• [Gil Scott-Heron] 14 July 2010 @ Somerset Hs (London) w/ Mayer Hawthorne - Part…

    16 jui. 2010, 13h02m par IanAR

    14 July 2010: Gil Scott-Heron & Mayer Hawthorne @ Somerset House (London)

    I understand, from CaroleHarvey who saw Gil Scott-Heron & Mayer Hawthorne this week, that some of the songs played were as follows (w/ KantaJo1 (YouTube)'s videos interspersed):

    1. The Bottle
    2. Winter in America
    3. We Almost Lost Detroit
      Some chat on the origins of jazz

    4. Better Days Ahead
    5. Pieces of a Man

    Any updates in the set-list, Mayer Hawthorne's set or YouTubes available - most welcome! (Pls, comment.)

  • [Turntablism - 13 Apr 09] Jazzy Jeff Rocks More Than Bells

    7 sept. 2009, 11h51m par IanAR

    DJ Jazzy Jeff Mon 13 Apr – DJ Jazzy Jeff I wish I was there w/ room to dance.
  • R.I.P. Camu Tao (June 6, 1977 – May 25, 2008)

    26 mai 2008, 14h50m par tom_dissonance


    On stage in Minneapolis, Minnesota Sunday evening, Aesop Rock announced that emcee Camu Tao had died after a three year bout with cancer. The Columbus, Ohio native born Tero Smith, was just less than two weeks away from his 31st birthday.

    Camu Tao rose to fame with the MHz crew, which also consisted of producer RJD2, emcees Copywrite and Jakki Tha Motamouth, plus DJ PRZM, who passed away just under a year ago as well. As the crew ascended to the ranks of the underground Hip Hop community through releases on Fondle 'Em and ABB Records, Camu would end up at High & Mighty's Eastern Conference imprint as a solo artist. There, he would record his most significant album, Nighthawks with Cage, after a reported three-day recording session. The album was inspired by the Sylvester Stallone film of the same name.

    Camu was also active with Def Jux Records. There, he would be a part of The Weathermen crew with Aesop Rock, Cage, El-P, Breeze Brewin and others, as well as one-half of S.A. Smash. With Metro, the latter group would release 2003's Smashy Trashy. Additionally, Camu did release two editions of the limited Blair Cosby solo albums, as well as 2004's Going For De Gold. None of the three efforts were distributed nationally.

    Throughout the last three years, Camu's career had been feature appearances and production on peer albums while he readied his Def Jux solo. Highlights include producing and appearing on Cage's critically-acclaimed Hell's Winter ("The Death of Chris Palko (With Camu Tao)") comeback album, appearing on Aesop Rock's Fast Cars, Danger, Fire and Knives album ("Rickety Rackety (feat. CamuTao & El-P)"), as well as Slow Suicide Stimulus' album ("Cutty Sharks" / "Regardless").

    Definitive Jux has yet to release a format statement on Camu Tao's passing, but HipHopDX sends our condolences to family, loved ones and peers of the late, very talented producer/emcee. We will keep you updated.

    This has been a big shock, i had no idea he was even ill. R.I.P. Camy Davis Jr.

    What with the passing of indefatigable folkie activist U. Utah Phillips on Friday, this week's been another grim one for fans of the good music.
  • [NSP] the "None Shall Pass" lyrics journal

    11 sept. 2007, 13h29m par tom_dissonance

    ...after Fast Cars, Danger, Fire and Knives and its amazing lyric book, and since the new El-P booklet came with a full complement of meticulously-presented album lyrics, i had high hopes for Aes abandoning his previously lyric-display-shy ways for new album None Shall Pass and actually giving us a lyric sheet.

    now i've gone and bought the album, there's nary a quote in there, so i'm gonna have to take it upon meself to try and thrash them out. i'm relying on people to correct me if they see bits i've got wrong, as opposed to the usual boring petty internet oneupmanshit of "omfg you n00b loser, i can't believe you thought he said "transverse", it's obviously "transgress!"". any bollocks of that stripe will be deleted (with the corrections taken into account and uncredited) because i'm more interested in trying to compile working versions of the lyrics than proving that some sort of i'm a God of Transcription™ or whatever.

    oh, and i'm going to provided the odd choice link to some of the subjects and references he drops, if i think it's interesting (mainly Wikipedia but also some other places). (they might be a little Brit-centric in that you Americans might find some of them a little obvious, but whatever.)

    so yeh, any and all help most welcome. if no-one acts like a dick, we should be fiiine...

    kicking off with official versions of "None Shall Pass", "Citronella" and "Coffee" as confirmed by Aes himself.

    edit > added "The Harbor Is Yours" transcribed from memory (will check the blanks with CD when i get home!)

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    [Name of artist going up next]
    This is the first line of the verse yo...

    {sample... section... DJ... scratching... etc.}
    [?] - best guess
    [best guess (phrase) ?]
    [? ? ?] - missing or can't get this bit
    [blue text] means a reference to the appropriate song section in this excellent feature.
    green lines are those my dudes have helped me with. cheers, dudes.

