music recommendation 11/2 (explicit)

As you may have noticed (who am I kidding, I'm the only person who reads this) from the past couple of posts, I'm pretty into hip-hop. I think it's rather tragic that kids these days could not readily tell you what the difference is between rap and hip-hop. I also find it tragic that people lump all of rap and hip-hop together and completely and totally dismiss it as a genre, thinking that the Gucci Manes and Soulja Boys of the industry are somehow the poster children for real hip-hop. So in breaking with the musical atmosphere (but in keeping with the music of Atmosphere) of this blog, I'm going to let today's music recommendations tell the truth about hip-hop.

Peace of Mine by Gang Starr
"My sense of self, and my mental health
is much more powerful, than any hint of wealth
A lot of niggaz get cash, and collect Mercedes
But neglect their ladies, and forget their babies"


Conscious Style by Poor Righteous Teachers

"See, I remember yesterday when y'all was Gods and Earths
Egyptians and metaphysicists on the verge of giving birth
To understanding, and planting seeds that grow
Now everybody's on that bullshit about killing and so"

Labels: hiphop, music

Ianthe. posted at 12:44 AM

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hip hop

in a nation of increasing gentrification and homogenisation
we will not be homogenised
the revolution will not be televised
it will be written,
in the form of the rhymes that we're spittin
real hip hop can never be stopped
and after you read the lyrics we've dropped, it's a compliment to say we killed it
when really we willed it to live in spite of murderers hiding behind gucci bandanas
pushing aside a message of love and respect
for drinkin 40s, bangin' shorties, then they're in court he's not paying his child support
maybe if we break down "crimes" we can finally "c - rimes" as a vehicle for change
and maybe we can rearrange the priorities of a youth gone deranged
since being estranged from their first true love
when they turned on the radio and heard messages so pervasive and yet so un-Common
why is it that while hip hop boosts people up and rap beats people down
all that I've found is that the love in hip hop has been drowned out by a flocka clowns
who only love dem gun sounds
well it's about time for a crackdown on these impostors
and don't think that running for the boondocks will make you a free man, cause where I'm from
the wheels are starting to turn and I just KNOW the time will come
when you will have to face your robbery and your face will get all slobbery but I see right through it
you stole what was ours by our own accord and sold it back to us at a price we could barely afford
everybody at school has the exact same $25 Run-DMC t-shirts
I'm looking at our future and right now everything that I see hurts
I see a world where nothing we create belongs to us
where nobody even raises a fuss
about having our own souls and imaginations co-opted, regurgitated and looped over a drum machine beat
and it will be no easy feat
to stand on our own two feet
and march into the street
and refuse to repeat as something sweet what is clearly sour
it is the dawning of a new age where real hip hop will reclaim its power
with Public Enemy as the ally and DOOM as the salvation
returning to the glory of the Zulu Nation
close your eyes
listen
and be assured
the revolution will not be televised, it will be heard

Labels: poem

Ianthe. posted at 9:25 PM

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love poem

wouldn't it be nice to find love that's really true
you've only got eyes for her and she's only got eyes for you
that subtle, flirty laugh like Cupid shot you through the heart
well, sorry darling
he shot you with a poison dart
she's got eyes for you, yeah, and the boy over your shoulder
the leaves have barely changed but my heart's already colder
she met a girl and fell in love right then
silly girl, I wish I could warn you right when you thought you'd be another happily ever after
before all of the smiles and the laughter
turned to tears when your greatest fears all started to unfold
not to say her fears had been untold, but she asked if they can listen,
they said they can
and now her love's in the arms of another man
and you hate that you want them to be miserable, and hate more that they're not
but be careful you don't get caught saying that thought aloud
because it's simply not allowed to be thrown in the throes of love
and admit that you can't just shut off affection with the flip of a switch
sorry if I sound like a bitch, but just 'cause she's with him
doesn't mean you'll stop wanting love to happen on a whim
even if it feels wrong
and you'll sing a different song around a friend, but in the end
it's the five-page text message that you never send that confesses what you really feel
a confession so deep you drop and kneel as though before a priest, at least,
as though before a mirror held up to your soul
and that, my love, will bring you to your knees faster than you can say please,
please let me just love and be loved in return like Moulin Rouge said
why have affairs of the heart got to mess with the head?
Cupid's arrow flies in a manner so stealthy
how can a racing heart and butterflies possibly be healthy? That's why they call it lovesick
but when love sticks it can be the greatest thing you'll ever know
or something you'll never want to show as you try to cope
but please, please, never give up hope
and if you ever feel like you've been looking too far
i'm right here, and i love you just the way you are

