Grad school is hard, y’all. The sabbaticals I take from posting are merely because life has changed in some meaningful way for me and there is a period of adjustment to which I succumb. Beginning grad school, being laid off, dealing with unemployment on a weekly basis because of systematic issues with the program, continuing to look for a job and realign my career in the meantime, and maintaining a wonderfully blossoming relationship after the rough ending of the previous one; it all adds up to one thing: Drake sings too much.

I went from criticizing Wayne because of his whiny, gargling, Auto-Tuned voice being everywhere and then was introduced to his Halloween mixtape last year and was turned around. Not so much as to say that he is one of my top 10 or anything, but I definitely have more respect for him than I previously did. Think what you will. That being said, I kind of liked Drake, only I didn’t know who he was when I liked him. I mean, he didn’t say his name as often in his verses. I got my hands on a couple of compilation albums and he was featured a couple of times on a song and I liked his flow. Then I heard some more buzz from him on my frequently visited music sites so I was happy to hear that he was getting some airplay.

Then his single dropped.

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Brenda, Larry, a firefly eating a marshmallow, The Death of Auto-Tune, MJ, McNair, Michael Bay’s racism, mannequins, time travel and Talib Kweli… I’ve had a lot going on lately.

Good evening, people. The above seemingly random mentionings are the amalgam of experiences I had over the last few weeks, in no particular order.

Between apartment hunting and questioning my (non)existing relationships, I met Brenda and Larry. At Cafe Laguardia in the Wicker Park area of Chicago, my brother and I, along with some of his friends, watched a woman with that “why did I come here with this fool” look on her face as she watched her man act up with the live band at the Cuban restaurant. We took note amongst ourselves her attitude, that she was either ready to leave or ready for her mate to calm his behavior down to a notch below “tomfoolery.”

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Party people, I hope all is well. Now, I am not one who is afraid of making fun of himself. In fact, if it gets so much as a smirk on someone else’s face, moderated self-deprecation actually blossoms pride in my midsection, sometimes in a visible glow. That being said, while going through some of my belongings that should have probably been destroyed eons ago, I came across a box full of tapes—yep, of the cassette variety. We’ll save the Betamax films that I still have access to for another entry, lest I digress (Fist of the North Star, Chinese Connection, 5 Deadly Venoms, et al).

My taste in music has progressed monumentally over time and I’m fully aware of the open-mindedness that I still currently lack. But the limitations I have now pale in comparison to the random acts of audio-sensory stimuli I subjected myself to during the ages of 10 to 15. Dear God. Only a few of these will bode well on a résumé that traces the heritage of my personal musical preferences during that time (late ’80s-early ’90s), while the rest will cause you to blush with shame due to your secret stash in the wall behind your Ultimate Warrior vs. The Undertaker poster (à la Shawshank) that also contains some of the following:

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Yes, I was privileged enough to be on the media team that was backstage during Foreign Exchange’s performance at the Double Door in Chicago on Friday night. It was amazing, people. And, it was an honor. There were so many more FE followers than I expected when I first arrived just a bit after 9pm. I know they are an amazing ensemble all together (YahZarah, Zo!, ELS, Darien Brockington were featured, Nicolay and Phonte as Foreign Exchange proper), but I think I just expected a more concentrated group of fans. I greatly underestimated the Chicago fanbase… and it felt SO refreshing to have done so. I love when a group as musically inclined as this gets the credit and support that they deserve.

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Beside the fact that a terribly unfair music industry allowed a certain entertainer (whose name I won’t mention but it rhymes with Foldger Toy) to be successful enough to think that he has a right to say Nas killed hip-hop, I think there is promise in the world of music again—at least in my small arena of knowledge and minuscule quantity of playlist variety. There is little more jaded than my outlook on what I consider to be good music; I’ve greatly expanded my horizons as I’ve gotten older, but there’s still something left to be said about what I listen to.

