More 80's Musical Filler

rob's been posting musical reminiscences lately so I run up on his corner because Spotify just served up some 3rd Bass and we shouldn't forget about them.

I wonder what they're saying.

You've probably seen the video of Kate McKinnon rapping in Hungarian on The Tonight Show. I'm not gonna lie--I'm impressed. That said, I think Animal Cannibals deserve a lot more shine than they're getting as the creators this song, which is called Yozsefváros.



These guys are great! They sampled "UFO" by ESG and "Synthetic Substitution" by Melvin Bliss. Ghostface relied on that same sample five years later in what is probably my favorite GFK song.

And they seem like fun guys to hang out with. At 1:03 they're peeing in public. At 1:17 they're petting a horse. At 1:22 they have a weiner dog in a sweater. At 2:09 they look like extras from the Sabotage video. At 2:23 they have a sheep. At 2:24 they shake hands with Csecsei Bela, mayor of Budapest and owner of a fantastic Hungarian mustache.

I wish I spoke Hungarian so I could understand what the hell they're saying!

My Name's Pete Nice. You Want My Autograph?

I recently uncovered an old iTunes playlist I made for a party many years ago. I loaded it onto my iPhone for shits and gigs. I played it while walking to the train for my commute home. Two big takeaways:

1) Super Bon Bon is the perfect Manhattan walking-with-a-purpose tune. Catchy, intense and angry, but not the kind of speed metal that makes you want to punch someone.

2) Hol-ee crap, do I dig the old 3rd Bass tunes. Everyone kinda digs them, I know. This isn't a big call I'm making. But cranking Brooklyn Queens is all kinds of awesome. And after watching Boogie Nights 69 times, I now recognize that the tune sampled Best of My Love by The Emotions. Totally enjoyable tune as I trek from 50th & Park to 50th & Broadway to take the 1 train south to Penn Station.

Dig it.

Cauc Hop Revisited

It's been just over six years since G:TB's 1st Annual Caucasian Hip-Hop Artist Invitational. Perhaps unsurprisingly we never revisited this topic, and I'm too lazy to do so fully. But I posit that there are two artists who deserve to be seeded in the top half of the draw: Action Bronson and El-P.

Action Bronson continues to come up large. He's at the point where he even dominates his cameo appearances. He merely gets a "featuring" credit on "Driving Gloves," a new track from Gangrene (i.e., the Alchemist and Oh No) but it's pretty clear he's the star of the show.



If you made it to the end of that video you saw the reference to Meow the Jewels, a Run the Jewels spinoff project in which El-P remixed RTJ2 using only cat sounds. We've mentioned this lunacy here before and I wasn't sure if it was a joke or not. It appears to be real, based on the following from SoundCloud.



I'm not much of a prognosticator, but if these guys couldn't pull off at least 7 or 8 seeds then the legitimacy of the Cauc Hop undertaking has to be called into question.

The Twelve Days of Gheorghe-mas, Day Four

On the fourth day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me...

Four-gone Conclusions
Three Saluki Tallies
Two Recurring Features
And a Doofus Dancing (hee, hee)
(It didn't really flow or rhyme without that hee, hee part.)

Good intentions. They pave the road to Hell, so people say.

The long and winding road that is my life to date is littered with broken-down clunkers that are my well-intended, abandoned vehicles. I know we’re all subject to grand plans that never got off the ground, or even great beginnings that were aborted mid-flight, but I feel like I may have undertaken more than my fair share of half-baked endeavors that never saw fruition.

And there have been some great ones over the years. Some were sound business plans left on the table due to lack of capital, confidence, or any clue how to execute them. From the cliché-but-cool ideas for a new bar to the specific IT business strategies that someone else since figured out and got rich with, they all woulda coulda shoulda worked. But none were employed.

Others were artistic enterprises deserted in embryonic stages. Gheorghe: the Internet Magazine comes to mind. We had another website called Sportive where we waxed haughty about sports issues. (We later saw that same M.O. put to greater use at Jerry’s Wheelhouse.) There was a collaborative novel between Dave, Rob, and myself that got about three chapters in before indifference took over. Even an online crime story whose chapters were written in round-robin manner by an array of self-professed pseudo-literati . . . that vanished just as it was getting good.

The screenplays Dave and I co-wrote also fell victim to the same lack of follow-through. From 1998-2000, we did manage to crank out three semi-complete scripts, with one of them even making it into a Hollywood studio, so there’s at least a sense of accomplishment. That sense is heightened all the more by my checkered history of never making it that far down the road on so many other projects, but another feeling – what more we could have done – creeps in from time to time as well. Our first script got reviewed by the studio people, with enough complimentary feedback to spur us on; then bad luck eliminated that connection, and we really never pursued it the way successful writers do. Our final collaboration made it into Project Greenlight’s Top 250, pared down from five or six thousand entries. And what did I do? I failed to submit the follow-up paperwork to keep us in the mix. (I only confessed this fact to Dave a few years ago.)

