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Backpacker Week Presents Volume III: Grand Puba

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Puba. One word.

Those throaty rhymes where you could hear the juice in the corner of his lips. Many images conjured.

The unmistakable low eyes.

Hillfiger.

Spirit.

O-kay o-kay o-kay, what more could I say?
Alamo get the boom and.. parlay parlay
Im far from the average, civilize the savage
When Im low on protein Im with the bean soup and cabbage
Skins on the diet, kick the flavor, cause a riot
Do a show and get the dough and then Im off to the hyatt

So tie me on the spliff, aint no ands or if
And if you really wanna riff you just might end up playin stiff
Girbauds hangin baggy, hilfiger on the top Knapsack on the back,
thats just my flavor hobbes
As my man gives a zigga zigga,
watchin three grow bigga bigga To pos k, thats my nigga
Here goes the wreck, whaddayou expect?
If you wanna see some wreck, send cash, not a check
Grand puba, more than a public figure
Quick to kick the bone up the butt of a golddigger
Now tic-tac-toe means I hit three in a row

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If I do a show then you better have my dough
Low, low, well how low can you go?

Call on grand puba if you really need a pro
Cause my shits more rugged than g.i. joe
Dont front honey, act like you know
Now big up to my brooklyn mob (brooklyn! brooklyn!)
Big up to my uptown mob (uptown! uptown!)

Who better represents Bkpcker than Puba?

Sh*t. He MIGHT even be the inargural Backpacker.

Puba was one of the only golden era cats, besides Bussie, to give us one of the flyest ‘GON SOLO Albums ever.

There was a minute last year, while warming up before running on the treadmill, I would listen to Reel to Reel.

Talk about EXTENSIVE replay value.

At the end of the day.

It comes down to what you want from the music.

Can WE live.

Can we have a little of everything?

Party and Bullsh*t.

A lil fun sittin up trippin on some 22’s and video vixens gettin some D’s.

Some garden variety misogyny and sexy gun play.

And some stories about the 360 degrees of life.

For trill.

The Backpacker Manifesto/a.

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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.

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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.

Bahamdia or Missy?

Nia or Halle?

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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Hi Blog Fam.

Muah!

Hope you like this post.

Or for that matter hate it.

Lets tawk.

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Obama, Cosby & All Star Weekend

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Obama and Cosby don’t have anything to do w/ Allstar weekend, at least on its face. Give me a couple of days I will come up with a link. lol!

Dope article in the TIMES OF ALL PLACES on racism and how the Allstar weekend is being portrayed in the media.

Stain of Racism Feeds N.B.A.’s Renegade Image
HARVEY ARATON

My wife and two sons were with me at the recent N.B.A. All-Star weekend in Las Vegas. The crowds made us feel more claustrophobic than threatened, but maybe that was because we weren’t roaming the nightspots any more than we would have in Los Angeles or New York.

Look for trouble in any densely populated city, and especially where people consume alcohol, and chances are you’ll find it, with or without America’s usual sports suspects — the N.B.A. and its alleged army of hip-hop followers — to blame it on. Rather than stay out into the wee hours, we went to a legends brunch to hear Magic Johnson and John Havlicek speak, to catch glimpses of Kareem and Dr. J.

Contrary to what you might have heard, All-Star weekend was not confined to a strip club or even the Strip.

You can argue that Las Vegas was not the ideal site for an event that traditionally attracts thrill seekers hoping to attach themselves to celebrities and their posses. But the casting of the weekend as a lawless referendum on the N.B.A. product has become exaggerated to the point of being imbecilic and has left Commissioner David Stern in a delicate position, between a Pacman and a hard place.

In an e-mail message, Stern said he was inclined to let the Vegas storm pass, move on as the regular season hits the homestretch. He also said he was ”not necessarily a majority among N.B.A. management,” meaning the strategy is ”subject to change.”

He may yet ask why nobody blamed Nascar for the death of a motorist who was shot in a road-rage encounter during a traffic jam after leaving the Daytona 500.

He may have to point out again that no N.B.A. player was involved in any Las Vegas transgression, compared with a number of N.F.L. players who over the years have turned Super Bowl week into episodes of ”Miami Vice.”

He may crunch crime statistics relative to other sports events and large gatherings like New Year’s Eve that, he said, would prove that All-Star weekend was no behavioral aberration.

Opening an offensive may also be subject to critical interpretation, Stern acknowledged, writing: ”It sounds so damn defensive to throw other numbers out there to defend what has to be acknowledged as bad behavior, although of the 400-plus arrests in Vegas, almost 200 were for prostitution — there I go again.”

