WHEN POPSTARS ATTACK...JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE IS NOT A NICE GUY

My lovely wife said it would be impossible to mention the words "Timberlake" and "nightmare" in the same sentence, but it's true, I had a nightmare about Justin Timberlake. Yeah, I'm a sucka.

I was at an industry event and, like I've had the distinct pleasure of doing from time to time, I was at a private listening party for Justin's new record. I'm not sure what record it was, but it was his new material and I, along with about eight other industry heads, were hearing it before the public. And Justin was there. In fact, when he showed up, I got a weird read off of him. It was an apparent and noticeable "not this again" type of vibe. He walks in, barely acknowledges everyone who has gathered in excitement to meet him, glances at all of us and says, "Whaddup?" and then proceeds to take off his jacket and get a plate of celery and carrots.

Everyone was sitting in a large circle and there was one spare seat for Justin--right next to me. He plops down beside me and says, "Aight, folks. I guess ya'll are here to hear the new record. It's done and I have it with me today. I'm quite proud of this album. It's the best work I've ever done. I don't want to stall it so let's get right to it." At which point the music starts.

Halfway through the first song, I feel my pocket begin to vibrate. Then, much to my sheer horror, I hear my cellular telephone ringing. Now, the ringtone was Public Enemy's "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos" which would indicate it's my lovely wife calling and I'm thinking, "Not now, honey. Geez, not now!" I feel Justin's eyes piercing through me. He's looking at my pocket. The ringing gets louder and now it's vibrating like a dryer full of cinder blocks.

Not now! Bad, bad, bad!

I decide to take the fall and yank it out of my pocket to silence it. I pull it out and it's not my lovely wife at all. Mahan Cell it reads. Damn it, Mayhem! What could he possibly want from me at that moment, in that circumstance, sitting right next to Justin Timberlake?

I push the button on the side to silence it and the whole room is looking at me. I'm sure it's the feeling of a deer that strayed from the pasture and finds itself surrounded by hungry wolves. I thought, "This is when I die a horrible death." And on a Wednesday, no less.

Justin just comes out and says, "Dude, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, man. I thought..."

"You knew we were going to be listening to the new record in here. Why didn't you turn it off, yo?"

"You're right, Justin, I just..."

"I mean, have you not been to one of these before?"

"I just forgot, Justin. I'm really sorry."

Then Justin just col' came out and said what everyone in there was thinking, "You're an asshole, dude. You really are."

At this point, I'm absolutely shaking in fear, sweat begins to roll off my head and down my shirt. I begin to shake nervously and then...

BOOM

I'm awake. I don't know if there's anything you can take from this story except that you can say "Timberlake" and "nightmare" in the same sentence. Maybe it's the lesson of turning off that cellular telephone when in certain company. I mean, I've been noted for failing to do so up at work. Maybe that's the lesson I need to take from this. Maybe it's that Justin Timberlake is thug-thuggery and dude can go off. I'm probably lucky I woke up with ten fingers. Things could've gotten really hairy in there. Maybe it's a lesson to Mahan to stop calling me. Just recognize, for all you cats that swear Justin's a softy, you don't sell 7,000,000 records just by flossing every night and shampooing twice. The dude drinks the blood of grizzly bears.

THIS MAN IS TERRIFIED TO FACE THE SAWX...

Note this day in history because the fearless, mouthy, good ol' boy Roger Clemens has already admitted defeat in his triumphant return to the Spanks. Dude's gonna pass on playing this weekend against his former team, the Boston Red Sox. Okay, I gotta get my facts out there--actually it was supposedly manager Joe Torre's call opting to go with this three starters Wang, Mussina and Pettitte instead of Roger--like they ain't hurting for a win. Torre said there's "no temptation" to throw Roger in there. I'm gonna say it now, if they don't, I'm feeling a sweep this weekend. Roger oughta let 'em drop and demand to pitch this weekend because, if you're going up against the division leader and you're supposed to save this team from its ultimate ruin, I'd be pitching in a milisecond. Looks like he's content with letting that comeback (that everyone but me's waiting on) wait one more crucial series more. Dude ain't wanting the Sox in Fenway.

Can't blame him. Neither would I if I was nearly 45 and pitching underhanded to minor leaguers and hated by an entire city. Yeah, I'd spend the weekend with my family in Texas as well.

RANGER FANS ARE NOT BASEBALL FANS...

But more on that later. It's true, though. Headed down to the faster, more densely populated portion of this great state this weekend. The Getdown, to be specific. Needed to see the in-laws, some folks out in the Piney Woods of East Tejas, take in the Sawx take on MLB's farm system, the Texas Rangers. Overall, a busy weekend, but that's how hustlas do it, y'know.

Speaking of, I found out my buddy Danny now owns a trucking company. The sight of his name on a rig hauling ass (or hauling something) down a Tejas highway was enough to bring a tear to my eye. Danny Harmon finally made it. And it's about time. I thought he would be an emcee. And I'm not sure if there's any room in hip hop for an truck driver emcee, but nonetheless, if you don't grind, you don't shine.



Wait, it just dawned on me that I must be mistaken. That's not Danny Harmon, but rather Danny Herman. You still bananas on the mic, homie. You know it. Oh yeah, I would not advise taking pictures behind the wheel of an automobile. That's why my lovely wife helped with the above photograph. You know, safety first. It's the motto of the Boy Scouts. Got into the Getdown later than expected due to drenching rains and memorably horrible drivers. Went to sleep watching some Francis Ford Coppola film which just puts film of a Twinkie assembly line and traffic to the music of Phillip Glass. Thanks, Jacko.

Got up the next morning to make the trek to Tyler, Tejas--my ol' stomping grounds. You know, I was going to search for a compelling photo of Tyler for this post and, on the first page of the search, the following picture came up. I suppose it'll do. It's not the Tyler I remember, but for some reason, it made perfect sense to me and to the purpose of this post.



Since Homie Jacko ain't a coffee drinker, I made my 7:30 departure without my normal cup. Upon arrival in Whitehouse (no kidding, that's the town), I asked Clint where I could get a good, dark cup. He mentioned a place called Yahooz. You're not going to believe this. I couldn't make it up if I tried. He showed me a direct mail piece they were sending out to the community that included a $1.00 off coupon. Deslyn handed it to me, I flipped over to find a picture of our destination in all its glory. Check this muddah out.

I want to say, "Only in Tejas," here, but I bet there's something comparable in California. It must be noted despite the horribly corny exterior, they're coffee was fantastic and packed a punch. If you're ever in the Whitehouse area, recognize...Yahooz...b'lee dat.

