JAMnoPEANUT

Rockin the Bells X REVOLUTION

2010-09-01T16:01:00.002-07:00

Jesse chops it up with Revolution to party-goers and artists backstage

Malucamala & Amaris prepare for a big jump

Miles Solay @ Santos RTB Afterparty

Forget those sappy posters of lions on the serengetti, or Heisman trophy winners with one word quips underneath--she needs to have her own poster with "Dedication" on it

Ms. Lauryn Hill

Bobby Digital and the Wu-Tang Cohort

M-e-t-h-o-d Man

You on point...? All the time..

The Abstract

"Wanna diss the Phifer but yall still don't know the half--"

Immortal Technique

Leo, Maluca & Amaris hijack a golf cart--en route to go smuggle more Grey Goose from the hospitality tent

The Ninth Wondruh

Waka-waka-waka-Pete-Rosenberg

MC Tingbudong Epilogue: The Two Jamels

2010-07-28T18:16:00.000-07:00

Jamel Mims: Jamel Shabazz; no relation

Graffiti legend JAMESTOP, myself and Shabazz

E-Flat connections: Felton, Jerome, & Keith Selby

This is history right there, people!"

(Almost) Needless to say, the final night of the exhibit went well. Unlike the opening, it featured a rather intimate crowd of friends, writers, and fellow photographers--with a few standouts. Among the appearances were the legendary graff writer JamesTop-- and iconic street photographer of 1980's Brooklyn, Jamel Shabazz. Not only was it dope to chop it up about chinese graffiti orthography with a first generation writer, but my distinct honor to have Jamel's endorsement, memorialized through a photo of me & the crew.

Its a good thing I practiced my b-boy pose(s) in the mirror the night before.

Much respect to everyone coming out to support my endeavors--this is only the beginning!

MC TBD REDUX: BEIJING BARBECUE

2010-06-30T08:58:00.001-07:00

Flip Flops, Baijiu and Kiddie Pools Not Included.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

June, 2010:

Fulbright Scholar Jamel Mims Brings Chinese Hip Hop Culture to Harlem with Multimedia Exhibition

New York, New York (June, 2010) — Jamel Mims debutted his recent research on hip hop culture in Beijing, China, titled, The Misadventures of MC Tingbudong, on June 18^that Azucarera Gallery, located at 414 West 145^thStreet. Awarded the Fulbright U.S. Student Scholarship to China for Sociology in 2008, Mims now plans a three-week exhibition of the “multimedia ethnography” to run at Azucarera from June 18^th through July 8^th.

The exhibition, which is itself a collection of photography, film, and sociological anecdotes, is the result of a year long participant observation study as a social researcher living in Beijing’s hip hop community. Drawing methodological influences ranging from KRS-One to sociologist Elijah Anderson, the project is built on living and participating with practitioners of hip hop culture in Beijing who demonstrate its four pillars of cultural expression: emceeing, break dancing, DJing, and graffiti.

Gathered from a collection of concerts, dinners, and homestays, the exhibition takes the form of a “multimedia ethnography” in order to adequately display a subculture which, although relatively small, is both dynamic and multidimensional. Through multiple mediums, the research conveys hip hop’s critique on public space, ethnic identity, capitalism, and gentrification—and its transformation by the particular conditions in modern day Beijing.

Bringing this exhibition to New York is a crucial part of the ongoing process of mutual understanding advocated by the Fulbright—and to include Chinese hip hop in a global conversation.

“In Mandarin, 'Tingbudong' literally translates to: 'I don't understand,' but with this exhibition Jamel shows a clear understanding of this subculture and the elements that are helping to push it forward" --Justin Korkidis, Complex magazine

Mims was born in Washington DC, where he first began to learn mandarin at Sidwell Friends School. Since returning from China in 2009, he has continued to share his research with local galleries and schools, and profile independent hiphop music culture in New York City. For more information about the artist, please visit his website at: http://www.jamnopeanut.com.

AfroPunk 2010, Now In Color!

2010-06-30T08:12:00.000-07:00

The Other Black Experience

Notes from the underground--SPEAK EASY

2010-05-14T17:34:00.000-07:00

Cav, Khalal, Supanova in a cypha

We can get down, we-can-we-can-get-down

The Legendary DJ Just Ice--Photo courtesy of Amaris

The New Rap Order's first female on deck, Trezure

Speakeasy patrons commemorate the occasion with a mural

The Faro--Only built for Afro Cuban Linx!

In the tradition of the the Zulu Nation and year Bronxite house party that started the hip hop movement, the SPEAKEASY is a monthly gathering of emcees, dj's, artists, poets & activists in NYC; hosted by the New Rap Order: post modern representatives of the native tongue tribesmen, complete with holistic dining. Though its founders currently reside in Brooklyn, it changes location on every appearance, goes 'all city' by rotating boroughs every month. My first was in a two bedroom apartment in Harlem packed to the seams; another at Far0-Z's apartment uptown, and a third in the Bronx, at Just Ice's studio. Cav steadily supplied the home cookin': laying down rhymes in between serving vegetarian delicacies and pointing patrons toward the punch; Faro celebrated a birthday and the release of his mixtape, Only Built For Afro Cuban Linx.

Like my man, the late Howard Zinn says, it isnt going to be one large movement, but rather, "the combined force of many small movements that will get things changed. Its the only thing that ever has." With movements like the Speakeasy series promoting holistic well being, good rhymes, beats, rice & beans, its definitely the type of movemnts we need more of.

Peace-Power-Respect

Hip Hop Begs for Social Change, Not Spare Change

2010-05-11T16:09:00.001-07:00

DAM(Da Arabian MC's), Palestines first rap group gives the crowd an arabic lesson--and the harsh realities of Israeli occupation

Huband and wife duo-The Reminders: Zaire-born bilingual flow-toting Big Samir, and NY born globetrotter Aja Black. Imagine if Mos Def & Lauryn Hill were married, with kids, and rapped about it.

KRS-One, The Teacha

Angela Steele breaks down the history of Hip Hop in China

DJ Boo, aka the Terminator; i'm convinced he's an android--how else do you explain three 12 hour sets back-to-back-to-back

Shokanti, representing Cape Verde by way of New England

..sigh. ah college..

Nomadic Massive, polyglot, multi-instrumentalist Canadian Hip Hop group, raps in spanish, french, english, creole and arabic

Shouts out to MC KSwift representing the Zulu Nation & New Rap Order

Cenzi, one of South America's most sought after producers, lends wisdom about his experiences as a member of the Chilean diaspora

Thats the sound of the PO-lice!

Anita Tijoux, chart-topping revolutionary emcee from Chile

Father and son b-boy duo, Old School-New School

Truly, an all ages event

Shokanti's act is dynamic, and includes dancers, live musicians and on-stage painting

Waterflow of Wageble (Senegal), definitely the most energized show I've ever seen

Self-Suffice is in the buildin! That's a picture of his son on the front of his tee shirt, which reads 'the future'

Jaro Cossiga of Czech beatboxing group, Beatburger, & Toni Blackman, hip hop ambassador employed by the State Department

This Malcolm X lookin brotha is Dumi Right of Zimbabwe Legit. ZIMBAAABWEE! Check out their 1992 video, released a decade later in 2005, here

What? It's been over a month already? I really gotta get a hold of this life on internet thang; whereas the crumpled pages of my paper journal can easily stay sated after a month without ink, the pace of the internet will never have it. no such thing as a monthly news cycle--'cept for aunt flow--

regardless--

about a month ago i had the privilege of being invited to the Trinity International Hip Hop Festival as a delegate presenting on--you guessed it--Hip Hop in China. Oddly enough, the invited China Hip hop experts were myself (see: black as the ace of spades) and Angela Steele, also a member of the African Diaspora. After commandeering Trinity's Umoja house, we delivered a presentation, which worked quite well together--Angela with the big picture, while I painted the details, pointillism-style through photos and music videos.

The festival was like none other I've been to; The dopest part about this collection of artists is that they are truly into using Hip Hop as a vehicle for social change, not just personal gain. Dont get me wrong, there was plenty of merch and mixtapes to be thrown around, but the spirit of the event is much nobler than simply making a sale or getting one more name on your email list.

It was like stepping into some sort of oasis away from the desert of modern day american minstrel show rap, into a vibrant and revolutionary world where hip hop was answering all of the world's contradictions; kids in Uganda using hip hop for community building; Da Arabian MC's condemning Israeli occupation, beatbox workshops for Hartford area youth by Czech beatbox extraordinaire, Jaro Cossiga.

As usual, what I post here is just a cross section of the photos from the event--for the full set, don't forget to check out the full set

Peace, Peace.

Nike Stickball X Emperor Stickball PICS

2010-04-06T17:46:00.000-07:00

(also titled, Stuckball, More Than Just What I Remember From 'Hey Arnold')

Now I've been a skeptic of Nike's business practices (see: child labor abuse in china, latin america) for some time now, but even I've got to admit they've got something going with this stickball thing. Marketing from the ground up with local organizations, collaborating with local artists and musicians, free tacos and dumplings for the masses--I can start to get down with that.

