While knee-jerk reactions about fucking with a classic will cause an internet fanboy apocalypse, the controversy/curiosity will result in much wanted attention and boatloads of money for an industry that doesn’t generate enough of either. For those that are offended by this project, the solution is simple: DON’T BUY IT. For those that feel this will sully the original: DON’T READ IT. I have a friend who every time he watches the movie Heat [SPOILER ALERT, THOUGH IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN HEAT YET, ALLOW ME THIS OPPORTUNITY TO REQUEST THAT YOU EAT SOME SHIT] stops it before DeNiro gets killed, because he wants him to get away and has convinced himself that’s where the movie ends. Weird as fuck? Yes! Does it provide him with a more pleasant existence? Yes! Ignore this comic if you’re not feelin’ it. Let your money do the talking instead of your keyboard. DC doesn’t give a shit what mom basements the world over think about this.

On The One Hand: Godfather II. On The Other Hand: Phantom Menace…

Me? I may be setting myself up for disappointment, and maybe I’ll get fuckin’ Jar Jar Binks and Jake Lloyd and 'I'm a person and my name is Anakin!' and all that shit.»  Or maybe I’ll get Pacino and De Niro, and flashbacks to young Vito Corleone’s revenge on Black Hand gangster Fanucci, and “I knew it was you, Fredo.”

Train wreck money grab or masterpiece sequel, either way? These books are gonna be some sexy motherfuckers! Just LOOK at the creative teams below…

BEFORE WATCHMEN

RORSCHACH (4 issues) – Writer: Brian Azzarello. Artist: Lee Bermejo

MINUTEMEN (6 issues) – Writer/Artist: Darwyn Cooke

COMEDIAN (6 issues) – Writer: Brian Azzarello. Artist: J.G. Jones

DR. MANHATTAN (4 issues) – Writer: J. Michael Straczynski. Artist: Adam Hughes

NITE OWL (4 issues) – Writer: J. Michael Straczynski. Artists: Andy and Joe Kubert

OZYMANDIAS (6 issues) – Writer: Len Wein. Artist: Jae Lee

SILK SPECTRE (4 issues) – Writer: Darwyn Cooke. Artist: Amanda Conner

Each week, a new issue will be released, and will feature a two-page back-up story called CURSE OF THE CRIMSON CORSAIR, written by original series editor Len Wein and with art by original series colorist John Higgins. There will also be a single issue, BEFORE WATCHMEN: EPILOGUE, featuring the work of various writers and artists, and a CRIMSON CORSAIR story by Wein and Higgins.

Darwyn Cooke! J.G. Jones! Jae Lee! Lee Bermejo! TWO motherfuckin’ Kuberts!!! Sheeee-it, son!! Even Micro-nuts himself, Ian, is bound to be down with Cooke, Amanda Conner and Adam Hughes on board!

I’m in, DC. Don’t fuck it up. EVERYBODY’S Watching…

– Nuv

TODAY: THE ARTIST, ALBUM & SONG OF THE YEAR!

*DISQUALIFIED*

Before it came out, most people would’ve guessed this would’ve been my Album of the Year, myself included. I was pumped for Yelawolf’s major label debut even before the first single was released, and when it finally was, Hard White (Up In The Club) met and exceeded those high hopes. And then, finally: the album! I started listening and breathed a sigh of relief when Yela fucking killed it on the intro track, and the second track began promisingly enough too. I have to say, I love the half that’s just Yela rapping. Partway through track 2, I met the other half of the album: sub-par guests. Overly saccharine chick-sung choruses. Rappers that can’t keep up. Weak songs built around the few rappers that can. This album is fucking Two-Face. Flip a coin, Radioactive. Pick a side. Half an album can’t qualify for Album of the Year, even if it’s by my current favourite rapper.

ARTIST / ALBUM / SONG OF THE YEAR

Believe the hype: Black Hippy are the second coming of N.W.A. that The Game was supposed to be, putting Cali back on the Hip Hop map with the THUNDER! The Hoover Crip, ScHoolBoy Q. The self-described Black Lip Bastard, Ab-Soul. The back-flipping Blood Jay Rock. And, standing front and center, Compton’s own Kendrick Lamar, crowned the Prince of the West Coast by no less than Dre and Snoop.

I’d like to revise that coronation and declare Kendrick the new King. He has yet to lose a step, Crip-walking the tightrope between rapper and gangster, wearin’ a backpack. His inkpen paves a path through the ghetto that he hopscotches, poignant to poisonous from one bar to the next. He’s even-keeled on the delivery, letting his words be the aggressors. Keep it real?! He’s REAL real! No pretense, no bullshit. No flashy wardrobe – he’d rather rock a black hoodie. No fake persona – he doesn’t even have a “rap name,” using his real one instead. Naw, what he’s got is stories. Scathing social commentary. And SONGS! Songs with slithering, serpentine verses that come full circle and eat their own tail. Hooks that really HOOK, and lines that reel ‘em in every time.

And his album? Fuck, man, Section.80 is the shee-eye-it! No other record got more play by me this last year. The 80 in the title refers to the 1980s that he was a product of and the same period provides much of the subject matter (crack), mood (Cold War paranoia) and inspiration (hometown heroes N.W.A.). From opener Fuck Your Ethnicity to the last track, HiiiPoWeR, the album maintains a lush, cohesive feel and demands a listen straight through, impressive in this iTunes-made era of no attention span, a la carte, Choose Your Own Adventure-style of listening. Not to say that there aren’t high points though. In trying to choose my favourite track off the album, well, I straight up failed. I narrowed it to three. Maybe you can help me choose…

Do I go with the anthem? The RZA-produced Ronald Reagan Era, an ode to the various Bloods, Crips and other nogoodniks that populate his neighbourhood, BANGS, in all senses of the word. Gimme a “Whoopty-whoop, whoopty-whoop-whoop” if that’s your vote.

Or maybe I should go with my first love off this album? The song that flexes all of Kendricks MCing muscles, Rigamortis? The one that has him, over a fucking killer horn loop, slowly building from his natural, laid back delivery to the lesson-in-breath-control, words-pressed-against-each-other, hyper speed frenzy he reaches by song’s end. That’s how you rap, right there, dammit!

