Category: Musings……

Philosophy and such…..

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Decent into the underworld

Fast money, drugs, sex, violence, and crime. Street life in the early 90s.

This week, we take a look at a criminal genius, ne’er do well, druggie, and overall shady Character. Afa! Pronounced Aye-Fuh. A tall, lanky weird looking dude who truly has the gift of gab. He was born to be a con man.

The things youth bond over……

When we’re kids, proximity is everything when it comes to social relations. Case in point, our first friends are either siblings, and or preschool mates. In kindergarten it’s the same. All the way through university. We become friends first with the people we see daily. As we enter our teen years things like music, fashion, and extracurricular activities narrow our tastes. Coming into early adulthood; that time when we’re honing our individual identities, some become denizens of the night.

The world beyond the control of one’s parents, or guardians is rife with excitement. Since the dawn of time, people have done revelry, mischief, and debauchery late at night. For youth fresh out into the world as newly minted adults, many stray from the lessons and values we were raised with. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

As all these new and exciting things are happening, we are forming the last of those “childhood bonds”. Making friends as adults is a different animal altogether.

The Never-ending “J”

I’ve always been a bit of a scientist. Tinkering and reverse engineering my broken toys as a child, I loved the idea of elaborate contraptions in cartoons. Those things like that game mousetrap, you know? At any rate,
this eventually manifested itself as me being the blunt roller, pipe, and bong maker of the gang.
One day I was experimenting with a blunt rolled inside a spliff. The first semester of university is almost over. The Christmas break is fast approaching. I am a few weeks past the day trip day mare (LOLZ), and I am happy to be getting some time off from classes soon.

As per custom, Adam is up for the weekend. Out of all the mooching housemates we had, only Afa is left. He’s a lot of fun to be around, has great stories, and always has a hustle. By now he is quickly becoming one of the gang.
Mike is about to leave when Adam arrives. We all chief up at the kitchen table. The blunt hits good. Burns slow. After 20 minutes, Mike’s like “Man! this thing still isn’t done. I’ma be late for work. see ya!” as he bounds out the door in a rush.

“So what’s in this thing anyway? Adam asks. To which I reply, a bit of that Jamaican brick weed from Jessie, some of those fat dimes we get from E.P., and the last of that blue krypto. (We used to call good weed “kind bud”, or “krippies” after the kryptonite strain that was popular back then).
I rolled it in a Swisher on the inside, wet it all down with honey, then I rolled that in another a rizla spliff.
“Damn Bro! You be gettin’ all scientific wit da weed” Sputters Afa. As he coughs up a lung off dat weed.

After about 35 minutes of smoking the same blunt, Adam blurts “Fuq! I’m high. Let’s run up to the corner store man. Get some soda, bunts, and munchies.
“Cool cool cool” I say. “I’m good. Afa, put that out when you’re done.”
Afa looks at me like “da fuq?”, then says “Put it out? Done? Man, I think I’m gonna keep rockin.”

Adam and I head out, get some petrol for his truck, buy our groceries, and head back. We walk in to see Afa sitting in the exact same spot. Smoking. He gleefully screams “fifty-five minutes and counting. It’s still going. Y’all better hurry up and hit this.
Looking back on it, this was the day the three of us made “that” bond. A bond over the never-ending “J”.

Five finger discount

Christmas came and went. Mike and I went back home for the Christmas break. Afa stayed at our place while we were gone. We came back a week before class resumed.
Afa asked for a ride up to the mall to get some money. He said he needed to return some jeans he got for Christmas, then he would buy a half ounce and a 10 strip of blotter fo da gang!
“Word up then! You actually have money for a change” We often broke his balls for being broke, but always having drugs and nice clothes.

During the early 90’s it was all about designer jeans. Big money! We wore Polo, Guess, Girbaud, Cross Colors, and Levi’s Silver Tabs. Well, we wanted to, but they were mad expensive. Until……

So we get to the mall and all goes as he said it would. He even bought us food. Yet, his money ran out after a day or to so he wanted to go back. He told Mike and I that he actually had a little hustle going. Where he would go into one of the big department stores, try on expensive jeans, and then walk out with a pair on under his. Then you go to a different store and return them for cash.

“Man, you’re freaking crazy! Mike says. I follow with “That would never work”.
It indeed did work. Unfortunately.
Suddenly we’re flush with cash. I was easily burning through two or three hundred dollars a day at one point. Wearing $300 dollar jeans, buying half sheets of blotter, and smoking cheeba by the ounce.

Jessie, and George

We got some pretty decent Jamaican seedless brick weed from Jessie, who’s family was Hispanic. He was about 17, but super mature. His parents let him sell weed out of their living room. George was his bestie. He was our age. A couple few years older than Jessie. He lived there too, I think they were cousins.
Goerge’s name wasn’t really George. we just called him that because he looked like Curious George from the children’s books.

They too would run the jeans hustle, so sometime we would all go together. Mike could do it, and got pretty good at it, but he had a Mother who was not playing that. If he got caught she would do what any good mother should, and spit roast him.

This being the case, he fell back and went out with us less and less. He was working more at Subway now, and didn’t need the money like that. Adam was scared shitless about the whole thing and was nothing but a liability. He would be so scared that we would just leave him in the car. That left me and Afa.
This was the beginning of he and I becoming as close as brothers for a brief moment in time.

all for one, one for all

Hanging with a bunch of street dudes in the 90’s meant fist fights. You HAD to know how to throw hands. PERIOD! The mode was go out to clubs mad deep. This means with a huge group. Be prepared to fight at any minute. Bear in mind that these were meat market commercial clubs. As House Music was a newborn form that had barely made it’s way outside of Chicago, New York, and Detroit.

