While I'm waiting for The Smoking Section to post my review of Eternia & MoSS' latest release, At Last, I figured I'd post it on here for everyone to peep. Enjoy and grab a copy of the album!
***
For every hip-hop luminary that masters the genre and provides hit after critical, popular hit, there are bottom-feeder rappers who could fill silos with their respective clichés. White, female, auto-tone—these are just a few of the labels that have been designated as career-killing scarlet letters that inevitably create more acrimony than ascension for the MCs who embody them. However, there are the rare exceptions that personify one—if not several—of these categories and rise well above the lowest rung of rap’s food chain. Silk-Anne Semiramis Dawn Craig Kaya, or more commonly known as Eternia, is white, female and Canadian—but she has also released one of the best and emotionally laced underground hip-hop albums of the year with her latest project, At Last.
The Ottawa-based lyricist teams with underground producer MoSS to craft 15 tracks of pure verbal warfare, allowing MoSS’ boom-bap scratching to play the perfect backdrop to Eternia’s often vitriolic bars. On tracks like the opener “Any Man,” Eternia rips off lines like, “when I see you walk on my spot, I swear I’ll burn you/see you try to rock, dude, I will hurt you/talk shit to E, believe me, I heard you/but you don’t matter no more, you don’t matter no more,” as if the album were simply a recorded series of her best battle-ready raps. Sticking with this theme throughout the first half of the record, Eternia uses an almost masculine bravado to go toe-to-toe with Joell Ortiz on “It’s Funny” and waxes poetic with female hip-hop royalty Rah Digga and Lady of Rage on “BBQ.”
However, it’s the intense subject matter packaged into the second half of the album that gives At Last its salience. Dealing with issues ranging from a dead-beat, abusive father to a dysfunctional family life to alcoholism, Eternia combines the lyrical boisterousness of the first half of the album with a relatable earnestness. On “The Half,” Eternia relays an Cain-and-Abel-like story of her half and actual brothers over MoSS’s chilly, haunted beat, saying, “they were on year apart, more or less a few months/one knew he was loved, the other not so much/that hurts more than any bullet from a gun.” And the deceiving title of “Mr. Bacardi” isn’t a joyous ode to the Puerto Rican rum’s legacy, but rather the MC’s struggle against its intoxicating and addictive nature. Personifying that 151, Eternia’s Stockholm Syndrome is obvious with, “I’m never tongue-tied when I see ya/I can walk a straight line every time I can meet ya… God I meant it when I said I love the way you feel and I need ya/that’s how you got me now I am lost in your features.”
But even with the heavy subject matter and verbal gymnastics, redundancy becomes a problem and the last three tracks (“Day In the Life,” “Catch Me” and “Goodbye”) all come off as superfluous copies of the album’s first half. With the raw, brash nature of both Eternia’s lyrics and MoSS’ production, a tighter and shorter album would’ve served the album well, keeping listeners alert, but not inundating them with déjà vu.
Regardless, At Last thrives where many in Eternia’s same spot have so often failed. Gripping and ostensibly lyrical, the MC never gets tongue-tied because she has something that the other failures do not—honesty.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
No Doubt You Braided Your Own Hair, So You're All Grown Up.
39 days.
39 days stands between me and Chicago's premier music festival, Lollapalooza.
In my eager anticipation I've been pouring over the numerous acts playing on the day that I'll be attending--Saturday, August 7--and contemplating what would be the absolute perfect set schedule. For almost 11 hours, I have unlimited access to over 30 different shows--a music journalist's wet dream and virginity-losing moment all rolled into one.
So far, here's what I'm thinking (however, this could be subject to change):
11:30-12:15: Mimicking Birds
-Assuming I'm coherent and at Grant Park by this point, I'll be catching this up-and-coming group out of Portland, Oregon. Much in the same surf-folk vein as Jack Johnson, Matt Costa and Timmy Curran, it'll be a chill-rock barrage of guitar and spacey effects to pop my music festival cherry.
Song to Sample: "Burning Stars"
12:15-1:00: Rebelution
-Might be sparking up for this show: Santa Barbara, California's, Rebelution combines dub, reggae and jazz elements for the perfect mid-day jam session. Also the perfect group to wet one's pallet for the Slightly Stoopid set later in the day.
Song to Sample: "Lazy Afternoon"
1:00-1:45: Rogue Wave
-Everyone's favorite non-Jack Johnson Brushfire Records act, Rogue wave is indie-pop at its finest.
Song to Sample: "Lake Michigan"
1:45-2:45: Blues Traveler
-My only 90s nostalgia trip for the weekend. And the best harmonica solos this side of the South.
Song to Sample: "Hook"
3:15-4:15: The XX
-I think a customer's iTunes review describes England's The XX best: "it's essentially make-out music for the cool kids; steely quiet soundscapes that redefine R&B for a generation that loves Aaliyah and post-everything from Timbaland as much as freshly pressed Hot Chip singles and Cure LPs."
Song to Sample: "Islands"
6:45-7:45: Slightly Stoopid
-The closest-sounding act you'll find to a Bradley Nowell-led Sublime.
Song to Sample: "Ocean"
8:30-10:00: Phoenix
-With Green Day being the other headliner of the night, attending Phoenix's set is a no-brainer: French-pop maestros create catchy, bubbly harmonies and badass soundtracks for Cadillac commercials.
Song to Sample: "1901"
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
39 days stands between me and Chicago's premier music festival, Lollapalooza.
In my eager anticipation I've been pouring over the numerous acts playing on the day that I'll be attending--Saturday, August 7--and contemplating what would be the absolute perfect set schedule. For almost 11 hours, I have unlimited access to over 30 different shows--a music journalist's wet dream and virginity-losing moment all rolled into one.
So far, here's what I'm thinking (however, this could be subject to change):
11:30-12:15: Mimicking Birds
-Assuming I'm coherent and at Grant Park by this point, I'll be catching this up-and-coming group out of Portland, Oregon. Much in the same surf-folk vein as Jack Johnson, Matt Costa and Timmy Curran, it'll be a chill-rock barrage of guitar and spacey effects to pop my music festival cherry.
Song to Sample: "Burning Stars"
12:15-1:00: Rebelution
-Might be sparking up for this show: Santa Barbara, California's, Rebelution combines dub, reggae and jazz elements for the perfect mid-day jam session. Also the perfect group to wet one's pallet for the Slightly Stoopid set later in the day.
Song to Sample: "Lazy Afternoon"
1:00-1:45: Rogue Wave
-Everyone's favorite non-Jack Johnson Brushfire Records act, Rogue wave is indie-pop at its finest.
Song to Sample: "Lake Michigan"
1:45-2:45: Blues Traveler
-My only 90s nostalgia trip for the weekend. And the best harmonica solos this side of the South.
Song to Sample: "Hook"
3:15-4:15: The XX
-I think a customer's iTunes review describes England's The XX best: "it's essentially make-out music for the cool kids; steely quiet soundscapes that redefine R&B for a generation that loves Aaliyah and post-everything from Timbaland as much as freshly pressed Hot Chip singles and Cure LPs."
Song to Sample: "Islands"
6:45-7:45: Slightly Stoopid
-The closest-sounding act you'll find to a Bradley Nowell-led Sublime.
Song to Sample: "Ocean"
8:30-10:00: Phoenix
-With Green Day being the other headliner of the night, attending Phoenix's set is a no-brainer: French-pop maestros create catchy, bubbly harmonies and badass soundtracks for Cadillac commercials.
Song to Sample: "1901"
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Scott Raab, My Youngs.
For those who don't know, I'm trying to get on with the blog, The Smoking Section. As I tirelessly slave creating sample posts for the editor-in-chief to eventually tear apart, I figured I'd share a few of my "refined" posts who will probably never see the light of day on the actual website.
Lucky you.
