Like many of you, I was shocked this past Saturday when the all female jury acquitted murderer George Zimmerman of Trayvon Martin’s murder. To be honest with you, of course I smelled the strong stench of racism looming around this case but for me the verdict became less about justice failing and more about the fact that in America, even in 2013, its hard to view a young black man as harmless even if he’s underage, unarmed, and non confrontational.As people blacked out their Instagram defaults and took to Twitter in rage, I quietly looked at my brothers. Josh is 22, 5’6″, with long flowing dreadlocks. John is 21, a few inches taller than Josh, with a low cut, a beard, and piercing black eyes. To me they are just my baby brother’s and my best friends but after hearing the verdict on yesterday I realized that Josh (who’s studying to become a school teacher) and John (who has plans on opening his own business soon) may very well look like murderers to some. Not because of their actions but because of a few things that they can not change, their age, gender, and ethnicity.One day I want to get married to a great man and have wonderful children. I always dreamed of the house with the large backyard, two cars, and two kids. A girl and a boy… A boy… A boy who may one day not be looked at as the wonderful boy that his mother raises him to be but as a threat to society because of his skin tone… Damn…Rest In Peace Trayvon from
Lyrics
#10FriskCommandments Remix LYRICS
Hands up if you ever seen a handcuff…
Hands up if you ever seen a handcuff…
My little man touched me in the heart, we was at the park
Watch him run the rock, time to go cause its getting dark
Last play of the game, hard foul fight starts,
i’m peeling out because i don’t want my son to see the night sparks
before i get the 5 feet, the blue lights behind me.
Pulling over, cool as ice til something reminds me
My little man is in the car, that something was him
asking me if i was gonna get taken away by them
I laughed like i wasn’t concerned
But in the back of mind i remember the time when i made a U TURN
And got pulled over for suspicious action
My white friend got pulled out so they could ask him
what he was doing with me, that incident was one among many
I wanna tell my son that that’s silly
He’s only 3, and im not even sure its wise
or fair to have to teach him to survive before he’s five
That night I read him 10 commandments and I nearly cried
cause it wasn’t the bible it was from Jasiri’s rhymes
Its the 10 frisk commandments…
I’ve never known a time when I wasn’t really warned
about how blackness is perceived with some malice and some scorn.
But Mama I’m sure I didn’t do nothing wrong
And then she said that’s not the point I just don’t want to see you gone.
Growing up it was me who was questioning the fact that being black
That I was somehow always under some sort of attack
It was the bad kids, the thuggish ones, I will be okay
and that’s the same bullshit they used on Kimani Grey
Its 2013 how is not being white still a crime
and the innocent still get stopped and frisked all the time
I’m American, I thought that came with some sort of rights
That was undeniable whether my skin was dark or light
Such a fright, abuse of authoritative might,
Such a sight, to see young folks scared to even fight
For their rights, guess what, we need more voices who are white
lets unite, and put this shit to bed and say good night…
It’s the 10 Frisk Commandments
Driving through New York I see’em inside my rear view
Lights on, sirens sound, pull over, yeah I hear you
I guess you see four black men in an SUV so you expect we sling
I felt like Ice T, it was six in the morning
He asked where we going, we rolling to a performance
He asked if was I drinkin’, I told him I don’t indulge in the spirits
but he wasn’t trying to hear it
He pulled out the breathalyzer, like i was the best of liars
but my man Radee, had the Canon 5D
Commandment number 9 yeah we film the police
And because were were recording, we got off with the warning
I asked why he pulled us over, What a surprise
He said my lights were off but it was passed sunrise
And I was thankful that none of us died
Stopped and frisked in N-Y but at least we survived
By the 10 frisk commandments.
