as told to: Wong Fei Hung photos: Justin Hollar
Beware the ironic daisy dukes—sometimes even the most ridiculously fitted, happy-go-lucky party rapper will just go ape shit on your ass, for absolutely no reason. Helping keep everyone on the tips of their Dunks is 28-year-old Kurt Hunte, a self-proclaimed “high school bully” and member of the Philly rap quintet Plastic Little. The verbal satirists’ 2006 release, She’s Mature, is full of humor and cleverness, but for a time it seemed like the pitbull-ish Hunte enjoyed rapping on people’s faces rather than on record. He claims that he’s grown; he can “talk shit out” with people now, but at Fluid Nightclub in Philadelphia one night about a year ago, some unlucky bastard was blasted with a little of Hunte’s random rage. Perhaps appropriately, Plastic Little’s upcoming release, The Singles, 1979 – 2009, features a track with MF Doom, who had his own troubles at Fluid Nightclub (see track: “Monday Night at Fluid” produced by King Honey). Philly, hide ya face!
“We did a show in Philadelphia where we had wireless microphones and there was no stage, so it was just in the middle of a dance party where people were jumping around and whatnot. Us Plastic Little boys decided to all wear the tiniest tennis shorts we could find, like “batty riders,” along with tight, obnoxious neon-loud ugly shirts. It looked like I was gonna go play tennis.
“So we’re in this pit of people in a crowd of maybe 100, rapping, bouncing off of people, crawling all over the place, like rap gremlins. Of course, we were drinking—I was drunk. While performing, I thought I saw some guy being really mean to a friend of mine. Her body language seemed like she was having problems with this dude and I think he might have knocked her drink over while dancing. So I just turned around and started punching on him. It was a totally unfair match-up, since I was about twice his size and I caught him by surprise, just me throwing punches at his face. I think I still had the microphone in my hand. There’s this one gigantic [bouncer], he’s this thick-dreadlocked guy. He just gripped me up by my neck and just tossed me out.
“The rest of Plastic Little came out and were pissed at me since they had to finish the party without me. And I lost the hella expensive wireless mic in the tussle. So we’re outside trying to figure out about this after party and all the folk who were waiting for me left. I was out on the street at two, three in the morning, looking like a fool in shorts so tiny that my cell phone wouldn’t even fit in them. I decided to walk about 20 or so blocks back to my home. It’s not a super slum neighborhood, but if I wasn’t 5’10”, 250 pounds and black, I most likely would get jumped. So I had to walk back into that neighborhood with my little girlie shorts on. Usually I’m never scared to bop through any neighborhood, but I was extremely shook looking like such a target. The walk home felt like kharmic repayment for the fight. Luckily, though, I made it home without even a holler or a name thrown my way. After that I don’t think I’ve ever felt so bulletproof.”
