The Anarchist and the Wise Fool
Kentucky Prophet and MC Homeless take the stage at Juggling Gypsy

BY: FRANCESCA SOROKA

Step outside the box, and you will find Kentucky Prophet and MC Homeless leaning against a silo, or an old brick wall, scribbling over the cracks with crayons. Behind them lies the debris of the ordinary—what was once in the box—mass media news coverage, popular culture trends, watered-down stereotypes. You take a step back and re-examine their doodles, which have taken the form of a diagram. Though it has no center or edges, you begin to see a pattern. Beats, bars, lines and run-ons, spoken word and laughter, volume and control. "What does it mean?" you ask, and they simply answer "Us."

Kentucky Prophet takes your hand and leads you to a stage that grows like mutant corn from the arid soil. "Sit down," he might say, and you obey. The sun slides behind a cloud, and the moonlight shines down, like a spotlight on the man before you. You watch as he hooks up his mp3 player and switches on the mic. You relax at the sound of a hip-hop beat, sit back and wait for the lyrics to come. But they never do—not they way you're used to. This man is singing, then rapping, about selling drugs to celebrities.

"I can't artistically justify this song at all…" he goes on, leading into his second track, "Mutant Hoochie Mamas."

After his seven-song set is over, you straighten up in your chair, walk to the stage, and ask again, "What does it mean?"

He tells you of Peter Crooke and Dudley Moore, of the 1960s British sketch comedy called "Beyond the Fringe," aptly the same name of his new EP release. "It amuses me," he says of his music. "I treat it like stand-up comedy; it's just me." He goes on to tell you of growing up in Kentucky, where he'd have to drive up to 70 miles to get a gig as a comic.

"It's a way to let people know I exist," he says. "The people who are going to get me are really just tired with what's going on now." MTV upsets his intelligence; Kentucky Prophet is "just trying to appeal to people who are tired with … the uninspiring."

"How did you get into mixing comedy with hip-hop?" you ask. He tells you it's like working as a projectionist in a movie theater, splicing reels over one another to create a new being. You turn away satisfied to the seated figure behind you, hooded, unlike this willingly exposed artist in front of you who simply says what he wants to say—of the culture, of his generation—poking fun at what he finds absurd, using hip-hop to simply put his thoughts to music.
"MC Homeless?" you beg.

He answers, slowly, with rhythmic response. "Cannot say what I want to say, cannot do what I want to do." He takes the stage where Kentucky Prophet left his shadow. You watch as a humble looking young man explodes into song, "Cannot Say." It becomes apparent quickly that where his predecessor used comedy to make a point, here, MC Homeless uses direct words.
When he finishes his songs, you ask, "But what does it mean?"

"I was born and raised in Youngstown, Ohio," he says. "We were the murder capital of the United States a few times." You pause, waiting for what will come next.

"I got into radical political thinking around ninth grade and was reading Noam Chomsky by the tenth. The more I read about the history of the United States (and world), the more I saw that terrible travesties were being committed, and the people to blame were the people in power," he says. You listen, knowing there is more to come. "The United States used economics to keep poor and working-class people submissive, but little did they know that it wouldn't work. Worker riots and race riots are a huge and often overlooked part of U.S. history, and they are obviously a reaction to capitalist exploitation. I wanted to change the system and looked at options such as the Green Party and even certain progressive Democrats, but then I realized those who work within the system are often ignored."

"So that's where music comes in" you offer?

Yes. "I'd … like to spread awareness that things are not OK. Humans need to examine their ways before we destroy ourselves. Action must be taken in some form. Music is my main form of action; it gives me a platform to speak to people I may not otherwise reach and spread ideas that may not otherwise be heard," he tells you.

And suddenly it all makes sense. MC Homeless and Kentucky Prophet are calling for change from the standpoint of the stage. One is direct and piercing, shouting from levels unseen from the corner office. The other points at truth like some sort of Shakespearean jester, the only one to see and speak of the truth. This Saturday, July 14th, these two artists will take the stage at the Juggling Gypsy, with hopes that their messages will break apart the notions of familiar hip-hop and the role that spoken word commands.