The Reintroduction of Motivational Rap Artist Marcus Parker

Because he changes things everywhere he goes, that’s why.

When first I met Marcus Parker nearly eight years ago, he was already a successful hard-working neophyte-type businessman with a book of business rider to match. I wanted to interview him for an article because his profile seemed to be that of a man on his way to A-list greatness.

After the article that I wrote was published and reprinted in “a whole bunch” of news media outlets, in Marcus’ words to me, “I blew up.” That’s the way it was called when the article went to the digital press in 2005 and spread like wildfire.

Marcus Parker "The Final Product"

The classic ‘rags to riches and back to rags again’ story, Marcus Parker rose from abject childhood poverty to keep the company of some A-list celebs — but that was just the calm before the coming storm…

I was in awe, but not totally surprised. He had talent written all over him; and if it touched my heart, all hearts were open to possibility.

He related his own calling in life as that of a growth process likened to Simba in The Lion King. He vividly recalled the way Rafiki hit Simba upside the head with a rap and told him, in so many words, “I am a monkey’s uncle, and you are the son of a king.” In one symbolic action, Rafiki rolled back and gave Simba room for his destiny in life. Marcus sensed at the time that the powers-that-be had also cleared the way for him to take his place at the head of the pack.

The first rap rhyme I heard from his collection of recordings blew me away. The only thing I could call it was the cleanest and most beat-driven rap rhyme since Tupac Shakur started working to clean up his act a little bit. It was called Product of Adversity and it was easy and clear to hear, easy to catch the beat, and had one of the most powerful and positive messages I’d heard since ‘Pac sold me on rap after recording Dear Mama. Plus, a free book for my review came with it.

It turned out that the book of the same name was a page-turner, and anyone who knows me well knows that I am the type who will put a good read down if the first couple of sentences (I might give it a paragraph in some cases) don’t draw me in immediately. Over the years, I became highly sensitized to excellent writing from Pulitzer prize winners and the classics, and this one rang out as something that needed to be heard and rocked far and wide.

Marcus came wrapped with a message that was not slated to be highly popular with the hardcore inner-city and pop rap crowds (hip-hopsters) – his message was majorly spiritually-oriented and authoritative, and was meant to inspire and encourage, not to tear down, demean, or radicalize the masses into mad hysteria over things over which they had no control.

Shortly after “blowing up,” as he called it, he went on to record many of the best-selling positive-rap CD singles and mp3s in the spiritual and encouragement media, including “Be Yourself,” “What the P for?,” and “Long Time Coming.”

Speaking of “Long Time Coming,” the rhyme of this extraordinary piece comes after a hardship in which Marcus became a classic “rags to riches back to rags” story.

To make a long story short, he got off light after a trial for a real estate wire fraud claim in which he could have gotten more than 20 years in prison. However, Marcus did not become market-successful after his hard times, he was already successful when it happened. It’s called “the past has come back to haunt you, sir.”

 Marcus ended up with house arrest, three years on probation, and half-a-mill in restitution … small-change sentencing compared to the seriousness of the charge and what the others involved in the house-flipping scam got.

In Marcus’ case, many minorities across the nation would be well-served to remember that it wasn’t just rich white guys on Wall Street who took out the housing economy. They also used young black men and women banking on making good money in the real estate industry like corporate moguls often use street runners and gang-bangers to deal their drugs.

Marcus got caught in the middle of the scam by throwing good legitimately-made money after bad money, hoping that his personal advisers were right when they told him to invest in real estate. It was good advice, but it went to bad people.

Fortunately, the judge took into consideration that Marcus walked away from the deal after he realized the real estate investors were shady, with their inflated appraisals, straw buyers, equity-usurping, and all.

For him, the drawback was too little too late, but the judge also took into consideration that he was already out and about on the music, speaking and book circuit making good on his internalized personal commitment to uplift and bootstrap disadvantaged youths around his community and the country; and he was hitting it hard.

