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.

My 25. Finally.

I know I'm late with this, but my access to the internets is restricted at the DBC, outside of these mandatory posts. My tardiness can't be argued, but my choices are up for discussion.

1. It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back/Public Enemy
Conceptually sound, impeccable production and powerful lyricism. I memorized every word, sample and sound of this record. I might still know it, too.

2. 3 Feet High and Rising/De La Soul
A groundbreaking declaration of individuality and creativity. The album proved that its okay to be different, as long as you're dope.

3. Amerikkka's Most Wanted/Ice Cube
Anchored by Bomb Squad production, Ice Cube make one of the edgiest records of his time. Nothing set me off like hearing these songs back in the day.

4. Black Star/Mos Def and Talib Kwelli
Indisputable proof that real hip hop can still be made, if you're willing to try.

5. Ilmatic/Nas
Perfect poetry and production from hip hop's greatest beat makers. No one tells a story like Nas.

6. Bazerk Bazerk Bazerk/Son of Bazerk
I've already written a lot about this group on this site. The most explosive release of the '90s.

7. Criminal Minded/BDP
KRS-One's voice was the primary instrument of the minimalist production of BDP's debut. His timing, inflection and emphasis are impeccable. The politics and philosophy were often confusing, but that only made things more interesting.

8. The Cactus Album/3rd Bass
Deadly serious and seriously funny at the same time. The best hip-hop duo, pre-Outkast.

9. De La Soul is Dead/De La Soul
A skillful reinvention complete with a read along storybook. I listened to this so much, the lyrics became part of my everyday conversation. Sometimes this manifests at inopportune moments, like when we group last week, and there was a debate over seating arrangements, and I said "I'm Hemroid! I'm the leader!"

10. Hard to Earn/Gangstarr
Consistently indestructible beats and rhymes. It took a guy from Boston and another from Texas to make some of the best NY hip hop ever.

11. And The Winner Is .../Chubb Rock and Hitman Howie T
Chubb Rock's compelling delivery belies his intelligence and sharp sense of humor: "Some artists mix me with go-go/Def lyrics but it sounds so-so. Howie T's production chops were at their apex here and the Chubbster was in rare form.

12. Young Black Teenagers/Young Black Teenagers
The Bomb Squad and four guys rapping at once, none of them black or in their teens. That's keeping it real. The Bomb Squad nearly outdid themselves here, giving the YBT a potent sonic landscape that matched frustration and rage of their lyrics.

13. All Hail the Queen/Queen Latifah
One of the best releases from the Native Tongue collective. The Queen rapped and sang over beats from hip hop's A-List of producers with gratifying results. The chorus of Wrath of My Madness still haunts me. What is she saying?

14. Straight Out The Jungle/Jungle Brothers
I really got into this after the Native Tongue had begun. I was aware of it when it came out and I was attracted to their laid back style. This was an innovative record that launched a musical movement and the first rap hybrid - hip-house.

15. Blue Funk/Heavy D
The Heavster didn't make this one for the ladies who loved Keith Sweat and Bobby Brown. Blue Funk, with production from Pete Rock, DJ Premier, was for the heads. Classic material.

16. Sex Packets/Digital Underground
The closest any hip-hop group got to the conviction and spirit of P-Funk. Shock G came with dual identities, tales of fictitious sex drugs and everything on the one. I still have my ticket stub from Gutfest '89.

17. Outkast/Aquemini
Hip-Hop's most consistent duo proved they were here to stay with their third solid release. The ultimate Oukast record is tainted only by the ungroovable "Mamacita."

18. Brand Nubian/One For All
Politics, religion and social commentary over phat loops and inspired production. Puba, Derek X and Lord Jamar's relaxed deliveries made making a classic look real easy.

19. Eric B & Rakim/Follow the Leader
Rakim's verbal dexterity grew more complex on their second album. The instrumental tracks, a rap rarity these days, were needed to digest Ra's vigorous wordplay and furious styles.

