Archive for the ‘The Guest Room’ Category

The Last Real 14th-Letter-Bomb Alive…

Friday, February 29th, 2008

mod squad

Editor’s note: Two words… 40 and DIESEL.

Peace party people, I’ve been owing Dallas and the beloved community here at DP.com a drop for a minute. I missed out on Negroe Hiss-tray Munph and I actually had my shillz lined up to flip an ill gem on Billy Sunday’s etemology of the word “Neggar”. Don’t be lost on the Teutonic roots of the word because one of the patron saints of Germany is a “nigga” himself – St. Maurice. Do the knollie, even though they white washed JC the Nazarene the pundits at Nicea kept ol’ Mo as dark as a sack of African Black.

But I’m getting sidetracked. I was and still am struggling with some BS legal biz that I can’t speak on which kinda had your dude in the dumps, however I’m using this drop to say I’m back and I owe this in part to one man…

Sir Clarence Willams III – “The Last Real 14th Letter Bomb Alive”

I first came across C-Dubbz as a youngin’ watching ‘Purple Rain’ because I was too young to get in to ‘The Mod Squad’. I was intrigued and terrified by this white woman slapping, alcoholic, failed musician stuck on the south side of Minneapolis (it’s only now I realize as a man I’d probably pretty upset if I was stuck in cold ass pre-NBA Minny and had an androgynous son living in MY basement). Clarence Williams scared the shit outta me. With those intense glares and fucked up wig piece this dude meant business. Plus when his only retort to his hysterical wife was “DON’T I KEEP THE HEAT ON?”, I figured Ike Turner and Francis L. probably hung out when Ike was in town.

CW would continue to make appearances and I noticed this common thread in his performances. He seemed to always play this man who’s gotten his ass kicked by The Man, the world, the needle, whatever and no matter how broken the character, no matter how flawed, he always kept an air of dignity. It was this “I ain’t dead yet muhfucka” demeanor that made you have to give his due, because no matter his foibles he was still a man. For example:

deep cover ‘Deep Cover’ (1992)
C-Dubbz played the role of Taft, the outta touch detective who still thought he could save the world with his outmoded tactics of his badge and his Bible. Probably a running joke in the precinct but he stayed true, and Fish’s character knew he was right.

sugar hill ‘Sugar Hill’ (1994)
CW3 went in as A.R. Skruggs, the cliched ex-jazz musician junkie and failed hustler. Though his sons are successes on the street and he’s a hot mess his sons still understand that he’s their dad. A.R. is the conscience of his children – the constant reminder of the ills of their trade..

hoodlum ‘Hoodlum’ (1997)
Mister Clarence in the role of Bub Hewlett, the Negroe henchman of Dutch Schultz and “Uncle Tom” thug. Its hard out there for Bub. Constantly disrespected by his boss (“Don’t be proud!”) and the people of Harlem. No wonder he had a ‘tude. But he was not to be fucked with either and in the end helped engineer the Dutchman’s demise.

So all of this to say what? The roles of Clarence Willams III have done more to encompass the every man of black men in America. He represents the downtrodden man who’s become engulfed by the demons he’s taken on just to cope in this world. But even in the midst of this he retains a level of respect and manhood that he will not let you forget even in its darkest moments. We’ve all, friends seen uncles, cousins, oldheads in the barber shop, fathers & relatives of friends, and even ourselves that make the roles of CW3 that much more real.

What I’ve taken from the repertoire of Sir Clarence, is that even in your lowest moments, even when the rest of the world may view you one level about dog shit, you still have to steel yourself and keep that glare. That fire in your eyes no matter how small that cuts through all the judgmental bullshit, which makes a muhfucka think twice when he’s about to write you off. Because even if you cant say it, those windows of the soul lets everyone know that “I might be fucked up now, but I’m still a fuckin’ man and don’t you forget that!”

Thank you Clarence, thank you for reminding me when I had a lapse and was wallowing on my bullshit to keep that fire in the eye.

