I'm very glad we've decided to bring back our columns again. "Music Ruined My Life", "Love, Dad" both factored heavily in me falling in love with Syffal. It was their unabated brutal honesty. It was their irreverence. It was how informative they were, introducing me to bands through an emotional wormhole of tough childhoods and awkward adolescence, from a place where loving music so much it could be detrimental to your existence and it barely mattered.
I decided to call my column, "Wax On - Wax Off". "Wax on" like vinyl maybe, "wax off" like jacking it and this column's probable masturbatory nature. It is also a solid reference to unconventional karate training. I don't know. I'm not one-hundred percent sure what my "angle" is, but I figured until I hone in on a target, given the freedom to write, I'd do just that.
To begin with, a topic that has grown more and more upsetting as details have emerged. Ceschi Ramos, a good friend of mine, and the site's is in jail. At first the circumstances were hazy, but as what was all along a private matter became better understood by a loyal network of supporters, family and fans, blogs and its artists, it became not a matter of what had happened but what we could do. In the same vein of honesty I came to expect from the aforementioned columns, I'm surprised we haven't run something already.
Being a musician probably means you're somewhat jaded, cynical, and have huge calluses on getting your dreams crushed. So when you meet someone in this industry who not only bucks that trend, but exemplifies its opposite, it's not only rare but something to be celebrated. Ceschi Ramos, musician, label-head of Fake Four, Inc., and consummate artist is that someone.
Being a music writer, I go to a ton of shows. Most bands seems too cool, or too busy, or too… something to give a shit about what I'm there to do. Though I might know everything about a band, many have no idea who I am, and make no effort to. Many promoters act like I'm a nuisance for wanting to hype their product. Press is something to be tolerated, dealt with, not befriended. It's that line from Almost Famous, we're the enemy. I don't blame them. Who the Fuck am I? Some person on a guest-list, another dude with a blog hustle, but when an artist does seem to get that what I do is out of absolute love and appreciation for their music, that I'm the listener they've always dreamed about, it is rare.
Ceschi gets it. He's a professional, and it's clear why Fake Four, Inc. has found some success as a independent music label. When many independent music labels are like fruit flies hovering above a old bowl of clementines, he's somehow avoided becoming that bitter asshole fatigued by dealing with people who like his music. He's gone out of his way to be inclusive and celebrate those of us who live and breathe forward-thinking music, those of us who make a living seeking out art for sustenance. His label has become a standard bearer of cutting edge, genre-bending releases. Ceschi is one of us and he's always gone out of his way to be quick with a smile and a big ole sweaty bear hug.
And he's guilty of making some questionable decisions to help fund his artist-first label, decisions that have led to him getting caught up in something beyond what his intentions ever were. If you're into indie rap, a fan of Astronautalis, Open Mike Eagle, Grayskull, Factor, Sister Crayon, Sadistik, or a whole host of other people making future music, then you might have heard about Ceschi's arrest. The outpouring of support for this man is further proof that Ceschi is a very special guy.
And his ordeal made me think about some of my own dealings with the shadier elements of our culture. They are there, always a good time, the life of the party, with new slang, instigators, beautiful conmen with shots poured, opportunists that'll dap you up with one hand and steal your wallet with the other. It's nothing new. An archetype even. But, if anything, they are underhandedly impeeding success, roadblocks to decent people dealing with each other on a real level. Speed bumps, pun intended.
If you have no idea what I'm going on about, I'll recap for you. Ceschi was fingered as being the intended recipient of an intercepted, cross-country delivery of a large quantity of marijuana disguised, almost quaintly, as Christmas presents. This proved too much for law enforcement goons to pass up. Pictures of the Christmas "bust" seemed made for TV, a photo-op seemingly too perfect to be real. The Ramos household had their home raided, guns drawn, in a cowboy-esque show of force by the New Haven police department, Connecticut police, Illinois police, and the fucking DEA! Barrels were pressed against the back of skulls, handcuffs tightened and retightened, dogs kicked. They even brought along a New Haven newspaper reporter with camera flashing, a premeditated, made-for-headlines celebration of their community service. Soon after the reports of their heroic Christmas present pot bust made their way around the regurgitated news circuit, the reporter brought along that night would leave the paper for new digs...the fucking Bridgeport P.D. spokesperson.
Ceschi and his brother David were set-up to take the fall on the word of an informant out to save his own skin. The police found some cash around the house, but much it belonged to Ramos' grandparents and mother stashed in an old school Italian habit of depression-era bank mistrust, some of which dated back to the 1950s. And much of the money confiscated is being returned as there is proof of its legal origins. To be clear, no drugs or illicit substances of any kind were ever found in the house or on Ceschi's person. That's not to say that Ceschi is totally innocent. Some fractional amount of that weed was intended for him. But not at that address, his grandfather's gnerational family home, and not in the massive quantities he ultimately confessed to.
The point of this column isn't to divulge salacious details about a very personal and very frightening event, it isn't pristinely researched investigative journalism, it's my attempt to tell this story as clearly as possible, highlighting the injustice in it, pointing out the hypocrisy, and offering my own commentary of the War on Drugs and privatized prisons. There are certain aspects that make my blood boil, and my heart break for Ceschi, his brother David, and his whole family. Not all rappers are gangsters, let's just get that out of the way. And not all rappers who aren't gangsters are bitches, or pussies, or faggots or whatever else the homophobic, criminally-minded would have you believe. Some rappers are just musicians, as close to regular people, and good people as we can be. Hip hop culture can be a beautiful thing, with its universal tentacles extended across borders and oceans and languages. Unity has always been a huge theme, a togetherness brought on not by skin color but by a groove.
