Break (Typer investigates why Jessie J is trending)

Finding smoke breaks now more refreshing
the not so free world craves for its info gasps
intervening shrinking blocks of contentment
ever uncomfortable without the conjured
interruptions of biscuit crumb detail.

Break (Typer’s friend who’s working abroad appears in a box to say ‘hello’)

Society’s psyche
blasé through repetitive routine
shrugs exhalations of expectance
as a name or face or lamp post of flowers
gets its thirty seconds of red LED lights
ones and zeros.

Break (Typer un-mutes the TV’s sport report)

Rarely does the undercurrent of sedate suffering
over fill the land’s un-thresh-old
bursting overt feeling for once across faces
all in it together but mightily alone
positioning place names in another’s tragedy.

Break (Typer checks a train timetable to see when he needs to get showered)

The dead racist reality TV star
horny babysitter turned royal beauty
mauled school trip stranger
text book pop star implosion
have all exited stage left.

Break (Typer searches for reassurance that ‘psyche’ is an appropriate word)

Alarm clocks tally up looping races
coffee mornings stir competition
hunters stake claim.

Break (Typer uses a translation tool to e-mail a friend happy ramadan before he forgets)

‘I walked her dogs’
‘She lived in my cousin’s friend’s flat’
‘He bagged my neighbour’s shopping’
‘The reporters blocked my road and I was late for work’
‘A helicopter kept circling my neighbourhood. It was probably looking for the killer’
‘I knew all the words to that main song. It’s well sad.’
‘My hot water was off this morning. I knew it was going to be a bad day.’

Break (Typer does a replace all on ‘poet’ with ‘writer’ and then another, settling for less pretence, though walks straight into the ego strut he wanted to sidestep by referencing his edits at all)

An occasional city break
globe trotting backpack adventure
technical error
house move
bed stricken fever
might wean someone off the penetrative
onslaught of persistent mind buckling.

Break (Typer taps in apologies to a friend that he’s running late)

However peaceful an escape
surrounded by pixels of noise
the nakedness of calm re-hooks.

Break (Typer washes and shuts down for a weekend of drink)

Biting at the virtual fishing rod line

Break (Typer reconnects computer to see how he looked at the rave)

A BIORhythm special on Busta introduced me to his live guest spot on Tribe’s Scenario and from then on I was hooked. Dangerous hit the top of the UK charts and was soon followed by a series of creative, high budget videos for inventive, gripping songs.

Busta Rhymes albums captured the imaginations of my friends and I for their running themes of conspiracy theory and comedy interlude. There was always lots of filler but without fail, a good handful of really strong singles showcasing Busta’s incredible flows atop unconventional production that stood out from much else. It’s never mattered that the lyrics aren’t always of a strong theme or story because they’re executed in such a way that distracts, in a good way, from any point they might be trying to make.

When Disaster Strikes was a seamless step forward from his initial solo album The Coming. That first outing followed his many years in the group Leaders Of The New School and somewhat mirrored his collective’s old school, underground sound. Extinction Level Event showcased Busta at his most energetic on the breathless Gimme Some More and relentless Iz They Wildin With Us? As the mid 90s era reigns of Puff Daddy, DMX, Jay Z etc grew to quieter phases, Busta Rhymes released the enjoyable Anarchy and whilst all albums since have included brilliant singles and even more supreme remixes of those, the artist’s relevance and critical acclaim has somewhat declined.

A short lived stint on Dr. Dre’s Aftermath label saw the once incredibly entertaining, light hearted and animated artist take a far more serious turn, rapping the narrative of cocaine deals and hood violence, themes Dr. Dre seems to insist his roster rarely strays from. The colourful videos of multicoloured dream coats were quickly replaced by fast cars, naked women and frowns. Things felt a lot less entertaining, sincere and far more contrived.

2007 saw a quick departure from Aftermath to Universal Motown where Back on My B.S. was released, albeit after many delays and a lot of badly planned marketing activity. Promotional interviews showed glimpses of a reinvigorated Busta speaking of a desire to return hiphop to what it once was. Whilst the sentiment was great, the collection of songs didn’t make a lasting impression on charts or commentators.

Whilst the likes of Puff Daddy have now retired from chart success to enjoy huge Twitter followings and reality TV show stints, Busta has continued to keep one toe dipped in the mainstream. Such is his back catalogue and presence, he’s never ceased to be invited by younger artists to appear on their albums and remixes. Every time he’s accepted the offer, he’s shown he’s not to be messed with, contributing efforts that significantly overshadow any other personality involved.

Back catalogue and jaw dropping guest appearances aside, Busta’s continued to hold relevance and respect because of his close friendships and associations. In recent years he’s worked on several tracks with his close friend, the highly regarded Q-Tip. He’s maintained an interest in up and coming artists such as Papoose who he coached to a $1.5 million debut record deal. Whilst it’s far removed from his once envelope pushing early efforts, he works with big club and charting producers such as David Ghetta and Tiesto.