20. Run-DMC/Raising Hell
This record is so full of timeless tracks, it sounds like a compilation of hits. Raising Hell was a landmark moment for hip hop, after "Walk This Way," there could be no turning back.

21. The Notorious B.I.G./Ready to Die
Radio friendly hip hop with a street edge from Brooklyn's finest. This record would be the blueprint for any rapper dreaming of commercial success. But nobody could do it like Biggie.

22. Dr. Dre/The Chronic
The Doctor prescribed a heavy dose of funk, replaying the sounds of soul hits interspersed with the original voices. Rhymes from Snoop Dogg and humor from the D.O.C. made this operation a success. Dre created a professional reputation with this record that remains unshakable. However, his personal reputation ... let's just say were it not for Dre, the would be no DBC.

23. Pharcyde/Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde
The Pharcyde rapped songs about lost love, regret, drugs and ya mama. J Swift's production on this record was jazz-influenced by it's samples and spontaneity. It was the roller coaster ride the record cover promised, thrilling from end to end.

24. Redman/Whut? Thee Album
Redman introduced the WTFF factor to hip hop. He steered clear of preset categories of rap music and created a lane for himself, with fearless approach to making songs. He even freaked in Korean.

25. A Tribe Called Quest/The Low End Theory
The promise of "People's Instinctive Travel ..." was fufilled on this release. The sounds were sparse, yet more effective and integral to the work as a whole. Phife came into his own as Q-Tip continued to perform at the top of his game.

Anyone surprised?

Redman: Exploited on TV

Reggie Noble lit up the Phono Booth during his second visit to the store in 1995, in more ways than one. He kept things moving fast, but my capable co-host Dre was up for the challenge.

Enjoy Redman at his illest, as he critiques the music industry, explains his idea of success and ridicules our audio equipment.

P.S.The microphone used in this interview went on to bigger and better things.

Moments of Truth Pt. 2

Outside of Public Enemy, Gangstarr was my favorite rap group. Peep my myspace handle. Their formula never changed from record to record, but it was enhanced and updated with each release.
They remain one of the most consistent duos in hip hop, even if they're taking a break from each other right now.

The first part of the interview was posted in November of 2006.

Part 2.

CRAIG: How did you get the idea to put jazz in a rap record?

PRIMO: Well, I use anything that's funky ... It ain't even about bein' funky. We have to make it funky. It could be a sample that just fits the atmosphere of what we're doin'. It could be jazz, R&B, soul, rock, classical, anything that has a that type of sound, that sounds like a Gangstarr vibe, I use. There's a lot of jazz elements in a lot of our songs, but the intent is not to try to do jazz rap or try to just use jazz samples. I use anything that just sounds fly.

CRAIG: Okay.

PRIMO: If I rub your hat, and it sounds fly, I'm a loop it. You know what I'm sayin'? Like "Just to get a rep." Good example. That wasn't jazz that I sampled, but when you heard it, it has sort of a scary type of a bass line, a haunting type of a track. The way he told a story, it went together, the way he said it, the music had that little eerie type of feelin'. Same way with "Take It Personal." They way he sounds like he's angry about situations, it's like a creepin' up on ya track, the piano sounds like its comin' out of the woodworks and shit. Oh, Excuse my language.

CRAIG: "Take it Personal" sounds angry. Was there anything you were angry about? It's a very specific record.

GURU: It's specific. I mean, everybody has feelings like that. Some people say 'don't take it personal,' I'm sayin' take it personal. If you have a so-called friend, and they backstab you, you don't feel like 'don't take it personal.' You feel like Take it Personal.' When I see you I'm gonna be be mad, so don't say nothin' to me or we gonna be fightin or whatever. I'm sayin' –

PRIMO: Like you and your man right here, if y'all believe in each other and what y'all are doin', if all of a sudden he don't come through or – Say he took the camera, not sayin' you go'n do it my man, say he took the camera, took the film, and sold it to CBS or somethin' to air, and you'd be sittin here goin', 'I can't believe that!' Instead of just sayin' "Damn!" to yourself, I'm sure you want to have feelings of "Man, I wanna get back to him, for what he did, 'cause he really hurt me here, (Primo thumps his chest.) When it's someone that you really believe in and trust, it hurts here, when they actually backstab you. And that was one opinion in the song. There were three different opinions. The second verse was about sampling, about how we hate how people are blowing the sampling thing out of proportion. We feel the same way Stet and Kane said back in the day, if we didn't bring back alive old beats, you wouldn't survive.

