So there I was, standing in the middle of a sold-out crowd at the Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco. The year is 1970, and the hardest working man in show business, Mr. Dynamite himself, James Brown; has just dropped the Sex Machine double-album at the peak of his career and is top-billed to perform at the venue. The Fillmore is packed wall-to-wall with people, the atmosphere sticks of heat and sweat from the standing-room only crowd. And there I was. Watching Brown shimmy his way onto the stage in that cape of his, hitting on the two and straight through my heart and mind, sending a chill down my spine. In this place, for this night, I am the minority. A lone speck of light in an otherwise dark place. And I would have it no other way. But still I am justifiably nervous, and so I pull out a joint of some top-grade marijuana and put it to the air as Brown starts 'Please,Please,Please'. The smoke fills the air surrounding me, and the scent trails into the nostrils of the brother standing just a few feet away, who happens to be a photographer for Rolling Stone and here to record the event for posterity. He gives me a look only a fellow narcotic user would understand, that of acknowledging his being hip to the scene and so I offer him a toke. We exchange a few minutes of words on various things; Brown, how awesome he is, marijuana and so forth and then he asks if I'd like to come up stage with him. Before I know it, I'm standing onstage; witnessing one of the greatest, most influential American musicians of all-time in the flesh. He gives me a quick head nod symbolizing a statement that yes, I'm the hippest white cat in the alley, at least for this one night. And then I wake up.
My main man Sigmund Freud states, in his landmark piece 'The Interpretation of Dreams', that dreams are essentially the fullfillment of our deepest desires, of our greatest wishes. And the reality is that it's not 1970, it's 2009. And I'm not watching James Brown live. I'm not smoking marijuana and I'm not even at the Fillmore. But I am a 23-year old caucasian male, and I do have a deep, deep passion for African-American culture and more so, the many forms of music in which they've influenced. Not that I want to BE African-American myself. I definitely have a strong sense of pride for my Italian ancestry (and the relationship between Italians and Africans, as well as Spike Lee's take on this, is a whole 'nother post in itself) and anybody who knows me personally and has half a brain can see this. The thing is, when I was 17 years old; I lacked guidance in my musical taste and life in general. And along came hip-hop. The feelings I got discovering rap for the first few months were comparable only to an orgasim. Hip-hop opened my eyes to a world of creativity I could connect with, that burning sensation in my chest listening to Common, Nas, the Wu-Tang Clan, Hieroglyphics, etc etc. for the first few times had me hooked. And then when I started flowing in ciphers? Well that was a TKO to any interests I had before it. The rest is history. I started with the boom-bap and g-funk of Dre & KRS, slowly made my way to the funk & soul of James, and then onward to the jazz of Parker & Davis. I am a hip-hop scholar to the fullest, and as any true hip-hop head knows the art form is a melting pot of all the musical forms that came before it. So I can't help but enjoy everything else that doesn't include an 808.
'Not Your Average White Boy' is a personal blog, and will include my opinions and ramblings on a variety of subjects; from the four elements of hip-hop and it's culture, to current events, celebrities, album/book/movie reviews, whatever I feel like. I hope you enjoy it, because I know I will, and it will most definitely, without a doubt, be anything but average.
- Eso
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