• Voto:
I Cypress Hill sono un gruppo rap anomalo. Anomalo per non dire diverso. Sono bianchi (2 su 3), ispanoamericani e sono apprezzati da un pubblico eterogeneo, musicalmente esigente e di mentalità aperta.
I Nostri: B-Real, Sen Dog e DJ Muggs appartengono alla generazione rap dei primi anni Novanta. Per intendersi, quelli che vengono dal ghetto, che fanno il rap nel ghetto e che sono incazzati col mondo intero. Non esistevano Puff Daddy, Eminem e 50cent e i ragazzi non iniziavano a scrivere rime e a fare freestyle perchè speravano di diventare ricchi, cambiare una puttana a sera e farsi una striscia di cocaina ogni 20 minuti. Il rap non lo si ascoltava come musichetta di sottofondo nei centri commerciali e non si ballava nei club. C'erano si stati gli EPMD e i RunDMC negli '80, ma se paragoniamo i loro guadagni e il loro successo con quelli dei rappers di oggi viene da sorridere. In breve, chi faceva musica allora, lo faceva quasi esclusivamente per passione.
I Cypress Hill esordiscono nel 1991 con il disco omonimo. Un disco assolutamente folle e geniale. Funky e rap al sapore latino, qualcosa di assolutamente irripetibile. Due anni dopo pubblicano 'Black Sunday', e già si capisce che cambia qualcosa. Le atmosfere si fanno cupe, i ritmi più serrati, le metriche più taglienti. Le canzoni prendono una forma più definita e riconoscibile e si affacciano gli inconfondibili loop di basso che caratterizzeranno la loro produzione futura. Un piccolo capolavoro, che anticipa quello che verrà e di cui tratterà la recensione: "III - Temples Of Boom".
La copertina chiarisce subito quale sarà l'atmosfera del disco: oscura e sognante. L'immagine del lungo ponte che porta al castello indiano potrebbe stare benissimo su un disco black metal di fine '90. L'iconografia che utilizzano, teschi e scheletri, fin dal primo album si discosta di molto dal rap, non senza un certo compiacimento.
Ma veniamo alla musica. Il grande Muggerud, a mio giudizio tra i migliori produttori di basi esistente, fa un lavoro ineccepibile, ispirato e completo: ogni canzone ha una sua struttura definita e una personalità sicura, con il drumming vario e ben cadenzato e con le linee di basso che accompagnano creando un azzeccato contrasto con la voce stridente del grande B - Real. Ma è l'inserimento di campionamenti di suoni elettronici presi da strumenti inesistenti a dare un tocco di originalità e a completare la personalità della produzione. L'effetto quasi da colonna sonora di film horror che ne viene fuori, e la sensazione di percepire qualcosa di misterioso, criptico e distante che prova l'ascoltatore, è assolutamente ineguagliata: nell' Hip Hop, si intende.
Ecco, i Cypress Hill sono uno di quei gruppi che per apprezzarli al meglio andrebbero ascoltati in macchina, coi finestrini abbassati e un subwoofer da 200W, magari davanti al bar dove si danno tutti appuntamento il sabato sera, per fare impallidire quelli che di musica conoscono solo quella che mettono nei locali squallidi che frequentano, senza ovviamente conoscerne i titoli. Ad esempio le mie casse non reggono "Insane In The Brain" e quindi non la metto mai in macchina.
Le canzoni sono tutte belle, l'album scorre che è una meraviglia per tutti i 55 minuti, alternando brani veloci come la "famosa" "Throw Your Set In The Air", "Make A Move", "Locotes" a brani più lenti e cadenzati, più "stoned" nel senso di "fumati", ideali per accompagnare una serata cannabinoide tra amici, quali "Stoned Raiders", "Illusions" e "Strictly Hip-Hop". Alcuni brani sono assolutamente folli e sperimentali; brani come "Boom Biddy Bye Bye" (di cui segnalo la fantastica e diversissima versione insieme ai Fugees, sul successivo disco) o "Funky Freakers", lentissimi e più allucinati del solito, non sono affatto di disturbo, anzi aumentano paradossalmente la coesione della proposta musicale.
