March 13, 2010

Growing up with ATLiens

I associate my first two cars with albums. The second ride, Bomobile II, will be connected to Juvenile’s 400 Degreez. I spent summer ‘99 rolling through Atlanta with my boys Dandric, Ced and Lurch, kickin’ it hard the days I had work the next morning, sleeping two hours a night during the week and crashing all the way, then getting back to it on Saturday. Juvie was the soundtrack, the first artist I’d ever completely underestimated, only to find he was one of my favorites. Lemme tell ya — a summer of Mannie Fresh ain’t the worst thing in the world.

But my first car was all about ATLiens. It came out the summer before my senior year. I turned 16 in August, and I brother’s old car since he got a company car from his new gig. Since it was his college ride, it was perfect for me — tinted out with Boston Acoustic speakers in the back dash and a strong head unit. I put two Fosgate 10s in boxes, threw ‘em and an amp in the trunk, took a stack of CDs and dubbed about five tapes for riding music. One was ATLiens, and I may have listened to it on the 25 mile drive to school every day. Half on the way, at least. Maybe half on the way home, but definitely half on the way to school.

It was surprising I wore it out, seeing how Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik is still my favorite Kast album, and ATLiens still my least favorite not named Idlewild. That’s not to say I didn’t love it. It’s just not that high up on my OutKast hierarchy. But of all the records that were out then, that was my favorite. I loved that they moved toward the records from the East coast that I was most into. It was less about pimpin’ and more about wordplay (which, when I was a less sophisticated thinker, I thought made it smarter and more evolved), even if they were both works in progress on that front.

Plus, it went with the car, and if you don’t love your first car, I have no idea how you can be expected to love anything or anyone else.

The truth is that I could have only loved the album because of how it sounded, because I certainly didn’t get it. I’m just now at the point where I listen to ATLiens and don’t say “wait, that’s what he meant by that?”

But the fact that I thought the beats sounded “East coast” shows how little I got it. It’s just as southern as the first album, almost as reliant on live instrumentation. It’s just really, really dark, which I associated with the Wu et al, which made it East coast to me. In fact, it’s interesting that it was so dark — after a successful debut, hip hop fans usually wind up complaining the sophomore set wasn’t dark enough.

ATLiens came after a debut record that went platinum, was roundly praised by fans and critics alike and, ultimately, was the launching point for the rise of Southern hip hop.

And they were broke. Like, still living at home broke. One fascinating difference between ATLiens and most second albums is lack of “we came up and it’s all good” in its themes. Between Ready to Die and Life After Death, Biggie’s life did a complete shift, and you can hear it in everything he did (even the paranoid joints).

Kast? The carefree stuff of Southernplayalistic was gone. They’d made it, and they found out it really wasn’t shit. It’s not even like they sounded mad. Just frustrated and cynical, like they found out the Wiz was just Richard Pryor.

Cats in ‘96 were flashing more money on records than ever, but Andre took “Elevators” as a chance to tell the world he was still as broke as we were. Instead of doing a track about being able to pull more women than ever, they went off on gold diggers and groupies on “Jazzy Belle.” “Wailin’” shows them sounding positively old lamenting what’s happening to rap music and appointing themselves as protectors. “Babylon” shows them at the brink, focused on nothing but buggin’ on everything from Andre’s inability to get love from the freaky chicks to Big Boi mourning the loss of his mother. Not even the title track, the closest thing to a club song on the album, has a lick of fun beyond a quirky hook.

There is no optimism. Chicks are trying to get ‘em. Dudes in the neighborhood are trying to get ‘em. The alien theme makes sense, because Dre and Big Boi seem not to be with anyone but the Dungeon. Yeah, they’re broke as regular folk, but they talk more about being separated from them than in solidarity. They were platinum rappers, Source Award winners, with no money. How many regular people could believe that, let alone relate to it?

