I've Got Issues

I've Got Issues
by Lawrence Raysor

According to Time,
I’m wasting the day.
And since my hourly clock is now synched
With my biological clock.
I am apparently wasting away.

According to People,
I’m behind on the times,
Though updated every five minutes,
My current mind frame is now known
As a delayed state of mind.

According to Glamour,
I have failed to keep up with the people.
The fact that I wear black everyday
Means that I’m either hiding from others
Or projecting my inner evils.

According to Home,
My sense of fashion and glamour is out of wack.
I’d have to start with my self esteem,
Then work on my self image,
And end with my home’s décor,
In order to get it back.

I’ve got issues I tell you, Issues galore.

According to Men’s Health,
I should have paid attention to my home.
I’ve focused too much on it’s décor
And not enough on it’s comfort
Placing other people’s interests before my own.

According to Money,
I’ve got to get back on track with my health,
In its latest article,
The magazine deemed fitness an integral step towards prosperity
I guess I’m too out of shape for my own wealth.

According to Family Circle,
I should keep up with my money more,
Maybe then the financial burden of living
Would take a break
And leave my family and me some room to hug more.

According to the Nation,
My family circle lacks the proper political views,
I am therefore, out of touch overall.
Simply because I have focused less on what I see
And more on the truths.

I’ve got issues I tell you, Issues galore.

Every page's words
Seem to seep through my pores.
The writing eats through my skin
And reaches to my core.
What started off as a liberation
Has now become a chore.
Maybe I should read less
Maybe I should read more.
But the more I read, the less sane I am
And the more I avoid, the less in touch I feel
Damned if I do damned if I don’t
Guess I don't know the difference between
What's true and what they say is real.

I told you;
I’ve got issues, issues galore.

Mami Tape

Mami Tape’s Thoughts

by Lawrence Raysor

Before my eyes could take the light
And I knew my sounds before my sights,
My mother always taught me
What was wrong and what was white.
In my brain this was embedded in:
From now until your very end
American is better than
Anything and everything.
So I followed without question
Loved the clothes I was dressed in
Closed the door on what was Eastern
And invited what was West in.
I called the Asians, Yellow
Because I’ll never be a fellow,
And these two ears fall deaf
On their “heys” and “hellos”.
See my friends are Caucasian
And we share a location
But since my family’s Asian
We can’t share education?
I’ve done assimilation
But slanted eyes is all you see
I’m so American it’s an honor
For them to call you me.
I’m meant to fall you see
Because you want us to assimilate
So you push and intimidate
To ensure that we emulate.
So conform we do
As our culture takes a back seat
Now when I see Chinese
It hurts to say that that’s me.

Yet it’s too late to change
And I’m too far to claim
The same word that you say
When prompted for my name.
Chinese…
That’s it
Just a word’s what we’ve become
Centuries of history
All summed up in one
Chinese…
It’s enough for you to deny
No matter how hard I try
My whole life’s been a lie
And the answer to my why’s
Chinese
But I’ve denied my own people
Shunned them to become equal
And now I’m a no one
I can never be a true
Chinese

So If we could switch places
I wonder if you’d take this
Ball and chain of pain I’ve donned
Thanks to you racists
For I’m forever faceless
In a purgatory of races
And no one will ever know
Who the real Mami Tape is.

Your Love My Pain

by Lawrence Raysor

Your Love, My Pain
How do you tell the person who lives to feel you breath,
That you want to die?
How do you tell the person who loves to see you smile,
That you want to cry?
Would you walk away without warning or notice,
Or look that person in the eye?
Would you state it simply with no explanation
Or tell in detail, why?
Would you whisper words of encouragement
Or would you up and leave,
Without a chance to say good bye?
How would you tell that person
If you could not lie…
That you want to die?
I guess I’ll try…