I love Common. I think it’s remarkable how far he’s come commercially (finally), given the talent that he possesses. But for every person that lifted a quizzical eyebrow at his Electric Circus album attempt, please note that the techno, experimental, otherworldly sound that so many artists are embracing today (see Kanye, Akon, Rihanna, et al.) and getting significant airplay is some of the same stuff that was on Common’s aforementioned album. Hard-rock guitar accompanies Jay-Z on “99 Problems” along with his collabs with Linkin Park and Coldplay. Is it really that much different from Common’s “Electric Wire Hustle Flower”?

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Common, Eminem, 88 Keys, Q-Tip, Jazzanova. I have gotten my hands on music from the likes of the aforementioned artists recently and have blissfully reorganized my playlist, titled Random Dope. Beats, lyricism, poetic prowess, intriguing album theme, instrumentation and nostalgia all play heavily into what I am most impressed by musically as of late. I managed to view on someone’s blog a live performance of a freestyle session with Mos, Nas, De La and will.i.am. A young man I knew when I was in high school (though he may or may not remember me), named Naledge, dropped an ill freestyle, “life is but a dream and waking up is the nightmare.” Yep. Sure did. And one.

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Yes, children, I have been shaking like a ragged, three-legged cur roaming the streets of Musicland hoping to find something into which sink my teeth. Yes, I know I haven’t been searching all THAT hard, however; part of that is the lack of money in my possession. My wallet laughs audibly when I withdraw (pun) it from my pocket fully intending to undergo a transaction that includes me walking away palming a new collection of music ready to be absorbed by my Zune. Sometimes I think I even hear the sound that accompanies the boxed red “X” that splashes across the television screens of Family Feud watchers.

Elzhi’s album dropped this past Tuesday and I enjoy that fella’s flow immensely. Just couldn’t cop it. However, I was able to, in its absence, get my hands on Saul Williams’ The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust for the low low price of a utilized gift certificate. I happen to be listening to it right now and there are beat-nasty snares and rowdy guitars that illuminate his already potent and glowing lyrics.

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Well, party people, I’m getting old. A few weekends ago I found myself writhing in pain due to an inflamed knee that I had aggravated while playing basketball. And it’s been a tough few months for me—I’ve found myself being angry, sad and frustrated and the only thing that seems to move me along out of my somber moods is music. Part of my frustration comes from not being able to play basketball the way I want to. Stupid aging… Anyway, family crises have also been the cause of my melancholy but music still makes it through to my core and settles me somewhat. For that, I stay thankful.

In the meantime, there are two things I’d like to discuss: why in my absence from this column I cannot seem to escape the bubbly digital voice of performers on the radio (Lil Wayne, Akon, Wyclef, Chris Brown, the infamous T-Pain, The Dream, Rihanna, Madonna and others). In fact, the number of people and songs that have that voice effect has grown exponentially.

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Foggy, face-suctioning goggles and snorkel tube: check.

Skin-suffocating wet suit on inside out: check.

Pair of rubber flippers (one size 10 and one size 13): check.

Highly anticipated Thirsty Fish album: check.

OK. Now I’m ready to plunge backwards overboard into the saturated lyricism of DumbFounDead, Psychosiz, and Open Mike Eagle—otherwise known as Thirsty Fish—on their latest album, Testing the Waters. These runaway Atlantis emcees hook the edges of L.A. hip-hop with a giant anchor and pull it below sea level to bring you a purposefully themed work of artistry. I was quite impressed by the album artwork, so before I even witnessed a syllable I was nodding with approval. Then, having waited over a week for the shoddy US Postal service to deliver me a CD with a cracked and damaged case at around 7pm (mind you, we’re supposed to receive mail in my neighborhood by 3), I was able to give it a listen while eating a microwaved Home Run Inn pizza, courtesy of the frozen food section of my local grocer.