Without question, there were people in Las Vegas you wouldn’t have hired as the baby sitter or wanted to run into at the wrong time and place. But check the newspaper clippings and broadcasts from the actual weekend: Nobody raised the terror alert to red, at least not until waking up Monday and hearing about an ugly incident that involved the Tennessee Titans’ Pacman Jones hours after All-Star weekend formally concluded.

Hindsight is 20-20, but a troubled football player accused of inciting a triple shooting — how, exactly, is this a reflection of Stern’s league?

A few hundred arrests over several days, roughly half for prostitution in a city that is the home office for Hookers R Us — how does this qualify as an indictment of a certain (read: African-American) element now said to have been running rampant everywhere but between Dick Bavetta and Charles Barkley during their charity race?

Isn’t it possible that a fair percentage of those arrested included some from among the tens of thousands in town for conventions unrelated to the N.B.A. or to celebrate the Chinese New Year? Or are only black people vulnerable to the seductions of Las Vegas?

”The subject is just so delicious that everyone from Imus to Letterman thinks it’s just hilarious to dump on the ‘hip-hoppers,’ ” Stern wrote. ”Of course, race plays a part in the perceptions. Do you doubt that there were more African-Americans in Las Vegas last week than at any time in its history, and some people felt threatened by that simply as a matter of culture?”

It must be noted that Jason Whitlock, an African-American columnist for The Kansas City Star and America Online, initiated the criticism of All-Star weekend. But his perceptions represent only one of the hundreds of journalists in Las Vegas and ultimately have become less the issue for Stern than the latest round of mostly uninformed N.B.A. bashing it triggered on Talk Show America.

We know Stern’s league has issues. But, once again, pro football players and their entourages have been on a criminal rampage for years while a majority of the news media ignored the sobering reality on the way to another Super Bowl buffet.

Maybe it was the relative anonymity of the average player in a team-first league, compared with the N.B.A.’s individual marketing strategy, that has wrought a more flamboyant and inflammatory product. And maybe, as the Dallas Mavericks’ owner, Mark Cuban, argued via e-mail: ”Football pays the bills for the sports media in every N.F.L. city and some non-N.F.L. cities. It’s that simple.”

Americans respect selling power, benevolent or not, and no athlete wielded more in the 1990s than Sheriff Michael Jordan. But not long after the Bulls’ dynasty crumbled, the N.B.A. was being characterized as too young, too edgy, too scary — code for too black — as it was said to be in the late 1970s, pre-Magic and Bird.

Now it’s also the hip-hop capital of America, Thugs R Us. As if what was possibly the worst N.B.A. disturbance ever, the Pistons-Pacers brawl in November 2004, wasn’t at least half the responsibility of a largely white crowd at the suburban Palace of Auburn Hills.

Talk about drunk, about lawless. And in that case, we do have the video to prove it.

  • So the verdict is that negros are ignorant and don’t know how to act BUT, violence in the NFL is not worth mentioning, nor does it constitute news.

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  • Witlocks article gave me the impression that he does not Like Black People, and the Vegas activities gave the the green light to tell the world about it.
  • I never thought of how many people EAT off football, and consequently have an incentive to keep mum about football related violence.
  • Too young, too edgy, too scary, code for being black. That is a dope t-shirt idea.

Somebody send me his address so I can send him a thank you card.

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I love what Koch means to hip hop.

It forces cats to crunch the numbers.

As record sales keep sliding, the rise of Koch coincides with the lowering of rappers? expectations. Five years ago, no self-respecting rapper ? certainly no self-respecting New York rapper ? would ever have bragged about selling 400,000 records. But if you?re not going to sell a million CDs with a major label, you may well be better off at Koch, accepting a lower recording and promotional budget in exchange for a higher royalty rate. That?s why rappers are so ambivalent about Koch: signing there means giving up the dream of pop stardom, or, at any rate, deferring it.

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Sports serves as a wonderful platform for racialicious ponderings. God Bless America.

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Go See East Of Havana or You Ain’t Hip Hop.

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I slept yall. I saw this movie almost a month ago and I have been meaning to tell you about it. East of Havana is about Hip Hip in Cuba.

The filmmakers ? who are Cuban-American themselves ? zero in on a collective called El Cartel, composed of the charismatic Mikki (a flirt who raises pigeons), a poetic woman named Magyori (a street huckster who’s as tough as any guy) and the group’s political firebrand, Soandry, who laments the marginalization of politically tinged rap since its heyday in the United States in the early 1990s. (“I live trapped in that time,” he admits.)