We’re not the same you and me.
I was blessed with the curse of finding flaws.
My favorite specimen is the very man you love
I focus on everything he‘s had a chance to gain
And everything he‘s lost.
I can not see the good outweighing the bad
Only the fact that the bad exists
And nothing is to be enjoyed
Until the bad he’s either created or endured
Has been done away with.
Impossible it may seem
But another choice I’m without
This is my cross to bare
You’ve shown me you love me,
But that’s not what this is about.
You love me more than I love myself
This much I know
The older I get the sharper my vision becomes
So I’m sure hate myself more and more
As I grow.
Your love is stronger than any love I’ve seen
And I’ve seen plenty
But no love can withstand or over come this self oppression
Not yours, not theirs, not any.
I’ve ruined many…
Trapped by the pressure of my very own potential
I struggle to meet the bar I’ve set
I can’t get out of my own way,
And I fail to escape myself no matter how far I step.
I’m not who you think I am
Your own eyes have deceived you.
I believe that you believe in me
But I am not able to believe too.
If we switched perspectives
Perhaps I would be blind to my imperfections
Maybe my mind might then allow me to see
What it is you claim you see in my reflection.
I’m an exception to the rule
That accompanies the “Midas” touch,
I ruin the lives of those closest to me
Ask those who loved me and tried their luck.
It’s all so cyclical and difficult to explain
An intricate web designed to shield against change
I’ve wracked my brain and gone insane
The more you try to help and fail, the more I feel the pain.
I disappoint myself enough already
Failing to be what you know I can be
Only adds to the hurt.
I’m doomed to a fate full of perfected imperfections
My life is cursed for what it’s worth.
I can’t please you, myself or anyone else
I’m detrimental to the world
A threat to your heart
A cancer to your passion,
Hazardous to your health.
My wanting to pass on has little to do with failure
And much to do with safety,
For my inability to be perfect
Is the very fuel that drives me to hate me.
Save me…

Tell me what you would do…
How do you tell the person who lives to feel you breath,
That you want to die?
How do you tell the person who loves to see you smile,
That you want to cry?
Would you walk away without warning or notice
Or look that person in the eye?
Would you u state it simply with no explanation
Or tell in detail why?
Would you whisper words of encouragement
Or would you up and leave without a chance to say good bye?
How would you tell that person
If you could not lie…
That you want to die?

The Hood's Son

The Hood’s Son

by Lawrence Raysor


He’s a thug but what would you expect?


He grew up in a house
Where a mouse was a pet,
And daddy’s tech was a toy
For a boy who played fetch.
But that was until
Daddy couldn’t sit still
And one day without say
Daddy up and just left.
Now mommy works hard
On two jobs to get checks
That pay for enough
But sometimes less
For the boy to eat
And boy does he feel hunger pain
And sometimes neglect.
He’s a thug but what would you expect?

While mommy’s away
He wonders away
To play outside with his friend.
They see Benz after Benz
With rim after rim
And they’re hypnotized as they spin.
They point to the cars
Like we point to the stars
When we see them alone in the sky.
But the shine in their eyes
Is from diamonds thugs buy
When earning happens without a try.
So he compares his stars
To his mother’s two jobs
And comes up with what to do next.
Needless to say illegal’s the way.
He’s a thug but what would you expect?

On BET and MTV
He sees athletes, rappers, and thugs
Shooters, hooters, and asses in mass it’s
A wonderful world that he loves.
No lawyers or doctors
Just coppers and robbers
Fill the scenes on the screen
Filled with lots of hip hoppers.
They’re just rapping and acting
With props on the set
But he doesn’t know yet.
So... he’s a thug but what would you expect?

With no father or mother
To tell this young brother
What happens to others
When they become thugs or
Gangsters with anchors
Or commitments to sets
He soon meets his death.
BOOM!!!

But would what you expect?

The Beast and His Potion

The Beast and his Potion
by Lawrence Raysor

I am my own dead weight
A ball and chain of unexpressed emotions,
Masked by a skinny man’s face
A beast lies within, unawoken.
If I feed the beast his potion
He’ll lie dormant with his eyes open
Continuing to gain weight
With a tightly bitten tongue
and a pain unspoken.
Misery’s the path that has been chosen.
Who knows by whom?
The body is no longer a sanctuary
It is now just a tomb.
It has simply become warehouse
Here is where the beast of emotions
Lies enclosed and broken
The only hope is that the store is open
When the beast is awoken
And needs his potion.

Today's Urban "Creativity" - Part IV (Final Entry)

by Lawrence Raysor

Part IV

If you’ve made it this far, then pat yourself on the back. You’ve traveled with me on a journey through mediocrity, a lack of education, and poor innovation. We’ve made it, and despite my doubts, we’ve survived. The journey isn’t over yet though, people. Now we have to figure out the overall reason for this lack of creativity, and later see if we (by we I definitely mean “I” but I’ll give you guys some credit only because I get lonely all the way up here on the social and intellectual totem pole-yes I’m a jerk, I know this) can come up with a solution.

