Each time Chuck introduced a new act, he would watch the performance from the visible wings of the stage. He would walk down a few steps, and lean in to hear and see. I thought these moments during the concert would be a good opportunity to show him the portrait. I took a few pictures, and if you can believe it, the security guards told me to stop. Incredibly, the were trying to enforce rules that have since been obliterated by hand-held technologies. I snapped a few more, but basically respected their request. I began walking over towards Chuck, pushing past a large speaker that served as a barrier. Just then, a security guard put his hands up and said “Sir, you have to stop.” I guess he didn’t see me walk in the venue with Chuck, shoulder to shoulder. Damn. I pulled out the portrait, and held it up so that it was facing the side stage area. People behind me wouldn’t be able to tell what I was doing, If Chuck were to look in my direction, he’d see the drawing. As if on cue, he glanced in my direction. He smiled, and waved me over. It was very loud, with beats and rhymes pulsating from the large speakers. I mouthed the words “They won’t let me back!”, and he understood. He quickly got the attention of the guard who had thwarted my attempts to move closer, and motioned to him to let me approach. It was that easy. I walked the ten paces towards the man; embarrassingly giddy with excitement. It was almost impossible to hear, but I extended my hand to introduce myself again. He shook my hand, and spun me ninety degrees. He threw his arm around me and, while motioning towards the drawing, said loudly into my ear “What do you want me to write on it!?” Having thought about this all day, and recently hearing an interview where he shared his favorite line, I shouted “I don’t rhyme for the sake of riddlin’!” He took my pen, and scrawled the famous lyrics. He took his time, and signed his name; followed by a quick drawing of the iconic Public Enemy crosshairs logo. It was more than I could’ve imagined.

Over the loud music, Chuck shouted “We still need to talk!” “I’d like that!”, I screamed. “You comin’ to Fairfield?” “What!?” “Fairfield?”, he repeated. I had no idea what he was talking about, but, not wanting to look like an idiot, I nodded in agreement. Fairfield? What was that? I thanked him profusely, and walked back towards the crowded floor. Fairfield? What does that mean? Is that the next stop on the tour? Why had I agreed? Oh, man, I AM an idiot! It’s too late. No picture, no meeting, no end to the story.

I quickly decided to run back to Keith and tell him what happened. We both thought it would be best to put my new prized possession in the car, and I ran outside to do just that. I was delirious with adrenaline, and started towards the car. The air felt cold and provided an unexpected relief from the steamy crowd. I put my portfolio case in the car, and hustled back inside. I didn’t want to miss a second of PE’s performance.

The concert was amazing, and I was happily pressed up against the far right side of the stage for the duration. The presence of the group is that of a formidable posse. They command the room with booming beats and powerful lyrics. Although they possess an expansive catalog, they performed everything I wanted to hear – Terrordome, Bring the Noise, Rebel Without a Pause, Fight the Power, I Shall Not Be Moved – I was in my glory.

The show, as all shows do, ended. I began to strategize a way to say thanks to Chuck, and ask for a picture with both of us holding the portrait. I realized that might mean a late night, but I was all in. I had taken the next day off of work; the first and last time I would miss time to attend a show (This is a rule I instituted after that day/night).

I walked outside, and went to get my drawing. Keith and I met up by the tour bus, and the crowd began to disperse. I wasn’t too worried about waiting a long time, and I figured I was in the right place to cross paths with Chuck again. Keith decided to head out, and I was left with a few others waiting on the sidewalk. It felt like a scene out of the movie Almost Famous, and I began to feel a bit like a stalker. I always want to pay tribute to my musical heroes, but I never want to create an awkward situation. There’s a fine line.

It was not a long wait, but it was beginning to get late; or early, depending on the way you look at it. It was after 1:00 a.m. when Chuck emerged from the side door onto the dark sidewalk. He walked to the bus, saying hello to the few people who remained. I said, “Hey, thanks for signing the drawing. Do you think we could get a photo with it?” He said, “Yeah, but I thought you were coming back to Fairfield.” I confessed that I didn’t know what he meant. “Farfield Inn. It’s where we’re staying.” With that, he shook my hand, and climbed aboard the bus.

Which Fairfield? Apparently, there are at least two in Washington D.C., one downtown, and one on New York Avenue. I guessed that I should head to the one on New York. If I was wrong, at least I’d be pointed in the direction of home. I scurried to the car, and as I pulled out of the lot, the bus hissed, groaned, and slowly began to move. I followed the huge transport, as it turned onto Florida Avenue, with the music of the night still ringing in my ears. I decided I better call home.

