that's where she lost any journalist cred with me
....and LOL at this in 2012.....ahem...ahem

http://www.villagevoice.com/1998-07-14/music/he-wants-you-to-want-him/

Classic example of an attention whoring, in it for all the wrong reasons, contemptuous "journalist."

Really a pretty worthless person all around.

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus
http://soundcloud.com/austintayeshus

but funny enough, once I started reading it, I started remembering lines from it before I even got to them. It's just THAT damn classic.

this is pure bawhahaha comedy!!!

>It's just
>THAT damn classic.

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus
http://soundcloud.com/austintayeshus

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus
http://soundcloud.com/austintayeshus

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus

I feel dirty just thinking about it.

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus

i stopped reading @ that point


do or die

this woman has the ears of a 12 yr old boy


do or die

Sugar, because I never was in love with that album. I always fee left out of the fun of "D'Angelo in 1995", even though I was right there for it.

that's why being concerned who she fucks is so juvenile. her work does enough to discredit her.

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus
http://soundcloud.com/austintayeshus

Maxwell tossed his afro puffs at her writing career long ago

Must be her brother or something because you're going out of your way to defend her.

Defend a groupie all you want my dude.

she's grown
i won't denigrate a woman for gettin' her freak on
and makin' money doin' it
in the name of hip hop

Never heard of this individual until I clicked on the "Toure" comparison thread in GD.

She was rough on him.

Are there any articles by her I should be aware of, though? I'm intrigued.

If you can't find it, I'll scan it for you

That was the first and last thing I ever read of her's. I wrote her off as a groupie then and after all this time of not paying attention, apparently she got worse. Pac hit for sure.

I haven't read that in a while.


_______________________________
gamblers and masturbators.

http://urkelmoedee.com
http://urkelmoedee.tumblr.com
http://twitter.com/urkelmoedee

PSN: UrkelMoeDee

Please scan, I used to enjoy reading Dream articles back in the day but there was a part of me that thought there was too much closeness between her and the subject of some of the pieces. But I ignored it cuz she's a woman and i did not want to label her a groupie or any of that shit. Me starting to kind of thinking badly of here started at that Hip Hop Debate that was in london but screened on the internet. She sat tweeting through a lot of it to the point she didn't realise she was being addressed. The debate was not very good at all but some of the speakers were excellent, Ms Hampton was not one of the good ones. This Nas stuff makes me feel dismissive of her which is sad. The Maxwell piece is shameful.

I was so glad there was a Maxwell and D'angelo at the same time. I love D saw him live this year and it was a good show and he was enjoying himself on the stage. If there is one thing he should borrow from Prince is his work ethic :) I saw Maxwell 2 years ago or so and the ladies are still throwing their knickers at him:) And it was a dope show. Sade's band is not good? Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit. If you can AF please scan the 'Pac interview....thank u


_____________________________________________________
http://b-girldocument.tumblr.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/RawBlueCheeseTV?feature=mhum

she looked like a blabbermouth Detroit chick...WAAAAY OUT OF HER LEAGUE.

Dyson KILT that debate though.

s.blak
dream hambone

I still think that was the beginning of the worst era of hip-hop "journalism". I literally stopped reading american hiphop mags for years after that shit.

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NvUTfl8G1AY/TZajOHl484I/AAAAAAAAATI/7q4_ukOBOno/s1600/Tupac_Hell_Raiser.jpeg

http://dreamhamptonarticles.blogspot.com/2010/04/tupac-hellraiser_15.html

Tupac: Hellraiser (The Source, 1994)

Juneteenth 1994
Detroit, Michigan

I have this recurring dream about Tupac. I'm riding around LA in the middle of the night with Tupac and his boys. Whoever's driving stops at a red light. Tupac, who is sitting in the front seat, cranes his neck in both directions of the crossroad.
"Nigga what is you doing" He screams at the driver. "Ain't no cars coming. The whiteman got you so fucked up that he flash a color at you and you'll stop!"

"Nigga, drive!"
The rest of us look around at one another. Is he serious?

"Nigga, look if you gon' sit here and be a l'il bitch, I can't fuck with you."

And with that he jumps out of the car.

There is purity to Tupac's rage. Yes, he's dangerously emotional, but righteously so. He believes something and is willing to act on it. For him conformity means the death of truth. We plea for him to return to the car but he has already pimped his way into darkness.

January 31, 1994
Blue Palms Recording Studio
Burbank, California

"They got toys for guns/ Jails for guns/ But no jobs for guns."
Tupac likes to add effects to his vocals; Chuck D-style reverbs and echoes that give his voice that Godly quality. He instructs his engineer, a Blackman at a Black-owned studio, to isolate the track so he can perfect the pitch.

In exactly 12 hours, Tupac will be required to appear in a Los Angeles municipal court for a case filed agaist him by Allen Hughes, one half of the directorial team that bought us Menace II Society.

"I been sitting on this all day," he pulls an 8th of LA's now famous chronic from his back pocket, appraising the red hairs in the Hawaiian sensimilla. His older brother, Mopreme rolls up no less than six blunts in a row. As everyone else gets more mellow, Tupac picks up steam.

"Nigga, pass that!"

Tupac has been dying to get his clown on. Stretch, Tupac's producer/collaborator and constant road dawg from Queens, is holding the blunt. "Fuck you—she just passed it to me."

Tupac's eyes light up, his whole face starts beaming with smile. A challenge. He looks Stretch up and down for a total of five seconds before he gets in that ass.

"This nigga got blue carnations on his drawers."

"Fuck you, nigga." Stretch passes him the blunt but it's too late.

"Blue mothafuckin' carnations. Can you believe this, dream? Feminine-ass blue carnations. Look at me!" Tupac raises his shirt—THUG LIFE, his now infamous tattoo sprawls across his abdomen, the small of this back reads EXODUS, his pants are sagging and his boxers are navy.

"I got on some masculine-ass plaid mothafuckin' drawers! We go shopping together Stretch, niggas could see you bend over and think I wear flowers on my ass!"

He grabs his 40; by now Mopreme is doubled over and the engineer is in stitches.