Although the film is set in 2004 during the weeklong run-up to the International Festival of Rap Cubano and in the shadow of Hurricane Charley, there’s no phony urgency. The filmmakers are mainly interested in hearing the music and learning about the musicians’ compelling personal stories. (Soandry, for instance, longs to be reunited with his older brother, who fled to the United States a decade earlier.)

And trust. You WILL be a different person after you watch it. I know, my back pack readers, b-girls/boys, and the mtv jawns, might think, here she go with this sh*t again.


Following Magyori and fellow rappers as they prepare for an international hip-hop festival taking place in Havana in 2004, East of Havana sets their individual stories against the bitter, resilient landscape of Cuba’s political history. For the youth in the film, music doesn’t just have a purpose, it is a purpose, and the artists find in hip-hop a “mental freedom,” a lyrical and ideological purity that recalls American hip-hop before it crusted over with diamonds and demagogues.

But please believe there is nothing like seeing fools rap, JUST FOR THE SAKE OF RAPPIN.

Seeing a dude in Cuba, live near the beach, not really have a lot of paper, BUT has crazy love for hip hop.

NEW WORLD WATER

2 of the three characters had to go outside to get water either from a pump or from a cooler.

THAT SH*T was bananas. The female character in the documentary HUSTLES USED CLOTHES TO MAKE PAPER. The IDEA of Get Rich or Die Trying, or Bling, Or Coming Up, is foreign to them. I swear, for these cats, hip hop is like breathing. And it makes my 89-92 loving heart smile.

While it may not come to your local theaters.

Netflix it.

IMDB it.

Myspace it.

Get that sh*t into ya life.

Trust.

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Hi Blog fam.

Has anyone else seen it?

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I Miss Lil Kim.

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There is something sorely missing from hip hop. Hip hop is missing the the voice of a woman that is sexual, raw and self possesed. A woman who has created and stays in her lane and is clearly unapolgetic about who she is.

I usta be scared of the d*ck/
now I throw my lips on the sh*t/
handle it like a real b*tch/.


“Asserting herself sexually like a hip-hop Millie Jackson, Kim’s ribald accounts of healthy sexual appetite come off as empowering,” said Time Out. “Kim is a revolutionary figure in the sense that she’s a woman who is articulating the same perverted thoughts that men have been rhyming about for years,” said CMJ in their “Dope!”-rated review. Spin concurred, stating “Lil’ Kim is possessed of so much natural panache and audacity that she packs the attack of a 50-foot woman.”

The New York Times article on surban mommas pole dancing to add spice to their lives reminds me of kim and the schizophrenic realtionship that this country has with sex.

Pole dancing, once exclusively the province of exotic dancers, has flared up as a much-hyped Hollywood exercise craze, and has seeped into the collective unconscious through shows like ?The Sopranos? and ?Desperate Housewives.? A variant called motorized pole dancing, which occurs in stretch limos, has raised eyebrows as far away as Britain, where some female university students pole-danced as a fund-raiser for testicular cancer. And mini-poles have even been spotted as dance props at over-the-top bat mitzvah parties in suburban precincts.

My first problem with the article is that it presupposes that suburban mommas are not suppose to be mashing in the first place.

Secondily.

In our culture, Strippers are lower than spit.

So what does it means when “Surban” re responsible and lady like and not sexual women start “pole dancing” for fun.

Its serves as evidence of “stripper culture” permeating mainstream culture without any analysis of what it means to be a woman that makes her living off selling the notion of sex, the fantasy of sex, and for that matter sex.

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?I want the women to feel strong within themselves,? explained Ms. Cottam, 29, who teaches pole dancing at a local gym as well as at home parties. Noting that some middle-aged suburban women lose themselves and their sense of sexuality as they are consumed by the responsibilities of motherhood, she added: ?When you come to my class you are beautiful, you are. I want to show them that strength inside, and unleash that sexual kitten.?


Think about it. The Duke rape case was largely scandless because the accuser was a black woman, EXOTIC DANCER, momma and student.

Kim will never be Kim again.

With jail, the loss of of Biggie and the cosmetic surgeries, life is different for Kim.

However, I remember reading her article in Honey magazine and feeling like I knew her and being glad that she existed.

Hip Hop needs her voice.

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Good Morning Blog Family. Did you see the snow last night? It was purrrrty. It actually made me relax. And that was after two cups of coffee, a cinnamon roll, an 4 hours of reading, lol.

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