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Despite a history of industry blacklisting and personal tragedy, the Made Men harbor no grudges. In fact, it's only made them more focused on recording the stellar album Classic Limited Edition.

If the mentality of Made Men's members was as fickle or quick to yield as this generation's, 1999 wouldn't be witnessing a comeback effort as hard and potentially powerful as theirs. Ray Benzino, E-Devious, DJ Jeff Jeff and Cool G are Made Men, the first three being original members of The Almighty RSO, which formed around 1982 in the streets of Boston. What's left of the group that, literally, has been cut down to size--due to murders, jail sentences, controversial censorship persecutions, several record deals and a horrid blacklisting by the music industry'smedia--is the reasoning behind the name change. Their whole career has been like a deadly game of dodgeball, with everybody taking aim.

Their new offering as Made Men, Classic Limited Edition, is nothing less than stellar and features appearances by such Hip-Hop luminaries as Master P, The Lox, Mase, Mobb Deep, Big Pun and others. Quality performances and scintillating production will please audio systems nationwide. Because of Hip-Hop media hating, the group was forced to produce over-the-top promotional ideas just to reach consumers. Their sponsorship of a contest on BET, with the prize being a custom-made Mercedes Benz, along with their advertising campaign, has secured them premium positions in the very publications that refused to acknowledge their existence.

Rap editors and writers fawn over artists, even consulting, promoting or A&Ring certain projects as a side gig, yet Made Men's affiliation with The Source has not done them any favors. For the industry to ignore Made Men is utter hypocrisy. Someone is owed an apology.

ADOLESCENCE

From the beginning of their careers, trouble outweighed the strides that RSO made. About ten years ago, Tony Johnson (Big T), one of the RSO's crew members, was murdered by a shotgun blast to his face. Two years later, their newest and most talented emcee Rock (who was going to be a star) was stabbed to death at age 17 in the Boston nightclub The Gallery. The following year, 1992, the group came under fire from the Boston Police for one of their singles titled "One in the Chamba," which officials associated with Ice T/Body Count's "Cop Killer" song. The pressure applied by law enforcement agencies nationwide, Warner Bros. stockholders and Tommy Boy, their label at the time, halted all promotions concerning RSO and Paris. Both were subsequently dropped from the label.

As if all these events weren't a clear signal of paying dues, another big blow came in the aftermath of RSO's reaction to an article written for The Source. In the November issue of 1994, a fishy three-page story ran on RSO, where not a single quote was used from the group after interviewer Bönz Malone had spent the entire week with them in Boston. In 1999, they've reincarnated themselves on earth for another rap life--one in which they can escape this madness and be judged solely on the merit of their music and not out of personal jealousy.

HOME SWEET HOME

To understand Made Men, it is imperative to comprehend "Bean-Town" and its racial and economic makeup. There's a sociological equation that always fits a city, country or territory of affluence. The wealthier an area is, the more bizarre and rampant the side effects of poverty, violence, crime and institutionalized slavery become. For Boston, the equation is calculated with deadly results.

On one side of town, you have some of this nation's greatest educational institutions: Harvard, M.I.T. and Boston U. There are also plush areas, like Copley Square, Canton and Cambridge. On the flip side, parts of Roxbury, Dorchester and South End fuel the roughest blocks, like Corbet Street, Franklin Hill, Egleston Square, Mattapan and others: the streets of Boston.

When the Hard Knock Life Tour passed through Boston a few months back, it was considered the only large rap concert of that magnitude ever. Sure, smaller tours, like The Roots and Lyricist Lounge, which are more appreciated by the college crowd and Hip-Hop backpackers, come through on the regular, but since the 1980s, Bostonians usually have had to travel to Providence, Rhode Island, for any major rap show.

This is partly due to the fact that Boston is the only city on the East Coast to harbor gangbanging from the late 1980s to the mid-1990s. Boston had been blacklisted by the U.S. government, much like RSO had been blacklisted by the music industry. On an average, close to 200 murders per year occurred between 1987 and 1991 (considered Boston's most violent period).

During the time when the federal government came in and set up shop to assist local authorities (1997) in deterring drug trafficking and violent crime (much like they did in Oakland in 1990), neighborhood gang-warfare decreased as blocks of youths, numbering between 20 to 30 persons at a time, were cleared off the streets and carted off to jails. RSO also felt the sweep of things, as they were now down to only three members at this time.

'HOOD LIFE

Leaving the Made Men headquarters in Neponset, which they affectionately refer to as "The Compound" (which consists of their offices: Surrender Records, The Source Sound Lab and their promotional company, In the Trenches), it was time to head back to the place the group refers to as home. Enter the 'hood.

Driving through Roxbury, I received my customary ghetto stories on the various gangs that existed in the past from DJ Jeff Jeff and longtime friend Leroy. Corners on Corbet Street (915) were once considered the most feared and most hated group, while the craziest reputation was placed upon the gangs on Morton Street Bricks. From their oration, Boston and L.A., somehow, seemed to be just physically apart but very much tied by the same senseless vibe.

On our way to meeting up with the rest of Made Men at Malcolm X Park, cruising on busy Blue Hill Avenue through Mattapan at about 3 p.m., shots ring out. Nobody in the car flinches. Not even a comment. They're hardened by the streets.

At Leroy's request, we stop at a liquor store for brew. As we pull up, a street brawl erupts. One youth absorbs the fists, feet and knees of four older guys. When the sound of sirens come closer, the struggling teenager slumps to his feet, bruised and slightly bloodied.

The men flee by foot. The cops finally pull up, and everyone moves about like nothing happened. We take off and, as we pass, with the cops now questioning the wounded boy, fingers begin pointing, and next thing, a screeching D.T. and police squad cars surround us, cutting us off in front and back.

After 30 minutes of some physical abuse, verbal exchanges and serious questioning, we were let go. I was even threatened by a D.T. with a $500 fine if I continued to record the back-and-forth conversations on my mini-recorder. This is sh*t Made Men have to put up with despite being in the rap game.

Finally, we meet at the park. Ray pulls the Range around onto the basketball court and loads up the CD for the whole block to hear Classic Limited Edition. He and the rest of Made Men are excited. New album, E-Devious's successful clothing designs through Antonio Ansaldi, a state-of-the-art studio, a soon-to-be-released film, all the group members alive to enjoy what is sure to be a profitable year--right now, life couldn't be better.

Breakers Unlimited: Does it matter to you if it's obvious to people that Made Men are originally The Almighty RSO?

Ray Benzino: Probably at first, only when we was trying to get the deal. If we was to try to shop a new deal under the RSO thing, we was gonna have problems getting it, because we didn't know how labels or people in the industry would feel toward us. Now, since the deal is gone, nah! Not at all. It's the same thing really.

How much did the altercation between The Source and you, in the past, have to do with the name change?

Benzino: That alone had a good 60% to do with it. When it happened, it wasn't The Source. It was a couple editors at The Source at that time. When they went against us, that was almost the end of The Almighty RSO.

This is the perfect opportunity for you to show, from the artist's perspective, what took place, how you felt and why you physically assaulted the journalists under question.

Benzino: Well, Cool G wasn't there. It was me, E, Jeff and Tony Rhome.

E-Devious: So that's how it all started. It was based on a story on RSO. At that point, we deserved that. We been through a lot in the rap game and we paid our dues.

Benzino: But, before that, Bönz Malone--he writes for Vibe now--they had sent him down here to do the story. Remember when I had got locked up? He was with us, and it's the same sh*t; doing an interview in the same type of setting but over in Franklin Park. It was in the summer of 1994. This is déjà vu, yo! The whole history of The Source thing was, Dave (David Mays, publisher of The Source) came here and attended school at Harvard. We was The Almighty RSO, and we had already established a reputation and a following in Boston. The thing with Dave was, he developed a relationship with Jeff and invited us to do this radio interview at his show on 88.9 FM.

Our sh*t was straight gangster! We was at our thug highest. We started to develop a relationship after that, going up to Harvard and kicking it with Dave, smoking mad ism and just wild'n. Me and Dave, in time, became roommates, and we got this apartment together. That's when Dave started The Source and my thing was The Almighty RSO.

These cats, I didn't know. The Source made power moves then, we got dropped from Tommy Boy, but the relationship with Dave and us grew stronger. Years go on and we get little write-ups in The Source, nothing major. Never got a cover. Mind you, when we used to go up to The Source, deep down, I'd noticed that these dudes that I mentioned all had hidden agendas. When Bönz Malone came down to Boston and did the story, when he went back, they must have snatched Bönz up or something, because there was no story. There was no story.

E-Devious: He spent the whole f*cking week with us, and it never got printed.

Benzino: But Dave was like, "What the f*ck is going on?" That's when it all started to brew up. For some reason, they didn't want us to have a story. Dave said, "F*ck that, they gonna have a story." So Dave had to kind of get somebody else and take bits of information from us--and from what he'd known from us and from Bönz--and do it. It was weak! Honestly, whether he interpreted it, wrote it or helped write it, it was some bullsh*t! It didn't tell the strife and struggle of when Bönz Malone was down here. We wanted to get across to the country that these Boston, Massachusetts, niggas ain't no motherf*cking joke! Me, E, Jeff and G. We're everybody. You're looking at Boston right here!

What happened next?

Benzino: Okay, now, we're up at RCA. It's our press day, with journalists like Havelock Nelson, all those people from the press.

E-Devious: All big-name writers in the industry, just doing mad interviews, and the door busts open.

Jeff Jeff: No, remember? They lied, they get a phone call. It was Reginald Dennis, and the other dude James Bernard, on the phone from downstairs [the former editors of The Source].

E-Devious: Yeah, they had said that they was coming to do a story to get up in our press day, so RCA let them in. They come in, sit down like it's going down. We looking at them. They pull out a summons. They pull out a summons! A summons for aggravated harassment, verbal harassment, screaming-on-you–type sh*t. So we was like, "How the f*ck you gonna come in here in the middle of our press day, at our label, and do some sh*t like that?" They started getting loud, started acting like they want something. So we had to give 'em something!

Benzino: We stomped them hard! Stomped them! Threw them through the windows, beat them up outta there! We thumped them. Rolled them up outta there. Okay, get the f*ck outta here! Thumped them good too.

What about the RCA staff and the rest of the journalists?

Benzino: The label's looking at us like we crazy, saying, "See, we knew we shouldn't signed these niggas." Police came up in there and everything, but no charges was pressed. Then these niggas go and send out a Sprint fax to the industry, saying that "I'm a monster," that "we smoke weed" and, when I drink, I turn real violent. A five-page fax about how I was seen with guns. Everybody in the whole music industry got it. Then they organized 60 to 70 writers. They took it to the press and they knew how to make it work against us.

We had write-ups in The Washington Post and all this sh*t about how we beat up writers over an unfavorable review. Even Russell Simmons was on BET, talking about "That was f*cked up!" We sitting here in little old Boston, like, what the f*ck?! The whole thing was, they wanted Dave outta there. Even before the incident, they wanted Dave to step down. They was jealous because Dave was this white dude.

We was the scapegoats for that sh*t. They thought they was gonna play the Black-white trump card, but it didn't work. Now what! They getting ready to start their third magazine [Manifest]. They done got fired from XXL. They're miserable people. They wanted to take over The Source, point blank.

So why are all these writers out here afraid to do a story on you if they don't write for The Source?

Benzino: Because they feel guilty! They had to!

E-Devious: They jumped on the bandwagon not knowing the real.

Benzino: Think about it, we're still here. We don't look hungry, do we? Them are the motherf*ckers, 'cause when we put out the Forever RSO on Rap-A-Lot, we was getting bad reviews and the album wasn't even being sent to these people. Again, this rap is from the streets, man. It seem like these writer motherf*ckers, their heart is the point of the pen and their blood is the ink! It's almost like, because they wasn't here in the streets, this is their way of living while they're stepping on others.

E-Devious: Industry motherf*ckers is all shook, certain people within the industry. But on the street, we still get respect.

Benzino: For that to be the focal point of our career kind of shows you the insecurities of the people in the industry on the outside looking in. They need to clear that up within themselves. We all ain't perfect. We're Made Men from that. It made us stronger.