Kill My Landlord is the debut album by political hip hop group the Coup,
Released May 4, 1993
Throwback Music video for the day
The Coup – Not Yet Free
On May 4th, decades before James Todd Smith accidentally bartered the bloody residue of transatlantic slavery for some gold chains, I wore a $4.33 burnt orange du-rag and Cross Colours T-shirt to a record store called Camelot Music in Jackson, Miss. A few days earlier, before purchasing the du-rag or making the twenty-minute trek to Camelot in Mama’s hooptie, I popped a VHS with old episodes of Martin in my roommate’s VCR and I recorded a video onRap City by a new group from Oakland called The Coup. The song was called “Not Yet Free” and the unreleased album was entitled Kill My Landlord.
This was 1993.
I was six years removed from 2 Live Crew’s Move Somethin’album cover ushering me into puberty; five years from BDP and Public Enemy revising revisionist American histories; five from NWA showing us all how and why we should f—- the police; three years from LL’s attempt at a “conscious” racial profiling song; two years from Ice Cube making the most provocative albumof the late 20th Century; one year from a predictable bloody rebellion in LA; and five months from Dr. Dre forcing us to reconsider everything we thought we knew about cinematic weed music, while birthing a puppy dog named Snoop. rolex watches
In Jackson, and other parts of the black belt, we were no longer the dutiful disciples of Holy Trinity of MCs — KRS,Kane and Rakim. We respected the gods, but we were done exclusively eavesdropping on the rhymes coming out of New York City. West coast music, as varied as it was, met us where we were and, truth be told, it was music we could see and hear. We also accepted that the west coast and the black belt were family, and had been since the second great migration of the 1940’s ushered thousands of southern black families to Los Angeles for jobs in the automotive and defense industries.
It’s true that the south, dismissed as culturally slow, meaningless and less hip (hop) than New York, had yet to, as Albert Murray wrote, lyrically stylize our southern worlds into significance. But if outsiders really listened to the musty movement behind the Geto Boys, UGK and 8 Ball and MJG, they would have heard the din of deeply southern black boys and girls eager to keep it reallocal. We wanted to use hip-hop’s brash boast, confessional and critique to unapologetically order the chaos of our country lives through country lenses with little regard to whether it sounded like real hip-hop. Fashion watches
We were real blues people, familiar in some way or another with dirt. There were no skyscrapers and orange-brown projects stopping us from looking up and out. We didn’t know what it was like to move with enclosed subway trains slithering beneath our feet. And we liked it that way.
En route to lyrical acceptance of our dirty, we met Scarface, Ice Cube, Pimp C, Bun B, MC Renand D.O.C. And after a while, we realized that they were our cousins, our uncles, our best friends, us. We lyrically rode through Compton, Oakland, Port Arthur and Houston the same way we rode through Jackson, Meridian, Little Rock, New Orleans and Birmingham. We rode in long cars with windows down, bass quaking and air fresheners sparkling like Christmas tree ornaments.
We felt pride in knowing that the greatest producer alive was an uncle from Compton, and the most anticipated MC in the history of hip-hop was a lanky brother from Long Beach. We knew, no matter what anyone in New York said, the baddest MC on earth, song for song, album for album, was an aging cousin from South Central Los Angeles whose government name was O’Shea.
As inspirational as we found Dre’s music, Snoop’s flow and Cube’s criticism, an articulated fear and hatred of black women was part of what made them so nationally attractive. Like nearly all of our lyrical pedagogues, these MCs practiced a form of spectacular psychological and/or emotional dismantling of black women passed down by the practices, policies and patriarchy of America.
Chuck D and Flav had already told us all that women were “blind to the facts” of who they were because they watched the wrong television shows. Slick Rick warned us to pre-emptively treat women like prostitutes since all they did was “hurt and trample.” Too Short painted the freakiest of tales and constantly reminded us that the correct pronunciation of the words “woman” and/or “girl” was “bitch.”
Big Daddy Kane and Nice and Smooth let us know that no matter what we heard from Too Short, pimping was never easy. The Geto Boys showed us howto kick a woman in the ass if she claimed to be pregnant with our baby. Before we elected a modern Falstaff with hoish tendencies to the White House, MC Ren evocatively taught us how to gang rape a fourteen year old preacher’s daughter and sodomize any woman “saying that they never would suck a dick.”
