“I got my momma playin very hard / I’m flirtin’ with sin but I’m married to god…”

When you flip through my CD books you’ll find a lot of indie rock and metal, but not too much hip-hop. It’s not that I don’t have an appreciation for the music, it’s just I hate the braggadocio aesthetic that sets the tone for the majority of hip-hop artists of the last few years.
You also won’t find much in terms of Christian music in my collection…my people get blamed for the crucifixion and I hate getting preached at by the misguided and unlearned. So it might strike some as strange that for today’s Synthesis Artist You’ve Never Heard Of Artist Of The Day, I’ve chosen Virginia Beach Christian rap artist El Prezidino.

I like El Prezbecause he’s working through his issues of spirituality and faith in a way that isn’t preaching as much as telling - his missteps handled with the same thoughtfulness as his strides along a righteous path. There’s a bit of bragging in there, but it’s more focused on his wealth of character, not wealth of material goods. And when he does rap about money, it’s almost more as a self-criticism, in that he should be paying more attention to God and self. I can get behind that, you know. Plus, his beats SLUMP. Check out his music on his Space, and you can find his EP The Warning here.

Check his live dates after the jump: (more…)

The boys of The Pharcyde will be hitting up the stage @ Rock The Bells Tour 2008, marking a rather unexpected reunion. For the first time in 10 years all the original members will be performing together…

(more…)

A book signing turned deadly. Apparently signing a book is not gangsta enough for some people.

All hell broke loose late last night, April 13, at a release party for the new exposé book on super producer Dr. Dre. “Rolling With Dre” is a tell-all book written by former Dre business associate Bruce Williams, in which he details his supposed tumultuous time spent with the producer. The party was held in Tukwila, Washington at Gordon’s on the Green, a restaurant owned by the city. It is not known what exactly started the fighting but by 2AM shots rang out and people started dropping. Two unnamed men were hit, one pronounced dead.

Defunct white-boy rapper Vanilla Ice was released from a Florida Jail today after being arrested for a domestic dispute with his wife.

The 39-year-old rap performer was arrested Thursday night at the couple’s Wellington home in South Florida. Police said his wife called 911, saying he had kicked and hit her during an argument over buying a bedroom set. She later told deputies he had only pushed her. AP

This isn’t anything new. The washed up hack, whose real name is Rob Van Winkle, had a similar incident back in 2001 when he allegedly pulled out some of his wife’s hair while driving down Interstate-595. Van Winkle sure has a knack for the bizarre and idiotic; first hair pulling like a little girly girl, and now pushing his wife after arguing over a bedroom set. This guy seriously needs some help.

Basically a 14 year old boy got his ass beat by some kids who listened to fifty cent. Now he’s suing 50, Universal and anyone who looks at him wrong. Dude I feel the same way. One time I was going for a jog and 50 cent came on and for some reason I had an urge to stab someone. Eventually the song ended and I was not able to find a sharp enough knife, but what if I did? I hate you 50!!!!

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Hip hop mogul 50 Cent, Universal Music Group and several of its record labels were sued on Wednesday for promoting a “gangsta lifestyle” by a 14-year-old boy who says friends of the rapper assaulted him.

The lawsuit filed by James Rosemond and his mother, Cynthia Reed, says Universal Music Group — owned by Vivendi SA — and its labels Interscope Records, G-Unit Records and Shady Records, bear responsibility for the assault because they encourage artists to pursue violent, criminal lifestyles.

The lawsuit also names 50 Cent — whose real name is Curtis Jackson — Violator Management, Violator CEO Chris Lighty, Tony Yayo, a rapper and a member of 50 Cent’s G-Unit hip hop group, and Lowell Fletcher, an employee of Yayo.

For the second year in a row, Playboy and C3 put on a late night party at SXSW, and for the second year in a row, I was lucky enough to attend.

While last year, the party was housed in a giant warehouse-type thing in the middle of nowhere, this year’s event was right downtown at a giant warehouse-type thing at the corner of 3rd and San Jacinto. The line circled the block and even the media entrance was swarmed by 11 PM.

Inside, there seemed to be a new adventure tucked into every corner: free barbecue; free drinks; a room full of Port-A-Potties that also housed a Rock Band hooked up to a television the the back of a car and a well lit area with a backdrop for crucial drunken photo seshes. The people were fascinating to watch:

• There was a surly red-headed bartender. She admonished people for taking too long to order their drinks; allowed her “regulars” to skip in head of the line; and when a particularly douche-y party goer knocked over her stack of plastic cups, she fixed him with a steely glare and lectured, “Really dude? Really?” Yeah, dude. Really? One day I’m going to marry that girl.
• There was a couple–or just two like souls who found each other in an instance of pure serendipity–who boogied toward the back entrance. He was dressed in a low-cut, V-neck, red velour with white racing stripes. His humongous, curly hair was accented by a white headband, and his face wore one of the sweeter ironic moustaches I’ve seen during the trip. She was wearing skin-tight striped hot pants that could barely contain her luscious booty. Their choreography consisted of moves that my have been stolen from the Torrance Community Dance Group, and they were pretty darn fabulous.
• And I think I saw Elijah Wood.

There were bands, too. The Heavy played some songs, and they were kind of whatever. MGMT gave me a headache, but not in an awesome High on Fire sort of way. Justice started off at a throbbing cacophony and just started cranking shit louder and louder until brains started frying. That’s when shit really started going off. Moby played a DJ set, but I missed it (I’m kind of bummed about it now since we’re totally bros now), and by the time I got back (around 3:45 AM), the venue (slowly clearing out) was pumped so thick full of smoke (and I was so pumped thick full of whiskey) that my eyes started tearing. Cutting through the haze was difficult, but there were a ton of people on stage, how many, and who was actually DJing, I couldn’t tell. It looked like a lot, and they were back lit, which made it kind of creepy.

Luckily, they were still serving whiskey, and back by the photo sesh area, a woman with sweet guns (in addition to other things) interviewed Spencer. Swag included: a wristband, guitar pick, free magazine and a couple other things I’m not allowed to mention because they may be incriminating. Good time had? Oh yeah.