“Hello?” Lisa said groggily. “What time is it?

“It’s after one”, I replied.

“What?! Where are you?”

“I’m behind the PE bus on Florida Avenue. They’re going about ten miles an hour.”

“You’re where? Are you stalking them!?”

“Ha! No Chuck invited me back to their hotel.

I’ll be home in a little while. Go back to sleep.”

When we reached the hotel parking lot, the bus swung around, and sidled up to the front entrance. The huge vehicle barely fit under the awning, and it blocked the driveway, but provided the shortest distance to the lobby for the occupants. I, on the other hand, noticed that the parking lot was filled to capacity. I drove towards the back of the building, only needing to find the smallest space in which to leave my car. After searching for what seemed like an eternity, I wedged it between two sleeping semis. I jumped out, and hot-footed it to the entrance, about a hundred yards away.

Unfortunately, about ten minutes had elapsed while I had toured the unwelcoming parking facility. When I breathlessly arrived in the artificially lit lobby, soft Muzak was playing, and there were a few people milling about. No sign of Chuck. I would have thought I was in the wrong hotel, but surreally I noticed Professor Griff was working on a computer at a lobby kiosk. I began to lose hope, and my adrenaline was wearing off. I realized that I missed my chance. I sat down on a bench, and muttered a few curse words under my breath.

I stayed for about ten more minutes, but it was clear that the adventure had come to an end. I trudged back to my car, and started for home.

“You go ooh and ahh, when I jump in my car /

People treat me like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar /

No matter who you are, when I’m up to par /

I betcha go hip hop, hurray or hurrah” –

Timebomb – Public Enemy

I was about ten minutes down the dark highway, when my phone lit up. It was a message from Chuck! “I looked for you, but didn’t see you. Are you around tomorrow? We don’t leave until 10:00.” Immediately, I began formulating a plan to get back down to DC.

The next morning (really a few hours later), my family quietly left for school and work. They were giving me the day to sleep, as they were unaware of the open-ended invitation I had received a few hours ago.

I arrived at the hotel, much the same way I had left; unsure of what to expect. This time, the lobby was abuzz with activity and conversation. People were coming and going, but there seemed to be a larger group of people just past a central column, in the continental breakfast area. I headed for a small table, on which to set up camp. I figured I’d be here for a while, although it was nearing ten o’clock. As I rounded the corner, I saw what was capturing everyone’s attention. It was Flavor Flav. He was amidst a semi-circle of people, and apparently conversing with all of them. He was loud and jovial; yelling about the breakfast offerings and taking pictures with everyone who asked. Even the hotel staff was waiting patiently for their turn. To Flav’s credit, he hugged each person, and took his time with each fan. Although my thoughts were on my meeting with Chuck, I pulled out my vinyl copy of It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. Once Flavor Flav had finished with everyone else, and shouted “I’m going to McDonalds for some mother-fuckin hashbrowns!”, I decided to ask him to sign my favorite Hip-Hop album of all-time.

I went up to him sheepishly, and said, “Would you sign this?” He didn’t say anything, but took the pen out of my hand and tagged the album sleeve. I followed up with, “I saw your show last night. It was great! I love you guys!” He stopped, handed the record back to me, and said “YOOOO! You were there last night?! I love YOUU!”. He gave me a giant bear hug, laughed, and off he went.

After Flav left, almost everyone else cleared out. I noticed that the bus from last night, had pulled up to the front doors. I guessed they were getting ready to get on the road. I pulled the drawing out, propped it up beside the table, and sat in view of the elevator doors. Although, I had been invited, I began to feel a bit awkward about my being there. Just then, a guy with long dreadlocks and a MLB fitted Yankees hat came towards me and my drawing. I recognized him from the Public Enemy entourage, as he had given me a CD at show a few years earlier. He gestured to my drawing, and said “Did you do that?”. “Yes! I’m hoping to show it to Chuck. He signed it last night.” “Man, my mother would love that!” “Your mother?” I asked. “Yeah, Chuck’s my brother. I’m Eric.” “Oh, wow! Hey Eric!” “Yeah, he’ll be down in a little while”

He made his way to the bus, as did a few other people that I didn’t recognize. The lobby got progressively more empty, and I saw only hotel employees at this point. Just then, the bus pulled away. Had I missed him again? Oh shit! I sat there, and realized that I was alone. To add insult to injury, a member of the custodial staff began vacuuming the floor around me. I lifted my feet so they could get under the table where I sat.

