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A year ago today a non-Spanish speaking gringo stepped out of the Barranquilla airport for the first time. He fought his way through a crowd of people looking for someone holding a sign with his name on it, but he saw no one. That young scraper walked right passed the three young women waiting to pick him up and got into a cab. He handed the cab driver a business card he was given before leaving that had the directions to his hotel on the back. “Por favor, aqui,” he said.

He stared out the window in amazement as the cab drove through some of the poorest and most dangerous areas to get to the center of the city. This was after all his first time in another country, not including a trip to Canada with the North Carolina Boys Choir and the time he stepped over the Rio Grande into Mexico with his grandfather and brother for a few seconds just to say they were there. After a thirty minute drive the cab stopped in front of what appeared to be a bar not yet open, it was only 9 am. “Estamos aqui compadre,” the driver said. The young gringo looked out the window in confusion. Could this really be the place he was supposed to sleep? There were beer bottles all over the patio and a large group of people sitting outside on the stoop.

“Amgio, ¿este es un hotel?” the gringo said.

“No, esta es La Troja! Un lugar para bailar salsa,” he replied while mimicking the dance. The cab driver then held up the La Troja business card and showed the confused passenger. The gringo took the card, turned it around, and pointed to the written directions on the back.

When they finally arrived at the hotel there was a man that looked like a cartoon character waiting outside. The gringo had been given descriptions of the people he would be working with and knew for sure this had to be the project manager, Gustavo. He didn’t take two steps out of the car until the man approached him.

“Are you Mike?” he asked.

“Yes, are you Gustavo?” the gringo replied.

“Where were you at the airport? There were three girls from the university waiting for you. You are late, we need to hurry up and get to the studio. Give your bags to the door man and let’s go,” he said in not quite fluent English.

The gringo was surprised to arrive at a house; he had imagined the studio being in some building or on the university campus. Instead it was tucked behind this cozy house, with tall walls surrounding it and a full family living inside. It was small but fully equipped.  The gringo walked into the room and felt the eyes of a small crowd looking him over. They had been waiting a week for this man to walk through the door, most of them picturing an overweight, older gringo stomping into the room eating a corndog. They were taken back by how young and handsome he was… jaja

The gringo was immediately put on the spot. He was asked to sing; to record the voice of Mike, one of the main characters on the radio show they would be creating; and in an unexpected turn of events asked to be the voice of Lola, the female parrot in the show. The first few hours of recording were shaky. The gringo was nervous and the people in the studio expected great things from him, after all he did come all the way from Washington, D.C. because he was an expert. Right? It took a few days for everyone to get comfortable working together, but once they did they made magic.

Today the gringo and his friends/colleges are one week away from finishing that radio project. In all, they have made three years worth of material for primary schools to use. The gringo has done and learned many things since that day he stumbled around the city for the first time. While he is sad he will have to leave this amazing country in less than a month, the thought that the songs he has created will be played in schools every week for years to come makes him happy. It is as if he never will leave…

Q: Why am I on a runway with a bunch of Colombian models?

A: Rap!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McZQvi20nXY&featuer=feedu]

When Larry and I first started this rap thing we were just interested to see what we could create. We were both very into hip hop, Motown, and any music that had substance (musically or lyrically). We would put together mixes of all types of music, from Bone Thugs to The Eagles. They were called chill mixes. At the time all I wanted to do was make a song good enough for a Chill Mix. Innocence!

Finding the software to create music ourselves was like being invited to play in a game you’ve watched for years but never lased up for. Once we started making songs we thought were good, we ran with the idea of living the dream. Every person in the crew had a role: beat maker, rapper, manager, all the way to bus driver. It was in our minds, as all things are, very much in reach.

Years later I’m rapping on a runway in Colombia, playing frogger with models walking passsed me in both directions. A few stop to dance with me, and as I look up at them like a puppy does someone holding a piece of steak I realize… I’ve made the Chill Mix.

If I never get signed and get to live like a rock star, cool, I still got to rap on a runway with a bunch of Colombian models. As long as stuff like that keeps happening I will continue to live by my motto, follow the music, and refuse to see my career as a rapper as anything but successful.

