Take a walk wit’ me, from the northern tip of the Bronx, passing by Harlem, dippin’ into Queens, through Manhattan, all the way down to the most Southern point of Brooklyn for some beautiful people-watching in NYC.

Welcome to the Bronx. Lots of great people-watching out here but I must say that getting photos was not an easy task. I don’t like asking random mooks if I could shoot them. I just like to catch them in their natural state. Out here, more than other places, I noticed that people where very aware of the camera and constantly grilled me to see if I was flicking without permission. I can so see it happening, some angry BBW yelling some shit like “HEY! Why the fuck are you taking pictures of me, whiteboy?” Shit is kind of awkward. Next thing you know there is an FB status update on the fanpage about how some bitch robbed me of my camera and gave me a black eye.

This kid shits on 90% of the grown men trying to pull off this style here in Montreal. Just look at his dominating stance. He’s on some “picture me caring” type shit.

Anger management.

Honestly, do I really want this woman wilding out on me, trying to smash my camera one the sidewalk for taking a candid photo? She’s not some happy go-lucky bimbo from Wyoming, living on her dad’s unlimited card in Dumbo. This woman is from the hood. Then again, what the fuck do I know? Maybe she’s the sweetest person I never met. Sometimes the risk is worth the reward.

Welcome to 125th street in Harlem. There are swagged-out motherfuckers left and right and a whole lot of good people-watching. Harlem feels a lot more animated and extravagant. People dress up in all sorts of mooked-out costumes and on a good day, you will for sure bump into religious fanatics rocking some next-level cult outfits. You can catch them walking around with golden canes and bronze plates hanging down their turbans. Again, very hard to photograph without offending them with the camera and low levels of melanin. Just got a telephoto lens, so this summer’s beautiful people posts are going to be spectacular. Trust me.

Manhattan might’ve lost a lot of its mookness but with the amount of people circulating on the island, you can always catch a few interesting-looking beings.

The Time Square arcades are teeming with mooks but I gotta admit, everyone is very courteous and respectful to one another, unlike in our city. Go figure…

The realest mooks on the Island are the street hustlers. Not just the drug-dealing type; all of them. Shout out to all the fake Rolex hustlers. Shout out to them mooks with the bootleg LV purses. I know you got your girl one of them on Canal street last time you went out there. Shout out to all my mooks slanging them Halal pitas, honey-roasted nuts and NYC memorabilia like the photo of the Gay St. street sign. Shout out to all the mixtape hustlers and people painting trucker hats with cool graff letters for bitches named Roxanne. Shout out to all the newsstands and mini cupcake distributors. Shout out to all the Mook Hustlers.

It’s fucked up how this world works. Rich people get Filipina nannies for their kids and when their kids grow up, they get one for their dying parents. Fair trade.

Every city has one… street walrus status.

Welcome to the Flushing Queens Chinatown. This has nothing to do with the famous Manhattan Chinatown that has shrunken dramatically in the last couple of decades. This Chinatown is huge and busy as fuck. A good mix of beautiful people of both Asian and Latin American descent, with a sprinkle of everyone else.

Even-though Asians scare me the most, out of all races, they are the least confrontational ones, so I can shoot my ass off and all I will ever get is a bad look.

Turtle status.

“So I told him: let me remind you that you are, in fact, a gay… lol.”

“You see that guy with the yellow sweater? He likes to go all the way with men.”

Little China transforms rapidly to Little India as we enter Jackson Heights. Silk robes, vegetarian restaurants and jewelry stores. Tons of street vendors and people hanging out. Perfect conditions for bountiful people-watching.

If you go all the way to the most southern tip of Brooklyn you will hit a little fucked-up place called Brighton Beach AKA Little Russia. I know the  area fairly well and I can honestly say that it’s strangely well-suited for mooks such us ourselves. First of all, there is a giant beach with a long-ass boardwalk, filled with gossipy old babushkas and hot young girls in bikinis. The best part about the beach is the fact that you never have to go for a beer run cause there is a designated hustler walking around with ice-cold Heinekens and bottles of water. Needless to say, the people-watching is spectacular. The food is on point and so are the nightclubs. I guess it’s a bit different for me since I’m from a Russian background but I can see any mook enjoying this. Although I once witnessed a counter lady at the grocery store yelling at a customer, calling him a “tourist” because he could not understand what she was saying in Russian. The nerve.

Old people run this place. You can’t spend more than 69 seconds without seeing one of them.

Russian man is so Russian.

Her chest can be used as an emergency landing strip or a ski slope in the winter.

Why always Boris?

If you keep walking on the boardwalk westward, you will end up in a magical place called Coney Island. Home of The Warriors and Nathan’s Famous hotdogs. The amusement park looks like a lot of fun but the projects right in the back of it don’t look nearly as amusing. This place was overloaded with young mooks of all sorts. Lots of kids and young mothers. Shit, I was stoned as fuck and, I’m going to be straight up, this place was overwhelming. To the point that I could not even concentrate on taking flicks. So many mookish faces in such a small area, my head was spinning out of control. At times like that I simply savor the moment and enjoy, rather than stress over shooting flicks. I stood there for about fifteen minutes and it almost felt like I was slightly high on ‘shrooms.

