I was born and raised in Akron, Ohio. After fifteen years in southwest Florida, I moved back last year. I still felt a sense of pride and belonging when I rode through the old neighborhood. Like everyone else, I witnessed the unfortunate saga that was “The Decision.” In the aftermath, I noticed how down local people seemed about the ordeal. LeBron was gone, and morale in the city had taken a big hit. I decided it was up to me to get Akron its shine back. What better way to do that than bring out “The Freestyle King?” My plan was to get local clubs to bring Lil Flip to Akron. The guy is known to wear a million in ice; it doesn’t get much shinier than that. As different clubs played broke and preoccupied, I felt bad that I couldn’t deliver on the shows. Flip had already been kind enough to handle the matter personally (quotes and contact info,) rather than just ignoring my tweet or letting the label handle it. He was ready to fly in and rock Akron U, but no bar or club in town wanted to pay his (actually quite reasonable) quote. I’m no promoter; just a guy determined to make a show happen in my area. To hell with driving an hour to Cleveland for good shows. I admired Flip and wanted to meet him. When the most prominent club in Akron finally hit me with a “maybe in a few months,” I braced myself for the possibility that there would not be a show after all. The people of Akron are tough; they’ve rebounded since. But in my mind, I still had to make it right with Flip. I went to what I do know; custom, hand-stippled royalty art (KZ High Society.) I have customized everything from
boxes/jars/shoes to guns/jewelry/electronics. For Flip Gate$, I had to customize something personal. Then it hit me: a bottle of Lucky Nites! I know a local bar owner, so I figured pulling a bottle would be simple. We hit up the wholesaler, order one, done deal. Turns out, you can only currently get it in six states; Ohio not being one of them. I was sure I’d seen Lucky Nites in stores in southwest Florida before, so I called my sister there. She checked liquor stores in Lee County (Ft. Myers/Cape Coral.) Being a cool sister, she found it online and ordered it. The bottle shipped from New Jersey to Akron. I expected it to come USPS, so when I ran an errand that morning and passed a UPS truck on the block, I thought little of it. When I got home, there was no “Hey dickhead, we missed you” note from UPS. (It wasn’t until later that
I realized that there HAD been a note; a strong breeze had taken it off the door.) I tracked the package and called UPS; time to find out what Brown could do for me. Rather than risk a re-deliver (and possible “return to sender” the next Monday, I told them to hold the package, and I would pick it up at UPS in Akron on Monday. It was only Friday, so I was bummed. As I sat online, I saw a UPS truck drive down my street again, moving very fast. “Son of a bitch!” I called UPS again. I told the woman on the line that I had just spotted the driver, and that my bottle was likely still in the neighborhood. She took my info and contacted the driver. She called me back anonymous on the caller ID, telling me that a redelivery would occur within the next hour. It did. The driver showed up with a foam peanut/bubble-wrapped bottle of Lucky Nites. Granted, it would have been far more impressive for Flip to receive a sealed bottle completely customized, but I figured he would rather have another fan/drinker try his product. So I did; and I documented the entire 3-night
consumption like a cell extraction. When I first pulled the cork, my nose immediately burned; no doubt due the vodka content. I poured my first glass and added ice. At this point, the liqueur was still very fragrant. Within minutes, the ice had mellowed it out a bit. As I wrote and sipped my Lucky, I did my best to savor every drop. I enjoyed the burn throughout my sinus. The pineapple was different, and the amaretto hinted at being there, rather than overpowering. By the end of my first glass, I was comfortably buzzed. I poured another. Once I sipped it down a bit, I decided to try it out as a mixer. I added more ice, and topped it off with (get this) Henry Weinhard’s Black Cherry Cream gourmet soda. The crisp cherry taste only added to an already exotic, easy-to-sip drink. I was borderline drunk after two 8-oz. glasses. I decided to re-cork the bottle and have dinner. The next two nights were the same thing. I waited until evening, poured up Lucky Nites, and caught up on my writing. I don’t drink very much these days; I got most of it out of my system during my 20′s. Still, I see it as good form to always keep a bottle or two in the house. I intend to reorder Lucky Nites, and will encourage guests to give it a try. I give Lucky Nites Golden Liqueur an official KZ Cosign; Seal of Approval. Once the drinking was done, I washed and dried the bottle, taking special care to leave the factory labels intact. began applying base coat panels and engraving to the bottle. As it was the smallest surface, I started by illustrating the cork with Flip (in a 4-row chain,) and two female fans; one of them calling him Flyboy. I worked off a master list of Lil Flip details, incorporating one after another. The mouth/sides/edges/bottom all have different clues on them. I hand-illustrated the blank panels with a number of scenarios; highlights from Flip’s career. With everything now etched and inked, I flooded the bottle’s exterior with multiple glossy coats. This sealed in all the ink. It also created “phantom engraving.” At a glance, the engraved details seem vague. Press them with your thumb, and details appear. My final act was to fill it with “purple drank,” and put a second cork down inside the neck to contain it. The inner workings have been double sealed to make it 100% leak-proof. To Flip: I hope you enjoy your piece of KZHS art. Your life story is told on this bottle. There are over 70 details/dates/names/CD titles/scenarios worked in. The engraved panels have “phantom engraving.” Press/rub them with your thumb to make details appear. Enjoy. Special thanks to Lucky Nites and Cosign Magazine for all the support.
-KZ (@KZHighSociety) KZ Concepts/2011
Twitter needs a facelift; and it has nothing to do with alien-interface "New Twitter" (essentially a confusing layout for an already perfectly-functional Twitter.) No, the overhaul lies in Twitter's users. Straight up folks, some of you are living foul on Twitter. Before you put even one more #Lame tweet on your timeline, consider the following:
#TwitterAfterDark:
Get out of here; are you kidding me!? Really, who's taking part in this? Covering your public timeline with nasty hypothetical sex talk for random skanks and dudes you've never met? Take your cheap ass back to calling 900-numbers; or polluting Yahoo chats. Some of us are here to do business. Mama should have never bought your young ass an iPhone...
#GoingHam:
Recently, this has been one of the most-used phrases to describe something hot on Twitter. This term was seemingly spawned by rappers in Memphis/Atlanta/Texas. I took it a step further, coining the term #HamJuice, and @therealjuicyj spawned #OffTheMeatRack. Going ham should only be used to describe a great new hook, a live club performance, or something completely brand-new with potential. If you are a #TwitterRapper living in your mom's house, lying about smoking Kush and spitting a few lines to yourself in the bathroom mirror isn't "Going Ham."
#StopStaying:
"Whatever!" There are some phrases common to Twitter that simply need to be buried in the same graveyard as "Def." Do you know someone who still says "Hotlanta?" Do they caution you not to "go there" while inviting you to "talk to the hand?" These people are the rare percentage of the population who never get the memos about the discontinuation of words. They need hip, cutting-edge people like us to_tell_them when it has become uncool to say certain things. Did you know that in certain parts of Florida and Missouri, people are actually still clinging to ".38-Hot" and "off the chain?" We must seek to identify, coach, and monitor these people. With our own fingers luckily on the real-time pulse of society, we bear the responsibility of keeping the verbal oafs somewhat up to speed. You don't have to give them brand-new slang, as them using it quickly makes it lame. Just call them out on wack phrases and maybe drop a new one for them to pick up on. While you're at it, let them know that we don't wear Tweety Bird shirts anymore; not since early 1993.
