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"They" say do what you love and you never work a day in your life. Well, "they" can fuck off!!!

Okay, that feels better. Hello again, true believers. (Paul, Justin, Jess, Desiree, what's up!?!) It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you, but fate usually has other ideas.

So it's the 2nd week of March. Now's as good a time as any to start the 2011 edition of Chronicles of a Broke Rapper. (Yes, I am fully on CPT time.) To bring you up to speed, it only took three months to break just about all of my New Year's resolutions. The album is behind schedule, which means shows are a no-go. You don't really wanna set up a gig with no merchandise.

However, emo bullshit aside, musically the group is knocking shit out of the Milky Way. I'm back among the gainfully employed and I'm beginning to feel like Sumatyme from the days of old.

Hip-hop has even taken a turn away from the manic Bieber-fever that seems to have swept over our top MCs. (Yes, Kanye and Raekwon, I'm looking at you... respectfully, of course.)

The City of Angels has been very eye-opening for your resident lyricist. The amount of talent in my neighborhood on any given day is staggering. Which is balanced out nicely by the fact that most of the people out here act like the blind leading the half-retarded. It's all champagne and caviar until the bill shows. But my goal for the year is to keep my rhymes up, head down, heart open, and coffers full. Between us, I still don't really fit in anywhere. (You would think that after 28 years, I'd be used to it.) But artists here are falling all over themselves to stand out so I suppose we can put that one in the "win" column as well.

I'm chipping away at my personal issues. With the help of my better half, I feel like I'm catching on to the roles of the game of life. While I still have the skills of a top procrastinator, being a stranger in a foreign land has truly helped me be honest with my shortcomings. One thing I've envied about my brother from another is that X has always been able to transfer anything that's going on in his head on to wax. Seven years later and many songs behind me, being truly open has never been a strong suit of mine. On a personal level, I feel this (combined with an unhealthy dose of self-sabotage) is keeping me from being the artist I know I can be.

So, my friends, we are going all the way back to basics. I'm stripping my artistic self down to the bare bones and rebuilding, prize fighter style. The new motto is "from the underground up" and we are going to start with this offering. Thanks for sticking with us.

Peace.

A True Band of Brothers

Growing up in the south side of the Chi, he was never included. His parents moving him to suburban Arizona only cemented his title as “the whitest black person I’ve ever met,” in his peers’ eyes. Fifteen years old and searching for belonging, for meaning, he walked to his neighborhood record store.

He had just left school where he was on display – the only black student in a school of close to two hundred. Walking the quiet, upscale suburban streets, the cops would stop him "to make sure everything was okay." Arriving at the store and wandering through, he watched the tolerant masses clutch their purses and move away. He was searching for anything that would take him away from his status quo.

He passed the section marked Country, made a right at the Rock, and located a small rack marked "Rap/Hip-hop." Hidden between the Dres, Snoops, and Notorious B.I.G.s was an album titled "Like Water for Chocolate." The cover – a beacon reminiscent of Harlem Renaissance – intrigued him. It struck a chord and reminded him of a time that the old folks talked about that he could never connect to. Without any indication of the contents of the album, he dug $16.95 out of his pocket.

Vibing, he walked home. He had new music. Something different. Throwing the new disc in the deck, he had no idea what he would experience. The album floored him. He stayed up until four a.m. listening over and over. With each new track, he was pulled in by the beats, cadence, metaphors, stories, and concepts. He heard the sounds of generations before, but repackaged. Jazz, the old-school shit his dad used to talk about, mixed with raw energy, emotion, and rap.

The artists he had heard on the radio, he liked their music. Dre and Snoop brought a change from the monotony. But Common changed everything. Back in the "Rap/Hip-hop" section, he looked for names he'd never heard before. De la Soul, Dilla, Slum Village, Questlove, DJ Premier... Every Tuesday after school became his salvation. He would trek to the record store and spend his entire paycheck. The artists spoke to him individually. They each told him a different story, a different piece of what his people were going through. Returning home, holing up in his room, he kept his ear to the speaker like he was scanning a transistor radio – searching for signs of life. He found it.

"My high school reunion is months from now, and I only have two dollars in my checking account"

Okay, I admit things are not quite that dire. But believe me, there are days that are close. This months the three scariest words in the English language are "High School Reunion." That's right my brothers and sisters. I have received my ten-year invitation. I would rather start a rap beef with Eminem or pick a fight with Brock Lesnar... really.

Don't think I don't know that we've all sprinted to the mirror to check the pudgy places or the spots where our hair is running from our foreheads. There's something about this forced kind of reflection that trips me out. My high school career wasn't all that bad really. Nor was I ever the last kid picked for dodgeball. Aside from being the only black guy in a conservative town (Sheriff Joe lives there), I made a lot of good friends.

What kills is having to explain this life to the people I had nothing in common with then. What the hell am I supposed to say now? How do I explain the drama behind putting four albums together, touring the country, and marketing myself on my own dollar? All of these guys are getting married, finishing grad school, having kids, and contributing to society in amazing ways. I can only see as far as my next 16 bars.

Now don't get me wrong - this trade off has also given me some of the best moments of my life. I've achieved things that most dream about. But it doesn't keep my bank account warm at night.

Maybe I'm reading way too much in to the situation. However, the ten-year-mark provides many opportunities to delve into the past. So I suppose I should do what I always do. Fuck it, let's party!!! Fountain Hills High, here I come! Lap it up, bitches!!!

Conscious vs. Asleep Rap

So I figured I would use today's blog to sound off on some hip-hop culture issues I read about this week. After all, what's the point in having a blog if we can't talk some barbershop shit every now and then?

We start with a favorite of mine. A Mr. Talib Kweli. Now Talib (lyrics stick to your ribs) has seen fit to do a collab with Gucci Mane. The same Gucci that is a bane to all that is intellectual and thought-provoking. I'll give you the fact that I too enjoy listening to music that is (shall we say) devoid of any type of substance. However, it's hard to look at Kweli's decision as anything but a stunt for dollars. Does that make someone who has been a champion for the positive no better than a Jersey Shore extra? Who's to say?

I do know that the current situation in rap music business has forced even the most established artists to think outside the box. While some attempts translate to amazingly creative music, other moves leave us scratching our heads.

This brings us to exhibit B.

Dr. Dre will be producing beats for Justin Bieber.

Let me put it in caps so you understand: DR. DRE IS PRODUCING BEATS FOR JUSTIN BIEBER.

I should have known the world went mad when we elected Obama. But conservatives figured out what happened and have been attacking him non-stop ever since. You can't fix this.

But let me put this another way: Dr. Dre - whose legend is cemented in the stone; who was a part of one of the most influential rap groups of all time; who has discovered or signed the greatest rappers of the past two decades; whose new album has sparked debate that could set cities on fire, has taken time out of his busy schedule to write beats for a kid whose balls haven't dropped yet.

Now in both cases, is that business savvy or blatant disregard for the fans that supported them in the first place? And exactly how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know...

Friends: How many of us have them?

Well Identity Crisis has been blessed with amazing friends that have ridden the crazy train with us for the past six years. For me personally, however, collecting friends is not as easy as clicking the "accept" button on my Facebook or MySpace pages. My partner in rhyme was correct in his blog that each of us are kind of tormented in our own way. For me, music is my sense of belonging. It's the only community I've found where I could completely be myself. Lately, I'm not sure that's true anymore.

This isn't meant to be a sob story blog. Usually I'm very much about the brighter side of life. Certain events in our professional life have forced me to reevaluate my own loyalty code. I was raised to believe that no one was beyond redemption and once you give your hand in friendship, you don't take it back. Now this code has led to some of the worst kind of heartbreaks and also some of the deepest bonds.

So where's the lesson? Simply put, it's this: my code and business don't mix. My heart is closed and my eyes are open. For those in our camp, you have our undying gratitude. For those on the fence - shit or get off the pot. There is no middle ground in my game.

The Ghost of Fuck-ups Past

Well, by CPT standards, this should be reaching you right on time. For all my thrill seekers, the amusement park that is my life has some new attractions. Let's check it out...

I got a job. Not just any job, mind you. Sumatyme hit pay dirt with one of the best hotels Beverly Hills has to offer. Everything was going my way!!! ... I should have known better.

Arizona reached out, grabbed my balls, and told me to cough. Exactly how long does one pay for past sins? Me, I'm going on six years with no signs of letting up.

Now, even though I am a dirty, evildoer, sinner man, I believe in my core that we should be (Sheriff Joe included) punished for our sins. Then offered a shot at redemption. I paid dearly for mine and I felt like I was getting another shot. And people wonder why rappers curse all the time. It's because life can truly get fucked up.

I'm getting a drink.

Can't quit your day job if you don't have one

Well your favorite MC is BROKE.

Okay, I can admit that is not exactly news. Most artists are these days (although there are thousands of songs that say otherwise). The novelty of a new city has officially worn off and I need to make some cabbage... yesterday.

So in order to not stray too far from the stereotype, I opted to look for work in the service industry. Save your muffled snickers, please. It just so happens that not only have I worked in one of the finest hotels in the country, I also enjoy taking care of some of the biggest assholes mother nature can provide. (Celebrities, I'm talking to you.)

I found a place that embodies all I would want for employment. I've made it to the second interview and the more I see this place, the more I WANT IT! It's been a week since that interview and I am going nuts. How could this be the system that we select our employees by? Waterboarding is more humane. FUCK!!!!!!!!

Okay, I'm back... Seriously people, I don't know how we do it. I don't mind rejection (much), but completely ignoring a person is just cruel. You know what, blog over. I'm going to call this guy and give him a piece of my mind. Or beg, whichever comes first.