Hip Hop and Ya Don’t Stop …

… Rockin’ to the Bang Bang Boogie said Up Jump the Boogie to the Rhythm of the Boog-a-da-beat.

Hell yes kittens. As promised last entry, the Playa is punching it up hip hop style, and what better time to do this than after the explosion of flavor I just witnessed Friday night at The Littlefield in the Gowanus, Brooklyn.

A fellow hip hop aficionado/friend of mine and I converged on this modestly-sized performance art space on Degraw Street to take in a concert sponsored by the National Black Writers’ Association. The acts?

First there was Talib Kweli, a fairly large name in the underground hip hop scene, who has sort of walked the mainstream tight rope with some popular, catchy crossover singles (“Just to Get By,”; “I Try”). His lyrics are more in the politically conscious vein, and his MC skills are quite superb. He is also known for having frequently over the years partnered up with another fellow Brooklyn-bred MC, Mos Def. The duo put out a well-received collabo album under the name ‘Black Star’ in the 2001-02 time period, spawning minor underground hits such as ‘Respiration’ and ‘Definition,’ the latter of which pays homage to Boogie Down Productions’ old-school classic cut ‘Stop the Violence’ by borrowing its chorus and re-wording it for a new-school update.

The headliner? The one and only Gil Scott Heron, a name not that well known in modern music circles, but please don’t get it twisted. Mr. Heron made his bones as a revolutionary African American musician and occasional spoken-word poet during the burgeoning, turbulent New York of the early 1970s, symbolizing the voice of the black poor and lower working-class in Harlem and other fringe NYC neighborhoods at the time. Works of his such as ‘The Bottle’ and ‘The Revolution will Not be Televised’ have stood the test of time as powerful works of artistic brilliance, and were hugely influential in what would go on to become the hip hop music we know and love today. His loops and vocals have been sampled by countless well-respected hip hop artists in the New York scene, and everywhere else. Well before The Sugar Hill Gang laid down the single that ‘started rap music,’ Gil Scott was already a legend in his own time.

I was honestly a little unsure of what to expect heading into this show. I’m not super familiar with the overall catalogue of work by either of these artists, but knew enough about them and had heard enough of their music to have an idea of what to expect.

Let me just say, there’s nothing like being pleasantly surprised. This was honestly one of the best live music shows I’ve seen in a long time. Even DJ Preservation on the wheels of steel was amazing with the pre-show warmup music, seamlessly weaving through a truckload of 45s on the turntables displaying his skills through a glorious soundwave of old-school funk, tribal African beats, 70s soul and countless other musical styles that provided a perfect backdrop for Friday night’s performers.

Best of all, the performers did their own thing wonderfully without stepping on each others’ grooves. Live hip hop shows are often nowhere near as satisfying as the recorded product. There’s often ancillary posse members on stage just for the hell of it, and too many cats up there with microphones shouting over each other and ruining the flow. Half the time, they’re not even on point with the rhythm of the music, and the whole thing just comes off sloppy.

Well my friends, no such thing on this night. Talib took the stage by himself, rocking the mic with only the DJ providing the music – the way it should be. And he put it down. He prowled the stage, sweating through a blistering set in the cramped space and moving the crowd like a real MC should. The melody in his songs came through perfectly, and the beats were tight. Not a weak song in the set.

After a break following his set, backed up yet again by some more heat rocks from DJ Preservation, out came the legend himself, Mr. Gil-Scott Heron. He spoke to the crowd the way he might an old friend, casually talking about his life experiences (including a few stints in prison over the past 10 years). The life experience in his voice was fascinating. His gravelly delivery and laid back, take-it-in-stride demeanor is probably the only way he’s still around today, after all he’s evidently been through in his life. His vocals were flawless. Have you ever been fortunate enough to see a live performer or singer who can’t possibly miss a note or sing something out of key because everything that comes out of his/her mouth is pure gold? That’s Gil Scott. Some cats are just born to sing. He’s one of them. He played his songs on an organ and just sang – simple yet effective. He was also laced with some harmonica by a fellow performer, and I would be completely remiss if I didn’t mention the saxophone stylings of another jazz bluesician legend who joined Mr. Gil Scott on stage, the legendary Gary Bartz.

All in all, a fabulous night of music, starting with a newer artist that represents true hip hop in the modern era (Talib Kweli), and ending it off by going back to the roots of what started it all, musical treasures Gil Scott Heron and Gary Bartz. These are the type of guys that laid the foundation for what artists like Public Enemy, Nas, Eric B. & Rakim, Jay-Z, EPMD, Slick Rick and countless others would turn into a musical movement that so many of us still know and love today.

Another one of those modern artists, one who was cut down way before his time, was the Notorious BIG. The 13th anniversary of his passing happened just a few weeks ago (March 9th), but you would never know it, aside from the occasional one or two-hour Biggie mash-up on your local urban radio station in memory of his greatness. This sadly proves that true hip hop, the real Golden Era stuff, is and has been dormant for a long time now. All that most of us have as a memory stick now is the glorious music and live performances of that era because as most of us know now, it’s not apparently present in any way, shape or form in the current urban music scene.