I see she brought her sexiest swimsuit to the beach.

My name is HTO and I’m addicted to people-watching. Do any of you have the same problem?

Three connections and nine hours to go. Les yeux!

Sky high, sky high.

Serving fine swine since 1979.

Interstate airport fare: chicken parm sandwich.

Deliverance.

Every city has one. This specimen is known as the Austin Street Walrus.

“This one’s for you. I call it: slanging rocks in my flip-flops & socks”.

Good golly, miss Molly.

SouthBySouthWest

This was the moment he broke into song. “And then I stuck it in ya butt!”

Slabs on blades.

Austin city public sleeping.

Cooler than you.

Best traffic jam ever.

From LA with bud.

Organic sour diesel.

Sinners Row.

RecyKingz on vacation, Queens on the grind.

“Get your culo over here, papi, these gringos got a tin mine over here.”

Fruits of their labor.

BRUDDDDEEEERRRR!!

This chick had a tramp stamp of the Trojan condom logo. Classy.

Strung up & baked like a Christmas turkey. Welcome to spring break.

Making daddy proud, braces and all. Real talk though, peep the kid’s face in the background.

Drunk Fist.

Baywatch.

Iorahkote tanon wen’niseriio.

Scaling Mayan temples in the Yucatan, putting out my 1st record, Sonics! Another check off the bucket list.

My driver Sangi had all the street knowledge needed for a Mook to find exclusive eats in NOLA.

The new winter crib.

In NOLA, black Santa cruises the swamp on his gator.

Tallest drinks in town.

Sorry, but the Ogilvy Spoon Man ain’t got shit on this guy.

Street soldiers.

My oyster game is serious.

Basically this is what NOLA smells like: stagnant piss water mixed with cigarette butts and stale, cheap booze.

Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

Exclusive grilled fish taco on corn meal tortilla.

The Dragon’s Lair, known by locals as the spot where you can do ANYTHING you want. Dancing on the DJ booth dressed as a gypsy is encouraged.

Something for my vandal mooks.

Epic Graffiti.

“Spliff Of Ku$h” Best burner of the trip.

Mother’s restaurant opened in 1938 , Sangi and my peoples JoeV both said this was a must while in town. Real Cajun cooking.

I waited years to finally enjoy a cup of authentic crawfish étouffée. The sauce starts with burning flour in a pan & takes around eight hours to make but only minutes to devour. A true taste of New Orleans.

This was the last flick I took before an onslaught of one & one’s of Crown Royal and Ginger ale. Like a Mook, I got so drunk, I almost missed my flight back to Montreal. If it was not for the southern hospitality, I would have been stranded on a Sunday night in the ATL, which didn’t seem half bad for a minute in my drunken state.

After a week of mooking it out around the South I have to say, shit was on point. Everything really is bigger in Texas. SXSW is like the St-Laurent street sale on crank. NOLA is on some other shit altogether: think Vegas in the swamp. Discovering the unseen is what a real All-City Chilleur does in his own city or the one he finds himself in. No matter where, you can be sure a Mook will make it his home away from home, the South being no exception. Big up my Man JoeV for linking me, to Flip for the Sour delivery and all the fine people I crossed paths with on my journey through the South.

Nia:wen Ko:wa

By the way, we got a fresh batch of crew necks and we included sizes Small and XXL as requested. You can cop yours right away from right here. Also got two new T-shirt designs and the Mook Life T in white with black print for the summer. The rest should be dropping shortly.

Much respect to young Bomr for the photos.

Free Last!

Light a spliff, crack a beer, bump this new Wiggaz From Da North Side mix by Tommy Kruise and enjoy these banging photos. Courtesy of Tron, Brudder and yours truly.

TOMMY KRUISE – WIGGAZ FROM DA NORTH SIDE 2 by tommykruise

What have we learned last month that we might want to carry on to the future? When attacking an angry taxi driver or any other moving vehicle, make sure to only damage the sides of the car or you might risk getting ran over like that unfortunate dude in the video. Also, if a girl’s pussy smells like your cat’s breath, there is a good chance she will let you hit it in the brown. Just make sure to point it out to her. I know many people have been stressing to know when the next Wiggaz From Da North Side was going to drop and today we announced the official date. May 18th we getting extra ignant at CFCF with that demon rap, cocaine anthems and the best of evil trap music by your favorite wiggers. For more info, make sure to check out the Facebook event page. This is your boy, motherfucking HTO and I would like to give a big shout out to all the Super Salauds out there living the mook life.

