floetry is virtually useless - I also believe that you should stay away from tracks with guitars in them if you're unable to pen a respectable 16+.
Allen Iverson, its safe to drop that Hip Hop album now
Like most people who openly despise Tyler Perry and clearly pronounce the "er" at the end of the word "motherfucker" - I publicly had my blackness challenged the other night, a ritual that happens so often that I feel like a grizzled veteran who has done four tours of duty in that particular war of ignorance. I happened to be out with some friends, having a few drinks, talking about everything from Hip Hop to politics - when a friend of one of the people at the table said "Man, you sure do talk white, what's up with that?" Usually, despite my reputation for historically being a sociopathic hothead, I'd calmly tell the misguided brother that he desperately needed to reevaluate what blackness is - respectfully dropping jewels to the young man like so many elder statesmen of years past had graciously done with me, letting him in on the fact that a person's colloquialisms and lack of stereotypical idiosyncrasies have nothing to do with embracing the melanin they were born with. But I must have been having a bad day because all civility and decorum were abandoned as I punched that son of a bitch squarely in the throat, dragging his ass outside by his BAPE sweatshirt as he desperately gasped for air - me screaming at the top of my lungs "You really want to see how black I am motherfucker!!" Sure, that could have been handled differently, but I've been dealing with that sort of idiocy ever since my main focus in life became landing 360 Airwalk Ollie's and pulling off backside smith grinds - when I was in junior high, the mere fact that I rode a skateboard made my black peers feel as if I was a race traitor who would snitch on my fellow brothers and sisters if the revolution ever went down.
Forget about the fact that me riding a skateboard was the only difference between me and the other black kids, that I loved the same Hip Hop that they did, that I still cherished the voluptuous backsides of the 8 or so black girls who attended my junior high school - forget about the fact that many of my detractors couldn't answer a black history question if a man with an itchy trigger finger was having an epileptic fit while holding a loaded handgun to their collective heads. To most of them I was trying to be white, simply because my primary mode of transportation happened to be a skateboard - and because posters of Neil Blender and Mark Gonzalez shared wall-space with the likes of Run D.M.C and Whodini. Like I've said before, that time period was instrumental in terms of carving out the person that I am today - I constantly wax poetic about how both skateboarding and Public Enemy's "It Takes a Nation of Million.." album was the potent mixture that created the black man you all affectionately know as Humanity F Critic. All of that sounds good, but one part of the story that I always conveniently leave out, primarily because it makes the story less sexy - is how, briefly during High School, I went through a militant "Michael from "Good Times" phase to garner favor with the 12 black folks that went to my 99.9% white High School and to reestablish my "urban street cred".
It was sad man, I grew a wildly unmanageable Afro that melted any pick that I put up to it like it just saw the arch of the covenant, I wore these gaudy African beads that suggested that I was auditioning to be the newest member of X-Clan, I never left the house without wearing some sort of black medallion - and of course I only wore T-Shirts that exhibited my black pride, even sporting an "ANC" shirt years before I even knew what those particular letters stood for. The saddest part about this moment in time is all the sexual advances from girls named "Becky" and "Summer" that I openly rebuked just to maintain my silly militant image - that's why if time machines existed, I would go back to 1990 and have more white chicks on my dick than a Sybian.(..or a ticket scalper at a Kenny Chesney concert)
Before long I came to my senses and reacquainted myself with my skateboard, no longer feeling the need to wear my Afrocentrism on my sleeve like a tacky cuff-link a third-rate pimp might wear - and even though I have yet to bed a woman of the Caucasian persuasion, I have no problem with interracial dating, I have returned love letters that I wrote in blood to Janeane Garofalo to back that claim up.(and a restraining order) No one reminds me more about my current views being in stark contrast to how militant I once was more than my friend Danny, I can't tell you how many times we'll be at a bar and I'll have some PAWG(phat ass white girl) sit on my lap while saying "You know if we date I can't take you home to meet my mama, right?" - only for my lifelong friend to clap while sarcastically saying "What would Marcus Garvey say if he saw you being sexually suggestive with a 'pink toe'?"(Danny is white by the way)
But if you simply bring up the NBA to me my skin suddenly transforms into kinte cloth as if I was a superhero who only attended Justice League meetings during Black History Month - and I start to spouting off controversial screeds that make Malcolm X look like Clarence Thomas. For example, some might say the dress-code that the NBA imposed upon its players was an innocent gesture, trying to make their product more marketable and all - I personally believe that it was a ham-fisted attempt to make socially retarded, crotchety old white men feel more comfortable.(Maybe they are both the same thing?) The sports media, usually inept, is especially abysmal when it comes to the NBA - fights that happen in other sports are almost treated as an afterthought, but when a basketball fight breaks out not only is it ritualistically replayed every 5 minutes but the announcers act as if a black man throwing a right jab on a parque flooring is akin to murdering puppies. Remember a few years ago when Allen Iverson tried to put out that rap album, I understand the subject material wasn't exactly shedding a helpful light on the genocide in Darfur or childhood obesity - but the sports media, along with David Stern, acted as if spitting a 16 bar verse about violence was a hell-worthy trespass akin to having impure thoughts about a nun or kissing a girl on the mouth after an orgy. I sincerely think that David Stern is racist, I've never seen a commissioner have so much contempt for his own players - every time the man is asked to comment on some gripe that a player might have, he always finds a way to conveniently insult their intelligence.(Or lack thereof) The way sports pundits view Stern as a "take no shit" commissioner always irritated me, mainly because when people say that, there always seems to be a "he's really keeping those niggers in line" undercurrent to it all.
