Friday, November 12, 2004

ja rule ft. black child - gun talk -- i listen to this radio show on the weekend called sound advice. it used to be that it would just happen to be on, but i got into it seriously. this guy with a deep radio voice, pediatrician voice, lively and warm introduces new classical recordings and compares them to old recordings. he might have four different recordings of one song-- it's cool to hear everyone taking on the song in a different way. then he breaks them down with strange, unique adjectives for each, thousands of adjectives. you can listen for the silvery tones, whatever. it's not poetic at all, the way he does it, applying all these beautiful adjectives to music but just using them as plain, straight words. this is the sort of record i'd play for him if i had the chance, the sort of record i think he would like and the sort of record that would really suit his way of talking about records, i think.
all of the good stuff we hear from new york city now is on these amazingly complex and orchestrated beats, layers of drum, piano, hum, keyboard moan, whistles, videogame gun sound effects. and everything blindingly clear, bright, nauseatingly loud, overloaded imax shit with paper vomit bags if it gets to be too much. ("fuck your knuck if you buck, this shit cost a trillion dollars and took six years to make." -- and swizz fucking up t.i. by lacing him with humiliating sabotage beats with funny drums and soca whistles)
and ja, used to riding the creamiest, most expensive beats, comes okay, bragging about his company laundering mcgriff money and mdma addiction. and black child, hoarse, hitting drug spots with his crew in impalas.

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