The Comment

The fourth quarter of 2014 then yielded Apple an astronomical €12bn profit. A harvest which leaves me wondering what it would've been like to spend the 12 days of Christmas with the tech giants top directors? And, subsequently, wondering whether the lower level staff refer to these Directors as the 'pips' of Apple, or not?... 

Anywho! The same fourth quarter saw myself in a much humbler light. At one point, operating under the effects of Ryan Leslie. High off the sounds of 'I Gets Money', scribbling an attempt at briefly summarising his unorthodox approach to the music industry. Highlighting the fact that you can drop him a WhatsApp message just as easy as Apple can break quarterly profit records.

Despite my preaching of his revolutionary stance against the universally understood construct that celebrities are, in some way, higher forms of humans, I didn't however, place myself among those who were reaching out to the man. 

In my defence, I am somewhat technologically challenged currently, with a phone that still has actual buttons, and a torch light function which is not so much a torch as it is the screen simply being as bright as it can be, hence an inability to use or even join the rest of the world on WhatsApp. Despite this disablement though, it's still just as easy to shoot off an email.

So I'm somewhat unsure as to why I didn't try and message Ryan. Perhaps this was owing to an absence of words; what do you say to someone who appears to live solely in your iTunes? Or maybe there was a subconscious feeling of unworthiness; we do after all look up to these people. In essence though, it didn't really matter as I gave it little or no thought at the time.

Step up Alex P. An honorary Miller brother for more years now than all five of us possibly realise. Upon reading my R. Les post, he did decide to contact the man...apparently.

Fast forward a week or two and I'm in a frantic state of excitement and disbelief. A routine check of the emails was to reveal a comment notification from the blog, and having not had a single comment by this stage, it took a minute or two to realise what it was..

Incapable of stillness I make a way to my Brothers. Call it a B-line if you will.. Trying and failing to act natural in telling them, all of us were utterly bamboozled by what had just transpired. The next step, of course, was to inform Alex..

"So I got my first comment on my blog today and who did it come from? Gimme 3 rapid fire guesses"

"Ryan Leslie.. Please be Ryan Leslie.. It was! He just emailed me!" 

Now at a higher form of bamboozlement, Alex owns up to emailing Ryan the details of my blog and asking him to have a quick read. What a boy Alex! 

Break down Leslie's thought process and you'll discover the simplistic genius of it all. The number one issue facing the music industry, indeed, the entertainment industry as a whole, is the illegal download of its produce. But how can you solve such an issue when the basis of all technological advancement is a constant expanding of boundaries and limits. One cannot foresee such a reigning in of today's technologies to tackle such an issue. It simply stands in direct contrast to the constitution of technological development.

Perhaps understanding of this, Ryan, through direct comments, WhatsApp & emails, is evolving the Celebrity/Fan relationship. Forging a much greater degree of loyalty from fans. For it is this loyalty alone which shall take the fan to iTunes to purchase legally. Or to those seeming relics of the past, the local record store.

Think of it like this. Ryan Leslie can sit amongst your friends, family, and local kebab house and taxi company which you keep in your phone contact list. Engaging in a quick interaction now and then in a similar fashion to past university friends. 

This'll have you calling him Ryan, as opposed to Ryan Leslie or 'R. Les'. He's now your homeboy. You understand he's a busy man, nonetheless, there's a relationship there. So, come the release of his new album, MZRT, how can you possibly search the web for an illegal download? You don't steal from your homies. 

So perhaps rather than 'evolving' the Celebrity/Fan relationship, Ryan is 'creating' it. And as exemplary products of this, Alex and I stand. Having purchased four tickets to the London stop on his world tour in just a weeks time, we will go to support our famous buddy. With money in our wallets, knowing there may be some merchandise to grab as a result of Alex's contact with Ryan's team, Renegades NYC, we will be only too happy to, in the words of Kendrick Lamar, 'blow it like Coltrane'.

'A Man of few words'. You think?

This was my introduction during the years I could be considered a young boy. Delivered by my mother, usually once my conversation skills had come to an abrupt end 20 seconds into meeting a family member for the first time since I was young enough to get away with having bowel movements free of any care for where I was. For the record, I don't remember being this young. Not off the top of my head anyway..