Turns out, it works for them, too. I even learned a thing or two (too many) about the indigenous bronxite sport of stickball--where the front tire is first base, the manhole is second, and the back tire is third--from the Emperor Stickball League.

As my homie Guzman can attest to, if you get people drunk in a shoe store, they're all the more likely to leave with a pair of shoes.

Everything's Bigger in Texas Pt II: SXSW Wrap Up

2010-04-01T08:43:00.000-07:00

For one week each March, Austin, home of whole foods and two-tiered fixed-gear bicycles--becomes a land of music in the streets. This year's South By Southwest, a music festival hosted annually by the city of Austin, brings a plethora of indie musicians--from those panhandling to get their way back to their hometowns jamming in the streets, to international acts rocking thousands-deep crowds flown in for the very occasion--into local bars and venues. Unlike other festivals, where different genres are assigned to different stages, this festival descents upon the city like a technicolor fog, where adjacent bars and the streets are dotted with different styles and colors, genres and sounds.

Thanks to the efforts of my hosts, Brandon & Ryota, Houston homies Jane and John, Amaris 'getting free shit is my day job' Modesto, Sabel Boo & Modi of DC to BC fame, I suddenly found myself with warm shelter, preservative-free food, all-access bracelets and Good Wood chains--here is a sample of what it looked, and sounded like--for the full set, check out my

SXSW '10 Flickr page

The Mighty Mighty Mos Def @ Redbull Thre3Style

She's fiercer than that in real life, actually.

POSERS!!!

MALUCA

The frontman of MAJOR LAZER, before taking off his pants

Formed in London, English DJ duo Radioclit & Malawi born singer Esau Mwamwya are

The Very Best

South African singer, Molaudi Lauds, joined them on their innagural US Tour

RA the MC made it out after a twenty-odd hour trip from DC to bless the stage with Pro'Verb with the single "Lost Ones", and break up the monotony of testosterone infused club bangers

Freeway makes a guest appearance, stepping out from underneath

of a hoodieand eagles cap, to spit a bar or two

Modi flaunts a Good Wood piece; Deemehlow opts for the people's eyebrow

Where 15 passenger vans become ampitheatres--

Justin Bailey is one of many who take it to the street

Dam Funk breaks out the key-tar and vocoder,

putting autotune quietly to bed @ Fader Fort

Outernational performs with the Street Sweeper Social Club

Miles Solay, lead vocals of Outernational

The Coup's MC-in-chief, Boots Riley and the Street Sweeper Social Club

perhaps, the nicer side of the malucamala

bright idea

Perhaps the most bizzare-surreal act I witnessed at the festival, NY-bred slowcore electronic-rap group, Salem--sounds like weezy's most codeined out moments played backwards

An illuminating read about their music, as told by John Holland, the messy lookin dude on the mic, can be found here

Jasmin Solano performs with MC Eyeris

Another MC, and b-boy Mazzie uprocks between sets @ the Mz Metro Showcase

Animal Farm @ Mz. Metro Showcase

if anybody knows who this guy is, let me know--i'll keep an eye out in Harlem

Team Facelift @ Mz. Metro Showcase

DC local,Phil Ade, warns us about going hollywood

Phil Ade @ Quality Showcase

sigh....at least pictures last forever

So who's goin next year?

Everythings Bigger in Texas--SXSW2010 Preview

2010-03-19T10:41:00.000-07:00

Melo X and Kid Sister, Stalley, Theophilus London, Maluca, Sabel and Oscar yall are killin it! more to come....

--Jam No

Brooklyn Bowl!

2010-02-17T10:57:00.000-08:00

Just for the record, I haven't bowled since the last time i played with pogs.

In a one-two punch of coincidences, amaris and i went for bowling night (and impromptu karaoke) wit sabel, oscar, kristian, vashtie, scott, reba, dj wildcat, dj deemehlow, billy, elle, steven, andrew and the crew, Gordon Voidwell was playing at the Brooklyn Bowl with headliner, VyVy Brown.

At least now I can blame my low scores on high alcohol content of brooklyn blasts.

Karaoke, What Up!

Elle leads 'Single Ladies' Sabel and Osclops do bra calistenics

Lane Eight Crew

The Voidwell Crew, in mihaldot orginals

Shouts to Mz Mimz!

2010-01-29T09:05:00.000-08:00

Hold Everything. Special shout outs have gotta go to my sister, Ms. Amber Mims, alter ego the soulful chantruese of D.C., Mz. Mimz. She makes her anticipated music video debut with none other than"Dutch Master", from the project, Thoughts While Getting Dressed...A Mixtape.

Dutch Master from amber mimz on Vimeo.

Shout outs to the production team; Holly Fitzgerald, style and direction, and Charlie Brown aka Chchcharlie, as the powerful vision behind the lens, and yours truly, jam-o on the cuts (editing).

Congratulations again! Mz. Mimz for the chance to collaborate on such a dope project!

Twenty Ten Twenty Sumpthin'

2010-01-21T11:33:00.000-08:00

To My Peoples:

looking back i realize there's been a bit of a hiatus on my blog. its natural. people ebb and flow at different rates and flows. what do we have but blips of isolated experience anyway?

even now, i find myself day dream-wandering through reflections of my time in beijing; suddenly thrown back into a mist-coated memory by the smell of wet dust, or street-meat cart smoke or the appearance of yinsanr on a playlist. daily interactions easily fall prey to full on hallucinations; the universe inside of my head expanding like the big bang, an untethered astronaut reaching out to hold on to names places and faces. conversations with fungwah bus drivers became slipstreams into pocket dimensions. Waking life pursued unique trajectories—coaching, substitute teacher applications, and a move to New York passing by like obscure satellites in deep space.

...my camera became broke around the same time I did. after a year of rugged use, two repairs, electric shock, and a sizeable dent from police abuse in boston, it finally kicked the bucket. when time travelin', be sure to hold on to your things.
i soon after played a paparazzi in a scene in a movie, given to shoot a prop camera with all the functioning parts but the film, sporting an early summer look in a late autumn chilly drizzle. no doubt it was entertaining work, but a certain twinge did creep up my spine as i returned the functionless camera to the table. next time, i’ll bring a roll of film.
At the same time I am very thankful for the time that I have been forced to see without a camera, in that it has allowed me to exercise my sense of sight, unaided. reflection is a necessary part of the process--but so is production. i mean, what do we leave to the world but that which we create?

So, here i am, re-camera-ed and ready for the new decade.

Peace peace in '10

Mysteries of the Universe

2010-01-21T09:16:00.000-08:00

P1280055

2009-07-23T02:34:00.001-07:00

P1280055
Originally uploaded by Jam No Peanut

thats some oddly menacing cotton candy

HotPot, Skateboards & Section 6

2009-05-06T23:59:00.000-07:00

Field Life--Filled Life

2009-04-05T19:54:00.000-07:00

Lets get personal.

I must first apologize for my unintended web hiatus. It was more or less provoked by a number of items which we can file under "Field Life"--that bizzarro-gap of time-space where I am neither researcher nor participant, but some gooey amalgam of Jamel, the naive American in Beijing, and Jamel, China night-life tourguide sensation. Some days I even had to get up early. The effects have been dizzying.

In the past few weeks I've had two friends from high school, Jaysen and Jimmy visit from Shanghai and New Zealand respectively; Jaysen works as a teacher in Shanghai and is hoplessly infatuated with the Shanghai EXPO, and Jimmy is in the middle of a world tour with his girlfriend Kristen, and just biked across Southern China. Jerome, a mainstay of my life in China and professional college home boy popped up from Nanjing to catch a glimpse of Beijing springtime. I also got the chance to kick it with Tekupu , a globe-trotting Maori hip-hop documentarian, emcee and activist from Aotearoa (the settlers call it New Zealand). Tekupu was finishing up a 6 part rapumentary series about hip hop and political activism in 20 countries around the world--so I gave him a hand finding the right people in Beijing to talk to. And then theres Mom dukes, a globetrotter in her own regard, has travelled to at least a dozen countries in the past 5 years, and decided to take down China, and had three days of a two week tour to see her (not so) darling son.

Tekupu AKA D-Word

mom, barry, and the goldmines crew

To add to matters, the apartment I left isn't tumbling down as soon as I had anticipated, which now, according to the real estate company, puts me at fault for breaking lease. "But other rooms in the apartment building have already started being blown out, and the destruction of the stairwell windows is waking me up every morning at 7." Dizzying. Told you some days I had to get up early. I literally thought that I'd be walking home to dig out my Supras from underneath a pile of rubble. "Forget that", they said, "YOUR apartment is still intact, you CAN still live there." Forget about getting your deposit back homeboy, in fact, they want another two months rent (excluding what you've already paid in advance) because you 'suddenly left'. The real estate company also claimed the destruction company never contacted them, when ironically enough, I played the middle man for that exchange, so I'm pretty sure they got the message.