I tried to only visit the landmarks that made me remember Tyler fondly. My great aunt, my old store, Chicken Murphy at Little Italy, my ol' route home from work. I tried to find Zack, but was unable. I did find good ol' waddling white trash from East Tejas. You know, West Tejas has their funky folk, but I'm used to it. Nothing surprises me. But going to East Tejas is like going to the zoo. They like Nascar, country music, large trucks, hash browns and football. Pretty simple community. Pretty simple people. None of which include Deslyn and Clint. Good to see them again.

Got my grub on Saturday night. Steak and potatoes. Dude, need I say more? Oh yeah, it rained some more. And some more. And then, after that, it rained some more.


That night, my lovely wife and I went to Half Price Books where I would shop for vinyl and a book entitled Why White Kids Love Hip Hop. I'll let you know why. I also picked up a copy of Sly's There's a Riot Goin' On on vinyl. Sly and I trim our sideburns the same way.

On our way back, my lovely wife entered a convenience store to pre-pay for our great wartime gas. While in line with her $5.00 for gas (yeah, I go gallon-to-gallon when it's this high) and a cookie for me, there was a heated argument between a patron and the clerk because the patron was attempting to pass conterfeit cash for alcohol. It got so heated that my lovely wife wisely left quickly coming to car saying, "We gotta go. Something's about to go down." That's not the citygirl I fell in love with. I mean, remember, my lovely wife worked in a prison. She deals with these sort of dudes all the time. Of course, I would suggest that a dude passing counterfeit cash ain't really about murder on the same night. It's like a gateway crime, but I don't think this dude is about to light the place up. Whatever.

Every time she told the story during the course of the weekend, the fish got bigger and bigger. By the time she was done, there was a "brawl" and there was a "rifle" involved. I told her it's not even believable because no one in the inner city uses rifles. I re-tell the story with my lovely wife sliding across the counter, mule-kicking the counterfeiter in the chest so hard it propelled him against the cookie endcap, the sent him flying back toward my lovely wife where she scissor-snapped his neck with her legs, then swigged his malt liquor, gargled it, then spit it on him and then walked out to the car saying, "We gotta get outta here." She's my little hero. Gangsta! Gangsta!

Sunday was Sawx day. Outlook was bleak with terrential downpour, but when you have the best team in baseball (of which just beat Cleveland for their fourth straight or 19-7 in May, if you're scoring at home), I liked my chances that we'd get a game in. We show up in time for batting practice, however, the field was still under a tarp. No batting practice, but the game started on time and the sprinkles were gone by the 2nd inning. Good for Sawx fans. Bad for Rangers fans.

The 2007 Texas Rangers

My experience as a Sawx fan in Arlington was much like my past experiences. Mouthy Ranger fans (yes, they do exist...amazing) talk ish all game and get upset and territorial when you cheer failing to realize that the only reason they actually can afford to play night games is because good teams happen to visit Arlington from time to time. If I was a Ranger fan, I'd be real careful dogging visitors because, essentially, if the Sawx don't come to town this weekend, ticket sales would have been a third (if not a quarter) of what they were. And beer sales would have been tremendously less...due in large part to this fella.

Dude was clowning Ranger fans all day. Leading the entire section in a roaring chant of "Let's go, Red Sox!," he'd switch it to see if Ranger fans would react. He began belting into the crowd, "Let's go, Rangers" and continued for about two minutes. After two minutes, about three people were cheering with him. "See? Exactly!" He then sat down. At least the bratwurst was good. That's the only good thing I can say about the Rangers and their stadium. Sorry. Oh yeah, the fans. I got really heated at the cats behind us. All game long, they're cheering on stupid stuff like Mike Lowell eating a ground ball, a Manny fly out, whatever. It was just lame. And ol' girl was making claims that she was getting paid more than some Ranger players, but I would contend that any woman that goes out with her husband in matching sweaty tye-dye shirts is probably not getting paid more than a professional baseball player. Check her out behind us.Gramps was getting trashed, too. Yeah, classy Ranger fans. She shut up really quick when Varitek popped a three-runner over the right field fence. By the time the Rangers would tie the game and then actually take the lead (I know, amazing), she would be too sauced to mutter a cheer of any sort. I hope she had a designated driver. Wait, no I don't. No, I do. I really do. For everyone's sake. Manny and I got really tight over the course of the game. There's our baggy-drawered star in the flesh. Oh yeah, and check out more trashy Ranger fans in their native environment--dressed like Nascar fans and wearing really big cowboy hats. This photo brought to you by Budweiser.


Manny got some comfortable during the course of the game that, by the eighth inning, he was standing on top of my finger. Tiny M, you're the best. The bat'll come around, man. Don't worry about it.



Sawx would win, Spanks would lose--making it a 12.5 game lead above the Spanks. After tonight, it's a 13.5 game lead and the Spanks are back in the AL East cellar with Tampa Bay.

Back to the Ranger fans, the game of baseball is a very slow, methodical game. Your problems will not be solved in one at-bat. In fact, your problems will not be solved until you sell the stadium, erect the old Arlington Stadium and teach the owners to not give a damn about the fans and invest in some freaking pitching (and, no, Eric Gagne does not count). Yeah, it's a slower game and there's not going to be quite the longballs, but wouldn't you rather have a first-place team? Your team plays in, without a doubt, the easiest division in the AL (and maybe the entire league) and they keep coming in dead last. Something is fundamentally wrong. I would suggest it's more the ownership than anything else, but turning a blind eye and only giving a damn when Sammy Sosa comes to bat because you might see a home run is why ownership insists on only fielding longball hitters and not pitchers. Demand a superior product that wins and you might actually see a response from ownership. I wouldn't even show up until this team wins three games in a row. They're horrible, horrible, horrible. And, in one afternoon, I spent about $120 on this freaking organization and their vendors just to see my team play. If I was a Ranger fan, I wouldn't put a penny into this team. Of course, if I was a Ranger fan, I'd be too dumb to realize that a 20 oz soda really is only worth $.25 so charging me $4.00 equates to 94 points of margin (that will make a profitable business anywhere anytime). I'd also be too much of a moron to recognize the robbery of asking me to pay $12.00 to park my car in an area with ample parking possibilities (it's not like you're across the street from the Twinkie factory--there's nothing remotely close to the stadium). If I don't realize the raping I'm receiving by the time I reach my seat, I'm probably not going to care too much if my team wins or not. If you pay full price to see the Rangers play, parking should be free. That's all there is to it. Some chump wanted us to pay $20.00 to park about a hundred yards closer and there was a line about eight cars deep. If I'm gonna pay $20.00 to park, it better come with an oil change and coat of wax. That's all I'm saying. City folk!

Alright, enough baseball.

Best burger in Dallas was had that night at Jake's/Jakk's/Keller's/Whatever's. They've changed management too many times, but the burgers the same and they still have the jalepeno ketchup. Alls goods.