But, naw, Hol’ Up! I think I gotta go with A.D.H.D. The song’s narrative takes us through a party, masquerading as a boy-meets-girl tale and an ode to getting fucked up on drugs and alcohol, sneaking in theories on 80s kids and the connection to short attention spans, apathy, over-medicatication and tolerance to intoxicants, AND THEN, finally, reveals itself the theme song for Generation Y. (Whew!) Do the knowledge: A.D.H.D. is crazy! It’s probably his most important song and definitely his masterpiece. Plus: it says “Fuck that!” a lot. Fuckin’ swear words, yeah!!

“Now, everybody put three fingers in the air.” Song of the Year. Album of the Year. Artist of the Year. He’s a motherfuckin’ triple threat! He’s the motherfuckin’ truth! The voice of THIS generation. Kendrick is his name, and the boy’s comin’ Straight Outta Compton. (Damn, it feels good to be able to say that again – FOR REAL – for the first time since 1989.)

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, and fuck the police, I’M OUT!

– Nuv

OK! I’M RELOADED…

Danny Brown – XXX
Action Bronson – Dr. Lecter
Black Keys – El Camino
Ty Segall – Goodbye Bread
The Throne – Watch The Throne
Raphael Saadiq – Stone Rollin’
Asher Roth – Pabst & Jazz
Girls – Father, Son, Holy Ghost
The Strange Boys – Live Music LP
& introducing…
Hanni El Khatib – Will The Guns Come Out “He describes his songs as being for anyone that’s ever been shot or hit by a train.” AND he’s a half-pak! How could I not love this?! (Best tracks: Dead Wrong • You Rascal You)

EPs OF THE YEAR
Black Milk & Danny Brown – Black & Brown EP
Bad Meets Evil – Hell: The Sequel EP
The Sheepdogs – Five Easy Pieces EP

SOUNDTRACKS OF THE YEAR
Cliff Martinez – Drive OST
Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross – The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo OST
The Chemical Brothers – Hanna OST

*that aren’t on any of the above albums

Das Racist – Michael Jackson
Tyler The Creator – Yonkers
M83 – Midnight City
Cults - Go Outside
Yelawolf – Gangsta of Love
Lloyd (Feat. Andre 3000) – Dedication To My Ex (Miss That)
SBTRKT (Feat. Drake & Yukimi Nagano of Little Dragon) – Wildfire (Remix)
Drake – Dreams Money Can Buy
Saigon – Preacher
Pusha T – My God
ScHoolBoy Q – Kamikaze
Saigon – The Invitation (Feat. Q-Tip)
Lil Wayne – Six Foot Seven Foot (Featuring Cory Gunz)
XV - U.F.C. (U Fuckin’ Crazy)
Get Busy Committee - Chains
Action Bronson & Statik Selektah – Keep Off The Grass
XV – SmallVille
Get Busy Committee – Opening Ceremony
Mad Child – Hangin’ On By A Thread
Danny Brown & Joker - Head For Free
The Pack A.D. - Sirens
Frank Ocean – Novacane
Foster The People – Pumped Up Kicks (Butch Clancy Remix)

BATTLE OF THE YEAR
Tyler The Creator vs. B.o.B. – Yonkers • No Future

2011 was the year of so many almost beefs that were defused before they ever really began (Yelawolf vs MGK, quickly defused by an MGK apology; Royce vs Canibus, never made it from Twitter to wax) and one that’s been one-sided so far (Common vs the yet-to-respond Drake in Sweet). Thankfully one beef crossed over into actual battle territory. After Tyler’s throwaway diss in the bonkers Yonkers (”I’ll crash that fuckin’ Airplane that that f****t n***a Bob is in”) B.o.B. came back (hard) at Tyler and the whole Odd Future crew on No Future. A diss song in the mold of the classics: simple, scathingly clever, condescending and cocky. You can say what you want about his pop-ass singles, but between this and his showing at the BET Cyphers, nobody can question his skills. I would say he got both the last word and the last laugh.

Winner: B.o.B.

LIVE SHOW OF THE YEAR ALL TIME

‘Fuck else would it be?!?

MUSIC MOMENT OF THE YEAR
Shady 2.0 Cypher at The BET Hip Hop Awards
Shady Records really made all of 2011 one big music moment. The signings of Slaughterhouse and Yelawolf. Eminem & Royce Da 5′9″ reuniting to rap better than ____________ (fill in the blank with ANYBODY!) on the long-promised Bad Meets Evil EP everyone had been asking for since ‘99. 2.0 Boys. Yelawolf killing it on every appearance (live and recorded). And finally, closing out the year with a Michael Bay-ass bang at the BET Hip Hop Awards with the cypher to end APOCALYPSE all cyphers! (Nouns as verbs, what up?) Yela kicks in the door for Slaughterhouse. And then Royce’s “Hi Rihanna” shit blows up the internet. And then. AND THEN! Eminem. God. Damn. Verse of the year. Easy. Best verse of the ANY Cypher. And it’s probably gonna stay up there at the top for a loooong time. Unless Em shows up at BET again next year. At this point, the only one that can beat him is, well, him.

“WHAT. GOES. UP. MUST. COME. DOWN. (BUT NOT ME CLOWN!)”
TWO separate motherfuckers sampled two separate Lords of the Underground tracks this year. This immediately shows a depth of hip hop knowledge in these two young bucks, and also immediately takes me back to junior high with a nostalgia that can only result in feeling old when it wears off. I mean, these kids are sampling shit from when I was still in a single-digit grade like they’re oldies! Makes a motherfucker feel like Nick Nolte looks, ya know? Aw hell, Chewbacca, at least they’re both Dope. Anyway, the first song to call out the Lords name in vain is Thurz’ Los Angeles, which samples Funky Child (Actually, more accurately, it samples the same song Funky Child scooped and looped its horns from) and the second song, Joe Cool’s F’N Cool samples Chief Rocka. Both Child and Chief used to rock in the Walkman (yeah motherfucker: tapes!) all through Grade 9. Cuttin’ class and smokin’ grass. All-purple Cross Colors outfit, out back of the gym. Hand up mo’ skirts than a puppeteer. You know what’s F’N Cool? Me! But you know what’s also F’N Cool? Fingerbanging!