But in light of the recent Tim Donoghy scandal, where an NBA referee affected the point spread and bet on those games the he officiated - it wasn't covered with the same disgust by the media as a certain brawl at Auburn Hills was. I mean, the outcome of games were affected here - in a sports world that gleefully masturbates over Barry Bonds and stories about fall-from-grace Olympic sprinters whose 100meter times where not only wind aided, you'd figure that we'd still be getting bombarded with nonstop coverage, equipped with wordy commentaries about the integrity of professional Basketball being nonexistent. Not so much. Even David Stern, a man you think would rule with an iron fist based on his stance on basketball fights and misguided rap albums - not only tried to spin the Donaghy scandal as a promotional tool for the NBA, but also off the court violence:
"Amazing is where 81 points (by Kobe Bryant) happens, where Ben Wallace's hair happens, where Yao Ming happens, where caring happens." He pauses, then adds, "Where Donaghy happens, where clubbing happens, where registered weapons happen. We invite our fans to mesh up whatever happens. It's all there."
Jesus Christ. Allen, the coast is clear, you can drop that Hip Hop album now - there's clearly an opening.
Respectfully, Blender Magazine has lost its f**king mind!!
When I was first approached to write for Vibe.com more than 9 months ago I was sincerely flattered, the fact that there was a company actually in existence willing to pay me legitimate united states currency to talk my specific brand of shit under their imprint would have brought a solitary tear to my eye - if a testosterone fueled stud like myself was capable of such an emotion that is. But like Dave Chappelle once rhetorically asked, "What's a black man without his paranoia intact?" - so when I was told that I had car blanc content wise, I kept second guessing the sweet woman, asking again and again, "Are you really sure you want to do that?"(I now know what it felt like to be one of Nas' homeboys while he recorded that "You Owe Me" song with Ginuine) Even though she had informed me that they had read my blog, knew what they were getting into, and virtually gave me the green light to say that Three-6 Mafia was Undoing the Civil Rights Movement and that the people over at MTV who compile those Hip Hop "Best of" lists should be publicly beaten with old videotaped episodes of "Yo MTV Raps" - my utter disbelief led me to very cowardly dedicate my first two posts to Paris Hilton and Ray J.(*hangs head in shame*) But as time passed, me very nervously looking around like a kid about to steal a cookie every time I said something rather inflammatory or provocative - to their credit the good people at Vibe kept their word, no censorship, no notes from up above. They allowed me to be their journalistic gun for hire, verbally assassinating wack rappers who were in desperate need of dispatching - only I wasn't as smooth and stealthy as most Hit-men, hiding in adjacent buildings and calmly picking off their target then leaving the premises in a janitors uniform - my approach was more up close and personal, confronting the target while wearing a gaudy gold medallion with my government name on it, taking them out in broad daylight only to look around at everyone else and to say "See what happens to you when you spit a horrific 16?"
Granted, I'm very secure in the fact that Vibe will never ask me to grace the pages of their magazine with my quirky sex stories where I quote Kool G Rap lyrics during sex - I'm in no way trying to generate pity for myself, I completely agree and understand their logic. I mean, I could never interview Jim Jones on an objective level, I can totally see myself sitting in front of him with sheets of prepared questions before throwing it down in a fit of rage and saying - "You know what dude, you fucking suck, and I'd be glad to discuss it in detail with your wack monosyllabic ass outside if you'd like?" If my assignment was to interview Nelly, I'd make the guy feel like I was a long lost buddy who was sure to give him a glowing review, as I sampled St. Louis' nightlife and women on Nelly's dime - only to write a scathing review of the gentleman's CD when I got back to VA, where I say that I've heard more delightful bowel movements in my day and that he should euthanize himself ASAP. Also, I'm completely at peace with the magazine covering artists whose CD's I wouldn't find worthy enough to use as drink coasters - I have to realize two factors in that equation, Vibe is running a business and I'm a snobbish dickhead.
That being said, earlier this week when my west coast homeboy Paul(myspace.com/paulnathanaelsieger) emailed me this Blender Magazine piece detailing the The 40 Worst Lyricists In Rock - I just thanked my lucky stars that I wasn't under that particular Magazine's employ, because I'd have to violently distance myself from the obscene levels of hackery that they exhibited. My main point of contention isn't just Common(#36) and KRS(#25) being on that suspect list in the first place - but the examples used to highlight their "lack of lyricism" make me think that the already blistering incompetent bottom feeders posing as Hip Hop enthusiasts over there at Blender Magazine were also pressed for time. Listen, I've given both of these gentleman some well deserved shit for not performing "Resurrection" and going on ill-advised Pro-50 rants - but its this writers opinion, along with millions of others who have reasonable amounts of taste, that they don't belong on anyone's "Worst Lyricists" list. Come on Blender, how fucking lazy can you get - if you were going to make an unfavorable case for Common you have "Electric Circus" easily available to use as a template - as for KRS, I distinctly remember him once saying "Don't call it a 'comeback', there's no sperm on my spine". But then again, you'd have to be real Hip Hop fans to know that - my bad.
