We need to stop talking about drugs like it's a black issue. It's not. According to the Office Of National Drug Control Policy (www.whitehousedrugpolicy.gov) in 2004 the DEA arrested 22,245 whites compared to 3,527 blacks. Also, in 2006 drug abuse violations on the state and local levels were 63.6% white compared to 35.1% black. The US Marshalls arresting people for the same reason report 66.1% of whites were arrested to just 31% of blacks. We've let ourselves be convinced that they are plaguing our streets more than anyone else's. We say drugs are killing us. Please do something. So they make tougher laws that are not needed and police begin to openly racially profile, then everyone's pissed. I guarantee you that most druggies in America aren't crack users, which would eliminate the majority of black drug users; furthermore, the only black people that I know that have used drugs other than crack or heavier than weed have gotten them from white people.
Drugs are an American problem. The sooner that we make them realize that, the better off we'll be. What I would like to see are statistics that are based on economics rather than race. I would like to know how many arrests there were for individuals that household made less than $30,000/year, then $60,000/year, and then over $100,000/year. Then I would like to see percentages on the same econimic criteria for those that were convicted, those that were in a treatment facility, those that had a public defender, and the lengths of the sentences. Most off all though, I would like to see the restructuring of our entire drug policy, because it's pretty stupid. How a person can go to jail for weed and not go for liquor is kind of retarded to me, and I don't smoke.
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Monday, May 5, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Failure is not an option
Failure is the option from the "Water From Turnips" out 10/08
Due to the fact that I was an excellent underachiever I became comfortable with the mundane. Success scared me. I know you may be thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about? How could you be scared of success?". Some of you say that I was stupid, and I was; however, the same cats that are speaking it out of the sides of their necks are probably the same ones that are scared of success because they are probably scared to fail.
Failure has always petrified me. For whatever reason, I've always looked at things from the "What if it doesn't work out?" angle. And because of this, everything for the better part of my life had ended in one of two ways:
• I work hard and bust my ass to only get the close to the end and give up
• I ignore the whole situation all together, and hope it will go away because I think it would be too much work
I squandered so many years and so many opportunities to improve myself by living this way. This is my struggle. Not the music, booking shows, or my documentary. Everyday I fight to never go back to that person. That person believed that you were given a hand by life, and sometimes you were lucky enough get good cards.
That person believed that being undervalued is what life was all about. That person was a fucking idiot, and I promise I will never be that person again. I realized that failure was a seed of success. You can't get ahead without it, and we often fail at something a multitude of times before we succeed. This book alone attests to that.
"Water From Turnips" is currently my eighth attempt at writing a book since 1999. After I found ACN, I read just about everything in existence on anything that had to do with success. So much so that all the information that I was taking in began to blur together. So I decided to develop, with all of my unpracticed knowledge, 20 principles of success. Not only that, through delusion and arrogance, I decided to write a book called nothing other than "20 Principles Of Success". This was an incredibly stupid idea on so many levels, the biggest one being that I had no idea what success was. I mean, I'd read about it, I'd known people that were; however, I'd never experienced it in the way I was going to write about it. Hell, I was only in ACN 4 months when I got this bright idea. I remember I had this huge outline with all of these laws. I'd even gone as far as to come up with the idea for the book cover. There was only one thing missing... personal examples. So after a long, hard examination I realized that writing a book about principles that I had not practiced enough to know if they worked was pretty unethical. Besides, I couldn't get passed the ninth page.
My second book was called "God Is...". It was supposed to be about what my next chapter is. It was going to be in dialogue form. God having a conversation with me. Then I read "Conversations With God". That ended that.
My third book was called "Marriage...What Am I A Fucking Idiot?" It was a book about my exploits as a bachelor, and the keys to getting sex in three dates or less. I actually wrote 30 pages of this before deciding against it. For one, telling dudes my secrets to getting sex would actually decrease my chances of it. Two, if women read that book I probably wasn't going to be getting sex very often.
Next I was going to write a book about the Matrix, and how I apply all of the movie's symbolisms to the rest of my life. This was actually a great idea, being that I was borderline obsessive compulsive over the movie. When it was out on the big screen, I literally saw it 55 times. I own the trilogy, and I watch it at least once a month. This actually counts as a fourth, fifth, and sixth. For whatever reason, I couldn't get passed page 40. There was really no reason why either, I just got stuck all three times.
My seventh time was going to be my day to day memoirs. I was going to keep a diary for 2007 that would show how I did business, and lived my life. I was going to start every week and month off with what my goals are. Then at the end of the day I would write about what happened. The problem with this one was that I had too much shit going on in my life, heart, and head to finish this book. Plus, telling people my daily innermost thoughts made me feel kind of like a bitch. Especially since I was pretty depressed over what happened with Ebony and I.
I even started writing this book with a whole different premise in mind. It was going to be about the whoas of the music business, and how it eats people up. That idea only lasted a day. I don't want to discourage people from being in the industry. Nor do I want folks to think that I hate the business. I hate the people in the business. It's a difference.
If this book didn't work out, I would start another later on. Eventually I would finish. This is what success is about. Who cares if something doesn't workout the first time, or the second time, or even the two thousandth time. The only thing that matters is that I finish. This is my new life's philosophy.
The process of failing alone does not achieve eventual success though. It is what I learn from my failures and choose to apply and adjust until my desired goal is reached. For example, "Anti-Social" cost E and I almost $5000 to record. I know that it may not seem like a lot for an album to folks who aren't in the business or to cats with money behind them, but to the average indie emcee like myself that's an enormous amount of dough. I worked two jobs and missed rent sometimes to cover that studio bill. Also, that's money that didn't go towards promoting and manufacturing our album. We didn't know any better though, this was our first album, and we were hungry to get something out there with our official First Team seal on it.
However, by the time our second album came along we had learned a couple of valuable lessons that helped us cut our costs. The first is that the studio is for recording only. In the past, we listened to tracks and wrote songs, and took breaks to shoot the shit; in other words, we did all of the things that we could have done at home for free.
Now, when we're recording, we have the whole song written, practically memorized, and ready to drop. If a producer has tracks for me to hear, he could put it on a CD and I'll hear it later. I eat before I get there, and, often times, I bring my own bottled water. The engineer can take a break whenever he wants, as long as he is willing to deduct it from my time. Because of this, in a 6 hour session I could typically do 5 songs.
The second is the only people that are allowed in a session with me are the cats that have something invested in the songs that I'm recording. People at the studio can only do a few things..smoke, drink, get in the way, give opinions that are not necessary, or play willy and try to get chicks to come through. I ain't got time for none of that shit. We could get up with you later to do all of that.