Cool G: The New York suction! Boston is Boston, and Boston is a mixture of everything. But soon, the real will recognize real.

In 1983 or so, Boston started claiming sets. I understand it's like the only East Coast city with active gangs.

Benzino: Yeah. Because of our geographical setup, one. Rap music. Yo, rap music is a big influence on Black culture. When the West Coast rap came, and the whole colors and N.W.A thing was happening, it was so cool to be represented in that way, but then it just got outta control.

What are some of the visual IDs that differentiated gangs from one another?

E-Devious: It was on some professional-team–type sh*t. Like you would have Magnolia Steelers, Franklin Hill Giants, Four-Corners Pirates, Raiders, Red Sox. You just pick up a team, and that's what your whole block rocked!

Benzino: It's pretty much done though.

Which brings me to ask, how was it possible for you to unite all those gangs on the WiseGuy project?

Benzino: It's real easy. Everyone has some type of attention deficit disorder, I call it. They want to be seen or want to be known. When you have nothing, you want to be glorified. So the way you go about that is, like, this rap thing gives them a little something to be known about. You gotta give them something that they could be proud of. When we get one of their dudes, out of 15, they got somebody who could represent. Now, he can't f*ck it up for his whole block, because they depending on him. So once we got them together, they wanted their blocks to be represented. So the hate was squashed a little, and, believe me, they had had some serious rivals there. Niggas respected us.

As far as Made Men and Boston are concerned, do you agree that many musical influences shape your sound in unique, hard-to-swallow ways?

Benzino: That's why it's hard for anybody. We had our own way of listening and doing things, and it hurts Boston. It really hurts us. It hurts us to be as diverse in music and to really be on the L.A. sh*t, but we're 3,000 miles away. We right by New York, but they on they own tip, lyrically, you know. Don't get me wrong, major influences come from New York. But we allow other influences to touch us also. To me, that's what always put us ahead of the game.

So Boston's Hip-Hop has no real identity problem?

Benzino: Rap's changed now though! Now, Hot 97 is playing Juvenile's sh*t. When would that ever have happened? It took them 15 years for that to happen, but New York is opening up. The whole sh*t is breaking down now.

So what exactly is going to secure Boston as a rap force, if it was to become one?

E-Devious: If Boston stays to Boston and brings our style of what we do and how we do it, then everybody is gonna wanna know. Rap is like the Internet, because that's how you get down in that part of the country. People gonna wanna know how Boston gets down. So when we do like this next video, which is oriented on all the 'hoods here, people gonna know. When Made Men drop, you'll see that.

E, you've been staying busy in Hip-Hop circles through your clothing line, Antonio Ansaldi. You chose leather and sportswear as a target to stay pretty much right up the rap alley?

E-Devious: Predominantly, it's leather. That's how we built the company. Doing custom-made work with leathers and suedes. Right now, we trying to move into cottons, denims. We trying to do that now and build a whole line with underwear, socks. It was just starting with the leather to establish the name.

Benzino: With the clothing thing that E does, the really great thing about it is that it opens up doors to a lot of artists and everything, when he gets the different artists to represent for the ads in the photo-shoot.

E-Devious: I always get recognized as a member of The Almighty RSO for that. Like when I first hooked up with The Lox, that was the first thing. Relationships. Lox is on the album too.

Yo, rap music is a big influence on Black culture.People wanna know how Boston gets down. When Made Men drop, you'll see.Think about it, we're still here. We don't look hungry, do we?Boston is Boston, and Boston is a mixture of everything.

Menacing orators of the highest degree, Mobb Deep rarely rap about things other than the trife life.So take a peek inside the day-to-day struggles of the Official Queensbridge Murderers.Nine years ago, two teenagers with a demo tape and thug mentalities set out soliciting record companies in search of a deal. Referred to as Havoc and Prodigy, they were young, short and housed enough anger to start a small war. They also carried with them the dream of most youth: to be famous, rich and successful. Bönz Malone, then A&R of Island Records, remembers the moment in '91 when the duo's fate almost changed its course. "They shot somebody the day that they were signed. Like half an hour before we were supposed to sign, there was an accidental shooting that involved them. I thought the deal would just fall apart after that. I couldn't believe it. But it worked out anyway. Like I said, it was accidental."

In 1992, Juvenile Hell introduced them to a small crowd as the sickle-wielding Mobb Deep. The album's "Hit It From the Back" seemed to leave the impression that they were a kiddie group with raw sex habits, destined to fade into obscurity after the set sold only 41,000 copies, according to SoundScan. "They were too new to be understood," explains Malone. "They were like nothing that had ever been seen before. They scared the sh*t out of people." That would be the end of the story if Mobb Deep hadn't left Island, signed to Loud Records, promoted themselves as street journalists and changed the landscape of Hip-Hop with The Infamous.

It's 3 p.m. on the eve of Havoc's 25th birthday (a birth date he shares with the late, great The Notorious B.I.G.), and Prodigy is busy riffling through a rack of clothing. In preparation for tomorrow's celebration, the duo partook in a warranted shopping spree, and the results lie in the paper bags cluttering the floor of the spacious photographic studio. But like a couple of kids with new back-to-school gear, neither member of Mobb Deep is willing to wait for the official unveiling of their suave threads. It's decided that the $1,295 Vivienne Westwood gray pinstripe suits will come off the hangers a day early for the bright lights and shuttering camera.

Awed by the illusions of the jungle-like set, Prodigy seems to be reliving fantasies spawned by his year at the Manhattan High School of Design. Incidentally, this was the same time and place he met Havoc.

"I was studying photography, doing cartoons and designing clothes, and Hav was into architecture. He wanted to be an architect," P says. He pauses, trying to remember his own aspirations. "School, I didn't really know what I wanted to do. I wanted to do [animation and photography]. I always wanted to do that, but I was more into the streets. I dropped out of school in like ninth grade. I was in high school for like one year." He contemplates the possibility of going back and getting his GED but realizes that, right now, his career comes first. Bounding off toward the forest of imported bamboo for a few Polaroid test shots, he smiles and calls back: "This is fun!"

Havoc sits quietly in a canvas chair examining his face in the mirror. With the calmness of a pro, he lets the makeup artist touch up his face to reduce shine. When the photographer yells to indicate that he's begun shooting, Hav slides out of the chair, casts a look of apprehension and reveals: "Man, I'm bored."

Nobody doubts the word of the Mobb. Their lyrics and music are appealingly unpleasant and strangely convincing. Since 1995's The Infamous, which sold 604,000 copies, the duo have spewed scare tactics that successfully turn listeners into believers. On said album's "[The Infamous Prelude]," Prodigy takes a two-minute intermission to threaten, intimidate and leave listeners "shook." Then Havoc's haunting chords immediately introduce "Survival of the Fittest," which hypnotized both the willing and unwilling into becoming enraptured fans. 1996's Hell on Earth proved their following loyal, since its sales matched Infamous's gold status, selling 595,000 units. But, most importantly, Havoc and Prodigy continued to assure the Hip-Hop community that there were still emcees that lived the life they spoke of.

A dispute that ensued after "Hell on Earth (Front Lines)" was played during the warm-up of a high-school basketball game in Woodstock, Georgia, serves as a testament to the Mobb's persuasiveness. In December 1997, Tim Moxley, a Cherokee County school board member, attempted to fire the school's principal, assistant principal and basketball coach for allowing the "profanity-laced" song to be aired. "Just for playing our song?" Havoc laughs in disbelief when he hears of the report. "See what kind of thing we got over people?

"I guess it's the way we say it and how we say it," he continues, expanding on their credibility. Happy to be out from under the scorching lights for a brief moment, Hav fires up a cigarette and continues: "And plus, on top of that, where we're from. Ain't nobody really fake coming from where we're from, they know that there's drama out there. Everybody's heard of Queensbridge, they heard stories. So we can't be all that fake. We ain't fake at all."

The collection of drab, brown apartment buildings in Long Island City, Queens, makes up the locale claimed by Marley Marl, Nas and, of course, MC Shan. "Queensbridge is one of the biggest projects in New York City. That's where Hav was from, and he brought me out around his neighborhood," says Prodigy. "The 'hood's got talent, any 'hood. That's the bottom right there, you can only excel from there."

Hempstead, New York, native Prodigy was the son of a singer and the grandson of jazz saxophonist Budd Johnson. "Childhood, it was tough coming up, but then it was good," he recalls. "Half of my family was well off and the other half was struggling. I lived on both sides of the fence. I've seen both worlds."

Havoc, born in Queensbridge, had a decidedly more consistent upbringing. "I had a cool childhood, had my little struggles," Havoc remembers. "My moms wasn't rich and was raising three children, but that's why I'm here, 'cause I struggled."

However, nowadays, the greatest adversity for the duo comes in the form of an inherited health condition that affects one in 375 African American children. "That sh*t's just go-through-your-whole-body pain," Prodigy says of his sickle-cell anemia. "Like you got shot or you got broken limbs. It could hit anywhere. It's crazy. It's sporadic. That sh*t just strikes." But the dysfunctional blood cells have been coursing through P's veins for almost 25 years, leaving him no choice but to adapt his lifestyle accordingly.

Between shots, he glances over at a table of catered food that includes chicken, pasta salad and gourmet sandwiches. "I can't eat none of that sh*t," P grumbles, reaching, instead, for a banana. "You can't be like everybody else," he says resignedly. "Certain things, I can't do. I can't stand cold weather. I can't overexert myself and I've got to take care of my health. I know my limits and sh*t, what I can and can't do." Havoc copes with his partner's disease in the best way he knows how. "I just be there for him. A nigga's sick, I'm there for him. That's my dog."

The Mobb's bond is so strong that when financial situations improved, Hav and P purchased a home together in Freeport, Long Island, in July 1997. "It's been good, successful. Y'know, underground success," observes Gotti, a member of the Infamous Mobb. Giddy over the Polaroids he insisted the photographer take of him donning a string of ammunition, grenades, machetes and various other props, Gotti explains: "Life ain't all that glamory, but we're more comfortable than where we was. We used to live in the projects and now we live in, y'know, a mansion." The abode houses the group and a studio, an environment crucial to the continuation of the Mobb sound.

While Havoc's eerie loops and sinister music have become the official soundtrack to the duo's chilling tales, P originally occupied the role of producer. "When we first hooked up and put our little street money together and bought equipment, I learned how to do beats. Then I taught Hav how to do beats," Prodigy reveals. "After a while, we started doing beats together. Then Hav started hogging the equipment and wouldn't let me make the beats no more. I'm like, 'Damn! Stop hogging the sh*t!' But he didn't want to get off the machine, so now he makes all the beats."

"Yeah, I just took over," Havoc laughs mischievously. "'Cause when we first came out with the Juvenile Hell album, motherf*ckers used to hit us off with mad corny beats. So P and I was like, 'F*ck it,' we would do our own beats." With the guidance of DJ Premier and Large Professor, Havoc developed into a sought-after producer with a signature sound. "I can see a beat," he divulges. "Like when you hear a beat, I don't know how you hear it, but when I listen to a beat, I can almost actually see it. It's hard to explain."

As "Lost Ones" amplifies throughout the studio, the beat Hav is apparently visualizing belongs to that of Lauryn Hill. The photo shoot has entered its third hour, and the duo change into a collection of brightly colored shirts and shorts. On this warm May evening, the subject of their fourth album, Murda Muzik, has scarcely been mentioned since the release date is tentative and new music is still being recorded. Despite setbacks, which include Loud searching for a distribution deal and significant leakage of Murda Muzik's original version, Steve Rifkind, CEO of Loud Records, remains optimistic. "They're going on their third album [with Loud], and we've been setting them up where this is going to be the big, big, blow-out album."

It's been almost nine years since the ink dried on Mobb Deep's first record contract, and Bönz Malone is well aware of the lucky hand fate has dealt them. "I'm very proud of them. They're still real people, real individuals that deal with life accordingly, but they're a lot more tempered now for success," Malone stresses. "And that is what I always wanted to see, as an older brother that was a mentor to them, who really loved them as individuals, not just as artists. I always wanted to see them live and grow older to get to that level of artistic, personal and business maturity. And now they're there."