This was 1993.
Back in my dorm room, I rewind-pause-played my way through the shifting points of view of “Not Yet Free.” I memorized all three verses the same night I saw it and told my boy, Eric Caples — a formidable MC himself — that I’d just heard the perfect rap song. The next day, in Eric’s room, I watched his face as he watched the video.
The first image beneath the boom of the 808 was a black woman standing upright in matching white necklace, bracelet and earrings. The woman had a sawed off shotgun on her back and a child in her arms. She looked directly into the face of the she child was nursing. As engrossing as the image was, Eric was mesmerized by what he heard.
The Coup’s DJ, a woman named “Pam, the Funkstress,” scratched — teased — variations of Ice Cube’s “Blacks are … Blacks … Blacks … Blacks are too f—-ing broke …” for 40 seconds before finally arriving at “Blacks are too f—-ing broke to be Republican.”
Eric bobbed his head to the beat and furrowed his brow when Boots rhymed, “Everyday I pulls a front so nobody pulls my card / I got a mirror in my pocket and I practice looking hard.” Neither of us had ever heard that kind of hyper-awareness of our hyper-awareness, not even from Ice Cube.
We both covered our mouths when the organ dropped and Boots explored his role in capitalism: “This web is made of money, made of greed, made of me. Oh, what I have become in a parasite economy.”
Eric closed his eyes and smiled at the precision, sensory details and familiarity of E-Roc’s verse and voice as he picked up where Boots left off.
“In the winter there’s a splinter with the smell of the rain
And the scent of the street, but all I smell is the pain
Of a brotha who’s a hustler and he’s stuck to the grind
Of a sista who’s a hooker gotta sell her behind.”
Later in the verse, E-Roc ruptured the individual desperation narrative, placing himself as an actor, agent and witness on the streets he previously described: “Now my dreams and aspiration go from single to whole / As I realize there’s a million motherf—-ers in the cold.”
Boots came back in at the end of the song, with a new point of view. The shift was marked by a minimal bass guitar and deepening of his voice. In the video, Boots’ words come out of the mouth of a pawn shop owner whose store is filled with guns we presume he’ll sell to brothers killing other brothers.
“N—-az, thugs, dope dealers and pimps
Basketball players, rap stars and simps
That’s what little black boys… are made of …
Sluts, hoes and press the naps around your neck
Broads, pop that coochie, b——es stay in check
That’s what little black girls… are made of …”
The point of view changed hands one more time, as Boots reoccupied his subject position and asked, “But if we’re made of that, who made us? / And what can we do to change us?” He delivered his last lines of the verse to pawn shop owner, the surveillance camera and, ultimately, to us.
I stopped the VCR before the end of the song to see what Eric Caples had to say. I told him that I was going to use my work-study check to buy some gas for Mama’s car, then drive the mall to buy the whole album tomorrow. I remember literally telling him that Boots was my new favorite MC and that I believed “Not Yet Free” could change hip-hop forever.
“It’s dope,” Eric eventually said about the song and video. “They can rap and that DJ can scratch. Boots ain’t no Snoop, though. And I can tell you right now that that tape won’t be noChronic either.”
I sucked my teeth, and rewound the VHS to the beginning of the video again.
Sitting on the floor of that dorm room, I would have sworn on everything I loved that hip-hop would never be the same after “Not Yet Free” and Kill My Landlord — even though I hadn’t heard it yet. I really knew that everything involving hip-hop, black boys, black girls, freedom, capitalism, raced oppression, truth, rape music, violence, white supremacy, honesty and me was about to change forever.
The next morning, with a pocket full of work-study money, I headed to Super D to buy some new clippers to cut my hair. The clippers were more expensive than I thought they’d be so I bought a du-rag instead. I put the du-rag on in Mama’s hooptie and headed to Camelot.
The manager told me that they didn’t carry Kill My Landlord and that he hadn’t even heard of The Coup. He claimed he could get one copy of the album in stock in 7-10 business days if I wanted him to. I thought hard about whether I’d have money for the album in 7-10 business days.
