Archive for the music Category

Cant C Me

Posted in music, Old School Flava, poetry, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 28, 2010 by blackstarr

There probably has not been a more loyal fan of Tupac Shakur than yours truly.  First, though, a few “despites” –

despite the fact that I hate the “N” word and the “B” word, and

despite the fact that I am not an advocate of either profanity or violence, and

despite the fact that I am anti-drug abuse, I have always been in awe of Tupac and his musical genius.

Perhaps the one song that makes him stand out from the crowd more than any other song is “Can’t C Me”., from the CD “All Eyez On Me”.  The entire song is the epitome of his musical genius, but, let’s forget the entire song – the opening verse is the ultimate in word manipulation and lyrical sculpting.  In the event that you aren’t familiar with the song, you can click >HERE<  for the lyrics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although there are probably many depths to his genius, I believe that his greatest assets were threefold – lyrics, music, and the ability to spit words out as easily as you and I breathe air.  He had a peculiar penchant for re-using lyrics from previously recorded songs.  Other artists have done this before him, but the way in which he did it and the meaning that his re-used lyrics brought to the songs took on a life of its own.

I cited this song from his collection because it is my favorite rap song ever, but, his repertoire was seemingly endless when it came to great lyrics, music, and spitting.  A few that come to mind which, in my humble opinion, that come close to the greatness of “Can’t C Me” are “Hit “Em Up”, “Death Around The Corner” and he even did a few love songs that were worth mentioning, which included “Can You Get Away?”.

There you have it – my short and sweet tribute to Tupac.  You owe it to yourself to check out this song .  You can find it on Youtube, of course.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get it to load here.  In the event that you want to save time, here’s a link to the song from Playlist.com:  Can’t C Me.  Perhaps you’ll be as impressed I have been all these years.

Afeni, wherever you are, thank you.  Peace.

 

copyright  2010  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Photos from The Huffington Post, and The Judiciary Report.

emergency (re-posted for those who lost their lives)

Posted in music, poetry, political commentary, politics, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2010 by blackstarr

on 911 to the one,

we looked down the barrel

of a loaded gun.

i thought this might be

w w three,

no more me.

on 911 to the one,

aloofness became undone.

it finally hit home,

four shots straight to the dome:

two fatal shots, in nyc,

in pa, a flesh wound meant for dc,

in dc, one lay critical . . .

nothin’ personal . . .

strictly political.

on 911 to the one

we thought the lasers were locked on stun.

we got sucker-punched, erbody out to lunch.

we dropped to our knees and began to choke,

and our opponent disappeared

in a cloud of fire and smoke.

on 911 to the one there came a loaded gun,

with hollow tips, that brought us to our knees.

we screamed “oh my!!”,

released a sigh, wondered why,

and then we all began to cry.

on 911 to the one,

not a cloud, yet no sun.

we wallowed in the shadow of the enemies’ gun.

first came sorrow,

then our thoughts about tomorrow.

in less than twenty-four,

they had a name, so they claim,

and yet, they hesitated just the same.


on 911 to the two

will there be a me and you?

will they be caught with their knickers down,

to never even hear the sound?

will they continue to assume

that no real danger looms,

that we’re all simply sayers of doom?

perhaps it’s not too wise

to criticize those with watchful eyes,

whose jets no longer leave the skies,

while battleships dot our oceansides.

perhaps they’re locked and loaded,

mimicking C4: waiting to be exploded.

but on 911 to the one

we faced a loaded gun.

terror paid a visit to our home

with four shots straight to the dome.

we fell victim to a loaded gun

on 911 to the one.

copyright   2001  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Bulletproof by Raheem Devaughn

photos from across the web

young white sburbanite (excerpt from “the village”)

Posted in humor, music, poetry, politics, prose, racial discrimination, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 27, 2010 by blackstarr

on any given friday night,

a young white suburbanite,

cruises in his beamer,

into the city, bose blastin’ fiddy.

he sports the latest, greatest, hippest, dopest, phattest rags

that his daddy’s silver spoon could buy,

but that silver spoon is the very reason why.

he protests the riches that they don’t deserve,

lashes out at his very own private federal reserve.


he’s looking for some black flava,

or some brown suga’,

or some white powder,

music getting louder.

young white suburbanite,

in the middle of the night,

loses himself in another man’s culture.

not understanding the subtleties of cp time,

he hits the club way too soon,

stands around with beer in hand,

realizes that the night was not so well-planned.

but he’s fly and hip and dope and –

and thinks he’s ahead of his time,

but the reality is that he simply

got there way ahead of time.

the music swirls within his head,

and the sistas think it’s so dred

that he’s holding his own,

while out of his element.

but to his detriment,

the beer pulls him to the dancefloor.

now, whitebread ain’t so fly no more.

and we think “ooh, that’s gotta hurt!”

beer has him moving to the beats,

the sight has us fallin’ out our seats.

