RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Tuesday, June 30

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - June '09

Here is the J.J. Krupert Countdown for the month of this month in the year of this year, right now. I switched up my parameters a little, because I figured if I just do the shit that's simply played the most over the course of my little silver gaypod machine, then things that's been there forever and gets accidentally played even though I'm burned out on it would just rule the countdown, whereas new shit that I've been bumping like mad gets overlooked, at least the first couple months. So I will from here on out be employing a plus/minus hockey style deal, where I subtract how many times I skip that bitch from the played part to get a better recognition of shit in my brain the past month or two. New shit would still probably have to go go for a month or two to crack the Top 13, but whatever. This is for me anyways and it's not like anybody gives a fuck. It's really amusing because basically this blogospheric nonsense is the equivalent of a crazy dude standing on a downtown street corner, talking to hisself and waving at buses going past. Except "bloggers" is a media buzzword, so people think it actually means something. But it don't. Just like twitter. Anyways, here be this month's list...
#1: "Minimum Payments" by Solaris Earth Pipeline - Sigh... I guess the S.E.P. spaceship was destroyed during a crash landing trying to avoid a meteor shower of internal faggotry. We made some good music during our short run though. I've been wrestling with this bullshit, because I get all pissed like, "Goddammit, why was I wasting my time. I should've been doing this instead or that instead," but you know, you get where you're going by following the path you took. You can't switch that shit up. So I moved beyond that. Now I've been wondering if it's kosher or wack ass to go back and re-record anything in the camper with my new screwed up Ancient Hobo style or not. I mean, this song is basically a long ass loop from "Asleep in the Desert" by ZZ Top that it took me some convincing of PSY/OPS that he could actually loop it. And that's basically the entire beat. He did some ambient vocal effects on the hook and here and there, but the song's a pretty simple song. And it's actually one of my favorites off the 45s on 33 CD. (You can google search "solaris earth pipeline" and the sharebee link to dl that shit is near the top. You should check it out; it's some other shit.) Obviously, because I be playing it still. The lyrics are clusterfuck brain frame hating on internet haters, who run rampant from time to time. They are out there, packs of pasty, socially retarded wolves, waiting to turn on you when you have even a sliver of notoriety. Thankfully, I am far more aware of this than I was like 7 years ago, so I don't catch feelings over the internet at all. I mean, the internet's fake anyways; that'd be like me getting sad somebody died in a Friday the 13th movie.
#2: "Georgia (remix)" by The Cunninglynguists featuring Khujo Goodie & Killer Mike - I will readily admit I'm not the biggest Cunninglynguists fan. First off, their name pisses me off, because pretty much any more-than-competent white rapper in college in the early '90s was amazed at what a clever twist of phrase "cunning linguist" was, and for one group to just jack that as their name, I don't know, it just reminds of me someone who buys all the Chuck Taylors at the Goodwill to sell on ebay even though there might be bonafide loungers out there hoping to buy bonafide Chuck Taylors at the Goodwill for themselves or their children or their sick mother who did a lot of acid in the '70s or something. Fuck cultural cherry pickers. That being said, I stole their last CD from inside the internet's guts, and it was okay. I liked that song with Inverse (which I actually had been pumping that Inverse EP a lot, so I knew that song already), and the "Broken Van" song or whatever impressed me because it not only was a song about a piece of shit vehicle, which I always mark out for, but it had a Leon Russell sample from the Carney LP. I've listened to that LP a lot in my life, and made a few samples from it, including using the beginning of "Out in the Woods" on two copies to juggle the little bit of time I was DJing and learning myself out routines. I never would've thought to sample what they sampled for that song though. So props to you The Cunninglynguists, in case you fuckers are google searching yourselves all afternoon long, waiting to blow up like you know you should. But this "Georgia" song is some shit. First, if I was to have to pick like my five favorite rappers right now, Khujo and Killer Mike would be on that list. Khujo comes across as more for-real country than any of the shiny bullshit you hear on so-called country radio stations. And this song proves it. And then Killer Mike does what he does best - swab a very visual and very real and pretty street yet pretty intelligent picture while riding the beat like a motherfucker. I know this shit was on sharebee not too long ago, so google it up and vibe. My mental mix threesome of late has been "In the Red" by Willie Isz, then this, then "Comin' Home Atlanta" by Killer Mike; I try to work that little triple nipple of conscious babble into mixes I make for people, except I never make the mixes and just be like, "Oh shit man, I'm gonna hook up a mix of some killer shit you should check out," because we talked about rap music and the other dude was like he was down with Pete Rock & CL Smooth and shit but got out of following music and has two kids including one baby and blah blah blah.
#3: "If You Want Me To Stay" by Sly & The Family Stone - I have this on a 7-inch single and it's a wonderful single. Sly Stone was on some nonsense next level shit. They did a feature on him doing There's a Riot Goin' On in Waxpoetics magazine a few months back, and it was pretty much like I expected - a lot of great music, great musicians, plenty of drugs and whores, and Sly Stone on some warped by the rain mindframe leadership agenda. I bet there's some seriously good left field shit on tape somewhere that he's made on his own since going on sabbatical from the stupid record industry. We used to know this interracial couple, an older black dude who was like 50 but had little baby dreads and carried himself much younger, and a white girl like 30 or so, and I put this on one night, and I remember the black dude being all like shaking his head and going quietly, since he was a quiet dude, "Oh shit, Sly..." and then started singing along, sitting at the kitchen table. That was a feel-good moment. They split up and shit, and I'm fairly certain the older black dude wanted to hook up with my wife, since she had dreadlocks and a big ass and older black dudes who like white chicks see that as a pair of green lights for their approach, but he didn't really try too hard, I think because he thought I was crazy. Which I am. I've got as much anger about how shitty white people are as anybody, and I'm more than willing to channel that anger into completely different areas of my life. Like fucking up dudes being too friendly with my wife when they think I ain't looking.
