Interview: Lightshow

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My first introduction to rap music from D.C. was in 2007 with Tabi Bonney’s “The Pocket”, which, if anything, turned me away more than intrigued me. However, it did make me want to see if there was some music coming from The District that I’d actually like. Wale’s mixtapes Hate Is The New Love and 100 Miles And Running became mainstays in my iPod Classic. Rappers like Phil Ade pretty much followed his mold and I began to think that D.C. was only going to offer backpack raps—a space that was already occupied by Lupe Fiasco for me and much different than the Three 6 Mafia and Project Pat I came up listening to. But over the past few years with Fat Trel gaining more recognition and Shy Glizzy’s song “Awwsome” gaining traction, the street narrative of D.C. is starting to come to the forefront. A lesser known rising street artist out of D.C. is Lightshow, from the Southeast quadrant of the city. He’s worked with Glizzy, members of Fat Trel’s Slutty Boyz and was featured on Wale’s “Georgetown Press”, from his 2012 mixtape, Folarin. A la Meek Mill, his raps are fueled by his near-yelling delivery and his content often touches on the struggles of street life while presenting an existential outlook on the choices that people make in the streets. Before he took the stage at D.C. station WPGC 95.5’s Birthday Bash, I talked to him on our way to the Howard Theatre about what fuels his music and how he feels about the cultural changes that D.C. is undergoing.

True Laurels: Tabi Bonney and Wale started were the first rap artists out of D.C. that I knew about but recently there have been more street artists surfacing like you, Fat Trel and Shy Glizzy. Which group is a more fitting representation of D.C.’s identity?

Lightshow: D.C. is changing a lot but you still see more people drawn to the street aspect of the city because that’s what we come from. D.C. is a real turned up city, well the underground. So street music is gonna resonate with people. They can listen to us and say, “Oh, I ride past this street,” or “I’ve been through situations like that.” When you start at new school you still go sit with the people you relate with the most. So we’re in the same school as those other guys but the fans are more at our table.

A recurring theme in your music is survival. Did dedicating yourself to music help you survive and get out of shaky situations?

Lightshow: Hell yeah. It’s been a lot of times when I’m doing something music related like being in the studio, performing, or just trying to stay focused and something fucked up will happen to someone I’m close with. I just think that could’ve been me. Music saved me a lot of times.

Lightshow Ft Shy Glizzy - I'm In Love

Towards the end of “Regardless” you take time out to tell kids “Fuck the street shit, stay in school.” Are you aiming to use the voice you’re granted through rap to be a mentor, as well?

Lightshow: I feel like I have to be both—a mentor and a rapper. It’s not even up to me. It’s responsibility. When you first start it’s all about “You, you, you.” My music is about me but I can’t just go to the studio and make a 100 songs. I wish I could, but it has to come from a real place and an honest place. People will always be able to relate to honesty. I have a pretty good following on social media and it’s kids included in that, it’s mothers in that, adults. I gotta be mindful of what I say. If I stand for something as a person, then I have to stand for that in my music. It can’t be two separate people.

You spoke on how much D.C. is changing. Do you see that change as a negative effect on your community and your own personal growth?

Lightshow: I don’t know if I look at it as negative. I just look at it as them trying to modernize the most powerful city in the world. Things have to change and this process has been going on for a long time now. Things are moving in a good direction. I like seeing these big buildings and condos popping up. It motivates me to step the level of my hustle up. Back in the day you could hustle and get you a nice apartment and you’d be good. Now I can say I want me a condo with a rooftop terrace and a pool.

Who are the unsung heroes in the streets of D.C.?

Lightshow: I gotta give a lot of thanks to a group of guys called the Real Live Gangstas. The music they made was so street conscious. It made me wanna get my morals and principles in order. Their music made me want to become a man’s man. Even though their music was harsh, it was real. They told you every side of the coin. Growing up without a father, I was looking for that street knowledge from older guys and they changed my life. I saw that it’s a thinking man’s game. So learning from them, how could I not assume the responsibility of a teacher or mentor? It’d be impossible.

Lightshow "Life Sentence 2" Mixtape. Download for FREE on www.DMVLIFE.com

There’s a sense of existentialism in your music where you repeatedly bring up the choices that people have and how they shape the outcome of one’s life. Is that an ideology you eventually adopted or is that how you’ve always viewed the world?

Lightshow: It’s not really an ideology I picked up but I always think back to a school I went to in Southeast D.C. where a lot of my teachers were white. I had one teacher named Mr. Ben who taught me how to play chess. I always think back to how they were so much harder on us than they had to be but it made me realize that not knowing is not an excuse. Knowledge is free. You have to know what’s going on. Read up on your rights and find out what your purpose is out here. All the hours we have in this world, you gotta really work to get what you want.

How does the music you’re working on now differ from what’s been heard from you so far?