Vestax goes straight to the point.

Let's face it--tapes never sounded that great, CD technology isn't flexible enough to scratch with, and the needles that play the records just skip too often...or is that myth? Vestax Corporation of Japan, currently the company behind some of the most innovative equipment used by Hip-Hop DJs, has released the PDX-a1 MKII SA, the first DJ-oriented direct-drive turntable, which claims to be virtually "skip-proof." With a nontraditional, shorter straight-arm design, Vestax claims that this may be the end of the needle-hopping nightmares every DJ wakes up screaming from.

Due to a Vestax product-distribution issue at the time of this writing, a test unit was not available from the distributor. California Sound and Lighting in San Diego was kind enough to provide an opportunity for this review.

For nearly 20 years, the Technics SL 1200 has been the undisputed champion of turntables. Since then, several companies have attempted to manufacture new decks they claimed were just as capable, but have fallen short of the mark. To date, the Vestax turntable is the only one that has ever turned enough heads for second thoughts about Technics' seat on the throne.

Crooked History

The PDX-a1 MKII SA (Straight Arm) was formerly known simply as the PDX-a1 MKII, when the common S-shaped tonearm was used. Since then, the a1 has been equipped with the shorter, straight tonearm for improved tracking (i.e., less skipping). The fundamental idea behind this design, according to Shure Brothers, is that grooves are easier to track in the middle portion of the record than at the inner and outer ends. The S-shaped arm allowed the best fidelity across all areas by compromising tracking at the inner and outer ends. However, in order to equalize the tracking ability in all areas, a straight arm would do the trick but at the same time sacrifice sound quality; a similar effect as angling the cartridge 23° inward on an S-shaped arm.

First Grooves

At first glance, the PDX-a1 definitely doesn't look like another Technics 1200 clone. The main surface has a charcoal-granite look, and the base of the unit is shaped as if it's ready for liftoff. The common features found on most DJ turntables are here, including a pitch fader, 33/45 RPM selector, large start/stop button, near-instantaneous start-up speed and fully rotatable (and also removable) stylus target light. The turntable is also just as heavy as the Technics.

What sets this turntable apart is the tonearm design, a quartz lock engage/disengage function, the lack of stro Color be dots along the side of the platter, field-replaceable ability of the pitch fader with no center-detent (with bends of ±10%), RCA plugs on the back along with the grounding screw and remote plug (for a foot pedal to control the start/stop function; however, this pedal seems to only be available in Europe). The tonearm counterweight is marked for up to seven grams. There is no manual arm-lift lever. The power switch is located at a corner away from any of the other controls to prevent accidental turn-off. Antiskate controls are nonexistent, given the innovative design of the arm.

Test Spinning

Four cartridges were used for testing: Shure's M44-7 and M44G, and Stanton's new 505K and 605K. Although time wasn't available to intricately tune arm settings for each, it became obvious during the trial run that Vestax's seemingly ridiculous "skip-proof" claim was holding up quite well. Setting up proper arm height was difficult, with no markings to indicate height measurements, but all the carts worked well at the higher setting, as Vestax recommended.

The platter was rock-solid and stable when handled aggressively. Given proper arm setup with the individual cartridge, the typical skipping, associated with fast, repetitive chirps, rough scribbles and hard stabs, virtually disappeared. The PDX-a1 took serious abuse that even 1200s can't live up to. It was hard to make the needle skip.

The start/stop, RPM and quartz lock controls felt solid, responding with a firm thump when tapped on. The target light became hot to the touch after prolonged use.

Probably the big downside to the PDX-a1 is the braking time of the motor. Instead of the on-the-dime "squash" effect that 1200s offer, the Vestax took seconds to gradually slow down to a halt. There also doesn't seem to be any accessible method of adjusting the brake timing internally, as on the 1200.

The Verdict

Vestax definitely came through on this one. Like their Pro series mixer line, Vestax is looking to conquer the top-of-the-heap market with innovative designs. While their advertising isn't pushing their name into every household, their strength as a product developer is being felt in all corners of the industry, and the PDX-a1 is right on target.

B-boy Masters/ Pro-Am

Miami, FL B-boy Masters/Pro-Am cofounder Zulu Gremlin first hooked up with dance acquaintance Speedy Legs in Miami while on tour with the critically acclaimed Jam on the Groove. Following Gremlin's relocation to Miami to work on a recording project, Speedy approached him about organizing a local B-boy event, with the concept eventually blossoming into an all-encompassing Hip-Hop weekend drawing participants worldwide. In 1997, the launch of the first annual B-boy Masters/Pro-Am offset the East Coast/West Coast pendulum by bringing a culture-based Hip-Hop conference to Miami.

"I wanted to put a seed in the community and make it a local thing. The whole B-boy aspect has been so neglected out here... everything was so wrapped up in the 'booty' concept that we were obsolete," Speedy Legs recollects of the neglected B-boy scene in Miami. "So I figured by me and him hooking up, we could change this." Only three years later, the Pro-Am has evolved into the largest annual "strictly Hip-Hop" gathering in Florida, held last May 20-23.

Friday's event "Steady Building," as the name implies, revolved around the objective of educating and building skills regarding the many elements of Hip-Hop. The panels, exhibitions and displays on this day were conducted by the actual creators and participants in that specific element. This segment featured theatrical performances, a fashion show, a slide presentation by Stress magazine's Ket and a graffiti discussion highlighted by prominent writers DOC, DOZE (TC5) and VIRUS.

The "Team Battle," which also occurred that day, pitched the two organizers into separate camps: the West Coast team of Shaolin (Zulu Gremlin, Flo Master, Wicket, Jade, Crumbz, Flav, Energetic, Reveal, Rox Rite and Iron Monkey) versus the Florida team Hip-Hop Elements (Speedy Legs, Beta, Jamar, Troll, Bebe, Legacy, Stiff Rock, Nyght Crawla, Lethal and Ekszoob). No winner was declared, but the public will be left to pronounce the victor once the soon-to-be-released Pro-Am video surfaces.

Under the umbrella event "Skills 3000," Speedy Legs conceived a showcase of some of the most talented displays of dancing in the '90s. "The reason why it's called 'Skills 3000' is because we've been doing [year] 2000 moves in the early '80s, and it's already the '90s, so we've got to be reaching a lot further. If you've seen the way people break nowadays, you would definitely agree," Gremlin informs before clarifying the structure of the event. "Skills 3000" was divided into two subevents: "Battle for Supremacy" and the "Ultimate Circle."

The "Battle" featured two sets of four dancers battling it out in multiple rounds of exhaustive sets, with Iron Monkey from the West Coast claiming victory over Flips, Vietnam and Crumbz in an array of power moves and style. Later that evening, the "Ultimate Circle" would invite the panelists, judges and other notable B-boy figures to enter the dance floor in a collaborative exchange. As Gremlin explains, "The 'Circle' is a futuristic look at the dance circle where young, aspiring talents get the opportunity to dance with the original masters in one, single cipher."

"Doin It in the Park," featured on the final and fourth day, concluded with Pro-Am's symbolic return to the historical roots of park jams, but this time done Miami-style. B-boys went heads up with sponsors, DJs and MCs in an eclectic basketball showdown exclusive to the annual B-boy Masters/Pro-Am. Also, the same day hosted the Southeastern regional DMC competition that earned DJ Infamous the title for his captivating performance, while the long-awaited popping contest was prevailed over by Hawaii's Sweepy, who currently resides in New York.

Redman

You've read countless articles on how nice the Funk Docta is with the mic. Here's something a little more personal, something that gets into the head of Hip-Hop's modern-day legend.

I think it was a Tuesday morning when the Def Jam publicist woke me from my alcohol-induced slumber to ask me if I was up to talk to one Mr. Reggie Noble aka Redman.

"The problem is," she said, "you have to do it within the next half hour." Which was fine by me, seeing as how I had worked three days straight, with all of four hours sleep, and was on the verge of alcohol poisoning. She gave me just enough time to "grab my dick and spit," wipe the sh*t out my eyes and open a beer, before Reggie called me back.

"Reggie," I said. "I'm halfway through a beer, and I'm still drunk from last night." He laughed. "Cool, I'm halfway through this here blunt, and I can't remember when I wasn't high last."

It seemed this was going to work out just fine. I was tired from a long stretch of binging, and he was dreary from an aggressive few weeks of promotional touring for his new album.

So instead of bothering with all the bullsh*t of how f*cked up the industry is, why rap journalists deserve to be beat up or if the "N" word belongs in Hip-Hop, I asked him retarded questions that only a drunk would ask a stoner at ten in the morning.

Hopefully it makes you laugh.

But to be honest, I wasn't too concerned with you when I was asking the questions. I was just praying I wouldn't puke or fall asleep while I was on the phone.

Right out the box, let's get the album plug out of the way.

Doc's Da Name 2000 is the name of the album. Got some ill producers on it. Erick Sermon, Timbaland, Roni Size from the U.K., myself and Rockwilder. Got all kinds of features on there like Method Man, Keith Murray, Busta Bus and my Jersey click.

How did you get the name Redman?

Oh, c'mon, man. Don't do that. C'mon, man. All right, when I was real little, I got hit in the face with a snowball; sh*t was just red all over. My girl made it up: I wanted to kick her ass for that.

I heard the reason was you used to pick boogers a lot, and it always used to bleed during school.

Oh, man. No, no. Gimme a break. No, that ain't true, nigga. You just made that up, motherf*cker.

As a result of the name, do you get any hate mail from angry Native Americans?

No. Hell no. I have a lot of Native American fans. They show me love. We get together and smoke the peace pipe.

Being a red man, neither Black nor white, do you have an objective theory on why white girls' asses are so flat?

I don't know, man. That's always been a puzzle to me. Why do they have flat asses? I guess it's just not in their culture to have fat asses. Or big lips. Maybe it has something to do with the food they eat. Or maybe the food back in the day. They wasn't bending down like slaves was, to sculpt a nice fat ass. They was sitting on they ass all day, so maybe that's why it's so flat. They just not in it to win it. See, you can't try and rule the world and have a big ass. It just don't happen.

Since you're so knowledgeable on the subject, explain this: why is it white b-boys try to act Black but white b-girls try and act Spanish?

Sh*t, man, I don't know. That's some ol' ethnic question. To be honest, I don't know what the f*ck they doing or talking about out here.

Your cousin Tame told me you liked to do some sh*t called the bus-stop dance where you'd f*ck with bus drivers. Do you remember that sh*t?

Who told you? Tame? That motherf*ckah. I know how to do that sh*t, but I didn't used to do it all the time. What are you talking about?

Tame said you used to just chill on the corner at the bus stop, and you'd do this dance where it looked like you were flagging down the bus, but when it stopped, you'd just laugh in the driver's face and do the dance.

Oh, sh*t. Damn. I thought you meant the bus-stop dance, like in a club. Nah, nah. I used to f*ck with buses and sh*t, flagging 'em down and f*ckin' with 'em, but it wasn't much of a dance. I was just f*ckin' with them fools.

Being a semicertified doc, do you feel your labelmate Slick Rick really has something wrong with his eye, or do you think he's just trying to get down with Sammy Davis's steez?

Nah, I never personally diagnosed him, but I know he got a real problem with his eye. I never looked under there, but as a matter of fact, he took a picture with that sh*t off and... I think the sh*t is kind of f*cked-up looking. I ain't gonna lie, but that's my dog; that's my favorite rapper, right there. Him and KRS-One.

So you're still living with your mom, huh? You're gettin' kind of old; isn't she tired of you yet?

Nah, I'm back and forth. I'm not always at her place. I don't be around her enough for her to get tired of my ass. And, I mean, I love being around my momma.

What kind of whip are you pushing these days?

A coupe and a truck.

But didn't you get your license taken away?

Hee hee, hell yeah. It was f*cked up. I got caught for drivin' with drugs and drivin' with my sh*t on the suspended list.

So how are you able to drive that sh*t then?

