What On Earth Would You Choose To Do That For? (part2)

Let me just say it straight: everyone else knew I was a rapper before I did.

I’ve always been a writer, mind you, even skipping recess in grade school to stay in and type out a story at a computer terminal.  When my tumultuous preteen phase kicked in, I discovered “poetry” and wrote down my feelings in the most awful prose, filling notebook after notebook. I think I may even still have them in a box somewhere.

This is the bonafide real deal right here.

The first rap tune I ever heard was on a dubbed tape my sister brought from God-knows-where. All I remember was the chick rapping “BITCH! Go change your Kotex!” I couldn’t believe it! It was so raw and rude, I begged to tape it, but my sister wouldn’t let me. “Hell no. If mom finds out where you got this from, I’m dead,” and that was that. My lil’ 8 or 9 year old ass was out of luck.

When I was 14, I fell hard for a Rapper Dude in the ‘hood. To this day, I’ve never seen anyone who could freestyle like him. The guy would just throw it down and it was amazing. No stutters, just rap rap rap and at the end of the improvised verse, it all came together like a story he’d been plotting the whole time. Needless to say, things didn’t work out with him, but the impression his raps left on me remain to this day.

I kicked my first freestyle back then too. It was just a joke between me and my girl, talking about our reckless adventures. I didn’t have the confidence to kick it in front of anyone else, and it remained that way for years. When I saw Rapper Dude spit, I just thought that if you didn’t have skills like that, you shouldn’t even try. I didn’t understand that everyone starts somewhere, that talent plus practice leads to skill.

Years went by, I still filled up notebooks, and from time to time I’d kick a freestyle. I was hanging out with a group of people who could be really critical, mean and negative towards me – sometimes it’s like that when you’re the only girl. One of the guys freestyled whenever he had the chance. He was pretty good, but I would NEVER rap in front of him. Why would I want to invite that kind of comparison, negativity and criticism? Even to this day, my self-esteem can be pretty fragile.

When I was in my late teens, I discovered the rave scene. For a few years, from time to time, a person would come into the skate shop I worked in, and when I started talking, they’d ask, “wait a minute – did you go to Syrous Champions of Champions at Cinespace?”

That wasn't my first rave.

“Yeah, I was there.”

“I KNEW IT! The emcee on stage sucked so bad you got pissed and you were rapping in my ear the entire night. You were great!”

“Are you sure? I don’t rap.”

“Well, you did that night. I’d know that voice anywhere.”

I couldn’t argue, my voice is pretty one-of-a-kind, but I honestly couldn’t recall the night, and this wasn’t just an isolated occurrence. For something like two years I had at least five people come up and say the same thing. So I guess I can freestyle. shrug

Even the way I talked made people say I was an emcee. In my late teens/early 20s, was chilling with a girl who roomied with two emcees and a b-boy in a one-bedroom apartment. Her emcee friends would just shake their heads and tell me I’m a rapper. I just wasn’t really trying to hear it.

Time went by and my sister and I were going to poetry slams from time to time. Have you ever been to one? Geez, some of the hot garbage that gets performed is unreal. I think it was even at the first one we attended, I just happened to have my writing book handy so I was like “fuckit. Watch this,” and I entered the competition on a whim and came in 2^nd place overall. I stuck with it for a bit and it helped me to get comfortable being on stage.

Around about the same time, I was also going to Sneaky Dees on hip hop Wednesdays, and the Beat Junkie on Saturdays. Kardinal Offishall had just come out with Bakardi Slang (http://youtu.be/a1Q_E3jEVEQ) and when the DJs threw it down, the clubs would go INSANE. This was before 8 Mile came out, and ciphers that happened outside the club were real, they were heartfelt and a show of skill, not just “yo I’ma shoot you cuz I’m so hard, just like my cock-” offs. It was also before the digital music revolution, before any idiot with Garage Band and a Shure mic could be a trend, before everyone their cousin and their dog was a rapper. I was hypnotized by the emcess that threw down in the back of the club and the alleyways behind it after last call when the patrons spilled out into the streets. But I noticed that something was missing – girls. The chicks that would wiggle their way into the circle were just there to watch, maybe there to bag a rapper dude - the chicks with the open toes and short skirts 2 sizes too small. Shoot, I went to Sneak’s and the Junkie because there were SICK ASS DJs and no dress code. I’m just getting off work, yo. I’m in runners, jeans and a t-shirt, and I probably smell. I never went for the meat market, I went to while’ out to the music – my heart was always in the mix.