Lightshow: The music that I’m working on right now is all centered around what I’m learning. I make songs whenever I get new information. It’s not specific to the streets either. It could be about girls, myself, anything. I’m always gonna talk about whatever I see. I always want my shit to be relatable. I don’t pull this shit out of nowhere. The streets are so fucked up right now because everybody is misguided. You got rappers who aren’t even living what they’re rapping about but people will follow them and do what their songs say; it’s reckless.

Follow Lightshow on Twitter: @Lightshow10thPL

Do Your Fucking Homework: Some Baltimore Club Obscurities Worth Searching Out

From True Laurels Volume 4:

DJ Precise, Precise and the Boys (Master Mind, 1992)

From that club-but-not-quite-club era where the "Bmore" blueprint was just beginning to be sketched out and local producers were mostly making nice lil' DJ tool-type tracks to creatively fill the void left by the slow burn dissolution of hip-house, which for some weird reason, didn't quite go out of style around these parts. As a result, there was a demand for goofy party time synthesizers and brass knuckle drums combos like this. Precise's "Get 'Em" is the one of obvious note on this 12 inch, because it's got a platonic "Think" break, but the most interesting thing here is "En Mochen": cheapo synth beeps, party music pulses competing with a trickier take on "Think" and oh man, a lo-fi, chipmunk'd sample from Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" that beat Nas and Large Professor to the punch on the super subtle almost subliminal atmospheric MJ sample flip tip. Raps on the other side, including Marty Cash's "I Don't Think You Gonna Make," featured on Secret Weapon Dave's recent mix, "A Different Kind of Dope: 90's Baltimore Random Rap Mix Vol. 1."

Miss Tony, "Bitch Track II - Yes!" off Frank Ski's Club Trax - Volume 3 (Deco Records, 1993)

So yeah, in 1993 Miss Tony recorded a house-influenced sequel to "Bitch Track" that features Tony declaring, "Yes I am gay, no I'm not ashamed," and telling the military to kiss his ass (President Clinton's "don't ask, don't tell" policy was put into practice the same year this was recorded). While doing research for my recent article for the Baltimore City Paper, "Miss Tony Stands Alone," on the life of Miss Tony, I learned from Frank Ski that this record was courted by Luther Campbell who wanted to put it out on his label Luke Records (Frank Ski being the obvious Miami/Baltimore connection here) and make a video and all, which totally makes sense: this was made in the early '90s when urban-skewing music could court controversy and actually cash out on that controversy. It is easy to conjure up an alternate reality where "Bitch Track II - Yes!" became the early '90s version of a meme and put Tony in the weird position of like, arguing with hateful homophobes on the Donahue show or maybe even becoming RuPaul famous!

*not available online*

DJ Ice featuring Ms. Nick, "Oh Baby Oh" (Iceland Records, 1997)

A weird one powered by some erotic-ish panting (echoes of Scottie B and Equalizer's "All About Pussy" from 1991), a few snippets of Basement Boys-like house horns, and almost industrial drums that invoke Underground Resistance-ish techno. Somewhere in the accidentally Detroit din, there is DJ Ice and Ms. Nick doing some in-the-club, sup' girl, sup' boy talk and a mid-song seduction breakdown that's genuinely kind of sweet: "Baby I want you so bad/ Girl I want to tap that ass...I give you everything that thing needs/ I'll make you my one and only." Then the XXX clips return, bringing the temporarily sweet song back into bonerland, which is how it should be. If Prince around the time of Diamonds and Pearls tried to make a club record, it would've probably sounded stupidly funky like this.

Krazy B, Pop Club EP (Unruly Records, 2000)

This record is not exactly an obscurity at all, but it isn't talked about much, and for some reason, it is one of the most easily available club records if you go digging around these parts. It's from somebody named Krazy B and Unruly put it out (and if the relative abundance of copies still around are any indication, they pushed it rather hard) and it's from 2001, which is a pretty interesting between-time for club: right after most the clubs closed in the late '90s killing club's hey-day and right before the yes notable, though heavily mythologized teen scene/hipster love moment that popped up in just a couple of years. This record's a good and strange, though, especially "Pop Club," which deviates from the flip-a-rap-song or resurrect an old club classic formula to deliver something that's New Jersey Nervous Records edgy with some Thomas Bangalter "Club Soda" fizzle and some synth-horn corn that trippily changes thanks to constant fidgeting with filters and effects. Four and a half transcendently monotonous minutes.

-Brandon Soderberg: @notrivia

Baltimore Beings #2

Last week, we debuted a photo series by Baltimore-based photographer and True Laurels contributor, Keem Griffey, called Baltimore Beings. As promised, here is the second installment of the series with three new local faces and stories. Check it out: 

Location: Inner Harbor

"I fear nothing. That shit is all in your head man. And i hate when i hear that word. Being fearful is a disability (laughs out loud)."

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Location: Noodles & Company

"My biggest fear when I was a child was my father not coming back to get me. I've had many friends that had the "Dad didn't come get me" story. I was always glad he came back. I knew he would but it was still my fear."