I testi, scritti e cantati con flow ineccepibile da B-Real, il rapper cubano dalla voce inimitabile, parlano prevalntemente di canne, di fattanza e di storie da strada, ma in modo sicuramente più colto e ricercato di uno Snoop Doggy Dog (parlo di quello di 10 anni fa, ora non so proprio cosa faccia). Da segnalare il brano "Killa Hill Niggas", con il featuring di U-God e RZA del Wu-Tang Clan, quasi a ricordarci che dopotutto i CH fanno rap, e lo fanno duettando a testa alta con i migliori sulla scena del momento.
Per quanto riguarda l'importanza storica, questo disco e "Enter The Wu-Tang" hanno cambiato la storia del rap, ponendo la produzione di basi musicali in una posizione più centrale di quanto non lo fosse in passato. Decretandone 5 anni dopo il successo commerciale, grazie a basi sempre più catchy e orecchiabili, e la rovina musicale e spirituale, che tutti noi possiamo ascoltare per radio e vedere in televisione. Sia i Cypress Hill che il Wu-Tang sono rimasti fuori da tutto ciò. Possiamo esser certi che le ragazze che amano strusciarsi al ritmo dell'ultimo singolo, ignorano sia i primi che i secondi.
In conclusione, l'ascolto è obbligatorio per tutti quelli che amano la buona musica: in particolare quella genuina e scevra da influenze discografico-commerciali, che oltre a far fare tanti soldi, avvelena l'anima vera della musica.
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 Spark Another Owl (03:40)
Once again the powers of the herb open up the mind,
Seek deep inside, tell me what you find,
Come on...
[B-Real]:
Who be the ones steppin' in the room,
Everybody welcome to the temple of boom,
Back, let me see ya fat indo sack,
And get weeded, somebody, everybody need it,
Mari-Juana, Mari-Juana, do ya wanna,
Give me love when I put the flame on ya,
Homie I'm the one with the shotgun,in the closet,
Next to the fat bags full of chronic,
Puto, don't ya be steppin', with ya hands open,
Askin' me "can I get a hit of what t'cha smokein'",
I aint got no kind of love for a brother,
Who comes to the party, with no bud,
I be smokinest, indo-blazin', funk buddah,
Everybody, wanted it, now they talk about the hooter,
Up until the summer of '91,
Wasn't no mutha fuckas talkin' 'bout smokein' blunts,
From the west coast to the east coast,
Everybody be braggin',
But , I'm the one who be puffin' most,
First it started with the nickel, then the dime,
Then the Twenty, spendin' up all my money,
Now, I roll with the nelco(?),
With the pound in the pad smokein' up the indo,
Just take a deep breath (Ahh),
Hit it then pass it to the left,
You can keep the mutha fuckin' stress,
Smoke it up, just puff it up, (O yea),
Light it up, then put your spliff up in the air,
Do you wanna spark another owl?
Do you wanna spark another owl?
Everybody spark another owl.
Everybody spark another owl.
I wanna spark another owl.
I wanna spark another owl.
Do you wanna spark another owl?
Do you wanna spark another owl?
(Sen Dog)Yea, stroll the ways of the buddah mastas, brings me to the
temple of boom, I see people everywhere startin' to understand the
point, when I'm talking about the joint, talkin' 'bout that marijuana,
talkin' 'bout the sense, talkin' 'bout the kind mota boca loa-loa
maui,maui, lugers of work- ready, mexican greenba, cheeba, cheeba y'all,
yesca, humble pound weed, the crypt, the choclate tide, the afgani, the
michoacan, the indo, the skunka, the bad breath sense (cough).
Hello everyone, I'm Kurt Loaded, we're here in hemp TV, with
Cypress Hill in Amsterdam we're listening to there new album, I'm
stoned, I'm outta here, Goodbye folks.
02 Throw Your Set in the Air (04:08)
[Whispered]
"Who there, who there."
"Ask that little young maybe here man. I got all fuck goin' on everyday,
what you want man?"
"Hey what's up O.G. showtime man?
"What's up homes."
"Hey man, I've been thinkin' man an' I'm-"
"Been thinkin' about what."
"Hey I'm ready to get put down on this set."
"You ready to get put down on this set?"
"I'm ready to represent shit"
"On this one right here?"
"Yes baby."
"You ready to die for this?"
"I'm ready to die for this nigga."
"What you ready to do ni'"
"An' I'm ready to put in."
"What you [Whack]ready to do! You ready to [Whack]GET yeah! GET IT! GET
IT! [Slap!]Hmmm get it! Yeah. Hit 'im! What set you from now, huh?
