3 CRATES DEEP AND DIGGING: THE DE LA SOUL MIX, VOL. 1

The new mix is up and ready. For those who missed a few previous posts, I worked and slaved on a mix paying homage to De La Soul and Prince Paul's crowning achievement, 3 Feet High and Rising. Released 20 years ago, the record still holds its own as a pioneering and mind-detonating example of sampling mastery. It still is often regarded as one of the most creative album in hip hop's history and, in terms of popular music, it leaves a deep footprint amongst some of the greatest records ever recorded. The mix was intended to both honor De La as well as explore the makings of 3 Feet realizing that it took years of others musical achievements to make the record what it was. Here's the track listing:

Bob Dorough "Three is the Magic Number"

De La Soul "The Magic Number"
Led Zeppelin "The Crunge"
The Mad Lads "No Strings Attached"
De La Soul "Change in Speak"
Cymande "Bra"
New Birth "Got to Get a Knutt"
De La Soul "Can U Keep a Secret"
Lyn Collins "Think (About It)"
De La Soul "Jenifa Taught Me (Derwin's Revenge)"
The Blackbyrds "Rock Creek Park"
De La Soul "Ghetto Thang"
De La Soul "Ghetto Thang (Ghetto Ximer)"
De La Soul "Transmitting Live From Mars"
The Turtles "You Showed Me"
The Mad Lads "Make This Young Lady Mine"
De La Soul "Eye Know"
Otis Redding "Sittin' on the Dock of a Bay"
De La Soul "Take It Off"
The Headhunters "God Made Me Funky"
Ben E. King "Don't Play That Song"
De La Soul "A Little Bit of Soap"
The Jamels "A Little Bit of Soap"
People's Choice "I Likes to Do It"
De La Soul "Tread Water"
War "Magic Mountain"
De La Soul "Potholes in My Lawn"
Parliament "Good Ol' Country Boy"
Detroit Emeralds "Baby, Let Me Take You"
Sly and Family Stone "Crossword Puzzle"
De La Soul "Say No Go"
Hall and Oates "I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)"
The Turtles "I'm Chief Kamanawanalea (and the Royal Macadamia Nuts)"
The Invitations "Written on the Wall"
De La Soul "Plug Tunin' (Last Chance to Comprehend)"
Barry White "I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit More, Babe"
De La Soul "De La Orgee"
Bo Diddley "Hit or Miss"
De La Soul "Buddy"
The Commodores "I Think the World About You"
Sly and Family Stone "Poet"
De La Soul "Description"
Funkadelic "(Not Just) Knee Deep "
De La Soul "Me, Myself and I"
De La Soul "Me, Myself and I (Oblapos Mode)"
Edwin Birdsong "Rapper Dapper Snapper"
The Sequence "Funk You Up"
De La Soul "This is a Recording 4 Living in a Fulltime Era"
De La Soul "D.A.I.S.Y. Age"
The Rascals "My World"
Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band "Hard Times"
De La Soul "Ain't Hip to be Labeled a Hippie"
De La Soul "Double Huey Skit"
The Moments "So This is Our Goodbye"
De La Soul "Brain Washed Follower"
Ray Charles "Booty Butt"
De La Soul "What's More"

To download it, hit this link right here. I got comments about some banner ad that had thongs/wedgies on it for the Cypress mix. I have no control over what banner ads z-Share put on their site. I just checked the link and it appears to be clean, but those ads might be randomized. Enjoy otherwise. And if you just click the link to see thongs, get yo head correct.

HALL AND OATES WERE DOPE (AND YOU'RE STUPID IF YOU DISAGREE)

I've had no reservations in my love for Hall and Oates in the past and those of you that know me know this. There's no salt-and-pepa duo who had a longer string of hits in the history of pimpin'. I mean, these dudes were just hawd. Often discarded as a pop hit from the eighties, there's no mistaking Daryl Hall's vocal supremacy and Johnny Oates' wrote the sultry backdrop which would launch these two into the stratosphere.

I'll take Daryl Hall against any cat out there. From "Sarah Smile" to the H&O Stairway "She's Gone," from covers like "Everytime You Go Away" (which absolutely slaughters the original, yo) to "You've Lost that Loving Feeling," (not to mention the uber-explosive "I Can't Go for That" and "Maneater"), Hall and Oates made an imprint in the both pop and soul music that is undeniable. I mean, who else would be the inspiration for this Etch and Sketch masterpiece?
Check out this video for the classic "She's Gone." What a masterful mastery of lip sync. This was back when Daryl was more Ziggy Stardust-slash-vampire-slash-eyebrowless woman-slash-col' pimp, but dude still wore it well.

Sox and Rays go tonight. Busting at the seams, here. Rays are talking in the press like their owed the AL Championship. Pretty confident team. Sox are almost saying nothing. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. We'll know tonight. Six pack of choice for tonight's clash: Sierra Nevada.

It's not often I do a product endorsement anymore, but I got a pair of Skullcandy headphones to demo and these things are insane. The low end is phenomenal and is better than any headphone I've ever used. The fit tight on the head and eliminate any outside sound or chatter. I'm taking them where ever I go and, who knows, maybe you can borrow 'em--but just for a second. If you love your music, you'll love Skullcandy headphones. Their big with snowboarders, but also with aging hip hop heads like me.

Preparing the De La mix already. You ain't ready. The process already is one of appreciation and deep study. Prince Paul was/is a beast. Those first three De La records are among the greatest that hip hop has ever heard. Do the knowledge.

Man, you gotta love Fridays. Go listen to some Hall and Oates today and love your neighbor. All this fear and Depression-talk got us all down. They ain't takin' my spirit, though.

MY NEWEST VENTURE...

After wrapping up the Cypress mix (which has been downloaded 36 times as of this morning which is weird because I don't even know 36 people), I thought about what my new project should be. There were tons of projects I want to do, but what should I do?

The other night I was watching the VH1 Hip Hop Honors program (desperate plea for credibility) and, among the honorees were De La Soul. Now, if you know me, you know that De La Soul has always maintained within my top three favorite artists of all time of any genre. I first heard De La when I picked up a used cassette of 3 Feet High and Rising as a kid from Ralph's Records and Tapes. I think, on that same trip, I picked up Huey Lewis and the News. My head was split in two from the first listen.

The sounds, the breakbeats, the rhyme flow, the cover art, the bright colors, the flowers. I was captivated and, from that point on, there was no going back. I probably bought that cassette for $2.50. One of the best investments I ever made. I think about what if I had never gone in there that day. What if I didn't search that row of cassettes. What if I blinked as my finger ran over the spine of the cassette. I probably would've never heard that record. Turns out, De La would be a mainstay in my young life. They'd be the soundtrack to junior high as I would take De La Soul is Dead with me to school in my Walkman. I have very few memories that have lasted vividly through the years, but I remember one day I was walking to school and I ran into Kevin Monroe right outside of class. I had my headphones on and he walked up to me and asked, "What'chu listening to?" He snagged the headphones off my head and began listening. I believe "Oodles of O's" was playing. He smiled and began nodding his head. "You like that weird shit," he said laughing as he walked away. Yep, I guess I do. The De La experience for me would be a personal one. Not alot of kids in Lubbock were jamming De La Soul. Even in high school where it was Buhloone Mindstate and Stakes is High, alt rock was blowing up and the sounds of De La barely penetrated middle-of-nowhere Texas. But I had all the material and I listened with the intensity of a church boy listening to a sermon.

The other day, I snagged my copies of the first four De La records (which are always at the easiest of access) and took them up to work with me. I listen very passively up at work because, well, I have to. People envision my job as me leaning back in a chair with my feet up on a desk listening to CDs with my eyes closed. Truth is I listen more to the cross-traffic on the outside of my cube and the hum of my desk fan than actual music and that's because when I think about putting on music, I'm not thinking about my job. I have to have a rare break in the action before I actually say, "Man, it'd be nice to hear some music." The day I took my De La records up to work, though, I hardly got anything done. From the second I put on 3 Feet, I accomplished nothing. That's how good they are.