But hip hop can be ugly, very, very ugly. Within its loose structure, within its aversion to authority, within its attraction to chaos, within its antagonistic b-boy stance, with its middle finger to convention, there exist shadows on the petri dish where dangerous elements of our culture thrive.
Ceschi's in jail. It didn't happen instantly. After getting guns pressed to their heads and terrifying their grandfather, a 90-something well-known and respected, retired New Haven physician, the brothers were interrogated abusively in their home along with their mother and all were accused of being drug kingpins. Under extreme duress and with his family being openly threatened, potential jobs lost, public embarrassment looming, criminally denied his lawyer time and again, Ceschi confessed to a crime he did not commit. It was a dictated statement and one done to absorb all of the terror and fear and threats to his family. Looking back, it's probably easy to say he shouldn't have. But in the moment, it was simply an act of courage.
After fighting the case, one in which he was advised he'd probably win, Ceschi opted to plea. It must have seemed hollow. Let's be clear, Ceschi is in jail for taking the wrap for the whole shipment of marijuana in an interstate trafficking case. This came after his family's home was ransacked like something out of movie in a premeditated, made-for-headlines raid, his family's belongings trashed, his family members terrified, and he was denied a lawyer in an interrogation that happened, not down at the station, but in that house with him hearing the threats against his family. Bro, they even kicked his dog! But in the face of a trial, tens of thousands in legal fees, and a maximum sentence of 15 years, it was his best move.
We are still in a War on Drugs. American lawmakers have passed ever-increasing mandatory drug sentences that so disproportionally punish victimless crimes, it will be regarded as criminal by future generations. A 2011 New York times article by Richard Oppel, Jr. states, "Plea bargains…lately…have begun to put the trial system out of business in some courtrooms. By one count, fewer than one in 40 felony cases now make it to trial." "The process has become coercive in many state and federal jurisdictions, forcing the defendants to weigh their options based on relative risks of facing a judge or jury rather than simple matters of guilt or innocence." It's no longer whether you did the crime or not, it's about deciding to potentially receive 15 years or 3. The sentencing rules are designed to force people into shitty deals, even if they are innocent, because the risk is just too great. And Ceschi was fortunate in a sense. He was able to afford competent legal representation and, without any prior convictions, negotiate a shorter sentence than that offered to people without means to defend themselves. Adding insult to injury, Connecticut is a state that may charge inmates and their families for their incarceration. At a rate of roughly $40,000/year, Ceschi and his family might owe upwards of $60,000 for an 18-month stay.
America's War on Drugs has filled prisons over capacity with nonviolent young people, mostly minorities, and there they serve as fodder for a private industry, fish food for barracuda capitalists and violent inmates swimming in a shark tank for being, well, actual sharks. From George Zoley to Henri Wedell to Scopia Capital to you, if you invest in a 401(k), companies profit from this system of private enterprise. And by increasing mandatory sentences, while your congressperson will tell you they are making our streets safer, they are in reality stuffing the coffers of well-performing hedge fund portfolios. Ceschi's confession put him in the crosshairs of this system.
Ceschi has extended himself to Syffal and myself as a trusted partner. We've premiered videos, reviewed albums and gone to shows, and he and his camp has in turn shared the shit out of those posts, given us access to new releases, and put us on their guest lists. We are mutual fans in most respects. And have become friends in the meantime. In that capacity, I want to encourage you to lend some support to the label while he's away. The campaign has met its original goal, though a loyal community has rallied to continue to contribute. This is no charity. The Ramos family is not begging. Fake Four is offering some insane opportunities for rare access and dope merchandise in return for your support.
I want to extend a deep thank you to David Ramos, Ceschi's brother, co-label head of Fake Four, and formidable recording artist in his own right, for keeping us updated, and being so open, emotional, and forthcoming with me as I worked to make this story as accurate as possible. His post from the other day on Facebook was as heart warming as it was fucking heart breaking: "When I told Ceschi about the campaign['s success] he held back tears. He could not believe it. He asked, “Are you serious?” That was the best thing that happened to him in the last week. After 15 minutes I gave my brother a massive hug, and then, all the other inmates went against the wall with their hands up preparing to be searched, Ceschi looking naïve and out of place, had to be told. It was tough, but it was nice to tell him how many people were thinking about him, and loved him."
Ceschi is a victim of being the nicest guy on a criminal's list of potential people to rat out. He's no innocent bystander, but it must have been easy to point the finger at him. It was a total piece of shit move, a dickless cowardly act given who Ceschi is, but it was an easy call in the mind of a criminal with his own skin to save. And he was right. And that, in the end, is what is so, so wrong.
Support Fake Four, Inc. with their expenses related to the operation of the label while Ceschi is jailed and in meeting thier commitments to artists with records to release that we all fucking want to hear. They've already reached almost twice their goal, but the perks are insane with many still available! It's almost too good not to give if you are able to:
http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/free-ceschi-help-fake-four
For frequent updates from David check out Fake Four's FB page: www.facebook.com/fakefourinc