From The Whole Tushie Book: 0 Plays > 1,000,000 Plays

"If you don’t get that most of my music is about selling drugs, breaking the law, not letting anyone stop you from reaching your goals, sex, dealing with the isolation that comes with relentlessly pursuing your success, and remaining positive then that’s okay."

  1. If the audience is an idiot, I’d rather be unknown.

  2. If challenging myself to always write better lyrics will always preclude me from the talk of what’s hot right now, then I’ll chill till infinity.

  3. If being a good rapper means a million twitter followers and fifty million youtube plays, then I wanna be the rapper most closely associated with absolute trash.

  4. If the characteristics of greatness cannot exist without electricity then I will be a caveman in a place without lightning.

In 2000 I didn’t start rapping because people liked rap music. There weren’t people around me making rap music, it wasn’t cheap to get the gear, it wasn’t easy to make rap music, and it wasn’t easy to share your music with billions of people. I started rapping because hip hop was the most powerful thing I had ever encountered. More powerful than skateboarding, and skateboarding was supercharged electricity to me. Participating in the defiant, vibrant, self-assured, expressive, and inclusive culture of hip hop was special before the internet. There is no social media equivalent to seeing your homies at a show, exchanging the new tracks you’re working on, talking about the new records you found last week, and then sharing the experience of a live performance.

As an outsider It was hard for me to get to that place because there was so much to do, there was so much to learn, and I had to discover everything without a guide. But it was also magical, and it made me part of a group of people who I respected and admired. Now, it’s all ordinary because the internet has changed hip hop, music, and culture at large. Hip hop music used to be a rarified practice reserved for those who sought it out like Luke on Dagoba. Now it’s a homogenized, often vacuous, craft that any quadricep can master as easily as cake in a box. That’s fine, because nothing is better or worse, things are just different. Personally, I don’t think hip hop has lost any of the amazing qualities that originally drew me to it, those are simply not the defining traits right now.

I used to battle people, and participate in these big freestyle cyphers where there would be 200+ people in the audience. It was in 2000/2001/2002, and it was a lot like the 8 Mile movie. Standing up on that stage and defying the presumptions that come with my appearance is how I earned respect, and a reputation as a rapper. People would see me battle or freestyle, and then they would come to my shows. Even though I sold weed, and broke the law regularly I didn’t rap about it at all. People didn’t know I was doing that, people just liked my raps. My lyrics were somewhere between poetry and prose inspired by obscure--by Florida standards--artists such as Dose One, Why?, Phoenix Orion, and Dr. Octagon, but also inspired by writers such as Richard Brautigan, Herman Hesse, Carlos Castaneda, Hunter S Thompson, James Joyce, and Lao Tzu.

"In the early 2000's being a biter was the worst thing you could be in hip hop, and I didn't have problems with that."

In the early 2000's being a biter was the worst thing you could be in hip hop, and I didn't have problems with that. However, the second worst thing you could be was anti-macho, and I was definitely anti-macho. When rappers told me they would shoot me or beat my ass I was never scared, I never ran away. Those were just the lies that rappers told in order to perform their version of hip hop. The same way that rappers now tell lies about selling drugs, and fucking other rappers’ love interests in order to perform their version of hip hop. I’ve never been into lying in my raps. I definitely enjoy some rap music where people are either embellishing or lying, but I can’t condone creating that music. I also think that the whole authenticity argument is very tricky. Yes, rappers should be genuine to their life experiences and should be held to some standards of authenticity, but no, it should not be up to the critics or the public to question that. Authenticity should be determined from within. People who are participants in hip hop culture are the only ones who should be maintaining standards of authenticity in hip hop. And right now, our collective standards for authenticity have waned. And that's ok, because even the inauthentic need a time to shine.

Hip hop defined me, and at an important crossroads in my life it was the option that made the most sense. I graduated from NYU with an MA in 2007, just as the economy tanked. I went into grad school with no debt, in a job market that was very favorable for college grads. By 2009, after 2 years of waiting tables in NYC and applying to PhD programs with no luck I had to decide what to do with my life. I had just read Malcom Gladwell’s book Outliers and making rap music was the only thing I had 10,000 hours of experience doing. I reasoned that I'd give myself 3 years to see how I could make a career for myself, and in 2010 I set about doing just that. If things didn't work out I would give in to my parents' pressures and move home to become a lawyer and follow in my father's footsteps.

"In my personal quest to make my livelihood and my art indistinguishable nothing was unconquerable."

In my personal quest to make my livelihood and my art indistinguishable nothing was unconquerable. Hip hop may not have taught me that, but hip hop made it tangible and possible for me. There’s always sacrifices to be made, and for me none was too great when it came to pursuing my passion. I left loved ones behind; I moved from Weston to New York to, LA, to Arcata, to Oakland, to Arcata, to San Francisco, to New York, to Las Vegas, to LA; I wrote for the Mishka blog for 3 years with no expectation of ever being paid; I helped jumpstart careers for people who were taking advantage of my good nature; I endured homelessness for a year and got hit by a car in the middle of it; I survived off food stamps, trimming and selling weed, and occasional freelance work. For 5 years I did whatever it took to ensure that I’d be able to keep making music on my terms for the rest of my life. I didn’t do anything to get more popular, I just kept making music, and kept ensuring that I’d be making music tomorrow, and dealt with whatever life threw at me.

Right now hip hop’s defining traits seem to be swag, minstrelsy (committed by people of all skin colors and backgrounds), drugs, and occasionally some of the most incredible music ever created. I don’t want the audience that's here for this.  But, there’s not much I can do except keep creating the stuff that I’d be creating regardless, and keep ensuring that I'll be able to create music for the rest of my life. I’m a serious artist dedicated to the infinite execution and refinement of my craft, so I'm not gonna let the fact that I'm cut off from my audience stop me from making music. I’ll keep making beats that lame people don’t like, I’ll keep writing lyrics that slow people can't catch, and I’ll keep being a character that fake deep people can’t understand until the hip hop I love comes into fashion. That’s not about hating on who is up right now,  it's not about speeding up the change, and it’s not about putting down any type of music or any type of people. That’s about recognizing who I am as an artist, staying in my lane, and acknowledging the circumstances of hip hop right now.

"People look at me and think I’m a nerdy white guy who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, but that has more to do with their eyes than my life."

