A Dollar and a Dream

I transferred to Stuyvesant High School in my sophomore year and reunited with a lot of the kids I grew up with in Park Slope. We’re talking elementary school, sports and skate fam. Along with those kids, I met a bunch of new cats that were a similar blend of hip hop and athletics. We hung out in the basement of a Chinese food restaurant named China Red on Chambers Street and did all the dumb shit that kids in the 90s did. We would freestyle, pass around black books, and eat the tastiest meal you can get for $1.50: a plate of fried rice and a Tropical Fantasy. At that point in time your crew needed a name and three-letter acronym, so we formed DFR, Dollar Fried Rice.

A Dollar and a Dream was written on loose leaf paper between classes. It was recorded at my home studio using a Gemini sampler and mixer, cassette deck, Boss DR-550, and a microphone that Ned dug out of his parents’ stuff. It couldn’t have been more fun to make. We were growing up around some of the greatest hip hop ever made and we were a tiny part of it. But it felt huge. Our style was, and continues to be, ridiculous.

Beware, the audio files are more stepped on than Williamsburg coke.