Monday, February 27, 2006

this is an audio post - click to play

History (I Won't Give Up)



I had a horrible dream last night. It was 1968 and I was somewhere in the South, it was a hot humid and sticky day the sweat just kind of stood still on my skin and my mouth was as dry as the California desert in the dog days of the summer. I was down to my last two bucks and it was hard for me as a black man to get any meaningful work. I saw a sign that said that the local sheriff's office was hiring new officers. I always hated the way the police treated my people so I decided the best way to change things would be to get in and assert my views an offer some balance.

I walked into the sheriff's office and immediately all eyes were on me. The room went silent and you could hear a rat pissin' on cotton. My dark chocolate skin and my bold jaw line complimented my broad nose and my full lips. I opened my mouth and simply said, "I'm here to apply for a job as an officer." Reluctantly I was given an application and I quickly filled it out and returned it to the officer on duty.

One week later I was a cadet at the sheriff's camp. I don't know why they accepted me because it was clear from day one that they didn't want me here. Nothing I did was right. They tried everything they could to make my life and drills a living hell and have me quit but they could not break me. Then one morning we were out on the field for physical training drills. I knew I didn't feel well but of course I had to act as if I was fine. Try as I may to keep up, the more drills we did the sicker I got. I don't know what was wrong with me, it's all a blur now. All I remember is that on one of my laps that I was running I was suddenly surrounded by my superiors. They began to berate me, brow beat me and push and shove on me. I can't recall exactly how many it was because I was so sick. At that point that I could barely stand but I do know it was at least five men.

They begin to enjoy the pain they were inflicted on me as if every blow represented the resentment of me and my people. As if I had somehow harmed them in my past life. Remember they never wanted me here anyway. It's 1968 in the South and I'm a progressive black man surrounded by five racist, oppressive white men. My breathing is becoming labored and my arms and legs have gone limp. The only thing holding me up is the barrage of stinging, pounding punches to my flesh from my fellow officers and their collective hands around my neck that are choking the breath of life out of me. Finally someone has mercy and allows my body to fall to the ground. Then to my chagrin I begin to feel excruciating pain in my kidneys and my spleen. The pain is coming from the soles of their boots as they continuously kick me closer into the arms of death. Suddenly I think it's over as I'm picked up and held in the arms of a man whom I hoped one day to work along side as a partner and then he too punches me and I begin my descent towards the ground and into the arms of Jesus. In death I am hurting more than in life because this hold incident was recorded on video tape and people are watching me die over and over again and are denying the truth of what they are witnessing.

Please allow me the dignity to rest in peace. Allow my family to mourn. Allow my People the justice they demand here in the land of the free. Allow my soul to sing the praises of God. For this is not 1968 and this is not a dream but my reality in the year 2006. I'm fourteen years old and I have been murdered by the hands of authority at the sheriff's camp.

These are the lyrics from my song, History ( I won't give up), from my upcoming album "Look Look Look" (Look3x).

The evil that men do they make moves like voodoo/
sittin' on the sidelines hoping and praying that somebody do you/
Never contemplating that somebody would school you/
Fuse melody rhythm and flow and work wit it like a tool/
You should know by now the oppressed man is not a fool/
Sign of the times evident from Elvis to Eminem don't be cruel/
It's a sham/ a scam /an old boy flim flam
No matter how you twist it up I know who I am/
I refuse to be a product of everything you feeding me/
Cause all you makin' available is smoke drank and the illusion of ecstasy/
It's ecstasy when I sit back with my eyes shut tight/
Soarin' through a world full of freedom like shooting stars in the night/
My spirit will not be broken/ my faith will not be shakin'/
Give it how you give it man I won't give up I gots to make it/

Chorus

I won't give up on my life
I won't give up it's my life
I won't give up on my life
I won't give up it's my life

It's something bout the way I post up and I walk/
It leaves you flabbergasted tongue tied and you can't talk/
you intimidated by the way miss Missy keep peeping at me/
You wanna put me in a cell with no bail and lock me away for a quarter century/
My first mistake was I didn't stay awake/
I should have paid attention when you fed me the crumbs up off your plate/
Honestly I did not understand/
I was still trying to comprehend the implications of that long trip man/
It was so complex with disrespect that I didn't know what I should feel/
I was a king in my village but now I'm serving you your meals/
That was so devastating and yet is so ironic/
I'm geographically isolated to the point I want to vomit/
But I won't and I don't cause now I'm feeling alright/
You can't comprehend the light/ my eternal sight/ mind so bright/ I'm
focused and walking in the light/
And I won't give up/ I won't give up

Chorus

I won't give up on my life
I won't give up it's my life
I won't give up on my life
I won't give up it's my life

