Tommy V

Tommy V you mother fucker! How do you know me so well? You are my Aztecan god and I am your sacrifice, you fucking asshole! With Travel Size Drawing Board you hold my still-beating heart in your supple hands, my brother.

For the uninitiated, Tommy V got his start in the late 90s along with Awol One and the Shape Shifters and Dose One and Why?. I first heard of him as a member of Toca, the Latin punk rap tossed ensalada that featured a cast of characters including: Ceschi and David Ramos (Fake Four, Inc.), Xololonxinxo (Of Mexican Descent) and Math Heath (Child Actor). Then, I think for me and the rest of the world, Tommy V just kind of went away. I slept hard on his return release called Mockingbird from a couple of years ago. Travel Size Drawing Board though put me in my space helmet and square back on planet Valencia!

You know why I’ve come to love artists like Tommy V so much? It’s the same reason I can’t fuck with people from privilege. Tommy V is a fucking failure. Not in life or as a friend or person, but in that he has experienced what it is like to be creative, to put your heart into a blender, purify that shit and pour it all over something, only to have it go largely unrecognized. And after some time, he possesses that rare mutation only the strongest and most genuine humans posses, he grows another heart only to rip it out and give it to us all over again.

Tommy V has scars. Gnarly ones. Tommy V has experienced self-doubt. He knows what it’s like to make music appreciated by a few dozen ears. Being an independent musician, with all its woes and highs and lows and stops and goes and friends and foes, he tells us as much. “Can I be your roadie on tour?” And yet the callous, merely a reflection of these battles, is only surface. It heals.

Travel Size Drawing Board, featuring contributions from old flames and local heroes Awol One, 2Mex, Ceschi and David Ramos, Existereo, Gajah and Gel Roc, is what I love best in a rap album. It’s serves as a window more than some kind of commodity. It’s more town crier than auctioneer. More flea market than stock market. More gypsy, than hip, see? There aren’t any fucking trap beats.

Tommy V bares all from cheating girlfriends, feeling confused and restless and frustrated and worthless, seeing communities ravaged by drugs and poverty, losing his mother, losing his mind. It sounds like an album of sad songs. Gregory Pepper, in his beautiful cameo, sings as much.

But if this fucker is so sad, then why does listening to it make me so fucking happy!?

It’s the same reason that from the mouths of slaves come the sweetest sounds. It’s why caged birds sing, right? It’s why the third deck on a ship was the livest, as the po’ folks did it like only po’ folks can do it. Tommy V, despite all that shit, channels the angst not into a middle finger but into a hug. What could be downcast is instead aglow. What could be a grimace becomes a smile. What could be angry is instead forgiving. What could be dead still beats.

This record had me dancing like a fool! Freestyling upbeat shit to the instrumental parts. Wanting to find my skateboard. Wanting to eat mangoes with a plastic spoon.

Tommy, bro, I hope the world one day recognizes your particular genius. But until then know that fans of real human beings making music see you doing your thing. And cherish it. And keep that authenticity kept someplace safe.

That’s why, this time, the price I name on Bandcamp: I’ll rip out MY fucking heart out and give it to YOU. I love this record!