#4: "Wagon Wheel (live)" by The Porch Loungers - Ha, the song makes the list again. I actually had three versions of it on my gaypod at one time and my oldest kid was like, "God, why do you have this song on here so much?" The Porch Loungers are my man Boogie Brown's bluegrass band and they'll be putting on acoustic performance around a fire in my back yard next Saturday night. This live version was from Newportfest held by fellow lounger Eric every Labor Day weekend. Hopefully, I will be there this year, DJing between bands, and maybe even pulling off a little surprise performance of some shit, but I don't know. I have a wedding to go to for a marriage that I'll be shocked if it lasts three years. Fucking obligations man, they suck.
#5: "Simple Man" by Lynyrd Skynyrd - I still love this song. Even though this is part of the played-out-by-classic-rock-radio portion of the Skynyrd catalog, it's a great song, and probably the best example lyrically of how Ronnie Van Zant was the redneck buddha.
#6: "Until the Lion Learns to Speak" by K'naan - When The Trouabdour came out earlier this year, I went through a pretty heavy K'naan period, playing the new shit plus the older Dusty Foot Philosopher LP. This came off that one, and is one of my fave K'naan tracks. He actually triggered in me a search for good African rap, which didn't really net that much, since most African rap tends to have the philosophy of "Fuck Africa, let's sound like American rappers, but say African cities instead of American ones." When K'naan brings his African influence, like on this song, it's a good thing. When he gets all rapid-fire more American sounding, he sounds way too much like Eminem.
#7: "New Year's Day" by Robison Charlie - This dude Big Stoner Creek who used to be in The Secret Clubhouse shared for me some songs at some point, and this one was one of them. BSC don't seem to be around anymore, so he won't even know how much I've enjoyed this song. I'm pretty afraid of alt.country type stuff because it's usually crazy stupid and made by and for Brooklyn kids who drink PBRs ironically, so I've never even contemplated searching out a single other Robison Charlie song. I'm not even sure if his name is the right way. Seems like it should go the other way around, but I vaguely remember seeing him on the satellite radio one time and it was wrongways like that there too.
#8: "Stuntastic" by Blaqstarr - I was late to the party for the Fear & Loathing in Hunts Vegas mixtape, but I still got there and stood by the keg until it floated. It's amazing how much better Blaqstarr got once they started not spelling their name right and rapping about nonsense.
#9: "Dying Breed" by Prolo - Another fucking song by me... man I'm an egotistical dude all up on inside the internetz sugarwalls, ain't I? This was one of the first hooks I ever wrote for Boogie Brown to sing once he got all into bluegrass harmonies and I got into writing hooks instead of just verses that were 84 lines long every time. Here, I'll type out the hook, because it'll look way stupider in type on inside the internetz that it really comes across: "We from the northern end of the dirty southside/heart wrapped up in the honeysuckle vine/from southside to southwest, back roads in effect/land of the longhaired, laid back redneck/raven mack boogie brown part of a dying breed/drinking beer at night, in the morning smoking weed/ain't got a whole lot, but it feels about right/let our souls cut loose while our pockets stay tight". Now that's what I'm talking about. Literally.
#10: "Bluegrass Boy" by Woodstock Mountains - I meant to look up who actually did this, like Happy or Artie Traum or some post-Woodstock hippie who stayed in upstate New York with a bluegrass fetish. This is off of More Music from Wood Acres or something like that, which is a great assed record, even though I am playa hating upon bluegrass fetish half-rich fuckers lately, as I just was painting a space where a dude was building a wall who plays in a prominent newgrass band and looked like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie who wore clothes he got from a Mr. Green Jeans estate sale. (Note to regular blog readers, all four of you: I will probably co-opt that line again at some point, over some shit I be plotting out, just so you're prepared beforehand, so when you read that again, you won't be like, "Man, Raven's retarded and repeats himself without knowing" and you can go like, "Man, Raven's retarded and repeats himself, but at lest he know that shit."
#11: "Asleep in the Desert" by ZZ Top - When I die, just play this, over and over and over and over.
#12: "Small Town" by Nappy Roots - Ever since David Banner never made another song even half as good as "Cadillac on 22s" and I gave up on him, Nappy Roots became my southern rap dudes not everybody knows about who have the largest potential. This was the best song off their Humdinger CD last year (unless you count "Good Day" as a song off that even though that came off an internet CD from before and they put it on the Humdinger too because it was so good). And really, with "Aw Naw", "Po' Folks", this song and "Good Day", they've already got a fatter catalogue of completely perfect southern rap anthems outside of everybody except maybe Outkast or Goodie Mobb, but probably not even them, unless you let me split it up in my brain to only Andre 3000 or Khujo.
#13: "The Mountain" by Steve Earle & Del McCoury - I heard a country ass lady inside the radios talking about the slurry slush and floods from mountaintop removal, destroying her house or some shit, and she stood up and protested it all and had rednecks trying to run her off the road and people trying to burn her house down. I have some friends who are into the whole Mountain Action Network Wondertivism Gang, and all that's great, but I sometimes mistrust the integrity of folks very obviously patch-on-their-sleeve on the helping the downtrodden tip. I have a problem with people who have had explaining to me how I shouldn't want to have because having is wrong. But when you slum it up and don't have with the safety net of your grown folks having your back, I don't know man, I just don't know. If you're gonna be a have and not a have-not, just go ahead and embrace it. Don't do this blank-eyed activist urban hippie pretend construction worker bullshit.