A half hour later, I purchased Above the Law’s Black Mafia Life and a three-piece from Popeyes.
Back in my dorm room, I blasted a song called, “Pimpology 101” and set my roommate’s VCR to record another episode of Rap City.
“I woke up yesterday morning with this song on my mind so as I sat home alone, I decided to grab my camera and my tripod to give you a visual for it. Directed and edited by me but heavily inspired by Malcolm. He is one of my favorites. Church” … @3DNATEE
Help me bring balance back the game by Tweeting, Posting, Sharing, Blogging, Pinning, and Liking this video with your friends that enjoy High End Hip Hop!!
Check out the official video for NYOIL / CULTURE FREEDOM. Twitter @NYOIL
Produced by Boombaptist
Video shot by B-Marvel for PEMG Twitter @bmarvel_oru
Video directed by BigNay The IceQueen for PEMG Twitter @BigNay
One Eyed Ogre Films
EVERYTHING from Evil Empire of Everything – Public Enemy
Get it now: http://j.mp/QNHZSj
Everything
Featuring: Gerald Albright & Sheila Brody
Produced by: Gary G-Wiz
Written by: Chuck D, Gary G-Wiz, G.Albright, Sheila Brody
Everything (The Video)
Directed by: David Snyder
Produced by: Maura Snyder
Featuring (In Order of Appearance) Justin Strong
Davon Magwood
Jason Sauer
Julian Hicks
Nina Gibbs
Alicia Natachie
Tim Sites
Marcus J Gilligan
Jake Mulliken
DJ Def Chad
Pilar Freeman
Shelby Smith
Ashtyn Neibar
Marie Pelliccione
Zoe Louis
Kahmeela Adams
Dorothy Davis
“Your Parents’ Cocaine” by The Coup from the new album ‘Sorry To Bother you,’ Out Now!
Credits:
Video by Eat the Fish Presents…
Including
Josh Jacobsen
Pat Saindon
Alexis Wilson
Steven Chisham
Theo Chatneuf
Jacob Ward
Danny Richmond
Carly Ward
Sergio Barajas
Dan Minkin
Mike Minton
Amy Green
Matt Robinson
Peter Matheny-Schuster
Jennifer Bessmer
Jay Dill
Rita Alonso
Isaac Santos
Mary Breingan
Nica Poznanovich
Matt Callaway
Robin Brown
Emilio Martinez
Lyrics:
The valet pointed me through the door
One more shot and you’re on the floor
If cash talks, yours is a lion’s roar
Guesquire, Christian Dior
You’re the asshole ambassador
But your friends obey like Labradors
I vomited on the alpine décor
It’s okay, your daddy gon’ buy some more
All your friends from school are here
Your frat boys got the rufies near
What will they want when you’re out of beer?
Your parents’ cocaine!
Your graduation monster bash
The maids will pick up all the trash
In almost every room is stashed
Your parents’ cocaine!
Your daddy gon’ make you VP of sales
Don’t mix good shit with the ginger ale
Pacific Heights ain’t Sunnydale
You could murder somebody and be out on bail
Your mom’s Amtrak- she’s on the rails
So many bumps thought it was Braille
One day, we’re all gonna tip the scales
Cuz me and my crew are too big to fail
Steve and Katie shut the door
And fucked all on the bathroom floor
Now they’re up and looking for
Your parents’ cocaine!
Until you get that trust fund check
Pretend you worked for your respect
Janie’s asking if she can test
Your parents’ cocaine!
All your esteemed colleages and guests
Are here to celebrate your success
They only say “Good Luck!” in jest
Your fortune guaranteed at the breast
And Dave, who let’s you win at chess
Is with your girlfriend in her dress
They’re tired of being your marionettes
You’ll mourn in Rio via company jet
Your daddy’s got a business plan
Which made wars in Afghanistan
It bought your house in Bangkok and
Your parents’ cocaine!
Narcos kicked my windows out
They beat and dragged me out the house
They don’t give a fuck about
Your parents’ cocaine!