Hip Hop From Mom's Basement

da quatre cent coups

2009-09-17T07:17:00.001-07:00

A year ago, the recession began hitting most of us. I was finding myself with more time and less work and I looked for a platform to get out some ideas, reflect, and experiment with everything that went into this blog. I grabbed a slew of old papers, pictures, and various items plugged in the scanner and started going off. I gave myself a six-month timeline initiated once the first post went up. As you can see, it took a little bit longer. What began as an experiment has led to a load of fun and idea-generating for me.

As this is a one-man operation and I've reached the crux of what I intended, it's time to say adieu. Or at least, I'll see you in awhile. I appreciate any shoutouts you give to people about the blog. Stay connected and continue following-eventually, there will be a return of sorts (and it'll be bigger, badder, and unexpected...or at least I'll have a killer scanner).

I want to thank all of you for watching, reading, and giving your feedback. I appreciate you taking a look at personal anecdotes, opinions, musings, and collections of conversations over time. Please get in touch about anything you liked, what could work better, and any ideas you'd like to share.

For the meantime, enjoy. Keep reading and watching and old entries you like (share 'em if you're so inclined). And for the audiophiles, give yourself some new playlists based on most of the entry headings. That's right, you've got a chock-full of classic hip hop, soul, and exotica to go through. Start with the first entry named after Jimmy Castor's uprock classic "It's Just Begun." And continue with Serge Gainsbourg's "69 année érotique," De La Soul's "Afro Connections at a Hi 5," and don't forget Ultramagnetic MC's classic "Poppa Large." (Don't be afraid to ask for artist info based on entry headings)

For now, thanks. I'll be back in the basement soon enough.

Mr. Mark

Washington DC, September 17, 2009

Episode 11- Honest

2009-09-15T07:39:00.000-07:00

Hip Hop From Mom's Basment- Honest from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

as jim morrison whispered to martin sheen at the beginning of apocalypse now...

"gotta learn to live with-"

2009-09-11T11:48:00.001-07:00

did they know what they were doing? it's amazin' how infallible they seem to us when we're young. but as you live and deal with regrets and an amazin' ability to still fuck things up at a post-adolescent age, you realize that those two were just mortals. they made mistakes too. they had poor wardrobe choices. they tripped down stairs. they ran over you with a bike at the age of five and decided to get drunk on christmas eve and forget to put presents downstairs. and for all of you, there remains that one consistent bond- the scapegoat that is a sibling. just as your angelic habits would never allow you to do something, it was always your poor sibling who would pee in the closet 'cause they were too lazy to walk to the bathroom at night. and just as your parents were too immortal to ever wrong, it was your poor sibling who gave you salmonella with undercooked chicken for christmas.

as for the "only child's" and their parents, i hope you all had that imaginary friend. i really do.

nyc, 1975

mr. mark still blames siblings for not becoming a doctor.

reflections

2009-09-10T09:07:00.001-07:00

it reverses as we get older, doesn't it? i don't know how many younga pictures of me i grabbed and threw in a drawer whenever i had a tenderoni over during my teen years. actually not too many since i didn't have many honeys come over during my teen years...but i practiced.

regard to the less, mom spent much of my childhood with a camera locked on me. must not have been too different from your youth. i don't know why the look of a child in a bathtub doesn't disturb parents...they just keep snappin' away. collections and collections of me. not that i ain't flattered, but when the sausage starts out as a slice of salami, you don't need a visual recollection of the journey.

nowadays, the parents are the kids. you take care of 'em and there you are with the camera clickin' away.

mom cookin' thanksgiving feast. -snap-
mom playin' with grandkids. -snap-
mom asleep in waiting room while elderly hubby is operated on. -snap-

wait. gettin' old's kinda sad and scary. maybe she don't want that recollected to her.

washington hospital center, 2008

mr. mark will never get old 'cause goonies don't die.