I guess leaving that apartment was a bit of an inconvenience for them. Now what seemingly fat-pocketed sucker will they get to rent a room in a building thats clearly about to be torn down? Waitaminute...

So here I am, in some sort of real estate political exile. There are worst things to be afraid of. Like wasting tax payers money in an economic crisis. Can I pull a patriotism card on this one?

Gentrification, and the destruction of the old hutongs and old buildings in Beijing is a driving force of social cohesion for many youth--the KABOOM destruction of courtyard lifestyle pushes the same social dynamic into towering apartment buildings, making communes out of two-bedrooms. I mean, I've only been here a year and already its pushed me out, and has had me pulled into a rap commune led by my homeboy Jahway. Hip hop offers a unique critique to capitalism and gentrification, and the ways to cope with poverty (see: hustle) and decadence (see:bling), I doubt the mutual dependency of these processes, gentrification, destruction and my lifestyle now as a live-in with Jahway, would be as apparent had I not been studying hip hop. As an ethos, hip hop has helped me in more than one way to understand the phenomena i see (and am a voluntary part of) around this city.

Now its time to put more of this science to paper.

Peace Peace Peace

BOMBED X Urban Ecology

2009-02-24T00:16:00.000-08:00

Funny how the universe works some ways. Just as I'm thinking, "spring festival is over, and the weathers getting a little warmer everyday...lets try and get familiar with the graf scene--i get slapped with the goverment cheese-yellow tape of beijing graffiti, the 拆 (chai) symbol.

Nothing to motivate your spring cleaning better than the impending demolition of your surroundings.

Luckily enough, its a fair enough reminder of the role of the process of "chai" and its importance in the graffiti and street art movement in Beijing. State-produced types of graffiti, such as this one, which means to 'tear down', and mark a building for demolition, dot the beijing cityscape, alongside a plethora of painted slogans proclaiming china's green future, olympic spirit, and the importance of being 'civilized' (讲文明) among other nationalistic topics.

Zhang Dali, the artist who is said to first bring graffiti to Beijing, drew on the process deconstruction with his "Bighead" (大人头) series in 1995. His tag, the simple expressionless outline of a human head, often targeted decrepid buildings, and buildings commissioned for deconstruction --the very same target of the 拆 symbol. However, his was a symbol with no particular meaning, and deliberately left open for interpretation. He only clear intention was to bring his art closer to reality--to the street. His works would go on to inspire a feeling of uncertainty, manifested through a symbol that would not jump out to passers-by, but when reminded, they would somehow recall. Some critics call the Big Head a reminder of everyday situations one occurs in a city; people's daily lives, the construction/deconstruction process, and urban sprawl which both excites and incites us with uneasiness... that the pure, singular head implies that the street composes the body. When the police eventually came knocking his way, he opened up completely, and after proving his legitmacy as an artist and explained his intentions...and they never asked about it again.

But don't say you heard it from me.

KFC is the Debbil!

The concept of bombing has its particularisms in Beijing, which like many modern day urban centers, it has a large amount of urban sprawl. The city is designed like a series of hubs with multiple epicenters...its almost a joke to ask about a 'downtown' Beijing, as there are several, floating 'downtowns' which are a mixture of old and new development projects: CBD and Guomao for business, Sanlitun and Workers stadium for nightlife, Beixinqiao and Dongzhimen, Dongsi, Wudaokou for students, and Dawanglu to name of few.

In the case of graffiti, despite a few pieces spread out along random underpasses, or private pieces on homes or stores, most of the city remains coated in a sticker-less, graffiti-less, dust.
However, areas such as sanlitun bar street and the 3.3 underground parking lot are filled to the brim with throw-ups, top-to-bottom burners, and scribbles. Bar walls are littered with tags, many of whom share the same "Kilroy was here" purpose of pre-hip hop american graffiti. The 798 Art District is almost a safe haven for writers, whose once decrepid factory walls are now being restored for a commercial art space. All over the city one can catch glimpses of perhaps the most numerous graffiti in China, the characters 办证 (banzheng) followed by eleven digits. Apparently, these numbers are for obtaining illegal documents: passports, housing registrations, and ID cards. This type of graffiti, usually stencilled and sprayed over, occupy underpasses, overpaasses, light posts , steps, walls, bus stops, anywhere there is due to be mass people traffic--which, in a city like Beijing, is almost everywhere. While the more elaborate pieces usually gravitate near or around one of these hubs.

A wall in 798

Amongst them are the few who employ graffiti as a way to 'bomb' in the traditional sense--that is, to 'get up' with a name or particular set of characters Nowadays, crews such as the BJPZ (beijing penzi, 北京喷子, beijing sprayers) and guanyin crew (欢音) bomb the urban scrawl of beijing.

some of Li Qiu Qiu's (BJPZ) work, 3.3 Underground Lot

甲毛警长？

2009-01-20T01:26:00.000-08:00

its all fun and games until he fires the gun.

Cypher Studies--November Edit

2008-12-29T05:02:00.000-08:00

Beijing Breaks--November Cypher from Jamel Mims on Vimeo.

I arrived at Yugongyishan club at around 7 pm, on a mid-November evening, just as the weather was starting to chill, putting everyone in danger of the Beijing cough (which I'm still coping with to this day). This was my second battle in Beijing, and was a little more oriented about who was whom, and had previously attended some practices with the 36 chambers crew, who formed the basis of this film, at their dance space on the south east side of town. I headed backstage to set up my recording equipment (see: digital SLR and squeaky tripod) and munch on some fried chicken and sushi platters, courtesy of the hosts, Melon and Tiki. The backstage room of Yugongyishan is splattered with bits of graffiti, and the namesakes of all that have passed through, from Goldie, to the fellas over at Peoples Republic of Skateboards, Twisted Machine and so on.

At around 9:30, the room began to fill up, and a circle gradually formed in the center of the dance floor. The event was hosted by an emcee, DS, Devil's Son, a 21 year old Beijing native producer-emcee with a penchant for dirty south and post-millenium gangsta rap. You know, big thumpin' bass, lots of swears, dolla dolla bills yall. Regardless of the seemingly stylistic anachronism of DS and breakdancing (that is, one new, one old), fans and dancers crept to the circle.

The Devil's Son himself

The breakers chose to represent themselves in a style of dress which, like many permutations of hip hop in Beijing draw from multiple time periods at once. Some preferred the Perhaps the most outstanding stylistic feature of these battles are the personalized crew t-shirts, with print lettering, which harken back to the days of Roc Steady and Dynamic Rockers. Brands on the whole are downplayed and instead participants opt for more diverse color schemes and personalized gear. Cyphers like these are also the few events in Beijing where i see Kangol bucket hats worn...next to fitted baseball caps, next to skateboard brand caps, skullys, fedoras and foam hats emphasize the anachronistic juxtaposition of hip hop styles among Beijing b-boys. Unlike concerts, where the audience is passive participatory, ery few people in jeans, because of their restrictions in movement. the pants of choice were definitely khakis, red, tan, grey, or black, and sneakers with colored laces.

It was time to warm up. DJs Tsingmu and Takunori were all about feel good music, and threw on a heavy set of soul-sampled breakbeats, sometimes pausing for more ambient instrumentals and scratching. It began as individual dancers confined to a particular point or path in space, arrow-like; one would throw themself into flares in the corner, and quickly get up, or from a low position go into a baby freeze or backspin ...at some point, someone simply redirects their movement from outward, away from the rest of the participants, to inward, towards them, and the group dynamic shifts from individual rehearsal to a group rehearsal.

And then the cypher really begins. The first was in the upper corner of the dance floor, about 8 meters from the stage and was drawn tightly enough to prevent light from entering. Cyphers evolve as participants enter, from sporadic moves and exits, to funkier uprock and longer sets with freezes to finish. a physical manifestation of toasting--there is pressure to have clean moves, and even competition to one-up the preceding person in the cypher, but without the direct and pointed attacks of the battle cypher. At one time there were two warm-up/freestyle cyphers going on at one time, whose participants were designated by ability, as far as I could tell. While their younger, sometimes less confident brothers rocked the circle closer to the stage.

Long Long strikes a wushu-esque freeze

After a short while, the competition began, with b-boys pairing up for a shot in the 2 on 2 battle. LongLong and Skull, a b-boy I hadn't yet met, paired up, and faced off against Kosmo and his partner, a kid from Hong Kong, who'd stopped through the practice room. LongLong, who had won last month's battle, was put out in the first round this time around, aced by the Hong Kong kid's clean footwork and Kosmo's experience. In fact, the duo made it all the way to the finals, where they faced Distort and Fute (prononced foo-tuh), also members of 36 chambers. "Eye of the Tiger" played in the background--there was no love lost, even between teammates in the battle cypher.

