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Comprai l'edizione limitata, ormai quasi un anno fa.
C'era il cd. C'era Il booklet, con tante belle phot-pics. C'erano i testi, una toppa per i jeans, un mestolo di legno un comodino Luigi XVI ed un busto in marmo raffigurante Dr.Dre che faceva soffoconi col popò. Di Eminem.
Prima di tutto: bisogna sempre tener conto di come ci si arriva, a pubblicare un disco. Facciamo finta che tutti sappiano ch'è El-P il più grande musicista Rap della storia. Forse forse è l'unico giuovine che si può definire, Musicista Rap. Se ne deduce sia il migliore, data la scarsa concorrenza.
Punto secondo: il suono. Non tutti in questa scena ne son maniaci. Forse forse pochissimi (issimi), hanno qualcosa in più da equalizzare-bilanciare-distorcere che un semplice campione sopra un bùm-chà. Se ne deduce che Producto si assilli a far sì che vibri il tavolino, perchè ha qualcosa in cui assillarsi, per far vibrare il tavolino. Non il solito campione, non il solito bùm-chà. Se ne deduce sia il migliore, in fatto di suoni e produzioni e i gelati sono buoni ma costano milioni.
Punto terzo: chi chiami. Nel Rap, è necessario avere gente nel tuo disco. Sennò sei A) un coglione appena arrivato e non conosci nessuno B) un coglione e basta, e nel tuo disco non ci viene nessuno. Poteva chiamare tutta la Def Squad, la D.I.T.C., tutta l'Anticon Label, la Likwit, il Wu ed anche la vicina di casa della nonna di KRS-One; se avesse voluto. Ma lui? no, lui no. Lui può permettersi di chiamare i Mars Volta, Trent Reznor, Cat Power. E lui? si, lui lo fa. Se ne deduce non sia l'unico coglione a definirlo Er Mejo.
Che bella coppia di coglioni, facciamo con Cat Power.
Spezza Break-Beat, li frulla con qualche suono tipo electro-clash e li riunisce in qualcosa che potrebbe essere un ritmo... ma è di più. Li riveste di bassoni lunghi e profondi, qualche tocco di synth, e ci spiattella sopra una metrica bastarda delle sue. Sembra sempre stia al microfono con un sorrisino balordo, sembra sempre che ti pigli per il culo. Rincolla tutto e lo distorce, perch'è bello così. Riesce a far fare un bel pezzo a Trent Reznor. Nel duemilasette. Roba che manco a Lourdes con la tessera piratata di Sky vedi certe cose.
Il miglior disco Rap dai tempi di The Cold Vein, ch'era il Miglior disco Rap dai tempi di Funcrusher Plus. Uhm, ma guarda: in tutti e tre c'è lui. Uhm, ma guarda: Funcrusher è giusto giusto di dieci anni fa. Oh, ma guarda, domina la decade mollando milioni di anni luce di distanza a qualsiasi tizio si metta in testa di far rap.
Solo un piccolo rammarico. Se il buon dio è davvero il buon, allora Oktopus deve mollare Dälek è mettersi con P. Con un disco di Oktopus & P. potrebbero dividersi le acque a Staten Island, cadrebbero le attesissime sette piaghe su Compton ed a pasqua resusciterebbe Joe Cassano per fare un featuring con loro due.
Comprai l'edizione limitata ormai quasi un anno fa, eppure ogni volta che guardo il busto in marmo di Dr.Dre che ho messo sul comodino Luigi XVI, oh, sempre fisso a soffoconi col popò. Com'è vero: son tutti froci col culo di Eminem.
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
Elenco tracce e testi
01 Tasmanian Pain Coaster (feat. Omar Rodriguez-Lopez & Cedric Bixler-Zavala) (06:56)
04 EMG (04:33)
(Intro)
We had some fire and smoke and water and that troubled us a lot
Now we're marking down our prices and they're really, really hot
Everything must go
You wanna get on some fly shit
Get on some butterfly to the fire shit
Everything must go
I wanna sell you the dream
I wanna watch you come apart at the seams
Everything must go
You wanna get on some fly shit
Get on some butterfly to the fire shit
Everything must go
I wanna sell you a dream
Heart of an altar boy molested in confession
Who plotted for 20 years then slit the throat of a reverend
And half of this thought is young vandal the system
Contraption of credo drift sick shit and spit at your heaven
I'm grabbin' my dick again
Foot on the wall
Pose down
I'm drinkin' that piss again
Back at the train hometown
Starscream the system
Ninja star the cassette deck
Lazerface is back in effect!
Focus like a worker ant live
Get with hive mind fly shit
Shut your little mind crime hybrid
Eyelids pinned back flat
We had a focus group of lab rats clappin'
At last you got dap
Automaton bells rock well from death valley
Shit, we all mingle in ditch
Mass grave for the kids
Clash with the combat rap set
A weathermen funk breath
The last rebels left?
