i came across this really good piece in new york magazine about the rec room in the bronx and how kool herc (the george washington of hiphop or perhaps the robert johnson because he never got paid) was one of the driving forces behind trying to save this building that was essentially the birthplace of hiphop.
it made the bastard feel bad because this guy got so screwed by the industry:
"These days, Herc won’t talk to journalists without being paid for his time. “Herc is not bitter, he’s just tired,” explains Cindy. Sitting in a garment-district coffee shop downstairs from her office, she sipped steaming tea. “He doesn’t know if you’re going to take his story and write a book about it or maybe make a movie".
“Hip-hop was Herc’s baby. But imagine that all of a sudden somebody snatched your baby from you and killed it. That’s how Herc feels sometimes.”
it's just messed up. now go read it.—the bastard
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