The overall lack of creativity could be due to the poor relationships that have existed between parents and their children. Nah, that’s too easy. Plus, a lot of creativity has come out of dysfunctional-family backgrounds. How many times do we turn on the television and see an old photo of a battered and homely looking child, only to find out that the child before us is now one of our favorite movie or music stars? Of course the show starts off by telling us how the child featured in the photo was either abused, abandoned, bounced around, or mal-nourished. Then, the second half of the show talks about all of his/her successes and new found struggles, now that he/she is famous. Notice how the voice always starts off as some serious, yet monotone news anchor’s voice. As the mood and the lighting (yes, they even change the tint or brightness depending on your television set) change however, so does the voice. Now the show features pictures of nice cars, big houses, extravagant outfits and parties all to the tune of some has-been actor/actress from a show we used to watch when we were kids; and that actor is usually uncharacteristically bubbly as though this is going to bring him/her back (dream on, Rudy it aint happenin‘). Anyway, long (VH1) story short: That parental thing is not a good enough reason.


Let’s not stray too far away from the parental influence, however. I will agree that a lot of what’s happening is due to influence. The influence, however, is from the overall culture. I’m sure I have your attention now (this is the part where you grab your pencils and pads and say, “Uh huh…go on, master Raysor”). As a culture we are now geared towards the adult. Whereas we used to be all about instilling great, core values in our children such as: hard work, mental independence, community, commitment, responsibility etc, we’ve become focused on what pleases the adult. For example, there are more than a few cartoons that appeal to the youth but are geared towards the adult. I, for one, am a fan of these cartoons, but I don’t like the fact that some of my younger people are as well. A great number of these children are skipping an integral part of the maturation process. It’s like going from Junior High School 104 to the N.B.A. Sure, a young man may be able to play and keep up as far as talent is concerned, but he doesn’t understand all of the risks involved in pushing his growing body to the limit, nor does he have the mental bumps and bruises to shape and prepare him for all that this new world has to offer. Essentially, he, like many of our younger people in urban society, is underdeveloped. A well rounded person will bring about a well rounded performance, a majority of the time, given that he/she goes through the checklist that has developed over time through experience. An underdeveloped person, however, will eventually fall victim to mediocrity.

Let’s make sure we (this time we means “you”, because I knows what I be talkin’ bout) understand that I’m not blaming cartoons for the lack of urban creativity. I’m blaming a society that has become more concerned with making things easier and more attainable for its adults. The bi-product of such a focus is children who don’t understand the value of the things that mental - independence entails (I.e. hard work, research, a well rounded education, a knowledge of credible resources, awareness and foundation etc). All of our inventions make things easier to carry and easier to achieve. Don’t get me wrong, I would love a “remote control finder” so that I don’t have to actually look all over my bedroom for the remote control (and no, I’m not sure it would make more sense to actually change the channel manually, I‘m just trying to find this damn remote). Why wouldn’t I want a Wikipedia website? I absolutely hate going through the internet on my own when I need the answer to a question. With this new idea, I can simply get the answers that all of these other people found for me, when the batteries in their remote finders died and they gave up on television. It‘s like a breath of fresh air. Now I don’t have to actually find out where my local library is and figure out how this whole “crack a book open” thing works. Phew, that could have been a nightmare, I haven’t opened a book since I signed up for this website that allows me to read my books online. One website even tells me what the books are about and gives me the major themes, characters, and literary notes on the author. I’m in convenience heaven now! I dare a professor to ask me if I’ve read a book, I’m going to tell him just like this, “Like get with the times, Prof. No one reads these silly books anymore. I mean come on, that’s so like pase.” Seriously, I absolutely love the fact that I can get a date or even have (cyber) sex with a woman without ever meeting her or hearing her voice. Of course when I meet her she’s probably 200lbs bigger than envisioned, with a long weave and some serious fashion issues. I know, I should have ignored the “athletic” description and focused on the “more to love” and “eccentric” part of her profile right? By now we (by we I mean “you” and “me” so relax, stop being so paranoid) can see where this is going. This silly internet has both catered to and hindered our culture at the same time.

