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The Maroon IP’AGE J May 1997/ And The Vibe Moves On: A Look Back This is not just another taste of fashion, photography, and social criticism exploding on paper. We go back much deeper than the four years I've explained in flashback. This is a solid brick in our artistic sub-culture construction. ... see it pro'ly started, at least for me, in the Spring of '94. My freshman year was full of 2620, and the Warehouse, and dorm parties, la di da, y'know, every thing that 89% of us were doing. I prob ably stood next to you on the wall, or sista, maybe I got your number. The fly mix of keep it real kids and keep it rich kids was amusing. . .for a while. But I figured brothers and sisters could speak more than bump an' grind to each other and still have a good time. In the Spring of '94,1 got muddy in my first Red Clay, initially as a reader of the magazine, and then as an attendant of their open mic, blue-bulb lit, experiences of the organic. To call them parties is like callin' Rakim a rapper. This was the initiation of the next level, our induction into the power of the word. Around the same time, five brothers and two sisters got into a poetic Cipher and blessed us with their lyrical gifts, inviting us to do the same. For fun, for expression and for assembly credit, we came to their open microphone read ings. Public poetry was introduced to the freshman class and mysteriously, our journals opened wider and more often. The word was carrying. Across the street at CAU, the social activities crew opened up the Rec Room on Thursday nights, for all MC's, true and false. But the vibe produced more fights than flows (though some kids were dope) and the hardcore head nodders were sent back to hallway cor ners to test each other's skillz. The re sult of it all was a void. . .but the word persisted. Mind you this was just my experience; four years and thousands of young folks have produced infinite recreational re alities: The Warehouse, The Peacock, Axis, Yin Yang, Emory, Sol, Ethiopian Vibrations, The Attic, Mirage, Oxygen, The Culture Center, Second Saturdays, Fashion Fridays, the wall everyday, Funk Jazz, G Tech, Level 2, Atlanta Live, Peachtree on Saturday nights, the tub, Kaya, industry sets, Marta, the Lex, the hooptie, Elements, BlaqHole Sound, Chocolate Soup, Club E.S.S.O., Velvet, Prestige, SoHo, Ife's Ffouse, Peeples Street, The Pyramid, the Platinum House, and that one party that EVERY ONE was at that night at Dejoule. This whirlwind picked up our house and set us down in 1996 where "dip baby dip" was still the prime source of cultural exchange among the sexes. Then our part of the story began. In the Spring of '96, I took the helm of a peri odical which was produced almost ex clusively by black men. I got down with a talented crew, the right resources, and a guaranteed budget, which enabled us to make two pivotal things happen. First, we took the Underground page for artistic expression off the back page of The Maroon Tiger and into Kilgore Student Center. 2 DJ's, 2 hosts, a live band, mad acts, and 300 attendees later, Underground Live had become a real ity. Next, we produced the journal which you now hold, The Maroon. Fed a steady diet of mainstream media, we knew there was still a significant unrep resented sector of our community. So journalistically, we represented. Well, hopefully. The point to my retrospective ram bling, as I introduce the latest Maroon, is that this journal didn't just appear out by ndugu bamuthi (marc joseph, jr.) editor-in-chief photo by vin of nowhere. This is not just another taste of fashion, photography, and social criti cism exploding on paper. We go back much deeper than the four years I've explained in flashback. This is a solid brick in our artistic sub-culture construc tion. Think about it, we've created a fo rum for alternative and non-conven- tional media, and we've made Morehouse foot the bill. All this to keep the vibe movin'; all to keep the cipher flowin'. The word has always been a part of our existence. Now YOU pass it on. easy. . .