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[Gnarls Barkley - Smiley Faces]
Just read this and it inspired me to write this…
these last 9 months since i started grad school have been beautifully painful.
in many ways, it feels like these last 9 months have compacted a similar amount of growth, self-evaluation, reflection, pain, love, and life as experienced in the last 9 years i’ve been alive.
i’ve literally stepped into a vast number of different arenas in which my becoming a man asks that i work harder than i knew was in my power. my battles with doubt of self-worth have been long and arduous, but like the homie G says, “being honest makes it easier to look at my reflection.” i have reveled in the opportunities that marrying my partner, and taking my education to a level that asks me to lay my soul on the line have afforded me, because they insist that i address my fears and insecurities head-on and without remorse.
one of the most difficult parts of interrogating myself and the person i see in the mirror has been not wallowing in how deeply upset i become with myself when listing the myriad miscalculations, missteps, assumptions, and f*ck-ups i’ve been a part of along the way. i think in the long run, my being so hard on myself is good, but only when met with a balance of recognizing the ways that i have used my life experience to work my hardest at loving myself and others, regardless of how they might feel about me.
i’ve been working like crazy these past 9 months to find balance between taking note of the ways different people perceive me and asking myself why they might respect and/or lack respect for me; and not giving a flying 747 f*ck about anyone who doesn’t understand me. i don’t believe for a single second that putting my mind completely towards one or the other is good for anybody and strive daily, to discover a middleground.
what does give me peace is that i know for a fact that i am working my ass off. i am striving to be better; to love across the board despite the multitude ignorance and inadequacy existent within myself and those around me. i am working to do better than simply pulling arundhati roy quotes out of my ass every time i speak of privilege and oppression, power and powerlessness. i am hearing music and not listening to it, from the pain i hear in a rapper’s laugh, to the giddiness i hear in an emo artist’s self-pity. i am reading in between what is between the lines. and i’m writing about it.
although it’s only the beginning, i feel that these last 9 months have been the start of my realization of the depths of how racial essentialism has affected me as a mixed heritage person. i HATE to admit it and and have fought for so long to disprove the vast array of preconceived notions put upon me as a “mixed up” kid, but today i believe it is safe to say that i have been at war with myself for much of my life. and while there have been times of peace, battles were always looming.
at this moment of my life, it has become apparent to me that although i may be left vulnerable, i am far less capable of inflicting self-damage by letting my guard down. in any event, i am left in a much better place if i am left laid out on the pavement, punched in the face with my nose bloodied for smiling at another brother of color, than walking through life, continuing an apathetic stare with empty eyes and “f*ck off” tattooed on my forehead. this is not to degrade other young men who feel the need to “make that face that tells predators it better to reassess just who your’e about to wrestle with” (brother ali) because i remember it well and occassionally slip back into it. what i am saying is that if i am working with all my might to be at peace with myself, especially for the love of my life and the children we will one day bring into this world, is that if i am fortunate enough to possess an ability to smile at the world around me, even for a second, i’d better f*cking do it. not all are so blessed and privileged. (for more check out bell hooks’ “the oppositional gaze”.)
in my own opinion, there aren’t many who have not only understood the “oppositional gaze,” but also put the ability to break out of it into perspective through music, like cee-lo green. his “smiley faces” with gnarls barkley is one of the deepest joints i’ve ever come across in my 27 years on this earth. when he discusses the ways we become addicted to our worries and fears is incredibly on point and wittnessing the shedding of his guards and transcendance into the genre-less music that is gnarls barkley, from hip-hop (quite possibly the most rigid when faced with defining “authenticity”) i find it astounding and courageous.
this may sound weird coming from a japanese/scottish/iroquois square bear, but i’m currently in the business of busting my ass to be more like gnarls barkley.
i want to be wherever i see you smiling, because it’s easily one of the hardest things to do… your worries and fears become your friends and they end up smiling at you.
Smile (if/when the opportunity presents itself).
C
[Remember the Times.]
[Michael Jackson - Human Nature]
Racism killed Michael Jackson. While I realize fully, that this statement is a blatant act of reducing his death and the causes of it to a single word, I do so as an ethnically ambiguous person of color with European ancestry, who blurs racial lines and has read, dialogued, written, and studied intensely, the affects of race and racism on people of color (as well as white people) for the last decade of my young life. If you’ve ever had the pleasure (aka patience) to read through any one of my rants, I urge you to bear with me, and hear me out again, despite how skeptical you might be about me having a good head on my shoulders when it comes to issues regarding race in America…
_______
NOTE: (7/8/09)
With the death of MJ, this post has seen more views than I’ve ever had at ColinResponse. Upon reviewing the above statement a few times, me thinks it comes off as a bit condescending and might be rooted in walls I’ve built up over the years. In an act of chipping away at my defenses and insecurities, I thought I’d add this note, acknowledging my momentary wackness, but still leave what I wrote above, up as a reminder to myself. Chiggity-check b4 u wriggity-wreck, Senbei. You don’t have all the answers.