The internet isn’t the only one to blame, however. I can now go weeks without hearing my sister’s voice and still be aware of everything that’s going on in her life (would it be inappropriate to give a shot out to my older sister and my wonderful niece and nephew…yea it probably would be). Thanks to text messaging, I not only can carry on entire conversations and never even once worry about grammar. For example: Me: watup? Sis: chillin makin sure these kids do they hw Me: like u had to do with me?I didn’t 4get dat Lol Sis: yup u already kno lmao Me: wats good wit moms Sis: She strait workin as usual Me: aight gtg lataz Sis: Wow okay ttylNow I know damn well, many people understood that conversation, and that lets me know that I’m right when I say many people are comfortable speaking like that. Just imagine how the younger generation is communicating on their phones and in their AIM messages to each other. Grammar isn’t really a priority now. Incorporate all that is geared towards mental dependence in today’s urban society and imagine how this failure to keep grammar in the forefront of our writing will affect our future and/or current literary world. All in all a majority of us use all of this technology and it works wonders for us. I’m not complaining about how convenient my life has become, but I am concerned about how its affecting our creativity. The urban area is becoming a scary world devoid of true emotion and expression. I’m worried about you creativity, we haven’t seen you in the ‘hood in a while.

See, the beauty of the urban (urban being used interchangeably with the not so politically correct term: “ghetto”) atmosphere is the creativity and the innovation. The ability to make something out of little to nothing. Make syrup sandwiches or mayonnaise sandwiches when there’s no lunch meat. Putting sheets in the window when there aren’t any shades. Using water when there isn’t any milk for cereal - be careful with that one, I can’t say I was ever a fan, but we do what we have to at 3 a.m. on a broke Wednesday morning. Making a son or daughter do the dishes if there isn’t a dishwasher - that’s not innovative at all I just wanted to take this opportunity to express how much I hated having to do the dishes when I was tired; I worked (perhaps yours and my teacher’s last nerve) too, mom. The point is this: creativity isn’t just using someone else’s style and calling it your own. It’s coming up with something out of nothing, and if you have to use someone else’s style as a building block, put such a spin on it that people can’t even say it’s original person’s style anymore. Be bold, be daring, be careful, be willing to hear laughter, but most of all be (say it with me people) creative.


Comment please, but please limit your responses to the contents of this blog. Any personal comments should and can be sent to the author's email. Remember this is a blog, and opinions on such are very welcome.

Today's Urban Creativity - Part III

by Lawrence Raysor

Part III

The beautiful thing about dancing is anyone can partake in the act. Of course there’s the obvious fact: 6/10 times you’re going to run into the guy with 2 left feet or the girl who looks like she has ticks and was so much hotter before you decided to dance with her. You can be sure that you’re dancing with this person when he/she starts calling out the names to these dances and there’s no reggae music playing (for some reasons all of the reggae dances have names now, I.e. “Scooby Doo”, “Pon de River”, “Slow Win’” etc). I’m no hater though. Do the dance that you’re comfortable with when you’re comfortable doing it. I’ve come to notice that most people, minus the liquor, stay within themselves when it comes to dancing. The problem, however, is when people start doing dances with little effort and skill and claim it’s a performance worthy of an audience or a competition.

So I’m walking down the street-I think it’s funny how a lot of casual stories start like that, I’m actually considering putting out a book of one-line starters to stories that are totally out of line ( I.e. So I’m punching this nun in the face; So I’m robbing this 8 year old for his lunch money; So I’m stealing this cops gun…damn, those were so much funnier in my head… ) ok, so maybe that‘s not a good idea. Anyway, I suddenly hear the all-too-familiar chant accompanied by the percussive clap that is the beat. Who needs music when you’ve got hands and feet. That much I love, but the love stops there. The group of 20 or middle school kids, give or take an attitude and a funky fashion statement or two, are standing in a circlein the park yelling and clapping in unison, “NO MUSIC! (CLAP CLAP-CLAP CLAP!) NO MUSIC (CLAP CLAP-CLAP CLAP!).” Of course, me being the nosy man I am, I slow down, hoping to witness something worth retelling. What I see, however, is this group of kids encouraging a young black child, let’s call him “Kaseem” for stereotypical purposes, while he performs an interesting three-step dance move that’s followed by what appears to be the self expressive portion of the dance. Immediately, I’m intrigued. I’m all about self expression.

In a testament to Ritalin and how valuable it is, allow me to go off on a tangent about something closely related, since I took my medicine 2 hours later than scheduled. I’ll come back to this scene in the park, I think I promise. Anyway, I was intrigued when I first saw the documentary, Rise, about the new dance culture in the urban society. Of course the documentary briefly touched on a few dance styles such as B-Boy dancing and the “quick feet” style in the Midwest, but the primary focus was on “Krumping”. “This is brilliant,” I thought as I watched the DVD, while sipping on a cocktail (Vodka and O.J. or “screwdriver” for whomever is buying…yea that’s cool I’ll be over here by the bar let me know). These were kids from tough towns and cities who were getting out their frustration, pain, disappointment, and energy through a style of dance that was aggressive and completely improvised so as to capture true emotion. I dug it and very much so. This was a true case of self expression through the art of dancing. Although it was geared towards aggression, competition, and abrasive behavior, it was done to the music, it was authentic to the dancer, whomever he/she was, and it was beautiful. I was, and still am a fan. It’s not easy to be an individual and it’s certainly not easy to be creative, what with all of the history that lies in our arts. This, style of dance and its dancers, however, was both creative and geared towards the individual, and it was the product of the urban youth. Beautiful!