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Location: Lombard & Howard St

"Worst part about being out here...there is no one out here to say, 'Hey Tony, you're doing a good job.' Or, 'Keep up the good work.' And maybe it's not "good work" but this makes me, me. Been out here since 2006, you know? Mom died in 2005. But it still hurts because i hadn't talked to her since 2004. 

Keem Griffey: What happened to your leg if you don't mind me asking?

"It was all drugs man. Shot myself so many damn times in the groin. I got an ulcer and it developed into gangrene."

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See more of Keem Griffey's work on Instagram: @keemgriffey

 

Diary: Buffa7o

Photo: Keem Griffey

Photo: Keem Griffey

Sometimes I sit and think to myself "am I so great?" or does everything suck so much that I'm able to feel this way.

I digress, but I am never put at ease with everyone's onslaughts to be the most original. I find happiness in the smaller and sometimes the finer things of life. Despite my poisoned mind, standoffish personality and attachment to individualism, older people I've met say I give off a hippie vibe. Also due to the massive amounts of marijuana I smoked up, earning me the name Leafy Lo. I started this whole rap experience by jacking for beats and making homemade video recordings of me spitting on Facebook. My friend Curtis discovered these ancient artifacts, passing them on to BlackZheep Dz thus earning me a spot with the 7th Floor Villains. Prior to these recent events I grew up all through Baltimore moving every school year due to my mother's financial instability. This caused the streets to claim me for its own, transforming my promising potential into probable potential.

All in all, I live and lived my life vicariously through others while still playing my vital position. I hate hate hate an unjustified hater so for those who hate with no debate for goodness sake consolidate!


- Buffa7o

Here's a new cut from BuffaLo's EP set to release this Fall, titled, 'Genesis'.

Follow Buffa7o on Twitter: @Buffa70

Baltimore Beings

Keem Griffey is a Baltimore-based photographer whose new "Baltimore Beings" photo series was featured in True Laurels Vol. 4. For the series, he approaches random people walking around the city and asks them about themselves, hoping to create some sort of comical and therapeutic relief. He says that in a blue-collar city like Baltimore, people can often be worn down by day-to-day worries so stopping them to ask about their lives can brighten their day. By sharing their stories, he hopes to touch other people whose experiences are similar, as well. 

We'll be sharing new installments of Baltimore Beings every week on True Laurels. Check the newest below:

Location: Pelham & Mannasota

Left: you know what i got to say? Motherfuckers better wake up now!

Right: It cost $0.00 to keep it Real! 

Location: Workplace

"Being gay is one of the hardest challenges I had to face in life and to be honest there have been times I wish I wasn’t just to make everybody I love happy. But, this isn’t about everybody’s happiness but my own and I choose to live the way I was born. It’s like trying to change my skin color! Love yourself by all means"

Location: Herring Run Park

"At this point in my life, I honestly can say I'm hungrier than I've ever been to make it with music. There isn't a minute of an hour in any single day in my life where I don't think about being successful in it. It's to the point it eats at me so much that I think I might lose my shit soon if I don't make it. I write like a madman and every time I use the bathroom to poop or shower, I usually come out with four or five lines to save in the notes section of my phone"

Follow Keem Griffey on Twitter: @KeemGriffey

On The Other Side: The Barbershop Chronicles

Derrick Adams. Human Structure Headquarters, 2013

Derrick Adams. Human Structure Headquarters, 2013

Written By: Kasai Rex

I should’ve known better than to come in for a cut when life’s nippin’ at my ass. My girl’s texting me heavy, asking when we’re gonna start moving her stuff into our new spot, and I definitely didn’t get enough sleep, at least not enough to steel me against today’s trial. But I need this fade like a motherfucker, so I convince myself this is all worth it.

That chair I’ve been waiting on little man to get out of for a minute (for a few dozen minutes) is finally free, and I spring for it. But that’s the thing about plans.

A wild LIGHT-SKINNED DUDE appeared!

“Hey brother, I’ve been waiting a while and have somewhere to be,” I offer up, assured that my calm, kind approach will be rewarded.

“Sorry brother,” he offered, without making eye contact. “I’m a lawyer. I got appointments.”

Yoooooooo!

Appointments?

On a Saturday afternoon?

The fuck is that supposed to mean? Is this what I get for acting with tact and courtesy? I’ve been sitting in this hard ass seat, listening to fake revolutionaries on AM radio invoke Malcolm X like they were in the 3rd grade together, rolling my eyes while cats slander white folk (what if they find out my girl is white? what if they knew most of the people I work with are white? most of the people I grew up with?), sweatin’ my ass off in the basement of this spot (a new shop I figured I’d try after saying ya basta to my old joint) for over an hour. I guess it’s my own fault for not checking upstairs, for not scoping out an open chair. But damn all that, Gina! This dude clearly thinks I’m the one.

Watching this crusty old dude in the 3X Pelle Pelle button up (who’s been called a no-good drunk by one of the barbers no less than five times since he walked in, well after me mind you) slide into the seat I’d laid claim to ages ago, if only in my head, I feel my face get hot, every muscle in my body taut to the point of feeling like they’re going to pop right off the bone.