Word. What set you from..."
Every nigga out there wanna be down with our crew
Some ain't got enough heart let me ask you
This: Would you be down like a soldier
Loyal
An' do everything I told ya
I can mold ya
Into a warrior
Down for you neighborhood
Glockin' out, do a G with the flavor
Criminal behavior
On the mind
When I got your back
You know I got your back
Each and every time
Throw your set in the air
Come on!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Throw your set in the air
Throw it up homes!
Wave it around like you just don't care
It's time to exit that buster nigga
Get your hands out you pockets and your finger
On the trigger
Lead will fly
We don't die
We multiply
Throw your set up in the sky
I asked you kid
'Cause you can't fuck with this
Nigga, when I got the Glock
Ya better duck quick
'Cause I ain't havin' it
If ya got your gatt
You better start grabbin' it
I can handle it
Soy numero uno
Mero mero
You know I run with Muggs and the Perro
Firin' up that heater
When I'm givin' up my set I got my nina-millametre
Los Scandalous, Killafornia: where I'm from
Dum diddy dum, diddy diddy dum dum
I'm workin' on your ass
Now you know where I'm from
Dum diddy dum, diddy diddy dum dum
Throw your set in the air
Come on!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Throw your set in the air
Throw it up!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Throw your set in the air
Throw up your hood homes!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Come, come on!
Throw your set in the air
Give it up!
Wave it around like you just don't care
"Nigga throw your set in the air, nigga you know what I'm sayin', you
scared, you be takin' your mothafuckin' punk ass to church, 'cause where
I'm from nigga on the East side, every mothafuckin' day is a job, nigga.
You gotta handle your business, because if you don't, your mothafuckin'
gatt will get peeled back! And that ain't no bullshit. If you wanna test
it nigga, bring it on nigga, you know what I'm sayin'. Throw your
mothafuckin' set up in the air."
Let me take you to the dark side of the moon
Tell Mama that you won't be comin' home anytime soon
'Cause I got ya under my thumb nigga
What's that you claimin'?
Better be the same set I'm claimin'
Take a look around
Count this amount
Of soldiers when I'm chillin' on the East side of town
And it won't stop 'till I'm done
Dum diddy dum, diddy diddy dum dum
Throw your set in the air
Come on!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Throw your set in the air
Throw it up!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Throw your set in the air
Throw your hood up!
Wave it around like you just don't care
Throw your set in the air
Get it up!
Wave it around like you just don't care
"Yeah, that's right. We're straight givin' up the hood all day fool.
Cypress Hill mo'fucker what you wanna do? Ah huh. Givin' my shit up in
your FACE fool!"
04 Illusions (04:28)
Some people tell me that I need help
Some people can fuck off and go to hell
God dam why they criticize me
Now shit is on the rise and my family despise me
Fuck em and feed em cuz I don't need em
I won't join em if I can beat em
They don't understand my logic
To my gat, to my money, and I'm hook on chronic.
I never wanted to hurt a nigga
Unless you come flexing that trigger
I'll dig ya that grave on the east side of town
Now your six feet underground
From man to the dust to the ashes
All I remember tell me where the cash is!
Click clack barrel at my dome
Give all your loot or you ain't going home
But I ain't going out on a bang
Wa dada dang wa dada da dang
(Hook)
I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Driving me mad inside
I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Fuckin me up in the mind.
Mother fuckas be driving me up the walls
Hoping that I fall but they can lick my balls
Straight jacket strap it
In the padded room where some punk niggas can't hack it
Distracted from all reality now I'm let out
On a minor technicality .... They all fucked up now
Cuz they let a nigga back on the street some how
I'm looking for some one like me
Living in my own world to my own degree
On the loose in the city looking at the ho with the titties
Looking at me and I feel shitty
A lil tensed up getting hot
Cuz she looks like my girl who got smoked at the crack spot
I'm trying to find ways to cope
But I ain't fuckin around with a gage or a rope.
(Hook)
I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Driving me mad inside
I'm having illusions all this confusion's
Fuckin me up in the mind.