Since doing these two things we have seen a progressive decline in our studio bills, which in turn raises our profits. First Team's second album cost us $1900 to record. "Sometimes You Gotta Stand Alone" and "2: The Alias and Eardrumz Saga" combined cost $1800. My last album, the "Do It!: A Documentary" soundtrack only cost $800 to record. That includes mixing. Now there are a few other factors that have contributed to that; however, the main reason is because I learned that spending $5000 to record an album when it's coming out of your pockets is unacceptable.
AVAILABLE NOW!!!!
5 ALBUMS, 6 NATIONAL TOURS, ENTREPENEUR, SINGLE FATHER,
2 JOBS, SPONSORS CANCELLED, HOUSE FORECLOSED...
...HAVE YOU EVER WANTED SOMETHING SO BAD THAT
YOU WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TOOK TO MAKE IT HAPPEN?
Do It!: A Documentary Deluxe Set $10 DVD/CD Format
Do It: A Documentary Deluxe Set $5 mp4/mp3
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Salt Lake Cit Weekly Music Picks May 1-7 | Live: The Swell Season, Do It!, Northern State, Elbow, Harptallica
By Jamie Gadette
Posted 05/01/2008
DO IT! A DOCUMENTARY
Anyone out there recognize Quanstar? The Compton-born emcee dedicated his life to hip-hop—that, and raising his son as a single dad—but he’s still hardly a household name. Sadly, his story is all too familiar: promising artist works overtime to “make it,” only to realize the secret to success is a trick question. In Do It! A Documentary, Quanstar offers viewers a nice reality check without veering into doomsday territory. Nitty-gritty footage follows the artist recording in a basement practice space and cramped studio, on tour, in hotel rooms with family and friends. The film itself could benefit from some serious editing, but the shaky camera work and muffled testimonies are endearing—especially to other artists trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents. Uprok, 342 S. State, 8 p.m. Info: 363-1523
http://www.slweekly.com/index.cfm?do=article.details&id=a030787e-14d1-13a2-9feb90884cc385aa
AVAILABLE NOW!!!!
5 ALBUMS, 6 NATIONAL TOURS, ENTREPENEUR, SINGLE FATHER,
2 JOBS, SPONSORS CANCELLED, HOUSE FORECLOSED...
...HAVE YOU EVER WANTED SOMETHING SO BAD THAT
YOU WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TOOK TO MAKE IT HAPPEN?
Do It!: A Documentary Deluxe Set $10 DVD/CD Format
Do It: A Documentary Deluxe Set $5 mp4/mp3
By Jamie Gadette
Posted 05/01/2008
DO IT! A DOCUMENTARY
Anyone out there recognize Quanstar? The Compton-born emcee dedicated his life to hip-hop—that, and raising his son as a single dad—but he’s still hardly a household name. Sadly, his story is all too familiar: promising artist works overtime to “make it,” only to realize the secret to success is a trick question. In Do It! A Documentary, Quanstar offers viewers a nice reality check without veering into doomsday territory. Nitty-gritty footage follows the artist recording in a basement practice space and cramped studio, on tour, in hotel rooms with family and friends. The film itself could benefit from some serious editing, but the shaky camera work and muffled testimonies are endearing—especially to other artists trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents. Uprok, 342 S. State, 8 p.m. Info: 363-1523
http://www.slweekly.com/index.cfm?do=article.details&id=a030787e-14d1-13a2-9feb90884cc385aa
AVAILABLE NOW!!!!
5 ALBUMS, 6 NATIONAL TOURS, ENTREPENEUR, SINGLE FATHER,
2 JOBS, SPONSORS CANCELLED, HOUSE FORECLOSED...
...HAVE YOU EVER WANTED SOMETHING SO BAD THAT
YOU WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TOOK TO MAKE IT HAPPEN?
Do It!: A Documentary Deluxe Set $10 DVD/CD Format
Do It: A Documentary Deluxe Set $5 mp4/mp3
The Power Of The Consumer
The power of the consumer from my book "Water From Turnips" out 10/08
My interpretation of business in a free market country is very simple. The consumer demands a product or service, and the company supplies that product or service to the consumer for a price. The price is based on:♦ how much the consumer is willing to pay for the product
♦ the cost to manufacture, market, and deliver
So in theory, free trade markets are completely consumer driven. In America, and most free trade countries, one must include laws, taxes, and subsidies into the equation. This is typically done to control or stabilize the growth of the market, to make an effort to ensure product quality or consumer safety, and to generally make sure that the government is getting a piece of the action itself. The entertainment industry is the purest form of this...
Begin Sidenote- I always get into it with people over consumer power in the music industry. "I don't really listen to rap, because it's gotten too misogynistic and violent"; however, those same people are quick to hit a club or listen to a radio station that plays that very same music they say they can't stand. Radio stations depend on advertisers. If noone's listening then advertisers aren't buying spots. If advertisers aren't buying spots then radio stations aren't making any money.
Another thing that I always hear from a lot of my female friends is, "It's just a song. They're not talking about me, because I'm not a bitch. Plus, I just like the beat". Sometimes I start singing bitch to them, and tell them that I'm not talking about them. They still get offended. Then I say, "Why won't you get offended when these cats are saying the same thing? Newsflash, unless they speak specifics, they mean it in a general sense. Stop fooling yourself!"
Also, one of my revolutionary homies told me, "We should boycott these record companies they start putting out quality material". I asked what he had in mind, and he told me the usual bullshit. You know like picketing, letters to the CEO's, and have meetings with the head of the record labels about putting better images forth. "Why not just buy music that doesn't placate to those images, and then talk your friends into doing that. Don't you think that this would be a more practical way of approaching it?" Of course he didn't..
The fact is that record companies are in the business of making money (which they don't seem to doing well anymore). If ignorance and dope dreams sell, then why wouldn't they present it to us. It's what we want, and they shouldn't take more responsibility than us on what we want to buy. Britney spears sold a lot of albums because we bought it (for the record, I speaking about 'we' in the general sense.) For as many people that complain about the images that hip hop and urban music put out there, Common and Talib should have sold 10 million albums every release.
The consumers power is absolute with no exception. All you have to do is use it. It's like a vote. You couldn't pay me to own an R. Kelly CD. The fool had sex with a little girl. Michael Jackson's pedophile ass will never be in my CD player again. Everything that I owned made by them went into the trash can, because the fact that I owned their music felt like I was okay with what they were doing. That's my right...my responsibility as a consumer and human being. -End Sidenote
...because the market is 100% consumer driven. The only things you need to figure out are who is the consumer, what am I selling, and how do I get it to them.
AVAILABLE NOW!!!!