Drove home today, but not before dropping my lovely wife off at Ikea for a little consumerism while I dropped by Rory and Roxy's place with the dogs. Tucker pulled off the nastiest thing I've ever witnessed in my life. I was picking up the crap from Rory's back yard with a Wal-Mart bag (appropriate to use the Wal-Mart bag to pick up crap--that's usually what you put in it anyway except this crap's free). I did it with the ol' "turn it inside out" trick, if you know what I mean, but the long and short of it was there was about three heaping warm turds in this bag and I'm walking with it toward the gate and Tucker thought it was a big turd-smelling toy so he lept at it and clamped down on the bottom of the bag with this little teeth-ripping the bottom open and catching a mouth full of turds. Ah, puppies. Gotta love 'em.

Rory was good. Miss him. We all do. He's telling me we should all move to Dallas. I'm thinking we should all move to Montana. Not sure if he's quite there yet.

After a Jumbo Jack and, yes, four Jack in the Box tacos later, we hit the road. The dogs do pretty well in the car. But, occassionally, they begin to wrestle wildly which will drive any driver absolutely insane. Here they are listening to Tribe Called Quest's Low End Theory. Jax is a big fan. Tucker, not so much...youngblood needs to learn. Tucker's actually just keeping his eye on the driver's seat.

So we moved him up so he could experience the thrill of Honda ownership. My great aunt said that my sideburns made me look, "fat and fifty." I suppose she's right. Will trim them tonight, methinks.
Short week. Four days of work then it's my lovely wife and I celebrating our fifth anniversary. And, yes, if you will remember, it'll be Sawx and Spanks weekend. The traditional gift for the fifth anniversary is wood which if my lovely wife would like to give me Papi and Manny homeruns for our anniversary, that'd be fine with me.

MY DOG'S ARE MORE PHOTOGENIC THAN YOURS...

Admit it. Just admit it like a man and we can finally move past this.

Well, the Roundhouse's chance of post-season glory was ended abruptly with a 17-2 loss against Guerrero's Drywall. That's not a loss, that's a schoolin'. Dude's just beat us senseless. Of course, I would remark that the $8/hour officials overseeing the game weren't quite up to United States Softball standards. One was mute and the home up was blind and deaf. And the home ump was maybe 85-years old. At one point in the game, pitcher David made an appeal to a call at third base and the home ump comes up to David and gets about three inches from his nose and I'm thinking, "I know David won't hit him, but he's awfully close." I was thinking I'd have to step in between him. Turns out, the ump couldn't see him or hear him without being three inches away. And, yes, this was the guy calling balls and strikes. You betta be swinging.

At least we didn't have the dude's from this league. "How can you not make that call right there!? How can you not make that call right there!?" and, in part two (search for it) "Hey, Georgie, it ain't worth getting arrested over. Just let it go, buddy." I don't know if it was the end of the game, but the umps just up and leave. It's like a union strike or something. Then, the place almost goes up in a riot. Well, a West Virginia softball riot. These dudes need to relax, go home and love their wives and then comb their hair. Wait, it might be New York. One dude says, in the last episode, "I gotta get up and go to Albany in the morning." Anyhow, check out this material and take a lesson in how to miss a call.

Just a note, you pull a move like these dudes where you start jumping up in the umps face against some of the dudes in our league, you might catch a bad one. Texas umps don't stand for the same riff raff.

Going to the Getdown this weekend (Wil, wuddup?) and down to the piney backwoods of Tyler, Texas. Ending it with Red Sox versus Rangers (Texas has a baseball team?!) then back to the Yellow. Happy Memorial Day, folks. Listen to some Run DMC this weekend. It's the perfect weather.

RORY WANTS A MUSIC POST...

The public wants, the public gets it. But not before I shout out my homie the Panther from American Idol. I usually won't pump up a show with gonzo ratings, but this is my boy right here. Boy's got skills like a muddah. Oh and superhumongoid gasface to Doug E. Fresh for his appearance. Dude, really. Do I have to say it?

SELLOUT

Check out my boy, right here.

You can't beat that kinda entertainment, right there.

Okay, onto the music (since they Sox aren't making any right now--down 1-6 in the 7th). Rory, what I'm listening to right now, in no specific order, is The Fratellis because they're some straight-up Friday night music. Get ready to enjoy yourself--this album's a blast. There's too much to enjoy. Also, I can't stop listening to The Sword. Good ol' Austin boys that bang their head harder than most kids can even imagine. Dude, those Betty Davis reissues from Light in the Attic are the sickest, funkiest things you'll ever hear. Almost as funky are the Sly and Family Stone reissues that I finally received from Sony/BMG which come complete with bonus tracks and stripped down mono cuts. I just received a stack of Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley vinyl from the wonderful Chris at UMe. Definitely have my listening cut out for me there. Have already listened to Rastaman Vibration and, soon after I got home today, Electric Ladyland. Good to hear those records again. The El-P record gets better and better with each listen and that's after loving it from the very beginning. Sage Francis might have dropped one of the most compelling records of the year. It's thick, thick, thick. The Brother Ali record, The Undisputed Truth, hasn't received much listen only because I just received the explicit version and, well, I don't listen to clean versions because, heh, I don't shop at Wal-Mart. Dig? Mando Diao's new record is hot. It's guitars and drums. You know, where they sing type of stuff. Ghostface Killah's Hidden Darts features some nice stuff I ain't heard before. Thank you, Q. And good lookin' out on the Biz Markie material. The What It Is box set from Rhino is completely bananas. It's the hottest thing to come out since, uh, 2004 or so. And all the material is at least 30 years old. They know how to do it. Rage Against the Machine's first record has been revisited since they're recent reunion. Still sounds as good as it did so many years ago now. Phat Kat got some serious help from Dilla on Carte Blanche. It's hot to death. Good stuff. I've been listening to alot of Geto Boys lately--"I Ain't Wit Bein' Broke" to be specific. Oh, the sleeper is the Super Chron Flight Brothers record. It's some fun hip hop shit. It's been out there for a solid five weeks now and has only scanned 200 units. Ah, that's some indie stuff for you, Rory. Good times. Everyone's talking about this Marco Polo record through the redesigned Rawkus Records. I ain't heard it yet except some stuff previewed on the Fat Beats podcast. From what I heard, I can dig it, but just an advance. Maybe Mitch can hook it up. Yeah, I hit up Michael Jackson's Off the Wall. Awesome. Been too long. Way too long. I'd be alot happier if Madlib would stop releasing these MindFusion releases because they're too damn dope not to purchase and I've already shelled out alot of money to collect them all like some five year old. They're awesome. If you find any of these, pick them up. Also, from Madlib, I've been listening to the Beat Konducta record from last year alot lately. Still badass. I like the new Panthers record alot although I don't think it really belongs to me. I think I lifted it from Angry Tim's desk. Oops. Oh yes, the new Nine Inch Nails is slammin'. Good stuff. I don't think I've been particularly interested in a NIN record since Pretty Hate Machine or Downward Spiral. This one is scary good. I'm waiting on my copy of the Kings of Leon record, but I listened to a bit of it at my buddy's house the other day and it sounded really strong. I've never been a big fan, but I'm starting to turn around to their sound a little. Get the Amy Winehouse for Roxy. She'll dig it. Guys dig her too, but it's for the ladies. TV on the Radio put out a killer record last year. Don't know if you've heard it. Also, check for Beck's record, Information. Probably the best that he's sounded on a front-to-back album since Odelay. Uh, there's this band called Wolfmother from Australia. They're dope. Keep an eye for them. Speaking of, I see they're now about 55,000 units from Gold status. Good for those guys. Old stuff has dominated the last few weeks. The Stooges, Eric B. and Rakim, Master of Puppets, Straight Outta Compton, Shuggie Otis, Paul's Boutique, Main Source (dude, just pick up Breaking Atoms), funk, Bob Dylan, White Album, the Datsuns, blah, blah, blah. That's about it. If you're down for the sex raps, pick up the new Devin the Dude, but you gotta be in the mood for the sex raps because that's all it is. Sex and weed. Alright, it's time for bed. Go buy some music. And, "There's nothing new that's good," is NO EXCUSE.

