Steady As She Goes

Of all the R&b songbirds to come out of the U.K. in the last years, Corinne Bailey Rae seemed the be one most likely to enjoy a long career. While Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen fought battles against themselves, Bailey-Rae kept putting out good music. She released an expanded edition of her self-titled debut with a handful of new songs, an Itunes exclusive live session EP and her voice graced songs by Amp Fiddler, Al Green, Herbie Hancock and Marcus Miller. She's also got some great covers of Justin Timberlake's "Sexy Back" (which she almost dignifies) and The Raconteurs "Steady, As She Goes," flowing through the internet tubes. You can also find her on tribute albums to Fats Domino, John Lennon and a planet earth.

Bailey Rae always seems to hit the mark just right. Even though the songs on her debut are all about being in love, the emotion she brings make each one seem like a singular expression. If there's a feeling I got about her after hearing the album, it was that this was a woman who loved her man.

Corinne Bailey Rae's husband was found dead in his apartment on Saturday. Jason Rae, 31, was a saxophonist who backed his wife, Amy Winehouse and Mark Ronson. Police are investigating his death and have charged a man with distributing controlled substances.

It doesn't take a therapist to figure out that Corinne Bailey Rae is probably devastated. If she grieves as hard as she loves, I hope she's being looked after by those close to her in this time. It's a tragic situation that will take time to overcome and process. For those of you who do that sort of thing, keep Corinne in your prayers. She may need our voices now.

More from the Left Coast

More from my brief visit to the West Coast back in '99. Warren G was also on the bill with Ghostface Killah at this party during the Billboard Music Video Conference in Santa Monica. Kelis, Blaque and Pink also performed. Kelis had just come out with her screaming song and Pink was just a white girl singing typical R&b and hadn't yet thought about flipping the "i" in her name upside down.

With the exception of Ghostface's performance, it was a typical industry concert, where the performers are largely ignored by record company people and their associates, who are too busy chatting to pay attention. The discussions continued throughout Warren G's performance and he let it be know that it wasn't unnoticed. The talking died down for a minute, but they eventual went back to doing what they do. Makes you wonder why they got into the business in the first place.

More Ghost for Your Face

Ghosts need to drink, too.

Another Shameless Promotion?

Back in 1999, I was introduced to a young lady at a music conference worked in video promotion. That was odd enough. After nearly 10 years in the game at that point, I thought I knew everybody. Yet, here was this person who I had never heard of who worked for a company who'd name I didn't know. I asked a couple of questions about her work and she wasn't forthcoming. The more I pried, the less she said and soon the person who introduced us was giving me that look.

Later, I found out what she and her company were up to. She was in video promotion, all right. The outfit she worked for, named after a popular condiment, performed a special service for record companies. They would make repeated calls to MTV's request line in support of the project of whichever label was paying them. They were able to move songs up the charts and appear more popular than they really were by plugging up the phone lines with dubious "requests." I was floored.

I was also very naive. When mentioned this practice to a friend at one of the West Coast's top rap labels. She mentioned she was doing something similar in her office. They were using a mentally retarded person who worked in the office to call video channels when he wasn't dumping wastebaskets.

When I read this morning that Youtube's most watched video ever( 89,750,739 views), a blogger-made clip for Cansei de Ser Sexy's "Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex," might have had its ranking inflated by "bots," it reminded me of what I learned about the inside of the promotions game. I can't say a record label or a saucy marketing company is behind this effort, but I'm sure they're taking notes.

Ghost in Santa Monica

There's one thing I 'll admit to missing about my days in the music business. The traveling. Free airfare, free hotel rooms and the occasional per diem, there's nothing like it. I managed to scrape together one out of those three of favorite things and that was enough to get me to the 1999 Billboard Music Video Awards in Santa Monica, CA.

At one of the parties associated the show, the bill was this: Blaque, Pink (this was before she started her punctuation fixation), Kelis, Warren G and Ghostface Killah. Since this was a video convention, the front of the stage looked like a paparazzi central.

Ghostface's partner in rhyme, Cappadonna would find himself out of the rap game and on the streets of Baltimore a couple years after this performance. He reportedly worked as cab driver for about a year before returning to the clan.

Skillz Wants Change, Too.

"Crazy World" is the latest single and video from Skillz taken from the perpetually forthcoming Koch Records debut "The Million Dollar Backpack." For some reason, Koch is treating the project like a heated seat cushion at Lambeau Field during the playoffs.