illmatic on the r

2009-09-09T18:52:00.000-07:00

do me a favor. when you get home, go through your collections. i want you to look at all the media you have. review your clothing, letters, all your personal, material items. while doin' this, take out all thoughtful pieces that were given to you that you've kept. find a piece that meant a lot to you (that copy of tales of a fourth grade nothing, the homemade bookmark of russian profanity, and yes, that picture frame made out of macaroni). take it out, yo. if time has been good to you, you've collected a few items that may not be worth a damn but save some sentimental booyakasha's for that waftin' soul. people don't know how we feel about 'em the majority of the time, but if i was reminded that someone kept my ol' mix of lisa lisa classix in their mixx...i'd feel...wait, lump in my throat.

yeah. let's do that. take a picture, wear that shirt, play that mix and let that person know that whatever they did for you in their time has remained timeless for you.

brooklyn, ny 2005

mr. mark would like his copy of the gun in betty lou's handbag back. that wasn't a gift, yo.

leaders of the new school

2009-09-04T08:05:00.000-07:00

any education past kindergarten should make us proud. our ancestors worked their tiny little fingers to the bone when they got the prime working age of five, shoveling our coal, tending the fields, and sewing buttons. and if you're shoppin' at walmart you're still supportin' that.

regardless, treat yourself right for gettin' some serious triple r's in your noggin past the days old workin' age of five.

you should pull my finger because it releases the alphabet, yo.

potomac, md, 1985

sdrawkcab eman sih daer nac kram .rm.

aaron hall says...

2009-09-03T06:51:00.001-07:00

who'd be your guidance giva? we get scared about askin' for it, don't we? actually, we talk ourselves out of everythin' sumtimes. that fear grabs a hold and before you know it, you've convinced yourself that you're gonna stay in the banking game, you ain't gonna take that long-awaited trip to tonga, and you won't find a way to meet get a date with the ice queen at work. but surprises await are there to curb them fears.

my southern french ami, antoine, went to cannes years back. young filmmaker that he was inspired to receive guidance from anyone who would listen. met tim roth at the screening for the film he directed, the war zone. swallowed up that fear and asked mr. roth if he had time to talk with an aspiring artist. mr. roth took mon ami out to lunch the next day and provided guidance and a hollywood tab to an unforgettable lunch.

give yourself some huevos, people. time to make your life yours.

esquire, 1994

mr. mark will never talk himself out of buying that cardigan again. it was the lead singer and it was for charity.

regulators

2009-09-02T06:45:00.000-07:00

there's an age that you reach where your some of your artistic tastes match your parents. and that ain't too bad. gotta admit that there are some mature pieces that you couldn't fully appreciate when you were fillin' in your peach fuzz with a sharpie. i gotta tip my hat for keepin' me informed about mr. blades...

however, there are artistic choices that you make as an adult that even your parents prove their weight in cool. a david cassidy collection? even my parents would've chased me outta hill valley.

san juan, puerto rico, 2009

mr. mark and steely dan. don't hurt him.

the start of your ending

2009-08-25T04:14:00.000-07:00

mr. mark be on vacation. he needs it. more entries to come soon...but for a limited time only. the finale is approaching...

drink away the pain

2009-08-20T06:58:00.001-07:00

are drugs and alcohol supposed to get us to our youthful place as adults? i wonder about that sometimes 'cause there are some cats i've seen on friday nights with piss stains on their pants, wanting to suck on a tt, have a sandbox style fight, and end up tellin' people that they love 'em or that they stink with a three-year-old cadence.

i dunno. i think cap't morgan is probably cap't hook in disguise.

baltimore, md, 1997

mr. mark wondered if red stripe would help him grow dreads.

Episode 10- Konkrete Soul

2009-08-18T08:26:00.000-07:00

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Konkrete Soul from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

ahhh, the voices...