Sounds depressing, I know, but it’s not. There’s no whining. It’s observant and contemplative, a snapshot of a moment in time rather than a dramatization. Kast did Southernplayalistic when being grown sounded cooler to them than it proved to be. ATLiens was when reality came into view.

Guess it makes sense that “dark” would go over my head. When I was 16, I hadn’t gone through anything. Nobody especially close to me had died and, as far as upbringings go, I can’t think of many people that had it better. If my folks did nothing else, they have me a childhood that didn’t require worry. Looking back, there isn’t much more that anyone could ask for.

Fast forward 14 years and, of course, it’s a different story. Friendships and relationships that felt like forever proved temporary. Few things I always thought I wanted and worked to get turned out not to be worth it.

This certainly isn’t an atypical story. No one imagines the downside of dreams. That actually sounds like neurosis.

But that’s life, the side of things that no one can explain to you. You’ve got to catch the business end of it before it makes sense.

I didn’t really start picking up on all these things going on in ATLiens until a couple of years ago. I’m not sure how much run I gave it before, but think about this — I had to turn 27 to begin to get something they wrote when they were 20 and 21. And it wasn’t because they didn’t say it clearly. It was because ATLiens was that much more mature than I was.

There is no musical act in whom I have a greater emotional and sentimental investment than OutKast. Southernplayalistic was the first album that ever blew my mind. I grew up in Houston, but I couldn’t relate that much to the rap coming out of the city. My suburban Houston really wasn’t that much like a Geto Boys record. Plus, I was at that age when you try to pretend like you’re too cool for whatever you’re doing. I was born in Atlanta, see, and I could throw that out as my differentiating factor.

(That is hilarious to look at now because, in so many ways, I’m more Houston than I should be. Except that I’m not. I should probably move on before this gets confusing.)

Anyway, then comes this album that was about Atlanta. Take it one step further — I actually did know about the places that they were talking about. That was stuff I knew, even if that knowledge was of really sparse memories (and lots of red, black and green). It’s a really strange hodgepodge of stuff, but I guess you could see why that album could keep my mind occupied for a long time.

But it’s wild to go back and check out albums with the perspective of experience and go back and see if you really do feel it like you thought you did. Sure, there will always be a sentimental attachment, but I imagine it’s gotta be tough for some of you to go back and admit you knew every word to Niggaz4life. I’d like to think you were kinda off that, yanno?

And hey, I’m not judging. I’ve got a few groups — most notably the Underground Kingz — that I find I’ve grandfathered into my new awareness of issues like gender. Or I’ve rationalized why i find Pimp C to be a fascinating genius, even if an oft-reprehensible one. One of the two.

Either way, I’ve gone back to the beginning with Kast, and I find I have very little to detach myself from or rationalize. “D.E.E.P.” is way over the top, as is “We Luv Deez Hoes,” but I go back and get a deeper appreciation for them as I learn more about the world.

Sure, they’re older than I am, but I’m not sure there’s a greater testament to their genius — and their undeniable place as the greatest rap group in the history of history — that folks like me had to grow into what they did as adolescents. One of the reasons it gets harder for a lot of people to listen to rap as they get older is that they outgrow it.

And I’m 30, finally growing into the album from my first car. Incredible.

EDIT: I almost forgot about the production. I’m already up to 1,500 words. Here’s what I’ll say briefly — if you don’t run it in 5.1 with your head near one of the rear speakers, you’re cheating yourself in life.

February 25, 2010

Part 3 of The Score’s Black History Package

Here it is. And, as before, they were silly enough to put me in it.

February 16, 2010

More from The Score for Black History Month

Just wanted to drop Part 2 of The Score’s Black History Month package on you. Like before, they were silly enough to put me in it.

February 14, 2010

One More Playlist for the Quasi-Holiday

It’s Valentine’s Day. Or, for some, Sunday. Embrace it either way.

Did lists a few years ago. Here they are.

Since those are kinda old now, time for a new one. The Platinum Prince list is just gonna be mine, but enjoy “The Funky Ride.”