CRAIG: Would you consider working with R&B artists?

PRIMO: It really depends on what the song is about. The song, the subject matter the artist, it all has to go like a hand and glove.

CRAIG: Anything else y'all wanna say?

GURU: I just wanna say keep watchin'' this program. 'Cause they got the real stuff, underground hip hop at its best.

PRIMO: Be yourself, be yourself, be yourself, Know yourself. Much respect to these brothers right here, yo, cameraman too, film yourself real quick, man.

MAURICE: I got a question.

PRIMO: The cameraman has a question, hold up.

MAURICE: DJ Premier, I want to know, other than yourself, who is the best dj out there?

PRIMO: I got a few. I like Jam Master Jay, my main man DJ Scratch form EPMD, that's my boy. Richie Rich from 3rd Bass, Mister C, Grandmaster Flash, Jazzy Jay, aw, it's too many. DST, Grand Wizard Theodore, Tat Money with Kwame, Miz, DJ Alladin, DJ Muggs, Baby G from Dallas, it's so many man. Flamboyant, Plastic Man ... aw man, I know I missed some. Steve D from Harlem, that brother's nasty, Chill Will and Barry B. It's a lot of good DJ out there. Whoever I missed, I know what's up, but my brain is on the gin and tonic tip right now. Peace out and much love to all you black people out there. Peace.

A Bag and a Prayer

Preparing for a live broadcast of Wavelength was a soothing ritual I relished almost as much as the show itself. Hours before we went on, I picked out the videos from my ginormous collection of 3/4 and VHS tapes. Three quarter inch tapes, if you haven't seen one, about the size of 5 subject notebook and usually encased in a hard plastic case. They were awkward and unwieldy, but very durable. After I scripted the show, I filled my official Chicago Bears duffel bag with the tapes, usually in the same order they were on my playlist.

This was a very special bag. I got it for cheap at my day job at Burlington Coat Factory. It had a plastic bottom, a side pocket and two spacious compartments with a large C printed on both ends. The videos went in the middle of the bag, my clipboard, cassette giveways, tape recorder stashed on the ends. I couldn't have designed a better bag for what I needed. Well, I guess if it was Steelers bag, it would've been perfect.

So one day I was driving in Churchill went it struck me that I hadn't brought my bag into the house after the show. I pulled over at a gas station and opened the trunk of my '76 Camaro. The bag was gone. All my music videos, scripts, equipment were now missing in action. I drove home feeling somewhat less than whole.

It didn't take me long to determine what I done. I had brought my bag out of the studio, set it down to open the car door and left in in the middle of street. I was always forgetting little things back then, but this time I had really done it.

I moped around for a few days, considering ways to get the labels to resend the videos. It wouldn't be easy, as the tapes were heavy and shipping was expensive. I thought about the cost of replacing the lost equipment and the sentimental value of some of the things I carelessly left in the street. Days passed and hopes of being reunited with my bag began to fade.

I was walking out the door one day when my mother, may God rest her soul, told me something that stopped me cold. She said she had prayed that I someone would find my bag and return it to me. I was embarrassed she had taken my pitiful case to such a high court and I wasn't even sure I deserved my bag back.

After a week without my bag and my usual swagger, I got a call from a regional vice-president of Coca-Cola Bottling. He had found my bag in the street the night after my show, but didn't have time to track me down because his vacation started the following day. Immeasurable relief swelled over me, a feeling I didn't allow myself to anticipate.

When I told my mom, she smiled and said "I told you."

Every hero needs one

In a classic film from the 1980s, the protagonist returns home after a stint in the armed forces to find his old neighborhood in shambles. With his military knowledge, and a little help from his friends, he rids the streets of criminals and gangsters. He even gets the girl. But he can't walk off into the sunset until he gets what every good hero needs ... a theme song.

So imagine my excitement when I learned that a local rap group, The Soul of Brotherhood, had completed the Wavelength theme music. It was moment of validation for all the work we had put in over the years. We knew we were the sht, but it was good to hear somebody else say it.

Lil Roc's verses about our program stand as a historical record of who we were at that time. In under two minutes he touches on our content, our competition and the rescheduling of the Arsenio Hall show that sealed its fate.

This audio deserves some video and will get its proper tribute at some point. For now, here's our song.

p.s. Five points to anyone who can name the movie I'm talking about.

p.s.s. Answers must be submitted as comments on this post. Points are not redeemable outside of the U.S.

The First Cut is the Deepest

L Leshaun cut an imposing figure in 1993, a tall and muscular woman in dark glasses and door knockers, standing in a b-boy stance. She entered our television studio arguing with her road manager and she remained combative for the entirety of her brief visit with us. As I prepped the television studio, I was relieved that Dre had volunteered for this one.

As I was cuing up her video, her mood shifted and things got worse. Apparently, her record label had ordered an edit of her "Ready or Not" clip, one that she wasn't aware of until that moment. She went off on her road manager again, but that wasn't enough. She called her label from the studio, and gave them some too.

Dre tried to get her to talk about a recent THE SOURCE article about female rappers, but she cut him off and vented about her label and the male-dominated rap industry. Some of her points still ring true today, as female rappers are more scarce than ever and are finding success hard to earn.

Tommy Boy and her road manger weren't the last people to learn that Leshaun didn't take disrespect lying down. Years later, when LL Cool J redid her hit, "Wild Thang," (redubbed "Doin' It") he used her voice, but left her out of the video. She wasn't cool with that and let it be known. Eventually, they recorded another song together. Somewhere along the way, I guess Leshaun learned the art of negotiation.

Ray "Coach" Brown 1935-2007

I met Ray Brown when I was scouting locations for a shoot for Impact magazine. I was looking for a boxing ring and I heard that Citywide Boxing Club had a good look. It was a hollowed out warehouse, complete with a loading dock and a porta-john. It was perfect. After some negotiation, Coach let me use the space on a Sunday for a few hours, for a $100. I had pleaded poverty, but he stood firm. When the day came, he slept while we shot the promo, occasionally opening his eyes for playback. The spot came out decent and I heard it was well received at the Impact convention, which I never made it to. (That's another post.)

A few weeks later, I heard that Coach wanted to speak with me. I stopped by the gym, and after some kidding about my Alma mater, a frank assessment of my potential as a fighter, he told me what he wanted. He needed a video made about what he did at the gym. He told me how the boxing club worked, young kids paid what they could, while he taught them about boxing, giving them purpose and guidance. Then he asked me to do it for free. I told him I needed $100. Coach wasn't trying to hear that. He repeated my offer to his employees with incredulity in his voice. After a few minutes of staring and loud talk, we shook hands. I came back with my camera the following week.

After a couple of edits, he was happy with the video. I was touched by the devotion and admiration his boxers had for him. They accepted his instructions without question and carried them out with conviction. Coach told me later that he sent the tape somewhere and it was shown at a banquet where he received an award. We shook hands again and enjoyed mutual respect.

I saw Coach occasionally after that and filmed one of his fighters matches at a boxing competition. I stopped by to see him a few times, but I kept missing him by minutes. One day, one of his assistants at the gym told me he had fallen down and wouldn't be around for awhile. Several months later, I visited again and met his son. He told me his Dad was ill and seldom came to the gym. The look on his face told me whatever Coach was going through was serious. I asked him to tell his father that Craig from VCU said hello.

Last week, on the back of sports page of our daily paper there was picture of Coach below the headline Local Boxing Patron Dies It wasn't a good start to my morning.