"That did it for me, all niggas from Queens wear flowers on they drawers!"

"Aw nigga, suck my dick." Stretch is a laid back brother but he's had enough.

Tupac throws his head back and laughs, a big beautiful infectious laugh, and all is forgiven.

"It's all good. Wait! Don't ever let me say that again. Can you believe that?"

All of a sudden Tupac's changed the subject to Hammer, and I'm still trying to peep Stretch's boxers while he's not looking.

"How does he do it? " he asks me.

I'm too slow, the chronic is kicking my ass.

"Timing. This nigga manages to come out while everybody else is getting arrested and shit."

Naw, it's his crib. It's cuz he threw his crib up in the video, I offer.

"You might be right," then from nowhere he wheels his swivel chair my direction. " You know what Thug Life's new code is: 'No mothafucking comment'."

I ain't ask you no question yet, I spit back a little defensive.

"Naw, I'm talking about them," he motions outside the back-door, to the studio's parking lot, where teams of invisible cracker journalists are hiding in the bushes.

"Why are you so angry? Why do you smoke chronic? Why cain't you stay out of trouble? Why is the earth round?' Eat a dick!" He leaps to his feet, frustrated with the pesky media. "Niggas ain't meant to be understood. Thugging. So back up off me!"

I remind Tupac that the latest attack on him has come not from Dan Rathers, but Dionne Warwick who along with the National Political Congress of Black Women objected to his scheduled appearance at the NAACP Image Awards.

"These niggas ain't want me there and they gave mothafuckin' Michael Jackson a standing ovation. Ain't that a bitch! How much money you gots to sling at them sorry ass Negroes to get them on they feet!"

He rolls a little closer and confides, "I'm fucking grown-ass women. That's my crime—I'm a freak! I let a bitch suck my dick in the middle of a dance floor."

He's referring to November 16th of last year. He was at Nell's, a New York nightclub, dancing with a young hottie when she dropped to her knees and did her thing. Three days later she would accuse him of rape.

"Goddamn them child molesting fake-ass mothafuckas, damn them all to hell!"

"And Dionne Warwick," I thought he'd never get to homegirl. "Fucking dream reading, psychic bitch! Don't get me started, I'll tell the real on they whole family!" He's on his feet again, throwing up Thug Life.

Stretch and Mopreme aren't even listening anymore. Pac notices his audience is diminishing and changes the rules. "The first nigga to fall asleep is getting hot-ass quarters on they forehead. You here that Mo? You gots to stay up and trip with the rest of us, nigga."

An assistant from the studio is going on a food run to the rib shack. " Y'all better put your order in, cuz when my ribs come I don't want none of you righteous vegetarians, smegetarians up in my shit."

In less that 20 minutes Mo is snoozing. Pac pulls a lighter from his pocket.

"Who got a quarter?"He heats the quarter with a devilish grin on his grill.

"This nigga is crazy," Stretch says, shaking his head. 'Oww!!! What the fuck!' Mo comes out of dreamtime swinging. "Get yo' crazy ass away from me!"Pac gives Stretch a pound, "I got 'em!" You saw the right? I'll teach you never to fall asleep on one of my sessions!"

February 1, 1994
Los Angeles County Municipal Court
Case #RO617, The People v. Shakur

The Hughes brothers arrive at court with four bow-tied hired security, presumably the Nation of Islam's Fruit Of Islam. Tupac strolls in twenty minutes later with the completed tracks from last night blasting in his headphones. He sits several rows in front of his brother Mo and his manager Watani, so that he can stare Allen and Albert down while he waits for his case to be called. When the clerk calls the case, "The People v. Shakur," we are informed that there has been a change of venue. We are required to make our way to Division 75, located in a separate building. Two of the Hughes brothers security post themselves outside the courtroom as the Hughes brother's entourage prepare to make their exit. Tupac makes it outside before Allen and Albert and walks up to one the brothas in a bowtie.

"What I wanna know is, since when did y'all start protecting niggas from other niggas?" he demands.

The brother is taken off guard but he tries to answer Tupac with a blank military stare. Just then the Hughes brothers come out of the courtroom.

"Aww, you l'il bitch!" Allen Hughes throws up his fists at Tupac. "Put 'em up!"

Tupac's heart ask his ears for a soundcheck. Still, he's not at a loss for words. He begins stripping—he tosses me his walkman.

"L'il bitch? Nigga you wasn't saying that shit when I was whoopin' yo ass all up and down the set of your video!"

"You and about 12 of your niggas," retorts Allen with new-found confidence.

By now the bodyguards are holding Allen and Albert back and creating a barricade between the two crews, making the mistake of pushing Pac. Le'chelle Wooderd, Tupac's attorney, and I, try and calm Pac down but it's way past that. Before we can say 'chill' Pac has both Hughes brothers, their boy and all four of their security backed up against the wall.

"You gon' need mothafuckin' Farrakhan to calm me down! You got that? Farrakhan! You bean pie slinging, bow-tie wearing bitches. You wear bow-ties, remember that! I'll have niggas from Crenshaw with AK's and rags up here! Nigga, you don't even know who you fucking with—these roots run deep!"

Finally, the sheriff's department come storming around the corner. They throw Tupac against the wall and instruct the Hughes brothers to make their way downstairs.

"Officers. I'm so glad you arrived. These men were trying to attack me! Can you believe that? They tried to attack me with the Nation of Islam. Those are Farrakhan's boys you know." Tupac isn't so hyped that he doesn't know how to feed fat white-boys lies. "I'm so glad you here. I have full confidence in the law's ability to handle the situation." Watani rolls his eyes at Pac and refuses the Sheriff's offer of an escort. After five minutes have passed, the officers allow us in the elevator.

When we get to Division 75, we're searched and seated on separate sides of the courtroom from the Hughes brothers, who arrived five minutes earlier. Two of the bodyguards pull Pac aside. They want to assure him that although they are fans, they were hired by the Hughes brothers. They tell Pac that Allen and Albert are cowards, something he already knows, and seeks Pac's reconciliation.

"This is the only one I'm really guilty of." There are more than four outstanding criminal charges against Tupac, including rape and a possible manslaughter charge. But the Hughes brothers case is the most annoying for him. There is an unspoken law in our community that two Black men should avoid fighting when possible and when they do it, it should be fair and not fatal. Someone loses, someone wins. There may be retaliation. In worst case scenarios it may escalate to into full blow violence and neighborhood wars, but never should it be taken to the police.

As part of evidence, Allen Hughes submits photos taken the day he was beat down by Tupac. Allen claims that Tupac jumped him with a crew of people. Outside of the courthouse Pac denies planning to outnumber the Hughes brothers. "Them niggas knew them just like they knew me—from around the way. That wasn't my video. That was a Spice One video. I got them niggas started making videos anyway. Plus, I came ready to kick both they asses myself!" Then with a grin. "Those other niggas didn't get down with Thug Life until after that shit happened."


February 10, 1994
Louise's Pasta
Melrose Boulevard, CA

After a relatively boring morning in court we decide to lunch at a sunny, posh Italian restaurant Tupac remembers enjoying. Even as we dine, a New York court is examining evidence in the rape case that has become Tupac's personal demon.

The rape charges surfaced amongst a barrage of others. Most significantly they came a short three weeks after the cop shooting case earned him front page status. The obvious irony is that he was accused of rape as "Keep Your Head Up"—the most genuine peace offering to B-girls to date—flooded the radio waves and implored Black men to love and respect Black women. The alleged victim claims she was sodomized by Tupac and two other co-defendants. A fourth suspect disappeared from the hotel room before the police arrived and has never been found. While admitting that he and the alleged victim did engage in consensual sex since their first meeting at Nell's, Tupac emphatically denies that he raped anyone. He claims that he and the alleged victim did not even engage in sexual intercourse the night of the alleged rape. Nor did he aid and abet in, as New York dailies reported, and "gangbang."

Earlier this week I spoke with a sister who's been active in nationalist struggle, as has Tupac's family, for years. I admire this sister for her political consistency, her grassroots work ethics and her genuine desire to understand and support young people. She is torn with ambivalence, as are most of us, because of the charges that Tupac allegedly raped a young woman in a New York hotel room. She's met with other sisters, her comrades in struggle, and has decided that his behavior is neither revolutionary nor New Afrikan. She and her sisters are planning to share their position with Pac through Watani, also a long-standing political and community activist. I've not yet found a way to talk about the real concerns and criticism that Black women in particular have around this case. I decide that these sisters and their obvious integrity is a possible way to get him to respond to these issues. What I don't realize is that in the week that passed they've not spoken with him.

'Fuck those bitches! I don't need that shit!"

I'm frightened by his venom.

"I'm on the front lines of this shit. Not 30 years ago. Now! Where were they when we didn't have no food or fucking electricity? When we were eating hard-boiled eggs and they pulling off million dollar heists and shit!"

He's referring to the years spent as an infant of the Black power movement when his mother, a convicted and certified revolutionary, found herself struggling to support her baby. The "million dollar heists" were those bank and brinks robberies, some of them foiled, that placed every known member of the Black Liberation Army of the FBI's most wanted list. "Fuck them! I need support not criticism!"

I've opened a painful space for Tupac. That of betrayal. That I should expect Tupac to regard these sisters's opinion with more weight than anyone else's has to do with my notion of Tupac's respect for legacy and the movement in general.

Afeni Shakur, Tupac's mother, was numbered amongst the Panther 21, members of the New York Panthers accused of conspiracy to blow up the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. She and her comrades stood defiantly on the principle of anti-imperialism during their hearings. They were imprisoned when she was pregnant with Tupac. In 1986 Tupac's stepfather, Mutulu Shakur (also Mopreme's biological father), was convicted of conspiracy linked to the Assata Shakur case. An extremely high profile political prisoner, Assata was liberated from prison in New Jersey after being convicted of killing a white police officer who killed her partner Zayd Shakur, one fateful night on the New Jersey Turnpike. In Assata's autobiography she recalls reuniting with Afeni, then pregnant with Tupac, in a prison gymnasium.

To suggest, as many do, that Tupac should be "responsible to his legacy" in some ways simplifies the legacy. But to suggest that Tupac's interpretation of this legacy should fit some romantic ideal of "the movement" is to deny reality specificity. Tupac's childhood, those years underground, above ground, the years when his disillusioned mother began smoking crack, are as much a party of his legacy as the black leather jackets and clenched fist.

Outside the restaurant a vagrant brother is arguing with himself. He's oily and tattered, but he wants no money. He may not even want an audience for the argument he is staging with his ghosts.

"That's gonna be me. Watch!" Tupac is actor now; he performs a dead-on impersonation of the schizophrenic brother.

"Standing on a fucking corner talking about, 'Fucking black panthers hip-hop bitches bitches niggas niggas get away from me you motherfuckas! Back up-It's loaded.' He laughs then looks back as he crosses the street. "Yup, if I make it. That's gonna be me."

March 9, 1994
mid afternoon
Sunset Boulevard, LA

When you're a rap star you never know when something's gonna jump off. It's one of the reasons you roll so thick. There's the constant threat of being 'tested' by that one fan who is sure he can replace you or at least brag to his hood about how he robbed or humiliated you. Ask any number of artists, each will have at least a half dozen stories about the peculiar combination of awe and animosity particular t hip-hop and its audience.

There's a Shell gas station located on this eternally upscale strip of Sunset Boulevard, around the corner from La Montrose, the hotel Pac lives at when in town. Pac throws his rental Lexus LS 300 coupe in park and rushes into the gas station's convenience store for magazines and munchies.

While he's browsing, a group of five brothas from some Crip hood recognize him. One of them decide to fuck with Pac.

"Where you from?"

It only takes Pac a second to place the thinly-veiled hostility in his voice, but it's the middle of the afternoon, he's all alone, and he really just wants a little reading material. Under ordinary circumstances (at least when you're talking to a Crip in Los Angeles), the question carries enormous weight—as in 'What set are you from?' i.e. what's your gang affiliation? Pac is more from Oakland than most places, but he's definitely not down with banging.

