After a short delay, Cam’ron’s second installment of the Boss of All Bosses with DJ Drama finally hit the mixtape market on Tuesday night. Don’t judge this album based on the cover art (c’mon, Drama, step your Photoshop game up) – Cam gets back to his Killa Dipset status on this one.

Teamed with his Harlem protégé and fellow U.N. member Vado on every track, Cam’ron goes hard on this mixtape right from the get go. The first four tracks are all hot and as Cam can do as well as anyone, he’s spitting some witty rhymes.

However, Vado really does the heavy lifting on this mixtape. While he sounds a little bit like Cam’ron and has the same flow, he’s pretty smooth on all the hooks and a lot of his lines are actually better than Cam’s.

“I’m 20-something, still Young Money Mack Mainin’ / Champagne flowing / Bright leg glowing / Sour diesel blowing while my right hand plowing / And every broad glass I don’t ask, they knowin’ / I get that work back to the condo, they goin’ / Yup, they goin’,” Vado spits on “Nuthin’ Like Araab Musik.”

They Feelin’ Us and Bezel Up really have that Diplomats kind of sample on them. While that alone shouldn’t spark any rumors, it’s interesting given that Jim Jones recently alluded to a Dipset Reunion.

“Shout outs to Juelz, Zeke and Cam – Dipset for life,” Jones said on 106 & Park. “We might have some surprises for y’all, but I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”

The rest of the mixtape is OK. The only other notable tracks being Get Away, where Cam’ron and Vado rap over the classic Mobb Deep track of the same title, and the last song Whistle, which is just humorous that someone would rap over the Tetris song, though surprisingly pretty good.

Overall, Boss of All Bosses 2 is a solid mixtape and definitely worth the download.

Here, there are two arts through which a young boy can find his voice — basketball and rap. It takes a hefty diversion to distract children raised in a place where crime is a self-sustaining spiral and only two kids on the block have fathers. We were lucky. We found our diversion.

It began on a lazy summer day in an upstairs bedroom. My cousin from the suburbs brought along a tape recorder and the most basic of beatboxing skills. What resulted from our day-long session was a line by my little brother that has been burned into my memory,

“You can see me go as Bassey’s smiling/ His name is Bassey Cocoa because he’s bileing.”

Looking back on it now, the line doesn’t make much sense. But we couldn’t have been any more than 10 years old at the time, and tales of this epic diss would be recounted for years.

Years later, when many of our neighborhood friends began a long descent into petty crime or drugs, a few of us gathered around an oversized Dell computer with a default sound recording program and began the journey anew. We spoke rhymes over hastily arranged sound loops that blared full-blast so they might be picked up by the ancient webcam that doubled as a microphone.

My older brother was the first to start a rap crew, and I desperately wanted to join. Following a string of comical attempts to convince the high school freshman of my writing acumen, I finally sequestered myself in a bedroom for hours and composed a song that forced them to let me join. I think I called their words “absurd blurbs.”

It was impossible to pause or rewind the generic sound recording software, so four or five of us squeezed into the tiny computer room — if one person tripped over a line, everyone had to record their verse again. These represented countless hours away from the bleakness of a dying neighborhood and corroding social structure. Hours spent away from a criminal-driven culture referred to casually as the game.

Those who got caught playing the game didn’t even think to speak of the crimes. They don’t dream to retire. We all saw common thugs as divine beings or disciples. But the faith we had gained in ourselves through end rhyme and the 3/4 beat allowed us to confide in the Bible and consider it God’s rhyme book. We still consider it God’s rhyme book.

And through our simple poetry we found a solitary window pointing away from the despair.

Through our fights over mics, we would improve our minds. Rather than burn dreams in the sky for dimes, we would depict the crimes that wouldn’t leave our eyes and sell them as rhymes.

And their blood poured while we snored — comfortable in our beds.

We were lucky.