It was then that I thought that I had to do a De La mix. Original plan was to take all four records and string them together, but then you'd never get a chance to truly appreciate them. Those records are so thick with sounds that to unravel each little sample and stretch it out would be a mix that would be ten hours long. It's like if you took all the veins and arteries in the human body and strung them out, it would be a mile long (not sure if that's accurate). That's what these records are like. So, for that reason, I'm going to do them all in separate smaller mixes and I'll start with 3 Feet.

3 Feet, in its essence, is a nimble and fast record. In comparison to the records that would follow, the samples go by quickly at breakneck speeds. It bounces, weaves, dives and dashes. It's like a young prize fighter or a young skier. Young skiers cut alot quicker, enjoy moguls, jumps, tricks. As skiers get older, however, they enjoy more long slalom, less cuts and longer rides. No less the skill, mind you, just different. As De La aged, the samples went from four beats long to eight bars long. The wordplay was toned down for content and message. No less skilled and accomplished, mind you, just different. To mix all the records together would've been an absolute mess because, unlike Cypress Hill's first two records, the difference between the works are staggering. Plus, at length, it would be like listening to Beethoven's nine symphonies in succession.

I've posted this before, but it just seemed appropriate...

I've been asked about the upcoming playoff matchups from a few folks and I will say this, of course I'm pulling for the Sox, but I don't think for a second that the Rays will go any shorter than seven games. And, I'm not even sure who will win. As faithful as I am to my boys, I wouldn't bet a buck against the Rays. They're just stout and with Lowell out, Beckett sore and the bullpen tired, it's gonna take a serious push from the rest of the team to make it to the Series. Los Angeles and Angry Tim are on fire right now. I guess it makes you realize that it really is the AL East versus the rest of the league. Los Angeles wouldn't be contenders without the addition of Torre (Yankees), Manny (Sawx) and Lowe (Sawx). Would be nice to see Dodgers versus Sox in the World Series, but really, with both of these matchups due to go seven, I shouldn't get to ahead of myself.

I'm tired of McCain. My lovely wife was complaining during the debates the other night that the dude's got short arms. There's another reason not to vote for his ass, he's got short arms. How's he gonna sucka punch foreign leaders with them short arms? Guess he'll get Palin to do it for him. She's already running the show anyway.

Gas is now creeping under $3.00 now. Ever get the idea that there was really never a shortage and the high gas prices were really just big companies padding profits in a rough economy and using fear and foreign struggles to justify or excuse such hikes? After enough bitching and moaning, the oil companies finally figure, "Come down, but don't do it overnight. Do it quietly, gradually or else people will suspect something." I'm still expecting to pay $1.50 by July of next year. Too hopeful?

Stakes is high, folks. This ain't yo' momma's America. They say we'll never retire. They also say we'll live forever. Does that mean that I'll work until I'm 180 years old? To hell with that.

CYPRESS HILL MIX DONE (LINK INCLUDED)

It's all done. Just click here to download. And, because I know you'll be asking, here's the tracklist:


1 The Five Stairsteps "The New Dance Craze"
2 Village Callers "Hector"
3 Cypress Hill "The Funky Cypress Hill Shit"
4 Mandrill "Fencewalk"
5 The Bar Kays "Humpin'"
6 Cypress Hill "Real Estate"
7 The Bar Kays "Copy Cat"
8 Muddy Waters "Tom Cat"
9 Cypress Hill "Ultraviolet Dreams"
10 Rita Marley "One Draw"
11 Junior Parker "Taxman"
12 Cypress Hill "I Wanna Get High"
13 Lee Dorsey "Get Out My Life Woman"
14 Cypress Hill "Hits from the Bong"
15 Dusty Springfield "Son of a Preacher Man"
16 Cypress Hill "Scooby Doo"
17 Cypress Hill "Lick a Shot"
18 Cypress Hill "I Ain't Goin' Out Like That"
19 Black Sabbath "The Wizard"
20 Jimmy McGriff "The Bird"
21 Cypress Hill "Hole in Your Head"
22 Mel and Tim "Good Guys Only Win in the Movies"
23 Cypress Hill "Insane in the Brain"
24 Sly and Family Stone "Life"
25 Kool and the Gang "Good Times"
26 Cypress Hill "Light Another"
27 Gene Chandler "Duke of Earl"
28 Cypress Hill "Hand on the Pump"
29 Junior Walker "Shotgun"
30 Lowell Fulson "Tramp"
31 Cypress Hill "How I Could Just Kill a Man" (Spanish)
32 Cypress Hill "How I Could Just Kill a Man"
33 Music Machine "Come On In"
34 Grant Green "Down Here on the Ground"
35 Cypress Hill "Stoned is the Way of the Walk"
36 Kool and the Gang "Life is What You Make It"
37 Cypress Hill "The Phuncky Feel One"
38 The Meters "Looky-Py-Py"
39 Cypress Hill "Cock the Hammer"
40 Flora Purim "The Wind"
41 Willie Hutch "Foxy Lady"
42 Cypress Hill "Psychobetabuckdown"
43 Parliament "Aqua Boogie"
44 John Roberts "Sophisticated Funk"
45 Cypress Hill "Tres Equis"
46 Cypress Hill "Legalize It"
47 Gene Chandler "Hallelujah, I Love Her So"
48 Chuck Cornish "Funky Ali Thing"
49 Cypress Hill "Pigs"
50 Outlaw Blues Band "Deep Gully"
51 Cypress Hill "When the Shit Goes Down"
52 Cypress Hill "When the Shit Goes Down (Diamond D Mix)"
53 Joe Zawinul "Money in the Pocket"
54 Cypress Hill "Break Em Off"
55 Panzant Brothers "The Nitty Gritty"
56 Elephant's Memory "Mongoose"
57 Cypress Hill "Latin Lingo"
58 Cypress Hill "Latin Lingo (Blackout Mix)"

It times out at 1:59:33 so nearly two hours of Cypress Hill and others. Go easy...it's my first. Still a little raw, but I think it does the trick. So put it on, relax and enjoy the show, sucka.

SAM WYRICK: A MAN WITH A BAND A NUMBER OF FANS

In the past weeks, we've dived deep into the successes and exploits of one Sam Wyrick of the Oklahoma super-group, Badly Bent. One thing I've discovered about him is lust for life and, maybe more impressive, his love for his fans. Yep, the dude actually has a pretty decent following of about twelve to fifteen Oklahomans.

Maybe it's his rendition of "Turn the Page" or his monstrous and towering frame but lovable character. Could be the well water. Maybe even it's his last name. But the people of his humble community lean on him for his artistic vision and diplomatic soundness. Plus, the dude makes the ladies go wild.

Like this woman, Margaret, who often makes appearances at his shows. Tonight, she wore Sam's favorite gown, er, whatever. She sewd it out of curtains at the local nursing home. It still smells a little like cigarette smoke from the glory days at the home, but it's masked by the putrid stinch of piss and body odor at this commode of a club. Her favorite song by Sam and the gang is when they kick into "Knockin' on Heaven's Door." In an embarrassing moment, she requested it from the back of the club as, "That song by Guns and Roses." Margaret didn't listen to much Dylan growing up. In fact, she didn't listen to much music at all which partially explains her fascination with Sam. I don't know who this cat is, but he pops up at a lot of Badly Bent shows. You gotta drink biblical amounts of that Oklahoma near-beer to get this plastered.
The dude in the white is his designated driver. His name is Phillip and he still plays with Legos. I gotta question for their site administrator. Why would you put this picture on your website? Not a very flattering photo for the man featured or Badly Bent. I'd try to find a picture of like a really hot girl in a bikini and say something like, "This and more can be seen at the next Badly Bent show." Seeing this photo would make me want to leave the state altogether. Additionally, this photo proves that, one, the photographer doesn't know what the hell they're doing and, two, not a lot of people turn out at Badly Bent shows. Look at all the empty space.
Add to it that, if in fact the band is playing, only one of these people are actually watching it happen. And neither look like they're enjoying it much. I'd probably look for photos where, say, ten or twenty people are gathered and, more importantly, looking engaged and enthused in the same general direction. In rural Oklahoma, I'd start with the personal hygiene department at the nearest Wal-Mart. This is the look of an area in the club where either someone just farted or told an offensive joke. But this does not look like much of a good time.