5 ALBUMS, 6 NATIONAL TOURS, ENTREPENEUR, SINGLE FATHER,
2 JOBS, SPONSORS CANCELLED, HOUSE FORECLOSED...
...HAVE YOU EVER WANTED SOMETHING SO BAD THAT
YOU WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TOOK TO MAKE IT HAPPEN?
Do It!: A Documentary Deluxe Set $10 DVD/CD Format
Do It: A Documentary Deluxe Set $5 mp4/mp3
Friday, May 2, 2008
I got a story to tell
STORY from Do It: A Documentary soundtrack:
let me tell you a story bout a chick named Jane,
pussy good enough to drive a nigga insane,
to get what she want she quick to play with your mind,
think she love and she dun left your ass behind,
until she met Troy that was as trife as she,
bad boy from Decatur made her wife to be,
big ballin ass nigga even bigger with the trigger,
always brought her somethin pretty when he hit her,
bruises embellished her hour glass figure beat her brown eyes black,
say the wrong word and this nigga was on the attack,
but she don't what to do and she has nowhere to go,
and she's in love with the dick and he got all the dough,
he don't love them other bitches that nigga love you,
why they suckin on his dick he be thinkin of you,
you ain't innocent yourself love don't even pretend,
cause little does he know you you dun fucked all of his friends.
let me tell you a story about this nigga named Bly,
til he got hold of a gun always acted real shy,
then he start fuckin with big cats,
them niggas with big gats,
beatin niggas brains in fuckin all the hoodrats,
hair cornrolled pants saggin dressed to impressed,
thuglife stamped on the dead of his chest,
tellin you this nigga was infamously known walkin around the fuckin city of the B's and C's,
graduated street life university,
majored in pharmaceuticals,
though criminal justice was more suitable,
you know the bullshit,
cock shit shoot shit,
lose clips til one of them niggas will get hit,
hustle and bustle shuckin and jive,
parents disowned you won't even say you alive,
could have used their support though started catchin strife,
resident of the pen servin 25 to life.
it's kind of funny how fake shit disguises as true,
everybody's feelin real not really havin a clue,
no matter what you do love of man love of cheddar,
lack of love of self thinkin that it makes you better,
used to go through the same things spriit had to gain things,
mine love of pussy women were my play things,
another week another chick thought it made me a man,
sounds a little sick but i knew that can,
didn't really have a plan fuck a girl get money,
then send her on her way cryin feelin like a dummy,
then somethin switched in me might say my thinkin changed,
cause i still fuck a lot but i'm passed playin games,
so you see i kinda understand why Jane goes through it,
Bly pulls a trigger understand why he do it,
those that relate to the words that i speak,
put to the mirror to your let you see who you be.
AVAILABLE NOW!!!!
5 ALBUMS, 6 NATIONAL TOURS, ENTREPENEUR, SINGLE FATHER,
2 JOBS, SPONSORS CANCELLED, HOUSE FORECLOSED...
...HAVE YOU EVER WANTED SOMETHING SO BAD THAT
YOU WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TOOK TO MAKE IT HAPPEN?
Do It!: A Documentary Deluxe Set $10 DVD/CD Format
Do It: A Documentary Deluxe Set $5 mp4/mp3
let me tell you a story bout a chick named Jane,
pussy good enough to drive a nigga insane,
to get what she want she quick to play with your mind,
think she love and she dun left your ass behind,
until she met Troy that was as trife as she,
bad boy from Decatur made her wife to be,
big ballin ass nigga even bigger with the trigger,
always brought her somethin pretty when he hit her,
bruises embellished her hour glass figure beat her brown eyes black,
say the wrong word and this nigga was on the attack,
but she don't what to do and she has nowhere to go,
and she's in love with the dick and he got all the dough,
he don't love them other bitches that nigga love you,
why they suckin on his dick he be thinkin of you,
you ain't innocent yourself love don't even pretend,
cause little does he know you you dun fucked all of his friends.
chorus:
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different names cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a Goddess but you act like a queen.
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different names cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a Goddess but you act like a queen.
let me tell you a story about this nigga named Bly,
til he got hold of a gun always acted real shy,
then he start fuckin with big cats,
them niggas with big gats,
beatin niggas brains in fuckin all the hoodrats,
hair cornrolled pants saggin dressed to impressed,
thuglife stamped on the dead of his chest,
tellin you this nigga was infamously known walkin around the fuckin city of the B's and C's,
graduated street life university,
majored in pharmaceuticals,
though criminal justice was more suitable,
you know the bullshit,
cock shit shoot shit,
lose clips til one of them niggas will get hit,
hustle and bustle shuckin and jive,
parents disowned you won't even say you alive,
could have used their support though started catchin strife,
resident of the pen servin 25 to life.
chorus:
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different name cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a God but you act like a king.
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different name cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a God but you act like a king.
it's kind of funny how fake shit disguises as true,
everybody's feelin real not really havin a clue,
no matter what you do love of man love of cheddar,
lack of love of self thinkin that it makes you better,
used to go through the same things spriit had to gain things,
mine love of pussy women were my play things,
another week another chick thought it made me a man,
sounds a little sick but i knew that can,
didn't really have a plan fuck a girl get money,
then send her on her way cryin feelin like a dummy,
then somethin switched in me might say my thinkin changed,
cause i still fuck a lot but i'm passed playin games,
so you see i kinda understand why Jane goes through it,
Bly pulls a trigger understand why he do it,
those that relate to the words that i speak,
put to the mirror to your let you see who you be.
chorus:
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different name cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a God but you act like a king,
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different names cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a Goddess but you act like a queen.
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different name cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a God but you act like a king,
i got a story to tell and i swear that it's true,
might be different names cause it's probably about you,
the things that people do for the lack of self esteem,
thought you were a Goddess but you act like a queen.
AVAILABLE NOW!!!!
5 ALBUMS, 6 NATIONAL TOURS, ENTREPENEUR, SINGLE FATHER,
2 JOBS, SPONSORS CANCELLED, HOUSE FORECLOSED...
...HAVE YOU EVER WANTED SOMETHING SO BAD THAT
YOU WOULD DO WHATEVER IT TOOK TO MAKE IT HAPPEN?
Do It!: A Documentary Deluxe Set $10 DVD/CD Format
Do It: A Documentary Deluxe Set $5 mp4/mp3
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Tunnel Vision from Quanstar's book "Water From Turnips" due out in October '08
This is a chapter from my book that's due out in October '08. Let me know what you think:
Tunnel Vision
One morning I was on my way to work sitting in the morning traffic, drinking a $4 cup of coffee, and flipping through radio stations hearing the same songs played by the DJ’s that seem to be telling variations of the same joke when I saw it. A huge concrete structure that ran the length of the highway. It seemed to be a tunnel of some sort, and it was more monstrous than huge. It had to be at least 5 stories tall, which only added to my perplexity. I’d never noticed it before.
My first thought was that it had just been built, but something that big and long would have taken an extensive amount of construction. There’s no way that I wouldn’t have noticed that. Plus on top of that, that shit looked old. It was dingy with graffiti all over it. How had I not noticed this?
My whole life I have prided myself on being very attuned to my surroundings. Most things rarely get by me, and the ones that do never get by me the second time. I drive this highway everyday, with no exception, and there is no way in hell that I would only see this today if it was always there.
Then it hit me, and I finally understood. Aliens abducted me and erased every memory of this tunnel out of my head; however even that would raise a few questions:
• Why would they erase this particular tunnel out of my head?
• What other memories have they erased?
• Why me?
I knew I shouldn’t have read “Behold A Pale Horse”.
The best answers that I could come up with was that this was where their invasion forces are gathering to take over our world and enslave mankind. Of course a massive operation like this couldn’t have been done with this much subterfuge without the help of our government. I think we made a side deal with the aliens for some leniency. It was probably that we agreed in some way to be the “house niggas”, and the rest of the world would be the “field niggas”.
To conceal it, they put us all under this type of illusion centered mind control that keeps us from noticing these bases. Somehow I was able to break it, probably due to my exceptional mental strength. I wonder if they know that I am no longer under their mental influence.
Then I realized how stupid I was for thinking this. There is no way an alien invasion would be possible. Aliens only stick to small towns with farms, because that’s how they make those crop circles. How idiotic of me to think they would have something right off the highway.
Then I went to Plan B; however, I didn’t have one. So I did what every hard working American citizen would have done...I started cursing out and honking my horn at the green Montero that cut in front of me. Man I fucking hate traffic.
An hour later, I finally get to work, but I can’t get that tunnel off of mind. What was it and how long has it been there? Why haven’t I noticed it? And most importantly, where is it a tunnel to? My first three hours on the clock were spent contemplating this. It must have been visible that work wasn’t my forethought, because I was told by my manager twice to get my head out of my ass and work. So for the remaining 6 and a half hours I still searched for answers, but I did it while I was in mindless worker bee mode. Suffice to say that it pleased my manager. I hate working for other people.
The only good thing about working today is that it would be dark by the time that I got home, and I wouldn’t have to notice that piece of shit tunnel. However, as soon as I got on the highway it was lit brighter than anything else. As a matter of fact, when I turned my head to my left to face it, the white light almost blinded me. The rest of the drive, which was still in traffic, I spent trying to ignore it. To no avail of course.
I even dreamed about it that night. I was driving to work again, with my $4 coffee, still flipping through the radio stations listening to the same bad music, and trying to forget about “trying to forget about the elephant in the room” when this incredible feeling of intrigue rushed over me. I had to know what that tunnel was, and I had to know today. So I cut over to the nearest exit...well it was more like signaled and scoot to the next lane. I was in traffic remember.
I finally worked my way off, and made the right turn and headed to the concrete monolith. All of the traffic was going back the opposite way so it was a fairly easy drive. When I got there, the tunnel was even more in every aspect than I imagined. It was bigger, standing at least 100 feet tall. I knew it was older, because the wind and weather damage had it about 50 years from being considered a ruin. All in all, it was even uglier than I imagined, which made its existence even odder than it already was because the area that it was in was the wealthiest part of the city.
Literally across the street from the tunnel, were some of the most beautiful homes that I’ve ever seen. The lawns were immaculate. One house had a porch swing, another had a picket fence, one had a huge oak tree in the yard. There was a hop scotch board sketched in the sidewalk from the day before. The few people that I saw come out were smiling. Wives walked their husbands to the car, and gave them huge kisses. Kids pleasantly waited for the bus stop. The mailman was even making deliveries with a smile. The only thing that I could think about was how a scene so nice and serene can be on the same street as something so aesthetically deficient (SAT phrase).
I turned back to the tunnel, thinking that there had to be some clue as to where this came from and why this is here. That’s when I noticed this rusty, blue metal door right in front of me. I could tell that it was newer than the structure, but that was like comparing Methuselah to Moses. I walked up to it and found out the door was unlocked and, against my better judgement, I opened it then walked in.
My jaw dropped, the surprises ceased to stop coming. The inside of the tunnel was more like a well lit corridor. The walls and the ceilings were gold with platinum trim, and in the middle of the marbled floor was a California king sized bed with a brass frame . Then I heard a giggle, and a voice from behind the door said, “ It’s about time you found us. Are you coming in and closing the door or what?” Like an idiot I did; however, once I saw what was behind it, I quickly understood that I was the luckiest man in the world.
Picture this, four women resembling Gabrielle Union, Eva Mendez, Jessica Alba and Serena Williams underwearless in a half shirt and boy shorts. I instantly knew what this tunnel was now...Heaven. I immediately dropped to my knees and started thanking God for this ultimate blessing when Gabrielle put her hand on my shoulder and lips to my ear whispering, “Pray later, you need all of your energy now baby.” I almost came on myself. Then she stood me up, put her hands on my cheek, and planted the most passionate kiss on my lips. I couldn’t believe it. I’m getting tongue from Gabrielle Union...and Eva...and Jessica...and I just got slammed on the bed by Serena. I then thought, I’m not ever leaving this tunnel in my life. I knew that I found my calling...sex slave. Then, just as Eva pulled down my pants, climbed on top of me and a naked Jessica Alba sat on my face, I woke up.
It was 3:10 am and my bed was soaking wet. Not even in the good way either. I laid still with the cover over my head for about an hour trying to go back to sleep. If I had some in the house, I would have even drunk a bottle of Nyquil. How could God be so cruel? What did I do to deserve this? So for the rest of the night I was unable to sleep, unable to think about anything other than what I dreamed, and trying to decide whether I was going to go to that tunnel.
The next morning, everything started like it always did. I was on my way to work sitting in the morning traffic, drinking a $4 cup of coffee, and flipping through radio stations hearing the same songs played by the DJ’s that seem to be telling variations of the same joke. This time I wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. In my head, I was deciding whether I was going to the tunnel, but, in reality the decision was already made. That dream proved it. Don’t get me wrong, I know those women won’t be there; however, they symbolized something different. Im not sure what, but I’m absolutely certain that I have to go to that tunnel.
So I signaled and scooted from lane to lane until I finally worked my way off. Then I made the right turn and headed to the concrete monolith. Everything was playing out like my dream, which meant that all of the traffic was going back the opposite way so it was a fairly easy drive. Then I noticed the irony in that thought. I was heading towards a dream that I had while everyone, including myself before this moment, fights everyday to fulfill someone else’s.
We get up early, get dressed in uncomfortable clothes, fight the battle called traffic, sit next to people that we don’t like at our jobs, got to lunch when they tell us and come back in a specific time, and get paid less than a fraction of what we make them. Every fucking day of every fucking week of every fucking month of every fucking year I do this like a robot carrying out protocol, I never realized how much I really hated doing it until now. I can’t blame myself though, there wasn’t anything to compare it with. Now I have one, I want to know what’s in that tunnel. Correction, I’m going to know.
When I reached the structure, it looked just like it did in my dream, bigger and older than on the highway. Which also meant that it was it the ugliest thing that I ever saw, and when I turned to look across the street I saw some of the most beautiful homes. One house had a porch swing, another had a picket fence, one had a huge oak tree in the yard. There was a hop scotch board sketched in the sidewalk from the day before. The few people that I saw come out were smiling. Wives walked their husbands to the car, and gave them huge kisses. Kids gave pleasantly waited for the bus stop. The mailman was even making deliveries with a smile.
I wondered was I psychic, because this was an exact mirror to my dream. Later I’ll try my luck with Tarot Cards, and on Sunday I’ll go to Church and testify about my Visions. Either way, I could get paid. Maybe the girls will be in there waiting for me after all.
Then I turned back to the aesthetically deficient ruin in the making to look for that blue metal door. To my expectations it was right there as Moses like as ever in all of its rusted splendor. At this point, my loins ached. What if Eva, Gabrielle, Jessica, and Serena were in there waiting for me? I ran to the door, yanked it open, and charged in. Then my mouth dropped...it was nothing but darkness. “Serena, Serena baby you in there? It’s Quan.” No answer.
Maybe if I close the door the lights will come on. So I did, and it was still dark. Okay, I’m officially a fucking idiot. What was I thinking? I just missed a whole day of work over a dream that had no way of being true. Why would those women be in a place like this? Maybe if I leave now, I won’t get fired for having a no call, no show.
So I turned around and put my hand on the handle to pull the door open, but I stopped. Me walking back out there meant that I was going back to my life...their life. It meant waking up earlier than I was supposed to, putting on those uncomfortable clothes, driving that crowded highway, being underpaid and not appreciated, getting back on the crowded highway, and repeating the rat race again the next day. This can’t be what is in store for me.
My hand dropped from the door I fell to my knees and cried like I just lost my mother. Why has God done this to me? Why make me see something that’s not there? I could have gone the rest of my life living the mundane with no problem. I can’t do that now. I can’t plug myself back into the Matrix. I can never forget what I thought I had, especially now that I know I don’t.
I was on that ground in the dark for what seemed like forever running and rerunning what exactly got me here. I tried to force myself to get up and walk out that door because I had a life that I needed to get back to, but my legs couldn’t move. So, I stayed there with my face in hands and tears dripping through my fingers wallowing in this sham called life.
Then for whatever reason, I pulled my head up from my hands, and noticed something out the corner of my right peripheral. I turned my head to see that it was a white light way off in the distant. “Oh shit, did I just cry myself to death?” As stupid as that sounded, at that point I was too vulnerable to contemplate the outrageous. I was in a tunnel, I saw a light, and for a second I thought I was dead. I’m sure you could see my logic. After getting over my idiocy of the moment though, I became quite intrigued by the white light. Where is coming from? Where is it going?
Just like that I completely forgot about that rusty old door, that led my back to the my unfulfilled life. I no longer thought about Serena, Gabrielle, Eva, Jessica. Well, maybe I’m stretching it there, but you get what I’m talking about. I have rediscovered my purpose, find out what that white light is. So I stood up, and started walking in the dark to tiny little dot way ahead of me, leaving my life as it was behind.
That was 2001. The tunnel is still dark. I only have that dim shine of the wight light that, at times, seems like it’s lightyear’s away. I seldom meet people in the tunnel; however, when I do we find solace in each other’s voices and the fact that we have the same goal even though we can’t see who we’re befriending.
I can even hear what’s going on outside the tunnel. I’ve went as far as to try to communicate with people walking by, but realized that they could barely understand me through the structure.
Often, I wonder what life would be like if I had walked out that door and went back to my meaningless life. Could I have reset my mind to function as it did before this ordeal? Periodically, I may pass a door, and wonder what would happen if I walked out. Then I look and see the light, dismiss my thoughts as trivial and cowardly, and keep going.
The moral of the story is that dreams, when they are in your head are glamourous and sexy, but are often the opposite when executed in reality. I’ve been in this game for 7 years, and truthfully, the only real reward is the comfort I find in the fact that I am one step closer to being Quanstar, the greatest emcee and entertainer of all time, and a walking television station (Ya’ll won’t know what I mean by that for a couple of years). So I happily, yet wearily, walk to that light driven by a stubbornness to never admit defeat, even though, sometimes it seems inevitable.
Do It!: A Documentary deluxe set can be copped at Lulu.com right now
Visit my storefront to learn more >>
Tunnel Vision
One morning I was on my way to work sitting in the morning traffic, drinking a $4 cup of coffee, and flipping through radio stations hearing the same songs played by the DJ’s that seem to be telling variations of the same joke when I saw it. A huge concrete structure that ran the length of the highway. It seemed to be a tunnel of some sort, and it was more monstrous than huge. It had to be at least 5 stories tall, which only added to my perplexity. I’d never noticed it before.
My first thought was that it had just been built, but something that big and long would have taken an extensive amount of construction. There’s no way that I wouldn’t have noticed that. Plus on top of that, that shit looked old. It was dingy with graffiti all over it. How had I not noticed this?
My whole life I have prided myself on being very attuned to my surroundings. Most things rarely get by me, and the ones that do never get by me the second time. I drive this highway everyday, with no exception, and there is no way in hell that I would only see this today if it was always there.
Then it hit me, and I finally understood. Aliens abducted me and erased every memory of this tunnel out of my head; however even that would raise a few questions:
• Why would they erase this particular tunnel out of my head?
• What other memories have they erased?
• Why me?
I knew I shouldn’t have read “Behold A Pale Horse”.
The best answers that I could come up with was that this was where their invasion forces are gathering to take over our world and enslave mankind. Of course a massive operation like this couldn’t have been done with this much subterfuge without the help of our government. I think we made a side deal with the aliens for some leniency. It was probably that we agreed in some way to be the “house niggas”, and the rest of the world would be the “field niggas”.
To conceal it, they put us all under this type of illusion centered mind control that keeps us from noticing these bases. Somehow I was able to break it, probably due to my exceptional mental strength. I wonder if they know that I am no longer under their mental influence.