I loved that last screenplay, too. I wince every time a preview for a film about the Outer Banks appears on my television, assuming someday someone will swipe our idea and run with it to big success instead of us. Fortunately, works like Nights in Rodanthe have little to do with our plot, but someday, it’s gonna burn me up.

Some of my good intentions haven’t been moneymaking plots, they’ve just been ideas for fun. Party themes long forgotten, my 1991 home brewery in Coby’s basement (“W.C. Beer -- canned beer taste in a bottle”), and the road trips. Ah, the road trips.

For spring break in 1990 I had mapped out the “Bad Brewery Tour,” a massive road trip to the Midwest in our fratre’s Camaro that would hit the Schlitz, Pabst, Shaefer, and other low-prestige breweries. We were very excited. Then I went to Jamaica because my girlfriend’s parents were paying for it. No complaints, obviously, but another planned-out, memorable would-be adventure aborted.

In the spring of 1993, after I’d finished up my studies the previous December, I had big plans to drive across the country with W&M friends Flynn & Erney. On motorcycles. We had the hogs already. Our route was calculated, and our lodging – relying mostly on friends & family couch space – was all figured out. All that was left was mending fences with a few ex-girlfriends in key locations so that we could maximize our limited budget. And then I didn’t graduate in December. And then Ern got a job. And that was that. I never did call my old love in New Mexico, the linchpin to the west.

Now, let’s be honest – the motorcycle trip would have surely killed us. Three drunks in their early twenties on Harleys (actually, the cycle I was borrowing from my dad was a Honda, always cool) riding from bar to bar all across the USA . . . yeah. No chance we make it back. I guess the laws that save lives can sometimes also include the law of inertia.

Somehow, going against the grain of this lifelong pattern, I have been a part of Gheorghe: The Blog, which hasn’t derailed . . . yet. Slow, inauspicious origins have begat some serious momentum in recent years, relatively speaking. The odds that we would be laughingly reminiscing about this silly blog idea by now were very strong.

We’ve even managed to maintain a few recurring features along the way. Our collective ADHD killed enough of them to make the label “yet another recurring feature destined to stop recurring” warranted on most every new idea. As evidenced by Rob’s Day Two post, however – hell, even by virtue of last year’s 12 Days of Gheorghe-mas segment and its resurrection thus far this year – it seems like we can actually follow through on some of our plans. It’s not a success story deserving of an NPR segment or anything, but hey – those who know us wouldn’t have expected even this.

Which is why I must now mimic Dave and Rob’s college exploits and plunge one final harpoon into my own great white whale. (Doubly punny, nice.) There was one recurring feature this year that I helped engineer and propel forward toward completion. And there was one recurring feature that I let go dormant right before its finale. An indefensible backslide toward my storied bad habits, the fact that this feature has sat there one post away from its conclusion for eight months is just preposterous. I am sorry.

We all realize by now how much the 12 Days of Gheorghe-mas resemble Alcoholics Anonymous’s 12 Steps to Recovery – and how much G:TB resembles AA. (“AARP,” Mark cracks wise.) Well, one of the 12 steps involves making amends, and I am here today, soberly and somberly (both of those are fleeting descriptors), to make amends.

Yep. I’m finishing the Cauc Hop.

Remember the Cauc Hop? Take a few minutes to jog your memory if need be. But it’s time, people. Game on . . .

The Cauc Hop: The Final

3rd Bass (4) vs. Beastie Boys (2)

So, back in the semifinals . . . yes, back when the other March Madness was coming to a close . . . the Beasties took care of the upstart 14-seed Slug while 3rd Bass shocked Cauc Hoppers all over by knocking Eminem off his pedestal. It set up a final showdown that’s taken months of preparation and promotion to finally bring about. Here we go.

* * *

You didn’t think Serch and Pete Nice were going to take this lying down, did you? The familiar opening sample of Blood, Sweat & Tears’s “Spinning Wheel” comes blaring on the speakers, and the crowd gives a look like, “Oh, man – the gloves are off already.” It’s “Sons of 3rd Bass,” their lyrical beat-down of the three bad brothers you know so well that led off The Cactus Album. It’s on.

As Dan Dierdorf would say (all blowhardy), “These two teams simply do not like each other.” Well, at the very least 3rd Bass doesn’t dig on the Beasties. The B-Boys made no secret of the fact that MC Serch had tried in vain to make himself one of their crew. Add to that the Beasties’ bail-out from DefJam Records, which was 3B’s label at the time, and there was certainly enough fodder for these neigh-borough rapsters to get on the mic and take some shots. And let’s face it – time’s been a lot kinder to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego than to Serch, Richie Rich, and especially the Prime Minister P-Nice, aka Peter Nash. Gotta be something of a chip on their shoulders.