Bad situations popped off regularly, so there was safety in numbers. If one of your dudes gets jumped, the whole gang is about to issue some whoop ass. This actually kept the violence down to a bit, as not many people go out to a club looking to get into a gang war.
That said, there were a few skirmishes, and plenty near misses.

George goes down

Jessie and George were solid dudes. All the bros in their set would have your back if push came to shove. Back then, loyalty was a thing. A lot of the people Afa introduced me to had very appealing qualities. They just weren’t going anywhere in life. Most had zero ambition, and lived to get high, get money, chase broads, and run game. Jessie and George had a bit more depth than the average bro though. As such, they and I began to hang tough.

This being the case, they would often ride to the different shopping malls with Afa and I to run the return game. After a few months, I was by far the best at it. Up until a few years ago, I was hot or cold. Black or white. No shades of grey. No nuance. Fully turned up, and ready to “take it there”. On this particular day I demonstrated that fact by doing things I would cringe at if my son were ever to do them.

We were in Dillards, a high end department store doin’ that thang. It was a Saturday afternoon, I actually wasn’t planning to boost anything that day, but I saw this crazy Girbaud jacket I had to have, I also saw a pair of Levi’s fat jeans. Big baggy raver pants were just coming out at this time.

I was already wearing these dope Pepe jeans I had boosted a week ago, and they were slim fitted. As such, I got the bright idea (stupid idea) to put the stolen clothes on top of the ones I walked in with. This is the complete opposite of how the game is run. This was a totally brazen act. Arrogant even. This day marked the beginning of the end of my brief career as a retail thief. Yet, It was not in the stars for me to go down this day. Instead it was George’s.

We got in, Did the dirt and got out without a hitch. As per custom, we had to go to another mall to make the exchange of goods for return cash. This partucular day we decided to go to the Regency Square Mall Which was a bit of a hike to get to. At the time, it was also the biggest and busiest mall in the city.

The returns all went well, but George sees this Polo sweater he wants to take, He was spurred on by my newly acquired jacket to do so. Did I mention that I am still wearing the boosted clothing on top of my OG threads the whole time?
So George goes back into the store we just left. The rest of us wanting no parts of it wait at the food court.

George comes back in a flash. Six or seven minutes tops. By now the danger vibes are screaming and we are itching to go, but NO!
Ol’ George decides that he wants to buy a hot dog from the food court. In unison, as if on cue, everyone is saying how this is all bad and we need to flee the premises STAT!
Less than a minute later, plain clothes security taps George on the shoulder and says he’s being detained for retail theft. We look at each other like. “Damn! I knew it” Suddenly everything goes all slow motion, yet it all happened so quickly……

Without missing a beat, George turns and sucker punches the officer in the jaw. Which actually staggered him for a second, Yet it wasn’t the “haymaker” knock out punch he was going for.
George then proceeds to do the funniest/saddest escape attempt in the history of petty thieves. He made about four slow motion steps before three people tackled him to the ground and gave him the business.
This was the last time I ever saw George.

much too much…

As I recount these experiences, a flood of memories rush forth. In order to tell the story properly, I will have to think serially. No need to try to get it all out at once. Therefore, with this particular era, the six month period preceding the first rave, I will have to segment this particular chapter.
Afa hasn’t even been covered. Plus we’ll have to visit the day I went down. As well as me meeting my rave princess, dropping out of uni, and leaving that life forever in order to pursue this new music lifestyle called raving in general, and House culture in specific.

it can never be overstated

House Music really did save my life. This is not a cliche. Over time I will continue to share with you my reasons for making such a claim.
It has been only about a month, but I can sense that many of you are rocking with me. I give you my most humble gratitude.
For almost a decade I have been described as aloof and shadowy. Standoffish, even. Perhaps there is a grain of truth in this.

Well, not anymore. I realized that I “have people”. People who actually check for and support my work, Regardless of how few, each one is extremely valued.
I have taken it upon myself to show gratitude to the people and the culture that has given me so much.
I am your servant, and I cherish you all.

to be continued…

True story.
AA xo

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Fear and Loathing in Jax Beach (Day trip gone bad)

“black empty eyes, teenage runaway jail bait, and the police”

Three Fountains

In the days before I began engaging in club “libational activities”, I was a Jazz Man. Double Bass Viol was my axe. As we say in the biz, “Upright Bass”. Bebop was my scene and it was all about building up my chops. At this time I shared a low rent 2 bedroom apartment with one of my two besties from high school in a Complex called Three Fountains.

Well past it’s glory days in the mid 1950’s the namesake three fountains now languished. Dry and filled with that grey Florida sand/soil, pebbles, an old shoe, and a few crack vials. One could imagine the way they stood quite regal in that old Florida art-deco style. Once upper middle class, the majority of the residents were now lower income families, students, and social outcasts.

picked up hella strays, init

Mike and I were on the lease. We both had full music scholarships, book allowance, and Pell Grants, etc. Mike also had a job at Subway sandwiches. His assistant manager was also named Mike. Somehow other Mike began to sleep over. Then live there. Then came his homie Afa Grant. The best (meaning worst) con-man I have ever met. He had a knack of finding and befriending drug dealers. He would eventually set them up to get robbed. Over time he and I became so close people thought we were brothers.
More on that in the future.

Other Mike had this very creepy ex-girlfriend who had some kind of weird sex thing in the past with Afa. She came to live with us when other Mike went to jail for a statutory rape charge. Apparently he was dating a 16 year old who lived in a trailer park.
Other Mike also had a sister who was around 25 at the time making her the hot older woman of the group. She came with a boyfriend who had just returned from living on a Navy ship. He wore the PopEye suit and all. Then there was the dude we called Mr. Wendal.