With that being said, here's a blog post I wrote about an Esquire blog (creative, I know) that's written by Scott Raab. Raab, a native Clevelander and Esquire senior writer, gives his nihilistic view of the LBJ carnival like only a northeast Ohioan can. Raab's blog is funny and, sadly, probably very true.
Enjoy my take and then enjoy his. But really, enjoy his more. His writing is phenomenal. And he went to Cleveland State of all places. Go fucking figure.
***
For the general American sporting public, it’s hard to sympathize with a Clevelander. Those who have been blessed with championships in cities such as New York, Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles can easily overlook the championship destitution (and actual destitution) of northeast Ohio while showering in their clubs’ previous successes.
So while everyone and their mothers are vying for King James’ services this year, it’s understandable that a ‘Land ombudsman has been ignored.
Luckily for us underrepresented Cavs fans, Cleveland native and Esquire senior writer Scott Raab has taken it upon himself to air the disgruntled and nihilistic voice for Ohioans everywhere with his LeBron Watch blog:
"If LeBron decides he’d rather toil in New York City for the Dolans or in Chicago for El Reinsdorfo, that’ll say all that needs saying about his loyalty and intelligence."
While his blog won’t win him any favors with LeBron himself, the following rings true for all Cleveland pessimists:
"If he leaves, LeBron will replace Art Modell as the most hated figure in the history of Cleveland sports…. All Modell did was fire Paul Brown, bully Jim Brown into early retirement, and move the Browns to Baltimore — that's the short-short list. But Modell didn't grow up in northeast Ohio and he didn't play the game. Should James go now — without a ring and with full, first-hand knowledge of what his departure will mean to millions of sports fans in Cleveland, Akron, and all over Ohio who will have nothing left but despair — nobody will remember him for seven years of excitement and hope. He'll forever be known for what he is: the son of a bitch who quit on the court, quit on his team, and quit on his home town."
Maybe it’s his above prediction of LeBron’s northeast Ohio status if he leaves. Maybe it’s his referral to the LBJ circus as a “dog-and-pony free-agent tour” and “media lap dance.” Whatever it is, it’s nice to finally have a sensible Cleveland perspective on LeBron James’ free agency in the media.
***
And for those who haven't peeped it yet, check out mine and Matt Marina's latest video projects on Big Sean and Fly Union. Watch out for Big Sean's debut album, Finally Famous, to drop in September along with new albums from fellow G.O.O.D. music artists Kanye West and Kid Cudi.
-Video #1
-Video #2
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Lucky you.
With that being said, here's a blog post I wrote about an Esquire blog (creative, I know) that's written by Scott Raab. Raab, a native Clevelander and Esquire senior writer, gives his nihilistic view of the LBJ carnival like only a northeast Ohioan can. Raab's blog is funny and, sadly, probably very true.
Enjoy my take and then enjoy his. But really, enjoy his more. His writing is phenomenal. And he went to Cleveland State of all places. Go fucking figure.
***
For the general American sporting public, it’s hard to sympathize with a Clevelander. Those who have been blessed with championships in cities such as New York, Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles can easily overlook the championship destitution (and actual destitution) of northeast Ohio while showering in their clubs’ previous successes.
So while everyone and their mothers are vying for King James’ services this year, it’s understandable that a ‘Land ombudsman has been ignored.
Luckily for us underrepresented Cavs fans, Cleveland native and Esquire senior writer Scott Raab has taken it upon himself to air the disgruntled and nihilistic voice for Ohioans everywhere with his LeBron Watch blog:
"If LeBron decides he’d rather toil in New York City for the Dolans or in Chicago for El Reinsdorfo, that’ll say all that needs saying about his loyalty and intelligence."
While his blog won’t win him any favors with LeBron himself, the following rings true for all Cleveland pessimists:
"If he leaves, LeBron will replace Art Modell as the most hated figure in the history of Cleveland sports…. All Modell did was fire Paul Brown, bully Jim Brown into early retirement, and move the Browns to Baltimore — that's the short-short list. But Modell didn't grow up in northeast Ohio and he didn't play the game. Should James go now — without a ring and with full, first-hand knowledge of what his departure will mean to millions of sports fans in Cleveland, Akron, and all over Ohio who will have nothing left but despair — nobody will remember him for seven years of excitement and hope. He'll forever be known for what he is: the son of a bitch who quit on the court, quit on his team, and quit on his home town."
Maybe it’s his above prediction of LeBron’s northeast Ohio status if he leaves. Maybe it’s his referral to the LBJ circus as a “dog-and-pony free-agent tour” and “media lap dance.” Whatever it is, it’s nice to finally have a sensible Cleveland perspective on LeBron James’ free agency in the media.
***
And for those who haven't peeped it yet, check out mine and Matt Marina's latest video projects on Big Sean and Fly Union. Watch out for Big Sean's debut album, Finally Famous, to drop in September along with new albums from fellow G.O.O.D. music artists Kanye West and Kid Cudi.
-Video #1
-Video #2
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Friday, June 11, 2010
When I Was A Young Boy My Momma Always Told Me To Take No Shit.
There are a few things that piss me off.
*Memo to self, you've used this introduction before. Switch it up!*
Damn, have I? Well, balls, looks like I'm sticking with it. In any case, there's a handful of items that really get under my skin. Saving everyone who reads this post a detailed list of qualified bitching, I'll specifically single out one item:
"ryan, cudi is better than any bs you would post up on fb. including clipse and consequence."
If you have the narcissistic balls to post that bad boy, then we've got serious problems.
Not because you disagree with my opinion, but, man, because of how fucking dumb you have to be to make such a statement.
Don't believe me? Try this versus this or this.
Now, it's not that me and my friend slaved and busted our asses to create this story in time or had the opportunity of a lifetime to profile three of the best and most connected lyricists in the game. Obviously it's peanuts--bush league, really--compared to getting KiD CuDi for a story.
But you're wrong if you're going to sit there and honestly admit to yourself that the Cudder is a better RAP artist than either Clipse or Cons The Don.
It's inconsequential to say Cudi is a better ARTIST than either of the other three (that'd be like comparing apples to oranges or saying that Soundgarden was better for the 90s than Ace of Base), but to say he's a better RAPPER is blasphemy. You're bordering on pariah-status if going on the links provided above. While I enjoy Cudi's product, he has constantly been stuck in this ambivalent middle ground between being a talented lyricist or a talented vocalist. He's like Drake without the voice... or the bars for that matter.
And in comparison to Clipse and Cons' dedication to only rhyming, saying that Cudi is a better lyricist is like trying to argue your younger brother's fourth-grade poetry project is better than Malice, Pusha T and/or Consequence's master thesis.
So if you're thinking that mommy and daddy's money apparently gives you the worldview to comment on hip-hop (since, you know, you're totally able to fly whimsically to both High Times' Cannabis Cup or Ultra Music Festival for your superior opinion), think again. I've got you in a vice-grip and I will win.
Every time.
"in cudi we trust."
Nah, in Rubless do we trust. And quality hip-hop.
Always Preaching Rubbers and Respect,
Rev Rub.
*Memo to self, you've used this introduction before. Switch it up!*
Damn, have I? Well, balls, looks like I'm sticking with it. In any case, there's a handful of items that really get under my skin. Saving everyone who reads this post a detailed list of qualified bitching, I'll specifically single out one item:
"ryan, cudi is better than any bs you would post up on fb. including clipse and consequence."
If you have the narcissistic balls to post that bad boy, then we've got serious problems.
Not because you disagree with my opinion, but, man, because of how fucking dumb you have to be to make such a statement.
Don't believe me? Try this versus this or this.
Now, it's not that me and my friend slaved and busted our asses to create this story in time or had the opportunity of a lifetime to profile three of the best and most connected lyricists in the game. Obviously it's peanuts--bush league, really--compared to getting KiD CuDi for a story.
