Prof and Jason Wright are back for a new season of The Oddball Show! This time we are using FB Live to interview Colgan B. Johnson, Boston Artist, Educator, and Influencer. Unscripted and Uncensored, This is the Oddball Show.
Fresh for your Friday we bring you another track from the new Hip Hop duo known as Tyler Durden. Comprised of JP Lime’s own Prof and former world explorer turned bass guitarist/rap producer, D+,Tyler Durden is set to rock your Hip Hop socks off.
Today we bring you video from the group’s recent performance at The Center for Arts in Natick (TCAN) of “New Sunrise”, a song about the open possibilities that await upon the morrow. Rock to the live perormance, read through Prof’s lyrics, be sure to follow the group on Twitter and Facebook. Stay tuned for the latest song and show news, brought to you by the two-headed boom-bap-addicted swamp creature, Tyler Durden, and your home for all things Lime, #JPLMagazine.
Goodbye to the moon Yeah, another night gone Like an alley cat here When I wake up on the lawn A stretch and a yawwwn Awoken by the light of a brand new dawn Suspicious to civilians with their fresh duds on Pin-striped opinions Of what wave I’m on So I wave right back with war-torn worns Arcane stains from nights long gone New day, fresh catch, wake those bones Make way for the next best bastion Of what comes next when we’ve cast our stone Into the sunset in hope of Morn In open breath and in broken tones It’s barely prayer But it’s all our own What we’ve prepared is a solstice tome So wake those bones cause I wanna rock right now!
I want to rock I want to rock right I want to be In that ever-beaming sunlight I want to wake up I want to get down I want to rock I want to rock right now
I want to rock I want to rock right Strong to the finish Feeling like I’m Pop-Eye I want to shine And there ain’t no way to stop I I want to rock I want to rock right now
Let the sun shine in, mein kind And cast your past out into the wind A string of light as the day begins Horizon line Pure, bright, and thin The sun will shine on both saint and sin On yours and mine, on both mice and men Where we’ve been we might never know As we crawl one more mile into the row Unto the breach, and on down the road Wheree’er the sunrise may bid us go Where the air at sunrise is filled with notes Of flavored faire, yeah, and endless coast So I Hereby declare for the fearless folk That we are here to greet the Sun To meet the morning with a loaded gun Can’t walk, gotta run cause I want to rock right now
I want to rock I want to rock right Tri-colored third eye Beaming like a stop light I want to jump up I want to get down I want to rock I want to rock right now
I want to rock I want to rock right Like Superman, man Soaking up the sunlight I want to shine And there ain’t no way to stop I I want to rock I want to rock right now
What do you think awaits on the other side of sunrise? Syncopated rhythm Boom bap and a bassline? War horns or bagpipes? A new world to unite, Wake up or untie? Do you think that you might? There is no tomorrow, there is only today So rise with the sun Goodbye to the gray Crow with the rooster Or bale with the hay Carve a new path Yes, blaze your own way and
Rise! Dwell in the sun as a new day’s begun
Wake! Fresh like the dawn and the dew on the lawn
Yes, shine! Like a city on a hill that draws all eyes
Rise! Ri – ri – ri – ri – Rise!
Rise! Feet to the street, carving out your space
Rise! I’m staring at the sun with a smile on my face cause
I want to rock I want to rock right I want to be In that ever-beaming sunlight I want to wake up I want to get down I want to rock I want to rock right-
Like a city on a hill that draws all eyes As the burning ball of fire fills the sky Full potential of tomorrow in today’s sunrise I want to rock I want to rock and rise!
In the air there’s the scent of hoppy beer and a potential energy ready to turn kinetic, like just before a thunderstorm. Connections are rekindled, a cheerful but honest bartender polishes glasses in between pours, and Mr. PSA and DJ Slipwax prepare the stage for the night’s events.
I take my beer and wander into the lounge-type side room to review my verses over a final few games of pinball before the night gets going.