BIGGEST MISSED OPPORTUNITY
“This is a story all about how / my life got flipped, turned upside down.” At a Christmas party with a karaoke machine, I was out of the room when the rest of the party got together and did a group sing-a-long of THE FUCKING FRESH PRINCE OF BEL AIR THEME SONG WITHOUT ME!! I don’t even like karaoke but I was born to do that shit! I know every word to the fucking extended version that only aired with the pilot and like one or two other episodes!! I may spend the entirety of 2012, fists raised to the heavens screaming FUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!

Fuck! Alright, time to Jazz myself out the door. Yo Holmes, to Bel Air…

– Nuv

TOMORROW: THE #1 ARTIST OF THE YEAR, ALBUM OF THE YEAR AND SONG OF THE YEAR!

Nuv: I commissioned Romita Jr. to do ten prints of you getting kill-fucked by the shit-monster from Weird Science (aka Bill Paxton) your mom (aka Bill Paxton). They’re being hung up on your wall high enough so you can’t reach them (6″ off the ground) as we speak.

Ian: Ian intro (done) Nuv wasting time and air (yep) and: Let’s do this!

Arthur “Art” Adams – Scarlet Witch

Ian: With an ever-changing sense of design, Art Adams has been an innovator in the comics industry since the mid-eighties. While a lot of his contemporaries (Rob Liefeld, Erik Larsen, etc.) fell into the trap of sticking to the ridiculously outdated look of the 1990’s, Adams paid tribute to pin-up artists of the past while pioneering his own style and producing some of the most beautiful cover work in comics today. Case in point, Wanda’s extraordinary rack from the cover of Avengers: The Children’s Crusade No. 3. Yowza!

Stanley “Artgerm” Lau – Mina Harker

Ian: According to Artgerm’s deviantArt, he did this sketch of Mina Harker (from League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) at five in the morning in 45 minutes. If that doesn’t blow your mind, nothing will. Also, Mina Harker is my second-favourite character in Alan Moore’s best work (coming in just behind Captain Nemo). What do you got to say about that, Nuv “Pubegerm” Takhar?

Nuv: Nothing much. I won’t mention that a LOT of characters cum in just behind you. No need. My next choice will piss you off on enough levels all by itself…

Frank Quitely – Alan Moore

Nuv: The weird Wiccan writer responsible for arguably the greatest works in the medium, (Watchmen, The Killing Joke, his beard) as depicted by one of the most consistently original, amazing and innovative artists in the medium. From his unique figures to his detailed structures to the interesting framing and masterful pacing of his panel-to-panel storytelling, Frank Quitely is quite frankly 14,000 times the man Ian will ever be. And that’s just in height!

Chris Samnee – Daredevil

Ian: I love Chris Samnee and I love Daredevil and I hate Nuv, and therefore I love this picture. BOOM! DESCRIPTION DONE! In all seriousness though, no one working in the industry can touch what Chris Samnee can do with two-tone, two-dimensional images. Everything he draws is visually unique and this piece (a commission, I think) is no exception.

Cliff Chiang – Felicia Book

Ian: Cliff Chiang’s variant cover for American Vampire: Survival of the Fittest No. 1 is the kind of thing that gets fanboys in a lot of trouble. Generally I steer clear of variants, but this is the kind of image that’ll send a man trolling eBay like he’s Nuv in a tranny shop, and spending more money than he should. And it doesn’t help that vampire hunter Felicia Book is possibly the best character in the whole series.

Cliff Chiang – The DC Runaways

Nuv: “Hello Daddy, Hello Mom!” Cliff reimagines some of DC’s super heroines as the teen-rebel girl group, The Runaways. Also rad? He gets to draw one of them (Wonder Woman) monthly in her ongoing series. It’s less 70s, but no less bad-ass. Cherry!

Rafael Albuquerque – American Vampire 1955

Nuv: The first Rafael on this list, but not the last! Albuquerque’s been a BEAST on AV from day one, but my love of the 1950s made these two covers grab a stake and carve a special place in my heart. Stay gold, Rafael, stay gold.

Darwyn Cooke – Sue Storm

Ian: It probably took Darwyn Cooke less than five minutes to complete this convention sketch, but if he had one, I’d probably give Nuv’s left nut to own it. So that’s how THAT goes.

Francis Manapul – Wonder Woman

Ian: I already wish Manapul was on a book that I cared about and this image just makes it all the worse. As much as I love his art on The Flash, I care about the character about as much as I care about Nuv (not at all) and I’d much rather see him working on something else. For example, how does a guy draw a Wonder Woman pin-up THIS AMAZING and not get handed that book outright?

Nuv: Uhh, ’cause Cliff Chiang’s already killing it on that book. And ’cause Flash is consistently amazing with Manapul at the helm. I think the real question is: how do some people look directly at you without puking outright?!

Ian: Spoken like a true dickhead, Nuv. Touché.

Dustin Harbin – Tyrannosaurus Bats!

Nuv: I purchased Harbin’s “Behold! The Dinosaurs!” for my daughter’s bedroom, and this is the first print that’s gonna go up on my next kid’s wall. Harbin’s art gives me the same feeling I used to get reading Calvin & Hobbes. Spiff!

Andrew Hou – Wolverine

Nuv: Shee-it, we got mo’ dinosaurs than a MU’FUCKER ’round here, pa’tner! This shit is crack to anyone who used to be a 5 year old boy. And choosing to just show the before and after, leaving the actual battle to the imagination? Well played, Andrew!

Henrik Sahlstrom – Lobster Johnson

Ian: Who in the hell is Henrik Sahlstrom? I don’t know either but I hope he makes the CEO’s from Marvel, DC, Dark Horse and Image fist-fight each other to secure his services.

JC Richard – Fortress of Solitude

Nuv: A classy widescreen presentation of Superman’s home in the North Pole, with a barely perceptible red, blue and yellow streak flying off in the upper right corner. Fool them adult motherfuckers with this tasteful, minimalist painting, a grown-up way to display your childish tastes.

Ian: Your mom’s a widescreen presentation.

