-- January 6th, 2008 -- Labels: black love, black relationships, Giant Magazine, hiphopdx, HipHopDX.com, Kevin L. ClarkFor the sake of not arguing with anyone about sexual preference, I'll just say that there is truly someone out there for any and everyone. But... what happens when you're outnumbered? In New York, for every one man, there's at least 4 to 5 women. Dope for me. Horrible for them. If you have that right look of fashion-forwardness, go-getter and all around personality, you can bag yourself a few girls.
But as I went to Southpaw last night [shouts out to Jah - good looks at the door], I noticed a trend that was emphasized by MSNBC's documentary on Black Women in America. Women are continually growing frustrated with the lack of like-mindedness within our race and find solace in one of two activities when going out: dancing with their girls or finding the attention they need with another race.
Am I the beacon of Blackness that women should come running to? Yes. But this post is not about me and my love for the Sistas, it is about what the future holds for the plight of the Black man. With outlets like Facebook, which started out being a college social forum, now turning into a hybrid MySpace -- anyone with an e-mail can showcase their life via notes and images. But the truth is sometimes stranger than fiction -- leaving the ladies to search for greener land after finding out that all this guy was trying to was graze on her pastures. I had a conversation with two ladies, both graduates of NYU, about being single in NY. They came to the conclusion that they're single for their aren't that many choices for them and can always find a man to fit a particular need... not just all or most of them.
It's a sad realization that kind of pigeonholes us as the struggling Black men in America, when there is so much more that meets the eye. This is no slight against interracial dating or relationships, but to me -- it's sad when a queen can't stand next to her king. It is more than just education, finances and following the hip-hop aesthetic which drives a wedge between us as Black men and women. It's the growing communication gap which has taken a turn for the worst as women are going for their more carnal desires which play to a man's ego... but doesn't build a home into a house.
Happy New Year's to all. Let me know what you think...?
-- December 28th, 2007 -- Labels: buffie the body, Clark Kent, hiphopdx, HipHopDX.com, Kevin L. Clark
I. Am. The. Shit. Have you ever realized what saying those four words can do to you while looking in the mirror? It's incredible, the power of self-confidence. But what happens when it is rooted in self-doubt and insecurity? Is Lil' Kim the "Queen Bitch" if she needs plastic surgery? Is Amillion sexy at Target, Wal-Mart, Starbucks or wherever the fuck she at? I don't think so.
The force within Black Star Power is beyond the control of Debra Lee and Stephen hill. Yet, we fall for the trap everytime: big booty cutie surrounded by jewels and rides. Extra bonus points if you can make your ass clap for Daddy Warbucks. I like to see the shit too, but is reality so much better than the TV? I'd love for my girl to be able to do those things, but I'd kill my daughter if I saw her do it.
At what point does common decency enter back into our lives? Sure, the Huxtables may not have been your life, but if you got sense shouldn't it be used? I don't know. This may be the ramblings of a mad man, but the clock is ticking fast and we look like we're racing to beat it.
-- December 10th, 2007 --
Games are played by the willing. If you're scared, you can always stay with Connect Four. I'm trying to play Monopoly. But there is an unique skill that comes along with the game, as well as an amount of hate. It's the flip of the coin that decides that fate of nations. But they say I think too much.
My story is one to be rehashed and written down, but not today. The lesson was learned and a jewel was hand given to me by a few OGs. Right now, [Dec. 2nd] I am at Highline Ballroom and the love is incredible. It's kind of fan-boyish, but right now with no open bar and no bad bitties to look at - Peanut Butter Wolf isn't fulfilling my "other" appetite [pause, just in case].
I want what I want and it's been some time since I got it and I feel like Pookie. The Lord knows I'm sinnin', but how would I know that I'm alive if I didn't get that rush? I'm addicted to the scent of a goodun'. Now the party is getting a little bit more put together, although the ratio of guys-to-girls is 4 to 1 and Dilla is pumping through the crowd.
