By Robert Enrico

Less than a week after having a deep conversation over the trusty barbeque about the state of rap/hip-hop that got so deep it bordered on theological -this month brought to record stores the return of one of the games most dynamic MC’s.

Let me throw it out there that I”m pretty much 100% down with the new Bay Area hyphy scene, and I’ll put $10 down anytime on a local mix CD with a couple names I recognize, but I have to say this here: the emphasis on the MC in the realm of rap is not as important as it was…..now - its all about the beat, and not the tales the MC has to tell.

Thank fucking goodness NAS rediscovered his stride with the album that was to be titled “Nigger”, and let’s start right there. NAS came up with the title and heaps upon heaps of industry poo-butts gave the name the old political correctness ass ream - so it just ended up released for all intents and purposes self titled.

I don’t understand that shit, because some of my favorite comedy albums from the ’70’s from Richard Pryor include the word profusely. “Bicentennial Nigger” and “That Nigger’s Crazy” are two of Pryor’s best sets ever, and I’ll never EVER part with my copies on vinyl.

And now in 2008, NAS can’t name his album in the tradition of the funniest black motherfucking comedian in the world? Something’s wrong with our perception….but there aint nothing wrong with NAS’ perception….Starting off with “Queens Get The Money” that sounds like it could be an outtake from his 1994 masterpiece “Illmatic” hangs a haunting piano loop leading nowhere and everywhere while perfectly framing an ill flow -an opening mark of NAS’ return to lyrical glory.

Let’s return to that barbeque conversation. Most new rap has the right sonic sound, but lyrically it’s all bang and no buck, with the importance of who is on the mic long gone by the wayside. NAS, like MOS DEF and Black Thought from the Roots is a throwback to a time where the MC could spin a lyrical web around a crowd, make them stand up and yell “Awwww Shit!”

I know y’all are gonna hate and bring up a ton of other fuckers who are hot on the mic (please don’t even try to mention Lil Wayne or I’ll fucking puke all over your Billionaire Boys Club shirt) but there’s NOTHING like the sound of a MC with rhymes, skills and balls to move you more than any Timbaland or Pharrell concocted beat.

Many of the tracks have more edge and depth due to the fact they’re co-written and produced by stic.man from revolutionary rap outfit Dead Prez, (Give them a goddamn record contract, someone…Now!) this outing, unlike NAS last few releases, comes out strong and keeps it going continuously.

Yeah, there’s the perfunctory guest appearances by a few who couldn’t hold a popsicle stick to the Queensbridge bat NAS wields (Chris Brown? The Game? ppffffftttt…..) on the MIC…but I suppose it must be flattering to him to have some of the younger artists wanting to pay homage by guest spotting on a track

I could write you a map song by song, but I’d really rather tell you if you liked the old glory of NAS…cop this disc. It’s not like its 1994 again, but it’s pretty goddamn close.

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By Robert Enrico

If you are a fan of Joe Strummer or the Clash, you’re not really going to give a dry toss about what I think of the editing, sequencing or cinematography of “The Future Is Unwritten”…..if you are a true fan of the man, the band and the legend of Joe, you’ll run out and grab the DVD as soon as you can.

This documentary, directed by Julien Temple, who directed some of the Sex Pistols in “The Great Rock and Roll Swindle” and the fantastic “The Filth and the Fury” surprised me by comprehensively chronicling Joe’s childhood in Turkey, and sheds interesting light on the lesser known childhood suicide of Joe’s older brother.

“Future” doesn’t break new ground as far as telling Joe’s story, but it does show an A-list of his peers and colleagues including former band members from the 101′ers, the Clash, and friends giving heartfelt and touching comments on a musician who wanted to be remembered as a “Punk Rock Warlord”.

I’d like to share my own Joe story, instead of trying to dissect this documentary. When the second Mescaleros (Joe’s last solo band) album came out, I was at a SF tattoo shop and my friend told me that Joe was doing an in-store performance at the record store down the street. I waited until the last very minute — close to 7 pm and made my way hurriedly down the dim storefronts of Haight street.

As I walked, I looked to my right and there was Joe pacing me, heading to the same record shop, with his guitar case. At the time, I was in a serious business “punk as fuck” attire period, with ankle height lineman’s boots, triple and double studded belts and a paper thin Exploited “Dogs of War” shirt. I looked at the mans face and was struck by utter awe. He knew I recognized him and he softly said, “San Francisco evenings are just beautiful. You’re lucky to live here.”

