'Til Death Do Us Part

What do you do when everything around you becomes mundane & the air outside that used to be fresh is polluted with harmful toxins or putrid molecules? How do you break away from the continuous cycle of the present when the only escape you've ever known has become a product of the here and now that you just can't seem to flee? Better yet, how do you fight back when you are not in control of your own destiny?
As strange as this may sound, these are the questions that my love asks me every time I call myself spending moments with her. Often times I find myself just holding my pen, wishing I could script for her all the things that she has asked me & present them to the masses but……..she will not have that. Instead, she wants me to put on my cape and come to her rescue like a super hero without stopping to realize that I wasn't born on planet Krypton nor was I bitten by a biological super spider. When I try to tell her that I am only human, nothing more than an insignificant body of flesh & blood she tells me that this is only an excuse. Then she explains to me that my words are her voice and my actions are her life and I begin to grasp that I am much more than just a human being. I start to recognize that I too have the power to be immortal. My words are timeless and my impression can be everlasting if and only if I do something worthy of remembering. So I begin to scribble stories of triumph, inscribing truths on my paper as if I'm writing a new version of the Holy Bible. I speak of all the things that people need to hear so that someone will listen and my articulation won't be in vain. I write with a passion concealed until my wrist is numb and my eyes are too blurry to interpret my own words. When it is all said and done, the world nods to the rhythm of my words. The beat of my heart provides the necessary cadence needed every time I want to express my feelings after my love and I have conversed. What I call an art some label a hobby & what I call my love some dub as hip hop but whatever we choose to term it one thing will forever remain true- it is eternal.
Music is much more than just a collection of harmonious instrumentation united to make you dance. It is a breath of fresh air when everything around you becomes mundane and an escape when you need to break away from the here & now. Music is the super hero that saves us when life is on its villainous rampage and the only strength we can muster up is in the melody of our favorite song. Hip hop is my love & I refuse to let her lay dying by the wayside when I know I have the power to revitalize her existence. My words are her voice & my actions will be her life. Together we shall live forever because I am more than just a human being and she is more than just the combination of words and melodies set to a tempo. Contrary to popular belief she is not dead and she shall never die because collectively, we are immortal. All hail the queen and long live my love- hip hop!

Hip Hop Raised My Kids

I was watching my youngest child yesterday as he did his toddler dance to the music in a television commercial and I realized at that very moment that hip hop had raised all my kids. I began reminiscing and that’s when it all suddenly made sense. My kids were conceived to the drum patterns of R&B tunes, beatboxed and rapped to while in the womb, then sang to sleep after they completed their great journey to this thing we call life. I shook my head in disbelief because now I had to figure out exactly where I went wrong and lost control of personally molding their ever so impressionable minds. How did hip hop replace me in the upbringing of my children?
It’s really quite simple when you think about it. Most people would probably say it’s because I let them watch television and all the programming is over saturated with hip hop imaging and cultural marketing. Others might say it’s because the books I read to them were all rhymes so the patterns just took on that “rap” feel. Then again, some people might simply believe it’s all because I didn’t want to shoulder the responsibility of fatherhood so I let the music and the artists be their role models and instill all the values of the industry into their heads. Whatever you think the case may be, I came to the conclusion that hip hop raised my kids because hip hop raised me.
I can remember growing up as a young boy walking down the sidewalk with my cardboard in one hand and my boombox on my shoulder. I remember watching movies like Breakin’ and Crush Groove then emulating every move I saw in the mirror until I had perfected it. I can even recall writing raps in my elementary school folder with the wide lines and the dashes through the middle that was supposed to be used for practicing writing my A-B-Cs and 1-2-3s. Even to this day, 20 something years later, I find myself quoting some of the songs that I listened to as a child. But the greatest part of all those memories is this- when I picture doing that backspin or practicing that human beatbox, my father was right there. When my favorite song was blasting on the radio as I practiced doing my basketball drills, my father was passing me the ball. In all my memories the one thing that remains constant is I was never alone.
What the children of today are missing is balance. I was able to appreciate music and artistry because my father was always right there to tell me what was and wasn’t acceptable in what I was listening to. He used the passion that I had for hip hop to help teach me what respect for self and others was all about while at the same time giving me that quality time I needed without me even knowing it. So as I watch my children do their dance and recite lyrics to their favorite songs, I become very proud of the fact that I am right there too. To hear them say “Daddy look” or tell other kids “My Daddy said,” reassures me that I am on the right path and giving them the guidance they need. My sons know what not to call women and my daughters know how not carry themselves. My children are comfortable with being who they are because I have been right there to answer every question and explain where true value and worth is hidden. My kids know that all the jewelry, cars and money isn’t hip hop, it’s just the individual. I love the fact that even as a rap artist on the rise in the industry, my children only see me as one thing, there “Daddy.”
Because of my family I now realize that hip hop cannot be defined by some general explanation because it is more than just a song or a video, it is a way of life. Hip hop is so many different things to so many different people that it doesn’t define a person, each person defines it. From the way we walk to the way we talk, everything we do is a living example of who we are or who we’re trying to be. Everything in life is worthless until we give it worth so it is important that we be careful in what we choose to empower. I know now that I haven’t gone wrong or lost control in rearing my children because yes, hip hop has raised my kids- but I am hip hop.

Tell The DJ Bring It Back!!

In this ever changing world we know as hip hop, fads come and go and come again. With all the uncertainties the industry provides, we would have loved to think that the one thing that would have remained constant would have been the level of skill needed to be a valid entity in the music community. Unfortunately for consumers and artists who take their craft serious, this is no longer the case. The music we have grown to love has become an abundant grab bag full of carbon copied one hit wonder fads and the substance we once turned to for direction is so watered down that if we performed a rain dance during a drought the skies would open up and drop CDs. The real question now isn’t what happened, but where do we go from here?
Although I hate to sound cliche, we can’t go anywhere until we know where we’ve been. Despite hip hop becoming a big business and artists becoming hustlers in the game instead of students of the game, one truth still remains and that is music lives and dies in the streets. Until we the consumers change our buying habits, the machine won’t change it’s approach. What we really need to realize is that the richness of a culture cannot be overcome by the outside unless it has already been destroyed from the inside. Hip hop is dying and it’s not from homicide, but it’s from genocide. We are killing our own culture and smothering the one universal voice that we have. With all that said, you still ask me “So what do we do now?”
To put it simply, support the artists who make the music you like and only buy the music that you love. Every time you purchase one of these fads as a ring tone or request that new single at the radio station so your friend who hasn’t heard it yet can see how stupid it sounds, you are contributing to the downfall of a great culture. You know that CD you listen to from that hometown artist that no one has heard of yet, request his music at the station nonstop. Take a little time in your musical conversations to mention how nice this new emcee is that gave you a CD and then pass the music on. Artists, stop focusing on the money and get back to the grindstone that made hip hop what it is. Bypass the radio and quit focusing on the cars, the women and the bling. Spend that paper on some studio time and a quality sounding project that the streets wouldn’t mine standing behind. As a matter of fact, don’t even start rapping until you find out who your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper was and you have listened to atleast three of their songs. Although I hate to admit it, I feel like our artists don’t know their beginnings because it’s black history- and we all know black history isn’t important.
Anywho, I said all that to say this- hip hop is not dead but it is wounded and slowly bleeding to death. It’s time to give the game a blood transfusion and a new lease on life. Support your local artist and stand up for what you know is real music. Like it or not, the future of our culture can only go wherever we take it.