Off season, but on track: Autumn In June

Off season, but on track: Autumn In June

In the tabloid imagination, the underprivileged are depicted as degenerates. Ghetto inhabitants are lazy and stupid. Crips and Bloods are sociopaths and junkies are two-legged invertebrates. Reality isn’t so monochrome. Every shooter, look-out, corner boy and Capo is a breathing contradiction. Gangsters can be articulate, complex and emotional. Autumn in June adds to the alternate reality.

Despite sharing Ice Cube’s proving grounds and dabbling in hip-hop, he’s more Morrissey than Mack 10. “When I was younger, everybody tries to box you, especially when you come from certain places. Once you start letting that get to you, that shit is miserable. It’s the worst thing ever.” A Phil Collins stan, Autumn grips synthesizer not Glock. When friends repped the set, he hustled studio time, even working out of a trap house on unused equipment. The Mexican American produced for Suga Free as a teenager, but accelerated toward a synth highway.

Wishing to keep personal and musical tangents separate, Autumn’s true name is unknown. He focuses on art, rather than earthly details. The wistful singer’s identity is cloaked under a haze of Daft Punk, Prince and a little Depeche Mode. Debut Magenta is equal measures love lost and carnality. Narcotic episodes are recalled under neon afterglow and music to step to. This ying and yang is deliberate.

“The songwriter part of my brain is a sad soul, it’s very personal, but the producer side of me, I love happy melodies. I love to make that type of music and they both connect.” A capable beat-smith, Autumn traverses electronica’s borders, delving into new wave on “Starlight” and channeling Nile Rodgers’ boogie licks on “I Guess It’s Cool To Be Lonely.” He flexes production dexterity across 12 tracks, dabbling in trap, dance and mild dubstep. For those recoiling at the latter, these trials are a brief foray rather than seismic bass wobble. Standout tunes invoke moonman Giorgio Moroder’s Italo disco, launching into space bound synths. “Cocaine 80s” and “You’re A Model Too” mesh danceable robot-rock with moody reflection.

The 20 something fully composed, performed and engineered Magneta, opting for totalitarian approach. “The album is 100% for me. I don’t usually make music for people, I make it for myself and that’s the only way to stay true to it.” Raised in the streets, yet undefined by his past, Autumn’s odes oppose hood stereotypes. Once again, 2Pac’s message is proven true, thugs get lonely too.

People from rough areas are usually portrayed as hardened gangstas. Someone such as yourself show there’s diversity everywhere.

It’s crazy, a lot of media portrays that. Guys need to be tough, when they need to be tough, but people are real people. Criminals are seen as the worst thing ever, but it’s rarely like that. Some people have their good days and their goofy sides. I’ve known friends that are super goofy and love to be playing, but when it comes down to it they turn up and they get with it. I guess there’s a certain thing that a lot of people think because you’re from a certain area, you’re all violent and extra out there. But I feel like everybody in their own mind, not everybody is just angry like all the time. It’s human nature that people look to have fun and they do things they enjoy. There’s obviously people here and there, but that’s in every community, even in rich communities, there’s people that just love violence.  

Wu Tang Forever 20th Anniversary Feature

In Chinese lore, dragons are bonded to the number nine. The ancient serpent has nine forms and nine sons. With the head of a horse, demon’s eyes, clam’s belly and snake’s tail, their interlocking parts can bring success or misfortune. Before greed, tragedy and Martin Shrekli, nine New Yorkers forged an unwieldy beast of their own. And it would never soar higher than Wu-Tang Forever.

Wu’s origin is cherished folklore, recited by greying pilgrims to the spin of anti-skip Discmans. After a failed Tommy Boy contract and vanquishing murder charges in Ohio, Robert Diggs set on industry takeover. A martial arts fanatic, Diggs was captivated by 1978 flick Five Deadly Venoms. The cult hit featured five warriors, each attacking with bestial ferocity. He conceived a similar cast of MCs spitting indomitable verbal Qigong. Diggs, now the RZA, plus his cousins Ol’ Dirty Bastard and GZA along with Method Man, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah, Inspectah Deck, U-God and Masta Killa formed a nonagon of wit, knowledge and metal flying guillotines.

RZA guaranteed supremacy if they’d submit for five years. They’d have solo record deals, clothes, caramel sundae air freshener, our hearts, our minds – you name it. Stunningly, Diggs’ concept worked. Small time hoodlums became action figures and film stars. It was the mid-90s, and Wu-Tang were supremely cool at a time when “cool” was still bankable. It was also the dawn of rap commercialization, before Beats made Dre a fortune and Jay Z hosted reptilian board meetings. RZA, his brother Divine and associate Oli Grant chased Disney money. Their golden crane logo was everywhere. Power launched the Wu Wear clothing brand, cutting the path for Roc-a-Wear and Sean Jean. They created Wu Filmz, Wu nails (really), Wu management, multiple labels and had over 100 affiliate artists, including Wu Latino and that poor guy who cut off his own katana.

