Yeah...odd and appauling to begin but coming home today from
a job interview, there they were. Those delicious black and purple
stripped oversized shirts, all three except for one styling a-just-got
those-cornrows-out-and-need-my-head-to-breath ponytails.
If this was 1986, they're be nicknamed Jesus.
Oh yeah, I've got it hard for those young boys.
But I ain't going there.
My August has been filled with too much cypherin'...
more than what my doc wants me to do. Mind you
I've just got into the summer swing and already....September
is in about a week.
Folks are relocating to Nueva York and my heart goes out
to them. One friend came here and did a week of craigslist
and got an apartment on his last day. My other friend is now in
mix of searching and what New York now consider apartments...
Dang yo!
Last week I was honored with participating with Composers
Collaborative again. Where the last had to do with me
working with a composer (which really didn't work out but
I came through nonethless), this time around I got to composed
my own stuff. This was a challenge cause for startes, the past
couple of years, my ideas have been nesting on the mpc
in my bedroom. SO I wasn't completly confident that they could
work outside of Apt 5re.
Earlier this summer, out of inspiration and the dare to create
a crunk track, I began a series of tracks that have nothing
to do with the formula southerns ass clap to.
Mind you, I wrote some wonderful lyrics for crunk.
Me and John have our reply to the "Whisper Song."
But let's just keep that in the lab till we perfect the mutha.
The first attempt became this gamelan cut with layers of bass drums
to create a gritty feel and my second attempt came out all yiddish
and morrocan. Hey if this is my head say go, I gotta follow.
The third, which I had done much earlier, is very simple and has
a couple of piano keys as the intro.
With these, the brain went into action for the my 15 minute set.
Gamelan became a macaronic verse of Cherokee, Hawaiian, Samoan,
two words in Spanish and English rhyme.
What I'm calling right now "Diddy's Rump Iza", is a poem I actually wrote
two years ago but was been re-vamp several times since and is now meshed
with a hook from a piece I wrote a while back for Sayidd and Priest
that never happened.
Last, "Blank Cassette" is kinda like a ballad, kinda like a mantra that was
written in Sister's Oregon surrounded by mountains, mountains, trees,
more trees, and two lakes. A place where a city kid could totally freak
out when left alone in a single person cabin.
So, um, yeah, in about a week I worked on the pieces and presented them
at this event. Outcome...myh peps loved it, the audience which appeared
tobe cabaret/theatre goers, I suspect were confused. Nonetheless,
The New York Times gave it a good review. And for me, it finally felt like
these pieces could formulate the second, if it ever happens, audio project.
Title?
Fraud
So I've said it. Aside from all other items that need attention this year,
"Fraud" has now offically, on paper, track, and webland, begun.
I still gotta do a crunk track