Labels: love, poem

Ianthe. posted at 9:23 PM

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[dearest madam]

dearest madam,

i'm not sure if you've noticed

but you just swept me off my feet

i'd turn on the metronome

but right now not even my heart can keep the beat

there's something exhilirating

about the way you talk to me

how you've just opened up your heart

and laid it out for free

are you a figment of my imagination

am i a figment of yours?

who knew one conversation

could open so many doors

welcome to my puzzle,

i like the way you fit it

there's a fire in my soul

you've got the match that lit it

dearest madam,

i'm not sure if you've noticed

but you just swept me off my feet

you're the perfect stranger

and we just happened to meet.

Labels: poem

Ianthe. posted at 4:26 AM

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[inferno music recommendation: alt-country influenced]

The second music recommendation post of Ianthe's Inferno comes on the heels of my recent attendance at the 2009 Pitchfork Music Festival. We camped out the A stage for 6+ hours to get good spots for The Flaming Lips on Sunday night, and I got to see all of the bands that played on that stage before the Lips. It was thus through a happy accident that I discovered the awesomeness that is indie-alt-country-electronica band Blitzen Trapper. Here's their recent hit Black River Killer from Furr, their 2008 Sub Pop release:

Labels: blitzen trapper, country, etienne de rocher, indie, music, the republic tigers

Ianthe. posted at 2:20 PM

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[an appeal to memory]

remember the good old days?
before sex and drugs,
when all we knew was rock and roll and even that wasn't quite the same
everything just seemed so....
tame
backstreet boys not backstreet dealers
since when are we old enough to trade in bikes for four-wheelers?
bubblegum bubblegum in a dish
how many pieces do you wish
one, two, this one's for you
three, four, not anymore
remember how often i wound up at your door?
my house to yours ain't such a walk
how come since that summer we never talk?
monkey on the ground, no such monkey
that ship has sailed, when that ship sunk we promised things would never change
but i'm feeling worn down like the black crayon out a fresh box
so this is me, without my label
without your classifications are you still stable?
we played with Polly Pockets, saved lockets, made rockets
now you're rolling smokes, telling jokes and I just can't help but mock it
it used to be junk food and movies for the simple joy
now it's ice cream and Pretty in Pink to get over a boy
in junior high we were crushing, in high school we got crushed
remember that guy in homeroom who always made you blush?
he's peddling premature maturity to the kids we used to be
waiting by the park when school gets out at three
Pokémon cards and Crazy Bones, summer days and Sno Cones
now all you care about is getting so blown
and leaving me so alone
remember when i used to have to call you on the house phone?
tying up the line for hours just shooting the breeze
brought our parents to their knees, didn't it?
just begging to know what it was we could talk about for so long
and we just shone in a language all our own
they just didn't get it, did they? and they'd just groan in their grown tone and we'd laugh
we'd laugh until we swore our lungs and livers were bruised
everything just kept us so amused
i wish you'd keep your lungs and livers unabused so we could laugh like that again
laugh at all the girls scrambling for men
why does every Barbie need a Ken?
when she has Skipper and Kelly and Stacie to get her back
you'll always have your girls when your guys are acting whack
when you stop getting calls about how he's in a funk
and now he only rings when he's bored and getting drunk, that punk
keep your weed cause all I need is Ashley Spinelli on my TV
and a recess maybe just to regress back to the good old days...
but this ain't VHS, we don't need to rewind
fast foward scene select to catch us up to time
if there's one good thing about growing up
it's learning how to rhyme

Labels: childhood, poem, straightedge

Ianthe. posted at 2:14 PM

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[it started with a happy meal]

It started with a Happy Meal.

We pulled up to the McDonald's drive-thru and left the car idling, waiting for the speaker to crackle with the voice of some teenage part-time drone.

“Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get for you?” She spoke with a lilt of disinterest, the sort that grows from minimum wage recitation and repetition.