No offense to Dilla, but girls don't wear soft pants to a Stones Throw event. They wear hard denim... and they're not grabbin' they ankles, either. Everyone is in here drinking and mingling... damn near breakdancing. The music isn't bad to listen to... but I can do that at the crib, too.
I miss the pleasant surprise of a bad mistress sharing naughty secrets underneath a R. Kelly beat. Our bodies intertwining, breathing simultaneously in harmonious unison. Shit's mad sexy, right? Well there are a few Queens who fill that role and some even more who make an old heart smile. But who shall win the everlasting gobstopper known as my love is still a mystery.
Meanwhile you have the rich Riding Hoods losing their safety to the wolves, the absurd coming to reality and the dawning of a new political era. So, these last days could use the numbing kiss of a good woman.
-- December 7th, 2007 -- Labels: Better, Daft Punk, Faster, Harder, Kevin L. Clark, Stronger, Todd Rundgren, Yellow Submarine
Last night, yours truly, was at Anthology Film Archives on 2nd Ave. @ 2nd Street to see Daft Punk's - Electroma [click on link]; and I watched it through fresh eyes.
I never really rocked with the group and was only vaguely familiar with their popularity. I knew a few of their songs - Around the World, One More Time and Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger - but didn't know that their popularity was like this:
I linked up with Jey and his "MyUberLife, Inc." crew and began to watch the film. With Jey being such a big Daft Punk fan, my expectations were kind of high for the film. I mean when you see this as a trailer -- wouldn't you be at least curious?!
The film is... slow... to say the least. And for those who are so Americanized that even their pie has to have an explosion then Electroma isn't for you. The art is key in this movie. The visual effects are mild, but throughout the movie, there is a point to be made. This speaks to the success and philosophy of Daft Punk [spoiler alert].
Green people, robots, whatever -- the movie is another stone in the cobble road of Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter's look at life. One that is seemingly shared by billions, but exhibited by few. The lessons taken from Electroma are as simple as the one's your parents used to tell you when you first got into bible study or even elementary school: love your neighbor, always be yourself and when you're different people will always notice you.
I came away from the movie refreshed [I fell asleep], in tune [the music was dope, Todd Rundgren, "International Feel"] and with more knowledge. As Hero Robot No. 1 & No. 2 ride off in their Ferrari, the message is clear and Daft Punk secures its place amongst films such as Yellow Submarine or Newsies. I highly recommend going to see this and buy two copies for your collection.
Ten years from now people will be talking about how "legendary" this work is.
-- December 6th, 2007 --
Being in the state of mind that I'm in has its perks. When looking through these foggy glasses, I can see clearer than when I'm 20/20. New York is an ill place; full of paranoia, love, hate, ambition and one's imagination can distort or bring to reality those things.
All I really want you to know is that there are no secrets under a green light. It's one of the reasons why I love to be amongst friends in the clouds. It's probably why I love words so much. The intention of a sound within a syllable is able to start wars! Cue Dubya as he talks about WMDs and tell me that I'm not telling the truth!
Ladies, let me call you a bitch to your face and tell me what happens. But let your lil' sister or sista girl friend call you one... are you really gon' fight her? I'd say chances are slim... and that's why New York is the perfect example of life here in America.
There's the subdued racism of entering into a store on Madison Avenue only to be conveniently in the same place, everywhere you go, with a guy who appears to be just a customer.
There's the segregation within the county lines as one rides the train from gentrified Clinton Hill to East New York. Riding the L to Bushwick, Brooklyn, is like seeing the cast of The Brady Bunch get off and leaving only the cast of Good Times on till Bushwick Avenue.
The hood will be whatever the hood is and while the government and other reasons keep it from being our haven in this American struggle, New York is a beast of another kind. It breeds a toughness. A sense of reality where only dreams can numb the pain. It is within this world in which I will adapt.
I must shed these old clothes for some new ones. I can't ever be seen not fresh ta def! It's imperative that I live and die by my balls and my word, because that's all we have in this world.
- Part 2, "The Ride Home," is coming soon!
-- December 3rd, 2007 --
New York is a multifaceted city. Amidst the crooks, cowards, regulars and celebs showing off their wealth in the land of the have nots, a lot of comedy goes on right underneath one's nose.