I hear the sirens blaring, impossibly loud in my head, critical mass having been reached, perhaps foreshadowing of the actual blue and red and black and blue I’ll see if I act on my basest desires. A familiar feeling, deep in the darkest crevasse of whatever my Self looks like in the Now.

The precursor to a “nigga moment,” with a side of a potential “when keeping it real goes wrong” moment wrapped up tightly like my friend Matt’s killer angels on horseback, tucked inside that bummer of a u2 song “Stuck In A Moment You Can’t Get Out Of” running in the background (that’s some dual-consciousness for your ass right there!). This struggle is real. And unlike THE STRUGGLE, which we’re all embroiled in from the womb to the tomb (if not all of us being “all in”), this tumult right here is centered in the mind.

Walk with me.

There is an “I” inside of the me you’ll see, the latter mildly worried about white readers seeing the word nigga in this piece so many times. The former? He’s the one they call Dr. Feelhood, and he couldn’t give a fuck, wish a nigga would cuz he’s the toughest nigga on earth who’s also afraid of his own shadow, of living up to society’s subterranean expectation of him, of expressing himself outside the solid white lines on Blackdom Boulevard.

I’m always gonna bring Dr. Feelhood with me to the barbershop, or to the bodega or anywhere else I feel his services might be necessary. I can tag him in or out on the fly, as the situation demands, and that’s just the way the shit be.

But back to the lecture at hand, because I won’t call on him this day. I’m almost thirty, have never been locked up despite my best efforts in harsher times and don’t plan on starting that shit up now. So on this day, the lawyer homie doesn’t get the hands, I get my cut (while also getting the Full Barber Shop Experience when finally in the chair, replete with a dude telling a story about getting punched so hard he shit himself) and I leave the previous hour and a half’s anger and otherness from another motherness behind like a mildly bad memory.

See, the thing is, my pops used to always cut my hair. I got my first regular in a barber shop on the south side of Williamsburg at age 22 by a Dominican named Exotic (much respect to this dude and the framed pics of him rap squatting in front of rented Lambos flanked by infinite mamis). I’d sit there in silence, hands clasped under the sheet, picking the occasional word or idioma out of the smoke-filled air.

I would graduate to THE BARBERSHOP years later. Strolling in, with no particular bond to patron nor barber. Most of the time, I’d just sit there like Cuba Gooding in the barbershop scene in “Coming To America.” I was a customer, paying for a service and then leaving when done. If the movie “Barbershop” was about my experience there, it would’ve resembled a poorly made student film exploring the spaces of postmodern solitude and the futility of blah blah blah.

I’d like to say, that sweltering Saturday afternoon was the first time I’ve been cut while waiting for a cut, straight up dissed, on some invisible man shit with my own people—but it’s definitely not. Whether it’s at the shop or at a cookout, when I get the “you ain’t a real nigga” look/line/whatever (was it my tiny pants that gave it away?), I want to ask, hat in hand, if I walked up in Barney’s, would I not get followed, scoped out, harangued even after droppin’ hard, legally earned stacks, only to be stopped and frisked once out on Madison Ave., cuz I should know better, right?

I’ve been on the receiving end of this trip my whole life, so you’d think I’d be used to it, or at least able to reconstitute it and use it to my advantage, like I did with initial childhood anger at an old white lady clutching her purse when I drew near. Now, I know that another’s fear-based thinking is not a reflection of who I am. I think.

Before this latest trip, so frustrated with the experience at my old barber, I vowed to embrace nappy hair and rock my shit in natural mode, on that Kunta Kinte steez (That real nigga enough for you?! I wanna scream at no one in particular, at everyone, at myself, at my other self). Madame CJ Walker and her “good hair” bullshit be damned. But sure enough, the warm and fuzzies brought on by a fresh-ass fade called me back to the jagged rocks and crashing waves like sirens of the shape-up.

On the real, I can’t front like I wasn’t pissed when a dude who looked like an undergrad version of Braxton from the Jamie Foxx Show walked in about half an hour after me and was helped almost immediately. The sight of his powder blue, above the knee shorts, slate v-neck tee and light skin made my brain tickle in a way that I’m not proud of, the thought that he was now the “whitest guy in the room” definitely crossing my mind. As with so much in life, “it’s levels to this shit.”

As alluded to in the interview that writer Ernest Baker attempted to conduct with Rick Ross (real name withheld) for Noisey, there are Vans niggas and there are Reebok niggas (Ross’s words, not Baker’s; I think yung Braxton was rockin’ Tom’s, but I could be wrong about that). And whether the performance artist-cum-rapper knows it or not, this is an existential battle stretching back well before cats were even in sneakers. W.E.B. DuBois and Booker T. Washington’s alternating schools of thought, reform vs. accommodation, sought out in their own ways the most promising path to prosperity for downtrodden black America. Today, we’ve got Reebok vs. Vans, two sides of the same damn coin, the spiritual core of the dichotomy same as it ever was.