I wish I could say the same for our beloved Kaseem. Surrounded and encouraged by his peers, he broke into a freestyle dance that I’ve since come to know as “Getting Lite”. At first, honestly speaking, I just didn’t get it. As I watched some more -from a far of course, I’m way too cool to be caught observing this, according to some test I‘ve taken (moot point, I know)-I realized the self -expression portion of this dance. After his three step, he proceeded to move his arms and legs as though he were jogging in place and, following another three step, he pretended to take an imaginary cup of water from one of the audience members. He then pretended to drink the imaginary water and douse himself with the rest, much like a marathon runner would do on a heated run. That was cool. I appreciated the way his freestyle artistry was attempting to imitate real life. Then…the mierda hit the fan. I’m guessing that little jogging thing was his go to move. You know how the guy that’s been two-stepping all night long finally hears “his” song and decides it’s time to spruce it up? Then all of a sudden you see his shoulders hike up, his hands wave about in front of him, and his knees bend, all the while his feet are moving frantically, and if it weren’t for the look of utmost confidence on his face, (cue the puckered lips and the wind-in-the-eye look) you’d think he was having a bad “E-pill” trip. That, however, is the go-to move that he’s been waiting to unleash, as sad as that may sound (let’s remember the 6/10 statistic; you should’ve known better when he hit you with that line, “Are you a cop?…Because you certainly are one of New York’s finest…). Well whatever the case was, I’m willing to bet your next pay check that that was poor “Kaseem’s” go-to move because everything that followed was a quarter of what it could have or should have been. His next move was a back flip that featured him landing on his stomach and face, unintentionally. Now here’s where the “that’s so cute that he even tried that move” people chime and try to defend Kaseem. After yawning, I point out that the crowd went crazy, as though Kaseem had done the greatest move they’d ever seen.

Now, I’m a pretty opinionated person, and I can be rough on performance artists in general, but I’m going to “keep it real” with you, Kaseem’s dancing was riddled with mistakes, half -way developed and danced out moves and the kids treated him like a superstar. In my “No Music” memory bank, however, Kaseem ranked second to four young men, who rode the train and asked for donations after what they called a “performance”. I was all prepared to hear the speech: “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. I apologize for the interruption. I’m not here selling candy for no basketball team. I’m basically selling candy so I don’t have to rob yo’ a** in the street. Consider yourselves lucky, son!!!” At least that’s how I remember it; I could be off. That, however, was not the speech I heard. Instead I heard, “Yo me and my friends is about to put on a show for ya’ll and we appreciate ya’ donations afterwards. Hit it!” They clapped and sung the no music ballad and what I saw next was (hmmm what’s a safe word) “something”, yea that work…“something”. Not only were these kids falling all over the place, they were off beat and had no fluidity whatsoever. The activities and/or actions they were trying to depict fell short, thanks to movements that were far from deliberate or practiced. Come on people, even freestyle rappers practice freestyling! Now I know some of you might say, “Lawrence, they’re just kids. Leave those poor babies alone.” NOPE, I shall not! I’m trying to save urban creativity people!

I could easily sit here and tell you about the underdeveloped and far from deliberate dance moves, that look like the half-speed rehearsals of a dance routines that were created while on acid, being hosted on the ever educational youtube.com, but I trust that all of you get the point. The fact of the matter is, most of these kids are operating under the “monkey see, monkey do” system. For them to perform and claim to be skilled in the “art” of “gettin’ lite”, all they have to do is watch one of their friends. There’s no studying or research involved. I’m convinced that some of these kids don’t even know what dance styles factored into this new dance style that they claim as their own. In addition, there’s not much practicing going on, outside of the public forum.

If I’m being difficult than so be it. I’m on the side of creativity. Creativity requires hard work, dedication, and an overall (or even a basic) knowledge of the subject at hand. At this rate, the “two step” will be considered a choreographed dance worthy of a standing ovation in Madison Square Garden. I’m not saying let’s take it back to the days of the “Electric Slide” and the “Cha - Cha Slide” (okay so maybe this line was completely unnecessary but if anyone wants to throw a party I’m first on the dance floor to either of the aforementioned songs, I’m just sayin’ hook it up), but at least do a dance that emulates and/or embellishes on a real -life movement. We miss you creativity. Come home soon, please!