Sade, “Give It Up”
Cee-Lo, “Spend the Night in your Mind”
Marvin Gaye, “Soon I’ll Be Loving You”
Erykah Badu, “Didn’t Cha Know”
D’Angelo, “Spanish Joint”
Sleepy’s Theme, “Private Party”
Teddy Pendergrass, “Let Me Love You”
Prince, “The One”
John Legend, “So High”
Minnie Ripperton, “Inside My Love”
Prince, “International Lover”

That’s an hour. The rest is on you.

February 11, 2010

Mayer says “nigger,” and I’m OK with it

John Mayer learned that, in the Twitter generation, a snowstorm is the wrong time for an interview to hit the ‘Net if you’re going to say stupid things. Snow makes people mad at all kinds of stuff that doesn’t matter.

Like, for example, whether John Mayer likes black women. He says he doesn’t. Because of my particular affinity for them, it’s hard for me to believe him. But given that blond doesn’t do anything special for me, yet bleach flies off the shelves, I can understand that my tastes aren’t anyone else’s.

Plus, the less for him is the more for me.

I won’t go too deeply into this because it doesn’t matter. But what struck me was what Mayer chose to apologize for — using the word “nigger.”

Quite the buzz word “nigger” is. Doesn’t scare me much. Scares the mess out of a lot of you.

Anyway, here’s Mayer’s quote from Playboy using “nigger.”

Someone asked me the other day, “What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?” And by the way, it’s sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, “I can’t really have a hood pass. I’ve never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, ‘We’re full.’”

There’s nothing offensive there. It’s inaccurate, but not offensive (that’s not what a “hood pass” really refers to). The truth is, given Mayer’s interpretation of the concept, that he can’t call himself black or honorary black because he doesn’t deal with the nonsense that black people put up with on a regular basis. Nobody sees him as a “nigger,” so he can’t pretend to be one.

Here’s the apology in three parts.

Re: using the ‘N word’ in an interview: I am sorry that I used the word. And it’s such a shame that I did because the point I was trying to make was in the exact opposite spirit of the word itself. It was arrogant of me to think I could intellectualize using it, because I realize that there’s no intellectualizing a word that is so emotionally charged.

I’m not sure why he can’t intellectualize it, though.

Yes, I am sure — because people bug out so so so fast.

It’s not just black people. It’s the hyper-politically-correct white crowd and pretty much everyone else that, instead of understanding why hearing “nigger” from non-black people is so jarring, just avoided it. Very similar to a spouse saying “fine, I just won’t do that anymore” out of hurt and in defense.

It’s not that simple. Now, if approaching it with that simplicity is what it takes to stop someone from getting hit in the face, far be it from me to recommend you change your stripes. Safe is intrinsically good.

But when people apologize for verbalizing what so many of us know — that there are plenty of people that still see black folks as “niggers” — then we’ve got a problem.

He chose the clearest way possible to illustrate his point, and he wasn’t just throwing “nigger” around in vain or in an unwieldy manner. In an interview where Mayer was all over the place, this was perhaps the clearest, most focused thing he said.

Even though he doesn’t understand what a hood pass is.

But don’t apologize to me, man. Don’t apologize to black women, either, for you like what you like. Apologize to Kerry Washington for saying she’s “white girl crazy,” if it strikes you.

But for using “nigger?” Psssh. I’m kinda glad you did. Sounds like, even if his penis alliteratively resembles a white supremacist, he’s got confidence that his heart is legitimately good. Based on that one statement, there’s no real reason to think otherwise.

February 9, 2010

The Score Celebrates Black History Month

Business…you can subscribe to me new project, The Morning Jones, at the iTunes Store. I think you should.

Now, when I was in Toronto last month, I sat for the Black History Month package The Score, a sports cable TV station owned by the same company as Hardcore Sports Radio, produced. A talented cat named D.J. Bennett brought me on for it, and he and his folks did a great job. Video of the first segment is below.