(This paragraph has been dedicated to my old pair of pink and blue checkered Vans SK8 HIs, which earned me more than a few threats from rowdy teens on lonely bus rides home from work. Time will not dim the glory of your deeds.)

Stepping within the Veil, as DuBois put it, sometimes without even realizing it, is just part of the game when navigating “this white man’s world,” as Yeezy put it. And similarly, I can be hanging out with Dr. Feelhood without having expected it, like when a white girl asks you to talk “thuggish” for her because “The Real You” isn’t quite enough.

And when someone like Bill Maher is adamant that President Obama is “not black enough,” at the end of the day, even if it is cable chat show schtick, Bill Maher can go back to his crib or the Playboy Mansion or wherever the fuck and chill, but the stakes are higher for the target of his fire-and-forget bullshit, and for those close enough to feel the shrapnel, which in the age of the internet is anyone with a phone, phablet or two-way pager (I see y’all two-way freaks).

When even the most well-meaning friend/co-worker/girlfriend throws the “you’re the whitest guy I know” at me, it’s like Nat Turner’s ghost taps me on the shoulder and says “Just Do It.”

As much as whites in America must acknowledge and work to dismantle this country’s white supremacist constructs, erected centuries ago yet still alive and well (if you haven’t read Ta-Nehisi Coates’s “The Case For Reparations,” please do so for a much more eloquent discourse on this matter than I could hope to muster), blacks (and latinos) must work to push beyond what ethicist Victor Anderson calls “ontological blackness” if there is any hope in a fight against disenfranchisement that again grows realer and more vicious by the minute.

Those wiser than me often tell me that it’s none of my business what others think of me, be it the homie hovering over an empty chair at the barbershop straight clownin’ me when I approach him or the matronly old white lady who can’t stifle her disbelief when I tell her I’m a writer.

But god dammit, I’m due for a cut this week, and I’ll be damned if I stop writing because the Better Homes & Gardens crew can’t process or acknowledge my intellect. Despite that one asshole contributing to a negative experience on my most recent stop by the barbershop, I can’t swear them off. Nor can I let my head fuck with me to the point of not cherishing who I am, of cutting myself off from my fellow man because of perceived slights, of not reveling in the fact that every moment, good, bad and neutral, has led me to the present. And neither a dude in a Pelle Pelle button up and some PePe jeans, nor a decrepit Barbara Bush lookin’ creature can take that away from me.

When walking to get a pack of smokes in my old hood one day, a woman shouted out, “them pants too tight!” Before I could whip around and snap back a retort, her drinking buddy replied, “no they ain’t baby, mmmph!”

No they ain’t indeed. And I need a fresh cut.

Follow Kasai Rex on Twitter: @KasaiREX

Diary: The GTW

Photo: Ryan Lyons

Photo: Ryan Lyons

Days seem to blur together for me, not having a traditional job takes it's toll on me when it comes to time management. Most days i'm pretty busy working on what I need to do for my career, and other days I push stuff off because I realize that everything I do is on "my time." It's not a good habit and it's something that i need help breaking.

When I was a bit younger creating was way more fun most of the time than it is now. Now, it's fun only 75% of the time, which isn't bad but that other 25% contains procrastination, doubt, fear of my life, and a nagging girl who requires of me more attention paid to her. I'm finally at that stage of my artistry where one step on the ladder towards what I see as success for myself isn't celebrated like some super bowl party. True, I'm not used to having drunk goth chicks, online feminist, prepsters and hood chicks mingling together at my shows. I was more used to either or, separately. Seeing this clash is really cool and it gives me confidence that if I do whatever it is that I like, peeps would dig it.

Chigeria, umm, what can I say about this? It's definitely the name of my upcoming album and It's definitely a clash of everything i'm going through right now. My Jolly boy, Edgy Boy, Innocent boy sides all rolled into this global mix of sounds and feels. My family members somewhat smirk at the term "Chigeria" since I wasn't as enthusiastic about my background as I am now. Being a caramel skinned Nigerian in Chicago with the name James King growing up Honestly was a bit easy. I didn't experience much name calling or teasing about my name like most of my fellow Naijamericans did. ( yes, i'm just making up words here).

I pretty much just skated through grade school like a head arse with my Phat Farm jeans and Rocawear track jacket completely oblivious to the fact that the culture i had at home was pretty cool (even though i lived in Nigeria all of 5th grade). It wasn't until my freshman year in High school where I developed some type of genuine tolerance and pride in who I am. I started my first job at Abercrombie and met the coolest Sri Lankan kids ever, They were like speaking their language openly which I think was called Sinhala. I was pretty much like "F - IT " after experience that whole other world outside of my school. I started coming to class wearing abercrombie jeans with air force ones and west african print shirts on occasion. It was tacky, but fun. I spent my whole 4 years in High school experimenting with whatever I was into at the moment, sonically and aesthetically.

