x-x-x-x-x. Politics of Sex, Noise and Depression


| | | — | | Evil fuckface at a place called The Soundstage in Canway, Arkansas apparently decided not to open the place up for our Saturday show. There was nothing but a scrawled note on the door said, “show cancelled”. We were there early so we thought maybe it’s from the night before. By 8:30 it was us and like six other cats with Bru Records (who we hooked up with through Under The Ground, a local hip-hop organization) sitting on the fuckin’ curb, wondering. Rivka and I had noticed this place called Mr. Crunkies off I40 on the wey up; a wherehouse place with a big neon, graffitti-style logo out front. Bru records (and Trauma Team, another Under The Ground act) had heard dubious things; place takes out Cable TV ads for national “Club” acts (think 50 Cent), but we figured why not. A contingency of us drove down 10 miles to check it out. Turns out it’s like this spot run by a a twenty year old kid, whos parents own it. He’s all gangstered out. They were like, “We have a emcee battle and dance contest tonight. You can play, but you have to pay to get in.” We should’ve called it a night then, but we all wanted to hear and see each other, so we talked out way in, and headed back to get the rest of the crew (actually left Iron Monk and a couple of others there). Now - when we get back to Soundstage, the host band, Turtle Gallery, who put the show together were hangin’ around and working on finding another venue. So we siad, “Cool. We’ll head down and do a couple of songs at Mr. Crunkies, if a venue’s found, head back up and make it happen”. Crunkies was just the nightmare you can imagine. Actually a cool, mixed crowd of black and white folks from ages 10 to 47 (including the parents and aunts and unkles of the “boss”). They had the emcee battle, which was funny juxtaposed against the one 4 Kings had us at in Atlanta a few weeks ago. Whereas Atlanta is a super bad-ass music, and specifically hip-hop, town, and the host of the battle there at Apache Cafe, Dres is like the number 3 beatboxer in national championships, and he’s educated and intelligent, and there were like 20 really talented emcees involved, and the soundguy, Sambo, worked with like, every Major R & B act, in the country, this place had a soundguy who was probably 18 years old, and had only touched a soundboard, literally once, the day before. The “boss” hosted the “battle at Mr. Crunkies”. He was rediculously affected in his speach, repeadle saying “Aiight-aiight-aiiight-aaiiaaiiaiiaiight”, and shit like that. There were two contestants and I don’t think they ever figured out a winner. Interesting. I wish ‘em the best, but they were completely disrespectful of us all. Bru Records DJ, G-Force got to do a short set; ultra-distorted sounding. I was running back and forth to the soundboard, thrying to show “Zone” and “boss”s aunt Kelly how to use the shit, with Zone all nervious that I was gonna blow-up the “boss”s board. When Bru were done (a few of these realy cute women actually came up to the stage and enjoyed it, no-one else know what the fuck to do) with one song, e triedto get our MC5 hooked up, but after like three minutes of trouble-shooting, Zone just put on some 50 Cent or something and we got out of there. Headed back up to Conway, proper and all performed outside, behind this kid Johnny’s apartment complex. We had a blast. Later this kid, Cliton made some bad-ass bean dip and we sat around smoking, eating and listening to some Soul Coughing. Sunday Rikki Longstocking and I had some bad-ass wet Sunday afternoon sex in the van, in the Blue House driveway, ‘till this bad-ass local “chemist” came knocking and took us out to a great dinner with he and his biologist girlfriend. Ended the night with some Xanax and Anime. Now to get together like, 20 promo and poster packages and send a little cash home (money orders, baby). Being on the bottom is fun. laughing all the way,Mike |