Comment please, but please limit your responses to the contents of this blog. Any personal comments should and can be sent to the author's email. Remember this is a blog, and opinions on such are very welcome.

Today's Urban "Creativity" - Part II

by Lawrence Raysor

Part II

We all love music, right? I think it’s safe to say there’s a genre for everyone, even that guy who stares at the floor and mumbles when he speaks to you while fidgeting nervously in his pockets. Unfortunately, however, the genre that I’ve come to claim as my own is slowly slipping out of my grasp. Being an “80’s baby”, I’ve watched Hip Hop grow, evolve, and branch out. It’s been a beautiful journey fueled by creativity, competition, individuality, and a general “I don’t care what you think” attitude (of course I'm sure the way that was said mentally wasn't as nice especially if you were a cop during the time, right NWA? I'm just saying)-within the confines of the overall rap culture of course. Isn't it ironic, that the people who say they don‘t care what you think, normally want you to purchase or support, there I go again digressing. Silly me, where‘s the Ritalin? Anyway, I refuse to say that the journey is over, but it seems to be slowing to a stop. It’s 2009, and most rappers are more concerned with their computerized and doctored- vocal abilities and their props (i.e. unnecessarily-bulky jewelry, silly, gimmick-driven clothing, expensive, yet rented cars and locations, and of course very hot, tempting and scrumptiously-sexy women-so I got a bit carried away with the adjectives, I was just trying to be accommodating) than their lyrical content. Some of these artists are actually putting together entire albums where they shed the blasted chains, bound to them by rap, and free themselves into a world of R&B, whether they belong or not. Now (insert the so called “best rapper alive” here) could easily say he’s singing on records now because he’s bored, but if you’re bored, why not move forward with your creativity? You could write a book, produce poetry, teach a class, do anything, but I bet you my brother please don't sing! Singing isn’t showing off your creative ability to paint a picture through cleverly selected words, at all. This “rapper” could also use the excuse that he thinks, “...outside of the box,” but even that phrase indicates that you aren’t thinking outside of the box anymore. The fact of the matter is this: most of these rappers have run out of ways to be creative because they’ve come to the realization, as have I, that their lives aren’t really that interesting. Sure it was interesting to talk about how many people you killed and shot at; how many times you were arrested and took over the jail (cue the “Attica chants”); how many women you’ve been with, how, where and at once (actually I still find that interesting, sorry mom); how many megatons of cocaine and crack you’ve sold on one street, in the world’s toughest ghetto, where people often drop dead just because they’re so afraid of dying, all the while you’re hanging out with the likes of mafia lieutenants, drug lords, and cartel leaders; or how you’re so rich that you have one pair of every type of sneaker, shoe, diamond earring, expensive (insert high end name brand here i.e. Gucci) socks, and jeans to go along with all of the cars and jets that you actually own and don’t rent for ''M.T.V. Cribs''-yea I know, the secret’s out. Sorry guys. Yes, all of that was interesting at one point or another, but the operative word here is “was”. So many people have listened to rap and have figured that all they had to do was follow along in the rappers’ footsteps to be a) cool, b) desired, and c) creative. Wrong. Wrong. Annnnd WRONG! Rap, as with poetry, is expression of the self. Therefore, if a person is an artist, the objective, is to express what’s going on with one's self and one's life in hopes to find some sort of release and support in through artistic expression. News flash, rappers, the objective isn’t mimicry.