From my transgressions and indiscretion I've learned many lessons/
A wife children and family are multiple blessings/
History is his story repeated/
I'ma put it down and y'all make show that you read it/
The criminal minded lawyers have control of the switch/
I'm scientifically inclined but to eat I gots to dig a ditch/
I got mandatory witnesses of the these mandatory sentences/
This is genocide as a law and it's mandatory we end this/
How low will you go below yo ego before you know/
If you keep on doin' this to ours we gone end up doin' it to yours/
Where is the rehabilitation in a nation full of accusations?/
Twentyfive wit an L and three strikes is equivalent to strangulation/
My astonishment is for the punishment as a curse upon my people/
The crime plus the time the punishment must be equal/
Mandatory lies/ mandatory lies/ mandatory sentences/ mandatories die/
I won't give up

Chorus

I won't give up on my life
I won't give up it's my life
I won't give up on my life
I won't give up it's my life





--Hammertime
From my sidekick

this is an audio post - click to play

New York Katrina Relief Show


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Fat Tuesday Katrina Relief Show


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Jeremiah and Dad


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Jeremiah my son


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Father Son


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Father Son Breakfast


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Father Son BreakFast


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Father Father Father



Love. There are so many degrees, levels and types of love. I love baseball, I love music, I love going to the movies, I love stimulated intellectual debate, I love women, and I love Oakland. In all these examples of love the word love can be replaced with other adjectives and still express my feelings. For example if I said, I'm a huge baseball fan, our I'm a film aficionado, or I'm a debate champion you could ascertain that to some degree I love these respective things. However, while it would be true that I love these things it still doesn't define this new level of love that I have discovered and had revealed to me.

To know love on this level is life changing. To know love like this is a secret corner under a palm tree with a slight wind on a lazy day. This type of love is made up of the thoughts and memories you have when your mother or father goes in for critical surgery and you don't know if they will come out alive. The way your heart feels when you need to say thank you one last time and you're not sure that you will have the chance. Even yet, this type of love is the way a man feels when he looks into his son's eyes and the way his son's eyes answer back unconditionally saying, "You are my hero and my friend, how I love you so dad." My wife and I are best friends and we express our love to one another often. But we both agree there is another level of love between the father and the son. When my son says, "Dad I love you," at that moment my heart is touched with the highest level of love known to man.

I was riding with my seven year old "son" one day taking him to breakfast because he loves it when I make time for him and I alone, our special time together. I looked over at him while we were at a stop light and he says," I love you dad". The feeling I got from his words prompted me to ask God,"what is this level of love that I feel between "my son" and me that blesses and yet weakens me so?" It blesses me so much that all I can think of is I never want to leave him or let him down or have this feeling go away. It weakens me because I can't fathom not having him in my life. God answered me and said, "It is the same level of love that I had for man and the reason that I became a son." A "son" is you in your purest form before the corruption and inequities of the world. In my greatest examples of love, I use the relationship between a father and a "son." I told Abraham whom I loved to sacrifice his "son" knowing that Abraham felt the same level of love for his "son" that you are feeling for yours and yet in obedience he went forward. It's the same level of love I allowed the angels who remained in Heaven and did not fall in Lucifer's rebellion to feel to for me (in the persona of Jesus) as a 'son' and watched in grief and horror as I called life out of my only "begotten son" that I may prove Satan a liar and yet open the doors for man to become the "sons" of God. I gave the example of the prodigal "son." The son that demanded his inheritance while his father was yet living and left his father and family and went out into the world and squandered his entire inheritance, while his brothers remained at home supporting their father and yet when the father saw his wayward rebellious "son" returning home while he was still a mile away his father said," kill the fatted calf and lets have a celebration for "my son" whom was lost has been found." Not only will we celebrate but I will also give him a brand new ring of "sonship" for "my son" who was lost is found.

This example is to show the unconditional supreme love between a father and a "son" and to help you better understand and appreciate the sacrifice I made when I sacrificed my only "begotten son" while it was in my sovereign power to over rule it all. I love man. It was at that moment that my heavenly father increased the portion of love in me to a new level.
With tears in my eyes I received his blessing and felt his pain. I now better understand the love and burden I have for my people because like my father I love man.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Play Ball!!

There's nothing like the smell and look of spring. The sun begins to shine through the thinning clouds and the trees and plants start to blossom anew. The birds start to sing a new joyful song. The sunsets become vibrant orange and the days become warm.

And somewhere deep in the background of the noise of the towns and cities you hear the crack of the bat and the sound of the ball. It's baseball season again!! There is no place are time on Earth like spring training.

All the teams are potential contenders. Legends and rookies share the same lockerrooms and field. Hope springs eternal and dreams are one hot streak from reality. The comradery is infectious and there is no time for negativity. Everyone is pulling for each other because the best players will help the team win a Pennant and every player want his team to be as strong as possible.

Then there are the rivalries. The Yankees and Boston. The Dodgers and Giants. The A's and the Angels. The players who are all characters themselves. Barry Bonds and his pursuit of Hammerin' Hank Aaron's all time homerun record. Roger Clemens and his continued mastery and domination into his forties.

