Blake Ceasar

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Every once in a few years, the hip-hop world is blessed with the presence of a new prophet; a new charismatic voice of sensational talent, sent to free the masses from the tyranny of monotonous, ordinary, formula-oppressed music. It is at this very critical juncture or moment in time when rap fans and artists alike acquire the opportunity to repent of their “sins”, get their ‘effin’ minds right, and take a unifying step closer to that golden light called true hip-hop. That said, know this: just as sure as your ghetto behind is probably somewhere spillin’ the guts out-that-Dutch, doing the breaststroke in ya’ best friends bitch, or simply engaging in some other street orientated behavior, that prophet I speak of walks among you. He goes by the name of Blake; that’s Blake Ceasar- Mr. Sex, for those of you denied access to a first name basis. Just respect the game… Now, before I explain why his music should be among your top iPod downloads and primary CD purchases, let me take you back, several years, somewhere close to the beginning. Go back to Y2K; when many of you where waiting for NYC’s power to go out, so you can loot your local Best Buy’s, Circuit City’s, and neighborhood Flee Markets. (Oh, c-mon son… don’t front for me; real is real)… Anyway, while many were working on their sure-to-fail schemes for hitting the “lotto”, Blake was in his one bedroom apartment, trying to figure a way to get up and out of the hood. Of course, he knew, full well, that the hood would never come out of him, but that’s a separate matter entirely. It was around this time, suddenly, about as abrupt as a 16 year old gets a hard-on over a pair of plump breasts and bag of Cheetos, that it hit him. Blake immediately understood what he possessed the talent to do, what he should do, what he simply must do... Shortly after the epiphany, the illustrious Rock Raw Records was born.
First came the establishment of the studio; it was built from the ground up, for the price of nothing less than gallons of sweat, sleepless nights, and pure relentless determination. Then came the MC’s, literally dozens of them. But, although many arrived, very few remained. This thing was about more than just music, fam; it was about life. Either you stayed true to it, or you lost it. Once it's gone, there's no coming back; ashes to ashes, trash bags to land fills… Even though it’s hard to imagine, the truth is, Blake wasn’t always a rapper. No sir. For the longest time, son was well known in the hood as one of the illest undiscovered producers out there; please believe it. The kid had beats. It’s like, you couldn’t even approach the sound booth unless you had the requisite skills. It was too risky. You might end up having to dodge a flurry of Old E bottles, Timberland boots, and broken Play-Station controllers. Suffice to say, there weren’t many options out there for perpetrators. Although it took some time and patience, slowly, surely, Blake managed to strategically position all his key pieces, his mic harassin’ MC’s, on the chessboard. Just a few loose ends to tie, a few more moves to make, and cCrRaACK! Like a Louisville Slugger to the top of ya’ thick primitive skulls, Rock Raw Records was about to SMASH the world with straight hits after merciless hits. The game would never again be the same.
Then it happened… Little by little, the feds did exactly what they do best; they knocked the hustle. Indictments where handed down, and although Blake himself was never personally implicated, his soldiers, his starting line up, got systematically swallowed up by the system. Just as the light of day is enveloped by the ebony blanket of night, the future of the Raw grew eerily dark. Indeed, these were turbulent times. But your boy is caste iron built, and doesn’t have the ability to sit idle, wallowing and feeling sorry for himself. It’s just not in his blood. Therefore, with no MC’s left to work the booth, Ceaser decided to rebuild Rome on his own. Broken pencil in hand, thoughts swirling in and around his mind, Blake crystallized his pain and put it to paper. Like a Shaolin Monk conditions his body, limb by limb, into a fierce machine of optimal energetic efficiency and foe crippling abilities, your boy tirelessly honed his lyrical craft. Now, his prowess is unquestionable. The passage of time has seasoned him, and in failing to destroy him, it has made him stronger, more explosive, more.. effin'.. powerful! It’s this life experience that Blake brings to the booth and, ultimately, the stage. Love, pain, happiness, sorrow; all of these things and more are part and parcel of what makes this MC a most potent elixir to those who would live and draw their sustenance from the fountain of Hip-Hop. The time is now, and now is Blake. Cop that CD and you’ll do more than stay current with the latest wave in rap; you’ll grab hold and be a part of… the future. One Love.
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