Mr. Wendal (after the song by the group Arrested Development) because he was a homeless dude who worked with the Mikes at subway. Bro would steal subway meat and eat it by the pound. His sandwiches were 30 slices of roast beef on both sides with 50 slices of turkey, and 25 slices of cheese in between. No bread. No veggies. Zero fiber. Dude would spend an hour on the toilet and shut it down for another two.

what the friggin hell

Perplexed, I found myself wondering “How did all these extra people end up living for free in our apartment? What is going on here?” After what seemed like forever, but was maybe only 2 months, they leave.

My friend Adam is a senior in high school and comes up to visit every weekend so he can be reckless with us two college freshmen. This year he has been selected to represent our Alma matter at Tri-State Honor Band as I had done the year prior.
I decide to take the trip up to Tallahassee with him to visit my ex girlfriend who attends classes at the university the event will be held.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

I’ve got a couple few trips under my belt at this point. The first was trip dope. It was with my ex girlfriend Amy at Florida State University. She was now a sophomore in the Marching Chiefs Band. She like me, played tuba, Or in her case sousaphone. It was amazing. She was an excellent vibe guru.
The second time was NUTS!!!! It most definitely needs it’s own episode. In fact, we’ll explore it next time.

So so, this particular weekend Afa and Mike will be gone on Saturday and Adam isn’t coming up. I’ve decided to do my first solo trip. A day trip of peaceful reflection, poetry, philosophy, and listening to the wild ways in which music mutates. What could go wrong?
Famous last words.

black empty eye holes

It’s cool, the dudes leave and I drop. Just as the trip begins to kick in, this one super sketchy dude Afa knows comes over looking for him. He’s with this one slutty girl from round the way who’s cool, but mad easy. Their eye holes are empty and black. He asks if he can take her up to my room so they can have sex. “FUCK NO!” I think to myself. They look at me startled as I realize I had actually screamed it aloud. Opps. My bad.

I tell him that I can take him a few places he might be, if he can run me over to see my man raver Russ, aka “Kid Nitrous”. He got that name because he used to suck whip-it gas straight from the huge tank in between filling balloons of laughing gas being sold at parties. Dude would go all blue lip and pass out humping the tank. One time he froze his mouth to it.

More on nitrous Russ later, as he most certainly needs his own chapter. Right now he’s just the roommate of my acid man and sometimes weed bro when my main, Jessie isn’t holding. Wow! I’ll most certainly have to do a few episodes on Jessie and his homie (Curious) George. Hilarious. This series is going to be so much fun!
But I digress….

gun play

We go a few places Afa and I would cruise, looking for him to no avail. Then we ride up into the hood where the Raiders have their trap house. There are 2 major gangs at the time. the Sox, and the Raiders. they wore the corresponding black baseball caps. Goofy and lame when you think about it, but they were lowkey feared in the streets.
At any rate, the dude I’m in the car with begins to chase this Raider kid in a Honda Civic. We pull up beside him and this fool pulls out a nickel plated Smith and Wesson 45 caliber cannon. He then proceeds to cock it and tell me that he and that dude fight on sight.
We chase this dude for miles. He eventually pulled into a neighborhood and started circling the block. I noticed that he would honk his horn every time he passed a certain house.

tables turn (for the worse)

After about three passes the dudes in the house catch on to what’s going on. They then start to pile up in their cars. All strapped up with their guns, they begin to chase us. I, at this point am a bit concerned for our safety. Yet, I don’t want to begin to have a bad trip so I remain calm.
We eventually pull into the police parking lot and act like we’re going in to shake off the heat. It works. “Holy crap! What just happened?” I think to myself. Next, I tell him to drop me off at friggin Russ’s place because Afa will be there later tonite. I can ride home with him. Somehow I’ve lost about three hours.

the cops raid?

As luck would have it, Afa had just called Russ from a payphone saying he was coming over right before I got there. The dude stayed, and they linked up do do whatever deal they had set up. Afterward, Mr. Soulless eyes and his crusty broad were off to get busy once they found a place to do so.

Russ had a cool apartment he shared with Chris and Cuff. It was a wild place. Chris was on house arrest from a prior drug bust. Needless to say, homie was hot. They had a couple very young girls over. Apparently the girls were living there now. We smoked some gravity bong hits and vibed out to the little mermaid. Which I had never seen.

“You ain’t never seen the little mermaid on acid?” asked Russ. “Nah man” I replied. “Well, you need to get on that” Right then, little mermaid it is.

A good two hours pass by and we’re all just talking and chilling. One of the girls is even cooking for us. Then suddenly there is a “Cop Knock” at the door.
We all freeze, startled. Russ asks who it is. “Police. We need to…..” That’s all anyone heard before everyone but Chris made a bee line for the backdoor running for dear life. We pour out into the back courtyard screaming and laughing wildly. Maniacally, even. There was a little old lady outside hanging up her laundry. We almost gave the poor lady a heart attack running up on her like that.

About 5 highly inebriated youth make a frenzied hundred meter dash to the other side of the courtyard. There was an 6 foot tall concrete wall. We run up, start throwing the girls over, then we shimmied up it ourselves and ran around the block. This way we could watch Chris’s place from the cut. By the time we got around front they were leaving.
We met Chris smiling at the door looking carefree. Heads was like “what the fuq?”

I’m done yo

Apparently the girls were indeed underage and the cops had been tipped off that they had been spotted there. Afa was going out to The Edge that night with Russ. Chris was chilling with the young ladies, but I was ready to blow that scene and go home.
“You comin’ out with us tonight, or are you all tripped out?” Afa asked. “I’m done yo. Take me home”

dwelt among the dregs

In the following months, occurrences like this seemed to become common place. I found myself hanging with a very “base” element. True losers who were headed nowhere fast. I would often think to myself,
“I do not belong here around these people. I actually have goals and dreams. If I continue down this path things will not end very well.”