So one night, after wiggling my way into the cipher, I decided it was time. I had a responsibility to girls everywhere, and to the guys who were rapping in the middle of the circle - I WAS taking up space – so I kicked a little rap that I wrote in high school that goes a little something like this:

My style is untestable, this face just ain’t arrestable, you try to talk shit, I’ll eat you like a cannibal

But after it’s all done, I’ll spit you out, cuz violence – honey – ain’t what I’m about

I kick it like I know it, gimme a rhyme I’ll flow it

I got brothers runnin up to me and beggin me to show it

But shit like this you gotta keep under cover

Cuz Sunny Delite just ain’t your average LOVERRRRRRRRRR!

I was scared shitless. I mean, let’s face it, I’m not black. I’m not male. I’m not from the projects. On outward appearances, I’ve had everything in life handed to me and I’ve never struggled a day in my life with the poverty, oppression, racism, classism, lack of opportunity and general despair that birthed the culture. On outward appearances. In any case, the guys in the cipher, in true Toronto fashion, gave me my space, gave me my 10 seconds to spit my little limerick and they actually liked it. Damn, son! An emcee is born!

One fateful night, after a few friends who dabbled in freestyle and grafitti told me about this open mic night on Thursdays, I finally went with them to In Divine Style at the Hooch, just to check it out. I saw what I usually see, there were a few really talented dudes who got up, some garbage, and then I saw this girlie girl get up on stage with two backup girls (who did nothing but hold microphones) and she proceeded to SUCK BAWLZ. She was probably rapping about dicks and sex, I can't remember. I couldn’t believe it. THIS was who was repping us on the mic? Ugh. My late homie Greg (RIP, bro) turned to me and said, “you could kill this chick. You need to get up there.”

Well, I didn’t that night. I was too scared. But it didn’t take long before I did. And let me tell you, that expression “knock-kneed” is true. I’d never been so nervous before in my life – not even when ripping open my emotions in plain language at a poetry slam. I was terrified of the potential boos, the negativity, the condemnation. At that point, I’d even had mics snatched out of my hand while I was rapping, as any burgeoning emcee should, mind you, but it’s downright discouraging. I’d also never been so exhilarated, though.

"Witty and wicked rhymes... one of our open mic favourites"

I told the crowd I had stage fright, so I hopped over the barrier at the edge of the stage and just went for it in the crowd. It didn’t take much before the hosts of the night – Mindbender and Alexis – took notice and gave me great reviews and encouragement. In Divine Style was just like that. It was difficult to come up with excuses not to rip it because everyone was so supportive and accepting. Even still, if I didn’t wake up in the morning and psyche myself up for it the whole day, I just couldn’t get on the mic at first. I needed to gear up for it.

My first show was at the inaugural, once-a-month, all-female She-Style night at In Divine Style. I got to open for Toronto’s hidden gem Eternia (www.therealeternia.com, http://eternia.bandcamp.com) and since then, I’ve done a TON of shows, ciphers in basements, backyards and alleyways, put out two EPs on my own (http://redsonia.bandcamp.com), performed at the Code of the Cutz side tent at the Vans Warped Tour in Toronto, Pontiac Michigan, and Buffalo New York (much thanks to @AddVerse and @JenniferHollett for the hook ups), Cycle Messenger World Championship events in Sydney Australia, Dublin Ireland, and Tokyo Japan (mad love to the BMAs and messengers who gave me a chance). I also hosted a moderately successful open mic/DJ/bike-themed party - with little help on the organization side - once a month for about 8 months or so (risspeck to Toronto Bamboo Studio's Zef for the assistance http://bamboobikestudio.useful-arts.com/toronto/).