Kosmo & The Hong Kong Kid

Distort and Fute, the night's champions

The judges had respect for power moves, but aren't swayed entirely by them, as the audience is. It takes a combination of funky uprock, clean footwork, and well executed power moves to win these batttles. In the end, Distort and Fute took home the prize money for November's battle, and took the crew out to dinner.

The judges

It was at dinner that I learned that Skull was a Korean b-boy, and that LongLong was at least bilingual in Mandarin and Korean. Apparently, the two are part of the same family/crew, which I was later to learn, was international and had members in Europe as well. Small competitions are for your family, ("Floor Gangz"), and large ones, you go to with your team (36 Chambers).

LongLong and Skull, 36Chambers and Floor Gangz

Guess dinner's for err'body though.

Head in the Sand, some methodological concerns

2008-12-28T06:13:00.000-08:00

Guess I've been a little selfish lately.

The past few weeks i've been spending afternoons in my apartment, recalling nights past of cyphers, battles, and jams--reading back notes i've texted to myself from b-boy practices out at 5+5 dance studio, evenings playing videogames with MC Webber, being invited to perform on CCTV-7 with Sbazzo and Jeremy of Yinstang (anybody can be anybody's favorite hype-man),
the Iron Mic Chinese MC championships, and weekly hip hop parties up near the Yonghegong metro station, et cetera et cetera...and keeping them all to myself in my little black moleskin. Soon enough, I fear, or perhaps anticipate, that these instances, once singular occurences in space-time, will morph into a jumbled web of entangled experience, and become nearly impossible to tease out one without having the others come tumbling out--like some ill-fated game of sociology Jenga.

36 chambers crew practice

The key then, I assume, is to think thematically. To indulge in the natural connection of these experiences, and embrace the web. The four pillars themselves are connected, are they not? There is a connection to be made between the ethos of battle emcees and breakers, there is a relationship between the hyper visibility of senior citizens fan dancing in parks and the invisibility of public hip hop dance, there is 关系 between old and new school appropriations of hip hop and their respective images of self-authenticity (breakers vs. poppers/"new stylers", graff vs. the art studio, golden agers vs. dirty south kids, dmc vs. club dj)...

My jaw hasn't dropped in a good while, and for what its worth, its a good thing. Or maybe its just dropping so much I can't remember what it feels like to be closed. Either way, I feel like I'm getting pretty deep. The crash course of late night researching and boozed up notes is now an ebb and flow which no longer suprises me. (Careful Mims, your huberis is showing.) But, as my undergrad research methods professor advised me, pay especially close attention to days that seem "normal", for those are the best note-taking days.

This the type of undertaking in which one can merely stop, in the purest sense, you're always on the clock. Like the fat lady says, the show must go on....least until i'm done singin, anyway. The
data just keeps piling on, I already feel as if I have more raw data than I know what to do with. Analyze what you can, and share even more.

Jiezi, DirtyNan, Haifeng, Grouch & Ijapa..enjoying a breakfast of Champions, 多肥角和牛奶

There are no breaks from this type of field research, no three week trips to one's "community" followed by a one week writing hiatus. No superimposed dialectic of 'us' and 'them.' The friend-subject line runs a lot more hazily...consider them all friends, and your an interference to your own study, consider them all subjects, and you're a lonely. Consider it "their" community and you've got no place there, consider it "our" community, and get lost trying to find your role as participant-observer-researcher-producer.

Nasty Ray's an emcee & Wordy's a DJ, but where do I fit in?

For all you curious fourth grade math scholars out there, the total breakdown of my time is probably something like this:

1/2: researching at jam sessions-practices/field studies at concerts-events/ home-stays
1/16: editing videos/editing pictures
1/16: writing notes
1/16: frying chicken/frying assorted other items in pantry

ancient chinese cuisine: jam fried potatoes---甲毛炸土豆片

1/16: working on my graphic novel/murals/general doodling
1/8: paralyzed on the couch, cursing myself for not writing enough
1/16: studying chinese
1/16: kicking myself for not studying enough chinese

For the most part, days are lost getting dizzied somewhere in between "field" research and living my life day-to-day as an African-American in a city which only sees in two colors: Chinese and foreign.

And all this to say, its back to basics for me. Or rather, it has been for a while--and not just in a research sense. Startin' from the ground up: doing my first tags, practicing my six step, cracking back open the rhyme book and chinese dictionary. I read somewhere earlier that right action is about the proper balance of inspiration and motivation; when one starts running on empty, temper it with the other.

Shouts to Philly 飞城

2008-11-28T08:24:00.000-08:00

Side Hustle?

2008-10-29T02:15:00.000-07:00

how bout we file this one under diasporic roots of b-boying?

Swagger Like Dou

2008-10-22T10:58:00.000-07:00

imagine an Eazy E look a like on a rant about the merits of filial piety. With a chinese flute.

I was introduced to the music of Chinese rock legend Dou Wei, in the back room of MIX nightclub, singing karaoke, at a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend's wedding after party. Most of the other pop songs did very little to increase the head-nod factor, but when this came on, I could barely keep from bouncing in my seat. Crazyman and Jahway belted lyrics out with the same appreciation that every New Yorker uses to sing the lyrics to Juicy.

Never. Missing. A. Beat.

Sounded somewhat like Sublime to me. Jahway introduced him as old-school chinese hip hop.

"I'll bite", I thought.

Dou Wei himself has had an interested career. A rock and roll musician, married a beautiful pop singer, had an ugly divorce, and is currently serving time for the arson of a newspaper company who smeared him post-break-up.

Now-wait-a-rice-pickin-minute. "I thought you were studying HIP HOP?"

Culturally speaking, Rock and Roll music is the door in which hip hop entered into the mainland. Before Mr. Deng Xiaoping and the Open-door policy (改革开放) most music in China was, you guessed it, tra-ditional. Pre 1979 Chinese speakers bumped nationalistic songs claiming the glory of communism, or older musical relics from the dynastic past. With musical influences from the west and all over the world finally able to penetrate into China, Rock and Roll music took hold--and out of the Rock movement sprang Hip Hop. The community itself was composed of the same people, or rather the kid brothers of older rockers.

Whereas in the states nowadays, these communities, rock and hip-hop, exist almost in isolation; as distant cousins of grandfather blues and uncle funk, with bragging rights to their respective heirlooms, here in Beijing, the communites overlap in a perpetual family reunion. So while we Americans look back to old days of Bootsie Collins, James Brown and the Last Poets, Hip Hop heads in China harken back to Cui Jian, He Yang, and Dou Wei, who are, to paraphrase Donnie and Marie Osmond, "a little bit rock n'roll". Not only do you find people who listen to both types of music in great quantity, but attend concerts, but even musicians who dabble in an array of styles through out their career.

For example, my man Xie, the current guitarist for the Beijing Live Hip Hop Experience, for example, was once part of a band dubbed Chinese MC Brothers, and has played with Cui Jian, the godfather of chinese rock. Take a trip to any number of Chinese "Rock" music festivals, and your bound to see electronic music, reggae, hip hop, metal, punk--and tee shirt stands to boot.

In what we westerners would consider a homogenous population, those rigid musical distinctions don't exist; a musical master status just isn't necessary. In its place is the fluid understanding that music culture can be just that--an expression of the complexity of modernity and community.

What's A Skyzoo, Anyway?

2008-09-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

Skyzoo proves that it takes more than a catchy psuedonym to rock the mic. Currently number 7 on Hot 97's list of Top 10 emcees based on skills, hunger, and potential, this Brooklyn-born emcee has worked with the likes of DC's Wale, the late-great, J Dilla, Detroit super producer, Black Milk, Hi-Tek, 9th Wonder, the Justus Leauge..already an impressive resume for this unsigned MC. In what my colleauges might call "a power move", he took a Chinese two-city tour, to Hong Kong and Beijing, and brought with him braggin rights for the mantle of new school, true school best emcee. The man has punches galore. Especially coming from one of the only emcees i've known to proudly cite Ma$e (yes, rappa-turnt-preacha-mr. em-ay-dollah-sign-ee) as an influence.

I caught this footage behind the boards, next to Sky's DJ, DJ Nyce. In between songs we reminisced wit Pete Rock, and paid homage to Mr. James Yancey--on hype-man duty in the 20th regiment. "I cant believe," Nyce remembers his father saying, "that that noise in the basement has you touring in China, keep doing your thang!"

"I'm havin fun just bein a fan."--Nyce

It takes a different sort of technique to rock a crowd with a language barrier, especially for a conscious, multi-layered rapper such as Skyzoo. There's no room for naivete in this game--it was very apparent that Sky's been on tour in Europe before.

I gotta admit, he had the composure and maturity, I wouldnt epect from a 25 year old (exactly how old are you, Mr. Mims?) emcee's first visit to Beijing. In my experience, its really quite easy to lose one's mind or place in a place like this, especially in a venue where the majority of the crowd can't follow your punchlines. To counter, Nice maintained the party atmosphere by weaving in hip hop classics between sets, while Sky exhibited his trademark flow and verbal skill--which, through the sheer number of utterances per second--could be appreciated by anyone, regardless of language. The crowd's familiarity and response to Sky's vocals were impressive, adding much to gaining the respect of this American emcee. Sorry, Hong Kong fans of Skyzoo, Beijing definitely had the livest crowd in China--maybe next time around. Be on the look out, cuz like Harlem World, this brotha is definitely on the rise.