"All over."

"No you aint, you from Baltimore. But you don't never claim it. I know cause my homeboy used to take care of you."

"Well your homeboy lied, cause ain't nobody take care of me while I was in Baltimore."

Teenage customers, completely unaware of the escalating confrontation, interrupt, asking Pac for his autograph. While he's hitting them off with his signature he hears the nigga he's been beefing with tell his boys, 'I'm finst to jack this nigga!'

Pac glances a pair of scissors in his peripheral and grabs them, facing homeboy. "Well come on nigga, let's do this!"

The Korean merchant behind the counter gets nervous and picks up the phone. The four other Crips, who look sorry that they brought their trouble making homeboy out the hood, back up towards the double glass doors.

The Crip with the homie in Baltimore tags Pac in the eye and runs out of the store. Pac chases him around his car before he jumps in and they speed out of the lot and down Sunset.

March 10, 1994
Los Angeles Municipal County Court
Case #RO617, The People v. Shakur

The press begins fighting for prime shooting positions by 8:45. MTV, local affiliates and national networks send out the same gumpy whiteboy cameramen they send everywhere. When Tupac steps off the elevator, the media comes alive. The bright fluorescents turn on his chiseled features, creating blinding glares and casting disfigured shadows. "Don't touch my lawyer," Tupac places a protective arm in front of petite Le'chelle Wooderd who is nearly toppled by the swarm.

The Honorable George H. Wu, the judge presiding over the Hughes Brother case, will sentence Tupac after closing statements are made. Attorney Chokwe Lumumba, National Chairman of the Revolutionary New Afrikan People's Organization, is in LA working on the defense in the Reginald Denny case. He is Tupac's constant legal advisor and part of Tupac's extended family, ex- Panther and nationalist comrade to Afeni, who has watched Tupac grow into manhood. He testifies to Tupac's ambition, his productiveness and his desire to be useful to his community. Le'chelle Wooderd reminds the judge that although the media and the prosecutor's office have pursued the case like it was murder, it is simply battery. She pleads that his sentence be congruent with his crime, one that for the most part, Tupac never denied.

The attorney from the prosecutor's office, a perpetually disheveled looking Black woman, ask for the harshest sentencing available. She attempts to weave images of cop-shooter, gangsta rapper, rapist and ghetto bastard into one giant menace to society. At one point she introduces a man who was the subject of a magazine article she read, one born in the perilous Cabrini Green projects of Chicago who apparently overcame white supremacy and capitalism to embody the American dream—a model Negro. Why can't Tupac overcome his anger and do the same, she almost asks. Throughout her diatribe Tupac shifts in his seat anxious to defend himself. The judge allows him an opportunity.


"Your honor, I don't know anything about the South side of Chicago or Cabrini Green projects. I never tried to explain my temper by telling you stories about my childhood, poverty, the plight of Black people or even rappers. I work hard and I have a lot to contribute to my community. And I can best do that by being on the streets, not behind bars. I got into a fist fight with a grown man and I'm willing to accept responsibility for my actions. But I'm not the monster she wants you believe I am."

Judge Wu sentences Pac to 15 days in LA County, a sentence that is, as he points out, relatively moderate. The sentence is suspended and Pac is to report to the jail at 9 a.m. on May 10th.
Reporters rush outside the courtroom to tape the statement Pac promised them.

"Ask me the questions respectfully and I'll answer them," he regulates.

MTV asks the predictable: "What advice do you have for you fans?"

Tupac turns his baseball hat backwards. "Think about it. A fist fight becomes battery in the courts. Two and a have half minutes just cost me 15 days."


October 31, 1993
12:30 a.m.
Atlanta, GA


"Can I get the real niggas in the house to get my back!"

The real niggas are slightly afraid for Tupac. They've spent $15 to see him at Clark Atlanta University's gymnasium and there's a good chance they will head back to their dorms without a full concert. The promoters, also Atlanta University students, spent nearly a half-hour backstage reiterating the school's strict rules about drug use to Tupac. (Apparently neither school officials nor hired security are willing to engage in any lengthy debate about marijuana as healing herb, non "drug.")

He holds the blunt high above his head and the crowd.

"What I want to know is, if I light this will you let them take me to jail?"
The ladies, many of the prim, proper Spelman virgins, shriek at the top of their lungs in support of the most beautiful rapper alive. Nobody's fool, Pac includes the brothas.

"I need to know where the thug niggas is at!"

A masculine war cries echoes throughout the gym.

"If they arrest me I'ma jump in the sea of niggas and they gone haveta arrest each and every one of us."

The crows erupts into what they dream is an impenetrable wall of defiance.

It's common knowledge that Pac is completely unpredictable. And tonight he really surprises. He gives one of those rare things in hip-hop—a good show. And his tightly rolled blunt remains unlit. Until of course he jumps in this Benz and he and his boys, another two cars, head to Midtown where he has a hotel room for the night.

Two traffic lights from the hotel, at the Piedmont and Spring streets intersection, Pac notices some kind of commotion at the car ahead of him as he slows down for the light. From the driver's seat, Pac can see two whiteboys reaching in the window of the car ahead of him. It's dark but Pac is certain that the single person in the car is a Blackman. Without a second thought Tupac jumps out of the car and asks what the fuck is going on. The Southern whiteboys lose their grip on the driver and the car speeds off.

The whiteboys, brothers Mark and Scott Whitwell, look up and find their audience is three cars full of Black men. They panic. Mark Whitwell pulls out a gun and tells Pac to 'Run!'

Tupac can hardly believe his ears.

"I started having' mothafuckin flashbacks of Rodney King and Kunta Kente," he remembers. "We been running all our mothafuckin' lives," he thinks.

He reaches in his car for his heat. Mark Whitewell fires his gun. Pac, who spends free time at firing ranges, leans over the hood of his car and catches both of them non-fatally; Mark in the abdomen and Scott in the ass.