Easy: I just press gas. I don't let it stop me, dun. I ain't lettin' these cops stop me from doing what the f*ck I gotta do. F*ck that. One time, they had an APB on my ass. I came back to Newark, and they was at me at gunpoint, like 13 cops. [To someone else in the room] Yo, let me get a extra Dutch from you. Oh, sh*t. Yeah, light it, go ahead. Go ahead, Chris, what else you got for me?

If the whole Def Squad went into training for a while, do you think together, y'all could lift Big Pun off the ground?

Um, yeah. Hell yeah. Man, me and Keith could lift Pun off the ground together. Wait. Maybe not just me and Keith. Me, Keith and somebody else. It would have to be somebody kind of big. Like me, Keith and maybe Busta Rhymes. That should be enough to get his ass off the ground. Big Pun--that's my dog.

Have you ever been catching dome from a girl and instead of nutting, you pissed in her mouth instead?

What? Hell no. It's never gotten that far. Damn, that's nuts.

Have you ever had a girl riding you, and when you shoved your thumb up her ass, you got a chocolate surprise by accident?

What? Goddamn. No. Nah. Sh*t nah. I'd beat her ass some sh*t like that happens. Smack that stinkin' ass. Man, that sh*t... Nothin' like that has ever happened to me. Really, my sex life... No weird sh*t like that has happened to me. Not that I would say if anything did happen in no magazine. I don't want motherf*ckers thinkin' I'm way out there.

Since we're on the topic of weird sex, let's talk homosexuality. People are always talking about the gay rapper, but it seems no one is concerned with who the lesbian rapper is. Who do you think the lesbian rappers are?

Sh*t, man, every one of them. That's the thing now with women, hell yeah. You see it. Everybody see it.

Do they really mind when they do that; you know, hug each other and feel each other's pussies?

No, they don't think nothin' of it. It's the thing nowadays. So as far as I'm concerned, all of them is on that sh*t.

When it comes to the Hip-Hop Hug [when you shake your man's hand, pull him close, hug him with one arm while patting his back], Italians, they throw in that little extra kiss on the cheek for their mans. Does that in any way deter you from giving the Hip-Hop Hug to Italians?

I don't mind so much when it comes to the Italian women. They all right. But the fellahs, they don't need to be kissing me on the cheek. I still show them love though.

If your career was going downhill, what crime would you commit to get publicity?

What crime would I do? I don't know, man. Maybe rob a bank. I don't think I would have to do that. I think my credit will still last me out, so I won't have to do some other sh*t to get me back on.

Vanilla Ice, why is he alive?

Man, he got his little comeback now. You know, he gotta do what he gotta do. I can't hate. I was just with his ass at the [MTV] Rock 'n' Jock. He cool. He a'ight. I was like, "Damn, that's Vanilla Ice." No more flat top, just some regular hair, regular dude. When I first saw his ass back in the day, though, I was like, "Yo, look at Vanilla Ice. He destined to be somebody. Be it good or bad, he gonna be remembered."

Is it true there was a Mobb Deep track for Doc's Da Name that was pulled at the last second?

For my album? Nah, man. I didn't do no track with Mobb Deep. I would like to though. I'd be down to do some sh*t with them. It's all love between us. I mean, I feel as though it is.

If this isn't too personal of a question, I was wondering... where are your dogs at?

In L.A. Wait. What you mean? As far as peeps? What kind of question is that? My people is in Jersey. If you meant real dogs and sh*t, they in L.A. My pits is out there; they stay with a trainer out there. I don't train them for fights or no sh*t like that; just to be obedient and listen to my ass. I can't have them around my moms and sh*t whilin'. Some people, they into that fighting sh*t. Not me. That's they thing. They gotta make they money. They just gotta be careful that motherf*cker don't turn on them.

If you could bone any one person in the world, who would it be?

Uh... oh sh*t. Probably Chaka Khan. Chaka Khan is huge. She is such a beautiful lady.

What's small and white and comes in a little yellow box?

Sh*t, man. I don't know. What is it?

Woody Allen. What makes a better carrying case for a 9mm pistol: a paper bag or plastic?

I would have to say a paper bag. These are some silly questions, man.

Now that the NBA has resumed, do you think the national crime rate will decrease?

Maybe. Man, I don't really give a sh*t. I watch that sh*t sometimes, but I'm a Denver Bronco fan.

Now that you have a son, have you thought about putting O.E. in his baby bottle?

Nah, I can't f*ck with him like that right now. He too little. Maybe when he turn like... one. I smoked pot around him a few times, but not really. I try not to. But when the time comes, I'll teach him about that sh*t too.

What do you think is the most important thing you, as a father, can teach your son?

Just how to stand up on his own two. Once you do that, you can conquer anything. When times is hard, things get rough, you be able to handle that sh*t.

I know there was a time when you used to sell drugs for a living. Did you ever substitute soap for cocaine?

Nah, nah. I never had to do that. I was an honest drug dealer. I gave them what they needed, sometimes even more. But I had to leave all that sh*t behind when I started rockin'. There's good money in that sh*t though. But it's better in this game. And it's legal. Uncle Sam might take a lot out in taxes, but 5-0 takes a lot more out your ass. I'd rather pay taxes then be paying time any day.

If you could tell the people anything, what would it be?

Brick City. The sh*t is coming.



Scarface: Facing Immortality

Scarface is one of music's most prolific writers and the engine behind Rap-A-Lot's success. In his ten-year career, he has said some outlandish sh*t but has yet to write a wack verse. Best of all, he is still young and hungry.by P.E. Cobb photography by Brad MillerIn the annals of Hip-Hop's brief existence, only a few rappers have developed a substantial niche and contributed any original substance of worth to the art form. Instead of running down a list of those artists, it would be better served to know that there aren't 21 MCs today that have written better rhymes more consistently than Brad Jordan, aka Mr., Mr. Scarface. The cat has an amazing talent of simply weaving a rhyme into a mini-narrative so vivid and graphic, the best motion picture would take two hours to detail what he does in "no more than four minutes and some seconds."Penning some of the dopest lics of all time hasn't always been the case for Scarface. He wrote some old, piece-together rhymes in his early days while with the Geto Boys, à la 2Pac and Notorious B.I.G. When he parlayed on the solo tip, however, 'Face revealed to the world his talent for writing captivating stories. Immediately, he was lauded for his work: at least, by those who cared to listen.Prior to chatting with Rap-A-Lot's premier breadwinner, Rap Pages Executive Editor Allen Gordon and Contributor Eric Robinson (both had interviewed Scarface previously) forewarned of Scarface's attitude towards editors and writers--Hip-Hop journalists in particular. Word is, Scarface kinda resents the whole lot of journalists.Just before the session begins, Scarface is handed a copy of a magazine in which he and Willie D appear. Instead of focusing on the interview at hand, Scarface vigorously flips through page after page and blurts out, "Let's just say that I'm uncomfortable with writers these days." Seemingly irritable and agitated, 'Face submerges his attention in the mag and continues, "Yeah, anyway, I just don't like that sh*t; people [writers] tend to take that sh*t overboard--they take it too far to me, and I think they have a lot of impact on these new groups that's coming out."After trying to explain the duties of a Hip-Hop journalist, and what is and shouldn't be happening, 'Face responds, "Well, I don't make no threats; all I can do is promise muthaf*ckas: when they blast me, I'm a blast they ass back. I feel like the writer--the newscaster or whoever--when it comes down to someone's livelihood on how he do his thing, the muthaf*cka should make sure that the public knows that what he's saying is his personal opinion."While sitting behind a desk in one of the many offices at the Rap-A-Lot Compound, Mr. Brad Jordan steadily reads through the magazine without looking up. It's obvious he'd rather be doing something else rather than indulge in what he may feel is another, pointless interview where his words are going to be flipped "iny-ole-kinda-way."What's his real beef with writers?"I got a problem with writers writing derogatory sh*t, if that's the right word for that. Writing f*cked-up sh*t about niggas who trying to do they thang, man. I feel like, if a nigga ain't got no cool sh*t to say, then it'd be best that a nigga not spoke about nothing I was involved in. You know, whether it'd be my groups or somebody else's group I did a song with. Muthaf*ckas misprinting words and misprinting quotes: I ain't into that sh*t. It seem like every time I open my mouth, it don't come out like I said it--a muthaf*cka get the wrong idea. You know, I was just reading this article right here, and it goes too far into depth about me."Instead of discussing Scarface's views about the industry, his production talents, his writings or any other topic of interest concerning the man that has been a part of one of Hip-Hop's most successful and elite groups, the conversation is steered in the direction of "media vs. artist," and he continues to vent."A writer shouldn't say nothing negative about another nigga trying to get it any way--that's magazine bangin'. That's writing bangin'. If a muthaf*cka got some sh*t to say about any goddamn body, that sh*t should be taken up between him and the muthaf*cka he got it against."Enough pissing on journalists, he's had his say. Switching gears, one of the best ways to get people to open up is to get them to talk about their favorite subject--themselves.So why isn't 'Face recognized as one of the dopest MCs ever; what's the reason behind that?"Sh*t, I don't know, man. I don't feel like I'm one of the dopest MCs," says 'Face.Huh? What kinda diplomatic answer is that?"I'm just more or less glad to be a part of it, man, and if somebody see me like that, that's cool. I like for a muthaf*cka to say you was dope in your time, like Run-DMC or N.W.A or somebody."Nice answer. Too nice. Let's try for one not so middle-of-the-road about his feelings on watching a television program that lists the top rappers of all time and not being mentioned, and see if that affects him in any way."Oh yeah, it bothers me, but it don't because I know that sh*t is political," says 'Face as the volume of his voice rises. "I mean, I really don't give a f*ck, but at the same time, I want my sons to say, 'Man, my daddy was one of the coldest rappers in the world...' and they should be able to say that. It ain't like I'm no trash-ass rapper."Trash he's definitely not. Outside of his residence of Houston, however, you won't find too many fans that will instantly throw his name in the top five. Maybe it's because he hasn't starred in any movies or garnered any criminal trouble for the world to see. Or could it be because he's not from a certain coast or borough? Who knows; who cares? Discussions concerning the greatest rapper of all time is wasted energy. An argument with a moot ending.Face is also against the public being fed an idea, because if they hear it long enough, they'll start to believe it. This belief is much like what Chuck D and Public Enemy preached against in 1988. "The politics in the rap game can turn the fans into thinking one thang--they'll start believing that sh*t," explains Scarface, who is paying full attention to the conversation and not the mag any longer. "It's extremely political. It's got a lot to do with visual, with the ear. The muthaf*ckas that got power to put certain sh*t in your face, in TV and magazines."Because brothers and sisters are not owning television networks and major publishing mediums, who actually decides who is going to blow up? Scarface acknowledges, "regardless as to how you look at this sh*t, we can say that it's Black, and it's Black and this Black and that's Black, but it's a white boy over all that Black sh*t somewhere."Don't get the impression that he isn't enjoying his gig. At the same time, he's concerned with how and what is going down around him with the music."It's a lot of garbage being put out," states 'Face. "And it's saturating the market. I think the last, good f*ckin' rap record that was ever made, man--well, I got a few rap records [that I like]. I think the Midnight Marauders [Tribe Called Quest], The Chronic [Dr. Dre] was some of rap's best records. I don't wanna leave nobody out--N.W.A's Niggaz4Life. Ice Cube's Death Certificate. Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back--it was an excellent record. You see, we got excellent artists, but a complete entire record: it's a few. And I made a few myself. And make sure you print that that's my personal opinion."The man that has written such timeless gems and incredible hits as "I Seen a Man Die," "Scarface," "Money and the Power," "Mr. Scarface," "Now I Feel Ya" and mad-tight verses on "City Under Siege," "Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangster," "Minds Playin' Tricks on Me" (Geto Boys), "Smile" (2Pac), "Homies and Thugs" (2Pac and Master P) and "Game Over" (Dr. Dre, Too $hort, Ice Cube) is currently preparing to drop yet another masterful solo piece.'Face's face (pun intended) lights up as if he's reading the winning numbers on a lottery ticket while explaining that his next joint will set the industry literally on its ear. "Regardless to if I never get recognized and if I always stay down in the bottom of the barrel of good MCs--not even great MCs, just good MCs--my next album will switch this sh*t one more time. I'm gonna put my last of whateva I got in it, as far as my mental and thought pattern is concerned."With the unnecessary plethora of guest MCs on the latest Geto Boys album, Da Good, Da Bad & Da Ugly, it seems as though the public isn't really interested in a Geto Boys Presents album [At press time, approximately 250,000 were sold]. What was the deelee, yo?"I don't even wan'--I'd have to delete that entire question from the interview period; let's just move on to the next one," Scarface responded.The recently wedded rapper did say that it was a good record, as did his partner-in-rhyme Willie D. "Overall, I'm satisfied with the album [Da Good, Da Bad & Da Ugly]," says Geto Boys member Willie D while taking time out from recording his solo album at the Hippie House in Houston. "I don't think that this is the best Geto Boys album that a nigga gon' hear."Everythang ain't in a nigga control; I don't own the record company," continues Willie D. "Just like I got a deadline, the owner got a deadline, the distribution company got a deadline: you gotta bring something to the table whether you ready or not.""Just watch me, man," warns 'Face, pushing the GB album aside to speak of his new album. "I got another record after this record--In My Time of Dying. Nas came up with this idea. We're currently doing a song together, and we was talking about putting niggas to sleep. So that's what the next record is going to be. My next record is going to be called [Dr. Death]; it's not even going to be [called] Scarface. It's just going to be sooo muthaf*ckin' bizarre, dude. When you do a record, it's like getting into that character." He credits Willie D. for helping to create Scarface."Will wanted do his own thing back then; that was natural for a muthaf*cka to want his own identity in a group. If Willie wouldn't have done his solo thang, then there probably wouldn't have been no 'Face."Throughout all the changes of the Geto Boys, one member has remained constant (that is, since he joined the group in '88/'89), and he's still down with Bushwick and Willie, during and after their departures and returns."We ['Face and Willie D.] was always cool. I'm cool with Chuck; it's like when you're married: you got to separate yourself and go to work to come back and enjoy each other. 'Cause when I'm around Willie, I enjoy being around him--he's cool people. We don't f*ck around everyday, I don't see 'em all the time. Hopefully, Bill can be successful with what he chooses to do in his endeavors. I hope the best for Bill and Will. I love the Geto Boys, because if it wasn't for the Geto Boys, it wouldn't be no me."Rap Pages: Can there really be the Geto Boys without Brad Jordan?Outta nowhere, the often-evasive rap icon dropped a hint that he may no longer be a Geto Boys. What isn't clear, though, is whether or not he's leaving on his own or being forced out.'Face: "I think the Geto Boys are going through a staff change. I don't know if I'll be nominated to be a part of that anymore. And if it did come down to that, I would really rather focus on spending more time with my groups and myself."So, really, you're bowing out; ain't nobody kicking you out?"I'm down for whateva; I'm for whateva a muthaf*cka want."You just don't want to drop another Da Good, Da Bad & Da Ugly--you'd just rather be done with it than do that again?'Face responds, "Bam!" while nodding his head in agreement, adding, "I ain't mad at the Geto Boys record, 'cause I know that I sounded good."Whether Scarface's next album raises the bar in Hip-Hop excellence or lowers a guillotine blade severing the legendary GB's head remains to be seen. The fact remains, though, just as 'Face sums it up: "You know I had a blast, man; I had a helluva run."Indeed he has.