So hard that he met quite a few of the highest A-level celebrities in the business on his dream pathway to the now-retired Oprah Show. It was actually American Urban Radio Network personality Bev Smith who came within a couple of booty-scoots of getting Marcus a gig on Oprah just before tragedy struck, including the death of his father in a car accident in Port Arthur, Texas. Talk about the proper use of the words “the devil is busy.”

As an aside, megastar musician Prince (yes, ‘Rogers Nelson’) once said with regard to a press conference about his very publicly-acclaimed 1990s celebrity “music battle” with Michael Jackson, “Let’s just wait it out … sooner or later, everybody has to come home.”

Marcus, too, had to put his ever-growing Dallas-based career on the back burner to go home to help his family with the funeral arrangements. He repeats the words of a longtime mentor, Tunde Obazee of KNON’s syndicated show Empowerment Radio, when he says “The hardest lessons in life go to the best students.”

Always a student while he teaches, he has lived an exemplary and distinctive life on his climb upward.

He finished school, then joined the military, where he was trained to work with semiconductors. After leaving the military, he worked for companies like Texas Instruments, and also began his real estate ventures by legally buying and living in a couple of homes before renting them out and upgrading to a newer and larger one. He also invested in tech stocks and that is when the big bucks started rolling in. He attempted to diversify those stock returns by joining up with the housing market just before it, too, crashed.

After “blowing up” in the motivational rap industry, Marcus was eventually invited to the spirit-filled big time, T.D. Jakes’ church, The Potter’s House in Dallas, to perform. During his travels, he met Chris Flow, Rickey Smiley, and Les Brown, and many other celebrities, and he also made extremely good money on the speaker’s circuit at the market rate of $3,000-a-pop, some more or less. But more important than the quickly-rising celebrity status were the young people he served.

 He has consistently received and continues to receive accolades from the young people that he influenced along the way, most of whom thanked him profusely for changing their lives and making them think twice about walking down the wrong road. Without knowing Parker’s little “backdoor secret” that he thought was long behind him, they looked up to him as “the right way to do this thing” … how to make good money, achieve fame, and have the highest desires in life without hurt or harm to others.

But as Marcus would soon discover the hard way, the highest desires in life should never be centered and focused exclusively on making money. “I found that money is only a tool for leverage, never the ultimate goal.” For him, the sound words “the best things in life are free” materialized and came packaged with a vengeance.

Because of the one-time financial indiscretion that nearly cost him his freedom, his life, and his career, as well as his home and his (now ex-)wife, Marcus was sentenced by a probation officer to the life of a call center worker at the slave wage rate of $10 an hour. He bootstrapped himself from that job rag into a certificate in AC repair, which he did for about nine months. He was eventually rehired as a contract semi-conductor worker for a company that he worked for in the past. He also did a short stint on unemployment during this transitioning process.

After all of the travails, when asked the question, “Marcus, how did you know when you passed the test?” He said “When I stopped asking questions and started answering them.”

For Marcus Parker, the test of Solomon’s proverbial wisdom was in knowing that every situation in life eventually takes care of itself.

He acknowledged that he worried about the wrong things, counting the change in his pocket like an emperor locking himself in a vault for weeks at a time with nothing more than bathroom breaks to make sure every dime was still there. The fear of losing it all was embedded in reality.

“I had that aching feeling all along that my past dealings in real estate would catch up to me, and it materialized at the worst possible time that it could come.”

On hindsight, Maya Angelou uses the now-cliche-driven words “And Still I Rise,” to describe people like Marcus, but as my pastor said this past Easter Sunday, “objects in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear.” The pastor referred to the fact that death itself could not contain the Messiah when the Lord had a mission for him that was bigger than mankind could afford to stop. And so it is, in essence, with Marcus Parker.

After growing up in poverty, experiencing phenomenal success and then a series of devastating tragedies, he has recovered like a Phoenix rising from the ashes and is well on his way to the fulfillment of that mission and calling in life.

What is most important, however, and far more important than the notoriety or the acclaim, is the fact that everyone and their children and their children’s children can look forward to the best in motivational rap artists as Marcus continues to use his life and his inherent talents to inspire everyone to rise up and keep it moving.

Onward.