But you're wrong if you're going to sit there and honestly admit to yourself that the Cudder is a better RAP artist than either Clipse or Cons The Don.
It's inconsequential to say Cudi is a better ARTIST than either of the other three (that'd be like comparing apples to oranges or saying that Soundgarden was better for the 90s than Ace of Base), but to say he's a better RAPPER is blasphemy. You're bordering on pariah-status if going on the links provided above. While I enjoy Cudi's product, he has constantly been stuck in this ambivalent middle ground between being a talented lyricist or a talented vocalist. He's like Drake without the voice... or the bars for that matter.
And in comparison to Clipse and Cons' dedication to only rhyming, saying that Cudi is a better lyricist is like trying to argue your younger brother's fourth-grade poetry project is better than Malice, Pusha T and/or Consequence's master thesis.
So if you're thinking that mommy and daddy's money apparently gives you the worldview to comment on hip-hop (since, you know, you're totally able to fly whimsically to both High Times' Cannabis Cup or Ultra Music Festival for your superior opinion), think again. I've got you in a vice-grip and I will win.
Every time.
"in cudi we trust."
Nah, in Rubless do we trust. And quality hip-hop.
Always Preaching Rubbers and Respect,
Rev Rub.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Mayday, Hooray.
I don't think there was anyone in Athens sadder than I when news broke that Wale would no longer be the headlining act of Mayday, the free concert being thrown by several OU student organizations. I've aborted two potential trips to both Oxford, Ohio, and Columbus to see him rep that DMV, only to see him fall into my lap--for FREE--and then snatched from me.
Granted, it's a little sketchy that he pulled out of his contract on the absolute last day that he could citing a foreshadowed sickness (two weeks in advance, mind you), but it's whatever: I guess I'll still support your Nike Boot-wearing ass, Wah.
However, through constant snooping, gossiping and eaves-dropping (but more or less attending the Backdrop meeting tonight as I was supposed to) Rev Rub has discovered the identities of the Mayday artists. Now I'd feel a little sketchy revealing the artists when they haven't been officially announced, but here's a list of ten acts and their respective Youtube vids for who it could be. Enjoy and we'll see ya May 20th.
B.o.B.: "Nothin' On You (feat. Bruno Mars)"
Wiz Khalifa & Curren$y: "The Life"
The Cool Kids: "Hammer Bros."
Big Sean: "Getcha Some"
Clipse: "Popular Demand (Popeye's) [feat. Cam'ron]"
Common & John Legend: "They Say"
Consequence: "Grammy Family (feat. Kanye West)"
Kid Cudi: "Pursuit of Happiness (feat. MGMT & Ratatat)"
Drake: "Made (feat. Big Sean)"
Talib Kweli: "Get By"
Granted, it's a little sketchy that he pulled out of his contract on the absolute last day that he could citing a foreshadowed sickness (two weeks in advance, mind you), but it's whatever: I guess I'll still support your Nike Boot-wearing ass, Wah.
However, through constant snooping, gossiping and eaves-dropping (but more or less attending the Backdrop meeting tonight as I was supposed to) Rev Rub has discovered the identities of the Mayday artists. Now I'd feel a little sketchy revealing the artists when they haven't been officially announced, but here's a list of ten acts and their respective Youtube vids for who it could be. Enjoy and we'll see ya May 20th.
B.o.B.: "Nothin' On You (feat. Bruno Mars)"
Wiz Khalifa & Curren$y: "The Life"
The Cool Kids: "Hammer Bros."
Big Sean: "Getcha Some"
Clipse: "Popular Demand (Popeye's) [feat. Cam'ron]"
Common & John Legend: "They Say"
Consequence: "Grammy Family (feat. Kanye West)"
Kid Cudi: "Pursuit of Happiness (feat. MGMT & Ratatat)"
Drake: "Made (feat. Big Sean)"
Talib Kweli: "Get By"
Friday, April 23, 2010
You Used To Be Alright, What Happened?
I've probably started off an older post with this same first sentence, but I haven't written in here in quite awhile. My bad. But as evidenced by that stale lead (and by my recent article about Athens band, She Bears), my creative drive has been off for some time. I don't know what happened and I didn't know it could just shut off, but, apparently, it can. I assume it's what people in the industry call "Writer's Block." What a bummer.
In any case, I'll keep this post short and sweet. Since that last paragraph (and, more specifically, the She Bears story) were like pulling teeth, I'll save myself the brain overload of trying to formulate an idea, argument, organization and the witty statements to support the former three items.
As always, enjoy my ramblings.
1. Let it be said that there isn't a more ominous introduction than the one to Radiohead's "The National Anthem." Let it also be said that there is no better word to describe "The National Anthem"'s introduction than the word "ominous." If the Holocaust had a soundtrack, it would've been this song on repeat (listen to the lyrics and the absolute cacophony of civilization crashing). Here's Radiohead's live performance of the song from a 2000 episode of SNL, complete with an original Thom Yorke epileptic attack.
2. Are definitive, monolithic, racial stereotypes dead in American culture? Stephen Marche believes so. An interesting look by Esquire at how Jersey Shore made stereotyping laughable, guilt-free and irrelevant.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
In any case, I'll keep this post short and sweet. Since that last paragraph (and, more specifically, the She Bears story) were like pulling teeth, I'll save myself the brain overload of trying to formulate an idea, argument, organization and the witty statements to support the former three items.
As always, enjoy my ramblings.
1. Let it be said that there isn't a more ominous introduction than the one to Radiohead's "The National Anthem." Let it also be said that there is no better word to describe "The National Anthem"'s introduction than the word "ominous." If the Holocaust had a soundtrack, it would've been this song on repeat (listen to the lyrics and the absolute cacophony of civilization crashing). Here's Radiohead's live performance of the song from a 2000 episode of SNL, complete with an original Thom Yorke epileptic attack.
2. Are definitive, monolithic, racial stereotypes dead in American culture? Stephen Marche believes so. An interesting look by Esquire at how Jersey Shore made stereotyping laughable, guilt-free and irrelevant.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Break It Like Beckham.
This is a quick post that I had to write for this dude for the blog, The Smoking Section. I wanted to use it as my cover letter clip, but apparently he has no fucking clue about soccer. So instead of considering my time wasted, might as well post it on here. This in response to David Beckham breaking his Achilles tendon on Sunday. Enjoy, of course.
Welp, there you have it, folks: there’s the end right there.
There will be no four World Cups. There will be no ticker-tape parade for finally breaking Peter Shilton’s England caps record. And there will almost certainly be a drop in Los Angeles Galaxy jerseys bought.
Yeah, Becks’ soccer career came crashing down in an instant. The tears that came flowing down his $100-million face while playing for Italian league behemoths, AC Milan, said it all.
Not that it hasn’t happened before, but this really could be the final straw.
And by final straw, I don’t just mean his World Cup career: everyone, we could be coming to the end of the Beckham era. Those magically bending free kicks could be seeing their last spot placement on the pitch.
As ESPN Soccernet analyst Tommy Smith brings into question, it isn’t just the idea that his England career is over, but his actual club career too.
Think about it: the man has a gorgeous wife, home dotted across continents and a few titles under his belt during his time with the Red Devils. The continuation of his career in Los Angeles—well, maybe not so much Los Angeles—and Milan was in testament to the man’s commitment to not only the game of soccer, but, most importantly, his country. He continued those arduous yearlong seasons to stay fit for England call-ups.
What left would Becks have to play for if he comes back from this crippling injury?
Sure, Kobe might attend a few games at the Home Depot Center in Carson. Maybe he’ll bring Tom too. And I’m sure the thousands of American soccer moms attending the games with their bratty kids we’ll be just as big of a selling point to Young Moolah Beckham.
Psh, let’s get real.