The veteran rapper is at his DIY-video best here, with an helpful assist from his fellow Virginians at Illusive Media. While not as BET-ready as his clip for the 2008 Wrap Up, its creativity and energy compensate fully, even without Skillz constant presence onscreen. The existence of this video magnifies his persistence and ingenuity, which is why he's still in the game.

A good buzz like this video creates only lasts so long. There needs to be a properly distributed Skillz CD in stores yesterday.

I've Seen the Future

Although he lived more than an hour away in Virginia Beach, everyone in Richmond was excited when Teddy Riley decided to move to the Old Dominion. At the time, he was a seasoned hit maker, who continued to be successful even after the demise of Guy, a group that changed the landscape of R&B in the nineties. He went on to make hits with two different versions of Blackstreet and nearly every important urban artist of that era. Even Michael Jackson came to Riley's studio, "The Future," tucked behind what was a office building and completely invisible from the road.

The latter details led me and a lighting tech to drive past the studio at least once back in 1994. We had been asked to film BLACKstreet singing Happy Birthday to the then-editor of a new magazine called Teen People. Finally, we found the path behind the building that led to the studio. It was remarkable how well-hidden and accessible this place was. We walked into the studio two steps and that was as far as we got. A security guard woofed loudly, "Take off your shoes." We put our shoes in a pile of footwear on the plush beige carpet and stood there a few minutes before the diminutive Riley appeared. He said we would be doing the shoot on the tour bus, so we could wait outside. That was my five minutes in The Future.

Riley came onto the bus with a business associate that he was giving a tour. The man was well-dressed, didn't seem to know much about the music business, but acted like he had some money. He nodded knowing when the producer discussed his political dilemma of as traditionally voting for democrats, like good black folk, when it was really republicans who looked out for wealthy people like them.

The bus had a recording studio in the back, which was revolutionary back then. Riley explained that he used naval engineers to build the sound proofing so the rattle and hum of the steel horse didn't disturb his grooves. We were impressed.

We weren't on the bus long when the other members of BLACKstreet began to arrive. They assembled at the back of the bus and ran through the birthday song twice while we filmed. After the first take, Riley finished the song with some ad-libs about the editor of Teen People, who none of us knew. He then made sure I rewound the tape (he insisted on looking into the eye piece) and went over it with the next shot. After we broke everything down, I stepped back into The Future to hand off the tape to his assistant, but I kept my shoes on.

Future now
Yesterday, I noticed this article about Riley's former studio. I knew that his fortunes had taken a downturn lately, so I wasn't surprised to see the old place for sale. I'm sure its sure full of state of the art technology like CRT monitors, DAT machines, ultra-clean carpet and probably a couple of cassette decks. For Teddy Riley, the present caught up with The Future.

photo Vicki Cronis-Nohe | The Virginian-Pilot

Will Says Yes

Say what you will about Will.I.Am. I know I do. He dresses funny. He turned his cutting edge hip hop group into a radio-friendly pop construct, led by a pretty white girl. He recent solo album tanked and he gave Nas a reheated beat for his title track, "Hip Hop is Dead," confirming the premise of that concept album.

But deep down, Will is a down-ass brotha. Even when he makes predictable pop records, he sometimes laces them politically astute messages, something your average rock star is afraid to do. The music of the Black Eyed Peas these days isn't hip hop, but their stage performance, with their well-rehearsed choreography and energetic vocals may be the closest thing to it.

So, I wasn't surprised to see that Will chopped up Obama's New Hampshire speech, added a guitar, a piano and a few of friends to make a inspiring political statement. Unlike Diddy's ill-conceived "Vote or Die campaign," Will's work realizes political action is more than a fad or gimmick. It may start in the voting booth for some of us, but it shouldn't end there.

On this morning after the defeat of football juggernaut by team of misfits led by a young man many said wasn't ready for the job, Will's message is powerful strong.
I'm almost ready to believe that BEP can make another decent album, which they haven't done in years. Yes I am.

Wayne of Error

Lil Wayne visited our city this weekend, arriving for his concert at the time it was scheduled to end. Newspaper reports say he was booed after performing two songs and leaving the stage. Upon his return ... well, take a look at the above video.

I know I'm an aging rap nerd and ultimately not the target audience for this type of act. But damn.