It was a good night for hip hop. All the Beijing local legends were in the house: Yinsanr and Lil' Ray, Young Kin (soon-to-be-aka "Keyzie") and Sbazzo, and of course Hiphop.cn and their vast cohort. Young Kin and Sbazzo, 2/3rds of the group Yintsang, even collaborated with Mr. Zoo on a track or two on stage. Mad props to Hiphop.cn, for hookin' a brother up with tickets, drinks, and all-access. Beijing-ren, keep ya heads noddin.

...But why not check it out for yourself?

Skyzoo Live in Beijing from Jamel Mims on Vimeo.

Talkin' Heads

2008-09-28T05:23:00.000-07:00

I mean, what were your science projects like?

Censorship Is A Must

2008-09-20T07:12:00.000-07:00

well...the video featured from couscousglobal.com, to my suprise titled "Cool, Gay USA" is finally up on their site. What began as a conversation between a dozen Chinese musicians in electronic, rock and hip-hop, apparently was edited to emphasize modern Chinese attitudes about popular culture, homosexuality, and the upcoming presidential election in my beloved mother country. Interestingly enough, either the Great fireWall of China, (or some other unknown error in internet explorer on computers in internet bars across beijing) prohibits me from watching this long awaited clip. but i'm sure, in the land of the stars and stripes, or wherever you may be, you can check it out here. I got an email saying I'm featured in here somewhere--why don't you skype me or comment to let me know how i did.

More sociology and video updates and footage coming faster than you can facebook stalk me-- just as soon as I get the internet up and running in my apartment, register for classes (professor Mims, anyone?) and keep from getting deported (what HAVE you been doing for the past THIRTY days?). As for now, I have a mobile base of operations; although i must admit, smoky Beijing webcafes are not the most ideal places to posit questions to society--or are they?

Well, I'm off to go see what all this fuss is about this Skyzoo character. You can catch me hustlin' outside of a nightclub called MIX, tryna get the hookup without pesky entrance fees.

Til' then, stick with Firefox.

The Elephant

2008-09-12T20:53:00.000-07:00

Here is a video for The Beijing Live Hip Hop Experience called "Da Xiang". I took the photo and video segments from the event "Local Legends", which took place on September 6th, 2008, and featured three acts: Yinsanr, Young Kin and Project 010, and The Beijing Live Hip Hop Experience.

You'll definitely see what I mentioned earlier as conversational nuances. The guitarist and bassist, like many chinese popular musicians, both have punk rock backgrounds, and MC Webber and Raph's flows are strikingly similar to sound-system inspired ragga. Ijapa, who is an emcee for the group Yinsanr, is also a trained clarinetist--as well as pretty much any thing else that you can blow. A myriad of personal histories create this sound--I hope that 3:47 seconds is long enough to get the picture--this time.

Hope you enjoy the video, more pop-sociology to come, as for now, the hunt for an apartment must continue, in the face of long nights and loud music.

Egad. Some clear eyes and cold beer would do a body and a Macbook good.

没有一件事比北京烤肉更好

2008-08-28T14:11:00.000-07:00

(Ain't Nothin' Like a Backyard Barbecue)

In other news, apparently, its not as lonely out here as I had once thought. Here is a link to some episodes of the go-to web documentary/ series about hip hip all over the mainland, Beijing, Shanghai, Hongkong, and points between.

Mad props dongting08. 牛！

We Party With The Fastest People In The World

2008-08-26T17:26:00.000-07:00

Tommie Smith (center), pictured here at the Mexico City Olympics of 1968, was once the fastest 200 m sprinter in the world.

Usain Bolt, olympic gold medalist (Beijing 2008) and world record holder in 100m, 200m, and 4X100 exchanging shoes with Gold Medalist Tommie Smith, pictured above. I realized about ten minutes too late that it was the same Tommie Smith, and lost him in the crowd.

Raph and MC Webber of Beijing's Roots Reggae and Hip Hop Band
Beijing Live Hip Hop Experience

DJ Wordy keepin it irie on the 1's&2's

Chinese traditional dancers get their willie-bounce on...
strike-uh-pose-make-uh-face

Tessanne Chin, dancehall and rocksteady reggae queen
bless'd us with her chart-topping hit, Hide Away

At the conclusion of the Track-and-Field portion of the Olympics, there was no better place to be than the birthday party of Mr. Usain Bolt, the man who literally proved that Jamaicans are the fastest people in the world. Although I doubt anyone seriously doubted that they weren't before; it takes nothing short of superhuman speed to run one of them West Indian buffets in Brooklyn. At Beijing's Puma store, the scene was complete with painted shoes and painted masks, colorful music and colorful ambassadors, gold medal athletes and gold beef patties. Best believe i pocketed two or three and got extras on rice and beans. The crowd itself, which was invitation only, was a hodge-podge of color and country, although dominated by Jamaicans and Chinese, included Ugandans, Indians, Americans, Italians, you name it...so long as they had a Jamaican friend. All partyin' and picture taking under one roof on a cool night in Beijing.

Cultural determinalists believe Chinese culture to be one that relies on assimilation; that is, throughout history the Chinese have presented an image of cultural dominance, where both their conquerors and subjects adopt Chinese traditions and culture, by force or persuasion, out of the sheer influence and mass of a 2000 year old codified civilization.

..But how does that explain an occassion like this? On the surface, it seems fair: we were in China. The musicians and performers were Chinese. The entire place seemed to resonate with the same general principle: Chinese exterior, Jamaican interior.

We, however, must bring awareness the rippling effect that mutual interaction has on so-called "opposing" cultures. It is as if the existing principle explains question and answer, but fails to account for the depth of inner dialogue between. There are processes of negotiation and communication we casually omit in instances of so-called assimilation. They simply are considered it as expressions of resistance or marginalization. Culture does, after all, include characteristics one chooses to display. An image of pure and total dominance by either side just doesn't sell it for me. Nor does resistance simply for self-preservation. The beauty lies in the conversation; in the consideration of those things which we choose to display.

It is in this way that we should view Ms. Tessanne Chin. A lover of the road life, she's toured with Jimmy Cliff's band, and her recent successes have led more than one person to turn their head in appreciation of her vocal range. Heads roll indeed, Jamaican and Chinese alike, in suprise: "Wait, you mean she's not black?" In truth, Tessanne Chin is a third generation Chinese, born and raised in Jamaica. In a way, she returned home to China after never being there.

In between bombardments of Puma advertisements, we were treated to traditional Chinese dancers. The dancers themselves donned Qing-era guise, which moments later they only shed to expose tropical Starburst tracksuits and lots-a-rump-shakin'-- a conscious play on the entire process objectification and assimilation. The Beijing Live Hip Hop Experience, the 'jing's only live hip hop band, tonight boasted live reggae with Chinese vocals. Dual emcees Raph and MC Webber switched off on English and Mandarin vocals over old-school reggae and hip-hop reggaton riddims. Saxophonist Ijapa has a deep understanding and admiration of rastafarianism--Raph himself is straight from the West coast, which we know is not without his reggae influences--Beijing born and bred MC Webber even broke out the gold-green-black hemp pumas and an LRG straw fitted.

This ain't seem like no accident; band nor dancers did not suddenly stumble upon reggae music or suddenly all decide to try imitate it.

Raph: "I'm just not tryin to be a Ja-FAKE-can"

Its about cultural syncretism, folks; in a way, the dialogue between cultures, and it is not without its nuances and missed whispers.

Congrats Jamaica!

-Jam

A Rudeboy Awakening

2008-08-21T08:04:00.000-07:00

and the days are clearer than ever...too bad i'm sleeping through most of them.

even after yesterday's 17 hour slumber long after a 17 hour plane ride, i still feel like i just woke up from taking an aquatic beating from Mr. Phelps himself. I just landed in Beijing yesterday, and jumped right back into the life I left hanging about a year ago without a hitch: late nights in Hutongs like a Beijing Bastard, television interviews, and digital photography. I linked up with my boys from 阴三儿 (pronounced YIN-sar, meaning "in three") three full time musicians who are fast approaching stardom, just dropped a new CD, and got some new digs. I was worried that all the restrictions with the Olympics and maintaining Beijing's image to a user-friendly super-saturated facade ( i was greeted in the airport by an olympic "friendly", a six foot tall inflatible stuffed animal with some poor sap inside), would tame my cohorts rock star lifestyle. Good luck with that one; its a zoo out here folks.

If there's one thing that is quite apparent, its that places change, but people, people you can count on, remain the same.

