Monk

THIS IS A WESTSIDE STORY. Except it involves corner bootleggers, taggers, and petty criminals instead of gay dances, skinny white guys in tight pants, and fake Puerto Ricans. It’s actually more along the lines of a True Hollywood story, which just happens to take place a little further west. Then again, a good bit of it did go down in Hollywood. And Inglewood. And even Arizona. So let’s call it a West Coast story. The tale of a Lost Angel just trying to find himself, and maybe a little ass too while he’s at it.We pick up with our hero in his teenage years: the mid-1990s, when Death Row Records ran the world, and the smoke from the riots still ringed the L.A. skyline. Monk has a curl, a fresh Eddie Bauer outfit, and a nasty way with words. He’s half Chinese and half black, so you know the girls are calling. And he’s young with a mean sag, so you know the streets are calling too. Especially around these parts, where everyone just wants an easy box to put you in - a wooden or barred one, if at all possible. Nobody knows what race he is, what neighborhood he claims or what he’s really about. Not that any of that concerns Monk: all he wants to do is rap, drink and hit skins. “All my raps were about getting ass. That’s it,” he says. “The Pharcyde is the first group that really did it for me. I wasn’t a gangsta, so I could relate to jacking off and smoking weed and s**t.” It was around this time that Monk ran into the members of BLX (BassLine Xcursionists), a brand new local crew that was right up his alley - which is exactly where they were months later, freestyling over 40-ounces behind his pops’ house and brainstorming on what would become VocabuDrab Sessions, their 1999 cult classic. It’s also where Monk found his voice: an asymmetric yet sure-footed flow of rants, brag sessions and perverted fantasies from a young delinquent who knows better, but just doesn’t give a s**t half the time. Half brains, half asshole, all balls.By the time BLX, now ten members deep, dropped their 2001 testament to testosterone Sunch Punch, they were the Westside’s brokest superstars, and a drug-ravaged Monk had pretty much stopped giving a s**t altogether. In a manner that would have made David Ruffin of The Temptations adjust his glasses, Monk disowned the crew and proceeded on a downward spiral into the outskirts of the criminal underworld that had always been calling him in the back of his head, by a name that he came to embrace: “McNasty… McNasty…” Stints ensued in various areas of the illegal economic sector before he moved to Phoenix, presumably to clean his act up, only to fall deeper in the hole. “That’s when I realized I needed to get back to rap,” he explains. “I made an agreement with God that if I quit doing what I was doing, he would let me start from scratch. It was a crazy-ass revelation. I wasn’t raised to be no crook or nothing like that. So I asked myself, what do I really do good? And it was rapping.” With the last of his dirty money, Monk returned to the studio, recorded and pressed his 2006 solo debut American Asshole, and bought a Chevy van for touring. It was around this time that a friend introduced him to the music of NYC producer/rapper and fellow purveyor of filth J-Zone, whose Myspace page Monk visited to download his instrumental album To Love A Hooker. Two weeks later, Monk had recorded songs over every beat, and Zone had given him the official co-sign to release his work as a separate record in its own right. Work has also begun on American Asshole Season 2, and the logic behind the title is also the logic that defines Monk himself. “I am a product of this country, and in order to get anywhere in America you gotta be a f**king asshole.”http://www.rockyou.com/show_my_gallery.php?source =ppsl&instanceid=81711995
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