“Uhhh, yes, can I get a, uh, cheeseburger Happy Meal and--”

“No pickles!” I hissed quietly. In my elementary school world, everything was meant to be in nice categories, separable into clean-cut picture book dichotomies. Cheeseburgers were in the “delicious” category. Pickles were overwhelmingly in the “yuck” category. To attempt to combine these stark opposites in one instance would surely cause a universal breakdown and utter chaos.

“--no pickles on the cheeseburger, and a Coke with that.” Papa concluded.

There are several aspects of Happy Meals that make them far superior to less emotional meals – the box itself, with its bright colors, games, and Golden Arches handles. Any child can tell you, though, the absolute best thing about Happy Meals is that they come with toys. Sometimes 101 Dalmatians, sometimes Tomagotchi, always cheap Chinese plastic – it didn't matter. At least, that's what I thought.

“Is the Happy Meal for a boy or a girl?” the speaker droned.

My father was visibly taken aback by the question and replied sternly, “What does it matter?”

“There's two toys, it depends if they're a boy or a girl which one they get.”

“What's the difference?” Papa was irked. I just wanted my cheeseburger, sans-pickles. Man, did I hate pickles. They were like cucumbers that had their souls stolen by the devil.

“The toy for boys is a Hot Wheels car and the toy for girls is a uh, little Barbie doll.”

“Why can't girls play with Hot Wheels?” he demanded. I can't imagine the drive-thru attendant being anything but jarred by this exchange. This wasn't the conversation she was trained to have! Why did he have to raise such a fuss over something stupid like a Happy Meal toy?

“Is the meal for a boy or a girl?” Papa was very obviously displeased, and he turned around to ask me my opinion.

“Do you want Hot Wheels or a Barbie?” he asked.

“Hot Wheels!” It was a no brainer. You can race Hot Wheels around the inside of the car window and what could Barbie do? Sit around and look pretty. That's boring. The decision was made almost instantly.

“It's for a boy.”

■ ■ ■

It wasn't until taking AP Psychology this year that I ever really thought about the concept of “gender identity”. I mean, all children know who's a “tomboy” and who's a “girly boy”, but that was always supposed to be wrong, to not act in accord with your birth certificate. The truth of the matter is, biological sex is completely separate from gender – your own self-concept of being male or female. The idea that your biology and sense of self could be divergent, yet harmonious and complete, was an utter revolution in the way that I framed myself and my upbringing.

I learned in Psychology that children learn and assimilate into gender roles by observing behaviors and being rewarded for mimicking “the correct ones”. Sally, you're such a good mommy to your dollies – Jimmy, put your sister's tea set down, why don't you go play outside? But looking back on my childhood, these gender-specific models were absent. Mama could rock a dress and use a caulking gun and papa took time off of work to raise his kids and keep the roof repaired. My parents did encourage me to take ballet if I wanted to... as long as I didn't miss my karate lessons. I watched wrestling and HGTV back-to-back and never understood why all the good T-shirts at Kohl's were in the boys' section. I saw nothing wrong with climbing trees in a dress as long as nobody was standing under me. I could never completely fit in with “the guys”, but I never really felt at home with “the girls” either.

Alas, the world works the way I thought it did in elementary school – it necessitates dichotomies. Feminine/masculine exist to parallel delicious/yuck. And we all know what happens when you try to combine such dire opposites – utter chaos.

And chaos, I am finding out, is a pretty sweet deal.

I've taken the liberty of just completely rejecting gender. I have no concept of myself as “male” or “female”, “masculine” or “feminine”. I am free to move between all, some, either or neither with no repercussions, no strained loyalties. I will paint my nails just to have them chip when I change the belt on the power sander. I will wear my dad's old air force jacket with my black miniskirt. Sure, I'm still a girl, and I would never deny that – I embrace it fully! Sex equality! But no gender equality. The gender binary's just something we've made up to try to simplify the world, something we should break free of.

In the end, nothing is black and white. Dichotomies are false advertising, subject to change without warning. Things can shift and suddenly nothing fits in the boxes anymore. I'm a vegetarian now – cheeseburgers disgust me. I order veggie wraps in the lunch line, and I always ask for extra pickles.

Labels: childhood, english class, essay, gender, school

Ianthe. posted at 2:11 PM

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