Slide off or get the digipack slashed in your neck
You're figitin' with 28 day simian
Yeah, dog
Him again
The bad touch destruct militant
Drum percussion lust diligent
The surface that gave birth to the style is NY
The jihad recipient sky is too fly
The roof of the witnessing spot was BK
A cloud of asbestos - I guess it's d-day
Now you want me to move and do how you say
Or look into my brain through this glass toupee
Fuck this, how 'bout I just smack you bitch?
Save that 4th reich boogie for them plastic twits
Or the old women of fate stichin' the casket nits
I'll be drunk on the back of the train takin' a piss
Bumpin' BDP through a raheem kit
With double d duracel destiny megamix like
Everything must go
You wanna get on some fly shit
Get on some butterfly to the fire shit
Everything must go
I wanna sell you the dream
I wanna watch you come apart at the seams
Everything must go
You wanna get on some fly shit
Get on some butterfly to the fire shit
Everything must go
I wanna sell you a dream
Get over here and buy, you hoe
Excuse me, little child
Why the devious smile?
Well, I've become what I've forsaken and the irony's wild
Are you in charge of this outfit?
Nah, not me, cousin
I wrestle distinction from the chompers of a buzzard
Is my mommy in heaven?
Well, she's definitely not here
Now run away and go play with this hatchet and flaming spear
I'm tryna mix up this molotov then peel the fuck off
I've got a windmill to tackle, son
Polish my gun off
My hot pink milimeter space heater
Duck down
Pulled out from the crevice of a triple fat duck down
Horse hooves and meat I'm glued to the beat - grindin'
Stolen hovercraft draggin' a bass stab behind it
Every little phrase is designed for y'all to rewind it
Every brittle phase has an expiration assignment
Eyes wide
The bad man walks alive with five dimes of sticky the bush and no 9
Who was trained by Ed Koch to hop a turnstyle
See cop smile
Peep cops gun
Now see little juvenile me in reeboks run
Through the projected transformation of the catacombs, son
Makin' it home's so fun
If you're alone, don't sweat
'Cause you're alone with the best
The underrated phrase mason who's leakin' pain to cassette
If you hate lies, don't fret
'Cause I can't lie about this
At least I'm honest when I tell you my mind's full of shit
And sick of skippin' on electrified hop scotch grid
We're double dutchin' to percussion with this barbed wire rope choker
The most floatinist spoke dope spit
Get lit
You're with an ambulance chaser, I strive design sick
Everything must go
05 Drive (04:15)
C'mon, ma, can I borrow the keys?
My generation is carpooling with doom and disease
Buckle up, skipper
The new american Asterix
You're riding shotty with Jesus of Nascar-eth
At the end of the day, we all sittin' on 24s
365 horses, no horseshit
with nothing but a learning permit
Delinquents on the autobahn poppin' our airbags off, worthless
I'm not depressed, man
I'm just a fucking New Yorker
Who knows that sittin' in traffic with these bastards is torture
I'll be in a jalopy with a mami getting head rest
And howl at the glowing moon roof as proof that I'm not dead yet
And y'all can all give me the hummer (suck it)
'Cause in the meantime, I'ma pimp this ride like fly formula one-er
This is the El-Product summer
With a gleam of factory gun metal sheen grey and no vin number
[Chorus]
Drive, Drive, Drive
Hopped in the hooptie screaming "freedom is mine!"
Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive
Bumpin' the tune I so conveniently provide
Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive
Don't have to be flashy, I'll use any old ride
Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive
Hop in the whip and peel away, stay alive
Cars slide by with the bomming system
Like New York is Fallujah with metal gear using christians
Posted up for the gods of oil mining
In a military humvee with no bullet proof siding (sorry, guys)
Brooklyn, baby
I'm waterlocked walkin' nervous
When the curfew was imposed closing transportational service
This gonzomatic fear turns me Hunter S. Thompson
With my lawyer leaning over the side view mirror vomiting
You call 'em windows, I call 'em asbestos lesseners
For this wheezing in my chest I'll need more than fucking air fresheners
There ain't no easy pass
Hands on the dash
You'll get rocked in casba if the movement's too fast
Here come the cannon balls, run
Get in your gremlin
The days of thunder's creepin' up sooner than you expected
Paranoid brethren disable their onstar knowing they'll trace us
Pull us over and shout "get out le car!"