The location is the downstairs portion of Opus in Salem, MA, the Wednesday night home of Live from the Underground, the Hip Hop open mic put on by the Wreck Shop Movement. It is an energetic and inspiring scene, ever-changing but with a dedicated core of talented, like-minded, effusive performers who comprise the heart of WS. Amid this crowd that crosses all age, gender, and race lines, one man in a hoodie buzzes like a bee, in and out of doors, up and down stairs, talking to anyone and everyone before rushing off to his next task. That man is Justice Born, the 30-something Hip Hop head from Lynn usually found standing off to the side, vigilantly and proudly watching the movement he founded continue to grow. At the first event I attended, I asked the emcee Paranom who exactly was part of Wreck Shop, which of the numerous talented emcees around me were part of the collective. Looking across the room, he pointed at Justice and said,
“That man is Wreck Shop, he is this movement.”
Live from the Underground is one of the two weekly mainstay Wreck Shop events, along with The Subway Cypher (every Sunday 3-6pm inside the Downtown Crossing train station). They are the two tones of a Hip Hop heartbeat pumping strong from the North Shore, and connecting with artists all across a region in the midst of a powerful, rising wave.
But this weekend Justice and the Wreck Shop Movement present an event that precedes them both, music festival.
Now in its 7th year, Bridgin’ GAPS features 37 artists/groups over two days (August 5-6) at Salem Willows Park , showcasing some of the dynamic voices leading the local Hip Hop scene.
This s a FREE festival (shall I repeat that? I said it’s FREE) featuring some of the region’s most talented bands (Dis n Dat Band, Slam Kitchen), groups (Floor Lords, D.E.N.C.I.T.Y. Poets), solo acts (Estee Nack, Jazzmyn Red), and duos (STL GOLD, Dark Matter).
I forget, did I mention that the Bridgin’ GAPS festival is FREE??
There is, however, a GoFundMe drive that you should absolutely contribute to since a) you have a conscience, b) you’re now going to an awesome music festival this weekend, and c) you love nothing more than the cause of supporting your local artists. See how much I already know about you? See you this weekend!
Also participating at Bridgin’ GAPS are 20 non-profits and information resources such as voter registration, substance abuse counseling, and the coalition for Jobs Not Jails. This connection to the local community has been central to the festival since its inception. First conceived and executed during a trying time in its founder’s life, the festival’s very existence is a symbol of the power of togetherness over solitude, greed, and divisiveness. This can only be achieved, so goes the Wreck Shop philosophy, when we truly see the value and beauty in those around us, when we recognize the courage and responsibility in wanting to stand up and make your voice heard. It’s also a beacon of what Hip Hop is, can and should be, a language of, by, and for the People.
Justice and Bridgin GAPS haven’t forgotten the difficult path that led to their origin. The festival employs the local homeless community to spread promotional flyers, paid for through their GoFundMe campaign. And the nonprofits are brought together to do just what the festival’s name describes, connect people with resources to improve their own lives and the community around them. This is includes groups like The Haven Project, specifically focused on the local young homeless population.
Especially in times so mired in political divisiveness and turmoil, the ability to enact social change on a local level, to be an active force for progress in one’s own community, stands as a beaming light forward in the darkness.
If you’re looking for Justice Born at Salem Willows this weekend, he’ll be the guy with the quiet demeanor, seemingly tending to everything. He knows everyone, talks to anyone, with the presence and smile of a young city councilman. And if you know him to any degree, have ever been part of his Movement, or even spoken to him for more than four minutes, it’s difficult not to wonder if that might be exactly the right next role in the journey of this tireless and dedicated servant of his community. Always looking to improve, ever pondering the mysteries and injustices of his city and our world, there seems no end to Justice’s aspirations of social progress. I, for one, am just glad that we have him in Hip Hop.
The latest in new music of a Lime-related nature comes to us from Tyler Durden, a Hip Hop duo of uncommon proportions. Comprised of our own Prof and bass guitar player turned beat producer, D+,Tyler Durden has a sound to bring Hip Hop and Rock fans together to ask, “umm… What am I listening to?”
In some places and certain spaces their music also features the guitar stylings of Lil’ Stevie, such as on today’s track, “Circular Logic”. Watch video of the song from the group’s recent show at The Center for Arts in Natick (TCAN), and then read through Prof’s lyrics. Follow the group on Twitter and Facebook and stay tuned for the latest song and show news, brought to you by Hip Hop’s new Rock-fueled dirigible, Tyler Durden, and your home for all things Lime, #JPLMagazine.