So after all the appropriate re-introductions and rituals, we headed downtown to East 44th Bridge. I tagged along with them to what we imagined was a television interview, but when we arrived had all the formal appearance of a fourth grade mock court trial, complete with snacks. Yellow table and white walls, dentist-flourescent lighting, plums, oranges, cigarettes and a host of others from Beijing's music scene, including dance/electronica DJs, private musicians, and the hip hop contingent. The discussion was run by Maartje Nevejan of Amsterdam, couscousglobal.com and AlJazeerah fame, and the topics centered on youth music in Beijing and beyond, but went as far as opinions on American politics, gay marriage, and musicianship. If the purpose of her discussion was debate on a global scale, she was intent on bringing the heat, and having everyone heard at this square-table discussion. I must admit that my homies were a bit more outspoken (what rapper isn't?), but the questions were often so fundamental that they bore much more response than debate. I got the distinct feeling that they were reduced to embittered "mad rappers" ; an interesting angle for a group of Chinese rahstahs, who idolize Emperor Salassie. When asked why are you so angry? , Jiawei from In3 delivers:

因为我们很饿

(Cuz we hungry!)

I sure hope our global audence understands the concept of "hunger." Its about passion. Its about drive. Its about motivation. Not about being rich, or famous as the end result. Next time I'll bring my Hip Hop Nation English dictionary.

Regardless, I was glad to be a part of this forum. Maartje's couscous & cola documentary has already been featured on AlJahzeerah and has been viewed worldwide. In a few days she'll be headed to New York to work on documenting the oncoming war between McCain and Obama.
Mad props Maartje, looking forward to seeing more of your work. Its all about a global conversation people!The interview will be out in two weeks, peep the website and join the conversation.

And don't forget to visit Hip Hop Magazine, the premier resource for Chinese hip-hop.

If i can draw a few things away from this experience, it is that music, among other things is an international language, whose purpose is expression, pure and simple, regardless of success. Despite how restricted we think China is in terms of access, they are really quite able to find independent music here... just think of the millions of cds produced and bootlegged, internet sites devoted to delivering free content, and the international accessiblity of most music these days. Music is a movement, people, lets get wit it.

Egad. short-winded chinese makes for long-winded english.

Jah Rastafari!

--Jam

Hollywood Aliens

2008-08-02T16:57:00.001-07:00

Hollywood Aliens Snippet - Amber Mimz

had to throw this one on here, been jamming it ever since i saw this neo-jazz incarnate perform it live in May 2008. if you dont have imeem, sign up for it to get the full effect, a thirty second clip just isnt enough to peep the brilliance.

America Runs on Dunkin

2008-07-31T15:47:00.000-07:00

The illest, vanilla-est, member of Choc-city All Stars (see: private school three-man deep crews), Sean Mattison, has been blowing up all over the globe. When he's stateside, you can catch glimpses of him in Manhattan partyin wit Nas and Busta Rhymes or in DC uptown roamin. But like the fairy in the wormwood, he only seems to come around once you've had a few. When he's abroad, you might see him in Buenos Aires directing music videos for selva.tv, getting his Farnesworth Bentley on in Morocco, or VJing in Paris, arguably this polyglots first home. This is one of his recent videos, America Runs on Dunkin.

America Runs on Dunkin from Sean Mattison on Vimeo.

Leave it to the dude perpetually jackin bites from my vending machine snacks to find the potential for social commentary in strawberry frosting and sprinkles. Yes. America runs...and America is oh so fresh.

Check out some of his other stuff on Vimeo.com, too including my twin sister's acting debut in a music video for Flying Lotus' "Roberta Flack".

Hey, I'm just trying to get put on.

--J

Standard Protocol

2008-07-31T08:52:00.000-07:00

This summer has been a summer of firsts. Its been my first summer without a formal occupation during the day hours since those summer camp days way back before the internet. This has been my first summer playing "Uncle Jamel" to nieces and nephews--its suprising how much time this summer I've enjoyed in the company of four year olds. I got the oppurtunity to be part of another interesting statistic for the first time this summer--it was my first time in a pair of handcuffs. It seems as if it is a rite of passage for every black male to endure an assault by the police. I'm no stranger to police harassment...in fact, my run-ins with the police were growing more and more severe. Plus, growing up in DC, you're schooled in the methods of racial profiling from the time you're old enough and large enough to be considered a threat. My own mother considered it it was "a matter of time". To make matters worse, the U.S. State Department, aka my humble benefactors, haulted the grant as long as I'd had an open case, and demanded a statement. What I gave 'em was a little something like this:

--------------------
A Lesson In Standard Protocol

Despite the scars and bruises, I am thankful that the following events have given this sociologist to study firsthand the realities of the American justice system.
On the night of June 13th, 2008, I, Mr. Jamel Mims was assaulted by four Boston City Police officers and then charged with disturbing the peace and resisting arrest. The incident began at a party for a retailer whose offices are located on Tremont Street. Entering with no more probable cause than a noise complaint, the Boston Police suddenly arrived on the scene. They had not announced their presence upon arrival, nor vocally attempted to shut down the party, or asked to turn down the music. Instead they introduced the host to a pair of handcuffs and his Miranda rights. I suppose the party host had forgotten to renew this month’s office party permit—if such protocols exist. My friends decided it was probably a good time to make an exit and we headed downstairs and out to Tremont Street.
We traveled in a scattered crowd of twenty to thirty persons or so, with the police and the party a few dozen feet to our backs. I remember hearing a scuffle and loud yells up the street. Seconds later, I saw one of the men’s buyers of the company Mr. Eddins, now handcuffed and shoved by the nape of his neck, being speedily escorted down the street by three to four officers. A few yards away from the police, the events hired photographer, Mr. Cole, stood taking pictures of the incident, just as he had been taking pictures of the entire night.
And then the officers turned on him. “You’re trying to make this look like some kind of Rodney King thing” I heard, as they rushed him, cuffed him. His camera on the ground. Another officer, crossed my path, and I noticed Jemell’s camera in his possession. Amongst the crowd of yelling voices, I asked
“What the fuck is going on?”
“What are you doing with his camera?”
I didn’t know it then, but in the city of Boston, questioning an officer is enough to be charged with disturbing the peace. The officer closed in on me and locked eyes. Under the streetlight, I noticed dilated pupils and his body swaying, it occurred to me that he might possibly be intoxicated. Maybe I’ve just never seen a policeman that up that close before.
“C’mon man”, I’d almost thought out loud. I’d just graduated from Boston College. His breath and stance were tell-tale; he was intoxicated—either on alchohol or bloodlust, or some crude combination of both. Something clicked in my head when he bared his teeth. It didn’t seem right—the level of his aggression stood unchecked while the other officers stood by. Flecks of saliva scattered my face when he spoke:
“What do you want to go, too?”
I respond, “No officer, I’d rather not.” I’ve learned from previous incidents of racial profiling growing up in DC. By the time I was thirteen, mom dukes already schooled me in the ways of police avoidance. I did all the right things. My tone was flat. My arms were at my side. Amaris’ grip on my arm tightened, she pleaded, please officer, “He’s with me, we’re leaving, we’re leaving.” We turned away. I felt a hand tighten on my shoulder.
Then the officer pounced on me. “That’s it!” he yelled as he dragged me into the street. “This officer is drunk!” I shouted, to the other officers. “Help me! Why are you doing this?” My speech became screams. It fell on deaf ears, as the other officers ignored my pleas. “Stop resisting!” he said as he wrestled me into the ground, his hand scratching my neck and arm. Having never been jumped in my life, I naturally tensed up. Quite naturally a second officer responded, by running over and throwing his knee in my chest. “Why are you hitting m—“ A third officer came to shut up my questioning. They brought me down to my legs and put me flat against the pavement. The Buddhist beads I brought back from my last trip to China were shattered, my pants and shirt ripped and somehow stained, and my camera dented and rendered inoperable. I was handcuffed, and told to sit down against the subway grate.
Meanwhile, the fourth member of our party, Mr. Laniere, a New York City fireman, was brought down. He had been cuffed and pepper sprayed in one eye. I was later to learn that Vinny was first restrained, cuffed and then sprayed, and threatened to be beaten with a baton. I didn’t see the fifth and final member of our party arrested, but I was later to learn that they pulled him from his car, for trying document the incident. I’m not even sure if he was upstairs at the party.
I challenge the Boston Police Department to find a legal reason for my arrest. I did not fight. I did not resist I was not informed why I was put under arrest until the morning of my release. We were told no badge numbers, and coerced into surrendering our cameras memory cards. The police report itself was nothing but retroactive justification for random arrests; the document was randomly peppered with the names of my four co-defendants and myself. In fact, the five of us share the exact same incident report. In the entire one and a half paged police report, I am mentioned in only one sentence, which has absolutely no correlation to my charges, and plays much more on my race, and mirrors the ambiguous motives of the police: “A black male, later identified as Mr. Mims arrived on the scene, and while disturbing the peace, interrupted arrests.”
The report states a fight amongst a crowd of antagonized party-goers. The party was filled with retailers, web designers, film-makers, photographers, artists, b-boys and b-girls—all friends invested in the same business who had been together all night. There was no such fight. The report fails to mention the cause of the crowd’s distress was from being shoved and threatened by police officers if they did not leave the scene. The crowd was boisterous because it was attacked. It was the arrival of the police on the scene that caused a disturbance of the peace. I suppose they must have bewildered by a myriad of colorful, streetwear-clad people, with no apparent authority figure. I can only fathom they felt inherently threatened by our numbers.
Inside the station, the police had all the etiquette of a boys clubhouse. The things they wanted to do for us, they did very nicely; the same guys who had taken very seriously the job of making a public spectacle of beating and arresting us in the street now treated it had as if it was all standard procedure, and even helped to lick our wounds. “I’m just doing my job, Just be quiet and this will all be over” they said. My head wavered and fought the handcuffs slicing into my wrists, and we exchanged questions. “That doesn’t look like blood on your shirt, its probably just rust.” That’s a lot more acceptable, I thought. “Perhaps you should let the Fireman go first, to get the pepper spray out of his eyes”, they suggested. The entire ordeal was business as usual. We even shared a mutual laugh when Vinny farted. My arresting officer walked by, and I asked him why he arrested me. “This was an assault on bohemians, you know, we’re all artists and photographers.” To which he responded, “Well, I don’t come in and stop you from doing your job.” I spent the night in holding cell number 14. I meditated and napped, until breakfast. I made a point of peeing and playing with the toilets—but not eating the food.
Our collective $1000 bail was posted, and we set the hearing date for Monday morning at 8:30. The bail bondsman reminded us not to be late, assured us that the case would be dismissed, and that we’d get our bail money back, so long as we weren’t late.
I arrived in the courtroom the following monday at 8:35 AM. The court opened at 9 AM. Due to a clerical error, I wasn’t seen by the judge until 4:30 PM. On the upside, I got to witness dozens of cases; most of which resulted in thousand dollar bail fees for individuals with homeless shelters for addresses. I experienced a morning full of disappointed public defenders and bail fees. Soon I knew that getting my money back was a pipe dream.
I asked the judge if there was time to call my parents, who study and practice law, after a decision about whether or not the case would be dismissed had been made. Hearing this, the judge saw me fit for my own counsel. She charged us to complete community service or dismiss it with court fees. Seeing my apparent distress, the public defendant, who at the time was not representing me, took me aside. Mr. Eddins and I debriefed the attorneys on the curious arrest and charging of five black young professionals, including the men’s buyer of a 55 million dollar company, a professional photographer, a New York City Fireman and a Fulbright Scholar.
I never saw so many mouths hang open than when the court found out their police had mistakenly arrested, charged, and assaulted a Fulbright Scholar. Who would’ve guessed they came in our color? None mask their surprise, and the entire courtroom stood gaping; all but the judge, who kurtly suggested that the grant money would be adequate to provide for an attorney. There was no opportunity to plead guilty or not guilty to the charges, as I had hoped, only to dismiss them with court fees or community service that I could not logistically complete before I am to leave the country in August.
Dismiss it? My thoughts raced. We were beat in the street. We went to jail. These officers deserve to have their badges removed. I deserve to have my camera, an integral tool for my research project—my livelihood—repaired or replaced. I deserve to have my camera’s memory card, which only has pictures of the party from hours before, back in my possession. There is little I can do to regain my dignity, and the humiliation of being dragged through the street, and then pleading to what I believed to be a fair and understanding judge, only to refute my victimization.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure I could ask my parents or friends for the money. I’ve got nothing against doing community service, and if it were possible to do it in DC, where I am a local, and not Boston, I would do so if not merely for time’s sake. But that’s beyond the point. I guess writing this, in a way, is a sort of community service. I’d seen enough that day in court to know my offenses, in the scheme of things were rather small. Those defendants with less fortune than my own were banished into the silence of penitentuary bars simply from their lack of access. I could be in their position. You could be in their position. The lessons of American History teach well: we share a savage similarity in our epidermal disposition. This is community service for them.
The judge has left me no options in which justice can be enacted. The only lessons I can hope to gather from her judgment are to remain silent through police abuse and destruction of property, and then pay the court money for their mistakes. Sounds strangely similar to extortion to me.
I will not remain silent.
I do not have the luxury.

Here’s to being a model citizen.
----------------------------
*Pardon me if my naivete is showing, but after college, life gets real --real quick. Fortunately, for us, this little escapade ended well enough. After listening the affairs the first hearing, the judge dropped our charges without any court fees or community service. Because of the death of a young man in police custody during the NBA Finals, the FBI is currently investigating the Boston City Police Department for excessive force. Couldn't have come sooner.

Bohemian Birthday: J*Davey, Musinah and the Chocolate City

2008-06-19T15:27:00.000-07:00

T he Bohemian Caverns has been a staple of Washington DC's hip hop scene and jazz scene since its recent ressurection in the nineties. At 11th&U st. NW, the Caverns boasts live jazz--with special performances whenever they rake them in. Local acts and local cats of all shapes and shades collectively vibe on Thursdays nights; the party is kept jumpin by the stylings of by Sound of the City, a collection of DC native musicians who fuse jazz, gogo, soul and turntablism with live instruments. Biscuit Bynum was all over the drums and emceed with a go go swag;

It felt like he was hosting a live recording of your favorite mixtape. Definitely the most poppin cave I've ever stepped in to.

This particular week, Thursday June 5th, was a tribute to soul-psychedelic hip hop, and featured a power duo:

Muhsinah was in the house, showing prowess on the korg and ethereal vocals--some funky futuristic spirit of Duke Ellington. He woulda definitely been in the building clappin it up for the Golden Girl and her boy Slimcat 78 on the live MPC. The other featured artist, J*Davey, and rose to take center stage. She was bad, Shia'ar-Empire-mohawk bad---while Brook D'leau, keyboardist, maintained the synth. This is when soul songstress meets 32-bit new wave meets femcee, producing a sort of hip-hop unbound from the restrictive cadences of house, techno, or 16 bar flows. Not that they're trying to be deliberately genre-busting, anyway.

You remember those times when hip hop put you in a trance? This was one of those funky little times your body seems to move all on its own.

The birthday martinis in my system kept the reporter in me at bay, this time, i must admit, but the photographer could still find the shutter.

more olives...thats the secret.

--J

Cowboy Fluency

2008-05-27T18:01:00.000-07:00

Damn. I'm only weeks out of school, and already here i am romanticizing my academic life. truth is, when i wasnt finding more new and self-destructive ways to procrastinate, i was writing reflective pieces like these, and turnin them in for class credit. go figure. This is a short narrative piece is about finding my 'voice'...and playing cowboys and Indians.

Cowboy Fluency

By the time my study abroad group arrived in the city of Yangshuo in China’s Yunnan province, we were all well due for a recharge. Our bus honked weakly down the street, puttering—an exhausted mechanical horse—finally clomping its way to a water hole. The bus windows reflected bar lights, hotels, and Internet lounges lined on either side of the street, neon’s in reds and greens, zapping the air between flickers. Not a word was audible over the roar of hollers and yee-haws for finally landing in a place with some decent booze, beds, and breakfast.
Despite having been in the country for more than four months, and learning the language for the past seven years, my tongue still felt alien and useless. Seven years of academic learning had trained me automatically respond to a few key phrases, but I had neither the creativity nor the depth it took to consider myself fluent. I remained hopelessly hung up on this fact, unable to reconcile the oafishness of my Cowboy tongue with the native language.
My own impressions aside, it seemed that no matter where we went, the locals looked at us with the disgust and fascination they would an extraterrestrial species. I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t my language skills that impressed them, but instead, the stark contrast of my appearance and what they expected to come out of my mouth.