THINGS THAT SUCK...

Let's start with my beloved Celtics.

This team was so bad this year (how bad were they?) that not only did they post the second worst record in the league (which included a team-record 18 game losing streak), the second best chance of securing the number one or two draft pick in last night's lottery, the Celtics sucked so bad that not even the lottery was on their side. Their first pick will be the fifth overall. That's when you know you suck. Not that it was his fault, but I'm going to, once again, call for Danny Ainge to step down from his position in the organization. A once storied franchise is now the laughing stock of the league and Paul Pierce (our last remaining promise of the victory--see far right above) is about to jump ship. Once he's gone, the Celtics will fall into a tailspin that they won't recover from for decades. Get me Kevin McHale and tell that Opie-muddah to hit the trail. This ain't no lemonade stand, it's the freaking Boston Celtics.

Let's talk about other things that suck.

How about The Hills Have Eyes 2. This piece of crap sequel is so horrible that I watched 80% of it in fast forward. Look, I have my rules for horror movies (see below) which I wrote right after seeing the first Hills and Wes Craven, the king of modern horror, managed to stumble over almost every one of these rules. It was a slow, boring foot chase. I'm getting too old to waste time with chasing. Get to the killin'!
I'm still waiting for a studio to contact me and offer me a job writing a horror flick. I'd gross more than any of these stupid movies out there. I'd make the Titanic of horror. Dude's ain't even ready. I'd be sonning these fools. And for those who forgot the rules to horror, recognize by clicking the link below.

http://therootdown.blogspot.com/2006/03/how-to-horror-beginners-guide-on-doing.html

Let's see, what else sucks? Oh yeah, to that white Chevy pick-up that ran the light last night at I-40 and Georgia. You deserved the full view of me flying the finger flag for your recklessness and unlawful actions. Unfortunately, you're family didn't. Maybe you can explain to your kids why daddy got the finger from a pedestrian and explain to them that it's less severe than being pinned under the vehicle that flipped because their daddy drives like an idiot.

Oh, and to dukes in the silver Mustang who think that I didn't hear you cowardly yelling at me from across six lanes of traffic heading the opposite direction, I heard you, punkass. And I'll answer you the same way you chose to communicate with me--anonymously. Next time, I'd like for you to pull right in front of me, hop out of your car, walk up to about four inches away from me and yell the same thing at the same volume to the small space between my eyes and see if you get the same result. You should've stayed in school, son.

One thing that doesn't suck are my Red Sox which, behind a nice 3-run homer from Manny, beat the Spanks and some dude named Mike Mussina. We got Schill going tonight against birthing-hips Andy Pettitte and it's televised, baby.

Humpday, here we go!

TOOL, SCREECH AND OTHER OBSERVATIONS...

Well, saw Tool.

That's kinda underselling the experience. We saw Tool from the front row. I wasn't really sure what front row tickets felt like and thanks to the wonderful people at the label, I got to experience that. Here's the thing, when you get too close to the stage, firstly, earplugs are not necessary, they're essential. And secondly, as it relates to the audio setup which Tool employs, when you're on the front row, you can't hear a lick of the vocals. I told the troops that I didn't really care about the vocals because I didn't know the words anyway, but feeling entitled to every seat in the house (because our tickets entitled us to the best), we moved back a few rows and it fixed the audio problem. It didn't, however, fix the fan problem. Man, I've never seen a more rabid fan base in my life. I mean, it was intense. After the show, when we were existing the arena, this dude behind us (for no explanable reason) just lets out this curdling grunt and holler. I suppose he was so pumped that he just saw Tool that the experience was worthy of a animalistic yell. I've never been that excited after a show.

Angry Tim was schooling me on the fans at a Tool show. He said they could generally be split into three different types. First, you have your metal head. See below right.


It's older metal heads and younger metal heads. You got Iron Maiden fans and you have Norwegian death metal fans alike, joining hands and rocking their brains out. Normally, they're not as happy as the guy we see above. The older ones usually wear tight-fitting jeans and have some sort of conditioned curl in their hair. The younger ones drag their knuckles and, like the fella behind us, scream uncontrollably. I feel safest, however, around this group. That says alot about our next two.

Then, you have (as Angry Tim describes it), the "kid who just crawled out of their parent's basement."

The one you see here is also an Insane Clown Posse fan. They like to play dress-up and act unruly. You can find them vandalizing dumpsters, terrorizing their little brothers and kicking holes in vending machines. A few key visible characteristics about these fellas. You'll spot them by their pants that have cuffs with the dimensions of a waste size (and lots of zippers!) and the colorful, clown hats. They like to look menacing, but no one's really afraid of them. This fan, however, is deathly afraid of reality and responsibility. That's why they still live in the basement. And I'd be more afraid of them if they wore that garb with the face paint to, let's say, the bank or a toy store, but they ain't having it. This is how they go to concerts and that's the only time they feel comfortable wearing it. Oh yeah, these dudes buy mad product too. They can be suckered into the purchase of anything. They're the driving force behind Tool's astronomical first week of 550,000 units moved.

Then, you have the frat boy.

He follows the trends. Tool is an outlet for his aggression. Also in his arsenal of music is Snoop Doggy Dogg, Pantera and the Forrest Gump soundtrack. If you made him choose between Tool and women, he'd choose women everytime. He really just fills the seats out at a show like the one in Oklahoma City. These fellas are the reason that Tool tours because they can sell them a ticket and eight $6.00 beers. And they'll get a cut of that concession. Oh yeah, the beer's not real in OKC, but don't tell anyone because there'd be a massive uprising.

