Yelawolf, a versatile rapper from Alabama, has put out mixes, “Ball of Blames,” “Stereo,” “Arena Rap,” and his latest, “Trunk Muzik.” He finished his first stop on B.o.B’s tour with Playboy Trey and B.o.B at Boston’s House of Blues Sunday night where Ronebreak caught up with him.

Where did Yelawolf come from?

Michael Wayne is my name. My mom named me after Michael Landon and John Wayne. Growing up I found out that I had Cherokee blood in me, so it’s kind of like, living and learning and learning about myself and that’s how Yelawolf came about.

Did Yelawolf come when you started writing and rapping?

Not really. I started rapping and writing in fifth grade, and the name Yelawolf didn’t come until years later, really at 2000 it was official.

Did you have any names before Yelawolf that you tried out but didn’t think fit?

I was Lil’ Wayne actually. I was a skateboarder and we had a crew, there was a crew of Lil’s because we were the youngest in the crew. Lil’ Jon, Lil’ Wayne, Lil’ Sean.

So you’re from Alabama?

Yeah I’m from Gadsden, Alabama.

Did you ever think that you’d be at Boston’s House of Blues touring with Playboy Trey and B.o.B? You really thought this could happen for you?

Yeah I always believed it. The only thing that I did have was believing that it would happen. And there were times that I felt like it was gonna take forever, ya know, and I got frustrated and wanted to quit but, ya know, believing that it could happen is what kept me coming back.

What’s your writing process?

It’s real random. It happens in any kind of way. Sometimes the beat will come first. Sometimes the hook. Sometimes the line of a verse. Sometimes my boy will be on the acoustic guitar and I’ll hear a melody that I like. It doesn’t happen one way. It doesn’t happen the same way every time.

Your new video for your single “Pop the Trunk,” how’d shooting that go?

Me and my boy went to Gadsden, Alabama, back at my crib, and we wrote and produced it all there in a week. Then we went to Atlanta on a Saturday and Sunday and recorded all of it. I literally wrote that walking around my driveway, there was a meth lab behind my crib that had blown up, and the story kind of unfolded as I was writing. But that started with the beat, with keys. It was really dark so I just wrote dark shit.

How did you end up collaborating with Juelz Santana on “Mixin Up the Medicine”?

I did a record called “I Run” with Slim Thug and Jim Johnson produced the record and I sang the hook. That ended up being Slim Thug’s single, and Kane Beatz, a producer from ATL, he had this Bob Dylan record, soul train and blues, that he wanted me to do my version of over with a hip-hop beat. So I came in and did it and Juelz just really liked it, so he made it his first single. And he shot the video and that was my first feature in a major video. I had the [single] with Slim Thug, but I didn’t get in the video.

Who do you want to work with that you haven’t?

I’m still trying to cross genres and work with, I’ve always wanted to work with ever since I seen Hank Williams III. I really want to expand. Carrie Underwood. Music is – the thing about hip-hop is it can be anything in the world.

How would you see yourself collaborating with Carrie Underwood?

That’s for me to surprise people with. I know exactly what I’m going to do with Carrie Underwood.

More Info:

Yelawolf | Website

Yelawolf | Myspace

Grime Brick V – Guttstar by Mushpost Grime Brick Series on Mixcloud

►►► GRIME BRICK V – Guttstar ◄◄◄ 

Every Monday on 90.1 WRUV FM Mushpost presents a Grime Brick: a special, hour long, bass-centric live mix from exceptional local and touring DJs & producers. 

The fifth installment of the Grime Brick series was broadcasted & recorded live on August 2nd, 2010 and features all original productions from Burlington’s premiere dubstep producer Guttstar. 

Formerly known as subPrime, Guttstar is an Ableton ninja that has a clear respect for the influences of modern dubstep yet holds a keen eye on the composite sounds of the future. Remnants of his glitch hop past fuse with an American take on purple to present a fresh, ever-evolving sound that is unique and unified. His debut EP entitled “Battery Hues” drops worldwide August 31st on Party Guy Records with remixes by Dev79 & Kastle (aka B.Rich). 

DOWNLOAD (320kps MP3): http://www.bit.ly/grimebrick5

More Info:

Mushpost | Website

WRUV | Website

As we get closer to the August 11th show at Arlene’s Grocery, we figured we’d provide an inside look into the band we are presenting. They might not have a name, but they do have the most pressing issue taken care of, which is the music.