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    1. Keep Off The Lawn
    Prod.: Aesop Rock

    [Camu Tao, Rob Sonic & Hollis]
    ah-ah ah-ah
    good evening... alright... yeh... happy to be breathing...
    yeh... i am alive... (i am alive...)
    yeh... yeh...

    {you look... you look... you look...}
    {you look like you've seen a ghost! }

    [Aesop Rock]
    most copious, rain soaked the opiates, notice how the phobias appropriately procreate. woke up with a ghost farm focussed on his groceries, when they aren't telling stories they are multiplying grossly on the lawn, let 'em loiter, never let 'em spawn. the apparitions have him drinking his water for too long so when they gathered by the birdbath in the morning he will tell 'em "i mean you no disrespect but you have all outstayed your welcome". interesting innocence, interrupt commiserating phantoms on your picket fence. how quickly they will lick their heads and breathe an ultimatum like the dead don't argue, said "you're living by the bayonet but how alive are you?" shit. a is all juice and bad etiquette, elbows on the table, lobster-bibbin' on the ready-steady-set but how alive? i don't know, homie, you decide. fine – how alimve? too alive.

    how alive? too alive. how alive? too alive. and one by one around the yard till each one felt communal pride like they had done their little part in cleaning up the public with a steaming plate of justice for them Easy Bakers' stomachs... (what??) we them legends that home with the unremembered, geriatric lore in the clutch of the budding censor who snuck around the yard policing all related governmnents to infiltrate a human lung and hike up off his tongue and lip... ahhh, money's in the market for a mothership, the devil has a vessel to drag his legacy under it and who am i to hang 'em out to dry by the heat? when the rehydrating fails, we're all dumber because of me. zombies of the antiquated nation chatter quietly, the Too Alive channel from the library of rivalry and summers in the mud, winters by the tracks, no story goes untold: Aes is back.

    i got a handful rocking the same poker face that'll dance around the table like they own the place.
    {you look... you look... you look... }
    {you look like you've seen a ghost! }

    i got the whole world thinking it's a holiday cuz they can smell the Chum in the water from miles away.
    {you look... you look... you look... }
    {you look like you've seen a ghost! }

    how alive? too alive. how alive? too alive.
    how alive? too alive. how alive? too alive.
    how alive? too alive. how alive? too alive.
    how alive? too alive. how alive? too alive.

    "Jesus Walks... Jesus walks... in the park..."

    ok, i got no idea what the kid's actually saying, but i always end up thinking s/he's trying to sing "Jesus Walks" by Kanye. needless to say, i'm not overly stressing about this bit.
    [edit > see tremormilo's slightly more plausible explanation in his comment below.]

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    2. None Shall Pass
    Prod.: Blockhead

    flash that buttery gold, jittery zeitgeist wither by the watering hole, what a patrol, what are we to heart Huckabee art fuckery suddenly? not enough young in his lung for the waterwings? colorfully vulgar poacher outta mulch like "i'm 'a pull the pulse out a soldier and bolt". fine. sign of the time we elapse when a primate climb up a spine and attach. eye for an eye by the bog's life swamps and vines, they get a rise out of frogs and flies, so when a dog fight's hog-tied prize sorta costs a life, the mouths water on a fork and knife, and the allure isn't right. it's gore on a war torn beach where the cash cow's actually beef. blood turns wine when it leak for police like that's not a riot, it's a feast, let's eat...

    and i will remember your name and face on the day you are judged by the funhouse cast
    and i will rejoice in your fall from grace with a cane to the sky like 'none shall pass'

    if you never had a day a snow cone couldn't fix, you wouldn't relate to the rogue vocoder blitz, how he spoke thru a No-doz motor on the fritz, cuz he wouldn't play roll over fetch like a bitch, and express no regrets, though he isn't worth a homeowner's piss to the jokers who pose by the glitz. fine. sign of the swine in the swarm when a king is a whore who comply and conform. miles outside of the eye of the storm, with a siphon to lure out a prize and award, while avoiding the vile and bazaar that is violence and war, true blue triumph is more, like wait, let it snake up outta the centerfold, let it break the Walls of Jericho, ready? go. sat where the old cardboard city folk swap tales with heads like every other penny throw.


    ok woke to a grocery list. it goes like this: duty and death. anyone object come stand in the way, you could be my little Snake River Canyon today, and i ran with a chain of commands and a jet pack strap where the back-stab lands if it can. fine. sign of the vibe in the crowd when i cut a belly open to find what climbs out. what a bit of gusto he muster up, to make a dark horse rush like enough's enough, it musta struck a nerve so they huff and puff, til all the king's men fluster and clusterfuck, and it's a beautiful thing, to my people who keep an impressive wingspan even when the cubicle shrinks, you gotta pull up the intruder by the root of the weed, NY chew thru the machine.


    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    2. Catacomb Kids
    Prod.: A.R.