I started packing up. I was embarrassed and annoyed that I had spent my time sitting alone in a hotel lobby, when a woman approached me. Judging by her logo-adorned name tag, she was an employee of the hotel. She said, “Are you waiting for Chuck D? Don’t worry, he’s still here. He never takes the bus. He likes to drive himself. If you take a picture of me with him, I’ll take a picture of you. What do you think?” I never thought to ask how she knew all of these details, but it didn’t matter. I was back in business!

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and Chuck D emerged. He was walking with the same backpack and suitcase-on-wheels that I saw him with the previous night. He walked directly towards me, and gently shook his head. “Man, Andy, I’m sorry to keep you waiting”. I shook his hand again, surprised to hear my name, and assured him that everything was fine. I was beside myself with excitement, and I couldn’t get my mind around the fact that this was finally happening. He signed my album, and the Madina Golden-Era poster. He posed for a picture with me and the drawing. Then, we took a seat at the table.

I sat across the table from him, my mind racing with questions. He began digging in his small bag, every so often, tossing a concert flier or ear buds onto the table. He began carefully rolling up the wires of his headphones, when he asked, “So, you’re the one who has been posting all the lyrics on Twitter?” “Yes.” “And all of that art is work that you’ve made?” “Yes.” “Would you want to do that for PE…post pictures and lyrics on Twitter?” “Uh, yeah. I already do it a lot.” As the conversation proceeded, my brain started formulating questions I had always wanted ask. “You wear a Pittsburgh Pirates hat, but you’re a Mets fan, right?” “Yeah, the P on the hat is for Public Enemy, and I always admired Roberto Clemente, but I’m a Mets fan”. “I was going to bring you a Baltimore Orioles hat as a gift, but I didn’t know your size.” “Ha! You know, I was wearing an Oriole hat when I met my wife”. I had never heard that. Chuck asked me if I had a pen. “Here’s my phone number. Text me whenever you want, but never call. I don’t really use the phone, and I never answer.” I jotted down the number on the back of an old business card. “I just saw the Iconoclasts documentary with you and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. It was great. Remember how you felt when you met him; one of your heroes? Well I wanted to tell you that’s about how I feel right now.” I’m glad I said it, but I didn’t want to change the dynamic of the conversation. We talked a bit about art, Twitter, the tour format, and family. I mentioned that I’m a teacher, and he suggested that he could come and visit the school sometime. All told, we had about twenty minutes together. Malik Farrakhan, Public Enemy’s head of security had appeared, signaling that it was, indeed, time to hit the road. Together, we walked towards the front of the lobby. Once we got near enough, the automatic doors parted. In the space between the two sets of doors, a woman was on her way into the building. She saw Chuck, stopped, smiled, and spread her arms for an embrace. Without skipping a beat, Chuck gave her a squeeze, an made some amiable small talk. Obviously, he had made her day, and it dawned on me that she was a perfect stranger. This is what it’s like to be a living legend. People feel like they know you, and that you should know them too. A feeling of gratitude washed over me, as we went out to the curbside. Chuck pointed to a little mini-van, and said “This is me. I like to drive.” For good measure, I shook hands one last time, and told them to stay safe. I thanked Chuck over and over again, assuring him that I was up to any task he’d throw my way. I waved goodbye, and headed towards my car.

As I drove home, I had music playing. I listened to each of the songs that I had experienced live the night before. Inevitably, I began asking myself questions: Why had Chuck picked me? Was I really up to any task? How could I rise to the challenge? Did I form complete sentences? Did I make any sense when I spoke to him?

I decided to put those ideas on hold, and to instead enjoy the drive home. I turned up the volume and I cued up Bring the Noise. I sang every word, and pondered what was to come.

Thanks, Chuck! – AK

Like many creatives, I consider myself a multi-hyphenate – teacher, painter, Hip-Hop head, documentarian, curator, and curious traveler. By necessity, and in order to keep abreast of new trends and evolving technologies, I also consider myself a life-long student of Art and Art-making. For many years, I worked in charcoal, and exclusively in black and white media. When I realized that I had been limiting myself, I began to experiment with color and portraiture. Always inspired by sports photography, I found myself making derivative paintings from my favorite baseball images. The exercise of attempting to render an accurate likeness became paramount, as I honed my portraiture skills. From a young age, It was always important for me to paint and draw the athletes and musicians that I admired. As I matured, my style emerged, and my skill and accuracy improved. I began to seek out opportunities to show my subject the portraits I made of them. I would use my artwork as a ‘ticket for adventure’; bringing portraits to games and National Baseball Hall of Fame events. Having original artwork with me, emboldened me to connect with people, and speak up in a way that had previously been difficult.

