The wife and I were feelin’ kinda sporty (The Yanks had just gotten put to pasture. Sorry Warren S—my CEO must be vexed) so we headed over to the Hammerstein Ballroom to peep the taping of this year’s VH1’s Hip-Hop Honors. They tape the shit way before you boobs see it on the boob tube. Although I can’t really give you all the details and spoiler sa prizes (I got a show coming in Jan, White Rap, nigga and I ain’t fuckin’ it up), I will say the show had a lot of hip-hop official-nados on stage and in the 1st Mezzanine where I was perched up at. So peep the following list of close encounters at a rap awards show taping. There’s a reason I don’t like to leave the house.
Saw a screw-faced Hurricane (from Run-DMC/Beastie Boys) fame and some of his, I assume Hollis crew homies, having a little problem moving to and fro without the proper credentials. Dude looked like he kicked plenty ass back in the day.
Legendary publicist/rap historian/good friend Bill Adler introduced me to a quiet dark-skinded brother. “Hey Elliott, I’m Larry Smith.” “The King of The Beats,” I excitedly shot back. Unfortunately, we lost our chance to build when one of Hurricane’s drunk homies bumrushed our show.
Just when the missus and me got our standing room only location secured, here comes Big Boi from OutKast and his industry team commandeering our little table. Now everyone knows I’ve written some things and so have many on the XXL staff (blogger bums included) that were extremely negative towards OutKast this past year. I mean my first entry was about them throwing in the towel. I assume Boi remembered who I was but I will say he kept it real some Southern Gentlemen-ly with me. We made brief awkward small talk and kept it moving. Left the unspoken unspoken. Besides, fisticuffs of any sort at an old-school awards show sounds a tad bit uncivilized.
Speaking of which, I spent most of my night with my eyes peeled on rap’s biggest troublemaker since 50 was lyrically juxing niggas, BK’s Maino. With Lil Kim as the main performer for the MC Lyte tribute (oops you didn’t hear it from me), Mr. Left Hook and his crew had full access to my little area. Thankfully duke didn’t find anyone who owed him money or who he wanted to punch in the face, but he did manage to come up on one of the night’s prized possession: a stool to sit your caboose on. A yellow nigga’s legs were kinda tired. These tapings drag on like Drag-On’s career.
Saw Grandmaster Flash making the rounds. The Puerto-Rican-lookin’ nigga from Sugar Hill on my way to take a piss. Lyor Cohen keeping a low pro. Kevin “Honey I Shrunk” Liles. And finally, the piece de resistance: Big Daddy Kane.
You see, it was the Asiatic One who stole the show last year that inspired us to come out this year. He popped up in a tacky, cheap-looking gray suit but made up for it because his date had quite a fatty in the back of that red dress. I didn’t say what’s up, but Kane was by my side like Jadakiss through most of the performances. He seemed noticeably stone-faced through the Rakim tribute though. Guess old rivalries die hard. Word to daddy, indeed.