Friday, 21 January 2011
I’m sure as a disillusioned teenager Tibet will wonder ‘Why’?
I’m sure as a disillusioned teenager Tibet will wonder ‘Why’? I will document today, and say to her if tomorrow comes, that ‘we in the world are driven by passion, with only a few exceptions’. This is what I want my daughter to know, and when old herself, maybe learn (in India) to harness.
I heard a female Kenyan writer once say of her semi-literate-but-ignorant extended circle, “You wanna keep it a secret? Then write it in a book”! I too feel I shouldn’t go back to my childhood world of friends where they insinuate “reading is for snobs”, neither can I number how many words I’ve written since leaving school as I remember having written whilst there, practically nothing.
So-called personal life crystallized then published on vinyl video and CD, allowed me as author (for 20 pages) to resurrect rose-tinted dormant friendships of typical unemployable druid and black males with drug convictions, semi-autobiographically embellished for entertainment purposes; As you may detect, it’s complicated, but I had to include it, because those 20 pages + publication = micro-vengeance!
While friends took soccer scholarships, or sketched, I wrote crude street poetry. Indeed, I always stayed with a pen, and the politically conscious sect of Hip-hop educated, then galvanized me at a time when the Berlin wall was still up and Mandela was still in jail! I’m no newcomer to the ways of lyrical mic-attitude and cynicism, but am, alas, poorly educated, yet simultaneously the most miseducated person I know (welcome to my knucklehead swimming pool).
Evolving almost into another language which even small-town kids now understand, I gradually immersed myself in “rap life” way back in the innocent breakdancing days of 84', thus became unwittingly Americanized. Ironically, unable to leave it out of my works I moved to London in 96' and played my tiny part in the Jamacianizing of the UK rap community, while the genre was changing more and more to complex and descriptive lamentations on movie-influenced drug sales and strip bars, which I too wrongly wrote about in order to stay relevant in this, the second widest of political platforms. Foolishly I took up the image which won’t completely wash off, then, unfortunately, felt obliged to live out for credibility’s sake. I guess an apex experience worthy of note was UK Eminem and Outkast support and a Europewide tour with British peers where politicization and recklessness made for some intensely gruelling work.
Apparently, every rapper’s run has those crucial retrospective “enemies close, competition even closer” moments, and though on a very small scale mine was no different. The continual failure of the anti-gangster, UK urban rap artist to really crossover into the European mainstream, subcontinent and Fareast, after twenty years of trying, hasn't become a large enough issue yet. Poor organization from those basement studio's…? Or, unlike in the US, corporate fear of affiliation and lack of popular big name sponsors…? Maybe its hip-hop's being publicly perceived as an American export while actually having its birthplace in Jamaica? Who knows, but I certainly did try for a platinum plaque or two. Released on many Indie labels I either worked with, or was endorsed by the best of UK, Germany, France and Belgium, but all relatively nameless artists the biggest in Britain selling only 64,000 Europewide.
I went hard for the art, harder than my band members, Quadrapheinia style, all the way and painfully for little or no gain, only to wind up still owing the state years of cheques which in my opinion must be paid back before any real peace treaty with the odorous underbelly - Or does the state owe me…? - This is one of the reoccurring conundrums I try to suppress in all my creations. But like all classes of living entities from bacterium to pious men (devotees being exempt because of purifying activities) I, like them, have what could be best described as, hurdles, a passion to satisfy a sense of false-prestige being but one! Yet these tales of material entanglements in the passion-world aren’t at the highest brow of global artistic submissions, actually, my own inquiries into one’s true life-mission is also irrepressible even to the possible detriment of this, my fruitive work.
Regarding the character Adam; his attitude to Seattle and their small son Othellenius revealed an opportunity to explore the eventual miss-match of many unlucky couples engaged, then married. The personal 07’ dismantling of my own five year relationship enabled me to document then include such mellow dramatic, quantum, negative and positive side effects of passion probably unacceptable to Supreme Complete.
But if there are two things I learned from that sub-mediocre decade wasted on the skeletal European rap circuit, it’s that 1: the specialist or generalist - or put another way, the commercial and fringes - both have valid reasons to exist and consume works of art/fart. And 2: Fame, then over-exposure without proper infrastructure, would be bad for the health of one whose palate is ever-changing.
Writing multiple volumes worth of thinking-man’s-rap has been my only addiction (bar eating flesh etc.) and now due to growth the cap has become a tight fit - addiction being defined as having an adverse affect on one’s life, a daily struggle to quit because of global prevalence, and its clouding of outlook and over-scope. But from the correct view, something like safe drinking water for the thirsty is more important than any impotent frustration-inducing hurdles of mine warped in this Shadowless story.
“One, extended infinite moment outside England to omnify studied works and serve the Archytec by cultivating boundless compassion, even toward forces perceived as trying to re-enslave us”. That's the dream me and an old friend (95'RIP) order be maintained until the final whistle.
Yours… ensnared but still kicking - reporting live from the under-order
(where zagginz need but never get holidays)
Caution: Any person to geenlight writings for publication is assumed to have no idea regarding the molten centre-core of our streetculture language submitted here, never static and in constant flux.