***

 For more information, Marcus’ website is called Motivational Rap University and is located at http://motivationalrap.com/. You can reach him at BookMarcusParker (at) gmail (dot) com.

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“Free Angela”: Leveraging History as a Lesson

Raised black fists, afros and dashikis, shouts of “power to the people!,” midnight molotov cocktail burnings, the destruction of property and territory … all of these images invoke some pretty hot and not so long ago memories of a time when racial and social oppression wasn’t just something people talked about in America, it was both a legal and a lethal mandate.

Angela Davis in Leizig

Angela Davis in Leizig (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For me, it invokes memories of the receipt of a death threat from the Ku Klux Klan, after I wrote a strongly-worded letter to the editor of the Columbus (GA) Ledger-Enquirer. They had reported a story accusing a black man of committing a series of crimes against elderly black women before the criminal was caught or any evidence surfaced to back the accusation.

I was 12 years old and the letter came in an unmarked hand-delivered envelope that read “Black Powder will Stop Black Power,” which contained several photographs of lynched Negroes. I was the reason the L-E stopped publishing the full addresses of its letter writers and started using only city and state.

The word ‘communist’ itself is enough to dredge up rude memories of a U.S.-led “Cold War” against the Soviet Union (now Russia), a mindset that commonly confuses communists with fascists.

However, a real fascist (communist for the under-educated) would be those who attempt to shut down those who rightly and patriotically protest a system that oppresses civil freedoms. Civil disobedience says that just because a law is on the books as legalized doesn’t always make it right.

Angela Davis wasn’t just called a Communist (one who believes in the driving force and spirit of community) by the opposition, she enjoined herself to it passionately and with distinction and pride.

The United States of America, often coined “Amerikkka” by today’s digital electronic finger-warriors, was notoriously marred from the day it was conceived by unjust laws and just laws unjustly applied, with many of them expressly for the purpose of protecting whites while simultaneously and arbitrarily persecuting and prosecuting black and brown and red people.

In a reflective world of social inequities, these law have repeatedly and persistently born witness to the exploitation of the most racist core of American society itself.

Then came one Angela Yvonne Davis, and anyone and everyone who dared to emulate her and all she stood for, with an embattled life that wasn’t supposed to be that way.

Angela was born one of “us,” and one of “them.” She was very establishment wrapped in an anti-establishment state of mind and body, but her life was not pre-conditioned for battle, it was fashioned for cush–the upscale life of a more economically endowed black family in Alabama.

However, the racial bigotry that she experienced as a child would not let her rest on those mechanically established laurels. Her soul would not allow her to sit back and view racial and social injustice from the usual well-conditioned higher-up loft of better socioeconomic circumstances.

Angela didn’t have to be, she is.

For all political prisoners around the world to this very day, her life echoes their inner meaning in more ways than one.

Survival for blacks in America often meant (still means) forging channels and pockets of resistance, which have compelled Us The People to openly violate laws that are clearly and vaguely written to label some people as “criminals” and to conceal others who break the same laws as “contenders.”

There is no treatment on film or in print that will cover all the social nuances of a life like Ms Davis’s or those who, like her, are political prisoners for demanding that the governmental powers-that-are hold themselves accountable for their own errant behavior; however, “Free Angela and All Political Prisoners” is necessary because today’s world of political troubles is not so far removed from yesterday’s world of political troubles. In the case of today’s political America, the black man got elected President and all of the resident racist cockroaches in hiding came crawling out of their dank dark mildewed nests, and my how they scattered in the light of a new day. If there were a racial misnomer to be used for President Barack Obama, it would be “the maintenance man.”

Even as we speak, nearly 50 people have been arrested in Brooklyn NY over the last straw, a police officer who gunned down another unarmed black teen and tried to ‘call it a day’ until the powder keg reminiscent of Davis’ college days in southern California went off.

Police say 16-year old Kimani Gray of East Flatbush pointed a revolver at them, but witnesses have come forth to state that the police lied and now one riot after another is threatening to bring the already volatile neighborhood across the Big River from Rodney King in L.A. to Kimani Gray in N.Y.