Jock – Hanna Promo Posters

Ian: I’ve never been very impressed with Jock as an interior artist, but his covers are consistently amazing and so, it would seem, is his corporate ad-work. I loved the movie Hanna, and when I saw that Jock had done a series of Hanna-inspired promo posters, well, like I wish Nuv would do next time he’s near a window, I flipped right out. Great stuff!

Nuv: Nobody’s ever been very impressed with Ian’s jock.

Dan McDaid – Michael Jackson

Nuv: The funk of forty thousand years, bitches! I did a fuckin’ high kick just like Michael when I first laid eyes on this pop masterpiece. (Too bad Ian wasn’t standing in for the other lead in this piece.) McDaid is the correct answer to the question “Who’s Bad?!”

Eric Canete – Luke Cage

Nuv: Sweet Christmas! Ian lost a bet and had to be nice to me for a week. It happened to be a week where he would be attending a comic convention that the inimitable Eric Canete was also attending. BOOM: signed print of Luke Cage fighting three tigers like a BOSS. Paid for by Ian. Enjoyed by Nuv.

Phil Noto – Jean Grey

Ian: Phil Noto is a modern great. Every comic book cover (and interior) he does is extraordinary and I’d honestly buy just about anything he put pencil to. He also maintains two awesome Tumblr pages (1 and 2) where he regularly posts new images that will inspire you to either a) become a better artist or b) quit drawing forever. Why? Because Phil Noto is the king.

Phil Noto – Super(Mad)Man

Nuv: Noto does indeed wield his pencil with an iron fist. I’ve always dug this pic, portraying Mad Men’s Jon Hamm as a commanding, stern-but-just Man of Steel. Anyone who’s heard this dream casting call (including Noto, apparently) agrees that it’s a perfect fit. Like Ian’s mouth and peens.

Ian: And like Nuv’s neck and a noose.

Sam Wolfe Connelly – Nightcrawler

Ian: Sam Wolfe Connelly has a style that will immediately remind you of James Jean and Joao Ruas. You guys, I’m talking about gorgeous graphite and digital colour works! He also has a habit of using Marvel characters as his subjects, which pretty much makes him a genius. Love this Nightcrawler? I knew you would! For more examples, check out his Captain America and Wolverine pieces! Holy smokes!

Rafael Grampa – Batman

Ian: Rafael #2! His last name is fuckin’ GRAMPA! And like most Grampas everything he does is tougher than anything you’ll EVER do. Now get off his damn lawn! Damn kids.

Kagan McLeod – The History of Hip Hop

Nuv: Kagan not only put together the tome of amazingness that is infinite Kung Fu, he not only illustrated a flyer for the Toronto Ghostface Killer show last year that belongs in a fucking museum, he not only seduced your woman with his pen and slapped your little brother with his deadly art hand, he also constructed THE GREATEST POSTER OF ALL TIME! The History of Hip Hop is exactly that: edutainment in the form of the headshots of 469 (!!!) rap icons on one side, facts and recommended listening for every one of ‘em on the reverse, and supreme quality to match the sheer quantity. It ACTUALLY might be bigger than Hip Hop, word to Dead Prez! Kagan was nice enough to sell me a few (so I could frame both sides) AND he even threw in a few extra for YOU crumbs, just ’cause he’s Nicer than Pete! You want one? Here’s how…

All you gotta do is comment below with your own hip hop history. Tell us who the first rapper you remember hearing was, and the one song of theirs you recommend. The first three mofos to do so, WIN THE POSTER FREE OF CHARGE*. Ready, set, SKIP IAN’S PARAGRAPH!
*shipping not included

Ian: Well that’s it for now! But don’t worry folks, my folder of awesome comic book art is huge and my predilection for not writing real articles in a timely manner will ensure that we’ll have plenty more art shows as the year goes on. Think of it as the Review 2 a Kill equivalent of a sitcom clip-show. Except, you know, not sucky to the max.

Put two in the air!

– Ian

Y’all know what the fuck I’m talking’ bout. “The Kid” behind The Revolution. The man behind The New Power Generation. That “skinny motherfucker with the high voice.” Y’know, Ol' Wolfman-Nards himself» PRINCE!!

Motherfuckin’ Prince Rogers Nelson at motherfuckin’ Rogers Arena right here in motherfuckin’ Vancouver!! An occasion worthy of a 5 “fuck” paragraph, no question. And if you happened to look down at this review and thought it looks awfully long, well don’t worry, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that phrase. And my response in both cases: “Sit back, relax and trust me, baby. I know it looks like a lot to take in, but if you can handle it, you’re in for a hell of a ride.” Alright, I’ve been waiting for this almost my whole life. No more waiting. Let’s do this…

“I Was Dreamin’ When I Wrote This…”

The anticipation was killing me! I’m usually (fashionably) late for shit, but this night I made sure we were early. Now, I’m not really a “hurry up and wait” kinda guy, so once we got there, I had no clue what to do with myself. I’m Nuv. I don’t get excited for shit! I just pokerface it up. Cool, calm, collected. Even keel. Stern, but fair. Here we are, but… what now? Well, a watched pot never blah blah, so after checking out the stage (more on that later) and finding our seats (ditto), we decided to take a walk around to gather beer and attempt to decipher the imagery on the merchandise.»

I didn’t wanna miss a second of this though, so we made haste back to our AMAZING/EXPENSIVE seats, Row 3, to the curly-stem side of the Love Symbol stage.» Within moments I knew without a doubt that subtlety would reign supreme this night. Lightning began to flicker across the screens surrounding the stage. A disembodied voice came from nowhere» : “Vancouver! are you ready? I wanna HEAR YOU!!” I worried for a second. If Van City didn’t respond to his liking would he flip us the bird, do the splits and split?! Naw! Our roar sounded the trumpets for His Royal Badness’ coronation and Rogers Arena SHOOK! Oh, and we shook something loose from the stage: Prince himself, rising up through the damn stage to be greeted by huge plumes of smoke and ALL OF THE CONFETTI IN THE WORLD!!!!»