In essence then, this was Mother coming to my rescue. Like a Marvel Avenger, swooping down to save the day. And most of the time I was alright anyway. Because when you have an elder brother who can speak as well as mine, all you need do was stick to him like glue. This guaranteed your safety.  

The young shy me though, never really considered this descriptive. Take it at face value and it suggests simply, that one doesn't speak much. With a little thought though, what it should have been was, 'a man of few vocalised words'. Because everyone has words. Words are our means of expression. Our thoughts can be dreamed in words. Our media. TV shows. Music libraries. Traditional type libraries.. 

We all have words. And I should think that none of us really stand out as having less or more than the next person. All that separates us from one another is our collection of words, the way we piece them together and the mediums through which we share them (or not, as the case may be).

As a blogger come aspiring career writer, I do have words. A mental library load. As well as folded up peices of A4 paper with scribbles all over them. You might catch me at the back of the bus for example, with my headphones in and such a peice of folded paper, scribbling down a clever lyric from a track...looking like I'm trying to re-enact the scene from Eminem's, 8 Mile.. "Will a fake Slim Shady please stand up". 

Inside my mental library you'll find copious quanitities of lyrics. When you choose to love rap music you're destined to fill your head with words. The epic wordplay of a Lil Wayne metaphor. Or the sheer, mind-boggling number of words on the Kamikaze album by Twista - of which, I'm pretty confident in claiming to know at least 90% of. As would my young Brother of Badassery, Theo. And 'B-Boy Way Too D', Darius. Even House Music Miles can go to the sounds of Sunshine, I'm sure of it.

Then comes the books. Not my own words. But words birth words. Give rise to thoughts and stories to share. Christmas saw me take home a neat little haul. Rappers, Jay-Z & Winston Churchill. Thats pretty Gangsta Santa, I must say.

 

Here lies the reason behind my absence from the blog for the inauguration of this New Year. Having my nose in an zinger of a biography of Winston Churchill, by Boris Johnson. And subsequently composing a piece myself for potential online publishing. While reading, it became necessity to keep a pen and paper nearby. Reason being that Bojo seems to know more great words you never heard of than an Oxford Dictionary. A seriously colossal vocabulary. You'd be a certified nutcase were you to class yourself an aspiring writer and not take down these words. Hence I now have a few pages of minute handwritten words and an Evernote note entitled, 'Bojo's Dictionary', to define them all.

It has been a good way to begin a new year. The books of these slightly more old age (but not old old) Christmas Day's, give new thoughts to accompany you into the New Year. As well as providing one with an opportunity to push closer to achieving an actual career! One word I yoinked from Bojo was Megalopsychia. A Greek expression meaning 'greatness of soul'. He of course used it to describe Winston. But I don't see why we can't all adopt it for ourselves as a motto for our New Year..

Undisputed 2014

Following a 5am wake up and an 8 hour shift, Sunday of the same weekend of my meeting with Rick was to bring some of the rawest energy of the year. It was the day Darius and I would spectate at our first Breaking event. Undisputed 2014. 8 winners from 8 of the years premier B-Boy meets. 

Out of work at 2, it was a rapid skate home, quick shower and quicker trip to the train station. Having made it to the 2:55 train on time we sat, realising we were exhausted. Not really knowing what to expect, we made it to Kings Cross then tube'd it to Islington; site of the coming battle royale at the O2 Academy. 

With no sign postings, we found ourselves indebted to the wonders of smartphone GPS. Directions known, the two of us quick marched the quoted '20 minute' walk. Putting in the odd quick step, dropping a shoulder and cutting up a few pedestrians here and there we did it in 10. There was to be no tourist-like hanging about to admire views. 

5:30, doors opening, and the crowds were ready. The beauty of Breaking proving itself to attract people of many styles. This we noticed, by looking around at the shoes on show. Afterall, Breaking is a major faction of original Hip-Hop culture, just as much as being a sneaker head is. And yet looking around at the crowds it was only too clear to see how Hip-Hop had broadened it's reach, grabbing kids who rocked all different kinds of sneakers.

So this was D 'n' me! You could tell Dari's excitement, as he'd opted for his much prized Son of Mars Jordan's. D is the passionate novice. Only in the game 5 minutes but understanding of a love for the art. Forget about being way too G, Dari is way too D! He'll do what he does and if you don't like well that's up to you. 