It was during a wait in a line to meet Baseball Hall of Fame inductee, Rod Carew, that my love of Classic Hip-Hop, baseball, the Beastie Boys, and Art all came together, and the trajectory of my artistic life changed:

“As a painter and working artist, I often render images of athletes who have come to represent my childhood, my admiration for the game, and the aesthetic of the sport they play.  This was never more true, than when I painted Hall of Famer Rod Carew in watercolor.  Carew was an icon of 1980s baseball, who amassed more than three-thousand hits, and employed an unorthodox approach to swinging the bat.  The Beastie Boys must have been paying attention, as they cleverly incorporated lyrics that paid tribute to the wiry slap hitter in their song Sure Shot – one of my favorites. Beastie Boys – ‘Sure Shot’

As I stood in a long line in the Baltimore Convention Center, I had an epiphany.  I was there to have Rod Carew sign my painting. It depicted him sitting cross-legged, in uniform, on a 1977 issue of Time magazine.  It had always been a favorite image of mine.  While I stood there, I thought – “Wouldn’t it be great to ask Carew if he knew about being mentioned in the song?”, better yet, “Wouldn’t it be great to ask Carew to write the Beastie Boys lyrics on the painting!?”.  At that point, I was quite excited, as I really started to warm to the idea. Would he do it?  Would he tell me to ‘get lost’?  When I approached him, and asked “Would you sign ‘I’ve got mad hits’ – Rod Carew”?, he smiled, and said “You too?”.  Evidently, someone had recently handed him an album cover to tag.  Graciously, he signed the painting, and inscribed the lyrics, unwittingly altering my approach to art-making and seeking out new experiences. I quickly snapped a photo of the ‘finished’ painting, and I realized that I was really on to something special.  It was then that I decided that I needed to find the Beastie Boys.” – from a blog post ‘I’ve Got Mad Hits Like I Was Rod Carew’ – This Might Not Work

Eventually I found Mike D (one of the three members of the Beastie Boys) in Brooklyn, NY. He graciously and enthusiastically tagged the painting, and unwittingly lit the creative match that set me on my current artistic path.

Since that time, I have done my best to absorb as much information about Hip-Hop culture, as possible. I’ve consumed a plethora of books on the subject, listened to countless hours of vintage music and interviews, but most importantly, I have immersed myself in the live music scene, in New York and Washington DC. I’m mostly interested in the era of Hip-Hop from my childhood and teenage years – 1983-1994, specifically. Of course there are exceptions, but there is something special about the time where Hip-Hop was evolving and I was changing right along with it.

My artistic goals began to shift, as well. No longer satisfied with a traditional portrait, I began to experiment with alternative surfaces and materials. Cardboard replaced high-quality watercolor paper, and flat surfaces gave way to experimenting with vintage electricians equipment. I started to take things apart, and reassemble them; changing the use and meaning of the instrument. I merged traditional portraiture with the art of collage and assemblage; all while paying tribute to my Hip-Hop heroes.

In 2012, I was fortunate enough to meet a mentor, a muse, and a personal hero of mine, Carlton Douglas Ridenhour. He is better known as Chuck D, frontman and founding member of Public Enemy. As a result of this connection, I was challenged to develop content, write articles, and champion the Public Enemy official website. I became an original member of the mADurgency artist collective, and have since planned and executed events that serve and enhance the Hip-Hop and visual arts communities. Together, we have built virtual museums, designed album covers, provided leadership in Hip-Hop’s visual arts community, and continue to celebrate the icons on the genre.

As a result of these relationships, I have been able to provide work for the National Hip-Hop Museum – DC, The Hip-Hop Museum – NY, The Brooklyn Museum, No Name Gallery – Philly, Art Whino – VA, and several group and one-man shows in the DMV. Along the way, I have been able to connect professionally with many of my cultural heroes – Mos Def, Run DMC, Public Enemy, Big Daddy Kane, Beastie Boys, LL Cool J, Kool Keith, Ice T, Monie Love, Roxanne Shante, KRS-ONE, Rakim, Nas, Black Thought, Questlove, and many others. Some of these artists now have my work in their collections, and have offered me commissions.