There's nothing in Tupac's personality that would have allowed him to be passive to this kind of attack. In fact, there's little in his person that would've allowed him to sit there and watch—as two whiteboys harassed that Black driver. As so many of us would have. We would have hesitated, considered "reality", which has so little to do with truth, imagined innumerable "real" consequences and sped by. If we hope to understand Tupac at all, we must realize this is impossible for him.

Truth is these were two whiteboys who'd threatened and attacked him. Reality is they're both off-duty cops, with the authority of Confederate Georgia behind them. This Tupac finds out only when he is arrested an hour later at his hotel room in the Sheraton. Because the Whitwell brother as so shady—the gun that they possessed was stolen from the room at the precinct where confiscated weapons are held and they were both drunk—a formal indictment has yet to be filed against Tupac.

The night had mythic potential: 'Black knight slays cracker dragons (centuries old) who emerge in the night, fangs bared.' In the South no less! It's the kind of community work we all dream of doing.

Shooting another Black man post crack era requires little courage. The genocidal repercussions of racism are clearly evidenced in our ability as a people to elevate self-hated to an art form and staggering national homicidal count. In this equation, whiteboys in particular, are untouchable. We talk a good game when it comes to the white devil but rare is the brotha (or organization) who even imagaines physical confrontation with his oppressor. Let alone acts on it. It is in this way that Tupac's actions Halloween night, are so utterly fearless.


April 4, 1994
Royaltan Hotel
New York City


"I'm staying right here in this little ass room. Nigga gotta stay out of trouble."

The Notorious B-I-G is visiting Pac at his hotel. The two did some Gemini bonding the instant they laid eyes on each other more than a year ago and have been road dawgs every since. Pac practices some of his new lyrics on Big over blunts and Hennessey. I videotape the exchange with a brand new camera Pac purchased.

The phone rings and again Pac is required to defend himself. Two nights earlier he'd dropped by NBC studios to watch Snoop's performance of "Saturday Night Live." I'd seen him backstage, but hadn't noticed the pasty whitegirl following around by the tails of his leather coat. I was standing there talking with Malika Shabazz, Malcolm X'S daughter, when Pac rushed by and gave us hugs.

"Is that Madonna?" Malika whispered as Pac walks away. I jump to his defense. "Are you buggin' Pac wouldn't be caught dead with that bitch."

Then they emerged from Snoop's dressing room, Madonna's hair dyed jet black, her eyes red from chronic. I just kinda stood there with my shelltops in my mouth.

It's not that they were intimate at all, even though the outing earned then a "Couple Made In Hell" insert in the Enquier. It's just that we got that treasonous feeling sisters get when they see a brother with a whitegirl. Not to mention whitegirl culture vulture.

"Look Madonna is just another white bitch? I ain't even fucking with her," Tupac insists to the concerned caller. "She's nothing but money and that was nothing but business." With that he ends his call and reaches into his bag from the electronic store.

"Big, did I show you what I bought today." He pulls out a complicated gadget with wires and transistors. "A bug."

"From now on, bitch wanna fuck me I'm getting it all on tape." He puts the headset around his bald head to demonstrate.

"Or I could use it to hear niggas talking shit. Put this little piece right here," he plants a microscopic bug under the hotel's lampshade, "leave the room." he actually leaves the hotel room, " hear 'em scheming on me and come back blasting. Blaow! Blaow! Blaow!" He practically kicks the door in as he re-enters. It's not the first time I see Bishop, the haunting character from the movie Juice, re-emerge in Tupac.

The phone rings again. This time it's a girl Tupac has been trying to see for awhile. She's afraid he just wants the pussy. "No, we can go to dinner anything you wanna do... It's not like that...Can't a nigga just want to see you, take you out?" When he hangs up, he has a date.

He turns up his snifter and starts getting dressed. He decides to change shirts. First he drapes his perfectly toned abdomen with a plain white Hanes, then he slides into an official bulletproof vest, he hides the vest with an oversized shirt. He leave his gatt in the room. We walk him down to the lobby.

"Aiight nigga," Big gives him a pound, "good luck catching a cab."

"That's all I got is good luck."


July 4, 1994
Detroit, Michigan


Dear Lord, Can you hear me?/ It's just me/ A young nigga tryin' make it on these rough streets/ I'm on my knees beggin'/ Please come save me/ The whole world done made a nigga crazy/ I got my .357 cain't control it/ Screamin' die motherfucker/ And it's loaded/ Everybody run for cover/ Aw shit/ Thug Life motherfucker!/ Duck quick/ Momma raised a hellraiser/ Why cry?/ That's just life in the ghetto/ Do or die...


There's a moment in "Hellraiser," a song on Tupac's forthcoming album where Tupac submits totally to pain and vulnerability. Of all the things about Tupac, his music is the least noticed and most improved. "Hellraiser" is compelling testimony to that. Like most hip-hop, it's autobiographical, but it's his passionate delivery that invokes midnight tent rivals where the testifier is possessed by the holy ghost. The song is actually an open letter from Tupac to the Lord. It's not your typical rapper venting empty anger.

Dear Lord if you hear me/ Tell me why/ A little girl like Latosha had to die/ She never got to see the bullet/ Just heard the shot/ Her little body couldn't take it/ It shook and dropped/ And when I saw it on the news, how she bucked the girl/ Killed Latosha now I'm screamin' Fuck the World!

If I close my eyes, I can imagine him locked in a sound booth, the veins throbbing from his neck, voice hoarse, sweat drippin' down this face, grippin' the mic tight like a vice.
Thug Life, motherfucker I lick shots/ Every nigga up out/ drop two cops/ Dear Lord can you hear me/ when I die/ Let a nigga be strapped, fucked up and high/ With my hands on the trigger Thug nigga/ Stressin' like a motherfuckin' drug dealer/ And even in the darkest nights/ I'm a thug for life/ I got the heart to fight...

Dream was taking those "Clarkson"-esque liberties with the subject, without having the same uncanny way with words. it couldn't have been serious.

but of course in today's context... you have to laugh your ass off. the shit kind of makes me think of something I'd read in The Lesson.

when I read it. In between laughs, of course.

I'm sure I read pieces over the years that she penned, but the name never stuck.