Before I came to Colombia my only knowledge of Medellin came from stories of Pablo Escobar, really just what I saw in Entourage. I’m happy to say that I have broadened my horizons.

Medellin lies in a valley completely surrounded by mountains that reach high enough to break through the lowest layer of clouds. I was able to make it to the top of one of the mountains early enough to see the sun rise, reach over the summit, and shine down on the city in a progressing line. It was like watching God pull the curtains open on a new day.

The majority of the houses are built on the sides of these mountains. I was told it was too dangerous to venture into these areas, but I was able to take a cable lift over them and get a good look at the living conditions: identical red brick houses for as far as the eye could see, many of which built on top of rock foundations that looked ready to slide with the next rainfall. I saw neighborhoods where kids played soccer on roads that were as steep as they were narrow, a hard way to learn not to miss the goal. The higher you go up the worse the conditions become, until you reach the top where three large, beautiful black buildings look over the city- their library. We rode the lift over the houses, past the summit, and another mile or so over a forest until we reached a park. It was advertised as a place to enjoy over 60 extreme sports. Unfortunately, it started raining as soon as we strapped on our helmets and we were unable to have our adventure.

Within the city you can find parks filled with famous sculptures and water spouts where families gather. The night life is amazing with a number of downtown areas filled with bars and restaurants. I was told before I came that the women of Medellin are notoriously gorgeous. This was accurate information, however, as in any big city for every attractive woman there are a handful of people walking faster than I run while simultaneously conducting an imaginary orchestra, or some type of crackheadish activity.

Even though it rained for part of every day we were there I would still say the weather is much nicer than Barranquilla’s. It feels like early fall there, hot when the suns out and a little chilly when it’s gone. If you get the chance to go you should check out a club called Mango’s, all types of crazy stuff went down there.

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I have a problem. I love to listen to music but I find it hard to concentrate on anything else but the music when it’s playing. This used to make it impossible for me to study and listen to music at the same time, now it makes it hard to grade papers and listen. I look at songs like mini-movies, where the beat is the setting and the artist tells the story. If done right it requires my full attention. Sometimes I like my music to give me the setting but let me decide the story, pick the characters, and figure out how they make it through the 3 minute journey. This is why I love hip hop instrumental projects. Two producers that I met in Wilmington, NC, have recently put out instrumental tapes that do this extremely well:

1. Kon Sci (of Mindsone): Pizza And a Movie

[bandcamp album=706761593  bgcol=FFFFFF linkcol=4285BB size=venti]

Yesterday I had a chance to play “Pizza And a Movie” from title to credits. The idea and how it is executed is really dope! He uses clips from movies such as Shawshank, The Big Lebowski, and The Shining, to give you just enough to picture where you are. Then he steps back and sets you free inside boom bap beats that are soulful and smooth. Even the beats themselves have an airy feel, filled with pockets that allow your mind to settle into the rhythm and give you more room for exploration within the sounds. I hope he prints some vinyls of this, I want it on my record player when I come home.

1. L’Orange: The Manipulation EP

[bandcamp album=1907519873  bgcol=FFFFFF linkcol=4285BB size=venti]

This project is more experimental with the samples it picks. It also uses more vocal samples within the beats, which L’O does so well at times you forget you are listening to an instrumental project. The beats have a 40’s gangster feel (to me at least). They are often dark and seem to make perfect progressions out of imperfect notes. I picture life through the eyes of someone less fortunate when I listen to this album; stories of pain and hardship are often the hardest to digest yet most intriguing. The Manipulation sets the setting for this while still giving you the room to create your own world within the boundaries.

