As I’m driving up the 5 to Culver City, I can’t help but think I’m being thrown to the wolves. Earlier that day, a Los Angeles MC by the name of Intuition had his highly anticipated record, Girls Like Me, bootlegged on one of our affiliate sites a week before its release date. Even though it was a mix up due to a fake e-mail being sent out by someone posing as a promotional blogger, I had a sinking feeling this was going to be the most awkward face to face interview since Joaquin Phoenix met cocaine.
During my cruise from the valley to “screen city,” a few tracks from Project Blowed mainstays, Aceyalone and Abstract Rude, laced my speakers and I began to reminisce about the classic Los Angeles underground hip hop scene that launched my obsession with L.A. hip hop twelve years ago. Compared to ‘A Book of Human Language,’ 310 hip hop has added a friendlier twist to its abstract foundations, but still remains a paradigm of originality within a counterfeit culture.
Ever since Blu hit the world with ‘Below the Heavens’ (an album that was bootlegged almost 8 months before its release) and promotional blogs gave West Coast up and comers a shot in their posts, California has been exposed as the hotbed for fresh new talent by birthing artists such as: Blu, Fashawn, Exile, Nocando, Nipsey Hussle, Strong Arm Steady, VerBS, Versis, Sahtyre, Dumbfoundead, Alpha MC, Pac Div, UNI, Makeshift, and Intuition. It’s a scene that has always made a neon statement within the grey matter of hip hop fans on a global scale, and I couldn’t wait to see how an Alaskan transplant infiltrated its core to make his own noise.
After the 40 minute trudge through the Ventura-LA County auto-swamp, I pulled into the Cozy Inn parking lot. The film chemical spiked atmosphere made me instantly thirsty and I was glad that my interviewee chose a cash only dive with a shuffleboard spread as our meeting place, rather than a poster bar for the apple martini splashed plastics.
Seconds after pushing through the door like a cowboy, I spotted Intuition posted up on the far side of the bar draped in dark jeans, a black Dodger fitted, and a grey hoodie. Halfway through a glass of Guinness, he continued to eye a game of Golden Tee that was being worked all too vigorously by a pseudo-midget that resembled a young Sean Astin. I grabbed a Blue Moon, an extra apologetic Guinness and walked over to him. I thought about chanting ‘Rudy, Rudy, Rudy’ to the Sean Astin clone working the scroller ball, but decided the sun drenched snow child behind ‘Girls Like Me’ would have more to say.
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