Sunday, September 29, 2013

There's No Good Music Anymore!: Solipsism w/o Perspective

When people say "There's no good [insert musical or theatrical genre of art here] anymore." What they're really saying is "I'm not being entertained anymore because entertainment is no longer relevant to me."

To all those who feel that way, there is hope! The following are examples of narratives that, if allowed to flow through your brain, may change your perspective on the relevance of the art forms around you and ultimately increase the relevance of your entertainment experience!

(1) "New or younger artists are creating things that are not relevant to my experience, quite possibly because they are different people from me with different experiences in a completely different world than the world I came up in. However, through understanding and acceptance, I can open my mind and learn to appreciate their perspectives, experiences, and ultimately, their creations."

(2) "The people who used to create things that were relevant to my experience have stopped creating because either they got sucked up by the machine somehow or they found other things to do, like raise families or start new businesses. Perhaps I can stop complaining about their life moving forward and simply enjoy the timeless, and eternal creations that they left behind."

(3) "The people who are still creating who used to create things that were relevant to my experience are now creating things that are not relevant to my experience because they've grown or changed somehow as a result of the dynamic nature of their human experience. Perhaps I should grow and change as well. Then, maybe I will realize that there is, in fact, a lot of relevance in the world. If growth and change are not possible for me, then I can enjoy the timeless and eternal creations from these artists' earlier catalogs."

(4) "Since no one is entertaining me, perhaps I should begin living a life that reflects that which I want to experience in the world because I'm an adult and I am responsible for my experiences and life outcomes."

I am a solipsist. I believe that I imagined my world and I create it as I go along. Though many of you don't want to admit it, you are solipsists as well. Without perspective, you believe that those who are doing things are supposed to cater to your every experience in life, whether dynamic or stagnant.

You want your favorite artist to re-create the feelings that you felt when you fell in love with them every time they create a new thing. This is fundamentally solipsistic. Internally, you believe that your favorite artist is a figment of your imagination and that their life experience should coincide with yours.

This is a natural thing, really. Artists touch us in such ways in life as to convince us that they are our close friends, intimately connected with us through spirit and speaking directly to us through their works. This is the magic that is art. This is the beauty that is creation. However, it is important to maintain perspective. Your favorite artist does not give a single solitary shit about you or your experience. They wouldn't even be able to pick your face out of a lineup. What I'm saying to many of you right now will come as a shock and you may want to seek therapy after reading this. It is tantamount to learning that there's no such thing as Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny. But I'm going to say it anyway because it's necessary for our society to move forward.

You are the only one responsible for your life experience. Nobody owes you anything and nobody but your parents (maybe), your kids (probably), and your significant other (likely) gives that much of a shit about you...and that's if you make good decisions.

Love,
Blue

Thursday, September 26, 2013

On the Artist Ego

On the artist ego:

An artist is someone who bares their soul to the world. Everybody ain't gonna like it. There seems to be this push, especially in the hip hop realm, to quench the ego...stop being "me me me" oriented, be more humble, be nicer, build bridges etc. I disagree with all of that.

Art is not a popularity contest. It's a true and honest representation of your soul in tangible form. If you're an egotistical asshole, it's gonna come out in your art, stage presence, and interactions. No amount of "politeness training" is gonna change who a person is at the core of them. Figure out how to make it work for you and stop trippin' off people who don't like you because, frankly, if they were doing what the FUCK they were supposed to be doing, you would simply become a "part of our culture" as opposed to "that artist nobody likes." In my experience, the only reason "artists" complain about other "artists" is because they feel threatened, intimidated, or insecure around them. Nobody has time to care about how drunk you get before going on stage or how much of a mic hog you are or how "dope you think you are" when they're holding their own in their own way and baring their soul honestly to the world. You don't have to be nice to make great art...you just have to make great art....now if your shenanigans get everybody kicked out the club, you're gonna deal with consequences that may include law enforcement. #choices

The problem is not the egotistical asshole emcees, diva vocalists, and heavy handed drummers. The problem is everybody screaming at the same time and not listening to each other. Moreover, many don't even know what they're doing or why. A bunch of copycats are copying what they think was dope in 2007 instead of doing what they do. Stop racing other people's races!

If the drummer at the jam session gets too loud, stop playing and let him play by himself. If everybody doesn't like it, boo his ass. If you find out that he's the dopest drummer you've ever heard, add a bass line. Then rhythm guitar come in. Then add keys. Then brass. That's called communication.

If the young emcee is yelling over everybody on stage, cut off everything but her mic and give her ass 10 minutes. If she ain't shit, the whole room will know in 2. However, if she's the most prolific emcee the world has ever known, step your game up and battle or sit the fuck down.

