Is This Art?: 23 Feb 2014

(Michael Christmas is one of the only things I like out of Boston)

“Who’s your team?”

My great uncle asked, watching a Yankee game. It was May 1981 and me and my older brother where in Brooklyn, on our way to Newmarket, England.

“Umm,” I struggled to come up with a name, I liked the Pirates hat and they had swag so I threw that out there, “The Pirates?” More of a question than a definitive answer.

My great uncle almost lost his shit.

“What? Nah boy! You a Yankee fan. This family, we Yankee fans.”

So it came to be. I was now a Yankee fan and as a Yankee fan, I became an instant enemy of the Red Sox. I already hated the Celtics (most Black folk did) and as Kraft turned New England into a powerhouse, I grew to hate them too. Add to that, “The Soiling of Old Glory,” and learning of the city’s intense racism and I just chalked it up to Boston hate. Then came Michael Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some moments where I was ok with Beantown. Take for example when my cousin Shauntae gave us a Lecca Lemma tape she recorded off the radio that had a battle with DJ Fantasy & E-Mo E. I liked that. Well, I liked DJ Fantasy, he got robbed. Also on that tape was a version of TDS Mob’s “Crushin Em” that I still can’t find.

Later, when I was part of the furniture in Morehouse’s Commons, that “I Got to Have it” by Ed O. G & the Bulldogs shit was hot. And when they followed that with “Be a Father to Your Child,” I checked around campus to see who I could get a dub from (Ed O G was on one side, Rockers was on the other — twas the times).

There. I liked a Boston group. But the hate continued. There was 2004 when the Red Sox came back from 3 games down to beat the Yankees and went on to win the World Series. That sucked. Or when the Celtics won the Championship in 2008. I ain’t like that (never mind all them Patriots rings).

Then came Michael Christmas.

I was mining the internet for new and up and coming rappers back in 2013, searching by cities, and his name popped up accompanied by a couple of videos: “Daily” and “Michael Cera.”

Yo. Ya boy said, “Would I shave my crotch for this? Knowin’ I don’t know this girl, and she ain’t even following.” What in the hell?! “Hot pockets,” “masturbation,” and that’s just “Daily.” Song is 2 minutes and 36 seconds of good shit.

“Michael Cera” is just ill. The video. The lyrics. Him. Ill. Michael Christmas personality is magnetic…which is what a MC is supposed to be. A lot of people can rap, but they personality’s and presence be on ZERO. Christmas is of the Redman school of MCs — he doesn’t take himself too seriously.

I was looking forward to his project.

When it became available for download, I paid his Bandcamp, added it to my phone, and drove to my job in Stamford. I ain’t skip one song. Greater than that, I recommended his project to my brothers Devon and Corey that night. They downloaded it too.

Next day, they thanked me.

Michael Christmas is funny, no doubt, but he can rap his ass off. He changes flows, has endless pop references, similes and metaphors, and knows how to pick the right beats.

For two months, podcasts and everything else took a backseat to Is it Art? but the reign of that album was cut short by the arrival of my youngest son. I got me three months Paternity leave where I listened to nothing but his cooing and cries.

But I been checking for Michael Christmas every since. He’s not as prolific as he once was but in the absence of new music, if I’m not in the mood for Baggy Eyes, Lady Parts, or What a Weird Day, I can always return to Is it Art?

I fucks with Michael Christmas…and I’ve even become intrigued by the Celtics. Damnit, Brad Stevens. Damnit, Jayson Tatum. Damnit, Michael Christmas. Damnit, maturity.