Soon enough the derelicts of dialect are laying down lyrics with typical hip-hop bravado:

Swarm to the lyrics cause Serch is your father
Screaming "Hey Ladies," why bother?
Broke out ‘cause the swindler took your ducat
No talent on the tune, you might as well SUCK IT

…and standard 3rd Bass disapproval at commercialism (often reserved for Hammer or Vanilla):

Taste the flav' of the original
Orphaned trio, abandoned by lyrical
Through us, the echelon exposed with the roll with no soul
Counterfeit style, born sworn and sold
Out with high voice distorted
If a Beast' to wish play fetus, I'd have him ABORTED
Ludicrous whining, meaning when the others
Stand by ‘em, while they take the fall
The Beast' now lives in the Capitol

And so 3rd Bass draws first blood.

Adam Yauch, Adam Horovitz, and Clarence sit back and shrug it off. Time has indeed been kind to this trio, giving them wisdom and comfort instead of hard luck and failed ambitions. Of course, they’ve cashed in and rested on laurels like nobody else in the business. That extreme youthful exuberance and visionary jackassery on display in their first few albums have, for better or for worse, given way to a mellow cool, but also works of little risk and, in turn, little reward. Their post-1990 street cred has gone relatively unchallenged . . . until right now, when another wallop-packing hip-hop trio from the five boroughs – who hasn’t graduated to rap royalty over the years – takes the barbs of their 1989 song and applies them exactly 20 years later.

Pete Nice won’t leave well enough alone.

A record label, a King to 4th letter
Passin’ phases, non-legitimate trendsetters
Pop figures, who figured they'd get paid
Exploitin’ art the black man made

Starting to ruffle some feathers. 3rd Bass made its bones taking an old school slant, acknowledging elders, having a multiracial roster, and busting other acts’ chops for selling out and “turning hip-hop into hit-pop.” It’s always been a little difficult to fully reconcile that in some small way they were doing the very things they mocked, but they got away with it. Taking on by-now institutions like the Beastie Boys, however, might be pulling the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger.

For now, though, Mike and the Adams and are kicking around with a funky instrumental. They’re taking the Buddhist high road and not engaging their feisty adversaries. Apparently they don’t understand how the Cauc Hop and rap battles work.

Pete Nice swings his cane for the fences . . . hitting a ball signed by Ducky Medwick after the ’34 Fall Classic . . . and it caroms off Yauch’s noggin. Nothin’. The Prime Minister chews on his cigar and spews the “Sons of 3rd Bass” end-lyric bitterness:

You know about that silver spoon havin’, buckshot acne showin’, L.A. weak-ass sellout, non-legitimate, tip-doggin’, Jethro pseudo intellectual, dust-smokin’, pretty boy playwright posin’, folks wiggin’, whinin’ annoyin’ Def Jam reject devil, white bread no money havin’ slum village people cloning step children!

Okay. Ad Rock’s getting pissed. Suckers they be saying they can take out Adam Horovitz. People have been naysaying the Beastie Boys since they were churning out worthless hardcore noise. They were frat boy idiots stealing from Zeppelin. Then goofballs swiping from Sly Stone. Then retreads ripping themselves off. They were Russell Simmons’ and Rick Rubin’s puppets. Then they owed it all to the Dust Brothers. Then Mix Master Mike. They were a flash in the pan. Then experimental idiots. Then washed-up and out of ideas. Enough, already.

You say fuck that, yo holmes, fuck this
I’m the King Ad Whammy and you’re Dick Butkus

Mike D, back from the dead, takes control:

Now Ad-Rock, and M.C.A.
Let's rock this joint in the old school way
Well I'm on, 'til the crack of dawn
Mowing down M.C.'s like I'm mowing a lawn
But I can stand my ground, and I am down
To wax an M.C. who acts like a clown
But for now, I'd like to ask you how
You like the feel of the bass in your face in the crowd

DJ Richie Rich sends up some furious cuts to take back the momentum. It’s go-time for Serch & the Prime Minister of Sinister to win it, and so as with an atomic elbow, they let one drop. The piano loop starts . . .

Kick ‘em in the grill, Pete!

Mike D . . . gets the Gas Face
MCA . . . also gets the Gas Face
Ad Rock . . . shut up, stop whinin’, you get the Gas Face!

Oh, lord. Did they just give the B-Boys the Gas Face?? 3rd Bass is just about to pull off this stunning Cauc Hop upset, but the Beasties seem like they’re sleepwalking. They’re just too far removed from their heyday, and too well off to care. Or maybe they know something?

I said where'd you get your information from, huh?
You think that you can front when revelation comes
Yeah . . . You can't front on that

But Richie signals to Serch and goes for the death blow, as we hear the jack-in-the-box kiddie intro. Yep . . . it’s . . . “Pop Goes the Weasel.” The insinuation that the Beasties are on par with Vanilla Ice is too much.

Stop vexin on the skills, ya ain't originate
The thin ice you skate upon will break and set ya straight
Ate up on the plate, now who's diesel
Not the weasel
Not the weasel
Pop goes the weasel

Then it goes quiet. The crowd’s not sure what just happened. The B-Boys just got sent packing. Or . . .