It ain’t an all city chilling until we cross through the whole town so we headed south passing through Harlem, back to Disneyland, over to Woodside Queens (pause) all the way to the most south point of Brooklyn where the Russians dwell. Out in Brighton Beach we indulged in greasy East European eateries while enjoying top class, world famous people-watching walking the boardwalk to Coney Island. It’s funny how fast you go from hearing nothing but old people speaking Russian to being one of the only white boys around. The roller coaster is as rough as the people from the projects across but if you ain’t in to getting neck injuries and whiplash, you can cop a Nathan’s famous hot-dog and listen to crackhead’s conversations which never falls short of awesome.

It ain’t nothing new, everyone knows that I’m more New York than you. Sometimes I feel like I know New York more than I know my own city but then I get hit with some real shit that humbles me down with a quickness. Standing at the order counter in the Dominican breakfast diner, stoned and oblivious, a man walks up and urges me to hold my camera that was sitting at the table unattended in the empty restaurant. “Sir, don’t leave your camera like that. You’re in the Bronx and people can tell that you ain’t from here. You best believe, they will take your shit if you leave it out like that”. Thank you sir. That’s all I really had to say. Looks like I’m not more New York than him. I guess I take certain things for granted being from Montreal but a man can’t ignore important lessons even though they might stab at the ego just a little. It’s all a part of this culture exchange program we call life.

Big shout out to Mario who out-mooked his son by a long shot. This was his first time in NYC also the first time he participated in the culture exchange program that his son and I have worked on for the passed few years. There is something really magical about seeing your boy’s father chilling with graff legends in the Bronx, making drunken jokes while we puff blunts and get twisted on some bum wine. I might of even heard him casually pull an N bomb or two by the end of the night. Ain’t nothing wrong with trying to blend in, Mario. Just like when he was yelling BUKAKI while giving group cheers at the Japanese spot. Much love and respect to the whole fam who held us down like true brothers. I mean, going to NY wouldn’t be much of an experience without you.

Montreal’s HSP is the true definition of what a crew is meant to be: the original essence of the concept in its purest form. They are friends who grew up in the same neighborhood and have known each other all their lives. They keep a tight-knit circle, they all have the same fun-loving and joie-de-vivre attitude and even their styles compliment each other like pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. Born in the mooked-out streets of Montreal’s Eastside, this squad has been going strong for years and shows no sign of disbanding anytime soon.

Today, Mook-Life shows love to a group of people who proudly represent for their team and paint for the right reasons. It’s not about graffiti notoriety or fame but it’s about having a good time with your friends and creating memories and bonds that will last for the rest of your life. It’s this type of attitude that truly makes a crew shine and HSP excels in doing so all while having style and flavor that leave the rest of these so-called crews biting their dust. Furthermore, I can officially co-sign that all its members are a bunch of first-class, good-hearted mooks. We present to you the Beasts from the East: HSP Crew.

HSP is founded by Sewer, Dice and Ewol, who all attended the same school and grew up together. As time went by, more of their friends from the neighborhood and their school joined the ranks, such as Fone, Dwarf, Dhoe, Fomer and Rysk. One of the last members to be put down with the crew is Nixon. The original meaning of the crew’s 3 letters stand for Head Spinning Productions but there are also other very philosophical and profound AKAs, such as Homies Smoking Phillies, Homies Sipping Phorties and Hot Sexy Pimps.

The fam, banging out them windows with some bucket paint.

A few years back, we rolled out to Toronto for the Style In Progress jam with a bunch of different crews and several cars, full of about 30 Montreal Mooks. It was one of the most hectic roadtrips of my life, full of drunken stunts, Olde English sipping, daytime bombing, getting into fights and terrorizing the good people of T-Dot with our mookish manners. Of course one of the crews that rolled was the infamous HSP. This wall is done by the tracksides in Toronto, where the passenger trains go by. We were about 20 on the tracks in the middle of the day, being sketchy as fuck while drinking beers and painting like it was a legal wall in plain view of an overpass further down. I have no idea how we did not end up going to jail on that trip.

NIXON: We got kicked out of the hotel early in the morning and were drinking forties already. The guys were walking around downtown Toronto with their belly-out and no shirts on while drinking forties like if they were still chilling in the East End of Montreal! We were a bunch of vagabonds in Toronto that weekend. The homie Vinny slept on the couch at the reception while the hotel cleaning lady dusted around his snoring body.

Montreal’s backbone, the Bill Gates of the Streets.

Almost all writers have had their share of run-ins and bad luck with the law. If you get deep into the graff game and go all-out to put your name on the streets, chances are you’ll most likely get bagged at one point in your career. You might be the slickest or most cautious motherfucker out there but sometimes it’s just a question of bad luck and timing that will get you roped. When talking about bad luck Rysk is no stranger to this concept, as he’s gone through more than his share of trials and tribulations. After seeing more than one holding cell or provincial jail in his lifetime, he definitely has enough experience to host our next Holding Cell Hotel post.

