Using NYC's hip hop radio station "Hot 97" as the focal point, the always awesome New Yorker examines the current state of hip hop in New York City. It's a very fascinating, engrossing and entertaining read. Here's an excerpt from the article:
A recent edition features a scene shot last year, before Gravy’s feud with Hot 97, and shortly after he and Fendi had negotiated to take their private label, Dirty Money Records, to Warner Bros., for a reported three million dollars. It is night, and Gravy and Ice-T are standing on Eighth Street, in the Village—a young rapper on the cusp of success, basking in the attention of an elder statesman. “We just chilling,” Ice-T says. “I bumped into Gravy. Say, ‘What’s happening?’ We talking.”
“We gone got the official Gangsta Man,” Gravy says. “You can’t get more gangsta than this man right here, you know?. . . Tell me, what you got going on, Ice-T?”
“Right now, I’m on TV—niggas watching me on ‘Law and Order: Special Victims Unit,’ cause I’m the real mothafuckin’ pimp,” Ice-T says. “Playing the police. Imagine that. That’s real pimpin’ for a street nigga like me.”
Ice-T mentions that he’s got a new album coming out (“Gangsta Rap”), along with a clothing line (310 Motoring) and an energy drink (Liquid Ice) to promote: “I’m just trying to get it all, man. I’m trying to stay in the game.”
Gravy, nodding along, is wearing three huge silver necklaces, with crosses dangling in front of his stomach. “My man, shit, let me check out how you roll,” he says, turning and pointing behind Ice-T to a silver luxury car.
“Yeah, this the Bentley,” Ice-T says, before directing the camera to the front seat, where he shows off a customized steering wheel. “Got a lot of wood up in there. You go check niggas’ Bentleys out, you ain’t even going to see the wood steering wheel, ’cause that’s extra. That cost five thousand. . . . But I got it from hard work.”
Ice-T turns serious. “The hardest thing in the world to get is street respect, where niggas really are happy to see you with this type of stuff, you dig? That’s the hardest thing to obtain, is to get it, and have the hood feel like you deserve it, you dig? ’Cause you can go out there, get a budget, and get a whole bunch of money—niggas will run right up in your crib and repossess that bullshit, real quick. Look, look, look— ”
A double-decker sightseeing bus has pulled to a stop behind the Bentley (“Ladies and gentlemen, Ice-T!”), and tourists on the upper level begin snapping pictures. “What’s up, Ice-T?”
“What’s happening?” he shouts back.
“There he is!”
Turning to face the camera again, Ice-T smirks, and says, “That’s all white people—trip. That’s all white people. So you got to be good in the hood, and gets respect from the top deck, you dig? World renowned, internationally known, and locally respected. That’s me and Saucy”—Gravy—“we do it like that.”
The cameraman asks, “Ice-T, how’s the rap game changed since you’ve come up?”
“I mean, the rap game’s changed a lot, but I’m not mad at it,” he says. “It’s more raw. . . . Now every rap crew is made of real mothafuckin’ dangerous individuals, you dig what I’m saying? You got to understand, I got in the rap game to get out of the streets. . . . Now the streets is in the rap game.” Ice-T, as if in a time warp, appears to be counselling his protégé Gravy from some vantage point in the future. “Now niggas idolize the shot, not the shooter,” he says. “You brag how many times you got shot. I’m supposed to be impressed? . . . I’m down with the niggas who staying on the streets, who ain’t getting shot, ’cause nobody wants to shoot ’em. . . . I’m down with the niggas who come from the gutter but are trying to do it right, so they can feed they kids. Them is my crew. . . . Like this, ya heard?” He tugs Gravy back into the frame. “If you motivate niggas to do low, you hustling sideways.”
Ice-T’s wife, Coco, who is white, enters the picture, and his mood lightens. “She representing—just got her mothafuckin’ nails done,” he says. “I love her to death. . . . All the black women that got problems with Ice-T with a white girl? Kiss my fucking ass.” Then he puts his arm around Coco and starts singing “We Are the World,” swaying from side to side.
I kind of love this photo. 
This might be one of my favorite photos ever from my party photo set.
Some artist was painting on the main floor of the three level bar.
Jesus and the White Jackets! 
Industrial rocking it!
Woa.
I think the people that participate in this event pretty much deserve one another. There's a speed dating event next week where the requirements for participants are such: Guys, be rich and girls, be hot. How rich? Like a minimum of $200,000 salary (more depending on age), assest over $1 million, and at least a $4 million trust--with documents to back it up.
Attending Professor Stuart Gottlieb's 'Terrorism and Counterterrorism' class at Columbia University in promotion for 'V for Vendetta', NYC (March 6th 2006)
At the Starbucks on Spring Street in Soho, Mike's alter ego reveals itself.
Me and Mike in Union Square after drinking at Coffee Shop.
Who is cat eating out on the town
And make the whole dining room turn they head around
Mr Dugga Dugga Dugga.
Mike and his Georgetown buddy, Mook at Botanica. As evident by the collar shirt, Mook just got out of a law firm related social event. We are chilling at Botanica, which is one of my all time favorite bars.
Me and Lauren--another soon to be lawyer.
The lonely and quiet Metro North train ride back.