With the destruction of his Achilles tendon and his South African summer plans, so did Beckham’s career. You can almost hear its last little bits whirling down the drain.
As if MLS’ Players’ Union’s standoff wasn’t bad enough, the league gets this little tidbit of info. So if a tree falls in the woods and no one’s around to hear it, does it make sound? Well with Becks clearly injured for the foreseeable future, MLS surely won’t be making any sounds this coming season—even if a players’ strike is avoided.
So with the curtains being pulled on Dave’s career so is the golden era of Major League Soccer. Well, that is, unless this happens.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Welp, there you have it, folks: there’s the end right there.
There will be no four World Cups. There will be no ticker-tape parade for finally breaking Peter Shilton’s England caps record. And there will almost certainly be a drop in Los Angeles Galaxy jerseys bought.
Yeah, Becks’ soccer career came crashing down in an instant. The tears that came flowing down his $100-million face while playing for Italian league behemoths, AC Milan, said it all.
Not that it hasn’t happened before, but this really could be the final straw.
And by final straw, I don’t just mean his World Cup career: everyone, we could be coming to the end of the Beckham era. Those magically bending free kicks could be seeing their last spot placement on the pitch.
As ESPN Soccernet analyst Tommy Smith brings into question, it isn’t just the idea that his England career is over, but his actual club career too.
Think about it: the man has a gorgeous wife, home dotted across continents and a few titles under his belt during his time with the Red Devils. The continuation of his career in Los Angeles—well, maybe not so much Los Angeles—and Milan was in testament to the man’s commitment to not only the game of soccer, but, most importantly, his country. He continued those arduous yearlong seasons to stay fit for England call-ups.
What left would Becks have to play for if he comes back from this crippling injury?
Sure, Kobe might attend a few games at the Home Depot Center in Carson. Maybe he’ll bring Tom too. And I’m sure the thousands of American soccer moms attending the games with their bratty kids we’ll be just as big of a selling point to Young Moolah Beckham.
Psh, let’s get real.
With the destruction of his Achilles tendon and his South African summer plans, so did Beckham’s career. You can almost hear its last little bits whirling down the drain.
As if MLS’ Players’ Union’s standoff wasn’t bad enough, the league gets this little tidbit of info. So if a tree falls in the woods and no one’s around to hear it, does it make sound? Well with Becks clearly injured for the foreseeable future, MLS surely won’t be making any sounds this coming season—even if a players’ strike is avoided.
So with the curtains being pulled on Dave’s career so is the golden era of Major League Soccer. Well, that is, unless this happens.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub
Friday, March 5, 2010
I've Got A Dolla And A Dream.
1. You know when you first hear something new and it just makes complete sense? I had one of those moments a few weeks ago. OU's Black Council threw a little shindig that included Wiz, Mario (Mario?) and J. Cole and it smashed me in the schnozz: J. Cole is the next big thing. Jermaine Coles, a native of Fayetteville, North Carolina, WILL be the next big rapper to blow up.
I'll put money on my assumption.
Here's why: not only is he the first artist to be signed to Jigga's new record label, Roc Nation, but just listen to his most recent mixtape, The Warm Up. If you listen close enough--or if you listen at all--this isn't a mixtape: this a compilation of polished beats and self-aware rhymes that flows more like a debut album than a download-it-for-free mixtape.
Granted, there are definitely a few mixtape elements on The Warm Up (sampled beats such as 'Ye's "Last Call" and "Drive Slow" and Nas' "The World Is Yours"), but most everything is original. I wouldn't necessarily say incendiary, but it's damn listenable.
Hell, I'd go as far to say that he kills Kanye's "Last Call" beat better than 'Ye. He goes all wiseguy-Tommy DeVito on the beat, knifing the shit out of it until its lifeless body remains gutted in the Lincoln's trunk.
Now that's something to build on considering half of the Athens crowd left after Wiz's opening performance. But it should be no surprise from a guy who annihilated both the Wale and Jay-Z tracks he appeared on--probably better than the featured artists on the tracks themselves.
So, cheers to you, J. Cole. As a member of XXL's Freshman Class of 2010, I here at Titles Are Trite expect big things out of you--huge, gigantic, Jigga-sized moves.
Because remember, all you need is a dollar and a dream.
2. Speaking of another member of that class, please everyone give a huge welcome to Freddie Gibbs.
3. Shout out to me main man, Bill Simmons: what would a double NBA and NFL lockout in 2011 mean for American sports fans? According to Chuck Klosterman, because of a conspiracy within ESPN's offices we'll all become soccer fans. God forbid, Chuck, God forbid (can be found on Bill Simmons' podcast archive under "The BS Report")
4. Mucho linkage hoy. Es increible.
Remember,
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
I'll put money on my assumption.
Here's why: not only is he the first artist to be signed to Jigga's new record label, Roc Nation, but just listen to his most recent mixtape, The Warm Up. If you listen close enough--or if you listen at all--this isn't a mixtape: this a compilation of polished beats and self-aware rhymes that flows more like a debut album than a download-it-for-free mixtape.
Granted, there are definitely a few mixtape elements on The Warm Up (sampled beats such as 'Ye's "Last Call" and "Drive Slow" and Nas' "The World Is Yours"), but most everything is original. I wouldn't necessarily say incendiary, but it's damn listenable.
Hell, I'd go as far to say that he kills Kanye's "Last Call" beat better than 'Ye. He goes all wiseguy-Tommy DeVito on the beat, knifing the shit out of it until its lifeless body remains gutted in the Lincoln's trunk.
Now that's something to build on considering half of the Athens crowd left after Wiz's opening performance. But it should be no surprise from a guy who annihilated both the Wale and Jay-Z tracks he appeared on--probably better than the featured artists on the tracks themselves.
So, cheers to you, J. Cole. As a member of XXL's Freshman Class of 2010, I here at Titles Are Trite expect big things out of you--huge, gigantic, Jigga-sized moves.
Because remember, all you need is a dollar and a dream.
2. Speaking of another member of that class, please everyone give a huge welcome to Freddie Gibbs.
3. Shout out to me main man, Bill Simmons: what would a double NBA and NFL lockout in 2011 mean for American sports fans? According to Chuck Klosterman, because of a conspiracy within ESPN's offices we'll all become soccer fans. God forbid, Chuck, God forbid (can be found on Bill Simmons' podcast archive under "The BS Report")
4. Mucho linkage hoy. Es increible.
Remember,
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Broke.
Here's the complete story that I wrote for Backdrop Magazine. This version isn't the version that appears in the magazine, but it's my third and final draft that I submitted. I hope you all enjoy it. It's long--just some forewarning. However, it's well worth it to read it. Thanks for all the support.
Broke.
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
“It could be sweeping our floors or doing a lot of the work people might find undesirable. The wages they earn—although they may be working full-time—aren’t enough to support themselves or a family.”
Cindy’s situation is not uncommon in a region known for its persistent poverty. According to the U.S. Census’ 2006-2008 estimates, the amount of families below the poverty level was around 17 percent (compared to about 9.6 percent nationwide) and the median household income was around $32,000 (compared to a $52,000 U.S. average).
“What’s unique about the working poor is that we say in this country, ‘work hard, pay your dues and you’ll be fine.’ There are people who do just that and are working 30- to 40-hour shifts but are still not getting by,” Scanlan said.
“The working poor in small towns and rural areas will have far fewer opportunities than those in urban areas. Those in rural areas don’t have the big factories. There aren’t people beating the doors down to open up industry here.”
The opportunities that rarely come—or never come at all—for some Athens County residents coalesce into an environment frothing with service industry jobs (fast food, Wal-Mart), few educational opportunities and an almost guaranteed destitution.