@kanyewest:
Mr. West is the silent entity in the sky. Kanye reportedly doesn't use a phone and has no "e-mail Kanye" tab on his website. If you have brilliant art/sharp lyrics/regal beats, you may develop the recurring urge to submit interesting things to @kanyewest on Twitter. Good luck. With his current two million followers, you are firing shots into a blank sky. Kanye obviously realizes how big his name is right now; remaining elusive keeps fans wondering and hungry for more. Every few days, Yeezy will release one random blurb. The man is so "in-demand" right now, simple Twitter users couldn't hope to access his attention for 30 seconds.
(Signed, the future head of G.O.O.D. Art. ;-)
#SubTweets
If you have something negative to post about someone for the entire world to see, don't you think they at least deserve a copy of your comments as well? Many users resort to jawing like crazy about an artist/situation/beef without mentioning their target by @UserName. This is the coward's way of saying it for a crowd, without having to face the consequenses. If you don't have anything nice to say (and are too much of a bitch to back up your claim,) just don't post. #YouLose points without even realizing it.
#TwitterJail:
I only recently learned about Twitter Jail. Apparently, if you tweet more than 100 times in a day (or 1,000 times in a week,) Twitter recognizes your addiction and cuts you off. I don't recall ever hitting that mark, but I'm sure I've come close. My Twitter floods have been results of day-long marketing campaigns. If you are getting #TwitterJail sentences for chatting & sending LOL's at your young-ass friends all day, perhaps you SHOULD be kicked off to do something else. Be Productive!
#Movie:
Twenty people in a bar is not a movie; neither is a Saturday at the mall or a packed Denny's at 2 a.m. I'm sure @TheRealDJKhaled does see many surreal, movie-material nights, but most of you don't. Yet you still see it necessary to boast to complete strangers that you are living a legendary life. Who are you trying to convince that you're indeed interesting? I've read your timeline. I have deducted that you are 18, bored at home, and mom's making meatloaf. Here we are an hour later, and you're flossing a lemonade chain at the club. Player, Superman couldn't change like that! Find good things will come.
#LonelyTweets:
Some folks recognize the pathetic nature of their tweet and rightfully label it with the #LonelyTweet tag. Others get spotted and called out. If you're sad enough to be posting reckless to the world, why don't you go to a dating site instead? Match.com has you covered, and they'll only show it to other lonely people. No sense in embarrassing yourself on your company's Twitter account...
#KillYoSelf:
This one is funny when applied correctly, but must be replied within 60 seconds of the original post for maximum effectiveness. Example: "Throwing dirty money at @JayZs mouth in VIP wearing white tube sockes and a tennis ball green ostrich feather parka!" #KillYoSelf! The only downside is, if you accidentally drop it on a suicidal kid with a bottle of Xanax, you risk becoming a jailed cyber bully.
#NowPlaying:
Relates to what you've got playing; usually music, but occasionally applies to gamers. If you don't subtweet, this is a subtle way of letting an artist know that you are currently appreciating their music. It also lets friends and followers know another little thing about you; "Oh, he listens to Camoflauge "Keepin' it Real" in his spare time?" #RIPCamo
#CelebrityBoycotts:
Since a lot of people know who they are, some heavily-followed celebrities have refused to tweet until their fans pony up a pre-determined amount of cash for their cause of choice. This strikes me as a disgusting use of influence. Fine; it's for charity? Cool; but that's the only good part. When classless TV stars (who are less intelligent than you and I) threaten to cut off their bland rants unless you give money to their friends, use your "Unfollow" button immediately. Only a fan backlash can make them realize that people don't like this side of them. Remember, without his 6.2 million fans, @aplusk would just be one of those guys from "That '70's Show."
#Pause:
Sometimes an action or comment has the power to make you stop in your tracks; #Pause applies. It's a clever tag, but be warned: it gets over-used quickly. Only #Pause when it actually happens.
#NoOneCaresTho
Always apply this mentally to anything you post. If you tweet that you are having an ice cream cone and feeding ducks in the park, guess what? No one gives a shit! It is always better to rewrite a lame post before sending than to have @gleamsatm and @OfficiallyIce (not an asshole) embarrass you with it.
#SelfSnitch Tweets:
People seem to love using Twitter to confess their recent or current sins.I have seen countless crimes and affairs aired out here. Worse, Foursquare users also share an insane desire to inform a disinterested public where they are every second of the day. You should just march into a government office and ask for a microchip implant. Really, people can't wait until you get home to hear where you got a cup of coffee from? "Got whipped cream and chocolate!" You had to check in from right there in Starbucks? Scroll back to #KillYoSelf...
#FollowBack
I don't bother much with #FollowBack/#TeamFollow/#FollowFriday trends. They don't bring about any major follows; they just flood your current follower's screen with endless usernames that you think they should follow. If you're on Twitter just to see how many followers you can get, you're here for the wrong reason. My follows come few at a time; if they seem interesting/are a mutual friend of a follower/not spam, they get a follow back. Buying follows is a most pathetic trend. Do you buy real-life friends and dates, too? That's loser talk. Earn your friendship the old fashioned way; good conversation/quality content/mutual interests.
The world is much smaller than it seems. Just because they don't shout you out doesn't mean they don't know who you are. Comments made on Twitter doesn't fall on deaf ears: they reach people that will eventually recognize you and pay it back if need be. Live on Twitter like you would if these people showed up at your door. Don't be fake; don't lie about who you are. Don't make up success. Don't hate people who do well. Post quality content that will make people want to hear what you have to say.
-KZ
(@KZKingArt)
To date, “The 2010 Hip-Hop State of Affairs" http://kzconcepts.wordpress.com/2010/09/02/the-2010-hip-hop-state-of-affairs/ remains the most viewed post on my site, http://www.kzconcepts.com.
Thank you.
The streets asked for it; consider it delivered…
“The 2011 Hip-HopState of Affairs”
By: KZ (@KZHighSociety)
My fellow hip-hop heads,
A year has passed since I last took a good look at the hip-hop landscape and gave some suggestions. The field is overgrown; overrun by snakes, weeds, rats, and droppings. It’s time to rip away the ground cover; far too many
roaches and half-ass rappers run around acting like they matter more to the game than they actually do. Hip-hop is evolving faster than ever before. It graduates new classes and labels monthly. Hot new dances that accompany current singles get outdated fast, along with certain words associated with them (like trill, swag, or anything black and yellow. If you know someone who still “dougies,” kick them square in the pelvis for me; hard.)
If you get mentioned on this list, I encourage you to really think about what I’m saying. I am not your ‘yes-men.’ I’m an unbiased observer and diehard hip-hop fan. A few of you follow me on Twitter. I appreciate that, but forewarning, anybody can get it. If you’re a good rapper, you’ll hear exactly what it is you’re doing that works; respect. If you’re not a good rapper, expect to be told why. I won’t blindly hate on anybody (as I am no hater,) but you WILL get honest criticism. You can choose to accept what I say, thank me, explain yourself, ignore me, or get yourself killed trying to come after me (let’s not bother with the latter; this is entertainment.) Here goes:
 Jay-Z:
I put Jay at the top of the list because he has long been one of the best rappers out. Fame doesn’t mean shit here, so I rated Jay highest due to his success in overall business. From special edition Audemars Piguet watches (that you can’t get,) to his spot on the Forbes list, Shawn Carter walks a higher path (extra points for remaining married to Beyonce.) No matter what you’re doing, any Jay-Z record you put on will inspire you to do the very best you can at it. Jay’s words/actions/imagery often fuel the Illuminati rumors. He either is (more than likely,) or he likes to keep people wondering if he is; I honestly don’t care. If secret societies choose to spend ungodly amounts of money to amass imperial beats, the coldest of lyrics, and a ”running shit” attitude in Baseline simultaneously, I say do more of it. Hat tip, Jay; I admire you.