“The Sky Was All Purple…”

As the gold and purple rain blanketed/infiltrated us (RIP Miss Teen USSR’s eye), Prince kicked off his set with Gold and… PURPLE RAIN?! Sheeeee-it, opening with your closer?!! That’s ballsy! Both songs whipped an already frenzied crowd into just straight-up rabies. By the time we got to the incendiary guitar solo and the “Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo” sing along part of Rain, it was like someone slipped everyone E. A lot of touching, ranging from scrunch-faced high-fives and one-handed-dap-man-hugs’ to heavy petting and straight up dry-humping and shit. Even I was dancing a rapidly-moistening-from-the-excitement hole in the floor. (Probably not the only hole in the building to take this course of action.) In fact, everybody as far as I could see was on their feet for the whole show, and I think the only purpose those seats served was a barrier to keep everyone from just up and fucking the person in front of them. Meanwhile Prince was fucking» our minds through our ears! (How has he not put out an album called Aural Sex?) I was taking it all in when I wondered aloud “what the hell is he gonna follow Purple Rain with?” Cue: Let’s Go Crazy! And cue every motherfucker up in that motherfucker doing exactly what the song suggests. Note: this is already the best show I’ve ever seen, and we are only THREE SONGS IN.

“Ain’t Nuttin’ But A Muffin, And We Got A Lotta Butter To Go…”

The setlist was ree. Diculous. Now let me just say, with a catalogue as deep as Prince’s there was no way he was gonna be able to squeeze it all in. I didn’t get to hear Erotic City, Little Red Corvette, Sexy Motherfucker, 7, or ANY of the Batman soundtrack. So why am I not more disappointed? Well, you tell me, if you got to hear Prince perform:

Delirious/Let’s Go Crazy (Reprise)/1999, Shhh (this song is single-handedly responsible for any pregnancies that happened that night), Mountains, a medley of Come Together / Everyday People / Long Train Runnin’ (ehh, just amazing covers of my favourite Beatles, Sly & The Family Stone and Doobie Brothers songs, respectively, no big whoop), Alphabet St. (thankfully the only song chosen off the album with the creepiest cover of them all, Lovesexy, is also THE RADDEST) Angel (I’d like to thank Sarah McLachlan for providing Prince a one song respite; long enough to showcase his backup singer, and for me to piss, get more beer and not listen to this audio equivalent of a chick wiping forward), Controversy (the LP version is one of the best in Prince’s catalogue and the stripped-down, dark electro-funk fuckery of the live version, with a snippet of the monstrous Housequake tossed into the middle of the song, is equally BANGIN’), a cover of the Ohio Players’ Love Rollercoaster, Take Me With U, Raspberry Beret , Cream, Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough (Prince’s way of saying RIP to MJ; Shamone!), and Cool (whew!)

…would you be disappointed? If the answer is anything other than “Fuck naw, Nuv! That shit sounds mo’ proper than a mu’fucker!!” please kill yourself.

“I’m Here To Tell Ya, There’s Something Else: The Afterworld…”

That’s a pretty complete concert, no? NO! It’s the encore, sons! Prince came back on pretty quickly after the set ‘ended’ and brought the house down with a masterful rendition of his gender-bender, mindtrip of a song, If I Was Your Girlfriend. And then, despite joking that he couldn’t possibly continue, ’cause he “ain’t got no mo’ hits,” that lying-ass motherfucker hit us with THE hit: Kiss. Ever heard a deep-voiced, terrorist-bearded paki sing fuckin’ champion falsetto like a bee-itch? ‘Cause anyone sitting anywhere near me during that song sure-as-fuck did! To finish off he did a spine-tingling version of a song I don’t even like, that most people don’t even know was his: Nothing Compares 2 U. Sinead O’Connor, eat your pope-hat!

That’s a pretty complete concert, right? NEVER! ENCORE #2, MOTHERBITCHES! They did their best to convince us otherwise. The house lights came on, sound guys left their stations, and a sizeable chunk of the crowd bounced, but we was like “naw!” After about 15 minutes he returned, rockin’ a damn doo-rag like he was Math Haddow, and proceeded to rip through a slammin’ drum and synth-heavy sampler set with snippets of The Dance Electric (instrumental – a song Prince wrote for André Cymone, a bassist that was in a pre-Revolution band with Prince and Morris Day), Hot Thing (one of my favourites from the more obscure portion of his catalogue thanks to parent-hating lyrics like “Hot Thing, barely 21…. give your folks a call… tell ‘em you’re comin’ home late if you’re comin’ home at all”), When Doves Cry (his signature song got a reaction matched only by Kiss, and that was when the whole crowd was still there), Nasty Girl (instrumental – from an all-girl Prince side project called Vanity 6, referring to the amount of tits amongst the 3 members; side-note: he originally wanted to name the front-woman Vagina rather than Vanity, naturally), Sign O’ The Times (social commentary/80s time capsule, featuring such uplifting imagery as exploding space shuttles and AIDS), Darling Nikki (instrumental – the most we were gonna get outta ol’ Churchmouth on this one, to Tipper’s delight), Shockadelica, The Most Beautiful Girl In The World (…tumbleweed…),and finally, Dance (Disco Heat) (a cover of A, oops pardon me, THE ONLY, Sylvester song), smack-dab in the middle of the 1-2 punch that closed out the show perfectly, the siamese twin songs that plays over the credits in Purple Rain: I Would Die 4 U / Baby I’m A Star. Tip the mic stand, drop the guitar, and POOF. Vamoose, son of a bitch.

THAT’S a pretty complete concert!

“I Guess I Should’ve Known By The Way You Parked Your Car Sideways This Wouldn’t Last…”

Happy Ending:
And, just like that, 2.5 hours (and 400,000 high-fives across time from 5 year old-Nuv) later, it was done. The epicenter of an epic December, and easily the best show of 2011. And 2010. And, well, all the years before that. You might say I’m biased. This is true. This is my favourite artist of all time, and I know his catalogue inside and out. Barring Prince calling me on stage and kicking my dick off or something, there was almost no chance I wouldn’t have loved it. But don’t just take my word for it. Everyone I was with agreed wholeheartedly. Even Douche Bandicoot himself, and he wasn’t a fan AT ALL before the show. Anyway, for me? Bias, schmias. The Kid was in rare form. At 53, Prince still moves, sings and guitar-faces like he’s in his prime. This was the best show I’ve seen as far as showmanship. As far as musicianship. Crowd control. Setlist. Timing. Length. Money’s worth. Top to bottom, 10/10. The only possible way it could’ve been better is if Morris Day and The Time had opened for them. Know this: I (and 5 year old-Nuv) will remember December 16, 2011 fondly. Forever and a day and shit. BUT…

Darkly Ambiguous Ending:
…I’m kind of afraid it’s the best show I’ll ever see. Unfortunately the next night did nothing to reassure me otherwise. Jay-Z and Kanye West, two of the biggest names in rap, killed it (for the most part), and I was underwhelmed. Is that it? Have I been ruined forever? Is this gonna be like acid, where you’re always chasing the feeling of that first glorious hit, knowing you’ll never find it or even really come close? Was that as good as it will EVER get? Was 2011 my concert-going 1999? Mommy? Why does everybody have a bomb?