It pretty much shaped me up to be who I am today, A full time musician that draws and plays dream league soccer on my iPhone during my free time. I also tried to apply to Home Depot for some spring cash but I haven't heard back from them yet. Hopefully they hit me up before I head on tour this fall or something. <3

Photo: Ryan Lyons

Photo: Ryan Lyons

Follow The GTW on Twitter- @THEGTW

Diary: JuegoTheNinety

Photo: Keem Griffey

Photo: Keem Griffey

My mother named me Randall, but somehow people just call me Juice. The name Juego came from a drunken attempt to translate "Juice" into Spanish (should be Jugo but that shit sounds weak). I fell in love with rap when I was 9 by watching "The thong Song" video, directly followed by "the real slim shady" video. That was one of the first times I had watched a music video and comprehended what was going on in it, so I was intrigued and watched music videos for about 4 more hours straight on MTV jams (or "the box"). So time went on and I started liking rap (well, music in general)  a lot more and became obsessed with 90s west coast gangsta rap. By 8th grade I used to force anyone around me to participate in freestyle cyphers on the black top at recess (yeah we had recess in 8th grade).  We were all kinda ass at the time but that was just fun to us. I remember writing that I wanted to be a rapper in the school year book and other kids' parents were laughing to mine about it. Like it was funny to them that I didn't write that I wanted to be a teacher or a doctor or a cop or some shit. Fuck it, I laughed at their kids for wanting to be doctors so I guess it was even. Come to think about it, that whole middle school time period kind of shaped what I wanted to be as a rapper. I just wanted to do and say what I want, especially if I knew that people didn't want me to do it. Now I make music knowing that it's not gonna fit the sound that everyone wants to hear, but it's always something that I know will provoke an emotion or thought. Whether they like it or not, they remember the shit I say.  

JuegoTheNinety follows up his 2013 debut release, "Opium Float", with the 11 track "Sonny September CD"

Follow JuegoTheNinety on Twitter- @JuegoTheNinety

Scottie B: Baltimore Club 101

Photo: Keem Griffey

Photo: Keem Griffey

If you’ve listened to any Baltimore Club music, then chances are you’ve come across something that Scottie B has touched. A DJ, producer and label owner within the genre, Scottie has been a part of club culture since its infancy in the late 80’s and was one of the first to bridge the gap between outsiders wanting to gain insight and locals who wanted to keep it for themselves. His label, Unruly Records—which he co-owns with DJ Shawn Caesar—has released music from K-Swift, Miss Tony, Rod Lee, among others, and he still keeps a tight grip on what younger artists in the city are doing with club music. Recently, I got to kick it with Scottie at his crib to watch the NBA playoffs and to get a full lecture on how club music started from house parties to being sought after by Diplo and M.I.A to fading out in the city it was spawned. Here’s our convo:


True Laurels: What drew people into club music when you started out?

Scottie B: It was a hybrid of a lot of different music. House was big everywhere in the late ‘80’s. Even the hip-hop spots.

Was there always a concerted effort into making Baltimore club music an original sound?

SB: We weren’t trying to make a separate sound but we were trying to make music that would fit into the parties that we were playing. We had an idea of what worked but we weren’t thinking outside of the box. It was really small-minded. We thought on weekly terms. Like what we could play at our next gig.

What were clubs like before Baltimore Club started to pop off?

SB: Even before club was poppin’, in a hip-hop club they would play all house music. It was no Baltimore Club but it was fast music the whole night. Hip-hop faded out in clubs here in like 1990. A little later, me and Shawn Caesar started going to New York and they were playing hip-hop in the clubs—something we had been stopped doing. It was back and forth with new and old. Around the time “Scenario” was out and black college kids were into Native Tongues. We looked at each other and said, “We gotta do this.” People were going crazy.

With no internet, was it difficult for you to get new records broken?

SB: I was on the top list for club DJ’s and mixtape DJ’s and producers. I always had access because I would make something hot. I was selling a shit load of mixtapes. This was when the customer was more into being a part of something. That’s why it took off. People looked at club music as theirs. A lot of the music was shouting out neighborhoods and if you mentioned someone in a song, it was a good chance that your listener knew who that person was. There was a lot of ground support.

Describe the atmosphere of the clubs back then when Baltimore Club was at its height.

SB: Back then, the black clubs that played club music were 16 and up. Hammerjacks, Godfrey’s, O’Zone. The music was fresh and people came out specifically for that music. That’s what sparked the clubs having nights for younger people. Older people would party with younger people because the scene was so vibrant. You had 23-25 year-olds partying with younger kids in spots without alcohol because it was that hot. It was about dancing all night. You planned on sweating. That time is gone. The scene drives itself now and back then the music drove it.

When did you notice other cities starting to take note of the club scene and music?

SB: You would always get dudes coming into the record store from DC or somewhere nearby to grab a specific record but around ‘94 we started hearing they were bootlegging our shit in Philly. So we went up there and it was true. That was really hurting us in such a small market. We started getting cool with the record stores to find out who was doing it.

