Nothing subpar about the subcontinent

M.I.A.'s latest album, Kala. Click on the album cover to download.

I'm only 3 tracks deep as I post this, but so far so-friggin-good. And yeah, MTV came out with their "10 Hottest MC's in the Game"[/pause] list. M.I.A. is hotter than all of them... except 3000 and Weezy (no homo). Yes, I'm gonna say she's hotter than even Common.

pause.

Speaking of which, BE > Finding Forever. I kinda knew it wasn't gonna be as good as soon as I saw the album cover. If you've seen it, you might get my drift. That doesn't mean it's not an alright album, the production is definitely great, and the lyrics are good, but they're far from Mr. Sense's best. I feel like they already released the best songs. Obviously, Comm needs to take a page outta Kanye's book as far as marketing goes.

But yeah, back to M.I.A. Top 3 Hottest in the Game right now. She and her sound are definitely love or hate, but if u hate it then it's prolly cuz ur lame. No, really, I'm being serious. I could expound upon why only lame ppl would hate her but then u'd be reading this for another 2 hours as I talked about music, politics, race, ideologies, history, and ringtones (yeah nigga. ringtones). But I'll keep all that to myself. Just don't be surprised if you tell me you think she sucks and I stop talking to you. I would say it's not personal, but it is. I try to make sure all my friends IQ's are above 12 respectively. (So yes, you can like DipSet and still be my friend). But telling me that you hate M.I.A. would inform me that you are far beneath that baseline.

Surf the internets and find the video for one of the best (and craziest) songs, "Boyz." BTW, it's a great song to do the Sponge Bob Dance to.

Call me... (somewhat) big on the underground.

School Daze

You gotta know I was feeling this. I teach in the hood, son. This might be Room 401's theme song come September.

knowledge of self

K-Os "Crucial"

nuff sed.

Remember "Tip Drill"?

Pause.

Discuss.

Intuition is there even when my vision's impaired

Raul Midon. I would recommend listening first, then coming back to watch and listen.

P.S. Dood's blind. Don't know if he's counting 1's or 50's.

Damn right, I kiss my daddy

Does Baby know ur "single and ready to mingle" Wayne?

I read somewhere that "Weezy F. Baby" stands for "Weezy [effs] Baby." Sorry for the expletives ppl. I try to keep it PG-13, but there's only so much u can edit with these potty-mouth rappers (pause).

David Kenneth's True DC Stories

As a new contributor to You Hype? Sike Nah... I feel the need to hit u with one of the classics:

"So I'm downtown in DC last night, at this little spot called Eyebar. I didnt really expect too much taking a few things into consideration...

Its Tuesday.
Its a bar called Eyebar, which happens to be on I Street.
What are the chances of a bar, catchily named after its street, popping on a Tuesday.

But then again what were the chances of a plane hitting the Pentagon? Clearly anything goes in the nation's capitol. Regardless, after getting bounced from the VIP section by Miami Heat star Eddie Jones and his 4 goons, I could tell this wasn't a normal tuesday night happy hour. Upon hitting the second floor I saw more Heat players in one reserved section, and Roc-A-Fella artist/ Jim Jones' latest wedgie threat, Tru Life w/ entourage in the other.

First note. NBA listings couldnt be farther from the truth. (6'6" Jones was my height and 6'8" Dorell Wright was as tall as Chris)
Second note. If they look lame on the court, chances are their real-life persona isnt too far off. (Case in point, Antoine Walker)
Third note. Rappers are flesh & blood people, just like us, with equally thin skin and insecurites (Enter Tru Life...)

The cold-hard facts about Jay-Z's latest protege.
Tru Life's VIP was packed with 6 niggas as compared to Walker and Wright's 6 groupies
The entire entourage, including Life, were Roc-A-Wear'd out but made sure to keep their chains tucked
When the DJ played his new single which nobody seems to know, the floor cleared, as he snatched the mic and proceeded to spit his own adlibs

and the true highlight of the evening...

As the DJ teased the crowd with the opening sample from Jim Jones' "Ballin", one of Tru Life's entourage got a bit caught up and prematurely through up the Fadeaway... only to have it yanked down by the visibly bitter rapper. After which, the DJ assured him, "dont worry Tru, we got you" and played Jay-Z's "Brooklyn" freestyle to the same beat, much to his delight.

The moral of the story... professional athletes lie about their height and rappers are emotional."

Summer Soft

Today's the unofficial last day of my summer break. It really hurts on the inside. Like really. Oh well, put a heel on a gym shoe and get grown, Mr. Garr. I'll get over it.

Knocked Up deleted scene - Kuni Gone Wild

There isn't a word in the english language to describe how hilarious this is. If you haven't seen "Knocked Up" yet, ur lame.

Shalom.

Under my um-ber-ella... ella... ella...

decided to blow the dust off an old poem. read it. read into it. but don't read too much into it. and oh, it's long. ha.

