Did another very short little interview for HipHopDX recently, this time with Showoff Hip Hop’s REKS. This man is never short on bars, I’m telling you, and Statik Selektah is never short on beats, so it’s only right that the two are teaming up for Straight, No Chaser. Not a long interview, not too much time to get into anything crazy, but he did speak on why he chose Statik for the job, how they met, and where his favorite place in Massachusetts is to drink his favorite drink: Hennessy.
Thursday is going to be a busy night event-wise in NYC, but one thing that should be on your to-do list is to head on over to SRB in Brooklyn to catch PNC Radio’s “Protect the Cosign” concert series, hosted by none other than my HipHopDX partner-in-crime The Company Man, and featuring performances from people like the homie Kane Mayfield (DMV stand up!). Oh, free alcohol always helps, too.
Fuse TV catches up with Brooklyn emcee Torae in Austin at this year’s SXSW festival. I thought this was an interview worth posting from SXSW because he took some time to speak on how SXSW is changing and whether it’s for better or worse…has SXSW gotten too big and lost some of its appeal? You tell me, since I didn’t go this year and can’t really say shit.
It feels like half of the Brooklyn population is down in Austin for SXSW right now, and emcee Skyzoo is one of those lucky people. Somehow thanks to some futuristic video making skill shit, he managed to film a music video, edit it down, and blast it out to the blogs…and SXSW isn’t even close to being over yet. Now that’s dedication.
It sure feels like Springtime out here in Brooklyn today, and I don’t know about you, but when the seasons change I get a serious urge to update my wardrobe. So what better way to do this than hit a sample sale? 10.Deep is having theirs this upcoming weekend at their Brooklyn headquarters on Jay St. in DUMBO…you already know what to do.
Enter into the production lab of J57, one of Brown Bag All Stars’ members, as he takes a record, loads up some samples, and creates what he proclaims to be a surprisingly dope beat.
This actually came out over the holidays when most of us were too far gone in Christmas cookie/coquito itis to be online (I was busy in Atlantic City winning slot machine guap and ordering bottles to my hotel room, bah humbug), but it’s worth a belated post, and not just because I happen to be in the video. Behold Johnny Voltik’s story of futuristic lost love.
Hello Brooklyn…it’s not too late to get your asses on over to Mo’s on Lafayette Ave in Fort Greene if you’re looking for a good place to watch this evening’s football festivities. The family over at PNC Radio plus the homies at Global Rhythm Group bring you another rendition of their tried-and-true food+drink+sport trifecta. No cover, free food, and $5 drink specials. How can you say no?
It’s been almost half a year since I’ve lived in a healthy home with an equally healthy internet connection. It’s pretty much been one or the other – I was either living in an apartment that was making me sick but had fantastically fast and reliable internet service, or I’ve been living in a tremendously nicer apartment in a way nicer neighborhood mooching shitty WiFi from some unknown neighbor until they decided to put a password on it during the holiday break. Now I live in a great crib with nearly no access to the outside world, since I have no internet and also a phone that doesn’t want to work where I live. It’s been a way more interesting ordeal than I thought it would be.
“Just when I thought I had everything, I lost it all.”
Around the time I started this website, I felt like I was on top of the world. I had just signed the lease on the first apartment I would have entirely to myself in Brooklyn, had a salaried job which, though boring and time consuming as hell, was keeping me nicely paid, and I had just landed my first placement in a Hip Hop magazine (The Source, to be exact). I was happy. I was ambitious. I was content but not satisfied, striving for more, and sacrificing many nights of sleep to continue to climb my way up the ladder of the music industry and the corporate world. But in a similar fashion to throwing a rock in the air (word to my Palestinian relatives) and watching it fall, I guess things not subject to basic laws of Physics also sometimes get plagued by “what goes up must come down” logic.
Soon the job went away, which I still maintain was a bit of a blessing in disguise, the money flow deteriorated, my hustle went up, and doing things for fun became a distant memory. Everything was about maintaining the bank account, getting money, and chasing opportunities. I cut out the little things in life that made me feel good, and put that money and time into things that would keep me afloat or possibly blossom into something lucrative in the near future. Shit was rough but I was making it work, still managing to live on my own, stay fed, and stay out of debt.
