Fun Stuff > BAND
Rap
jus:
--- Quote from: KharBevNor ---Now that's the thing I've never really got about rap: I love poetry, so I should be able to like quite a deal of the underground rap and so-on for it's lyrical content. I think it may just be that it's not the right kind of poetry, or rather, that a very big deal of what rap talks about is so removed from my own personal experience, aesthetics etc. as to be rendered unsatisfying to me in content. Whilst I should normally have no problem in comprehending alien cultural experiences, it seems that rap isn't a genre that can bring this to me. Plus, tbh, gratuitous ebonics really do turn me off.
I don't know, can you suggest anything that might be a bit closer to home for my tastes? This is an example of the kind of 'socially realistic' lyrics I enjoy:
Slaves to the only god they know,
Drawn by the song of the cosmic diva
The lord of the flies is a dandy beau
King of the hill in the new Bohemia
Where does he come from, their redeemer
Where does he dwell? (they never learn)
What is the prize for the true believer?
Rotting away in the "Womb of the Worm"?
Death is the hand of a handsome stranger - (he speaks, heads turn)
Babes unaware of impending danger - quickening dead in the "Womb of the Worm"
They never die - in "the Womb of the Worm" they lie
Words of "the Worm":
"Don't be afraid - just take my hand
'cause life's too short to be a bore
Try it once, you'll understand
Why they keep coming back for more."
Form an orderly line outside death's door
If you want to taste his sweet amnesia
He's never short of clientele
Though most of them die from a fatal seizure
Another mother cries to a chat-show host
(she speaks - my stomach churns)
I hear how a young kid - now a young ghost
Died a sickening death in "the Womb of the Worm."
Can you suggest anything, in a similiar style?
--- End quote ---
[Mos Def and crew]
So much on my mind I just can't recline
Blastin holes in the night til she bled sunshine
Breathe in, inhale vapors from bright stars that shine
Breathe out, weed smoke retrace the skyline
Yo don't the bass ride out like an ancient mating call
I can't take it y'all, I can feel the city breathin
Chest heavin, against the flesh of the evening
Sigh before we die like the last train leaving
Escuchela.. respirando ??
[Common]
Yo...on The Amen, Corner I stood lookin at my former hood
Felt the spirit in the wind, knew my friend was gone for good
Threw dirt on the casket, the hurt, I couldn't mask it
Mixin down emotions, struggle I hadn't mastered
I coreograph seven steps to heaven
And hell, waiting to exhale and make the bread leavened
Veteran of a cold war It's Chica-I-go for
What I know or, what's known
So some days I take the bus home, just to touch home
From the crib I spend months gone
Sat by the window with a clutched dome listenin to shorties cuss long
Young girls with weak minds, but they butt strong
Tried to call, or at least beep the Lord, but didn't have a touch-tone
It's a dog-eat-dog world, you gotta mush on
Some of this land I must own
Outta the city, they want us gone
Tearin down the 'jects creatin plush homes
My circumstance is between Cabrini and Love Jones
Surrounded by hate, yet I love home
Ask my God how he thought travellin the world sound
Found it hard to imagine he hadn't been past downtown
It's deep, I heard the city breathe in its sleep
Of reality I touch, but for me it's hard to keep
Deep, I heard my man breathe in his sleep
Of reality I touch, but for me it's hard to keep
[Mos Def and crew]
So much on my mind I just can't recline
Blastin holes in the night til she bled sunshine
Breathe in, inhale vapors from bright stars that shine
Breathe out, weed smoke retrace the skyline
Yo how the bass ride out like an ancient mating call
I can't take it y'all, I can feel the city breathing
Chest heavin, against the flesh of the evening
Kiss the Ide's goodbye, I'm on the last train leaving
Let me know what you think of that. Rap can't be judged against formal poetry of any kind without taking into consideration that music has to be heard to be felt as it should be (hence its ties to slam poetry). A lot of rappers force alliteration and end rhyme to make a song sound good... no doubt bothering purists.
I'm sure there are some rappers out there you could appreciate; I'm not sure what to tell you. Check out some of these other folks suggestions if you like.
To be honest, hip hop of any kind is something you feel, you shouldn't have to think it out. I get this twitch at the base of my neck, and I just start groovin' when I hear a good mc.
It could be as you originally claimed, and it's just that you really do not like rap. Well, good luck on your quest for good muic/poetry whatever.
God bless.
Oh, and I'm curious as to whether or not there is any rap on Jeph's mp3 player.
Robbo:
I think we need an offical way to make Jeph listen to the random shit we talk about. Because what other people want to give him something new to listen to like his readers?
Hoborg:
--- Quote from: jeph ---"we got ONE SCHTICK and we DO it on EVERY song where ONE OF US says something and THEN EVERYONE ELSE IN THE GROUP CHIMES IN"
--- End quote ---
haha
Anyway while we're posting lyrics for khar (or anyone else), here:
Sole - Plutonium
I thank the loyal servants for being so loyal,
soon they'll be happy and very safe;
if not, sent off like a pigeon with his head cut off.
if it wasn't for the guillotine, there would be no umbilical
cord. isn't it pitiful? at our pinnical,
they make it sound so pinnocchio.
that's how i know it's so dumb, it could even write its own article.
give me a break, the great big break that breaks your back
and chews my fingers off
'til it's safe to laugh again, or at them.
put the coals back in my eyes again,
and away from the fire that burns out our loved ones
and takes its toll out on me.
'cause good luck is always keeping minutes
we gotta stay in play, so don't run out of tokens.
plus the machine needs warm bodies.
plug the pipes if you still got skulls;
if there's time to muddy the hands
then there's time to study the flow of the blood in the lay of the land
running off and eroding our relatives
with red, white, and blue christmas lights
in the greatest kingdom. i say it's a crop and i'm a lousy meal,
a lousy liar amongst so many bad actresses
and not enough stimuli left to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be negative?
my own cliche, my would-be peers
more caught up with image than speaking than truth,
and if that's the only truth you can come up with, go fake some bravery
like the rented camaraderie in the human lottery.
whatever year it is, i'm still sick.
can't hate the sky for being gray
or the bad poem that we live out every day.
twenty minutes outside the city, or fifteen years from over the hill,
with enough time to kill braincells to fry;
you all gonna fry with me.
it must be, you all gonna fry with me...
we who die in more flying accidents than firefights;
no cure of the overkill.
forty year-old women with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't fixing anything; get your picket signs,
go on strike, get a five cent raise; your a champion. now
they're making model citizens out of your children,
mapping personal growth through frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. even love feels artificial;
happiness, my loaded pistol.
in the '20s, i'da been a socialist in a colorado coal mine,
but it's 2000-something and the rats love their mazes.
it's all so ethnospecific and opinionated,
divided we take our antidepressants and make our appointments,
let the dolphins die, but who's gonna save the humans?
i've been to a million cities and they're all the same:
people laugh and talk the same,
girls all flirt the same, employees all dream the same.
love your grid and your comfort zone,
look out for the white-girl suicide bombers,
look out for your time or your piece of mind
or entertainment above the fifth grade level.
stay ignorant and easily corralled through conservative reforms
'til we're broke from the half-measures,
taxed to the teeth to fund the caste system.
living it up for our stereotypes
and i know nothing, but at least i know;
while they vote green and drink their espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off with your head;
body loves the dirty work,
love your job, but it will never love you like an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels hang the same on the mobile.
if it wasn't for the blindfold, you'd ask,
"what am i looking for, living for, breathing for?"
"who's them? not i, but it must be the plutonium in me."
it must be the plutonium in me...
The pacing of it makes no sense unless you're listening to the song. So uh, here it is: Plutonium
Skibas_clavicle:
--- Quote from: Trinary ---The best thing about the Beastie Boys has always been Mix Master Mike.
--- End quote ---
I dunno. His latest solo album kinda disappointed me. I like the Beastie Boys. But whatever.
M.I.A. is fucking amazing as well, I think someone mentioned her already. I really like her and Jean Grey as well.
Hoborg:
--- Quote from: James ---Insincere Dave has this to say:
"I bet loads of people are going to read through that!!!!!"
--- End quote ---
yeah I realised that, which is why I posted the song itself too =p
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