Then there's this guy:

Again, what does having this photo on your band's website say about the accomplishments of the band? If I wanted to sleep, I'd just stay at home and go to bed instead of spending an evening at a Badly Bent show.

Then, there's these two. The girl looks like she was just busted sniffing coke off the table and, additionally, looks really annoyed. Again, I might look for photos where people are actually enjoying themselves. Smiling. Laughing. Maybe embracing each other while smiling and laughing. This does nothing to sell me on a Badly Bent show. The guy looks like a prick, but that's just because of the ballcap (which can be purchased at the nearest Rip Griffin for $7.99--one size fits all).

Okay, so maybe fifteen fans was a little generous. It might just be Margaret, but let me tell you, she's a huge fan.

Sox just took a 3-1 one lead on a three-run single by Jacoby Ellsbury. Yep, I said it, a three-run single. Let's do it tonight.

I NEED BASEBALL PLAYOFFS LIKE A KNIFE IN THE HEAD

Don't get me wrong, I love me some playoffs and I'm proud of my boys for scooting their way in, but it wouldn't be possible to find a gnarlier time of year for a playoff series that starts on the West Coast at 9PM tonight. Geez.

And it's against the Angels.

Paskins' Tigers couldn't lock out the White Sox. Paulie's Twins couldn't even score a run against them. Ron's Mets flopped again. And the Rays are about to be exposed for the team they really are. Let's see what they're made of. Cubs vs. Sawx in the Series...let's go.

MY LIONS SHIRT IS BETTER THAN YOURS: THE ROCK POST

As most of you know, I really don't listen to a lot of rock music. Just not my thing. Don't really hate it, just don't listen to a lot of it. The Root Down introduced Wolfmother to the world. They broke up after just one record. The void left from the departure of Wolfmother was hard to explain. They had a good march, set the Gypsy on fire in Dallas, hit it big in America and then just snapped over the follow up record. Yeah, can't say that I have a good ear for longevity. Despite that, I'm always up for something new. And, to me, everything's new.

Hailing from Austin and coming with a number of positive recommedations from the area, The Lions pulled into the Yellow Friday to open for Texas institution, the Toadies. I'll be the first to tell anyone, I never really listened to the Toadies. I heard "Possum Kingdom" in college and that's really all I remember. I didn't even know they were a Texas band until a few years back. It didn't occur to me that "Tyler" was a song about the town by the same name. I just never bought the records and was listening to something completely different about ten years ago. As was made fairly apparent to me recently, the Toadies still carry quite a bit of weight. I initially passed on the show, but then after finding out from Leroy last weekend that The Lions were opening, I found a spot on the list. I had to see it.

Yeah, I realize that most people don't go for opening acts. I don't care. Mag Seven was playing as well. And they killed it.

I waited patiently after Mag's set...wandering around and waiting for The Lions to takeover. And then...

When The Lions hit the stage, the place ignites. Now, for a crowd that, for the most part, had never heard their material, the response was immediate and significant. The horns come up and as you scan the heads of the crowd, all moved in unison with an uneasy tension. Some raised their hands above their head and began clapping in time. Lead singer Matt slithers to the microphone and begins wailing in a manic state through the lyrics of "No Generation." My eyes peel back and mouth drops open.

The boyish energy, the jumps, the spitting, the headbangs, the guitar poses--yes, this was what Leroy was speaking of. The grooves were cut from a sturdy teflon, the guitars zipped up in denim and the vocals wrapped in dingy, stinky concert tee from 1972.

Of course, for a pea-minded Yellow crowd, this kinda stuff needs no hard sell. I hear a guy to the left say, "These guys are actually pretty good," with both obvious surprise and delight. Matt's onstage dancing and nervous outbursts captivated the crowd.About four songs into the set, I could the feel the crowd becoming a little tired. I mean, yeah, they're there to see the Toadies. This was especially evident as you left the front fifty feet of the stage area. Angry Tim just gave me a thumb pointed downward with a fart noise, but he's distrustful of anything that comes with an endorsement. Mayhem seemed to just agree with the strong opinions of others. Seems I pumped them up too much to others as I was getting met with more animosity than any sort of constructive criticisms aside from the fairly unanimous "they're trying to be like Rage Against the Machine" comments. And Rage was just trying to be like the MC5 and Public Enemy. Whatever, all artists bite. And, as a fan of Rage, I didn't hear it except a segment in a song where Matt begin speaking loudly about the "American Dream." I guess anyone opens their mouth and starts talking politics, it'll be a race to be the first to mutter "Zack de la Rocha." Probably lucky no one drew Daltrey comparisons because they have a song called "No Generation."

As they neared the second half of their set, it was fairly apparent they were wearing on the crowd. Then, Matt made a joking comment about, "Well, I guess we could always just play __king Toadies songs. Anyone wanna hear 'Tyler'?" Then, all those they had befriended in the first half, seemed to turn on them. After songs, the applause was dimmed and boos began to surface louder and louder. How quickly they switch on you when you make a light comment on the headliner. Who cares, they rocked.

I think somewhere, The Lions rocked the show off course. I heard two seperate instances where someone had to tell someone, "It's not that kinda show, dude/bro." It's like The Lions got everyone fired up and ready to fight and then Toadies fans had to remind them, "Hey, this is a lovefest. No fighting." I found that really peculiar that people came out of their mind and had to be reminded, "Dude, it ain't that kinda show." I guess The Lions tend to split crowds in two and turn them on each other. Now that's a show.

The Toadies played to club that absolutely adored them. I sang what lyrics I knew. After the show, I passed by the merch table where I purchased a shirt and showed my gratitude to the band in which the drummer cooly said, "Much obliged, man. Much obliged."

Next week, another head-slaying Austin monster comes to town in a supporting role: The Sword...who will be opening for Clutch. I guess, once again, I'll be the prick that cheers for the opening band and then everyone will tell me they sound too much like Black Sabbath. Eh, you can't win when you have little understanding of the music. Can't hate me for being adventurous. The Sword kill.They're absolute monsters of rock. I've taken them on the mountain with me and I can attest to their rock greatness. Nothing like flying down a steep face with "Winter Wolves" exploding your ear drums into dust.

Dale, L'roy and Sarah, thanks for the strong recommendation on The Lions. They did you proud up here in the Yellow. Fun time.

I'm renaming Tucker and Jackson. They'll be Bingo and Buster respectively. No elaboration coming later. That's all you need to know.

I LOVE ME SOME ZOMBIES...

It's that time of year when everyone's pressing to make their zombie-end-of-the-world movies hit theaters before Halloween. And, let's face it, there's nothing better than zombie flicks on election years because, in the end, they're all just metaphors for partisanship. That's all there is to 'em. You can thank Mr. Romero for that bleak outlook on humanity--specifically Americanism. Of course, we can debate it if you want.

There's just something about a good zombie flick that just really does it. Something about the notion of being stranded and forced to fight your way out of a swarm of blood-thirsty undead that might've used to be your awesome neighbor or (gasp!) spouse! Out t'get ya!

It's the end of the world and hell got a lil' overcrowded and now they're walking the earth. That's a storyline. And if that's not a metaphor for the prison system, I don't know what is! Now, sit back and watch the fun begin!

The great thing about zombie movies is they essentially prey on the very fear that humanity can turn against you and, most popularly, overrun you and eat you alive and, it's like a dog marking his territory, you become them. And, then, the only way to escape them is to kill them or kill yourself which is, really, the very worst fear fully exposed in a horror movie. You can't reason with them. Sure, you might be able to outrun them for a night, but a month!? They're gonna get you. They're gonna eat you. Something so formulaic, but so functional about the zombie story. How do you kill something that's already dead? Sure, you might figure out to put a hole in Jason or Freddy's head, but how do you stop an army with a billy club? What if you were one and they were a million. Brilliant.

I have my favorites and they seem to be everchanging. It doesn't really matter, you say "zombie," and I'm there. My lovely wife thinks they're the most moronic form of entertainment and that's fine--I think the same thing about romantic comedies and, let's face it, they really fill the same need in both of us. Sometimes I feel like being a stupid man and she feels like being a mindless woman. Jacko, realizing my love for the genre, bought me last Christmas The Zombie Survival Guide.