I got deeper and deeper into the street life. Catching cases, dodging police, and becoming a very good criminal. Then one day I got a flyer for a rave. The rest is history.



House Music saved my life.

true story.
AAxx

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Raver meets His DJ Hero

Christopher Milo aka DJ Three (Hallucination Limited)

DJ Three – live at Robot Heart 10 Year Anniversary (Burning Man 2017) – September 2017

“I’m The DJ”

It’s been a few months now and the boys are beginning to take weekend road trips to rave all over the state. At this time in Florida, all the kids would do likewise. You would see the Orlando kids, Miami kids, Ft. Lauderdale, Gainesville, Jacksonville, Talahassee, Boca, Daytona, Coco Beach, etc.
After a while we all began to recognize one another, and we all began to clique. If you can imagine, there was a time when every raver in the state knew, or at least knew of one another. Good times.

During the early 90’s Kimball Collins was the most hyped DJ in Florida. The main sound was Progressive House and Trance. Not really my thing. I was quite new to all of this, but I already knew that I liked a more underground sound. A sound that went on to be called Chicago House, and Detroit Techno. Ahhz (Oz) in Orlando was the club to be at. It is where Kimball was a resident. At the time, the raves filled the void, as Ahhz had closed down for a bit.

search mission(s)

By this point, the ritual is to spend a couple hours trying to find acid. LOL to the naivety of these kids looking for “paper” when over 95% of the heads were eating “rolls” (ex/mdma, etc). For the time being, I am too afraid to try it, so we search for acid. A couple hours go by with no luck, then a dude says that his roommate is coming later. COOL! We roll out to the Chevy for a blunt, and then go back inside to wait.

too embarrassed to dance

Back when I first started going out people did not say I like to dance. They said I like to House. We called it “Housing”, and everyone was trying to get good at it. I felt that I would one day be an exceptional Houser, but at this time I am not. I was like the best of the worst, or the best of the newbie housers.

This being the case, I would wait until all the best dancers would go home at around 7 am before I would even go on the floor. As my pride/ego would not allow me to be seen not being as good as I would someday be. Kinda sad.
Glad I worked through those issues. At any rate, the dude came and we copped the cleanest blotter ever. The paper looked like bathroom paper towels, but the trips were clean with no strychnine feeling.
Then it happened. I heard this amazing music and said to myself “this must be the mighty Kimball Collins because this dude is rocking me.” Yet, when I looked up, I see the lasers spelling out DJ Three. Instantly I knew that this dude was likely the best DJ in the state. Despite Kimball’s hype.

fast forward……

It’s like 6 months later and I am feeling like a veteran now. There is a new crop of kids coming in after us and I am wondering were we this annoying also. LOL Backpacks, lollipops, and funny hats. Massaging each other with vap-o-rub, and wearing surgical masks. What a sight!

So by now I have met one of the loves of my life. Marissa. My little rave queen. Together with my buddy Adam, we make the rounds from city to city. It is almost Christmas time and so The Edge in FT. Lauderdale is throwing their annual party. DJ Three is on the bill.

One day I hope to do what you do

It is now morning and people are chilling outside in the back courtyard. I spot DJ Three chilling, so I decide to go walk up to introduce myself. He was quite approachable. We had a very long conversion in which I learned his real name. Where he was from, and that he worked at a record store.
I told him of how I had recently dropped out of music university in hopes of one day being a DJ/producer. To which he replied that his good friend Dave Christopher (Rabbit in The Moon” was also a classically trained musician.
He also encouraged me to stick with it. We parted ways, but kept in touch.

Later Marissa and I would move to Tampa on the strength of knowing many of the same people Chris Milo knew. Brian Busto, Terryn Westbrook, and DJ Jask. It was also here that I would go on to meet Chris Mitchell.
The scene was vibrant and healthy. If you played, you could gig and get paid. Lots of record stores, and cool parties. More on those in the near future.

advice not heeded

In winter of 2006 right after starting Vanguad Sound! I also started a myspace and found DJ Three on there. I was living in the Chicago suburbs and he had recently moved to NYC from Tampa where he held a residency at Twilo. After telling him that I was going to go all out and try music full time he warned me against it. He mentioned the lack of security, retirement, medical benefits, and the overall stress. I think his words were do not ruin your life trying to be a pro DJ. It’s not worth it. The irony is that there have been many times where I thought that perhaps I should have taken his advice.

yet, we are artists

throughout the history of humanity, many of the most lauded artists struggled to survive in their lifetimes. I am no different. the phrase “feast or famine” comes to mind. When it’s good it’s really good, but when it’s bad, the darkness can overwhelm. I am not so cheeky as to compare myself to people like Nina Simone who had similar struggles. Nor Bernie Worrell, or any of the other talented Black Americans who struggled in life, but were celebrated in death.

If I am actually of this lineage, I am more than honored. I do all I can to put myself in this class of artists, but only time will tell. Hopefully I won’t have to die for people to show love.

We shall see.

true story
AAxx

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Oh Sh!t

“we should most definitely have been arrested that night”

box full of blunts

Three young lads, tripping balls, and riding dirty on a Saturday night in the early 90’s. Amir is driving the “Pluto trip mobile”, Adam is riding shotgun, and Jamie is in the back with a box of 50 Tampa nugget blunts, and an ounce of cheeba. Later that night they will attend their first official rave, but for now they’ve decided to chief up a few blunts and ride out listening to the new Pharcyde tape.