However, the Athens County Job and Family Services (ACJFS) is an oasis in Appalachia’s desert of poverty. Social worker Nick Claussen explains that ACJFS’s mission within the Athens County community is to provide a myriad of services like, cash and food assistance, Medicaid, job training programs, a child enforcement agency, a home-health service for seniors and work programs for teens and young adults to help them get into school.
Nick Claussen is in his mid-40s and is passionate about his position at ACJFS; however, he paints a grim picture about Athens County’s job market.
“We have a big service economy with the highest percentage of service-industry jobs in the state and the lowest percentage of manufacturing jobs in the state,” Claussen says. “We’re happy to have these jobs, but there definitely needs to be other jobs as well. There need to be jobs with higher pay. When the coalmines closed long ago and nothing came in to the region to replace them, it caused a lot of problems.”
According to Scanlan, when Athens County’s coalmines shut down a downward spiral ensued.
“The closing of a mine is devastating,” Scanlan says. “A former miner is likely to see a dramatic wage cut and loss of benefits…. Without economic development or extensive miner-retraining programs in the region that creates equally lucrative employment opportunities, mine closings will dramatically affect workers.”
However, miners and their families are the only residents who are impacted by the closings. Scanlan also points to a spin-off effect that mine closings have on other regional industries as well.
“The diner that the workers used to stop at for coffee on their way to the mine shuts down, the gas station they fill up at loses business and the tax revenues the schools receive are lost,” Scanlan says. “Thus, the economic costs have a snowballing effect that touches many lives.”
Both Claussen and Scanlan agree that besides the county’s obscenely high number of service-industry jobs and lack of industry and education, Athens County’s relative isolation also hinders residents.
Essential services and stores that many suburban residents take for granted are sparsely dotted around the county. Long commutes from rural areas to grocery and clothing stores—coupled with soaring gas prices—drain peoples’ already shallow pockets, Claussen explains. Some residents have to commute daily to Columbus, Chillicothe or Parkersburg, West Virginia, just for work.
“If you live in Glouster, you have to travel at least into Athens just to shop,” Claussen says. “They have one store out there, but for a lot of things they have to travel to Athens. And some places like that in the county it’s hard.”
It was a bitterly cold January day at the ACJFS’ workstation in The Plains. Potholes littered the parking lot, as the dark gray building seemed to bleed right into it.
The inside of the workstation looks vaguely familiar to an old Odd Lots; however, instead of discounted goods lining shelves, office cubicles protrude from the carpeted floor, raising up like corn.
For Athens resident and single mom Deana Gordon, The Plains workstation is her ticket to a better life.“I come here from 7-5 everyday for welfare. I go home and maintain being a mom and putting food in my daughter’s belly,” Gordon says. Confidence permeates her pores as she speaks—her eyes assuredly locking with yours.
Gordon has lived in Athens for four months since moving from Columbus. As she put it, her life has not been easy: growing up on the westside of Columbus, she lost her mother at 14 and her crack-addicted father was rarely present. She moved to Athens after placing a restraining order on her abusive former boyfriend.
ACJFS gives Gordon medical assistance, food assistance and cash assistance. However, her specific situation with ACJFS requires that she attend classes every day, Monday through Friday, in order to receive her GED—or she loses everything.
Although her situation with ACJFS may sound like a typical welfare story, Gordon is quick to point out the glaring misconceptions with welfare mothers. “I was lucky to get it. Down here, you have to qualify. When I’m done with my GED I have to get a job and they still take from you. They never let you get ahead,” Gordon says.
“And people who have jobs are always like, ‘we take care of the welfare people,’” Gordon says. “No, you don’t. You really don’t. Just because you have a good job and you pay your taxes doesn’t mean that you’re taking care of us. We’re doing it because we want people to help us; we’re doing it because we want to get on our feet.”
But ACJFS doesn’t just help young single mothers. Others—those who are middle-aged and have families—have also had to seek assistance from the organization.
Crystal Vance—a life-long Appalachian resident with a college business degree—also has to utilize ACJFS’ numerous services. “If you’re lucky—if I were lucky—you’ve got fast food (jobs), but I got into a car accident and ended up having to be out of work for awhile,” Vance says.
“From the time I had my car accident to now, I have found one job and I worked there for about three months until I had a family emergency and they fired me because I had to leave.”
Vance, a married mother to a 16-year-old, has spent most of her life in Appalachia, being born in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and eventually ending up in Athens. After spending time away, she moved back to Appalachia to be closer to family only to realize her mistake when she noticed the few job opportunities.
Injured in a car crash where she broke her hand and ruptured her spleen among other things, she now owes $7,500 to her insurance company—not to mention an outstanding debt for her college fees.
Looking to work her way up the business ladder, Crystal is searching for secretary opportunities. However, those opportunities could be few and far between in Appalachian Ohio, she laments.
“There’s McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, convenience stores—maybe—a lot of mom and pop’s. There isn’t a lot of big business,” Crystal says.
By spending most of her life in the region, Vance bluntly summarizes southeastern Ohio’s lack of appeal. “This is a sucky area. And I wouldn’t recommend anyone living down here,” Vance says. “And you know it’s beautiful. I grew up down here. But there’s nothing to do out here, and there’s no where to go out here unless you’re an alcoholic or a druggie.”
Both Scanlan and Claussen emphasize the need for greater funding and benefits to help Athens County working poor residents.
“There are a lot of programs to help the working poor in Athens County,” Claussen said. “(But) our own programs got funding cuts. They are facing harder times now than in years past. And it’s a terrible time now because demand is going up everywhere. The state budget is a mess. They need to bring in more funding.”
Welfare programs across the nation have been disappearing quickly since the 1960s, but it wasn’t until former president Bill Clinton’s proclamation to “end welfare as we know it” with 1996’s Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA).
PRWORA effectively ended welfare as an entitlement and singled out out-of-wedlock births and intergenerational poverty as the causes of a faulty welfare system.
PRWORA mandates that the states are allowed to develop their own welfare systems and stipulates that a person can only receive 5-years worth of welfare over his/her lifetime—no matter the person’s opportunity deprivation.
However, some have questioned whether a smaller welfare system is really the cause of poverty. Some, like Scanlan, point to a minimum wage that fails to keep up with yearly inflation and a lack of benefits.
“Now it’s expected that your child go to college; health care expenses are now more than ever; education costs have increased more than inflation; same with housing costs. Wages just haven’t kept up,” Scanlan says
“(But) It isn’t as much a wage increase as much as it is making sure that people have…. health insurance, rent subsidy and food assistance. Things like that would relieve a lot of the stress on individuals doing this kind of work.”
Sitting in Cindy’s trailer that late-December afternoon, the sun shone through the blinds. The light settled peacefully on her precociously worn face.
”Do you think Appalachian poverty differs from poverty elsewhere? Can it be fixed?” I ask Cindy, who is sitting in her worn recliner with a contemplative look.
“I don’t think it’s any different,” Cindy says. “Everywhere it’s the same thing—whether you’re in a big city or a small town. But I think it will be awhile before it gets fixed. I thought about moving out of Athens because I don’t see change coming any time soon.”
As she concluded, her face remained stoic. The last ray of sun hit her at the perfect angle, highlighting her face’s precocious wear of twenty years. It then slipped away through the blinds—calmly disappearing behind those crestfallen hills outside her window.
Broke.
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
“It could be sweeping our floors or doing a lot of the work people might find undesirable. The wages they earn—although they may be working full-time—aren’t enough to support themselves or a family.”
Cindy’s situation is not uncommon in a region known for its persistent poverty. According to the U.S. Census’ 2006-2008 estimates, the amount of families below the poverty level was around 17 percent (compared to about 9.6 percent nationwide) and the median household income was around $32,000 (compared to a $52,000 U.S. average).
“What’s unique about the working poor is that we say in this country, ‘work hard, pay your dues and you’ll be fine.’ There are people who do just that and are working 30- to 40-hour shifts but are still not getting by,” Scanlan said.