    {w... w... w... watch me jump!}

    i was a dark dumb student. no hookie rookie day tripping on visions of chickens that looked like R. Crumb drew 'em. they grew 'em in the royal dirt of Suffolk County's flooring, with the blood of an alcoholic clergyman in his forearms. Long Island was porn stars and puppies pushing sniffles; fit into the aforementioned or slip through the pinholes. 'zook slipped through the pinholes, crispy to god sender, who thunk over a quarter plunked to local Mortal Kom bender. the formal squad censor, root down, beaters out across the marsh before it was "Awesome Car!" My calling card cavalry cooked in a '85 Dodge Aries, gas for Huntington and back, barely. equipped with Super Soakers full of piss and an uncanny knack for constantly upsetting pigs by doing stupid shit. the kit pilot is ring-king dummies to King Kullen where they holla "fuck the world!" from a parking lot of the suburbs. A couple spray cans and a little litter, but they’d look at us like swindlers with them Ricky Kasso jitters. so fuck 'em, a glutton sunk into the alley for props but things will still go bump when them halogens pop. believe: i'll be there when it happens so shake another plateS off the mantel, snake another flames off the candle, the lady of the lake off the answers, admitting their mistakes to their deplanting cadavers. [now it’s rest in peace Wes Peterson] whose heaters sung disturbingly to further reevaluate your beast of burden’s urgency. damn doggy, good times, thanks. i wrote your name in wet cement by the Brooklyn banks.

    [i'm an activator ? ? ?]. made a fire, made a wheel, made a snack for later. catacomb kids cuddle up and test the paper. when the town's speed freaks sleep, trap the traitor. he will ask for papers. see i'm an activator, made a roof, made a weapon, made a flag from paper by the snotty little nuzzle of a latchkey neighbor. When the ?pope does shaggy? over some dap from gators, he will catch the vapors.

    couple Playboy mudflaps and hell on his heels. blew the plea echoed in a pacer with your shoveler's meals, like not a farmer among us had a harvest survive the winter, so dinner's split a lima bean in triplets, pick a winner. we took a couple of summers puking pills behind the dumpster as the largest Pez dispenser on record recouped his numbers. one shoe in the soupy gutter, one shoe in the velvet heaven. When the mermaids haul 'em, shake 'em out a lake of melted weapons [secret ?]. dance pretty with the hooligan nation, who will be patiently awaiting zookeeper facelift extra. the days of your pain and similar über-apeshit, we merely updated the ancient apeage. yeah, i'm dumber than a cow on a roof in a flood, who’s not as dumb as the watered-down beef from the burgers that jumped. i’m dumber than a Taz on a beach chair with a Martini, who’s not as dumb as a tat of the same scenery. sparky nails pig stigmata for all good sport, Garbage Pail Kids unite at the mall food court. chase cheese fries with Binaca. they had to shut the school down early, there were bombs inside the lockers. no concept of the problem, they responded like a snow day, it was clobber shit to flotsam but the cops said it was ok. ok; show the squadron’s back into their boxes like it’s Breakfast Club of hotheads show no progress to the doctors.

    and I walk into the office, cough an awful ether often, flood a parking meter fever, knuckle up the love and rockets, it was reign of the razor laser, day of the cloudy howdy, flight of the shelter melter, you can bow without me.


    Knock 'em out the box, Aes.

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    5. Fumes
    Prod.: Blockhead

    stay awake little misfit, her lips wet a very particular mischief, sis' wiggle an index if your limbs let, or settle for a warm burgundy bubble out of her beak instead, hey, tequila to free the worm, had his liver scuba suit up on the sabbath. his personal pale rabbit, at the hole's end her delicate mitten tipped, for sticking pissy liquor in him every day at 6, silly, predictability is a bitch, fully, pattern had her awkwardly christening the small talk chalk board, she said "this is less of a 'fixer-upper' than my last bar". funny, you're less of a 'fixer-upper' than my last whore. crass is similak to the milky wit of todays youths, both chuckle out. next couple on the house, next couple on the couch, swapping social coma rants, phobias and soldier doubts, jokes and corporate mogul bans, motor-mouths, the key to open his closure: pussy plus yay she hid is a broken toaster, and later wake neighbors over chemical flavor to fuck sickly, tooth/nail beauty through the skin deep.

    now the dizziness is similar to whimsy with a pretty twist, if pretty is a bidding war for meteors of iffy sniff, and cigarettes and pills on the speaker silouhetted by the muted television and the rickety venetians, between tweaks he sweeps at home depot and reads, mostly biblical but not cuz he believed, but found the lexicon of jesus-heavy literature fly, feverishly sponged up the information high, and fade into the cradle of his same deck train wreck, she pet him with a mechanical tape deck play back, plus the depressing sum of the 2 combined pay checks, stung less when little debbie d-cup put her legs back, drunk, put her on the business end of his favorite couplet from corinthians, sunk into the comforts of a kid again, enough to share the stuff that truly interest him, this is where the vision of a shiny happy Christmas end, tipsy little princess wasn't listening, just yes-ing him, the more she fed him "yes", the more he fed her fresh barbiturates, assuming it was them against the world's into oblivion, but he was just a stupid simian that her live with him

    pirouetting madly on a mirror full of baggies in the valley of the irritable aggie, any sincerity, miracles,or memory buried in the back-seat by the hazardous material was seriously gasping,here he is in action trying to patch up the attraction, figured he would win her back if he act in a common passion, penned a couple chapters about a sassy pair of magnets with a cottage on a hill and a picket fence and a marriage, never having gathered her rabid enthusiasm over language was fashioned around the aspirin his cabinets, asked her to read it expecting flattery after the fact, this is an exact imitation of how she react: "you ain't shit man, your story's a joke, you should package it with a last smoke and 6 feet of rope", man she know 5 chores, more coke and all fours, said "leave me on the floor and leave the dope by the door". bounced all shook up, she cook up aluminum, consuming every skull and crossbones in the room in under 2 minutes, he fuming with a flipped lid, storm into the crib and found her body on the tiles, like no she didn't. yes she did.

