waxing mystical on Mystikal


(originally published in ON THE VERGE v3.0 e-mail monthly - July 5, 2001)

(you are now about to witness the effects of July heat and humidity on a young Black mind. ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...VIC FEEDLE.)

It all started a few months ago while I was lurking on the boards at Okayplayer.com. Someone had posted a theory about rap artist Mystikal possibly being a future James Brown Jr. The main argument is that he’s already got the voice for it – the screaming, the yelling, the ability to switch volume at the drop of a hat. All he would have to do is move away from a sequenced, programmed sound to performing with a 12-piece band. But the image of this rusty voice box havin’ spitter doing a rendition of "Shake Ya Ass" with backup dancers AND a horn section was too much for me to take. And that was nothing compared to the latest derailment my train of thought’s been stuck on for the last two months.

Mystikal woke me up out of a sound sleep once. The alarm clock hit 7 A.M. The radio blared, and Mr. Gritty Vocal scared the Talib Kweli outta me.


I think I jumped about three feet in the air.


POW! A face full of my bedroom wall.


I hate Mystikal. I really do.

That was shortly before that song blew up. Soon afterwards, "Danger" was being played everywhere. I couldn’t escape it. So I began to think, if one has to hear this song constantly, at least let it be put to good use. The chorus begs to be used for children’s street crossing safety ads. Better yet, use it on Sesame Street. A little kid is playing with their ball. They accidentally kick it out into a busy intersection. As they start to run out and get it, a voice cracks open the sky.


The child is blown backwards by the force of the voice. Mystikal appears in the intersection, larger than life.


The child looks up at him in astonishment. Mystikal points downward.


New York State just passed a law banning the use of cell phones while driving. This is a perfect opportunity for a public service announcement. A woman is driving down a highway on her cell phone, checking in with her assistant at the office on the day’s progress and what projects still need to be completed. She’s barreling down quickly on another car in front of her.


The car swerves hard to the right. Mystikal appears in the passenger seat.


The car swerves to the left. He grabs the cellular out of her hand and screams in her ear.


(somebody buy this man an air conditioner quick.)

what? it was just an idea.

(sure it was, Vic. sure it was...)

{vic feedle}

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