I don't really mind saying that it's clearly the most accomplished piece of literature on the marketplace right now. Here's a taste:

"ALTERNATE ROAD TRANSPORTATION: A. The Horse (pg. 107)

No one can dispute the obvious advantage of an escape on horseback. Fueling from a gas station becomes irrelevant. Extra supplies are reduced to feed, blanked and some additional medicine. Terrain options increase, as four hooves don't need a road. Before luxury of automobiles, people traveled quite efficiently on these fast, sturdy animals. Before saddling up and hitting the trail, however, keep in mind simple warnings. As anyone who's even ridden a pony as a child will agree, horseback riding requires skill. Forget how easy it looks in Westerns. The skills needed to ride and care for horses are difficult to master. Unless you already know how, don't think you can learn on the go. Another drawback, specific to dealing with zombies, is that horses are notoriously spooked by the undead. Even the scent of a zombie, carried by a wind and maybe miles from the source, will be enough to send most horses into hysterics. This could be advantageous early-warning system to an extremely experienced rider, one who knows how to control his animal. For most, however, the end result could be a catapult toss to the ground, injuries and all. The horse, at that moment, would not only leave its hapless rider stranded, but it's frantic neighing would also serve to alert nearby zombies."

Do the math, kid. It's Friday. Tech's got the weekend off. The Lions tomorrow night. Gotta find a way in.

THIS CYPRESS MIX IS INSANE AND OTHER NEWS

It's an absolute truth that my mix is the ultimate Cypress mix. It's about an hour deep right now and we've already featured Sly and Family Stone, Kool and the Gang, Black Sabbath, Dusty Springfield, Jimmy McGriff, the Bar Kays, Muddy Waters and, who else, Mandrill. You ain't ready. You ain't ready. Dawg, you just ain't ready. You need to go back to school.

My dogs killed a possum. Like, not just killed it, but pulled it apart. I thought, at first, that it was just playing possum which is probably the worst defense mechanism in the world. Just play dead? Really, if you play dead, two beagles are gonna eat you alive, bro. My wife walks out to see this image.

Except with, of course, tons of blood and maybe a partially severed arm or leg. It's really disgusting. I ain't never seen a possum in this town and then I come across two in my backyard. One that's squirming making his last plead and then another that's ripped to shreds. For such mean assholes, they really find themselves on the dying end of a fight alot. Here's to the extinction of the possum and I really have no problem saying so. They're rats that are really skilled at climbing trees and dying.

The closed Yankee Stadium. Awesome. Can't really find anyone who is gonna miss that toilet bowl...eh-hmm, Yankee fans included. Good for the organization that they closed this year or they wouldn't have had any reason for all that great archived footage of Yankees winning championships because they ain't gonna do it this year. I guess that Giambi moustache and the panties that the whole clubhouse was wearing didn't really pan out. That sucks. If you're gonna wear some dude's thong, you better win a championship. There'll be plenty of time for A-Rod to exercise his new-found freedom as a single man...let's face it, the dude's not a good team player and is not known for his consistency. She should've seen it coming from his play on the field.

A-Rod getting his adultery on.

Tonight the Red Sox beat Cliff Lee and the Cleveland Indians to punch their tickets to the playoffs and eliminating the Yankees from the playoffs for the first time in, geez, I don't know, my lifetime. End of the dynasty? Hell, I was saying that years ago. They haven't posted a championship in more than eight years and, with 26 championships to their name, they're at a rate of, say, one championship every four years so this is clearly a drought. Not sure if this the year for the Sox. I'd be lying if I said it'd be easy. Even if we clear the AL, the Cubs are playing scary baseball. Secretly (but not so much), I'm pulling for the Cubbies. And yes, Bro Bro, we're going to Chicago if what's supposed to happen happens.

The coffee thing is going well. I'm doing about 5-7 cups a morning. That's cups, not mugs. One fairly standard mug holds about 2.5 cups. So, I'm around two to three mugs a morning. It sucks except for the creepier hallucinations of twenty miniature Bette Midlers doing high kicks on desk tops.

Lovely wife wants to do another garage sale. I found out my grandfather was not a big fan of garage sales. Maybe it runs in the family. I just don't like being told what my memories are worth. Seems a little unfair.

Austin's favorite The Lions are coming to the Yellow with the Toadies. Must check it out on the strong recommendations of Leroy, Dale and Sarah. I gotta tell you, folks, no one knows of them in the Yellow so hopefully they've come prepared to blow the place up. Looking forward to it nonetheless.

Man, we're just gonna turn this thing on random so I can get a week's worth of garbage out of my head: listened to David's 45's up at work on Friday. There was some dope stuff in there--most notably a 45 from the band Smokestack...ill ill ill. Kris, I ain't got no large, you're gonna have to shrink that XL or just cut off two inches of the bottom and the sleeves. Murs is releasing a record on Warner Brothers. That dude's gotta hustle, geez. MF Doom is releasing a record this month. Oh glory be! I moving to my own desk up at work. It'll be a little lonely, but it'll give me more room for all of my garbage. I've bought a lot of vinyl lately. Just the other night, I bought Jeru the Damaja and Vampire Weekend. Both very enjoyable. Texas Tech's team whooped the crap out of UMass this weekend in Lubbock. I was in attendance with Danny. And apparently, there's no problem with drinking on campus anymore because tailgating is huge in Lubbock now. In fact, we almost had to park in Littlefield because there were more people just partying in the parking lots than actually going to the game. Lubbock, just so you know, is still dry meaning, for those city folks, you can't buy beer within city limits. But you can drink it in public. Fall is upon us. Ah, I love fall. College football, championship baseball, holidays, cold weather, condensation, morning jogs without sweating, no flies, mosquitos, no worrying about vinyl warping in the car...it's truly pale ale season. Roundhouse beat Newschannel 10 last week to secure a first-round bye in the tournament on Thursday night. Yeah, we're your heroes. Admit it. Wear those Roundhouse jerseys with pride, pupils, it's playoff season. Speaking of, I'm a lazy loser because I haven't secured the Root Down shirts. Still working on that. Danny has requested the following model. I couldn't find any cheap hoodies on the market. Maybe next time.

Had a guy rev his engine at me the other day on my bike waiting at a light. I was thinking how gangsta it would be to hop off my bike, turn around and just lift the bike and throw it on his hood and then stand there like "what, what," then walk away. I just shaved about two months of facial hair off my face in anticipation of the Sox clinching a playoff birth (I like spelling it like "birth" as opposed to "berth" because of how it looks). New TV on the Radio came out today. I love them. I'm out of deodarant. Don't tell anyone--I'm wearing my lovely wife's. Because I know you're interested, I'm reading the Zombie Survival Guide on the can--it's really good reading. I'm ready to defend myself against the undead on land, sea and, yes, sky. B'lee dat. I need to see what my Oklahoma musician family us up to. You want a story line, Cubs and Red Sox in the World Series. Or Dodgers and Red Sox in the Series and it goes seven games and Jason Bay wins the championship for the Sox in a 9th inning RBI single off the Green Monster that's misplayed by Manny Ramirez in front of Red Sox Nation allowing the winning score to run. It's not that I'm spiteful. It's just a good storyline. Jason Bay strikes out a lot. So does Jed Lowrie. Woudl really love to win the division on a sweep of the Yankees. Eh, enough baseball talk. I really miss Lubbock and I don't mind saying so. I need to mow the lawn. I'm getting tired. I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry I don't write in the mornings anymore. I'm looking to change that if I could just finish this Cypress mix. I work on it about twenty minutes at a time. I'm probably too old to listen to Cypress Hill...wait, nah I ain't. I'll decide when I'm too old for hip hop and it ain't yet.

If you wanna try me, come and get it, ese.

COMING TO TERMS WITH MY COFFEE ADDICTION...

It started back in college, I suppose, at Daybreak Coffee in Lubbock, TX. I'd go up there with Danny, Sarah, occassionally Dale. I was never a coffee man until then. But there I was, drinking it with a pull of cream and a lesser helping of sugar. It'd be freaking 10:00 at night and I'd be on my fifth cup of some Brazilian bean. And I wonder why I couldn't crawl out of bed in the morning. I was like Jessie Spano singing, "I'm So Excited."