People look at me and think I’m a nerdy white guy who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, but that has more to do with their eyes than my life. For the people who do take the time to vibe with the sounds I make, sit with the lyrics I write, and experience the character I perform there’s a proper myth of our contemporary lives to be found. I’m a person who came from the outside with nothing, and made a lane for himself. I’m a person who didn’t let anything stop him. I’m a person whose life was defined in large part by my father’s job as a criminal defense attorney to some of the world’s most successful accused narcotics entrepreneurs, accused murderers, Mafiosos, and various bad guys that make up the fabric of hip hop signification today. Grisleda Blanco was the lady who was gonna kill my whole family long before she was a hip signifier for people who want to associate themselves with selling cocaine. That's what I came from, but I don't wear it on my sleeve, because I'd have to play myself in order to do that. I know who I am, and I stay in my lane.

I’m an artist who earned an MA so that I could always have the last word on my art, and no critic or scholar would ever be able to hold anything over me. I’m the Jewish person who went to Catholic high school and got voted funniest in the senior superlatives. I’m the journalist who the artists respect, and I’m the artist who the journalists hate. I’m the rapper who makes his own beats, mixes his own records, does his own art, and shoots his own videos because I wasn’t gonna wait for other people to do it for me. I’m the musician who releases his music on his own label, and does his own PR off a network of people who respect me for my art and my journalism. I’m a pervert and a feminist. Who I am is the result of a lot of disparate elements coming together via me being a rapper. If It weren't for hip hop I probably would have had to omit a great deal of who I am from my identity. All the power I have is built off the integrity of everything that I’ve done, and the way I’ve treated people. That’s how hip hop works.

"If It weren't for hip hop I probably would have had to omit a great deal of who I am from my identity."

I am a lot of people, I come from a lot of places, and I could have easily become any one of the popular hip hop stereotypes that sells so well right now. I just refuse to capitulate and turn my passion into idiot art for an idiot audience, because you can’t come back from that. If you don’t get that most of my music is about selling drugs, breaking the law, not letting anyone stop you from reaching your goals, sex, dealing with the isolation that comes with relentlessly pursuing your success, and remaining positive then that’s okay. I’m never gonna make bando music because I have too many influences that are beyond the trap. But me and the dudes who are actually in the trap, we’re talking about a lot of the same things. We’ve shared a lot of the same experiences, they respect me and I respect them. My only mission with my art was to make the most genuine contributions to this culture that my unique experiences can allow. It turned out to require more than I had anticipated, but that has only served to strengthen me and my art. I’m a 34 year old rapper who never blew up, and that’s fine with me, because I just wanna keep making the music I love. If the world ever comes around I'll be here, and if not I'll still be here all the same.

--Zach.

 

 

 

You Can Slow The Roll, But You Can't Stop The Stone: Nazi Hackers, and Jewish Resolve

 
I released my 3rd official solo album Whole Tushie on 11/11/2016. I did all the beats, all the raps, all the engineering, all the artwork, a video, produced my own line of merch, and really put my all into it. On 11/14/2016 my twitter account got hacked by a nazi who wanted to sabotage my album release. What follows is my response to that nazi, and all nazis, and my attempt to share some insight on how our nation can come together to end the acceptance of hate once and for all. 

It’s 1996. A 15 year old Jewish boy is sitting in a 10th grade chemistry class at Saint Thomas Aquinas, a private Catholic high school in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He transferred to this school as a sophomore, and he is one of very few Jewish students. He smells gas amidst a lecture and, fearing a leak, he raises his hand. The teacher calls on him, “I smell gas Ms. Messenger.” She doesn’t miss a beat, “You’re just afraid to get gassed like all the other Jews Zach!” The class laughs. He looks around but there are no sympathetic eyes. He sinks into his chair uncomfortable, uncertain why such a cruel reference to his dead family members is funny, and uncertain how to respond.

It’s 2016. A 35 year old Jewish man is sitting at the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles appreciating the vast expanse of time that ties dinosaurs and humans to a shared space. He just released his 3rd official album, Whole Tushie. It’s taken him 16 years to build his career as an independent musician and today is a day for him to celebrate his perseverance, appreciate who he has shaped himself to be, and reflect on his life. He watches as pockets of gas rise from the eons worth of decaying corpses below, and bubble up, sloshing the weird mix of water and muck in a deceptively banal display of celestial increments of time. He checks his email. His twitter password and email contact have been updated, but not by him. Over the next week he will receive anonymous messages and come to find out that anonymous internet nazis don’t want him to rap, so they sabotaged his album release. He tries to take it in stride, but he stumbles, he is uncertain how to respond.

"all Trump has done is remove the lid that concealed the noxious ingredients in the caustic stew that has nourished so many white Americans for centuries."

Both of these stories are about me. They’re separated by 20 years, but I think you’d be hard-pressed to explain why one is worse than the other. I’m not here to say that things are worse under Trump. But I am here to say that this is a final wake up call for all of us. The behavior that Trump has made so glaringly unacceptable begs for urgency, but it’s not new. It seems like the hate is boiling over with Trump, as if the roaring fire has been stoked and copious fomenting agitants have been thrown into the bubbling cauldron that is America’s racial identity. But all Trump has done is remove the lid that concealed the noxious ingredients in the caustic stew that has nourished so many white Americans for centuries.

Saying, “Things are worse under Trump,” is basically a roundabout way of saying, “It wasn’t bad enough before, but now I’m paying attention.” I know it seems accurate to suggest that it’s worse now, because hateful people are truly motivated in this moment, and we are hearing about more of them. This is their playoffs season, and they’ve all been wishing for an opportunity to wear their jerseys, and do their perverse celebration rituals. But we are also hearing more people speak out. People are speaking out because they recognize the true cost of silence, and they know that the first step to truly end the oppressive era of America is for people to be united by a single narrative of equality and love. So, it is up to all of us right now to define what this narrative is.

"Truly changing our nation isn’t about doing things different, it’s about doing things that weren’t being done before."

Our response can’t be a reaction. When you react to racists, bigots, and similar ne'er do wells you reinforce their hate, you validate it by giving it an opportunity to exist outside of the petulant fool who imagined it, you entrench yourself in a caustic dynamic set forth by a crackpot, you rid your yard of dog shit with your mouth and never do a thing about the dogs. The only true solution for change is the third option, something radical, something unforeseen, something perhaps bizarre and incongruous. Truly changing our nation isn’t going to be about telling racists, bigots, and assholes to sit down, it’s about helping the oppressed to walk on water. Changing our nation isn’t about forcing accountability on government or people who voted different than you. Truly changing our nation isn’t about doing things different, it’s about doing things that weren’t being done before. We don’t want to change the narrative that’s been given to us, because that narrative always defaults back to Trump and hate as soon as you stop fighting it. Instead we are creating a new narrative, defining a new standard for our society, and working together as individuals to ensure that standard is carried out.