Those who protest the continuance of police brutality and are arrested for it can rightly be called political prisoners of a legal system built to persecute anyone who disagrees with it, though the worst “crime,” so far, has been accusations of disorderly conduct.

And so it still is even for the “Occupy” Movement of modern day America that threatens to occupy absolutely everything until that which is backward and unrighteous is set upright again. For those who dare to defend themselves in the midst of this populist pushback, the Angela Davises of this age aren’t the real communist/fascists trying to subversively destroy the democratic and “fair” justice system. As usual…

The American justice system itself is both the culprit and the victim of its own sanctimoniously legalized sins.

References

Black Bloggers Connect

Falsified Evidence

 

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Nettie. Just Nettie.

It’s International Women’s Day all over the world and President Obama just signed the Violence against Women‘s Act yesterday after severe opposition by a Republican-run House who has spent his entire time as President, in Congress, opposing and filibustering just because they can’t stand the black man’s win and don’t care who they have to hurt to prove themselves “superior” to him.

Though it rubs off on the American people as more “supremacist” then “superior,” they do it anyway just because they can.

Now comes women all over the world and the President signing an Act that he shouldn’t have had to fight Congress over, and one of my literary pals asked the question “Who is your favorite female literary character?”

My answer, of course: Nettie, from The Color Purple

All of Alice Walker‘s characters were three-dimensional in writing as well as on-screen.

Nettie was spirited, fired up, ready to go, had fighting power, was schooled, well-versed, captured our imagination and even got to travel to an Africa of our farthest dreams where she served as help to a missionary and his wife who just so happened to have adopted her big sister, Celie‘s, son and daughter, Adam and Olivia.

She was “the one” who taught her sister, Celie, to read and write, and then sent her letters from Africa for 30 years, in spite of the fact that she believed Celie would never see them or that they might never see one another on this side again. She had the faith and the resilience, the “stuff” to weather hard times and see the sunny side up of a thoroughly rotten egg.

Mister had everything to do with Celie’s and Nettie’s separation, but only because Nettie kicked him dead in the nuts while escaping an attempted rape out in the field. Mister was an abuser, a vile and wretched abuser, like nearly every man I’ve ever known in my lifetime.

As Nettie clung to her big sister, Mister separated them anyway and sent Nettie away, far far away, and we never knew how far Nettie went until Shug came back into the picture and found Mister’s “secret stash” with all of Nettie’s letters in them. Thirty years worth. We soon discover that God wasn’t just trying to tell them something … He had a reason for it all; and Mister ended up being the redeemer (God’s leverage) who brought his ex-wife’s family back home to American soil. The cruel one became the heart and soul of the story, his own soul also redeemed in the end.

Nettie reminded me of what I might have been, had I ever been a fighter … a real street brawler.

In that book, I’d have been Celie, or at least Sophia. No fight, or a fighter who ended up in prison because some krakka bitch was in my children’s face and telling me to be her damned “maid.” I’d have cussed that “no color at all” wench out, too; and the end result would have been the same as it was for Sophia.

Or I’d have been Celie, just laying around feeding other folks, nurturing and taking care of everybody but myself, taking shyt off people for no other reason than I am “ugly and here.” Definitely wouldn’t have been a Shug Avery type. No talent for Hollywood types and unwilling to do “same-sex” exchanges and roundtable drug-dipping and juicing to get there so someone could pretend I was all that talented.

Yet, in the end, Miss Celie ended up being the “saving grace” of a woman who thought she was better and better-looking than she, Sophia finally came home and was reunited in love and harmony with her children and even her raggedy ex-husband, Mister’s oldest son; Shug came back to take Miss Celie away with her and her husband, and Nettie, Nettie finally came back home to her older sister and brought Miss Celie’s son and daughter, two Americans taught and learned in African languages and customs, home.

In my wildest dreams, I was Nettie. Just Nettie.

Today’s salute for International Women’s Day goes to Ghanian-American actress Akosua Gyamama Busia, Nettie from ‘The Color Purple’.

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“In this shit life we live, we must chuck some things…”

That is an infamous line from one of actor Michael Caine‘s finest moments as he rounded the corner like a champion race horse to make his transition from this life into the netherworld of eternal gone-ness.