Give me just a minute Of your angst and attention Apoplectic apocalyptic visions Of a world around us burning A disturbance in the rhythm And tell me in a minute What the fuck is it I’m missing I’m a puppet on a string Sitting in the kitchen Picking at my brain And tearing out the stitching Set to take the stage in this play that I’m living And show you all the depths of my cranial incision I’m a maniac maybe But a maven with a vision Inter-generation messaging If I can make ‘em listen Sitting here and spitting this It hits me like a sick-a-ness I pick apart these sentences A picnic of ridiculous Impatient and I’m ill Sick of waiting with a wishing list Trying to tune ‘em in And wondering what the station is From interface to in their face We innovate the current state Of hip hop, rock, don’t stop, we just keep it rolling on
So how many days until my death? How much of this shit have I got left? What’s coming now? What’s coming next? Cause I’m a categorical, colorful mess Awaiting the morning with a heaving chest Finding comfort in hum of Night’s unrest I’m under the gun Hidden under my vest Under-distinguished but Packed for success Attached to the past Through a glass and a mesh But the rye and the mash Couldn’t mask the effects As a matter of fact I’m past all this stress Taking to the streets Strapped and undressed Running through these hills Like I’m off my meds Yelling at the skies to accept my request But they keep pouring on me And every forward I step There’s a hole in the road And a storm up ahead So what the fuck-
So get on get on up now Get up out your seat There’s a mayhem and a madness Rolling down the street A river filled with sadness Flowing to a sea Filled with metaphors and adverbs A monster in the deep A boat set adrift Floating far from its fleet Charting a course for a foreign beach Where the men will storm the shore History will repeat And the story will be printed Pinned to doors and to cheeks The scores will retreat The storm will recede And a monument built Where the first did bleed A church will be built On a book that will read Like a lyrical prism We all see what we want to see Tools and divisions Fools and Pharisees Moves and the missions The Scourge and the Siege Revelations not lost on me Just a puppet on a string, sitting here, sitting here…
Spinning out wheels we are trapped in a loop, Trapped in a loop, yes, trapped in a loop. Spinning our wheels, trapped in a loop…
I awoke the next morning to “76 Trombones” being mangled by the Florida Gators marching band. At first I thought it must be some symptom of the evil morning, horrendously amplifying the pounding and blaring of an alarm clock I’d not yet managed to smash with my hammer. But stumbling toward the glowing window, not unlike a fawn headed fearfully toward the new world of self-ambulation, I pulled the valance back just enough for one eye to see past its polyester radiance, and found that the Administration had brought in the full band, now strewn across the East Hill for our listening enjoyment. This necessarily meant that the Leader had some big item planned for the Daily Press Briefing, (and/or some terrible erroneous act for which the Administration needed full cover). Any day that they had something big to announce the Administration would break out the full fanfare. Who could forget the ‘Masters of Illusion’ Magic Show the night the first Saudi Arabian air raid began? What might today’s big news be?
#ThirdShiftTwitter was abuzz the night before with all kinds of rumors but I had spent half the night thumbing through my (now illegal) collection of comic books and hadn’t quite kept pace with the gossip. Some were mentioning a new Executive Order focused on “law and order”, some were saying the Administration were finally going to make an official announcement about The Swamp’s new South Wing construction, presently nicknamed “Crocodile Alley” by the press pool who had been emptily reporting on it every day for at least a month. NBC nearly caught footage of what appeared to be a mob deal during the beams and girders phase but instead aired a 22-minute piece on the process of pouring cement. As for the morning’s big news, I had long ago surrendered any notion of predicting the movements of this debaucherous steam engine.
Every morning at The Swamp the press corps is served a pancake breakfast. The food is terrible, stale and without flavor, and the pancakes have too much water added. There’s a standee of the Leader by the syrup counter with a smarmy smile and the slogan,
“Make your Pancakes Sweet Again (Buy American Syrup)”
I often would sleep too late and miss this culinary disaster but on this day, thanks to the freshman corps (clearly) of tubists and trumpeters, I managed to stumble into the Swamp cafeteria as the brushed-up journalistic bon vivants were herding out to watch the performance(s).