 Eminem:
Em has solidified his place in hip-hop history forever. He’s braved unfriendly crowds and protesting soccer-moms in the past to prove beyond a doubt that he could rip a mic as well as (or better than) his black counterparts. Since taking time off and “Relapse,” I just can’t find his beat/lyric combos as intense and fun as they once were. Does anybody else miss the old, hungry Eminem? Think Rock Bottom. Em now singing with Rhianna bores me. They should have teamed up for “Murder Murder 2011.” I respect you though, Mr. Mathers.
 Lil Wayne:
Don’t call him Lil Wayne anymore; he officially became Weezy F Baby once he caught that last gun charge. Sometime during the Riker’s Island days, he became Lil Tunechi (who the hell knows.) Wayne has clever, creative bars at times, but some of the collabos insist upon themselves. When I tweet the most profound thing ever and get one RT, and Weezy can tweet “Uhh” or a period and get 100+? Time to re-evaluate, folks. Rebirth was a messy abortion (with the exception of “Drop The World.”) Weezy, please man, stop with the skinny jeans and skater shoes. You want to reinvent? Try a suit. I understand you wanted to try your hand at rock music; mission accomplished. Now can you please go back to laying bars with the intricacy of “6’7” or better? I’m bored.
 U.S.D.A:
Trap music isn’t dead; it lives in my playlist. The United Streets Dopeboyz of America sit right on the top of that list. We automatically associate “8732” with Young Jeezy, but Slick Pulla and Blood Raw are still working Twitter and quietly churning out classics on their own. Trap music gets a bad rap/its own category due to the subject matter; running kilos of blow up and down I-95. While it can get tiresome listening to ‘drug sale tales’ after a while, if you’ve been there, you can really relate. Not just the dope part, but the stressful/minute-to-minute/constant struggle way of life that can be felt in the bars. Guys, I encourage you to drop a 17-20 track banger for the streets soon (cough…Recession 2…) We are not hearing Young Jeezy’s name like we used to. Oh, and don’t be afraid to bring in other rappers/labels for guest spots (T.I, Rozay, Big Boi,Luda, I-20, Rich Boy; sky’s the limit.
 Chris Brown:
Ain’t shit. He only made this list because he bears mention (unfortunately not in good light.) While I refuse to be another blogger who mindlessly picks on Breezy for his actions and outbursts, “Chris, you’re playing yourself.” You should have stuck to making fuck jams for the ladies. “Look At Me Now” showcased your limited vocab and subject matter; “I make more money than my fans and blow it on unnecessary window-dressing (yellow bottles.”) Very
original. The beat on that song was annoying, too. It sounded like Adderalled-up robots farting in metal bathtubs. Busta Rhymes methodically murdered his verse (as always,) and Weezy administered the verbal head-shot. Thank God for them, huh? They could have replaced you with any other ‘Top 10’ rapper and had a diamond. Keep acting like you are NOT the problem. You are so blessed to be in your position in life; but it seems like you feel a bit entitled. We lose respect for you every time we see you hit a girl or break windows when an interview isn’t filled with ‘gimme’ questions. You’re a good singer and dancer, but you have anger issues that your people tend to ignore. Seek real therapy, not the publicity kind. Oh, and as Mike Epps famously quipped on T.I’s “King” CD, “Bitch, your head looks like a dirty tennis ball now.” Fix your hair, homie. Fail; and that is based 97% on your crybaby attitude, 3% rhyming skill.
 Birdman:
Weezy’s daddy Birdman has become “all image no substance.” He occasionally gets in a good verse on a DJ Khaled/Rick Ross team-up, but I don’t think I could sit through an entire Birdman CD; like ever. Mannie Fresh and Weezy always made it better; The “Number One Stunna” has yet to stand alone. To remind the public that he has money, Birdman frequently places huge bets on sporting events and boasts about it; tactless. It is cool that you can seemingly afford such bets ($4 mil on a Mayweather fight/a mil on the Packers in the Super Bowl/pissing away $2 million on the Heat in the Finals) but it lacks class. Oh, and no more simply SAYING you’ve placed a big bet. From now on, you have to post video of yourself physically paying out. Otherwise, I just don’t believe you. Now eating heartily off future earnings of the YMCMB class, Birdman will remain wealthy enough to live like a hood-rich tycoon for the rest of his days. Props, I guess?
 Rick Ross:
Boss. With the real “Freeway” Rick Ross out of prison and taking to Twitter, the former corrections officer knew he wouldn’t win the fight for that name, so he became Ricky Rozay (which would be like me changing my name to Charlie Hennessy; not very clever.) Either way, the public largely overlooked his usurped past and accepted Ross as a rap music superstar. Nobody can deny that Rick’s lyrics are great (although some are said to be ghostwritten.) He has good delivery and very strong work ethic. Besides churning out solid CDs, Rick has already done more mixtapes and collaborations than many rappers do in a career. Busta Rhymes long held the title of ‘hardest working man in hip-hop’ (in my book,) but this year, Rozay gets the nod. He moves a LOT for a guy his size. With the creation of MMG, Ross could sit back and let the young bucks bring in his paper; yet he keeps working hard (that’s called “grind.”) The downside: Rick spends far too much time and money with Johnny Dang. The jewelry is getting beyond ridiculous (think Mr. T.)
 Fat Joe:
Joey Crack hasn’t made any real music of note lately. He seems content with being a third-or-forth stringer on DJ Khaled tracks. I do think he’s one good release away from being right back on it. Congrats on the weight loss. Cut back the uncomfortable Spanish conversation skits and use the type of beats one would hear playing inside a king’s lair. “I’d rather drop shells and let off shots until my Glock melts.” BRILLIANT! I still enjoy “DonCartagena/Me, Myself, and I.” #KeepGoin
 Roscoe Dash:
Bro, what is there about you that you’d like us to know? Everything about you screams “Soulja Boy cover band,” but you shave your views/thoughts into the side of your head. I can’t quite tell if that is cutting-edge promotion or downright lame. My “college student turned baller” alarm is sounding. You’ve got to understand, I grew up on N.W.A/Eazy/Pac/Big/Spice 1/Ice-T. This shit seems just a bit too polished/manufactured. You do however, get extra credit for the speed of your flow.
 Waka Flocka Flame:
Flakaveli my ass. You don’t fill 2Pac’s shoes just because there is a vacancy. Just getting shot at doesn’t make you a G; and that goes for everyone. You’re a two-face (like from Seinfeld.) At times, you look like a killer out of the countriest part of Georgia. Other times, you look like a community college marketing major. I give you credit for “No Hands,” because the music flowed through people; that hook made everybody want to stick their Glocks out the car window and squeeze. Oh, and shame on you for getting an entire generation of kids to pretend to be seasoned Moscato connoisseurs. Drinking Moscato in public is NOT gangster.
 Slaughterhouse:
Thinking back to Scary Movie/Life/Bad Meets Evil/the GTA soundtrack, Royce Da 5’9” has always been a good lyricist. I also think he missed a critical window in time when Em first blew up, and as a result, stayed further underground than he deserved. With empty seats still at the table, it was nice to see Eminem bring Royce back into the fold; those guys produce gold together. This group has some good members, but they seem hastily/awkwardly packaged together; like Shady decided to save some money and get a group rate. They suffer the fate of Bad Boy’s “Da Band;” some real talent dragged down by less-ambitious “band members.” Joe Budden is a solid rapper, too; what happened? Both names should be household, not just ghetto household (like mine.) Royce, team up with a certified superstar (besides or in addition to Em, and you’ll be
shouting me out, setting the carpets on fire on “106 & Park.” You once called my #KZHS custom Jordans“over the top.” I’m not sure if you meant it to be insulting, but it came off that way. I’m still a fan. Good luck.
