‘The Corner’ is ‘The Wire’ Prequel We Ignored
Packs Shipment #002
It’s safe to say that “The Wire” is television’s social media darling. I don’t know what Twitter or Instagram or Facebook (God forbid) timeline circles you frequent, but in mine, it’s hard to go a day of scrolling before I see Wee-bay give his iconic reaction or see Slim Charles roll up the window on Bodie. Outside of social media, podcasts have sprouted entirely focused behind the subject, and Harvard utilizes “The Wire” in its urban inequality courses. Save for “Game of Thrones,” no show has been able to remain the joke of the moment for as long as the 2002 HBO series has.
But if “The Wire” is our favorite child we can’t stop bragging about, then “The Corner” is its forgotten older sibling.
Based on the book "The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-City Neighborhood" by David Simon and Edward Burns (both also created “The Wire”) and released two years before “The Wire,” “The Corner” is commonly referred to as the prequel to the HBO powerhouse series despite having no references to its characters or plots. The book is used as an inspiration for The Wire, using its stories to create a spin-off of Baltimore's drug-ladened inner city. But for “The Corner,” the novel is used as a direct screenplay, broadcasting the lives detailed in Simon and Burns’ book directly to the television screen.
The six-part miniseries primarily revolves around Gary McCollough (TK Carter), Deandre McCollough (Sean Nelson), and Fran Boyd (Khandi Alexander). Gary was smart, hardworking, and friendly, but was ultimately pulled into the pits of Baltimore’s drug scene by Fran. Fran is Gary’s ex-wife, who seems to be responsible for Gary’s descent to the corners. Deandre—Gary and Fran’s 15-year old son—now bears the brunt of his parents’ addiction as a dealer of the very drug that destroyed his family and childhood.
These three main protagonists are examples of “The Corner”’s most essential tropes. Gary represents how the corner can devour a communities’ brightest individuals if left in its gaze long enough. Fran shows how the corner’s minions can drag anyone down, and how hard it can be to break away from its grasp. DeAndre is the tragic, final turn of the deadly revolution; a family broken by addiction creates another cog in the perpetual machine. Forget Baltimore for a second; together, the family is a microcosm of addiction in America. They are still, however, such a small, insignificant piece of the pie.
Flashbacks show how certain characters, and the neighborhood itself, thrived before the heroin epidemic. Those flashbacks help give a full scope of an addicts life, and makes it more than just a drug soap opera.
Later in the series, after DeAndre's child's birth, Fran says the latest addition to the family “came out crying like he know the whole damn story already.” It’s funny for a bit when given by Khandi’s sensational performance. But “The Corner” and its inhabitants are not funny and charming, like how The Wire can be funny and charming. There are no charismatic drug dealing leaders like Avon Barksdale (IYKYK) or adorable junkies like Bubbles. There’s no Jimmy McNulty patrolling the streets or Clay Davis in City Hall.
The actors used to play police chiefs, detectives, and government officials are now dope fiends and commoners in Baltimore's West Side. The most notable member of the addicts' den is Clark Peters (The Wire's Detective Lester Freamon ), who portrays Fat Curt, an OG user ballooned limbs due to long-term needle use and a stoic pride for being an addict. Ella Thompson (Tyra Ferrel) is antithetical to Curt; her determination to clean the streets by nurturing the minds of the youth is unwavering, despite being dealt the cruelest hand the corner can deal. The Wire and The Corner have the same knack for making all the characters the main characters, filled with a colorful group of supporting roles that are vital to the story that David Simon and Edward Burns reported in the original book.
At the end of the series, some of the real lives portrayed in “The Corner” come together and discuss being a part of a retelling of their lives. Its a harsh reminder that what is shown is more than just a prequel for a great television show. Its also a reminder of why “The Wire” was created in the first place. When thinking of the grand scheme of art and why we create, “The Corner” is arguably the more important work of the two.
Despite its poignant dissection of Baltimore’s drug scene and the racial and systemic inequalities that arrive in tow, “The Corner” is not taught in Harvard classes. Emmy awards for Outstanding Miniseries; Outstanding Directing for a Miniseries, Movie or a Special, and Outstanding Writing for a Miniseries or a Movie wasn’t enough for witty podcasts to focus on “The Corner” for discussion. The last write-up I could find on the show was seven years ago, and the show is not on HBO’s streaming services as of this writing. The best way to watch it is on Youtube, where all six episodes are available in pretty good quality.
In the opening monologue of “The Corner,” the show’s host says “This film is a true story of men, women, and children living in the midst of a drug trade, their voices are too rarely heard.” 20 years later and that statement remains true. In real world America, drug dependencies have expanded to other niche drugs, and shows like “The Corner” remain the forgotten child to “The Wire.”