Look . . . lookin' . . . look-look-look-look-lookin' at my Gucci, it's about that time.
What’s the time?

* * *

You see, I spent much of my sophomore year in college doing just what I was talking about earlier – making plans I’d never fulfill, and it wasn’t just limited to enrolling in classes I’d never attend. On more than one occasion I’d have long conversations about doing constructive things, going to faraway places and achieving something meaningful. Or just trying to get out of the fraternity house that day. Always, though, life got in the way. It’s like John Lennon (who didn’t live long enough to see hip-hop flourish, but who would have loved it) told us: “Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.”

And as I recall two decades later, life that year primarily consisted of tearing my fingers to shreds on Mickey’s Big Mouth pull-tops with Rob & Dave and listening to Paul’s Boutique on repeat. Repeatedly on repeat. We thought it was the best thing we’d heard. Tattooing those sounds onto my brain, so that now I can’t possibly hear David Bromberg’s “Sharon” or Sly & the Family Stone’s “Loose Booty” (check ‘em out) normally. Listening until certain words inevitably trigger Pavlovian responses. When my daughters have to learn about Ponce de Leon, they’re going to wonder why the hell “constantly on, the fountain of youth, not Robotron” follows every mention of him. “I’ve got money” evokes “like Charles Dickens,” which in turn evokes much puzzlement. And so on. There’s no cleansing my brain at this point.

Licensed to Ill, same deal. I still hope the beginning of every playing of “When the Levee Breaks” is actually “Rhymin’ and Stealin’.” It never is. The other night a few friends were at my place having a few drinks around the coffee table in very grown-up fashion. Somewhere in the mix I threw LTI on the hi-fi. A girl just a few years younger than I got up and did an unprovoked, emphatic, and lyrically complete run-through of “Paul Revere” that drowned out the Beasties. Ridiculous, and it’s likely bound for YouTube, but she didn’t care.

Then there’s “Sabotage.” For a rare change, enough said. And it goes on. “Intergalactic,” “Sure Shot,” “So What’cha Want,” and dozens more. The wasted days in Rob & Dave’s room drinking malt liquor and trying to contemplate the Beasties’ unnatural obsession with eggs and fish – as well as deep ponderings like whether the girl who sings on “Shadrach” was Caucasian or African-American . . . well, we never followed through on any grand plan we concocted that year, ever, at all; but looking back, if we were actually on the road to hell, it certainly wasn’t because of our good intentions.

* * *

Don't touch the mic, baby, don't come near it. The Boys launch into “Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun,” a masterpiece if only for pairing Mountain’s and Pink Floyd’s guitar work. MCA’s gruff holler, unaffected by the salivary gland cancer, shakes the stage, Mike D is needling the 3rd Bassmen, and Ad Rock’s in a full-out howl.

I am like Clockwork Orange going off on the town
I've got homeboys bonanza to beat your ass down
Well I'm mad at my desk and I'll be writing all curse words
Expressing my aggressions through my schizophrenic verse words
You're a headless chicken chasin' a sucker freebasin’
Looking for a fist to put your face in

Knockout punch. As Serch shuffles off the stage, he turns back to hear “...the best in men's clothing. Call Paul's Boutique, ask for Janice and the number is (718) 498-1043. That's Paul's Boutique and they're in Brooklyn.”


Make no mistake, MC Serch, the Prime Minister Pete Nice, and DJ Richie Rich gave it a valiant run. They’re white boy rappers who have always garnered respect instead of ridicule, and for a few short years they were tip-top in hip-hop. But these were the Beastie Boys, not Cheech and Chong.

Later that night, the Boys called P-Nice on his graveyard shift at Carvel and played Cooky Puss for him.
Your 2009 Cauc Hop Champions: Beastie Boys


You can sleep again, fair friends.

The Cauc Hop: Semifinal Results!

After a lengthy delay, the semifinals of G:TB's First (and likely last) Cauc Hop are in. The results were surprising, sensational, scintillating and superb. So without further Adu, let us reveal the results.

3rd Bass (4) vs. Eminem (1)

This battle between old-school and new-school hip hop stalwarts had the makings of a rout, with the higher seeded Marshall Mathers, master of the improv rhyme battle, seemingly ready to send 3rd Bass back to the section of Oblivion where they've resided over the last fifteen years. However, judges penalized Mathers early for re-using the "your dick is so small, when you try to take a piss, it runs all over your balls" joke he first penned as the character B-Rabbit in 8 Mile. Undaunted by the gravitas of his opponent, an angry MC Serch laid into Mr. Mathers with an unending onslaught of digs aimed at his fights with Insane Clown Posse, his newly waxed chest, his rhymes about closets and his publicly documented divorce.

With a stunned Eminem up against the ropes, Serch made the tag to an antsy Pete Nice. And, to nobody's surprise, Pete Nice kicked Em in the grill and delivered The Gas Face, leaving a dazed and confused and defeated Mathers to stumble back home to clean out some more closets.