“let’s drop now and let it kick in on the way”

Seemed like an excellent idea at the time, so we did just that. The plan is to do the scenic route on the way to the abandoned mall, chief up, and let the acid do it’s work so we hit the party primed and ready to dance.
All is going well as the tracers and body buzz both creep up on us. (By this time I have logged hundreds of hours acid driving. Not proud of it, it just is what it is). Coming out of downtown Jax we are the only car on the highway.

beginning to peak

“This tape is DOPE!” Everybody is vibing out as the album unfolds. We had all seen the video for “Passing Me By”, so expectations were high. So far, the 4 Kids from LA have not disappointed.
Then I see them. Out of nowhere come 4 squad cars. The boys in blue. Jacksonville’s finest starting to follow me. Just as I tell the boys what’s up the speakers ring out “Oh Shit!”, then the song of the same name begins to play.

we’re surrounded

Suddenly they fan out and surround us on all 4 sides. Front, left, right, and rear. We ride like this for what seemed like an eternity. “Look normal! Act sober! Don’t look at them!” All these things could be heard as we prepare for the worst. The pressure was on me to not get us caught so “I focused power”, trained my gaze on the rear lights of the car in front of me, and hit cruise control to keep my pace steady.

poof!

After what seemed like forever, but was actually likely only 5 minutes we approached an off ramp/exit. In a flash all 4 po po cars peeled off the highway toward the krispy kreme donut shop that had the “hot donuts now” sign blazing.
For a couple minutes we all sat in silence trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then suddenly we all began to yell, and cheer. No jail for us tonight. “How the hell did they not just pull us over?” I asked. “Who cares as long as they didn’t get us” Adam answered. “Word up” Jamie chimed in.

and so…

We made our way to what would become our first rave ever. Acid heads in search of acid house. Doing unspeakable things. Driving recklessly, breaking the law, and participating in deviant activities.
Us kids with our Adidas suits, and super baggy jeans sleeping all day and staying out all night must have seemed quite strange to our families at the time. We should most definitely have been arrested that night, but it wasn’t meant to be.

over 25 years later

I am now the only one who still actively engages “the culture”, as it were. For the other guys it was a passing phase. For me it was like an orphan finding his tribe. The music has given me the opportunity to live my dreams. To discover myself, and to almost destroy my own life.
I am thankful for it all. As I cannot imagine even being alive right now without such a life giving force underpinning my life for the last three decades.

Once upon a time, a kid could have a dream and pursue it to fruition. A nobody kid from nowhere special. These days, not so much. Time and place (context) are crucial. The luck of the draw must be accounted for. I write these episodes to demonstrate my “universal normalcy”. Meaning, my story is not different than most every other kid in the scene. Except that I totally went for it.
This is something that anyone who believes in themselves can do. Surround yourself with people trying to accomplish similar goals. Support one another, and NEVER GIVE UP!

taking my own advice

So now I find myself returning from hiatus to find the entire climate has changed. And thus, I must rebuild everything from square one. Much of the sector that was home to me and other similar House artists has been decimated and doesn’t exist anymore. So many artists don’t even play out these days. Yet, I choose to remain positive and be optimistic.
This is my career, my business. Built up over the course of almost 3 decades.

So despite the leanness of the land, as it were, I must struggle to find a way. For the culture, the artform, my son, my self, and for those coming after me. Each one, teach one. In the scene many will grow old, but few will become elders. It is a responsibility one must accept.
Looking back on my life in this scene, I am inspired to continue to be that “regular guy who broke out” (even though according to the industry press, I never have. LOL) At any rate, I either let the story end, or I blaze ahead and forge the next chapter.

Any artist who completely dedicates themselves to their craft can begin to feel some kinda way when they feel ignored, or slighted. This is natural. Yet, at some point, dealing with the industry creates the opportunity to truly become the positive and laid back person one claims to be. Because it’s either that, or become a stressed out A-hole no one can deal with.
After having tried on both hats, I’ve settled on the former, not the latter.

grizzled and torn war veteran

“The battles are with oneself. Convenience is the lure.”

I’ve never been connected. Just stating fact. Never had anyone to give advice, etc. Just a regular dude in an extraordinary situation trying to find my path, while making hella mistakes on the way.

Looking back, it’s not what you say, but how you say it. During my implosion I never did or said anything hurtful. I was just an unpleasant areshole who was bringing people down. It takes humility to admit this.
My bad.
Ok then, what’s next?

The struggle continues……

True story
AAx

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Entering the fray in earnest…

“Industry rule number four-thousand-and-eighty; Record company people are shady” – Q Tip (Check The Rhyme)

It is what is

“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” – Unknown Wise man

Knowing the rules of engagement will get one quite far in the game of life.
Better late than never, I guess. Being a kid who has always marched to his own drum, I’ve been content with my outsider status.
Yet, I am a part of a broader community.
A culture, even. one with a code of conduct, values, and means of communication.

Good looks and talent have served me well in life. I must thank my parents for the genetic hookup! Yet, at some point, these very attributes have also stifled my development as an artist and a person. Thank GOD for self realization, and the will to be better me than I was yesterday.
That said, I finally get it. After my stint as the underground “Rude boy”, subsequent sentence to the “time out chamber”, and my “eureka moment” in Australia I am ready to “play nice” with others, and “get in where I fit in”.


“You’re dope! Why have I never heard of you?” – anonymous clubber

Yes. I get this from time to time. To which I reply “Thank you very much. I don’t know. Either I don’t know the right people, or I pissed off the wrong ones. LOL!” A bit of both is likely true. So then what?
BE HERE NOW!
Water under the bridge, as spilled milk flow to the path of least resistance. Accept what is. Learn from it. Move on. Do better based on the lessons learned.
Got it!

So what does this mean?

Many things, actually. In this case it means getting my sh!t together as an artistic entity in this music business we all orbit.
Me and my crew at the time were strictly about the art. No real business models. This carried us a quit far. We all found ourselves in the “international circuit” playing the game with the big boys and girls.
People who have their business models “Trump Tight”.
So at some point things began to stall out. This happens to most everyone. Fair enough, and that is where your business acumen comes into play.

