In a small city in the corner of Virginia, the production of a song begins with some remodeling. You remake the basement into a recording studio. You rename yourself Palmz or Zulu Watu or Sha Fantastic. Meet the hip-hopportunists, the starry-eyed aspirants, reaching for a gleaming karat in the distance.
It is an American pursuit, told in tight focus – people who want to go from Here to There. But despite knowing how to strike the poses of success – the gold teeth, the defiant sneer – There rarely comes. The reality of Here is a grind – working a double shift and stretching to make ends meet. But the workaday life is a little more palatable when there are beats to be made and rhymes to be written. In front of the microphone, There seems within reach. Even if only for a song.