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    7. 39 Thieves

    { hunters with their dogs and their rifles...
    thousands of them line the pavement...
    like patient [pupae waiting to become worms...}

    {zero... zero... zero... zero...}

    [Mr. Lif]
    {money money...}
    {the people are dead, but the money keeps talking...}

    another dark night...

    ...teething the mark of the beast sheep, like i walk in front of 39 thieves in a beat. [smores over warm ? ? ?] Helvetica brown proper for the odd god or monster propped[[?]] by the Teleprompter. wild blue yonder, blue in the face angel, blew into the bugles in lieu of the euthanasia. usually the shooter community chew the corpse, but i see the wolves have already gotten to you and yours. day of the dead. play the ledge closely. train a barrel of monkeys to aim at the lowest bogie. dope. the Gonzo have always felt choked socially. stole the Golden Fleece with a culture of total nobodies. earth lies divided by fighting tribes, all we do is watch 'em waddle back and forth lighting fires... {money money...} detonator, wire cutter, pliers, two cities enter, one is broken up in tiny tiles and i won't pose arm-in-the-heart-of-the-lion's-throat for a photographic token of my primordial growth. you parade around a kill so damn proud like a flat-line fetish had his feathers fanned out. war tore the symmetry. skip into it gingerly. silkworms ping-pong ministry to ministry. hell's bells every which way the wind blow, so i bang my head against any wall you can build – go!

    [chorus: el]
    another dark night... another not alright... another bad ritual, more botched surgery. better follow the breadcrumbs back, in fact (urgently), or wander through the session where the natives feel murder-y. vicinity wander (claim no zone), never let an anchor drop (never had a home), never talk to strangers (never trust a friend), this is the life and the life will not end...

    {money money money money money money money money...}

    we are not concerned with the community aloofness. dude, we're animals, we just go where the most food is. lower the toast, most formal etiquette is useless, truth is you're equally expendable and spoon fed. {money money...} money is cool, i'm only human but they use it as a tool to make the workers feel excluded like the shinier the jewel, the more exclusive the troop is. bullets dont take bribes, stupid, they shoot shit.

    another dark night...

    calico, tread around the rabbit hole, weapons to the heavens and arsenic where the carrots grow, piss-warm sugar water, what a summer canteen, plus burn rubber like green is the new green. rubbernecks froze, slows by the multiplex, rodeo commotion i'm open to see what culminates, bourgeois on the right, left rep rebel force, both say the butte prove the parking lot was never yours. blacktop pebble wars soldiers molded when the jones is every grown up when dakota came to grow in no motor for shorter of close quarters
    hog born burner can see if your homes hold us, 85 rattle trap parked in fancy, you could swear he's stepping out of Comanche antsy. let us in the jetty when they
    jettison the medicine and paranormal hat trick cadets will break the levees in. {money money...} floating on a totem camaraderie, token of equality, they posted horizontally. chronic on the loading dock, they quarter lodge the colony, half mast flags, half cabs loiter properly and sleep the sleep of the just ("ready on the left!") where the witchcraft spun out of the neighboring sect with the usual undesirables and big brother cutters on the day your name became, "This, motherfucker?"


    major props > The_RX_King, tremormilo

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    8. The Harbor Is Yours
    Prod.: Blockhead


    [Rob Sonic]
    dead... men... tell no tales
    push the daisies till the soil is stale
    and the powder-blue tops for the farmer's sale
    Mr. Big Sleep with the carp and kale...

    Once upon a time in the days of yore when the people lived fresh out of legend and folklore, there was an old pirate who pilot a vile slang, he had a [parrot perch shoulder ?] and swashbuckled the sand. Peg-leg navigated starboard to port, by the nautical star [relaying ? and the harbor is yours. You should tell him where you situate the gold, unless you'd like a vacation with Davy J-J-J-Jones...

    Like walk plank, for whom the shark tank, maroon the mutineers, consume the souvenirs, and while the shiny spoils piled higher every year he was suffocating slow in the box of a buccaneer. Ten summers prior on a night like this, crow's nest scoped something afloat to the boat's West. Swore it blew him a kiss, when he focussed on the face of an angel upon the body of a f-f-f-fish!