I had gotten into the habit of bringing my own coffee everywhere. Since the Leader had initiated a trade war with the entire continent of South America, the South Korean coffee they served in most government establishments was absolute shit. Also I could add the proper “artificial sweeteners” necessary for covering the Swamp right off the bat.
As I strolled toward the pancake station, the chef simply ashed his cigarette and shook me off, seeming to say that the feeding time at the trough had concluded. I was picking through the remnants of the “fresh fruit” basket when a Times reporter made mention of my road-worn travel mug and its contents, which had apparently been the subject of some speculation.
“Whatsa matter, got no love for the Seoul beans? Or maybe you got a little something extra in there?”
At this he threw back his coiffed white hair mane and chortled loudly, drew a small Xanax bottle from inside his jacket, and gave it a little shake.
Unsure how to respond, I gave my coffee mug a similar shake, splashing a gulp onto the orange linoleum, and offer him a sip.
“But I wouldn’t take too much, man, this hippie might be on some trippy shit”.
The smile heartily dropped from his face as he rejoined a stream of phone-clutching minnows flowing out the cafeteria door.
The Daily Briefing took place each day on the rolling green hill visible from the windows on the entire East Wing. It didn’t make for a very inspiring background, to be honest, though the golf course and water fountain behind did seem to glow in a fat and garish sort of way. On the hill and over the spokesperson’s left shoulder The Leader’s Estate could be seen while opposite on the hill, though you could frame it out for the newscast depending on your network’s angle, the golf course’s reactor billowed smoke into the Florida air.
Though you could easily watch the daily Press Briefing from any room in the East Wing, due to the floor-to-ceiling windows, it also played live in IMAX in the Entertainment Suite, mostly so that one-line interpretations and “breaking news” alerts could be added for public consumption. One wouldn’t want the Leader’s words administered straight without the Administration’s communication department first being able to apply the necessary spin, now would one? Eventually, in a move of efficiency rarely seen by the Leader and co, these scrolling news add-ons were simply added to the spokesperson’s podium.
In addition to his big news, the Leader’s spokesperson hit the Press Briefing Bingo that day, employing at least five of the eight rhetorical devices for which the Administration had become famous:
denial, misdirection, obfuscation, questioning reality, hypocrisy, outright lies, talking out of both sides of your mouth, and tautology.
The Huffington Post ran a series where the briefings were scored like poker hands or Yahtzee – misdirection, obfuscation, and an outright lie would be considered a small straight, for example, while three denials, and two tautologies was a full house (and a strong one, at that). HuffPo was quite ahead of their time when it came to conversational sabermetrics.
Originally, the Leader had tried to deliver the daily press briefings himself and failed miserably. Nasty words and spittle were exchanged, furniture was thrown, a writer for The Guardian was on crutches for two weeks. It was not a pleasant event. But since that time, the press briefing announcer would play coy with the reporters, pausing just slightly, enough to give them apprehension as he said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States’… information secretary slash spokesperson.”
The spokesperson was a small, round man named Richard, with big glasses and small, beady eyes. His tie was too short and always crooked, and the strained, aggressive tone in his voice made us all believe he was one bad Tuesday away from congestive heart failure.
After the normal schedule updates and daily “Stock Ticket Shout-Outs” to the titans of industry loyal to the Administration, we learned that day’s big announcement concerned a new profit venture of which the Leader was very proud. It seems he had recently been informed about a trove of military gear from which the armed forces had upgraded. Old tanks and helicopters, large caliber weapons, and various high-grade explosives that were once rented to local police departments under the now-defunct 1033 program were now taking up space in government warehouses and the Leader saw this as a “great, preposterous tragedy”.
“The Leader sees an enormous profit opportunity for the American taxpayer and with EO911X we will look to possibly raise billions by getting this lawful equipment into the hands of good, (white), freedom-loving patriots. Beginning tomorrow, this equipment will be available for purchase exclusively through our online marketplace, free from the tyranny of the 3-day background check.”
Little Dick (as the #fakenews had been calling him), despite his other faults, knew the value of a frenetic pace of information and kept the briefing rolling on, while the website address for weapons purchase scrolled across tv screens and the press podium.