Ray Brown may have never produced a Sweet Pea Whitaker or a Ray Leonard, but he provided leadership and direction to people who needed it. He didn't have to coach a champion to become one.

Big Shug's Real Talk

In 1996, at the Phono Booth Record Store, Big Shug gave Wavelength one of the most personal and revealing interviews we ever recorded. For some reason, we never aired it.

I'm not sure what happened. But now, 11 years later, it's time to hear what Shug, a founding member of Gangstarr, had to say.

The Big Bad Wu

This was another interview that almost didn't happen. The Wu-Tang Clan left the Phono Booth, our surrogate TV studio and neighborhood record store before I arrived for our scheduled interview. Imagine my disappointment. I called the label and spoke to a woman named named Charm. She shared my frustration.

Charm called their road manger right then and I stepped away from the phone. When I got back, she was laying into him something fierce. She apologized for her strong language and asked me if I could meet them at Ivory's Uptown Lounge. After seeing how she handled business, I couldn't say no.

When we walked in the VIP at Ivory's, the group recognized my partner Dre from the record store, where he worked. Dre had put then in touch with a gentleman who distributed organic pharmaceuticals independently and they indicated their pleasure with the transaction. The road manager was apologetic and invited us to film the performance.

Cash didn't rule that night. The clan were on a promotional tour with label mates the Alkaholics and performed for free. The Wu-Tang Clan was in full effect, minus at least three members. Ol' Dirty Bastard was missing in action. Ghostface was chilling with his newborn twins and RZA was producing some next shillznit.

In this interview, Method Man makes some weird noises, GZA admits to some career missteps and Raekwon predicts the future.

The Flight Director

I didn’t do Wavelength all by myself. There were many people who supported and encouraged my efforts. Pookie, Kia, Lance, Carlos, Adrian, Derek, Paul, Lorna, Sir Lance ... But none more directly than Arthur F.D. Johnson, Jr. My director, producer, mentor, and friend. For a long time, before I made a move, I talked A.J. first

We met volunteering at the community access station on a long-running public affairs show. We both quit after the host was involved in a domestic dispute. A spot on the schedule opened soon afterwards and we decided to alternate. Wavelength one week, and A.J.’s show Points of Interest the next. P.O.I. was a retread of the other talk show we bounced from, minus the ego and drama.

A.J. didn’t know rap. But he knew how to work the equipment at the studio and he had his own video camera. He also had a hook-up on the postage, and I never had to pay for the countless cassettes and cds I sent out to contest winners. I could've made it without him, but it would've been hard.

Even his mistakes inspired me. His hesitation to cut to the next video usually led to some of my best ad-libs and one liners, aimed at Mr. Johnson. I was only kidding, A.J. Really.

When our live shows ended, we began shooting Wavelength entirely on location. By then, I had my own camera and luckily my job at the university afforded me access to editing equipment. I missed the fun of the live shows, but I enjoyed my newfound independence. A.J. and I didn’t speak as often and we seemed to be heading in different directions.

While Wavelength moved from cable to broadcast, and back again, A.J. stayed at the public access studio. Last time I checked, someone had put him in charge of the place.

Queens Get the Money

There was barely a buzz on Mobb Deep when they appeared on Wavelength. It was more like a hum. The group was known for their DJ Premier-produced single "Peer Pressure," off their first album. It was known that they were now producing themselves and everybody was waiting to see what they could do. Their second album, "The Infamous," was worth the wait. The duo established themselves as a benchmark for "keeping it real," and were the first to use the phrase on Wavelength.

As soon as the Queensbridge duo stepped into the Phono Booth, everybody wanted to know if what they had heard for years was true. Was Prodigy really the cousin of a local music producer? The producer's name kept coming up, the duo met each mention with implicit denials. It was explained later that they weren't exactly sure who everybody was talking about, and they weren't about to align themselves with someone whom they might not know. "Shook Ones" they weren't about to be. (Later, the claims were proven when Prodigy guested on a demo he produced.)

Prodigy's cousin, Diallo is still waitin' for a shot a remix.