That’s how we passed the time in a neighborhood blanketed with signs comically declaring it a Williamsburg Heights drug-free zone. We were inconceivably lucky. Art programs have long been cast to the wayside by a Milwaukee public school system whose performance in recent decades has been an unmitigated embarrassment to the state of Wisconsin. City and state officials have acknowledged the problem of losing countless youth to drugs and prison and that the school system is broken. But they haven’t acknowledged that funding education is the most vital function our state could serve. They haven’t acknowledged it in dollars, anyway.

So the game is still played by those who inevitably rise only to fall, swiftly and justly as I recall. And I can only pray that somewhere on my block — where it’s easier to find an illegal gun than a father — some kid is sitting in his room with a tape recorder and some friends, constructing a window that looks past the despair of the real world. Maybe someday, someone from somewhere who’s an expert in blank stares, but worships his own moral wares, will tell that kid “rap is a bad influence.” I just want to see a kid laugh just like I do.

What can I say about Mad Static? He’s a friend, a damn evocative poet, my longtime rap partner and a totally unpredictable musician – that’s why I love working with him. Below is an article I wrote about the degradation of rap and one of the people who ensures that it will never die, regardless of what NAS thinks. Check out these intensely personal tracks for a look into the mind of an indie poet.

by Bassey Etim

On the north side of Milwaukee, a billboard for local rapper Lil’ Gucci looks down on the neighborhood, and it tells those who walk by, “If U ain’t got it, then U broke,” a message about the rapper’s new album, serving as a constant reminder that, even in the last bastions of inner city art, commercialism conquers all — and every kid who sees the ad on the way to school invariably asks himself, “How do I get on a billboard?”

For the up-and-coming rock band, there’s the EP hastily recorded on a four-track stashed in some basement. Indie rappers, on the other hand, plot their rise through mixtapes, collections of tracks recorded over beats from popular songs.

How could those at the forefront of criticizing pop-rap for its lack of creativity release a countless barrage of tracks capitalizing on familiarity bred by countless radio replays? Milwaukee mixtape artist James Jones — or Mad Static as known by his fans on mixtape sharing website Datpiff.com — explanation is one part truth and two parts rationalization.

“If there’s a song out getting attention and I can’t stand the artist, I’ll take the beat and make it better,” he said.

To Jones, the Lil’ Gucci billboard does little more than tell the youth that, to rise above the hood, you’ve got to dedicate yourself to the status quo. Plus, whenever possible, add the prefix “lil’” or “young” to your name — the calling card for sellouts. Lil’ Gucci’s lyrics, for example, include philosophical gems like, “My rims so tall I think I gotta climb a ladder/ My car so wet I think I got a bad bladder.”

Still, there is an undercurrent of guilt in many mixtape veterans when explaining why they reuse beats from artists that sound exactly the same (literally) as Lil’ Gucci — especially in an age where the primary topic of conversation in underground rap is the degrading state of the art.

Mad Static himself actually stumbled into the craft. Before Jones ever recorded a song or even the means to attempt it, he came upon the beat for Nas’ legendary battle track Ether. After penning new verses to it, Jones moved on to more conventional pop tracks. Even though his lyricism quickly earned a group of fans, his listeners became annoyed with replays of songs long since worn out in the clubs.

Established rappers who put out mixtapes do so between original full-length albums, with the goal of keeping a buzz around their names. Underground rappers, on the other hand, often rely on mixtapes as their exclusive public front and fizzle out when the act gets tired. Facing that prospect, Jones went to work on a solo album, Written in Blood.

All of this begs a question about mixtapes: Do they work? Not for everyone, of course, but they’ve fueled Mad Static’s career even if he remains unsigned. His first mixtape posted on Soundclick.com, got just more than 300 downloads. A more recent release, the more poppy Summer Solstice, now has more than 1,000.

Culture wars?

Many prominent local emcees blame the inability to break through without a gimmick on a de facto hip-hop ban in Milwaukee clubs. Right now, the story is consigned to rumor and innuendo within the hip-hop community, but it’s widely considered fact.

“They try to turn away as many black people as possible,” Jones said of many clubs and music venues in Milwaukee. “And whenever hip-hop is played, you know shit is gonna go down.”