As with many artists so many albums into their recording careers, it’s unlikely that we’ll hear a Busta Rhymes album with the same impact as his earlier projects. We’re now well exposed to his once original, unheard of style and antics. But you can safely expect, whether he jumps on the latest minimalist drums / auto-tune / arab sample etc trend, that for the forceable future he’ll remain some distance ahead of his peers when it comes to being reliable for a effortlessly delivered range of tongue twisting outings.

Here’s a Spotify playlist of big album highlights and guest appearances void of interludes.

‘Do you have a fish only menu?’ asked
the mother of three identical daughters
keen to express the latest life choice fad
profiled in the forests of magazines
piled on staff and waiting room tables.

In the corner a mute son and brother
sat shredding fat with his teeth from
a pile of barbecued chicken wings
whilst the girls shot energetic glances
towards each more seasoned diner.

Those others, formally clinking glasses
above plates of salads and breads
held softly murmured conversations
contrasting with the vacuum cleaner noise
of straws hitting a cocktail’s end.

Couple by couple by foursome
the suited and booted paid and filed out
back home to movie hire, chilled wine,
drawn curtains and faint buzzing
kitchen appliances of white and shine.

Three drinks and crispy cod fajitas later
the outgoing, intimate relatives danced
along a bus journey back East,
the lad’s head resting against a window
out to roads of the black cabbed elite.

Night in and night in and night in stabbing Twiglets at your face
whilst your arse sits amalgamated to a spongey sofa of crumbs
the one hundred and twenty million percent predictable
fudge of pram babies whaling through contrivance
upon lording scarecrows of bleached teeth and horse tail hair
would thumbprint dependency into your one tone being.

You’d not find that antidote easily beneath Chris Brown’s bed
as deep thirsts for syrupy intakes of meaningless sludge shake
through your dense, airless, squeezed to inconsequence body
that only moves to a corner shop and back as if a puppet
being unstuck and plodded elsewhere to line up silently
fingering through a glossy about the next impeding brain rape.

Beneath the faint, tinny whispers of a freer co-passenger,
across stores to further, non air conditioned, less lit places,
within pages that don’t hatch down the spine
for a hand to burst out of and pull your eyes from their sockets
to point you in the straightest, most generic and plain of paths,
is where the medicine of a dress beyond buttock length lives.

Wash and iron after every outing you dress within it,
sew any rogue threads back into its delicate seams,
store on a hanger so it may rest after a constructive day,
feeling bit by bit, your being not a state of static decay
but an evolving, reforming, mobile, inquisitive organism,
stronger and of more flesh each bold costume outing.

As neighbouring as it is
your flat is in Shepherds Bush
about as Holland Park
as Romford’s the East End.

If your holiday is so great
why are you in your hotel
so logged on to work
that you’re basically home?

Any level of coolness
iPad bus journeys hold
get immediately overwritten
as you read the Metro app.

To endlessly talk diets
to anyone who will listen
isn’t really the point
to being vegetarian.

Ascot tux’s look glam
less so on tubes home
tinted by mustard stains
of a late night kebab.

I check in regularly via Foursquare which updates my Twitter feed. I find it a quick and useful way to share somewhere interesting I’ve attended with my real life friends that I chat with via tweets. I favour Foursquare and its automatic updates to Twitter rather than Facebook Places and updates to my profile’s wall because I like the light entertainment of badges and points, find my iPhone’s Facebook app a little unwelcoming and occasionally enjoy browsing Foursquare’s user generated tips.

You wont see me shouting about being at the local takeaway in the early hours or sitting on a park bench, but you’ll find me putting my virtual flag in the digital ground of interesting gigs, museums and great restaurants or bars. When I get back into work after the weekend or catch up in person with friends that follow me online, location has proved to be a catalyst for conversation. ‘I saw you checked out that new bar the other night…’, ‘How was that new band you watched?’ and so on. Cynics will challenge the benefit of that over just starting a conversation from scratch in person and have a point, but they’re also some of the same people who said Facebook status updates would never take off and were pointless because people like being private and wont feel inclined to broadcast their thoughts.

Ultimately, social media activity’s often about showing off. People using location treat it as another outlet to present themselves through in a way they’d like to be seen. I want people to see that I went to a Rakim show this month so they associate me a little more with decent, historic rap music and knowledge. So I checked in at the gig. I don’t want people to know I munched through an all you can eat buffet at Pizza Hut because I”m a bit ashamed and would rather people not know I’m unhealthy and live off grease from time to time. So the phone stayed in my pocket.

In terms of what location can offer brands, I think this will increase with time and new developments in tools and functionality. At the moment, location’s a fairly separate aspect to social media activity, homed in its entirety on a lone platform (Foursquare) or a little hidden in iPhone app tabs and busy news feeds (Facebook Places). If Facebook were to put a leader board at the top of every user’s profile page showing the places they’ve visited the most or most recently, there would suddenly be a permanent, prominent place for a brand’s name to be championed to a user’s private network. I think that’s when critical mass will pick up location more and people’s inclination to check in at locations will increase. Then brands can start promoting themselves to more people at a louder volume.