Love,
Senbei
_______
For Michael Jackson and every solitary person across the globe that he inspired. Rest In Power.
DADDY ISSUES
Joe Jackson was a f*cking d*ckhead. The amounts of pressure he put on his children, and particulary Michael at such a young age, was already a recipe for disaster. Let us all be reminded that the 1970’s and 1980’s were a f*cked up time for Americans of Black/African ancestry (not to say today is ‘peachy-keen’). The end of Vietnam coupled with Reagan’s “give all the country’s money to the rich and it will trickle down to the poor/working-class” cockamanie/obstuse/diabolical tragicnomics, left or put a disproportionate amount of people of color in poverty. It is in fact, safe to say that Ronald Reagan (not single-handedly – he had a ton of assistance) played a defining role in not only halting a civil rights movement toward equity and social justice in America, but pushed it backwards, profoundly.
Let us also not forget the crack epidemic (*cough* used by the government to divide the Black Panther party and destory Black communities *cough*)
In a climate that saw zero to little room for people of color succeeding financially if they were’nt already doing so, I ponder what kind of psychological strain Joe Jackson was under as a Black man in America to abuse his children physically, psychologically and/or sexually (and if this was done to him at any point during his own childhood). I am not in any way, shape, or form excusing his actions, nor the severe, relentless pressure he put on his children to live out his own personal dreams of fame and fortune. Something I often question when people have insanely f*cked-up sh*t happen to them however is, “what were conditions like in the mind of the oppressor (in this case Joe Jackson) to inflict such irreversible damage on their victim/s?” “What might be going through their minds that allowed them to justify insanity, violence and the disbursal of so much agony and grief?” “Who stood by, knew it was happening, yet allowed it to continue?”
While I am left in the dark as to the answers of these questions on most occasions, something I feel pretty confident about is that Michael was left without much a childhood. It appears from his many times awkward behavior and the way he related to children, that he was searching for an ellusive “perfect” childhood, late into his middle-age. No one but Michael and the 2 little boys he was accused of molesting will ever know if he did anything wrong to them, but I believe personally that he did not harm them (and I PRAY I am correct about this). What I believe is that MJ had zero sense of how a grown man is supposed to behave with a child because 1. he had no model to learn from and 2. he wanted to to be “best friends” with these little boys in the same way little boys who play in tree houses and sh*t are. I think some greedy parents saw an opportunity to exploit a an already out-of-touch-with-reality-man-child economically, and used their children to do so (this is all specualtion btw).
Michael’s talent, coupled with his innocence about the world and a severely tragic childhood, created the perfect equation for an incredible career and an eventual self-destruction.
BLACK OR WHITE(?)
It tickled me at first, but after sinking in for a minute or two, I began to feel infuriated and sick to my stomach when watching “Larry King Live” on CNN as he spoke to Cher about Michael’s passing. When asked about why she believed someone so “beautiful” and “talented” would be so bent on changing their physical appearance so drastically, Cher replied, “I truly have NO idea…”
Cher is a f*cking idiota for one of two reasons.
1. She has no idea that white standards of beauty in America have the ability to be internalized by people of color who in turn, begin to hate themselves, or…
2. She knew this and played dumb, due to her fear and/or white guilt.
Never was a huge Cher fan, but this truly solidified her ancient-ness for me.
I am not sure how much of Michael’s complexion change was due to his skin condition, but not unlike America, I continue to hope for the best but am far from optimistic about my wishes coming true. The ample amounts of work done on his face from the late 80s to the late 90s leave me at a loss for words. As someone who has scrutinized his own physical features more than he can remember throughout his life, I am left only in a place of gratitude that I never felt the urge to seek medical attention to change what I look like.
During different periods of my life I wished to erase and/or enhance my ethnic and/or anglo features, and am only brought to a place of what can only be described as heartbreak when I think of Michael believing that people might love him more if he subtracted his melanin and dismantled his facial features. I am supremely greatful for the friends and family around me who continue to support me enough to remove the doubt of self-worth that Michael must have been experiencing to subject his body to these violent alterations.
TELL THEM THAT IT’S HUMAN NATURE
In the end, Michael’s life was a beautiful tragedy. For someone to communicate so epically how he wished the world could be, to some might construed as naive and childish (or “gay” & “b*tchmade” by the naive and childish). I argue however, that his genius, not unlike Tupac, Marvin Gaye, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, John Lennon, Coltrane, etc. is something that comes along only ever so often and asks us to be better. To me, Michael Jackson (and all the other forementioned artists) are like beautiful, intricate fabrege eggs, asking us to appreciate them and the delicacy of their brilliance, all while begging the world to not crush them between our sweaty fingers and callused palms. I’m so sorry we couldn’t appreciate you fully, until we destroyed you, Michael. Rest in Peace. There is NO doubt in my mind you are in a much better place.
