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To Love a Female Hip Hop Head

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So, its been a while since I’ve posted anything. I had a lot of plans to write about the some recent releases and the AOTP show I attended in LA recently.  But life throws curve-balls at you.  In most cases, I wouldn’t mind balls thrown at me, but this wasn’t the fun kind.

So what to write?  Well, usually I’m ready to talk shit but I wanted to talk about something I have had a lot of time to think about.  Ya know, soft shit.  Like puppies and MCM’s n shit.  First off, my blog states “Life of a Hip Hop Head”. So I why not write about something that is important to every woman, Love.  Cause Hip Hop heads need lovin’ too right? But not in the typical sense, but in the “What it’s like to love a Hip Hop Head”.  I can’t speak for all females, so I am going to speak for myself, a serious female Hip Hop enthusiast.

I’m not the usual kind of woman that you come across. Most so called female heads will  consider themselves a head because they have an IPod with some Nas & Wu-Tang.  Is there anything wrong with it? Depends what kind of mood I’m in when you ask.  But really, nah, I don’t judge.  This is why Live Elements is so near and dear to my heart.  Because I like to spread good quality Hip Hop. No one is more Hip Hop than Hip Hop. So go fuck yourself.

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So where was I? Ahhh yes, Cuban B.  Yeah so again, I’m not the usual female head you come across.  Hip Hop consumes a huge portion of my life.  It isn’t everything, but music in general consumes my life.  Whether it’s Live Elements, crate digging, research, networking, shows, etc. It consumes a huge portion.  So when I take into consideration a person to date, them being a head is vital.  I’ve tried to date men who weren’t heads, and it didn’t work. I tried dating someone who claims to be a head and I ended up being the one teaching them, so that shit didn’t work. So what the fuck? I need a real underground head. Someone below the basement.   Cause for real yo,  I’m so into Hip Hop that an underground DJ that once dated told me and I quote; “You’re way too involved with Hip Hop. It’s like you’re in a relationship with it and I can’t compete.” That’s how much I’m committed to Hip Hop.

It’s always been easy for me to say that I am in love with Hip Hop, or that Hip Hop is the love of my life.  It saved me, raised me, and has always been there so why wouldn’t I say that I am in love with Hip Hop? But Hip Hop can’t hump me, buy me tacos, and cuddle with me… so I need a man. But not just a man, a real underground head.

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(Please dear baby Jesus)

So what to expect out of loving a real female Hip Hop Head? Well be prepared for music played at an obnoxious level.  Be prepared for her to flow to the lyrics as smooth as Thelonious Monk jazz. Be prepared to have to argue over if the production outweighed the lyricism of a joint.  Be prepared to be “put on” to undiscovered emcees, producers, and unknown samples. Just simply be prepared to have a woman who is insanely passionate about something so infinite.

But to love someone one, comes with work. You have to have your hands deep into crates and your mind deep into the culture. You will have to understand that men are drawn to women that know Hip Hop and you will have to be secure enough to know that she will not allow anyone to take your place. You must be able to devote an entire day to back breaking digging. Or work with me to spread real Hip Hop. You must share the same excitement when I scream and show you a cover and understand my excitement.  You have to be able to sit and listen with an open mind on different joints and debate them with passion.  Not just have me state what I feel and you agree.  You have to sacrifice sleep in order to hit a show and vibe out to what we love.  You also have to know that I will zone out on it. Sometimes for hours and write…

But if you give me this, I promise to write about you.  Page after page of how someone like you finally came into my life. Someone who was able to put ME onto Hip Hop.  Someone who switched the role and made me the student for once. I’d write about how you became the binary star in my universe as we orbit Hip Hop.  How you finally someone who rivaled my knowledge and helped me grow rather than just drain me or used me to feed their ego.

So what is it like to love a female Hip Hop head? Fucking amazing… if he’s strong enough.  Peace.

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“For the Cratediggers”

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Cratediggers.  A title loosely used but some.  They like to call themselves this because they swing by a record shop and pick up the latest Blu on vinyl.