“yo – young white suburbanite!

some fly sista would like ta get witcha”,

but homeboy’s homeboy has had

one too many rollin’ rocks.

young white suburbanite

struggles with all his might

to get his homeboy standing upright.

now, homeboy’s homeboy wants to fight.

young white suburbanite

came to the city,

blastin’ fiddy,

lookin’ for some black flava,

or some brown suga’,

or some white powder.

whitebread

got that gangsta beat going ‘round in his head.

cruisin’ in his jet-black beamer.

he’s just trying to understand

why we always catch it from the man.

tries to understand what that’s like,

he beats a path to every open mike,

struggles to get a feel for what it’s like.

a fruitless pursuit and he can’t see why

he can never feel the pain like you and i.

he innocently protests and lets out a sigh –

“it wasn’t me and i refuse to carry that lie”.

it’s neither out of compassion,

nor because it’s popular fashion,

but, instead, because the guilt of the fathers

prey upon the innocence of the sons.

**********

on any given friday night,

deep within the urban blight,

from dusk until daylight.

lookin’ for some

black flava,

brown suga’,

white powder.

out of the gloomy mist and into the light,

comes an urban legend . . . a young white suburbanite.

copyright  2008  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Lose Yourself by Eminem

Images: silver spoon (metalmuseum.org), Rolling Rock beer (hoppsy.com), Flava (myrunkspace.com), Bey caricature (pinoypix.com), Philadelphia skyline (wordfromtheweb.com)

a whispered love

Posted in Love, music, poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2010 by blackstarr

you whisper your love

like stolen kisses.

as with summer drizzles,

so, too,

you sprinkle your love

in whispered drops.

yet, even in the roaring crowds,

i hear

the whisper of your love.

copyright 2007  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Breathing Out by Doveman

photo “SF Rain” from watersecretsblog.com

verb

Posted in music, poetry with tags , , , , , on July 11, 2010 by blackstarr

why can’t i
just look into your eyes?
why must i
give in to my demise?
silence is not deception.
it is reflection, introspection.
let’s just call it soundless conversation, or perhaps . . .

“verb!”, you said.
“l-o-v-e”, i responded.

(i thought that my verb was heart-filled,
thought that it meant
‘me-you,  you-me slash we’.
but,
could it be that she
could see that we
two were too new,
and knew that ‘we slash me-you’
was just a hypothetical?
)

my verb was something quite un-designed,
and, as yet, totally undefined.
my verb was unspoiled by over-zealous thought,
in its finest state of raw innocence.

but, . . . it was my verb.
i had been looking into your eyes,
holding soundless conversation,
reflection without deception.
you said verb,
i said l-o-v-e,
and deception was the interpretation.

copyright  2000  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

“Tossed Salads and Scrambled Eggs” from “It’s Just Jazzy”

sculpture “introspection” by Matthew Cummings

photo “beach chairs” by Paul Walsh

wasted membranes

Posted in humor, just for the bull of it, music, poetry, relationships, satire and sarcasm, social commentary on March 18, 2010 by blackstarr

i get high on crystal meth;

i get stoned, like a soul picnic.

wasted membranes,

you’re gone,

and i’m left with twisted grey matter.

she’s my pusher, wide open,

and ready for action.

she, her, they.

i know it’s you,

but do you trip like i do,

on the vapor trail?

get busy child, trip like i do.

i’m jaded, i’m faded, i made it

to a place

where darkness veils

when all else fails,

and darkness is the mask

that hides us all.

it’s been three days,

and, now, I’m starting over.

there’s high and low

and crystal meth is high

and twisted matter is low.

and i know it’s you, but you

don’t trip like i do.

bound too long,

you know it’s hard,

or do you?

you’re wild, sweet and cool,

wide open

and ready for action.

i get high on crystal meth;

i get stoned, like a soul picnic.

i end up with wasted membranes.

and i know

you’re right,

but i’m left

with twisted grey matter.

copyright  ©  2008  blackstarr

**************

freerealm@gmail.com

“Busy Child” by The Crystal Method

Halo

Posted in music with tags , , , , , , on March 14, 2009 by blackstarr

Some entertainers hit you like a ton of bricks.  For me, one of those would be Michael Jackson – His One-ness.  I was already “up in age” when The Gloved One hit the airwaves.  Even so, I was one of those nuts who would sit idly by the radio, hoping to hear his latest single.  I sat anxiously in front of the tube after they had announced the day for the debut of his next music video.  Remember when Thriller was about to debut?  WOW!!!

bey-04

Well, this isn’t about His Strangeness – this is about someone else with whom I am super-fascinated – BEYONCE!  Ever since the demise of Destiny’s Child, I have been an avid fan of Her Wonderfulness.  I love the way that she dances, I have caught a bit of her acting (not too shabby), but, more than anything else about her, I love, love, love her singing. I’m not that naive – I am aware that the studios have devices that make her and others who may be tone-deaf sound absolutely dead on key.  No matter, at least not to me.  I love to hear the woman sing.  No – it doesn’t hurt that she is drop-dead gorgeous.  As I write this piece, my ears are filled with sound of HALO, (from “I am . . . Sasha Fierce”) playing over and over and over.  I LOVE that song!!!!!  I intended to make this a tribute to Her Sexiness, but, instead, I decided to give her song the tribute that it deserves.  Not only is the music fabulous, but the words are awesome, as well (a bit touchy-feely, I will admit).  Sorry . . . I gotta fled.  I’m headed over to MTV.com to see the video again.  I’ll leave you with some links to some of my favorite Beyonce songs.  You know you want it.  You know you love her.  You know you can’t get enough.  OK . . . maybe it just me.  Peace.

bey-02

HALO

SINGLE LADIES

IRREPLACEABLE

RING THE ALARM

copyright  ©  2009  freedom

freerealm@gmail.com