Friday, June 19

100 VINYLZ: #73 - Too Fast For Love LP by Motley Crue


(1982, Elektra Records)
This is honestly one of the greatest records ever, and it sucks that thrash metal vs. glam metal became such a divisive theme in hard rock music, because it's left shit like this in a limbo where it doesn't get it's propers from delinquent shithead dirtbags and it gets overlooked by douchebag dipshits who think "Girls, Girls, Girls" is the ultimate Crue. (Apparently, my keyboard doesn't have that satanic double dot thing. Someone should make satan wingdings, pronto.) I have very vivid memories of playing this shit in my bedroom as I would talk for hours on the phone with the girl I lost my virginity to when I was 13. "Piece of Your Action" really drives those memories home strong. Man, she was hot as fuck, and my penis wasn't hard and I hadn't seen enough Hustlers to really know where the vagina hole was, perhaps trained to into the hairy mound and not paying attention to the entryway, so I was poking my limp little dick into the wrong area with this girl, and it sucked for her and sucked for me, but it was my first time and god motherfucking bless it.
Anyways, I was at my mom's house last weekend, looking at the local paper. The girl I lost my virginity to had only had sex with one other dude, a guy like five years older than us who was her neighbor and obviously running older redneck rooster teenager game on a young budding redneck slut with fresh breast buds. Looking at the local paper, there was a picture of a girl who had gotten honors for something or some sort of scholarship and was going off to college, and it listed her parents and all. First off, her step-dad was a dude I used to run with, and I thought, "Wow, Alex's step-daughter be old." But then it listed the girl's father as the same guy who was my first's actual first. Which meant I was sexually related to this girl's dad (which you can't really let yourself start thinking about because it gets you all fucked-up in the head, especially with Facebook around nowadays to make it easier to have visuals for the freak out). That made me feel old as fuck, even though I'm only 36.
An odd aside, that girl I lost my purity too, before we ever hooked up, she was googley eyeing me at the Five County Fair while I was rolling with a friend of mine. My friend's uncle, who was like ten years older than us, was all like, "I think that girl wants you, Raven," and I was young and blowing it off, thinking that was the cool thing to do. It ended up me and her hooked up, my first ever. And even weirder, the friend's uncle ending up being that girl's first marriage, which of course ended in unmarriage. Shit, for a redneck slut who would have sex in all sorts of freaky ways, she never tolerated heavy drinking, much less using drugs. I found that sort of odd. Like I'd rather my kids smoke weed and drink beer than have sex every fucking weekend of their adolescence. I guess I could hope for them to not do either, but if you read through this blurb this far, you can probably guess I didn't exactly grow up in a place where hope runs rampant. Going on with the show though.