Comebacks and trades and their impact on this upcoming season. Who has the best starting line up? The best pitching staff? The fastest team speed? The best defense? The best closer? The best DH? The best ballpark? The best manager? Who will win the batting title this year? The Cy Young? Gold Glove? We have one month to sort it out and then it's time to play ball!!

--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Maturation of Hip Hop, Chapter 1

My professional Hip Hop journey began in 1986. This was the height of the crack era when every inner city (hood) in America was on fire with the game and death and prosperity were close first cousins. Hip Hop was the soundtrack that played as the game rolled along. In the town (Oakland) it was if the hood had struck oil. New cars, fancy clothes, fresh drippin' jeri curls and all the sex you wanted was a twenty four hour reality. Money came in stacks and any problems were dealt with quickly and with finality. We took our cues from Tony Montana (Scarface) and the mob, if you crossed the homies you paid with your life.

Rap music spoke to all facets of this life. The fast tempo party music (MC Hammer), the player pimp style of Too Short and the political awareness and pride and consciousness of Chuck D and Public Enemy. There were very few magazines that could cover, report or depict the world that was emerging and unfolding right before the world's bloodshot eyes. The square journalist would build up any artist who brought his homies and a gun to an interview as a certified gangsta. No kills and no moving weight necessary. They (journalists) were just glad to not get beat down and smashed on.

The unhealthy fear of these square journalists would later lead to the deaths of two of rap's greatest artists as they would be the victims of a war of two coasts that only existed in the stories of these cowardly exploitive scribes. There was only a beef among a small group of men. Last time I checked the East Coast was made up of at least thirteen colonies and the West Coast stretched along the beaches of the Pacific Ocean from Washington to Mexico. Until this day these cowardly scribes have never come clean and accepted their collective responsibilities. They still glorify any artist who says, "I was shot" or, "I just got out." Keep in mind that in the streets the one who did the shooting was the gansta. Only in the world of the diconnected and fearful could the victims become the heroes. They write from the standpoint of survival in their minds. They are not alone as their stories are repeated, hyped and sensationalized by radio squares who couldn't point their way to the hood but sound on the air like some of the downest cats ever. Now this acting and attitude has spilled over to Hip Hop chat rooms and forums. These "instant message killers" and "text bangers" all sound and talk so tough in these forums. Stop it man and be yourself. Grow up. Render your opinions without the drama.

But I digress. Back to the Eighties.

The energy was electric. The last time there was a movement like this was the Studio 54 parties in the mid-Seventies disco era. Just like that era, in this new era of Hip Hop music, drugs, sex and hustling played a vital part in the rise and influence of the genre. Music lives in clubs and on the radio. Radio programmers and DJs love all the vices that come with the music game. Drugs, power, influence and sex. Back then the exception to the rule was a record that was so hot that it worked for everybody. The DJs played it in the club because the dancefloors would be packed. The radio station programmers played it because the phone lines would light up. It was a win win across the board.

Today is strictly pay to play. Music and the underworld have always co-existed. Frank Sinatra and the mob. Bugsy Siegel and Las Vegas. Why is there a sudden infatuation and interest by the powers that be to tie Rap artists to the drug game? Guilt by association? Rap artists and drug dealers come from the same community, live in the same neighborhood and stay on the same block. If we are to allow the maturation of Hip Hop we must face the reality of the musicians who produce the music. Ninety-nine percent of rappers come from drug infested communities. Is this news?

Instead of trying to lock up Hip Hop, allow us to continue to create hope and legal economic opportunities in these same crime and drug infested communities. Yes, we know drug dealers and killers. We grew up together. There is only one hood. Yes we take calls, put money on books and go out and eat with felons and convicts. It would be impossible for us not to. Three out of five African American men have been arrested or served time. You know that. They are our people. We will not disown them. Let my Hip Hop business model encourage them to do the right thing. Let my Hip Hop business model, success and wealth allow me to invest in the community and bring hope to the next generation. I want to provide resources that help develop the next Kevin Lyle (President Warner Music), the next, Steve Stoute (dealmaker and broker), the next Sean Combs (artist, business man) and the next John Singleton and MC Hammer.

Allow the maturation of Hip Hop so we can see and witness more acts of wisdom like the union of Nas and Jay Z. Not all Hip Hop journalists and radio DJs write and talk out of fear. Some are real and they speak and write from truth and from their hearts. It's this group that can help with the maturation of Hip Hop. Present Hip Hop as a complete and whole community. We are fathers, uncles, teachers, ministers, engineers, directors, and yes squares and geeks. Everybody who consumes this music ain't killers. It is a fact that the majority of this music is bought by mainstream America.

Anyone can funk and go to war, we all got soldiers but it takes real men to make peace. Peace may not sell these squares' magazines but it can save a community and bring prosperity to our people.

--Hammer
from my sidekick

The Hammer


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

Thankful Blog coming Easter holidays


--Hammertime
From my sidekick

PlayBall!!


--Hammertime
From my sidekick