So there you go. And speaking of tools. What's up with Screech? Saw a clip of him on his new show, Celebrity Fit Club. The dude went straight butthole. I mean, the dude was completely out of line--mouthing off at Harvey the Drill Sargeant, insulting the cast (including Cledus T. Judd, Warren G, the gay fella from the "Tonight Show," Marsha Brady, Da Brat and others), and dude gained five pounds between weigh-ins. Whatta winner this dude is. I told my wife that he probably lacked a good family foundation during his time on the show and was not equipped to recognize the difference between Screech and his life outside of the show so he grew up to be a very mean Screech that lashes out at people because no one will date him. And Lisa Turtle now doesn't feel sorry for him, she hates him. It's too bad. He'd be the life of the party if he wasn't such a cold-hearted moron. And his standup sucks.

Roundhouse's first season of the summer is dragging to an end. We got whooped twice by the same team which would prove their supremacy in our league, but we probably scrapped together enough wins to make it into the tourney. We're 6-3 in the league with one game left. I'd like our chances better if we were 7-2, but we went flat for three straight games proving you can't sleep in this league. It's a good league though and the competition is more equal to our skill level. The umps still suck, though, and their bad calls can decide a game--something I've witnessed on both the winning side and the losing side about six times this year.

Yanks and Sox are battling it out these next two days in the World's Largest Toilet Bowl. Yanks won last night, 6-2. Still, we're maintaining a 9.5 game lead on 'em. I could care less about having the best record in baseball, just so long as we're ahead of the Yanks. I'll take my chances with the rest of the AL East this year, from what I've seen so far. I'll probably be eating those words come September.

I wonder now, if Johnny Damon ever regrets his decision to leave the Sox. Eh, probably not. I bet the money is medication enough. Good for him.

Tucker's taken to humping Jackson wildly. I've been asked to shame his sexuality and let the dude know, "This will not be tolerated." My lovely wife brokedown last night and said, "It's not about his sexuality, it's about being the alpha dog." From my observation, I don't think Jax cares that much. In fact, it looked like he didn't mind it at all. I suppose we need to worry as much about Jax. We'll get it fixed before our first dinner party, though. We need to be able to ensure our guests that this is a hump-free zone. And it will be.

The "Bachelor" is finally over. I'll never listen to anyone insult my choice of television viewing again after watching segments of this sad network bowel movement. It was horrible. Every show seemed to last two hours it was only a ploy to sell more advertising. At least, with C.O.P.S. you can say that the material speaks for itself and they're not trying to juice advertisers to buy more spots. Quality sells itself and in thirty minutes, you'll find more entertainment then in an entire season of the "Bachelor." I don't know if I'm happier that it's over or that it's over. Probably that it's over.

Speaking of over, I'm out. Time to go to work and make that bacon.

IT'S ALL IN THE PACKAGING...HIP HOP COVER ART APPRECIATION VOL. 4: INSTILLING FEAR

In the earliest days of the rap game, racial tension escalated from coast-to-coast as rap rose to popularity and, ultimately, into the psyche of the entire nation. The discussion of lyrical content in "gangsta rap" (one of the most hideous descriptions for a sub-genre ever) and the unusual presence of violent, misogynistic and racially-explosive material sent the nation's news cannons into a whirlwind. It was either because of this or this was so because groups like N.W.A. and Public Enemy perfectly brought together the audio and visual components and the recorded package, as it sat on the shelf to be viewed by the buying public, portrayed a defined element of danger and the type of curiosity that leads to leads a young cub away from his mother. Designed to instill both fear and curiosity, these three iconic images will forever represent the volatile social and political confusion and resulting explosiveness of the albums they represent.

I present, firstly, N.W.A.'s Straight Outta Compton.

To interpret it quite literally, it's exactly what you'll see if you make a wrong turn onto Crenshaw Blvd on hot Saturday afternoon in August. You got the whole crew (even jehri curl-having Ice Cube--I see you, homie) and Eazy-E with a handcannon pointed directly at your forehead. The suffocation of twelve eyes staring down at you before you face your untimely demise is the stuff that nightmares are made of. And for those who had never been to Compton, you swore when you saw this album cover, you never wanted to go there. In fact, for some, you might stay the hell out of California for this album cover alone.
I remember when I first purchased this on cassette. It'd be the first time I'd actually see Public Enemy in my young life. The image partnered with the words It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back left a scarring in my mind that would thankfully never heal. Chuck D and Flav "col' sweatin as they dwell in their cell," I was drawn to their music. The defiance in Chuck's posture; with his chin up, mean-mugging. I wanted the Raiders ballcap. I wanted a grey hoodie. I wanted Flav's clock. To this day, the cover art from this record still brings a smirk like the photograph of an old friend from summer camp.
Ah, yes, Yo! Bum Rush the Show. This is the "takeover," if you will. Public Enemy ambushing the radio station, Flav with his hand on the turntable, Prof. Griff, the S1W's and Terminator staring down the DJ and Chuck in all white in what could be interpreted as almost an angelic presence in the very center. It's almost a pronouncement, it's Public Enemy arriving with force and vengeance. As Yo! would be their first album, the cover art is fitting to what Public Enemy would adhere to the rest of their career--taking over the airwaves and feeding the zombies in radioland information, the truth that pop formats mask and a forecast of the danger that's to come. Photo from legend Glen. E. Friedman. Beautiful stuff.

Off to OKC for Tool with Angry Tim and Mayhem. Thanks to Q at Traffic for the MC Shan, Biz Markie, Lord Finesse and Mobb Deep promos. We be rockin it all the way across Oklahoma.

ANOTHER 4:00 MORNING...HERE'S YOUR UPDATE.

Yeah, it's like I got that motherly instinct. He cries and my breasts leak. Geez, I'm tired. That's a helluva way to start off a post. Nah, Tucker's beginning to develop sleeping patterns, however, sometimes in the middle of the night, he'll belt out a bark that'll wake up a sleeping deaf man three area codes away.That barks beginning to get lower and less endearing, but that's his inevitable journey toward doghood. He seems to really like the Geto Boys and Outkast's Idlewild. I guess that makes five people and a dog that enjoyed Idlewild. He also is becoming a big fan of Matsuzaka--especially after last night's performance. Before the game, in case you missed it, Jimmy Leyland (whom I still respect just because he's a killer manager) was quoted after being asked about Dice K, "I don't give a (expletive) about him. I'm not getting into all that. I could give a (expletive) less. It's another pitcher. We're playing Boston. Obviously, he's an outstanding pitcher. He's a major league pitcher. And that's who we're facing."
Dice K would pitch a complete game, only surrendering only one run, no walks and got 16 groundouts. The win would give the Sox their biggest division lead in 12 seasons. Stuff that in your cigar and smoke it, Jimmy.