Episode 9- Crossin' Lines

2009-08-13T07:21:00.000-07:00

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Crossing Lines from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

if my train goes off the track, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up?

black nostaljack

2009-08-12T18:57:00.000-07:00

there was a time when memories were allowed to be that. apparently, the future won't allow nostalgia. not when you can view your favorite childhood movie as a director's cut at the drop of a dime (it was cloak and dagger and it sucks as an adult). not when you visit where you lost your virginity via google maps (it was the bench in front of wendy's and it's got a guy with a soul asylum t-shirt sittin' on it). and not when you can reconnect with someone on facebook who should've stayed a memory since it's depressin' to find your cherished pot buddy now holdin' down fort as the assistant manager at ruby tuesdays (and he's still rockin' the long hair minus a lot of folliclelage).

damn you technology. you make my memories smell like poo.

nyc, 2003

yet, mr. mark looks better than before. and he's just gettin' started. owwwwzah!

work

2009-08-11T18:46:00.000-07:00

sometimes it's dangerous to dance in clubs because you risk bumpin' into the dj's tables and fuckin' up the music. people scoff, but that's like throwing your coffee on a pilot's central console, kicking a ladder while your roofer is clearin' your gutters, or cancellin' george hamilton's tannin' apointment...which might be the most damaging to the eye.

brooklyn, ny, 2003

mr. mark doesn't dance near dj's or sundown towns.

Episode 8- Rebel Without a T-Shirt

2009-08-10T05:57:00.000-07:00

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Rebel Without a T-Shirt from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

are you allowed to wear your own image?

on my block

2009-08-06T05:58:00.000-07:00

if it's the moral issue concerning the legalization of drugs, how come we don't get up in arms over the saturated fat kingpins of the fast food circuit? i mean, the contents in most of our fast food establishments kill more people than the use of recreational drugs and creates a large degree of waste in our environment.

maybe i just wanna see the hamburgler, wendy, and that burger king slangin' on the block. i figure hamburgler carries a ruger around in his pants, while wendy gets her crew to chainsaw competition. the king guy...i don't know. i could just see him smilin' while he slices up miscreants like the dahmer that he is.

city paper, 1995

mr. mark eats at subway since jarred lost his big poppa status.

retrospective for life

2009-08-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

one of the toughest things about bein' a parent has got to be your own sense of failure with your kids. your kids screw up, that gets forged into you screwing up. i don't blame too many people for not wantin' them. we're so messy as human beings, i can't imagine having to raise someone in my image. unless you're really cool. if you're tony hawk, toni morrison, or tony the tiger, that's an image that would be pristine to be under. and if you're tony the tiger's son, what's the legacy you create? frosted flaked drink?

now i'm just confusing everything. maybe some of us should remain abstinent.

gaithersburg, md, 2006

mr. mark would know every tactic that his kids would pull to sneak into the house.

reflections

2009-08-04T07:28:00.000-07:00

how often are you told you look or are like this person that your friend knows? i don't know how to take it either. they could be talkin' about this guy from their high school that they used to call "duck boy" who would never change his socks. i don't think we'd want that. you have the right to investigate these things. if someone is willin' to make that claim, then they have to be willin' to show proof. if you're not satisfied with the results, then you can ask them to get their life together because they're projectin' their negative image onto you.

just don't say it in front of duck boy. he'll cry into his socks and that moisture is jus' gonna exarcerbate things.

boston, ma, 1998

mr. mark thinks you do look like an angel though.

mistadobalina

2009-07-31T11:09:00.000-07:00

the character of a city is really about the characters within it, right? i wonder who's the local flavor for oslo? who gets people shakin' their heads in san salvador? who rocks the streets of addis ababa spoutin' duran duran lyrics for cash?

more importantly, what old coot lived in prehistoric times to become the town crazy when everyone around him was bashin' heads, rapin', and shittin' themselves?

oh yeah, he was standin' upright. duh.

washington post, 2008

mr. mark doesn't have enough lyrical memory to be mr. marky mark in your town.

i missed the bus

2009-07-30T08:01:00.000-07:00

does anybody else start their calendar year in september? i can't really get past thinkin' september is the beginning of the year. years and years of that panic, anticipation, renewal, and hope that one fine lady in my home room class would take my virginity has led to me greeting the big s month with the same degree of newness. i don't know if i'll ever get past it. i still sit on the metro in those first few days of september, hoping that a lady from my new "home room" will take my virginity. i'd substitute the location for work, but since i'm self employed, i've already already banged the secretary and the boss. usually around 3pm on wednesdays after tisha campbell pops her head in on a rerun of martin.