Tell them that it’s human nature,
Senbei
p.s.
[God's Sons.]
[Damien Marley feat. Nas - Road to Zion (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
So when I heard that Nas and Damien Marley were releasing an album together, it damn near made a blood vessel burst in my brain. Of all the 2nd Marley generation, Damien “Junior Gong” has always been my personal favorite for his flow, choice of production, message, and deep connection to his spirituality. His 2005 LP, “Welcome to Jamrock” is solidified for me as one of the greatest dancehall records of all time and was filled with insane soundscapes, including this gem right here.
Nas…
If you’ve read my blog before, it’s safe to say you probably know I’m a fan. Mr. Jones’ verse on this track ranks up there with my top 5 all-time and I tend to use this verse in my Jigga vs. Nas debates as a “Hovi could never write this verse,” argument. “I’m jus playin’…but I’m sayin’!”
Sometimes I can’t help but feel helpless
I’m havin daymares in daytime
Wide awake try to relate
This can’t be happenin like I’m in a dream while I’m walkin
Cause what I’m seein is haunting
Human beings like ghost and zombies
President Mugabe holding guns to innocent bodies
In Zimbabwe
They make John Pope seem Godly
Sacrilegious and blasphemous
In my lifetime I look back at paths I’ve walked
Where savages fought and pastors taught
Prostitutes stomp in high heel boots
And badges screaming,”Young black children stop or I will shoot!”
I look back at cooked crack
Plush cars that pass by
Jaguars – mad fly
And I’m guilty for materialism
Because Blacks is still up in the prison
Trust that
So save me your sorries, I’m raising an army
Revolutionary warfare with Damien Marley
We sparkin’ the iron, marching to Zion
You know how Nas be:
NYC state of mind on me…-Nas
BLESS.
C
So my brother Dacoury “DJ Dahi” Natche of Los Angeles / UCSC and I, put this 4 track EP together a few years ago (2006) but it was done before I was blogging, so it never really saw the light of day. I just went back to it the other day and even though my mind/soul/body is in a pretty different place today, I thought I’d throw it out there for the world (aka the dozen ppl who read ColinResponse – love yall! =P) to see.
If you’re not knowing, DJ Dahi is a musical genius. Please check out his MySpace page and be ready to have your ears made love to (its actually much more enjoyable and less gross than it sounds =T).
APOLOGIES:
You’ll hafta download the tracks individually. =T I tried f*cking w/ Megaupload for an hour and it was hatin’ on me so I chalked it up.
_______
1) Senbei & DJ Dahi – Sensational (Dahi Remix)
[Senbei & DJ Dahi - Sensational (Dahi Remix) (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
This is a song I originally did back in 2004 and re-spit over Dahi’s soulful-spectacular. Looking back, I appear to be in full-on swag mode, and while not necessarily a bad thing, I’m laughing right now because I’m actually making a point to try and be as nerdy, vulnerable and “uncool” as possible these days. What a difference 5 years makes.
2) Senbei & DJ Dahi – Shotglass
[Senbei & DJ Dahi - Shotglass (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
An ode to the drank, told from three differing/similar perspectives.
I found courage in a shotglass and quickly enjoyed it / numbing hurt, it made me talk fast – I really enjoyed it / fear and anger went to purgatory, killing my demons / went from zero to superhero like Gilbert Arenas…
3) Senbei & DJ Dahi – When It Rains
[Senbei & DJ Dahi - When It Rains (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
This is song dedicated to J, Peter and Grandpa Bop and may be the truest sh*t I ever wrote.
J: I pray everyday for the day you get free and anxiously await the moment we can see each other without the prying eye of the prison industiral complex watching over us as we do so.
Peter: Rest in Peace. You spirit is a constant reminder of the importance of my struggle as an ally in the war against homphobia. Thank you for caring about me and Aki so deeply. We miss you.
Bop: Rest in Power. You were/are a shining example of what a human being should be. The courage to love across the board and the stregnth to understand and be patient with those who directed misguided hate at you, is something I strive to model. I am never without you.
4) Senbei & DJ Dahi – A.D.D. (Alumni Didn’t Die)
[Senbei & DJ Dahi - A.D.D. (Alumni Didn't Die) (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
This is yet another standard braggadocio rhyme-form, which I am not necessarily hateful of, but am currently in a place of moving away from. I think iLL-Literacy put it best when they said, “die swag, die.” I DO like that I built Dahi up in this one, because dude is a muhf*ckin’ beast, foreel-foreel.
*BONUS TRACK*
5) Amy Winehouse feat. Senbei – You Know I’m No Good (Remix)
[Amy Winehouse feat. Senbei - You Know I'm No Good (Remix) (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
To clarify, and just so nobody hates me forever, this song is not written for any one particular person. It is kind of an amalgamation if you will, of different women I dated prior to my wifey. It’s more an appreciation of her than a diss to anyone else. On a whole ‘nother note, isn’t it odd that Amy Winehouse is so much like a rapper? Homegirl seems to be simultaneously “ready to die,” and addresses the public like it’s “me against the world.” Interesante.