Broken: a poem in parts

I. Clouds

my fist can’t break
through the paper bag of
my thoughts, tree rings leading
only to themselves. (what do my words make) since
this straw hat keeps the light
out of my eyes the heat
empties out of my head in ribbons that

tie knots in the air
there is work to be done

things to hold onto
blesséd gossamer threads
to stick to something, anything
strong enough to carry the weight
of my thin filament.


II. Do you love me

The question marks
my anxiety, establishes
the border between
that which is and cannot be
said without compromise
and fear held without conquest;
but oh, so lonely, with nothing
to say.


III. Rosebush

How peacefully do these waters fester
Held at bay by the strength of men
The hand of man immortalized in concrete slabs
And the city beneath that most mighty palm
Sifting nonchalance within itself
Unaware of the danger in a trickle.

And you, a buttress breeched, must hold back the ocean’s tide
In the face of the moon, must dam yourself unto yourself,
A broken spirit flooded into the chaos of equilibrium.


IV. Mourning Lovesickness

At first, I told myself
that it was my heart
sunken into my belly
that shook my stomach
every morning, dragging
me down to my knees
before this porcelain altar
to spill my guts.

I am lovesick,
me said, searching
the water for heart-chunks
among the morn’s vomit,
so sick of love
that I came head-bent
before a toilet as if in
daily ritual prayer
over some gestating sacrifice.

As the anger waned,
the pang in my belly grew,
each morning’s release making room
for divine intervention,
the sanctity found only in sin;

My knees buckled
to better carry the weight
I couldn’t stand.


V. Broken

Everything seemed to come
down in pieces. Even the rain
fell like glass: as if her soul had fallen
like a brick through some window
in heaven. She, with no umbrella
left, to wade sole-deep in a sea of piece
and fragment, shard and crumb.

Rain spilled from heaven’s floor like mop water,
in thick, heavy strings—yarn
that poked persistently at her dogged body
as though she were a needle. Drops reaching into her
stomach like a bullet. A slug, this bellied burden, whose growth bore
down and into her with each dribble of fallen cloud,
each fleeting dash of rain. She could not escape:
there were icy puddles in the pockets of her raincoat
that drowned her clenched, knotted hands.

Still, the clouds extinguished themselves above her,
bleeding drop by drop, resolute in their confusion
to empty as well as fill. Maybe standing
in the midst of it all,
she understood.

She, drenched and jeweled, beaded with rain,
baptizing the strange fruit of sorrow. Rainwater broke her
cheeks and crawled through the tracks of her
years.

Her eyes were dry,
now.

The writing on the wall

Leda, After the Swan
by Carl Phillips

Perhaps,
in the exaggerated grace
of his weight
settling,

the wings
raised, held in
strike-or-embrace
position,

I recognized
something more
than swan, I can't say.

There was just
this barely defined
shoulder, whose feathers
came away in my hands,

and the bit of world
left beyond it, coming down

to the heat-crippled field,

ravens the precise color of
sorrow in good light, neither
black nor blue, like fallen
stitches upon it,

and the hour forever,
it seemed, half-stepping
its way elsewhere--

then
everything, I
remember, began
happening more quickly.

Pause.

It's 3.5 minutes, but all u need to see is the first 30 seconds, pay specific attention at 22-25 seconds.

That is all.

Just bob your head like you get it

Click the album cover to download. Rap ambassador for the capital, fresh off the international tour with Mark Ronson (who just released his album Version state-side.) Long-awaited, but well worth it. I love hip hop.

The Burning Bush

Find it.

Bring down my blood pressure

What happens when u lock Kanye, Swizz Beats, and Drag-On (yes, Drag-On. That's not a typo) in a trailer with a video camera. (Can I get "No Homo" for $800, Alex?)

Same old song

"Rap has gradually degenerated from an art form into a ring tone. It's a hip catchphrase or a musical riff with a short shelf life. It has a novelty element that captures the listener's imagination, but it's not a song. It won't build a career. That's why we're seeing this backlash."

read the article.

bad hip hop raises my blood pressure. seriously.

P.S. I got 4 hours of Funkmaster Flex blacking out on the 4th with gutta 90's hip hop. Beautiful. Also, Flex played The Mad Rapper a couple weeks ago and publicly rebuffed the "stop snitchin'" movement as well as the state of hip hop. You know it's a problem when Flex is pissed.

Flex is You hype! Sike nah...'s first Hero of the Week.



And lastly, I un-DS'ed my Bobbito Air Force 1's today. ("un-DS": to wear for the first time.) Them thangs are beautiful. Perfect shoe for the summer.

Well whuddaya know

I have much more music than I actually listen to. Randomly, looking for another song, found this on my computer.
Project Pat - "I Choose You" http://www.zshare.net/audio/2575534b556e24/

sound familiar, don't it?