And then in late 90's Quest was always bringing her name up as this bastion of knowledge and legitimacy, and well, I had a scooby doo face when I did my research and read her shit knowingly.

>I'm sure I read pieces over the years that she penned, but
>the name never stuck.
>
>And then in late 90's Quest was always bringing her name up as
>this bastion of knowledge and legitimacy, and well, I had a
>scooby doo face when I did my research and read her shit
>knowingly.


_________________________________________
The Combat Jack Show is the best hip-hop related internet radio show
http://thecombatjackshow.com/

even in the exaggerated parts there is elements of truth.

No point in killing her for thinking that D'Angelo was going to end up having a better career, most of us thought that at the time.

and Maxwell better live performer and he didn't mumble he could sing/sang

however Maxwell did choke and is in need a couple of big hits to get back and the last project was cuute, however nothing touching his 90's run, however he easily surpassed D'angelo

whereas Maxwell had that whole fey/afro/falsetto-d thing going on.

Dream's review strikes me as looking at it from the perspective of a woman who wanted more of a manly man over a sensitive gay friend when it came to her r&b aesthetic but perhaps I'm putting more subtext on it than necessary with information to come later.

Both of those albums to me were supposed to be more of a start to something than anything any defining classic, however neither artist was really up to being that level of legend for various reasons.

But let's be real: the Embrya titles/lyrics *are* ridiculous, the songs after the opening banger do start to bleed into the other that by midpoint you could almost forget it's on, Sweetback is in fact made by Sade more than the other way around (check their Sade-less album for evidence or note how a lot of Stuat's productions/arrangements have that Cinemax Spa Treatment vibe).

I mean I kinda like all parties involved to a degree but can admit that stuff is fair.

So the reality is that I see nothing wrong with this article, it's a female music critic expressing her opinion in a fairly memorable way.

was on the companys payroll to say said stuff and it backfired.

in truth they were both going for the same thing.

what maxwell did with Leon Ware and that rawness and yet accessible vibe and then fast forward to D'angelo doing "untitled" and how it trapped him well this chick set the whammy on both and killed two birds with one stone.

neither was touching R.Kelly, however they were lumped together as the Neo Soul Superman and to run that lane and it backfired on both partys.

i agree with how you aingle it, the thing is, when the dust cleared neither D'angelo or Maxwell were ever the same upon trying to play up the role as "NEO SUPER SOULMAN" with a Capitol "S"

IMO the stuff they did after there first albums and live albums, they should have exhanged and did the others stuff and i bet the results would have been better. Ebrya on D'angelo and Voodoo for Maxwell.

>was on the companys payroll to say said stuff and it
>backfired.
>
>in truth they were both going for the same thing.
>
>what maxwell did with Leon Ware and that rawness and yet
>accessible vibe and then fast forward to D'angelo doing
>"untitled" and how it trapped him well this chick set the
>whammy on both and killed two birds with one stone.
>
>neither was touching R.Kelly, however they were lumped
>together as the Neo Soul Superman and to run that lane and it
>backfired on both partys.
>
>i agree with how you aingle it, the thing is, when the dust
>cleared neither D'angelo or Maxwell were ever the same upon
>trying to play up the role as "NEO SUPER SOULMAN" with a
>Capitol "S"
>
>IMO the stuff they did after there first albums and live
>albums, they should have exhanged and did the others stuff and
>i bet the results would have been better. Ebrya on D'angelo
>and Voodoo for Maxwell.

That would have been interesting, flipping those two albums. Both would still been left with that shared writer's block later tho anyway.

music critic shit. Lemme just make up my own mind". So I guess she doin
us all a service with this foolishness. Mofos is just parodyin theyselfs
all over the place in this music shit now. The stupidity ain't even
shocking no mo. It's just the bane of humanity with pens and microphones.
Whole buncha immaturity flung together tryina pass as journalism.

^^YOU HAVE READ MY MIND'S CONCLUSIONS about music writers. i am just tired of BS that now i'm tired of each and every reviewers; yes even reading overanalyical reviews here.

Embrya, to this day, is my FAVORITE Maxwell album.


i wanted to make a thread dedicated to Embrya that's how good i thought it was. i loved the long musical intros, the production/instrumentation, the song titles, the lyrics, the vocal arrangements; i LOVED that album, and i was young as hell when that came out. Sure, some of the songs can come of as too dreamy (which i like), but he's never afraid to be funky too (Arroz Con Pollo, Cococure (bassline here is sic), IAmMe...,). But this trick didn't say anything about any element of the sound; just gave me a vibe of "it's boring".

i could see Embrya not being for everyone, because it was kinda too chill, but musically, i thought it was something refreshing and just as good as his work before (Urban Hang Suite).

how can she put down one comparable artist to D as having a heavily constructed persona when D and, shit, everyone else in the INDUSTRY do the same fucking thing? doesnt it just come with being an 'artist'? u could be a seasoned vet known the world over or some random dude slummin it in pubs n bars, when you perform you're injecting a persona on top of ur own personality and projecting it outward. makes no sense to denigrate Max's constructed persona when it's STANDARD. i can understand being mad at the disingenuous nature of it all, but that would mean being mad across the BOARD.

did she have anything to say on the matter once "Untitled" caclulatingly made D' into a sex object? and her review of Embrya is just...yikes. like i never really read a proper negative review of it from the year of its release, but now i see the shit Max had to put up with lol.

i have absolutely no opinion on the writer personally or her private life, i stayed the fuck outta that discussion. but just judging it as is, it's a bit vile. the crack about Sweetback sucking?! that they aint shit without Sade?! lol.

again i understand the image problem and the pre-conceieved backstories for artists and entire albums. its been a bit of an issue with me when it comes to Max lately as well, but these days if you read his TWITTER, dude gives less of a fuck bout 'the persona' n is just a regular ass dude. then again, it was that very same persona that made him so standoutish among his peers. dont care HOW constructed his story/looks/wardrobe/stylistic choices/musical choices were, they were ALL.TIGHT. who the shit didn't wanna BE Max at some point? lol. and Embrya was even tighter cos it was like he was in his own little world/bubble (literally, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RzOlxmlJPU) and had the balls to do shit his way. i heard bits n pieces bout the behind the scenes drama associated with him recording the album, but it ended up being the greatest single achievement of his entire musical career despite of it. and not from all the regular bullshit standard measurements (even tho it still went plat), but just as a cluster of awesome musical compositions. on music alone, its effing GORGEOUS. and SO MANY folks these days who initially shat upon the album, now sing a different tune and perhaps wonder what the fuck they disliked about it in the first place.

songtitles? THATS an issue? motherfuck me. some ppl still bring that up too, as if a fucking COLON in the songtitle is guna be THE thing that stops me from enjoying the fucking MUSIC.

yeesh.
glad i missed alla this crap.