_______
[DJ Dahi - Genius at work]
Thanks for listening/reading! Keep doin’ U!
Bless,
Senbei
[Made in the Eastbay.]
[Raphael Saadiq - Big Easy (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
It is my personal opinion that Raphael Saadiq’s The Way I See It breathed life back into RnB/Soul. Simply amazing. This song is a tribute to the victims of Hurricane Katrina/Bush’s response to it. Please don’t catch a bad case of ‘United States of Amnesia’ and forget about it.
Keep Marchin’,
Masashi
[A Wonderfully Brilliant & Problematic Contradiction of the Utmost Proportions.]
[Eminem - It's Okay (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
This is Marshall way back in 1994 off of his first LP, Infinite. He sounds a teeny bit like an Anglo Nasir Jones here. To be fair ‘94 was the year Illmatic came out and Em has always talked about what a huge fan of Nas he’s been throughout his life. Listen and tell me you can’t hear the influence of God’s Son on Slim Shady!
Eminem – It’s Okay (feat. Eye Kyu)
Eye-Kyu:
(CHORUS)
It’s a broke day but everything is ok (It’s ok)
I’m up all night, but everything is alright (It’s alright)
It’s a rough week, and I don’t get enough sleep (I can’t sleep)
It’s a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here)
It’s a broke day but everything is ok (It’s ok)
I’m up all night, but everything is alright (It’s alright)
It’s a rough week, and I don’t get enough sleep (I can’t sleep)
It’s a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here)Verse 1: Eminem
One day I plan to be a family man happily married
I wanna grow to be so old that I have to be carried
Till I’m glad to be buried
And leave this crazy world
And have at least a half a million for my baby girl
It may be early to be planning this stuff
Cause I’m still struggling hard to be the man, and it’s tough
Cause man it’s been rough, but still I manage enough
I’ve been taken advantage of, damaged and scuffed
My hands have been cuffed
But I don’t panic and huff, frantic and puff
Or plan to give up, the minute shit hits the fan it erupts
I’m anteing up double or nothing, I’ve been trouble enough
And I’m sick of struggling and suffering, see
My destiny’s to rest at ease, till I’m impressed and pleased
With my progress, I won’t settle for less than cheese
I’m on a quest to seize all, my own label to call
Way before my baby is able to crawl
I’m too stable to fall, the pressure motivates
To know I hold the weight of boulders on my shoulder blades
I seen the golden gates to heaven on Earth
Where they don’t pull a weapon on you when you stepping on turf, QEye-Kyu:
Chorus X2Verse 2: Eminem
I’m going for broke, gambling and playing for keeps
Everyday in the streets, scrambling and paying for cheep
Praying for sleep
Dreaming with a watering mouth
Wishing for a better life for my daughter and spouse
In this slaughtering house, caught up in bouts
With the root of all evil
I’ve seen it turn beautiful people crude and deceitful
And make them do shit illegal
For these Grant’s and Jackson’s
These transactions explain a man’s actions
But in the mist of this insanity, I found my Christianity
Through God and there’s a wish he granted me
He showed me how to cope with the stress
And hope for the best, instead of mope and depressed
Always groping a mess, of flying over the nest
To selling dope with the rest
I quit smoking cess to open my chest
Life is stressful inside this cesspool
Trying to wrestle, I almost bust a blood vessel
My little brother’s trying to learn his mathematics
He’s asthmatic, running home from school away from crack addicts
Kids attract static, children with automatics
Taking target practice on teens for Starter Jackets
I’m using smarter tactics to overcome this slum
I won’t become as dumb as some and succumb to scum
It’s cumbersome, I’m trying to do well on this Earth
But it’s been Hell on this Earth since I fell on this EarthEye-Kyu:
Chorus X4 to end.
Don’t Let ‘Em Say You Aint Beautiful,
Senbei
[The Truth is Here.]