Thanks to the wonderful Monster and Bill Sharp at Fat Beats, everyone got a glimpse of the new Common record--a track produced by Kanye with cuts from Premier. You ain't even ready. People still front on Kanye pretty hard, but dude can produce records. Speaking of, mental note to ask when the new Kanye is coming out. He hasn't had a record in two years. Dude's slacking.

I'd like to address a comment I made about Wal-Mart and how I would proudly shoplift from Wal-Mart. By no means do I condone stealing from businesses, however, I do condone stealing from Wal-Mart. I meant every bit of it.

People in this town have no idea how to construct fences. Yeah, I'm talking about the things that normally surround your house and/or yard. It's embarrassing. The evolution of the fence in the Yellow can be viewed just by driving some of the older neighborhoods throughout the city. The most common (and annoying) mistake that people in this town make when constructing fences is they put the rails on the wrong side. It has the esthetic of putting your shoes on backwards. Basically, from the street, you should not see anything but pickets. If you see rails, it was constructed in correctly. Your neighbor can see rails, but the street and the alley should see all pickets. The thought here is this: it's a security issue. With rails on the outside, one could easily put their feet on the bottom rail, lift themselves over the pickets and have a clear, effortless view of your yard and property. If they wanted to the climb into your yard, it would take them only a matter of seconds to lift themselves over, cut a lock to get out and you could come home to find your crap gone. Alot of people think that the rails are unsightly and so they put them on the outside so that when they look out into the their backyard, all they see is pickets. There's a functionality and purpose to the design of a fence. Recognize.

And someone made a freaking killing off of chainlink fences in this town. I think that the townspeople just gave up on making their own fences because they sucked so bad at it and one guy came to town with tons of chainlink and just went buckwild. If there's anything that's more pointless from a security perspective than putting the rails on the outside of a wood fence, it's a three and a half foot chainlink fence. A guy my size could probably hurdle it and your poodle would be gone in seconds. Just a little fence talk for you. I know you needed it.

Thunderstorms pulling into the area right now. Gotta love your morning coffee accented with a thunderstorm. The weather has been freaking crazy here in the Yellow. We're doubling up our normal rain totals. My backyard is like an afro. I really green afro that's nice to walk on.

Got mad travels coming up. This weekend, I'm heading to OKC for Tool with Angry Tim, his wife and Mayhem. Not a fan, but I've heard the live performance nails it shut. Memorial Day weekend I'm catching Sox in Arlington. My wife asked if we should tone down our Sox garb for the game and I responded that, "Sox fans will outnumber Ranger fans 10-1." And it's true. It's so true that I consider a series in Arlington as a series at home. Kansas City, Anaheim, Tampa Bay and Toronto are also equally friendly to the Sox. You know, real baseball cities. After that would be my lovely wife and I celebrating our 5th anniversary. It's also Sox vs. Spanks in Boston and, word on the street is that Jockitch Clemens will be ready to throw. Of course, you might remember that this was the series that I was originally trying to secure tickets for in Boston, but was unsuccessful. Oh well, it'll be televised. Sure my lovely wife will appreciate the networks for doing so. Then, the next weekend, we'll be heading to the smoggy skies of Los Angeles and Pasadena to see bro bro graduate.

For me, that'll be 6-straight weekends of some sort of travel. And now I find out that Wolfmother will be hitting Austin in July. Geez, it just doesn't stop. Now, if I could just find a way to get gas down about 50%. Have we given up on the idea that gas will ever be $1.25 again? Is that impossible?

Below is Curtis Wyrick. He's been a bad man.

I'm still researching what this cat did, but he was arrested for violating his parole. At the time he was captured, he was considered armed and very dangerous. I guess we can rule out shoplifting at Wal-Mart. I imagine it's hard to be named Curtis and not be some sort of danger to society.

Poor guy. It was stacked against him, really.

Shower time, one last mug of coffee and then to work I go. Holla atch boy. It's Tuesday. Go buy some music today. Linkin Park comes out today or, my suggestion, order those Betty Davis reissues from Light in the Attic. The material is insane. Josh, what up, that's your monthly shout. No seriously, the Betty Davis stuff is so so funky. You ain't even ready.

UPDATE FROM HOUNDHOUSE

Our boy's growin' up. Y'better believe it. This was taken this morning as Tux took a leisure walk through the back yard. Yep, it's the best looking yard on the block. The grass is not always greener, folks.

The beagle is an interesting dog. I can tell you this, when you see the whites of their tails, trouble either just happened or is about to. This was a fraction of a second after I busted Jax with his jaws clamped around Tux's throat. Jax was raised in a prison yard. Kill or be killed. That's his motto.Even the raddest dogs in the world have their Hallmark moment. Megaultrasuperupdate forthcoming. Sox are killin the Horrioles, 13-4. What's new in the zoo?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BROHAM.

Today would mark #32 for my brother Todd so everyone please give the man a standing ovation, a hearty applause and a rousing "Happy Birthday." Todd shares his birthday with many key figures in history. To name a very few, Katherine Hepburn, Yankee jerk (but said-to-be "legend") Yogi Berra, Burt Bacharach (the man), Tom Snyder, George Carlin, Emilio Estevez, Stephen Baldwin and, the best of all, Steve Winwood--a true musician. Besides the birth of my brother, I couldn't find anything really interesting that happened today so today is all yours, homie.

Enjoy it. Go Cubbies. Let's give the man a victory today!

THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW-MART

Stop me if you've heard this one. Apparently, in Alabama (where everything is right in the world), a local judge ordered some ugly woman (you'll see) who was busted shoplifting a $7 item at WalMart to wear a sandwich sign reading "I am a thief. I stole from WalMart." She did it to avoid a 60-day jail sentence. The store manager reported that the response from shoppers entering the store had been positive. Yeah, but...it is Alabama after all.

Told you she was ugly.

I guess they're kinda going back on that "No-prosecution-for-theft-under-$25" thingy. It's too bad because I was about to just run in there and pick up a head of lettuce and some contact solution and just walk out without paying. I wouldn't mind wearing a sign anyway. I'd stand out there for three days, but I'd have to change the sign to read, "Damn right I stole from WalMart."

Now, I don't really have to go into my feelings about WalMart because I believe they've been pretty well pronounced in the past, but I think it's only fair that WalMart fess up to their theft. The cultural, emotional and financial thievery that happens with every scanned UPC at WalMart. I think every employee that works for WalMart should wear a sign that reads, "I work for crooks," or, "My boss is an evil, evil person and I still show up for work everyday."

In other protest news, I hear there's a gas protest coming up where, for one day, they're asking for everyone to not purchase an ounce of gas in protest of climbing gas prices. I think that everyone should just stop using vehicles until people wake up. No one would show up for work and companies would lose monumental profits. Ambulances wouldn't be running. Cops would just skip calls because they'd have no transport. See if that wakes up those oil companies.