    What the heck?! Razzled his telescope, shattered, gathered himself, she was ghost, he was down the rope ladder 'n' deck[?], circled the vessel 360 swiftly, found nothing in the water but salt, piss and whisky. Yarrr! Echoed by the swampies at the bar, he'll be the laughing stock of the Barbary Coast war like "This dude's either got two glass eyes or he's wearing his patch on the wrong s-s-s-side!"

    well he knew what he saw, but had to prove he was raw, so he raped and he pillaged and he feud and he brawl, trynna rekindle his rep via sabres and gunsmoke, and vowed to always find her (though he never told his cutthroats). Meanwhile, back in the now, got a brand new skeleton crew on the move-out, when the [? ? ?] burning cannons turn about, they are pointing shiny metals at your m-m-m-mouth!

    OK... youth wanes, old age holler, wisdom and disease, like the scurvy made his yellow gums bleed, and he was aching from his boots to the feather in his cap till his quartermaster told him where the stolen treasure map[?]. One look down and leapt off the dock... see if you can guess where X marks the spot... the capital was buried at sea in a cursed cave only one mile from where he'd seen the m-m-mermaid!

    Anchors up, hoist the Jolly Roger, day and night
    [? ? ? ? ?]
    But see the vitamin deficiency was strong, so by the time they bumped into the island he could barely lift his grog. Crawled off the boat, collapsed on the sand, prayers in the air, seashells in his hand, an area high tide so grand, it's the one that put the lady of the lake on dry l-l-l-land.

    And i wish i could tell you that it ended happy, pretend like his bones weren't practically snapping, pretend like her gills didn't dry up and suffer but that's a half-dead pirate and a fish out of water. No lie, scout's honor, got a million more, from the burgundy lighting above the shores o' whores, before your visions of grandeur go to slow those sails, remember dead men tell no t-t-t-tales...


    cheers > tremormilo

    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    9. Citronella
    Prod.: Aesop Rock

    i stood before the glittery borders of new radius in search of the fabled city of mud and crushed velvet, what i found was a gutter where the love of entertainment meets the lust for blood and demerits, cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, collar pop jolly roger, die motherfucker die, apache on the ship shape and bristol fashion snuck a jammy through the red tape and tip toe past him. worm teeth grinding feverishly below, as little organic hacksaws eager to feed and grow, so when it's blackhawk over the glass walk, they surface up through the cash crops with clippers for your belly-up mascots, and never dine alone, meanwhile back at sea level it was home by home zone for zone, Bloom County's homeless riot for home ownership, i hope you put gas in the motor-home and know the roads, i studied with the finest combs stuck under my thumb as opposed to the loaded nose who pray armageddon is numb and that's unevenly rendered to those who grew up thinking faith was the surrender of reason but not a reason to surrender. catch the liberty fires catalog, 40 torched orchids and Citronella for Algernon, don and vagabond alike repent, this shit should have gone "beta burns babylon, the end".

    and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
    (kill the television.... "typical, isn't it!")
    and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...

    nothing says charm like an armored car taking the clone-farm 'tards to the arms bazaar, we were the homemade marker makers born to pour the marsh ink into right guard parts and march through the gauntlet of car alarms, no harps, no delusions of losing with something prettier than ash around the metacarpal still clutching the teddy bears, we can run with scissors through the city fair or situate the nuzzle with the subtle art of splitting hairs, double park the shuttle, some will arc the funneled Cutty Sark where budding narcs target the gushing heart in the muddy clarks, these are the vices of the p-noid bastards who will chew whatever tablets blur the axioms fastest, crews lose lunches by the hundreds, lose electricity, lose gas, phone, plumbing, humming keep your mouth closed, keep your cows cloned, go, i am the pulse of this fucking town, homes, no. my what a convenient embargo, at least i'll always know which side of the gun i'm supposed to buy the farm from, the too-far-gone kicks still in the box, fix still in the pill in his sock ,chilling, gill in the slop, and a million watch gideon scribes, but once the arc honor pussy and bribes, the animals will divide and that's a win for the garish who keep charity in the parish while profiting off the lack of a marriage amongst the classes.


    the mobile infantry is so postal, coast into the quotient provoking the local Pistol Pete, choking his liberty and justice quotas and cloaking his folk in smithereens, smokey little pile of bloody pulp and co-dependencies. dopey no surrender bender in effect, sole defenders of the longest night New York had never slept, and there were jumping jacks and whistlers over christmas, like rockets from the crypt spilling the festive morning beverage of your preference, i step in hog heaven, stoney with no weapons, pissing on TelePrompTers, selling megaphones to hecklers, who broadcast 80 million versions of the sermon for that one indisputable masterpiece before the curtains, pale arcadian moon, high definition flat plasma, Imax city-wide transfer, artificial Einstein-Rosen out the tenement, ease into the Xanadu, let it hammer the tension out, i'm talking cool, calm, dominant phenomenal, monitor face to the wall opposite. u.f.o.'s and locusts sing the same old song while The Weathermen get retarded as the day is long.


    — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – — – —

    14. Coffee feat. John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats
    Prod.: Blockhead

    we don't need no walkie-talkies, nope no walkie talkies, we don't need your coughing when offing the morning , no, we don't need no walkie-talkies, nope no walkie-talkies we just want our hermitry to stay and our coffee to go

    and the last shall be, first to immerse in the pass out heat, face in the mud where the moxie melt 'til he woke up drowning in tsatske hell, more in a cave with a torch on the wall than a window arrangement of porcelain dolls on a brand new day, saw what he saw, property owners who crawl to the mall, with a bad toupee and a face like he author the law, pace like he mourning a loss, right hand on a can of worms, left full of gold he will trade for turf, i mean thats o.k., you got to answer to you at the end of the volatile day, but a model of mercy and might? no way, marionette who will clap and obey, dude, look, all that noise? call that flight of the water boys, meet and greet and they all slap five, cheek to cheek when they colonize, and a grown ass man shall abide as he wish, walk that path with a dime and a stick, walk that path with a diamond and wine, walk that path to the firing line, just walk, pay no mind to the new recruit with the play-doh spine, let's be friends from opposite ends, wave to the kid don't hop on the fence, play to the radius far and away, orbit wide don't park in his space, one little martyr who talk in his face make one little weatherman sharpen the blades.


    and the last shall be, first to the curb with the mad cow meat, face in the bars of a regular cell when he woke up high in collectible hell, boom town kid who was taught by the binge that a man who expire with the most shit win, that's warpy american nonsense penned by the rich, not a routine friend in a pinch, still not used to the stench, how it throws off otherwise lucid events, in the case the afraid observe i got a pro-keds box full of layman's terms, it goes hey, peace, pray for the plagued, major relief and capacious rains, but just cuz i don't want to war with you, it don't mean go warm up the barbecue, i'm like pardon you, sawed off limit, my high noon is a quick little minute, i don't wanna spend it sitting with a critic, who simply isn't going to ever really get it, this HQ is alive and alone, no driveway no sign of a home, no dial tone, no line for the phone, no world's tiniest violin song, and i might just lie to them all, lie in the morgue with a deep breath hiding and bored, fighting a smile, highly annoyed, when the timing is right i will rise and record, call for the monster beats and Blockhead got animal drums like he's Doctor Teeth, it goes red light green light 1 2 3, one large coffee, fuck you, peace.

    t- a- k- e- n- o- p- r- i- s- o- n- e- r- s...

    [John Darnielle]
    i crawled down to the basement when the weather got cold, like a lost lamb returning to the fold, and when the outside world recedes from view, it's just a year's supply of make-up and memories of you, 1967 colt 45, holding back the vampires, keeping me alive, there's an envelope with some cash in it out by the front door, this is what they make you take the medication for...

  • Jukies: help ("None Shall Pass" question)

    7 août 2007, 17h31m par tom_dissonance

    Anyone copped the new Aesop Rock album?

    Heard the track "Getaway Car" with Cage and Breeze Brewin from the Juggaknots?


    Rapin' the competition, smothered in pain and sin
    So we pound you out in table tennis like ??????????




    it sounds like "Wang Lai-Kim", but i don't know anything about table tennis, and a cursory Google search for Oriental-sounding table tennis players came up with nothing.

    i know it's a dope line, i just wish i knew what the words were!!!

    Rob SonicHangar 18El-PCompany FlowCreatureThe PresenceCool Calm PeteSonic SumMr. LifPerceptionistsIndelible MCsJ-TredsCannibal OxC-Rayz WalzDanny!Junk ScienceBabbletronMasai BeyDespotBlockhead
  • WOW! NEW 30,000 BASTARDS!!!

    1 août 2007, 14h00m par tom_dissonance

    there's a new 30KB track, "NWW" featuring our homee Living Larceny — out now at the top of our song-box thing [mysp*ce].

    it stands for "North Wild West" and is a bit Olde West-themed. we think this is generally more palatable than, say, the film "Wild Wild West" with Will Smith, but we'll leave it to you to make up your minds.

    the album is (temporarily) called "Songs We Made in Under 6 Hours". see if you can guess why. it's not finished fully (needs DJ Jon Sever to lay his scratcheez down for one thing) so a bit rough and ready, but y'know. i like it.

    this is also the first track we've put on under our own names, which is exciting. we were gonna wait till the whole album was out and then put it up all as one, but we thought, might as well just chop and change as we need to, innit? as long as people can hear it in the meantime all's good.

    (pass the) peas x x x

    NWW Feat. Living Larceny
  • [UK, Channel 4] How Music Works - Rhythm

    5 juin 2007, 13h36m par IanAR

    I watched a few of these shows on their first broadcast. I seems they're being repeated now, in the daytime. It seems to be going out each day, this week, 10:30 - 11:30.

    The second part - rhythm has just finished. Howard Goodall and the production team did a great job: factually, musically and visually. Explaining the roots and cross-pollination of the various characteristics of rhythm, over a timespan from to now.

    Due deference is given to BRAHMS, Fats Waller, Philip Glass, mother Africa and the Cuban melting pot. For once, Stevie Wonder is provided the über-superstar status he deserves (how it riles me when he's left out of all-time top twenty songwriter lists, and such).