Thursday, June 18

100 VINYLZ: #74 - Protect Ya Neck 12" by Wu-Tang Clan


(1993, Loud Records)
The following was also written for the dumpin.net Top 100 All-Time Hip Hop Jamz list, but this was never seen as it was in the top 20 songs that stupid Mike never finished writing for to post on his stupid blog, which he doesn't care about anymore because he's got some gay-assed podcast or some shit. So I will just let this PREVIOUSLY UNSEEN OPINION FOR YOU FROM LIKE TWO YEARS AGO tell the story of me and this single...
I am going to be completely honest and admit that I bought this 12-inch in the record store first time I saw it, but was not able to wrap my brain around it. I had seen a small blurb in The Source about Wu Tang, and in a music genre full of posturing and flashiness, a bunch of grimy motherfuckers in camo, wearing stockings over their head, holding torches in front of an abandoned building with barrels full of fire hanging out, that was some shit I could get behind 1000% percent. You see, I am a child of the soil, growing up in the country... more specifically, the rural south, where blacks and whites of little wealth blend together and playa hate upon each other but combine together to build muscle car hot rods, outlandish clothing styles, and mulatto babies. So the first time after seeing that blurb that I saw this single at Willie's on Broad Street in Richmond, I dropped the $4.77 on it (still has the pricetag, so I know that's what singles went for back then, which was after they raised it from $3.99, which was okay because $4.77 plus the taxes came out to like 3 cents under a five dollar bill). I didn't get into "Protect Ya Neck". In fact, it was the B-side "Method Man" I got into, and apparently the rest of the world got into as well, as that handheld video was the one that got a lot of play on Rap City back then.
But it was inevitable; Wu Tang blew the fuck up big-time, beyond belief, and I was a HUGE Wumark for a long minute (probably until Wu Tang Forever came out, which I felt was a giant step backwards into glossy hypocrisy from their grimy ass group and solo debuts), and I still have that "Protect Ya Neck" 12-inch (from the re-issue put out by Loud when they signed them, not a blank white sleeve one I bought from like Master Killa back in the day out of the trunk of his Camry), and can pretend to be old school whiteboy Wu Tang master listener #1. Shit, what do y'all motherfuckers even know about twelve inch vinyl singles, with y'alls rapidsharing and shit? Y'all probably think Wu Tang Forever was the shit and loved that RZA book and everything. Stupid fucking kids. I hope ODB's orphaned kids use pimp psychology to train Darfur refugee lost boys who have relocated into America into a ruthless terrorist cell to murder you all with an anthrax that floats through wireless internets straight into your fucking wack-ass mind.