The American Gangster Doesn’t Know…

Thursday, February 28th, 2008

jigga

Editor’s note: I wouldn’t trade the community that hangs out here at this website for anything. The viewpoints are always smart, intelligent, witty and thorughly unpredictable. And that’s just what you see in the comments threads. The e-mails I get remind me that our generation is far from the apathetic monolith that the mainstream media describes. DP Dot Commenter CeezDiem sent in this e-mail about the latest music video from Jay-Z a/k/a “Young Barclay”. So tell us CeezDiem, how do you really feel?

What up Dallas,

First time emailing. Comment every now and then. Love the site. I’m an aspiring filmmaker and rap lover/hater and wanted you to do a drop on the new Jay-Z video for ‘I Know’. I really think the topic needs discussing. So I started writing down my thoughts and then I realized I had created the drop that says what I wanted. Maybe this can fly out to the people at DP?

Gray Hova’s newest video just dropped, and other than sparing us the sight of his old man jowls gyrating to his own raps, he’s once again doing his (ex)community no fucking favors by romancing the “stone” yet again.

The ‘American Gangster’ album was already nothing more than a cheap excuse for Jay to drop the Gwyneth Paltrow shout outs and go back to that crack rock talk my little cousins eat up with 2% milk and a cartoon spoon. Fear of being obsolete obviously shook him up after the rap Hindenberg that was…uhh… whatever that terrible post-retirement album was called, and drove him running back to his street pharmacy journal, post haste.

So he dusted off and donned his Super-Dealer cape once again and everyone heralded his cocai… i mean Hair-owe-in flow, his choice beats, and lack of Chris Martin duets. Hovi was back to his old boasts of neighborhood destruction! Not only that, but artiste’ that he is, he was able to find inspiration in a pretty (glorifying) but ho-hum gangster movie that’s far from a classic! How ever does he do it??!! I guess hydrating Africans, moving the Nets to Brooklyn, and doing whatever the fuck it is he does for the U.N. isn’t exactly what’s hot in the streets right now. Rhyming “Britney” with “get me?” clearly is.

L’chaim!

As an Armchair Cultural Critic/Hatin’ Ass Loser, I was ready to make my peace with the whole affair, or at least shut the fuck up about it for a second… And then I saw this motherfucking video.

Alright, he did us TWO favors in this video. A) He’s not in it for a single frame. And B) He put Zoe Kravitz’ fine ass up in it. I swear that lil’ dame simultaneously turns me on and scares the shit outta me at the same time. She looks like she drinks blood and has a body temperature of 71 degrees. But I’d still follow her to a dicey underground party at a meat processing plant any night of the week. Fuck whatever Blade’s talkin’ bout! This chick looks like Sade 2.0!

What the fuck was i saying? Oh yeah. So at the start of the video, I was actually kinda impressed. Fine chick, dark tones, a song about drug addiction. I was expecting maybe a 3 minute rap version of Requiem for a Dream (and crossing my fingers for a remake of that “ASS TO ASS!” scene. ‘Swede’ that Gondry!). But what do they feed us instead? Basically an ode to shooting up!

Four things happen in this Video:

  • 1) My underage booboo meets up with some white schmoe in the street.
  • 2) She goes to a party with him and stares off at these slow moving hypnotic light tentacle things.
  • 3) She sits around a posh place lookin high as shit.
  • 4) And at the end she lets those lights coarse through her. OH!!! And she beautifully exhales white dust!!!!!!!! WTF!
  • Now from what I hear about the H bomb, shooting it up is like your veins are one big urethra bustin off hot champagne ropes on a sea of Scarlett Johansenns. So at the end of this video, when Lil Zo’ is floatin around and gettin eaten up by the tentacle lights, I can only assume it was intended as a visual metaphor for spikin’ that gravy. But then THAT’s IT! That’s the end of the video!!

    WHERE WAS THE DARK SIDE? The destrucion of family? Of love? Of Life? The song’s about Jay (playing the part of King H, naturally) rappin’ about his chick that used to love him/be addicted to him, but eventually left him/went clean. The video shoulda been a faux-documentary about a fiendin chick who starts doin it at parties, falls for the brown, gets fired from Macy’s, steals from her Momma, gets beaten up by a low level dealer/boyfriend, starts hookin, scheming, flim-flammin and grinding, rehabbing, relapsing, losing teeth, gettin ugly, getting better, getting busted, etc etc. Until it ends with her fragiley coming out on top.