I was on my way to Harlem to cop a few things and while on the train, I do what I always do -- I mind my fuckin' business. So, as I was sitting there, daydreaming about some girl, this guy almost steps on my kicks and ends up sitting next to me.
I give him the slight Arnold-"What 'chu talkin' bout, Willis"-look and go back to fantasizing. When we hit Jay Street, about to crossover into Manhattan, son behind me starts rattling off stops and transfers as if he was the conductor or something. The first one didn't raise an eyebrow, folks just looked up and went back to whatever. But once we got to Broadway, people were clearly taking notice of homeboy's apparent schizoid behavior.
At Chambers St., a beginner family hops on the train. The young trio hear "Train Man" ramblin' his MTA map that was committed to memory and start to snicker. At each stop it got worst, until a brotha blurted out obnoxiously, "Yo, son! I hope MTA cut you a check!"
Studio audience laughter in a damn subway train... The whole car was rollin'! Hell, even I was bustin' up and duke was right behind me going full coo-coo bird! But the shit was funny, though. Honestly, with all the slick talk and snickering going on before, I'm surprised ole' boy didn't spaz out earlier.
So, when the train reached Spring St., son got off with his feelings on smash. But homie still had to spit his shit so [this should've been on video] son runs 'mation about the transfers and the stops but sounds as if he was the Hulk or something. He was all pissed off sounding! When he got off, the whole car started laughing harder, as there was that one lady who said, "That wasn't funny..."
But if you ever see dude spittin' his shit on the train and you're from out of town... He'll at least get you where you need to go...
What's Next?
==========
A lot of work to be discussed, more blogs and part two to this story...
-- November 19th, 2007 -- Labels: Assassin's Creed, hip-hop, HipHopDX.com, Kevin Clark, Kevin L. Clark, Lyrics
Back in my younger days, I used to think that I could rap. I lived in Kent, Ohio -- that's what stalled my rapper aspirations. But I just heard this ill verse from Andre 3000 off of this track called, "Art of Storytellin' Pt. 4". Anyone who knows its predecessors, knows how ill both Dre and Big Boi came on this track. I'm not a rapper, but it did get me inspired. So, laugh, comment, whatever... Just let me celebrate!
A 24-year youngin',
Loungin' in the borough of Biggie and Jay,
I'm dreaming of owning the keys to my own castle,
But in the meanwhile, my friends keep callin' me an asshole,
Ladies do too...
Does that mean that I am or is that I'm just being too truthful.
I'm doing things that other think about while in class,
While I make sure that the things that I thought about come to pass.
It's like being an author of your life story before you die,
I'm a man, in command of my position to remain fly,
To be a legend while haters stay staring at my throne,
There's a legit reason why you'll never see me back at my old home,
I'm on the grind, Shirley,
So, surely, you can understand why I don't have time for a girly,
Well, maybe one, fuck it let's make it twice,
But if one beats the other, then I'll make her wife,
Just let me celebrate...
[Chorus]
Just let me celebrate,
A good time, right mind - don't playa-hate,
The local asshole, with international dreams,
Shining like a star, let me expand my schemes,
As make-believe become fact,
And fiction makes others react,
Let me be king amongst paupers and remain fit,
While I lax and just talk my shit...
The boss, a commander in chief,
A realistic one, not the one known as thief,
It's imperative to understand that I'm oh-so-grand,
As I get my Dick Clark on,
The American Bandstand, band-wa-gons on my bozack,
The kid's gettin' fresher, shakin' gals get prozack,
Cause when he gets bizack,
It's time to act like a young Shiz-aq,
K-Star The Great, others think I'm atrocious,
But the freaky dopest, Scorpiolocious,
Is still on a quest,
To be best,
Better than a nerd passing a calculus test,
BK veteran, but only here two months,
Birthday here soon, I'm on the hunt,
For George and Weezy,
I talk shit, y'all jigs is cliché,
So, I stay grounded, let my mind elevate,
Y'all just make believe, let me celebrate...
[Chorus]
That's it...