The Industry Made 'em Do It.

After a couple of ill-received efforts that had some fans asking, "Are We Done Yet?,"Ice Cube has apparently resumed his rap career. He's back with a street song about culture commentators who hold gangsta rap music responsible for airthang that's wrong in America. He used some of that movie star money lens a provocative video, making use of graphic news clips coupled with stripped down performance scenes.

Maybe that's the new formula for aging rappers. Download some stock footage, rap in front of an empty background and drop it on the youtubes. Seems to be working for the guy in the post below. Don't let me see Father MC next week, rhyming in front of posterboard with clips from the evening news thrown in. It's too early in the year for that type of sh•t.

But wait. O'shea isn't just ripping critics. He ends "Gangstar Rap Made Me Do It," with a diss to rappers who appear to talk shows to discuss gangsta rap, but aren't gangsta rappers themselves. When he delivers this coda, clips of Oprah Winfrey appear on the screen. Now, who did Oprah have on her show about gangsta rap ... oh, yeah. Common. O'Shea, maybe you forgot, but you don't want it with this guy - again. If Lonnie Lynn gets wind of this, it won't be all peace, love and Gap. Hope you still have the minster on speed dial.

Like he always does at this time.

Lest old acquaintances be forgot ... Here's the Chris Robinison-directed video for Skillz's annual recap of 2007. 

It's been a long time.

Next year, I'm taking this blog to the next level. I'm hopeful that the results of my work will be greater than those of the 148 rappers who used that phrase on my show.

Here' s a clip from from Digital Underground offshoot, Raw Fusion in the meantime. See you in 2008.

Fed-ex Crack

Temptation never fades for those of us in recovery. The lure of the so-called good times never stops it tug on our consciousness, even when we know better. Just one more time, we think to ourselves, it'll be different - we can handle it. It's been said that the only way to get control of an addiction is to admit that you're powerless to stop it.

My moment of weakness came in the mail last week. I still maintain the business address for Wavelength, and occasionally music videos trickle in from companies who don't update their mailing lists. Usually, it's nothing I'm interested in and they sit unwatched for weeks until I can get to the thrift store. Last week, however, they were three videos, all of them for music that I don't hate. I looked at the DVDs resting in their slim cases and shining under the lights of the Mailbox and Packaging Center. Three videos, I thought to myself. With just two more, I could have a show. I could use some old videos, create some kind of excuse, I mean theme, to air them with the fresh clips. I kept programming the show in my mind while I walked to the parking lot and the plotting continued well into my ride home.

I had a moment of clarity at a stoplight on Mechanicsville Turnpike. Suddenly, I was ashamed for spending the last half-hour of my life pondering a return to television. There are so many other things in my life to consider and prepare for and there I was daydreaming about taking one giant leap backwards. I couldn't continue to entertain the possibility of such a mistep /. It was time to move on. The light was green.

It Came from 1992 Pt. 2 or Illegal Search

So there we were, four young black males, shivering beside the interstate in northern Virginia as the po-lice illegally searched our car. The high of hanging with the hip-hop elite at the rap conference had fallen off fast as we watched two troopers turn a Thunderbird inside out. When one of them held up a pistol he found beneath the driver's seat, I thought our long night was just beginning.
"It's a b.b. gun," the driver said.
The officer considered the weapon with his flashlight and offered, "If someone pointed this at me, I'd shoot 'im."
After a moment of silence, the search ended and they let us off with a couple of smart remarks. As we carefully rode along at 55 mph, the mood in the car shifted. The warm vibes were replaced by cold reality as race and civil rights drove our in-car discussion. We debated whether the search should have been "allowed" and the reasoning for carrying an air pistol in your vehicle. Moments before the stop, we were thinking about our future in the music and television business, now we were content with getting home.
My association with this show ended a few week after this shoot. They continued to produce "Soundwave," their program, as I jump-started Wavelength. We wouldn't be friends again, but we'll always have the connection of shared experience.

It came from 1992 - Hip-Hop at Howard University Pt. 1

While I waited for Wavelength (the video show that landed me here in VJ rehab) to gather momentum, I continued to assist with the production of another video show. I had worked with these guys for about a year and we had been through all of the ups and downs typically associated with a neighborhood garage band: egos, arguments, disappointments and rare moments of cohesion. It was one drama after another, but like a soap opera, it was hard to turn away and it seemed the story would go on forever.