I personally went for my Koston 1 Signature model Nike's. Koston being a skater, I felt these would be a safe choice as I didn't wish to come across like a B-Boy and wind up getting into a battle without any such skills to match!

It was our turn to get up in the house when I personally met with a crushing commandment. "Thou shalt not take any half-decent camera into the event." Not the exact words of the bouncer but it was along those lines. It would have to be left with our bags. "Awe schucks!"

Shake it off! There will be official photographers with better cameras and angles so I'll commandeer theirs (credit to little shao). Waiting for battle to commence, the crowd forming the battleground, and DJ Lean Rock banging out classic after classic, the B-Boys in the audience could take to the circle and have a cypher of their own. A couple brave bodies hit the empty circle and pretty soon it was going off. Regardless of your skill level, you were guaranteed a degree of respect just for putting yourself in and having a go. This being another beauty of Breaking.

Now. Keep up because this could get complicated. The event was to be made up of three rounds of battles. Four battles per round. Followed by two semi-finals and a final. Each individual battle consists of three rounds, or 'turns', for the two B-Boys. Each battle is judged on a per round basis. I.e. Best of three wins the battle. And these turns can last as long as you like. Or as long as you have the energy to carry on for. 

You have to bear in mind though that neither the judges nor the crowd will appreciate repetition of moves. So it's a game of knowing how hard to go in order to beat your opponent, whilst not wearing out your move list. The further you intend on going in the event, the larger repertoire you will need.

And all of this has to be done to a beat created by DJ Lean Rock. He's the man with the music for these high profiled Breaking events. If you don't dance to the beat you won't win. But if you hit a big move right at the point when the beat drops, you'll set the crowd a-light and are going to reap the rewards from the judges.

Before long though it was time. Time to watch the masters. Watching also was an expert judging panel; Storm, Niek, Lamine, Renegade and Darius' favourite, Roxrite. 

First battle of the night saw the 2014 Red Bull BC One Champion, Menno from the Netherlands face off against Kleju out of Poland. From then on it was ON. A master class in body control. 8 unique blends of quickness, intricate technique and power, all performed to a variety of the freshest beats out of Lean Rock's kitchen. 

We quickly concluded that these cats must plug themselves into the national grid before events such as this. The rawest energy, radiated out into us, the crowd, with frequent eruptions and shakes at a new or signature move. The battle element only gives more to the atmosphere. One on one. They take on the intensity of a championship boxing bout (or at least how I imagine one to be). 

Despite being largely unknowing of the Breaking scene, I had absolutely no trouble enjoying it and involving myself in the event. Talk about a feast for the eyes. This was an all you can eat buffet. And all for around 20 beans per ticket. 

As the battles went on, my allegiance was with Lilou. French Algerian. Super slim with Sonic the Hedgehog speed. His style is highly distinguishable, even if you have no clue about the art. The most absurd flexibility with threading techniques which boggle the mind. Seeing is believing, but sometimes you'd like to see a couple action replays to be sure. This is most definitely the case with Lilou.

Hit up some Lilou on YouTube and you'll find out that its possible to play air guitar with your foot and how to play jump rope with just your hand and your foot. 

By this stage our exhaustion upon setting out on our journey had been annihilated and replaced with excitement..and then some! Lilou was in the final. His opponent? Menno. After an epic battle with the Russian, Alkolil, Menno had made it to another final following his success at the Red Bull BC One just a few weeks back.

Let the wait for their entrances begin. DJ Lean Rock pumping out Kanye's, Jesus Walks, for all the hip-hop heads. Heads were bobbing in unison like something out of 8 Mile. The time had arrived. Lean Rock kicks out the start of Ante Up by M.O.P but holds it for an extra couple of seconds as it builds, then let's it go for Lilou's entrance. "OHHH!!!"

Menno soon follows. As if more intrigue was required, we would not see how the judges scored each round until the end of all 3, when the winner would be announced. At this stage I'm writhing with frustration. There are simply no words to properly communicate what the final was like. It has to be seen. Needless to say at the end of each round many among the crowd could be seen to raise a clenched fist to their mouth and exhale, as if they were blowing into an imaginary microphone. 