If you are feigning for more check out Damu The Fudgemonk’s tape “How It Should Sound”

It’s 7 in the morning and I’m sitting on a bench watching the world wake up with the drummer of Systema Solar, Malandrews. A butcher finishes hanging slaughtered pigs from a post outside his tienda and grabs us our last beers. Our night is coming to an end, and our conversation with it, while people crammed in busses pass us on their way to work as if to reinforce what we have been saying for the last few hours: among other reasons, we make music so we don’t have to be on that bus.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjoOBLrSfdw]

Malandrews started from the begining, when he was living in Santa Marta, going door to door selling merchandice and saving his money to buy his first drum set. Once he bought it he spent hours practicing in a household that didn’t approve of his new found passion. His family, like so many, wanted him to get a stable job. As if straight from a movie, he told me about the day he confessed his desire to be a professional drummer. How they handed him the money they had in their pocket and told him to never ask for another peso. He moved to Barranquilla and started walking down a path that led him to this park bench. Here is my best shot at indirectly quoting him:

Too many people in Barranquilla think that the quality of music comes from the quality of the recording equipment. If you get the best guitar, microphone, and recording software you’ll make the best music. I disagree. I think the best sounds come from the streets. Music is all around us; when we walk, when the butcher chops the meat, even when we eat. That’s why I’m taking all the money I made from our last world tour and opening up a studio and venue, completely free to the community, so we can tap into the sounds of this city and hopefully begin to change the way people think about making music. That’s why I love hip hop so much. An emcee is the voice of the streets and all he needs is a microphone to share his story.

He told me about the rapper in Systema Solar, Jhon Primera, who comes from the poorest and most dangerous area of Cartagena. Once a reporter in Europe asked him: What inspires you to make music? He replied, “Try spending a day in the city I’m from, without food or water.” The hunger he must have faced growing up can be heard in his lyrics, as he brings a truly unique and authentic flow to their music.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BG0HQXyXGYI]

Three things I learned from him that night:

1. Practice- “I can pay two months’ rent from an hour of work, but the people that are paying me expect the absolute best,” he said. “I have to practice hours a day, studying new techniques and improving my skills, or before I know it someone else will take my place.”

2. Sacrifice- He has had the opportunity to travel the world, sharing stages with the people that influenced him to become a musician, but this prize has a cost. A musician has to put their music first, which will inevitably get in the way of relationships. If music alone can’t make you happy, think twice before pursuing it as a career.

3. Magic can be found in any moment- Earlier in the night we had left La Troja, around 4 am, to go to his studio. I was a number of beers deep and quite tired from hours of salsa dancing but he convinced me that while I might not be in perfect shape to record, what I can do in this moment I will never be able to do again.

Check out the Systema Solar webpage for music and news: http://www.systemasolar.com/ I have seen them live a few times, with crowds of thousands of people, and it is quite an experience. It’s like hip hop and house music mixed with rhythms from the cost of Colombia.

This weekend I headed four hours north to a small town named Corozal. The road there ran through rolling hills filled with small towns and farm land where cattle and donkeys escaped from rickety fences like prisoners, walking single file down the highway like they had somewhere to go. I saw a group of ten kids, no older than twelve, trying to pull a full grown cow back into its fence with a rope small enough to use as a belt. I was throughly entertained until they disappeared behind a mountain of green.

The houses in the towns we drove through were stacked on top of each other, surrounded by mud and lakes itching to flood over. We stopped at a small resturant –really just a house with seats outside and a sign hanging from a wooden post– to eat lunch. Once our food was served a teenage boy came out of nowhere and stood behind us, staring at our plates. His face was smeared with dirt and his shoes were sizes too small. He pointed at our food for a minute without saying a word, then began muttering rice over and over. We all gave him some food and he sat down under a tree with a family of cats, eating as slowly as possible. I couldn’t help but watch him. He cleaned the plate, put it back on our table, and walked away. Before leaving he passed another table behind us, grabbed a piece of chicken off someone’s plate while he wasn’t looking, and vanished behind a house.

I was told before leaving that I would be the first gringo that many people in Corozal had ever seen. So, naturally, I put a mask on and ran around scaring little children. I kid, I kid. I decided to take another route. Little did I know the pizza I ate the night before was making its way through my intestines, pounding its war drum and sharpening its spears. A sharp pain in my colon around eight was followed by hours of throwing up. People would bring me medicine or make me drinks they said would cure me. What I didn’t give to the toilet I watered plants with. When the bathroom floor became more comfortable than my bed I decided it was time to go to the hospital. I spent the night there for 35 USD with no health insurance forms or valid ID. I rolled over in my hospital bed around 3 am to see Julian staring at me laughing. Behind him stood a small audience.

