Strong Vibrations in helL.A. Part 2 : Chron Burgundy Pisses Off Jesus

                                "Inching My Way Through Dead Dreams in helL.A."

Read Part 1 of Strong Vibrations in helL.A. click HERE!  


I want to preface this story by again stressing that there are no coincidences in life. All people, events, experiences are there to serve a purpose to you. It is up to you whether you choose to understand them, forget them or simply dismiss them. I choose to understand, but pay me no mind, unless of course, you want to understand.


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We arrive at the private drive at the top of the road and get to Chron’s house.

Except it wasn’t a house but a massive compound and his family lived there.

Chron greets us and I introduce him to the chiefs and there are smiles and hugs and excitement and anticipation and energy and I felt it too and it was strong and real up there on the Studio City hill.

We enter the house and it is magnificent: the space well appointed and properly art’ed in detailed fashion, the appropriate appliances all modern and new.

The expansive pristine and tranquil empty house belied the frenzied energy that was brewing.

We walked through it all, arriving to the back garden and hung a right and walked into what was attached to the house but a separate unit with a recording studio in it.

We walk in and the place is in disarray -the bathroom light didn’t work, there was no toilet paper -only subway napkins- and there was a thick stench of tobacco and cannabis.

Clearly Chron’s parents were wealthy enough to forget about him.

We press further and find where Chron had his future superstars living and recording music. Two kids about 21 from London – Ben, the white rapper and Charles his black compatriot and they were cool but young and appropriately British and appropriately naïve for their age.

The recording studio/living room/loft bedroom area had walls that were completely covered in graffiti and the frenzied disarray of our current environment now properly construed the frenzied energy that swirled among us. 

                                     "Ben Diamond spinning wax with Natty"

The hip hop beats were UP and there was booze and fine cannabis and laughs and stories and we all got along fine.

We ripped cigs outside and the view was tremendous and of the best LA variety – Looking down on the lights, always looking down.

(it says a lot about a city when the best view is looking down)

We drink and carouse and spin tracks until it is time to go the bar. The rappers stay behind and we are drunk and all shuffle into the chauffeured SUV and descend down the hill, back into the lights with only a single precious hour to spare at the bar.

Ill spare you the boring details of the bar until the end:

I was engaged in a conversation with Chief Natty about our collective. I explained that the fault in our bright beautiful creative energetic expansive group of friends was that we sometimes have difficulty in summoning divine inspiration in ourselves individually, and that at times we rely on the collective gatherings to find that same divine inspiration.

There was ALWAYS so much beautiful energy in our tribe.

So much magic in so many of our moments, so much collective love and creativity at times.

Everyone bringing their energy, raw and unhinged and sharing it and reveling in it.  

DANCING! (the most pure form of soul exaltation)

Those are SOME of life’s beautiful moments. The collective, the tribe, all celebrating all that is human.

But Chasing just the celebration and feeding only off the collective and not being able to find it in ourselves is not sustainable.

Imagine what the collective energy feels like when everyone can go to solitude and find that SAME energy that the collective summons on their own.

THEN bringing it back to the collective to celebrate.

Imagine the Power in THAT energy.

I was drunk and explaining this and it was beautiful but was interrupted when I felt a tug at my sleeve from down below.

Chaos, himself, had arrived and immediately the point was lost in the surge of unruly energy.

I looked down and Chron Burgundy was there, all Five foot Three of him and he was fucked up and mumbling for us to do something:

He wanted us to go to his old house to recover a gold rolex given to him by his deceased grandfather.

He said that his old roommates wouldn’t give it back to him and that it was a $17k watch and that it was his most cherished item from his grandfather and they hadn’t given it back but that they would hand over the property if we all went there now to get it as he had just talked to the dude.

No fucking way Chron Burgundy.

I am not entering any type of dispute like this.

I ignore and attempt to get back to my conversation but the Natty Chief had found two tall blondes,

or perhaps they found him-

and he was already regaling them with tall tall tales of all the things he could do to them with his very

                               long

                                       long

                                               dread locks.

The lights soon came on and it was time to go.

We gather our group and hop back into our SUV.

No sooner do the doors shut and the car lurches forward does Chron Burgundy start in again with his whining about his grandfather’s gold watch.