RYSK: It was St-Jean-Baptiste in Quebec City, I had some paint on me and even though I was still on curfew I told myself “Fuck it, this is St-Jean in Quebec I’m sure probation doesn’t count here”. I start tagging on the ground and these two geezers with mustaches come to see me and take away my can. They turned out to be Undercovers. I started to bargain with them and tried to weasel my way out of getting arrested for about ten minutes, since they seemed cool. They didn’t seem to have much authority. I was pushing my luck and telling them to take only my caps but leave my cans. Finally, I gave my brother’s ID card since his name was clean and they let me go with a warning. A few hours later that night, at about 4AM, I was walking home with a girl I had picked up and was ready to hit it at her crib when suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder. It was those same two Undercovers, who had somehow found out my real identity and arrested me right after randomly spotting me on the street again.

I spent the first night in a holding cell and after that they shipped me to Orsainville Jail. Shit was rough, there was a heatwave that weekend. They put me in a wing nicknamed “Recal” short for “Recalcitrants” where all the troublemakers and murderers stayed. This guy Le Gros Pierre was a big-ass tattooed biker that looked as if he came out of a movie. He was the Boss of my wing and that morning I got in he had just ordered a beatdown on some kid for eating all the strawberry jam. The first time I went to the cafeteria, like an idiot I sat down on the only place where there was a blanket. It was probably the spot that had the best view for the TV or some shit! (laughs). It ended up being Le Gros Pierre‘s seat and he sat down right next to me and made me understand that. Luckily for me, it ended up being cool and he let it slide…

When I came out of jail I was in another city with no money, looking and smelling like a bum. So I had to beg people for change. I managed to get enough cash for a bus in like fifteen minutes and head back to Montreal after one hell of a trip.

If there’s one thing that I really love about this crew it’s the fact that they have as much love for getting drunk as I do. Whether it’d be morning at a wall before a production or late at night after a party, every time I see these mooks they either have a stash of alcohol ready to be cracked or have already downed a dozen beers. Sewer is definitely the champion when it comes to drinking: he’s the type of guy that will always buy double the beer than everyone else and will have that extra bottle of strong liquor for security measures, just in case he happens to run out of alcohol. Twelve-packs, Tequila and forties on deck: no matter what the situation is, HSP crew will transform your painting session into an all-city chilling.

NIXON: Sewer is the type of guy that starts drinking early in the morning. We went to paint a production under the Papineau Bridge one time, and Sewer being his usual self had already a few beers under his belt. It was me, him, Fone and Some. At one point I looked at him and he had blue paint all over his face. I keep doing my thing and everything’s fine until I look over again and see Sewer on the other side of the fence lying down in the grass. I whisper to Fone and Some to come and witness this moment of glory: It’s only 2pm and drunken Sewer was rolling around on the other side of the fence while taking close-up pictures of the grass like if he was doing a photoshoot.

SEWER: We were asked to paint our boy’s trailer right before he was going to head on a roadtrip to BC. Fone got really high and was messing up his lines. I kept telling him to do it proper and shape it up and he kept saying “yeah don’t worry, I’m gonna clean it”… while rolling another blunt! At the end he got so high that he finished by doing huge clouds in the background to cover up all the mess around the piece!

The infamous HSP wall is located right on their turf, near Montreal’s Olympic stadium. Here we have a production from DICE, DWARF and EWOL when he used to write DIWOL. This wall is a hidden gem in the east end that still manages to stay underground in times where good painting spots are harder to find in the city.

You know you’re a mook when you paint your pieces in rollerblades. I swear to God, I have a theory that the homie Fone does not own any shoes. Everytime I see the dude he’s wearing rollerblades. He lives in the East End halfway across town and blades all the way downtown to my neck of the woods to grab a chop of toots. I’m sure he even takes his fucking shower with them blades on. When we’ll be chilling twenty deep in the park, I’ll look towards Fone and he’ll still be drinking beers with those rollerblades on his feet. Then, when it’s time to go to the club, he always gets refused at the door because he’s not wearing the proper footwear and ends up blading drunk all the way back across town. Mook-Life in full effect.

Old school Sewer with that 3D flavor.

Sewer getting up on them billboards in his younger and healthier days. Nowadays, his athleticism isn’t what it used to be. I remember the last time I tried to do a rooftop with him, Scan, Fomer and Nixon. When it was Sewer’s turn to climb up, the rain gutters started peeling off the wall while he was still clinging on to them. Shit looked like a cartoon, b.

The East End of Montreal is a beautiful place indeed. Only in this part of town can you find topless breakfast spots open starting at five in the morning. For less than five dollars you can get a decent bacon and egg plate served by a 40 year-old topless auntie named Ginette, with sagging tits and skin craters in her face from all the cigarettes she’s smoked. Let’s not forget the cumshot scenes from ’80s porn movies playing on the television while you savor your cheese omelette. Only an East End environment like this can give birth to a mooked-out crew like the HSP gang.

SMAK DA: I came outta St-Laurent metro with Fone and Nixon once and a busload full of Ontario hoes on a pub crawl pulled up to the light. We yelled “Show us some tits!” and they did. We ran over and hand-raped a bunch of ‘em while trying to pull out a marker to tag ‘em.