JT Money: JT's Latest Arrival

It's been a ten-year struggle with the rap industry and the law, but JT Money is finally achieving the national spotlight and a little peace of mind.

Having talent doesn't always equate to superstardom collossal paydays. Just ask Howard Hewitt, Shanice, Forrest Whittaker, the Lady of Rage, Jennifer Holiday, comedian Earthquake and Doug E. Fresh. The list is endless.

Various variables play a role in whether or not one ever blows up--or simply blows away. Being that life is unpredictable, there aren't

enough ticks in time worth sitting around pondering how so-and-so made it and someone else didn't. Indulging in such dialogue and thought is frivolous.

Take veteran rapper JT Money, for instance; he's been in the rap game for almost ten years, but, until recently, not too many people knew of his existence. For now, those days are behind him. After recording four albums (1990), Poisonous Mentality (1992), [DEMO]own Behavior (1993) and Strait Zooism (1995)--under the Poison Clan moniker and garnishing marginal success, JT's career has finally hit that sweet spot that most people crave in the workplace, school and life in general. He's always had the credibility stamp of approval from long-time fans. Now, notoriety and highly anticipated major record sales loom on the horizon.

At press time, his hypnotic and bouncy tribal war-chant hit "Who Dat" was number one on both the Billboard Hot Rap Singles chart and the Hot R&B Singles sales listing. BET and MTV have also embraced JT's breakout hit.

JT's signature song, until maybe "Who Dat" (only time will tell), is the strip-club anthem "Shake Whatcha Mama Gave Ya." When any DJ dropped this rump-shaking starter from 1992, it provoked a migration to the dance floor. The dances oftentimes looked as if females were auditioning for a position at Club Magic City or Club Rollexx.

The self-proclaimed "bitchizer," who hails from the "Bottom," drops rhymes that depict the ill streets of Miami. JT spit tales of snatching books, slaying [sexing] hoes, hustling, conducting capers and jacking tourists. Hence, that's what the J and T stands for. "That's what I'm about, jacking tourists for money--that was my thang," explains the ex–full-time street thug while visiting D.A.R.P. studios in Atlanta. The letters also represent his birth name, [DEMO]y Thompkins.

As a writer, the Money Man is Miami's equivalent of what Biggie was to Brooklyn and a Jheri-curled Ice Cube was to Los Angeles--all descriptive narrators of their immediate surroundings. JT's skills weren't fully appreciated and seemingly didn't matter back in the early '90s. The so-called powers that be were not into cats if their hometown area codes were 504, 305 or 404. Rappers such as Juvenile, Trick Daddy or Cool Breeze probably would have fallen into the cracks of Hip-Hop obscurity had they appeared on the scene a decade ago.

Place of origin wasn't JT's only problem. His first three albums were recorded in association with Luther "Luke" Campbell as executive producer. Like other Luke Records labelmates before him (H-Town, MC Shy-D., 2 Live Crew), JT claims he wasn't paid what he was due; and the head honcho (Luke) didn't put him in the best to shine, even when he was scorching hot with street credibility and top-notch material suited for FM.

When pressed about his former artists' complaints of not being paid, Luke never waivers that he has paid them all every dime they claim he owes them. Furthermore, Luke has the appropriate documents to support it.

JT, however, disagrees.

"He thinks he can give a nigga ten--$20,000 or something and then act like he gave a nigga some money. I'm like, 'Nigga, I was getting this [amount of cheddar] before records--nigga, what the f*ck! We was bustin' [tourists] in the head for this.'"

While reflecting back, JT acknowledges his own shortcomings. "It was kinda my fault, 'cause I ain't know what I was 'posed to know. I was trying to get into this hustle. I was just working--you know, I went from [DEMO] in the streets' to 'I ain't gotta be in the streets at all.' I could just do some rap sh*t and get some money. I'm like, let me figure out how I can get all the money. And I figured it out, a nigga ain't gon' get all the money until [laughter] he's pressing his own sh*t.

"A nigga always gon' get got until he owns his own sh*t. This game is get-all-you-can-get, really. That's why I can kinda understand them niggas [who don't pay what's due the artists]--but I ain't the type of nigga to sh*t on a nigga. I came up where you know being real with a nigga mean something!"

Instead of being promoted as a stellar MC and star of the label, JT was placed in a group (Poison Clan) in which he did 90-plus percent of the rhyming without his name being featured. He made cameo appearances on his labelmates' albums, yet his name was mysteriously absent from the album covers. He should have been the marquee MC, embraced as the anchor and star on the label à la Scarface with Rap-A-Lot, Snoop with Death Row, Silkk The Shocker with No Limit Records and Biggie with Bad Boy Records.

Did JT ever feel like Luke never allowed him to just blow up? "That's the case though. He was too busy shining, you know. He ain't want nobody to surpass him--you see, I was on a mission. I try to be a man of understanding these days. So it's like, I don't understand what this nigga was thinking about." Clearly JT holds no grudges nor is even bitter about the past; he's only looking ahead, just as his fans are. "Some niggas come up now and be like, 'Well, damn, it's about time,'" he adds.

So instead of fame [DEMO]rtune after dropping hits such as "Dance All Nite," "Action," "Shake Whatcha' Mama Gave Ya" and "Put Sh*t Pass No Ho," which freaks the same beat as Ice Cube's "The Nigga Ya Love to Hate" and Jermaine Dupri and Jay-Z's "Money Ain't a Thang," JT has become an underground icon, somewhat like Kool G. Rap and King T.

And like G. Rap and Teela, JT had his share of personal problems that interfered with his professional aspirations. Namely: incarceration. "Dog, I went to jail before every record I ever did came out--it never fails," he says. "Right before the album fall, I go down for something."

Throughout his career, authorities accused JT of being a member of an organized crime ring that was thought to have been operating and conspiring to distribute cocaine out of Miami. In 1994, Strait Zooism was set to drop, and JT knew the Feds, ATF, U.S. Marshals and DEA were watching his every move while out on bond. He lived by the book, walked the fine and narrow line, until one day a mandatory drug test resulted in "cloudy piss," JT laughingly remembers.

"They had me so long, I know they ain't have nothing [on my case]; they know they ain't have nothing. I got tired of not smoking, [DEMO]ow? I'm talking 'bout I'm clean for a whole year and some change. I come back dirty one time, and they was like, 'Oh, you just don't give a f*ck, huh? We gon' lock yo ass up.'"

Of course, the law thought Jeff's rapping was a mere front and were determined to prove it. They claimed he and [his affiliates] were moving 90 birds a week. They even snooped around the Luke Records complex for dirt.

"They [Feds] was asking me about Luke and all. 'Do Luke slang dope?'" JT says. "I'm like, 'Hell nah, Luke don't slang no dope, nigga. Luke ain't even like us to have weed around him.' It's all kinda sh*t I know. Niggas up in there [lockdown] calling out that man [Luke] name too--on some f*ck sh*t. 'Cause you know it's a lotta snitches trying to get out. That's the kinda sh*t I'm rapping 'bout! But I couldn't put it all on the album." Not one to divulge direct information about his past except in rhyme, JT states, "I plead the fifth to everything said on record."

After four years of unwanted inactivity and the constant questions of "When you gon' drop something, JT?" or "When the new album coming?" fans can finally stop asking with the release of Pimpin' on Wax, his first solo release.

While in the main entrance at D.A.R.P. Studios, JT resembles a caged circus tiger. Not wild and scrappy but, rather, pacing and eager. He accepts inquisitive questions and small talk from strangers in the lobby. JT's actions bring to mind the words of OutKast's Big Boi on [DEMO]ini": "Although we have two albums/this one feels like the beginning." His demeanor exudes a bit of anxiousness in getting this album to the people. His people.

The creation of Pimpin' on Wax began in 1996, and JT, a father of three, has amassed a great deal of songs since that time. Like other JT/Poison Clan albums, J Baby drops verses ranking females and their slutty ways. At the same time, he also takes aim at checking them "soft, flaw, pussy, creep niggas" that pay bills, give money/fall in love with slimy, gold-digging, scheming hos. "Hos ain't never been a problem for a nigga," says JT, while rocking and shifting in a swivel chair inside a confined listening area. "I always had hos. I had hos before the rap game."

For the fellas that ain't quite got their senses together in relations to women, JT always hits the brothers off with some needed knowledge. "I think I'm-a niggas' nigga," he says. "I wanna talk to them niggas on the street. I'm the messenger. If a nigga go buy my [DEMO] ride to it, I'm talking to him: 'Hey, man, the game dirty. Them crackas doing whoop-whoop-whoop. We out here such-and-such. These hos doing whatever.' That's what you getting over them beats. It's a matter of vibing. Some niggas listen to beats and hooks, you know. Other cats listen to lyrics and the content of the song. I done learned everybody don't vibe the same, but I just do my thang. I try to give everybody something."