 Soulja Boy:
Soulja Boy is still around. He plays on Twitter and Ustream, bragging about how rich he is and promoting his flunkies. Yawn. Great; now one-dimensional has officially been done. Hip-hop’s ultimate one-hit-wonder (who decided to stick around and try to keep going instead of dropping off for 10 years and doing a reality show.) Not hating Soulja; (gotta respect the earning power, especially considering the actual product. *Homer Simpson voice* Rubes! So many rubes!”) Like every other rapper, not everything you do turns to gold (your dro’d-out friends will tell you anything to keep that gravy train going.) Your music is for chubby hoodrats and high-school-aged dick-riders with no ambition of their own. Tighten up and get serious. Land a role in a high-profile gangster flick to strenghten rep.
 Ludacris
I haven’t heard much from Luda lately, but between the Magnum Live Large tour and Summer Jam, hip-hop’s most charismatic cat is staying busy. Chris, please man…give us a record full of imperial beats and furious LudaFlow. The people still want to hear you/Playaz Circle/I-20 tear shit up. A “Screwed Up” remix/follow-up with Lil Flip would be aces, too. The fuck jam collabos play out quickly; and for God’s sake man, get at me about those LudaComics!
 Playaz Circle:
Tity Boi must have finally realized that his name had limited commercial appeal/marketability. Call him 2chainz now; he’s constantly doing shows. Where’s Dolla Boy at? I have to be honest, I knew the “Supply & Demand” CD word-for-word before I even knew Dolla’s name; rebrand & promote! Guys, the streets want another. Flight 360: The Takeoff was not promoted heavily enough; buy less Gucci duffel bags and spend it at another ad agency. Tit, I still have a bent, purple-liquid filled piece of bottle art sitting in my studio, ready to ship you: 2 Chainz Old Fashioned Codeine; “For Your General Health.” Just DM me a shipping address.
 Lil Flip:
No matter what anyone says, Flip IS the Freestyle King. This man can spit quality for 14 minutes straight off the top of his head. Let’s be clear: Weezy doesn’t freestyle all that much anymore, and we’ve all seen the YouTube video of him choking when it came time to freestyle on camera. Unless Eminem goes back to his Rap Olympics automatic freestyle mode for 30 minutes, Flip gets to keep his crown. (Flip, I can’t find Lucky Nites here in northeast Ohio, so I’m working to get a bottle delivered from Florida. You have an art masterpiece coming, but these things take time.)
 T.I:
Tip had a brief, highly-anticipated return to society this year. Not long after his release, he was right back on the shelf for violating parole on a pill charge. I’ve got nothing but respect for Tip, but I just don’t feel “No Mercy” was quite the soundtrack “Paper Trail” was. Keep your head up, Tip; I hope you stay out this time. With your full attention, I have faith that your next CD will be amazing. When Pac died, his spirit landed in Camouflage; when he got killed, it landed in Tip. (RIP Camo)
 Nas:
Twitter is abuzz right now with the release of the Nas “Nasty” joint. It is the gritty, lyrically-sharp fare we expect from Nas. The beat however, almost gives me a panic attack. If he was going for “deep, grimey QB,” he hit it (I would have preferred some highs/synths/a girl singing a hook.) You’re a legend; fuck those haters who still wage someone else’s 10-year-old war with you. I’d like to hear you team up with Rozay/Kanye/even Jay. Welcome back.
 Cyhi Da Prynce:
Just before Kanye released “MBDTF,” I got a magazine assignment to write a piece about Cyhi. I @’ed him on Twitter, told him I had some free publicity to give him, and wondered if he had any input. He quickly sent me his e-mail address. When I filled him in on the specifics, he must have felt it was beneath him and didn’t respond again. I went on to write “Cyhi Goes Sky-High” without him. You’re welcome. Cyhi solidified his place in hip-hop with the clever wordplay he exhibited on both “MBDTF” and his mix tapes. He’s creative enough to be a G.O.O.D artist, but I think we’re all hoping for a full-length/guest-filled label release soon. Respect.
 Nicki Minaj:
To settle the debate once and for all, yes, Nicki IS a younger/modernized version of Lil Kim (either start hating on me right here or agree and move on.) Kim has gotten too old to be a sex icon; she is. (You shouldn’t still be doing P-drop posters at 40.) Don’t be mad at Lil Wayne for recognizing the void in the market and signing her. She had no class for taking a swipe at Kim, and Kim seemed pathetic to even participate. I don’t really enjoy Nicki’s music, as I didn’t really care for Kim’s music. She has the same bouncy “Missy” feel/intentionally weird/innuendo/dull beats that I found super duper boring during the 1990’s. Her body and star power are her saving graces. Overrated; sorry babe.
 Kanye West:
Kanye; I had to list him way at the bottom because if I mentioned him first, he wouldn’t have finished the article. Mr. West, you are one of the greatest lyricists/beat makers/samplers/personalities to ever bless the rap game with your participation. I’ll stop there; we wouldn’t want you getting big-headed/gassed up/arrogant (you see how poorly it has worked out for @KingJames.) Quit acting so damn unobtainable; you are just a person on a planet with 7 billion other people just like you. I have a go-to Kanye track for any mood/occasion. I’m a huge fan, but I could do without the attitude.
 Lupe Fiasco:
This firebrand has been bucking trends and making shocking statements (“Obama is the biggest terrorist in America” comes to mind.) Careful B, the hip-hop police have Homeland Security resources now. Every generation has a rebel that gets whacked way too young; an instigator. They got James Dean/Bob Marley/Eazy E/2Pac; you seem to share their spirit. I’m shocked they never went after Dead Prez. Just watch what you say, please. Let another hothead loudmouth face the government assassins. Respect.
Summary:
As you can probably tell, I am cynical, old-school, and leery
of new acts trying to sneak into the A-list. If you’re new but not humble, I
won’t even bless you with a listen. New rule: you have to have at least three
(3) platinum-selling CDs out to compare yourself to a legend, call yourself “the
greatest” of anything, or use the title “King” (unless describing what T.I. is
to the South, or what Flip is to freestyles.)
-KZ
I’m proud to have influenced Adult Swim’s “Robot Chicken.” In the past, I sent them a copy of my first illustrated book, “Just…Wow.” It is a 28-page, 32-panel blank book that I turned into a collection of sick/outrageous/off-the-wall/tasteless comics/scenarios/characters/products. It took a full year to write/outline/hand-stippled color into every square inch of every page; a true labor of love.
http://kzconcepts.wordpress.com/2010/02/16/just-wow-full-book-free/
“What Ya Gonna Do?"
Lyrics by KZ (@KZ4RealTho)
“I exercise my vocab just for laughs; I’ll murder ANYONE in two paragraphs.”
([email protected]) What ya gonna do
When you’re out of pills to swallow?
What ya gonna do,
Cause you ain’t got one for tomorrow.
Spend you’re time on Twitter
Tryin to get the world to follow;
Afraid to face society,
Go out with pockets full of hollows.
KZ got tight flows;
Flying higher than the Wright Bros.
I might go psycho,
For tonight is the night, bro.
Gonna get me a bottle;
Spend a few dollars on lotto.
Then go down to the mall,
Window-shop me a Movado.
A Perpetual Rolex,
Never know what’s gonna come next.
I sold the extra K’s and Tecs,
But kept the Glock to self-protect.
Like it did inside the workplace,
Them boys came in to rob the place,
I got pissed off,
And let off five at his masked face.
He survived the encounter;
Fell off over the counter,
Spinal trauma pissing blood,
Like the pharmacy had a bouncer.