Cover of "The Weather Man (Widescreen Edi...

Cover of The Weather Man (Widescreen Edition)

It is from the movie, The Weatherman, starring Nicholas Cage, nephew of Francis Ford Coppola, a young man who was determined to make it in the movie business without riding on his famous uncle’s name.

Cage played the role of television news meteorologist Dave Spritz, the last name a variation of his father’s name, Spritzer. Spritzer was, indeed, a famous author who had made a name for himself. Dave looked up to his father, but knew he could never be the same man, or even the same kind of a man. He spent the entire movie struggling with that feeling of nothingness as he watched the life he’d dreamed of seep slowly from his cold rubbery hands and the wife he’d loved slip slowly into the life of another man.

The movie was a version of a non-linear thinking man’s thoughts about the life he was living, the way it was going, and what he wished he had done right or could take back, and it began with the weatherman being hit by every kind of fast food on the planet that one could name … salted fries, strawberry milk shakes, cheeseburgers with plenty of pickles, mustard and ketchup (catsup?), crispy hot apple pies … “and boy was it hot.”

Spritz, Dave, takes us on a journey through his loosely put-together mind, reminding us throughout the duration of the movie that though he didn’t have it all together, he wasn’t necessarily an idiot, and at some point along the way–as slump-shouldered as he carried himself–he also proved himself a brawler of a man who could hold his own when he had to confront the teacher cum child molester of his 14 year old son.

Without giving away details or spoilers, the story has a moral that isn’t a real moral, but more of an indictment on the world at large concerning the age-old theme of trying to find a “purpose” in life where there may not necessarily be one.

We can spend a lifetime looking for purpose just to find out that some European philosophers with plenty of money and time on their hands just sat around making all of this bullshit up.

Rick Warren wrote a book called “The Purpose-filled Life,” and at the time, the book made no sense whatsoever to me. It was like trying to read a few lines of one of T.D. Jakes‘ books, then staring off into space wondering exactly wtf he was talking about.

But then the truth reveals itself some eons later in the fact that there is a daily purpose or calling to fulfill, but never a purpose for living. It’s easy to understand why people commit suicide, under the circumstances.

You spend an entire lifetime hurting, sick, in pain, crying, mad, going through hell, loving and then watching loved ones die or turn on you for no reason except that they can; and being driven to the brink over and over again just to find out that you went through all of that shit for nothing. There was no good reason for it.

At least Christ had a reason for coming here and going through all of that. He had a well-defined purpose for going through hell for us, and some think He also went to hell for us; but that is arguable.

However,  we are just born; invited to a never-ending birthday party that we didn’t ask to be invited to and two often by two people who had no business with children in the first place. And just about the time that we finally decide it might be a fun night at the OK Life’s a Party Corral after all, the house lights come up and some cosmic DJ shouts “You ain’t got to go home, but you got to get the hell up outa here.” The roof is on fire, we don’t need no water, let the motherfucker burn…

Life has no purpose. Truly. Anyone who thinks so is a got-damned liar with poop for brains.

I asked my grandfather shortly after his 96th birthday if he ever figured it all out. I didn’t even need to explain to him what “it all” meant. For a 96-year old with a sixth grade education (because, he said, that was as far as they could go in school at the time), he caught on quickly. All he said was “Honey, I don’t think nobody figures it out until it’s time to check out.” Truth is, he didn’t even need a sixth-grade education for what his life was already predetermined to be before he was even born.

The only true purpose we live for in this life is to wake up, try to have a good day, try to help someone else have a good day, and if we can’t manage that, then eff it. Go back to sleep and do it again tomorrow. Or maybe not.

The junk food tossed at “the weatherman” was meant to say … no, I won’t say what it signified. That would be known as a “spoiler.” Suffice it to say …

In this shit life we live, “we must chuck some things.”

***In Memory of Christopher Jordan Dorner, a man who tried to stand up for the right thing and got the wrong thing in return for his troubles; thus proving that “do unto others” doesn’t mean before the fact; it means after.***
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