My lovely wife and I started talking about my caffeine intake the other day as well as my sleeping habits. I usually go to bed at 10:30, start stirring at about 2:30 or so, crawl out of bed at about 5:00-5:45 and then drink about 12 cups (standard cups, or about 4-5 mugs of coffee) and then proceed with my day. I do all of my consumption before the hour of 8:00 and rarely do I drink anything at work. What do I do during those early hours? This.

We figured that my sleeping habits were not really sound and I was settling for really bad sleep. I mean, when you see me, I'm running on about four hours of good sleep and an additional three hours of tossing and turning. We started a quick rundown of my caffeine intake and determined that, if the recommended daily allowance of caffeine is 200-300mg of caffeine, I was getting close to (brace for it) 1100mg--close to four or five times the recommended amount. And, remember, I get that before you even make it to work in the morning.

At that level, I'm prone to muscle tremors, nausea, irritability (let's go ahead and throw bruxism [teeth grinding] in there too), high heart rate, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, low bone density, increased risk of fractures, anxiety, wild mood changes, decreased attentiveness, reduced fertility. One lady I found online says she suffers from hallucinations--the most common being a black cat disappearing around a corner. I'm chased home by a witch on a broom who looks like Barbara Streisand. Freaky.

With my lovely wife's support, I've made an effort and have already succeeded to cut my intake in more than half to a more acceptable 400mg a day. I've noticed a deeper sleep at night. Of course, my energy during the day is less, but that's probably better. I've managed to curb the troubling frothing at the mouth and my focus seems much stronger. Add to the mix an hour of good cardio (jogging is my preference) and I can feel my body reaching a new norm. Does it mean less early morning posts? Yep, you bet. I'm just going to have to find a better time for that.

Caffeinism is no joke, kids. Ask Jessie Spano.

Today is People Under the Stairs day. Get it on.

CYPRESS HILL'S FIRST TWO ALBUMS APPRECIATION POST AND RESULTING MIX...

When it all goes down in the history books and they talk of hip hop in the same way they talk of jazz and Elvis shaking his hips today, it's possible that talented groups like Cypress Hill and the astounding contributions to the game through their first two records might easily be overlooked. The truth be known, though, that Cypress Hill was probably the most highly-discounted but incredibly sick crews of the early 90s. Peep those bucket hats, yo. They're like the Kinks of hip hop. "Lola" and "Apeman" were dope, but you never hear them anymore. You hardly hear anyone even mention the Kinks anymore. Same goes for Cypress. Led by Mellow Man Ace's brother Sen Dog of Cuban decent and east LA's very own B-Real of Mexican decent, Cypress was the first (and only, some may argue) Latino powerhouse in hip hop. Their music blended blunted imagery, calculated acts of violence, humor and the Latino heritage under the watchful and infinitely funky guidance of classic producer DJ Muggs who was in the best form of his career. Their first record was a proclamation that the new style had arrived. Led by tracks like "How I Could Just Kill a Man" and "Hand on the Pump" and lesser-played "Light Another" and "Hole in the Head," the self-titled effort was a spectrum of perfectly looped funk breaks laced with the shenanigans of B-Real and Sen Dog and a tidal wave of horns and wah-wahs. And what the self-titled record achieved in putting Cypress on the map, Black Sunday would take them off the map and into the stratosphere. Shamefully, it would be one of the most unlistenable track on the album that would vault its success, "Insane in the Brain," but nonetheless, it provided fuel for an album that would only follow the acclaim of their self-titled debut. It took the tasty recipe for the first album and doubled every ingredient making a poignant and powerful musical blast. When B-Real and Sen spat about weed, it was less a party and more a religion. When they were violent, it was less the jokery and more believable. Black Sunday was darker, louder and lower.
The albums that would follow (specifically III and IV) were strong efforts, but came no where close to the achievements of their first two records. There's no touching the first two albums. I've been jamming them endlessly for the last two weeks and decided that they would make the perfect platform for my next mix. I found about thirty breaks used to make the material on the first two records and have begun work on a mix that will seamlessly mix the roots and the results off of Cypress Hill's first two records. Yeah, Kool and the Gang is in there. So is Parliament, Chuck Cornish, Five Stairsteps, Willie Hutch, James Brown, Black Sabbath, the Music Machine, Pazant Brothers and, of course, Cypress Hill. I'll keep you posted.

Sox are tied for first place with the Tampa Bay Strays. Let's see if we can restore order in the East and pull this thing out.

WHO NEEDS SLEEP: MICE VS. MAN (WITH DOGS OFFICIATING)

Really, what good is a dog if it can fulfill the simplest of tasks required of him for occupation of a residence? I mean, I got a dog for companionship, sure. Absolutely. But sometimes, dogs gotta pull their weight around the house. F'real. I work my ass off to keep these guys healthy, fed, exercised. They act like they're due it.

I get a call from my lovely wife yesterday asking if we can order pizza for dinner. It's not common that we do, especially on a weeknight. I ask, "Why?" She says because she's hungry, tired and there's a mouse in the kitchen. Security breached.

I run to the store to pick up a six pack for the ball game and half-priced "mouse glue boards." Not sure if you all have ever seen these so let me school you on the concept. Basically, it's a disposable board about the size of a large note card. You peel off one side and expose a super-sticky surface where you place a small piece of food to "increase the effectiveness." Then you put it in an area where you have seen a mouse or droppings. Buying this thing was like buying triple-X porn (not that I really know). I felt like, "Yeah, I'm stupid white trash and I have a mouse in my trailer and there's only room for one of us!" I prepared a few quick comebacks in case the person ringing me up said something like, "Mice, huh?" The first was, "Yeah, it's for my storage shed," or "I'm pulling a prank on my roommate." No one asked. I bought the goods and was on my way.

When I get home, my lovely wife is in the study and has no plans of going near the kitchen. I go straight to the kitchen and begin opening the glue boards--keeping a watchful eye on the corners for my furry friend. I put one on the floor and one on the counter top where he was spotted. We're taking the power back here. Roaches and rodents are unacceptable in our household. I pulled Tux and Jax aside and reminded them of this. It's inexcuseable that two hounds can spend all day inside and outside, but restricted to the kitchen and not notice that security had been breached. After scolding them, I block off the kitchen and let the glue boards do their magic.

I walk into the kitchen about an hour later and BOOM there he is! Dashing across the counter. I freak out, yelling, "There he is! There he is! I'm-a get you, you stupid bastard!" The dogs look on to see how you take charge of a situation. He disappears behind the fridge and I carefully and studiously reposition the glue boards.

Now, the idea of these stupid things are, essentially, the prick will walk onto the board, stick and struggle until eventually he dies. There's no estimate on how long that will take, but there's no poison or chemical which slows him down to his death so, as far as I know, it's a waiting game once he lands on it.

The evening crawls on as I watch the Sox. I check back periodically, but nothing. Despite their neglect, we decide to pull the dogs into the bedroom for the night because I had feared that the dumbass mouse would step on the glue board, struggle and fall off the counter into the mouths of two now eager beagles.

The Sox game went late--14 innings to be exact. Afterwards, I drift off quickly into slumber, but it would be short-lived. I wake up at 2:30 to my lovely wife's horrendous snoring. It was so loud that the dogs were stirring about the bedroom. Sorry, babe. I shove her a little to see if I can shift her to a position less-snoreful. Hey, y'boy's gotta sleep too. About 3:00, Jax begins whining. Usually, this is a cry for water. He can hold pee for 17 hours, but the second he gets thirsty, dude's like a three-alarm fire. I try to ignore him because, well, to be honest, I don't wanna go to the kitchen.

But as I'm reminded of constantly, it's the man's job. Hosed. I try to pass it off on the dogs, you know, delegate it, but my lovely wife's right. It's my job. Okay, so I'll take Jax to the kitchen to get water. Tux, because he has no brain other than Jackson's, follows closely. I turn on the kitchen light and there he is...

STUCK TO THE PAD.