Eventually things came to head and we went our separate ways. I would love to paint myself as the O'Shea Jackson of this situation, but perhaps that's not as accurate as I would like it to be. For the short time our shows were on the air together, there was some on-air static and a competitive vibe that drove both of our productions. Nobody got hurt and we're all cool now, as far as I know.

In February of 1992, before the separation, we took our one and only road trip. We attended the Hip Hop Conference at Howard University, sponsored by a group called The Cultural Initiative. It was a very progressive thought at the time, that hip-hop could be discussed and debated at a university. We packed the co-host's Thunderbird with A.J.'s gear and hit the road.

Shortly after we arrived, we realized how well-attended and serious this conference was. Rappers were walking the campus, in the hallways and hanging out in the parking lot. Some of them actually showed up for the panel discussions on sampling, commercial rap music and the role of hip-hop publications. I saw Tim Dog, Sen Dog, B Real, Marly Marl, Jam Master Jay, Posdnous, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, Organised Konfusion and Sister Souljah. It was a great day for hip hop and for getting drops for low-budget video shows. The way back home wouldn't be as fresh.

We, four black men in a speeding Thunderbird with tinted windows, were stopped by police on I-95. I think they may have been state troopers, but I don't recall what state they were from, it was dark. They got us out of the car and asked us if we had any "drugs, paraphernalia or loose women." We amused them with our claim that we were in the television business. I would recall this unfortunate moment years later, as I watched Robert Townsend's mythical quintet forced to perform a roadside concert by racist cops at the Southgate Cinemas.

We stood on the side of interstate in the cold darkness as they began to search our vehicle without permission. I knew I was clean, but I didn't know what someone else might be holding. Things grew tense as one of the show's hosts grew impatient with the police action. They continued despite his protest, while we all shot him the shut-the-fuk-up look. Then, one of the troopers emerged from the driver's side holding a gun by the trigger guard with a pen. I think he said something dramatic and original, like "What do we have here?"

Part 2 ... posted upon sufficient request.

I Just Can't Live With My Radio

There's one move I'm glad I never made in my days in the music industry. Radio. It was tempting, though. I knew the music, the artists and owned a pocket full of fame. There was certainly more money, prestige and perks to be had. But I knew I could never conform to the rigid parameters imposed on the modern day disc jockey. Say your name. Give the time. Call Letters. On to the next song. Not me. I need to tell you what I think before I play what I want you to hear.

In radio, the personality of a DJ is kept in check, while some of the P.D.s and G.M.s, enjoy exerting their strong personality traits on record promoters, local artists and their staff. It's funny to watch a radio exec get drunk on the power that a corporation has allowed them to hold momentarily and funnier still to see the look on their faces when they realize it doesn't last forever.

Another thing about radio. The music sucks, and they know it, too. The men and women picking and playing records at radio today are of the generation that witnessed the golden era of hip hop. They know a good record when they hear it, but they seldom have the nerve to play it. Radio's become a corrupt, moribund medium that's lost any kind of real connection to the needs of the community it claims to serve.

I was reminded of the best non-move I ever made when I picked up a copy of what my grandfather used to call The Black Dispatch tonight. The first FM station to play hip hop in Richmond, Va. , Power 921, gutted its staff, firing longtime personalities Stress, Rosetta Devine and the Bad Boyz. I listen to the radio just enough in the last few years to know who the latter couple is. I'm sure their games and gimmicks will transfer easily to another market and they'll be missed here, for however long a dedicated radio listener with a short attention span does that kind of thing.

Stress and Rosetta Devine however, have strong ties to the community and have been a part of Power 92 for a long time. The sound of their voices meant you were in capable, experienced hands. I didn't listen Power that often and I'm still shaking off the shock.

I guess after a three quarters of getting trounced by the competition, something had to give. Ties were severed, changes were made and the beat goes on. It's not personal, its radio.

After having my TV own show, I couldn't imagine someone stopping me from doing something I love, abruptly and without warning. I stopped Wavelength when I wanted to and on my own terms. DJs never get to say good-bye.

Shootwhutyulike

In 1997, Digital Underground were well into the downswing of their career. After four records on Tommy Boy with diminishing results, they came to Alley Katz in Richmond promoting a independent release called "Who Got The Gravy." The club was nearly as empty as a bag of chips at Aretha Franklin's crib.