Many have theorized that when Biggie and Tupac died within a year of each other in 1996 and ’97, those two watershed events signaled the slow, metaphorical death of the art form (not just music scene, mind you) itself. It would be hard to argue that (but more on that for another time).

Those of us that love and revere true hip hop don’t just miss Biggie and Tupac. We miss the entire culture.

Fortunately, we have performances like Friday night’s at the Littlefield to remind us that true greatness isn’t completely dead. You just have to know where to look.

March Sadness

I am SO glad I didn’t fill out a bracket this year.

Anyone who knows anything about the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament is well aware that there are a fair share of surprises every year, some more than others.

But this season – hot diggity dog. I would have my swear jar filled to the brim with quarters at this point had I decided to enter a pool.

It’s not even about the fairly insignificant amount of money most people plunk down. Nobody really cares so much about 5, 10 or even 20 dollars that they should react as though they just found out they were one wrong digit away from a winning mega-Millions lottery ticket.

It’s about the frustration with finding out how wildly inaccurate your thought processes were when making your picks. This is especially true for self-professed sports nuts (right here!). Hell, I covered sports for a career at one time. I should know more than the average bear!

Dead wrong. Big mis-perception right there. Sure I might have certain insights into particular sports that are lacking in others who could care less about it. But when it comes to predicting winners of games, tournaments or other competitive endeavors? Please, spare me with the whole ‘research’ angle. It’s probably 85-90 percent dumb luck, and anyone who believes otherwise is fooling themselves.

This year’s NCAA Tournament is a perfect example. Kansas losing in the second round to Northern Iowa? Georgetown biting the dust in the first round against the University of Ohio? Cornell taking out Temple in Round One? Old Dominion and Saint Mary’s College advancing into the second round by knocking out programs such as Notre Dame and Villanova, respectively? Say WHAT? Eleventh-seeded Washington, from the one major-conference-that’s-getting-no-respect-this-year PAC 10 into the Sweet 16 with wins over Marquette (No. 6) and New Mexico (No. 3)?

See, we all know upsets are going to happen, but who the hell can pretend they have any well-researched, surefire theories as to which games will actually produce these upsets? It’s all anybody’s guess. And it’s not rocket science to predict things like “Oh this higher-seeded, major conference team has 2 starters out, so they might lose,” or “Gonzaga might be a number eight seed from a non-major conference, but we all know they’re capable of beating anyone at any time.” And those scenes don’t even always seem to play out as consistently as they used to. Traditional logic just doesn’t work anymore.

I enjoy the NCAA Tournament MUCH more when I don’t have a dog in the fight, and when I’m not checking my bracket sheet more than actually watching the games as I’m attempting to calculate whether or not I’m mathematically eliminated from winning some sort of prize, or trying to validate my sports acumen by holding up a mostly successful bracket sheet by the time the dust all settles.

College hoops is just insane. Too many alpha dogs are fleeing straight to the NBA after just one solid year of collegiate experience, as per the NBA’s one-year-of-college-minimum rule enacted a few years ago. And before that rule, it wasn’t at all uncommon for the best young players to go straight from high school to the big time, bypassing college hoops completely. I mean – can you blame these kids? Like Steve Miller said so many years ago, go on take the money and run. Right?

This leads to a scenario where accurately predicting March Madness success is much more difficult and tedious than ever before. The playing field is more level consistently now. We still have the landmark programs winning national titles for the most part (teams like Kansas, North Carolina, Florida, etc.). But the rest of the country has caught up in recent years. Murray State, George Mason and the U. of Ohio never seemed to make it as far as they do now when I was a young buck.

It’s fun as a spectator, but the opposite of fun if you’re trying to be a bracket expert.

Oh and by the way, I technically lied. My last entry indicated that my next would be about hip hop (you know, playa president and all). I promise that’s coming next. The 13th anniversary of Biggie’s death recently came and went without so much as a shout out, and that’s sad.

The art form of creative, boundary-pushing hip hop is as under-the-radar as it’s ever been. And that’s my word.

And 1nce Again It’s On

Alright, okay – let’s just put it out of the way at the get-go.

I’ve been in Indo-China hunting rare birds of prey. I almost shot my partner a la Dick Cheney-style, but it all worked out. Let’s just say, if you ever decide to leave the safety off your hunting rifle because you get sick of having to constantly switch it back and forth, just do the smart thing and keep switching it. Laziness just might kill ya dead otherwise!

Fine, okay, for reals, for those few devoted followers out there, I haven’t updated this space in ages. And it feels like I’ve turned several ages since then. Alas, here we are. I haven’t put it down since the day of the Super Bowl ya’ll. Inexcusable! And the frigging Saints won! I knew I shouldn’t have taken the ‘boring but predictable’ pick (Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts). Whatevs. They’re probably still partying in N’Awlins. We’ll see if the hangover lasts well into the 2010 season, but that’s several months from now.

I’m going to hop around the dial this time. Hang onto your party favors, chaps.