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This is for the CRATEDIGGERS the ones who have spent countless hours sifting through dusty records.  Flipping covers to inspect the instruments & producers.  Inspecting the records for warped wax and scratches.  Wearing masks to avoid dust irritating the ever living shit out of your allergies even more. The ones who have dealt with tight backs, sore asses (and not the fun kinda sore) and dusty fingers in order to find that hidden gem.  Spending an entire day going from record store to record store in order to come up on everything and anything.  The record hoarders.  This one is for you…

My love for vinyl was instilled in me at a young age.  My grandfather was an avid music lover.  Some of my earliest memories was sitting with him playing Fania and other salsa records.  He taught me how to handle the records “like a baby mija“.  The soothing sound of  static when the needle hit the record became my lullaby.  It was what comforted me while my mother was working graveyards and my father, being my wild child father all the time, was not around.  But not only my grandfather, my father, was heavy into classic rock.  So Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd records were also shot up in my veins.  Cooked in with my uncle’s Michael Jackson and my aunts Latin freestyle records.  Then my mother’s soul records became the cut to the drug in my life called “wax”.

All these records filled my early developmental years.  But people don’t always talk about the positive effects of drugs.  Doesn’t Excedrin take away your headache?  I mean, vinyl gives me that high and relief.   But when I became a full fledged addict is when Hip Hop was introduced.   It happened.   When my mother was playing the Charmel’s,  I figured out “C.R.E.A.M.’s” sample.  I suddenly became fixated on figuring out samples.  Yes, pre-WhoSampled and all that cheating shit.   It was like freebasing wax.  So my “dig” habit was born.  When I dig, nothing else exists.  Every problem, worry, care in the world disappears for those hours and all that exists is me and the smell of old records.  The dig.  The hunt.  I become fixated on searching every nook for that record.  This became my dragon.

I remember having $40 to get me to the end of the week.  I would eat a dollar cheeseburger and chips & dip once a day to make sure that I was able to swing by the record store to get something… anything.  Addict huh?  So, if my therapist were to read this right now, she would tell me that it is my “addictive personality, inherited from my father is what causes me to become fixated on things”.  Yeah, she’s right.  But better this than coke right?  Better this than gambling right?  But both hit the pocket book for sure.  But we keep on keeping on.  Cause nothing beats the high I get when I find that gem.  That one that I have been looking for.  So this is my mother fucking therapy.  Some seek comfort in a bottle, I find comfort in my records.  Plus my records don’t lie.

I recently read, J57 was quoted saying, “I think a lot of the younger kids that are learning to make beats may not have the same love for samples that somebody from my generation or older has.  They’re probably ripping stuff off YouTube 99 percent of the time, so they kind of aren’t connected to the record.  It’s not even a real thing; it’s not physical.  Think about this: when they were little, guys like Lil’ Wayne were really big at the time, and a majority of what they were doing was sample free.”  Even Audible Doctor was quoted, “I can understand why there’s a [decline] in the culture of digging.  It’s easy not to, especially when there’s no real cultural upbringing surrounding vinyl.  [Younger producers] don’t understand the importance of how special vinyl is. They never bought it.  They were never around it.”  So we have two, which I feel will be legendary, underground producers stating that there is a lack of digging in today’s producing.   Which made me question if the cratedigging culture is really endangered?  I must write!

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So on social media I see a handful of serious collectors.  Ones who collect more than just Hip Hop records (even though those do hold a very high percentage in my collection).  I see fucking vinyl everywhere… at Urban Outfitters.  Shit we went into Barnes & Nobel the other day and were surprised they had a small selection of wax.  For fuck sake, I see a bunch of assholes looking through vinyl when I’m digging.  So how can vinyl be on the decline?  Technically it’s not.  It has actually increased.  But speaking to a few old school vinyl collectors, this increase we feel is more for nostalgia.   Not for practical use or production.  Why else who they be selling vinyl frames?  My grandfather saw a vinyl in a frame I received once as a gift.  He told me, “Take that shit off the wall.  Records were made to be played not hung.”  Word.  Okay, yeah if you have a signed Freddie King record, then okay.  But seriously, why do you have a framed Dilla record unless he cried on it  or spooned with that mother fucker?