February 1, 2010

Working at home might drive me crazy

So I’m working from home again. Did it for years, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. As I’ve heard, I’m skippin’ to different congas than the general population. Then I worked at as pleasant a workplace I could possibly imagine before beginning stints of Funemployment and outright joblessness at the house.

Well, lemme tell ya…this stint working form home is different than the last. Since I do the show from my office upstairs, I find myself spending more time in here than I did before. My spot up here has a window directly to my right.

It’s starting to freak me out.

Seriously, people just drive past all day long. Why aren’t they at work? I haven’t seen any foreclosure signs go up, so I imagine everyone’s hanging in there pretty tough. But man, if this isn’t turning me into an old person, I don’t know what is.

Don’t pick on that old lady that stays in her window. I get where she’s coming from. When people are just around, and you can see ‘em, you gotta at least try to get a handle on their intentions. And, if you’re close enough to give somebody that “I ain’t the one look,” you might be saving five-oh a trip to the neighborhood.

The only this could be worse would be if teenagers lived in the neighborhood. Their bad asses got the day off school because of snOMG, but the weather’s been okay. That means the one with cars would be terrorizing the mall and the movies, while the immobile ones would just be walking around here with mischief on their minds. I’d sit in my window with a broomstick, hoping the kids mistake it for something I could swing on ‘em.

So yeah, that’s what I’ve learned form this new stint of working out home — that the outside world’s a scarier place then you can tell from your office.

January 28, 2010

Who is Paul Shirley again?

First, some SSP — you can now find “The Morning Jones” at the iTunes Store. If you haven’t heard the new show, I think you should get on it. It ain’t bad. Now, moving on…

From what I can tell, many of you are very upset with Paul Shirley. You’re upset because of this blog post he wrote on Haiti.

Then there’s the rest of you — those that have no idea who in the world Paul Shirley is. That proportion of you is large, and there are certainly more of you than those who are incensed. Shirley played professional basketball, a fact I would not have known had he not been a contributor to a Web site I’ve done a lot of work for.

As a basketball player, he’s nobody. As a thinker, he’s nobody. His writing, at least what I’ve read, has centered around the life of a basketball nobody. Subsequently, given that he has zero influence or power over the public discourse, he’s a nobody when it comes to talking about Haiti. Were I not killing time as we try to repair technical difficulties related to this morning’s show, I wouldn’t have the time to talk about him.

I don’t say that to insult Shirley. But I only know, literally, one person that gives a damn about Paul Shirley. The rest of you are just wasting time with him.

Why be mad at Paul Shirley? He spoke about something he knew absolutely nothing about. The crux of his ideology certainly isn’t unique. It’s basic, “bootstraps” stuff that we hear all the time, that many of you happen to agree with. I know this because these same arguments are consistently raised when discussing the American poor. Shirley just brought it up in the aftermath of a tragedy (which is usually when these arguments are mentioned about the American poor).

I understand being annoyed by the condescending tone. However, that’s typically what happens when people write about things they don’t know about (which usually happens when discussing the American poor). In his mind, the question is simple — if Haiti’s so messed up, why don’t you leave (which sounds like what’s said about…)?

Right, because no one ever thought of that one before. In fact, someone did.

Paul Shirley passed a Sam Kinison routine off as food for thought. How could I stay mad at that? Look how funny Sam was (and really, that route it hiiiii-larious).

(Oh, BTW, ask Bill Clinton about the Haitians that DID try to move somewhere else.)

What he wrote wasn’t hateful. It was just really, really stupid. And if stupid got me riled up all the time, I’d have to find another job. Hosting sports talk would send me to an early grave if I didn’t have a certain patience for the uninformed among us.

But enough about Shirley. Pop quiz — how many of us are truly less ignorant than he is?

He was too stupid to be quiet. I’ve made that mistake a few times. The rest of you know what answers you should and shouldn’t give at a time like this.

