Last week during our conversation on KRS-One, our own Juba offered up a fairly comprehensive list for why KRS-One qualifies for any assessment of hip-hop's GOAT. If you read the list, a great deal of it concerns KRS's ability to perform. This is probably my favorite:
He's a big burly dude and he's just physically imposing as a performer. He raps like he's hyping himself up to beat the bricks off somebody--his movements are ferocious and dramatic. He stomps across the stage like a Japanese mutant monster. He raps like Ronnie Lott played safety, like Darryl Dawkins dunked basketballs, like Barry Bonds hit baseballs--with pure power and aggression and fearlessness. This is, mind you, the same rapper constantly preaching Peace is Not Soft, Knowledge Reigns Supreme, Respect Your Hip-Hop Elders, who named himself after Krishna. But not the Hippie Hare Krishna, the badass in the Bhahavad Gita!
For a lot of us with East Coast biases, hip-hop became a kind of literature, and our emphasis on lyrics sometimes lets us forget that lyrics, originally, were not something to be observed in stale basements, but tools for rocking a crowd. Bad acoustics will make you forget that, but KRS won't.
I say this as a way of introducing the video above of Canibus in a battle. This footage is particularly painful for those of us held in the thralldoms of '90s New York hip-hop. Among that crew, Canibus was once a particular phenomenon, and he mainly achieved that status through lyrics, which he delivered in volume. He did this repeatedly--with Common, with Nas, with Ras Kass etc.
But he never quite became a "great" MC. Even in the lyrical sense, he was never capable of an "Everyday Struggle," a "Microphone Fiend," an "Incarcerated Scarfaces," a "New York State of Mind," a "Colorblind," or a "T.R.O.Y." There was something cold about his style--it lacked heart, and not in the sense of bravery but, I almost want to say, "vulnerability." This is an odd word to associate with MCs. But I would argue that this is what you hear in Biggie's black humor, in that quaver in Jay's voice, and even in Ice Cube's bombast.
Have ever seen an artist who could technically draw a scene really well, and yet communicate nothing about the feeling of the actual scene? I know poets who can wax lyrical for days, who can dizzy you with their command of language, and yet communicate nothing. Was CL Smooth in the most strict technical the best MC? I don't know. But he communicated something of himself beautifully. Perhaps that is the epitome of "technique."
Making art is like making A.I. At what point do all these assembled structures began to take on life? At what point can humans make themselves gods? Is it really a simple matter of technique? Or is it something more? When KRS hits the stage is he doing something that can be taught, or something unique to him?
I don't know. But when I think of Canibus I think of gifted technician, more than I think of a brilliant artist. Even understanding that battle-rapping is different, you still have to move the crowd. Somehow the image of him whipping out a notebook, mid-battle, seems right. I don't know if he ever grasped the deeper nuances of MCing.
Passengers on a domestic flight deplaning in New York were asked to present ID by Customs and Border Protection agents—a likely unenforceable demand that nevertheless diminishes freedom.
American citizens had their introduction to the Trump-era immigration machine Wednesday, when Customs and Border Protection agents met an airliner that had just landed at New York’s JFK airport after a flight from San Francisco. According to passenger accounts, a flight attendant announced that all passengers would have to show their “documents” as they deplaned, and they did. The reason for the search, Homeland Security officials said, was to assist Immigration and Customs Enforcement in a search for a specific immigrant who had received a deportation order after multiple criminal convictions. The target was not on the flight.
After days of research, I can find no legal authority for ICE or CBP to require passengers to show identification on an entirely domestic fight. The ICE authorizing statute, 8 U.S.C. § 1357, provides that agents can conduct warrantless searches of “any person seeking admission to the United States”—if, that is, the officer has “reasonable cause to suspect” that the individual searched may be deportable. CBP’s statute, 19 U.S.C. § 1467, grants search authority “whenever a vessel from a foreign port or place or from a port or place in any Territory or possession of the United States arrives at a port or place in the United States.” CBP regulations, set out at 19 C.F.R. § 162.6, allow agents to search “persons, baggage, and merchandise arriving in the Customs territory of the United States from places outside thereof.”
When President Obama left, I stayed on at the National Security Council in order to serve my country. I lasted eight days.
In 2011, I was hired, straight out of college, to work at the White House and eventually the National Security Council. My job there was to promote and protect the best of what my country stands for. I am a hijab-wearing Muslim woman––I was the only hijabi in the West Wing––and the Obama administration always made me feel welcome and included.
Like most of my fellow American Muslims, I spent much of 2016 watching with consternation as Donald Trump vilified our community. Despite this––or because of it––I thought I should try to stay on the NSC staff during the Trump Administration, in order to give the new president and his aides a more nuanced view of Islam, and of America's Muslim citizens.
Long after research contradicts common medical practices, patients continue to demand them and physicians continue to deliver. The result is an epidemic of unnecessary and unhelpful treatments.
First, listen to the story with the happy ending: At 61, the executive was in excellent health. His blood pressure was a bit high, but everything else looked good, and he exercised regularly. Then he had a scare. He went for a brisk post-lunch walk on a cool winter day, and his chest began to hurt. Back inside his office, he sat down, and the pain disappeared as quickly as it had come.
That night, he thought more about it: middle-aged man, high blood pressure, stressful job, chest discomfort. The next day, he went to a local emergency department. Doctors determined that the man had not suffered a heart attack and that the electrical activity of his heart was completely normal. All signs suggested that the executive had stable angina—chest pain that occurs when the heart muscle is getting less blood-borne oxygen than it needs, often because an artery is partially blocked.
Several critical policy question remain unanswered about the emerging GOP plan: How much will it cost? How will they pay for it? How many people will be covered? And what will happen to the parts of the current law that people like the most?