Still, despite his obvious concerns with the policy, Jones doesn’t think the alleged ban is ridiculous. It’s hard to blame a small business owner for taking every step necessary to retain a liquor license. If playing crunk music or gangsta rap attracts criminal elements and leads to fights, there’s no incentive to keep playing it. And when the only hip-hop music that gets airplay promotes the divinity of materialism, an endless cycle is spawned wherein rap cannibalizes itself. It’s reminiscent of the underground proliferation of pop-rap beats via mixtapes which strengthen the very producers that intellectual rappers despise.

To this band of rebels, pop-rap reinforces a point MTV and BET make to young blacks every day: To fit into the community, you’ve got to be a caricatured tough guy who peddles women and rims as currency.

“I’m not gonna fabricate shit because it’s popular,” Jones said, now passionately excoriating some of his fellow rappers. “These dudes say they throw hundreds at strippers, but the next thing I know, I see ‘em on my block looking crusty as fuck.”

Of course, there’s a more bare-bones reason for putting out mixtapes — they’re cheap and fast. So for an underground artist looking to keep his name in the public eye, a rapid-fire succession of mixtapes is a tempting proposition.

“It’s like, anything goes: It’s all you,” Jones said. “You gotta do a certain type of song to get airplay, especially in Milwaukee… whack ass rappers.”

So it seems as if there’s some disagreement over my basketball-rap picks last week.

To all those who burned me in effigy for comparing Soulja Boy to J.J. Redick or just filled out an application to Kaplan University Online under my name and cell phone number, I get the point.

You know, the images of violence broadcast around the world over this simple piece of art really got to me. My editors didn’t want to incite another round of protests, and begged me not to run this piece today. But I must do what I know is right. I stand by my scientific, double-blind, university-tested, eHarmony personality-matching-robot-verified hip-hop and basketball equivalency equations.

After all, to truly understand hip-hop, you’ve got to know basketball. In honor of that time-proven principle, the following is part 2 of what is* a 100 percent guaranteed accurate study*.

Dennis Rodman — L.L. Cool J

Who else spent the ’90s asking, “Jesus Christ, will this guy keep his damn shirt on?”

Plus, L.L. probably wears a dress now and then.

Rick Fox — Will Smith

Pretty boys with hot wives who were just barely any good. Their bland, slow and repetitive styles of play weren’t fit for the 21st century. At least Will still has his movie career, but his new albums blend mid-1980s lyricism and post-apocalyptic elevator music.

Charles Barkley — Big Punisher

This one’s obvious. NutriSystem would have prolonged both of their careers, right, NFL legend Dan Marino?

Fat Joe — Antoine Walker

Yeah, he’s good. But I can’t think he would look so winded during performances without the Caliendo/Madden gut (God, that impression’s getting old).

Wilt Chamberlain — Notorious B.I.G.

Did anyone dominate an era more convincingly than these two? Wilt scored 100 points in a game, and the NBA even changed the rules in a desperate attempt to level the playing field. B.I.G. was a lyrical sultan whose rhymes and diction are still present in a majority of modern rappers. He changed the rules himself.

Michael Jordan — Tupac

The greatest all-around performers ever in their respective fields. Tupac could instantly boost the quality of any beat with his driving prose, and Jordan instantly improved any team with what scientists might call his aura. Plus, Jordan retired momentarily, only to return as the best player alive and Tupac died momentarily before his leftover recordings crowned him the greatest rapper ever.

Scottie Pippen — Snoop Dogg

First off, they look pretty similar. No? OK, as the ultimate support man for the Tupac-led West Coast ascendance — then for Dr. Dre and Eminem — Snoop always seems to be on the winning team. Each spent his twilight years making the best of uncomfortable homes and faded away respectably. These days, Scotty Pippen is a TV analyst and Snoop is a TV father.

Dwight Howard — Lupe Fiasco

Not the most publicized or marketable superstars with their talent, but true basketball loyalists love Dwight Howard, and hip-hop loyalists love Lupe. Fiasco may not have muscles for his muscles’ muscles, but it’s attitude that makes these two true beasts.