06 Boom Biddy Bye Bye (04:04)
Boom biddy bye bye
Boom biddy bye bye
Step back as I'm kicking up dust
For a while
As I put mothafuckas to rest
And pull their files
Out from the cabinet
With the picture
Get the 45 and settle it
With this punk nigger
Slow your roll
As I take control
Take your toke from the Indo'
Then hit and hold
Now let it out
How you feel when the herb
Got you by the balls
And you're coughing up a lung anyhow
You can't shake
That nigger that's gonna brake
Fool
On any one member of your bitch crew
As I pull the trigger
On my nine
Say goodnight nigger
Boom biddy bye bye
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put my Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock - a - bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
You ain't never caught a rabbit
So you ain't no friend of mine
It's a habit
Barkin' up your tree with my nine
Keep your bitch on a leash or at home
A nick knack
Paddywack
Give the dog a bone
The raw dog
Fuck a law dog
Still handin' out beat - downs wit' my sawed - off
'Cause a every now and then I got to knuckle up
Buckle up
Chin checking
It's on I reckon
It's the wild wild west
Get your 40 and your blunt and your Glock and your bulletproof vest
Let me guess
Everybody wanna test
Everybody burning up, gonna get burned like Ses
Laudy daudy
We're fucking everybody
Boom biddy bye
Sing the lullaby
In the party
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put my Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock - a - bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
Yes yes ya'll
To the beat ya'll
Watch a punk slipin' see the pouta fall
I'm buck - loody
Looking for the nigga who wanna cut me
'Cause the nigger gets so funky
Fool I'm the one
From
The big bad Cypress Hill clique, a
Number one son of the funk freaka
Yes yes ya'll
I'll be the one with the mad Buddha blast ya'll
Comin' from the west ya'll
But I figure
You'd cry like a bitch
Don't twitch
'Cause I just might pull the trigga
Now lay down
Stay down
Don't move a muscle if you see your homeboy's brains on the ground
Don't fuck don't say nothin'
You fuck around and I might get ragamuffin
Boom biddy bye bye
Line up on the floor now you' all gonna die
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put the Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock - a - bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
Boom biddy bye bye
Put your ass on the floor an' don't ask why
Boom biddy bye bye
I put the Glock to your dome and you started to cry
Boom biddy bye bye
Any last prayers before you die
Boom biddy bye bye
Rock - a - bye nigga boom biddy bye bye
Boom biddy bye bye
It's time to die
Boom biddy bye bye
Time to say good - bye
Boom biddy bye bye
Now it's time to die
Boom biddy bye bye
Now it's time to die
09 Killafornia (02:56)
Livin in the city of the scandalous, shiesty mother fuckas
Can't even trust my own brothers,
So who can i choose to trust ? me that's who.
Niggas want a piece of the pie, fuck off and die.
Jealous, envious, fools wanna rush this.
Loco cuban ass nigga with the cash shit.
Mother fuckers better get your own
And leave mine alone forty five ways to get domed.
I send out the invitation,
To the party of your elimination.
I got peeps that play for keeps........
Now i'm layin your ass down to sleep.
But every hustler wanna be ballin
But don't got the ball's for the shot callin.
I pull strings, the don king;
Only in america can i hustle and flex my muscle.
[hook].
Where can i roam to get my hustle on,
Killafornia stackin the chips got the full clips.
Loaded and cocked used to run with a glock;
Nina milimeter sig lightin up the fuckin block now,
Who you gonna trust? who can you trust?
I don't know, but if your comin on my corner; i'm gonna bust.
You can't handle us, devious, dangerous,
Criminal mentality, insanity.
I move weight from state to state.
All the niggas movin weight can you relate.
[hook].
Where can i chill to get my hustle on,
In the alley way comin up all nite long.
Fuck workin at mc' dee's
I'm rollin with the o.z's, and the q.p's
Puffin on tree's.
Who you gonna trust? who can you trust?
Not that shady mother fucker in the city of scandalous.
{hook}..............end.