And wiggling about. Obviously in distress. So what next? I check the package to see if they offer any counsel. It reads, "After use, dispose of properly." Yeah, well...okay. So when do I know I've reached the "after use" stage. I mean, if the things still alive, wiggling and twitching, is the pad still in use? I stand there at 3:00 in the morning on the opposite side of the kitchen watching this thing struggle and emitting an occasional squeek. What in the hell am I doing? I should be sleeping.

I have to admit that I took great pleasure in watching him on that pad. It's probably not the most humane way of putting a mouse out, but I don't care. I stood there thinking that if someone would actually touch the mouse for me, you know, pick it up. I'd let them pitch it to me so I could take a hack at it and see how far I could hit it. I was paralyzed. I really hate mice.

I stood there for about five minutes just waiting for it to die. Again, sleep would be nice. I decide I'll go back to sleep. I grab the dogs and we head back to the bedroom where my lovely wife continues to buzzsaw through concrete. I turn on the TV, leaving the closed captioning on and muting the sound. I found that her snores were not only distractive to sleep, but I couldn't even read the captions it was so loud. I sit there trying to read captions on the TV, but I can't because my lovely wife's snoring is too distractive and I'm thinking when the mouse in the kitchen will die. This is what I do in the middle of the night. At 4:00, I decide that, to hell with it, I'm up and I'm gonna go get me a mouse.

I devise a plan because I'm an old scout. It involved a broom stick, a rolled piece of cardboard and a garbage bag. It took me about fifteen minutes to get up the nerve to approach it and, once I did, it took about five seconds to execute. I walked him out to the dumpster and let him spend the rest of his miserable death out there.

My lovely wife and I really do run a tight ship. I'm not sure how this breach happened, but trust me in this, it will be resolved. This is no pig stye.

I just heard a soundbyte from a guy in Texas saying he was going to stay at his house while Ike makes landfall saying, "These posts here are buried in four feet of concrete," and then smiling, "I don't think they're going nowhere." Man, those sound like famous last words.

Hip hop heads, I got a killa package from Mr. Matt at EMI with three CDs--all which were noteworthy: the new People Under the Stairs (a band you can trust) called Fun DMC, the new Madlib mix through BBE and then the Mighty Underdogs record starring Gift of Gab, Lateef and Headnodic from the Crown City Rockers (dope, dope). The record features, among others, a reclused MF Doom and DJ Shadow. A notable recording after one listen.

Roundhouse plays one tonight. Already tired of this election. Palin's accent is mad annoying.

THE HIP HOP GRANNIES WISH YOU A GREAT WEDNESDAY

Today marks the end of a complete week-long whirlwind.

Thursday, I left work in a complete blur to play an unprecendented triple-header for Roundhouse. Yeah, that sucked. 6:30, 7:30 and 8:30. We took the first two in grand fashion, but really had nothing left in us for the third game and dropped the 8:30. Had that game been first, we probably would've given them more of a fight, but, whatever, no room for excuses. We did all we could. I racked a first baseman on a close play at first. My knee, his nuts. His knees, the ground. After completing the 8:30 game, I went back to work at about 10:00 and worked until 12:15 on a project. Ugh.

Woke up at about 5:30 to get ready for a flight to Albuquerque for our Ice Cube event. Angry Tim, Serge and I flew out to ALB at about 8:30 and spent most of the time driving around visiting competition. Met some ultra-nice guys at a few spots. All day, we hear the radio station mentioning the Ice Cube signing and I start thinking we might have our hands full. We ended up with a request of 10 police officers, four security guards and then Ice Cube's personal guards. We were expecting about 800 people tops. Turns out, 1,500 people showed, we had 15 police officers, still about 4 security guards, 10 armed guards and about when we drove around the block, they had 5 horses ready for crowd control. It was like Gangsta Clause showed. Cube had done in-stores in Seattle, Salt Lake City, Chicago and San Diego and we beat the turnout at all of those events combined. We're lucky it didn't turn into a full-scale riot though as he only signed for an hour out of the two he agreed to. I was so starstruck that I really didn't say anything to him except, "Here," when he asked, "Where are the Sharpies?" Whaddya gon' do? Got back in town about 10:30 or so and packed for my weekend in Dallas.

Left at about 6:00 the next morning for D-Town. Saturday night, we found ourselves in attendance for the Sox and the Triple-A Texas Rangers. Turns out, Tim Wakefield's knuckle was like a softball because he was fooling no one. We lost 15-8. In what was like a social experiment though, my lovely wife and I were sitting between one dad who was drunk from about the 5th inning on (we called him "Drunk Dad") and some girl who was drunk and, turns out, was the girlfriend of a father of two, both in attendance. The girl looked the same age as the daughter (we called her "Girl Mom"). Betweent the two, we had enough soundbytes to get us through the game. Drunk Dad kept slamming beers and then hugging on his son who was visibly repulsed by his father. He also taunted nearby Sox fans (which actually surrounded him and notably outnumbered him about 40-1). What an assclown. He began taunting us in the late innings with the mocking cheer of "Let's go, Red Sox!". Just start chanting back to him, "Let's go, playoffs!" and watch the stupid Rangers fan shut up. Girl Mom, who was busy teaching her soon-to-be step daughter how to smile using her teeth and take the head off of her beer, took a break to inform Red Sox fans that when you're in Texas, you root for the Rangers. Wow, could've fooled me being that about 85% of the fans in attendance were Sox fans. I heard only 1,500 people showed for a Mariners-Rangers game a week earlier. We matched that number with Ice Cube in Albuquerque. Hell, if it weren't for Sox fans, they wouldn't be able to play night games in Texas. In the ninth inning, down 15-4, we managed to string together a bit of a rally and the Rangers manager yanked the pitcher with 2 outs and a 7-run lead. That's a team with a serious loser-complex. Hey Ranger fans, there's a Nascar race on somewhere. Go away.

The next day, my lovely wife and I hit up Six Flags. It must be my age because I get "stomachy" immediately on these damn rides. We started with the Toni Hawk ride and that went over like a turd in the punch bowl. I staggered around dizzily, wondering who kneed me the belly. We then hit up all the big rides. My lovely wife, as usual, was a champ. She can't stomach milk products and marinara sauce, but she can't get tossed upside down multiple times at about 50 miles an hour and skip away. I don't get it. Oh, people still pick their butts at Six Flags. They do it all day long. There's gotta be some mechanism or device that subliminally instructs people to use their thumb to pull their wadding panties out of their butt every twenty feet. When I see it happen, I can't help but imagine the stink of that thumb. Okay. Sorry. That was not very professional. Stop picking your butts.

Sox are on a pretty good run, although they got beat last night by those pesky Rays, 4-5. Tonight we put Beckett on the mound to bring us to a .5 game back of the Rays. Tux is ready. He told me that his favorite player is Jed Lowrie. Yes, he speaks to me. His voice sounds like George Burns. And, yes, Jed Lowrie.

Sox win tonight's game 5-3. You heard it here.

I DO BELIEVE...

...today was a good day.................(fading out with Isley Brothers' "Footsteps in the Dark")

NEVERMIND, I WAS WRONG...HERE'S WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIP HOP

It wouldn't be so bad if, I don't know, she wasn't smiling. Or maybe if they rapped. Wait...what in the hell am I saying...there is nothing at all that would make this remotely acceptable. This is probably the very worst thing that could happen to hip hop. While the Olympics were on, I found myself absolutely hypnotized by the coverage. Even by the Today Show coverage. My grandfather was gravely ill one week of the Olympics and I was at home after 8AM which, I have found, is always a horrible mistake. Because at about 7:50AM or so, the Today Show shifts from pertinent (or at least interesting) news stories to horrible, purposefully-marketed drivel. It happens instantaneously. I was sitting there at 7:51 and the Hip Hop Grannies come on and I thought to myself, "This is why I go to work everyday is to avoid crap like this." Then, I was thinking, there are millions of zombies out there watching this and I felt great embarassment. I felt embarassment for hip hop, its artists, its legacy. There are probably grandparents out there that thought the Hip Hop Grannies were awesome. I'd rather hip hop be represented by naked women and semi-automatic weapons if the alternative is the Hip Hop Grannies. I want the head of whoever booked this act on the Today Show.