When a nazi hacker(s)--it sounds a little too ridiculous, but these are the times we’re in--sabotaged my recent album release I saw the opportunity to offer my thoughts on what this new narrative might be. On the Monday after my album released I got an email from twitter saying that my password and email have changed. I didn’t change them though, so I’m blocked out of my account, and contacting support initiates a process that takes several days. The saboteurs deleted all of the tweets about the album, and blocked everyone I follow. The tweet that they left at the top of my timeline said “Stop disparaging Jewish people please. Don’t compare stuff to nazis and hitler. It’s not your trauma to play with for jokes or views.” Humorous bunch.

"Truly changing our nation isn’t going to be about telling racists, bigots, and assholes to sit down, it’s about helping the oppressed to walk on water."

In the week when folks were going to show their support for my album they couldn’t because I had them blocked. A few days later I got some messages on Instagram from someone who claimed to be responsible, they offered to meet up and give me back my account for $15. I told him--I assume it was a him--he was full of shit and that the damage was already done. The conversation quckly turned toxic with accusations that Jews shouldn’t rap, amongst a tirade of insults that seemed grounded in the insecurities of a teenager. So, some angsty kid just spoiled hundreds of hours of my work in order to have a little nazi chuckle. To say I was pissed would be inaccurate. This was such an effective and complete sabotage that I experienced a visceral rage that is about survival, not emotion.

Now, imagine someone gets ahold of the kid and kills him. Breaking his bones certainly crossed my mind. Sure, that’s some form of justice, but now we’re all just deeper down the hole that this hateful crackpot started digging. On the other hand, imagine if all of a sudden millions of people rushed to download my album? Downloading the album is the radical third option that subverts the system of oppression. The mythic clarity of this sequence of events is a mirror by which you can easily direct your attention to your individual surroundings. And I assure you that if you look, you will find this exact narrative is playing out right now in whatever communities you are a part of. But, the atrocities in your area can be stopped before they start, you just have to decide to take action before there’s something to react to.

"Oppressors don’t lose when you beat them, they lose when the oppressed win."

Oppressors don’t lose when you beat them, they lose when the oppressed win. So, it’s on you to figure out how to beat them to the punch, and turn everything into punching bags that harness energy, and transform the energy into electricity that powers a TV show about amazing minorities in your neighborhood. If you kill them they continue because we’ve been killing nazis for a good 69+ years now, and they’re still here. But what we haven’t been doing as a society for the last 69+ years is vigilantly invoking actions and narratives that champion and protect the victims of systemic oppression. That is now the explicit duty of all those with privilege regardless of race, sex, gender, religion, or otherwise.

We have black history month but how often do you do something to give a black person a leg up in the world, or even make a sincere inquiry into their well-being? We’ve got gay marriage but when you’re around your homophobic friends and family do you make a selfless attempt to hear them out and try to change their minds? If we don’t want our children to grow up in a nation where white men make black men illegal then we need to start constantly celebrating the legality of black men at all times, especially in the company of oppressors. No matter what color your skin, no matter your sex, age, gender, sexual preference, religion, or country of origin, if you have the capacity to subvert the systems of oppression then it is your duty now. Go out of your way to ensure that you offer some indication of love and respect to everyone you interact with. We must create a society where the oppressed are protected and empowered, but we can’t do that by reacting to powers of evil, we can only do that by acting on powers of love. If you see a racist stop a racist, but if you don’t see a racist then it’s time to start helping the oppressed, and ensuring that they feel like people of absolute importance. That way when the racists show up all they can do is motivate you to help more.

 

 

 

 

Why I Made A Playlist Of Other People's Music To Go With My Album

 

"Songs announce who we are to the world, and they’re a big part of how like-minded people find one another."

I was born in 1981. The first music purchase I remember was a Simpsons cassette that I got when I was 10 or 11 years old, maybe 12. Music wasn't particularly important to me back then, and I was way more interested in what kinds of reptiles and amphibians I could find in the Everglades around my parents’ home. Michael Jackson and Neverending Story was pretty much the extent of my knowledge of pop culture.

As I grew up my world changed. Skateboarding became my singular focus, and through skateboarding I became part of a culture for the first time. At least, it was the first culture that I made a choice to be a part of. It defined me, and music’s importance in skateboarding became music’s importance to me.

This was well before the Internet. 1994/95/96. I was in Broward County, utterly removed from the very real social networks that defined culture in those times. Those networks were concentrated in major media cities like New York, and Los Angeles, but they spread throughout the country. In those times South Florida was actually making major contributions (2 Live Crew, real life cocaine cowboys which was the premise for Miami Vice, and the Miami Hurricanes) to culture at large in the USA. But as a young person in Broward County I had no way to tap into the nation’s networks of culture--not as a producer, and not as a consumer. Music and culture were a mystery to me, albums and movies might as well have come from god in heaven. I had never met anyone that was in a movie, or worked on a movie. And I never met anyone that made a living from music, or worked in the music industry. It was truly another world.

"As a young person in Broward County I had no way to tap into the nation’s networks of culture"

Skateboarding was my first exposure to a culture that had its own unique social network that I could become a part of. And it was the first time that people who I saw in magazines and on my TV, stood before me and shook my hand. I went to every contest and demo I could, and always made a point to say hello to the pros and amateurs and let them know I appreciated something that they’d done. Almost all of my money went towards skateboard videos and magazines, and I was consumed by the culture. I bought every video that was available in all the shops by my house, and I bought a subscription to every skateboard magazine I could find. I called and got catalogs from every shop I could find in the magazines. These videos, magazines, and catalogs exposed me to the culture of skateboarding: here are the clothes we wear, here is the music we listen to, and this is the stuff that we do. My young mind fixated on every detail, and I internalized everything I could from this incredible mix of art, sport, and music.

At that time skateboarding was still countercultural, and also obscure. The only people who wore skate brands were skateboarders because you had to go to a skate shop, or order from a skate catalog in order to get those clothes. It was a coded secret society, and seeing someone else in a skateboard shirt not only let you know they were a skateboarder, it also told you a lot about that person if you could read the deeper cues. Every skate brand had a team, and that team skated in a particular way. The styles of skating each had unique music that went with them. People who listened to heavy metal and thrashing aggro punk rock were skating pools in dickies and sk8 his. People who listened to hip hop were skating ledges in baggie jeans and Sal 23s.

