Identity

There was a time in my life (right before the millennium when I was voted “most likely to buy Bronx Science for the sake of turning it into a parking lot”) when I was as passionate about music as I was about sports. Most of my peers (likely you being one) didn’t know that the real reasons that I wanted to be in music was because it seemed to be an easier avenue into the entertainment business than the sports industry. And if you were in that bunker with Saddam Hussein for the past few years, you would see that right now, getting into the music industry is as easy as getting a learner’s permit: read a book, take a ten minute test and you can walk out with a shiny new ID card. While at Bronx Science, I read a few things about how many artists were swindled and hustled from millions of earned dollars because of terrible contracts and even worse industry practices that ensured that everyone else got to eat before the artists themselves. Sure, many people knowingly spent money they didn’t have, yet the nature of the beast allowed (and still does) for a label that did little work to recoup much of the profits. Considering that I have a habit of problem-solving, I started asking questions and building my own alternate model for how the music business should act… you know, like an actual business. When I got to college, many of my experiences reminded me that my true calling was never in A&R and label politics. I discovered that the business just wasn’t for me. I saw the carrot to work in the business was gobbled up; my favorite artists were either dead, broken or about to be broken up, toiling in some obscurity without any promotion (I didn’t know Jon B. or Mr. Cheeks from the Lost Boyz had new albums until a year after they came out) or just kept getting in trouble. Then I realized that the music I loved had nothing to do with the times that were passing by. The Nineties were special for people like me; ticked off at the status quo, but looking for hope of a new dawn. The 2000s didn’t agree; y’all went partying, I mourned the loss of too many people, including my beloved, but crazy father. I realized that the music in the Nineties said to me “life is happening, but you can rise”. The music in the 2000s is far from that.

Shortly before my dad passed, I reassessed my goals, seeing that my true passions were budding over my superficial desires. I began to see a new vision of my future, one in which I didn’t have to wait until I made a billion dollars in music (ha!) to buy a NBA franchise and call myself a sports business player. I found new avenues, but I knew that I had the music business to fall back on if I wanted to still give it a try. Before he passed, Daddy finally told me stories of when he played semi-pro and high school football in the late fifties Philadelphia. I was reminded of everything I was ever taught about the games, especially the unique appreciation I have for them compared to my peers. After he died, I slowly began to make the switch. He would have reminded me to go with my heart anyway.

In college, I was heavily involved with radio from being an on-air personality to being a GM to interning with a station back home. I helped broadcast all sorts of events, including many basketball games for the College. I met different people within the sports business, especially reaching out to media personalities to learn about their lines of work. The problem-solver in me keeps looking at holes to this day, figuring out where I can carve my niche before challenging or becoming the establishment. It was in college where I found my true identity; a hopeful maverick seeking opportunities others are afraid to take.

Why am I telling you this?

My closest peers are writers and critics who are equally obsessed with music as sports. I think they will individually call themselves “music snobs” if they felt it applied. I listen and debate with them about topics that over the years have very little meaning to me. I may be labeled a hater for the fact that I didn’t exactly warmly receive Kanye West or I haven’t downloaded the new album from The Killers (whoever the hell they are). For the most part, I resisted the label because ‘hater’ is as overused as the pluralization of names in sports media (if I hear someone say “the Steve Nashes of the world” one more time… Sports Speak – that’s another piece). Yet, an article from Tara Henley at XXL brought about a lengthy, but pointed assessment of what I do and hope to do.

Her thoughts, titled “Build or destroy?” touch upon the constant hateration within the internet community, which has a strange concoction of legit journalists who look for angles, hack journalists looking to make a name off of something other than their own merits and bloggers who spend their entire days verbally assaulting everything this side of the Sun. She calls herself a lover, one who identifies the dregs and copycats in rap music while also looking for something positive to shine a light on for whoever may be a fan. I can appreciate that, even as I am disappointed with music as a whole. I can appreciate that someone wants to find something good inside a genre of prepackaged disasters.

Henley’s column had me thinking about my current identity in the world. Which is stronger: the hater label that has been thrown my way or the lover side that I am working on displaying to the world? Hating is easy. Way too easy. Can it be fun? Sure, the jokes are great when they are mean-spirited and off-kilter. I can’t count with the hands of the New York Giants 53-man roster on how many times I railed on the Diplomats or Young Dro. As a part-time blogger, I’ve used the platform once or twice to talk smack about something negative. Yet, as I have experienced much more in my life, I find that loving something may be harder, but far more rewarding. I find that there is a joy in telling a story that I know will be overshadowed by more critiques on the latest Giants loss because I know that someone who is reading will appreciate that it’s not the recycled garbage in the other papers. I take pleasure knowing that I am trying to tell a story and give fans an idea on what players think of what just happened on the field or on the court. Most of all, I take satisfaction knowing that while there are millions of people who sit back and complain about how terrible and overhyped stories are, I am at least trying to do something about it. That can’t be said for most people in media; they tend to be jaded due to the fact that they failed at the very subjects they discuss.

Music and sports are none too different from anything else that is reported and discussed in the world; they are subject to the same unfounded and harsh debates, critiques and blatant attacks. I dislike as many things as I love. I can’t stand many of the popular musicians as much as I can’t stand the latest hype on Cowboys’ QB Tony Romo. Yet, I love 3 Doors Down as much as you may love The Fray. I’ll blast 2Pac until the day I die while you’re bobbing your head to Jay-Z. In this, I am reminded of why I have this professional pursuit. While I had a hand in the music business, the times had changed and the flame only flickered for a specific time in my life. Sports have always been a part of my life. Yes, I was a failed athlete, but I also knew that there was something missing for folks who can appreciate games from different points of view. I found that while haters exist everywhere and in everything, loving thrives because of those few who have a passion for something. Lovers are a small clique within every classification, group, taste, etc. they want to show you something more than the surface of what you hold in your hand. Lovers want you to at least acknowledge, if not embrace. Most of all, lovers remind the haters that talking smack from the sidelines is exactly that; from the sidelines.

I should remind myself of this when the latest bi-weekly “Rock is Back” issue from Rolling Stone.