“The working poor in small towns and rural areas will have far fewer opportunities than those in urban areas. Those in rural areas don’t have the big factories. There aren’t people beating the doors down to open up industry here.”
The opportunities that rarely come—or never come at all—for some Athens County residents coalesce into an environment frothing with service industry jobs (fast food, Wal-Mart), few educational opportunities and an almost guaranteed destitution.
However, the Athens County Job and Family Services (ACJFS) is an oasis in Appalachia’s desert of poverty. Social worker Nick Claussen explains that ACJFS’s mission within the Athens County community is to provide a myriad of services like, cash and food assistance, Medicaid, job training programs, a child enforcement agency, a home-health service for seniors and work programs for teens and young adults to help them get into school.
Nick Claussen is in his mid-40s and is passionate about his position at ACJFS; however, he paints a grim picture about Athens County’s job market.
“We have a big service economy with the highest percentage of service-industry jobs in the state and the lowest percentage of manufacturing jobs in the state,” Claussen says. “We’re happy to have these jobs, but there definitely needs to be other jobs as well. There need to be jobs with higher pay. When the coalmines closed long ago and nothing came in to the region to replace them, it caused a lot of problems.”
According to Scanlan, when Athens County’s coalmines shut down a downward spiral ensued.
“The closing of a mine is devastating,” Scanlan says. “A former miner is likely to see a dramatic wage cut and loss of benefits…. Without economic development or extensive miner-retraining programs in the region that creates equally lucrative employment opportunities, mine closings will dramatically affect workers.”
However, miners and their families are the only residents who are impacted by the closings. Scanlan also points to a spin-off effect that mine closings have on other regional industries as well.
“The diner that the workers used to stop at for coffee on their way to the mine shuts down, the gas station they fill up at loses business and the tax revenues the schools receive are lost,” Scanlan says. “Thus, the economic costs have a snowballing effect that touches many lives.”
Both Claussen and Scanlan agree that besides the county’s obscenely high number of service-industry jobs and lack of industry and education, Athens County’s relative isolation also hinders residents.
Essential services and stores that many suburban residents take for granted are sparsely dotted around the county. Long commutes from rural areas to grocery and clothing stores—coupled with soaring gas prices—drain peoples’ already shallow pockets, Claussen explains. Some residents have to commute daily to Columbus, Chillicothe or Parkersburg, West Virginia, just for work.
“If you live in Glouster, you have to travel at least into Athens just to shop,” Claussen says. “They have one store out there, but for a lot of things they have to travel to Athens. And some places like that in the county it’s hard.”
It was a bitterly cold January day at the ACJFS’ workstation in The Plains. Potholes littered the parking lot, as the dark gray building seemed to bleed right into it.
The inside of the workstation looks vaguely familiar to an old Odd Lots; however, instead of discounted goods lining shelves, office cubicles protrude from the carpeted floor, raising up like corn.
For Athens resident and single mom Deana Gordon, The Plains workstation is her ticket to a better life.“I come here from 7-5 everyday for welfare. I go home and maintain being a mom and putting food in my daughter’s belly,” Gordon says. Confidence permeates her pores as she speaks—her eyes assuredly locking with yours.
Gordon has lived in Athens for four months since moving from Columbus. As she put it, her life has not been easy: growing up on the westside of Columbus, she lost her mother at 14 and her crack-addicted father was rarely present. She moved to Athens after placing a restraining order on her abusive former boyfriend.
ACJFS gives Gordon medical assistance, food assistance and cash assistance. However, her specific situation with ACJFS requires that she attend classes every day, Monday through Friday, in order to receive her GED—or she loses everything.
Although her situation with ACJFS may sound like a typical welfare story, Gordon is quick to point out the glaring misconceptions with welfare mothers. “I was lucky to get it. Down here, you have to qualify. When I’m done with my GED I have to get a job and they still take from you. They never let you get ahead,” Gordon says.
“And people who have jobs are always like, ‘we take care of the welfare people,’” Gordon says. “No, you don’t. You really don’t. Just because you have a good job and you pay your taxes doesn’t mean that you’re taking care of us. We’re doing it because we want people to help us; we’re doing it because we want to get on our feet.”
But ACJFS doesn’t just help young single mothers. Others—those who are middle-aged and have families—have also had to seek assistance from the organization.
Crystal Vance—a life-long Appalachian resident with a college business degree—also has to utilize ACJFS’ numerous services. “If you’re lucky—if I were lucky—you’ve got fast food (jobs), but I got into a car accident and ended up having to be out of work for awhile,” Vance says.
“From the time I had my car accident to now, I have found one job and I worked there for about three months until I had a family emergency and they fired me because I had to leave.”
Vance, a married mother to a 16-year-old, has spent most of her life in Appalachia, being born in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and eventually ending up in Athens. After spending time away, she moved back to Appalachia to be closer to family only to realize her mistake when she noticed the few job opportunities.
Injured in a car crash where she broke her hand and ruptured her spleen among other things, she now owes $7,500 to her insurance company—not to mention an outstanding debt for her college fees.
Looking to work her way up the business ladder, Crystal is searching for secretary opportunities. However, those opportunities could be few and far between in Appalachian Ohio, she laments.
“There’s McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, convenience stores—maybe—a lot of mom and pop’s. There isn’t a lot of big business,” Crystal says.
By spending most of her life in the region, Vance bluntly summarizes southeastern Ohio’s lack of appeal. “This is a sucky area. And I wouldn’t recommend anyone living down here,” Vance says. “And you know it’s beautiful. I grew up down here. But there’s nothing to do out here, and there’s no where to go out here unless you’re an alcoholic or a druggie.”
Both Scanlan and Claussen emphasize the need for greater funding and benefits to help Athens County working poor residents.
“There are a lot of programs to help the working poor in Athens County,” Claussen said. “(But) our own programs got funding cuts. They are facing harder times now than in years past. And it’s a terrible time now because demand is going up everywhere. The state budget is a mess. They need to bring in more funding.”
Welfare programs across the nation have been disappearing quickly since the 1960s, but it wasn’t until former president Bill Clinton’s proclamation to “end welfare as we know it” with 1996’s Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA).
PRWORA effectively ended welfare as an entitlement and singled out out-of-wedlock births and intergenerational poverty as the causes of a faulty welfare system.
PRWORA mandates that the states are allowed to develop their own welfare systems and stipulates that a person can only receive 5-years worth of welfare over his/her lifetime—no matter the person’s opportunity deprivation.
However, some have questioned whether a smaller welfare system is really the cause of poverty. Some, like Scanlan, point to a minimum wage that fails to keep up with yearly inflation and a lack of benefits.
“Now it’s expected that your child go to college; health care expenses are now more than ever; education costs have increased more than inflation; same with housing costs. Wages just haven’t kept up,” Scanlan says
“(But) It isn’t as much a wage increase as much as it is making sure that people have…. health insurance, rent subsidy and food assistance. Things like that would relieve a lot of the stress on individuals doing this kind of work.”
Sitting in Cindy’s trailer that late-December afternoon, the sun shone through the blinds. The light settled peacefully on her precociously worn face.
”Do you think Appalachian poverty differs from poverty elsewhere? Can it be fixed?” I ask Cindy, who is sitting in her worn recliner with a contemplative look.
“I don’t think it’s any different,” Cindy says. “Everywhere it’s the same thing—whether you’re in a big city or a small town. But I think it will be awhile before it gets fixed. I thought about moving out of Athens because I don’t see change coming any time soon.”
As she concluded, her face remained stoic. The last ray of sun hit her at the perfect angle, highlighting her face’s precocious wear of twenty years. It then slipped away through the blinds—calmly disappearing behind those crestfallen hills outside her window.
Monday, February 15, 2010
My Name Is My Name.