"If you showed up at a skate spot in 1997 and saw someone in a Menace shirt, you knew they had a copy of Life After Death  in their car, and if they didn’t have weed they knew where to get it."

Each skate brand’s team essentially reflected a different demographic, and their logos equated to little flags that let other skaters know how you skate, what kind of music you listen to, and what you do when you’re not skating. That doesn’t mean that hessian skaters weren’t listening to rap, and vice-a-versa. Skateboarding was a culture of inclusiveness where all sorts of people mix together, but everyone had 1 primary identity that they brought to skateboarding. And everyone communicated that primary identity by associating themselves with particular skate brands whose riders shared that identity as well. The riders were mascots, cultural beacons that attracted like-minded individuals in a community. If you showed up at a skate spot in 1997 and saw someone in a Menace shirt, you knew they had a copy of Life After Death in their car, and if they didn’t have weed they knew where to get it.

It’s tough to say if the lifestyle precedes the music, or if the music precedes the lifestyle. But either way, skateboarding is a culture wherein the correlation between lifestyle and music become liquid, and in that liquidity brand allegiance becomes a central element of self actualization. The music that skateboarders were listening to in LA, SF, and NYC became the soundtracks to the videos being filmed in those cities and disseminated throughout the rest of the country. But unlike their clothes and skateboards, they did not distribute any music to skate shops.

"Skateboarding is a culture wherein the correlation between lifestyle and music become liquid, and in that liquidity brand allegiance becomes a central element of self actualization"

In 1995 skateboarders in major cities were not following the dominant trends and listening to popular radio. Instead they were tapped into local music communities where artists were forging the earliest phases of the underground’s rise to prominence, and eventually its transformation to the music culture we now have on the internet. For me, skateboard videos became a portal to music communities far away where the sounds resonated with me in ways I had never experienced. Before I was downloading obscure songs from Napster I was hearing obscure songs from 411 Video Magazine. The music I heard in those videos really made me go wild. I would close the door to my room, blast the stereo and skateboard in my room doing flatground tricks on the carpet because I wanted to skate while the music was playing. The music wasn’t just good, it made me feel things, and those feelings drove me wild.

I was hooked. I needed this music in my life all the time, but it wasn’t that easy. I managed to find some of the punk music from the videos at local music chains, but their selection was slim. As I got more into the hip hop music in the videos it got more difficult to track down the music. At first I dubbed cassettes from the skate videos because I couldn't buy the music anywhere, and I wanted to listen to it in my car. I tried every music store that I could find within 20 miles of my parents’ house, but none of them had Saafir, Living Legends, Andre Nickatina, or Rhymesayers. Eventually I found websites and ordered things in the mail. In the Summer of 2000 I went to visit a skateboarding friend in California and set aside $200 to spend at Amoeba--which was a lot of money for me at the time. That trip allowed me to get access to music in a new way.

"It wasn’t just about the music I listened to anymore, it wasn’t just about the feelings from music, it was about what I could do with those feelings, it was about being a musician"

Soon after I returned from California I moved to Orlando for college, and discovered Park Ave CDs and a thriving local hip hop community. Filesharing was also gaining considerable steam by this point. Lots of inaccessible music was becoming accessible, and when I moved to college I had high speed internet for the first time. And at that point music’s significance in my life exploded into something I hadn’t ever conceived of. In Orlando I met people who rapped, and not just freestyling with their buddies, but people who put out albums, played shows, toured, and even knew famous people personally. I fell into a music community in Orlando in 2001, and who I am became deeply intertwined with music. It wasn’t just about the music I listened to anymore, it wasn’t just about the feelings from music, it was about what I could do with those feelings, it was about being a musician.

I never had any ambitions to be a musician, or to be any type of performer, but as soon as I stepped on a stage to freestyle for the first time, I came alive in ways I had never experienced before. The first time I ever battled I won, and I won more than once. I became a crowd favorite at Orlando’s H.U.S.H. weekly open mic and battle. I was a class clown for sure, and I got voted funniest in my senior class--as a Jew in a Catholic school I do think I had a slight advantage--but nothing up to that point had suggested I was a performer, let alone a rapper. And yet, here I am 16 years after I first found myself in front of a few hundred people cheering for me. I’m 35, I work in the music industry as a brand director, I self-release my own albums, and because of my dedication to myself and my music I have made a life that brings me great joy.

Great music is always about sharing a feeling. It speaks to you in a way that transcends words and it makes you feel, but it makes you feel in a unique way. In music we always know that we’re not alone. When a piece of music touches you it only touches you because you have something in common with the person who made that music. I think that’s a big part of our fascination with music, it’s emotional proof that we can connect with people we don’t even know. Songs, artists, and albums are beacons in culture, they draw like-minded people together. At this point there are so many people releasing albums every day I feel like I need to do something more, so I’m trying to use this playlist to tell you about me and my album.

My music doesn’t really sound like any of the music on this playlist. Even though I made “Somebody Gon Get Bit” with very direct inspiration from “Diamonds On Me Dancing”, and even though I made “In The Wild With Clothes On” with very direct inspiration from “Bread Winner Anthem”, my music takes that inspiration in a unique direction. I’m a songwriter, I’m a producer, and I’m a performer. But ultimately, I’m a person whose life is deeply intertwined with music, and I don’t just love making it, I also love listening to it. And I think there is a kind of communication that happens with playlists that you can’t get any other way. Songs announce who we are to the world, and they’re a big part of how like-minded people find one another.

 

Out the Mouth: Jimmy V

1.) What's your name?

my name is jaimito timontio gonzalves.

2). What's your music name?

you probably know me by one of my music names including but not limited to, jimmy v, jimmy infinity, ferrari rothschild and jason waterfalls, the name i usually use is jimmy v, which in itself is a symbol for my life.

3). Where did that name come from?

my birth last name was wilson and i also considered W to be two V's so i just ran with it, it use to be jimmy tha virus ( which i still go by sometimes) after the philadelphia battle rapper who signed to games black wall street imprint Cyssero The Virus.