Stunned, all I could do is offer my hand for a handshake and thank the man for his music and the lessons he gave me on integrity, world politics and inspiring me to think for myself and not be another sheep led to the slaughter. “Your welcome, It’s good to see San Francisco still has some cool punk rockers about.” he said in his trademark rasp as he shook my hand again and we entered the record store.

Not every day do you get to meet one of your heroes, and they exceed your expectations by leaps and bounds.

“The Future Is Unwritten” begins with radio and television announcements of when Joe died just days before Christmas six years ago, which still makes me choke up as it did when I found out at work he had died. What a fucking loss. Our world truly needs more men like Joe.

“Future” chronicles Joe’s rise to stardom with the Clash and the bands subsequent implosion, his eight years doing bit parts in movies and soundtrack work and his eventual return to excellent form with his band the Mescaleros.

Our world has been graced with the minds and spirits of true men who bucked the norm and did their art their own way, such as Hunter S. Thompson, John Coltrane, Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer. Any opportunity we have to celebrate the resolve of the greats is like a breath of fresh air in a world of stale non thinking followers.

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By John Breese

What a week it’s been here at Ninbo. The celebration of abortion has certainly been well-received and it looks like most visitors are pretty much on board. And check this out; would you all believe that on this, the final day of Abortion Week, I actually got invited to go stroller-shopping at Toys R’ Us? I shit you not! All the same, a big hug goes out to the inviter in question.

I thought I’d wrap things up with this little tidbit about the Netherlands and a great idea they have that was meant to be applied for all the wrong reasons. What a bummer.

When I was hanging out in Amsterdam there’s one thing that was made pretty clear: As friendly and outgoing as the Dutch happen to be, they don’t care much for screwing around. When movie director Theo Van Gogh was murdered by an Islamic extremist, right-wing politico Geert Wilders, went on to say that there is no such thing as moderate Islam, and called for a ban of the Qur’an, which he compared to Hitler’s Mein Kampf. “I believe that our culture is far better than the retarded Islamic culture.” Was his precise way of explaining his stance to the media.
That same extreme attitude carries over in the politics of Marianne van den Anker, a member of the Leefbaar Rotterdam Party who viewed Antilleans and Arubans communities as a threat to Dutch harmony as well as the largest producers of unwanted children.

Though I love the idea of forcing a crash-landing on child-production, I’m very troubled by one thing: Marianne van den Anker’s end goal is not about child protection or managing the population, it’s just out-and-out ethnic cleansing at source.

So far it’s been over two years since the proposal has been made, yet progress has been made in terms of bringing the bill to fruition.

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Sometimes we need  a dose of comedy in order to properly digest just how sad our present state of reality happens to be.  Someone recommended I check out Idiocracy a couple of months back, and though the producers of this film could have gone so much further with this formula, it still succeeds in presenting a feasible ‘What If’ factor.

To learn more about Idiocracy read this review.

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By Robert Enrico

Any moron with eyes and a rudimentary ability of counting can tell through the simplest of trips through any metropolitan area, that there’s a lot of fucking people out in the world. That means smart people, dipshits, people who don’t use turn signals, people who rape, fart, sell pencils on the corner and separate isotopes in a nuclear-proof plastic bubble.

Some may say there are too many people….

So, not unlike the age old question of how many licks it takes to get to the candy center of a tootsie pop - come a plethora of questions and choices to be made and pondered regarding how the human monster or being, should reproduce.

Let me start here with the male perspective. Most men prefer sex without a condom, and when a man comes close to climax, all of his common sense and basic intellect go by the wayside….when a guy is about to come, you could tell him you’re going to drive a railroad spike in his ear with a golf club and he’d probably nod yes…”Just let me come, okay?”

So if a man decides to not put on a condom or pull out and shoot into the air, chest or whatever….he has lost his vote in whatever may happen if his date/squeeze/wife/boo gets pregnant. He can advise, consult bitch or moan…but he’s lost his rights once he’s planted the seed….

A woman decides what or who goes in her vagina, she should have the same sole and undeniable prerogative over what comes out of it. You would not seriously tell a woman she cannot ovulate because, “What about those poor bloody eggs you’re flowing, you hussy!?” would you? No.

( I apologize for the graphic nature of that last paragraph.)

Seriously, when did people want to become the reproductive police? I’ll tell you WHEN and WHY. These religious fuckers who are so pent up because they don’t penetrate or get penetrated enough are hellaciously repressi