As some of you know, I am the Austin connect for Uncle Pauly, Young Bleed and Money Waters. Shit anyone in DFW, Houston, the whole state of Texas and the rest of the world for that matter. Basically, how it goes down is they contact me when they need to be chauffeur around the city of Austin and connected with the people they should know, all the record stores, strip clubs, Dj's, hot spots. ect........you get the picture. I'm the host with the most. Well, I met them at their hotel in north Austin Wednesday morning and laid down what I thought our agenda should look like. So my first objective was to get Money and the whole gang over to Piranha Records in Round Rock so that we could get some cd's sold and hand out flyers and posters. Before we could go there was a knock on the door. This dude walks in smiling and I guess Money knew him because they said what's up and gave dap. Well, I had totally forgot that one of the biggest news papers in America, the Dallas Morning News, was sending down a writer to cover Money's Day during the SXSW. Ok so now we are off and the writer, Crayton Harrison, rides with me and basically is interviewing me for an hour on our drive to Piranha Records and then to Rapid Rics house and I'm basically telling him how long I've been in the game, how long I've known Money Money, asking me who everyone is and I'm name dropping like a mutherfucker. I'm like Bavu Blakes is the greatest MC and won the best hip-hop artist award in Austin during the SXSW, Money Waters is so cold on the mic and reminds me of Devin the Dude in some ways, Rapid Ric is the mixtape king in the south, can't nobody touch him, Young Bleed is on the up and up. Blah Blah Blah. You know what I mean. Any way, why don't you read his interpretation of how our day went and then I will let you know how I think our day went and how our whole week went.
For my boys in Australia, Bullant and Emvee, I got some good shit for you, so be on the look out for that. I'm looking out for you guys down here in Texas. Shit, I guess that means I'm worldwide!!
from left to right. Money Waters, Erich Schlegel (Austin based photographer for the Dallas Morning News) Crayton Harrison, Ol Man, Pookie and Uncle Pauly at the end.
photo taken by Tony-C, that's me.
HIP HOP HUSTLE
Rapper Money Waters has a dream, and he's chasing it, one fan at a time
09:41 AM CST on Sunday, March 19, 2006
By CRAYTON HARRISON / The Dallas Morning News
AUSTIN – Every person counts in the grind. Each connection, each handshake can create a new fan. Every concert, no matter how small the audience, might matter to someone. The record stores, the mixtapes, the posters, the fliers, the CDs are like seeds planted with hope. Some will grow; some will not. Eventually, with luck, there will be fruit.
This is Money Waters' business strategy. Like more than a thousand other musical acts, the rapper, reared in Pleasant Grove, has come to the South by Southwest Music Festival, the industry's biggest conference, to show himself to the world.
"There ain't nothing like the grind," he says. "There ain't nothing like going out for it, working on it."
After a day of hard work, Money will play to an audience of about 100 Thursday night in a dark club far from the neon lights and bustling crowds of Sixth Street, where most of the SXSW clubs are concentrated. It will be his best chance this day to win over new fans.
His experience at the festival is a window into the world of the struggling musician, a glimpse of what it's like to crave an audience so badly that all one's free time and energy are spent creating one fan at a time.
It also shows the deep, familial ties that connect Texas' rap scene like a flow chart. Each artist, with his entourage of managers, producers, sidekicks and promoters, depends on the good will and business contacts of another.
"They say the music industry is 95 percent business and 5 percent talent," says Big Tuck, a Dallas rapper who signed a major-label deal last year after six years of similar hard work. "You've got to stay focused. Don't let nobody tell you you can't do it."
Hip-hop forever
Money Waters' real name is Ian Johnson. He is 28 years old, with a shiny bald head, a well-trimmed goatee and a round, protruding belly.
He lives in Oak Cliff and works temp jobs to support his two young daughters. He remains friends with their mother.
He fell in love with hip-hop early. "It was a hobby," he says. "I was rapping when I was in elementary school, junior high. I was rapping back then at a young age. It was always something I did."
He began performing at a local club, creating beats by sampling old records and looping the samples over and over again using his mother's tape deck. He recorded in a studio for the first time in 1995, working with a small local label called Redrum and putting out underground CDs.
A decade later, he's still grinding, now on his own small label. This is his second year performing at SXSW. He has toured Texas and other parts of the South with other regional hip-hop acts.
Early Thursday afternoon, he is brushing his teeth in a musty Holiday Inn room while several people sit on the beds. They are his business associates. A giant bear of a man named Paul O. "Uncle Pauly" Franklin Sr. is planning the day's schedule. A big book, The Musician's Business and Legal Guide, rests on the desk beside a calculator.
Uncle P, as everyone calls him, is ready to go. "It's 12:44 now," he says in a stern voice, standing suddenly. "We need to be in and out of these record stores between 1 and 2."
Working it
About 1:30 p.m., the group of six arrives at Piranha Records in Round Rock. "We all set for hustling and grinding?" asks Edward "Pookie" Hall, a promoter who calls himself "The Walking Commercial." A digital camera hangs around his neck.
Uncle P gathers everyone around for a prayer. "We just ask that you give us the know-how so we can be successful and feed our families," he asks God.
They enter. Money browses the aisles in Piranha while Uncle P urges the kid with long, stringy hair behind the counter to go get the owner.
The rest of the crew sprinkles promotional fliers throughout the store while Pookie snaps pictures. The owner, John Aleman, turns out to be a friendly negotiator, a pleasant surprise. He has heard of Mojoe, a hip-hop band that has toured with Money.