4.) How long have you been making music?

i've been making music for about ten years now, i have worked in many different genres but more recently ive been doing hip hop for about 5 years now. now when i mean making music, i started off with experimental / noise production, moved into noise collages and synth driven psychadelic music, experimnetal freak folk, picked up guitar wrote some short shoegaze ballads, finally when i went to college i took up english as a hobby, reading and getting into poetry. i kinda smuggled myself into hip hop and as it stand right now, i make sneaker gaze ( shoegaze music with hip hop and urban elements) acid punk styling music, experimental r&b and just vibes all around light and dark.

5). What was your first project?

my very first project was probably subcuboid black beard released in 03, but of my recent stint my "first project"  Inland Empire named after the movie of the same type, but a double entendre in my eyes in the sense that it was about the empire inside of my mind, every song being a little bit different, being symbolic in their own way. from just abstractions from the imagination to cryptic personal issues thrown in the middle of a word salad so i didn't expose my self too much.

6). What was your last project?/ 7). Where did you record this music?

Virus was recorded in my room over a series of a couple of months, it was very different approach to my other projects because i didn't set a release date and try to meet the date, i figured id set the date when i was done with the project, allowing it to be crafted slower, put more love and creativity into it, but with this being said, i began to realize i only recorded when i was on acid, so that made it very weird for this tape. because i had 4 or 5 sessions of about 8 hours each, and the rest was just sober mixing and mastering, so it really is weird to me at this point in time. with the end result of these drug upped studio sessions, and to be honest the tape is just a vibe in a half every song is a different vibe, styling or genre if u will but because they are all so vibey it fits together so well.

8). How long did it take from start to finish?

i released dreamy v in august so its taken me a few months to muster of virus, working on it in sessions helps a lot to defeat the self loathing and insecurities the artist may face, but it makes the time you spend on it more valuable. id like to drop it in early mid december ( we'll see) so it'll be a whole seasons worth of vibes feelings in a tape.

9). Did anyone else help with it?

i never really want help on my music, or really even ask for it, im a very social artist, i work sooo well with others, but when it comes to my mind and my ideas i never really need help. but with that being said this will also be the first jimmy v tape that has features on it, my brother culorz from portland, who lays the illlllllest verse down on manniquen moments prod by drip 133 , my sister abigail from nyc who set off this song i was having trouble with, called "rain way bounce". i used to just listen to her part because it was soooo serene she just really mustered up this energy on it and maybe one more very rare special feature :p.

11). Did anything impede the making of this record?

the thing that impeded this record along with most of my other records, is that when im working on my solo projects i like to be alone, like completley alone, no one in the room, no one able to hear me, or influence me etc, im not a very private person, but i have a high value on my imagination, and i do not like it to be compromised just by everyday type behaviour so with that being said im a very unusual recording artist.

i might lock my door take some acid and molly stand at the microphone completly naked loop the beat and just over time work something out stream of conscious style, then go back and refine it a litttle bit.

12). You can only perform 2 songs from this record, which 2? Why?

i had a small show in upstate ny december 13th, but the 2 i think i was most excited to play would be seasick again prod hnrk this one because the vibe is so unreal, if i could put a genre on this song it self it would be  Post Medical Aqua R & Bgaze. it just a great song i was able to harness some emotion and spread it out evenly over the track. for the second track it would have to be dirty shit, its just and overall decent song, the production is tight, i love my flow on it, it just smooth and vibey so im excited for that.

 

Out The Mouth: Typical Black Punks aka Tedy Brewski (Black Friday)

Black Friday by Typical Black Punks

1.) What's your name?

My name is Booker Evans. I am 24 years old. I was born in Chicago and lived there up until around the new millennium when I moved to Connecticut where I live today.

2). What's your music name?

Tedy Brewski aka Tedy aka Hentai Waterfalls aka DJ Lalomila aka Typical Black Punk aka Big Habeebi

3). Where did that name come from?

I mainly go by Tedy Brewski which started off as my drinking game type of alter ego. Teddy is my middle name. Originally I was going with Teddy Booker but I wanted it to look iller so I dropped the extra D. Tedy Bruschi is the name of a hall of fame New England Patriots Linebacker and I kinda stole his steeze. Initially I thought he was going to retire and disappear like most athletes do but now I see him on ESPN everyday and it kinda makes me feel like a swagger jacker. I'm trying to phase out of that name but it's too dope and everyone knows me by it already. At the same time I'm happy that it's a play on words and not an all out identity theft like Rick Ross or 50 Cent.

This moniker I'm going with for the most recent project is Typical Black Punks. I think it might originate from this youtube video from Florida where this old white guy is arguing with this young black kid. In the video he calls him Typical Punk Black. That may have been in my subconscious when I came up with the idea. One day about two or three years ago, I was messing with New Wave samples and singing in this comical Morrisey impression voice and I just started chanting Typical Black Punks. I think thats where this project was born. The idea is to actually really learn about the music and the culture and eventually form a group or at the very least some type of live show. Punk is definitely a good place to start because its simpler and more inclusive than other genres. The first guys who made Punk music didn't even know how to play their instruments in the same way I don't know how to play the guitar or piano but I can still make some dope shit straight from my computer.

4.) How long have you been making music?

I started when I was 13. It was around the time when 8 Mile came out and battle rapping was big. I would be online on all those battle rap websites trying to win these "audio battles". My record was pretty dismal but I loved it, I'm not sure why. I slowly got discouraged from battling so I went into making beats. I bounced around from rapping to making beats for years till i found my lane in 2010.

5). What was your first project?

My first project was All American Indulgence in 2010. I think there may be a rare link on youtube. It did well locally at least with my high school friends. I have good memories of my first time recording in a studio. Its awesome when you get a good take and see what everyone in the room thinks about it.

6). What was your last project?

My most recent project is Typical Black Punks - Black Friday.

7). Where did you record this music?

I recorded this music at my house. I've been lucky enough to learn a lot from some of the engineers and producers I've worked with in the past.

8). How long did it take from start to finish?

It took about a month and a half. I took a break from music for awhile because my stuff wasn't really impressing me anymore. So I was working this shitty job where they would drive us to different towns and we would hand out flyers for the election. You basically go door to door handing out these pamphlets trying to tell people to vote for some guy who may or may not do what he promises. This shit kinda pissed me off because most people treat you like shit and think your soliciting when your’e just trying to help them be informed voters. Everyday in the car there would be some music blasting from the radio and I would just think, 'man I can do that, what the fuck am i doing in this car'. At that point I had started playing around with some sounds. Eventually I got chased by some dogs and I caught some mean cuts and I said fuck this and quit and took another month to round out the concept and finish the album. Sometimes something as shitty as getting fucked up by some dogs is actually a good thing because you'll get that time to reassess what you are doing and get back to what you love. Feel me? Sometimes we make decisions solely based on money and I think this album is about getting away from that. I definitely appreciate that job though, it taught me some perseverance, if I can knock on some random people's doors and talk about some shit I only half believe in then I can only imagine what I can do with music and art that I love.

