Born the year Basquiat and Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq deceased. Traded Black Hawk Down for an American pie. Prosecuted several times by the long arm of the law until Brotherly Love saved face with a hug. Days were spent contemplating rhythm. Plucked phoenix feathers only to be burned alive; born again. Found love. Lost love. Found music. Never lost music. And the beat goes on. -LBH


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