There was a period of time long ago where magazines were the shit! People bought magazines. People wanted to work at and for magazines. People read magazines. I was all of the above. Magazines were time capsules and crystal gazers and I wanted to be a part of it.
I can’t recall what was the inspiration behind Set Trippin’. I think I was in my Thulsa Doom stage of life back then – instead of steel, my focus was on written chaos and humor. They occupied the same space in my world and dripped from my pen and keyboard steadily.
A friend of a friend became my friend and ultimately my editor as helped usher my journalism career as I became a contributing writer for Blaze Magazine, a part of Vibe/Spin/Blaze Ventures. A pitch became a column and I became a journalist.
This was my second published work in a major magazine (Shout-out to XXL and Day Dog!). It was a big deal for me. Not so much for my parents, even when I showed them the check I received for it. Critics and haters. You just can’t escape them.
Blaze Magazine made a lot of noise prior to its premier. The issue was met with a collective meh. My column got love from the hip hop journalist heads, so I wasn’t that mad. Wanting to keep things fresh, I moved onto the recent wave of hip hop movies to critic. I was an equal opportunity sarcasm-server.
Sidebar: On a humble, I saw some clown named Soren Baker swaggerjacked this particular column and did it for Rolling Stone Magazine. I’ll never forget that shit. It was the first time someone bit my style or my work and I will always want to stick a pencil in this dude’s eye. I’m still holding onto that grudge because we all need something to be petty about. It keeps us human.
Just thinking about watching music videos for longer than ten minutes seems torturous now. At this point, I decided that every other column would be music videos. I had to break it up or I was going to start keeping a Unabomber-like notebook in my backpack.
This one was fun. Kung-Fu flicks? Shiiiieeettttt! Any day. All day. I found out later that this is when the fact checkers started to hate me. I had no clue that they had to watch every single movie I watched and verify every blurb I wrote to the films. One fact-checker counted how many people Bruce Lee beat up to verify the number I wrote. Clearly my sarcasm didn’t translate to her.
Okay… at this stage in the game is when shit got real. Rappers were following journalists. Threatening them. Beating them up. I remember I was with my editor and he was on the phone with the publisher. The publisher wanted to speak to me as he was a fan of my work. I’ll never forget the conversation. He asked how I was doing. Good. I’m good. Have I had any problems? Well, some of the publicists don’t want to send my videos cause they’re afraid I’ll goof on them. No. Have I had any problems with any rappers? Ummm… Yeah! When the publisher is asking if you are in fear of getting a army of Timberland construction boots raining down on your head, you need to rethink this writing shit.
This was a good month. I was able to combine two of my loves – blaxploitation films and talking shit. And DMX was on the cover? Synchronicity!
Yeah… at this stage in the game, I was over it. As a contributing writer to hip hop journalism, it wasn’t worth the risk. My Editor-in-Chief got beat up. Writers were getting threatened. Publicists didn’t want to work with me because who wanted to contribute to someone who got paid to goof on their artists. Blaze had a new EIC and that was my out. I wanted to bounce and turns out she wasn’t a big fan of my column. It all worked out because I got paid the remainder of my contract and Blaze got shuddered, so I was able to escape on the life raft before having the indignity of getting canned with the rest of the stuff. Yes, I am being Petty Pendergrass right and don’t give a fuck.
I am eternally grateful for my Blaze Magazine experience. I was able to fulfill a dream of mine by having hundreds of thousands of people read my work worldwide in a medium that I still hold in the highest esteem.