[Lupe Fiasco - Theme Music to a Drive-By (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
This was originally the opening track to Lupe Fiasco’s first LP, Food & Liquor but was taken off after the record leaked on the internets. Sad face. This song goes so mean it hurts my feelings. There aren’t many emcees today that are truly able to ride a unicycle down the fine line of street and nerd quite like Wassalu Mohammed Jaco. People I know who’ve met him have told me that he’s kind of a jerkface and a bit full of himself, but to be honest if I wrote this song, I’d prolly be feeling myself pretty damn tough too. =P
Lupe Fiasco – Theme Music to a Drive-By
[First Verse]
Ugh, I can’t feel a field nigga pain, devious skill
That make a strong willed nigga wane
Since a little nigga hang with the killers and distributors of cane
They dismemberers of swishers then refill it with the Jane
Then they tilt it and they lit with a flame then they took a pull of killer to the brain like (inhale noise) ahhhh…
Evil minded like Krang
They became they deranged like the rover that I rolled
That was the Range that I drove when I was a little bit older
Mayne declaring war on the deck like they the Joker
All while ducking from Bruce Wayne
While they poker with the devil
And our moon littened ghetto
‘Hello my name’ stickers on the stickers of the veins
In rehab remembering the feelings when they used to get mellow
When they was on back of a nickel like Monticello
And the underworld had to be smarter than Donatello
No honor amongst fellows
It’s harder than sitting with a blind man and trying to describe yellow
Got me feeling like killer Joe
My life the album
Know the classics by heart and exactly how the filler go
Repeat it on my way to the liquor store, chocolate.[Second Verse]
Cause I can’t feel the field niggas chains
Though I covet mine, so I covered mine in bling
Then I bumped into a bum and covered mine in shame
Then I bumped into a hon’ and uncovered mine again
Diamonds been under minded mayne, they give a nigga with no mack another kind of game
See money talks in another kind of slang
Detectives can’t decipher as they listen through the wire as I accept the call
And listen to the lifer
Getting religion and making voodoo in the sink of your cell
Reciting Al-Fatiha in the kitchen
In deed on his deem and in addition to doing dishes
Listen as I get schooled on the rules to rule
Fuel of fools, the obstacles, the cool
Had to slow it down homey
Chopped and screwed
He said ‘blow it down for me’
Sticks and stones make the homes
Only god’s words can stop the wolves
And don’t fraternize with pigs those kids will think your stool
Not at the bar but trying to put him behind the bar like a bartender
He laid the law like the bar so I put it in a bar for dude
He said borrow my jewels and bar the fools
Cause they a playa (they will play ya) like the space bar in tools
Theme music to a drive-by, put it in your car and cruise…
A Peaceful Riot,
Senbei
[Can't begin to describe how weird that Obama/Lincoln mash-up is behind my miscegenated ass. Me thinks America is still very confused about mixed heritage people (and people of color in general). =T]
[Senbei - Chameleon (right-click and "save-target-as" to DL)]
Yes: I realize fully that to post a song I wrote myself as being “brilliant” and/or “resilient” is highly out-of-pocket, BUT I’m working on regaining trust in my own thinking and decision making after a year of questioning the sh*t out of everything I know about myself and the world. This is my latest attempt at reclaiming the once not-so-ellusive ability to think of myself as a strong, forward-thinking human being, capable of speaking to and for people like myself.
Choose a side u BZ!
I’ve been in relative limbo recently regarding my place in Hip-Hop this past year, with particular attention to emceeing and the role it plays as Hip-Hop’s literal voice. I’ve always viewed the aspect of emceeing as a vehicle for people who have been silenced. Emceeing to me, is for people who are working to combat internalized self-hatred and are working to author their own narrative of what the world has bestowed upon them, taken from them and done to shape their identity. Emceeing to me, is for people who strongly recognize and remember the roots of Hip-Hop culture and are able to juxtapose, as Tricia Rose states, “a rich alternative space for multicultural, male and female, culturally relevant, anti-racist community building,” versus a music industry that amplifies certain narratives and ignores others, in turn leaving young people (and white Americans who do not have interraction with people of color) with a vastly skewed and problematic view of Black and Brown men and women.
While their are hella ways I am able to see myself fitting into my own definitions of what an “authentic” emcee ought to be, I am fully aware that every Hip-Hopper in the world has differing opinions of what is, and is not “authentic” when it comes to Hip-Hop, particularly with respects to emceeing. It is not the least bit difficult for me to see why a person who has experienced explicit racism first-hand (ie: Police brutality and/or being called a name that brings one’s mind back to a time when some people were property and 3/5 of a human being…) could view a song about how “hard” it is being invisible and blending into the background, as “soft” and/or “emo” and therefore privileged and not “authentic.” On one hand, it has always been in my nature, due especially to my parents, to respect the opinions and life experiences of others, particularly when I have been privy to resources others may not have. On the other hand, acknowledging that other people struggle in different, and yes, many times more blatant ways than I, does not in my opinion at this time, justify the ending of my practice of rhyme-writing.
