Christmas Gift Ideas

Nothing says Merry Xmas from hip hop like a fake gold rope chain. And because it's fake, you won't need to tuck it in like DJ Pooh.

GET IT FOR XMAS: Gold Rope Chain

 

A book about a washed up rapper. Read more about the read here.

GET IT FOR XMAS: J-Zone - Root For The Villain 

Nice little (literally) take on the deer head your uncle has in his home office. Colour the nose in and call it Rudolf.

GET IT FOR XMAS: Taxidermy Deer made from LEGO

 

Buy This Book

'Root For The Villain: Rap, Bullshit And A Celebration Of Failure'  by J-Zone

Press Release: Yawn. Another book from another musician. Let’s guess: He rose from the depths of hell with his talent and went big time. He changed the face of music and made millions. Yeah, a few drug addiction, arrest, and STD stories are sporadically sprinkled throughout for excitement and authenticity, but at the end of it all, he finished his ride a musical legend. He finally gave up dressing room groupies and nose candy; he currently resides with his wife and the children that aren’t illegitimate in Calabasas, CA.

[Insert snoring]

Who can really relate to that shit besides other successful musicians? My name is J-Zone. If you actually know who the hell I am, either you listen to way too much rap music, you’re a Tim Dog fan, or you stood outside my distributor’s warehouse the day my CDs and records were destroyed. I was on the hip-hop come-up, then I came down – hard. Splat. Some critical success, incessant praise from pop stars and hip-hop legends alike, and then…abysmal commercial failure. I did tours on Greyhound buses filled with wide-bodied, Jheri curled women and knife-wielding gang members. I witnessed my life-long passion for music dissolve in 12 hours and my final album sell a whopping 47 copies in its first month for sale. I left my little-known spot in a small, niche quadrant of the hip-hop world and joined my fellow overqualified stiffs with useless college degrees in the world of dead end jobs. For some sick reason, I find all of the above hilarious and have made an omelette out of any egg that wound up on my face.

I pin my cross-hairs on everyday bullsh*t just as accurately as I do the dysfunctional ways of the music biz. I ask the public at large questions like “Are men the new women?” and “Is going out on Friday night worth it when you’re a socially homeless man in a deceptively segregated New York City?” Chapters dedicated to cassette tapes, defunct record stores, the SP-1200 sampling drum machine, hip-hop recording studios of the 1990s, and overlooked rap artists like The Afros, Mob Style, and No Face all point to my fascination with the obscure. You may also enjoy this book if any of these eight statements speak to you:

Pay Phone Pimpin'

I'm sold.