If the diva vocalist is fucking up the harmony or being rude to the musicians, make his ass sing lead. If he ain't shit, he'll know, we'll know, and he won't do that shit no more. If he's the most amazing singer you've ever heard, put a camera in his face, make him sing for the commercial and pimp his ass on youtube for ad revenue.

Love,
Blue

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Me Being Vulnerable. Viewer Discretion Advised.


It's tricky. I started a thing as a self-fulfilling small-scale coping project, but once the scale got larger, I caved to the pressure of making sure everyone felt welcome. It's a social justice thing I learned. Through desiring to be "communal", I ended up becoming uninterested because my creations no longer served the purpose that they initially intended to serve...which was to give me a way to channel my psychosis and prevent me from ruminating on how completely useless and pointless existence truly is (no athei-o)! Once my completely selfish act got owned by those who supported it, it no longer belonged to me. Things got out of hand fast and before I knew it, my gripe session became a demand from investors to produce "more of that" and an opportunity for complete strangers to call me a "bitch" and tell me to "stay in the car."

I could hear the voices saying "don't be arrogant" and "be thankful for your success" and "you could make more money if you were more universal" and "if you sang like this instead of like that you'd sell more records" and "if you provided clean versions, we'd play your shit on radio." But what those voices didn't understand was that I never started making things for a damn body else. I started making things for me. If other people liked it, that's great! But if they didn't, that was also great. It meant they had an opinion which meant they weren't zombies.

So then, the voices said "well, if you don't care if people like your art, how will you make money?" and "you could "make it" if only you would [add some ridiculous comment based on a VH1 Behind The Music special or Illuminati YouTube classic here] And I started wondering, "why the fuck are you counting my muthafuckin' money? If you have some, why don't you give me yours? If you don't, then why don't you focus on your own damned bank account?" It seems that as soon as I started having fun, everybody became a muthafuckin' accountant. NOBODY WAS TELLING ME TO MAKE MONEY WHEN I WAS IN FUCKING GRADUATE SCHOOL HEADED TOWARD A DEAD END MUTHAFUCKIN LIFE AS AN ADJUNCT PROFESSOR ON FOOD STAMPS DID THEY? no. of course they didn't. that would imply that they would actually have to know something about the academic industry. But I didn't want to go into the academy. I wanted to make music. But soon as a nigga start making music, everybody becomes a muthafuckin' expert on the music industry.

So this season, I'm working on keeping my shit to myself and truly not giving a fuck about what other people think or feel...in other words, getting back to where I came from. What this means is that anyone with expectations of me will either be fulfilled or not depending on what they expect and what I'm doing.

Special thanks to the motley crew of folks who have been supporting me non-stop throughout the mess. Chances are you've experienced similar things. If I end with positivity, it counts as positive.

Love,
Blue



Alternate ending:

It's tricky. I started a thing as a self-fulfilling small-scale coping project, but once the scale got larger, I caved to the pressure of making sure everyone felt welcome. It's a social justice thing I learned. Through desiring to be "communal", I ended up becoming uninterested because my creations no longer served the purpose that they initially intended to serve...which was to give me a way to channel my psychosis and prevent me from ruminating on how completely useless and pointless existence truly is (no athei-o)! Once my completely selfish act got owned by those who supported it, it no longer belonged to me. Things got out of hand fast and before I knew it, my gripe session became a demand from investors to produce "more of that" and an opportunity for complete strangers to call me a "bitch" and tell me to "stay in the car."

I realized that the anger I had been relinquishing into the universe was returning to me as a mockery. Like karma on steroids. I couldn't have a vulnerable thought before a listener whom I'd never experienced in life was there with an evaluation. It's as though my dreams were no longer my dreams. My thoughts no longer my thoughts. How does one confess the things they have not resolved in the face of those hungry for truth, but not peace? Everyone became the author to my story, providing alternate endings and paraphrasing for their understanding that which was very literal in my experience. I was crying for help while others looked on in anticipation with the hopes of being entertained...a likely distraction from their own turmoil.

What I thought would be an anesthesia while I massaged away the trauma became a show for funeral vultures. I am not eloquent. Everything I say sounds like a joke, no matter how much I'm dying inside.

So I have to heal myself. So what? I know as much about healing as Black Jack dealing. How do I count in multiples of 17 while also keeping track of my chips and other people's busts? Who the fuck counts in multiples of 17? And what the fuck is a bust?