"Mojoe's great," he says, his eyes widening. "They actually do it with real instruments. That's what I like." He agrees to buy several CDs up front at $8 apiece, a great deal for Money, who sometimes has to sell his albums on consignment. After the transaction, Mr. Aleman explains his reasoning.
"They're all out there doing their thing, and I'm going to help them," he says. "They're going to get their share, and I'm going to get my share. Nobody knows them yet, but they will."
The name-dropping didn't hurt. That's why Money's crew makes a point to work with other artists as often as possible. Two rap artists from Denver, Richard "MDz" Mathes and Richard "Danksta Lo" McCrea, design Web sites for Uncle P's clients and hype their CDs in Colorado. He in turn advertises their work in Texas.
"It's cross-promotional," Uncle P says. "We're doing the same thing as AT&T and Cingular. We have to merge."
Mix masters
Uncle P stands outside a small trailer behind an East Austin house, waiting for Dallas rapper Fredrick "Ol Mann" Carson to finish. Ol Mann, a short, wiry bundle of energy who indeed looks much older than his 30 years, is recording a verse in the trailer, which serves as the home studio for Rapid Ric, the Austin mixtape producer who lives here. Ric has left an assistant seated in front of computer monitors and mixing equipment to lay down the track, which will be on an upcoming release. Mixtapes, distributed through Web sites and clubs, are one of the South's key promotional vehicles for hip-hop.
Money has already recorded his verse, a bluesy lament on childhood pain. "You see I got no love, much less for myself, since I was 12," the verse opened, half rapped, half sung in a moan.
Money's style is like that. His throaty voice, thick with Southern twang, moans and wheezes through his slow, even rhymes. He takes his time, accenting some words, sighing others.
He has performed and recorded with a live band, with wailing guitars giving his songs an even more down-home, Southern feel. The band was a big hit at last year's SXSW performance, drawing a diverse crowd. "I saw, man, Mexicans, black people, whites, middle class, businessmen," Money says. "It changed who I was. It changed how I looked at how we're doing our music. When you get up in studio, you're in that studio. You don't know how that affects different people."
Now, sipping a Red Stripe at Rapid Ric's house, he is beginning to get nervous, he admits. This year, he is performing without a band. He'll be backed by a DJ, accompanied by Ol Mann and Uncle P.
He likes performing without the band sometimes. He feels loyal to hip-hop purists. "As long as the streets is loving it," he says. "Before, we was doing it with nothing but a tape deck, and they was there."
Inside the house, the Texas rap scene has formed a quorum. Austin rapper Bavu Blakes sits on the couch. Big Tuck has his feet up on a La-Z-Boy, eyes half closed. George Lopez, co-chief executive of Dallas' T-Town Music, sits momentarily on the couch, a cellphone pressed to his ear, barking orders while typing on a two-way pager. The Denver rappers make their way through the house, introducing themselves. They drove all the way to Austin for moments like this.
Ol Mann finishes. It's time to eat. As the entourage loads into the car, a white van pulls up with several adolescents in the back. The driver leans out. "Are y'all famous?" she asks. Money introduces himself, seizing the chance.
Outside a New Orleans-style soul food restaurant called Gene's, Pookie and Austin promoter Tony Chapman survey Eleventh Street, looking for opportunity.
"We need to go back to East Austin," Pookie says, stroking his chin. "Did you see all those people on the street?"
"We'll do a lot of that tomorrow," says Mr. Chapman. "Stop by the strip clubs, all of that."
A car with an attractive female driver pulls up at the stoplight. Fliers in hand, Pookie starts toward her, but has to wait for another car to pass. The light turns green, and the woman pulls away. A missed opportunity. Pookie shakes his head.
After a greasy, satisfying meal of catfish, pork chops, shrimp and hamburger, everyone is full. Money has a tiny stain of pink lemonade on his shirt. It's about 6 p.m. Time for sound check.
Outside the restaurant, Money is mostly quiet. Ol Mann does the talking. "We gonna get it CRUNK tonight!" he shouts, bending all the way back and all the way forward to enunciate.
In the club
Three hours later, the DJ at the Back Room announces Money's name. Silence from the small audience.
Money bursts out of the back door, bounding along like a boxer. "What's up, Austiiiiiiiiiin?" he yells.
He starts stiffly, standing in place, then begins to pace a bit, slowly, his voice beginning to warm up and fill out the syllables with his drawl.
Soon he's walking faster, leaning into the words, swinging his hips, strutting, grinning widely. In the crowd, heads are nodding and a few people are smiling. One man throws his arms in the air.
He goes through a few jams, including "So I ...," a song about unrequited love, his bouncy new single "Gotta Car?" and a soulful track called "Eva Changin.' "
He marches off the stage. The crowd doesn't clap until the DJ calls for applause.
It's a typical SXSW response. Few bands exit the stage at the festival to roaring applause.
They're playing to savvy music fans, record industry people and other musicians – perhaps the most jaded, picky audience in the world. Only the best-known names and buzziest bands get a pass.
Backstage, Money wipes the beaded sweat off of his head with a towel. Ol Mann is shadow-boxing. "That's what I'm talking about!" he yells ebulliently.
The job is done, Money says. Somewhere in that crowd, he has new fans. "Everywhere we go, when we're out there and we see all these people, it's a connection," he says. "We made a connection."
E-mail charrison@dallasnews.com
1 comment:
Heaters got ears everywhere!!!
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