10 Funk Freakers (03:16)
Let me introduce myself
I'm the one who rose the cess
So don't you forget
Bad rolled ya help
But you still be trying to push buttons
But you ain't nothing, no fronting
I bring the level up a little louder
In the clubs in the jeeps in the after hours
Fools on the street want to feel the funk
Lookin for the skunk that's what you want
Ya better, sit back and let the track flow
Like smoke in your lungs from puffing on the endo
Rythems upside ya brain
Can ya hang can ya maintain
Can ya feel the funk flowing in ya veins
Get ya fix and a bag of tricks
And the mixer got the stix and stones a few bricks
I'm gonna hit em high, he's gonna hit em low
Open up your mind so that you can feel the flow
On and on till there all gone fools be runing
But they won't last long
(I'm the freaker) x 8
People always want to get what you got
No matter what
Can't together themselves in the big hunt
In the quest for the crown and the jewels
And the cheese muther f*cker please
And the mees want to plot against me
With envy in there hearts
But I rip there sorry arse apart
In a minute I can take it to the limit
Tempreture rising now so highsing
Coming back in with the lows
For the fools
F*cking up beako's and any body for fools (anybody fools)
The number one skunk freaker
A cypress hill beaker (the cypress hill sleaker esse)
Blowing a hole in your speaker
You don't want to test the phero
The real one or the wedo
Slanging rythems to the ghetto
Ya best keep your arse in check (come on)
Little muther f*uckers that show respect
And what's next the big brown taking you down (and what's next)
How you feel when your sorry arse can't hang with the hill (with the hill)
(little punk)
(I'm the freaker) x4
Can you feel the effects of the chocolate ties
Nobody even knows how I kick the flow
Slow down coz your coming up to fast
You might get smacked down
Coz you got no class
No code now i'm getting down the road
My shits the bomb to explode
Take cover you get blown to bits
Fades out
11 Locotes (03:39)
Hey ese look at these two motherfuckers right here homes
What you thinkin' homes
Wait `till he turns around homes
[Echoed] Watch-out
All right I got your back homes, let's go
Come on ese let's go
Let's do it
You don't wanna turn your back on me
When you least expect it
I come with the wicked method
I'm creepin' on ya
How you find your homeboys bleedin' on ya
Just the locotes
Drumin' out the potes
Got a new hollay
Jackin' in the noche
Give me your faya
In your pocket or they'll carry ya
Off and bury ya
We got in the east side every guy
Four and three and two and one
Thievery don't stop `till I get done
Sometimes I don't even need my gatt
But shit's gettin' deep and I gotta blast back
`Two' thievery `One' robbery `One' robbery
'Cause jackin' is my hobby
Give out that money, jewlery and your keys
To the five-o outside on wheels
Later out with the `85 Mustang
One-time got me on the radar
Pousha
And ya don't stop `till I'm done
Now the Puercos got me on the run
Police Radio:
"LA-14 in pursuit of two immigrant suspects armed on 187. Headed westbound
on central and Ninety-second. Armed two suspects believed to be in 1985 red
Mustang license plate Lincoln Charles David Bullshit Madelin three two.
Armed and dangerous suspects known..."
You don't wanna turn your back on me
When you least expect it
I got your keys in my possession
With my Smith and Wesson
Takin' out all my aggression
Check it out ese
You're lookin' at the jefe
Off that clicker with a big bad trese
I'll teach you a lesson
No question
Get your ass out, now you're passin' out
When ya looked at the glente
Four and three and two and one
The robbery don't stop `till I get done
Some niggas do this shit for fun
Now the Puercos got me on the run.
From bodio
Two bodio
Lookin' for anybody-o
Cessadio
Hangin' out wit madio
Lookin' for a place to hide
On the west side
Spank got my back over there it right
And it don't stop `till I'm done
Now the One-time got me on the run
[Police radio]
"LA-14, we have spotted the vehicle, suspects nowhere in sight... Aw shit!"
[Two shots ring out]
How you like me now pouto?
Fuck you pig
Let' go homes
It's the fuckin' bus eh
Get on ese
Right here homes
One-times not down with us
Now they lookin' for my ride, but I'm on the bus
Don't turn your back on a rapper like me
`Cause I'm one broke motherfucker in need
Desperate
What's goin' on in the mente
Takin' from the rich an' not from my gente
Look at that gabacho slipping
Borrocho from the cerveza he's sipping
No me vale madre
Gabacho prey to your padre
This is one the time you wanna give me the jale
Four and three and two and one
This old muthafucka got him a gun
BLAM!
I took one to the knee-cap
Things happen so fast
Now I dropped my strap
Now I'm about to meet my maker
Though I had it all figured out with a paper
No longer will I be running
Last thing I heard was the fucking gatt humming
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di Yosif
"III (Temples Of Boom), il loro capolavoro per eccellenza, un originale viaggio fatto musica, un prodotto anni luce avanti."
"Un album incredibilmente folle e molto vario, che cambiò la storia dell'Hip Hop con un suggestivo 'Dark-Hip Hop' unico nel suo genere."