They tried taking I tried givin;
They got picked up and sent to prison.
I been through some shit man;
I’m using that to make a living.
I write and draw all the time,
For ten years I’ve spit local rhymes.
Got inventions on the shelf, and
Finished books; all in due time.
I’ve found myself an agent,
I seek legal representation,
Got to learn what I can say,
What’s self-incrimination.
Three Generations Deep in the Dope Game;
That whole era was a damn shame.
The Source got cheap;
Refused to pay come deadline day.
So I kept the article,
Showed them the middle cuticle,
Sorry there, Amy,
I don’t mean to get rude with you.
I wanted no hard feelings,
Complimented you on Linkedin,
Grab your Blackberry,
Give me a topic, let it sink in.
I’ll spin some written gold up,
To fill your centerfold up,
We’ll sell a mil and sign a deal,
So both our pockets swoll up.
But now The Source is past-time,
And now I fucks with Cosign;
KG and staff are friends of mine;
They appreciate these words of mine.
I’ve made King Art for T.I;
Been doing art since knee-high.
Ever since the shooting,
I’ve been doing it like full-time.
Tip should lend me his crown,
I wrote when he was locked down.
A four-page legal pad,
Illustrated lookin’ bad!
Sent my memories of Atlanta,
Encased my thoughts in good grammar.
Added kings and queens and jacks,
To pass his time inside the slammer.
I showed support,
While shopping my portfolio,
Tip passed on me,
So onward I go.
And even after all that,
I call the shit the aftermath,
When jogging on the Towpath,
I expect another blood bath.
I keep the heat with me,
In case they’re coming back to get me,
I still can’t get right,
Shrinks called it P.T.S.D.
It’s social anxiety,
And Xanax makes me tired, G.
I’m better off to blow the trees,
To calm my nerves alone, B.
And only I can keep me safe,
No cop, or judge, or man of faith,
I made the public’s case,
For concealed carry in a public place.
I’d trade my life for yours
Just to make a point.
Strong-arm your bag of weed;
Roll myself a joint.
I never up and leave
When someone starts a fight.
Pull the tool and pay em back
For they not acting right.
In Monday’s mail I got a kite;
Said FDLE might indict.
Sit and stress my situation
With a Marlboro Menthol Light…
What ya gonna do
When you realize that you can’t find a job?
The rent is two months overdue,
So now you got a major prob.
Stressed beyond belief,
Feel like your bill collectors were the mob.
You light a blunt, put on a song,
Let 50 teach you How to Rob.
Sometimes a jack move goes too far;
Gotta bury the guns and burn the car.
Should have listened to your Nana more,
Tried to tell your young ass life was hard.
It’s the natural evolution,
Armed kids conducting revolution,
Prefer to live life in seclusion,
Need a fly crib out in Houston.
What ya gonna do
When your every day is civil war?
Start your days without a car,
and knowing you ain’t going far.
When life is feelin hard
And you done smoked your last hand-rolled cigar.
You hate yourself inside
While spending change and days down at the bar.
What ya gonna do
When Post Traumatic makes you stay at home?
You won’t answer your phone,
And you prefer to spend your life alone.
Keep your boss’ gun at home,
In case you wanna blast your dome.
Society bets you’ll do it,
But you refuse to stain your own chrome.
Privatized the weed game,
The grams and dubs all helped sustain,
My customers drove me insane.
I’ve done my best now to refrain.
From selling it but not from smoking,
You know KZ’s forever toking.
Quit Swishers while they legalize,
Man, you must be fucking joking.
Go to jail for half a cigarette?
The police haven’t caught me yet.
The only reason they’re in charge,
Is we didn’t overthrow them yet.
I do my best to smoke good,
Blueberry in my neighborhood.
I roll it, light it, hit it, hold it,
Nasal exhale smellin good.
The world can be a cold place,
Sometimes you wanna hide your face.
Life-or-death victory has a nice taste,
Still searching for her warm embrace.
(#RealestShitIEverWrote -KZ)
 “That’s Gangster!”
The term “gangster” is tossed around far too loose and reckless these days; especially since comments made online often go unchecked. When a young/fat/white/teen/Hot Topic shirt-wearing/Manson fan/college kid uses the word to describe his rhinestone boots, it’s time for us as a society to pause and consider our words more carefully.
“Oh My God, these boots are so gangster!”
Things have gotten way out of hand. Louis Vuitton bandanas; are you kidding me? That shit ain’t gangster!
 Gangster is:
A 1978 Cadillac Coupe Deville with hidden guns and stash boxes/brawling with a guy walking down your street because you’ve
never met him/firing shots at someone you don’t like on a crowded street/wearing enough diamonds to finance a revolution.
 Riding with a flag out the window, hoping someone has a problem with it/dodging the cops while amassing a small fortune illegally/carjacking to flee the scene of another crime/preferring a forty ounce serving when selecting a beer/knowing that someone’s family members are looking for you/choosing death rather than returning to prison/having overseas drug connections and never talking about them.
 Killing a rival for his chain and wearing it around the neighborhood/selling your last half-gram so you can eat/robbing the liquor store on your block because you have to/having pulled triggers, not knowing if they lived or died/naming your pitbull Kilo and eventually being the one to put him down/takeover-style robberies with automatic weapons/earning enough cash to wear a different custom outfit each day/doing your time like a man without ratting on
anybody.
 Carrying a stolen gun with an obliterated serial number and two bodies on it every day/moving birds, a few ounces at a time/burning the truck afterwards/issuing serious death threats on public walls with a paint can/waiting for the night club to let out so you can avenge a
murder/@CosignMag.
Gangster is NOT:
A new Gap hoodie/Soulja Boy/a clean criminal record/a Dodge Neon on 20” rims/parents buying your high school ass an iPhone/Pizza Rolls/suspenders/drinking a bottle of hot sauce on a dare/your teacup Chihuahua/Juicy shorts/the new Justin Bieber single.
 Funnel cake/just having a Scarface poster (You’re not Tony Montana!)/ill-fitting jeans/smoking flavored tobacco from a hookah/your child’s baseball team (even if they’re doing well)/adjusting your outfit based on what neighborhood you’re in/a catchy country music song/dressing up your pets/diet soda/’mentioning’ a few things to your neighbor, the cop.
Know what else should never be referred to as “gangster” again?
 Stopping for a smoothie at the mall/your friend wearing a $25 dollar grill with stones in it/a strike while bowling/watching 90210/that tired-ass tongue piercing/your Jeep/Chipotle/your family’s summer home/wearing Spam T-shirts/pot brownies on the weekend/any NASCAR driver/a pancake breakfast/punk rock bands/eating an ice cream cone in public/loitering outside a Walmart.
New student orientation for college is not gangster!
Please help maintain the integrity of this word by using it only where it absolutely applies. Thanks. I’m glad we got that cleared up…
 “Untouchable”
(File this under ‘fiction not conviction.’ Feel me?)
We all seem to go through periods in life when we feel untouchable. Things are going your way, money is lovely, and lately, the ladies just can’t seem to leave you alone. We get a little arrogant; maybe run that extra red light. Sometimes we’ll be cruising along on autopilot when some other element in life makes us come to a full stop. This can come in the form of new legislation, overly-involved strangers, or police officers who catch a funny scent in the car and make us their business.
 Keeping a low profile can significantly reduce our need to play by the rules of others. Who among us would PREFER to have police inspecting our home with a fine-tooth comb? Nobody; imagine the shit they’d find! Once you leave the house dirty, your chances of eventually getting caught increase greatly. Sometimes however, the law can be circumvented strictly by luck alone.