Dude, you all need to go download the 4/29 Fat Beats podcast. Monster learned them listeners with an insane block of De La Soul and Tribe. It was incredible. I think he even went back for the "Strictly Dan Stuckie Mix" of "Me, Myself and I." School's in session. Download, sit back, headphones on and soak it up.

TYPICAL SPANKEE-LAND HILARITY

Well, when you're going through pitchers like my neighbor goes through wives, the Yankees had to do something. That something was a desperate $28 million dollar investment. And, the greatest part about that $28 million is that it will only get them to the end of the season, but not a day of baseball in 2008. Now, let's put that into perspective on what Roger Clemens will be getting paid to play baseball from June on. Roger "I do it for the love" Clemens will get paid more than the entire Devils Ray squad (pitchers and hitters included). A team that, by the way, was leading the Yankees in the standings before today. Look at him. So young. So promising.

Now the dude's 44 years old and, when he was in Houston, dude wouldn't even go out on the road with the team so he could enjoy the life of an aging major leaguer. He'd sit on his fat ass in Houston and go to Aerosmith concerts while his loser Astros team was getting swept in the World Series. Did anyone miss that? It happened so quickly.

44 years old. Man, this dude's been in the league a while. Sure, the Sox have two 41 year olds, but the difference is, first, they're pitching well and have been actively pitching consistantly and, secondly, we got young guns behind them that are mowing some of the best hitters in the league. What's with Joe's Fu Manchu look? That's horrible.

Yeah, no question that Roger doesn't own a pair of balls. Perhaps he can borrow Steven's. Eh, I'm looking forward to it for a few reasons. Dolan and I were talking in Chicago that we needed a new story in the rivalry and this could definitely be that. Secondly, it's nice as a Sox fan to have a $28 million vacuum in your opponent's clubhouse. Guess there's no exit plan if Roger doesn't really pan out. You're just screwed. Lastly, man it's gonna be nice to see his first visit back to Fenway Park. We all know how the last time he was in that neighborhood went. They say he might actually come back June 1st (our anniversary) in Fenway. I'm wondering if a 44-year old pansy who hasn't pitched in the majors in months would consider hanging a few fast balls for a Manny or Papi. Wonder if he'd even consider, for old times' sake, going inside on, say, Wily Mo Pena. Any way you cut it, it can't be great for the Yankees. They continue to add to their collection of aging pitchers without investing one penny in the future. I mean, it's like a freaking archaeological exhibit in their bullpen these days. I wonder if anyone told Roger (who has been working on his tan while trout fishing during the season so far) if Mariano is about the most hittable reliever in the game right now and he can't close a game for a win if his career depended on it. Their bullpen still has more holes than one can even count and it's fairly obvious that Georgie Poo and Ca$hman have no plans of really doing anything to situate those woes. Oh well, we march on.

We still know what happened last time the Spanks put money into an aging fastballer. Let the games begin!

CHI-TOWN, CONRAD HILTON AND DON CORNELIUS...

Wow, just got back yesterday from a 4 wonderful days in Chicago for NARM (the annual handshake convention sponsored by the music industry) where, among other acts, you can find this guy performing in the penthouse. Just kidding, this man was not there, but the great Don Cornelius of "Soul Train" fame was there receiving an award for his achievements in music and culture. It was awesome. Only real problem is when he spoke, I'm not sure I had any clue what he was talking about. It was like a mixture of Jesse Jackson and Mr. Ed. Nonetheless, that's in the presence of royalty, b'lee dat.
I'm quite sure if you mic anyone over the age of 60 in large ballroom, they're gonna sound like Mr. Ed. Sometimes like a drunk Mr. Ed or a happy, exuberant Mr. Ed. But it's gonna sound like Mr. Ed and you can trust that.

I'd like to take a moment to proclaim the discovery I made in Chicago. I know for Chicagoans, it'll be no discovery, but for a cat from Tejas where our greatest export to the rest of the nation is Lone Star and Shiner, I found it monumental and worth noting. There's a local beer up there called Goose Island that is absolutely terrific. It was so good that I had to watch myself because I was drinking them like chocolate milk until my belly hurt. In fact, my better judgement caught me before requesting from the hotel staff to fill my bathtub with with the Urban Wheat malt. It's a fantastically amazing beer and I look forward to the day that I can have another. My personal favorite was an ale called "Honker's Ale." As described on their website (http://gooseisland.com): "Inspired by visits to English country pubs, Honker’s Ale combines a spicy hop aroma with a rich malt middle to create a perfectly balanced ale that is immensely drinkable. A smooth, drinkable English Bitter for those looking for more from their beer." Amazing beer. I'd cheer and clap loudly whenever a waiter would announce it as an available beer at a restaurant. Once I find away to have it shipped to my house, I'll let everyone know and then you too can enjoy the wonder of Goose Island.

Also there was Amaechi from Defintive Jux in a panel discussion about the future of music retail. He caught some boos and hisses when he was quite outward with his support of iTunes and non-traditional (digital) means of delivering product and promotions for that product. It started when he said, "No one's coming into music stores any more so we have to go to them." It was a comment that I agreed with, but was obviously in the minority. More on that later.

The band Chicago was there. Went to an excellent party to meet them. They were the nicest fellas in the world. I got a Chicago box set signed which I'll present to my father today for a little pre-Mother's Day gift. That makes absolutely no sense.

R. Kelly was there with Mya. Went to his suite party where I missed his performance of Donny Hathaway on the grand piano they had up there, but caught all of his lip-synced performance. I mean, only R. Kelly will attempt to dupe a room full of industry heads by lip-syncing every song off his new record. Played. I just kept an eye out in the room for the underaged girls to know when was a good time to make an exit. I made an early exit anyway because it was a little corny. Looks like I left before he launched into his new juggernaut "Planet Sex." Good thing.

Listening to Jungle Brothers right now. Wow, that just hits the spot.

The band Chicago was there. Met all of those guys and had them sign a box set for my father. You know, you really can't find a nicer group of guys. They worked the rooms like champs, shaking hands, telling stories, taking pictures, signing every item. Very awesome.

Took in very little of the actual city, but that's how these events typically are. You sit in either really stuffy or really chilly suites and conference rooms and talk the biz. As someone who has never been to Chicago, I really wanted to just get out on the town and check it out. They have some incredible galleries and exhibits there. Some great sports. Rich culture. Oh well, I ate frog legs. Yes, they tasted like chicken. Never made it by the pizzaria that my brother was pushing. I did, however, make it to Buddy Guy's place for a few sponsored events. It was a cool lil' dive just across the street from the hotel. Among some of the memorabilia on the wall, they had a picture called "The Last Jam" which was a grainy picture of Buddy Guy, Jimmie Vaughan, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Eric Clapton playing on stage in Wisconsin place just five hours before Stevie Ray Vaughan would die in a helicopter accident. Haunting.

