Cali - Monday, March 28th 2008

I’ve been bad at keeping up with these blogs. I’d do like everyone else and say “I didn’t have enough time,” but you know what that. No matter who you are or what you do, you always have time to do the things you care about. You make time for them.

I’m in LA now man I’m loving it so much! Every other time I’ve been in LA since I been rhyming it’s only been for like a 36 hours at the most and the trip has always been like me stuck in traffic from LAX to the Knitting Factory for like 2 hours and then all I ever really seen was glossy/fake Hollywood. I’ve been out here kickin it with my peoples Quickie Mart and Mister Green and we just been gettin it in and having all types of fun.

I spent a few days kickin it with my little sister and my pops and his wife in Copper Mountain Colorado. I learned that I’m not very good at snowboarding hahhaaha you can read all about that on the blog on my myspace. Heads in PhillyHiphop think I’m all conceited and shit and I can’t admit when I’m wrong or that I’m bad at something. Untrue! I’m awful at snowboarding I fell mad times and hit my head and all types of shit! It’s definitely a story you’d like to read if you hate me hahaha!

The altitude in Colorado fucked me up I was sick all three days and even though I had fun playing with my little sister (she murked me in Monopoly and Sorry) I couldn’t wait to get to Cali!

So I landed in LAX and the bol Mister Green was there to pick me up on time. Punctual rappers are truly a rarity and much appreciated in the life of a touring maven. It was my first time meeting dude and he was just one of the coolest cats immediately, so that was a plus too. Plus he’s a big Joe Budden and Grafh fan so I was happy to hear some good rap on the way to Orange County. In fact, Joe Budden and Grafh are the only good mixtape/street rappers. Hi haters!

Quickie Mart was already at the venue rippin shit up and me and Green had to go through the crazy backroads to pick up a homey, but once we got to the OC Tavern it was like a family reunion. I hadn’t seen Quickie since 05 on the Fish Can’t Carry Guns tour and he’d since moved to LA and taken over. The bol been on the Carson Daly show djing for Devin the Dude and he got mad regular gigs out here and man I just proud of my homey from picking up from New Orleans and locking shit down here in LA!

The crowd was mostly hipster looking cats and we set it up and knocked it down just like it was old times. It felt good for heads that I ain’t seen in so long to inform me how much I’d improved. Good to know I’m doing something right

Quickie Mart is gonna be djing for me for the rest of the run. Fishr Pryce will be holding up Dos-Noun when he arrives in a few days.

Well that is except for last night.

Uhhh….I started this like a week ago.

Let’s see I went to Universal Studios, went sneaker shopping, did 2 shows in one night and then jetted back to San Diego. Actually I’m gonna let Dos-Noun take over this blog until he leaves us in Austin. Without further ado I present to you the indomitable Dos-Noun. Enjoy:

I was asleep when my phone rang. Rain dropped from the grey curtain
around my Pittsburgh apartment where the drawn blinds made the room
muted, almost devoid of color. The phone’s glowing screen contrasted
with the murkiness that surrounded me. I fumbled for it and depressed
the green key before falling back into bed. “Yeah?” “I got something
for you.” I( was iCON. I hadn’t seen him since Sweden, the winter.
After all that had happened it might as well have been twenty years
ago. His voice sounded familiar but not of this time, as if he was
calling from my past. “What’s the gig?” I asked. He answered pressed
for time. “Nine shows, you start in San Diego, end in Austin, nice
easy run. Gas sponsorship. Good deals. The usual crew, Fish, Qucikie,
and this cat Mr. Green.” “How soon?” “We need you on a plane to San
Diego in twenty hours max.” I dropped the phone and looked at the
ceiling. Bad plaster wound over itself like keloid scars from the
mother of all knife wounds. I picked the phone back up. “I’m in.” “See
you at Lindbergh field tomorrow….One.” I turned and looked at my
sleeping girlfriend. She had endured years of me being gone, running
out to the far ends of the earth on the strength of a phone call, an
email, a shot, a chance. It was supposed to be different here in
Pittsburgh, we saved and got a nice apartment, a start for a normal
life. Now I was leaving again. No time to argue, we needed the money.
I rolled out of bed and started to pack.
The plane dropped out of a sky turned deep purple on orange. The
lights of San Diego’s downtown passed beneath it. In a few minutes we
were on the ground. I grabbed my duffel bag and plowed up the
congested exit line, pausing behind Al Sharpton who dawdled on his
I-Phone while eating a candybar. He was smaller close up, his perm
lank and uninspiring. But he was not my priority. I had a show to
make. No help, the cats were busy so I grabbed the address of the
venue, hoisted my duffel bag, and walked out into the balmy night of
palm trees being blown by jet wash and the ocean.
A few minutes later I emerged from a broken street lamp opposite a
humming power substation and walked into the Kava lounge. A few
hip-hop kids sat out front and music spilled onto the street, a lonely
stretch framed by airport lights and a tan overpass. I saw iCON first.
We embraced and he introduced me to Mr. Green who handed me a weed
chocolate bar. “Good to meet you.” I said and unwrapped it , nit
wasting a moment. I needed to numb the distance and time, I was in the
field now, no time for loose thinking. We had to function as a unit
and get this done. The bar went down easy and I leaned against the
venue wall listening to Quickie Mart and Fishyr spin. Mr. Green rapped
first and did his thing. Then it was my turn. Now under the chocolate
bar’s spell I staggered on stage and removed my shoes before hoisting a
giant goat piñata and talking through it. I freestyled most of my set
and asked the crowd to join me in worshiping the order of the goat. I
also clowned Fishr for not fucking that chick in Montreal. He had a
mortal lock but fell back at the last minute on a cold Quebec night
and missed an opportunity to bed his jeune fille. Sloppy operating can
get you killed in our line of work. We all needed to remember that.
iCON poured forth a set of intensity, reminding me of a hundred such
nights in a hundred such cities, the infinite maze of it all, unending
and yet subtly different in each place it occurred. My reverie was
disturbed however when the promoter failed to pay us the agreed upon
amount. iCON was decisive. “We’re taking the turntable as a hostage.”
So under the disbelieving noses of the promoters and the venue owners,
he gripped a tech 1200 and walked out the front door, with me blocking
and Fishyr assembling our gear for the roll out. Halfway to the car the
bartenders started out with maglite flashlights at the ready. “WHAT
THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” “I am keeping the turntable until I get
paid.” iCON explained. “NO YOU ARE NOT REMOVE IT FROM THE CAR BEFORE
WE CALL THE POLICE!!!!! THAT’S NOT EVEN OUR FAULT, ITS OUR
TURNTABLE!!!” “I don’t care whose it is. I’m keeping it until we get
paid. Call the police.” The two warm weather hippies and their
underground hip-hop counterparts were stunned. In their minds we had
committed the unpardonable sin of destroying the night’s mystical vibe
in the name of crude capitalism. We didn’t give a fuck what they
thought we were here for one reason only, to get paid. “GIVE US OUR
TURNTABLE BACK THAT IS SO SHADY!!!” Meanwhile the promoters who hadn’t
fled the scene gathered and pooled their wallets contents until they
had met our demands. “YOU KNOW WHAT KEEP THE TURNTABLE THAT IS SOO
FUCKED UP MAN ITS TAINTED NOW THAT YOU HAVE IT!!!” They did not
understand so I tried to explain to them. I walked up to the girl.
“Listen you screwy dame..The table was never at risk. We had to make a
play to get our cash so we did it and now you get the table back. No
need for the uproar. It happened, its done, in the past, ancient San
Diegan history like Balboa and Frankie Bompensiero dead in the phone
booth. It’s a non-issue.” She blinked and pouted. “It didn’t
happen!!!” I hated when women tried to subvert my reality trough
devious means. I had happened or may we all be deatomized to a fine
most on that very spot. “Good night!!!” I said and we repaired to our
SUV for Tacos and weed. I fell asleep thinking of all the times this
had happened, all the missed promises and broken arrangements, some
avenged others not. We were shills for the same long con and the game
was never straight. Green and I talked about the Colombo war and then
nothing but me dreaming of her and another, better time.

To be continued.

-iCON ft. Dos

Last 5 posts in Philly Freelance

• Icon The Mic King Tour Blog 4/11/08 - April 11th, 2008
• DJ Statik Tour Blog 4/9/08 - April 9th, 2008
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• DJ Statik Tour Blog 4/2/08 - April 2nd, 2008
• Hezekiah & DJ Statik Tour Blog 3/27/08 - March 27th, 2008