Then I turned and looked at myself.  Why do I collect?  I mean, I’m not a producer.  I don’t make beats.  Then I realized, yeah, I am an educator.  I have recently put someone on to digging for samples.  I am a collector of origins.  So one day, my children can see where the music I loved came from.  Unlike your when hard-drive is fried or the fall of civilization occurs and ITunes and digital music isn’t at your disposal, vinyl will still be played.  The same echos of drums, horns, strings, and melodic voices that carried through the air into my ears as a child will flow into the ears of my children and children’s children.  Generation to generation.  Vinyl to me, is forever.

So have your children put music into their hands.  Have them hold a record.  Have them look at the covers.  Teach them the physical connection to music.  Just like hands to drums.  Keep everything as organic as possible. Get them off the Guitar Hero and and their IPod for a moment.  Teach them young.  It’s our responsibility to carry on tradition.

 

Peace.

 

Rebecca – Live Elements

“Hip Hop Heads”

If I can take all people who front on social media about Hip Hop, I’d line them up, and shoot them with a gun that would propel extra long dildos at their face. Seriously.

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Scrolling through my feed on Instagram I find myself wandering aimlessly and ending up on someone’s page where they claim to be a “Hip Hop head”. Okay, that is a term that can be used very loosely. What determines what a Hip Hop head is? I don’t fucking know. But one thing I know for sure it you have to understand Hip Hop culture as a whole. Not just assume because you downloaded “Only Built 4 Cuban Linx” that you are suddenly a Hip Hop head. Or reposting something you saw on a Hip Hop page and claiming you have been listening to it since they came out. Really? How so if their first LP came out in 93 and your ass is 18?

The internet is polluted with these people. These chicks with more foundation and contouring than a drag queen. Colored contacts, extensions, cleavage and ass shots exposed on one post then the next you have Necro post? We get it, you’re cool with your vape pens and your MF DOOM poster. Oh J Dilla saved your life? That Wu Tang tattoo tho! So dope. I wish when I was your age I had the internet too! Like my girl Kay says, “Sit the fuck down and take off that Forever 21 purchased Wu shirt off!” Hold yourselves like the Gods and Earths that you truly should be and shut the fuck up and pick up a book.

What’s worse is that I have actually stopped going to venues because of the hipster fuck fest it has become. Take for instance Rock the Bells. I come from an era where Rock the Bells was truly a Hip Hop festival. I remember 2009 RTB was one of the best experiences of my life. The whole vibe of it was fucking ill. Then for shits and giggles (and cause I got free tickets) I went to RTB’s 2012. It was like stepping into the Twilight Zone. It became me weaving in and out of young Hip Hop groupies with too much Bath & Body Works lotion on ready to blow Immortal Technique and hipster fucks with too much Curve on.

What in titty fucking Christ happened? Where were my backpack heads in the middle of cyphers b-boys battling, and heads discussing new underground Hip Hop over blunts filled with the dopest Cali weed? I looked back at a friend of mine and asked, “WTF happened to this place?” But let’s not take away too much from this new generation. For we as the old school heads are kind of obligated to guide these young head in the culture. But finding these ones is like finding a relevant purpose for Waka Flaka’s existence.

There are some out there that truly have taken the Hip Hop culture and have kept it organic. Let’s just say this piece came from multiple convos with frustrated heads on Instagram. Some of you are the dopest people I have had the pleasure of meeting. You have put me on music, art, written work, etc. For that it makes me know for sure our culture is still alive and thriving.

So kids, moral of the story, stop being a fronting cunt and learn. If this piece hit a nerve, or offended you… you’re probably one of the ones we make fun of on DM’s…

Peace …