It was close. Electrifying in the extreme. The crowd letting out yells of "OHHH!!", in the same way as M.O.P had been, coming out of the speakers in the previous couple of minutes. Both Menno and Lilou, liberated by the lack of a need to hold any moves back. This was the time to go all in, and put in the best rounds of the night. And they really did. Wipe your eyes between rounds and don't blink when that new beat begins because you might just miss it. 

Final over. Again we waited for the results. Shouts of support for both Menno & Lilou. Until the host answered everyone's question. Lilouuuu! 

Well deserved. Later we would discover that Menno won round one, and Lilou took rounds two and three. A close call. But well earned victory. These are memorable guys and to have been within just 2-3 metres of them, and to see them perform was experience far more valuable than the £20 we had paid. Show me a better way to spend a Sunday evening and I'll be beyond impressed.

Heading out of the O2 we were greeted with rain. Fantastic. Fortunately we now had more than enough energy to get our run on and make it back to Islington tube station. Faster than we had done it the first time around I might add. 

And with 40 minutes to kill on my 4th visit to Kings Cross of the weekend, we caught a couple shots, and rode the escalators to the upper viewing level. Both of us, pleased to see that D's Son of Mars were still in remarkably clean condition considering the weather conditions they had just braved.

Official recap video: http://youtu.be/vUQl9zIT-4E

Tourist without a Bookbag; The duo bubble up

10am and I'm still in bed. No doubt, the latest I've been up for a good few months. No more sleep indulgence now until Santa rolls up on the 25th though. Time to roll out and get the daily exercise in early. Saturday was destined to be a busy one. By 12 o'clock Rick and I are ready to shake. Out the door, with gratitude for the Vachhani siblings untouchable hospitality, we met with blazing sunshine. Not so much heat, but short sleeve's was enough (in my opinion at least). What a blessing in mid-December. 

First stop for us; Westfields, Stratford, as it was for many others (oh so many others..). Thousands of Christmas shoppers, decked out in warm coats and various winter accessories. Many shooting looks of disbelief, at what I assumed was my bare arms, as we flowed with the crowds from the tube to the entrance. No worries were given though. 

As we walked the length, hitting up various shops you just don't find in Peterborough, those same people would surely question.. Why did we come to a jam packed shopping centre in a heavy coat, hat, scalf and gloves? Why indeed! I'd like to think that sometimes it takes a genius to do the opposite of everybody else. It was this same reasoning which made me the only individual in Peterborough town centre to rock a pair of shorts. 

As we walked on, I began to contemplate how I might fit my expanding head out the same door we had entered through. Soon though, like all boys, our thoughts of shopping ceased. For food and drink was required. The choice of each was simple. A trip to the Colonel accompanied by some Bubble Tea.

Now to the London kids who may read this blog post by a humble P-town boy, you may question the reasoning behind a photo of my bubble tea. This though, is an unknown capacity to those from The P. Myself having had it just once before, I still find it to be an exciting and childish experience. Trying to catch all the bubbles long after having drank up all the juice (lychee with passion fruit bubbles on this occasion). The closest me and the brothers had gotten previous, was chucking grapes into our Robinson's Blackcurrant. 

Still catching bubbles, we made our way back towards the tube. Out looking for interesting Christmas gifts, Covent Garden seemed like the logical destination. And after 200 steps back up to ground level we felt more at rest with our stuffing down of KFC chicken. 

With the sun slowly going down in a cloudless sky, we really couldn't have picked a better day. Crowds of people filling the streets we headed to the main buzz. Now, to me, Ben's is Uncle B's rice. But to Rick, Ben's means cookies. More treats held sacred by the Londoners. These would be saved and taken back home. A delicious souvenir for the family from my weekend. 

Having taken in the beautiful we headed for the interesting. Neals Yard. Admiring the artwork of Slam City Skates, I failed at fighting the urge to pose for a shot (nice work Rick!). Taking in the sights, I also failed to notice Rick picking out a snapback as a Christmas present to myself! Cheeky git. 

Going from neighbours on the first day of university, we now find ourselves brothers from different mothers. Everybody should have a homie like Ricky. A pro at life. This kid casually stoles up to the hurdles of reality and soars over them with the spring and poise of a gazelle. He's the dude you watch and study so you can go and handle the same hurdles he just bossed.