I am in shotgun and yell back that it is not happening.

I turn my head back and survey the situation:

Chief Nails and Chief Chef are in the way back, silent and look annoyed. Chief Natty and Chron are in the middle row, and Chief Natty is bouncing up and down in excitement, he is upset that someone had stolen his new friend’s (for the time being) grandfather’s gold rolex watch, and he is taking it personally. 

When I saw that, I knew where this spaceship was headed, despite the protests of the majority.

We were headed back up to the Hollywood Hills, again ascending away from the lights and into the elevated darkness.

After about a 15 minute ride up, we arrive at the top of the hill and at the end of a cul de sac, hop out and arrive at another compound. Chron springs to the front door with Chief Natty and Chief Chef and Michael the young skateboarder.

Chief Nails is in a bad mood already and stays in the car with the girl.

I get out but hang back to properly keep an eye on the situation without being in the situation.

Fuck me.

This is the worst idea in the history of ideas and somehow, knowing the terror and chaos that is Chron Burgundy, I was here.

Watching.

Fuck me.

Chron begins to ring the doorbell and bang on the door incessantly attempting to rouse which was surely a sleeping house at near 3 am.

The house still sleeps.

He goes around to a sliding glass door and pounds on that a bit when the front door explodes open

And who is there

But JESUS.

NO Shit, swear to his dad,

                           It’s fucking

                                                JESUS.

Flowing brown unkempt hair and a bushy brown unkempt beard to match with

SHOCKING Blue eyes, I had seen his picture many many many times before.

Jesus, It was Jesus.

But Jesus was pissed off and slightly mal-nutritioned and barefoot and a little pale for walking around the desert so much and only wearing a pair of short musty mesh soccer shorts.

Did I mention he was pissed off and wanted to kill Chron Burgundy?

Like family beef that existed for generations, like Chron was Pontius Pilate,  he locked eyes with Chron and tore after him,

NO hesitation in his thirst for Chron’s blood.

His hatred was innate and ingrained and insatiable.

Chron ran in circles attempting to dodge this rabid Jesus’s chase and when he had cleared enough room between them, he reached in some sort of karate pose and bent back into what would clearly culminate into a martial arts knock out move only to reach out and mace Jesus full on in the face.

A clearly enraged Jesus let out a wild shriek as the pepper seared his eyes.

I once walked into a cloud of pepper spray that a girl that was near me mistook for a lipstick tube and sprayed, and just the whiff of the stuff made my eyes bleed.

Jesus took it full on in the face.

But it didn’t stop him.

He tore after Chron with more vengeance and an even greater tenacity.

Jesus’s disciples now appear out of the house and into the cul de sac.  They too are shirtless in shorts and unkempt.

Chief Natty gets between Jesus and Chron and Jesus stops and Natty offers

“we just want his property back dude”

Jesus erupts

“I left it for you on the curb 2 weeks ago”

But remains calm as he surveys who was with Chron and knows that it is not in his best interests to want to get primitive with this collective of chiefs.

 Natty  begins to try to piece it out with Jesus.

The Chef and Michael talk to the Disciples.

I stand in the middle, quiet and observing.

Chron Burgundy, lurking in safety behind Natty’s  bunned up dreadlocks and tall lanky frame,  suddenly pops out from behind it and sprays Jesus full on in the face with mace again.

Any shred of calm that was restored to hash this out like adults shattered and fell to the wayside.

Fucking Chron Burgundy.

My guess was this was his plan all along:

Show up unexpectedly with 4 Chiefs in a chauffeured black SUV, and then just punk Jesus.

Mace the bastard in his face.

Fuck Me.

I should have known.

Chron runs out of mace and heads for the SUV and dives head first into the open back door.

Jesus is right behind him and literally yanks CHron out of the SUV by his feet, and then piles on him and starts raining blows onto Chron’s small body.

Jesus deserved to get a few licks in for the mace, and I let him until I decide they are even and I move in and throw Jesus off Chron.

I instruct everyone to get in the car so that we can go, as the fuzz were surely on their way- riots in the cul de sacs at the top of Hollywood Hills are never permissible- and I wanted no part of the fuzz.

Everyone piles in except the Chef, who has been as calm as I the entire time.