In a monumental upset, the bastions of old-school hip hop revel in underdog 3rd Bass' upset victory over Eminem. 3rd Bass surprisingly moves into the finals.

Slug (14) vs. Beastie Boys (2)

In another match-up seen as a likely rout, the Beastie Boys did not disappoint. The trio brought the goods fast and hard, giving the most rapid beat-down seen since Mike Tyson pounded a terrified Michael Spinks into the canvas in 1988.

(Random editorial note - That fight happened in June 1988, meaning we are approaching the 21st anniversary of the fight. Feel free to start feeling very old now.)

Slug barely had time to take off his hoodie before being pummeled. The Beasties coast into the finals, leaving Slug to worm his way back to his hometown of Minneapolis.

So we are left with this final match-up for the Cauc Hop:

3rd Bass (4) vs. Beastie Boys (2)

Stay tuned for the review of this epic old-school battle...likely to come by 2011.

Round 2 Results of the Cauc Hop

With all of the other hype focused on the "other March Madness," The Cauc Hop resumed today, with Round 2 offering as much scintillating action as the first round did. Have a look for yourself . . .

Eminem (1) vs. Bubba Sparxxx (8)

As the #1 entry, Eminem was unchallenged by the 16-seed Brian Austin Green. In the second round, however, it was a whole different story.

No. No, it wasn't. Bubba Sparxxx launched into "Deliverance," only to have Eminem to quip, "You got a pretty mouth, boy." The pasty hillbilly foolishly insinuated that Eminem was just Dre's puppet, only to be beaten down with a flurry of clever lyrical barbs involving incest, rednecks, and Bubba's own reliance on the Ying Yang Twins. It got "Ugly" early for Bubba.

Eminem continued on mercilessly, managing to heap insults on Bubba's girlfriend, family, friends, home state of Georgia, and everyone who ever dwelled south of the Mason-Dixon line. He went after Sparxxx for failing to bow down and pay respects . . . and then ripped Michael Jackson and Moby just for kicks.

Eminem won handily, though everyone in the arena wondered whether he ran up the score not for lack of respect for the young hip-hopster but because he's still irate at his peeps who leaked his latest album to the Net. Either way, he moves on.

House of Pain (5) vs. 3rd Bass (4)

The battle of "What have you done for me lately?" appeared to match two one-hit wonders from the early 90's . . . well, it appeared so to the Yo! MTV Raps crowd who only wanted to hear "Jump Around" and "Pop Goes the Weasel." The House book-ended their set of largely uninspired Celt-rap numbers like "Top O' the Mornin' to Ya" and "Shamrocks & Shenanigans" with "Jump Around" and . . . "Jump Around." With a paper-thin catalog, this is what happens.

Anyone looking for more of the same from the derelicts of dialect was more than pleasantly surprised with the outcome. After opening with the aforementioned crowd-pleaser to get it out of the way, 3rd Bass ran through a reading of the entire Cactus Album. From "Steppin' to the AM" to "Brooklyn - Queens" to "Wordz of Wizdom," the law was laid down by Serch, the Prime Minister, and DJ Richie Rich. (It's worth noting that the latter inspired the rap name of one of G:TB's own -- DJ Robbie Robb -- in 1991. He was accompanied by another Gheorgher -- "Honky Dory" -- and Friend of Gheorghe "D. Pave.")

It turned out to be a decidedly one-sided affair. In desperation, Everlast shoved his Housemates offstage and attempted to turn the tide by cranking out "What It's Like," but the officials intervened, pointing to the Cauc Hop ruling that states that entries are selected for either their group or solo work, not both. Whitey Ford played under protest, but 3rd Bass moves on the the semis in impressive fashion.

Slug (14) vs. The Streets (6)

While Slug leaned heavily on emo-rap classics like "Modern Man’s Hustle" and "Nothing but Sunshine" to get him through his first round match-up, the Minnesota-bred rapper chose to change up his game plan going in to his battle with acclaimed British rapper The Streets by going the battle rap route with bangers like "One of a Kind" and "Cats, Vans, Bags" early on and, clearly, stunning the pride of Birmingham, England. Though he was down, The Streets was certainly not out of this… not by a longshot. He came out of the half and responded by dipping into his past and pulling out classic tracks from his critically acclaimed album A Grand Don’t Come for Free such as "Fit But You Know It" and "Could Well Be In" and clearly had the crowd as well as the momentum on his side.

Slug later explained that he expected a competitor like The Streets to mount a comeback and it just forced him to step up his focus and finally put the game away by further demonstrating his versatility with a combination of light-hearted raps like "American Disgrace" and "Guns and Cigarettes" and then the hauntingly vivid and dark rhymes of "That Night" and "Your Glass House".

Ultimately, it was Slug’s ability to change his styles, seemingly at will, that won him this game. His versatility and innovative style was simply too much for his opponent as the overwhelmed MC finally conceded defeat as the crowd rose to meet Slug’s efforts with a loud and proud chant of “USA! USA!”