What finally defeated me was the thing I had coveted the most – my home. Poor maintenance of the building I lived in was causing leakage issues (don’t get me started on the mouse infestation that resurfaced around the time I was moving out also), and sometime toward the end of the summer when I returned from an out of town trip, I came back to discover a fine dusting of multi-colored mold over nearly everything in my apartment. Green mold on the window sill. Yellow mold clinging to the walls. White mold growing on my furniture – my futon, wooden kitchen chairs, pillows, etc. Patches of mold on my clothing, shoes, handbags, and more. Mold on kitchen utensils I had sitting, and even on dishes I had stored in a closet in a box. Everything. I tried to rinse off what I could and try to get someone in to fix it, but with no one coming and nothing getting done, it was getting worse. General irritation soon gave way to physical distress, and my own home literally began to make me sick. I’d wheeze, cough, and sneeze myself to sleep. I’d wake up in the middle of the night because the allergy to the mold would cause me to itch. I ate so many Halls to keep my throat from hurting that I deserve a sponsorship from the company. The air would burn my eyes, making something as simple as staring at a computer screen become painful after a brief period of time. Headaches, trouble breathing, and flu like symptoms hit me nearly every time I entered the crib.
So much for home sweet home. After a city inspector came by and told me to get out of that place sooner rather than later, but with a couple months still to go on my lease, I stayed with some generous friends for a few days to begin my apartment hunt. I took every piece of clothing, bedding, curtains, etc., bagged them up, and with the help of my mother I washed everything I could. I salvaged everything that could be cleaned up, but much of the furniture didn’t make the cut. Even washing the clothes was making me sick. I was miserable for at least three months. In case you’re wondering why it never got fixed, it’s because I had to curse out the only maintenance guy my landlord would send after homie told me that Febreze would save my furniture from the mold that ate it. I was being forced to deal with someone who didn’t know what they were doing simply because my landlord was a cheap bastard. After a hellish apartment hunt (New York’s residential real estate market is one of the ugliest businesses I’ve ever personally dealt with), I finally found the miracle apartment I needed. It was clean, it was renovated, it was safe, and in a way better location. I lucked out. I coughed, wheezed, and sneezed my way through packing my belongings and moving into the new place, expecting everything to instantly improve upon moving.
The move happened around Thanksgiving, and just over a month and a half has passed, and though I’ve replenished my furniture supply and salvaged my wardrobe, I’m still not totally back to full speed. I’m so much more comfortable and my health is nearly back to normal, but something still isn’t quite right. The physical side effects of my situation were obvious – the mental ones, not so much. I realized that as much as that fiasco sucked out of me physically, I was just as mentally drained. At first I told myself I just needed a break, and vowed to take a couple of weeks off from writing. For a month I literally had no urge to write a single word, no desire to do what it is I feel I love to do.
“I look in the mirror, my only opponent, where the fuck is the press? Where the fuck is the prayers? Either they know or don’t care, I’m fuckin’ depressed.” (***note: I don’t actually know whether he says “Prez” or “prayers,” but prayers just sounds better in this context. President ain’t doin’ shit for me directly anyhow.)
So I basically dropped off the grid. Around the same time everything in my personal infrastructure started to crumble, I also lost a few close friends from my circle. I got antisocial. I spent the holidays with family and just hid out in my new neighborhood getting familiar with my surroundings. I shunned the music industry for a bit, instead choosing to do normal people things that had nothing to do with Rap. Going places where people had no idea who I was or what I did. I did this at the risk of knowing that it would set me back a bit work-wise, but I knew I needed the break. I was burned out. The funny thing about doing a disappearing act is that it tends to make you defensive when you’re ready to get out of it – see, most people in your life only speak to you when they need to. The ones who speak to you simply because they want to are the ones to cherish. It was funny to me how I could just drop off the face of the earth and get exactly what I wanted – no work. No other job I’ve done would let me just go M.I.A. without hassling me to get back to business. It made me question my worth as a writer and the value of what I’ve contributed to the culture thus far. I felt disposable.
It took me weeks to realize this. The stresses of my behind-the-scenes life forced me to step away, but this insecurity was keeping me from getting back into things. I’ve finally started getting urges to write things again, though now the timing is shitty since I’m at war with Time Warner about getting internet at the new apartment and am currently connection-less (fail. I miss you, Optimum Online!). I’m posting this from the Wi-Fi at a local 24/7 cafe, which limits you to one hour of usage, and of course requires you to buy something overpriced to use their internet (I’m cheap, but not cheap enough to sit in the cold in my parked car outside the door just to get it for free). The coffee purchases are adding up, and my patience is wearing thin. I keep hoping that once I finally get some high speed action in my place, things will go back to normal. I’ll pick up on those stories I left behind last year, I’ll sort through my emails, and life will go back to how it was pre-mold hell. I just know it’s not guaranteed.
