Words
by Todd Williams
Images for Steed Media Service
Flex Appeal
Many poems, songs and sonnets have been written about the sunshine that
appears after a rain shower. It’s a great metaphor for any rough time
you happen to be going through — a symbol of the joy that awaits you at
the end of turmoil. On a deeper, more existential level, it could be
argued that the sunshine-after-a-rain analogy speaks to our belief in a
peaceful existence in the hereafter, after all of our worldly worries
are no more.
But today?
Today, on a summer afternoon in a town aptly nicknamed “HOTlanta,” sunshine that follows a rain shower means one thing.
Humidity.
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The
steam rises from the street as traffic oozes past — the residue of an
early afternoon shower that has now passed. Unfortunately, in the Peach
State, post-shower sunshine means a mugginess that can be close to
unbearable. Sitting outside Lucky Lounge, superstar hip-hop DJ
Funkmaster Flex holds court with a host of reporters. Between sips of
water, New York’s most famous spinner relays his thoughts on a variety
of subjects and steals a few glances as handlers prep the latest Ford
Flex for a few promo shots. Ford and Funkmaster Flex have a long,
productive history — one that is indicative of Ford’s understanding of
how to market to a new generation of consumer. “When it comes to a
vehicle looking sweet, this [car] is beyond sweet,” says Flex of the
vehicle. “You can be hot coming off the dealership [lot] — [which] is a
plus, but when you can customize it afterwards and turn a [a car]
that’s a 10 into a 20 — that’s super-hot!”
Flex knows a
thing or two about stylish cars, and he knows that Ford is in ‘full
effect’ when it comes to styling for the hip-hop generation. “We’re
launching this brand new crossover [and] it’s sweet as hell,” he
continues. “When you go down the street people notice you.”
XXL
editor-in-chief Datwon Thomas was also singing the praises of the Ford
Flex. “This new Flex is extra ill, I had it out in the Hamptons about
two weeks ago,” he says. “[We] drove from midtown New York all the way
into the Hamptons for three hours, [and] every car almost crashed just
looking at this joint. It’s like a Mini-Cooper on steroids!” Thomas
drew all kinds of attention in the sleek, sporty ride from investment
bankers and stock brokers all wanting to know about the car. “I met all
kinds of people [that were] just intrigued by the look,” he says. “You
can even change the accents of the interior color. It’s dope!”
Funkmaster Flex has been one of the most recognized men in hip-hop for
years, but he’s also its most famous auto aficionado. He’s hosted “Ride
With Funkmaster Flex” on SpikeTV, and ESPN’s “All Muscle With
Funkmaster Flex” and “Car Wars.” Much like his love of music began at a
young age, Flex has fond memories of his beginnings as a gearhead. “My
dad was a super father,” he says. “He had a 1970 and a 1972 Cutlass.
He’s the one that gave me car fever — my dad.” The elder Aston George
Taylor often had his son riding in the back of those cars, and a young
Flex absorbed all of the ambience of the automobile. “I used to sit in
that back seat and smell that vinyl and that gas,” recalls Flex,
grinning with nostalgia. “[The gas] was Gulf back then, [and] it wasn’t
even ‘super’, it was just ‘leaded’ or ‘unleaded.’ That’s sick!”
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Now
a dad himself, Flex treasures those moments that he had as a youngster
and appreciates the love and discipline that his parents gave him
coming up. “You know when you think parents are just telling you stuff
just to tell you?” he asks, rhetorically. “Until you have your own
children — I got one 7 [and] one 2 — you [don’t] realize your parents
were telling you things for a reason,” says Flex. “What my father
instilled in me, I project to my children, [but] until you become a
parent you do not understand your parents. It is impossible.”
“Fatherhood was good to me,” Flex adds. “If your father is out there
and you haven’t talked to him in a little while, [you should] talk to
him.”
It’s obvious that his parents are his primary role models and
motivators. “My parents are beautiful, [but] people always say ‘My
parents didn’t teach me how to make that happen,’ but even by them
doing that, they taught you something; how to look forward and figure
out how to do it,” he says. “There’s no rule that says your father is
supposed to teach you everything that can go on. He’s supposed to give
you a piece, and that piece [can] help you figure out the rest of your
life.”
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But
hip-hop is never too far from the DJ’s mind. When asked about the
current controversy surrounding Miami rapper Rick Ross and his apparent
history as a corrections officer, Flex is thoughtful and understanding
in his assessment of the situation. He’s quick to point out the images
and personas that many rappers create, and the hypocrisies that
sometimes lie behind hip-hop’s ‘keep it real’ mantra. “What is our
definition of lying?” he asks. “Did 50 Cent stand on every corner he
said he stood on in those records? Did 2Pac do everything that he said
he did? He was standing next to the guy with the big nose doing the
Humpty Dance.” Flex also notes that while this may be the hip-hop
gossip nugget of the moment, this revelation is fueled by the
technology that’s available to the public. “[This is] the age of the
Internet and [that’s] what has caused this dude to get caught. This
didn’t exist [before] to bust a dude like that. People barely talk
about ‘Pac being in Digital Underground, and people never bring up
Jay-Z and [his early pop-rap single] ‘Hawaiian Sophie.’ I worked
flipping burgers and dropping fries, but there’s no pictures.”
That’s not to say that Flex doesn’t acknowledge the alleged dishonesty
and he understands the fans’ right to be angry. While hip-hop appeals
to suburban youth and the streets simultaneously, rappers can’t forge
phony histories without alienating the people from those streets and
exploiting the realities they claim to reflect. “[The controversy]
would’ve ended the career of a mediocre rapper that was struggling in
the business,” Flex continues. “[But] if Rick Ross sold four million
albums and he needed those original street dudes to propel his career,
then those street dudes got duped and I think it’s wrong by the code of
ethics we have concerning being a rapper and having a career as a
street rapper.”
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A
few people come outside to let Flex know that it’s time to go. As he’s
leaving, a group of young kids scream his name from a bus stop across
the street. Flex waves amiably, and walks back over to the Ford Flex
and sits inside. As a few more preparations are made, Flex consults
with a few Ford personnel about the car. He jots down a few things and
sends a message on his BlackBerry®. Funkmaster Flex is a respected DJ,
a connoisseur of fine automobiles, a committed member of the community,
and he’s always and forever a hip-hop head. As we’re readying to leave,
Flex answers a question I posed to him earlier about great hip-hop
albums of the last decade or so. He pauses, with the same
thoughtfulness he would give to discussing credibility, drive-ability,
or listen-ability, before giving his answer. “ ‘Stillmatic,’ ” he says.
He gives a litany of reasons for choosing Nas’ seminal 2001 album,
before he is again reminded of the time. As he’s leaving, a publicist
walks up and mentions that Flex can ‘go all day’ about hip-hop. “He
just really needed to go,” she assures me. “Plus, it’s sooo hot! Can
you believe the humidity down here?”