In the 25 years that John Boehner served in Congress, the former House speaker said on Thursday in his eye-opening moment of candor, “Republicans never, ever, one time agreed on what a health care proposal should look like. Not once.”
The happily-retired Ohioan was explaining to a health-care conference in Orlando why he believed his party would fail to deliver on its longstanding pledge to repeal and replace the Affordable Care Act. Boehner’s prediction, which was reported by Politico, captured the headlines, but the history lesson that accompanied it shouldn’t have come as a surprise: Not only have Republicans never agreed on health care, the modern conservative movement has never before seen it as a priority to reform the entire U.S. system. That’s one of the many reasons why the GOP is struggling so mightily to replace Obamacare now. While Democrats famously tried and failed to enact universal healthcare for decades before the ACA finally won approval in 2010, the only GOP proposals that have advanced in Congress have been far more limited in scope, like the creation of a new prescription-drug program under President George W. Bush in 2003.
Two of the world’s three richest people extol the virtue, and relevance, of optimism in the age of Trump—and predict a comeback for fact-based discourse.
Bill Gates, the world’s richest man, and Warren Buffett, the third richest, are—not entirely coincidentally—two of the most unremittingly optimistic men on the planet. So when I met the two of them in New York recently to talk about the state of humankind, and about the future of American democracy, I had a clear understanding of my mission, which was to pressure-test their sanguinity at every turn.
I tried, and failed, though not completely. Both men appear to doubt some of President Trump’s innovations in rhetoric and policy. Both men have warm feelings about immigrants, and also about facts, and so are predisposed to react skeptically to recent developments in the capital. When I asked whether they believed America needed to be made great again, Buffett nearly jumped out of his chair: “We are great! We are great!” And when I asked about the Trump Administration’s problematic relationship with empiricism, Gates said, “I predict a comeback for the truth.” He went on to say, “To the degree that certain solutions are created not based on facts, I believe these won’t be as successful as those that are based on facts. Democracy is a self-correcting thing.”
Did the prank with “Gary from Chicago” and his band of tourists humble Hollywood—or just condescend?
If the last-minute twist at the Oscars was seen to echo all the last-minute twists in American culture lately—the Super Bowl, the election—a silly five-minute segment earlier in the night should be noted for what it captured about the country’s ongoing tensions and tastes in iPhone peripherals.
Host Jimmy Kimmel’s team arranged for a sightseeing bus of supposedly “real” tourists to walk into the room, expecting a museum exhibit about the Oscars but instead finding themselves in the middle of the actual thing. “Welcome to the Dolby Theater,” Kimmel announced. “This is the home of the Academy Awards, which are, in fact, happening right now.”
You can tell a lot about a person from how they react to something.
That’s why Facebook’s various “Like” buttons are so powerful. Clicking a reaction icon isn’t just a way to register an emotional response, it’s also a way for Facebook to refine its sense of who you are. So when you “Love” a photo of a friend’s baby, and click “Angry” on an article about the New England Patriots winning the Super Bowl, you’re training Facebook to see you a certain way: You are a person who seems to love babies and hate Tom Brady.
The more you click, the more sophisticated Facebook’s idea of who you are becomes. (Remember: Although the reaction choices seem limited now—Like, Love, Haha, Wow, Sad, or Angry—up until around this time last year, there was only a “Like” button.)
Former Labor Secretary Tom Perez may be as progressive as Representative Keith Ellison, but the race for DNC chair was about the reactions each evokes—not the policies they’d pursue.
During an unusually charged race for leader of the Democratic Party, analysts and liberal commentators argued that former Labor Secretary Tom Perez, who won, was basicallyjust as progressive as Representative Keith Ellison, who was backed by progressive standard-bearers Senators Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders. But they missed the point. The race for DNC chair wasn’t about policy or, for that matter, facts. It was about ideas, ideology, and symbolism—the very things that mainstream liberals are (still) uncomfortable talking about.
As Mother Jones’s Kevin Drum has argued, the very fact that the race had become so charged was “ridiculous,” since Perez and Ellison are “about equally progressive.” Or as his colleague David Corn wrote: “There’s truly not much ideological distance between the two. They are both grassroots-minded progressives.”
In an era when audiences are so sure about so much, the mistake—simple, dramatic, human—can be a wonderful thing.
Last year, the comedian Marc Maron brought the author Chuck Klosterman on as a guest on his WTF podcast. The two discussed many things (including Klosterman’s then-new book, But What If We’re Wrong?, which he was there to promote), but one of them was sports—and the particular thrill that they offer to audiences. Sporting events, Klosterman argued, promise that most dramatic of things: an unknown outcome. Unlike other widely watched events—the Super Bowl halftime show, the Grammys, the Oscars—the primary selling point of sporting events is that their endings are, by definition, unpredictable. Within them, anything can happen.
Well. While you can say a lot about the Oscars on Sunday, you can’t say that the glitzy awards show was boringly predictable. The 89th Annual Academy Awards ceremony, right at its conclusion, brought a mixture of confusion and shock and full, deep delight to its viewers as Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway teamed up to announce the Best Picture winner and proceeded to, because of a backstage flub, announce the wrong movie. Chaos—and really, really good TV—ensued. Tired East Coasters were summoned back to their living rooms from their bedrooms, on the grounds that “ohmyGodyou’veGOTtoseethis.” Twitter erupted with jokes—about Bonnie and Clyde being at it again, about Schrödinger’s envelope, about “Dewey Defeats Truman” getting an Oscars-friendly update. It was late on a Sunday evening, and the unexpected had happened in the most unexpected of ways, and the whole thing was, as my colleague Adam Serwer perfectly summed it up, Moon-lit.