I look back only to see the Chef pick up one of the Disciples and body slam his ass into the pavement and then proceed to bitch slap the Disciple (musta been Judas) up and down the cul de sac.

The car empties except for the girl and Nails.

I am happy to see this.

Nails probably would have had Disciple blood on his hands had he exited.

Now there is mayhem everywhere.

Chron Burgundy got the girl in the cars mace and is back at it, macing anything that looked biblical.

I am standing in the middle of it all, wondering how the fuck I got here and why, why

WHY

I am in the middle of this chaotic reality.

I stand there among the balled up fists and angry faces and yells and screams and elbows and mace. I stand there in the middle of it all and am still. Not moving. At rest.

Holding space for restraint and for wisdom and for peace.

Jesus is fucking irate and comes charging at me, fist cocked, making direct eye contact with his piercing angry blue eyes.

And then runs right past me.

I turn around and there was no one behind me.

Did he just miss me?

Am I even here?

I continue to stand at rest holding this peaceful space and another Disciple comes charging at me, fist cocked, eye contact- the same as with Jesus before- and again it’s almost as he runs right through me.

I seem to have risen above this nonsense and madness.

How convenient.

I become aware and I get everyone rustled up and back into the car.

We are poised to go but are dealing with a half naked Jesus standing in front of the car and barking to run him over.

Our driver, Muhammad, who had been the definition of patient during this melee, had finally had it. He was Middle Eastern- my guess Iran/Iraq and had seen a whole lot worse shit in his life than a pepper spray soaked pissed off half naked Jesus in front of his car.

So Muhammad runs out of the car and begins to scream in his native tongue and gesture wildly to Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t flinch.

Muhammad gets into a fighter stance and is about to slug Jesus square in one of those intense blue eyes when the ghetto bird makes its appearance.

Now, I didn’t come to LA for fame, and I sure as shit don’t want 15 minutes of it, but the helicopter was above with its bright light shining down on us.

Chron Burgundy bails out of the car and runs and Natty follows and Jesus takes the bait and scurries off and Muhammad floors it and again we were headed down into the lights.

Except before we actually got to the lights of the city we were met with lights of the flashing blue and red variety.

The cop peers in and asks whats going on and I explain that it was some age old Hollywood Hill beef between Chron Burgundy and Jesus and we were just passing through and Muhammad was driving us back to our home. He gives us a once over and understands what I am telling him is real and we again advance down the hill, back into the lights.

We swoop the Natty Chief and leave Chron to his own devices, cackling and howlin, but mostly people were yelling at me wondering how the hell I knew Chron Burgundy, and what the fuck was i thinking, but it was all in fun as we had escaped unscathed. 

The high energy of the night carried us into the morning, not before I said to no one in particular

“I feel used”

I ruminated on that statement that I muttered aloud and could only surmise that I meant energetically, that I had created this situation myself to find some truth, but in that case, I just used myself, and perhaps that is what I meant by that but who knows.

We charged on into the morning, back at the Natty Chief’s lair, my last memory was Natty, dreadlocks down to his ass, dressed in a white robe fit for Detroit Pimp-gold cuffs and all- that read “Beverly Hills Pimps and Hos Club”

 walk out,

yell at his immigrant Chinese neighbors

and get the paper. 

 

                                     "Hanging with Frank in Chaos at Chron Burgundy's"

Post Script : The next day, the Chef was retrieving a hat that he left at Chron Burgundy’s when Jesus showed up, armed to the teeth with a hunting knife that could sheer an alligator and rabid, seeking vengeance for the evening before. He chased poor Chron through Chron’s parents vast, pristine compound, until Chron locked himself in a bathroom and called the cops, who assuredly showed up again, ghetto bird and all to hash out what seems to be an endless Hollywood Hill blood feud. 

Second Post Script  : I still love Chron Burgundy and honor him as a friend. But I won't be joining him on anymore Hollywood Hill Blood Feuds. 

Third Post Script: If you enjoy hip hop, the kid who was recording at Chron Burgundy's crib, Ben Diamond brings the heat : Click Ben Diamonds "someday" youtube joint



Read Part 1 of the Story - WHO THE HELL IS CHRON BURGUNDY? CLICK HERE