So now we’re left with a lot of rappers who are “bored” and are branching out into the world of R&B. Who should we blame? Should we blame artists like R. Kelly and Justin Timberlake, for embracing instead of challenging and eventually crushing this idea? Should we blame the A&R’s, the very filters of the industry for not saying, “Now hold on a second, (insert the “best rapper alive” here). The world does not deserve this! You’ve finally gone too far,” How about the guys in the studio who do nothing but smoke, joke, play, drink, eat, nod and encourage every single idea with an excited, “Yo that’s hot son, you should definitely say ‘uh huh yea’ right there and there and there. Yeaaahhh hotness, son.” Should we blame them? Should we blame the public school system for not truly teaching its students what the word 'creativity' means and entails? (Side note: I don’t think that last one is really valid at all, but everyone else is using the public school system as an excuse, I figured what the hell, why not? ) While we could blame all of the aforementioned, I blame Ja Rule (cue the background music of Ja singing, "Put it on me" in a very lovely and raspy DMX kind of voice), 50 Cent, and Eminem.
I'm sure many of us are aware of the time in which Eminem was on top of his game and 50 Cent was making serious headway in the industry via a meteoric rise to the top. If it weren’t for Ja Rule introducing 50 to the idea of a rapper singing on record and making money while doing so, 50 - being the ever clever hustler that he is- would not have destroyed Ja’s career and stolen his style to ensure domination lyrically, publicly, and financially. He and Eminem used their rise to fame to their advantage and future “hip hoppers’” disadvantage. I guarantee that if they hadn’t been so successful, people wouldn’t even have thought to listen to them singing on their records. Now that they’ve done so, it’s seen as an option, an option many rappers have sought to explore in the face of monotony. Thanks so much for that fellas.

Remember when 2 PAC was alive and well? Remember how his music captivated us? Remember how his style and approach was unmatched? Despite his rugged approach, vicious delivery, and all of his achievements, he was still human. He was human enough to allow his art to imitate life. He told stories of loss, hunger, welfare, poor decisions, teenage pregnancies, love, and hate. The creativity was so potent that the stories seemed real. Hell, even I wanted to write “Brenda” a letter about why she could have kept the baby and how we could have made it work. To those of us who listened faithfully to his music, he was like a rap superhero, and perhaps, that’s where we went wrong. Instead of simply appreciating and supporting him, we idolized him and thrust him into the catagory of dreams and aspirations. “What do you want to be when you grow up, Kareem? You can be anything you like. A doctor, a lawyer, a 2 Pac, a basketball player…?” It seemed like other rappers stopped being creative and started trying their hardest to be “a 2 Pac”. It’s as though people forgot that as hardcore as his lyrics were, they were real lyrics, not lyrics that were made up for entertainment purposes. Perhaps he embellished a bit on some occasions, but even that’s better than creating a whole new life for yourself and claiming it was yours all along. That approach has brought about a serious monotony; who wouldn’t create the ideal situation for him/herself? I’m Hugh Heffner meets Robert Dinero in Heat, if you let me tell it.
Despite its blatant monotony, today’s Hip Hop does have its moments. Unfortunately, those moments are only shared by true fans of the art form and those who claim to be true fans but know all of the words to songs that are far from true hip hop (cue the scenes of grown men doing the “Superman Dance” and actually mouthing the words, tisk tisk). Rappers who dare to stick to the idea of expressing one’s self and talking about what’s true to them as human beings, rather than creating and rapping about some sort of urban superhero with tight pants, visible underwear, and a pashmina scarf like cape worn in the front - ok so that was childish reference to the fashion in Part I, but I had to do it (yes for the self plug!)- are often given back-handed compliments and pushed to the side. It’s like the scholar versus the jock in the football family: “Look mom I got straight A’s and I made honor roll to-” “That’s great son. Mommy’s really proud of you, but move a little to the left I’m trying to take a picture of your brother’s new trophy to hang on the fridge with the rest of ‘em.” Sure Lupe Fiasco has gained respect for being very lyrical and true, but he pales in comparison to let’s say a Flo-Rida, Rick Ross, or Souljah Boy. If you don’t believe me, check the statistics on radio plays, club plays, downloads, and overall purchases. Some may actually say, “It’s hard to relate to Lupe,” and that would be totally understandable if everyone’s life was similar to that of Rick Ross and Souljah Boy... Right, I didn’t think so. As far as “relatability” is concerned, Joe Budden writes about real life issues and concerns like: a bad drug habit, issues with a crazy ex girlfriend, struggling financially, issues with his parents, problems with his associates, career issues etc. I’m sure many of us can relate to some of these issues on one level or another, much more than we can relate to “moving keys” and superman-ing that h*e. The creativity lies in the ability to make art that imitates life. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cool to let life imitate art. That can be fun and entertaining. We’ve gone beyond that however, we’re allowing art, or what we call art, to control life. This is happening so much so, that we’ve lost sight of what art means and what it means to be creative. True artists are therefore, lost in the proverbial “sauce” that is Hip Hop.

How about we start a movement? Let's support artists who write music that exhibits self expression. We just need some sort of fancy or catchy name. I’ve got it! Let’s call it Reality And Progress. Let me know when realize how creative that name is. I’ll be waiting…ok so who’s coming with me? Let’s stop complaining about the lack of creativity and support those who are creative. It's about time we do get back to that. If we're going to take from the past (i.e. "80's fashion"), let's take something that supports creativity.




