Yeah, you’re gonna have to read this for the free song. Or at least scroll down a bit, you lazy bastard you...

First off, shout out to The Juggaknots. If you don’t know who they are and you call yourself a fan of hip hop, you should probably go find out who they are immediately or figure out something else to call yourself.

Today I want to relay a little story about the show we did at The Knitting Factory a few days back (the Scribble Jam NYC prelims). The event was fresh, populated with many cool and talented folks (peace to Pumpkinhead and Brooklyn Ac, Blockhead, DJ Signify, Sucio Smash, Vordul, Iller Than Theirs, DJ Ese and the Embedded fam, and the select few battle rappers who could actually rap.) The problem with the event, and with 99.9% of all rap shows: It was just too long.

The night was so long that, as we brought our special surprise guests to the stage, the vast majority of the crowd had already bounced. And so it happened that the legendary Juggaknots crew had to rock for an almost-empty room. After the show, I approached Breeze Brewin and Buddy Slim to get my original-pressing “Clear Blue Skies” EP signed. I can’t remember which, but I bought this record at either the old Fat Beats or at Footwork, Bobbito’s sneaker and record shop on East 9th street. Either way, I was 16 or 17 when I got it, and it’s been spun on my turntable more than a few times. Now my copy looks like this, and it will forever be one of my prized possessions:

When I walked up to Brewin he was exchanging info with another rap kid, so when I approached, reaching into my bag, he said “Thanks for letting us rock tonight. You got some music for me too?” Sure, I had plenty of music in my bag. I was actually holding my merch bag, so I had copies of everything I’ve ever put out. But I didn’t want to run up on one of my favorite rappers ever and start talking about myself. That shit is corny. Sure he would’ve been cool with it, but I wanted to get my hip hop nerd on. Release my inner record geek that’s been pounded mercilessly into the depths of my being through years of shameless self-promotion and dues-paying in the rapidly disintegrating “underground.”

You see, I had the lucky fortune of being a teenage kid in New York in the mid-late nineties. I got to see Breeze Brewin play shows with Company Flow in weird art gallery basements. I stayed up until 5 in the morning on Thursday nights to record Stretch and Bob on WKCR. And when I first heard “Clear Blue Skies”, playing through my shitty headphones on one of those late, I-should-be-in-bed-cause-I-have-school-tomorrow nights, I knew for sure that hip hop was what I wanted to do. That song still represents some of the realest race talk ever to come out of hip hop. And it made me into an instant fan of The Juggaknots.

There is something so beautiful about being a fan. Something so freeing. In that moment at The Knitting Factory I could’ve easily pretended to be someone cooler. Someone who didn’t think it was that cool to be having a beer with one of his heroes. But that would’ve been a lie. A front. A disguise to hide my own insecurities. Which brings me to the next part of my story...

So right then as Breeze is signing my record, another dude runs up. This dude shall remain (somewhat) nameless, but I hope that one day he reads this. Homie literally jumps things off with this line:

“Breeze Brewin, what’s up man? I USED to be a HUGE fan of yours!”

Wow. What a terrible thing to say after watching someone’s show. I USED to be a fan of yours. Double wow. Breeze smiles a bit. For some reason, dude continues speaking:

“Oh what? You don’t remember me? It’s DJ Fucknuts. Come on man, you GOTTA remember me. We met through MC Such And Such.”

Lets pause there to comment. Why do people always expect other people to remember them? If you really want everyone to remember you, why don’t you go out and buy a yellow jumpsuit and a viking helmet (what up Snafu!) and walk around wearing that every day with some Humpty Hump glasses and those fish-tank pimp shoes from “I’m Gonna Get You Sucka”. Until then, people may forget who you are from time to time. Back to our dialogue, Brewin seems to recall:

“Oh yeah, right, what’s up man?”

DJ Fucknuts looks embarrassed, which at this point is understandable. He then flips into what might be the most insecure rant I’ve ever heard, which I will condense here into a few lines which represent its pure essence:

“Right, well, I guess you might remember DJ Fucknuts the FAN. But you don’t know DJ Fucknuts The Mixtape King. That’s the new me. I got mixtapes with blah blah blah (insert famous people here).”

I swear to God these are the actual words that came out of this kid’s face. He ACTUALLY was talking about himself in the third person! You should’ve heard the way he said the word “fan.” Like it was some kind of disease that he had gotten over. Like it was an ugly condition he had been in out of necessity, but that he had heroically escaped. Like, now he’s a butterfly, but before he used to be a worm. A larva.

I beg to differ with his logic. This kid is currently a worm. I can’t be sure if he ever was a butterfly, but I bet at some point he was a smiling little kid eating ice cream and listening to rap music. Back then, he was probably a lot closer to being a butterfly than he ever will be. Cause right now, he’s a worm. A self-promoting, bitter little worm. No doubt about that.

And perhaps THAT’S what sucks about New York hip hop in 2008. Too many worms; wannabe rappers and DJs afraid to clap their hands because enthusiasm for another person’s music just doesn’t fit with their image. I’m tired of images and I’m tired of people taking and not giving back.

If you grew up listening to KRS ONE, and then one day you start rapping, it doesn’t follow that on that day you stop being a fan of KRS ONE. Where’s the logic to that? It’s not like you HAVE to choose between being a rapper and being a fan, yet there’s something about hip hop, something in the air, in the water or whatever, that makes people think that those two things are incompatible. Fuck all that. Me and Snafu are going to Scribble Jam this year, and KRS is headlining. This will mark the first time that we’ve shared a stage with The Blastmaster, and you better believe I’m bringing something cool to get signed. Cause that’s my new shit, allowing my inner hip hop nerd to shine right on through. And let me tell you, it feels great!

So, anyway, I interrupt homie from his stupid rant to say peace and thanks to Breeze. And right then, my boy Krayo runs up with this crazy look in his eye that he gets when he’s happy. He pulls out a copy of his new 45 that he made with Doc Strange and gives it to Breeze. “I want you to have this. I own every song you’ve ever put out, on vinyl.” (this is true). Breeze catches a big smile on his face and says “Thanks man, that’s really cool.” Now if you’re gonna give your music to a musician, that’s a good way to do it.

Me and Krayo bounce to find Tone Tank out front standing on top of a parked NYPD traffic car, posing for pictures. And that’s when I realize for the umpteenth that my friends are cool. Cause they show lots of respect to talented / good people and none for authority.

It doesn’t matter if Breeze remembers me the next time we meet. I don’t need him to validate me or help me with my ego. I just need him to make records that I can listen to. To let me be a fan, cause being a fan is a beautiful thing. Back in like 2001-ish, when me and my crew Nuclear Family were trying to sell our first 12” at Fat Beats, he was working there. And even though he was underground royalty, he was always mad cool and down to earth and would help us collect our little consignment money.

So in the spirit of good will, I’d like to give some music away for free. You can download my song “The N-Word” that I made with my very talented friend Donnan Linkz, by clicking here.

There’s no doubt that listening to “Clear Blue Skies” when we were teenage kids made both me and Donnan want to make songs like this. So enjoy, and until next time, show love when love should be shown, and call a worm a worm when he’s being wormy.

Peace,

= baje

Thanks to everyone who's been reading and leaving comments. Feel free to write me at bajeblog@gmail.com