[Chorus]
These TV thugs got the heart of Herbie the Luv Bug
It don't take a speed racing mind to see that they're just stuck
I'll wrap your promo truck with a nambla stencil to prove that you're fucking babies
Frontin' up in a rental
I knew a kid who navigated it slippery
And fuel injected a speed ball on hs way to Atlantic City
Out the race before even making his mark
And now he'll never pick his shit up out of long term parking
My triple A card has one too many initials
And autobot on the fringe of liquid addiction spinning fish-tails
About to careen on some toonces shit off the cliff
But love of the sport of racing is keeping me out of coffins
Camu was like "Fuck it, just keep the beats dirty dusty"
I grabbed the CB radio like "10/4 good buddy"
I'll keep running the track
Even when muddy
'Cause my insurance don't cover leaving behind the pit crew that love me
So I drive
[Chorus]
06 Dear Sirs (01:34)
dear sirs:
if the pavement comes alive on flatbush ave with toothy smile
comprised of traffic cones and manholes become eyes,
and birds burst into flames while singing satan's praises and fold into
the sky and rain down ashy danger,
if every office empties and all slaves walk in dazes to a pool of
liquid money where they bathe blissfully naked and
drugs no longer taunt me and flooze around my conscience and every
woman beating rapist is securely in their coffins and
every open hydrant in a brooklyn time summer moment is opened up by
cops and folds out into an ocean
and rent is payed by bread literally and parking ins't payed for and
food stamps can be planted and childhoods cant be damaged,
if fire can power space ships that safely ship the creators of
dynamite and gun powder to the graves of all who faced it and
the slurping nerf of bureaucrat life and bean counting slave owners is
twisted in on itself until they shave off their own faces
and the coke and crack in the nation is collected in a top hat and
forcefed to the children of every cia agent and the dust heads get an
angel and an acre's worth of rainbow and the projects turn to clouds
and the stupid aren't so proud,
and the sniveling grimace mongrels of infected money slobbing
pesticrats ignite into a brilliant beam of light
and mercy is the rule and the exception's mercy too and the desert
comes to brooklyn and the president goes to school
time flows in reverse, death becomes my birth, me fighting
in your war is still, by a large margin, the least likely thing that will ever
fucking happen
ever.
09 The Overly Dramatic Truth (04:32)
[1st verse]
I became for you what you had asked, telepath
You're too young to ask out loud, I'm too old to not know that
I can talk like you've not heard, I know weapons, you think words
I exposed you to these terms, you still chose to roll unheard
That could work but, I'm so fast, you're so open, I'm so crass
I'm too weak to hold that back, you still think intrigue will last
You can't imagine of my past, I just can't explain all that
I wish I could trade your place, so romantic full of faith
I must spare you, I must learn, I refuse to be your first
First to put you in your place, first to make you speed your pace
I'm a man now (good or bad), you're a girl still (good for you)
Don't think this don't make me sad, this is something I must do
[Hook]
Keep your own time (leave me be), trying to spare you
Trying to be God melodic, man on fire, Coward long gone, all desire
Fuck you raw now, it's my fault
Fuck you raw dog, I can't stop
Should've listened, should've left
I can't stop unless you jet
It's so simple, open head, I will knit my savage thread
Help me help you, walk away, leave this unamazing grace
You don't know from pure disgrace, you still think I'm here to save
I'm not even really here, I can't give what I can't take
[2nd verse]
What a ride, what a slide under the door, what a score
You think I'm a genius, I know I'm a whore
What a time, what a climb in for our lives, whats in store
You seen lit forever, all I see is war
I will pull your hair back, fuck you on the floor
Pour myself into the act, poor myself, boohoo I'm bad
Cause I know that these moments end, but telling you the truth is sad
You deserve the ignorance of bliss that I still wish I had
Don't you let me keep you here, don't ignore my greatest fear
I need you to not need me, you need not believe just flee
I will put myself inside you, find some way to run and hide you
I can't be responsible, do as I say, not as I do
[Hook]
Keep your own time, leave me be, I'm tryin to spare you
Tryin to be God melodic, man on fire, coward long gone, all desire
Fuck you raw now, it's my fault
Fuck you raw dog, I can't stop
Should've listened, should've left
I can't stop unless you jet
It's so simple, open head, I will knit my savage thread
Help me help you, walk away, leave this unamazing grace
You don't know from pure disgrace, you still think I'm here to save
I'm not even really here, I can't give what I can't take
This is not my ego talkin, I know I'm no perfect draw
And I do love the way you lay there, I do like the way we talk
Maybe I'm just condescending, maybe this thing isn't wrong
Maybe you should lay right there, put your hands up in the air
[Hook]
Keep your own time, leave me be, I'm tryin to spare you
Tryin to be God melodic, man on fire, coward long gone, all desire
Fuck you raw now, it's your fault
Fuck you raw dog, I can't stop
Should've listened, should've left
I can't stop unless you jet
It's so simple, open head, I will knit my savage thread
Help me help you, walk away, leave this unamazing grace
You don't know from pure disgrace, you still think I'm here to save
I was never even here, I can't give what I can't take
(fades out)
You still think I'm here to save
13 Poisenville Kids No Wins (feat. Chan Marshall) / Reprise (This Must Be Our Time) (07:00)
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