Jason Terry — Lil’ Jon

Yeah, okay, it’s really good stuff. But it all sounds the same.

Yao Ming — Mike Jones

He gets a ton of attention from a far-away place that I don’t really understand. The language barrier is too overwhelming.

Tim Hardaway — Jedi Mind Tricks

Solid performers who haven’t won anything. We all know about Tim Hardaway’s “hate” for gay people, and who haven’t Jedi Mind Tricks offended besides non-Saudi anti-American Muslims?

1990s Indiana Pacers — Jurassic 5 (Reggie Miller — Chali2na)

Why don’t more people like these guys?

San Antonio Spurs — A Tribe Called Quest (Tim Duncan — Q-tip)

Ditto. Respect isn’t as good as buying the album.

Boston Celtics (current) — Wu Tang Clan

Boston Celtics (1960s) — Wu Tang Clan

Bill Russell and Ghostface seem like they would play frolf on weekends.

Dwayne Wade — Lil’ Wayne

Scary that, after this long, we still don’t know how good these guys can be. (UPDATE: This list was originally made last year, so you know, stuff has happened since then and whatnot.)

Of course, the list is endless. Plus, no conclusive match exists for LeBron James. But here are the rest of the matches calculated and confirmed beyond a margin of error**

p.s. more scientifically approved matches coming in the future. So Stay with the # 1 pretty okay source for half-decent media, Air And Sea Battle.

pps. Who is LeBron, anyways???

*It depends on what your definition of “is” is.

** Includes unrelated margins of error noted at some point throughout the course of modern world history.

Happy Thanksgiving! In honor of this most holy of all holidays, we’ll resurrect a popular column written for my former newspaper – comparing basketballers to ballahs. A&SB will be sure to update our list as frequently as possible, so post your suggestions, gripes, moans, groans and concerns. Stay tuned for part 2!

Is there any sport more hip-hop than basketball? Sure, it’s a team game, but one great individual can carry you over the top. And legends aren’t just born via stats, but through style. All the while, it takes a truly great coach (producer), to take a team to the championship (BET award?). The bottom line is that, to understand hip-hop, you’ve got to know basketball.

In an effort to increase hip-hop knowledge worldwide, A&SB is proud to present the authoritative list of rap and basketball equivalency. Using a complicated formula utilizing stylistic similarities, career success and eHarmony’s personality matching robot, I can present a list that is beyond arguing with and guaranteed* to be 100 percent accurate.

J.J. Redick — Soulja Boy

Even in their respective primes, we all knew they wouldn’t last for long. Soulja Boy made a pop dance track, J.J. Redick made a ton of 3-pointers. It doesn’t mean they’re any good.

Kobe Bryant — Jay-Z

Some may complain about a lack of substance, but they’re beyond talented. When Kobe touches the ball, he’s going to score. When Jay-Z puts out an album, he’s going platinum.

Kevin Garnett — DMX

They look alike. They look pissed.

03-04′ Detroit Pistons — G-Unit (Chauncey Billups — 50 Cent, Rasheed Wallace — Lloyd Banks, Tayshaun Prince — Young Buck, Rip Hamilton — Tony Yayo)

Both achieved success through boring repetition, but they are pretty gangsta — no one can question that. Just ignore the anguished cries as they fade into obscurity.

Tracy McGrady — Akon

Consistent. Seriously, they always do the same thing. Akon’s songs all sound the same, and T-Mac has great regular seasons, but never gets past the first round of the playoffs. How much time are you gonna spend reminiscing about these two when you get old?

Gary Payton — Canibus

They look like aliens from the same planet. Gary Payton was an all-time defensive player who signed terrible contracts most of his career and faded away late. Canibus has chosen even worse beats throughout his career, but he’s still probably the most talented lyricist ever. And for the love of God, don’t buy that terrible album he made with Phoenix Orion.

Steve Nash — Common

Both unconventional stars who don’t fit in with the rest of the league (read: not as gangsta). Common dresses like a fly Bill Cosby and Steve Nash dresses like a tiny Canadian.