Party over, oops, out of time.

– Nuv

You Are Now Watchin’ The Throne. Don’t Let Them Get In Their Zone.

The show was appropriately epic, with grand spectacle manifesting in the stages and smoke and screens and moving setpieces. And, of course, the setlist. No surprise it was MONSTROUS, delivered by two veterans at the top of their game and bringing out the biggest and best, (and more importantly, as witnessed in the Spike Jonze-directed Otis video, the FUN) in each other. The show itself began on a high note, with Kanye on one stage and Jay-Z on the other, directly in front of us. And then the stages raised up. Level with us, and then higher still. Images flickered across the sides of the elevated cubes, atop which stood two musical giants.

They spent the night bouncing off each other, passing the baton so each could run through some of their classic solo songs and coming together like Devastator for tracks off their inaugural collaborative effort, Watch The Throne. Which is exactly what we did. Diamonds in the sky ‘cause we felt the vibe, for hit after hit after hit…

…and there were a lot of hits.

BUT.

There were three major strikes.

First (and worst) was the mob of drunk fuckfaces. This one actually has two sub-sections. Before and during.

Strike 1a.

Before the show some dicks from Manitoba were trying to claim that our seats were theirs to poor Miss Teen USSR and the homey Chris, both being much nicer than they needed to be. They turned around to see me (Jay “Manslaughter” Haddow at my back), got in my face and… apologized? Apparently someone eventually grabbed and read these illiterate shitheads’ tickets and told them where they were actually sitting, and off they went. Hmm. Okay. Ended up being more of a foul ball than a straight up strike, but whatever.

Strike 1b.

During the show there was a weird little gnome with a too-small neck-scarf-bib and the most punchable features ever shat onto a face one row ahead of us. And his row of friends one row behind us. And he spent. The. Whole. Fucking. Show. Turned around and rapping at them. And bumping us with flailing, limp-wristed rap-hand. And blinding us with his cameraphone flash. (Counter attack: chop to the limp wrist, results in flying phone and return of eyesight.) And climbing into our row to get in their row. And apology relay between this drunk cunt and his not even-pretty-in-the-strobelight girl friends. And on his way back to his row, BUMP! Beer on my hoodie…

Pause.

One FURIOUS exhale later, Taliban beard puffed out, activate ‘angry father/deadly serious murderer of neck-erchiefed douchebags’ voice and: “Hey. HEY. Fuckface. (Lean all the way in) Never again.” And so it was. Young Gargamel pranced over the row in front of him and back into the Massengill box from whence he came. And we went back to enjoying the show. And lemme tell you (again), Jay and ‘Ye were on goddamn point! Well, for the most part…

Strike 2.

Kanye’s 9 minute rendition of one of his bullshit 808s & Heartbreak songs (I make a bit of a dry-heave face every time the name of that pieceoshit album has to spew out of my mouth). I think it was called Heartless, which you must be, Mr. West, to make me listen to that sopping bucket of emo cumsock. Seriously. You were a genius pre-808s & Heart(gag)break, and a genius post-808s & Heart(blargh)break. Don’t take it too hard. You were grieving the loss of your mother and shit during the making of 808s and (PROJECTILE VOMIT EXORCIST STYLE FOR 20 MINUTES STRAIGHT!!!!)… moving on…

Strike 3 (THROUGH 11!!!!)

Niggas In Paris. Performed 1000 times in a row in place of an encore. Yeah. “????????” indeed. I’m exaggerating, but I wish I was joking altogether. Hey. Jay.‘Ye. YOU PLAYED N.I.P. 4 TIMES AT OUR SHOW AND 10 TIMES THE NEXT NIGHT AND DIDN’T EVEN PLAY WHY I LOVE YOU, MY FAVOURITE TRACK OFF OF WATCH THE THRONE, ONCE!!! What the fuck guys?! I love(d) N.I.P. from the first time I heard it. The spark was gone though around the fourth consecutive performance of it. Just… what?! I mean, twice, I get. You’re having fun, it’s a fan favourite, the crowd’s hot. But TEN TIMES?! That’s some MJ mental meltdown, bizarre burka/baby-out-the-window type shit! And this was not the first time this happened. Apparently the amount of times the song was performed kept increasing through the tour, Vancouver just had the ‘fortune’ of being where it reached critical mass. I mean, Rolling Stone did a fucking expose on the song and your strange behaviour. Like they were keeping tabs on a fucking epidemic or charting a natural disaster or watching Tom Cruise couch-jump for love and Level 7 Bio-Hubbard Alien Supremacy and shit. Ah, but I don’t need to tell you all this shit Jigga. It’s not like U Don’t Know. You say it yourself in the song, verse one: “Ball so hard, this shit weird.” You ain’t kiddin’, Hov. No matter how much I wish you were.

The Break’s Over

Look. I’m not tryin’ to throw rocks at the Roc or suggest you vacate The Throne. The album’s dope, your solo back catalogs are dope, the show is dope. You guys are dope. I just hope you don’t forget how you rose to power. By never standing still. Never repeating yourselves. Take cues from Kanye’s creativity, but take direction from Jay. Takeover. In fact, you should take inspiration from one of his songs in particular. Next time forget about Niggas In Paris and remember…

On To The Next One.

Tomorrow: MOTHERFUCKIN’ PRINCE!!!!!!!

