Rza - A Day to God is 1000 Years
Nina Simone - I Loves You Porgy (I assume this specific recording of this song)

It’s subtle I guess, but my mind is blown!

This weekend one of my best friends, Henry, got married in Austin, TX. Jessica and Henry decided to have a small, but activity-filled wedding weekend for their immediate family and close friends. This is a recap.

Thursday: A red-blooded American bachelorin’

I land in Austin around 4:30pm and Matt picks me up from the airport. Since the wedding is Friday, we’ve decided that we need to have some sort of stag. The primary cast is going to be our high school friend group, that is: Me, Nima, Matt, Usman, and Henry. The plan is to drive to Round Rock, quickly say hi to my parents, pick up Nima (who lives in LA, and landed about an hour ago), meet Henry at Matt’s house, and get going. The wedding ceremony is at 8:30am Friday morning and Nima, recently certified for this purpose, is going to marry them. That gives us roughly 16 hours.

Halfway there, we get rear ended by a minivan. It turns out that the truck (Welcome to Texas!) behind her rear-ended her, causing her to run into our car. She (Amber, 19 years old, shoeless for who knows what reason, slightly overweight, and wearing a skirt that’s much too small) is pretty shaken up. Since the truck (Dale, 52 years old, balding, was attempting to meet his family at CiCi’s pizza) is sort of totaled, we have to call the cops and EMS and all that stuff. We spend about an hour filling out paperwork. Rant: Calling 911 when on a county barrier is a horrible experience. I don’t know what the hell county I’m in exactly, and aaargh.

Eventually we pick up Nima, drive back down to Matt’s house where we meet Henry, change, and head downtown to 219 west. 219 west is a sort of bar/lounge/American tapas place in the warehouse district. We order way too many things. I, in typical Dolapo fashion, start ordering shots for everyone. Then we head to The Belmont, which is a seemingly nice bar on 6th street with a gigantic roof deck.

At The Belmont, we make friends with our waitress (Rachel, 20-something, dyed blond hair, cute, boyfriend by the name of Jonathan) and proceed to drink crappy margaritas. We order more shots, dance with 30-somethings who want to know where they can score pills (Really, this happens to me way too often - the 30 year old thing, not the pills thing), order some shots for everyone near me, and then leave. It’s about 12:45am at this point, and the plan is to head to The Yellow Rose. The Yellow Rose has free wifi, but we’re going there because it’s a strip club. Besides, I don’t have my laptop. We can’t find a cab to take all five of us. Usman, foolishly confident that he can drive, drives me and him in Henry’s car. Matt, Henry, and Nima take the cab.

We buy Henry lots of dances and more drinks. At 2am, The Yellow Rose closes. We get in two cabs, headed for Kerbey Lane Cafe. Fact - if I’m in Austin, and I’m awake past 2am, it’s probably because I’m at Kerbey Lane Cafe. It’s possibly overrated, but I love the pancakes (and the queso, and the tortilla soup, and they serve Good Flow lemonade).

It would be unwise of me to speak in detail on what happens next, but includes:

• Leaving Kerbey Lane, not entirely of our own volition
• An angry Ghanaian cab driver, and correcting mistakes with a garden hose
• Trying to decide if we should leave the groom, possibly for dead, on Matt’s front lawn 3 hours before his wedding is scheduled to start
• Attempting to have a conversation about mamacitas and tejano music with Matt’s spanish-speaking and very inebriated neighbor
• Nima leaving lots of voicemails for Alice (26, went to high school with us, lives in LA, spent a weekend with the partychat crew in San Diego) about migas
• Henry’s head in a trash can

2 hours later we wake up for a day that’s scheduled to include: a wedding, paintballing in 104° weather, bbq, indoor rock climbing, a reception dinner, and another trip downtown.

Or maybe it’s just my iPhone, I don’t know.

I’m going to be really upset with Past Dolapo for not buying new soap before leaving the country for Nigeria. I’ll really want a proper shower and be upset that he was okay with using up all the soap and then leaving. What an asshole.

Before I get back, I’m going to be upset with him for not bringing: an extra camera battery, more pants, a pair of shorts, more socks, some traditional yoruba garb, a bigger suitcase to bring things back in. Rookie mistakes really.

Hi mom and dad

But wait, there’s more

One of my favorite samples is now playing on iTunes. Kanye West - The Glory samples Laura Nyro - Save The Country, among other things, I love both of these songs.

What I really need is some sort of internship. I’d live under the supervision of an established Brooklynite. They would teach me the ways of the borough. What to do when it rains (which it always does). How to deal with girls without regularly pedicured nails. How to get around without reliable subways or taxis. How to deal with the large number of… minorities.

Will I be able to come back to Manhattan and hang out? Or will I be like this guy?

It’s been a good couple of weeks in terms of backpacker/alternative/”hipster” rap releases. I’m not listening to any of them right now though, instead overdosing on the latest Cut/Copy album. It was on at Barrio Chino last night and has been on repeat since.

Back on topic.

First up, Kidz in the Hall, the rapper/producer duo that met while at school (UPenn), with The In Crowd. Yay for ivy-league grads/rappers! Yay for rap album release parties sponsored by wineries! The pairing (teehee) works well and Double-O (the producer one) is versatile enough to carry a whole album. Naledge (the rapper one) is… Naledge is technically good. His flow’s generally interesting, and he’ll drop a clever rhyme from time to time. Where this falls apart: Naledge is not all that likable, in fact he can be kind of annoying. Not because he’s not good, he just doesn’t seem to have much of a personality. It’s like he tries to be parts of Pusha T or Kanye, but comes off a little corny. The album is saved by the production, hordes of guest appearances (including the aforementioned Pusha), and the occasional gem from Naledge.

[Driving down the block] bass kickin man, sorta like Fred A-do. And I’m looking blessed, like I said A-choo. I’m so damn clean, polo rugby and Jordan 16s. While I’m [Driving down the block] wifey feeling intimate. Park up at the lake and turn the car into a cigarette.

Watch a video

Second. The Cool Kids - The Bake Sale. “What it is what it is come check the noise. it’s the new black version of the beastie boys.” They get points for the inspiration even though they weren’t alive during that era. You’d think rapping about bikes and clothes would get old, but the album is only 30 minutes long and we’ve heard most of the tracks before. The production is really minimalist… and I’ve had to stop myself a few times from dancing on the subway.

So I’m sitting on the couch holding the remote. Flipping channels, I’m a rebel eating a bowl of them fruity pebbles, fruity pebbles, fruity pebbles. How gangsta is that. Not gangsta at all. Are you judging me dog? Please, you shop at the mall. Me, I shop at boutiques, limited quantity sneaks…

I hate the terms “hipster-hop” and “hipster-hop” but Yay hipsters!
Watch a video
Watch another one, since this is such a brilliant idea for a beat.

Finally. Wale - The Mixtape about Nothing (Free for download here). An entire mixtape inspired by Seinfeld, including a guest appearance by Julia Louis-Dreyfus. On paper, I should really like Wale - clever multi-syllabic rhymes, obscure references, Nigerian! He’s ridiculous though, to the point where it takes multiple listens to catch everything he’s rapping about. On The Chicago Falcon Remix, Mark Ronson interrupts the track to ask him to slow it down and explain what’s going on:

Counting my bread. My account like a brunch at a synagogue. Get it y’all, that’s a whole lot of bagels… I get seinfeld with these rhyme skills, I’m Larry David. Give me my paper. It’s a cosmo like Jerry Sein’s neighor. My co-stanzas stand like Phantoms or Maybachs. You won’t get a lane if you came wack. I hate rap like Kramer hates blacks…

There’s just too much going on there, and the problem is that it can be boring. It’s like:

Yeah, I’m crazy. Hopping off the wall like Vega. They vaguely, decipher my language. Out of my mind, come and chase me. Picture off of grammar like I’m managing Frasier. Cheers. Psycho. Maestro. Orchestrate the life with the right flow. Write flows down and they might go nice. A low life’s plight. I give off my light like an interracial couple with a child. Or fucking Paramount. I hope they understand that. Light overheads means i’m right where their head is. Pause. Epiphany.

is that what he’s saying on that song? Maybe? Crazy. It’s hard to make that actually sound good. I kinda want him to stop trying to do so much and just work on his flow or something. Take a lesson from Lil’ Wayne who can spit absolute nonsense and still make it sound good. The mixtape is still pretty good though, and with Ronson producing his debut that should probably be good as well. Yay Seinfeld!
Watch a video

I tend to shake people’s hands a lot, I don’t know why. Sometimes I like to hug people, but only sometimes. The Yoruba custom when greeting elders is to kneel or prostrate. I’ve never been able to get used to this, it’s something that makes me anxious whenever I’m going to be in a group of Nigerian people. I can’t really bring myself to do either. As a sort of compromise, I tend to lower my head slightly and just shake hands. The same kind of compromising head-lowering that I use during unexpected prayers. It doesn’t really work. Besides having freakishly long hair at the time (see left, my cousin, right, with the more common haircut for people our age), things like this made me stand out during my trip to Nigeria in 2006. I had a pretty unnerving dream about this last night, one where I woke up sweaty with my heart racing. This reminded me of another dream I had earlier this week.

I’m standing outside with someone I can’t identify. Somehow part of my blood has been replaced with some sort of flower essence. This happens instantly and as far as I can tell, for no reason. Moments later I hear a horrible buzzing. Tens of bees swarm my face in what I understand to be an attempt to pollinate me. I’m freaking out, mouth clenched shut, eyes closed. They’re trying to crawl into my mouth, up my nose, into my ears. Their numbers are increasing. I’m being raped by bees and there’s not much I can do about it. I don’t want to be stung so I don’t try to kill them. Why isn’t my friend helping me out? The buzzing sound grows louder… and then I wake up. At this point, wide awake, I decide that what happens next is that I magically extract all my blood and live happily ever after. Crikey.

Samples we love from movies we love #78

Nas feat Jay-Z - Black Republican (Prague Philharmonic - Marcia Religiosa).

Recalled while rewatching The Godfather II earlier today. Black Republican, from Nas’ Hip-Hop is Dead, noteworthy for being the first post-feud Nas/Jay-Z collaboration.

Bonus! Things you should do #95

I know, I know, I don’t need to remind you… it’s already on your calendar, etc etc, but Zombie Strippers comes out today. Guaranteed to be trash. Take one for the team, tell us how bad it really is.