 Thanksgiving about four years ago, one such incident occurred. I decided to go on a boating trip with my boss and two coworkers. The boss owned the boat; he was a care-free multimillionaire who openly thumbed his nose at authority. He kept a slip in the Sanibel Yacht Club. The boys and I met up with him for a fun day on the open water. We arrived first; the boss was running late as usual. We sat parked in a brand new gold Monte Carlo. The car had all-chrome everything and sat on 22-inch rims. As the windows were completely blacked-out by tint, we decided to smoke a blunt before he arrived. We had that good; orange Southwest Florida hydro with a Kush jacket.
 Unfortunately, we were parked in a lot designated for residents of the adjacent gated community. It was sparsely populated; in hindsight, we must have stuck out like Timberlands at a funeral. Not two minutes after the cigar became a crushed-out roach, I noticed a police cruiser to the left of the lot. We got out of the car fast, hoping to somehow leave the fruit scent inside. We didn’t need the officer to tell us that someone had called on us; residents were now filling their balconies above us.
 We explained to John Q. that we were simply waiting for a resident to arrive for a boating trip. “We’re guests.” The cop didn’t even ask us for ID. I was shocked! He swallowed our story at face value and drove away. No matter that the car was bought with drug money, there were still drugs in the car, open containers, and we had four loaded pistols between us. He simply left us inside a restricted area. We could have had a rocket launcher in the trunk! Lucky for him and the residents, our intentions were good. We were dope boys, not terrorists. Within the next ten minutes, our fourth had arrived and we were boarding the boat. We bid farewell to the dock hand and did wake speed toward the channel.
We immediately noticed a row of Coast Guard and police boats docked in a row to our right. It made sense that they would have a post there, but the boats were all heavily manned; cops everywhere. As we navigated through the channel, our captain was careful to observe the posted manatee zone.
We were nearly into open Gulf when we realized there was now a small armada behind us. There were no other boats in the area, so we knew we were about to be stopped.
 As the law approached, we began hearing sirens and commands being barked into bullhorns. Upon reaching us, a Coast Guard ship was tied to us, and we were informed that we were about to be boarded. Only three law enforcement agents of the roughly ten present came aboard. The first question they asked us was, “Does anybody here have a weapon?” I raised my hand, then put the other above chest-level with it. Everyone else had left theirs in the car, and I had a permit to carry mine.
 Next, I turned around, allowing them to take the custom Glock from my inside-the-waistband holster. I glanced down and mentally photographed the well-worn leather holster the cop was wearing. He carried a janky-ass blue Beretta 92F on his left side. I thought to myself, “Look at that rickety shit; rust in the screw holes…” This prompted me to shout, “Hey, could you be careful with that? I just got it back from the chrome shop!” The officer cleared my weapon and gently set it on the seat across from me. The lead cop conducted a search; cabin, dash, and bathroom. The two jacked-up flat tops in the rear of the boat just stood tall to make sure nobody was making any quick moves. When they found no contraband, they had no choice but to give up. They even made a comment about how well-prepared we were, as we had more than enough life vests aboard. During the search, they had also noticed the bottle of Hennessy we had brought with us.
 An officer asked, “Kind of early to be drinking, isn’t it?” I replied with a smirk, “Well, it’s a holiday.” We assured them that the man behind the wheel was not drinking. This was good enough for them. Other than removing the gun I’d offered up, they didn’t search us! As they climbed single file from the boat, I was instructed not to retrieve the Glock until they had left the area. I smiled and waved, telling them to be safe. I looked down at the rear deck just in time to see the last officer’s boot lift up. As his treads rose, I saw a clear blue dime bag containing five 1mg. Xanax pills lying on the carpet.
This cop had literally been standing on it throughout the entire search without
realizing it. My heart sunk. I looked at my friend who was sitting in front of the baggie. I knew it was his, I knew damn well where he got it, and I knew how much he had paid for them. I motioned, suggesting that maybe he had dropped something. His face froze when he realized what was was on the floor, and processed just who had been standing on it seconds earlier. By now, the police were turned around and headed back to their base. As a rich Egyptian muslim, our boss was a bit spiteful over the encounter.
He ordered us to fill his Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup with liquor; we obliged. As he sipped his cognac, our captain toasted the Coast Guard, who was still watching us through binoculars. The boys and I poured ourselves drinks. I soon learned that another blunt in a cigar tube had also made it past inspection.
As we roared out into the Gulf of Mexico, we puffed on more of Southwest Florida’s Finest and laughed about our good luck. We spent the next five hours fishing, swimming, and tubing. Life was good, and it was only because a shakedown my local cops was not thorough enough.
 Lady Luck was the only thing that kept us out of jail that day. But luck runs out; never let it trick you into thinking that keeping a pipe in your vehicle is ever acceptable. Eventually, you will get caught, probably while you’re doing something more serious. Roll blunts; they’re easy to toss and won’t fetch you a paraphernalia charge. No matter what it is, don’t drive with more than you can eat. Obviously, there will be exceptions. Just be smart and minimize your chances of ending up in one of their privately-owned prisons.
-KZ
 Urban Football
I just finished watching the Cleveland Browns game. It’s only preseason, but they’ve already racked up a few wins. Despite wide-lefting a semi-critical field goal attempt before halftime, Dawson is our secret weapon this season. Coaching changes are apparent, too; far better. Skip ahead three weeks, and we find ourselves without a single regular-season win.
It’s sad that I’m concerned about them losing to the Bengals this weekend. Hmmm. You expect to sell tickets; people shelling out cash to stand in the snow and watch the Browns lose? Not a solid business plan.
Uniforms:
Players are currently wearing tight-fitting outfits that allow for speed/flexibility/mobility. Let’s face it; this isn’t real-life conditions. Make football REAL. During cold-weather games, players should be made to wear hoodies/parkas/gloves. Official team merchandise would be durability-tested in real conditions.
New York and New Jersey franchises can get Timberland to make some custom cleat/boots. Imagine how fun it would be to watch players drag each other to the ground by their hoods. People would be easier to grab; movement impeded by the baggy clothing. Call it Casual Season.
 Turf Changes:
Only pussies need grass or turf to tackle each other in. I say play on concrete. That would certainly separate the boys from the men. Play on a sand lot! Gravel, pot holes, patches of black ice, and rubber chips (shredded tires like at playgrounds) might be cool, too. Mix and match or reveal the week’s dangerous field condition right before the game begins. Nothing says, “Stay on your game!” like partially-buried cinder blocks. Reserve broken glass for the Super Bowl. THAT is entertainment.
 Helmet Optional:
Got a tight fade and new three carat earrings to show off? Be a man and opt to play with no helmet. While it would make the average NFL career much shorter, think of the faces you could make when your touchdown celebration airs on SportsCenter. Some things are just easier without a helmet.
 The league decides that like riding a motorcycle, you should have the final say in whether or not you wear a helmet. Since you would no longer be bound by consistent/boring/cumbersome head gear, you are now free to choose what you wear! From a Kangol or a New Era to a beanie or a top hat; the more fashion-concerned/oriented players have many choices available. Guys could run around with ski masks on (how intimidating would that be; every face on the opposing team wearing ski masks. That would be unnerving/morale-draining/fear-inducing.
The Rooster Rule:
Why do football games never have animals? Does the NFL have something against them? Construct a 3-foot wall around the perimeter of the field. When the game starts, one rooster for each player (with corosponding number) is released on the field. Chaos! Playing under pressure would be trying not to step on a bird while the defensive line
rushes you. For the degenerate gamblers, bookmakers could take odds on which chickens live and die. PETA would surely protest, but hey, they have to PAY to get inside to do so…
It isn’t the NFL’s job to keep us from getting drunk. Every man and woman make their own decisions. My decision would be to throw five shots and hurl the shotglasses at opposing team’s players on the field.
 Clear boundaries:
Concertina wire strung along the sidelines would sure keep people super aware of their impending fall out of bounds. To avoid beingtangled and bloody, I believe these star athletes would display superhuman ability to NOT get knocked out of bounds. This would also help deter the occasional wackadoo from streaking on the field.
 New Ball
In order to calm PETA’s anger over the “Rooster Rule,” footballs will no longer be made from pigskin. They will now be a rubber-coated aluminum shell. Inside are heating elements (to occasionally make the ball nearly impossible to hold,) and jets that coat the outer ball with lubricant from time to time. When heated, the ball will reach around 150
degrees. Don’t be shocked if players all start wearing the OveGlove.
Got more suggestions to spice up the game? Send them to me; I’ll update this proposal and give you credit.
[email protected] -KZ
Here’s a random sampling. I have years worth of true-crime narratives. Who has hot beats?
I’m still a good-hearted crook,
Feds have yet to put me on a hook.
My pockets getting kinda shook,
Better hurry up and write this book.
Took a second look at the breakfast nook,
I should build a lab and learn to cook.
This whole process is gonna suck,
Assess the risk like, “what the fuck…”
I vowed to stop, quit pressing luck,
Still play the game like bishop or rook.
I could start it off now with an onion of that soft white.
Sprinkle in the baking soda, stomp it five or six times.
Dope game is not entirely like selling rhymes,
But either way you hustle,
You just want your watch and smile to shine.
Right now it’s like the perfect crime,
I chop and stuff a hundred dimes.
The neighborhood will know they’re mine,
My baggies colored like a lime.
And speaking of a damn lime,
I’m smoking sticky orange pine.
It’s of the hydroponic kind,
Cured in jars with orange rinds.
I’m quiet like a silent mime,
And way too blind to see the signs.
Custom nine beside my spine,
My extra mags hold forty-nine.
And I refuse to be the latter;
I’ve already climbed the ladder.
I attack, bruise, and batter,
To make the bank deposits fatter.
Go ahead and be a hero, man, act badder.
Custom competition gun to lay you down flatter.
Shell casings clatter,
While store front windows shatter.
Formerly Fort Myers’ Madd Hatter;
most recent pharmacy-gatter,
Before you hear the pitter-patter,
Apply three pounds, cause shit to splatter.
Toss the heater down the sewer, time for me to scatter.
Police are getting closer now; your life didn’t even matter.
My product got slept on, because it got stepped on,
Potential buyer got crept on, chest blown, vest gone.
It’s a sad song that’s been playing for too long.
But my time is money, and I didn’t like his damn tone.
The 2010 Hip-Hop State of Affairs
Some of you might not know this, but KZ is a die-hard hip-hop fan. My first brush with it was ’89-‘90-ish. Friends started showing up with N.W.A. cassettes. When you were raised on Lynyrd Skynyrd, Guns N’ Roses, and Motley Crue, suddenly embracing hip-hop (called “rap” music back then) can be quite a shock. Eazy E singing “Nobody Move” made me think I could take a bank, even at age 13/14. I learned what a gat was.
I wanted to get that ’64 Impala and 64-oz. bottle of Old English 800. Just what a 14-year-old needed, a jug of malt liquor to go with his already bad attitude. We wore our Raiders jackets and yelled “fuck the police.”
 I’m about to bounce all over the place, so pay attention…
Kanye West’s video “Power” looks like an amazing painting come to life.I first saw it on BET, so obviously I didn’t get to see the whole thing. They had to cut back to the battle. Freestyle Friday, son! White boy challenger (Hatch?) upset NC’s finest. While I love battling and have great respect for it as a talent, I was disappointed to see this one. The white boy was out of Detroit (original, huh?) They had good timing and managed to pull off a rhyme at the 8th measure, but the lyrics were just bad. Two grown men trading hypothetical, fictional threats while boasting about their style. Bitches, please. Is this how the rest of the world views us? Hip-hop fans have a keen nose when it comes to bullshit. If it’s even slightly wack, that opinion will spread across the crowd faster than the smell of ganja. Forget about freestyling and WRITE your shit. Craft yourself some perfect lines to use. Keep a brand new verse fresh in your mind. After using this hot verse ONCE, be sure to construct a new one (if even one person in the crowd has already heard it, you’re immediately found out.)
I want Kanye/Common/Nas…not Glock, block, slinging rock. If you must rap at the pace of your own mind, be sure you never cut off early. You do so, you lose. Same as going, “Yo yo yo. Aye…yo” for 8 bars before attacking. Use that time to hurl even more offensive insults! You’re not on the mic to figure out lyrics, you’re here to shout them! This especially applies if you go first. If you can pull off a full verse, thank you; obviously you’ve been practicing. There is nothing in the world like hearing a cat you don’t know comment in real time about his surroundings, current events, and your raggedy shoes. The ability to freestyle (especially while high) is a major feat; a talent that must be constantly practiced. You need a good vocabulary to begin with. Group together common phrases and put two that rhyme in a row. Watch your opponent. Is he ashy? Does he spit when he talks? Does he have a slutty sister or woman? As one sentence ends, a related, supporting, rhyming line should be in your mind. Also, there is nothing worse than falling off beat trying to keep up. Critics have a good reason for mocking hip-hop nowadays. Standards have changed. Lines between genres have blurred. Some might view it as a good thing but not me. You might say hip-hop is benefiting by reaching further into American culture, but that’s just not true. What it is doing, is telling artists to intentionally clean up/water down the music that their real fans are actually buying. Getting money for performing is nice, but not everything is worth doing.
If Ol’ Dirty Bastard were alive today, he would be taking a limo to pick up an EBT card on his own reality show. That’s not progress.
 Chris,
(I know they call him Luda. But his mama named him Chris, I’mma call him Chris!)
I’m sure you got payed big for the venture, but you’ll always have an asshole like me to point it out. (Again, I like Luda…no homos. I even offered via e-mail to work for DTP.) This Twitter generation has no attention span. You have to accept that there are some people who don’t listen to you. You don’t have to infiltrate other markets to stay hot. TI sold the catchy hook from “Live Ya Life” to Kidz Bop.
 Ugh…it’s been ruined for me. I skip that song now when I listen to Paper Trail.
Make another Luda record! We all know they sell!
(A random observation I’ve kept to myself: On Playaz Circle’s Supply and Demand CD; the odd-numbered tracks are awesome. Even numbers are, eh.
Jay-Z teaming up with Linkin Park was a good fit, but I don’t listen to that CD as much as the rest. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a LP fan, too.
(Grape jelly is good, isn’t it? And diamonds are beautiful; but combining the two wouldn’t necessarily mean a good piece of toast. Ya dig?)
 Rap or sing; but not bothIf you can spit lines into a mic with beats, you are a rapper. Cats like Neyo/Chris Brown/Lil Romeo/Bow Wow/Trey Songz have watered it down. Shiny-chested R&B singers simply SAY their lines on the track of a rapper, and suddenly they feel they earned the title. Remember R. Kelly going from ladies man to thug?
Did a song with Jay and got Foxy to curse on his record, and suddenly he shared in their credibility? You’re not a gangster, you just play one on the TV. You’re actually a middle-aged man with questionable sexual preferences. Yeah, I said it…
 (Glock, Inc. maybe?)I sat and counted as a kid once; over 1,000 swear words on “Amerikkka’s Nightmare.” That’s gangster. Those fifteen tracks perfectly capture a a unique mindset.I’ve heard that Spice 1 is currently touring in Japan. When he comes home, I’d like to see him do a track with Young Jeezy. Let DJ Drama remix it, throw on Blood Raw and Slick Pulla, Rick Ross, Jay-Z, Beans, T.I….man, I’m dreaming now. That would be the drug-dealingest-themed show ever. Even police and security working the event would be selling grams.