Aesop Rock (10) vs. Beastie Boys (2)

This one had upset written all over it from the get-go. Hungry youngster meets aging legends resting on laurels. Honestly, people, let's be frank: The Beasties haven't put out a new (hip-hop) record since 2004, and that one was something of a dud. Meanwhile Ian Matthias Bavitz, aka Aesop Rock, has been all over the place. Aesop proved to be no fable by delivering a stirring rendition of "None Shall Pass" -- which happened to please the Python-loving Gheorghers as well as the rap aficionados. A.R. was taking the arena over, the crowd was into it, and the Beasties couldn't be bothered to muster much of a retaliation.

And then young Ian made an egregious lapse in judgment, unleashing the new lyric "What'cha done for me lately, you're too old to chill/This ain't '86 and you ain't licensed to ill". The fans stepped back instinctively, knowing that perhaps Aesop had tugged on Supermen's cape. The very first (sampled) sounds of LTI's album opener rained down from the speakers above, as Page, Plant, Jones, Bonham, Horowitz, Diamond, and Yauch all descended upon the ears of the masses...

"Because -- Mutiny on the Bounty's what we're all abouuuuut . . ."

And that was it, really. The new kid did his thing, but legends are legends, and the merging of classic rock riffs, scratched-up hip-hop beats, and three bad brothers you know so well meant the end of Aesop Rock's run, admirable though it may have been. Beasties move on.

On to the semis. Here are your semifinal match-ups:

1-Eminem

4-3rd Bass

14-Slug

2-Beastie Boys

Round 1, Day 2 Results of the Cauc Hop

We recently posted the brackets to the Caucasian Hip Hop Artist Invitational.

Without further ado, let's update you on the results of today's action. The second day of battle rappin' brought us these match-ups:

Kid Rock (3) vs. Slug (of Atmosphere) (14)

In a good old-fashioned Midwestern battle, the heavily favored Kid Rock took on the darling of the mid-majors, Slug, from the smaller and less storied Rhymesayers conference. Much like the Big Ten, Kid Rock’s overall ability and tradition seem to have become overrated in recent years and have resulted in Rock receiving a higher seed than his skills merit in this competition. As the commentators for today's match-up noted, it doesn't seem like that long ago that Kid Rock was the unlikely upstart making waves, but it's been 11 years since Devil Without a Cause. And really, what since?

And here comes Slug. Atmosphere's been making records since Devil came out and helped create a genre (emo rap), but that 14-seed is a clear reminder of the lack of respect the committee had for independent artists. Slug's resignation about life's struggles heard on last year's When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold was apparently filed away for this competition, and he came out with some serious early-days fire. Meanwhile, Kid Rock launched into some sort of Skynyrd / Warren Zevon-ish rock-with-a-trace-of-rap mish-mash, leaving listeners just confused.

Slug uses his more original lyrical stylings and an innovative and independent hip-hop spirit to push himself to the huge upset and first-round victory.


Prince Markie Dee (9) vs. Bubba Sparxxx (8)

"Oh, you should see...Prince Markie Dee..." Well, Chubby, no offense, but it was pretty hard to miss the Prince... or Kool Rock-Ski and Buff Love for that matter. The Prince earned an #8 seed mainly for his road-heavy pre-conference work, flooding airwaves with Fat Boys hits and weighing down the big screen in Krush Groove and Disorderlies. He finished around .500 in conference play, releasing a solo record in the early 90's with a #1 hit single, "Typical Reasons (Swing My Way)". We're not sure we've ever heard of that song, and thus PMD stumbles into the tourney's 8/9 matchup.

And then we have our #9 seed, Warren Anderson Mathis, the pride of La Grange, GA (along with Walt Harris and Tyrone Poole of course)... soccer style kicker, graduated from Collier High, June 1976, Stetson University honors graduate class of 1980... wait, I'm sorry, wrong guy. This fat, pale grillz-sporting redneck burst on the scene in 2001 with "Ugly" and its hideous video (good taste prevents us from embedding it here), and in between picking crumbs from his underbelly fat rolls Bubba managed to drop a few more Top 100 hits in the early Aughts.

But in a match-up where neither rotund rapper was ever more than two beats ahead, Bubba Sparxx steals the victory in the waning seconds because of 2006's "Ms. New Booty", his collaboration with the always stable Ying Yang Twins. Oh, to be a fly on the wall during those recording sessions: talk of derivatives, souffles and needlepoint. Those boys really knew how to cut loose.



Sage Francis (12) vs. House of Pain (5)

When you look like a cross between Matisyahu and Dave Atell, you better know what you're doing if you want to be a hip-hop star. And Mr. Francis does indeed know what he's doing, which is good because he' s matched up against the finest hoods the city of Boston has produced since the Wahlberg brothers started Hangin' Tough in the late 80's.


House of Pain exploited an obvious, yet untapped resource in their rise to fame - channel the angst of young white males with stories of booze and brawling, making hip-hop accessible to pasty Irish folks everywhere. They flamed out early, but made a huge impact, at least according to beleaguered bartenders working Manhattan's Irish pubs on St. Pat's Day. Even Mickey's Malt Liquor rode the House of Pain bandwagon for much of the 1990's, until they found another angst-ridden potential fan-base with UFC fans.

The crowd was heavily into Sage Francis at the start of this match, but the legacy of House of Pain was too much for him and his indie label to take. Mickey's stinger proved fatal.

House of Pain takes a couple early shots, but comes back strong, pummeling Sage Francis to move into the quarters.


The Streets (6) vs. Marky Mark (11)

Mike Skinner, aka "The Streets," is best known as the UK's answer to Eminem. The UK has been known to export brilliant music to America, so their finest rapper shouldn't be ignored. He has been producing unique rhymes and rhythms for most of this decade, and while he hasn't been hot as a pistol or caught fire in the US, he has been in steady rotation in Prince Harry's iPod for quite some time.

We all know the tale of Mark Wahlberg, so we'll spare the stories of underwear, good vibrations and the epic butchering of Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side." Suffice it to say the guy may have won this event if it was a bench press contest. But this ain't the case. It's about talking the talk. And while Mr. Wahlberg may have walked the walk amongst the Southies in Beantown, he has little to bring to the table against the man whose rhymes told the tale of countless disillusioned British clubbers and carried the torch lit by the Lo Fidelity Allstars some years before him.

Marky Mark tries taking it to The Streets, but finds himself dancing in The Streets, ultimately getting beaten down so badly he abandons Boston altogether for The Streets of Philadelphia. The Streets wins by TKO.




So, with round one complete, we are left with the following match-ups in the quarters. Stay tuned for the results, to be announced early next week.

1-Eminem

8-Bubba Sparxxx

5-House of Pain

4-3rd Bass

14-Slug

6-The Streets

10-Aesop Rock

2-Beastie Boys

Round 1, Day 1 Results of the Cauc Hop

We recently posted the brackets to the Caucasian Hip Hop Artist Invitational.

Without further ado, let's update you on the results of today's action.

The first day of battle rappin' brought us these match-ups:


Beastie Boys (2) vs. Snow (15)

Snow never had a chance. The Beasties came into this one smarting after failing to garner the top seed, playing the no respect card from the jump and taking out their disappointment on the lanky Canadian. Three bars into 'Informer', Mike D, MCA, and Ad Rock began blasting away with killer renditions of 'Sabotage', 'Intergalactic', 'Sounds of Science', and 'So What'cha Want'. The b-boys and b-girls from up North were cringing in make-it-stop agony before the first television timeout. Midway through the first half, the Beasties started trading instruments and thrashing their way through deep cuts from 'Some Old Bullshit' - their version of Red Auerbach's cigar.

The second half was a mess, with MCA going off on a Tibetan freedom rant while Ad Rock got stoned with Snow's girlfriend and Mike D filmed crowd scenes for 'Gunnin' for That #1 Spot, Part Deux'.

A no-doubter, this one, with the Beastie Boys leaving plenty in reserve for their Elite Eight matchup.


Paul Wall (7) vs. Aesop Rock (10)

You’ll have a hard time finding a bigger contrast of styles in this year’s first round. While Wall prefers to slow down the pace and grind out victories over his opponents on the strength of his production and the help of numerous guest appearances, Aesop Rock uses a unique flow and unorthodox delivery to take opponents out of their gameplan and leave them scrambling for answers to his style.

In this match-up, Aesop’s lyrical ability and diversity of rhyme styles proves too much for the much more hyped (but significantly less skilled) Houston MC, Wall, who spent most of the game playing catch-up after falling behind in the early going.

Aesop Rock successfully carries the banner for the young upstarts in the Definitive Jux Conference.


Brian Austin Green (16) vs. Eminem (1)

Eminem, perpetrator of the fastest selling hip-hop album of all time. Slim Shady, the biggest, most popular individual Caucasian rapper in history. Marshall Mathers, producer, actor, and controversy-brewing megastar. There's a reason Dre's D-town prodigy is the number one seed.

Brian Austin Green . . . uh, he was David Silver on 90210. According to reports, his hot actress girlfriend dumped him in February. According to rumors, Eminem's new single "Crack a Bottle" was written to depict what Shady was going to do over Green's head. According to anyone who has ever, ever heard Brian Austin Green rap, he's incredibly awful and without even trace amounts of merit. (Even Donna Martin concurs.)

This one was over by "May I have your attention please?"

Eminem quickly and cruelly dispatches of the notorious B.A.G. in record time.