Wednesday, June 17

Castles Made of White Quartz

There is a natural area nearby where we live that I don't like to tell nobody about because every time I've gone there no one else has ever been there and I'd like to keep it that way. Back home in Farmville, Va. (what you got to say?) where I was growed up has changed a lot from the Wal-Mart gutting the downtown to parasitic four-lane stretch south of town where every restaurant and store that is in every other upstart community is situated at, and that was long enough ago that the downtown section has already rebricked itself for a quaint old-timey throwback feel to hopefully trick some high end furniture stores and art galleries into filling up the spaces where it used to be a Goodwill. So my natural habitat has pretty much been destroyed, not just in the grand sense of Farmville being all fucked-up and like a commercial now, but also the 50 acres I used to roam got sold off by my grandfather, so that part of it is a black muslim trailer park, and the other part all got logged, and the main part behind my mom's house with the creeks I used to kick it are still there, but the ambiance is all different now what with it being a very separate thing as opposed to a part of a larger natural area. So this actual bonafide by legal methods "natural area" near my current five-acre compound has become a frequent stop lately, to hike/run the 3 mile loop as part of my P.A.P. training (Personal Armageddon Preparedness), from which I've dropped 30 pounds in a few months. It reminds me a lot of where I'd run when I was younger and getting high after school and wanting to disappear into the pretend wild.
At this nearby area, there's some nice tributary creeks to the Rivanna River, and down in the bottom back part of one, you can follow a creek around a rise and it's a nice little lounging spot, with tons of white quartz everywhere. We were hiking with the kids the other day, and I was getting bored waiting for the girls to get bored of soaking their barefeet in the cold creek (country girls wear no shoes, country boys wear no shirt, country folks get no service), and I just started gathering up some of the quartz to build a little tower. I worked briefly as a stonemason (like three weeks) at the last official place of employment I ever had before wandering off into self-employed nonsenseland, and I also watched like 20 minutes of whatever dude that River and Tides documentary is about. But mostly I just like white quartz and felt like building a tower, because I knew there had to be tons of arrowheads back around there, but I couldn't find them, and I figured if I offered up a tower, then I'd start finding them. I know in my mind that it's like finding four-leaf clovers and you just have to train your eye for it, because if you go looking for them (four-leaf clovers or arrowheads), you won't find shit but frustration. Nonetheless, I figured a good rock sculpture would bring me some good luck. My wife, an art major in college, seemed quite impressed by my 20-minute quartz concoction, I think because she knows how words torment me and can be surprised to see my creative anguish erect its madness in different mediums.
Today was no different than any day recently - broke, not working, not motivated to work what I could work, waking up and praying that the sun won't shine (I'm the reason it's been raining so much in case you were wondering, me and fake god), so I went to that area again, and ended up collecting 33 rocks of various sizes to build another sculpture. This one was impressive as I put a hefty rock upright into the dirty muck of what must've been a flood plain last month, and then I situated another big ass rock (a good 60 to 70 pounds I'd say) on top of it sideways. From there, I had planned to use all 33 rocks, but it kind of finished itself at around twenty-some, so I looked around. This second one was on the little plain area I said, about three feet higher from the first one I built right by the creekbed the first time. So I looked around and figured a three-pronged power point attack of quartz was perfectly appropriate, and I used the leftover rocks to make a triple chick quick brick stack on top of a dead tree sitting sideways like Paul Wall. Except there were three left when I felt like that one was done too. Instead of forcing my self-created parameters onto things and ruining my bullshit with my own bullshit (which is a long-running theme in my life, and most lives probably), I tossed the last three rocks back into the creek. The splash caused me to catch eyeballs on a little triangular-tipped rock that would've easily made a good poison arrow were I in the olden days of nomadic ninja natives who made their own weapons of minor destruction. Digging it up out the creek made me find two more, and those three I situated at odd spots on the edges of the second and third stacks, similar to like how gaudy Chinese man buffets that have those ridiculously large penny fountains at the entrance, with the weird fake rock structure climbing the entire wall, and they'll have a little Buddha statuette tucked into a crevice all secret-like that hardly anybody really notices but you do one day by accident. That's how I tucked my last little three pieces of quartz, one on a really cool ass shelf that the second structure had about a third of the way up, like I actually had known what I was doing as I was doing it.
The white quartz rock sculptures have been very therapeutic, and a great addition to my P.A.P. training regimen. I feel like I'm sort of coming out of some electronic hibernation I had been in for nearly a decade that I didn't even know was going on. Figuring out your own bullshit a lot of times is similar to an onion in that you start peeling back layers and you get to where you think you had to get yourself, but then there's more layers. So you keep going and going and eventually you realize at the center of it all is basically nothing, so get on with it. Which is what I'm doing, even if the rest of things don't get on with it with me. I feel as I'm finding my feet again, the rest of the world isn't necessarily spinning the same way I'm wandering. Which is fine. From what I read recently, the world's spinning off-kilter and Mars is going to crash into us at some point anyways. My little unseen off-path quartz stacks are built precariously where if the world really did spin off-kilter too hard, they'd fall back into the mud, which isn't really mud but just wet dirt. I am figuring personally, much like the haiku project where I wrote 1000 haiku over the course of a few years, I should probably, for my own well-being and proper regard within the way the world does actually spin, build a thousand of these things. I probably couldn't do all one thousand there at the secret natural area I don't want anybody to know about, because then someone would be like, "Hey, some crazy fucker is building all these crazy things out here in the middle of nowhere," and then a ton of dumbasses would always be walking around out there and harsh my life buzz. Life buzzes seem to get harder and harder to get what with all the electronic bzzzzzzz clouding the emotionosphere from these technologically-polluted times, and it seems whenever you are lucky enough to find one of those life buzzes, others are quick to come around and try to tag along and siphon some of that positive energy, and it seems about the only thing you can do anymore is hope to sell some oddball t-shirts your buddy screenprints in his garage before your newfound by the public life buzz is completely decimated.