Then I realized how stupid I was for thinking this. There is no way an alien invasion would be possible. Aliens only stick to small towns with farms, because that’s how they make those crop circles. How idiotic of me to think they would have something right off the highway.
Then I went to Plan B; however, I didn’t have one. So I did what every hard working American citizen would have done...I started cursing out and honking my horn at the green Montero that cut in front of me. Man I fucking hate traffic.
An hour later, I finally get to work, but I can’t get that tunnel off of mind. What was it and how long has it been there? Why haven’t I noticed it? And most importantly, where is it a tunnel to? My first three hours on the clock were spent contemplating this. It must have been visible that work wasn’t my forethought, because I was told by my manager twice to get my head out of my ass and work. So for the remaining 6 and a half hours I still searched for answers, but I did it while I was in mindless worker bee mode. Suffice to say that it pleased my manager. I hate working for other people.
The only good thing about working today is that it would be dark by the time that I got home, and I wouldn’t have to notice that piece of shit tunnel. However, as soon as I got on the highway it was lit brighter than anything else. As a matter of fact, when I turned my head to my left to face it, the white light almost blinded me. The rest of the drive, which was still in traffic, I spent trying to ignore it. To no avail of course.
I even dreamed about it that night. I was driving to work again, with my $4 coffee, still flipping through the radio stations listening to the same bad music, and trying to forget about “trying to forget about the elephant in the room” when this incredible feeling of intrigue rushed over me. I had to know what that tunnel was, and I had to know today. So I cut over to the nearest exit...well it was more like signaled and scoot to the next lane. I was in traffic remember.
I finally worked my way off, and made the right turn and headed to the concrete monolith. All of the traffic was going back the opposite way so it was a fairly easy drive. When I got there, the tunnel was even more in every aspect than I imagined. It was bigger, standing at least 100 feet tall. I knew it was older, because the wind and weather damage had it about 50 years from being considered a ruin. All in all, it was even uglier than I imagined, which made its existence even odder than it already was because the area that it was in was the wealthiest part of the city.
Literally across the street from the tunnel, were some of the most beautiful homes that I’ve ever seen. The lawns were immaculate. One house had a porch swing, another had a picket fence, one had a huge oak tree in the yard. There was a hop scotch board sketched in the sidewalk from the day before. The few people that I saw come out were smiling. Wives walked their husbands to the car, and gave them huge kisses. Kids pleasantly waited for the bus stop. The mailman was even making deliveries with a smile. The only thing that I could think about was how a scene so nice and serene can be on the same street as something so aesthetically deficient (SAT phrase).
I turned back to the tunnel, thinking that there had to be some clue as to where this came from and why this is here. That’s when I noticed this rusty, blue metal door right in front of me. I could tell that it was newer than the structure, but that was like comparing Methuselah to Moses. I walked up to it and found out the door was unlocked and, against my better judgement, I opened it then walked in.
My jaw dropped, the surprises ceased to stop coming. The inside of the tunnel was more like a well lit corridor. The walls and the ceilings were gold with platinum trim, and in the middle of the marbled floor was a California king sized bed with a brass frame . Then I heard a giggle, and a voice from behind the door said, “ It’s about time you found us. Are you coming in and closing the door or what?” Like an idiot I did; however, once I saw what was behind it, I quickly understood that I was the luckiest man in the world.
Picture this, four women resembling Gabrielle Union, Eva Mendez, Jessica Alba and Serena Williams underwearless in a half shirt and boy shorts. I instantly knew what this tunnel was now...Heaven. I immediately dropped to my knees and started thanking God for this ultimate blessing when Gabrielle put her hand on my shoulder and lips to my ear whispering, “Pray later, you need all of your energy now baby.” I almost came on myself. Then she stood me up, put her hands on my cheek, and planted the most passionate kiss on my lips. I couldn’t believe it. I’m getting tongue from Gabrielle Union...and Eva...and Jessica...and I just got slammed on the bed by Serena. I then thought, I’m not ever leaving this tunnel in my life. I knew that I found my calling...sex slave. Then, just as Eva pulled down my pants, climbed on top of me and a naked Jessica Alba sat on my face, I woke up.
It was 3:10 am and my bed was soaking wet. Not even in the good way either. I laid still with the cover over my head for about an hour trying to go back to sleep. If I had some in the house, I would have even drunk a bottle of Nyquil. How could God be so cruel? What did I do to deserve this? So for the rest of the night I was unable to sleep, unable to think about anything other than what I dreamed, and trying to decide whether I was going to go to that tunnel.
The next morning, everything started like it always did. I was on my way to work sitting in the morning traffic, drinking a $4 cup of coffee, and flipping through radio stations hearing the same songs played by the DJ’s that seem to be telling variations of the same joke. This time I wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. In my head, I was deciding whether I was going to the tunnel, but, in reality the decision was already made. That dream proved it. Don’t get me wrong, I know those women won’t be there; however, they symbolized something different. Im not sure what, but I’m absolutely certain that I have to go to that tunnel.
So I signaled and scooted from lane to lane until I finally worked my way off. Then I made the right turn and headed to the concrete monolith. Everything was playing out like my dream, which meant that all of the traffic was going back the opposite way so it was a fairly easy drive. Then I noticed the irony in that thought. I was heading towards a dream that I had while everyone, including myself before this moment, fights everyday to fulfill someone else’s.
We get up early, get dressed in uncomfortable clothes, fight the battle called traffic, sit next to people that we don’t like at our jobs, got to lunch when they tell us and come back in a specific time, and get paid less than a fraction of what we make them. Every fucking day of every fucking week of every fucking month of every fucking year I do this like a robot carrying out protocol, I never realized how much I really hated doing it until now. I can’t blame myself though, there wasn’t anything to compare it with. Now I have one, I want to know what’s in that tunnel. Correction, I’m going to know.
When I reached the structure, it looked just like it did in my dream, bigger and older than on the highway. Which also meant that it was it the ugliest thing that I ever saw, and when I turned to look across the street I saw some of the most beautiful homes. One house had a porch swing, another had a picket fence, one had a huge oak tree in the yard. There was a hop scotch board sketched in the sidewalk from the day before. The few people that I saw come out were smiling. Wives walked their husbands to the car, and gave them huge kisses. Kids gave pleasantly waited for the bus stop. The mailman was even making deliveries with a smile.
I wondered was I psychic, because this was an exact mirror to my dream. Later I’ll try my luck with Tarot Cards, and on Sunday I’ll go to Church and testify about my Visions. Either way, I could get paid. Maybe the girls will be in there waiting for me after all.
Then I turned back to the aesthetically deficient ruin in the making to look for that blue metal door. To my expectations it was right there as Moses like as ever in all of its rusted splendor. At this point, my loins ached. What if Eva, Gabrielle, Jessica, and Serena were in there waiting for me? I ran to the door, yanked it open, and charged in. Then my mouth dropped...it was nothing but darkness. “Serena, Serena baby you in there? It’s Quan.” No answer.
Maybe if I close the door the lights will come on. So I did, and it was still dark. Okay, I’m officially a fucking idiot. What was I thinking? I just missed a whole day of work over a dream that had no way of being true. Why would those women be in a place like this? Maybe if I leave now, I won’t get fired for having a no call, no show.
So I turned around and put my hand on the handle to pull the door open, but I stopped. Me walking back out there meant that I was going back to my life...their life. It meant waking up earlier than I was supposed to, putting on those uncomfortable clothes, driving that crowded highway, being underpaid and not appreciated, getting back on the crowded highway, and repeating the rat race again the next day. This can’t be what is in store for me.
My hand dropped from the door I fell to my knees and cried like I just lost my mother. Why has God done this to me? Why make me see something that’s not there? I could have gone the rest of my life living the mundane with no problem. I can’t do that now. I can’t plug myself back into the Matrix. I can never forget what I thought I had, especially now that I know I don’t.
I was on that ground in the dark for what seemed like forever running and rerunning what exactly got me here. I tried to force myself to get up and walk out that door because I had a life that I needed to get back to, but my legs couldn’t move. So, I stayed there with my face in hands and tears dripping through my fingers wallowing in this sham called life.
Then for whatever reason, I pulled my head up from my hands, and noticed something out the corner of my right peripheral. I turned my head to see that it was a white light way off in the distant. “Oh shit, did I just cry myself to death?” As stupid as that sounded, at that point I was too vulnerable to contemplate the outrageous. I was in a tunnel, I saw a light, and for a second I thought I was dead. I’m sure you could see my logic. After getting over my idiocy of the moment though, I became quite intrigued by the white light. Where is coming from? Where is it going?
Just like that I completely forgot about that rusty old door, that led my back to the my unfulfilled life. I no longer thought about Serena, Gabrielle, Eva, Jessica. Well, maybe I’m stretching it there, but you get what I’m talking about. I have rediscovered my purpose, find out what that white light is. So I stood up, and started walking in the dark to tiny little dot way ahead of me, leaving my life as it was behind.
That was 2001. The tunnel is still dark. I only have that dim shine of the wight light that, at times, seems like it’s lightyear’s away. I seldom meet people in the tunnel; however, when I do we find solace in each other’s voices and the fact that we have the same goal even though we can’t see who we’re befriending.
I can even hear what’s going on outside the tunnel. I’ve went as far as to try to communicate with people walking by, but realized that they could barely understand me through the structure.
Often, I wonder what life would be like if I had walked out that door and went back to my meaningless life. Could I have reset my mind to function as it did before this ordeal? Periodically, I may pass a door, and wonder what would happen if I walked out. Then I look and see the light, dismiss my thoughts as trivial and cowardly, and keep going.
The moral of the story is that dreams, when they are in your head are glamourous and sexy, but are often the opposite when executed in reality. I’ve been in this game for 7 years, and truthfully, the only real reward is the comfort I find in the fact that I am one step closer to being Quanstar, the greatest emcee and entertainer of all time, and a walking television station (Ya’ll won’t know what I mean by that for a couple of years). So I happily, yet wearily, walk to that light driven by a stubbornness to never admit defeat, even though, sometimes it seems inevitable.
Do It!: A Documentary deluxe set can be copped at Lulu.com right now
Visit my storefront to learn more >>
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Article from The Daily Lobo in Albuuqerque 2/24/08
Marcella Ortega
Issue date: 4/24/08 Section: Culture
Original Article Found Here
From Daily Lobo
For Janale Harris, the music business is not all fun and games.
“You turn on MTV, you turn on BET and you see all these shows,” he said. “It’s no disrespect to any of these shows, because there’s a market for it, and that’s what happens. But you have a whole generation of aspiring artists that come up and think that that’s the business, and it’s not the business. The business is sometimes you got to sleep two hours a day. Sometimes, you’re going to sleep on somebody’s floor. Sometimes, you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to hustle.”
Harris, who’s known as the hip-hop artist Quanstar, will release “Do It!: A Documentary” on Friday. The film will be played at The Stove on Saturday as part of the Hip-Hop Film Festival presented by New Mexico Hip-Hop Congress.
The documentary follows Harris for six months. Throughout the film, he works two jobs, records the soundtrack to the documentary and goes on his annual “Bring Your ‘A’ Game Tour.”
“It’s really like an honest-to-God look at my life,” he said. “It deals a lot with me having two jobs. It talks about me being a father. There is a huge segment on me and my son, and it happens around his birthday, and my family flies out. We interview my mother, my sister and my son’s mother. It has us going on tour.”
Harris said the documentary doesn’t just capture the good part of the six months.
“There’s no glamour to it,” he said. “There are things that go wrong. My house got foreclosed during this movie. So, this is the real deal.”
Harris said he had to learn different approaches to making money in the music business.
“I’ve been in the game professionally since 2001,” he said. “But all my life, people at school or something like that. I’d walk around with, like, $50 and battle somebody for 50. That’s how I’d pay rent a long time ago.”
Harris said making a documentary along with an album gives the audience a visual effect.
“They get to see even more in-depth what we talk about our experience is,” he said. “It gives them a more personal effect of who Quanstar is. Quanstar is a real dude. Quanstar is a person that wakes up and has to go through the things that everyone else does and sometimes doesn’t get as much out of it as someone might in their everyday job. But I get up. I work. I come home just like everybody else.”
Harris he would like to make more documentaries like “Do It!”
“We live in a multimedia society, and I think it’s a natural progression for all media to go towards mixed media,” he said. “Pretty much every album that I drop from now on will be paired with a documentary.”
Issue date: 4/24/08 Section: Culture
Original Article Found Here
From Daily Lobo
For Janale Harris, the music business is not all fun and games.
“You turn on MTV, you turn on BET and you see all these shows,” he said. “It’s no disrespect to any of these shows, because there’s a market for it, and that’s what happens. But you have a whole generation of aspiring artists that come up and think that that’s the business, and it’s not the business. The business is sometimes you got to sleep two hours a day. Sometimes, you’re going to sleep on somebody’s floor. Sometimes, you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to hustle.”
Harris, who’s known as the hip-hop artist Quanstar, will release “Do It!: A Documentary” on Friday. The film will be played at The Stove on Saturday as part of the Hip-Hop Film Festival presented by New Mexico Hip-Hop Congress.