Obviously JT wasn't the only one wanting to "give everybody something." Two talented brothers have made JT's resurgence and visibility possible: Tony Mercedes and Dallas Austin. Tony Mercedes is responsible for such hits as "Dazzey Dukes" (Duice), "Splackavellie" (Splackavellie) and the song/catchphrase that changed how Americans refer to sperm-donating individuals of no importance--"That's Just 'MyBabyDaddy'" (B-Rock & The Bizz)--and vice versa. Mercedes hooked JT up with hit-making mogul and head of FreeWorld Entertainment Dallas Austin, who has produced the likes of TLC, Boyz II Men, Monica and Michael Jackson, to name a few.

With this steady team in place and Priority Records on board, JT's career appears headed for at least some recognition and notoriety. "Oh, yeah, the Money Man gots to get paid, can't be a pimp and broke; it don't add up."

Understanding the music industry can be difficult yet so simple. JT's handlers understand this wholeheartedly. JT knows that with Mercedes and Austin, he's [DEMO]d hands and is prepared to "give 'em what the game was missing."

Which is?

"JT Money, baby, that's what the game was missing. Too many romantic-ass, blind-to-the-game–ass niggas--rappin', just rappin'. I don't know what they rappin' 'bout. I feel like, if you gon' rap to a nigga, tell a nigga something he can hold on to. Teach a nigga something, give a nigga some game. [The rap game's] bigger than all that. God gave me a second chance. I think I'm here for a mission."

God gave me a second chance... I'm here for a mission. A nigga always gon' get got until he owns his own sh*t.



Transforming Notation: Pioneering the Hieroglyphics of the Scratch

It's funny what two turntables and a mixer can do for our lifestyle. The stereotype of the human jukebox no longer holds true as DJs have evolved into thinkers, innovators and, in the end, producers of their own music. Without our culture, DJing would probably never have become what it is today, with a trillion sounds reaching out in unlimited shades of living color.

However, the turntable-as-instrument vision isn't solely rooted in Hip-Hop. In 1937, American avant-garde composer John Cage proposed that turntables, along with the vinyl medium, allowed the instrumentalist to "control...sounds and give to it rhythms within or beyond the reach of imagination" ("The Future of Music: Credo," Silence). His vision was realized with the innovating progression of the Hip-Hop DJ.

But even after all the years of unending development toward "the next level," there is still no widespread effort to consolidate a plan for basic written notation such as other forms of music have been enjoying. The current state of expressive scratching allows only for improvised methods reminiscent of early jazz musicians. Although this freestyle ability allows the creator to dictate the music according to the moment, a form of standardized notation is needed to exchange ideas and establish communication between different types of musicians, including turntablists.

What makes scratching notation so challenging and unique is the fact that scratching is unlike most other forms of instrumentation. The palette of sounds a turntable musician has access to is virtually unlimited, whereas a pianist or guitarist only has a certain range of sounds to work with. Source material from records can offer anything from simple bass lines to a complex series of sounds stemming from multiple voices in a dialogue. Another aspect that makes scratch notation seemingly (or near) impossible is the fact that similar sounds are not always recorded alike on vinyl. This introduces innumerous variables, such as determining fundamental pitch, sound length and volume level.

However, a small number of individuals across the globe are independently working on this exact issue and currently are developing solutions. Due to the limited space of this column, I'll present only two proposed systems of notation--the first by Battle Sounds documentary director John Carluccio and the second by yours truly.

John Carluccio's system was initially stumbled upon while editing Battle Sounds. His system uses a method of angular lines (analogous to a sine wave) representing the rotation and distance of travel of the record along the main "staff." The line slopes downward during the forward movement of the record and upward during the reverse movement. Running alongside is a second staff indicating the positions of both the channel and crossfaders of the mixer in time sync with the primary staff. A third staff underneath can be used in the event that the actions of a second turntable need to be recorded. The entire presentation visually reflects the typical setup of one turntable on each side of the mixer.

My system takes a more compatible approach with current notations, allowing for easier interpretation by other musicians as well as utilization of already existing foundations. It uses standard symbols (such as the notes, clefs, etc.) with several modifications to account for certain turntable/mixer-related specifics, such as crossfading and record movement. One of the key premises of this system is the indication of sound pitch relating to melodies and shifts in tones. However, this introduces a problem in determining the fundamental pitch of a given sound. Moreover, it raises the question of how the performer can bend the pitch through record speed accurately enough to reflect a specific note. "Scratches" are broken down into three distinct categories (freehand, strokes and clicks) to which the note symbol types are assigned, along with an indicator to designate forward or reverse movement of the record. For a more thorough description, check out the official explanation online at www.wicked-styles.com/notation.

Other people who have also developed their own notation systems include Q-Bert (1992-1994 DMC World Champion, Invisibl Skratch Piklz), A-Trak (1997 World DMC Champion, Invisibl Skratch Piklz, Allies), Icue1200 and Enema.

The interest in turntable-based music is growing, and so will the need for collaboration between individuals. Sixty-two years after John Cage's bold proclamation to the Seattle Arts Society about the turntable's potential, our scene is finally developing the ability to write down what we see and hear. Improvisation isn't our only path anymore. Welcome to the next level.



Rock Force Crew: Bay Area Massive

Originating as a B-boy crew in Union City, California, in late '83, the Rock Force Crew has undergone various transitions over the years. Serving as a B-boy clique in the '80s, reemerging from the "houser" scene in 1991 and continuing now into its third generation, RFC is currently comprised of young dancers and two DJs, all between 16 to 23 years old.

The formation of Rock Force's current lineup wasn't without its tribulations. Given the competitive nature of crews, regionalism surfaced at times. Vietnam, a Central Valley native who relocated to Southern California and established a reputation as a B-boy there, caught static when word of his recruitment into the "Bay Area" crew emerged. Despite the wary suspicions of his peers, he nevertheless made the consolidation into Rock Force. "One reason I joined the crew [was that] I was promised victory," Vietnam explains of his decision. "Victory, being a champion--just dancing with people that have the same ideals as I do."

The prominence of today's Rock Force collective was set on German soil in the 1998 annual "Battle of the Year" competition. Displaying an assortment of power moves and a mesmerizing array of Cali styles, the relatively younger and lesser-known crew captured the attention of the international B-boy community as well as the group championship title. "We went to Battle of the Year thinking like, Okay, we're from California, one of the best states with dancers, and we went to represent California," Vietnam remembers of the event. "We knew a lot of people would be watching us."

Coming from such diverse locales as Fremont, Hayward and Union City (no two Rock Force members live in the same city), every member strives to make at least two group practices each month. Because of the group's spread-out geography, the discipline to progress is up to the individuals, and competitions need to be planned for at least a month in advance. With current manager Paul "Paulskee" Ruma's assistance in juggling sponsorships, plane tickets and hectic schedules, RFC have managed to rack up continuous titles from 1998--including first place in the Vestax World [DEMO]onship DJ competition.

The crew also became the epicenter of one of the most visible signs of community spirit within the dance culture following the senseless driveby shooting of RFC member Gerald (title holder of the Rock Steady Crew's 21st Anniversary International B-boy Championship) last Christmas season. Once news of the incident was posted on a B-boy Web site, hundreds of concerned dancers flooded the site with statements of support. As Paulskee remembers in amazement, "Everyone was giving love--everyone from Europe to the East Coast. People were sending cards, money, just supporting him."

Just months into his rehabilitation, Gerald is said to be making substantial improvements, ending speculation on his dancing abilities. "I have one main injury that's going to take a while to heal, but I've already started practicing again," he says optimistically. "I won't be as good as I used to be until at least another seven months. I'm not going to be able to use my head, because they had to do some surgery on my head to take the bullet out--other than that, I'm doing pretty good. I don't have any problems. Just a sensitive head."

Of his--and RFC's--future plans, Gerald says, "I look forward to doing more traveling, just going around the world dancing. That's all I really look forward to."

Rock Force Crew roster: Gerald Casterlow (Sacramento), Jeff Ahkhahon (Fairfield), Alwayne Buban (Vallejo), Ron "Profo" Creer (Daly City), Leon "Vietnam" Carswell (Hayward), J.P. "Jaypee" Diaz (Hayward), Jerimiah "Kid Twist" Barinque (Union City) and John "Bionic Man" Bayani (Fremont). Rock Force DJs: Brian "DJ Swiftrock" Lucas (San Francisco) and Daryl "DJ Kid Dee" Lucas (San Francisco).

Info: www.rockforcecrew.com, or e-mail manager Paul "Paulskee" Ruma at Roc4ceCrew@aol.com.



Missy Elliott: The Beauty of it All

Shed a few pounds and increase the workload, Missy Elliott's "body of work" is absolutely stunning.A sure sign that one has reached that most coveted degree of fame is having an obsessed fan--someone who holds you in such high regard, they spend obscene amounts of time perfecting your voice and movements with such precision that it fools radio stations, fans and even the person being impersonated. This level of stardom has recently extended a welcoming hand to Missy Elliott, the giggly, 26-year-old girl from Portsmouth, Virginia, who, in her

six years as an official celebrity, has become the biggest-selling female songwriter, singer and rapper in the free world. As she prepares to unveil her sophomore album, Da Real World, she's purposely shaved off some pounds, shelved her wave cap and hair gel and shed some of the shyness exhibited during her 1997 debut, [DEMO]upa Fly. The nervous giggles are still there, but Missy Elliott's voice finally reflects one who is aware of all she has accomplished during her short time in the spotlight. But not so short that she didn't acquire a disturbed impersonator along the way.

"People I didn't know were coming up to me asking me questions about me calling their house threatening to kill them," laughs Missy during a photo shoot in Los Angeles. "When the radio stations gave me tapes of him doing interviews acting like me, I had to really listen. And I see where if you didn't know me, it would sound like me."

Impersonators and imitators have been a pain in her ass since the triple bass-drum stutter was introduced on Aaliyah's 1996 One in a Million CD, largely produced by Timbaland and written by the yang to his yin: Missy. Since then, his signature drum track has spread throughout R&B like the Ebola virus. Timbaland has decided to leave the epidemic he created behind and laced all of his beats on Da [DEMO]orld with dark, pounding rhythms, like "Funky White Boy" with Eminem, and "Hot Boys," one of the album's standouts. "That 'Hot Boys' track is so different in the way it stops," says Missy in between bites of a Cheetoh. "I mean, producers don't do stuff like that, and people will be kinda scared. We'll probably have trouble with the radio stations about that." According to Missy, Timbaland left urban radio scratching their heads back in 1996 with the bass-drum novelty of "One in a Million."

"A lot of stations were saying they didn't get the beat," Missy says. "They couldn't mix it into the record that would follow behind it. If they had...like maybe a Puffy record, they couldn't mix a 'Are You That Somebody' right after that, it just wouldn't fall in the spot. Some radio stations wouldn't even allow people to hear it, because they didn't get it."

This is precisely why even a steady history of platinum hits is not enough to calm the butterflies generated over the pressure of making this second project match or supercede the platinum success of Supa Dupa Fly. Missy admits her constant worrying over the album's acceptance was wearing on [DEMO]and's nerves.

"Me and Tim, we started going at it. He'd be like, 'Man, you crazy. You listening to the radio too much, and I'm going home. You know we always come with different kinda stuff, and you getting too caught up [with what's on the radio.] I'm telling you, our songs are hot.'"

As Hip-Hop's own Burt Bacharach and Carole Bayer Sager, Timbaland and Missy mix music and words to an almost guaranteed top-ten end for any artist. Just ask Aaliyah, Total, Jodeci, MC Lyte, Ginuwine, SWV or 702. "When me and Tim get together, our minds is like two serial killers," says Missy. "I work with a lot of producers, but no one can seem to take me there like Timbaland can."