9). Did anyone else help with it?

I did it all solo. I still don't know whether thats a good thing or a bad thing. The unfortunate thing is that everyone is so busy. Most of the time when I work I try and get into a zone. Like this music is sweaty and gross, not taking a shower for 5 days music. I don't think anyone is down to chill with me when I'm doing shit like that. So it's definitely really hard to collab. You can do it through the internet but you don't really get the same emotional connection as in person. On top of that there’s the actual work schedule to survive. Usually after a day of work I just want to get into fetal and scroll twitter mindlessly while ESPN is playing in the background.

I did use some samples and in some cases just rapped over the top of great instrumentals. On the song Naked and Wasted I just wrote a song on top of Fugazi's 'Sweet and Low'. On Headshot, I rearranged the song 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' by The Stooges. There are some other samples but I definitely count those cover songs and interpolations as outside help. Without the real originators I wouldn't have been able to get some of my ideas into existence.

11). Anything impede the making of this record?

Being young and broke impedes with making music.

12). You can only perform 2 songs from this record, which 2? Why?

I would perform Drug Free America and Quarantine because when I made those songs I literally moshed back and forth in my room for hours daily. My room is only ten feet wide but I would just run back and forth for at least an hour daily; the most fun I've had in a year. Bedroom slam dancing is the future of music son.

 

Is Atlanta The Only Current Portal Between Street Life And Rap Life?

Is it street rap? Is that a pejorative nomenclature? Is it trap rap? Is that a name that's been co-opted and whitewashed? What do we call the rap music that's made by people who purport to come from a background that lies outside the conventions of the laws? If robbing, slanging, and banging are within your value system, and you make rap music about it there is a lane for your music. The american public at large--and by extension the world at large--has an established and explicit propensity for the consumption of  this music that captures the "outlaw" lifestyle. But let's not flirt with the distractions that come with putting an explicit name on something we all understand implicitly. Let's talk about something concrete that goes a bit more nuanced than putting things in categories. 

If we look at the historic epicenters of rap music--Los Angeles and New York--it's evident that they share a common trait: they're centers of international commerce, as well as media production. Given that they are both cities of a certain industrial capacity, it's easy to see how industry colluded with culture to create something distinct that was then disseminated to the nation and the world via media outlets. The industries that shaped the social fabric of New York and Los Angeles clearly fed directly into the cultures that gave rise to those cities' music scenes. We all know the stories of hip hop's rise to prominence in Los Angeles and New York's poor (and predominantly black) sectors that lie in the shadows of big commerce excluded from the privileges that come with institutional incumbency.

But, what is less accounted for is the feedback loop that began taking place once hip hop became an established avenue of industry. Hip hop sprouted from seeds sewn in the shadows of gargantuan commerce, but eventually grew to generate revenue streams just as grandiose if not grander than those it was once excluded from. Through it's exclusion it generated the means to gain access. This feedback loop turned these two centers of industry and media into centers for the dissemination of rap music and culture, and by extension, local music and culture. This widespread broadcasting of New York, and Los Angeles' local cultures via rap music came to inform and shape a national perspective. The only way out of the shadows of commerce was to gain access to the revenue streams that defined it. And once that connection was made there was a different kind of light being piped out of the shadows of dominant industrialized culture directly into the broadcasts of dominant industrialized culture.

As the hip hop niche of industrial America has grown it has happened primarily from New York and Los Angeles because that is where major industrial players are headquartered. This means that for people who live in New York and Los Angeles there is a much greater chance of becoming part of this industry. Of course in the age of the internet everyone has an increased chance of becoming part of the social circles of industry within music. However, terrestrial proximity still plays an important part, not in terms of music, but industry. In the same way that hip hop became a portal between the poor practitioners of New York who lived in the shadows of gargantuan commerce taking place in their city, Atlanta has become a locale where hip hop creates a direct line between global industry and local talent. And for those who don't know, Atlanta's talent pool happens to overlap with street/trap/outlaw culture quite frequently. Outkast, whose music is highly regarded the world over as the definitive stuff of popular culture has always, at the least, bore witness to the narcotics trade and the wide range of felonious habits that come with it. Atlanta--and the South at large--has a potent history not of glorifying this outlaw life, but in reverse normalizing it. The result of this music is not that we say, "Oh yes committing felonies is glorious and righteous and deemed good for all. We must all commit to the production and distribution of narcotics post haste in order to make for the best use of our time. And if we should find ourselves with the time for robbing, then we shall rob as well, for robbing is a fruitful thing. And living by these principles shall place in accord with the nature of humans." Quite the opposite. 

The result of Atlanta's presence within popoular culture via the music industry is that we have begun to see the "normal" institution itself--the body that judges, abjectifies, and normalizes the "other"--as the true outcast, the true outlaw. It's not Gucci Mane who is wrong when he slays an assassin, it's our society and its antiquated institutions that are wrong when they produce the circumstances that Gucci Mane ultimately rose above and subverted into his good fortune. We don't see Migos as thugs getting shot at in a van because they're affiliated with drug money and the web of felonious proctors who usher such business, we see them as resplendent rap avatars capable of transcending space and time. This has all been the result of Atlanta's establishment as a terrestrial epicenter of music. This locale has accumulated enough capital within the entertainment industry that it provides a direct channel between the local music scene (local music industry) and global enterprise. And through that channel delivering light from the dark shadows of the dominant light, we get to see life in a another way, a profound way, and for many in a way that could not be imagined. Let alone experienced.  

No matter how close you can get to gargantuan industry it takes serious capital to integrate with it. To take a local artist to the point that they can do business with the national and subsequently global entertainment industry in Atlanta requires a good deal of entrepreneurship. Unlike silicon Valley where seed investors have accumulated wealth from various technology endeavors the "seed investors" of Atlanta's hip hop scene are often cultivating fruits begotten by more obviously illegal measures. Thus the seeds born of these fruits are a bit different. The same way that Silicon Valley tech disseminates the culture of technologists tinkering with "life", Atlanta hip hop disseminates the culture of people living lives of abundant immediacy. The result is that a certain way of life in Atlanta has gained widespread acclaim. It's not too far off from the way 50 Cent, or The Game offered poignant examples of the link between New York and Los Angeles' outlaw cultures respectively. But Atlanta's version is different in ways that have created enough distinction that Atlanta has become the active portal between the streets and the record industry. That's not to say it isn't happening elsewhere, but it isn't happening elsewhere as it is Atlanta.  