I don't know whether this is ethically correct or not (or, more importantly, will fuck my getting published in Backdrop this coming issue), but I've decided to give you all the introduction to my story on Athens County working poor residents set to appear in this quarter's issue of Backdrop. I hope you all enjoy it because this portion is only the tip of the iceberg. I will post the entire story for those who do not attend Ohio University after the publication of the issue. Stay tuned for more steeze-iness.
***
Athens County Working Poor
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
***
Athens County Working Poor
Traveling to Athens, Ohio, by State Route 33 in winter is a lesson in melancholy.
The four-lane highway snakes its way through cold, grayish-brown Appalachian hills. The landscape that connects central Ohio to its southeastern cousin evokes wistfulness as each tectonic bump trips into the next—a never-ending sea of dead trees and limitless pasture.
It’s Fitzgerald’s rural Valley of Ashes minus Tom Wilson and the gang.
The “Trailer Park” sits in this pensive, empty valley right before the State Route 13 exit. Its location infringes the Hocking and is hidden from the passing traffic on the highway above.
A driveway juts off the road, sloping down into a collection of dilapidated mobile homes. Its presence is almost undetectable to the casual passerby on Route 33. Faded pastel exteriors of each home steadily blend into their listless surroundings.
Cindy’s home is near the back of the park. Across the street two kids sit spiritlessly on cinder blocks that lead into their home. A mutt barks boisterously next door.
“In this trailer park you can tell it’s a poor community. There’s nothing really here for somebody who doesn’t have a college education,” Cindy explained.
Cindy is a 20-year-old mother who lives with her boyfriend and one-year-old son. Her face is languid; freckles dot her skin and fade into her exterior. Her smiles come painfully unnatural and seem forced from her austere expressions.
“The hardest part about living on the wages that I earn now is that I cannot give my son everything that I never had. Everything that I thought I’d be able to give him.”
“When I buy him clothes I go to Wal-Mart. It’s the closest thing. I always thought I’d be able to get him name-brand stuff because I never had that growing up. I always thought that he’d have toys—anything that he wanted he could have,” Cindy said.
For Cindy, this inability characterizes her as a member of Athens County’s working poor population. The term “working poor” refers to many people who we might see on any given day. According to Ohio University sociology professor Steve Scanlan, “the working poor are those who do the work that is often times unrecognized.”
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I've Got One Wish When I'm Deceased: Bury Me In 501s And 10.Deep.
I know that I've already touched on this subject in a past post, but I figure I'll post this anyways. I had to complete it for an art class, so I might as well post if I put in the time to actually do it. It's an enjoyable read. Trust me. I wrote it.
It’s rare that I’m excited for a concert.
Well, that’s a gross understatement and a lie—every concert I go to generates excitement.
But Cudi in Cleveland is different: this is a man apart from the rest of hip-hop—the music industry even. This is an artist who hasn’t necessarily reached that subjectively interpreted apex of his career and he’s playing in his hometown. Say whaaaaaa? Count me in, brotha.
Now, I’ve spent countless time thinking about Cudi. Don’t take that statement the wrong way (because Lord knows you definitely could), but rather I’ve been thinking about his place in music—I’ve been thinking about his art.
What really is Kid Cudi? Is he a hip-hop artist?
Nah, not so much.
Is he an R&B singer?
No, that really doesn’t suit his style. He harmonizes but not consistently and always with the help of some serious studio production.
Is he a rock ‘n’ roll star?
Outside of his guitar-laced outro, “Up, Up and Away,” he isn’t really rocking that much.
Or is he a gangster rapper?
Are you kidding me? He wears dark-washed Levi ultra skinnies and chunky Elvis Costello frames. If he didn’t blaze so much and were Caucasian, he’d easily be Rivers Cuomo from Weezer.
So what is Kid Cudi? Why do I care so much as to travel three hours from school to watch him in industrial, depressing Cleveland?
Well because he’s… Um, because he’s Mr. Solo Dolo. He’s The Cudder.
But more or less because he’s revolutionizing music through diversifying what we consider popular music to be—changing our aesthetic perceptions of hip-hop, rock, rap and R&B all at the same time.
On his debut mixtapes, A Kid Named Cudi and Dat Kid From Cleveland, his beats hit like a freight train: sparsely crafted, bass- and melody-heavy tunes crafted to Cudi’s personality. His stream-of-consciousness poetic flow teeters dangerously between choppy and smooth; lyrics like, “they love a dooder, they love me I mean/I can’t believe how I had a dream of Martin King/But they ain’t takin’ me out on no balcony,” spread onto your ears like Jif chunky peanut butter.
The synthy and atmospherically beautiful “Man On the Moon: The Anthem” is introduced by the line, “I never gave a f**k/I never gave a f**k about what n****s thought about me/I mean I did, but, like, f**k it/you gon’ love me, man,” a statement and proclamation drenched in such cut-and-dry honesty and self-consciousness that F. Scott Fitzgerald would be proud.
He’s introspective and pensive without being maudlin. His wistfulness is palpable yet it’s not over-bearing. He’s brash, cocky and bold at times, but he still has his doubts.
He very well might be the J. Alfred Prufrock of our generation.
When you start off an album with the proclamation, “I’ve got 99 problems/and they all bitches/wish I were Jigga Man/carefree livin’,” you’re nothing short of a basket full of emotion.
And because of this journey through the human condition—because of this disregard for every music industry cliché of pompousness and trivial subject matter—I wanted to see Cudi live, in Cleveland, on the 15th of January.
So I did.
With the exception of a few not-so-desirable concert attendees, Cudi’s performance at the Agora Theater was more than entertaining. His open use of alcohol and pot during his concert not only made his performance that much more lively, but it also added to his conflicted persona. He seemed untouchable onstage as he romped through classics such as “Down And Out” and “Make Her Say,” but was human and melancholy during his performances of “Mr. Solo Dolo” and “Man On the Moon: The Anthem.”
Ditto with his closing number, “Pursuit of Happiness.” As the crowd helped chant “I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I know/everything that shines ain’t always gon’ be gold/I’ll be fine once I get it/I’ll be good” with the encore, Cudi’s smile lit up the dark, crowded theater; an assurance that solidifies Cudi’s closing statement about the hometown crowd, “I love you, Cleveland.”
Other than Cudi’s being the second-most worshipped man in northeast Ohio outside of LeBron James, this concert emphasized why Kid Cudi is relevant: he is relatable. He embodies the superstar persona that everyone wishes to be. He has his issues, but who doesn’t? He makes pop music that’s creatively outside the box no matter how many rap and hip-hop purists bash on his simplistic rhyme scheme. He’s from a city that’s as aesthetically ugly and depressing as the demons that roam his sub-conscious, but he’s not afraid to unleash them. He shares what he feels—earnestness that makes him human.
So what is Kid Cudi?
He’s just like you and me. That's why I was excited.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
It’s rare that I’m excited for a concert.
Well, that’s a gross understatement and a lie—every concert I go to generates excitement.
But Cudi in Cleveland is different: this is a man apart from the rest of hip-hop—the music industry even. This is an artist who hasn’t necessarily reached that subjectively interpreted apex of his career and he’s playing in his hometown. Say whaaaaaa? Count me in, brotha.
Now, I’ve spent countless time thinking about Cudi. Don’t take that statement the wrong way (because Lord knows you definitely could), but rather I’ve been thinking about his place in music—I’ve been thinking about his art.
What really is Kid Cudi? Is he a hip-hop artist?
Nah, not so much.
Is he an R&B singer?
No, that really doesn’t suit his style. He harmonizes but not consistently and always with the help of some serious studio production.
Is he a rock ‘n’ roll star?
Outside of his guitar-laced outro, “Up, Up and Away,” he isn’t really rocking that much.
Or is he a gangster rapper?