But to be honest, it’s been really tough. Trying to put out my music has been a struggle from day 1. The first producer I tried working with would show up an hour and a half late for booked studio sessions – if he’d show up at all. When he did show up, he’d roll his eyes at me while I was in the booth (like I couldn’t see him), rushed me through the process because he “only had an hour” after he wasted two of mine, and erased our tracks before I could even tell him about the money I had for him in my pocket, because I brought up how much of a dick he was being. And that was the FIRST of them.

Whenever I tell someone I rap, or if someone outs me, all I get is “you rap? Rap now," or "what was the name of the first single to ever chart that had rap in it?" or "you haven't heard X song by Y rapper? I dunno man..." Dude, this isn’t Canadian Idol, you’re not a judge, you're not Alex Trebek, you’re not an opportunity, you’re not going to give or make me any money, if you do want to work with me it's so you can take my money, and you’re just waiting for me to fuck up so you can judge me. I’m not a goddamned show dog trained to jump through flaming hoops on demand. I don’t even do what my mother or my doctor tells me to do, what makes you think I’ll do what YOU tell me to do? I even had a guy tell me to freestyle “right now” after I just GOT OFF STAGE. Are you fucking serious? Of course, dude wasn't going up to any of the male performers to ask for a freestyle.
You've got the bullshit shows. I've had to tell a DJ to turn their cab around and go home to pick up their equipment after I got to the venue because the promoters fucked up and didn't provide it as we agreed. I had a promoter book me with violent gangster rappers that my friends were afraid of, had the show not start till 11:30pm on a Thursday because the sound guy had to snort some lines of his girlfriend's tits in the bathroom, then not get paid because I was one person short of his designated attendance quota. I’ve had a headliner back out of their own show the day before and then had to carry it to a crowd of 9 people. I've had to ride home from shitty shows in the rain and caught a flat tire. I've consistently paid my DJ more for a set than I get paid.

Bike party once a month!

And then there's the haters. I’ve had people diss me to my face while I'm trying to promote my shows and my Velosocial club night. I’ve had people tell me I was great on stage, ask for a CD then look at their toes and hand it back to me when I tell them it’s not free. Of course, they then head straight to the bar to get a pint. I've seen one of my promo CDs abandoned on the ground at a festival. I’ve had people tell me I’m not a real emcee because I don’t freestyle every waking moment, I’ve had entire online forums dedicated to dissing me. Even recently, while listening to my tunes for the first time, I had a friend say to me, “damn, you’re actually pretty good at this. I mean, I was like ‘Sunny’s a great person but it’s too bad her rap sucks.’ But you don’t suck. That’s cool.” REALLY?!?

Nowadays, I don’t even really hang out with any emcees, so practice has been hard to come by. I know people say “do it by yourself” but I just can’t, or don’t. It’s like being in a band, I feed off the energy and ideas of people. If those people aren’t there, then I just feel like my fuel and my ideas aren’t either. I feel like I don’t know where to start or how to continue. The regular freestyle ciphers were the basis of my energy, the foundation of my house. I’ve never had a team or a mentor. I just used to hit up open mic nights all the time, sometimes two in a night, connect with and be inspired by rappers and just be on it all the time. I’m older now with a steady job and bills to pay, I can’t be out till 4am on a week night and biking like a maniac all day the next day from 8am-5pm. Now that that’s all gone, the foundation is crumbling. Without regular practice, skill reverts back to talent, which ain’t much if it’s still unrefined.

Lately, the international responses I’ve been getting to my tunes have been great, and I’m grateful for it, but I’m afraid it’s just been frustrating as a whole. It’s been like a money, effort and emotion pit for me. I’ve become really discouraged, so I’ve been suffering from creative stagnation. I get writer’s block something fierce, and I’ve been working so hard, full-tilt as both a messenger, and as an emcee, that I’m about 2 ½ years past the burn out point.

Which leads me to the question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, What On Earth Would I Choose to Continue to Do That For?