– Nuv

December 1

The first of the month we posse’d up, crossed the border & I saw my first live NFL game! (That dullard Jay Haddow manages to string together something resembling words and describes the experience HERE.) The best part was that we were ourselves (drunk and fighting each other through the streets while A.T. the Bartender was flexing his supreme tact and impeccable taste via a ‘North American Pussy Crushers’ t-shirt and Jay’s twin – yeah, sorry to say, there are two of ‘em – rocked a damned do-rag!) and we didn’t get arrested or kicked out of the country! Sick-stravaganza!

December 25

Christmas was also retarded special needs! It was my daughter’s second, but really the first one where she wasn’t a blob of adorable nothingness. You know what that means! If you said “Miss Teen USSR forcing her to open presents big, coloured squares that don’t mean shit to her, through grit teeth, ’cause you will like Christmas dammit!” you would be correct! Although if you said “a mini purple armchair to match Pops’, mad blu-rays and dolls and books, a baby Ironhead hoodie from Uncle Piggy, a magnetic helicopter, a superhero-dinosaur backpack and matching mask, her first colouring book and crayons, a stylish apron, a Grover microphone, a talking treehouse full of crazy-ass Zoo creatures (no Haddow), a giant plush Super Mario coin box that makes the noises when you hit it with your domepiece, AND her name in motherfuckin’ Run DMC-typeface on a shirt!” we will also accept that answer. Stella be all like, “Gimme the loot, gimme the loot…”

December 26

Boxing Day was Fizjmas (don’t ask), the annual get-together between me and my stupid-ass circle of friends (whom I’ve been bound to by black magic and legally binding contracts since elementary school). I can’t say much about it. I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the EPIC events of that night. Uh, or I can’t remember anything past that shot of 151 I did out of the midgets. (No, you read that right. No apostrophe intended and that WAS the end of the sentence.) Choose your own adventure, folks! Either flip to the next paragraph or take my ass to the nearest STD test! Fizj!!

December 16 &17 (Featuring December 14)

And the shows! Sweet Andy Griffith, the shows!! I already talked about December 14th’s early evening visit with Ghostface Killah OF FUCKING WU-TANG CLAN (pardon the yelling).

And that was just the warm-up to the craziest back-to-back concert tag team EVER! Separated only by one night, and in the same venue no less! I’m talkin’ ’bout the one-two punch of the 16th and 17th: The Royal Weekend. Saturday night we would be watching The Throne. The dream team of two of the biggest titans in rap’s pantheon. Jay-Z & Kanye West.

And that ain’t even shit!

Friday night. Oh, motherfuck me, Friday night. Not a Friday night. THE Friday night! PRINCE, LIVE!?!! The one I’d been waiting for since I was 4! Ever since deciding purple was regal and declaring it my favourite colour. Since bumping Purple Rain on vinyl and wearing out 1999 on tape and tapping my feet in the theatre seat to his Batman Soundtrack. Since my mom finding out Apollonia’s titties got purified in the waters of ‘Lake Minnetonka’ in the film and mercilessly forbidding me to see it. (I had to wait a year or so until my brother was ‘babysitting’ me and get him to rent “that movie with the weird little gaylord” to occupy me while he ‘occupied’ his girlfriend downstairs.) Where all everyone else saw was the blouses and androgyny, I saw a hybrid of Hendrix, James Brown, Little Richard, Sly Stone… the list goes on forever. Point being, he wears his musical influences on his (frilly) sleeve and has the talent to, despite his diminutive stature, stand shoulder to shoulder with these musical giants. Don’t believe me?

HOW ‘BOUT NOW, LONGHAIRS?! The only thing better than his guitar wizardry is his guitar face! And that’s just the tip of the iceberg’s dick! Prince can (and does) play every instrument. One man band. Force of nature. Weirdo. He’ll kick your ass at basketball for breakfast and then serve you breakfast for dessert! So much creativity he had to create whole other acts to release it all (see: Vanity 6 / Apollonia 6, Tevin Campbell, Morris motherfuckin’ Day & The motherfuckin’ Time!) and gave away hit, career-making songs like they weren’t shit (see: The Bangles, Chaka Khan, Sheena Easton, pre-Pope-bashing Sinead O’Connor, etc.). Plus: no matter how many women’s clothing racks he raided he got ALL the pussy! (see: Kim Basinger, Carmen Electra, Madonna, Vanity, Apollonia.) And he even staked claim to the few chicks that didn’t get “the 7 inch in the computer” by stickin’ ‘em in his band (see: Sheila E, Wendy & Lisa). So diss his clothes all you want, tough guy. He’ll just be over there fucking your soulmate. In the soul. And then he’s gonna pose nude in a bed of flowers and pretend he’s finger-banging himself. No big whoop, Short Round!

So… how was it? Well…

I waited MY WHOLE LIFE for this show! The least you can do is wait 7 days, mu’fuckers!! Plus, that means it’ll be exactly one month to the day(s) from show to review. Which means, well, nothing, but it sounds like… destiny? Or something? Except I’m posting them on opposite days so… I DON’T KNOW. Shut up, already! Damn! Just come back in a week, mmm-kay? Monday: THE THRONE! Tuesday: PRINCE!! Today? PEEEAACE!!!

– Nuv

“Beat The Clock”

Things were running a little late, but the crowd remained in good spirits. The only sign of restlessness, the “Wu! Tang!” and “Ghost! Face!” chants that began breaking out about 10 minutes before he finally stormed the stage. To tell you the truth, Jay and I were okay with waiting, beers in hand and watching an adorable lesbian duo get freaky with each other within spitting distance. I mean, come on, if you’re telling me being buzzed by 8 PM and watching hot chicks play invisible Twister in nearly-invisible dresses DOESN’T appeal to you? Well, you’re basically also telling me that you’re a huge douche-lord. To each his own, but for me and the grotesque twin-ling that is my sidekick, this was shaping up to be a memorable night already…

“For Cryin’ Out Loud, My Style Is Wild…”

ANYWAYS, Ghost finally struck, no Tims, no black mask. Actually, considering he’s the flashiest motherfucker in Wu, it was a surprisingly no-frills affair. No championship belt, no flashy bathrobes, no giant gold eagle wrist-gauntlet thingy. Just him, his entourage (including Raekwon’s DJ Symphony, Trife, Sheek Louch and Killah Priest) and a truckload of his classic grimy, high intensity raps. Despite the potential chaos of a million mu’fuckers on stage and the shared spotlight, Ghost remained the eye of the storm. I always find myself wondering when rappers have large entourages, and allow them (or the crowd) to finish almost every line, if that’s laziness. At points of the show it felt like this would be the case, but Ghost laid that concern to rest a few songs in, when he ran through a couple of songs start to finish, spitting every line himself with perfect breath control. And that voice! Goddamn. So distinctive. His was the first voice I heard when I popped 36 Chambers into my Walkman for the first time way back in the day. And that perfectly violent, hyper voice is why he was the perfect one to lead off. Guess what? Live? He sounds JUST like he does on record! ODB put it best on Da Mystery of Chessboxin’, when he follows up his introduction of Ghostface Killah with “No One Could Get Illa!”

