Free inviting article on Graffiti Soul

September 8, 2010 - 4:01 am Comments Off

I was introduced to Simple Minds they way most of my generation were, watching Judd Nelson (aka John Bender) raise his hand in solidarity while walking across the face of our collective conscience in the form of a high school football field toward the cruel realities of adulthood. I followed Simple Minds from that point on long after the lights and the stadiums faded to black. It has always baffled me how a group with such talent can be exalted to god like status in one era then trivialized in the next, relegated to the back of the sales bin. Some would call that growing up, but 20 some odd years later, (in a vain attempt to get the most of my ill-crafted metaphor here), I have sat in the bleachers and watched Simple Minds as if they were playing to no one but me. I suppose that is the magic of music, it is so intensely personal, yet it is the one art form that can unite thousands of people if only for a moment. Graffiti Soul is for me not so much a comeback as another highlight in a

RHH-what do you think of my drive by music?
ok so this is the concept,a journy threw music in the metaphor form of a car ride.Blues console the tunes; the roots that few would knowPushing mid-40s on the smoothest roads, stuck on cruise controlSummer bonds of youth and old, but a decoy for the betterHumid weather brings feuds together. The war of the erasWhere one argues its misusage; the other argues to prove itWhile some embrace the change, an inarguable movementA part of the music, is the art of influence,But if we spar with their heart’s we’re scarring congruenceTake a left on 80s Rd.I ride with the pedal down. With set eyes on the ghettoThe birth of Hip Hop – The Bronx comprised in its boroughTo liven this threshold we rounded so later,Our block parties were founded on flavor, the sounds of JamaicaWould be the grounds of behavior. Styles and breakbeatsRemixes funk inspired with DJ’s – Their techniques Would bless streets directly; Rare disses and thrashingDisco and soul samplings, constant mixing and scratchingInnovation was happening; Unraveling growth, moldWith techno in Detroit and the capital’s Go-GoMiraculous flow, prose; MCs were a mere displayBreakdancing, graffiti Graffiti Soul art… Hip Hop was here to stay.Expressway to 90s WestI move with a shift and.. one of the moodiest pivotsInto ludicrous critics mentioning lucrative lyricsIrreputable mentions misconstruing our spiritDisputable limits.. refusing so you can all hear it .Rapping meant closure… some were flabbergasted, exposureIllmatic wrapped up the East; The West was grasping the cultureGrabbing, like vultures.. profanity, confrontational soundsFuck the Police, Cop Killer – were foundational groundsIts display was profound. Never compromising, improvementsWere never made – their long struggles were disguised in the musicSupplied to their students; Constant belief in their wordsEstranged parents – grief was absurd, the beef on the curbsViolent streets were a blur – and its consistency showedNever pitied the blows; how gangsta rap has continuously grownUntil tension – repeatedly shown.. startling for our sakeAnd MCs as role models were apart of the heartachesDeath at a sparked rate – a menacing rhythmThat beat to the unsolved cases exposing the glitch in the systemEnvisioning wisdom in the future, but the vision was deadBecoming a victim of a commercialized prison instead.Millenium Road (Under Construction)Almost on empty. Windows fogged.. confusion, distraughtA pool full of foolishness plots where it’s cool to get shotOr over launching your dues while trying to stomach the feudsPlummeting sales, but it’s ‘Who has more money than who’The specifics have changed.. it’s all big businesses, fameProductions limited to club critics and the lyrics? The sameUncontrollable slaving, yet we’re scolding our modelsDissing those who paved and molded the road that we followSamplings now stolen or borrowed – Ignorance condone the disgraceBamboozled.. we’ve now put the minstrel shows on displayWhere we clone the clever. Eventually never known or betterOr they kind of make it – and sale more ringtones than recordsGot away from our rapping. Now, we’re getting paid for our fashionTighter shirts and Pop Rap are being portrayed to the massesStagnant mishaps and habits.. too passive to serve usWe’re so wrapped in that big hit – a mere classic’s unheard ofOwners then actors, factor in idiots – there’s laughterRappers trying to sing and singers are rappersPeople are bored. We’re in need of a legendI can’t drive forward because this road is reaching a dead endthoughts and comments
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