"Just remember, when it hits the fan, brother, whether it's next year, 10 years, 20 years from now, you'll never be able to say that these brothers lied to you, JACK!" —Millie Jackson
People keep talking to me about the MTV Video Music Awards. I have to stop them like they're about to spoil Breaking Bad for me—I don't wanna fuckin' know. Don't watch the VMAs. Don't talk about them. (Oops.) Don't give that poison that power.That is not our culture, that is not what is real, that is not us. Our culture is alive, it is vibrant, it is us. Let's deal with that.
Myself—since you asked—I don't want more empty pop. I don't want more replicas of copies of knockoffs. Give me something that speaks to our deep economic and spiritual depression. That's not a call for any particular style, as that can take any form. Even Nacho Picasso, who, lyrically speaking, stays mired in tales of extreme pharmacology, cheap sex, and easy violence (not to mention cartoons and '80s pro wrestlers)—even he gives glimpses of the pain behind it all. (FYI, Nacho's High & Mighty release reportedly drops at the end of this month, on his birthday, September 30.) That's honest. So you and your brodie rapping about playing Frisbee, enjoying fast food and/or shitty domestic beer—that shit don't move me. Do you, though—I can't tell you to feel any different.