The documentary follows Harris for six months. Throughout the film, he works two jobs, records the soundtrack to the documentary and goes on his annual “Bring Your ‘A’ Game Tour.”
“It’s really like an honest-to-God look at my life,” he said. “It deals a lot with me having two jobs. It talks about me being a father. There is a huge segment on me and my son, and it happens around his birthday, and my family flies out. We interview my mother, my sister and my son’s mother. It has us going on tour.”
Harris said the documentary doesn’t just capture the good part of the six months.
“There’s no glamour to it,” he said. “There are things that go wrong. My house got foreclosed during this movie. So, this is the real deal.”
Harris said he had to learn different approaches to making money in the music business.
“I’ve been in the game professionally since 2001,” he said. “But all my life, people at school or something like that. I’d walk around with, like, $50 and battle somebody for 50. That’s how I’d pay rent a long time ago.”
Harris said making a documentary along with an album gives the audience a visual effect.
“They get to see even more in-depth what we talk about our experience is,” he said. “It gives them a more personal effect of who Quanstar is. Quanstar is a real dude. Quanstar is a person that wakes up and has to go through the things that everyone else does and sometimes doesn’t get as much out of it as someone might in their everyday job. But I get up. I work. I come home just like everybody else.”
Harris he would like to make more documentaries like “Do It!”
“We live in a multimedia society, and I think it’s a natural progression for all media to go towards mixed media,” he said. “Pretty much every album that I drop from now on will be paired with a documentary.”
Monday, April 28, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Have you ever wanted something so bad that you would do whatever it took to make it happen?
DO IT!: A DOCUMENTARY is a real life account filmed over the course of six entertaining months, following independent hip hop icon Quanstar through his day to day journey toward his ultimate goal of achievement for himself not only as a performer and an artist, but as a father and a man. It takes on a very personal effect, filmed intimately and independently not only by the film’s co-producer but, at times, by Quanstar himself.
He welcomes his audience into his grueling everyday experience as he balances the many aspects that come with the career path he has chosen. He single handedly runs his record label out of a tiny bedroom in his father ’s house, juggles two part-time jobs, shares joint custody of his toddler son - even as it means propping the boy on his shoulder as he performs at a local Summer benefit - and constantly works to raise funds by sponsorships and promotions in order to fund and drive his music career. You‘ll even follow him on his annual nationwide tour -“The Bring You’re ’A’ Game Tour”- during which just about everything that can go wrong goes wrong, and he is forced to adapt, adjust, and reinvent as he goes. Which he does, with incredible charisma and determination.
He’s a man who goes against the grain and is driven by nothing else than his own inner desire to be the best he can be in every way imaginable. He is supported by a strong cast of family and friends who all play roles in the film, including candid commentary by a select few closest to him. His relationship with his son shines throughout as an elemental and forceful factor in all he does. It becomes evident that while for many simply having a child in and of itself becomes the ultimate obstacle in pursuing their dreams, in Quanstar ’s case, it is the ultimate driving force. He will stop at nothing to prove to his son that dreams should never be given up, roadblocks should never mean the end, and goals should always be achieved no matter what it takes.
“Do It” is the best kind of film; spoken from the heart. Quanstar speaks to the camera as if you are right in front of him and bears his innermost thoughts in order to bring to light the true magnitude of what it means to be an independent artist in the thick of everything else his life entails. The film has appeal, not only because of its dynamic star, but because of the common thread in all of us that it speaks to. The dream we all search for, the obstacles we all face, and the inner motivation we all have somewhere inside of us to be not only where, but who, we want to be.
The film’s DVD is paired with a 12 song soundtrack featuring Quanstar and Atlanta based producer extra ordinaire, GM, with guest tracks done by Cypher Linguistics of Dropbombz.com and Lena Moon. Stand out songs like In The City, Drunkenman’s Prayer featuring jazz diva Chanel Mosley, and Back In The Day set the soundtracks tone to ensure listeners the finest ear candy available.
The "Do It!: A Documentary" deluxe set can be currently purchased at LULU.com, Quanstar's myspace (www.myspace.com/quanstar) and facebook (www.facebook.com/quanstar) pages, and many other online and mom and pop retailers. Also, the movie is availableas downloads in mpeg 4 and windows media files.
RUNTIME: 85 MINUTES
He welcomes his audience into his grueling everyday experience as he balances the many aspects that come with the career path he has chosen. He single handedly runs his record label out of a tiny bedroom in his father ’s house, juggles two part-time jobs, shares joint custody of his toddler son - even as it means propping the boy on his shoulder as he performs at a local Summer benefit - and constantly works to raise funds by sponsorships and promotions in order to fund and drive his music career. You‘ll even follow him on his annual nationwide tour -“The Bring You’re ’A’ Game Tour”- during which just about everything that can go wrong goes wrong, and he is forced to adapt, adjust, and reinvent as he goes. Which he does, with incredible charisma and determination.
He’s a man who goes against the grain and is driven by nothing else than his own inner desire to be the best he can be in every way imaginable. He is supported by a strong cast of family and friends who all play roles in the film, including candid commentary by a select few closest to him. His relationship with his son shines throughout as an elemental and forceful factor in all he does. It becomes evident that while for many simply having a child in and of itself becomes the ultimate obstacle in pursuing their dreams, in Quanstar ’s case, it is the ultimate driving force. He will stop at nothing to prove to his son that dreams should never be given up, roadblocks should never mean the end, and goals should always be achieved no matter what it takes.
“Do It” is the best kind of film; spoken from the heart. Quanstar speaks to the camera as if you are right in front of him and bears his innermost thoughts in order to bring to light the true magnitude of what it means to be an independent artist in the thick of everything else his life entails. The film has appeal, not only because of its dynamic star, but because of the common thread in all of us that it speaks to. The dream we all search for, the obstacles we all face, and the inner motivation we all have somewhere inside of us to be not only where, but who, we want to be.
The film’s DVD is paired with a 12 song soundtrack featuring Quanstar and Atlanta based producer extra ordinaire, GM, with guest tracks done by Cypher Linguistics of Dropbombz.com and Lena Moon. Stand out songs like In The City, Drunkenman’s Prayer featuring jazz diva Chanel Mosley, and Back In The Day set the soundtracks tone to ensure listeners the finest ear candy available.
The "Do It!: A Documentary" deluxe set can be currently purchased at LULU.com, Quanstar's myspace (www.myspace.com/quanstar) and facebook (www.facebook.com/quanstar) pages, and many other online and mom and pop retailers. Also, the movie is availableas downloads in mpeg 4 and windows media files.
RUNTIME: 85 MINUTES
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