I found music stashed away in a the rat infested storage room in my families crib in Jingle Town USA. Cardboard treasure chests made sure this kid was reared on the blues, soul music, jazz, moms rock records on uncle bob's realistic stereo... apparently my family liked to throw down. My first gig was playing records at a house party for sips of beer and drags of tobacco... sometimes pocket change... hell yeah!
The kid really hit his stride when he got passed a "rap" tape from his patna Theo at school. It was a radio program of an early hip hop show his pops recorded in new york. It was black with a piece of masking tape on it that said RAP in all caps. I wore that shit out. On my way home I always stopped to throw rocks at bottles and shit. After hearing that tape all shit looked different. The paintings on the wall was now graffiti, there really was broken glass everywhere, and someone talked about my life in song... IT WAS ON! Baseball was my first love, hip hop would be my life...
... BUT Mo Money Mo Problems the man said. The billion dollar industry it has become, the internet taking it global, leaders, biters, and saviors coming and going and the ever present tyranny of popular taste has mutated and at the same time changed pop culture forever. My mode is the same, my thirst for the freshness is stronger than ever, but i can't seem to satisfy myself with the shit that's out now. Evolve or die.
"Hip Hop Don't Stop".... "Our Work Is Never Over." Get it?
So here it is... my evolution.