Still, you can’t argue with results — both are future Hall-of-Famers (NAACP Image Award?)

Allen Iverson — Eminem

Outstanding individual performers who never made anyone better, but then again, maybe D-12 and the Philadelphia 76ers were hopeless.

Sebastian Telfair — Bow Wow

Both are young, talented, were on TV way before they were ready. Telfair has shown flashes of brilliance, while Bow Wow has been more like a flickering nightlight.

Darko Milicic — Freeway

Way too easy: They were hyped excessively, and both really, really suck.**

76ers Julius Erving — Bone Thugs N’ Harmony (Julius Erving — Krazie Bone)

You ever catch those sweet replayed 76ers games from the 1970s? Dr. J’s famous fake behind-the-back pass is the equivalent of the foggy scenes in the “Crossroads” video.

Micheal Redd —Omarion

Damn fine, if inexplicably unpopular, players held back by comically bad teammates and management.

Manu Ginobili — Jadakiss

Everyone seems to hate this guy, but damn it, he’s on TV again.

Jason Kidd — Juvenile

Maybe I just don’t remember the ’90s well enough, but these two got old quick.

Isaiah Thomas and Joe Dumars — Dead Prez

Popularly hated, but respected by the purists. Most common reaction from their former competitors: Man, those guys were assholes.

Magic Johnson — Guru

Okay, so Gang Starr hasn’t gone anywhere, and as far as I know, didn’t catch AIDS from a backhoe full of whores. But look at their body of work in the late ’80s and early ’90s — productive, but stylish.

Vince Carter — Busta Rhymes

Defined by flashy antics, but solid all-around performers. Busta Rhymes found a better home with Flipmode than Vince Carter has at… wherever he plays now. Both fall just short of Hall-of-Fame status. (Source Award)

Shaquille O’Neal — P. Diddy

How many nicknames do these guys have between them?

Shaq, Shaq Diesel, Shaq Daddy, The Big Fella, The Big Aristotle, to name a few. And we all know about the Puff Daddy-Puffy-Diddy debacle. Plus, both receive constant praise even when things go bad, then leave the scene. P. Diddy has formed at least 40 shitty bands and disappears when inevitable failure sets in. Likewise Penny Hardaway, Kobe Bryant and Dwayne Wade haven’t won a championship without Shaq. Don’t think about that last sentence too much.

* Guarantee does not apply to the contiguous Unites States, Guam, Puerto Rico, U.S. Virgin Islands, places contaminated by trace amounts of Castro DNA, nation-states that provide fiscal support to David Hasselhoff, bodies surrounded by water on four sides, areas that used to be connected to Russia by land bridge, former member continents of Pangea.

** I mean, just awful. Really bad, but not the good kind of bad — the kind that makes you sad for them. The kind where putting them on TV feels like exploitation. Ever hear of William Hung?

If you think the list is wrong, check the stats, because it’s not.* Special thanks to Uko Etim and Joey Grihalva for technical considerations.

$0 Download

By Andrew Bates – A&SB Contributor

Mashups aren’t anything new to the world of music, but rarely do we get to hear a truly well produced and well crafted set of songs. In the case of Viva La Hova, Terry Urban and Mick Boogie do a fantastic job showcasing some of the best songs from Jay Z’s library to date, by meshing them with the smooth sounds of Coldplay. The result is undeniable satisfaction resonating through the listener’s earlobes.

Viva La Hova is a collection of twenty mashups, several produced by Boogie and Urban, and the work they do here is fun to dive into. Things get moving quickly with “Public Speeding” as Jay-Z’s infectious beats chime in with the introductory lines “Allow me to re-introduce myself/ My name is Hov’, OH, H-to-the-O-V/ I used to move snowflakes by the O-Z/ I guess even back then you can call me/ CEO of the R-O-C, Hov’!”

The chorus to this mashup is reserved for the distinct vocal prowess of Chris Martin as the Coldplay song “Higher Speed” takes off in the chorus. While a strong start, the sounds only get stronger.