Bonus:

The other day I ventured to Turtle Beach off of exit 1 on Rt. 80. It’s located along the Delaware River, and despite manchu-mustached park rangers and typically lame lifeguards, it’s a nice spot for families to spend the day and enjoy some swimming and grilling. When I got there I was so bummed that the swimming area was essentially a 20 foot box stuffed with people, I ventured off to find a more secluded spot to be able to enjoy the river. In doing so I came across a family up on a hill singing in Spanish and bonding in a way that most families don’t. Fortunately, I had my camera so I asked if I could film and they allowed me to do so. Enjoy the video.

The unemployment rate might have dropped down from its 9 year high of 10.1% in October 2009, but there sure as hell are a lot of people, who can’t seem to find work. It’s almost every week that I meet someone who is either collecting unemployment or struggling to find a job that pays enough to cover the cost of living—or both. There is this sense of chaos swirling in the air, and that bitter atmosphere is starting to get to everyone on some level.

Yes, this is a spiritual and mental recession. Hope is a word that has lost its value like the American dollar, and our only means of coping with this sad and confounding time is to distract ourselves with people worse off than ourselves. Mel Gibson’s mental collapse and Lindsay Lohan’s inevitable trip to jail have satiated our need to see people in higher places get knocked off their platinum pedestals.

But if I learned anything it’s that finding solace in other people’s misfortune doesn’t lead to peace of mind. Temporarily, it might, but nothing about our own situation changes. We remain unfulfilled and deprived of stimulation. The routine persists, and the treadmill of life drains our energy bit by bit until we’re shuffling our feet and hanging onto the rail to keep from falling off completely. It’s the modern world’s greatest problem.

After all, life is the constant conflict between the situation we want and the situation we are presented with. Humanity has always pushed for more, and we always seem to get our wish. But we never thought our lust for abundance would bring so much stress and tension. Barry Schwartz’ book, The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less, touches on this demoralizing quality of having too many options.

We must decide, but once we do it’s hard not to wonder what we missed out on, and regrets form, tugging on our brain like a dog at a chew toy. There can be no right or wrong decision when we have more than two choices. Maybe this is why so many people break up when summer hits. Two people team up out of utility to face the lonely nature of a cold season, but when the weather allows them to come out of hibernation they want to explore other options—experience what they’re missing out on. Loyalty and commitment seem to be fleeting qualities in the age of too much and too many.

It’s gotten to the point in my own life where I often feel like the Wolfman on a full moon. Nothing I do leaves me satisfied or content. There’s something internal, pulling at me, until I run off into the night, howling wildly for no reason at all. I seek constant stimulation, no matter how meaningless. A trip to the bar, a random party, a drive to nowhere, anything to pull me away from the routine that has been searching for a job and being nagged about not finding one. One part of it is my own stubbornness. It’s not that I don’t have options for making money, it’s just that none of them will do anything for me besides put money in my pocket.

But money is not enough, it never is and it never will be. This is something we all know, whether we consciously like to admit it or not. People are not happy when their job consists of something that isn’t what they want to be doing, but instead have to do just for the paycheck. They might be getting by, paying their bills, and maintaining a semi-comfortable existence, but they are not satisfied in a deep and meaningful way.

As someone who just spent four and a half years racking up debt to be trained in a specific field of interest, doing anything other than what I’ve been preparing to do just doesn’t make sense. So I spend hours on the web searching for any job listing that seems like a solid fit, and then I apply, but never get a response. Time writing cover letters feels wasted on the likes of what appear to be automated bots creating fake job opportunities just for the sake of crushing people’s spirits.

The fantasy world that was college and careless adolescence has ended, and reality has finally set in. The idealism that accompanied my return home has been replaced by the desire to do anything but be home. In fact, I’ve probably put over 300 miles on my car in the past week just taking drives through the woods and farmland of Warren and Sussex County. It’s the only way to fight off that feeling, which creeps up my spine only to pollute my head with unfounded anxiety.

Yet I still believe there’s some force out there, clumps of unseen atoms pulling each of us in certain directions. I believe this because things seem to happen at the perfect possible moment, for good or ill. The right song comes on the radio, an insightful conversation is had, a person enters your life—if only briefly—right when you need them to.

On one of my random drives through the woods, I found myself turning down whatever road seemed most desolate, attempting to get lost just for the fun of finding my way back. Warren Zevon was blaring from my speakers as I puffed on rolled cigarettes and fresh country air. The roads were empty stretches of pavement snaking through open fields and dense forest.

“Splendid isolation. I don’t need no one,” sung Warren as my boyish excitement caused me to smile and nod like a worriless goon.

As I came around a bend, I could see someone standing on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere—a half hour from Blairstown and a half hour from the Delaware Water Gap—with a giant pack on their back and their hand outstretched. The part of my brain that typically drives past hitchhikers without an inkling of guilt easily lost out to the part of my brain that was enjoying the mystery of the trip.