Do you think that Baltimore’s pride in local music has gone down with club music’s presence diminishing?

SB: It’s different for kids now because back then it was Miss Tony grabbing the mic shouting out people’s hoods over house music. Then he changed it to something a bit harder that was an actual song. It was able to be ingested. There was always a conflict between rappers in the city versus people within the club culture. Back then, the club music dude was also the DJ so rap dudes would say, “they’re not playing my shit because it’s not club.” But it was honestly because nobody was asking for it. I think that’s the same case with local music now. People aren’t asking for it.

Why do you think so?

SB: A lot of young kids are making music because they’re trying to get on the radio and trying to blow up instead of wanting to make good music. You can feel that.

People like Rod Lee, Blaqstarr, Miss Tony and K-Swift were all Identifiable club figures when I was growing up and I don’t see that anymore. Why don’t they exist?

SB: People don’t realize that in the early ‘90’s 16 year-olds and 30 year-olds were listening to the same club music. When K Swift and Blaqstarr took off, club music had become a younger music. Most people over 21 (except maybe hipsters) didn’t wanna hear it. Maybe not because of them individually but it was the sound. It became a big dance contest music. It got smaller when K Swift came around. When it was big with her, it was big with kids.

Does the lack of mentorship from your generation play a role as well?

SB: That’s what it’s always gonna be. At the same time, the younger crowd ain’t gonna understand an older dude flipping “Follow Me”. That’s not slick to them. The main reason club was so impressive is that it took old house music that people recognized and it flipped the track. But if you have no connection to the root, it’s not gonna stick for you. It’s not really a knock from either side. It’s like when they bring Jordans back out with all these crazy colorways. An older dude is most likely not gonna wear them because it doesn’t suit him. They’re made for now. It’s the same with the music.

How do you feel about Diplo’s involvement in club culture?

SB: It’s funny. At first, people were like “Oh, they really like our shit”. Then when he started to make it and get credit, it changed to, “They didn’t even give us…” Give you what? You were alright with them getting it at first but you get mad when natural progression happens? If people start liking something, they’ll start emulating it. Just like Baltimore Club emulated something that came before it. We took some other shit and we flipped it. People like to start the history when it benefits them. It’s not linear. It goes in a circle. It’s no year to when it’ll change. Music is like a kaleidoscope. It’s the same shit inside of there and you can spin it a million times and get a million outcomes but the elements in there never change.

Follow Scottie B on Twitter- @scottieBmore
 

Diary: Chrissy Vasquez

&nbsp;Photo: Keem Griffey

 Photo: Keem Griffey

Today I realize that I'm not like many people. As I've been told my entire life by many people. I'm similar to my music, my music is me. Different...astranged...created off earth. Where ever I go, my music goes with me. Journeys written into a melodic tune. It flows in my head through times of melancholy and when I feel joy it takes off into my body. Wave length. Taking off in to outer space. Let me go so I can free my mind. I swing my maschete full of treble cleffs, eight notes, do...re....me's...fa's...and sorrows. I'll blow you away baby, blow you away. Chrissy Vasquez. That's what they call me. I smile. As well, I'm hesitant. As I step on stage. The tune plays, I sway my hips and range my vocals with my hand. Strange voice. Numb and glazed. They didn't expect this, did they? Capturing pictures of the essence. Fifteen minutes...only fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes.

As they applauded, the noise filled up the room. The smell of drunk, the smell of fucked up...I still smelt a scent of love.

Love is universol. Love is all you need.

...

I grew up...without love. I grew up, with heartaches. The house on Rogers Ave, living bottom under the crack addict on top of us. I struggled. I've seen more than you think. You'd think the only thing I'd be witnessing in a child stage is the frog pad, and cartoon figures on the televsion screen. I knew what guns were before I even seen one, I knew what fear was because I scent it. I knew what pain was. It was all around me. Mami don't cry, I will protect you. The cops knocked the door down...

Love...love.........it's out here. Mami...do you hear me? Love...love.

He blacks out.

Follow Chrissy Vasquez on Twitter: @CHRISSYVSQZ



Interview: DonChristian

Photo: dumb.tired

Photo: dumb.tired

The beauty of rap music in its current state is the range of musical styles artists are willing to experiment with. Artists like B L A C K I E channel a punk-like aggression while Young Thug takes auto tune-era Wayne and creates a near-tribal element to his music. The bounds are looking limitless and the walls of the old guard are being torn down (don’t let Troy Ave tell you any different!). Philly’ native, DonChristian, brings his own style to the table as well. Cloudy, weighted and melodic, his rap falls into introspective and romantic states almost exclusively. He shouts out Drake for his honesty and likens himself to Odysseus in his latest project, Renzo Piano. It’s named after the world-famous architect whose vision has brought the New York Times building and the Whitney Museum of American Art to life, among a host of other works. To find out how Piano has inspired Christian to name a rap release after him and how he manages to make romantic rap not sound cheesy, I got to chat with Don recently. Check it:

True Laurels: Your recent project, Renzo Piano, is named after the renowned architect of the same name. Aside from you liking how his name sounds, were there any specific works of his that you feel correlate with yours?