When it comes to busting out pieces, some of the crew definitely hold it down with the illest styles to come out of our city. They have everything I love most about pieces: Fresh color schemes with stylized and timeless letters that don’t fall out of the ordinary. None of that hipster shit, just real classic graffiti.

Ewol always coming correct with that fire. You can check out the full article we did on him a while back by clicking HERE.

However, when Ewol is not busy burning walls with style, he’s known to spontaneously fall asleep wherever he’s at. He’s the type of guy to leave the party before everyone else and fall asleep at the bus stop while waiting for the night line. He’ll get waken up every now and then when he misses the bus while it screeches its way right past him. You’ll come out of the party a few hours later thinking Ewol has gone home a long time ago and still find him half asleep waiting at the bus stop. When he does manage to catch the bus, he’ll fall asleep again and wake up half way across town in Laval or something…

FOMER: One time we were driving home from the club and Ewol was the designated driver. One of my boys was puking with his head out the car window when suddenly Ewol fell asleep at the wheel and we crashed into a parked car.

Rosemont chilling, all day everyday. You know how they do: summertime in Montreal alleys with cases of beers and the whole neighborhood’s coming down to kick it. The crew repping Rosemont hard by putting their stamp on its blocks. Shout outs to Luxurious Lowriders crew!

Shorties are always down with the HSPimps!

SEWK: This one time me and the HSP boys went to Boston and Atlantic City for some East coast sin. We soon found out that Sewer snored so loud we couldn’t hear the jackhammer outside our room. Fone even preferred to sleep in his car after 2-3 days because the snoring was so unbearable, and we had Sewer sleep on the bathroom floor with the door shut the rest of the trip. I’m pretty sure he still got more sleep than we did…

A flick of a young Fomer getting his fillin on. From the Hood to Hollywood my dude!

The sky is not even a limit. Rooftop Warriors Fomer and Nixon staying fresh above the crowds.

Black and Whites in Montreal.

Black and Whites in Ottawa.

Rysk and Dhoe getting their fillin fix on the Jenkins rooftop. For all the kids out there who never experienced the legendary graffiti playground known as Jenkins in Lachine, this once-abandoned factory will be featured in an upcoming book by our homie Vesk. Stay tuned for history in the making.

RYSK: I was doing throw-ups with Fone on the crappy yellow wall next to Million Tapis et Tuiles on St-Laurent near the train tracks. Suddenly, an Italian baker with a white suit and apron comes out of the building with a baseball bat. We run onto the tracks and as we look back this Chef Boyardee-looking character is running after us waving a bat and yelling Vafanculo!. Fone is drunk as fuck and he’s stumbling all over the place while he’s trying to get away. At one point he falls down and, just like in the movies, drunkenly screams to me: ‘Continue without me, save yourself!’ Like a good dude I go back to help him up and we keep going, while Fone is still doing drunken talk to himself saying how we should stop running. We ended up hiding under a loading dock on the tracks and rolled a spliff. Chef Boyardee never caught us.

Chilling on the Rosemont track silos while doing the HSP roller.

SEWER: We hopped a freight from the ‘hood all the way to the silos on the train tracks near Rosemont Metro. We all had our hands full with bucket paint, pole extensions, beer and rollers but still managed to get on the train. When it was time to hop off, Ewol fell and managed to break the dozen beers that was in his backpack. We climbed the silos and chilled there all night, smoking blunts and drinking beers while doing the roller.

There are many factors that go into taking a good picture, and in the world of instagram, Tumblr and Iphone’s, not everyone makes the cut. Pictures are probably what we take most pride in offering to all you beautiful mooks out there, and without it, this website just ain’t the same. Another factor that goes into the site with great priority, is giving shine to those who are entitled to it, to those who hustle hard every waking second of their lives and to those who got love for what they do best.

Some of you may remember the wonderful firework blasting and prosciutto launching was dart launched right to you back in November when we brought up Action Bronson, the heavy hitting Flushings MC that delivered quite a show and got down with our city. He’s even got poutine raps in his new mixtape, Blue Chips. Action , now worldwide on the map, had a breakthrough year in 2011. There is no doubt in our minds that this Mook is happier than ever. He has a great team to help him out. Shout outs to Tommy Mas, who is the producer of his first album and tour DJ, his manager Dante Ross who is responsible for making acts like Mobb Deep what they are known as today, and of course, Alexander Richter. Queens resident, photographer, and director of Action’s “Barry Horrowitz” , “Brunch”, and “Not enough words”, Alexander and his hombre Tom Gould delivered nothing but everything you want in a music video.

ACTION BRONSON – ‘BARRY HOROWITZ’

Since I first saw these videos, above many of his others, I immediately took note on what this Mook with a camera was up to.  First thing I noticed when I went on his website, was that videos weren’t his only hustle. This Mook has his camera game on lock! From 50 cent, to Method man, to DJ Premier, AR has portraits of some of your favorite MC’s and producers, and they are all being showcased in magazines and websites all across the globe.