Heard 50 Cent was there, but missed him. Apparently he was pitching his new record. Also heard that Smashing Pumpkins were there, but missed them too. Don't know what they were selling.

A group called Los Straitjackets were there and according to a fairly trustful source (except for the fact that he's a life Yankee fan), they put on the best show he's ever seen at a NARM. I came in on the tail end of the performance to see a small suite with shoulder-to-shoulder bodies headbanging and gyrating in a pool of sweat and beer like a freaking frat party. I thought I heard "Louie Louie" in Spanish. It was awesome. It climaxed to a finish with the lead singer dancing through the drunken crowd pumping his fist and launching the place up into a fury. Quite regretful I missed the whole performance. Upon making my way to the bar, I realized what had set the whole place up into frenzy and it was Old Style Beer that was being served. Must make a note to catch Los Straitjackets next time I have the opportunity. There's just too much condensed into a short period of time to possibly make all of it. But it wouldn't stop me and trooper roommate from trying.

One bright moment from the awards ceremony was the discovery of Rodrigo y Gabriela--two insane guitarists who put on a set for the ages. I'm including a video so you can see what they do as performed on David Letterman.

They performed Metallica's "Sanitarium" for the hushed crowd which brought everyone to a mid-song standing ovation. It's not often you can stir such excitement from an industry crowd. Normally, they're waiting for you stop playing instead of waiting anxiously for the next song. Met Gabriela on the way to the restroom and I shook her hand. My poor little hand almost folded under her strength. And her palm was just like one rock-hard callus.

The end of the evening (as it normally goes) was spent at the UMGD party which was on the top floor with access to the helipad which provided a panoramic view of downtown Chicago and a spectacular view of Sears Tower. It was the Conrad Hilton Suite. It was built after Conrad suffered from an ego trip when the Queen Elizabeth, in her first trip to the states, asked for a top floor to be built onto the hotel to accomodate her. Years following, Conrad felt slighted and insisted he should have the top floor so they built the penthouse on the ground and had it airlifted. Also airlifted was the 12-foot portrait of Conrad that hung from the wall. And that's how I would end my trip: dancing to the Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" under Conrad Hilton. Life ain't so bad. Last night I had my first good sleep since returning. And I swear that Tucker has grown three inches since I left. I came back and it's like he's on some sort of hormone or steroid. Pics to be provided later. Gotta mow the yard and get things going.

Sox in first place by 5.5 games. Bro Bro's Cubbies are riding a 4-game win streak and climbing the Central Division.

j3's TOP 333 HIP HOP SONGS OF ALL TIME

#313
SLOW SUICIDE STIMULUS
"ROLL UP" FEAT. GRANDMASTER CAZ

2006

On what was, unfortunately a forgotten record, S.S.S. (the supergroup comprised of Tame One, Yak Ballz and crew The Dusted Dons) brought Grandmaster Caz out of nowhere in for this banger which features, among other things, quite possibly the sickest piano loop this side of Enter the 36 Chambers. Put this on at a party and count the bobbing heads.

#312

RAH DIGGA

"IMPERIAL" FEAT. BUSTA RHYMES

2000

Like Busta's baby sister, Rah kills it on "Imperial," her debut single (and, in some ways, her final single). Under the close guidance of a fiery and ferocious Busta, Rah sounds golden on the hook and that signature bass-heavy, broken-beat Flipmode sound permiates throughout. Rah's never sounded sexier and Busta's hasn't sounded hungrier since.

#311

PERCEE P

"THE EXCLUSIVE"

2003

If we can't get a proper Percee release, this will have to do. Poor dude has been shopping records for years and 2007 might finally see a Percee record. I've been listening to this song for the last four years and it only features 45 seconds of Percee and comes in under a total of a minute twenty, but it's the hardest ish you've ever heard. Rapid fire lyrics, folks. Percee's like the second come of Rakim and dude keeps it raw. Straight fire. I believe the beat was a Dilla production. Song featured on the Madlib/Dilla collab entitled "Champion Sound" under Jaylib.

#310

MICRANOTS

"VIRTUALISTIC"

2000

This frantic and ultra funky Kool Akeem production is, perhaps, his finest and I Self Divine comes hard off the cuff with a verse of pure vocal velocity. The eleventh track on their debut Obelisk Movements, "Virtualistic" can take you by surprise as the true standout track. Featuring guest spots by Stahhr and Spekt, this is the musical equivalent of an eternal backspin.

#309

MAYLAY SPARKS

"5034"

2003

Maylay comes like a young Nas on the reflective and introspective "5034." Prestine production contributed by the lesser-known DJ Noize, everything is in the right place on "5034" which is as close to hip hop perfection as you can get. There's few people that know of this album (entitled Graymatter), but it's ill as can be. Find it.

#308

NON-PROPHETS

"DISASTERS"

2003

Sage Francis explicitly describes his views of fatherhood and screaming children with the aptly titled "Disasters." The sparse production from Joe Beats paired with your typical part-angry, part-playful Sage hilarity anchors this highlight from their Lexoleum release Hope. Fantastic stuff.

#307

LEADERS OF THE NEW SCHOOL

"SHOW ME A HERO"

1991

The oldest song so far on the list, Leaders of the New School flew the flag for the future of hip hop back in 1991 driven by the charisma of Busta Rhymes. "Show Me a Hero" was a solo showcase of Busta's blazin' delivery. This song was clear evidence that Busta would be the first to jump ship and go dolo. When I first got this on cassette, I took it on a band trip to El Paso. I must have listened to this track probably 50 times on that trip--wearing out the rewind button on my Walkman just staring blankly out of the bus window.

#306

BRIZ

"SICKNESS"

2004

Relatively unknown Jersey emcee Briz is only a couple of 12"'s deep, but "Sickness" is a brilliantly pieced track that exhibits Briz's toughness as a lyricist over a slendid loop of "White Rabbit." I only have this track on a horribly transferred mp3 and would love to own it on 12", but can't find any info anywhere. If anyone knows how I can acquire it, let me know.

#305

OUTKAST

"ROSA PARKS"

1998

It would be the track that would launch Outkast into the popular realm and cement them as the innovators of this hip hop generation. It's the paramount of Outkast tracks that perfectly draws together Dre's southern drawl and Big Boi's crunk-affinities which would be the blueprint for their next two landmark albums in Stankonia and Speakerboxxx/The Love Below.

#304

MC PAUL BARMAN

"BLEEDING BRAIN GROW"

2002

Barman might not win me the popularity award amongst hip hop purists, but this track is "freaking awesome." His mind-warping lyricism and inflection makes him an interesting emcee and "Bleeding Brain Grows" is a great snapshot of his abilities as, not only an emcee, but also as a humorist. Any dude that uses lines like, "It's abundantly clear there's profundity here" after 8 bars of a palindrome created by using emcees' names has something going for him. Production by the great Prince Paul.