DonChristian: Yeah his structures are really wild in the way that they exist in the sites and I really admire his work because it’s so site-specific. Work that’s curated and built for a space is something that’s always fascinated me. One in particular is his workshop in Genova. It’s this mountain-side office space that he built into a cliff. It’s so ill. I always dream of working in a space that’s built for your craft. His work is just so suited for light, movement and programming.

A lot of creatives who wear different hats often struggle with overexerting themselves and how to be equally committed to multiple mediums. Being a painter and musical artist, how do you manage? Or are you struggling as well?

DC: That’s mad poignant to my life right now. I’m thinking about it more than ever. I think I’ve always been trying to balance but my end goal is to be able to think of it all as just art-making and have it be less specific to the individual mediums. I won’t have to say I’m a painter, singer, rapper and a performer. I’d rather just be an artist.

Camp & Street 2014

Your delivery is distinct in its ambiguity and flow. Did you develop that intentionally?

DC: It’s mostly the way I translate rap. I listen to a lot of shit and I’m open to letting it rub off on me. Flows are the most exciting thing about rap because of the diversity of delivery and cadence. When I hear Young Thug, I get mad inspired. I’m always trying to do something different the next time.

How would you say being surrounded by artists like Le1f and others in your circle help you to churn out material and develop your own identity as an artist?

DC: It all tends to work because of the fact that we’re friends. I don’t feel like I have to uphold some standard of something; it’s all organic and I make work that my friends would fuck with because, above all else, I respect them most. If they can’t rock with it I know I’m doing something wrong. I just really try to be sincere and honest about what I say.

On Renzo Piano, you liken yourself to a pastor, priest and a clerk. What’s the common thread with those three that you see in yourself or your artistry?

DC: Being a pastor, you’re in charge of a congregation and you have the platform to convey a message. A priest has a more reflective denotation to it and more introspective stance. A clerk is about business and being efficient. I try to be all those things.

You give a shout to Drake on “Designed II Work” when you say “It takes a real dude to say what he means.” Why do you think vulnerability is such a rarity for people?

DC: I think there are systems in place be it religion, education or whatever that are hindrances to vulnerability and honesty. They’re supposedly founded on all these values, they’re really not. We’re taught and fed the opposite of what we need to thrive. It’s hard to be vulnerable and let yourself make mistakes and have flaws.

Is it easy for you?

DC: I’ve always been a very sensitive dude but I’ve only been cognizant of how sensitive I really am since I started making art and showing it to people. Making songs and letting people hear them made me realize it’s levels to this shit (laughs). I’m more aware and more vocal about what I think. You still have to find a balance though and it’s hard because you don’t wanna hurt people’s feelings or step on their toes.

Your music is melodic, lush and romantic. Is that an extension of your everyday personality or is that something that writing brings out of you?

DC: I’m definitely a romantic person and that probably comes off. And when I’ve recently began to sing, it’s all starting to come out. Especially when I’m performing, I get really into it like I wouldn’t expect.

What artists—musical, visual, or otherwise—have had the biggest impact on you as a person?

DC: Musically, Erykah Badu has always been mother to me. She’s the first person that made me immediately aware of vulnerability when it comes to performance. Barkley Hendricks is another guy who’s a painter from Philly. He did portraiture of people he met on the street in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s and was kind of like a predecessor to Kehinde Wiley. He captured emotion and style in such a great way. He inspired me to paint. And my aunt Karen, yo. She’s a dancer in Philly who danced and taught at this school called Philadanco. If anyone instilled some performative bug in me it was her, just from watching.

still by neo sora.png

I read that you didn’t start recording until you got done with school and moved to NYC. What effect did the city have on you that led you to start making and pursuing music?

DC: If you don’t work, it’s not gonna happen for you here. Everybody is trying to do the same thing. So I got here, got my apartment, got a computer and it was just a matter of doing it. I went really hard for a year and I’m still going hard. I’ve worked like six jobs since I’ve been here. I’m a freelance painter so there are times where I have a week off and I can really sit down and work on my music shit and outside art. You gotta make your rent and your dreams happen at the same time here.

Are you happy with the sound you’ve began to carve out or do you want to start exploring different textures and energy levels with your music?

DC: To be honest, I’m happy because I know I’m making the music I wanna make. Now I definitely wanna do new shit. I realized that I wanna keep singing and I’m working on a summer EP that’ll be more high tempo.

Describe your most rewarding performance.

DC: It was recent. Me and Jungle Pussy opened up for Le1f at Music Hall of Williamsburg. It was surreal. We packed the house and it was flooded with people that came to see Le1f. He makes me so proud; to see all these people moving in sync and mouthing every single word of his music...it was remarkable. To be in that vibe was so cool. We gave it our all and we’re all friends. It was really familial.

Follow DonChristian on Twitter- @don_jones