It wasn't normally a hip hop spot, and the event could've been promoted better, so the small turnout wasn't all a reflection of D.U.'s declining significance.
The band didn't stop us from filming, so we shot until the tape ran out. I had another SVHS stashed for the interview, but that didn't happen. Money B told us that Shock was tired and didn't feel like it. This was around the time when he was doing a lot of drug talk, on stage he mentioned "some ecstasy on the tour bus" and he had recently given a revealing interview with XXL about his experiences with illegal substances. I mentioned the article to Shock after the show and he said the interview was upsetting as he had assumed that some of what he told the reporter was off the record.

Despite the half-empty club, Digital put on a devastating show and left the with something to remember and those close enough to the front got something take home.

Never Can Say Goodbye

The rumors of my release from the DBC are less than true. The lack of activity here and reports like this one, (scroll down, it's there) may have led you to assume I've finally made sense of it all, but that's not the case.

Over the last few weeks, I've been dismantling what remains of my video production company. After nearly ten years of treading water, it's time to let this part of my life float away. This ain't easy. It's like pulling the plug on a dying relative or putting your childhood pet to sleep. Saying goodbye is hard, as those boys from Philly sang.

Once everything is given away or sold, I'll be left with the tapes. Boxes and boxes of music videos. I have hundreds of these these, many are on the the antiquated format of 3/4 inch tape, which have made them a hindrance to transfer and forces me to cling onto bulky U-Matic machine to view them. The music video industry eventually moved to mini dv, which is less of a hassle to transport, but my collection is so huge, they're still in the way.

Should I hold on to these things? I've considering digitizing airthang and recycling the media, but that project never seems to get moving. I wish there was a hip hop museum I could bequeath my archive to. Maybe one day.

Until I find a home for my analog archive, it'll stay right here with me, next to the rap music and lies.

A Salute to Captain Video

There's a crucial part of the music video industry called video promotion. In the early days of Wavelength, a 3/4 video delivered in the mail would be followed up with a call from a video promoter asking when you were going to play it. If you decided to add the video to your playlist, you could expect additional calls, which usually led to a sense of familiarity and kinship. Some of these people worked at record labels, but many of them were independent contractors, slinging Nas one week and Home Team the next.

Mark Weinstein was one of these independent promoters. He ran a company called RNR Freelance, which at one time was one of the largest of its kind. He and his staff were experienced and knowledgeable about the music and artists they hocked, two qualities that were undervalued at similar outfits. At least three of his employees had done time in established rock bands and Mark had been involved in hip-hop video since the days of UTFO. He was a staunch advocate for local and regional video shows, fighting for us in places we couldn't get to. He also wrote for The Source, back when it was readable, under the name "Captain Video." He was one of the music men.

The word "promoter" has some negative connotations. I have certainly encountered a few who were ethicly-challenged. Let's keep it real, Don King is a promoter. I didn't know Mark well enough to vouch for his moral upstanding, but do remember that if someone at his company promised something, they tried to make it happen. Concert tickets, vinyl, t-shirts, advertising, interviews or whatever else I badgered them for, I usually got it. Except for that "Warm It Up," twelve inch by Kriss Kross. But I've forgot all about that, really.

I got a call from one of Mark's former employees this week, telling me that Mark died on Monday. The circumstances regarding his death are unclear and rumors are circulating, as they often do in these situations.

Industry folk in New York will gather next week to remember Mark Weinstein, a true music man who earned his rank.

Wrath of the Damaja

Artie Jefferson, the owner of the record store where this interview with Jeru the Damaja took place, was known to share his theories about artist development. I recall he and I discussing some of the thematic elements of "The Sun Rises In The East," and he said something I never forgot.

"You've got you're whole life to make that first album," he said, and then explained that coming up with another one within a shorter time frame was a challenge some new artists weren't up to.

I can't say whether Jeru's second record was rushed, but it didn't have the impact of his debut. Soon afterwards, he fell out with the Gangstarr foundation, which left him without the signature sound of DJ Premier and a association with recognized movement that's a prerequisite for rappers today.

On his second record, Jeru had the audacity to confront the forces that threatened the artistic integrity of the music he loved, while other rappers were either complicit with their silence or going with the flow. Jeru continues to fight the good fight on independent releases, but the damage is done.