Potent lyrics surf the waves of excellent production throughout the entire album. The third track, “The Thirst”, lays the ultimate backdrop of their thirst for success and the desire to share their product. This is then paralleled by the thirst for more competent music in hip-hop rather than the perpetuation of “Penelope pink” polar bear cub rappers that seem to all be named “Young” or “Lil” somethingorother that are more concerned about the color of their ice than the improvement of their craft. Nay, these three talents are not ice fishing. Nor are they trying to come up too fast at the risk of getting the bends. Psycho, Open and Dumb understand the value of hard work and it shows clearly from start to finish.

The featured artists don’t disappoint either. “Pirahnas” is a track that reminds me of previous times when 4 or more emcees (in this case 6) rip a track to shreds leaving listeners feeling amped like they witnessed a cypher on the Chicago Red Line. Fat Kid yields guitar riffs that raise the energy levels higher than the blood pressure of a baby seal surrounded by hungry, club-wielding yetis. The album songs were immediately added to my iPod, which says a lot because I only have a first generation shuffle so I’m extremely particular about what music makes that 90 song playlist. Simply put, me likey.

Anyway, I strongly recommend this album to those thirsty for something fresh and rich with talent. I only wish that the beat of some of the songs were drawn out longer after the last verse, just so I can nod my head a bit longer, perhaps to be inspired to write a piece or two of my own, especially on the Maestro and Alkalyne produced beats (my personal faves). So strap your life jackets on, hold on to your rubber duckies and prepare to get wet. These guys mean business. By the way, I call cobbs on any sunken treasure discovered along the way.

Be Good.

At work, my iTunes playlist labeled “Random Dopeness” plays tracks from Radiohead, Alicia Keys, Jean Grae and more recently Ghostface and Lupe Fiasco, as I work on my company’s upcoming conferences. In my car, should I feel the need to take a break from Little Brother to hear what hot topics Chicago’s radio DJs want to speak on, I will occassionally catch the sounds of what passes as music these days broadcast to listeners who still decide to tune in.

I’ve noticed something, ya’ll. It’s no grand epiphany by any means. In fact, it has been the case for some time now but it’s become more obvious as of late… at least to me and my limited radio experience. Women have become much more uplifting in their music than men. I know. Maybe it means I’m dense, but it also means that I’m still learning.

As I hear Mary J. Blige sing about not changing her life to such an upbeat tempo and Alicia Keys demand that no one will change the way she feels about her true love, or insist that she is a super woman capable of anything, I can’t help but shake my head at the men that still talk about taking someone else’s woman at a club because they’re a flirt, or that they need to leave their girlfriend quick because the girl that they’ve just met at the club is a ‘10′. Now, there are some songs that are a bit more positive that say how a woman deserves to be treated with respect and so forth, but unfortunately it seems to always be coming from the guy that isn’t dating her.

Ne-Yo has a complex about going back to ex-girlfriends. I happen to kind of like his music, mostly because there’s a tad bit more originality to his writing, but there has been more than one occasion where he is either no longer with a girl and wonders if she still thinks of him or he’s alone and sees the girl of his dreams on the arm of another guy. I think Trey Songz can’t help but wait for her to realize how much better he is for her than whomever she’s with now.

It’s just so disappointing to not be able to have three songs play on the radio without one of them including T-Pain or the digitized voice that so many people are using (again) nor will any of them be a positive, encouraging, uplifting self-assuring statement of who we are as a people and as a generation through the eyes of a male. Women lift themselves up because men don’t. Period. Especially according to what’s in heavy rotation.

Now, I’m not saying that no guys put a song or two out that does some justice to what I’m speaking on or that there are no female artists that go against it (like a Trina), nor am I saying that this is a new phenomenon in music. I’m just saying that for all the jump-off pimpin’, drug choppin’, street hustlin’ playas that fall in love with strippers and bartenders and can make it rain on b*tches whenever they want, there are women who don’t give a damn about any of that. I’m sure it’s me. I’m sure that I’m reinventing the wheel with my redundancy, but at the same time I can’t help but wait for something better. Maybe Trey has a point.

Be good.