Strangely enough, Yangshuo is a city with a western district hundreds of years old, so the town had already had a familiarity with foreign faces. Danny was the first to step off of the bus and led a parade down the street towards the hotel. His blonde dreadlocks and tie-dyed shirt made him a drum major in a cascade of brown hair, backpacks, blonde hair, knapsacks, sneakers, white skins and grins.
Jerome and I, the lone dark skinned Westerners, stepped off the bus as it made a final sigh, our rather unique complexions attracting the most dedicated stares. Eyes followed us up the stone sidewalk and all the way to the hotel. Somewhere down the street behind us, a child shouted “heiren! Ta shi meiguoren ma?” and I chose to ignore it.. The onlooker was puzzled as to how and why we were so dark, and wondered if we were Americans. I had heard heiren several times before, and usually fired back automatically, defending my Americanness. Yet this time—or one of the first times—I chose to relax. Let him guess, I thought, chuckling inside myself, and remembered being mistaken for Indian several times before.
The rest of our party sped along, and soon enough, after a brief stint in the hotel to drop off our bags, we were back out on the street headed towards Monkey Jane’s, a bar owned by an Englishman or Kiwi, who knows, but they spoke damn good English. Jerome, Danny, and I hastened our pace to catch up with the rest of the group, which was well settled upstairs at the bar by this time, at least according to the sound of the yee-haws echoing across the rooftops. We passed a bar with swinging saloon doors on our way to Monkey Jane’s, and part of me wanted to play the cowboy and order a sarsaparilla. Another part of me wanted a fistful of kabobs and shot of baijiu, Beijing’s traditional rice wine. And still another preferred to sit back and be mistaken for the Indian, either drunk or sober, and simply watch a horde of drunken Americans lay waste to another Chinese bar.
By the time we got to the rooftop bar, the smell of Tsingtao beer and sweat had thickened in the air and wrapped around us like smallpox blankets. Suddenly, Jerome and I jumped right in to a game of beer pong, and even broke the rules down for a couple of Brits who had never played the game American style. We beat the Brits at our game, but none of our fellow countrymen. Time melted, as we drifted towards the bar for a second round and started to dance to Cypress Hill’s “Jump Around”. Mid-hoopla, an itch in my stomach crawled up to mouth, and I knew it was time for a cigarette.
Breathing in the smoke, the music began to get louder and louder, and the effect of the tonic subsided, sobering my vision and covering me in the smell of hongtaishan tobacco. Gravity pulled me down the stairs and towards the street, while the smell of cumin and lamb kept me there. I walked towards a kabob stand I must have passed before but ignored.
I greeted the chef with a Uighur greeting I’d learned some months before out in west China, and he returned the salutation. Ali, the nineteen-year-old cook, set out for Yangshuo and began his own kabob business, serving the bar-hopping crowd. Skilled brown fingers fanned and flipped and flicked pepper over the roasted meat. My body rejoiced; tongue proudly preparing to pick out pieces of meat from between my bicuspids, and my stomach thanked gravity for helping to steer me away from the other Americans in the bar and towards nourishment. I ordered ten and ate them on the spot.
Out of a dark corner, a man, dressed in an all black traditional qifu materialized like a shadow. . His hair was lightning bolt white, his albino skin a pinkish hue to match his rose tinted shades. We shared a mutual stare until he was close enough to speak. He asked me all the questions typical of a Chinese asking an African-American, of which I’d been asked enough to answer automatically. So I answered, almost automatically:

Ni shi neige guojia de?
Oh, I’m American, although I don’t much feel like one.
Shi ma? Ni weishenme name hei? Yes, really, I am, and I’m dark because that’s how my parents were, and how their parents were…

I returned the favor and inquired about his nationality, to which he replied Eluosi, the Mandarin word for Russian. I raised a skeptical eyebrow to Ali, and he nodded. More puzzled at our mutual exchange than satisfied, we retreated, myself back to the kabob stand, and he down the street to a picnic table outside of the bar, pulling out a hash spliff and lighting it, thick smoke making him a hazy spectre…
“Jamel, Jamel! What are you doing out here? Everyone’s upstairs.” I heard a familiar voice from behind the smoke of the kabob vendor stand. “Everyone’s upstairs…” Interesting—I thought—how people provide the answers to their own questions. Before I knew it, the rest of the Americans rushed the stand and ordered kabobs and toasted bread; roasted chicken wings satisfied their intoxicated cravings, a mountain of kabob sticks on the ground left in their wake. Besides a few stragglers such as myself, they all marched on, either to bed or off to another bar, off to meet more like-minded, equally intoxicated people.
Of the people left, one of them was my friend Ray (although his Chinese nickname was Meng meng, so that’s what I called him). Our eyes involuntarily followed the damsel to our left, who had come for a late night snack at Ali’s stand. Meng Meng and I, under the influence of liquid confidence, struck up a conversation with her. Her name was Xiu Xiu, she told us, and she worked around the corner at a bar. Without much hesitation, she led us to her bar, which was closed by now, but still open for her guests. She hadn’t asked about nationalities, so I was at a loss of what drink to order.
Inside of the closed bar, she introduced us to two of her friends. We three traversed topics like friends being reunited after a long time apart, where nothing was taboo, unsaid, or unheard. And yet, everything we said was distinctly new, as they talked to us with both fear and fascination. Impulsively, Xiu Xiu flicked her hair and ran downstairs to prepare us a drink—probably a sarsaparilla. Meng Meng and I ducked outside for a smoke. None of the girls smoked hashish. Through the window they looked at us like two Marlboro men opting instead for the peace pipe. I guess we were both.
Before long, three hours had passed, and again the combined forces of gravity and hunger pulled us out of the bar. We hoofed it to a late-night eatery for a 4 am pan of roasted fish. The spice on the fish quickly reminded me that I had been using my tongue all night, and my ears by this time, no longer overwhelmed, but calmed by the sound of Chinese chatter, left no question unheard or ignored. It took Xiu Xiu to show me that I’d always been both—the cowboy and the Indian, and could know no linguistic boundaries.
Sitting on low chairs, we finished our meal and poked at fish bones before the meal check came. Meng Meng and I walked a dizzying walk back to the hotel, foreigners with newly acquired native tongues--Western non-Westerners—losing ourselves down West Street in the Far East.

---------------------
And yet, I still feel the urge for a sarsparilla
...or maybe this time, a slow gin
with vanilla ice cream

--Jam

Bling Bling Flashback Video

2008-05-27T17:35:00.000-07:00

here is a link for some work i did last year, a video aptly titled"Bling Bling In Beijing"
I guess it's the joint that began it all--big ups to sufei, luke, mia, and goldmines film co.

so far its got some 203 comments, but here's the prime cut:

BEST AND WORST: YOUTUBE COMMENTS ON 'BLING BLING IN BEIJING'

xvxmatthewxvx (4 months ago) Show Hide

I like all your videos. Please keep posting more. But this video was not as interesting in my opinion as the others are. The worst part of American culture, cRAP, being emulated in China. Thats just pathetic. cRAP culture is the lowest of the low. Its like "I have no education, I failed in getting a good job, I can't really write music, I like drugs and having no responsibilities in my life, I am a nothing, with no identity. Hey! I can be a "gangsta" and be in the cRAP scene at least! its true!

michael67394307 (7 months ago)

So far this is the worst quality show of all sexy beijing series. And I am 24 -- even not that old to be a conservative.

christpunchers (8 months ago)

god damn lets make some blackinese babies nah mean?

LifeInAGame (9 months ago)

This is disgrace.

blam1228 (3 months ago)

oh my gosh, i've never seen a black guy talk in chinese :o

more to come..stick with us!

I Got A Story To Tell

2008-05-27T14:00:00.000-07:00

" if you see a fork in the road, take it.
when the road gives you chopsticks,
pick-it-up pick-it-up pick-it-up"

My life, like yours, has and always has been a bundle of stories.

My father was a goldsmith, could breathe life into gold at an evening's notice, and survived by his wit and alchemy. Mom dukes, on the other hand, pragmatic and clerical, manned the business and legal side of Sun Gallery Goldsmiths. I spent my childhood running: to the corner store for Fritos and Orangina for Pops, to the mediterranean deli for spanikopita and egyptian pizza, through aisles in bohemian record stores, to the nearest comic stand for the latest Amazing Spider-Man, and through streets of people whose tongues i did not understand. I learned the art of storytellin' from a community of artists and entrepreneurs, dollmakers, painters, and musicians unlimited by the vastness of language and medium, or the particulars of cultural difference and artistic expression.

In high school, I discovered the gift of gab. I was praised me for a mastery of academic english and my upper-class cultural fluency, despite being from Southeast DC, where talking 'proper' was a foreign language. ...and you're so well spoken...I was both Minnesota Avenue and Tenleytown; morning commutes from chocolate city's impoverished core to its privelged crust were my culture shock breakfasts.

It was in high school that I first began to learn Mandarin, and, besides what I could make out between the clamor of dishes during Peking Duck lunches in Chinatown with Pops, had never actually heard it spoken. Hundreds of Kung-Fu flicks later, I would go on to study in Beijing during my junior year of college, and need to call on all these things--culture shock, the gift of gab, Mandarin, and the art of storytellin, to make sense of what it was like to be a black american living in China.

...but i'm getting behind myself

I stand here today, finished with my formal education at Boston College, Bachelor's Degree in Sociology somewhere in the mail, forever rid of mundane class requirements, third-degree burnt from Evil Knievel-ing my way through every financial flaming hoop. I'm fast approaching the fork in the road which leads to another academic journey back East and the purpose of this blog, this time to give voice to the emcees, deejays, and artists who compose Beijing's hip-hop scene--whose stories are making up the modern aesthetic of the world's prominent rising superpower. I hope the Fulbright people know what they were gettin in to.

To my regular black folk and my Hutongren, this is for you. Cantonese b-boys and Californian b-girls, this is for you. Parisian deejays and Palestinian emcees, this is for you. Hip hop has homes in alleyways half a world away and halfway down the block.

Party people unite, and lets all get down

--Jam