V.

http://i49.tinypic.com/im84k7.jpg
http://i50.tinypic.com/1175k6r.jpg
http://i45.tinypic.com/vh3pkh.jpg
http://i46.tinypic.com/jttjpl.jpg
http://i48.tinypic.com/lz0jq.jpg
http://i47.tinypic.com/1e2ble.jpg
http://i47.tinypic.com/14kfjat.jpg
http://i46.tinypic.com/amjaq.jpg

Re-reading it now 18 years later, I feel almost embarrassed for him.

supposed to represent.

I thought his death row persona was a travesty and probably the most bitch-made thing in hiphop HISTORY.

Brilliant actor, son of a Panther, who actually could write some observant, poignant material cooning it up the way he did for some money, all the while being bitched out by Suge Knight...

Dude was a prototype hipster fake, and the fact that hiphop chased his fake shit for years after he died almost killed the music for me

I'll admit I was an East Coast snob for the first half of the 90s, but after Pac died and I noticed NYC heads calling themselves "thugs" and people I otherwise respected cosigning the claim that Pac was the Great MC Of All Time...

Hip-hop lost its meaning for me after that.

It was just offensive to me that this cat is supposed to be the Voice of My Generation or that I'm supposed to identify with his cowardly nihilism on any level.

>It was just offensive to me that this cat is supposed to be
>the Voice of My Generation or that I'm supposed to identify
>with his cowardly nihilism on any level.

You guys wildly overstate this "voice of the generation"
shit. He made some good music, was fairly articulate and had
lots of charisma, just like a lot of less-than-perfect but
wildly famous people in their early 20s.

So calm all the way the fuck down.

Give you fame and pussy of all kinds before 21 and you're
acting no better. Probably much, much, much worse. In fact,
you were probably much worse in your early 20s without fame
or any pussy.

And I'm not the biggest Pac fan in the world. I just find
the Tupac backlash of 2006+ to be pretentious and dumb.

Attempt to think for yourself on occasion.


----------------------------

Young Broadway Star Urgently Needs a Bone Marrow Donor. Is it you? http://MatchShannon.com/







O_E: "Acts like an asshole and posts with imperial disdain"




"I ORBITs the solar system, listenin..."

(C)Keith Murray, "

sports, there ain't no way you can NOT have issue with the stupidity of the last years of Pac's life. Dude lived and died DUMB. Tragic as hell, but hella HELLA DUMB.

I don't think he was supposed to be the voice of a generation, but I do think he became an archetype for a lotta dumb mufuckas, AND smart mufuckas who shoulda known better.

And he damn sure became the prototype image of a rapper for a long-ass time. Which was, again, DUMB.

AND, I was actually at the concert in Atlanta in the piece, lol.

I didn't fuck with Pac then, and I still don't fuck with'em now.

>sports, there ain't no way you can NOT have issue with the
>stupidity of the last years of Pac's life. Dude lived and died
>DUMB. Tragic as hell, but hella HELLA DUMB.
>
>I don't think he was supposed to be the voice of a generation,
>but I do think he became an archetype for a lotta dumb
>mufuckas, AND smart mufuckas who shoulda known better.
>
>And he damn sure became the prototype image of a rapper for a
>long-ass time. Which was, again, DUMB.
>
>AND, I was actually at the concert in Atlanta in the piece,
>lol.
>
>I didn't fuck with Pac then, and I still don't fuck with'em
>now.

Dude calls out Black athletes for less.
_________________________________________
The Combat Jack Show is the best hip-hop related internet radio show
http://thecombatjackshow.com/

>Dude calls out Black athletes for less.

I explained my stance perfectly but the
mods caught fillins


----------------------------

Young Broadway Star Urgently Needs a Bone Marrow Donor. Is it you? http://MatchShannon.com/







O_E: "Acts like an asshole and posts with imperial disdain"




"I ORBITs the solar system, listenin..."

(C)Keith Murray, "

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tbs7wWLXLpw

herself.

*throws up in mowf a lil'*

Reading it makes me remember how I just wanted to escape from "Planet Thug Nigga" back then.

The whole Bishop/O-Dog/Thug/Tupac hip hop anti-hero is definitely to me one of the lowest of low points in the history of the genre.

s.blak
hyperbolic niggertronic

>Reading it makes me remember how I just wanted to escape from
>"Planet Thug Nigga" back then.

.

Thanks =/

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus
http://soundcloud.com/austintayeshus

wow.

i remember it now.

with BIG font/little Font Toni Morrison & James Baldwin quotes alluding to the starf*cking pictures of Jay-Z,Beyonce texting each other standing in front of Michael Ray Charles artwork.



s.blak
dream honeybaked ham

yall ruthless in here

She low-key apologized for it.

She speaks on it here. Sounds a bit sorry.

"That stuff bothered me for years. There was another time where I was at Bond St. Sushi with Tip (Q) and Jarobi. They left me at the table and went over and sat with Maxwell for a minute. You know one of them “We may be friends with dream, but (expletive) that!” (We crack up) So I was sitting at the table all alone with my little opinions and criticisms. "

http://thestartingfive.net/2009/01/30/d-original-interview-with-dream-hampton/

>She low-key apologized for it.

.

you don't have to agree or even like someone but to go out the window with the misogyny like this? damn, would any of you say this about a sister or cousin you didn't see eye to eye with?