Love,
Blue


Alternate Ending #2
 
It's tricky. I started a thing as a self-fulfilling small-scale coping project, but once the scale got larger, I caved to the pressure of making sure everyone felt welcome. It's a social justice thing I learned. Through desiring to be "communal", I ended up becoming uninterested because my creations no longer served the purpose that they initially intended to serve...which was to give me a way to channel my psychosis and prevent me from ruminating on how completely useless and pointless existence truly is (no athei-o)! Once my completely selfish act got owned by those who supported it, it no longer belonged to me. Things got out of hand fast and before I knew it, my gripe session became a demand from investors to produce "more of that" and an opportunity for complete strangers to call me a "bitch" and tell me to "stay in the car."

I realized that the anger I had been relinquishing into the universe was returning to me as a mockery. Like karma on steroids. I couldn't have a vulnerable thought before a listener whom I'd never experienced in life was there with an evaluation. It's as though my dreams were no longer my dreams. My thoughts no longer my thoughts. How does one confess the things they have not resolved in the face of those hungry for truth, but not peace? Everyone became the author to my story, providing alternate endings and paraphrasing for their understanding that which was very literal in my experience. I was crying for help while others looked on in anticipation with the hopes of being entertained...a likely distraction from their own turmoil.

And then I had a conversation with an old friend. A friend whom I'd met when I was still toying with ideas in the living room floor and singing through timid breaks in my voice. She reminded me that I wouldn't be who, where, or what I was if I didn't have a purpose. That sometimes, our suffering is intended to be that which teaches another not to suffer. That our stumbling block is ours to remove from the path, preventing the broken toes of those who follow. Moreover, that I was not suffering alone. I was merely the voice of this brand of suffering...a brand that was ignored until right now. In writing the sound track to my pain, I am writing the way out in the same way that my freedom was written by Nina and Billie and Alice and Nikki and Audre and Tina and Aretha and Natalie and Gwendolyn and Zora and Lorraine and Maya and Whoopie and Toni and Octavia and Paule and Sonia and Ella and Chaka and Bessie and Gladys and Mary and Lauryn and Erykah and Jill and Lalah and Ledisi and Lena and Dorothy and Etta and Whitney and Janelle and Quentin Tarantino.

Love,
Blue

Friday, September 13, 2013

WE CAN DO IT!

As it concerns media, media access, and the stories told, no one considers that the stories come from the imaginations of the storytellers who built the machine. If a whiteness story is told BY a white writer and a POC is the star, he or she will undoubtedly look out of place. Then "we" complain that media "misrepresents us." The media, as we know it, is controlled and operated by old white men. They built it. They set the rules. If I build my house and set the rules and you don't like the rules, get out of my house. If we want accurate representations of ourselves, we have to create and implement these representations. And there are many more ways to do this than television: books, zines, music, education, food, cinema, dance, etc. The internet is a fantastic tool. If you ever have a complaint about how "we" are represented (whoever "we" may be), get your own medium and get busy. You've just nominated yourself as a part of the solution. No excuses. Nope. Not even that.

Oh, and about "them" providing "us" access just because we "demanded it": that is fundamentally ridiculous. Why would I let you into my house if I didn't want you there? And if you demanded entry into my house, I would defend my house by any means necessary. And so would you. So get over it. It's time to grow up.

Another option is to simply unplug. Believe it or not, "we" were never trying to escape nature until we aligned ourselves with "them."

Can you think of other options? I'm sure you can! Let's think of options! Then, let's follow through! YAY!!!!

Love,
Blue

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Hot Fun in the Portland Sun


Just came from the convenience store. I asked the clerk how his day was going. He said "Long. Folks keep coming in here for AC because they house is hot. I be like 5 minute maximum. Get yo ass outta here."

Nobody has AC in Portland. And every year, it gets hot for about 2 weeks and all the fans sell out at Target and Fred Myers (the we sell every damn thing store)...apparently people buy new fans every year...I don't know. This year, it's been hot all summer. It usually ain't this hot this long. However, being from the StL, THIS AIN'T SHIT! I'm loving this 90 degree during the day 70 degree at night weather. Ya'll just don't KNOW!!! Cuz I know that when it gets hot in StL, it's 110 degrees with a 150 degree heat index and 100% humidity. We be prayin' for thunderstorms cuz at least then the humidity will fall down instead of just hover. Then, the power goes out and everybody ends up and McDonalds trying to get AC and ice and folks be angry than a muthafucka. These Portlandians don't know heat. They don't know how good they got it.

Love,
Blue

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Malcolm X vs. Ronald Reagan

Reza Aslan writes a book about Jesus and the critique is "Why is a Muslim writing about Jesus?"

Bill Cheng writes a book about rural black Mississippi and the critique is "Why is a Chinese-American from Queens writing about black people from the south?"

Adam Johnson, a white man, writes a book about North Korea and wins the Pulitzer.