Vanilla Ice (13) vs. 3rd Bass (4)

The editors of G:TB are big fans of 3rd Bass. They had a big run in the late 80's and early 90's, led by the strength of "The Cactus Album." They had a good look, with MC Serch and the Prime Minister (and Barry Pepper imposter) Pete Nice alternating mic duties, while DJ Richie Rich manned the turntables. They were the biggest multi-racial band of their time, and they leveraged their fame by attacking a fellow white appear. They used their powerful single "Pop Goes the Weasel," which sampled Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" to directly attack...

...our #13 seed, Vanilla Ice (nee Robert Van Winkle). What a coincidence, huh? Vanilla Ice (whose fame arc was a precursor to those of Squirrel Nut Zippers and Lou Bega), was very well-liked and very famous for a very short time. At some point, people who liked him realized what he looked like, felt much shame, threw his tapes away and quietly moved on with their lives. He gets points for sampling Queen's "Under Pressure," but loses more points than he gained by not fessing up to stealing the beats in one of the worst defenses ever presented by Kurt Loder on MTV.

This heavily-awaited battle proved more brutal than the faux beat-down of Mr. Ice doled out by 3rd Bass in the Pop Goes the Weasel video below.



Winner: 3rd Bass in a blow-out. Pop-went-the, pop-went-the-whining of the weasel. (not you, Pauly Shore).

It's Selection Sunday Already . . .

Yesterday marked the close of the 2009 edition of Black History Month, and if it raised even a tiny degree of consciousness within you regarding the epic journey our African-American counterparts have made -- and still are making -- towards true equality, then the month-long tribute is well worth it. For one of my former colleagues in the Federal Government, however, the enlightenment is still several evolutionary stages away.

A few days ago in an unnamed Irish drinkery in our nation's capital, he asked, acknowledging Black History Month and "all those other months other people get" [presumably alluding to Asian Pacific American Heritage Month (May), Hispanic Heritage Month (September/October) and American Indian Heritage Month (November)], "What the hell . . . when's White History Month?"

We explained -- slowly and carefully, as we often have to do with such complicated matters where our Federal Brethren are concerned -- that most folks believe every month to be White History Month, and that most of what comprises U.S. History in schools, books, and the minds of Americans is fairly honky-centric. According to the textbooks we studied once upon a time, African-American history was pretty much comprised of: slaves were freed by Abe Lincoln in 1863, then George Washington Carver invented peanut butter in the 1920's, then Martin Luther King Jr. marched on Washington and the whole Civil Rights thing in the 60's. Native Americans might have an even bigger gripe regarding historical omission.

Meanwhile, the day that Caucasians become the minority, then we can begin clamoring for some recognition of our past. So we explained.

But it got me thinking . . . there are a few examples in American society where pasty European-Americans like myself are indeed still few and far between when it comes to historical contributions. And maybe, for once, my nearly bigoted bar-mate was onto something instead of on something. Maybe there should be a celebration of the few palefaces that have risen to the top as statistical anomalies and cultural phenomena. Maybe this month, March, should offer "mad props" to such outstanding contributors -- and the madness of the props should be measured in contest -- nay, tournament format. Maybe . . . well, there's no maybe, we went ahead and did it.

Gheorghe: The Blog presents for your edification and enjoyment: the new March Madness . . .


The 1st Annual
Caucasian Hip-Hop Artist Invitational

(officially, the CHAI, but most know it as "The Cauc Hop")


In a nutshell, we at DJ G:TB have busted out the illin-est MC's from Kings Road to Queens, from Motown to yo' town. What's the criteria for selection, you ask? Is it an artist or act who has established a place in music history? Innovation? Quality and quantity of discography? Is it just a bad-assed white rapper? Just someone who makes us laugh?

Yes. Pretty much.

Gheorghe: The Selection Committee sat down over a case of St. Ides and several white wine spritzers and pared down the sea of Benny Blancos to just sixteen top acts. The seedings will undoubtedly spark controversy, as will some of the snubbees. But this was the consensus, and this is how it will play out in the 2009 Cauc Hop:

1-Eminem
2-Beastie Boys
3-Kid Rock
4-3rd Bass
5-House of Pain
6-The Streets
7-Paul Wall
8-Bubba Sparxxx
9-Prince Markie Dee
10-Aesop Rock
11-Marky Mark
12-Sage Francis
13-Vanilla Ice
14-Slug
15-Snow
16-Brian Austin Green

Missing the cut: Kid Frost, Delinquent Habits, Jesse Jaymes, David Faustino, Kevin Federline, MC 900 Ft Jesus, Young Black Teenagers, Insane Clown Posse, Joaquin Phoenix, Jamie Kennedy and Weird Al Yankovic (from "Amish Paradise" era).

Rendered ineligible: M.I.A., Cypress Hill, Gerardo, anyone who sort of/kind of raps/sings over normal rock and roll music (sorry, Chilis; sorry, Faith No More)


Over the next week or so you'll watch along as these legendary honk hip-hopsters do battle to determine top dog. We'll preview and recap the tournament step by step, with each of our columnists weighing in along the way.

Get ready. Get fired up. Get . . . fun-ky.