It Always Rains In Central Alabama (Official Music Video)
Drum beat with accompanying strings.
From high above, we see a group of young men standing on the home base of a baseball diamond in a large grassy area. There are 3 of them and they’re rapping along to a track blasting out of a nearby portable speaker. We pull back and another young man stands by with a reflector. Finally, there’s one more dude: the one with the camera.
He’s tracking back and forth, holding the modest DSLR at calf level, pushing into close to them, then pulling back out.
He screams with impatience:
“More energy!! Let’s go!”
If there were 10 different levels to get to, the 3 performers respond to this by going about a half level up. You could call it a 5.5 at this point.
“Aight, cut.”
The one with the reflector cuts off the speaker. Everyone takes a pause. Whatever they’re attempting, it’s not quite working. The shortest of the three performers, named Wiggs, inquires:
“What it’s lookin like, Ant?”
“It’s cool. Um. I’ma change memory cards and we finna do it again.”
^This is Anthony, slim build with glasses, cargo shorts and a colorful fitted on. He fusses with the door on the side of the camera. The skies overhead are a bit grim.
Phavo, the tallest of the performers, having stepped off the group’s mark on home base, stands off to the side. He scrolls his phone with one hand, and fiddles with a single loc in his other hand. He pauses, then puts the phone down for a moment to interject:
“My question is: why there ain’t no bitches? The song is kind of about that, you know? We getting bitches, it’s supposed to be the fun track on the tape, so it can’t just be us men out here.”
Anthony responds quickly:
“That’s finna be in the next scene. I just gotta think of where we finna do it at.”
“But I’m sayin: what’s the point of this scene, bruh.”
“We just getting a clean shot of y’all rapping the lyrics. Need it for the edit. You’ll see, bruh”
“Got damn, I hope so. It ain’t shit out here. I don’t even play baseball.”
Anthony reaches an open palm out to Laron, the one holding the reflector, and the youngest looking of the bunch. Laron adds his two cents in a squeaky voice:
“Yeah, and it look like it’s about to rain.”
Anthony rolls his eyes, extending the hand even further towards Laron:
“The extra memory card?”
“Oh!… shit. right”
Laron taps all his jean pockets, letting go of the reflector for a moment. Almost immediately, a gust of wind picks up the reflector and sends it 20 feet thattaway. Laron runs after it. Phavo keeps thinking out loud:
“You know what, bruh. Ain’t even gon lie, I think we need to rethink this shit. I’m not seeing the vision.”
“What then? You got an idea where to shoot it?”
“Nah, I’m not even worried about all that. Like he said, it’s finna rain. So we just gonna use what we got out here and shoot the rest in the crib or some’n.”
“I don’t know if that’s gonna look very good, bruh”
“Stay calm, I’ma call some people”
“I’m calm, bruh”
“Aight then.”
Laron is back. He hands over the extra memory card, out of breath:
“Here you go”
Anthony switches them out.
The middle height performer’s name is D-way. He throws his two cents in, somewhat nervously, shifting his gaze between everyone there:
“Ay. So. What if the the whole thing is we started out here—like what we was just doin—for the first part of the song—then we regrouped—like Vo sayin—BUT made some calls and then brought all the bitches back out here when its dark out to turn this shit up—for the last part of the song—the part where we saying the hook over and over and shit? But it’s like, you film all that shit, bruh. So it’s like, got damn, uh: one part is in the daytime, then BAM—it switches and the other part is in the night time fr—But like, its all in the same spot fr”
Anthony, to himself under his breath:
“So… a match cut.”
Phavo is feeling it:
“My boy! I like that idea. We can get e'rybody out here f’that”
Laron blurts out loud, immediately looking at Anthony after it leaves his mouth:
“Ooooooooh, that’s dope, bruh!”
Anthony glares at him. Phavo:
“Shit, I’ma start calling folk right now.”
Wiggs, the short one:
“I think that’s a damn good idea too fr. Yo Ant, can we see that footage? We tryna make sure it line up.”
Anthony lets out a sigh.
“I just changed the memory cards. Plus, I don’t think it’s finna be easy to light it out here at night fr. Unless them streetlights come on.”
It gets quiet. We pan over and the only available streetlight is way on the other side of the park. It’s clear now that Phavo is usually the one who speaks first on behalf of the group:
“So what is you saying?”
“It’s not a bad idea. I seen it done before and we could do it. But I just think it might be harder to pull off than we think.”
“So what should we do?”
