Just a warm up ...

What's The Dilly?

Let us begin by stating that the House of Blues is the work of the devil.

The nouveau riche hovels of this godless conglomerate have spread across the bloated surface of the Amerikkkan wasteland like pus filled liver spots. They have made nice with and placated the local ethic constituencies with their gospel brunches and their oldies nights. They have also leeched literally billions of dollars from people of color too desperate for culture or too dumb to know the difference. They think young Black and latino people are as expendable as Kleenex.

This is not news -- the House of Blues has become as much an intractible symbol of oppression as domestic sedans with red lights in the back window or the Christian's cross. What's news about it is that the hip hop community of Chicago have risen up against this beast ... in a manner of speaking.

Damage Control is not a news site, so we won't bother recounting the sordid tale of demonstrations and Dan Ackroyd's disrespect. No, we're here because this shambles of a situation is worth commenting upon.

Let's start by referring to the devil's own press information for a clue. Take it away, crackers ...

... so, before we get wrapped up in the stolen African art on the walls or the pretty rhetoric of graverobbers, let us remember that the House of Blues is not a place intended to preserve culture. It's not a haven for artistic expression. It's not even a cool place to hang out on a weekend night. The House of Blues, at its core, is a heartless corporate monolith, founded by moneyed gentry who saw an opportunity to get more money by serving a population traditionally loose with their money and quick to forgive almost any transgression (remember in Hoodlum how Black people worked for and did business with Dutch Shultz even though he was an outsider, an invader, and killed their own?). They want you to "bring your money and the quieter and more submissive you are the better, you ignorant melanated peasants!"

Personal Experience

Damage Control is in the middle of a boycott of the West Hollywood House of Blues, a wretched hive of scum and villainy perched amongst the glittering jewels of decadence and privelege. If you wanna go, you're gonna end up paying at least $10 in parking ($20 if your timing is bad). The security will not treat you with a shred of respect. The drinks and food are sinfully expensive. The ventilation is non-existent, so expect to sweat like a Roman orchard slave. The wait staff will treat you like a criminal. The back stage "foundation" room will reward those slick enough or famous enough to get laminates or wristbands, but the same guards will check you time and time again, no matter how many times you've passed them with your badge of belonging. The art and culture of people of color is plastered everywhere, every bit of the look and none of the feel. Much like Elvis strolling through the catalogs of Black rock 'n roll, this place is a theft in progress.

The Chicago hip hop community is up in arms because, reportedly, Dan Ackroyd told them to "find a warehouse" to perform in and "build your own house." He also listed the numerous hip hop acts that have performed at the venue (isn't Me Phi Me on that list?) as a statement of his "commitment to" ... something or other, no one remembers.

There are two wholly logical and justifiable responses to this final, board-of-directors dis, which would be seen as logical in the eyes of any sensible jury:

• Turn calmly to Mr. Ackroyd and say, in the even and calm tone that urban peoples are so well known for, "You better take your corny, fat, sunglasses-wearin' dead comedian knowin' cozied up with Donna Dixon cracker ass and get a clue! You wack Valkenvania starrin' beyotch! As much as you try to claim you supportin' Black music and people of color, you betta open up this stage to some local talent before we burn this mofo down!" Then stand up, bash his head in with a spiked bat, and proceed to burn down everything he owns.
  
• Realize that white businessmen have done nothing but steal from urban people of color since this country could be walked across in a weekend, and follow the independent spirit of Masta P, Too Short, and your own local amigos Ill State Assassins and do it yourself. Massa don't want you in his house, burn it down and build your own, fa sheezy. When you set the shows, when you get more rockin' acts than he can, when nobody dies at your shows, when you're making all the money off the door instead of what he's willing to give you, then you're a baller, baby! Real ballers own stuff. You've learned how to work together, now do something!
  

It's sad to say that, even while being disrespectful, Ackroyd has a point, that boy-humping, lard-swilling, anus-sucking, parasitical, wife-swapping, pus-leaking sack of half talented flab. Black people and people of color have spent enough time begging in and whining in and standing in and sitting in and dying in.

Start killing in. Start taking in. Start living in. Accomplish something that your grandchildren will be able to see and respect, and regain a quarter inch of your dignity.