Comment please, but please limit your responses to the contents of this blog. Any personal comments should and can be sent to the author's email. Remember this is a blog and opinions on such are very welcome.

Today's Urban "Creativity" - Part I

By Lawrence Raysor

Part I
Creativity has become a lost art form. Yes people, I did just refer to the act of coming up with something artistic, yet new, as an art form. Unfortunately, we see it in today’s urban society more than anywhere. This is where an old man would normally lean back in a rocking chair, show off his eight remaining teeth, and let out a throaty, “Hmph! Back in my day…” The truth of the matter is, however, I was born in the 80‘s and “my day” is still going on right now, and I’m somewhat ashamed to be apart of it.

Let’s just take a look at some of the “creativity” we have going on out here now. Where should we start? How about the guys with the “Look, Mom, my jeans are tighter than my girlfriend’s” trend that has started up in urban fashion? It’s bad enough that the jeans look tight enough to have been “painted on,” - thanks B.I.G.- they’re also being worn with these rhinestone-studded and extravagant belts. Don’t get me wrong the belts are cool, in fact they were cool for a while, except of course when guys were wearing the rhinestone-studded name belts (check your closet before you laugh). Today, however, these tight jeans rest below the butt. These “look at me look at me” belts, therefore, do nothing but call attention to, that’s right you guessed it, an underwear -clad butt. Notice I said, “underwear-clad,” - usually something tight, unfortunately - and I bet some of you are wondering how I know this. The shirts are second cousins to the “belly shirts” that the hot girls in school would get called into the office for on those “it’s close to summer vacation so let’s test the rules and the boys with our skin” days. Those were the days…I digress. These tight t-shirts that the guys sporting are being worn just high enough to show what looks like two footballs wrapped in a scarf. I beg you, whoever you are, if you’re going to change or add anything to this style, please do NOT do anything to the underwear; just cover it up. Lord knows I don’t want to get to know any of these men any more than I have already. So that includes wearing thongs, g-strings, fishnets, going commando, wearing lace, boy cut shorts (don’t let the name fool you guys) etc. If you would like to do this on your own time I have no problem with it, but the public forum is not the place to express yourself in such a manner; on this I will not budge. Notice the seriousness in my literary voice.

I’m not questioning the creativity involved in men showing off more of their body parts, away from the beach. I can see where someone might view that as creative; I’m just guessing that someone would have on an oversized and faded powder blue t-shirt with the pen pocket on the left side of what appears to be a converted v-neck t-shirt. Trust me, I can understand that. I don’t mind the loud colors that I’ve seen in urban fashion, either: some people are wearing bright red and thick socks; some people are wearing neon green shirts with loud designs on them or witty phrases like, “I heart pu**y” and on the back it says, “ASPCA - Kitten attendant;” some people are wearing high-top purple sneakers with sun- ray- yellow laces; some people are wearing sky-blue trucker hats with really cool names like “Big Dan”; and of course some people are wearing the “Afghan” pashmina’s with a black and yellow checkered pattern. Wait, all of that was on one guy, not some people. Sorry, I guess the combination confused me and my mind registered many people and not one person; my bad people. Anyway, I get it, we’ve taken the “think outside the box” idea to a whole new level. I don’t even mind that the clothes are tighter. I definitely don’t mind the big, thick-frame glasses and the hats with the flipped- up bills. I don’t mind the big bucket hats, gold chains, jackets with the sleeves pushed up, crazy designs in the hair, and the black shades with the thick frames. Some of you might see where this is going, for the rest of you allow me to start the second bus: there’s a reason I don’t mind any of it…I was born in the era where it was actually C-R-E-A-T-E-D! Walking the streets of New York has turned into one big college campus where the theme for every party is “80’s Fashion”. Where’s the creativity in that? Is that really “your” style?

I could easily introduce an alternative to stealing 80’s fashion, but that would be too much like the right thing to do. Plus, we don’t need a million Lawrence Raysor look-a-like’s walking around here, even if it would make the world a beautiful place. There I go again, I’m drifting. I’m just saying, there has to be a better way to wear clothing. If we’re using the clothing to express ourselves, let’s do just that rather than using how someone else expressed him/herself in the past to do so. I believe in you urban America, bring the creativity back please!



Comment please, but please limit your responses to the contents of this blog. Any personal comments should and can be sent to the author's email. Remember this is a blog and opinions on such are very welcome.