    I dont think fragiley is a word, but you get the point. Maybe Jay owes Spanish Jose a big one and made this video for the purposes of sending him a new batch of young junk recruits. Why else release a visually romantic poem to heroin thats all high and no low?

    Am I trippin, or is this shit basically a commercial for H? It might as well end with a voice over from James Cromwell sayin’, “Afghani Brown: Fuck what you heard”. Is there a part 2 I dont know about where Zoe Kravitz walks around the Lower East Side like the couple in ‘Dope Sick Love’?

    What do you think? Is this a Crime against humanity or am I just Hatey McHater, mayor of Haterville?

    Oh, and P.S. This is what the video SHOULDA looked like.

    Shout out to Ginger Lynn!

    PUNK LIFE By ERNIE PANICCIOLI

    Friday, February 22nd, 2008

    punk life

    ERNIE can’t stop, won’t stop on his quest to make ten books in ten weeks. Take a look at some of the images from his sixth book he is calling ‘Punk Life’.

    ERNIE was fascinated with the emerging Punk Rock culture in New York City during the 1970’s and how it intertwined with the graffiti and music scene that was being developed further uptown. Their energies were similar even though their looks were often polar opposites.

    These are flicks from the days of CBGB and the little rock bars that dotted the lower east side of Manhattan before those neighborhoods became too hip and cool for the punks. ERNIE’s work in this book tells so many different stories… Iconic imagery of the pre-punk rock and post-punk rock eras along with the past and future New York City.

    ERNIE’s books are time capsules to a period that is long gone and whitewashed in this city that now looks like a branded piece of corporate capitalism. DisneyWorld North. Don’t ever forget what this city used to be. What rebel rock music used to be. Fuck the emo bullshit.

    ‘Punk Life’ by ERNIE PANICCIOLI

    punk life

    punk life

    punk life

    Graff Grrrls Regulate by MAXINE

    Thursday, February 21st, 2008

    graff girl

    Editor’s note: Before MAXINE came to us at DP Dot Com she lived the life of a rebel outlaw in Pittsburgh. Okay, she wasn’t an outlaw, but a post-grad college student. Walk with her though as she recalls a night on the tough streets of Steel City.


    Writers!

    We regulate any tagging of this property
    And we’re damn good too
    But you can’t be any Toy off the street,
    Gotta be handy with the spray know what I mean?
    Earn your keep

    *Regulator Cru… Mount Up!*

    It was a clear black night, a clear white moon
    Maxine was on the streets trying to consume
    some cans for the eve so I could get some ups,
    cruising in my Nike’s chillin all alone.

    Just hit the Eastside of the KCC*
    On a mission trying to find J-A-C-E*
    Seen a car full of Toys ain’t no need to tweak,
    All them cats know what’s up with Jace and me

    So we hooks a left on Dallas and Penn
    We saw a backjump so I said, “I’m in”
    Jace opened up her bag, and popped one off
    We saw the blue lights and I said, “We’re fucked”

    Since these girls ain’t scared we stood our ground
    5-0- didn’t even notice and they turned around
    Could you think of better luck? Not the end of the night
    We said at the same time – “This must be right.”

    I’m in the zone, I’m scaring myself
    We bombed that wall ’til there was no space left
    To finish it off we threw up our set
    I looked at Jace and said, “Yo, what’s next?”

    Me and my homie laced up and went Underground
    The rain in the tunnel was the only sound
    We walked down three stairs and got to a door
    The password for entry was “Pettifore”

    They got Patron on ice, the blunts all rolled
    I took a hit of both so I wouldn’t seem cold
    As time went by it was getting late
    Four shots of Patron had me in another state

    Bass pumping at 30, DJ on the mic
    The Cru buying shots so everybody’s right
    The Glamorous life, One More Chance
    Hip Hop in the building, everybody in a trance

    We had our hands in the air it was quarter to five
    At that point we saw the Sun was about to rise
    I grabbed my bag as we made our way out
    For the ride home we sipped on some Guinness Stout

