I used to get cutting edge Comedy Central host, D.C,. confused with the surrealist, high-glam photographer, David LaChappelle. If you haven't seen this guy's cable show where he gets Eddie Murphy's little bro, Charlie, to drop dime on summa the biggest stars of the nineteen-hateys, like Prince, and Rick James, bitch's, real life shenanigans, while said host hilariously acts out all these cocaine crazed episodes, by all means, rent his first season on DVD.

Onto this movie...good stuff fer sho---Dave TRIES to interact with various hayseed midwesterners, and uptight white people, but mostly finds them to be really confused, because while begrudgingly attracted to his celebrity and cash, they can't help but still be repulsed by "profane" rap music, and his "pimpolicious" blackness. The cat's a comic star for good reason - while not as openly outraged and on fire as Bill Hicks, Chappelle has a "pretty white girl" sing his more incendiary truths, opera style, on his show, so they're less threatening. Besides cross-dressing Brit comedian, Eddie Izzard, this guy's definitely my favorite social commentator still at large. At his best, he's on par with Richard Pryor, and effectively uses the camera like Michael Moore. I appreciate him most when he's pushing boundaries, opening discussions, compassionately exploring people, and exposing hypocrisy - his show's the most entertaining show I've seen since Johnny Lydon's short lived, Rotten TV.

This film kinda reminds me of mine 'n' Sleazegrinder's old TV show, "Weird City", in spirit. Chappelle hosts a big block party in Bed-Sty, Brooklyn, and invited a busload of kooky Ohio natives, and a midwestern marching band to join him, and all the corporate preppie-rappers, like Kanye, Common, the absurdly over-rated Wyclef Jean, Pras, and Lauryn Hill's, Fugee's reunion, and Common's ole lady, the beautiful enchantress, Erykah Badu. Dave's ace pal, Mos Def, is one of the most clever, charismatic, bold, and hyper smart of the contemporary, conscious M.C.'s, AND he's a funny motherfucker - see his performance in the movie, "Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy".

THE ROOTS explore some bitchen SUN RA/HENDRIX/MC5/P-FUNK psychedelic jazz improv, along with a moaning poetess, Jill Scott, and Andre 2,000's baby Mama, in the rain. I dig the drummer - he oughta be in my new political glam band, 45 Revolutions Per Minute. Dave also invited on slain Black Panther's leader, Fred Hampton's son, Chairman Fred Hampton Jr., to pump up the crowd with some righteous political banter. Free The People.

The best of the hip-hop performers were Dead Prez, whose lyrics defy black capitalism and money mongering, probing weighty social issues, heroically, Public Enemy Style. They're like a gangsta rap Clash, or Lords Of The New Church. Motherfucking truth tellers. God Bless 'em. Chappelle drives through the bourgeois part of town advertising his block party on a loudspeaker out the car window, ala the Blues Brothers. This is an inspirational film, a family picnic, a black Woodstock, and more. Chappelle's homespun hootenanny succeeds where we glitter punk rrevolutionaries have failed in recent years, and looked to be alot more fun than Corporate Aerosmith's sell-out Fourth Of July wingding with the Boston Pops.

Chappelle's Block Party reminds me how crucial these summertime luaus are for our collective morale, brothers and sisters, how we indeed gotta get together more often. Tiki torches and bonfires, Blue Hawaiians, grilled cheese, duct tape, and amateur porn. Get this even if you don't dig modern urban soul music, cos it'll still move you, if you got a heart like I do. You can't kill a man with a soul, babies. Fuck the devilish FBI-uplift the common people, work together, remember to laugh, and the power of music.

Right the fuck on.
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-Pepsi Sheen's baby caught the Katy and left him a mule to ride...