We went there to play at an event for Julian’s uncle, a famous painter who recently returned to Colombia. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to go. Later the next day I came back to life and we spent the night like most families here in Colombia do, sitting outside playing music and telling stories. Next time I’ll have a good one to share: the gringo who threw up all over Corozal.

Check out Omar Figueroa Turcios’s website to see all of his work. It’s incredible: http://www.turciosart.com/

My mom is beautiful. She is the type of person that will help you fix all of your problems without ever mentioning any of her own. She takes such good care of her family, but not only that, of her community. She is an Ocupational Therapist and everyday helps numerous people relearn how to do everyday functions. She is constantly running into people around Chapel Hill that she has helped. The sweet and caring woman they got to know for a few hours every week is the woman I got to spend the last 25 years with. She is my best friend.

Don’t let that pretty girl fool you… she is strong! She can beat you at tennis and golf, outrun you, then hit the gym and make you feel like a sissy boy. I’ve never known anyone as selfless but at the same time takes such good care of themselves. She is always up to doing new things and rarely is missing a smile. She can salsa dance, cook a MEAN meatloaf, and her voice is as beautiful as she is. Today she turns 50, looks 30, and when instigated by me acts 10.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QbzvWdVPiI]

“Theres no one like your mom.” -Nana

This is a clip from a project I’m working on where I interviewed my last two living grandparents to collect their stories. This is my moms mom. 

They are reversable Susan Mary Margret Rooney Myers!

I just got back to Colombia after spending a month in the states. Here is a list of cities I spent at least one night in: Laytonsville, Westminster, DC, Rosslyn, Alexandria, Chapel Hill, Charlotte, Wilmington, Oak Island, and Raleigh. I got a lot and nothing done in the month of July!!

I got to talk to my uncle the first week I was back about his close to death experience. While I was in Colombia he had a heart attack and flat lined at the hospital. Luckily the doctors were able to shock him back to life. He told me as his soul slipped from his body he could see rolling hills with a kingdom in the distance. It was, he said, one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. As he climbed the hill the kingdom started getting further away. The harder and faster he climbed the further away it drifted, until in a rushing moment he was brought back to life. “I still have mountains to climb,” he said.

The following weeks were spent doing things “I ain’t got no bizness doin” all around NC. One of the things I value the most about my life is the fact that my best friends from middle and highschool (and even some from elementary) are still my best friends. I think what kept us so close as a group is that we not only have things in common but our personalities balance each other out. In other words, where one person is weak another is strong. Some play the front others play the back, some of us think and others just react.

I can’t go into too much detail about the stories from this month but I’ll give you a few hints: someone work up in the front yard of an old girlfriends house, someone lost all their clothes on Wrightsville beach, someone left a hicky on a girl the night before her birthday the size of a grapefruit making it so she couldn’t go home for the birthday party her family was having for her the next day, and… everybody apologized to my parents at one time or another for being too drunk the night of my show.   

I got the chance to go to my first wedding since I was a little kid (thank you Kevin and Megan Coppedge for inviting me!!), see the newly acquired house of Ruth and Phil (two of my favorite people on this blue thing), and spend a day with my last two living grandparents on both sides as well as tons of other family members (the night I got back over 20 people were sleeping in one house to welcome me home).

I took more pictures of food than anything else while I was back. I gained around 10 pounds in one month, working HARD! I am now sitting here in Barranquilla salivating over these pictures:

I’ll be back a few days before Thanksgiving, possibly for good. If any of you have some adventure in you buy a ticket and come and see me while you can. If not, I’ll see you when it’s time to get fat again. Peace!

My life is bigger than music. My life is built by the memories of my family, mental pictures that will never fade. My life is steered by two hands, one of knowledge and the other of faith. Both of these hands are as strong as they are weak. While reason tells me it is more likely I am a distant cousin of a monkey than a descendant of two people who lived in a garden until they bit a forbidden apple, the same logic tells me that my understanding of the world is relative. I know nothing, therefore, the things I believe but don’t understand are as real to me as the ground I walk on. I have a soul.