Amongst the various conclusions I am coming to these days, one was reached with the assistance of a comment left on this blog under the post Shikata Ga Naidadaimean. I have to give ridiculous props to a reader of ColinResponse named “Sheila,” who wrote me this back in late April, at 2:46AM…
Senbei,
So, I realize that I’m a little more than a month late since you first posted this, but I came across your blog via a link from Adriel Luis’ blog recently. I don’t have connections to either of you–really, just random clicks of my mouse–but I’m trying to muster the most heartfelt thanks that I can as some feeble offering, in response to the jewels that you both have provided to me! I know this is cliche, but it’s true…words can be so limiting sometimes, and I feel so frustrated by them, but…
I just watched your ‘Chameleon’ clip, and it ROCKED me, as in to the core. My interpretation of it is obviously subjective and may not be what you intended, but I know what truths I’ve found in that interpretation, regardless of how painfully harsh I find those truths to be. One thing I have in common with you is that I am also of mixed race–Filipino and Irish–and damn it, for 27 years, I have REALLY, REALLY struggled to find my place between those two lines, blurring them sometimes and feeling guilty for doing it. I realize that probably everyone struggles, but dayuummm…I wonder if others feel like a refugee in their own skin the way I sometimes do. Usually, I just ignore the shitstorm in my head and press on, but as the years roll by, avoidance gets tougher…and I feel like I’m shortchanging myself. I’m just now starting to realize that maybe I don’t need to neatly compartmentalize myself in the first place, because life isn’t so neat. And maybe I don’t need to duck my head in the sand so much. Which is why I love both of your blogs…I find semblances of myself and my issues (issues of not only being of mixed race, but of the crap endured by someone who’s not traditionally classified as being of Anglo origins)in them…regardless of whether these semblances have seen the light of day, or even, the light of consciousness. And it helps me through, it really, truly does…through my 9-5, through my marriage, my relationship with self and others, and just everything, in general. And I give you both serious props for being so open, and for being SO very honest. Exposing your true colors is terrifying and it makes me feel so…well, exposed, but you do it…effortlessly it seems, though I doubt it’s always so effortless. Thanks for inspiring me to drop that ‘refugee’ mentality and really confront the mountains that are not only automatically placed in my path, but that I’ve also created for myself.
Anyway, sorry, as I know I’m writing a freakin’ BOOK, and I hope you are able to follow…but I just had to say these things to explain that what you do IS APPRECIATED, IS ADMIRED, IS NOTICED, and IS, TO THE UTMOST, RESPECTED. I’m sure you hear this all of the time, but I wanted you to have an, albeit small, explanation behind my gratitude.
Sheila:
Our blurring racial lines is not a choice we get to make, but we do get to decide how we do it. Thank you for reminding me about that.
When “Keeping it Real,” Goes…Everywhere:
A few things happened this year that really jolted me to reexamine my positionality in Hip-Hop as an emcee, and in the world at large. The first was my reading the Master’s Thesis of an SFSU Africana Studies Major entitled Asian American’s Emulation of Black Masculinity Through Hip-Hop, about (to make a long story short) cultural appropriation of Hip-Hop by Chinese American Emcee, Jin and how he “emulated Black masculinity” through emceeing, to lessen his internalized and external emasculation as an Asian man, at the hands of racism. Upon first reading this, I honestly felt pretty offended by the word “emulation.” I felt that it implied in a condescending way, that Asian American men who emcee’d were being disingenuous or inauthentic, and also felt that it essentialized “Black masculinity” and “Hip-Hop,” to wearing fitted baseball caps, being mysoginistic, homophobic, hypersexual, etc.
Upon second, third and fourth read, I began to work at deconstructing why I might feel this way, and the fact that my Hip-Hop, masculinity and Asian American “authenticity” have all come into question in one way or another at different times. Due to my upward mobility, fair skin privilege, Japanese ancestry, Anglo ancestry, mixed heritage, working to be an ally to Queer folks and women, being raised working-class in Richmond, and a plethora of other choices (and non-choices); identity in each of these communities have come into conflict at different points, blurring and questioning others’ definitions of “Hip-Hoppers,” “manhood,” and “Asian/Japanese American.” While this has caused me to tend to question myself almost constantly, I try to view it as a enormous blessing and advantage in a country/world where most are unable or unwilling to examine their own positionality, privilege and oppression.
The second thing that rocked me this year was delivered via the internets from a brilliant, albeit (slightly) differing frame of reference in an essay by Kenyon Farrow. I stumbled upon “We Real Cool?: On Hip-Hop, Asian Americans, Black Folks and Appropriation” when researching “cultural appropriation” and looking for routes to deconstruct notions of “authenticity” in human interaction in general. My words cannot do justice to the eloquence of his voice, and as an out Gay, Black man, I am hard pressed to imagine the “pain + love = growth” that his life experience has afforded him. His points on people of African heritage sharing a history of not only never being able to “own” anything, but also at one time being the actual property of others, truly sent me into a deep space of questioning everything that could be problematic about my participation in Hip-Hop as an Asian American. I pondered whether I was “taking something” from people who have been not only been repeatedly stolen from, but histroically, literally stolen themselves. Needless to say, I began to ask (and continue to do so), “where is my place in all this?”.
It has been interesting to me, in my examining Hip-Hop and issues surrounding masculinity, that many of the Homo-Hoppers (Queer Hip-Hoppers) I have read works on and by, are some of the strongest proponents of maintaining Hip-Hop as a site specifically and only for African Americans. What interests me about this is that in most Hip-Hoppers’ (and outsiders’) heads today, Hip-Hop and rap music is viewed predominantly as a hypermasculinized, hypersexual, and heteronormative space. By XXL, The Source’s, and a long list of other famous rappers’ definitions, outwardly Gay emcees would be viewed as “inauthentic,” and not “real” Hip-Hop. In this instance, Queer Black Hip-Hoppers, not unlike Asian American Hip-Hoppers, are challenging (in both similar and vastly different ways) issues surrounding “authenticity” in regards to “common sense” understandings of what Hip-Hop identity actually is, and where it is going.
What I did not agree with in his essay, were the ways in which Kenyon Farrow seemed to repeatedly lump the entire “Asian American” experience as relatively similar to a white American one. The Hmong and Cambodian gangbagers I grew up around (who are still alive) would beg to differ, and even the experience of my being raised by a white mother was never able to save me from external and inernalized racism. PLEASE read the essay if you have time, and also scroll down to “Oliver’s” comment. Oliver Wang is a hero in the Asian American Studies Community for his thoughts on Hip-Hop and the his/hertories of our people. Both Oliver and Kenyon are absolute geniuses in their own right and it is my opinion that Hip-Hop nerds and social justice activistas alike, will appreciate their thinking.
Another thing that happened during this process was that I began to get a few (maybe repeat offenders) anonymous comments regarding some of my thoughts on Hip-Hop’s current state, from people or someone calling me a “model minority,” “queer,” “b*tch,” that “plays the violin.” While I’ve had to work internally for a long time to get to a place where I feel confident enough to wear my heart on my sleeve on this blog, I can recall very vividly, many of the young men of Richmond (who associated Asianness & whiteness with femininity, and femininity with weakness) assuming I was “that dude” you could f*ck with. Not getting my ass kicked was a full-time job and I used my brain to slowly become f*cking good at it. It has taken a long time and a lot of effort to let go of that job, and take off my “cool” armor.
These comments reminded me:
1. Why I used to wear it.
2. That if I truly am going to be an open and true ally to women/Queer folks I need to be ready to have my masculinity challenged (and be cool with that).
3. That I should change the settings on ColinResponse so that people need to be signed-in to comment and can’t leave a ig’nant comment anonymously.
wRAP it up B!
This time away from writing rhymes and confining my thought-process to theoretical essays for the last 6 months, has both opened my mind to a vast array of overflowing diabolical/intellectual craziness, as well as put a pain in my heart and soul. I am slowly beginning to realize that the release and therapeutic aspects of writing rhymes is sorely missed in my life, and while I still have yet to write a single rhyme since I finished Shikata Ga Nai vol. II, I am slowly gathering the strength to see where opening my notebook and putting on an instrumental will lead me.
When it comes to the music I’ve created over the last decade, I have found that there is no one more critical of it than myself. I usually tend to hate every song I’ve ever made 2-4 weeks after it has been completed (and find that many of my other artist friends go through this same process, regardless of their medium). To me, what’s been tough, as well as liberatory, has been acknowledging simultaneously, what is dope and groundbreaking about the music I’ve made, as well as the ways it could upset, frustrate and/or hurt people I respect and care about deeply.
One thing I DO know is that this journey has been well worth it, and when I finally do get around to mustering the strength to pick up a pen and pad again, I’ll do it with a rememberance that everything that I/we record is forever, and nothing can be taken back after that sh*t is laid down. While I will never f*ck with anybody who forgets about or ignores the roots and foundations of Hip-Hop, and will always work to be conscious of my own positionality; in the same way I find it impossible to imagine Hip-Hop as a solely hypermasculine, heteronormative, hypersexualized, cultural commodity, I find it impossible to imagine myself not finding identity within and through its practice. Hate it or love it: Hip-Hop saved my mixed heritage, Asian American, miscegenated, Richmond/El Cerrito, naive, scholarly ass. The least I can do is love it back.
_______
If you cared (or were bored =P) enough to read this, I deeply appreciate it. ALL my love and gratitude for the dozens of friends, fam, mentors, and loved ones who dialogued with me through this past year (especially my brilliant/resilient wifey). I’d be lost without yall!
Peace, Love, Blessings, Brilliance and Resilience,
Senbei
p.s. I’ll be away at camp as a counselor for the next 8 days with tomorrow’s leaders, letting them school me on how I’m stuck in my old, corny-ass ways and need to reevaluate mi vida. I’ll tell u all about it when I return. =P
[Murs & 9th Wonder's 3:16 was in my ears constantly in '04.]
[Murs & 9th Wonder - Walk Like a Man (right-click & "save-target-as" to DL)]
Not sure if this brilliant piece of story-telling is 100% true, but I do know it’s brilliant (and resilient =P).