Atlanta holds a unique position in rap music, and pop culture at large. It's cultural traditions are contributing vastly to the common conception of what rap music sounds like, and what it can sound like. And to a greater degree it is adding yet another chapter to The South's long-running narrative on life via hip hop. As more and more of the future explodes into the present each day we are baring witness to grand history in art, music, culture, and America being made in Atlanta in great proportions. There's so much to be said about Atlanta's place in music history. Let's see what next year brings.

Out the Mouth: Andre Martel ( His Majesty Obscured)

 

1.) What's your name?

Andre Martel aka The Model aka Mr. Mexico

 

2). What's your music name?

Andre Model Money Martel

 

3). Where did that name come from?

Rick "The Model" Martel he's a pro wrestler from the classic era of the 80s and 90s that I loved as a kid.

 

4.) How long have you been making music?

Since I was 14 but I've been rapping since 19. I'm 27 now so a minute now.

 

5). What was your first project?

The Toxic Avengers mixtape with my partner Froskees as Shadowrunners.

 

6). What was your last project?

His Majesty Obscured which just released in October. It took me a year + to write/record. Some songs date back to late 2012.

 

7). Where did you record this music?

Different places...mainly my room at my old apartment. A couple were recorded at my mom's house and then one at Fro's.

 

8). How long did it take from start to finish?

I wanna say like 18 months total. The concept first came to me in mid to late 2012. It was going to be a mixtape, than an EP, then I decided to just do an album as it went on. Tracks just kept coming.

 

9). Did anyone else help with it?

All the producers on it helped me tremendously. And Froskees mixed/mastered the whole thing and helped me set up the tracklisting for it. My girlfriend Bibs helped with the art and photography, and Wavriel who runs SmackDaHoe set up all the promotional side and marketing. He's the one helped me get it out to the people in the format that I wanted.

 

11). Anything impede the making of this record?

My job and a lot of personal issues that actually in the end helped me write a better record I think. Mostly, just finding the right feeling for each beat. I didn't want to just put anything out.

 

12). You can only perform 2 songs from this record, which 2? Why?

Border, and Busy. Because they're the two songs I've been waiting my whole life to write.

 

Out the Mouth: Internet Hippy (Digital Flowerings)

1. What’s your name?

Tommy McAuliffe

 

2. What’s your music name?

Clever Tom

 

3. Where did that name come from?

My mom used to read a book to me as a child called “Clever Tom & the Leprechaun”. When I

formed a band with my friends, we decided to name it Clever Tom & the Leprechauns until we

broke up, then I just started going by Clever Tom.

 

4. How long have you been making music?

I started writing my first raps in 7th grade, but I didn’t start making just for the sake of making art until my junior year in high school. The relevance of the information is questionable though, considering I only curated this tape, without making an contributions to the actual art outside of the track listing.

 

5. What was your first project?

“Digital Flowerings Vol. 1” is my first official release, as an artist or curator.

 

7. Where did you record this music?

I didn’t record any of it, but the compilation contains tracks recorded everywhere from

Huntsville, Alabama, to Little Rock, Arkansas, to Boston, Massachusetts.

 

8. How long did it take from start to finish?

I started collecting tracks for it towards the end of my freshman year in college, so sometime in May, and I released the tape on my birthday, October 11th, so it took about five months in total.

 

9. Did anyone else help you with it?

Yes! I actually had nothing to do with the actual music contained within the mixtape.

 

10. Who? What did they do?

The music was handled by Amaze 88, DarkoTheSuper, CHRIS GR3EN, Animal Teef, Noah23, Spz Chaote, Western Tink, ABGOHARD, Ly Moula, Pepperboy, Nicholas J, Dizzy D, Deli Mane, & Sortahuman, as well as each of their respective producers.

 

11. Anything impede the making of the record?

At times, it was difficult getting some of the artists to send their tracks in, and some artists who said they would contribute ultimately flaked, but I can’t complain. This was their music and I’m just here to try and get it out to the biggest audience I possibly can.

 

12. You can only perform two songs from this record, which two? Why?

My two favorites have got to be “About You, Nah” by CHRIS GR3EN and “Ain’t It” by

Sortahuman. Both are just super well-written and fleshed out songs, that I’d love to hear in a live setting.

 

The internet means a lot to me. As a suburban white kid from a tiny little town in Massachusetts, it was always impossible for me to find someone who even remotely shared the same interest in hip-hop as I did. While there were certainly plenty of people I could discuss the genre’s latest happenings with, no one ever wanted to be the ones actually making something happen. None of my friends wanted to be those weird white kids that spent all their time recording raps in their basements, and I honestly couldn’t blame them. I wanted to make something out of my passion for hip-hop, but I needed another avenue.
Something happened my junior year in high school though, when I finally discovered something of a hip-hop community online. One day, when I was delightfully spamming my Facebook friends with a music video I had recently made, I managed to stumble across someone who went by the name of Pepperboy Davie. Pepperboy was an Arkansas MC who was trying to make his way in the hip-hop industry via the internet, and I immediately asked how I could help out. After a little chat and a few exchanged links, I had finally made a friend that felt as passionately about hip-hop as I did.
Fast forward a couple years and my relationship with Pepperboy had flowered into a series of connections with hip-hop artists, bloggers, and fans all across the internet. I started a blog, called Internet Hippy, and it seemed like I was beginning to find my place in this digital scene. As I grew frustrated with my inability to make music myself though, another idea sprang to mind: I was going to turn Internet Hippy into an internet record label! And thus began the story of “Digital Flowerings Vol. 1”.
Naturally, the first project from the label needed to have as many contributions from the artists I posted on the blog as physically possible. I began to hit up longtime, internet friends like Pepperboy and Ly Moula, and they embraced the plan whole heartedly. Just as quickly, artists I had loved and supported, but didn’t necessarily have a personal relationship with, began to embrace the idea as well. Figures I had only previously looked up to, such as Amaze 88 and Supa Sortahuman, began to hop on board and the tape was really starting to bloom. As I neared the 15 track goal for the tape, I decided on October 11th, my birthday, as the tapes official release date. When that date finally came, it was everything I could’ve hoped for. Fans were listening, blogs were posting, and I was pulsing with joy. I had finally given something back, in however arbitrary a way, to the community that provided me the avenue to express my never ending love for hip-hop.
And with that, I want to thank everyone who helped make “Digital Flowerings Vol. 1” a reality. From Amaze 88, to DarkoTheSuper, all the way down the line to Deli Mane, and Sortahuman, everyone who contributed to the compilation has my utmost gratitude. None of this could have ever happened without this tight-knit community that the internet has fostered. And now that that’s out of the way, there’s loads more promotion work to attend to! Check out “Digital Flowerings Vol. 1” on soundcloud.com/internethippy and look for Volume 2 coming sooner than you think!
 