HEAT PACK
Lil Iceberg
New Orleans culture is some of the most influential in hip-hop today thanks to its undeniable history, swagger, and uniqueness. Lil Iceberg holds all of those same qualities while being one of New Orleans’ most versatile artists, fitting like a puzzle piece on throwback N.O. beats and new-age sounds. On “Big Ballin’ Freestyle,” Iceberg flips the classic Mannie Fresh instrumental and goes absolutely fuckin insane. I think there’s a gene in New Orleans born babies that make you a natural on any Mannie Fresh beat.
Tracks like that are breaks for Iceberg. More regularly, he takes traditional beats and adds a heavy dose of Tony Chachere seasoning. In other artists' hands, the dreamy “Big Shot” instrumental could be any iteration of some Atlanta rap style choice. Instead, Lil Iceberg’s heavy accent and 504 references like “My Nola yeah a hot girl out the St. Thomas” showcases the flexibility not only in Iceberg but in the Crescent City’s artists as a whole.
Unbox Lil Iceberg: Big Shot; Average; Paperchaser
Metroworldpeace
Dusty, distorted, and raw. Metroworldpeace comes from the Earl Sweatshirt school of making rap sound as if it comes from the attic. Metro sounds like he has to rap because he lost a bet, but opening bars like “Snowflakes off the glass panel, dance in her nose/hands in my pant’s pockets scramble for holes” to open “joga bonito” show he brings his form of energy and thoughtfulness. On the snappy “d10s”, Metro saunters through the soulful samples and clean drum section with ease.
Metro continues the relaxed style on his newest project barrilete cosmico, produced by Bart Buurman. It's a sample-heavy record of smooth sounds and effortless bars. Here, Metro sounds at his best behind Bart’s soundscape. One of my favorites is “07 riquelme,” a beautiful record humbled by Metro’s tone and wide-ranging lyrics like his mother’s discontent with his smoking and his displeasure with rap politics. The entire project is some of his best work and a must-listen for lo-fi rap fans.
Unbox Metroworldpeace: September; d10s; 07 riquelme
World Renown
The Queensbridge duo of Seven Shawn (Cousin of K-Def) and John Doe (Cousin of Marley Marl) make World Renown, a boom-bap hip-hop group born from the peak of the sub-genre. “How Nice I Am,” which features a surprisingly good flip of A Tribe Called Quest’s “Check The Rhime,” and “Come Take A Ride” were standout singles from their forthcoming self-titled album.
However, the album was shelved by Warner Bros., despite earning a 3.5 mic from The Source, and never saw the light of day—until today. The future of the World Renown came to a halt when Warner shelved the album, but now it lives on Youtube. Any fan of the golden era will appreciate this classic, underground album.
Unbox World Renown: Come Take A Ride; Long Gev; K-Otix
Read Receipts
Jeff Weiss—What I Saw at the Revolution: A First-Person Account of the L.A. Protests
Donna-Claire Chesman—Frank Ocean’s “Seigfried” & Living for Yourself
Alexander Fruchter—Take A Trip Inside The Alchemist's Laboratory
Shoutout the SNKRS app
…for being fucking stupid.
I won’t pretend to be some big sneaker-head. I don’t know what you call me, but I’m sometimey in sneaker culture. I’ll dip in and dip out when I find shoes I like or think are terrible. I know enough about big drops to seem knowledgeable about sneakers but not enough to look like anything that can resemble an expert. I don’t know what an upper or lower mid or whatever the fuck else makes up a sneaker.
What I do know, however, is the SNKRS app is trash.
Nike recently dropped the second colorway of the Space Hippie collection, shoes made primarily from recycled materials—I needed ‘em. My favorite, the Space Hippie 03, looks like actual cool moon boots. My runner ups, the Space Hippie 02, is like a slip-on sneaker; still very cool but not as cool as the straps and strings featured on the high top 03. I would’ve liked either; I would’ve been ecstatic with either.
And then came the time to hop on Nike’s SNKRS app at 10:00 in the morning for my shot at the shoes. The top of the hour struck, and I had already clicked order on both of the shoes. Nike said they would email me to let me know if I earned the shoes. Time passed as I watched the shoes evaporate; they sold out within five minutes.
It took the app 30 minutes, however, to tell me I didn’t get the shoes.
It really shouldn’t be this hard, but it is. It was that hard for the Off-White collection, it was hard for Travis Scott Cactus Jacks, and it was hard now. I don’t want to hear shit about the shoes being coveted and rare and all that. The SNKRS app is fucked. It constantly makes your L the most frustrating experience in the world.
If I want the shoes now, I have to pay resell prices, which means paying more than $300 for a $180 pair of shoes. I won’t be doing that, though. Fuck that. Instead, I’ll wait for another drop of shoes I like and hope I can buy the shit I want. But it’ll all be done through the SNKRS app, so that’s not likely.
So shoutout the fuckin’ SNKRS app.
Welp, hope y’all enjoyed this edition of Packs. We back next Friday with more of some new.
Between Packs, follow me on all the socials: @Tribecalledni on damn-near everything.
Until next time, be cool.