Thoroughly shattered by this point, but with both a brain and camera full of memories, I returned home to deliver happiness supplied by the other Ben.

 

Tourist without a Bookbag; Sushi Sessions

Here's to the busy weeks which facilitate busier weekends! Come 5:30 last Friday evening, I was on a mission to get to the capital. Going down to see my brother from another mother, to make good on my word. "I'll be down sometime in the next few weeks." Think I said that back in the early summer time. 

Waiting for Rick, I had time to think about my first blog post as a tourist. I already had it in my head that it was going to be The Bookbag Tourist, Episode 1. Staying the night at Rick's though meant more bag space was needed. In addition, my great sadness to have discovered the beginnings of a tear in one of the shoulder straps on my Bookbag. So this was me. Kings Cross kickin' it. The tourist without a Bookbag. In its place, the Sprayground Money Stacks holdall. Complete with separate sneaker compartment for my Nike Free 3.0's for Saturdays activities. 

Friday evening began with the hunt. With food on the brain we set out. Not overly surprised, we found our first couple of choices had wait times beyond what our bellies would stand for. But after playing my tourist role to perfection outside St. Paul's, we wound up at Yo Sushi.

Sushi had been the plan last time I was down to see Rick. Only that became the day I spent my morning either hanging over his toilet chucking my guts up, or laying on his landing getting no sleep. This time around though we would chow down.

But Rick hates sea food, so I'm standing there trying to figure out why he's so up for showing me a sushi restaurant! As I soon discovered though, Sushi isn't just raw fish and rice (or at least that isn't all you can get at a sushi restaurant in the UK). 

Soup. Rice. Noodles. Beef. Duck rolls. Multiple different types of chicken. We had it all. With even a little desert. I may have nearly got cramp in my hand, but I still maintain that was as much to do with the amount we ate as it was to do with my worse than poor skills with a set of chopstix. The only thing I didn't like.. Pickled Ginger. Rick loves it. Personally I thought it looked like a piece of human flesh. And I don't feel I need say more about the taste other than stating that I can still taste it now...

£50 later though, we were done. Just in time to get over to West Ham and kick back at Rick's crib. For some unknown reason (or unknown to me at least), we always find ourselves watching scary movies. Personally, I'm more of an animated or superhero movie type kid. Cars. Avengers. Something like that. Friday night though was 'The Conjuring'.. There's always a demon involved. 

Joined by Rick's sister and Boyfriend (the sisters boyfriend, not Rick's!) we cracked open a couple ciders, literally. Now I'm not a big drinker when not on a night out. But I was a little surprised when I cracked half the top of a bottle off when simply trying to get the lid off. 

Not really knowing Rick's sis & boyfriend that well, I figured they must think I was crazy. After a couple of minutes though, I decided that it could be worse...I could have come across as forgettable. And so I lay back, pouring my drink through a sieve, into a glass like a normal person, wondering what Saturday would have in store..

Juice Box

One of my first new followers on the twitter came from a page called 'Hip Hop Golden Age'. In essence they're all about original hip-hop. 80s & 90s. And through utilising the usual avenues of social media and YouTube, these guys are on a mission to raise 20,000 U.S. beans to facilitate the building of '..the premier online Classic Hip Hop platform'. An honourable mission statement in my own opinion, even though I haven't yet felt a desire to contribute. 

I think one of the first tracks I caught was A Fly Girl, released by the Boogie Boys in 1985. Old school in the extreme. I shared it with brother number three who has gotten into breaking (known as break dancing to most, but call it that to a true B-Boy and they won't thank you for it) which was, and still is, a major faction of real hip hop culture, and was born in this same era. I've also sent over a whole bunch of De La Soul. Real funky hip-hop. Tracks like Keepin' The Faith and A Rollerskating Jam Named 'Saturdays".

Each day then, HHGA have presented me (and 230+ thousand others) with a plethora of old school classics. LL Cool J, Run DMC, The Beastie Boys and De La Soul to name just a few. The pre-eminent aspect of these first 2 decades of hip-hop, was the sheer range of styles that came out. Originality was everywhere. There were no real forerunners to these guys. And so there were no rules or stereotypes for what you had to sound like or look like. Just think what an exciting environment that must have been. It's owing to this, I'm sure, that Flavor Flav still rocks a clock hanging around his neck. They laid the foundations, and today, you're most likely to hear them referred to as the old school. I'd put money on that.