None of us ever expected to accomplish half of what we have thus far. There was never a plan. Everything was ad hoc from the soul. Being a poor black kid from the ghetto now thrust into the limelight, living a dream, while suffering from low T, and in an abusive relationship is not conducive to adapting to the shifting sands of the industry. We humans seek comfort. Comfort in the stability of the static.
I will explore my experience being in a relationship with a BPD woman who felt compelled to “destroy me” in future posts, but for now I will just say that as a public figure, having real life problems are not very good for business.

Therefore I internalized a lot of stuff that eventually drove me to commit “internet suicide”. 100% publicly for all to see. That was fun….. NOT!

So what’s the freaking point?

Amends through acknowledgment, I guess.
This will be an ongoing process. As I now understand that congruency is paramount. Everything must add up. In the life of a public figure, one must be willing to disclose all. Because sometimes words and actions can be misconstrued without proper context.
I have grown in such a way that I can open up more about my epic fails, heartbreaks, and missteps. There is strength in allowing oneself to be seen in vulnerable moments. So get ready. You have no clue.

so much more soon to come…..

That said, I find myself super freaking busy. Like I have not been for years. Putting in the work it takes to earn a position in the ranks of working DJ producers. Starving has not been fun LOL
The industry is a lot like Janet Jackson. Who demands “what have you done for me lately?”
This means that unless one is a truly established artist who gets booked off of legacy, you’re a lowly foot soldier who must grind their ass off prove themselves over and over again. It just is what it is. Like it, or leave it.

The result

Much more output/content, etc. And an open window into my inner chamber as it were.
We are in the people business, one must give in order to receive.
AAx

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First Rave Ever

True tale from the streets Episode One.

“Yo man, nice skateboard. I need you to come swing it like a bat into my car window… Locked my keys inside”

I got a flyer
For weeks my friends and I had been going to The Edge in Jax Beach, Florida. They played “baby rave” music from 1:00 – 5:00 am on Friday and Saturday. Bruce Wilcox was the DJ. He played the usual commercial “meat market” club music of the early 90’s in Florida. Hip Hop, Alternative Rock, Indie, Punk, Shoe Gaze, and finally the “rave music” we would all come to hear.
I loved the nonstop music, the lights, the super baggy pants, the cool girls, and the way they moved. This was my new home. Then it happened. Somehow there was a flyer with a number to call later that night. I would attend my first real rave. LIT!

Pluto
I am 20 years old in 1992. A Jazz/Music Education major at my first year of university. I drive a 1985 Chevy Cavalier with black sharpie graffiti all over it. New to the wonders of Lysergic acid diethylamide, the idea to do so came about during a marathon trip. Seemed like exactly the thing to do at the time.
My naive, newly minted raver mind could not conceive that my car looked like a “druggy mobile” to the po pos. (boys will be boys. LOL).
At the time my nickname was Pluto. Due to being so “out there” with my dreams and imagination. (For example, being a famous DJ Producer someday, etc). The sides of the doors had the word “PLUTO” in huge bubble graffiti letters. Along with various scribbling and tags from friends and such.
We had gone out to the car to spark a blunt and vibe out to the Pharcyde tape Jamie had just bought. All was lovely. Mad kids were in the parking lot doing likewise. It felt so exiting to be out super-late at night in this makeshift nightclub in an abandoned mall. Dancing to this new music nobody knows of. What was cooler is that there were kids just like me. Different than most, but the same as each other.
We get to meeting and greeting as the acid kicks in fully. It’s like an open air chillout room. Next to my car is Big Red and his crew. Some good ol’ southern boys out for a rave. Red, Mike, Daryl, and Tony.
Good people.

Oh Shit!
“Time to go back into the club man. I’m high ass hell!”
“Yeah, me to yo. Let me just go put my backpack into the whip….” I say this just as I reach to open the door of my little Chevy. Looking down I can clearly see the keys in the steering column.
“Oh Shit” (This is the second “Oh Shit” moment of the night. The previous one will be chronicled in the next episode).
I tell the homies that we’re locked out and that must sacrifice the tiny back window in order to sort the issue.
Bet. It is what it is we all agree and look for someone with a jackhammer.
On the way I see Big Red again. This time he’s riding a Natas Kapas skateboard and attempting to ollie while shitfaced. Seems like a good idea, right?

Yeah, Break it!
“Yo man, nice skateboard. I need you to come swing it like a bat into my car window… Locked my keys inside”
“You serious bro?” inquired Red, sheepishly. “Yeah, break it. I’ll go to the junkyard on Monday and get a new one to put in myself. It will be much cheaper than a locksmith at 4 am on a Saturday night.”
“Ok then. You’re not gonna be mad, right?” quipped Red. “You good bro” I replied.

And so the deed was done
Red broke the shit out of my window. We went back in and danced way past daybreak. Who does this? The lawless wild wild west devil may care attitudes. The music. The fashion. The expression, and the individuality was addictive.
On the way out the party the promoter thanked me for coming and handed me a flyer for the next event. WOW!
Being the type of kid who always walked to the beat of his own drum, I was well accustomed to being on the outside looking in. Yet, he had just welcomed me into the fold. I was one of them. A raver.
20 years old and not a care in the world. It’s the summer and school is out. All I need is money for food, blunts, rent, gas, a few hits, and the next rave.
I felt like I had just begun an epic journey of unimaginable proportions.
Over 25 years later, this appears to be the case.
True story.

Until next episode………
AAx


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Ricky Spitzz! The One Man Gang.