My life is a balance between dark and light, just like the days I walk though. I have come to realize that ignoring your desire to do things will not make those desires go away. I have morals, or boundaries, but within those limits I follow the urges that come upon me. I think sometimes people tell you not to do things, not because they think you shouldn’t, but because they know eventually you’ll realize it’s not good for you. The problem with that is there are no shortcuts. Learn through experience but never comprise your morals.

My life seems to constantly move in a forward and directed path, yet I still feel as lost as the next man. I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up, and to be completely honest, I still have not grown up. When my father was 25 my older brother had just been born. When my mom was 25 she had just had me, living on a tight budget, and finishing up grad school. While I look forward to having a child, I don’t think I’ll truly be ready for the responsibility until I see his/her face. 

I used to think I was lucky, but the older I get the less I believe in the idea of that word. The opportunities I have had, friends I have made, and women I have fallen in love with can’t be credited to luck.  A friend here in Colombia told me I have a guardian angel that watches over me. I haven’t always felt like God was listening but I always felt like my grandmother was. I wouldn’t be surprised if she grabs the wheel sometimes.

Each one of these things I have listed is stronger at its core than the music I make is, but nothing in this world can better explain all of these things at one time. My earliest memories involve singing with my family. My adolescence was spent in choirs and learning guitar. A big part of me separating myself from my parents and becoming my own person during this time was the type of music I choose to listen to, rap. My identity as a young adult has been built around the fact that I love and make music and I’m sure each stage to come will have its own relationship with music. My family, friends and spiritual connection with the world is the foundation that holds me up. The music I make is the result of the view those things have provided me.

Mike

First I wanted to be tall. Then I wanted to be popular. Later I wanted to be famous. Now I just want to be happy.

For the last three weeks I have lived without certain things I used to think were essential. In fact, I came to rely on these things so much I doubted I could live without them. Being dependent on something has never been my thing… the only idea I have ever allowed to control my life is something I believe I have equal control over- music. So what am I living without…

Item 1: Alarm Clock (that’s right, I use one from the 50’s, big whoop… want to fight about it?)

My alarm clock just stopped working about a month ago. The time still works but the noise that screams at me to wake up every morning just went away… how nice. So how do I wake up? The same way you do. I open my eyes, roll around for a while, and think about how weird my dream was. The only difference is my mind is no longer racing for possible excuses to stay in bed longer. I wake up when my body decides to, which means I’m ready to get out of bed when the windows open. My semester is over so I am no longer teaching. This means my main focus now is creating songs and chants for my radio program, which has no clock-in time.

Item 2: Cell Phone

The bad guys took my phone! Funny because a week before I was robbed I actually joked around with a friend about how I wish I would lose my phone sometimes, so I would be forced to get numbers again and weed out over half of my contacts that I saved as “place I met you + description” (I’m talking about you Arlington Girl and Colombia DJ). Google, however, spoiled that idea by saving all my contacts without me even knowing. Kudos. I have realized in the last couple weeks of not having the leash that I really don’t need it as much as I think I do. No longer having the social escape tool of looking at my phone like the president just sent me an email when I don’t have anything to say to someone has made me stronger. I just hope the guys who stole my phone get a call from Tigo and Colombia DJ every morning until they go crazy and give it to some deserving kid.

Item 3: Credit Card

Getting this stolen turned into a great thing. I no longer tap into my BOA account and only buy things that I can afford with the money I have in my pocket. BOA was slapping me with a 5 dollar charge every time I used that beach also… I’m a better man without it.

This chapter of my life has been very relaxing… but don’t get it twisted, it’s not all pretty girls and fresh squeezed juice. You are probably saving money- I’m watching student loans eat my bank account. You probably have a nice tan from a trip to the beach- it’s so hot here I stay away from the sun as much as possible. You probably bite into your Bojangles sausage egg and cheese biscuit and find yourself laughing about how I am thousands of miles away from the closest one- American Broasted Chicken just isn’t the same (the verdict is still out on what a broasted chicken is…).  I won’t tell you to smash your alarm clock and throw your phone and credit card into the closest body of water you can find because you probably need those things to live your productive life… but for the next week or so I’m going to enjoy what I got going on here. If you got an issue with that, try calling me…