The idea of something being old school seems to be everywhere nowadays. Music (of any genre), fashion, slang words, trends and games you used to have in primary school, anything from the past it seems, can be old school. Granted, the term hasn't yet reached the levels of 'amazing' and 'journey' which fill our X-Factor-invaded television screens, but still. 

Aside from the great music therefore, I've found myself thinking over the one thing from the past which best represents the old school. This being? The Juice Box. Sure, we English kids called it a carton but these days I'm preferring this U.S. term. 

Old school is a concept we use to categorise something from our pasts. From when we were young. And what kid didn't go to school with an Um Bongo or Ribena juice box? They were the drink choice of the school yard ballers. The hipsters. The streetwise kids. With LP's, a portable cassette player or CD player, depending on your era. In my own head at least, these were the cool kids. The 80s and 90s were the ages of Juice Box Hip-Hop. 

Sure, you may not agree. There may be some other iconic aspect of your time as a young'n that better represents it. And that's good. My point is merely that today, it can sometimes appear like everybody follows each other. Even to the degree of language. Juice Box is merely my own expression of old school. On the face of it, it's simply a different name..

But I ask again, just think what an exciting environment it must have been for the Run DMC's and alike. Creating hip-hop. Each MC, DJ, B-Boy, Grafitti artist and clothing designer who crafted their own originality into reality. With no forerunners, they created a culture. What if we were all to pretend there were no forerunners to our lives? I wonder.

. 

Happy Tweetings

Getting the most out of the bird is a challenge. Based on my own experiences, my brain has decided that most of the Twitter tweeters get a bit lost in the white clouds as opposed to soaring through the blue skies. Now. I've signed up for a fresh set of wings. A wee baby blog can really use a wee hatchling to help it grow after all. There are still much learnings to be had. But small successes are mighty satisfying.

A follow from MC Ren of N.W.A, and Chuck D of Public Enemy, is a strange feeling. These cats are hip hop royalty. Sure, they follow thousands of others, but I'm connected to them. They might just read something I write if I'm clever enough! 

Now. Aside from it simply being Friday and Saturday, the 21st and 22nd of this month were made for me by Twitter. Friday's feeling, music wise, was Tayyib Ali. A rapper out of Philadelphia. And almost as fresh as the Fresh Prince himself. A cool blend of hip hop and skate culture. Mellow style with some musical arrangements which haven't just come off the charts of most current day, turn up, hip hop beats. To anybody interested, Keystone State of Mind 3 has just landed. 

So, being as Twitter always wants to know What's Happening? I threw it up.

And to my own dumbfounded amazement I received a favourite from the next great Ali himself. His was the only favourite, but who else would you want? (Apart from maybe The Rock, that'd be off the chain!) 

To me he was, a celebrity. But favourite my tweet, and we're basically homies now. Next time your in the UK Tayyib, I'll roll on down to L-town and we can kick it! (It might sound like I belong in a special home at this point, but that's how it can come across in a roundabout, slightly exaggerated, kind of way.)

That was enough for my weekend right there. I'm cool and Saturday hasn't even arrived yet. 

Upon its arrival, I had performed a perfect turn in the road manoeuvre and had arrived at Keb' Mo'.  Funky, blues guitarist, yet with a distinctly country feel. 'Am I wrong' was my first hearing of his skill. A real toe-tapper. This cat can really rock a guitar. No doubt. And sing too. So again, I share what's happening with the birds. 

With a swollen head from the previous nights tweeting, I try a direct tweet. I wasn't big headed enough to genuinely expect a reply though. What a guy! Needless to say, I'm now awaiting a newsletter with UK tour dates and have a slightly larger 'purchased' playlist on iTunes. 

If your looking for a little something for your headphones do check him out. Blues Americana is this years offerings. I opted for his 1994, self-titled album ('Every Morning', 'Am I wrong', and the keyboard solos are highlights) Both though, brim with riches. 

Here's to great music then, by greater people, and to becoming the Tweetie Pie of Twitter..