100 VINYLZ: #75 - Punks Jump Up To Get Beat Down 12" by Brand Nubian


(1992, Elektra Records)
At one point at dumpin.net, me and Mike Dikk pretended we were going to list and blurb out the Top 100 All-Time Greatest Hip Hop Jamz of All-Ever as decided by Expert Whiteboys who are heavily steeped into the hip hop and smarter than all other whiteboys and some black dudes too, especially ones that grew up in the suburbs. This is what I wrote about this song when we were doing that...
"When all this shit was coming out, I was dropping near a hundred bucks a week on new full-length tapes and vinyl singles, probably averaging five or six singles a week. I had both the "360" single and this single. The Puba single, and I was a big Puba fan because it was awesome that a guy with a face that looked like it got stung by a thousand bees could be a sex symbol of some sort, has long been sold off, but I still have that Brand Nubian single. And I still play it regularly. I know internet dork computer preservation fuckwad would want to put it to digitalization and save the vinyl for some far-off never-reached ebay value level, but fuck it, I bought the shit, it's mine and I'm gonna play it till it breaks. I might even go draw some shitty graffiti tag on it with a silver Sharpie right now, maybe write PARLAY in really bad 34-year-old white man cholo letters.
This song is great. I had the One For All tape, and wasn't too bummed when they broke up because like everybody mistakenly thought at the time, I thought Puba was carrying the group. This single proved that wrong completely. In fact, other than this single, I don't know what notable non-Brand Nubian albums any of these guys did (although I've been meaning to "obtain" Jamar's album from last year for a while now). And them being split up made you realize that. I think one of the last actual brand new rap tapes I bought before the form became obsolete was their reunion Foundation tape, and it's a good tape, with a grown folks vibe. More shit about community and kids growing up right and all, which jibes well with my family-oriented drunken lifestyle. However, the penultimate rap jams are not about overall concepts of community and making the world better. It's about raw emotion. And you let Diamond sample the horns from Rocky for a thick-booted beat, and then Sadat and Lord J kick a couple of fags in the face lyrically, and that's a motherfuckin' song. (The B-side of the single has a remix where Diamond gets on the track as well, which is neat if you've never heard it, but nothing compared to the original song.)"

Looking back, I would say the one thing that's changed in my opinions for you is that I really like the remix featuring Diamond a whole lot more now, probably because I made myself a screwed and chopped boom bap NYC singles from the early '90s mix through Audacity and used it. Also, I think Diamond is still the world's best kept secret, and any white person into the rap music who doesn't like Diamond and embrace Diamond and tout Diamond should not be considered a for-real rap fan. This is the curse of the white man's mind thinking about hip hop - it always has to be truer to whatever than the next white man's mind, so that we claw at each other's credibility like crab's in a barrel.
Another thing about this single, when I was in college, we used to do acid a lot, and we'd wander, which was a great way to meet homeless people in early '90s Richmond, Virginia. I remember on the billboard above the Hardee's between Grace and Broad Street, there was a credit card ad for a while, and somebody - probably an art student at the school there - climbed up and tagged a thick and drippy "PUNKS JUMP UP TO GET BEAT DOWN" across the bottom of the billboard. I always thought that was awesome. Nowadays, post-Banksy/Shepard Fairey making Obamaganda for profit, I'd find it annoying. And I wouldn't be able to do acid because all they'd have is pharmaceuticals in the dorms. Stupid world, leaving me behind. At least I still have my trusty old Brand Nubian sans-Puba's swollen face 12-inch single to play on my old-fashioned record playing machine.