It had become a regular occurrence for the Administration to call into question the results of the election they had won, mostly to lay a foundation of doubt for any future elections they might lose (#QuestioningReality).
“The Administration has nearly completed the preparations for the formation of a special councel [sic] to investigate the between 4 and 7 million illegal votes, many by persons not of this continent, positively known by any who know anything to have unfairly disrupted the election in favor of our crooked and un-American opponent.
Furthermore, the contingent of our populace that deny this illegal voting ever even took place seems, quite alarmingly, to be growing by the day and only serves to highlight just how broken and corrupted our government has become. (Tautology?) It is the view of this Administration that such traitors should be barred from sullying any future elections with their participation, aiming to illicitly install their own leaders with foundationally un-American views and interests.
Finally, I have an official statement and then I will take some of your questions:
‘The Leader’s words, on social media or elsewhere, should not be taken as literal words. They should be viewed as symbols, for words and ideas, sometimes metaphors, that should obviously and with good reason, be allowed to change later.’
With this in mind, I think the Leader’s tweets stand for themselves.
In addition, some of you have asked in recent weeks about discrepancies between the Leader’s tweets and my statements from this podium. This is, frankly, offensive as it ignores the basic fact of how active and robust our Leader is. The busy schedule he keeps doesn’t necessarily allow for me or others of his representatives to represent his views with the most up-to-date and some might say “accurate” information. This Leader is a mover and a shaker and, as I’ve said numerous times before, he doesn’t like to telegraph his moves by telling me or (m)any members of his staff. Hell, to protect our national security, he often doesn’t like to even consider important decisions too far in advance for fear that he himself might give away his next move. This is 4d chess people, try to keep up. You know what the fourth dimension is? Backgammon.
And I don’t know how much clearer we can be on this.”
At this the Swamp press pool looked around at each other, searching for faint glimmers of rational thought. Each found none, each said nothing, and simply moved on to clawing each other down like infant pterodactyls at feeding time.
May 15th, 1990 marks the release of Ice Cube’s first solo album, a landmark Hip Hop social commentary known as AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted. When the album title alone doubles as a political statement, you know you’re in for a heavy record, and that’s exactly what Cube delivered. After management and financial disputes drove Cube’s split from N.W.A., he teamed up with New York based production team, The Bomb Squad, who were best known for their work with Public Enemy, introduced his own rap crew, Da Lynch Mob, and dropped this ferocious album. At this point in Hip Hop’s timeline, with both Ice T and N.W.A. well established, the Hip Hop sub-genre known as ‘gangsta rap’ was hitting the mainstream.
That said, Cube’s raw socio-political edge gave AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted more punch than its gangsta rap predecessors. It also helped establish Ice Cube, the solo act, as a major force in Hip Hop going forward. The album peaked at #19 on the Billboard charts with the title track reaching #1 on the U.S. rap singles charts. The success of this album proved to everyone, including his former N.W.A. posse, that Ice Cube had the talent and mass appeal to make it on his own.
I remember loving this record as a 10 year old way back when, even though I was probably too young to have been listening to it. My favorite cut on the album on the time was “A Gangsta’s Fairytale” which was less a political track and more an inner-city play on some of our favorite childhood fairytale characters such as Mother Goose and Humpty Dumpty. Lyrics about Cinderella and Snow White fighting over the Seven Dwarves cracked me up then and still do today.
Other notable tracks include the politically charged “The Ni**a Ya Love to Hate”, the smoothed out and brutally honest “Once Upon in the Projects”, and the Yo-yo assisted gender wars commentary, “It’s a Man World”, where Yo-yo poignantly points out that “it wouldn’t be a damn thing without a woman’s touch.” I couldn’t agree more.
Shout outs to Ice Cube for turning what was potentially a career threatening situation in leaving N.W.A. into the best decision he could’ve possibly made. And to any new school and old school cats alike not hip to AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted, do yourself a favor and give it a spin. It’s a great listen and many of its messages are still relevant today. The word classic gets tossed around a lot these days within Hip Hop circles, but this album is certainly one befitting of the title, in my humble opinion.