choco candy: hey dickie
drey: what’s good b!tches?
“This remote, public, and, as it were, principled, bondage is the indispensable justification of their own: when the prisoner is free, the jailer faces the void of himself.”
—James Baldwin, The Devil Finds Work
Speaking last Tuesday at Brooklyn’s Music Hall of Williamsburg, on the night of his fifth solo release, Shaolin Vs. Wu-Tang, legendary artist Raekwon listed a few pillars under which “real Hip-Hop” must fall—wittiness, slang, real-life value, lyrical worth, and a non-commercial edge. In case the concert audience had slumbered through the last item, he repeated with emphasis: “It’s got to be non-commercial!” On the same day, another prominent artist was living the reality of a music industry whose iron fist often tightens around the necks of those who refuse to submit and do as told. Lupe Fiasco’s Lasers dropped, following a tumultuous three-year delay no one saw coming.
After two superb albums released in the winter months of 2006 and 2007, all eyes fell upon the Chicago native to invade a territory only few have ever trudged; and for most fans, this represented less a demand and more an expectation. The last ten years had produced in Rap no fresher voice, no wittier mind, and it just seemed inevitable—that time would do him justice, and the ladder of quality would stretch higher on his behalf (especially since the sophomore curse had so eluded him in an age of ephemerality), and that with a third album he might possibly accomplish in ways a predecessor had tragically failed (Illmatic, It Was Written… I Am), successfully dodging the deadly commercial darts flying his way: darts which pierce with determination, rendering great artists casualties of early success; more importantly, repeated success which upset the logic of cemented probability, which undo tried and true equations record labels have built castles upon: Street Consciousness + Social Courage + Lyricism = Billboard Disaster.
Fans, it turns out, were wrong; and just like his predecessor, Lupe is now staring at an impasse, unable to reconcile his third effort with the two classics of a not too distant past. And his fingers have for the last few weeks been pointing in one direction—the record label, Atlantic Records, which signed him in 2004 to a rumored six-album deal. This is the label’s album, Lupe has been chanting to music websites for a few days now. Even when the success of his first official single, “The Show Goes On,” is raised, Lupe seems hardly moved, explaining to Chicago Sun-Times columnist Thomas Conner: “It’s their record. My words, their music. They forced this song to be a No. 1 single, and that’s what they got. I can’t take any credit for it.”
If you’ve been wondering who the baby on the cover of Biggie’s 1994 debut album Ready to Die was, we finally have the answer (and no it was not B.I.G). After 17 years, the baby covering one of hip-hop’s greatest albums ever created is 18-year-old Bronx native Keithroy Yearwood. The New York Daily News spoke with the teen who mentioned bragging to people that he was in fact the kid on the album’s artwork but no one would believe him. His mother dug up baby pictures of young Keithroy to prove to the Daily News that he was indeed the afro-haired kid on the classic cover. Rap mystery: Solved.
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One of rap’s most lauded male hook singers, Long Beach, California, native Nate Dogg (born Nathaniel Hale) died on Tuesday at the age of 41 after several years of health problems.
Hale’s death was first reported by the Long Beach Press Telegram, which noted that his family announced his death on Tuesday. The cause of death was not announced at press time, but Hale had struggled with serious health issues recently, including suffering a massive stroke in 2007 that left him partially paralyzed and another the following year. A spokesperson for the singer could not be reached for comment at press time for further details on his passing.
Hale was born in Long Beach on August 19, 1969, and dropped out of high school at 16 to join the Marines, where he served for three years. He formed the rap group 213 — a reference to the local area code — in 1991 with then unknown pals Snoop Dogg and Warren G. The group’s demo eventually made its way to Dre, who liked Nate’s sound and recruited him to participate on The Chronic.
Lean On Me (1989)
Morgan Freeman’s take on real life school principal Joe Clark in the film Lean On Me helped propel Freeman to Hollywood stardom.
In this classic scene from Lean On Me, Freeman confronts a troublemaking student who Clark learns has a crack problem.
Freeman starred as high school principal Joe Clark in 1989’s ‘Lean on Me.’ The film was based on a real-life Paterson, N.J. high school
” they used to call me ‘crazy Joe’, now they can call me ‘Batman’ “.
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