In the Beginning
As a child, Hip Hop was my first love. My first musical love, that is. I was fortunate to be born in a family steeped in the love of Black/African American music. Both Gospel and Secular. My Mother was a Gospel Choir soloist in her youth, and my Father was an avid music collector.
In my parents house I heard R&B, Soul, and Disco daily, but in the early 1980’s I heard rap for the first time.
Like many kids not living in New York City, the first rap I heard was on the radio. Songs like The Double Dutch Bus, and Rappers Delight. This was new music. A new genre entirely, and I loved it. These were but mere shadows of the real rap and hip hop going on in NYC of course, but my interest was piqued. However, it was the mighty Planet Rock that changed my life, and birthed the musician I am now.
I remember it like it was yesterday. The extended version of Planet rock came on the radio in the car. When we got home I asked my Dad to leave the keys in so I could hear it all. I was transformed. It was that day I truly realized how music could stir one’s very soul. 
By this time I was already a little B-Boy and graffiti writer in my small town. I was listening to Jam On it, U.T.F.O, Roxanne Shante, Whodini, The Skinny Boys, and the like, but it was that particular Saturday that I was transformed. Thinking back on it, in the years prior, my ears just weren’t mature enough to really go deep the way I did that day. I came pretty close though, listening to the Skinny Boys tape. My soul really felt those Bros, and could instantly tell that they were the real thing, as opposed to the Fat Boys. I spent hour upon hour listening to that Skinny Boys tape.
Shortly thereafter, we moved to the extreme west side of town with my Dad, as my parents had officially split up by that time. There a dude named David Spells let me dub his Doug E. Fresh tape that had the legendary The Show, and Ladi Dadi by Slick Rick The Ruler.
For those who were fortunate enough to have grown up in Hip Hop’s Golden era, nothing else can, or ever will compare.
I myself embodied all 5 elements of the culture (DJ, Rap, B-Boy (Dancer), Graffiti, and Beat Boxing). Mediocre at first, but as the years progressed I have achieved expert status in most, if not all of them.
I have been fortunate to travel the world performing as a DJ, and have been called a “living legend” by many of my peers and fans of my work. To which I humbly reply, that I am one in training, but I need a few more years to solidify my status among the greats with my contributions to the culture(s), as it were. That brings me to the reason for today’s post.
Rap, my first love. Before I could even pop-lock, or B-Boy, I felt that I had the soul of a rapper, but at the time I was much too shy to even attempt it. In our little crew Junior (Daniel Gibbs) was the natural rapper/MC. Kid had a gift. It was me, him, Charles Pittman (my bestie), Adolph Brown, and later Pompie Drake.
We were all young thugs and petty criminals with long rap sheets even by the ages of 12 and 13 years.
*(Another notable influence with respect to rap was Jamie McLeod. A kid I met in my teens who was known as a dope MC/Freestyler around town. It was my freestyle sessions with him and my crew at the time where I discovered I actually could rap).

Trouble with the law
I was on my way to a very long bid in juvenile prison (Raiford, I believe), when I was just beginning to learn music in 6th grade band. I had been told many times that if I kept it up (my devious unlawful ways, accompanied by my “smart mouth”), that I would not live past the age of 12. They were correct.
Luckily my Grand Parents made me go to church every Sunday and I had a huge sense of right and wrong. All the rest of my homies indeed became cliches. Either dead, or in prison at a very young age. All but me, God, and my music kept me alive.
I had already alienated most of my family who had given up on me as a habitual offender, good for nothing bad seed, yet my Music teacher, Mr. David Vezzetti saw something in me. The potential to become the artist I am today. God bless him.

I found my love of music (which saved my life)
He, along with my high school band director, Mr. James Pignato trained me and set me on the right path. I graduated as the most decorated musician in the history of the town I grew up in. An achievement that will never be eclipsed, as the Arts Education system that birthed me has been decimated. In 6 short years I had completely turned my life around, but I digress…..
Today’s blog is about Rap Music. Specifically my first officially released rap project. I say rap, because Hip Hop as it was is no more. It is a relic. Married to a specific time in history. A time I hold near and dear to my heart. Like every other kid (now in middle age), that was blessed to experience it.

Today
I now do Trap and Drill rap. For adults, and kids who want a message, versus media brainwash, i.e. drugs, sex, and violence. It has taken over three decades for me to refine my craft to a level that I was ready to present it to the world. As I take the “art of rap” quite seriously. I understand it’s transformative power. Be it for good, or for evil.
My first project to be officially released is actually my 4th (hip hop/rap) album. The third I’ve written this year. The first “Chicago Gun Times” is my take of Chicago Drill. From the perspective of an old-school head. Within it, there is “The Trilogy” that chronicles a child becoming radicalized by watching his best friend killed right in front of him on the way to school. Who grows up to be a leader in his gang who eventually gets killed himself. The last part explains the whole “revenge killing” nature of Drill, and what is at the root of all the violence in Chi-City. I close the album with an epilogue. Giving my advice to these talented kids who drop like flies everyday.
Upon it’s completion, I felt that I could in no way contribute to “death culture”, so this album sits in “the vaults”.
The second album was me breaking rule #1 as a male songwriter. Which is “never write a song for a bitch” LOL. I composed 10 songs and dope ass beats for one of the 2 loves of my life. A 42 year old woman whom I have known and loved since she was 14. We in many ways are 2 peas in a pod. However, with almost 30 years of life under the bridge as it were, we live 2 completely different lifestyles. I am a Christian meat eater, she is a pagan vegan. Nuff said.
Yet, our love for one another is as strong as ever. The album is called 17-21.
More on that later.