- Clever Tom

 

Danny Brown's "Cross-eyed like Bernstein son" Line Embodies Internet Era Rap

So, this is a picture of "Bernstein's son." A guy that Danny Brown referenced in the recently-released Shady XV track "Detroit vs. Everybody". 10 years ago the line would have been currency for folks in Detroit, but over the heads of nearly everyone else. But in an era where I follow Danny Brown on twitter, and he is retweeting his fans enthusiasm for the line, along with their pictures of Bernstein, the line has currency well beyond Detroit. The internet takes the knowledge that comes with being part of a regional culture and gives it global breadth. And while that's cool if we're talking about the powers of the internet, it's a change in the fundamentals of communication for artists. Before the internet the capacity to understand a lyric--or any piece of art--was based largely on the ways the audience's life overlaps with the artist's life. To put it most simply, a surfer who had only ever lived in a beachside town, would have a very hard time making sense of a story about mountain goats. The surfer would be projecting things that aren't there in the mountains, like an ocean, and failing to properly contextualize things that were there, like huge mounds of the earth's mantle jutting thousands of feet into the air. And when we look at this line from Danny Brown, that is based on a well-known Detroit lawyer's physical appearance, we might as well be a bunch of surfer's hearing about the plants that make up the diet of a mountain goat.

Because of twitter though we can see the forest for the trees, or in this case the mountain for the surfers, or more accurately the cross-eyed son of Bernstein. It is a radical kind of freedom for artists, and it changes the whole dynamic of how art works. Of course, for the artist there is still a delicate balance to be struck between doing whatever you want and doing something that will engage an audience. But that balance now has a lessened burden because nearly any obscure reference within a lyric--or any piece of art--can be explicated by the audience. Confused by the apparent meaning, or lack thereof, of a line in a song? Just google it. Or go to rap genius. Or go to Reddit. Or go to a message board. Or ask on twitter. Or go any number of places where you can find answers online. Before the internet that kind of explication on the part of the audience was impossible. And now with the internet the artist can work in even finer gradations allowing the audience to resolve an increasing amount of the tension between the perception of a work, and the comprehension of its terms. These days every surfer in a beach side town has a pocket index of the rest of the world. When you tell them about mountain goats they know exactly what you mean. 

 

 

It means for Danny, and others like him, there is no need to compromise. No need to tone down the complexity of your art if the understanding of that complexity can have a life of it's own. Dude spits a complex line, a few people get it and retweet it, and now more people understand it, and it isn't much of an issue for the artist to consider. 

15 years ago esoteric rap music was a unique thing.

Out The Mouth: War Of Icaza (SLAVE LANGUAGE)

1.) What's your name?

Nicarao “Jerry” Chimalli.

2). What's your music name?

War of Icaza.

3). Where did that name come from? 

It originally came from combining my 2 European family names “Warbritton” & “Icaza” so War of Icaza, but the meaning to me slowly transformed the more I read my family history. So now it literally means the war against European (more specifically Spanish) oppressors, hence the name “Icaza”. The original Icaza family from Spain came to the Americas as plantation owners & slavers, so either my ancestry is mixed with the Icaza Family blood line or whenever my Indigenous family was baptized they could have been given this name by the Catholic Church. Regardless the Icaza name represents European colonists who came here & enslaved the indigenous population & supported the "American genocide”.

4.) How long have you been making music?

Ive been playing drums & doing scream vocals off & on since i was 11 & when i was 17 i got into rapping & freestyling. But all together i did not seriously making music til i was 18/19.

5). What was your first project?

Technically my first project was in 8th grade in a hardcore band called “A Fatal Fall” hahaha but my first “real project” was a solo artist mixtape called Bare Nips i dropped in early 2012 with my collective at the time Dapper Brigada under the name Jerry DuB. As far as War of Icaza (my new band) goes our first project is "SLAVE LANGUAGE".

6). What was your last project?

my latest project is “SLAVE LANGUAGE”.

7). Where did you record this music?

I recorded the music in Oakland & in New York. But my main writing took place in Nicaragua, LA, & New York.

8). How long did it take from start to finish?

about 8 months all together, and the project didn’t really start to take form until 3 months in.

9). Did anyone else help with it?

Yurrpp, the production company OUNCE. helped all along the way & this project wouldn’t have been possible without them. they helped me find the right producers, engineers, as well shot a couple videos for me. Andreas Brauning was the specific dude from OUNCE. that helped a mentor/mamager/producer that helped me mold my new sound. the homies from RatKing (especially Patrick “Wiki”) also helped a lot as far inspiration goes & always reminding to step my bars up. & it was also Eric “SportingLife” who helped spark my the idea to write music about my history & culture. already i was super invested in learning my families history & participating in Meso-American ceremonies & when i was telling him i was kinda lost as far as inspiration goes he just said why don’t i just talk about everything I’m learning about & going through my mind. from there it spiraled it a whirl wind of endless ideas i wanted to express & represent. so yeee NYC def helped me find my new path & arguably gave new life to my music career. Zach Pandaface (Trash Talk TM /OF fam) also helped a shit ton getting my shit together. & of course my live band members/child hood best friends Jesse Overalls & Justin Lazcano helped a lot with all aspects of my life during making the album.

11). Anything impede the making of this record?

nah we were pretty on schedule with everything, around late July i decided i wanted to drop it on Oct.13th Columbus Day so that gave a solid 2 months to crack down and get it done. music is my top priority so being able/blessed to dedicate practically everyday to this project gave me more than enough to time to have it done on time.

12). You can only perform 2 songs from this record, which 2? Why?

La Migra & Mutt Blood. La Migra is just crazy energy, raw bars, & I’m saying some real shit. like that song makes me wan a stage dive & shit. Then Mutt Blood just has one of my favorite hooks & with drums it rides so hard.