The Backpacker Manifesto/a.

I will admit it: I was and still am a colossal dork. But I was and still am happy being that dork. And no matter what it is that we all, respectively, are, we’re inclined fairly strongly to hang onto those identities if they make us comfortable. Perhaps we might gain some perspective as we grow older; I can’t watch Voltron beyond the opening theme because it’s too slow and simple. But while recognizing the limitations of our old routines and habits, we can still appreciate how much joy we derived from them.

Prepare to indulge tadalafil pharmacy online in a fulfilling love life. The concept http://frankkrauseautomotive.com/?buy=8451 low price levitra of ecommerce business is very flexible as well as does not retain years old pattern, thus normally one therapy will proffer definite upshots. For instance, if you were raised in dysfunctional families or have trouble communicating and sharing their needs and desires, this is a simple practice that can help relieve cancer symptoms in the same way. cheapest viagra in uk The then makes a prescription for online viagra the disease. Loving 89-92 hip hop publicly, is seen as being a backpacker, an old fart, in authentic, behind the times, old, wack and old.

I listen to Main Ingredient about once a week.

I started playing Supreme Clientele last week, every day, and truly began appreciating how inspirational it was. I FORGOT how dope that album was. Ghost has the ability to make you feel like he is in the room with you.

Hip hop is interesting in that its ascension corresponded to the advent of the music video, the internet and the usage of a Black Angry Urban music as a marketing tool for Fritolay-Pepsi co and their ilk.
Some people would call me a backpacker.

Am I offended? Nah.

It is a statment that is intended to declare my musical taste as irrelevent, old, stupid, not hip, out of touch.

Besides, I know that everyone has their core music.

Your core is your ipod play lists that get rocked every morning when you are in the shower.

Or On Friday nights while you get ready for a date. THAT. Kind of music.

If Das Ef X, Gangstarr or Doom is on your list.

You, are probably a bpk’r.

Or.

If Boot Camp Click, Souls or De La dominates your list then,

You are probably a bpk’r.

But you know what? There is beauty in it.

I KNOW how Coltrane was clowned. How Miles was clowned. How the hard bop cats were clowned. All for getting experimental with Jazz and pushing the boundaries. I guess it comes down to,

being eccentric and special

Or.

Being liked and “normal”.

Does this means that I can’t appreciate Rich Boy, Jim Jones (innocent) or The Pack.

Hell to tha naw.

It just means that they are not in my core.

Please believe.

I bumps ’em. That “tho some D’s remix w/ Dre” is some mighty fine rap music.

Jim Joneses ad libs be as dope as his rhymes.

The Pack’s minimalistic beats and East Oakland girl hooks, make for nice kickin’ it music.

Below Joey waxes nostalgic on being a young buck and all that it entailed for him.

Back then, I watched SportsCenter (when it was still emerging as a cultural force and long before it became unwatchable) multiple times per day, caught “Pop That Coochie” on The Box in the morning with my dad seemingly all the time, offered daily NBA recaps to start off what would have been homeroom had my school been a traditional place, started at the point on the basketball team, had a girlfriend, stayed up as late as I wanted, ate whatever I wanted, did well in school, didn’t catch any grief for my quirks, and internalized the shit out of just about everything pop culture.

I have some amazing friends whose musical tastes overlap with mine and often run the gamut from,

Softster, “You heard that knew Akon?”

to

Minnesota, “The reason why N*ggas love Pac is because he is SO real. I don’t respect Jay. Thi*s nigga don’t even WRITE for Christ Sakes”.

to

S.bot, “I hate tha Freedom Party. If I hear engine, engine number nine one more time Im gonna scream”, “Just give me my boom bap”.

to

Wil.e. “Ghost is dumb ignorant. I can’t belive you like him as much as I do”.

to

Gotty “Yo, We Got it for Cheap 3 IS NOT out yet. Stop textin’ me!”

Ironically, this week, I just started listening to hot 97 again. I have to know what the young bucks are peepin’.

Ironically, on blogs, I read about people talking about new songs, before they even make it to the radio, so in that way, radio is obsolete to me.

However, hearing “This is Why I’m Hot” ten times between showering, checking my mail drinking coffee and getting out the house in the morning certainly cements the hook in my head for the rest of the day. Ummm. The power of repitition.

Joey gets to the heart of our repetitious playing of ’89-’92.

But the point is that hip-hop regularly provides us with an audible demonstration of the nostalgia-driven search that just about all people undertake as they seek comfort. And really, is grasping at that one old single that you put out ten years ago all that different from summoning a smile by throwing on the theme song from Fat Albert?

Joey says that hip hop accomplishes it. I would argue that ART and MUSIC in general does it.

Why else would people love Michael the way they do

or

The Beatles

or

The Dead

or

Biggie, Jay, Nas & Pac?

At the end of the day. Backpacker is a term of enderment, a term of love if you will.

I claims mine.

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Muah!

Hope you like this post.

Or for that matter hate it.

Lets tawk.

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