Musically, Wu-Tang were also completing a flawless coup. Their bulletproof debut was followed by peerless solo strikes with Method Man’s Tical, GZA’s Liquid Swords, Raekwon’s Only Built For Cuban Linx and Ghostface’s Ironman. The dynasty prevailed with supreme talent and street-bred marketing savvy. Fans passionately debated favorite members like sports teams and the Wu were constantly pitched sponsorship ideas. Between Kenan & Kel‘s shenanigans on Nickelodeon, they had prime TV advertising. RZA foresaw going public on the stock market. For those who doubted rap’s buying power, this was a spin kick to the jaw.

‘Triumph’ is Forever’s accurately titled lead single, where Wu-Tang align with fierce verbosity on their finest group cut. At six minutes with 10 rappers and no hook, it radiates thermogenic bars with zero pop concession. Inspectah Deck conjures 25 years of solo shows with one uncanny soliloquy, his karaoke contingent bonded to the words, “I bomb atomically.” Ignoring commercial appeal for lyrical ballast, Wu topped the spire on their own terms.

Read the rest in FACT Mag

Dam Funk In Brick Vol #3

While galavanting around LA last year, I was lucky enough to interview Dam Funk. 

Los Angeles is inherently funky. Remnants of the paisley era occupy the city’s 500-mile radius. It’s in the fluorescent sun- set, Dre’s gangsta bounce and sporadic Impalas sweltering on palm lined avenues. As traffic crawls over motorways and humidity distorts the horizon, rare stations transmit bygone grooves. The zenith might be over, but funk is vital to Ca- li’s hub. Pasadena native Damon Riddick understands this. As Dâm-Funk, he’s advanced the genre more than anyone in the last decade. Yet, the modern funkster may never see his deserved recognition.

No fads, no sell-outs, integrity, sincerity, funk-first. Dâm’s unyielding values and uplifting tunes energise masses. Flick through social media and you’ll find someone who re- bukes fame’s façade. Riddick speaks as someone working in the industry, but not of the industry. His feed is stacked with virtuous mantras, every acknowledgement of success pref- aced by “humbly speaking.” Truly uncommon in an attention craving curriculum, Dâm is about his craft above all. In per- son, he exerts a passion for music, often claimed, but rarely possessed. When we convene at his favorite spot, The Cork in humble Ladera Heights, Riddick spends the first 30 minutes curating an afternoon soundtrack. The bar’s NFL commentary is silenced for a groove history lesson, but no one utters a complaint. You can’t fault Dâm for commandeering the juke- box, he’s more than earned it.

For the full piece, you can purchase Brick here. There's tons of great photography and articles better than mine. 

Rap superheroes

Jimmy_03 (2).jpg

I wrote about the similarities between rappers and superheroes in Viper #7, with art by Edd Leigh.

You don’t need marvel or dc to be a superhero fan, hip hop has been tied to comic books since day uno. Faster than a foe’s bullet, smarter than a crooked cop with the ability to leap over haters and scoop your girl, MCs boast special powers minus the cape.

Hit play, pause in disbelief and you’ll witness enough uncanny sagas to mystify Stan Lee. On primeval hit ‘Rappers Delight’, former pizza boy Big Bank Hank launched comparisons by stunting on Clark Kent. “By the way baby, what’s your name? Said I go by the name of Lois Lane. And you could be my boyfriend, you surely can, just let me quit my boyfriend called Superman.”

Almost four decades later, we’ve remained covert fan-boys. Heroics and villainy surge through rap’s multiplex of wild deeds, messianic ambitions and cinematic showdowns. Among those unconsciously mimicking printed protagonists is Atlanta’s hit-making overlord Future. Whether poised as a double cupped Yahweh or 808 incubus, the masked avenger narrative remains. Like 70 years of nerd lore before him, Future’s story and perception reflects humanity’s triumphs, struggles and terrors.

MCs outstep the ordinary to snatch respect, adoration and wealth. Their names trigger a variance of mystique and believability. Akin with David Banner morphing into the Hulk, almost every hot spitta has an alias to channel their power. Quincy Matthew Hanley sounds less like a library warden under his crippy hippy pseudonym; ScHoolboy Q. Radric and Torrence aren’t names to fear, but Gucci Mane and Boosie Badazz have handled more artillery than Tunisia. Play rapper word association and specific attributes leap to consciousness. Lil Wayne – facial tattoos and drank, Cypress Hill –Latino pride and weed, Young Thug – weirdo genius. Some artists went full nerd when choosing their titles; DJ Clark Kent, DJ Green Lantern, Grandmaster Flash, Jean Grae and Big Pun all borrowed namesakes from panelled characters. One slick nom de plume isn’t enough though. Alter egos are as common as regrettable tattoos, platinum teeth and video vixens. Wu Tang Clan are the best example - each verbal assassin has a hero equivalent, most notably Ghostface Killah conjuring Tony Stark on wordplay master class Ironman. They’ve made comic books, video games and movies. RZA bought an impenetrable truck and $20,000 suit with bulletproof briefcase to realise his Bobby Digital ego. Yes, you read that right.

Read the rest here: viperpublishing.bigcartel.com