“Clan In Da Front”

I knew there was no way he could do every song of his I’d wanna hear (I’d still be there now) but he made a valiant attempt at it, touching on gems from both his solo and Wu-Tang catalogues, and even some of the other Wu members’ hits. His Ice Cream verse was dope. Of course, every 36 Chambers joint he ran through (including Ain’t Nuthing To Fuck Wit’ & C.R.E.A.M.) was awesome. Be Easy and Run were definite high points, as was the interlude where he invited some dudes up on stage and handed them the mic, challenging them to spit some classic Wu-Tang verses. I knew they’d pull it off before they even touched the mic. The whole crowd had been flawlessly rapping along to every verse, start to finish. I myself was rapping along as well, and nodding my head so hard that I finally understood why Wu had been warning us to Protect our Necks all this time. Speaking of head bobbing: the aforementioned writhing girls reached a boiling point just after that, and began groping each other and basically giving lap dances to whatever was behind them, be it pillar or person or extremely bearded East Indian dude. (’Wu-Tang’ rhymes with ‘poontang.’ Coincidence?) Needless to say, shit got real, sons!

“A N**** Gon’ Grow Titties Listenin’ To This Kinds A Shit”

This evening reminded me that one of my favourite things about Wu doesn’t even have anything to do with their music. Remember those hilarious skits on 36 Chambers? Meth and Raekwon bickering about a loaned movie like… well, like me and my stupid-ass friends? It felt REAL. These dudes actually knew each other outside of the booth, and had a history. Most importantly: they were FUNNY. And of all of them, I’ve always thought Ghost was the funniest. (Just peep out his Top 10 Softest Rappers article, and the Ghostface Valentine Card Collection. Or any post on his blog, for that matter. Hilarity will ensue…) Happy to report that’s still the case. In between songs, the banter with the crowd was rad. His slang has even the simplest sentences come out askew, whether rapping or just talking. He had a whole rant about wanting to crash on somebody’s floor after the show: “Fuck pillows! Just throw a towel on a n**** and I’m straight!” Only Ghost could talk about sticking a fork in your nuts and painting your ass while standing next to a large decorative snowflake and have the shit work. (’Ghostface’ rhymes with ’snowflakes.’ Coincidence?) And dude is as gracious as he is gangster. Even his thanks to the crowd at the end of the show was funny-style: “Thank you for allowing me to be in front of your face!”

No, Ghost. Thank you. Can I get a “Suuu!”?

– Nuv (Feat. Jay Haddow on the camera, son! Check it…)

Let’s be real here though. It’s not like I haven’t done this before! Anami now realizes that in order for him to be successful, I now have to be involved in all of his videos. Basically what I’m trying to say is, he wouldn’t be shit without me. LOCKED!

- Jay Haddow

Wednesday December 14th (*Early Show*) Fortune Sound, Cherchez La Femme & Native present Ghostface Killah live in concert with special guest Sheek from The Lox & DJ Cherchez. Doors at 7pm. Advance tickets are available online HERE and more event info HERE.

“When I stepped, I had on Tims and a black mask! Remember that shit?”

When I first heard Wu-Tang Clan’s Enter The 36 Chambers, my brain exploded. It basically combined everything I liked in one menacing package. Superheroes, kung fu/ninja shit, grimy-ass raps, unique and near-indecipherable slang, colourful characters. And there was like a million of ‘em, so every track felt like a posse cut. You had the hilariously crazy one (Ol’ Dirty Bastard), the leader (RZA), the brain (GZA), the fan favourite hook-master (Method Man), the slang-slinging storyteller (Chef Raekwon) and so on. I was already in love with the album and sitting at full attention by the time I got to track 6, Da Mystery Of Chessboxin’. I remember I was just looking at the album cover thinking how cool they looked in the uniform black hoodies and white masks and then ODB starts naming’ off the crew, ending off as epically as possible with “Introducing the Ghost. Face. KILLAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!”

When Ghost comes in, it’s definitely worthy of ODB’s build up. “Speakin’ of the devil (psych) no it’s the god, get ya shit right!” Just when I thought he couldn’t get any cooler, I eventually saw the video for the song and realized that this guy with the crazy-awesome voice and inhuman energy also had the gimmick (at least for the first album) of never taking off that mask I’d been admiring earlier. And that was the moment I chose my favourite member of Wu-Tang.

Now, just to immediately contradict my previous sentence, I’ll admit: my favourite member has changed from time to time in the near-two decades (!) since that album came out. (Come on, it’s like Sophie’s Choice and shit!) But back at the beginning? And right now? Ghostface. Easily. This is a guy so rad that Slick Rick himself basically passed the torch to him during the filming of Fade To Black, giving him a bunch of his ridiculous Mr.T-ass jewelry to rock on stage. If you’re still not sold, just look at some of this shit he’s adorned himself with! He’s got a fuckin’ giant EAGLE-HAWK BRACELET?! How can this motherfucker NOT be your favourite?

Anyways: you can do whatchya want, but come Dec 14th, I’mma be front and center, “sittin’ like a spiked bat” wearing my Adidas Ghostface jacket, 4000 necklaces, championship belts and bird bracelets, and listening to the god Ghost talkin’ bout fish and coke and bitches and peekaboo beans (?) and shit.
Do the knowledge, motherfuckers!

– Nuv