Sometime around 2005, me and the longtime homies and apostate Christian rappers, Free Agent (Mike Parham) & Budzo Supreme (Isaac Forsman) formed The Space Cadets.
I’d some limited success in Latin rap circles the year prior, performing at quinceneras, liquor store ribbon cutting ceremonies and a car wash to raise money for a DUI bail (Frankie, I hope your tia’ Lencha learned her fucking lesson).
That summer, I’d been invited to perform in Central California by a Chicano rap promoter.
Now, as a non-gang member esoteric Latino rapper with white and black group members, I thought we were safe to travel up north, where the long-standing deadly conflict between northern and southern Mexican-American youth had killed many a folk.
After the 5 hour drive to Los Banos, we landed in the two bit tavern where we were scheduled to perform.
Half the crowd loved us. The other 5 people looked like they wanted to shoot us. They were waving red rags as if auditioning for a Lil Wayne video.
After our song about traveling to Mars on an intergalactic blunt and our ditty about being caged inside a beat machine, we packed our shit up and hightailed to the Hotel 7.9 where we stood vigil till daylight broke, at which point we peeled out, leaving only the dust that greeted us behind.