I stopped abruptly, and the girl seemed shocked, hesitantly walking over to the car.

“Where you going?” she asked.

“Nowhere. I’m pretty much just driving aimlessly.”

“Could you drive me to get a soda? I really want a Coke right now.”

“Yeah, I mean, I have no idea where I am but we should be able to find something.”

She took her pack off and threw it in my backseat. When she got in, a musty stench permeated throughout the car.

“So where you coming from?” I asked.

“Georgia,” she replied. “I’m hiking the Appalachian Trail.”

Her name was Stephanie, and she had been hiking the trail since March. She recently graduated from U.C Berkeley after studying English and Italian, and after returning home to the uneventful suburb of Clarksville, Maryland she decided to hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. Her hometown and a fruitless job search had gotten to her, and drastic action needed to be taken. After all, when a slump hits and you find yourself in a rut it is necessary to shake things up and remind yourself that you are alive and not merely a semi-conscious lump of flesh.

We drove for miles before turning off the road and into the woods, following signs that indicated a YMCA was tucked away somewhere. When we finally reached the road that led to the center, it was blocked off with a rusted pipe. I turned back around and headed towards the Delaware Water Gap as Blairstown was too far at this point. It was starting to seem hopeless, so I asked if she smoked pot.

“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I haven’t smoked in months!”

“Well, I happen to have a little in my pocket so if we just find a place to roll it up we can smoke.”

She became giddy, and began talking more. Up until this point I had been rambling about New Jersey getting a bad rep and other assorted nonsense.

“New Jersey really isn’t as bad as it’s made out to be. We have everything, and with the exception of bagels and pizza, it’s all pretty mediocre, but it’s good enough. New Jersey is incredibly diverse geographically and culturally, and I used to hate it until I moved away for a bit, but I eventually came to appreciate that variety. It exposes you to a lot growing up.”

I had also felt it necessary to tell her about Double Rainbow guy since she was in the woods when the video went viral. Stephanie seemed to enjoy hearing about that, and then I launched into some ill conceived bit about people getting hacked up along the Appalachian Trail in West Virginia by crazed mountain men.

“But you’re past that area now,” I said. “Do you have any weapons on you? For protection.”

“I have a knife, but it’s pretty useless.”

“Oh, well, if anything does happen just remember throat, eyes, and balls.”
If the fear wasn’t in her before, I had certainly put it in her—just enough to keep her up at night—and for no other reason besides wanting to fill the air with words. Silence didn’t feel right, but she seemed to take my bizarre comments in stride.

We came across a ranger station near a state park, and as I pulled in we noticed two vending machines off to the side. She dug through her pack for change, and briskly moved towards the machine. She came back clutching a Coke with a giant smile on her face.

“They had Coke in a Pepsi machine?” I asked.

“Yeah. Go figure,” she replied.

“So what have you been surviving on?”

“Well, I’m broke, so I’m living off Ramen. I usually eat it cold since you can’t make fires on the trail. I mean, you can, but I try to follow the rules.”

I was looking for a spot to roll a spliff, but it wasn’t until we were back at the place I found her that I was able to do that without having to worry about being hassled by the park police. We smoked near some rocks at the trail head, and Stephanie got pretty high off a couple of rips. Since I had my camera, I figured I’d interview her. This is always something that should be done sober, but hey, what’s done is done.

Nevertheless, this began by commenting on a collective cultural angst, caused by hard and peculiar circumstances, and somehow I weaved in the story of one of my random drives and Stephanie. There was a point to it, and perhaps in my sleep deprived state, which is the result of a recent three hour journey to nowhere at two in the morning, I might not hit it as succinctly as I would like, but I’m going to take a swing at it anyway.

My reaction to my own personal discomfort has been these drives—these absolutely illogical and random drives. I chain smoke cigarettes, enjoy music, and take in the scenery. For Stephanie, her approach was much more drastic, but along similar lines. Essentially, the point of her trip and of mine is to get away—both physically and mentally—from the frustrating monotony of home. Yet in the end that’s where we always end up. She has a couple more months before she goes back, and I’m back and will continue to be back no matter how many drives I take.

And what I’ve realized over these past few weeks of repeatedly escaping, if only for a few hours, is that you cannot dwell on how uneventful or fruitless or meaningless life may seem to be. You have to completely immerse yourself in something—anything—because that is how you cope with stupidly rough times.

