Nas

Ratchet (Pinky Finger Up)

“You can have my heart or we can share it like the last slice…”

“Sweatpants, hair tied, chillin’ with no makeup on/That’s when you’re the prettiest, I hope that you don’t take it wrong…”

That’s cool and all, but forget all that right now. You see slim over there? The one with the streaks in her hair (my homeboy calls it that ‘Ghetto Blue Hue’) and the leggings? That’s my focus right now. It’s crowded and my Concords are sticking to the floor, but my eyes are glued to this girl across the room.

“I be eating nacho, cheese…GUAPO!”

Yeah, yeah…awesome song or whatever, but who is THAT over there? The one that ordered the House Cured Salmon Gravlax? That’s my focus right now. It’s crowded and I can see couples strolling the harbor in the large windows behind her. Trust me, I’m still focused on the girl inside of these glass windows.

“Africa must wake up, the sleeping sons of Jacob/For what tomorrow may bring, may a better day come…”

Cut that shit off, man. I only have one chance to book this broad and Nas and K’Naan are probably the LAST people I need to hear right now. I stopped in front of a car window and made sure my snapback and hand towel sat perfectly over my face and walked towards her. Her homegirls were busy talking to another group of people, so I grabbed her elbow gently and pulled her aside. Thank God I stayed for the let out…

“She gon’ bust it down for some damn Lime-A-Ritas…”

Come on, man; I’m about to walk over there. Her parents (I presume, anyway) excused themselves and left her sitting there alone. Let me pull my cardigan down a bit before I walk towards her table. I blew into my hand and made sure my breath didn’t retain the heat from the peppers in my Jambalaya Fettuccini. She’s smiling in my direction, but sweat is still dancing about my temples because I have no clue what the hell that means…

“One thing about music when it hits you feel no pain/White folks say it controls your brain; I know better than that…”

She looks at my console and I turn the radio to something else; what do I look like forfeiting my night plan over Dead Prez? We pull up at Outback and she checks herself in my visor mirror to make sure her eyebrows aren’t crooked. This is where the date gets interesting, though. She orders chicken wings and Moscato and starts rolling a blunt at the table. Dessert wines over an entrée would (and should) probably be an indicator of a lack of sophistication, but who cares? Look at what she’s holding in those leggings. I wanted to throw my cufflinks up and lean back in total judgment, but…those…leggings…though…

“54.11s, size 7 in girl’s…”

I laugh and love that she has no idea what those are. We sip mimosas over a Sunday brunch and share Bay Scallop Ceviche. We express our shared amazement at the city of Detroit being 18 billion dollars in debt. Detroit sucks. This is where this date gets interesting, though. She mentions her upcoming business trips and how she HATES men that wear snapbacks. I know I’m going to have to listen to Comin’ Out Hard until the stench of American bourgeoise is no longer permeating my cargo shorts, but right now, who cares? Listen to these six years of higher education stirring an intrinsic thirst for meaningful conversation. I wanted to throw my hand towel up and lick my fingers clean of Old Bay seasoning, but…this…conversation…though…

“Where is he? The man who is just like me? I heard he was hiding somewhere I can’t see…”

A simple hug and kiss on the cheek outside of her apartment. I don’t want to come in because I want her to recognize a gentleman. I’m just as happy to leave her feeling as if the night was “incomplete” as I am to cap it off with what she has been expecting all along. I sense all of this as I walk down the steps and out the building, feeling her glance from three stories up as I do so. I can’t help but smile as I start my car and reach for the Maxwell album stored in my overhead CD holder.

“I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING TO CIROC AND SOME PANCAKES!”

