Oh man, I do not remember the time perfectly because I am a man not a digital calendar, but there was a point where in the hazy violent humidity of early to mid 1990s Richmond, Virginia, this was The Fucking Song you would hear coming through tinted windowed Jeeps like mobile sub-woofers bomping down Broad Street. Those were the days, a stupid fucking small town hick transplanted to VCU before they regentrified that whole area within six blocks of campus, where I'd walk or ride my shitty 10-speed down Broad Street to the Willie's with the Chinese shoe store next door at whatever corner that is, I think maybe 5th Street, but not sure because to this day I still only see it as "where Willie's was". I went through that area a month ago, taking my daughter to the CAA basketball tourney at the Richmond Coliseum, and that corner where the Chinese shoe store (sold regular ghetto fabulous shoes, run by a Chinaman; not selling Chinese shoes, without toespace for women) has a Subway now. That was weird. We rode up Broad Street, heading west, and I told her about how it was, got mad because it looked like Aladdin's was closed, plus they don't take debit cards anyways, and explained what a kefta kabob sandwich was. We rode up Laurel, past the VCU campus, and she was like, "Hahaha, they're all college students, looking very college studentey" and we went all the way into Oregon Hill, over to the house she was born in back in 1999. I was hoping Mamma Zu's was open, but it was Sunday so I knew it wasn't. Plus they got mad rich white bitches hoping to eat there, and I was just gonna try to bum my way into a free hook-up from the owner, who may not even be there anymore for all I know.
I do not know what happened to Supercat. I think I read in my brain's internet one time that he shot somebody in New York City back when raggamuffin artists (as they were called back then, but sounds like something they'd print on pins for people who work at a national chain bagel store) actually had business in NYC, but why did he disappear? He was the fucking supreme shit. It was the remix for his "Dolly My Baby" that introduced Biggie to the world (as well as that other dude with the weird hanging drawl that was like a dude from Harlem pretending to be from Georgia like a urban black dude 1994 Hee Haw skit). Now, Jamaican dudes making music are stuck in Jamaica and never get featured on American rap songs. But at the same time, which situation is going to end better... having some second-rate strippers in love with American money dancing in a youtube video for exposure, or having some fat-assed women shake their ass in front of a tin building? I do not endorse poverty, but I've been a broke ass bitch a number of times in my life, and the best thing about poverty is it frees up a lot of time for fucking. That's basically what dancehall means to me.
STEAL "Ghetto Red Hot"
TOMORROW: Punk rock for the unpunk!
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