“Never Changing” “Lost part 1″ and “Science Is Ignorant” are standout tracks on Hova, and these few seem to work the best lyrically and musically. For some reason, Coldplay’s guitar work sounds even better when it surrounds the right hooks and jabs from Jay-Z’s lyrical boxing match where the listener goes down swinging more often than not. This is due to a simple collection of sounds overpowering the ears to the point of pure rock/rap bliss.

Urban and Boogie take mashups to a level where a brand new song is created. The only true collaborations on the mix are “Lost part 1″ and “Beach Chair” both produced by Coldplay. On a relevant note, most of the tracks here are done by several producers recruited by Boogie and Urban (nVMe, The Amps, 9th Wonder to name a few). One of the better tracks on this album is towards the end, called “Take The Hill” by nVMe, a relatively unknown underground producer. Coldplay’s guitar work here really packs a punch when coupled with Jay-Z’s lyrics from “The Takeover.”

Perhaps the most appealing element of Hova is seeing well loved classics from both parties molded into something so refreshingly smooth that it makes the listener wish Coldplay and Jay Z would collaborate more often so we don’t have to settle for these gloriously delicious mashups. I suppose it’s not so bad to settle every now and then.

Mixes used:
Intro (Various Songs)
Public Speeding (High Speed + Public Service Announcement)
Know My Place (U Don’t Know + In My Place)
Never Changing (Never Change + Never Change)
Miss Trouble (Excuse Me Miss + Trouble)
Back At My Place (Back Then + In My Place)
No Love Coming Home (Homecoming + Ain’t No Love)
A Spy’s Prayer (Spies + Pray)
Science Is Ignorant (The Scientist + Ignorant Sh*t)
The Reverse Fix (The Bounce + The Fix)
Hola Blanco (Hola Hovito + White Shadows)
Take The Hill (Takeover + Violet Hill)
Lost Part 2 (Momma Loves Me + Lost – Import Mix)
Cold Success (Success + Lost – Import Mix)
What If We Cry? (What If + Song Cry)
Falling In Shadows (Fallin’ + White Shadows)
Life of Clocks (Clocks + Party Life)
X-Y-Z (No Hook + X&Y)

EDITOR’S NOTE: The Album downloads slower than an elephant running through molasses on a cool summer day with a sprained ankle (Maybe they should have released it through A&SB It’s totally worth it though. Trust us.

$4 | Buy Extended Play

Yeah, I know you. You’re that person who has people over and winds up scrambling around looking for that old Jock Jams CD. Still, you figure it’s better than your friends, who seem to have Beyonce, Lil’ Jon and 50 Cent on continuous loop. Indie music is great and all, but let’s face it, you need some tunes that go down a little better with those shots of Admiral Nelson. That’s where The Hot Box comes in.

The Minneapolis-based instrumental rap group’s debut EP Extended Play puts Jordan “Vision” Sandvig’s inventive lyrical screeds over a ridiculously talented five-piece. The result is six tracks you’ll be humming in the shower for weeks.

A&SB caught up with Hot Box guitarist Gavin Werner for a status update following their epic “party bus” in downtown Minneapolis. (In which the band joined fans on a drunken bus tour the night of a show.) Werner honed his out-of-this-world talent playing complex guitar riffs for a traveling Croatian band, so he could forgive your humble reporter for assuming playing hip-hop would reign in his skills.

“No, not at all, I got way too many solos,” Werner chuckled as he watched a baseball game. “Jordan adapts to us lyrically … We always thought that in this day in age, [rap is a] much better way to get a message across than some ambiguous metaphors that can be reinterpreted.”

Indeed, The Hot Box is well on their way to achieving the best of both worlds: The provocative lyricism of hip-hop and the intricate rhythms of rock n’ roll.

Blazing a new musical trail isn’t without its challenges, as attracting a consistent crowd without a built-in genre takes extra marketing muscle. Yet Werner seemed oblivious to The Hot Box’s dilemma shortly before acknowledging it. “I never really thought about it ‘till you just asked me that,” Werner said. “I thought people just liked good noises.” He later detailed their struggles to cross over into the Twin Cities’ indie rock audience, as The Hot Box is consistently booked at hip hop venues.