That said, do you understand why Haiti’s so poor? Do you get why the country was so ill-equipped to handle such a disaster?

If you don’t, then the only thing that makes you better than Paul Shirley is silence. Except for the fact that doesn’t really make you much better.

If you’re short on answers, here’s a good place to start. Tyler Duffy also contributed a great post to The Big Lead.

Shirley raised some interesting questions about the obligation the more fortunate do and don’t have to donate, and the concerns that come from donating money and not knowing where it’s going. Truth be told, if you’re donating money and have no concern to where it’s going, then you’re not donating the money to help. You’re donating it because it makes you feel good to say you did your part. Like Shirley — I assume, at least, he feels this way — I’m not impressed by that. If you’re giving, do it for them. Not for your conscience or the vision you have of yourself, but for the people that need the help. Otherwise, what you’re doing is masturbatory, at best.

He also addressed the tricky question of rebuilding a place that is constantly at risk of being the victim of natural disaster. I raised this exact same question about New Orleans five years ago, and I said the city should not be rebuilt.

I wouldn’t say that now. What I didn’t consider at the time was the value of culture and the value of being home. I’ve never felt a “home sweet home” to any of the places that I’ve lived, and I generally believe all these places around the world are, essentially, the same. City really ain’t much bigger than the friendly people that you meet, Bill Withers said. I think he’s right.

But it’s really easy for me to say they shouldn’t rebuild somebody else’s city. It’s really easy for me to say that people should jet out from a bad location just because it’s bad. There’s something, clearly, that keeps people in these places, and that something isn’t stupidity. It isn’t my place to spell it out, nor do I find that necessary. The bottom line is that home is home, being Haitian is being Haitian, and it’s hard to do either one from Miami.

The point I’m trying to make — Shirley did give us some things worth considering and discussing, especially if he’s speaking as someone whose money may go toward these efforts. Too bad that got obscured by his abject lack of a clue.

But mad at Paul Shirley? He’s a hooper and a writer. I’ve worked in sports media for years, and I only know who he is because we have a mutual friend.

He’s not worth my blood pressure. Yours either. I just recommend making sure there’s not more Paul Shirley in you than you recognize.

January 24, 2010

Conan, I feel you

Well, I’m back home from Toronto. I can’t tell you how tired I am. Part of it is the two hour adventure I had with customs, but the other part is not going to sleep until about 1 a.m., knowing good and damn well I had to be up at 5 or 6 or something to leave for the airport. But how could I go to sleep on the Conan finale?

I don’t watch much late night TV — or TV in at any time, really — but Conan’s always been hilarious to me. It’s a hilarious that’s difficult to explain, and one that you can’t expect anyone else to get. He’s just one of those guys.

Generally, that isn’t the description of a mainstream star, so it’s perfectly understandable that The Tonight Show didn’t work for him. His funny just isn’t for everyone. Can’t fault the masses because they prefer easy to quirky. If the masses were into quirky like that, we wouldn’t call it “quirky,” would we?

Anyway, Conan got canned. Canned with eight figs in his pocket, but canned all the same. And while the parting gift certainly helped, getting fired doesn’t feel great. Doesn’t matter who’s fault it is or who’s behind it. Fired is fired is fired, and it stings. Been there a few times myself.

And having been there, I can’t say how much respect I have for Conan, how he handled his departure, and how he went out — like a grown man.

When you work on an open mic, it’s rare that you get to say goodbye on air. For good reason, bosses are a little reluctant to turn their airwaves over to someone with nothing to lose. Folks have a tendency to just let shit off their chests in those situations, and it often causes problems and, potentially a fine from the FCC.

But you know what? Why would you wanna buck on the way out? Doing a daily show is such a personal thing. You don’t do the show for your bosses. You do it for yourself and the people that are into what you’re doing. Day after day after day, you and those people interact. In television, the interaction isn’t nearly as personal as when you do local radio, but it’s still about you and your audience. And the second that last show wraps, it’s over. Sure, people can catch up with you and you can read the nice things they say about you, but that connection is gone. Outside of the checks, that connection is the best thing you can possibly get from working in these media.