This article is not only intended for the sole purpose of teaching you mooks a thing or two about taking a picture or shooting a video, it’s about the hustle. The every day that goes behind getting to where you wanna be. Just like Success clothing, Richter is doing this hard in the paint every day of his life. He’s out there in the streets and working harder than most of you mooks to get to where he needs to be in life. Above anything, he focuses on the next step of his career, the next flick, the next video and of course, the next cheque. This is what he does, so there is no doubt in my mind, that every one of you should get to know him a little better.  So we reached out to him, gave him a phone call while he was at the local Bodega getting a blunt and the call lasted an hour. He was more than pleased to let us know how he got to this point in life, and how he plans on taking his next couple of footsteps. After a 15 minute talk about how he loved the time he had spent in Montreal, and the Mook Life stickers he spotted in Queens, this is what he had to say.

DJ Premier

Danny Brown

Just Blaze

Kid Sister

AR: So yeah, what about these preguntas?

TB: Tell us a little bit about where you grew up…

AR: I grew up in Kennebunkport, which is a pretty small town in Maine. I’m the son of a Spanish mother from Bilbao northern Spain and a German father who were exploring the new life in America.

Young Guru

TB: What were the artists that you were listening to at that early age?

AR: The first stuff that I can remember getting into was the ‘Tougher than leather’ cassette from RUN D.M.C. that my mom bought me while we were in Germany visiting family.  Aside from that I can remember rocking P.E., Beastie Boys, Slick Rick, etc.. I never had any brothers or sisters, so no one really put me on to much stuff when I was young, but somehow I just kept finding the right artists to vibe to.

KA

TB: Word, so how did you end up getting your hands on your first camera?

AR: I didn’t end up getting a camera ’till much later on actually. I wound up going to film school 1996 to 2000 and after that I moved to California. At that time, I was trying to get into the film business. Making movies and working with artists or musicians was my main focus. At a certain point, I had to return to the east coast because my mother was sick. My mother had never told me, but she always had a Leica, and a Hasselblad camera at the house that had belonged to my dad. So from there, I put two and two together and started taking pictures to do something creative without having to put in as much work as I would on a film, and to avoid having to rely on other people for a finished product.

Dom Kennedy

TB: So what’s the first picture that really made you flip?

AR: That’s a really hard question, because I’m very hypercritical about my work. There was never really one in particular, but I always felt the need to keep taking flicks. I’m addicted to taking pictures. Whether its a portrait or a piece of tin foil on the street. Everything to me is a picture.

J-Zone

TB: So in context, what was the first phone call that shocked you the most, when someone was hollering at you to get a picture taken?

AR: Well, I guess that would have to be when I got the phone call to do the shoot for Sean Price’s “Jesus Price superstar”. When I got the call to do that, you know, that to me was an amazing opportunity because it was an chance to photograph an artist that I was generally a big fan of. You know what I mean?  But all in all, I’m happy in my every day, knowing that artists call me to take their shots for them. Whats amazing about a picture in this business, is that it there are a lot of photos that out last the artists career.

Sean Price – Jesus Price Superstar

TB: So what about the first music video you shot?

AR: I had hollered at Tom Gould when I saw a video he did for Mayhem Lauren called “The Fever”. I really liked what he had done with that video, so I reached out to him and let him know that I would be down to collaborate on something. So we ended up working on “Barry Horowitz” for Action, and we later on ended up doing 2 other videos for him, which were “Brunch” and “Not enough words”. They were all great experiences, and I’m happy knowing that while Action had shot other videos prior to our involvement that by working with Tom & I we took his visuals to the next level. I’m always shocked by how many people that I meet who say they were introduced to Action through our videos. That’s dope.

Action Bronson

TB: So out of all the shots you’ve taken and the videos you’ve made, what were some of the iconic figures that really stood out to you and that you had a strong connection with?

AR: Once again, a really hard question to answer because each job and every artist is unique. The experience of just being able to work with a lot of these figures is just a blessing on it’s own. So like, if you listen to the Clipse, and then you get to photograph the Clipse, that’s an experience in itself.

The Clipse

TB: So how did it translate from someone that loves Hip Hop, to someone that wanted to make Hip Hop his main subject?

AR: I think it was natural since I’m a fan first. I have always loved the music so it was only natural that I found myself capturing & documenting the culture.

Method Man

TB: So what are you working on right now?

AR: Well, I have a couple of shoots this week, but I would rather not talk about em until I take the pictures, ’cause you never really know what will happen before then… I’m doing a photo t-shirt collabo with a company from Virgina called SHHO & we’re gonna do a Max B shirt where we donate all the proceeds from the sales to him. The shirt looks really dope and I’m excited to get it out to the people because I know that the people who buy it are going to be happy knowing that their money went directly to Max who is facing up to 75 years in prison.

Max B

TB: What do you shoot with?

