I gets home from Warren last night about 12:20 A.M. I figured I’d ride through the city to try and find me two boot leg CDs. I was gonna get Rakim and Raekwon. Yeah, that’s right boot leg. I told myself, especially since I got bills now and no money, that I am not spending another dollar on Hip Hop CDs until I make some cash in the rap game as a producer or rapper. I have been rapping and shit since I was 14; that is twelve years. Its time for Hip Hop to support me a little. At the least pay off my car or credit card or something.
So I’m riding down around Times Square but I don’t see anybody with any CDs on the streets. I passes by 43rd St. and I see a crowd of people and cars lined up. I decides to ride down the street and I sees mad bitches and niggas lined up to get into this club. I tell you that is the shit I love about New York. You just ride down the street on a particular night and you can run into a fat ass party going down till 4 A.M. in the morning. The spot was called Club New York. I guess it was hot for the night.
I went and parked my car on 39th Street and walked back up to 43rd Street. I walks by and stands outside the party. I’m seeing Yukon Danali’s, Navigators, Acks, Benz V12 600s. Just as I was about to leave because I didn’t have the $20 or $30 that I know it cost to get in, I seen CLUE and a bunch of niggaz following him walking up. Now DJ CLUE is like a house hold name in Hip Hop. I’m just looking at the Nigga like an ass hole. I don’t know what was going through my mind. I leave the spot and goes back to my car because I gots to go to work in the morning. As I’m walking back, I’m thinking to myself “damn, I should have said something to that Nigga about me being a producer trying to get on.”
Its like when I see these people, I’m at a lose for words. I prepared me a little speech last night though. Its goes a little something like this. “ A Yo CLUE whats up? How You? I’m a producer trying to get on in this industry. Why don’t you do me a favor and take my tape. If you like it and think you can help me give me a call. If you don’t like it, don’t call and I’ll see you again. I know you don’t know me but can you do that for me?”
I’ve been trying to figure out a way to approach niggaz every since I got here. I’ve seen Funk Master Flex, Lord Finesse, Grand Master Dee of Whodini. I talked to DJ Premier, but I didn’t ask him to help me out. I just ask him how do I go about getting on as a producer. He told me to go to the clubs. I’ve been to a couple of clubs and seen nobody. When I did see the couple of people I mentioned above, I didn’t know what to say to them. I talked to DJ Big Kap but he brushed me off real quick because I really didn’t know what to say to him. I tried introducing myself to him, told him my name and shit and asked can I talk to him.
You got to get at these niggaz at least as an introduction. You got to get straight to the point, and that might not even get you nowhere. Just get at em every time you see somebody. When you see em again, holla at them again. After a year or two, people will notice you and see that you are determined and will maybe help out. THAT’S WHAT I GOT TO DO! TIME IS MONEY!
One thought on “Jrnl Entry No. 12.6.1999”
Caveat: I notice I use the word “Bitch” a lot. I liken it to a song by “The Geto Boys” called “Gansta of Love” (so misogynistic that it’s caricaturally funny.)
Disclaimer: I do not call women bitches in life or treat them inferior in alpha male dominant low-self-esteem fashion.
As these journals were personal (never to be read until my death or by close family only), I’d read them kin to Holden Caufield, past tense (20 years past) first person singular.