Pedroia bat cleanup last night against the White Sox. We go from Manny batting cleanup to Pedroia, a 5'8"-180-pound second baseman, taking up cleanup duties. I'd be concerned if he wasn't batting .320+ and going 4-4 two nights in a row. The dude makes contact and that's what makes him ideal for the cleanup spot. You don't have to hit it out every time up--especially in Fenway where you have a 37-foot left field wall. Here we see Pedroia after the Sox secured a spot in the postseason last year--a year they'd go on to Championship glory once again.

Nice shirt, Pedroia. Since trading the biggest player of the last two decades and Yankee-killer, Manny Ramirez to the Dodgers, the Sox are 18-8. The Dodgers are 12-16. It's still early, but in a move that basically was supposed to get us to the end of the year, it appears we're shaping up decently. We're not out in the clear yet. Oh yeah, and Rory, I got your message. I'd love to talk Yankees and Sox especially since the Sox took the last series in that old toilet bowl called Yankee Stadium. We'll see you when you're in town.

I'm watching A&E Biography on Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. This is incredible stuff. In my age, I've grown to be a huge fan of the Smile project which is recognized as the one album that marked the Beach Boys descension from world-wide acclaim into oblivion and also shows a mad Brian Wilson only becoming madder. At first, he called it "a teenage symphony to God," but later called it "inappropriate music" and refused to discuss it. It took 36 years for Brian to record and release Smile properly after most of the material appeared on the the record Smiley Smile/Wild Honey.

It's both depressive and hopeful, ugly and beautiful, political and blissful. Behind it, however, was a man who was so depressed and manic that he would lay in bed for weeks in drug-induced states, overeating and, because of a mounting fear of water, refusing to even shower. He had lost his mind, but in that loss, his musical genius came forth.

I'd say that Smile hits me still in the way that Abbey Road blew me away after knowing the Beatles as "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" for years. First time I heard Abbey Road, I thought, "Now that's crazy." Put "I Want You" off of Abbey next to "She Loves You" and there's an incredible level of musicianship and creativeness being achieved on the later stuff. If it were anyone other than the Beatles, you might find it difficult that they were the same group. The Beach Boys are the same way with me. I don't care about "Surfin' Safari"--I'd rather jam "Heroes and Villains" off of Smile. The dimensions of the music and the definitively bizarre sound of the music is more haunting and moving than anything the Beach Boys did prior and I don't really mind saying so.

Find a copy of Smile and purchase it. I was a little skeptical of the re-record aspect to the project, but it's killer. Trust me. Here's to Brian Wilson, America, Labor Day and the Red Sox. To hell with the Hip Hop Grannies.

WHAT'S REALLY WRONG WITH HIP HOP

What can I say, I'm in a speech mood thanks to the DNC.

I know this is gonna come off as some seriously elitist prickery, but I'm tired of this ish. It's just garbage. Let me set the mood.

(puts on Black Sheep's A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing...on vinyl, bitches)

Heads are sleeping like crazy these days. It's been that way for about, uh, let's say about ten years. Kiddies don't even know anything about hip hop anymore. They're quick to shake their asses to it, but they don't know. Listen to this garbage on the radio. Geez, just listen to LL's new record. It ain't nothing but keyboards and beat machines. We've moved from the gooshy, organic, elemental art form of hip hop to the stripped down beat-hook-chant formula that, let me tell you, just ain't working. You can start by blaming the labels, A&Rs and the artists. I mean, let's face it, we're just moving from what hot hook to another and, if there ain't nothing going, there ain't nothing selling. Labels are sniffing like hound dogs for the next quick buck because, honestly, in a day when the economy's in the comode and there's no relief in sight, labels are looking to more with less. They really just want a hit single. Record? Like full length? Only if. But give them a single first...then we'll see. There are no artists anymore because the labels have preached this short-term, hand-to-mouth bull-ish for years now. And to some cat coming from the block with visions of luxury and riches, he ain't about to shoot for artistry, he just wants to give what the label wants. If the label said they wanted two minutes of a dude rhyming while vomiting through his nose, dudes would run to the store for a cases of ipecac. They're just stupid. But then again, they don't have any reverance because the industry they serve don't have any either. Sampling laws ended that. Greedy muddahs decided that they didn't like these hip hop cats making money off of their recordings so they protected them by strict sampling laws which reduced hip hop heads to, well, generating from nothing.

The nature of hip hop is to loot. I mean, let's be real, it was born on James Brown records that were sampled with no clearance and no penalty. Heads would just sample the crap out of "Funky President" and "Funky Drummer" because those were the best breaks. Do the knowledge, kid. It's all there. Take "Sing a Simple Song" from Sly and Family Stone. That drum break was the framework for hundreds of hip hop classics. That's CLASSICS. Undisputed. You think any of these cats care about those old hip hop songs? Hell naw. Moreover, you think any of them know who the hell Sly and Family Stone is? Shheeeeeeeesh. Aight.

Hip hop was born on the notion that "borrowing for the greater good" is where it's at. I'm not stealing...I'm turning water into wine. Listen again to "Take Me to Mardi Gras" by Bob James and then "Peter Piper" by Run DMC. Jam Master Jay did Bob James better than Bob James himself did Bob James. It's alright to admit it. No one even knew who Bob James was until Run DMC sampled "Nautilus." Bob was one of the few saavy enough to recognize what Run DMC was doing, but then the Turtles sued De La, Biz got busted and almost lost everything and then labels got scared.

(Tucker leaves to the backyard on the intro of "Similak Child")

Twenty years later, hip hop has been reduced to almost nothing. Don't get me wrong, I like some Clipse, some Lil Wayne, but because I'm an elitist, I'll say this, "It's only because I understand where it came from." Watching kids bob their heads mindlessly to hip hop these days makes me think what these punk asses were listening to before they heard the new Soulja Boy. Probably the old Soulja Boy. More likely, probably whatever the urban radio station played before the new Soulja Boy. That's a dangerous trend for hip hop.

In my age, as dorky as it might sound, I've become obsessed (absolutely obsessed) with sampling. With the origin of a sound, a beat, a bass line, a trumpet, a vocal shout. I think about records like Black Moon's Enta da Stage or Black Sheep's aforementioned Wolf in Sheep's Clothing. Beastie's Paul's Boutique. De La Soul Three Feet. Take Public Enemy's second and third record. They were sampling James Brown and Slayer on the same side. Sonically, nothing can touch that. These days, not only can nothing touch, ain't no one even hearing it. It might as well not even exist because it doesn't mean anything in 2008.

It's almost a ritual my hunt for the breaks and the original samples. The second I hear something dope from 1991, I'm looking for the samples. I'm looking for the original breaks. I wanna know where it came from, how it was altered, how it was changed to fit a need. I'm come across some incredible recordings that, at times, I end up enjoying much more than the records that sampled them. Do you think that Root Down shirt was an original? C'mon now.

I had it too good coming up. I'm thankful for it. I had records that would end entire careers of these nincompoops these days.

(flip over to Side C of Black Sheep)

I encourage these kids coming up to dig back into hip hop's history. Let's be real, here. Hip hop lives in the origin. You're only as good as what you sample. And listeners, remember this: you don't know jack if you don't know where it came from. Someone said that knowledge of the samples is like learning the language. Hip hop speaks through sampling. If you don't speak sampling or beakbeats, you don't speak the language. And if you don't speak the language, then what are you really doing, pupil? And no offense to the emcees out there, but muddahs like to nod their head. You take away the beat, you can't nod that head. Go to a poetry reading and count the nodding heads. I like beats. I like samples. I like the elements. An emcee is an accessory. I know that sounds a little harsh, but I'm a beat kid. Scarface is dope. Pos is hella nice. I like me some KRS One, but I ain't about to listen to an acapella. I'm into the days when the emcee was really the ribbon on a good beat. Shotcalling. Hyping the crowd up. Good when you can find a nice one, but I'm just as good without one if you're sampling the Tom Tom Club. I have very few favorite emcees, but I gotta long list of favorite producers. The Shocklees. El-P. Prince Paul. RZA. Marley Marl. Premier. Ant. Madlib. On and on and on. Emcees? Uh, Del. Pos. Jeru. I'm stretching at that point. Jeru ain't squat without Primo. Pos ain't half the emcee I think he is without Pawl. You put a dude out there that emcees and produces and they're potentially my favorite ever. That's why I like dudes like El-P, MF Doom, RZA, the Beatnuts.