AR:  I mostly use the Canon 5d MKII, but have a variety of cameras that I shoot with. Depending on the project and the budget, I’ll rent what I need to get it done.  I also rock a point & shoot Leica Z2X that my mother gave me before she passed away.

Los Rakas

TB: Where do you see yourself 5 years from now?

AR: These questions are always funny for me. Am I happy with what I’ve been doing recently? Yes, I’m definitely more than happy doing what I’m doing at the moment, and I definitely see myself doing the same kind of thing in the future… Would I still be shooting rap music? Of course I would, but at the same time I would love to be exploring other angles of photography, I would love to be shooting much more corporate work. I would love to shoot for companies like Nike, Reebok, Timberland or New Balance. I basically just aspire to keep getting bigger and better. I would love to be able to go to Montreal for example for a shoot, and not have to pay to get there, know what I’m sayin’?

J LOVE – ‘FTMU’ Feat. Sean Price, LA The Darkman, & Willie The Kid

Make sure to keep up to date with what Alexander Richter is up to next.

www.alexanderrichterphoto.com/

Twitter: twitter.com/alexanderichter

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Instagram : @alexanderrichter - http://web.stagram.com/n/alexanderrichter

Long story short, Michael has put me on tons of times and I will forever be thankful. He showed me how to appreciate certain sneakers that I would normally dismiss. The passion runs deeper than an oil well and the money invested is very long. Some might ask why a person would go so far for sneakers: these are the same people that ask that same question about graffiti and the answer is always different, but rarely understood. I always have to think about it from the mind of an outsider. When I do, it makes no sense. I guess this is why they are outsiders: they just don’t get it and its fine.

Many parallels can be drawn between writers and sneakerheads. For example, some writers keep it classic with the NYC style, just like some of the older heads with their Puma Suedes, Adidas Superstars and icy-white AF1s. Others only rock one thing, kind of like Jordan heads. Some writers do graffiti to get attention. Others do it because they want to be seen. Some people write because they love the action of writing and others do it only for the picture. Some writers collect vintage cans. Tons of people are out there painting because it’s trendy and will no longer do so in the near future. All these types of people are found in the sneaker culture. I don’t even know if it can be called a culture, but I know that my homie Michael just loves this shit from A to Z, simple and plain. He’s one of those mooks who’s constantly on his grind, not minding if other people are looking, following or doing the same thing. He just wants to see that heat on his feet. Something I highly respect.

To show appreciation for our common love of hardbody chilling and premium footwear we decided to pull a little stunt. So the other day, he rolled through with Pro and two duffelbags full of Nike footwear. Globehead and Shmings jumped onboard at the last minute and it was on. The only guideline we had was to do some All-City Chilling while turning the local subway system and surrounding areas into a momentary sneaker-inspired art expo. This is how it went down.

This was definitely one of the funnest photoshoots I’ve done so far, except for maybe that one time I was flicking this Spalding and got a marvelous BJ in the process… but that’s a whole other story for another time. I want to take this particular opportunity to invite you to the 1st all-Montreal sneaker exhibition, put together by none other than Michael DSK. Bring your ass down to The FAKE Store on Rachel and witness firsthand how fresh this sneaker shit is. There will be live manpoems, old-school/new-school DJs and tons of mooks. Also, prints by Thes and yours truly. This will actually be the first time I’m making prints for any other purpose than hanging them at my crib. I’m very happy to be a part of this project and I hope to see you having fun with us this upcoming Saturday. Here is the FB event page with all the info. See you there!

Earlier this week, I received a letter from Tronel himself giving us an update on his well being in the joint and his plans once he gets out…

LE GROS,

MERCI POUR LES SMOKE. ASTEURE CA FAIT 275 JOURS QUE SHUI ENDANS, DANS PAS LONG
MA CONTRÔLER TOUTE LA POUDRE A R.D.P.BIG. CHECK MOÉ BIN ALLER. A MA PROCHAINE
LIBÉRATION CONDITIONELLE ON VA ANTICIPER QUE MA FAIRE DES CRISSE DE GROSSES
CHOSES SAPOUD:

PREMIÉREMENT, MA PARLÉ A GEOFF POUR QUE PATRICK ROY SOYE LE COACH DU CANADIEN
POUR LA SAISON QUI S’EN VIENT.

APRES, MA M’POGNER UNE CAISSE DE 24 LABATT 50 PI J’MEN VA VOIR RACHEL. PI A MIEUX
D’ETRE LA AVEC UNE POUTINE EXTRA SAUCE EXTRA FROMAGE.

2. MA PERSONELLEMENT ME PRÉSENTER POUR LES ÉLECTIONS AU PROCHAIN RÉFÉRENDUM. PI

SI J’RENCONTRE PAULINE MA LA FOURRER A 4 PATTES DANS L’TRAIN. (VAGIN LOUSSE)

TROIS. MA SORTIR D’ENDANS MON COMPAGNON DE CELLULE PIC PAQUETTE, LE PTI FRERE A
MARCEL.