    To me, the most interesting part was concerning a favourite piece of music Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of SpringPetrushka/The Rite of Spring. Since my teens, I've always made comparisons between this and , but while Howard was explaining s and s he made a quantum-leap to juxtapose Stravinsky's riot with the complex, usually voice driven, rhythms in - and yes, when I listen to it, I can hear that now!

    I'm going to set my alarm to remind me for the remaining two parts.

    A number of other musicians assisted on the program, including Drum Jam, who reminded me of my friend Smiley from Gambia. Drum Jam

    Some of the other music included was: Tennon Ryu (arranged by Mark Alcock), Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing, Tera Haasa (arranged by Harjit Singh), Hope (feat. Faith Evans, composed by Terrel Carl Mitchell / C Morton / Jerome Frederik Taylor), Cao Cao Mani Picao (composed by Jose Carbo), Kizuna composed, Siegfried Idyll (performed by Northern Sinfornia), Romantic Piece No. 4 (performed by Steven Isserlis and Ana-Maria Vera), Steafan Hannigan - Bodhran drumming rhythms, The Seagull (performed by Shona Mooney), Zadok The Priest, Blue Danube Waltz (performed by Howard Goodall), Akhnaten Prelude, Drum Jam - Improvised African rhythms, Invention Number 6 (performed by Howard Goodall), Romany Czardas, Pineapple Rag (performed by Howard Goodall), T'Aint Nobody's Bizness If I Do (on a piano roll) (composed by Fats Waller / Harry Brooks / Andy Razaf), Ain't Misbehavin (composed by Waller / Brooks / Razaf), Honeysuckle Rose (composed by Waller & Razaf), O Duo - Improvised percussion rhythms, St Anthony Variations (performed by Howard Goodall & Raffaella Smith), The Message (composed by Edward Fletcher / Melvin Glover / Nathaniel Clifton Chase / Sylvia Robinson), Get It on (composed by Marc Bolan), En Guantanamo, Killing Me Softly With His Song (composed by Charles Fox / Norman Gimbel), Superstition, He's Misstra Know It All, brandenburg concerto no 5 (performed by Howard Goodall).
  • [ISWYD] Smithereens (Stop Cryin')

    19 mars 2007, 13h33m par tom_dissonance

    Once again verified by El himself.


    Fell asleep late, neon buzz
    P.T.S. stress, we do drugs
    city air strange, sticky lungs
    Mayor Doomburg gives no funds
    and i'm cryin (cryin’)

    call out with a fiendish ring
    broken into smithereens
    every thing's exactly how it seems and it would seem that i am

    in a world of super duper whores the kids just want a little more,
    little tycos do the bloody mind sex with a veteran’s decor
    so when i step in the stop frame i became pure BK
    cause i grew up around the Krazy Kings and inhaled second hand spray
    where the walls talk your defiances and alliances were made
    with a fugitive dash after class to harass the gods of fame
    and the goons that I collude with on this rude shit same way
    and will break a crab down in public just to manipulate they pain
    why should I be sober when God is so clearly dusted out his mind
    with cherubs puffin a bundle tryna remember why he even tried
    down here its 30% every year to fund the worlds end
    but I’m broke on Atlantic Ave. tryna cop the bootleg instead
    pure savage established hard rock talk circa 93 proof
    walk the high road to infinity with simile truant moves
    when the wandering ration line derail I steal food
    maybe tread where the sidewalk hawks look alive and hide tools
    on a bed that someone else made, tryna wait for the next boot
    and it drops when you took prime-time hellemundo off mute
    old folks say "time to build", but demolition pays more loot
    rip patch from your hazmat suit, slip past with an odd bop (woop)
    El-Producto sorta strange they say he stares at you long range
    perhaps he’s lookin at us all with his thousand yard gaze
    and he sees how mc's became contorted with their own lies
    and went from battle rap to gun talk like we ain't notice the change (yeah right)

    it's the city i broke down in, the velour couture township
    where they lost the rock box batteries and forgot how shit was founded and i'm
    and critics all see me twisted, they don’t get my whole existence
    an actual b boy brainiac who'll smack you out your mittens

    now i feel that motherfuckers owe me dap for contributing actual raps
    thats not a construct for the radio on that plasticine path
    i'll be your homie, bust through the Dolby lonely, all cast aside and homely
    wildly pour chrome heat of vigilante words, insert hurt in a dome-piece
    and the last of all i have is yours now surrendered nice and calmly
    as a tot played on a block of bricks and double dutched with the zombies
    i'll rip your squad with nothing but a cock ring on and a pair of puerto-rock dunks
    i built the bag that cats will drown in when the water's colored rust
    and the last thought that i had in the back of the little bus
    was of a Oklahoma City flair through kiddy flesh fade to dust
    move with me little soldier bitty, we'll cloak and dagger the city
    we'll hope to stagger magnificence till the pattern of blasphemy's quitting
    and i keep my meaning tucked deep so y'all creepers give me some privacy
    dont ask for something literal from a child of secret society
    there's a position to be filled you fuckin assholes, keep your eye on me
    but save your precious advice cause all my life everyones lied to me and im cryin

    fell asleep late, neon buzz
    p.t.s. stress, we do drugs
    city air strange, sticky lungs
    mayor doomburg gives no funds
    and im cryin

    call out with a fiendish ring
    broken into smithereens
    every thing's exactly how it seems and it would seem that i am