But it's all about the beat. The backbone. Without it, you're just listening to clever poetry. Take the Experience away from Jimi Hendrix, you still have a bad ass. Unplug Bob Dylan, it's still Bob Dylan and ain't no one touching Freewheelin'. Take Prince Paul out of De La Soul is Dead and De La ain't playing Rock the Bells last weekend--some fifteen to twenty years later. That's the absolute truth.

The other day, George brought a collection of dub-reggae over and I was captured by the Dillinger track, "Kokane On My Brain" because I was hypnotized by the bass line. I've heard this ish before. It's on the tip of my tongue. I sit there humming the bass line after it's over thinking, "Who sampled that?!" Ol' Dirty Bastard. Nah, Mobb Deep. Wait, was it Pharcyde? I thought for three hours about that, humming it over and over again. I never landed on it, but I know, given my collection, I'm soon to come across it.

I'm lucky in that way. I never take it for granted.

My mother is an accomplished pianist and organist (among many other things). While working on her doctorate, she studied this phrasing in organ music from the 1600's. That phrasing, in traditional religious compositions would be the bed rock for everything that would come later. My mother found some insane number of compositions that borrowed this sequence of notes. It originally began as a chant and then, over centuries, morphed and changed and transformed. Hip hop's the same way. You hear "Funky Drummer" in everything these days. It might not be the original sample, but it's sequences of drum hits that sounds exactly like the break in "Funky Drummer." Those eight bars or so lit the world on fire...back in 1987.

Sadly, I guess, what's wrong with hip hop is that no one knows what the hell I'm talking about. I might as well be Bob James crying, "Run DMC sampled me!" The obvious question follows: "Who in the hell is Run DMC?"

SAM THE SAME NAME GUITARIST FROM OKLAHOMA

You might remember Sam, the guitarist who shares my last name. There was some discussion with family in town that we might, in fact, be connected, but I ain't feeling the suggestion. I mean, c'mon, check this dude out. Loving the pocket watch. It's brings that class to an all-denim outfit. I gotta give it to Sam: homie can accessorize like Fonzworth Bentley.Sam's played some incredible gigs in his career. Here Sam and the guys of Badly Bent raise the roof at the Elk's Lodge in Bristow, OK. Watch out for that ceiling fan, Sam. I think this is one of my favorite "action" shots of the band. Check out Mike getting down on the far right. He's just shredding on that guitar (I believe, in Oklahoma, they call it a GEET-tar). Sam must be banking to buy Peavey speakers larger than his guitarist. Scared money don't make none.
Here, we find Sam and one of his fans deep in discussion. Sam can always take time to talk to his fans. He likes to give back like that and he just can't stand stuffy rock stars. Approachability is key in this business. And, especially, if you're a country star (established or aspiring). There's only room for one Kenny Chesney. Everyone else has to shake some clammy hands and listen to some boring-ass stories about sick relatives and someone's new double-wide. Sam's lucking out with this lady because she wanted to talk Nascar and there's nothing Sam loves more than talking race cars!
Here, our favorite Oklahoman axeman, dives into the acapella sing-along portion of "Friends in Low Places" by Oklahoma's favorite son, Garth Brooks. Can I get a "hell yeah!"

In fact, Garth Brooks is only a mere slice of their reportoire. Check out this diverse set list. The band asks that you please stick to the songs they know. Sam doesn't take requests off-list. Personally, I'm a fan of the "Wonderful Tonight"/"Wipeout"/"Knocking on Heaven's Door" medley. It's knocks me out every time. Another fan favorite is another Oklahoman's megahit, Toby Keith's "I Love This Bar" which has been reversioned to "I Love This Garage" and "I Love this Yard" so Sam can make it work for some of his birthday gigs. And you can't play a country bar without a rock and roll banger so Sam protects himself with the always-popular and infinitely sax-y "Turn the Page." Aw yeah. Ladies always dance sexy to that one. I digress. Here's the list.

"Smoke Rings in the Dark"
"I Love This Bar"
"Wonderful Tonight"
"Unwound"
"An Ugly Girl Told Me No"
"Wave on Wave"
"Amarillo By Morning"
"Much To Young"
"Change In My Pocket"
"Blues Man"
"Wayfaring Stranger"
"Silver Wings"
"Fast As You"
"But For the Grace of God"
"Lacy’s Song"
"Farwell Party"
"Don’t Close Your Eyes"
"Midnight in Montgomery"
"The Fireman"
"Honk If You Honkytonk"
"Knocking on Heaven's Door"
"Stars On The Water"
"Boot Scootin’ Boogie"
"Sweet Home Alabama"
"Give Me Three Steps"
"Help Me Make It Through The Night"
"Trashy Women"
"Walkin’ After Midnight"
"Folsom Prison Blues"
"Tulsa Time"
"Pride and Joy"
"Who’s Been Talking"
"Her Goodbye"
"Your Cheatin Heart"
"Nothing On But The Radio"
"Seminole Wind"
"Wipeout"
"Cocaine"
"Don't Be Cruel"
"Ramblin' Man"
"Turn the Page"
"Drinkin' Dark Whiskey"
"Some Beach"

The following picture slipped into the pile, but it's worth the viewing. Here, one of Badly Bent's faithful and more militant fans takes a hard stance with a public protest against questionable reproduction in Oklahoma by attaching profylactics to her headgear and screaming "stop unsafe Oklahoman inbreeding!" around the bar. Unfortunately, her cries fell on deaf ears and inbreeding continues in Oklahoma. Sox and Yanks tonight on ESPN. Sox took the first game of the last series between the two in Yankee Stadium, 7-3. That's three consecutive prepositions. Gangsta! Gangsta!

MY CR3W IS RED HOT, ESE.

Well, it should come as no surprise that Vegas' own Super Cr3w took "America's Best Dance Crew" title last night. Yeah, I don't care what you think. I watch it. They're dope. It certainly beats watching the world kick America's ass in track and field. I don't know what's with the gold motif except that it's probably something stupid that Mario Lopez made them do. Tons of respect for these dudes, though. And I ain't gonna hate Super Cr3w even though they're biting the number 3 as a "e." They can do windmills and sweeps until the cows come home. In fact they can do 'em until the cows dry up and squirt powdered milk. And their freezes were sick.

I'm not sure if their winning it all is much of a shock. There's nothing more entertaining than watching b-boys col' get down. These dudes represented to the fullest. Even when they had to hoedown to a "Footloose Megamix" they still rocked it. I resent the judges saying things like, "Ya'll are bringing it back" and "Ya'll are representing for b-boys everywhere!" Firstly, there ain't nothing to "bring back" because it never left. It's just that heads are sleeping. And no b-boy or b-girl needs Super Cr3w to represent them because they just rep themselves. It's not like we're talking about ballet. B-boying as an artform, in its very nature, represents.

Let's talk other notable crews in history. You got 2 Live Crew.
They didn't do much dancing, but they got people to dance. Specifically people who danced with their clothes off. Man, I miss these days. Look at the University of Miami gear! The jackets, the ballcaps. Dudes had mad flava.

Another crew that had flava was my man, Bill Allen better known as (or only known as) Cru Jones. If there's any cat that knows that pimpin' ain't easy, it's Cru Jones. Dude grew up in the sticks, was raised by Rocky Balboa's wife, was slinging papers to make a living and dodged five-0 as he hustled his game harder than anyone out there. It was really stacked against him. Then (if this ain't a rapper story, I don't know what is), without a sponsor, dude just sponsored himself, raised the money to enter Helltrack and took at all the money. Scared money don't make none, fool. He took on Tomax and Xamot, the dynamic dancing twins, as well as gymnast Bart Conner and still managed to come away with the girl from "Full House."

So good in his portrayal of Cru, he hasn't found steady work since. If anyone out there has a product they want him to halk, put the dude in a commerical. He still has popular appeal. Dude just needs work.

It's been a rough week. My grandfather passed away after a long battle with cancer. He was 88. Just keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

It's finally Friday...give yourself a high-five.