(The old school does strive to stay current. E-40 & The Click, Too Short, Ice-T, etc…many on Twitter now. It’s nice, but they come off as time travelers. I understand Law & Order boosted Ice-T’s acceptance among the general (white) public, but I’m seeing way too much of him on TMZ lately.)
 Rap superstars/agents/producers:
They love to gloat about how much money they make. How about this…every one of you set a little bit of that scratch aside and sign yourself a new act. Keep your superstars if you have them, but make it a point to seek out at least one good artist. American Idol and America’s Got Talent should not be the primary ways for talent
to get noticed. We can continue to accept garbage like Soulja Boy as the norm, or you can get on your job. This one-hit-wonder proved that he could sell a million records by saying his name in the hook. (This brings Mike Jones to mind, but he actually has good beats and lyrics; respect.) Find guys with raw talent and no outlet for their creativity. You’d be shocked at what the average cat can produce/accomplish with just the slightest bit of support.
 Eminem
I want the old Em back. Angry, raw, emotional, and had a good beat. Then, the forces of mainstream took over and watered him down. Some of it had to do with D-12; their music was always a bit more goofy. RIP Proof. That and rehab. Relapse fell flat to me. Not sure what was different, but it lacked the touching, heart string-pullers on past CDs. Eminem is still a great lyricist, and would bury me under the stage in two lines. I’d dig my own hole and lie down. I just don’t care for his music lately. Make it sound like The Chronic (that unmistakable Dre sound) and it will sell. We all saw “8-Mile.” Did you see Em destroy those people in battle? Shit!
 Dr. Dre
Dre. I have followed his career from N.W.A to the Dr. Pepper and Intel commercials. You’re a hero of mine. Please, offer your beats to as many rappers as possible. You have a sound that cannot be faked.
The best mix CDs Ever:
There is a lot of competition when it comes to mix tapes. Just because I don’t mention you doesn’t mean I don’t like your shit. There are so many out there, it’s hard to hear them all.
The Get Green Mix CD
Local boys. Number 7 on this CD might just blow your amp.
 Tip “T.I.” Harris
Nice to see TI free again! I still wonder if he got my letter. When he was about 2 months into his sentence, I sent him a letter. It was four pages off a legal pad. I hand-stippled every part of each page that didn’t have writing on it. I spent a week just illustrating it. I tried to lift his spirits by sharing memories of Atlanta. I offered to work for him. I never got a response. I’m a bit disappointed; I worked hard on those illustrations! I follow you on Twitter. I see you on Facebook. Acknowledge one time; and I STILL have a full portfolio ready for review.
 To Kanye West:
I appreciate what a creative person you are. The clothes, the blog, the swag; you are an inspiration. Your lyrics are like mine; profound/articulate/cool. I still lack the good beats that you have. You are part of the reason toys from my childhood are worth so much now. To hell with the haters, I respect you, man. I can’t think of a better platform than your blog to unveil my new line:
KZ Concepts proudly presents
“High Society Footwear.”
Imagine a fresh-out-the-box pair of clean, white Air Forces or Jordans. Before you put them on, I hand draw and stipple a layer of kings, queens, and jacks. The entire shoe is wrapped in graphics, yet there is no ink where it counts (laces, inner, etc; things that touch your sock/hands.) I use vivid colors to fill the king’s outfits, and the leather exterior is finished with a hard, clear shell.
If you don’t have a shirt that will match these, you must be naked (no homos.) Each pair takes 2-3 weeks to complete. These are very exclusive; made only by me. I’d appreciate your input. I can work names in, change facial expressions, select color themes, and insert hidden messages.
To order a pair:
E-mail me at [email protected]
(I will need size, brand/model preference, shipping address, and we’ll discuss price. Or, mail me a pair of kicks you
picked out; brand new shoes only, please. Mail me a check, money order, or use PayPal. I will send an estimate. Pricing is based on shoe size, detail, personal input, and cost of shoes if I buy them. All sales are final, and payment must be received before I draw a single line. This is full custom work being applied by the hand of one man. Please be patient.) Shoes also come with a special care instruction sheet.
Get at KZ…
Twitter.com/kzconcepts
Facebook.com/kzconcepts
Myspace.com/kzconcepts
(Folks, I am KZconcepts everywhere.)
Hip-hop is wasting away. Sitcoms sample the music, JC Penny’s has hip-hop-themed kids wearing their back-to-school clothing, and our artists have whored themselves out to some of the most outlandish endorsements ever. For this (as a music genre/lifestyle) to survive, it is up to us to make it happen. Write original lyrics, make good beats, and resist the notion of selling out. Our music gets a black eye whenever we allow it to be used to sell some crappy product (This means Dr. Dre’s Dr. Pepper commercial; let them use an actual doctor if the wordplay is that important to them.) We must refrain from ignorant rap beefs, which usually end up with someone completely uninvolved dying or going to jail. Use your lyrics to creatively describe current events. Mention politicians by name on tracks. Rappers are far more powerful than they realize; beyond the screaming fans, sold-out shows, and unaffordable jewelry. Lyrics (either from a CD or at a concert) have a lasting effect on those who hear them. Make your message count. (Oh, and Chris Brown? Yeah, he deserves to lose his fans and endorsements…punk bitch.) I’m proud that we are no longer rioting at our award shows. Twitter has made rappers and producers more accessable to us. Even without a response, they hear what WE want and think. No more layers of managers/agents/etc. to insulate them from the truth. “Is the autotune I used on the CD cool?” Go online and hear it
first-hand. Hip-hop music will be around for many years to come, but I fear what form it may come in. As illegal proceeds have launched more than a few artists, many are seduced when The Gap needs a beat for the new fall line. Don’t do it! Lending your work to an inferior business venture is like Michael Jackson selling his famous glove because someone offered to buy it. You are selling yourself; your identity. The image and collection you have spent your life sculpting will be slowly picked apart one verse at a time.
Also, has it been long enough for Fabolous to drop a new CD? I say remix “Breathe,” pack it with guests, and throw us a few new verses.
Joe Budden, too. Hell Joe, just give me ten minutes…I’ll crush the track with you!
Where is Mystikal and the rest of the No Limit crew? They didn’t all go
Nickelodeon.
I’ll bet Mia X still has some hot lines to share!
 Twista: Playboy, it’s your time again. Some of us have listened since Do or Die/Paperchase; you made the whole world stop and take notice when you dropped “Kamikaze.” You are pure talent…please give us another (and keep that money out of your mouth; it’s filthy!)
 The best hypothetical CD of the year would be a collaboration between Jay-Z and Diddy. Imagine these two comparing counts on the track! It would certainly have to be star-studded: Jeezy/Wayne/T.I/Luda/Ross/Khaled/Outkast/LeBron James… this
record would be the grand finale for the music industry. Hell, give Martha Stewart an intro and Steve Forbes a verse! Money-making is inspirational; give us a glimmer of hope that this economy won’t kill us.
-KZ
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![I’m a firm believer that if you gave Cham a pen and pad for thirty minutes, he’d come out with a verse that was two hours long. Battling him would be like slap-boxing with Ali. (No pole-jocking here; I am pussy’s #1 fan.) He uses good beats, screws & chops, but only when called for; very important.(Want King Koopa art? Get at me: [email protected])](http://kzconcepts.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/cham.jpg){kind=link}