. . .and common sense.

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus

but to insinuate she sleeps with the people she writes about and that is how she's getting ahead is foul as fuck.

EDIT:
And besides, she all but admitted to it as far as D'Angelo goes.

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus

where has she 'all but admitted it'?

so, for instance, since you post like a douche bag, am i to think you smoke cocks behind the 7-11? i wouldn't dare cross that line.

hell, i know musicians from his band that aint even like the music they were making for his record

opinoins. people have them, n stuff.

----------------------------------------
www.rappersiknow.com
fwmj.tumblr.com
www.twitter.com/fwmj

>hell, i know musicians from his band that aint even like the
>music they were making for his record
>
>opinoins. people have them, n stuff.
>
>----------------------------------------
>www.rappersiknow.com
>fwmj.tumblr.com
>www.twitter.com/fwmj


silk.later Reunion radio with Old P. & Silk http://reunionradio.blogspot.com/

"i'm talking about *Balls Deep*....In Love (c)Cleveland Jr.

He was cultivating a fine nigga farm (c)Goldmind.

R.I.P Jamie Hubley

...to most music journalists these days, their opinions, personal issues, and fandom of other artists get in the way of how the music sounds own it's own.

I like Maxwell's music, it's different from what was out there when he stepped into the scene, but to pass him off as another neo-soul artist just cause others who did it didn't fare well in the long run was just wrong.

All exaggerated claims of misogyny aside- why would any professional publication hire such a tacky writer? No journalistic integrity at all, amateur romanticized bullshit...

The unprofessionalism and racism in the 2Pac piece was embarrassing- seriously the "cracker" drops seemed hella forced on some pseudo-afrocentric wanna-be revolutionary bullshit...

Her criticism is well deserved. If she had a penis, she would be just as awful. She should have checked Pac on all of the misogynistic bullshit that slid out of his mouth in front of her- but she was too busy sticking her nose up his ass.

but I'm glad she's in the outer stratosphere of Black cultural / Hip Hop critics.

She has the stuff...but she injects too much of herself into the subject of her pieces.

I'm glad she's around to record the moment (see: Biggie vids from Bed-Stuy, see: the directional prompts in Jay-Z's book)...but I really could give a fuck less about her agenda's in the moment...and honestly most of her own artistic flair (I Am Ali, recent colorful vid) leave me cold.

I check for her cause she's from the D. and that alone can be the source of a mega-strong Black perspective. I listen to a lot of Black perspectives...but that doesn't mean I'm in solidarity with their sentiments. I can relate to where she's coming from. I know exactly the sort of dumb ass oblivious nigga that is generally in her crosshairs...

But

All the gender warrior/grrl power/Mama Lion schtick is great for women & gay guys, but that isn't me, and to me the provocative nature in which she introduces her "causes" usually come across as scorned woman hurt alert p.s.a.'s in the manner of a more well read Kola Boff.


s.blak
save the schitt for the toilet bowl

my main prob with her pieces is that shes more of a PR girl than a journalist so it all comes out like a lot of breathless hyperbole. and she always has to put herself in the piece, but thats just her personal style. it can get grating BUT it kinda makes her pieces stand out regardless lol. i thought a lot of ppl here wanted journalists to have more personality, and to put passion into their writing?

and i say this as someone who thought the jay-z book she wrote was pretty annoying but kinda clever in how it repositioned and rebranded him to the point where it was like his personality as a 'writer' had no relation to the IRL person (edit - and yes this is important seeing as it was a biography).

she is the kind of 'friend to the stars' kinda writer though but for all that it makes you feel a bit sickly, she also gets some good quotes from her subjects alot of the time. she manages to get close to them.

but re: the maxwell piece, well thats cool shes a dangelo fan, but look whos had the better career. and as for 'maxwells biggest problem is that he will never be dangelo', well dangelos biggest problem is the same!

it's not even about career

look at some of the shit she said in that article

she trashed Badu and Sade's band (sweetback)

not to mention Embrya is a great album

IMO

and I still play that jawn today (panty dropper)

she got personal on Maxwell

instead of just reviewing the music

it's cool if you don't like it

but to bring up shit about homie's personal life and image, etc...

what's the point of that

we know dude is soft

nobody's listening to Maxwell gettin they thug on

it's baby making music

and good music at that

her Blueprint review got posted in GD

factoring these reviews in

it seems she's basing her writing more on her personal relationships than the actual credibility of the art or artists she's reviewing

in its musical evaluation.

LOL @ all the crying in here like she violated some journalistic code of ethics by giving her opinion on an artist & his work.

A lot of you motherfuckas in here should never read Lester Bangs or Nick Kent or your sensibilities might explode, meanwhile y'all sound softer than Max's falsetto.

"But Sade's band always kind of sucked"

huh?

WTF?

c'mon son

I wouldn't even have thought something like that 15 years ago

Sade's catalog was strong when she wrote this

and having caught the NY show on her recent tour

I have no idea what she's talking about

she also dropped some names, including Badu

that D was going to make completely irrelevant

how'd that turn out

again, at the time this article was written

Baduizm had just been released

Voodoo came out the same year as Mama's Gun, right?

I don't think she withered in D's shadow

so I apologize for misreading that part.

As for Sweetback, you're talking to a dude who actually bought their non-Sade album back in '96/97.

And it pretty much sucked outside of 'You Will Rise' with Amel Larrieux, probably because like in the case of Sade they actually got a singer engaging enough to overcome the Cinemax-After-Dark trappings of Stuart & Company's sound.

I'm more of a fan than Badu than D personally even back then but I don't begrudge anyone in the 90s to think that D would have a better career.

I can't kill her for not forseeing D choking & then becoming a drug addict who doesn't drop an album for going on 12 years after his follow-up.

This is an article based on her own opinion & observations at the time and should be treated as such.

I'm far from sensitive but real talk....the article was just strange overall.

peace

>she also gets
>some good quotes from her subjects alot of the time.

*a lot

~Austin

http://austintayeshus.blogspot.com
http://www.last.fm/user/Austintayeshus
http://twitter.com/Austintayeshus