Where poetry meets abstraction-Kamaal Ibn, creates a buzz around the sleepless, New York City. A true force to be reckoned with to others, though still a perfectionist in his own eyes.
Crowned-the Abstract, he influences a plethora of new ideas with...
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The essence of A-1 Record Shop was something that possessed Kamaal, as though he was under the influence. Each vinyl, looked like it had been carefully packaged, cleaned, and untouched. When it came to searching for a new perspective, Kamaal usually liked to discover new things on his own — many people weren't so keen on staying in a record shop for hours.
Since Tribe debuted on stage at Open Room a few weeks ago, Tip felt like if the group was going to expound on the Hip-Hop scene, and truly incorporate something great, going out in the field was the only way of gaining some form of inspiration. Back in his younger days, around the age of eleven, he could remember his first time messing around on the turntables.
The street poetrist, formally known to his family as Jonathan William Davis consumed a wide range of music. He creds his father, Jonathan Sr. to his musical anatomy and knowledge.
There was an array of jazz records from the legendary John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock, Roy Haynes and many others. He'd usually find himself in the midst of his father's collection, listening to the vivid melodies that would make love to one another from the tender instruments.
It sparked a full interest to become a producer — causing this young cub to learn more about the crafty art. Eventually, this led to the artist to incorporate his knowledge of pause tape in cultivating records for Tribe.
He snickered to himself at the thought of his theories back in that time. He didn't feel bad about it though — nerds are scientists. The way the brain is chemically wired to receive, process and integrate information was the one thing that people rarely exploited.
"Finding everything you lookin' for, son?" Came from the lips of the salesman, Curtis, cleaning around the turntables that sat perfectly untouched on the counter. The spritz of sprays and squeaks from wiping had a rhythm to it, and it pulled the young man out of his trance.
Kamaal looked over at the bug-eyed mortal, with a smirk coming over him. "Yeah, B. Just getting into the NightClubbing artwork, by the one and only Grace Jones. It's hot, ain't it?" He turned the art over to the gentleman, who began to analyze the beige color, while black gave the title its inviting edge.
Grace Jones, who looked as silky as a fine piece of dark chocolate graced the salesman's eyes. Her cherry lips, so plump and delectable. The woman's dark skin, so alluring, shiny, and poetic. Kamaal couldn't take his eyes off of the cover art. It seemed as if the woman was pulling him into her wide range of thoughts by the front page alone. This was his time to see about those tables at the counter.
"Yo, you mind if a brother could spin a record or two?" He asked, knocking the salesman out of his thoughts.