Driving to get lost may not be productive, but coming home after a drive and denying myself food or sleep until I focused on one task until it was completed is exactly what I needed to do. Just getting all this out has done more for my psyche than those aimless drives, but it was those aimless drives that got me here. I’m sure when Stephanie finishes the Appalachian Trail, she too will see the value in choosing one thing and seeing it through—and in a way she already has because she’s in the midst of doing just that.

That is the only true way to feel content because waffling back and forth between options, and regretting every opportunity taken because of an opportunity missed is guaranteed to drive you fucking nuts. Hell, that’s precisely why I was beginning to feel utterly hopeless and trapped. I was too busy trying to decide what to do first that all I could do is put myself in a position where I didn’t have to make any decision. So if you’ve been feeling stuck in a rut, the best piece of advice I can offer is that you think of something worth doing and just do it—Nike really nailed that tagline, so simple yet perfect.

Don’t hesitate, don’t weigh your options. Just devote yourself entirely to the completion of something, and when you finish I promise you will feel refreshed and motivated. I mean, I just sat down and wrote this because I decided I needed to write. Now, I don’t even feel like sleeping (even though I probably should). I feel like doing something else. Hell, just to mix it up I think I’ll write down a bunch of things to do, put them in a hat, and then do whatever I pull out. What I wasn’t doing before was actively appreciating the mystery and randomness of life. Instead, I was fixating on the feeling that something didn’t feel right, so I would distract myself in the most mindless and unproductive ways. And the best part is that I don’t even know if this makes sense, but I do know that typing this final sentence after setting out to get one thing done is quite the empowering feeling.

Bonus:

Check out James’ solo music here:
http://www.myspace.com/jamesabbottnj

7:30 opener and LOOSE INTERPRETATIONS

9 p.m. JAMES ABBOTT .

10 p.m. PRIMAL STATIC

11 p.m. HOBOT

First 3 people to find me (Joe Dimeck) at the show will get a free drink via me so long as they can tell me a funny/interesting story.

Price: $8
FIRST 20 PEOPLE FOR JAMES ABBOTT PAY $5
Age: 21+ (sadly)

Summer might be the season for music festivals, but there’s only so much mud, drugs, and crazy lights that people can take before they cross over to the crusty side or return to the real world slightly altered. This is why the Wilco-curated Solid Sound Festival is a perfect “festie” hangover cure. Not only is it towards the end of the summer, going from August 13th-15th, but it’s indoors. In fact, it’s in the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art, which happens to be quite the awesome place. Seriously, check out their online tour and all the other cool stuff they have going on at their website.

The $91 weekend pass basically allows you to check out Solid Sound and Mass MoCA all weekend. In a way, Solid Sound is sort of like the sophisticated summer festival. A more laid back and cerebral event rather than a rager in the woods. It’s a welcomed change of pace, and I, personally, am psyched to be going–especially because it’s my birthday on the 14th.

The lineup pretty much runs the musical gamut, pulling in artists from indie, folk, jazz, r&b, soul, blues, and nearly every other related genre. Solid Sound lives up to its name because plenty of solid sounds will be emanating from MASS MoCA all weekend. It’s so solid that if I were to release my inner fanboy and start explaining why each act is great this article would be too long for people and their dwindling attention spans to process or care about. That is why I will just post the flyer and the promotional Sound Cloud:
Solid Sound – Playlist by smartleydunn

More Info:

Solid Sound Festival | Website

MASS MoCA | Website

Wilco | Website

One day in Beijing, a friend and I were walking through the hutong district, a small section of mostly single-story stone residences in the center of the very modern city. Many of the hutongs have been razed, some gone decades ago, but even as we were there more had been demolished. We were walking down the street and noticed a very colorful gate. It looked like either a business or the residence of a very wealthy person; we gambled on it being the former and walked in.

A chic shop in Luogu lane

A guard ran after us, asking us where we were headed. We didn’t know, but my companion, who is fluent in Mandarin, explained to him we were tourists looking around. I think he thought we were a couple, perhaps about to be engaged, because he gave us a tour of Contempio, an event complex in the district, complete with sleek offices, a restored Chinese temple, and new bar. It was gorgeous!

Our trip to Contempio recalls new tensions, between gentrification and preservation, the old and new. Many of Beijing’s hutongs are quite gentrified. Walking through Luogu Lane, one of Beijing’s oldest streets, tourists can walk through lane after lane filled with chic stores and bars. In return for gentrification, residents get their neighborhoods semi-preserved — “regular people” still live in the hutongs.

Despite these tensions, what became clear after my trip to Beijing — with a stop in Shenzhen — is that preservation and movie magic often compliment each other quite well. The area in which Contempio resides, Gulou, where we stayed, is ground zero for the next fight over preservation in Beijing.

