Finding Home The true tales of a U-District Streetkid
As I sat on the Greyhound looking out the window for my first glimpse of Washington, I realized how incredibly stupid I was being. Here I was running away from a good job, friends, and a place to live (even if it was only a trailer), for what? I was planning to live with my uncle in Seattle until I got a job and an apartment as I waited for school to start. Even though I had not technically been accepted into school at that point, I knew that my audition was dynamite. The American Music and Dramatic Academy would have no choice but to accept me and I would spend my next school year in Los Angeles studying musical theatre. I had it all planned out. So what if my uncle and aunt didn’t know that my visitation was going to be a little longer than the expected 3 days? I mean how hard could getting a job be? I did it in Montana. I would be out of their hair in no time. I quickly shoved all my doubts to the back of my mind and went back to sleep on the bus.
Waking up around 3 weeks later, I’m unemployed, found out my audition wasn’t so wonderful and I was rejected by AMDA, and find myself lying on a dirty cot next to a 40 year-old crack-head that tried to fucking touch my balls, and if he does it again I’m running out of shelter screaming “RAPE!”, right after I stomp on his face. It’s not that I didn’t get a job as quickly as I thought I would. On the contrary, I was hired almost the first week I was in Seattle to a canvassing company, its just that I got fired that same week. Since then I’ve had many adventures in Seattle. How I got behind this computer to tell you this story has been a journey in itself that I’m still on, and right now I’m enjoying it, but I never would have had this opportunity had I not gotten kicked out of school in Nebraska.
(I recorded a hip-hop record 15 miles from here)
It’s funny. I have become the person that I should have been when I was in Nebraska, but the only way for me to grow up to be the person that I am today was to get kicked out of school, move to Montana, absolutely fail at being a dishwasher, move to Seattle without a plan (other than my uncle living here), and start from the ground up as a homeless Seattle street kid. Did I mention I’m a rapper? I don’t look like it and I certainly don’t walk around in XXL t-shirts and Baggy jeans (well at least not anymore) but its what I’ve loved to do since I was 13. I had just moved from Omaha, Nebraska to western rural Nebraska and even though Omaha was not the violent ghetto gang infested hell-hole that I wanted it to be. I fantasized that I came from a ghetto warzone and now I was surrounded by racist “crackers” that were ignorant of all things street-life. I rebelled against my surround ings creating my own world through the internet, joining rap music message boards populated by kids that also wanted to play gangster… online. The internet was my only outlet for hip-hop. I find now that the main thing I love about it is the emotional content that rappers use to express themselves and relate with the audience. Back then I was just concerned with fitting a harsh image contrasting with my environment that would give me an excuse to look down on everyone around
me for being ignorant of “the street life” which, until recently, I was also ignorant of. Unfortunately the fact that my voice still sounded like an 11 year old boy (and would stay that way until I was 17) made my “gangsta” portrayal completely unconvincing. But I stuck with it, and over the course of a few years, I had become obsessed enough with the skills in hip-hop that I was able to pass for a decent MC (again thisis still on the internet) and had managed to get people to make beats for me which I recorded in my parents basement. The recordings then went on to gain the attention of other amateur producers and I had soon gained a small following among hip-hop fans/ artists online. Most of my inspiration for my writings at that time came from my inspiration from 90’s era boom bap artists such as Wu-Tang Clan, and Big L; and the beats from my producer cre ated a classic hiphop atmos phere, with his choices of drum loops and jazz samples.
My frst album, The Writer Meets The Director which was produced by The Prime Sithesizah and White Lotus you can download the album free @ http://phantastic2.tumblr.com/
During my freshman year of college I knew every inch of the small college town I was living in, but I was still lost. As an young singer/songwriter I would wander aimlessly searching for any kind of inspiration I could get my hands on but I could never seem to hold on to. The only place that I felt at home was at the Open Mic., run by Jovan who was an aspiring slam poet. The coffee shop that Jovan decided to hold the even at wasn’t glamorous: a counter, some chairs and tables, sofas and pieces of artwork scattered across the walls. During the Open Mic, the shop transformed. Suddenly the walls began to expand as if taking in a deep breathe. On the exhale, Jovan’s voice would fill the space like a tent revival preacher introducing each act as if the Rolling Stones, Elvis was about to perform, inspiring the crowd, and the nervous musicians/poets, who suddenly began to morph into the legends that we aspired to be.
Me Rocking the Open Mic at the Bean Broker, Chadron NE 2011