Her songwriting path is as follows: Missy must always hear the track first. She starts humming any melody or hook that comes to mind, then puts pen to paper, providing lyrics. Missy says, "I don't carry around a big notebook of songs. I go into the studio and write right on the spot. God has really blessed me with a talent, because people sometimes bug out. Artists that I work with will see me go in and take ten minutes to write a song. For SWV's 'Can We,' we wrote the whole song in like 40 minutes. The Total [DEMO]--'What About Us'--that was like 30 minutes."

One of the first to colorize 1998's lily-white Lilith Fair, the all-female concert tour spearheaded in 1997 by Sarah McLachlan, Missy suddenly found herself trying to rock the same crowds as fellow tourmates Sheryl Crow, Liz Phair, Paula Cole, Natalie Merchant and Bonnie Raitt. Her spot on the tour was secured after McLachlan received criticism for the lack of diversity during the tour's debut the year before. Last year, the tour's [DEMO]ack slot was filled with a revolving door of sistas that included Missy, Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill and Me'Shell NdegeOcello, who would replace each other throughout the tour's summer duration. Although McLachlan bent over backwards to appease the critics' cries for diversity, it's easy to write the minority presence off as a day-late-and-dollar-short attempt to address the problem. Missy was too thrilled with the crossover aspects of being chosen to be concerned.

"Just to be able to perform for a whole other audience was cool with me," laughs Missy. "I think us as Black people sometimes, we get so caught up in wanting to keep it real, but on a business sense, you really can't get nowhere being like that. But I know [Black] people was like, 'What is the Lilith Fair?' or 'What time you going on, 'cause I ain't sitting there for no Natalie Merchant. I don't know who she is.'"

Growing up in the small town of Portsmouth, Virginia, little Melissa Elliott could only dream of people someday knowing who she is. For someone who took the moniker "Misdemeanor," Missy admits that her past was scot-free of [DEMO]ffs and court dates. "I did one really bad thing though," she says with a sly smile. "We was in the woods one day, and these boys had just found a joint. So we was like smokin' and smokin', and I was so, so high. I was like eight years old. I remember my friend's father had a tractor trailer, and I had got the keys and was driving it down the street--high."

Soon after her 18-wheeler experience, Missy started writing songs in junior high. "Me and my friend Damie [DEMO]o act like Salt-N-Pepa. We didn't necessarily have the money to buy our own Salt-N-Pepa jackets, so we'd take our own jackets; I'd draw an 'M' with a black marker, she'd draw a 'D' on hers. We'd have our African hats with a little bit of baby hair on the side. We was the Two True MCs, MC Damie D and MC Missy E. We'd have our little fog machine going on behind us, our little strobe light, and people would be screaming.

"In high school, I really got into music, spent most of my time in class not even listening, just writing songs and stuff. I started writing Michael Jackson and Janet Jackson in, like, the 11th grade. Like, 'Yo, I got a group, come get us out of class.'"

Instead, Missy had to wait for graduation, like everyone else, to get her out of class and onto the talent-show circuit with her newly formed [DEMO]Sista. Missy wrote the group's songs while Timbaland produced. The whole package was swooped up by DeVante of Jodeci in 1992, and Sista released the Brand Nu album that went straight to the clearance bin. Undeterred, Missy just figured that the world wasn't ready for Timbaland yet.

"Anybody that [DEMO]the Sista album knows that what [producers] are doing now, we were doing back then," says Missy defiantly. "But no one really got to hear that album."

Missy's trademark waves have crashed and disappeared on the shores of this new project, making way for a softer, blow-dried cut, shaved and layered in the back with wisps framing her face. She's also been doing 300 crunches and leg lifts per night, prompted less [DEMO]ity and more for health reasons.

"It just so happened one day, I was lookin' at a tape of me on Rosie O'Donnell, and I could hear me breathing, and I was like, 'Oooooh! That sounds real ugly.' Then I looked at myself on the MTV Ultrasound thing that [DEMO]ry and Foxy did together, and I was like, 'I don't even got a chin! That ain't even cute.' I was just feeling very big. I was like, 'Yo, there ain't nothing wrong with just coming down a little bit.' I ain't gonna start throwin' up in the bathroom trying to be no size one or two, but I'm trying to come down to where my health is not a concern anymore."

One would think her busy schedule is a weight loss regimen in and of itself. In addition to writing, producing and performing, Missy is set to star with Busta Rhymes in a cartoon to be developed by their management company Violator. She also runs her own label/production company, The Gold Mind Inc., which houses Nicole, Danjamouth, Mocha and 18-year-old newcomer T.C., whom she signed immediately after spotting him singing in a New York subway for change. Missy and Timbaland have a [DEMO]together called For a Millimeter, which will focus on cultivating white rock and pop acts. Their first artist is Sarah, a young Britney Spears type. Missy says, "Tim been playing me some tracks, and I'm like, 'Dag, boy, are you white? You're giving me some real pop joints, but I ain't mad at that, though, because it takes us to a whole other level.' He got this one joint that sounds like an old Sheena Easton record, but it's hot the way Sarah's singing it, because she's got an ill voice."

At the root of the whirlwind of activity lies the person who has indeed secured a place in music history, aiding and abetting the flooding of R&B with a new, signature sound; ushering in the now rampant speed-up, slow-down, fish-eye–lensed method of shooting videos (collaboration with director Hype Williams on "The Rain"); becoming a Jackie Robinson of the Lilith Fair and, simply, being a woman who calls all of her own shots in a field dominated by men. Even in the midst of these accolades, Missy senses a lack of appreciation for her trailblazing efforts.

"It's times where I feel like, Man, we work our ass off. And pretty much, we lay our hands on platinum records. Not only do we deal with artists that's already been out, we work with new artists and change their whole careers, but sometimes you feel kind of slighted. I mean, I know--at least I thought--'The Rain' was [DEMO]video, and then when you go up for an award and they like, 'The winner is such and such,' you be like, 'Wait a minute!' I know 'The Rain' was hot. But I guess that's life sometimes. And one thing about us: If we see people starting to mimic our style, that makes us have to step up our game. I think a lot of people know where the CAK ca-CAK ca-CAK CAK beat came from, so we don't have to be all mad on the mic like, 'We did that first!' I think anything that's hot, people gonna jump on it, and you gotta look at it like a compliment at the end of the day."

Unless you're a disturbed impersonator.

I work with a lot of producers, but no one can seem to take me there like Timbaland can.

Snoop Dogg: Barking up the Right Tree

Beware of Dogg, especially now that he's hooked back up with Dr. Dre and a host of producers who can capture the Snoop Dogg persona that everyone loved so much.After a tumultuous stay with Death Row Records, it seemed certain that Snoop Dogg would recapture his status as Hip-Hop's No. 1 artist with the release of his No Limit Records debut, 1998's Da Game Is to Be Sold, Not to Be Told. It didn't happen.

Even though the album has sold more than 2-million copies, some criticized the set because they claimed it sounded as if the Long Beach rapper was rushed during the recording process and uncomfortable rhyming over Beats by the Pound's production, among other things.

Snoop says he doesn't care about these critiques, but his loyal fans will notice a rejuvenated and redirected canine on the recently released No Limit Topp Dogg. With Dr. Dre, DJ Quik and Battlecat among those handling Tha Doggfather's beats, it's clear that Snoop has returned to his musical roots.

During an interview in the living room of his Claremont, California, residence, Snoop makes no bones about his goal of letting the music industry know that it is, indeed, a doggy dogg world.

Breakers Unlimited: It seems as if you've done more guest performances and concerts since signing with No Limit. What types of freedom have you enjoyed?

Snoop: Access to do songs with more of the people I really wanted to work with. Basically, it untied my hands and let me be free, be as creative as I want to be. I admire Master P, and I love him for that. Even if it's a bad move sometimes, he's letting me do what I want to do.

People are hearing you on projects such as the Gambino Family and Prime Suspects. What do you think it means to the fans?

It opens it up to let the fans know that Snoop Dogg's going back to where he started from. He doesn't think he's too big so that he'll only do songs with the big artists that sell millions of records. He's about breaking new artists too. That's what it's about on No Limit, helpin' each other. I'm cool with that. I was helped in the game, so I don't have any problem helping somebody else in the game.

What was it like being the star of your own movie?

I love P for giving me a shot at doing Da Game of Life. It was a small movie and I loved it. It sold 250,000--that's like five-times platinum, so it did its part. People tell me they like it. I want to get into the big thang with it, but I'm going to stay with the home-video market for a minute, get that all the way down pat and step into the VIP side of it.

There are rumors you're working on four or five other movies. Are any of them true?

All of 'em are true. There's negotiations and I'm trying to finish my album. A lot of stuff is in the works.

C-Murder's new album strays from the typical No Limit sound, and you've got a lot of non-No Limit artists on your new album. What were your thoughts with putting this album together?

It's whoever I want to work with. If I choose not to work with No Limit, he ain't got no problem with that. He just wants the best product, and that's what I'm trying to give him. I felt that working with these producers and these artists was where my heart was at, where I wanted to be on this record. Everybody in the South understands that and knows what time it is, and they're down with me regardless, because that's the best Snoop Dogg--when he's comfortable. They only want the best Snoop Dogg, regardless of who he's with or how he's with. It's still No Limit.

A lot of people thought that when you went with Master P, you'd be back to selling 4- or 5-million records.

That's what this album is going to do, fill in the blank spots. This time around, it's a more comfortable Snoop Dogg. I let Jermaine Dupri listen to it and he said, "You sound comfortable, not saying that you didn't on your last record. It just sounds like you were more in a rushed situation and now, it sounds like you're comfortable. You thought about what you wanted to say and you said it."

Was there a lot of pressure when you first got to No Limit?

No. Just make good music, that's all I know how to do. Two-million people loved it. 250,000 people loved the movie. The single "Woof" went gold; that's 500,000 people that loved that one song, so I can't complain, man. And the album's only been out seven months and I'm done with my next album right now. We're on some other sh*t right now. Those nonbelievers talking all that sh*t, now what you gonna say? This album will answer all of those questions: "Where's the Dogg Pound, that West Coast sh*t?" There it is. Shut up.

You and Master P are the superstars of the label. How do you plan to maintain that status?

We're going to do a restaurant, get into clothes, real estate, Wall Street, stocks and bonds. We're also getting into movies as well. I'm finna get my own movie company and start putting movies out straight to home video.
Was the chemistry cool when you got back with Dre?

Not the first couple of days. We always do more talking than anything. We tend to drift and reminisce on our hits. It came together on its own when we weren't trying.

What is your input on Dr. Dre's Chronic 2000 going to be?

I did my part. I represented Dr. Dre like he represented me on my album. I gave it my all, creatively and lyrically. My raps, he was coachin' me on what to say, how to come in with my first line. On his sh*t, I was coachin' him. We're trying to make the best sh*t, because we know if it's the best sh*t, we're gonna be in the game again. It isn't done yet though. Dr. Dre's got some Snoop Dogg vocals, so it ain't gonna be bullsh*t. Believe that.

A handful of cats who got in the game on the strength of being affiliated with you are dissing you on the new Chronic album Death Row is putting out...

That's cool. It just lets me know that I'm successful, and if they want to talk about me to make some money, that's cool. I ain't trippin'. Get your money. Words don't hurt nobody. Maybe one day they'll be dope enough to write about some real sh*t. I learned from the great Dr. Dre. When RBX dissed Dr. Dre in public and Dre accepted him back and f*cked with him, I'd seen Dre again and asked him, "Why you f*ckin' with RBX?" He's like, "I ain't trippin' off of that sh*t, man." That let me know--stay business. F*ck all that personal sh*t.

After you virtually blew up overnight in '92, you were forced to grow up in the spotlight. How has that affected you?

All of that stuff in the past, that's everything that's made me here right now. I appreciate everything that happened to me in the past. Right now, I'm being a little smarter by just making good music and not paying attention to the public. The main thing is to make an album that's nondisrespectful, that's honest, that best represents you. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm making a good album and not paying attention to what nobody else is putting out.

Do you ever worry about anything when you go to bed?

I basically let God lead me and direct me. I can't even trip off of life like that anymore, because it's out of my hands. God has got the plan, and I've just got to follow the plan and just do what I'm supposed to do while I'm here: love my kids, love my wife, take care of my responsibilities as a civilian.

When you go to a record store, what do you feel when you see some of your older recordings?

I just want to keep doing it, have 50 or 60 albums like Dean Martin.

The artwork for your album cover was changed, and Silkk's was too.

I really didn't like it, so I moved to the next thing. If he'd [Master P] have said, "No, f*ck it, leave it like it is," I would have left it like it is. But he was like, "If you want to change it, change it." We took some new photos, and I think it's better the way it is now.

Master P has a lot of control of the sound of No Limit albums. What is the process of making a record for him?

The last album, we sat down together, took all the songs I had from out here and out there, went from top to bottom and put the best sh*t on there. That's the way the album turned out. This album, I did 90% of the sh*t out here, gave him a CD of it, let him listen to it for about two to three weeks, and he let me know what I needed from No Limit. Now I'm waiting on it, so I'm going to give him a DAT of the 18 best songs I think I've got. Whatever else he wants to add on there, he can add on there; whatever he wants to take off, he can take off. I'm confident that whatever he takes off, there's something better than that or just as good.

So why are you putting another album out so quickly?

Master P didn't say, "Let's put No Limit Topp Dogg out in May." We had just shot the video for "Woof," and I came home and did about four or five songs with Meach. When we went to Europe, I had about nine songs on a CD, and I was bangin' 'em on tour every day. C-Murder, Fiend, all of 'em were like, "That's tight." So when I got back in December, I was like, I'm going to get started on my album. I got with Quik, Battlecat. In February, I had like 16 songs done. I told P, "I've got this album damn near done, I'm going to give you a CD and let you hear what I got." At the end of February, I gave him a CD and he was like, "When you want to put it out--May, June or July?" I said, "May."

Is it possible to be a bigger star than you are now?

That ain't even a concern of mine. The thing I'm concerned with is making good music. As long as I do that, I'll stay where I'm supposed to be--not in the public eye, just in the business. As long as you're in the business, you're cool--even if you're behind the scenes. One day, I'm going to be behind the scenes. This is cool, but I really want to hook other people up. That's what I'm better at.

You sponsor kids' football teams.

In Long Beach. There's the trophy [pointing toward the plaque near his fireplace] for the Junior Midget Orange County Conference Junior All-American Champions, two years, back-to-back--1998, 1999. I'm the CEO, sponsor, chairman and the president. I pay for everything, all their equipment, make sure the league is ran right and get the coaches out there. I try to do all the right things as far as keeping the community cool with the right people that need to be in the positions.

What other community projects are you involved in?

I'm getting ready to build a place called Doggyland Down South. It's going to be an amusement park.

Is this a way to distance yourself from the rah-rah and negativity surrounding you in the past?

The rah-rah sh*t's gonna be there. It started there. It's a matter of dealing with it intelligently, swiftly and cleverly to outwit your opponent.

How has fatherhood changed your perspective?

I wanna live. Point blank. I wanna live. That's a good place to start.



Eight Ball & MJG: The genesis of Eightball & MJG's forays into rap begins like many other origin stories

The genesis of Eightball & MJG's forays into rap begins like many other origin stories: junior high school, ninth grade. Kangols, Starter jackets, Dr. J, Adidas, beatboxing, Run-DMC, Fat Boys and Whodini were the staples of coolness. When Slick and Doug E. Fresh came with "La Di Da Di," no lunch table or hallway locker was safe from serving as a drum. At the time, there wasn't a group name, just eight little niggas runnin' around battling and writing rhymes as a crew. There was Lonnie Norton, Sonny Ol' Lying Ass, Killa B, J Smooth, Flex, Squat, Marlon Goodwin and Primro Smith. No one can really recall what the others sounded like, just that they had fun writing rhymes in class and being the center of attention at lunch or after school.

High school. Hormones. Females. Sports. The dope game. Rapping started becoming obsolete for various members, but not for Goodwin (MJG) and Smith (Eightball), who found themselves becoming a duo as a matter of circumstance. Funny how things happen. "It was really supposed to be a whole crew of us, but a lot of 'em went they own ways," offers Eightball. "A couple got into trouble they couldn't avoid, and it ended up being me and G. We had records out charting on Billboard before we knew we were a group. It just happened." Adds MJG, "There used to be a handful of us, rapping, banging on the table, beatboxing. At Ridgeway [Junior High], we used to write stuff in class.

"We was friends for about two or three years and we had done a lot of stuff together," he continues, "just not as a group--shows and whatnot. I guess it was about a year and a half before we recorded our first album that we decided we would be a group. All the people we was rapping with just stopped over the years, and it was just me and Ball left. We was the only ones sacrificing everything for it. [To them] it sounded kinda hard, and it is. It could seem stupid or scary in the beginning, but if you can't think past that, then you ain't cut out for it [record business], or it will take you a lot longer. Me and Ball was the only ones quittin' job after job, having no money, to do rap. So we decided we had to do whatever it was, sign a bad contract or whatever, to get us out there. Gotta make sacrifices to make it happen."

As fate would have it, that bad contract came to fruition when Ball & G signed a deal with a local independent--On the Strength Records--and recorded the Listen to the Lyrics EP in 1991. Several additional songs were recorded, and after Ball & G joined entrepreneur Tony Draper to become the flagship for his upstart label Suave House, On the Strength released some of those early Eightball & MJG recordings to capitalize on the group's popularity.

Great duos are hard to come by. It's easier to name ten solo artists or ten multimember groups that have left an indelible mark in the recording business than to name truly great rapping tandems (Run-DMC, Whodini, EPMD, OutKast and Mobb Deep). Though their first two albums on Suave, Comin Out Hard (1993) and On the Outside Looking In (1994), would garner regional success, the gold-selling On Top of the World (1996) introduced Eightball & MJG to the larger consumer audience without crossing over.

Part of that appeal stems from the group's topical diversity and deft balance of style and substance. MJG, who could easily pass for someone's wise grandfather, is the more experimental of the two when it comes to creating flows. His verse on "Friend or Foe," which was the predecessor to Juvenile's "HA," shows his ability to create distinct styles. "I just write to make myself trip," he says. "If I trip off it, I'm sure someone else will." Eightball, on the other hand, relies more on storytelling in a direct manner but uses metaphors and similes to display the cleverness.

Nothing about either MC is run-of-the mill. Whether the topic is community consciousness, education, pimp life, strip clubs, childhood, gangsta sh*t or barbershop talk, both like to manipulate words and their Memphis accents, knowing that accentuation equals attraction (see Lil' Kim, Goodie MOb., Master P, Snoop Dogg). They know what to say and how to deliver it.

Mo Suave, the production unit of T-Mix, Ball, G and newcomer Black, introduced a different dimension of musical production on On Top of the World. Blues, rock and Hip-Hop were executed with a DJ and live instruments. Can't expect anything less from the music capital of 1960s and '70s blues, fusion and soul music.

"My pops was into music," says MJG. "That's where the inspiration started. He was into local bands, and I used to go see him when I was young. I joined a band in school, I played trumpet. I started blowing on one he gave to me. He played trumpet, sax, flute, piano--but I never got that deep into it. I used to tell him about all my band stories, and he'd listen just to keep up, but he never interfered or pushed me wrong."

"We just like music," Eightball adds. "For our albums, we'll rhyme with a beat that we feel compliments us and our style, but we can rhyme over any beat as long as it's good. It's just music, it ain't East Coast or West Coast or Down South--just music."

The success of On Top of the World was crucial to the rap world's introduction to the talent in Memphis. "Me, Ball, DJ Squeaky, Three 6 Mafia, Tela--just raw Memphis talent," MJG says softly. "Out of us, all the people named, we done put it down for a long time, and it's just exciting to see it from the ground up and to watch us all shine as far as our music. In Memphis everybody got an uncle, aunt or cousin who sing or play music, so it's always been around us. I couldn't do a whole album without some type of music I was raised on: blues, R&B and Hip-Hop--even country. My parents used to listen to Charlie Pride and everything."

Eight years, three group and two solo albums (MJG's No More Glory and Eightball's Lost) later, Eightball & MJG find themselves more popular and more in demand. Either as a duo or solo entity, Ball and G have put down lyrics with Mobb Deep, Too $hort, Busta Rhymes, Redman, E-40, Mystikal, Goodie MOb., UGK, OutKast, Foxy Brown, Juvenile, Cool Breeze, Krayzie Bone, Jermaine Dupri, MC Ren, Big Mike, 112, 5th Ward Boyz, Heavy D, Big Punisher and Mase--in a span of one and a half years.

"Everybody doin' the same sh*t we do, they just from a different place," Eightball says. "It's all been a blast, man. We've worked with a lot of people and we gon' continue to."

After such enormous success, things started getting shaky at their label. A little less than four years ago, Suave House Records was priming itself to become the next Rap-A-Lot--a mecca of the South but with broader interests--the new powerhouse in rap music. Draper had groomed an underground audience with his flagship Eightball & MJG, and having just inked a distribution deal with Relativity Records, was set to unleash the rest of the label's roster on the world. Everything was in Suave House's favor. Larger distribution, one of the best producers in music (T-Mix), the soon-to-be-open Suave House California label and artists South Circle, Mr. Mike, Tela, NOLA, Psycho Drama and, of course, Eightball & MJG.

As is the case with every label and its artists, bickering began about attention given to projects and careers, money owed and spent, and conflicting perceptions of priorities and responsibilities. Tela and Mr. Mike, two of the label's hard hitters, walked away. Tony Draper signed a new label deal with Universal Records, which put the remaining joints under the Relativity contract in a curious situation, and the Suave House California label never manifested beyond a logo and secured office space. At one point, rumors also started circulating about the duo's desire to be released from the label. All of this meant that the future success of the label would once again fall upon the shoulders of Ball & G if they released another album. That's a lot of pressure.

So the new set, tentatively titled In Our Lifetime, Vol. 1, deals with those frustrations, lost friendships and stress. It's a wonder the album got done and is of the high quality associated with Eightball & MJG/Suave House standards [See album review, pg. 145]. "Well, it wasn't really too much pressure at all," states MJG. "We really took our time fine-tuning everything. We just done it like we did the first album. We don't think about the other albums when recording a new one. We just do our thing, then get in the studio to put it together."

"It wasn't really musical pressure," adds Eightball, "it was more life pressure. Anything that me and G do is gonna be superior. We just have that chemistry. Lyrically, I didn't want to be a token or an idol, I just wanted to spit. We ain't tryin' to outdo anybody, we just making an Eightball & MJG album.

"I'm not going to say there weren't problems at the label and that those who left didn't have they gripes, but..." Eightball pauses. "You have to go back to Eightball's solo joint," interjects MJG, "it all goes back to 'The Artist Pays the Price.' An artist has to shine regardless of what goes on at the label or in their personal life. The artist still has to shine. They really expect the artist to be jolly all the time because we really don't have nothing to do. But there are side effects to it. Just like aspirin will get rid of a headache, but it may cause another problem."

Adds Eightball, "The whole camp has done a U-turn and it's totally different, and the only name that can date back is ours. As long as we're blessed to stay around, longevity, we'll at least know that we'll have a chance to record another album. You'll never know when you make your best album when you put out 15 to 20 albums. That's how hungry we are. This is just one of many. This album may be our greatest. On Top of the World may be our greatest, or an album that we ain't recorded yet may be the greatest."

What started on a junior high-school playground 15 years ago has turned into an enduring friendship. It's what makes the duo so distinct. MJG, the pierced-nipple rock star inside of a socially conscious rapper who has a thing for the pimp life. Eightball, the rotund ladies' man and quiet thinker who enjoys being the bearer of joy to those less fortunate. They are an odd couple, yet those differences are what make the chemistry work.

"[I like the fact that] Ball is just able to understand me," MJG says. "A lot of cats don't. But we complement each other. I'm really more with the group album thing than the solo project. I might drop another one, but I just like the group better. That's how it all started, and the chemistry made it happen."

Eightball & MJG, together forever. Forever together.

We've worked with a lot of people and we gon' continue to.Anything that me and G do is gonna be superior.