The issue of historic preservation in China remains a thorny one. Officially the government is very invested in making sure it does not bulldoze its history in its zest for modernization. Yet over the past five years, report after report has claimed otherwise, especially in the run-up to the Olympics. Advocates within China have been pushing for preservation, as tens of thousands of people have been displaced.

Rooftops in hutongs of Beijing

Temperamentally I’m a firm advocate of preservation; it’s not about nostalgia, it’s actually quite practical: you can always build new buildings, but old ones are scarce. They remain one of the most visible artifacts of human history, that not everything is new. That modernization often coincides with displacement and the decimation of communities — in America, see Detroit — only compounds the need to consider preservation as both a social, academic and architectural imperative.

Consider Shanghai. In preparation for the Shanghai Expo this year, thousands of heritage houses were bulldozed, with plans to potentially raze more. With many in the center of the city — like the hutongs in Beijing — the homes are prime real estate, and, being not more than a few stories tall, not as efficient as modern high rises.

The case hardly needs to be made about the social value of such places. Yet in lieu of the millions of dollars of potential revenues from taxes and sales, I’m not sure that case is compelling for either the government or real estate development — historically, it’s never been very compelling to corporations.

It’s only when I watched a student film at the City University of Hong Kong’s School of Creative Media that I realized there’s another argument to made. The film student did his senior thesis on his home neighborhood, nestled in the center of Shanghai. His documentary showed two things: the human cost of modernization, and, quite simply, the cinematic beauty of historic neighborhoods.

Seeing Shanghai’s historic district on the big screen offered an alternative case for historic preservation: cinematic appeal.

One bar in the hutong district had a tree running through it.

To be sure, any place can be filmed and made beautiful. But think earnestly about classic urban films, especially withinin the American and European canon, with which I’m most familiar. In America New York streetscapes beat out Los Angeles, and old Milan and Rome win over the more modern sections of those cities, despite the best efforts of Fellini.

Walking and driving through Beijing today, most of the city is lost in a blur. It’s a sea of skyscrapers and highways, only in the hutong district could we relax, stroll and enjoy the charm. We sat in a bar with, whimsically, a tree growing through it. We enjoyed alternative rock music in another, cramped in a small room with a few dozen college students.

In Shenzhen, cold modernism permeates throughout its downtown. Everything I saw was new, glass and steel. It had its own beauty, to be sure, but it hardly felt welcoming.

Cinema has few rules, and almost anything can be accomplished with the right vision. Yet there’s little doubt that visually, more texture — and color — is better than less. Old building give directors a more diverse, sensual palette. Especially for independent filmmakers, who lack the equipment for soaring shots, and even tracks, a lush and classic backdrop offers a cheap way to create a sense of visual pleasure.

What’s in it for China? As it seeks to usurp Hollywood as site for creating blockbusters, and enhance China’s cultural importance in the world, it should take to heart — I’m sure it’s aware — the more diverse its urban landscape, the more options its filmmakers have and the more its cities will appear enticing. People see films to be transported, and national cinemas live and die by the desirability of their locale. Crucial to China’s continuing modernization will be its willingness to preserve and remember as much as it razes and builds.

]]> http://ronebreak.com/2010/07/20/is-china-ruining-its-cinematic-appeal/feed/ 0 http://ronebreak.com/2010/07/19/interview-ethan-nicolle-creator-of-axe-cop/ http://ronebreak.com/2010/07/19/interview-ethan-nicolle-creator-of-axe-cop/#comments Mon, 19 Jul 2010 08:31:00 +0000 Edward Song http://ronebreak.com/?p=7336

While many aspiring entertainers slug away at their craft in art school, internships, and the corporate rungs of The Industry, the Nicolle Brothers (Ethan, 29; Malachai, 6 – he was 5 at the time it was released) have carved their own path into entertainment with their fresh and ingenious web-comic-turned-webisodes-turned-Dark-Horse-hardcopy, Axe Cop.

Wired Magazine sums up Axe Cop as:

“Difficult to describe … it’s about a lot. There’s a cop who has an axe. And another cop with a flute (but he becomes a dinosaur soldier). Then there’s a baby with a unicorn horn. And robots. And magical apples that – when you eat them, turn your hands into apples, which shoot apples.” (Dave Banks,  Wired, February 5, 2010)

Waves of accolades from the mass media to Internet aficionados has shown that Ethan, Malachai, and the Axe Cop series have struck a universal nerve.

Ronebreak got to ask Ethan some questions about his series, the explosive viral response, and the incredibly acute creative antennae of the two-headed genius behind the series:

Bonus: