Business…the column starts today. Click here, go, and enjoy.
Exams start tomorrow. I feel good. That’s all for now on that.
And now, on the column, Rick James, and some nagging sentimentality…and profanity will be at an absolute minimum, Barbara. That minimum is not likely to be zero, though.
Today’s sign that I’m getting old…was sitting here listening to “Lean Back.” Remy Ma’s got a blazin verse on that one, no matter what Eb says (though she’s right…lots of Lil Kim similarities). But, I heard this bar and had to take a double take…
We don’t pay admission, and the bouncers don’t check us
and we walk around the metal detectors.
Dope line.
But see, this is why I frequent clubs with dress codes now. Let me be the one behind them in line when I see that happen. As soon as I see someone bypass the metal detector, I’m going home. Let me be the one directly ahead of them in line, and I’ll leave without getting my twenty bucks back.
The likelihood that they’re gonna start the jumpoff (instead of simply being prepared for it) is too high. As uncomfortable as I am with another man aggressively putting his hands on my genitals, it’s a small price to pay to make sure that any establisment is as safe as it can possibly be. A large man who refers to himself as “Cook Crack” bypassing the bouncer, the magic wand, or the overhead beep-beep is likely to mess up my good time and start a stampede. I can live with them bein in the club with hoodies, but please leave the burner at home, Joe.
Moral of the story…the day you pragmatically analyze what might be the banger of the summer is the day you start talking about what the “kids” are into. And I’m cool with the kids–you know, those that are three or four years younger than me–so long as the get that good patdown when they step in the club I’m at.
Too young to be this old…but too smart to walk into a shootout.
***
Here’s a RIP to Rick James. This is mostly based upon a basic respect for humanity, a love of life, and an understanding of how tragic an unexpected passing can be for someone’s friends and family.
So much more interesting stuff is left to be said. Consider this joke…
There was once an old man that lived on an island. One day, he decided to take his grandson for a walk around the island. As they walked, he pointed to a fence that surrounded the island.
“Grandson, do you see that fence? I built that fence to protect us from invaders. But do they call me fence-builder?”
“Well, no, Grandfather.”
“Do you see those ships? I built many ships so that we could trade with others. But do they call me ship-builder?”
“Well, no Grandfather.”
“And that school? I nailed the boards together for the floor of the school, so our children could learn. But do they call me school-builder?”
“Well, no Grandfather.”
“Yeah, but I got caught…ummm…making love to one goat, and what have the called me since?”
“Johnny the Goat (Love-maker), Grandfather.”
In this world, people tend only to remember the goats. Scandal tends to obscure all the good deeds someone has performed. For more than a decade, it looked as though Rick James had suffered such a fate. He’s better known for burning women with crackpipes by many, and it’s hard to argue with that (such a story sounds so fictitious that it becomes indellibly memorable once its truth is confirmed). But now, in death, the words “funkmeister,” “legend,” and “genius” have been used to refer to James.
The goat has not been forgotten, but it’s been kept in perspective, and that’s refreshing good to see.
However…
Rick James was not quite a genius. Rick James was a gifted practitioner of the music he performed, and he produced some brilliant songs. He also was integral in ushering the funk into the eighties, a movement that not even George Clinton could contribute to consistently.
But think fast…name one spectacular Rick James album. OK, just name one Rick James album.
Most can’t do it. This isn’t to say that Rick wasn’t good–when he chose to use it, his voice was wonderful–and it isn’t to say that he wasn’t really good at playing the bass. But if I want to listen to the best of post-Clinton funk, I’m still voting for the Red Hot Chili Pepper.
But it’s interesting that after Dave Chappelle returned him to public consciousness, in death, Rick is being remembered in a light more positive than any he ever bathed in previously.
That’s neither good nor bad. It is, though, incredibly interesting that being the butt of a thirty-minute joke–a classic joke, though–has put Rick back in the good graces of most. In fact, the grace he’s gotten may be a little too good.
RIP, Rick…hopefully now, Motown will find a way to release an archived album Rick recorded with Neil Young (yes, that Neil Young). We all deserve peace at the end, and one can’t help but wonder if that’s all he was ever after.
***
And now, this here column. Check some of these initial responses to the news that I got a column.
I Love You–my mother. That readily translates into, “now, he can pay his own car insurance.”
It’s About Time–The White Homey. Had they given me this thing any sooner, I’d be in jail. Patriot Act is real, jack. It’s taken years to learn all this restraint. Yeah, this is restraint.
Do they have any idea what they’ve done?–Can’t remember who said that one. The answer, though, is I think they do, but who knows? Poor KG…he’s gotta make sure I don’t get either of us shot and/or fired.
Yay–Eb. Good answer, shawty. I said the same thing, and she should know since she was on the other end of the line when I got the news initially.
Most of the background of the column is in the piece (an introduction of sorts), but there’s more to say that couldn’t be fit into my word limit. Being asked to do this is the greatest professional honor I’ve received. It’s like getting a record contract, the call-up to the big leagues, all that stuff. And it’s a consistent check. Can’t beat that with a bat, shawty.
First, this is intended to bridge the gaps between the work I’ve been doing. I’m a bit of a generalist, but we had to focus on something to make this work, and we went with music. So if you can handle some politics, economics, ignorance, and a lot of everything else in your music commentary, this is something you’ll want to check out. If you can’t, just indulge me, pweeeeaaaaase.
Four years ago, I got into this because I had too much time, too much on my mind, and not enough to do. One of the things that has lead me to believe that there is a God is that I started writing, for it’s the one thing that saved me from a host of demons–and myself–at a terrible time. It’s kept me in school, kept me sane, and, now, keeps my lights on. It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received.
The column is called “For Myself and Others,” and that’s really why I do it. To pay my rent. To offer something you might dig. To aggravate those I don’t like. To make sure my life is not completely dominated by economic models. To show that Mack and Barbara weren’t crazy for letting me express outlandish opinions at an age when I probably should have been both seen and heard less. Many of you reading this know me personally, and many of you have had serious roles in helping me continue to do this, so I want to make sure to tell you guys thank you.
A sweeping thank you goes out to so many, but specifics go to the following–Mama, Daddy, Mumba, Tayari, Will the Peasant, Mr. Kirby, JR, Weaver, Chap, Seuss, the White Homey, DNC, Femoor, Gwen Morgan, Dr. J, R-Dub, DNunn, Suff, Lord Amaru, Leonore, The Flat Rock/Ft. Worth Family, Eb, J. Boone, and others I can’t quite remember right now. Blame it on my lifestyle and my fatigued mind, not my heart.
Forgive the emotional exhibitionism and form letter-ish vibe of this, but I hope you understand. And please, forward the column and/or site around if you dig them (but only if you dig them).
***
No more shameless self-promotion. There are so many things I’ve been meaning to discuss on here and have sorta advertised, so we’ll try to get to a few of them next week. And for the record, got through with nary a cussword. Honestly, I haven’t gone this long without cursing in at least twelve years. It feels like wearing a tie to the movies. Yeah, I’m sharp….but man, can ya boy loosen up this knot a little? I know I got nephews to look after and mamas that prefer not to be embarrassed, but man…
August 10, 2004
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