4. MA CALLER JEAN-RÉGIS PI ON VA FAIRE UNE TOURNÉE DU QUÉBEC AVEC MONAK PI BOULET
PI LE CIRQUE DU SOLEIL PI MITSOU. (PI GREGORY CHARLES SI YÉ DOWN)

J’AI BESOIN D’AUTRE SAVON. (LUI EN POUD)

OUIN

TRONEL

I got you baby! By this summer, the new album titled “JEU DE PUISSANCE” will be launched abut the same time Tronel gets released from jail and we expect to hit double platinum plates for the second time. A big local show and world wide tour is in schedule, that is if Tronel does not land back in jail within the first week of conditional freedom. For those who are utterly confused and have no idea about what just happened to them, it’s ok. This rap shit is not for everyone, only the realest can relate. However, you might enjoy these mooked out stills from the video-shoot. If not, well, you can just fuck right off. Free Tronel!

Spring has finally arrived in Mooktreal city. As the unpredictable weather reaches new heights, the birth of a new season slowly comes around as our city awakens from its winter-long slumber. The neighborhoods come alive again, the mooks show their faces under the sunlight and the familiar bustle of the streets warms our hearts as thoughts of summertime chilling is just a few steps away. This month of March, a new season may have arrived but it’s the same old mookness that ran through our blood like Krokodil in a Russian’s vein. We kicked off the month in alcohol-infused debauchery with Plaza St-Hubert parties and street level firework shows. Between student protests and anti-police marches, this month hosted another one of Montreal’s favorite Mookolympic sports: the street riot… ‘Cause if this seasons’ Habs performance won’t give us a reason to loot SAQ and Future shop, then we’ll still manage to find another motive to break and steal shit. We can’t forget this year’s St-Patrick’s day which was another epic drinking extravaganza under the scorching 25 degree sun. Shout outs to all the daytime drinkers who made it past sunset without passing out or getting locked up. And as usual, between bites of butter chicken thali and greasy poutines, we were out there causing ruckus and being loud everywhere we set foot: from your local dj battles all the way to the Olympic stadium observatory. This is the Mook-Life for the month of March.

You’re only as good as your uniform.

Cash On Delivery.

Fuck yeah, free food.

DJ Red Alert.

Bin Laden weed.

Wiggers from the North-Side.

There’s some hoes in dis house there’s some hoes in dis house, if u see’em point’em out..

Good googly moogly.

#1

Killers from the North-Side, all about they hustle, bitch.

We getting hipster money. You mad?

Super Sexy Saer.

Keep running, young fella.

-I bet you can’t hit that girl standing by the car…

-We gon’ see.

The bounty of superiority.

Masterpiece, Barbeque chips, Skittles bag.

Take Over Squad.

Business, as usual.

Special delivery.

British walker.

My fleshlight.

Lemon Skunk.

Hands-on experience.

Jesus died for his own sins, not mine- Rake

Little India.

The taste of authenticity.

Whiteboy thali.

Affordable garbage.

1998

Sitting there.

Ah, bad.

Violence is the only way.

Cry me a liver.

Chinese New Year.

Victims of gayness.

The city of Montreal.

On that krakadil.

Random acts of ignorance.

Le rap, c’est plate.

I see you baby.

Don’t be a foggot.

The night is on my mind. The sun’ll still shine.

Meth, not even once.

Can You Rock 2012.

Picasso.

Style develops with age.

Smoked out snorted out…

Super Salaud stunt #169.

Walking there.

Mother nature is a sneaky cunt.

The key to the hole.

Poutine con carne.

Can I live!

He got wet on the block for going where he should not.

Lyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Legendary chilleur.

Smells like victory.

Sharing is caring.

New jackets for sale. Peep the store.

Classic mook hand gesture.

St-Jamaican Patty day.

Hip-Hop not dead.

Tonight at the Belmont.. the Coolest Cunts.

Wildin’ on the Island.

Visions of a dead walrus.

God made churches for this purpose.

Cuban Jew, Cassy poo.

Natural habitat.

Snap necks with the Air Max, 90′s looking fresh and I never pay tax.

Day and night.

Sneakers High, Runners Low.

The real Epic Mealtime.

Good looking out.

You can fuck right off.

Face in tits.

Do the shithead dance.

Whiplash.

National Kick The Bottle day.

Cock withdrawal.

The Coolest Crack.

Alley Cats.

Olympic Chilling.

YaaaAAAaaaa!

Di Buss canna swim.

We Want the World and Everything in It.

J’grind dans l’downtown, pendant que t’es pas down.

Top of the World.

The City is Ours.

There’s something in the shadows.

Mourial.

There you have it. Another month is engraved in our memories as we plunge head first into April. The weather only gets better from here and this means the chilling can only get more intense. No regrets, no worries and no stopping us. We represent for all those who go through the same shit we do but never had a voice to express it. If you only live once, you might as well live it right. Mook-Life for life.