washington, dc, 1996

mr. mark would love to have his new home room in rio. as in vanessa del. nasty.

my favorite things

2009-07-28T06:35:00.001-07:00

what's the strangest thing a human can collect? i'll tell ya, it's otha human beings. that's why you don't see it so often. when it comes down to it, most humans be grabbing all the other resources, but spend their lifetime tryin' to get space between them and otha humans. and definitively, a slave owner and a serial killer aren't necessarily human collectors, since their desires aren't in keeping their collectibles well kept.

no, no. i'd say the closest you'd get are foster parents; the folks i'd really like to see on antiques roadshow. keep doin' yo thing.

taiwan, 1989

mr. mark has no idea why his dad thought stamp collecting would be a good idea when he had a perfectly good hobby of keeping bugs in jars. duh.

no endz, no skinz

2009-07-27T07:30:00.001-07:00

damn. those battle scars from the pre-adulthood days of crushes and heartbreak stay with you forever. i can get over a bad date as a 30-year-old. but the time i put into ana j., the big bootied argentine...boy those memories haven't faded. she was too nice to me, because it gave me false hope for a day where we'd she let me touch her butt while we tango'd (i of course envisioned wooing her with a surprise tango routine...jaw would drop, her knees would shake, a muscle flex or two would rip my shirt). when she gave up the digits, she set me up for failure. again, envisioining long phone conversations where she'd ask me to recount the amount of times i'd seen the goonies, or how many pairs of glasses i'd been through in my 8 years since having them. instead, i was offered a constant ring tone and her wonderful mother who apparently never knew where her daughter was. i eventually made it over to her place one night to smoke pot and listen to blues traveller and argentine folk songs. and while i watched her play guitar, smilin' at her mistakes, i envisioned a time where i would be with a queen who would be playin' songs for me, askin' me about my life, and letting me pat her butt freely.

i didn't envision askin' her to be quiet for a little bit and takin' my hand back so i could grab the remote and turn up the last few minutes of no reservations. damn, why you be so annoyin'?

go back to your 16-year-old mind at times. it'll make you appreciate your booty grabs better.

rockville, md, 1995

mr. mark wonders why you have some chinese family still tellin' mr. mark "there no ana here" whenever he calls, ana?

crossroads

2009-07-25T15:12:00.000-07:00

where's the place you can say you've seen heaven? i mean, you can't be all that cynical...there's gotta be a spot that just made sense to you. the andean crests of south america? the utopian environment of tibet? the hometown bbq's of your youth?

i've had about two dozen moments in my life that i can say i've felt real peace. i keep searchin' and there's so much that gives me a real passivity here on earth. i go back to a moment i witnessed a year ago. my stepfather was bein' teased by my family. he was surrounded by his wife, stepchildren, and grandkids. playin' with the grandkids a bit, they went runnin' around and started screamin'. my mom shot a sarcastic note to everyone, "probably can't wait to get some peace when you get up to heaven." we laughed and the moment passed. my stepfather smiled and quietly nodded. he spoke to himself while lookin' at his grandkids and i believe i was the only one that heard these words expressed so calmly, "no need. i'm already there."

enough to make a brother weep, right? i started thinkin' about my moments and sometimes find myself watchin' a three's company rerun, don knotts doin' his thing. and there i go. "no need. i'm already there."

mendoza, argentina, 2006

mr. mark didn't cry just there. it's mad dusty in here, yo. that's all.

"comin' to you live from somewhere..."

2009-07-23T05:34:00.000-07:00

we goin' live! hip hop from mom's basement will be live on stage thurs., july 30, 2009 at
source
1835 14th street NW
9:00pm

it had to happen eventually

washington dc, 2006

Episode 7- Scorpion Fingernails

2009-07-21T05:32:00.000-07:00

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

they get me everytime.