In our society, white people are granted political correctness to write, talk, sing, paint, or do whatever they want about whatever they want (with a few exceptions. For example, whites can't say "the n-word" in mixed company, but do we really have to tell people not to name call? What is this? 3rd grade?). 
On the other hand, if people of color string more than 2 sentences together that aren't stereotypical or culturally specific, the popular initiative is to discredit them as soon as possible. Both whites and people of color are guilty of upholding these standards due to white male supremacy and degrees of oppression towards everything that isn't a white guy.

That's fucked up for everybody. Not just people of color. "How," you ask?  Let me count the ways:

If sociocultural demographics (including gender, sex, and sexual orientation) are the same across groups:

1. White people are rarely questioned. Information they disseminate sets the tone for how their subjects are interpreted and treated. 

FLIP SIDE: Whites are not held to logic and reason and are free to make terrible mistakes that affect a lot of people. To rectify these mistakes, they become incredibly inefficient and bureaucratic. (see Bush Administration).

RESULT: Society is often put in a position to clean up white folks' mess (see Obama Administration).

2. People of color are scrutinized endlessly for anything they attempt to do, say, or implement.

FLIP SIDE: People of color are forced to be 100% legit 100% of the time and if they make 1 mistake, their whole shit is shut down. When a person of color does something awesome, it's the most awesome thing that has ever been done...and people still try to find something wrong with it (see Michael Jackson Administration).

RESULT: People of color do awesome things in truth and light that other people of color engage with and benefit from. Whites don't find out about it until 20 years later (see Hip Hop).

3. The propagandized underlying belief is that people of color are not intelligent enough to talk about anything but their own experiences (see Shock and Awe Whenever an Intelligent Black Person Talks).

FLIP SIDE: Whites devalue information from people of color and have a hard time learning from them.

RESULT: Many whites have just discovered what people of color have known for centuries and have passed down through oral tradition. Then, they buy shit that represents their newfound consciousness and spiritual awakenings (see Metaphysics/Rastafarianism/Buddhism. For contrast, see Catholicism).

4. Things that people of color say are weighted much more heavily, yet validated much less than what whites say.

FLIP SIDE: When people of color talk, it's a "radical opinion" (unless they're cooning. Then, it's entertainment). When white folks (especially white men) talk, their word is taken as law (see Malcolm X vs. Ronald Reagan).

RESULT: Intelligent people of color have learned to listen quietly and share the important info through literature, music, poetry and discussions with open, appreciative audiences while white folks continue to complain that they've been misled by the powers that be. Then, they have rallies and march and shit like that while the powers that be look on in amusement (see Occupy Movement).

People of color are silenced by majority culture and therefore, majority culture continues to decline for lack of understanding. I wrote a song about it. It's called The Rain Is Coming and it features Rasheed Jamal


Love,
Blue

PS: If you are a white person and you take offense to this blog post, do better. It's possible.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Hard 4 Dees Hos

Hos are a peculiar breed. But I can empathize. Now, I don't want them around me...but I can certainly understand their plight. It's hard out here for these hos. And they don't see a way out except to bring someone else down. The idea of just doing better never quite enters their consciousness. They might almost do better, but then, they don't. 

Honess is a result of never questioning the world and never exploring counter-realities. One thing hos have in common is that their knowledge base is made up of things that people have told them. Their experiences are marred by tragedy and defense, but they have rarely been in positions to make empowered decisions. If they find themselves in such a position, they become extremely frightened. Pimps take advantage of that fear and offer hos a "way." There are a lot of "ways", but once a ho has grabbed on to a way, they will defend that way until they die. 

We all have a bit of ho in us just like we all have a bit of awesome in us. But like the good wolf and the evil wolf, that which survives is that which we feed. 

Love,
Blue

Monday, September 2, 2013

Pronounce It Correctly.

Qongqothwane (translation: knock knock beetle) is a beautiful song in the language of the Xhosa people of South Africa, made famous by Miriam Makeba (who starred as Sarafina's mother in Sarafina). I was first introduced to Xhosa by my historian buddy in crime, Bobert, who made me spicy umngqusho and brought it to my house, but wouldn't let me have it until I pronounced it correctly.

This video features Miriam Makeba performing the Xhosa song "Qongqothwane" which has been nicknamed "The Click Song" by Europeans who can't (or won't) pronounce it correctly.






As Bobert also pointed out, there is evidence from all over the world that people are shifting from just "tolerating" each other to participating in cultural immersion. Cultural immersion is how we learn about the meaning behind the things that we see other cultures do. Once we learn the meanings, we move from being just tolerant to being appreciative: realizing that everyone's culture is really just a window into learning more about ourselves. Watch this:



Love,

Blue