Dear Hip Hop: Fault Lines get me Funky
Dear Dr. K, When I was a kid, I lived with my parents and to younger siblings in the backroom of a garage at a house some friends from church had. I slept on a vinyl sofa and listened to scooby doo episodes on a radio that picked up TV audio. My dad had odd jobs nearby, but one summer, he got work in San Francisco near the mission district, and we found a place near there. It was one of the tallest houses I had ever seen in all my 7 years on the planet. A two-story Victorian built before the ‘06 shake and fires. A real survivor. We got the flat on top over a young couple from NYC who hated our bagels but loved the city and worked for the mayor's office. 1979, what a year, standing in line to see Empire with my grandparents, who flew in from Texas since we now lived somewhere worth visiting. It was then and there that I first encountered the flavors and feels of what I would learn much later to be hip-hop. There were intimidating older boys in the neighborhood who seemed to a...