The new album
This brings us to “Separate Myself”. An ode to the current sound of Chicago. The album is a modern rap Mix-tape of “remixes”. Where a rapper recreates hot songs of the day with their own words and style.
In doing so, the youth of today know undeniably that I am hip to them and the sound of today. Both in the choice of tracks, as well as how lovely I spit over them. I felt that this was my best introduction into today’s rap climate. Again rap, not hip hop. Because Trap and Drill are just that. 2 different sub genres, but not hip hop. Which birthed them all. I am Richard Amir Alexander Junior. My father is Richard Senior. 2 different people. He birthed me. I am his son. Trap and Drill are the sons of hip hop.
So if you’re still with me after all of this, I present to you the first video from the album. Track #9 “One Man Gang”. It’s way slept on at the moment, but crucial in understanding who and what I am as a rapper (my rap persona, as it were).
The intro “Separate Myself” has the most listens, as it is track one as well as the title of the project.
Yet, I felt the need to “push” One Man Gang” as the lead single for the above stated reasons.
I have no favorite track on this album. I think that they are all dope equally. As such, I hope that those of you who rock with me will dig into them all.
The surface “onlookers” will listen to the first (title track) and move on, as I am but a mere curiosity to them. Same as it ever was.

My place in history
However, for those interested in really knowing an artist who has worked over 30 years to become one of the “true greats” of his generation in the entire history of music, here you go.
My “magnum opus”.
Out of all my Chicago House Music contemporaries I am the only one (with the exception of *DJ Taye, perhaps), who makes the “Modern sound of Chicago”. Taye isn’t necessarily a House Head, so I put an asterisk beside his name. He’s also of this current generation and not a student of Chi music going into it’s third decade as far as I can tell.
Since age 13, I have been working to carry on the lineage of great artists, such as Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, John Philip Sousa, Hector Berlioz, Igor Stravinski, Erik Satie, Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. If an artist does not set out with this in mind, it will never happen.
I am like a Monet painting. One must stand back and look at the whole to get the clear picture.
Focusing on a single aspect gives one a blurred impression, at best.
So without further ado.
One Man Gang
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmzbOGIUrgg&t=0s

Listen to and download the full album here

 

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Vlog Ep #10 Good-bye Kiss! (Moving On) – Three Taps and Fakies

All good things come to an end. Been laying low in the cut. Fatherhood. Life. Self discovery. Closing doors to open new ones. Moving. Loving myself. Staying true to myself and my art. Living and letting die.
The best summer of my life has come to an end. So much happened in such a short span of time. Lots of struggles, and a few transcendent triumphs led me to where I now am.
Walking away from that which should be discarded. Walking toward that which must be embraced.
Much respect to those of you who support, and check for me. I just made 50,000 page views. Much love to the ones that hate as well.
Life goes on.
So much could be said, but I have learned that no one on the world wide wiretap really cares.
Therefore, I chose to live my words and speak through my actions.

Realest of the REAL from cradle t the grave. Funny-style is as funny-style does.
“I can’t go for that” – D. Hall & J. Oats
https://youtu.be/QfSg9RU8vEI

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BMX Vlog Ep #6 Pinch flats 180’s Exploded bars, and Social Media Experiments!

What a week! So much happened and I didn’t even have to catch a plane. Facebook showed me just how much damage it has done to people’s sense(s) of empathy. It was the catalyst I needed to fully move onto the gram. I am a very friendly and caring person. I try to be the friend I wish to have, but rarely does this go both ways.
So my handlebars broke because I am advancing and progressing so quickly. I bunny hop way too high, and much too often for those Hi-Ten (high tensile) Steel bars to withstand it. I need full chromoly parts from here on out.
So, upon the suggestion of of a friend on facebook (an actual friend), I posted my paypal email to see if there was any love out there. I was hoping for a dollar/euro/quid each from maybe 10 or 20 people. Perhaps 5 bucks tops, but I was good with 10 or 20 cents, a like/comment, and or well wish of acknowledgement.
One person out of over 260 donated $25. My mom. LOL And one person commented that they’re broke, but they feel me. That meant alot. Just acknowledging the struggle would have been good enough, but I got tumbleweeds.
I am not sure why others are on fake-book, but I have my ideas. I was never on there for any of those, and the reason I was on there was voided a couple few years ago.
After the obvious point of negative returns, it is time to make a change. Being that there is no real friendship among fake-book friends, I have shut my Amir Alexander fakebook profile down. I will not delete it, as I have an artist page to maintain. I did however, “seal it up” from outside contact.
If people wish to get up with me, they can do it on the gram.     @dj.amir.alexander
Being a “public figure” destroys one’s ability to have valid relationships with most people you meet through the industry. In the long run, it usually turns out that these people who are your best friends one season can hardly remember your name the next.

Alas, I am not bitter. I accept this as part of “the game”.  As such, I took the necessary steps to prevent feeling bitter or disappointed.
I’ve divested and abandoned ship. Let it sink into the abyss of psychological experimentation it is. People are destroying everything that makes them people. Willingly.
Well……. I ain’t havin’ it. Go along to get along?????? NO!
https://youtu.be/OuLIZuULsgU

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Vlog Ep # 5 “Pull Up!”

It’s the season where DJ’s are either booked up for festivals, or they are tightening their belts for the lean months. I fall into the latter, not the former. That being the case, this episode is 100% local. No planes, trains, or automobiles in this one. Just two wheels, me, and the pavement of the city I reside in.
Like any driven noob BMXer, I am quite keen to progress and open up more line/trick possibilities when I am riding. That said, a high bunny hop is the key that unlocks everything else. As I start to really dial my hops in, I am beginning to do them 180. Both on transitions as well as flat.
Riding is cathartic to say the least. It most certainly fills the void left by what used to be the underground music scene. Which has been totally corporatized and functions exactly like the major labels at this point.
Being a true artistic individual, the “go along to get along” ethos has never really jibed with me. It is what it is.
True street cred cannot be purchased, but at the same time, it cannot purchase anything either.

It is what it is. Therefore, I continue to ride……
and hopefully progress.
//AA x
https://youtu.be/t6-BZB72gII