So why would you rather take shots at people doing their jobs, what they must do or what they think is best, when you could talk to the people that made it great, the people that you won’t be with again for a long time?

Parting shots are for punks. Period. If it’s really like that, then go in your boss’ office and ream him out right there. Man up. Give him the chance to fire you on the spot, punch you, whatever. But what does anyone get from showing out in public?

This game is about the people that watch you, that listen to you, that allow you into their homes. What Conan got in the last few weeks was something I was fortunate enough to receive — genuine verification that what he’d been doing the last two decades really did affect people. Was it enough people to keep him on the air?

Who cares? It was enough people that he could hear them. And if you’ve got one person that has let you into their lives and says that your work has made them better in any sort of way, that you’re winning.

And that victory means so much more than ripping into your boss or the people at your company, the majority of whom were probably wonderful to him.

Conan got that. I almost cried when he almost cried because I damn sure nearly cried in a similar situation. It’s hard to explain to people how hard that moment was. It’s not crying about the job. Conan knew what was going to happen to him well in advance, the same way that I did. You make peace with that early.

What you can’t make sense of is the loss. Not the job. The people, the audience, the folks that have helped you put something like that together and the relationships with all of them. One day, they’re just gone. Not all of those things have to change, but they do. That’s just how it is.

And Conan trucked through it like a grown, incredibly dignified man. He thanked NBC for his 20 years there. He thanked his staff. He pulled back the curtain to say he was allowed to say anything he wanted…but wouldn’t. He had the chance that so many people dream of — to let loose on those above them — and chose to speak to the people that stood with him.

That, to me, is how we all should be. To quote Big Boi, “hate ain’t even in my lifestyle.” It seems not to be in Conan’s, either. He made that day about him and his folks, which is certainly something I think we can all take with us.

And then there’s the classic bit of television we got at the end — “Freebird.”

I can’t lie — I spent more time worrying about getting my finale right than I did worrying about finding a job. If I was gonna walk, I was gonna go how I wanted to go. That was the gift I wanted to give myself. Forget snappin’ on someone. If this was gonna end, and me and my people were gonna kick it one last time, then we were gonna do it right. Those that heard it can give you their opinions, but I couldn’t think of any better way to walk away than how I did — laughter with a parable attache.

The difference between me and Conan, of course, was I could just pull Randy Watson and Tyrone Green off YouTube. He could actually call Billy Friggin’ Gibbons.

Seriously, how cool is this — on his last show, Conan played guitar on “Freebird” with Max Weinberg, Billy Gibbons, Beck and Ben Harper??? With Will Ferrell doing Will Ferrell stuff, removing any hint of melodrama? And Gibbons, Beck and Harper fell back so CONAN O’BRIEN could take a solo until the end? Are you kidding me?

I can’t think of anything better. And given the way Conan handled that hour of television, I can’t think anyone that deserved it more.

I’m certainly speaking from a very personal place, so I have no idea if anyone else saw what I saw or gets what I get from it. But I’m not sure the last time I saw anything that personal or genuine on television. And even if Conan’s comedy doesn’t do it for you, give it up for Conan’s heart. That show was harder than it looked.

And a little harder for me to watch than I’d care to admit.

January 24, 2010

All-white basketball?

You may have heard of the All-American Basketball Alliance. It’s the proposed all-white hoops league that wrasslin’ promoter Don “Moose” Lewis says he wants to start in the southern United States. Yeah, you read that correctly.

We did an interview with him Friday. It will air Monday on “The Morning Jones,” but it’s available now on podcast at Hardcore Sports Radio.

Here’s the interview. I’ll just tell you this — his version of “I have black friends” was to say he’s doing business with the Nigerian government.

You read that right. Enjoy.