Still, like most young bands, they have been buoyed by a tight network of supporters on the road to the appropriately named Extended Play, which was recorded in a marathon 8-hour session.

“Nowadays, there’s no genre’s anymore,” Werner said. “It’s all the same stuff.” No offense to Gavin, but The Hot Box is easily a cut above the rest.

The Hot Box on Myspace

EDITOR’S NOTE: Video has been updated.

The hip hop world has a unique history of artists co-opting each others’ work, a phenomenon that probably has more to do with the process of producing a rap album than some special culture. When a rock outfit wants to pay tribute to another band, they learn the chords, do a half-assed impression of the singer’s voice and get on with it. Not so in rap, where downloading a beat and rapping the same words over it could be accomplished by a functioning moron. (We’ll ignore all the functioning morons who write their own verses for now.) Instead, rappers big and small take collections of hot beats someone else probably bought from a producer and re-write the songs to create a mixtape. But does this constant recycling of material stifle hip-hop’s progress?

Believe me, I would love to steal all of his ideas. But for now, this will have to do.

It’s time for this editor to debate the only person with the stones to take himself on. Here’s a little feature we’ll call: Challenging Opponent™.

Yasseb: Let’s face it, rappers are attracted to mixtapes for the same reasons you’re attracted to that Arby’s off the highway – you’re lazy, and it’s the only thing around.

Bassey: But mixtapes are the heart and soul of hip-hop. It’s a community based on sharing ideas and ideals. When one artist pays tribute to another by riffing off his song…

Yasseb: What, an angel ejaculates? Get over it. All that happens is a lazier rapper makes 4 bucks a pop.

Bassey: Sometimes. But most mixtapes are free, and put up on sites like datpiff.com for the love of an art.

Yasseb: Love of an art? You can’t actually believe that, have you even been to that site lately? It’s all musty with the dank armpit stench of self-promoting hacks secretly hoping bored evil empire (Def Jam) execs love their fresh lyrical take on TI’s “Big things Poppin’”

Bassey: Come on, people might have secret motives for everything, but what’s so wrong with wanting to be heard, expressing yourself to a wide audience?

Yasseb: Oh yeah, my deepest emotional feelings are best summarized over a Lil’ Jon beat. Definitely won’t be making slight alterations to his lyrics that are almost clever. Definitely won’t mention how many platinum chains I would steal from a drug dealer who shot my fictional friend. Nope. Definitely won’t be doing that.

Bassey: Wow, so you proved your point – there’s bad music out there, I get it. But that’s not exclusive to mixtapes. In fact, I’d venture to say that when you average it all out, mixtapes have more lyrical quality because the artist is taking a song they love and rewriting poetry that’s about their struggles.

Yasseb: Yeah, their struggle to use another artists’ beats as a cheap vehicle to draw attention to themselves.

Bassey: I don’t get it, what’s with the cynicism? Wanting your music heard doesn’t make you a publicity hound… unless its rap music, right?

Yasseb: No. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your music heard, but that’s different from getting someone else’s music heard with your nasaly lame voice over it.

Bassey: Ridiculous, established artists with totally non-annoying voices have been on mixtapes since the beginning. Rap wouldn’t be what it is today without all those great mixtapes on the street giving young artists a chance.

Yasseb: True, rap wouldn’t have gotten where it is today, but where has it gone lately? Once one guy gets famous, 10 more rappers from the same area piggyback his style and render it lame. These remixes turn cheating off another guy into a culture. It’s like Common said, “So many rhymes about rims, I’m surprised niggas ain’t become tires.”

Bassey: Ahah! You forget about Common’s little known 1991 mixtape, “Unamerican Caravan.”

Yasseb: Maybe… wait a second, those were all original beats!

Bassey: Really?

Yasseb: I don’t know, beats in 1991 all sounded the same.

Bassey: Alright, maybe we can just agree that you are…

Yasseb, Bassey: A challenging opponent.