Are you kidding me? He wears dark-washed Levi ultra skinnies and chunky Elvis Costello frames. If he didn’t blaze so much and were Caucasian, he’d easily be Rivers Cuomo from Weezer.
So what is Kid Cudi? Why do I care so much as to travel three hours from school to watch him in industrial, depressing Cleveland?
Well because he’s… Um, because he’s Mr. Solo Dolo. He’s The Cudder.
But more or less because he’s revolutionizing music through diversifying what we consider popular music to be—changing our aesthetic perceptions of hip-hop, rock, rap and R&B all at the same time.
On his debut mixtapes, A Kid Named Cudi and Dat Kid From Cleveland, his beats hit like a freight train: sparsely crafted, bass- and melody-heavy tunes crafted to Cudi’s personality. His stream-of-consciousness poetic flow teeters dangerously between choppy and smooth; lyrics like, “they love a dooder, they love me I mean/I can’t believe how I had a dream of Martin King/But they ain’t takin’ me out on no balcony,” spread onto your ears like Jif chunky peanut butter.
The synthy and atmospherically beautiful “Man On the Moon: The Anthem” is introduced by the line, “I never gave a f**k/I never gave a f**k about what n****s thought about me/I mean I did, but, like, f**k it/you gon’ love me, man,” a statement and proclamation drenched in such cut-and-dry honesty and self-consciousness that F. Scott Fitzgerald would be proud.
He’s introspective and pensive without being maudlin. His wistfulness is palpable yet it’s not over-bearing. He’s brash, cocky and bold at times, but he still has his doubts.
He very well might be the J. Alfred Prufrock of our generation.
When you start off an album with the proclamation, “I’ve got 99 problems/and they all bitches/wish I were Jigga Man/carefree livin’,” you’re nothing short of a basket full of emotion.
And because of this journey through the human condition—because of this disregard for every music industry cliché of pompousness and trivial subject matter—I wanted to see Cudi live, in Cleveland, on the 15th of January.
So I did.
With the exception of a few not-so-desirable concert attendees, Cudi’s performance at the Agora Theater was more than entertaining. His open use of alcohol and pot during his concert not only made his performance that much more lively, but it also added to his conflicted persona. He seemed untouchable onstage as he romped through classics such as “Down And Out” and “Make Her Say,” but was human and melancholy during his performances of “Mr. Solo Dolo” and “Man On the Moon: The Anthem.”
Ditto with his closing number, “Pursuit of Happiness.” As the crowd helped chant “I’m on the pursuit of happiness and I know/everything that shines ain’t always gon’ be gold/I’ll be fine once I get it/I’ll be good” with the encore, Cudi’s smile lit up the dark, crowded theater; an assurance that solidifies Cudi’s closing statement about the hometown crowd, “I love you, Cleveland.”
Other than Cudi’s being the second-most worshipped man in northeast Ohio outside of LeBron James, this concert emphasized why Kid Cudi is relevant: he is relatable. He embodies the superstar persona that everyone wishes to be. He has his issues, but who doesn’t? He makes pop music that’s creatively outside the box no matter how many rap and hip-hop purists bash on his simplistic rhyme scheme. He’s from a city that’s as aesthetically ugly and depressing as the demons that roam his sub-conscious, but he’s not afraid to unleash them. He shares what he feels—earnestness that makes him human.
So what is Kid Cudi?
He’s just like you and me. That's why I was excited.
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
Monday, January 11, 2010
He Was A Diplomat's Son, Oh.
-Since Curb Your Enthusiasm ended its seventh season, I've been itching for more of that misanthropic Jew genius, Larry David. It's like a bad addiction to painkillers: once you're prescribed a modest amount to make up for your newfound apathy towards Zach Braff and everything he creates, you start inundating your hypothalamus with copious quantities of Seinfeld's comedic savant.
So in order to pass the time until that four-eyed fuck is back on the air, I've thought of a few situations that I believe could work in season 8. Granted, I'm not a screenwriter (I'm just a blogger hack), but I think these hold promise:
1. Escalator Etiquette
It's not that hard to remember: stay in your own fucking bubble. I find it hard to believe that this nearly golden rule goes to the wayside when you step on a moving set of stairs. Proper escalator etiquette requires each rider stand on opposite sides of consecutive steps--at the least. This prevents unnecessary and often awkward hand slips and crotch grinds from both sexes. I'm 5'5"--there's nothing worse than having some 6'10" Paul Bunyan dip his fly's zipper on the back of my dome-piece. Larry could take this pet peeve to the next level.
2. People Who Walk Too Slow
Another often broken golden rule: people who walk as if they should belong on AARP yet still possess the legs of a gazelle. While I'm not condoning that we all try to emulate Usain Bolt, it becomes tedious trying to pass these sloths on the way to a class I'm probably already late for. And that's too true. Their tepidness causes me to not necessarily become late for class, but ensures that I'll almost never find the perfect seat in order to only half-heartedly participate in my lecture. And this bothers me. Maybe I want to text someone about getting crappy dining hall food after class. Without a venerable position I'm utterly and completely fucked. In the direct path of the hurricane that are my professors' eyes, I'm unable to perform this function and many others that are necessary for most of my lectures: day dreaming, sexy-lady scanning and of course day dreaming. You people know who you are that force me into this kind of destitution. Fix it, pronto.
3. Having Sex In The Room While Your Roommate Is Present
This would be LD gold. For those who follow the show, Larry's sexual awkwardness is mythical (the Cheryl threesome episode, anyone?). Especially with Leon in Larry's house now, this would prove to be most satisfactory. But, c'mon, sex while your roommate is present in the room? It's like dorm room etiquette number one. At the very least it's in the top-ten. The bed was rocking so hard against my head the other night I nearly got a concussion. And I'm not OK with those slurping noises being no more than three feet from my face. I'm not.
With that being said...
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
So in order to pass the time until that four-eyed fuck is back on the air, I've thought of a few situations that I believe could work in season 8. Granted, I'm not a screenwriter (I'm just a blogger hack), but I think these hold promise:
1. Escalator Etiquette
It's not that hard to remember: stay in your own fucking bubble. I find it hard to believe that this nearly golden rule goes to the wayside when you step on a moving set of stairs. Proper escalator etiquette requires each rider stand on opposite sides of consecutive steps--at the least. This prevents unnecessary and often awkward hand slips and crotch grinds from both sexes. I'm 5'5"--there's nothing worse than having some 6'10" Paul Bunyan dip his fly's zipper on the back of my dome-piece. Larry could take this pet peeve to the next level.
2. People Who Walk Too Slow
Another often broken golden rule: people who walk as if they should belong on AARP yet still possess the legs of a gazelle. While I'm not condoning that we all try to emulate Usain Bolt, it becomes tedious trying to pass these sloths on the way to a class I'm probably already late for. And that's too true. Their tepidness causes me to not necessarily become late for class, but ensures that I'll almost never find the perfect seat in order to only half-heartedly participate in my lecture. And this bothers me. Maybe I want to text someone about getting crappy dining hall food after class. Without a venerable position I'm utterly and completely fucked. In the direct path of the hurricane that are my professors' eyes, I'm unable to perform this function and many others that are necessary for most of my lectures: day dreaming, sexy-lady scanning and of course day dreaming. You people know who you are that force me into this kind of destitution. Fix it, pronto.
3. Having Sex In The Room While Your Roommate Is Present
This would be LD gold. For those who follow the show, Larry's sexual awkwardness is mythical (the Cheryl threesome episode, anyone?). Especially with Leon in Larry's house now, this would prove to be most satisfactory. But, c'mon, sex while your roommate is present in the room? It's like dorm room etiquette number one. At the very least it's in the top-ten. The bed was rocking so hard against my head the other night I nearly got a concussion. And I'm not OK with those slurping noises being no more than three feet from my face. I'm not.
With that being said...
God Is Love,
Rev Rub.
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