Murs & 9th Wonder – Walk Like a Man
[Verse 1 - MURS]
Now I used to walk with the gun now I walk like a man
And I walk what I talk and I walk never ran
And I never say never but I mean hardly ever
And if shootin’ is the solution then you’re not that clever
If you don’t know shit then you still know better
Human life is so precious it could never be measured
Have you ever had a load of it cock back the heat
Poppin’ on the next nigga while he walkin’ up the street
Trigger off safety space and opportunity
These niggaz wanna waste me it ain’t nothing new to me
Soon as he walked by I was ready to bust
But he just posted up like he was waitin’ on the bus
Now I’m all pumped up with a steroid trigger
Cause most of y’all are easy just some paranoid niggaz
Used to walk with a gun but I never did use it
What’s the point of holdin’ heat if you ain’t gon’ shoot it
Stupid (*echos*)*different instrumental kicks in*
[Verse 2 - MURS]
It was a late night sunset me and him out
Lookin’ at the ladies to come up on some trim
Everybody wildin’ out cause the summer’s about to end
He had the hypnotic he was missin with the hen’
Of that mean green laid back with the deep lean on low pro shit
That’s how we rolled on the scene
Two girls lookin’ probably in they late teens
But these days you can’t tell but I figured what the hell
So we yell out: Hey girl, they yell back
Maybe two in the front maybe two in the back
But they had this dark tag couldn’t see through the black
We roll up ask ‘em where their party at
They just start to laugh and I knew it was a trap
But I couldn’t roll out cause the strip was so packed
Now I’m lookin at this nigga in this motherfuckin’ hat
Start talkin’ that bullshit like we was on some bullshit
My nigga used to bang but we ain’t know no thug shit
I tried to dismantle it but you know Los Angeles
This nigga kept talkin’ so my boy had to handle it
He jumped out the Lex snatched the dude at his hat
I put it in park jumped out to get his back
But as I did that, I heared two shots
I turned to my right and I see my dude drop
Time stopped, coudln’t believe what I seen
I was struck by reality when the two girls screamed
I saw his killer stand up put the gun in his jeans
Saw him wince from the pain as the heat burned his waist
Then he turned up the block disappeared without a trace
I remember his face but what I remember most
Was when I got to my knees and held my nigga close
And asked not to leave us in the name of Christ Jesus
But he’s gone and all I got left is his blood on my sneakers[Hook - MURS][2X]
It was a year to this day that my best friend died
For weeks I sat alone in my room and cried
And I tried to pretend everything was fine
But my soul couldn’t rest until vengeance was mine*another different instrumental kicks in*
[Verse 3 - MURS]
The day began with me standin’ at his grave with his mother
His old girlfriend, his two younger brothers
We said a few words faces covered with tears
How we missed him so much and we wished he was here
Then his girl said a poem put some roses on his stone
And we said our goodbyes and they all went home
I thought I’d use this time for me and him to be alone
I broke out the Hen’ poured a little out for him
Told him who was gettin’ married, who had went to the pen
How the homie named his newborn son after him
But as the sun went down the talk came to an end
So I said a quick prayer..amen
And I shook in the ‘lac plus the well wrote tracks
And I headed up saw the homie Eyezeer
I asked him what he doin’ he was way out of bound
That he had a freak that lived on that side of town
He always kept the heat just in case it went down
I clowned, I rolled down my window ’bout to light a ciga-
Hey! Is that that nigga that…hey give me the motherfucking gun
Man, drive around the block and post up for a minute
I hit you on the shirt hit the corner nigga bend it
Splendid now with vengeance in my grasp
I couldn’t dream of a better day for me to catch his ass
Slippin while he dippin into the ride by himself
I slid up behind him in the shadows hella stealth
He started to breakin’ stuff I said I didn’t want a dime
Remember what you was doin’ last year at this time
He looked into my eyes with both shock and surprise
When I split his face with the Glock right before he could reply
He cried as I pressed the heat against his cheek
The I squoze two times for the homie – rest in peace.[Hook - MURS]
It was a year to this day that my best friend died
For weeks I sat alone in my room and cried
And I tried to pretend everything was fine
But my soul couldn’t rest until vengeance was mine
It was a year to this day that my best friend died
For weeks I sat alone in my room and cried
And I thought that’s what I wanted until the problem was confronted
Now I’m haunted by remorse that I wished I hadn’t done it.
SH*T…
When it rains it pours, my pain is born of fatigue – in order to ease it, I stay recording my speeches. ‘Til I find something better I’ll just stick to rhyming, because I’ve heard that every rain cloud has a silver lining…
senbei
[Your favorite rapper's favorite rapper.]
[2Pac - My Block (right-click & "save-target-as" to DL)]
Mr. Shakur originally put this song out on The Show movie soundtrack, way back in ‘95 (yes, I’m officially getting old). “My Block” displays ‘Pac’s version of a bittersweet symphony called life, and is definitely in my Top-5 of his all time works. If only we could all be this wise, sensitive, strong and observant, none the less at the age of 24 when he recorded this song (a year before his death). Although it’s 14 years old, I am not sure I’ll be alive to see a day when this song is not relevant & I pray I am wrong about that.
For the youth of Marin City, aka “The Jungle.” I miss, think about, and pray for y’all constantly.
C