“I don’t really know. What y’all wanna do? It’s up to ya’ll.”
“Nah, bruh. It’s up to you. This why we asked you to be here. We coulda shot this shit ourselves. So we asking you what you finna do fr. Like, you supposed to carry the vision out. We lookin at you for the visuals.”
Anthony, sometime during Phavo’s last piece of dialogue^, looked down at the camera and began fiddling with his settings. Upon Phavo finishing, a tiny rain drop splashes onto the tiny LCD of the camera, obscuring his view. At Anthony’s feet, just beyond his downward gaze at the camera, the dirt of the baseball diamond begins to collect dark spots.
The rain is populating, and fast. Anthony:
“Fuck, man.”
The droplets begin blanketing down onto the entire open field, and they’re the fat ones, too. Sting you on the back of the neck type droplets. All 3 performers scatter, running towards the car they came in. Anthony and Laron stay behind to collect the loose camera gadgets. Laron, holding too many things in his hands, loses his grip on the reflector and the rainy wind flings it away—again.
“Ahhhh shit!”
He runs after it. The rain is really coming down now. Anthony looks on: his hat is off, and he’s using it as a canopy to cover the camera. He’s getting soaked, but he waits for his assistant. He looks defeated, ready to go home. Just as…
Behind him, the sound of a large engine. Anthony turns around.
Phavo, driving a very modest whip has pulled the vehicle onto the baseball diamond, something clearly not allowed. Through raindrop-covered windows, Anthony can see all 3 members of the rapper trio gesturing for him to get tf into the car.
He throws the door open and hops in the back seat, drenched. They drive across the baseball diamond after Laron, who’s still running + trying to wrangle the reflector. They honk at him, waving him into the car. Cradling way too much gear in his hands, he hops in to the backseat of the vehicle, sandwiching Anthony in the middle seat.
They drive off.
From a wide, the car sits in a lone parking spot at the top of a hill, graphite skies above. Headlights on, beams catching the dense rainfall.
Inside the car.
With the wipers off, the blanket of rainfall makes a flowing, translucent film over the windshield and each of the windows. We can’t see out of it.
“Bruh, I know you seen her before”
Phavo passes his phone to Wiggs, in the left back seat. He looks at it.
“Hell yeah, I know her well. I feel like she fw me, I don’t even know why. I just got that feeling.”
“Why don’t you test it out, nigga?”
“Bruh, I have. That’s what I’m saying. She bein weird, gang. I feel like she want me to chase. But I’m not finna do all that”
“Shit. Well, if you not then let me take a crack at it.”
Wiggs is resolute:
“No, gang.”
They all start chuckling, laughing Wiggs out. He sucks his teeth. Phavo instigates:
“So you really want her then?”
“I’m just sayin, bruh. Like, you can go for it… if you want. But she weird. If it was me, I’ma say don’t waste your time.”
D-way hands his phone into the backseat, and now Wiggs is holding two phones.
“What about her?”
“Oh naw, I don’t know her. She fine though. Not really my type... But she fine.”
Wiggs slides the phone to Anthony, he takes a look. She is fine. D-way chimes back:
“Bet. She not your type. Then you stay over there where yo type is when she pull up later.”
“She coming?”
“I told her to. We finna see.”
”Oh. Shit. Who all y’all got coming out to this?”
More laughter.
“Don’t worry about who we got coming, Wiggs. That’s not your job. You got rapping to do, right?”
Laron, still holding onto a bushel of photo gear, leans over to peek at the phone in Anthony’s hand:
“Damn.”
D-way locks on to the two non-rappers:
“So what y’all think? Fine, right?”
Laron:
“Yeah, she fine as hell bruh! I’d definitely… you know.”
Anthony:
“Yeah, for sure.”
“Aight there you go, cameramen. Since Wiggs got his choice all locked up, it’s finna be plenty around for you two. And you know me and D-Way takin no prisoners.”
Phavo reaches across the middle console and daps up D-Way. Wiggs:
“Stop playing with me, boy. Fuck you talmbout. I’m on everything. If you say they finna show up, I’m not holding back. I don’t care bout y’all niggas. Shit.”
Anthony, speaking up for the first time, turns to Wiggs:
“You willing to bet on that?”
“Yo Ant. Come on, bruh. You finna get somebody hurt.”
“I’m just sayin.”
“This man was not fuckin with us earlier and now he wanna instigate. Okay, Ant”
“Aye man, I’m just saying what I see. So if you finna do something, you might as well bet on it.”
“Okay cameraman, I see what you tryna do. That’s a bet then.”
D-way:
“Aw yeah, cameraman Ant tryna stir the pot. Okay. Bet it then, bruh. It’s gon all be on camera, too”
Phavo, cackling:
“You know what, gimme my phone back. I got more people to hit up then.”
Anthony laughs. Laron smiles. They look at each other for a moment.
The rainfall blanketing the windows is beginning to die down.
Close on the headlights of the car, no more rainfall rifling through the beams.
Same wide from before. Car parked at the top of a hill, as the peach-colored sunset quietly mixes with the graphite cover of rain clouds. It’s almost dark. All the gentlemen are outside the car now—tiny from this view—and each of them is moving around.
Phavo is on the phone, politicking with somebody.
Ant is positioning Wiggs and D-Way in front of the headlights of the car, while Laron holds the speaker nearby. They rehearse the rap. There’s laughter. Ant rearranges them. They’re workshopping.
We watch this for a few more moments as the last bits of sunlight dwindle in the background.
Several hours later. Night skies overhead, not a raindrop in sight.
“YO! Y’ALL READY??”
Anthony tries to make his voice distinct over the large crowd chatter. Opposite him, in front of the same baseball diamond from earlier, there are about 35 people, anywhere from the ages of 17 to 25. The 3 rappers stand in the middle.
“I need this section to move closer to the middle!”
We’re close on Anthony’s drill sergeant face as he gestures with an outstretched hand. But somehow, his expression is barely visible against a pool of light silhouetting him. Where is all this light coming from?
Behind him: A squadron of cars are parked on the field in a near perfect half-circle, with their headlights blaring, illuminating the “set”, crowded with extras.
“Alright y’all ready’? Come on now! I need energy!”
Phavo:
“Oh we got you cameraman! Don’t worry. Right, y’all!??”
Phavo turns to the crowd behind him, egging them on, and they all start clapping and jeering, raising the energy. He daps up one of the dudes in attendance, chuckling. Phavo locks eyes with one of the young ladies in attendance after this show of power. She smiles. Wiggs sees this whole thing play out, and responds with a:
“Let’s go! Let’s go, y’all!”
Waving his arms and getting the crowd going. The crowd gets even louder, they’re restless at this point. One of the ladies in the crowd asks aloud:
“So which one of y’all am I supposed to listen to? Him or you. Or him with the camera.”
She points between the leads. Phavo, first as per usual:
“Sweetie. I’m right here. I just told you. Look at me fr.”
Wiggs:
“Hold up. I got the first verse, so just follow my lead for now, sweetheart.”
The young lady is intrigued.
“But once that second verse come in—”
“Just follow me fr.”
Wiggs puts his arm around Phavo, and addresses the whole crowd:
“This my hype man right here y’all, he said nice to meet you all. His verse is cool and all but he just trying to make sure y’all finna be ready for the opener. You know, my verse.”
The crowd chuckles. Phavo laughs too, but on some “oh aight”.
Anthony walks away. We follow him past the chorus of headlights to the drivers side of one of the cars. Laron is sitting inside, holding an iPhone attached to a long cord. Anthony:
“You ready?”
“Yup, I gotchu.”
“Bet. Go for it. I would say just play it at half volume right now so that they can hear my directions. And then when I give you the signal, turn that mf all the way up.”
Laron smirks:
“You got it.”
Some introductory strings bleed into a booming drum beat. It oozes out of the speakers of the car, blanketing the baseball diamond in sound. The crowd reacts, and immediately the mood shifts. The dispute about who’s leading quickly dissolves and bodies start moving.
The trio bounces up and down and moves around, getting into it. Anthony, smiling, flips open the LCD on his camera:
“Aight! Let’s go!”
Over Anthony’s shoulder: his head snaps back to look at the car Laron is in. He points a single index finger, gesturing up. BOOM. The real sound fills the space. 808s rattle the ground. The crowd is even more into it now.
Anthony hits record: moving back and forth with the camera, he pushes into Wiggs as he starts his first verse. Wiggs energy is unmatched. He launches into his verse.
Phavo backs him up, rapping along to the last few words of every bar.
D-way starts doing a calm, modified dougie in front of the crowd. Without much sync delay, a majority of the crowd picks up the movement and copies. Anthony nods his head, smirking behind the camera.
The scene is abundant.
The crowd is into it.
The trio is flowing.
The energy is at a 10.
We float back and up, high above the music video set, into the clouds.
