I was at the gym last night and I heard it, “Yo, Martin Schmidt RIP!”

What?

“Cops were on to him for robbing some liquor stores. Supposedly he was fueling that crack-rock, man. Kid ran from 5-0 and fell out a window - thirty feet to his death right there on 4th and Ashland. Santa Monica’s losing ‘em, homie.”

Yeah, I guess. We’ve done been losing folks at a steady clip since I was kid. Friends got killed, knocked, forced to move away. This place has been changing on the regular.

“Days were full of gaps, probably because they were too alike. And when something big happened it was impossible to hold it clear. The gaps rushed in even there.”

-P. 29, The Fortress of Solitude-

Jonathan Lethem didn’t necessarily live the life of Dylan Ebdus, but his brother Blake sort of did, and therefore Jonathan got so much of being a white boy in a racially mixed, working-class neighborhood right with his novel The Fortress of Solitude. Dylan turned within, allowing things to happen to him, observing the ways of the neighborhood around him, electing to be victimized by them. Blake, in turn, took everything the world had to offer right in the mouth and sustained a ridiculous beating, all the while, holding his nuts and shouting F-The World. I suppose that there are more than two ways to react to being an oppressor on the streets of the oppressed, but the aforementioned ways of seeing and dealing were the two I knew.

“Yo, sonny, run to the store with me for a minute.”

I was four, maybe five years old and I wasn’t allowed off my block. The store was a small bodega half-a-block up in Cambridgeport, MA. The dude asking was a lean, diesel brother with those high-cut cheekbones and deep-set eyes that the islands are so famous for. He rocked bushy, unkempt hair. I squinted up at from my seat on the sidewalk, chalk in my hand, at this Jamaican kid – Jamal was his name – and knew that he was telling, not asking. So I followed.

I don’t hold it against him, but Michael Roiff, our fearless producer, is a huge Celtics fan. Being from the outskirts of Boston, it’s understandable I suppose. He says, and I think he’s serious, that he bases much of his life’s approach on Larry Bird’s book DRIVE. If so, Larry Legend has taught a thing or two in his prose because Michael makes no compromises and is a straight shooter. So, in honor of Michael and all the work he’s putting in on our dream to see this thing make it to the big screen, we wish Larry Legend a Happy 50th birthday.

Crazy, right? Larry Bird’s 50! Nuts. Bananas. Unbelievable. When Larry was still in his playing heyday, I met a kid on the courts of Santa Monica named Syrus Yarbourgh. He was flashy, he was quick, he could drain it from deep and he could cross your ass over on the dribble. Sy was the real deal on the hardwood. As a freshman pointguard, he helped SAMOHI to a State Championship (with a slew of other great players around him). Now, Sy’s an actor. You may recall him from MTV’s REAL WORLD: BOSTON. Boston… The common link (you’re probably wondering what Syrus has to do with Larry’s birthday). I’ve been thinking for a minute about Syrus being one of the cats in the gym. He’s organic, he’s from here, he can ball and he’s got a great look.

What role do you think Sy can pull off in our little flick? And, oh, by the way, I want Larry Legend to make a cameo in our film, so if you’re out there, Mr. Bird, come celebrate your 50s in our film…

How does a guitar solo clarify the plight of a small, ragged foster kid? How can an eighties pop song define Dallas’ soul? Why does a Coltrane high note speak to Dante’s game? What is it about a country riff that suddenly clarifies Baby’s confusion?
Music can speak eloquently for us when our mouths are cotton, our brains are jelly and our knees are knocking. It can sell a woman on love, it can pull your virginity as smooth as a high-class thief, it can define our darkest dungeons and evoke our brightest success. Music has ways that words do not. This is why, in my opinion, that de la secretly wishes he could strum a guitar for a living instead of stroking that keyboard.