So I wonder – how do I get back that thirst, drive, and focus? Perhaps forcing my once-hobby into a potential career path soured the experience for me. Maybe this is just a phase, I really was just stressed and tired, and things will go back to normal once the internet turns on. The love for and pride in what I do is still there, but I worry that one day the love will turn into the type you have for an ex-lover. You still love them deeply, but there’s no way you could ever be with them again, feel me? I know I’m not at the point of quitting, but I’m just in awe of how quickly everything can change. Health, home, friends, work, mind state. It was like it all happened overnight.
So that, the few loyal readers this site still has, is why neither you nor anyone else has heard much from me lately. At this point the blame lies on Time Warner for being nothing short of insincere, misinformed, and unprofessional, but for a while it was simply because I either couldn’t work, or didn’t want to. It will soon change, I have no doubt, but I think with the new year some new things may have to happen at UntitledType. I’m not quite sure what that will be yet, but the inspiration is slowly coming back.
Belated holiday wishes to everyone in the online world, and to anyone that has contacted me about business, submitted a track, added me as a friend on Facebook, etc., I apologize for not getting back to you, posting, or confirming your requests…I just simply am not able to right now. Kind of scary how reliant upon technology we are these days, but that’s another rant for another day.
Ah, the woes of moving. That unnerving feeling of not knowing where any of your things are. That lack of desire to cook since you haven’t perfected the art of maneuvering around your new kitchen. The unpacking. The dust. The allergies.
But damn, it feels good to have a new home.
Just slightly over a week ago I moved my life from Bushwick’s Upper East Side (locals call it the Dark Side) to a location quite significantly more West, namely the Southeastern portion of Williamsburg. The parking blows over here but I live on a commercial avenue and am also walking distance from the other two commercial drags of this part of town. In other words? There is great food. Everywhere. EVERYWHERE. And shopping too, but this is about the food.
This particular portion of Williamsburg has a longstanding Italian population to the North, and a predominantly Puerto Rican population to the South, and given my new location I’m in a perfect place to reap the benefits of both. So after a day of being holed up in my “cozy” (real estate slang for “smaller than the chances of Drake freeing himself of his twinkie soft reputation”) apartment, a break in the rain beckoned me to take a walk around the neighborhood to satisfy some hunger.
I walked on over to Napoli Bakery, a Metropolitan Ave. gem. I intended to only buy one loaf, but I walked out with three: a classic Italian baguette, a loaf of heaven which they called sourdough lard bread, and a foccacia-style bread, thick and heavy with tomato and herbs sitting on top. The most amazing part? All of this was only six bucks. SIX BUCKS. Only a few days ago I paid half that price for just ONE loaf of bread which wasn’t nearly as good from Whole Foods in Union Square. Fail.
The Italian baguette was simple and delicious, crusty on the outside and fluffy on the inside, and tasted very fresh despite me waltzing in about fifteen minutes prior to their closing time. For $1.50 this is the perfect accompaniment to any home cooked meal, and I’m sure I’m going to return for this at some point. But it was hardly the star of the show.
The lard bread, for which they have earned themselves quite a reputation throughout the neighborhood apparently, is well worth the fuss. It’s good enough to be consumed on its own, no butter or anything. Seriously. It tasted as if it had just come out of the oven. They claimed it was sourdough but it didn’t have an overwhelmingly sourdough taste to it, it was just…there are no words. Please. Go here. Buy one. They kindly slice it for you upon request as well. It’s possibly better than half the bread I’ve received in baskets in restaurants prior to a fancy meal. Seriously.
And the last of the bunch was the foccacia-looking thing, which was another that was good enough to simply eat on its own. This could feed me for a whole day I imagine, and I’d be happy to let it. Unlike the previous two, this was a dense, heavy bread, with the tomatoes on top lightening everything up. Yep, it was greasy. Yep, it was amazing. They also had a rosemary variation of this on the counter that I may return to try very soon. But I imagine if you threw some mozzarella, parmesan, and some red pepper flakes on this and just put it in the oven for like 10 minutes, you could probably sell it on the street as drugs. Incredible.
Dinner that evening ended up being of the candlelit variety, with bread and a bottle of Portuguese white wine from Blue Angel Wines not too far away on Grand St., and it was completely satisfying. If I had prosciutto, a good cheese, and some olives on hand, I probably would be able to survive on this for the rest of my life. Grand total for dinner for two, with a bottle of wine, and bread leftover the next day? $19. And people say New York City is expensive. Psh.
The shop also sells various Italian goodies, like pasta, olive oil, coffee, some desserts and drinks, etc., though the bread definitely reigns supreme. They’re also open until 8:30.
Napoli Bakery, 616 Metropolitan Ave., Brooklyn