    I got to the crib, and my eyes was red
    A definite sign I needed to go straight to bed
    If you roll like I roll, you a live graff artist
    This is a Warren G sample funked out with a Maxine twist

    If you tag like we tag then you up like everyday
    If the Rusto’s in your backpack 412 will regulate…
    (let the beat knock)

    I’m scribing into a whole new era
    Max, step to this, I dare ya
    Words, on a whole new stage
    The noun is the verb and the verb turns the page…

    * instrumentals provided by Cocaine Blunts

    graff girl

    And The Hits Keep Coming…

    Tuesday, February 5th, 2008

    ouch

    Editor’s note: The Ambassador goes in on why she watches football in the first place. Guess what, it ain’t the tight pants.

    I’m not about to act like I know much about football, because I don’t (Vernand Morency is proof of this), but I at least thought I knew who was going to win the Super Bowl. Well, once again, I was wrong. But I know I’m not the only one who is feeling like an idiot right now! I can’t recall speaking to anybody that thought that the Patriots would lose. Then again, I do go to George Mason – maybe the people I was speaking to took me out of context and thought I was talking about the infamous GMU Patriots who actually did win their last game. And, of course, they also had a recent win against VCU. Mason vs. VCU is pretty much the Super Bowl of the Colonial Athletic Association when it comes to basketball, so…well, let me stop bragging about my school. We’ll save that kind of talk for March Madness time.

    Anyway, here we stand. Another Super Bowl Sunday behind us. And truthfully, I’m kind of glad. While Charles Grant was busy getting stabbed in the neck while he was out at a club, the Giants and Patriots players were warming up and practicing the most idiotic of dances to perform when the touchdowns would be scored, the pork patrol was loading up on donuts to provide sustenance for the long night of pulling over drunk drivers, fatasses across the country (in true American fashion) were making sure that they had a sufficient supply of buffalo wings and beer, and I found myself bored out of my mind. You would think that spending three years of my life on the sidelines of football games with a fake smile on my face while wearing a little skirt that barely covered my ass might make me enjoy football more. But alas, I still don’t even understand the game. Hell, I remember doing first and 10 cheers on the sidelines and not even knowing what a first and 10 meant. Not a good look. Actually…I take that back. The skirts trump the lack of knowledge. It was still a good look. Ah, high school. The good old days.

    Speaking of the good old days, I realized that the only part of football that truly entertains me is the art of the tackle. So, I decided to utilize the great power of distraction known as YouTube to take a trip into the wonderful tackles of football games past. Take a look at what I found… and don’t worry, if you’re at work – just turn the sound off. They’re just as great in silence.


    Joe Paterno took one hell of a hit in that video. This would also be the only tackle in this small bunch that I actually saw on TV when it happened. That was some crazy shit. Take into account how old he was when this happened and it’s even more amazing. I don’t think I’d even bother standing up after that one – I’d just coach the rest of the game from the ground. Joe Paterno is hardbody, sonn.


    I have no idea who this is, but fast forward to the one minute mark for the slow motion replay. There is only one word to describe this clip: ouch.


    This looks like the game wasn’t that big of a deal, but I’m sure the guy getting tackled in this one isn’t going to forget it. Word to Lil’ Jon, they were knockin’ some heads off in this one. Well, maybe not heads. More like helmets. Peep how far away it landed from the guy’s body!


    Here we have someone named Ray Small getting laid out. But that’s not the best part of this video – check out the guy who tackled him after he made the hit. He looks so happy and full of joy. I think for a second his run actually turned into a skip. A trot perhaps. Ah, yes, the amazingly blissful feeling of fucking somebody the fuck up. Nothing like it. What a rush.


    I had to throw this one in to defend cheerleading. Well, maybe this isn’t defending it, but it shows that we cheerleaders can take hits too. To my knowledge, this girl ended up with a concussion and ripped her ear off or something Mike Tyson-esque like that. This has to be the best cheerleading fuckup video on YouTube. Watch as her stunt partner pokes at her like road
    kill while she’s out cold, and take notice of how the person recording it all doesn’t make a move to get up and help. Classic.

    rocko Rocko Rocorski says…
    “Helmets?!? DP Dot Com don’t need no stinkin’ helmets!”