* The Oscars have come and gone without any major surprises, except perhaps arguably in the Best Picture category. Well, that and the crazy Jewish godmother chick that bum-rushed the stage and stole the thunder from Roger Ross Williams during the award acceptance speech in the Best Short Documentary category. Talk about pulling a ‘Kanye West’ – Jesus Christmas. At first I thought she was going to just complain about how she asked for a Salt bagel and they gave her an Egg Everything by mistake, for the sake of Hashem already. But then she started babbling about the film. Go figure.

The other most notable result, at least in my mind, was The Hurt Locker pulling the upset over Avatar for Best Picture. This is in no way an expression of opinion that Avatar should have won Best Pic, mind you. But I feared that it would, simply for more political reasons if nothing else … you know, like the fact that it made a buzzillion dollars and was seen by everyone who is anyone. It was a cultural phenomenon, not just a movie, and Hollywood often likes to reward such achievements. But I’m glad to see that, especially in recent years, the Academy has shown the tendency to give the nod to the less visible but still powerful, and deserving, films (i.e. Crash, Slumdog Millionaire, The Hurt Locker).

* Breaking Bad returns to AMC next Sunday, March 21st, chilluns. It’s. Going. To be. Bad-ass. Great show, heading into Season 3, and if you don’t know, now ya know. Go catch up pronto. It’s the best show of this past decade not named ‘The Wire.’ Bryan Cranston’s defining career role. Everyone else is fantastic too, in their own way. Just trust me. Subject matter, you ask? Well, it’s not the sunniest show, but if you can take it, it’s worth it. Cranston plays a burned out, mid-life crisis-having high school chemistry teacher in Albuquerque with a wife, a physically disabled teenage son, and another baby on the way. He’s a brilliant scientist who has fallen short with more prestigious career paths, and when the show opens we see him working a shitty second job in a car wash to help make ends meet. Then suddenly, he’s diagnosed with lung cancer. So what does he do? Why what anybody else would do in his position … he teams up with a burnout former student of his who deals small-time drugs locally and uses his vast knowledge of chemicals to construct the most addictive, dangerous, organically pure form of crystal meth known to man so he can make sick money for his family before he checks out permanently. It’s gripping stuff, and you can imagine the kind of characters that Walt and Jesse (said burnout former student) encounter along the way. Their pairing is seemingly unlikely and often chaotic, but also strangely compelling and even somewhat touching, at the risk of sounding like a sentimental pussy. But seriously – excellent show. Highly recommended.

* I caught Brooklyn’s Finest this weekend. It’s received mediocre reviews and only lukewarm attention. Although I enjoyed it overall, I must agree with the overall sentiment that it doesn’t quite stand up to Training Day, the definitive work of director Antoine Fuqua and a film which garnered a Best Lead Actor Oscar for Denzel Washington 10 years ago. BK’s Finest is a gritty crime drama set in modern day New York, and the realism aspect seems fairly believable. But the three central storylines that interweave throughout the two-plus hours often leave holes and question marks individually, creating for a lack of depth and a feeling of emptiness by the time it’s all over. You just kind of find yourself wondering what you’re supposed to take away from it. Sure I enjoyed the overall experience of viewing it, but it doesn’t stand up as a strong work on its own that leaves you wanting more or yearning for repeat viewings, as does Training Day, which I never turn off when I stumble across it while channel-surfing. If you’ve got nothing better to do and you’re drawn to the hardcore crime drama genre, you could definitely do worse. But don’t expect a classic. Solid all-around performances from Ethan Hawke, Wesley Snipes and Don Cheadle, although I couldn’t help wondering why Cheadle’s character was so eternally pissed off the entire film. He had shit on lock down – he was a cop who was clearly taking dirty money (obvious by the car he drives and the pad in which he lives), but he also had respect from his back-in-the-day boys who are still living large dealing drugs in the housing projects of the seedier parts of Brooklyn. The world is his oyster. Someone forgot to tell him he already has everything you could possibly want.



* Just caught an interesting ‘30 for 30’ Series documentary that premiered tonight on ESPN titled “Winning Time: Reggie Miller vs. the New York Knicks.” It’s a fascinatingly candid hour-plus look at many of the memorable, heated playoff battles between the Miller-led Indiana Pacers and the New York Knicks in the early-to-mid 1990s when those teams were battling Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls for Eastern Conference supremacy. Directed by Dan Klores, this doc pulls no punches (and shows that there were more than a few being thrown between the Knicks and Pacers at the time). Reggie talks openly about the constant verbal battles and stare-downs between himself and infamous Knicks fan Spike Lee, whose taunts and trash-talking often inspired Miller to escalate his already impressive skills to an even higher level of play. If you dig good old NBA footage and stories, and especially if you were in your prime and watching a lot of those old Knicks/Pacers clashes in the 90s, don’t miss this.

Okay folks, I’m gonna try not to fall off anymore and have to re-introduce myself to the world like Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer or something, but we’ll see. Stay tuned. We’re going to dip into some deep hip hop discussion next time. After all, I called this joint ‘Playa President’ for a reason. Peace.