    Smithereens (Stop Cryin')I'll Sleep When You're Dead
  • [ISWYD] Tasmanian Pain Coaster

    16 mars 2007, 12h55m par tom_dissonance

    thought i'd try and start transcribing the I'll Sleep When You're Dead lyrics, both so that they're written down somewhere and so that i know them and so that other El-P fans can help me with the bits i can't pick out. anyway, these from the album opening track are certified because they were transcribed by El himself.


    i saw this kid walkin down the street
    i was like...

    bumped into this kid i knew, he often would walk strange,
    so i ignored the blood on his laces so this cat could save face,
    the dunks and the gaze stayed in an off grey haze and the lump in his pocket talked to the ox that he clutched safe
    so i saluted him there, waiting for the A
    trapped on the empty platform without the option to escape
    gave him the standard, "yo what up man, how you landin?",
    and the hypnotized response was no surprise... "i maintain"
    "yeah we all do that's the standardized refrain, but on some really real man...good to see you. really. what the dealy deal?"
    oops...fuck...screwed the pooch, asked too much, knew the truth
    on the train now, A caboose,
    in his brain now, no recluse
    80 blocks to uptown spot, destination vocal booth
    metro-card like "you get what you pay for, stupid"... no excuse
    he pulled his hoody off his cabbage rugged practical and began to fancy the words i mistakenly jostled loose
    the stogie he brazenly lit where he sit looked legit, but when the flame touched to the tip i could smell its of another nit
    he leaned his head back and inhaled the newpie dip and said
    "the whole design got my mind cryin, if I'm lyin I'm dyin..shit"

    this is the sound of what you don't know killing you
    this is the sound of what you don't believe still true
    this is the sound of what you don't want still in you
    TPC motherfucker, cop a feel or two

    VERSE 2

    the whole design got my mind cryin, if im lyin im dyin,
    if im dyin im flyin the same line, no disguise, guy… I’m bent up,
    know the sky's high by coincidence and I'm tied blind insignificant
    to the ground function im Munsoned, it's the dreaded 7/10 split again
    the medic made it out to be, epidemic shaded... wow for me
    evidence of pressures mounting, residential shroud: Kings County
    brotherhood of the working wounded, wounded working city unit
    taking out the trash and strappin in... lets get it movin, stupid
    many men make moves more useless, use abuse quick
    losers, juiceless
    bitch either speak the truth or you leave toothless
    2 fists of the furiously ruthless
    justice for my very own amusement with no regard for the conclusion
    i swagger with rats tappin the glass in a Gov. lab,
    pass me the gloves, mask and flask of the cheapest liquor you have
    in the back of the tasmanian path, insane again laughin,
    cacklin at the randomness of the city and all its facts
    the dark art of interrogation agent skippin class
    and at last in a flash on my tip toes walkin on cracked glass
    gats blast and wiz by fast or just catch in my calves like "hold that"
    in other words: i'm trash, glad you asked

    this is the sound of what you don't know killing you
    this is the sound of what you don't believe still true
    this is the sound of what you don't want still in you
    TPC motherfucker, cop a feel or two

    your futures uncertain here now,
    the plot smears on the wall
    said your futures uncertain here now,
    the plot smears on the wall

    I'll Sleep When You're DeadTasmanian Pain Coaster
  • [Gilles Peterson] V/A - Brownswood Bubblers Two - 4 June 07

    2 mars 2007, 18h21m par IanAR

    For those who liked Brownswood's Brownswood Bubblers, news on the imaginatively titled, err Brownswood Bubblers Two

    Paraphrasing Gilles Peterson:

    brownswood bubblers 2

    here's the track list for the next volume which only goes to say how much great independent music there is out there. another dose of soul splashed electronica and space beats!
    1. Walking
    2. Scheme For Thought (Daisuke Tanabe His Scissors Mix) Scheme For Thought (His Scissors Mix) Daisuke Tanabe
    3. CombinérCombinér Combiner
    4. Watch Out
    5. Flow (Feat. Maya Azucena) Maya Azucena
    6. Last Time
    7. Heaven
    8. Fall Back
    9. Forefathers
    10. Go With Love (feat. Taylor McFerin & Brockett Parsons) Taylor McFerrin Brockett Parsons
    11. The Day
    12. The Hype The Hype
    13. Tea Leaf DancersTea Leaf Dancers (feat. Andreya Triana) Andreya Triana
    14. Wayfaring Stranger Wayfaring Stranger
    15. Wonderful World
    16. Free

    there you go - longer and I think even better than the first volume.
    out in a couple of months.

    I'm very much looking forward to it! - Ian :D Scrawl Audio

    Edit 27 Apr 07: Updated using Brownswood info', plus track/artist naming sanitiztion. Redundant artist links removed.
    Edit 5 Jun 07: Updated using Brownswood Bubblers Two, there's a few mistaggings on it - I've tried to retain both de jure and de facto track tagging.