The night is far from finished, and I can tell that’s rare with her. There’s no kiss on the cheek because I don’t ever want her to label me as a gentleman. I’m more than happy to be what she is typically scared of, and I sense it as she walks me down the hallway into her bedroom. I feel the apprehension and can’t help but smile, all the while reassuring her that I’m not “them”, whatever that means. I wake up in the morning, grinning from ear to ear having penetrated Corporate America…

A.J. Armstrong struggles with discerning between what he wants and what he needs. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

The Dissolution of Jay-Z

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Thank God Nasir never made hundreds of millions of dollars. I’m happy Marshall still cares. I’m talking, of course, about Eminem and Nas. They are arguably two of the most influential and recognizable rap artists ever. Along with Jay-Z, these three represent an era of rap music that I really didn’t think was possible when I was younger: aging rappers still every bit as viable as their younger counterparts. They are all over 40 and selling just as well- if not better- than any other current rapper. Nas’ 2012 release, Life is Good, earned him another Grammy nod. Eminem is releasing The Marshall Mathers LP 2 on November 5. Both of these artists are still rapping at incredibly high levels. Why then, can’t the same be said for Jay-Z?

I might as well preface everything by stating firmly I have never been- nor will I ever be- a huge fan of Jay-Z. I have his entire catalog but I don’t CHERISH most of it. For every classic (Reasonable Doubt), there’s a total clunker (Vol. 3…The Life and Times of S. Carter, anybody?). With that being said, I’d be a delusional hater if I didn’t acknowledge that the great musical moments far outweigh the less stellar. The dude has been around this long for a reason. After listening to his latest release, Magna Carta…Holy Grail, I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

I’ll keep my review of Magna Carta… brief: I hate it. I hate his super simplistic lyrics. I hate his endless references to his opulent lifestyle. I hate that 16 STELLAR instrumentals were wasted on this effort. However, what I hate the most is his willingness to bow and conform his flow to what’s “hot” today. It wouldn’t be as offensive if Mr. Carter hadn’t been so insistent about being the leading trendsetter in Hip-Hop. Clearly that isn’t the case anymore if he’s out here rapping like Young (insert name) from the South.

Magna Carta…, to me, confirms what I had suspected for a few years now. Jay-Z doesn’t care anymore. And why would or should he? The man is worth millions upon millions of dollars. Jay has been known to phone in whole albums at times (Vol. 2: Hard Knock Life was a literal sleepwalk for him), but this feels different. What I heard the three times I ran the album (because I just couldn’t take it after a certain point) was a man just done with trying to make art. Tom Ford reference here, Givenchy name-drop there…we get it, dude. You have a lot of money. And I also get that this has been Jay’s thing since day one but the difference here is that there’s no creativity to it. “Imaginary Player” was dipped in sumptuousness too; he just made it sound so INTERESTING.

So has Jay-Z fallen off lyrically? Yes, but only because of his lack of interest. If Shawn Carter wanted to craft another Blueprint-like masterpiece, Shawn Carter could craft another Blueprint-like masterpiece. But why would a man that has everything care to put forth that kind of effort? What kind of fool still actually CARES about making good music at this point? The people are going to buy it, regardless. How dare he make an effort to make the purchase worth it, right? I even have a name for it: The Kevin Hart Syndrome. You made the people listen to you and now that you have their ear, fuck what you babble into it.

I don’t hate Jay-Z. I just want him to quit and never rap again, that’s all. Yeah, it’s stupid that I still care about the art at this point, what with 2 Chainz and Future…doing whatever it is they call themselves doing, but I do. Jay-Z is rap’s Michael Jordan (and not in the sense that he was the greatest ever, so you Jay Stans stop. Just stop); we admired his dominance for so long that we have effectively convinced ourselves that his stint with the Washington Wizards HAD to be a success as well. It wasn’t. I live in D.C. Trust me, it wasn’t at all.

Shawn, your mark on the culture is indelible. You had fans from Delaware to Idaho wearing Yankee caps, unaware of how much I hate them (because it’s clearly about me at this point). You were why I wore a button-up on my first date in college. You’re why Rick Ross has completely ran with this whole Maybach theme. That’s kind of hyperbolic…Rick Ross clearly hasn’t run with anything EVER. You get my point, though. We owe you for keeping the culture going. Let us buy you a cake and a gold watch and exchange your microphone for a brochure for some beautiful Miami condos. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Marshall has something to say. Ok…bye.

A.J. Armstrong is the rap fanatic debating your top ten at your houseparty and the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities