Dear diary,
Why am I the only person who’s willing to make uninspired rap albums? Anti-funky, thin and frail-sounding. Not a good beat, and you cannot dance to it. Why has everyone allowed me to corner this market?
You’ll probably never get it thru your thick skulls, you future-folk, that I am not your contemporary: I lived way back in the Wild West of 2019 A.D. Remember?—we had things like “The Google Doodle”. What’s a Google? It’s an agency of info-theft. What’s a doodle? It’s a type of… um… Well anyway, today’s Google Doodle was a picture of Bach at the piano. So this made me want to release another one of my old rap demos. The incongruity between me & Bach amuses me.
Now let’s get one thing straight; cuz I fear that you'll misunderstand my attitude, if I don’t make myself crystal clear. Teardrops brim my eyes when I mention Bach! — his music is sacred to me, and I mean that sincerely: of the sonic realm, he’s the Holy Scripture.
But one’s ability to appreciate the highest art does not preclude one’s appreciating low art also. I am a lover of ALL art, from high to low and every art between. But I like the extremes, so I tend to favor the empyrean high and the rock-bottom low. Now if Bach is the best, then what’s the worst? That’s right: uninspired rap demos by Bryan Ray. (“Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven,” as Milton’s Satan always sez.) But in truth, rap is not the “worst” in the sense of having failed at something; it’s not even attempting to be anything more than what it is — so I think of rap as the punk/folk music world’s version of doggerel. There are many types of poetry, many avenues for the poet to choose to use, and doggerel is one of them, and it can be done well or poorly, strongly or weakly. It’s like an ice tray, with little tiny compartments that you can fill up with genius. Just because the cubes are small, and limited by design, doesn’t mean that they cannot please you. Sometimes you want a couple cubes in a highball glass (rap), and sometimes you want the whole ocean (Johann Bach). It just depends on how thirsty you are.
I love the Sistine Chapel ceiling. I love the Mona Lisa. I also love to see hastily scribbled cartoons: the type of graffiti that you find on the covers of notebooks: I mean, back in adolescence, before the advent of all the modern Internet media formats, when, for each public-school course, you carried a college-ruled physical paper notebook bound front-&-back by cardboard covers; and you were always bored in class, because the teachers’ lectures were lukewarm and all-wrong, therefore, to kill time, you’d aimlessly doodle all over these notebooks’ covers. And your doodles trump Google’s.
I think that we products of the U.S. “education” system shall go down in history as some of the stupidest apes ever to get on God’s nerves. I can’t believe God doesn’t just thunderbolt us, like he did to the dinosaurs.
But a nation of Kaspar Hausers can still weep at Bach. There’s a scene in Werner Herzog’s 1974 movie Every Man for Himself and God Against All where a man plays a tune on the piano, and teardrops fall from the eyes of the noble savage. (I think that that last phrase is applicable in this context; and I should explain, for anyone who isn’t familiar with Herzog’s film or its subject, which alas is drawn from reality, that Kaspar Hauser is a soul who spent roughly the first two decades of his life chained in a small cellar, devoid of all human contact except for one mysterious figure in dark garb who periodically fed him; and with only a tiny toy horsey to occupy his time.) What I’m trying to say is that the forms of art that we United Statesians create—rap demos, sitcoms—are only ignoble cuz our nature wasn’t nurtured. THAT, I say, is the reason why William Carlos Williams sez “This is not civilization but stupidity—” and “The pure products of America / go crazy”, around sections XXII & XVIII of Spring and All.
Speaking of SPRING (I have two long quotations to copy here, in the name of preservation for future reference, and then I’ll share my old rap demo album), I’m now reading the French sociologist Émile Durkheim’s book-length case study On Suicide, which I’ve found so fascinating that I tore thru the first half (about 200 pages) in a single sitting last night; and, in the chapter titled “Suicide and Cosmic Factors”, I happened upon an extremely seasonal passage (this doesn’t count as one of the two long quotes that I shall copy; it’s just an appetizer… also I should mention that the ALL-CAPS were added by ME, but the italics at the end are Durkheim’s, or at least the English translator Robin Buss’s) — again, this is apropos springtime:
If, instead of observing, one were to try to predict by reasoning which should be the season most favorable to suicide, one would imagine that it is the one in which the sky is darkest, the temperature lowest and the air most humid. The desolate appearance of nature at such a time must surely have the effect of inclining a person to reverie, awakening sad passions and inspiring melancholy thoughts. ...This is why Montesquieu considered foggy, cold countries as especially conducive to suicide and for a long time this was received opinion. By applying it to the seasons, one would think that the suicide rate should reach a peak in autumn... THIS HAS NOW BEEN CONCLUSIVELY REFUTED BY STATISTICS. It is not in winter or in autumn that suicide rises to the maximum, but in the fine weather, when nature is at its most cheerful and the temperature at its mildest. ...Indeed, if one divides the year into two halves, one corresponding to the warmest six months (from March to August, inclusive) and the other to the coldest six months, the first is always the one in which the greater number of suicides occurs. No country offers an exception to this rule.
First, I find it fascinating how Durkheim absolutely refuses to utter the actual name of spring. It’s as if he’s afraid of getting cursed, like the ancient Hebrews who abstained from pronouncing the proper name of their deity Yahweh, replacing it with “LORD” (“Adonai”), out of fearful reverence.
Second, I want to relay that Durkheim later gives the following reason for this phenomenon of springtime suicide: (I’m paraphrasing now, according to my own misunderstanding) During winter, human interactions come to a halt, but then in spring, all the hustle-bustle of business, commerce, marketplace, & social life begins anew — this causes sensitive intellectuals to throw in the towel.
Thirdly, I want to stress: the reason I find these studies of suicide so spellbinding is that I’m convinced they’ll help me avoid the same outcome. Your initial assumption might be the opposite: you might think that a person would read a book about suicide because she intends to join that club; but, for me, it’s the other way round: for if I can clearly grasp what caused these people to exit stage left during the annual season of rebirth, then I’ll stick around and see what novelty I can do with my given role in this tragicomedy; for nothing turns me off more thoroughly than imitation. I want to live my life in a unique way; I don’t want to follow someone else’s beaten path. This is the same reason why I shun martyrhood: Jesus has already been there, done that. So if I know that the masses of suicides occur in the warm months, then I can convince the artistic sector of my impulses (that is to say: the part that runs my mind) to wait at least till September; and, by then, it’ll have forgotten its heart’s desire, & we can all look forward to another Midwest winter.
Now here below is the first of the two long quotes that I wanted to cite. Durkheim, writing in the late 1800s, uses the term “neurasthenia”, which, nowadays, in the early 21st century, is no longer so hip, trendy, fly, snazzy, or chic. It’s neither happening nor groovy. So allow me to give a definition from Wikipedia, and then my own personal take. “Neurasthenia is a term that was first used to label a mechanical weakness of the nerves…” That’s what Big Dub sez. (Big Dub is Wikipedia; Lil Dub is George W. Bush the former U.S. Prez., just so you know.) So I take the term and its derivatives—neurasthenics, neuropath, etc.—to refer generally to “anxiety disorder”, cuz that’s what I myself was manufactured from; & I hold the following passage as the most accurate description of this obscenity that I AM; in fact, when I read it, I immediately jotted a note-to-self on the page itself: “The key to my life in one single paragraph!”
Neurasthenics are temperamentally predestined, as it were, to suffering. We know that in general pain results from an excessive shock to the nervous system: an over-intense nervous wave is usually painful. But this maximal intensity beyond which pain starts varies from person to person: it is higher in those whose nerves are most resistant, and lower in the others, which means that the pain zone starts earlier in the latter. For a neuropath, every impression is a source of unease, every movement one of fatigue. HE IS, AS IT WERE, THIN-SKINNED AND HIS NERVES JANGLE AT THE SLIGHTEST TOUCH. The carrying out of those physiological functions which are usually the least troublesome is, for him, a source of generally painful sensations. It is true that, conversely, the pleasure threshold is also lower and this excessive penetrability of a weakened nervous system makes it accessible to stimuli that would not upset a normal organism. This is why, for such a person, insignificant events can be a source of excessive pleasure. Thus it would appear that he can recover on one side what he loses on the other and that, thanks to this compensation, he should be no worse armed in the struggle of life than anyone else. HOWEVER, this is not at all the case, and HE SUFFERS FROM A REAL DISADVANTAGE, because ordinary impressions and the feelings that are experienced most frequently in the circumstances of everyday life are always of a particular intensity; consequently, for such a person, living is liable to be insufficiently moderate. No doubt when he can escape from it and create a special environment for himself in which the noise from outside is muted, then he may manage to survive without too much suffering. This is why we sometimes see such people flee the world in search of solitude. But if he is obliged to descend into the throng and cannot carefully protect his pathologically delicate nature from external shocks, he is quite likely to experience more pain than pleasure. Consequently, such organisms are fertile ground for the idea of suicide.
All the above italics and CAPS are mine — I took the liberty of marking out my own favorite parts of this favorite paragraph. I’ve actually never read a passage that so accurately articulates my dilemma; it’s so true it’s almost dull! (I liked it better when people just assumed I was the Devil.)
Now I wanna skip ahead ten pages and give just one more lengthy portion of another paragraph. I don’t even care if my readership is uninterested in this stuff — I’ll gladly risk losing all my readers by quoting too much here, because these words are worth preserving in one place. I want to have at least this trusty blog post to reference when, at the next family feast, people start prodding me and saying “Bryan, why are you so negative and ornery all the time; why are you such an asshole?” After navigating my web browser to this present entry, I can read them these quotations and say “See! It is I who am the canary in the coal mine, and I could help this whole world blossom into harmony if you’d listen, if you’d deign to use your ears to hear my message; but YOU normal people are the problem. YOU are the assholes!!!” — Seriously tho, this last passage is not so pugilistic and contentious; it’s simply a sober following-up on the above; but something about it makes me feel VINDICATED, like I just won my case in Cosmic Court.
Indeed, though as we have shown neurasthenia may predispose to suicide, it does not necessarily have this consequence. Certainly, the neurasthenic who is too closely caught up in active life is almost inevitably condemned to suffer, but it is not impossible for him to retire from it to lead a more contemplative existence. And, while conflicts of interests and passion are too overwhelming and too violent for such a delicate organism, this kind of organism is, by contrast, designed to gain full enjoyment from the gentler pleasures of thought.
I now wanna quadruple-stress this next line, cuz it’s the crux of the predicament.
While an over-rigid social environment can only bruise his natural instincts, the more society itself is flexible and only able to survive by progressing, the more he has a useful part to play, because he is the instrument of progress par excellence.
Those italics are in the original. OK now I’ll let the passage continue to the end without interrupting anymore. It is my opinion that what follows illuminates every prophet & visionary (poet, dada-surrealist, modernist, etc.) of all times and everywhere:
For the very reason that he is resistant to tradition and to the yoke of custom, he is a particularly rich source of new ideas. And since the most cultivated societies are also the ones in which representative functions are most necessary and most highly developed, while at the same time, because of their great complexity, almost incessant change is a condition of their existence, it is at the very moment when there is the greatest number of neurasthenics that they have the greatest number of reason to exist. They are not essentially unsocial beings, who eliminate themselves because they are not born to live in the environment in which they find themselves. But other causes must be added to the organic state peculiar to them to give it this direction and develop it in this way. In itself, neurasthenia is a very general predisposition which does not necessarily lead to any definite action, but which can according to circumstances take the most varied forms. IT IS A SOIL IN WHICH VERY DIFFERENT TENDENCIES CAN TAKE ROOT ACCORDING TO THE MANNER IN WHICH IT HAS BEEN FERTILIZED BY SOCIAL CAUSES. Disgust with life and leaden melancholy, with all the dire consequences that that implies, will easily spread through an old and disoriented people, while in a young society, burning idealism, generous missionary zeal and active devotion will be more likely to develop. While the number of degenerates is observed to increase at times of decadence, it is through these same individuals that states are founded: all great innovators come from their ranks.
That last ALL-CAPS statement is, by the way, the main reason why I hate our current economic system (capitalism, or whatever you wanna call it: the valuing of money over people)... OK now here’s my old rap album that I promised to share:
Another Amateur Rap Tape
The last time I shared one of my old rap demos was February 26, which was almost a month ago. So I better share another, otherwise I will never get to make an "X" on that part of my Things-to-do List.
All I need to say to introduce this album is that my usual mike was on the fritz, so I had to use my old twelve-dollar Radio Shack microphone instead, so my voice sounds tinny and nasal, and thus the album is ruined. But it was still fun to make. The idea behind it was this:
Wouldn't it be swell to travel to the Bronx, the birthplace of rap, in New York City, and rent a room there; then record a rap album all by myself, alone?
So I did this on February 9 of 2004. And I finished the project and released it on February 10 of 2004. —Here the thing is:
Bronx Tape
by Bryan Ray (MCB)
[scroll down or visit the album page for full lyrics]
1.
Still Rocking Sweet
So even tho I hate this beat
My name’s MCB I’m still rocking sweet
Cuz I handle the mike with claws like a bear
And it doesn’t even matter what I wear
They still call me the...
Here is my critique of practical reason
I totally reject that I do not believe in
Now I’m in my bathtub looking for my back scrub
Yeah I’m a fat thug and if you act up
I will emerge from my tub like the Kraken
With nothing to bespeak my modesty but a napkin
2.
Bronx B (How to be Awesome & Start a Posse)
When I’m on the mike I’m always so cool
My name is MCB and I’m the teacher of the school
And the first lesson is how to be awesome
First you have to dress up like a crazy apostle
Like the apostle Paul and then smoke some crack
When you’re finished with that now I’ll move on with the rap
I’m MCB and I’m telling you here
How to start a good posse that is totally weird
First you go out on the street and wave with your arm
And hopefully you will like stop a couple cars
And then you need to ask all the people who stopped
To fill out applications and return to your shop
And when they all return then you’ll teach them these things
How to gyrate and how to dance and sing
3.
Bronx C (Rap Destroyer #1)
Here I am Rap Destroyer #1
I’m MCB and I’m waving a gun
And I’m totally crazy with a Fleet Farm hat
Now I’m on a saddle riding your cat
Yee haw come on it’s rodeo time
Look at my arm check out how it flies
Come on arm I need you back now
Oh drats Bry help me milk this cow
Now I’m like Wotan my griddle is golden
My pillows are so fat my girdle is broken
4.
A Story about Baseball
Here is a story about baseball
Spaceships came down from space y’all
And first before the new batter could hit
Some aliens came out and threw the pitch
So now I’m all screaming and then I faint
When I woke up the score was 8
Next thing you know there’s a pop fly ball
Then it got stuck when it hit the cloud
Bang now the shortstop bursts on fire
Here comes Muhammad with a pair of pliers
So he fixed the shortstop and won the game
But there was a riot, but that’s OK
5.
Bronx E ("I returned home just the other day")
I returned home just the other day
And didn’t even know like what to say
Cuz Lisa was there and her mom was too
And I didn’t know what they were trying to do
Then I went and like looked around
But it was no use cuz they were not found
So I got mad then I passed out cold
When some time passed I then awoke
Now I’m at home but I have to leave
But when I look back I almost scream
Cuz Lisa was there and her mom was too
And I didn’t know what they were trying to do
6.
Bronx F ("a short song I wrote by hand")
This is a short song I wrote by hand
Cuz I hate this beat this beat is wack
So I only sample super tough
I’m MCB I’m chewing snuff
I’m on the cut I don my tux
I eat oat bran you eat goat tongue
Now I charge like a credit card
Rolling hard down the boulevard
7.
My Gat
I’m so glad you asked me to rap
I’ll start with five lines about my gat
My gat is enormous it blasts your face
Its bullets are big they’re like bounding bass
My gat really kicks back every time you flip that
Trigger never gets stuck no it don’t get that
Big bizarre cold gat to hold
With a bullet that flows straight out of the hole
This gat really smacks you gives you a whack
Either right in the back or on top of your cap
Gat really powerful shooting from a tower tho
Now I gotta reload... back in an hour bro
8.
The Grocery Thief
When I first came out the grocery store
I could see the man standing there holding a sword
So I dropped both my grocery bags on the grass
And I pull out my cutlass and stood in my stance
Then the man came forth and cold jabbed my chest
And I looked down and saw blood all on my dress
Then I saw five feet from me my leg gushing blood
Then the man grabbed my groceries and got in his truck
As I lay there dying in a bloody heap
That’s when I knew I’d been had by The Grocery Thief
9.
Bad Santa
I’m the Bad Santa throwing a present at your face
And my reindeer are totally pumping the rap bass
I’m breaking your chimney with a hammer
And throwing a heavy present right at your grandma
Driving my sleigh really reckless & knocking down lampposts
Flying down real by the ground too close
Now I’m never even washing my Santa suit
And my black boots are crusty with reindeer poop
Tracking thru your carpet and knocking your tree over
It is a questionable point whether I’m sober
Waking your house up arguing with Mrs. Claus
Calling her the 'B'-word with my smoker’s cough
10.
Bronx J ("just talking to the wall")
I was just sitting cold talking to the wall
Saying things like what’s up and boy you’re tall
Then I said well nice day to sit and relax
Then I said uh huh and then I said ah yeah
Then there was an earthquake and I fell down
And the earth cracked open and split the ground
And a skeleton rose up from out of there
And grabbed me and pulled me by my hair
Down into the earth down under the ground
And then the ground closed up and that was all
11.
Leprous Man at the Mall
Leprous Man walking around the mall
Look at me I have leprosy I’m scaring you all
Putrid white flesh dangling I’m trying to grope you
I’m groping mall walkers I’m reaching to poke you
I’m out at the mall wearing only a shawl
Then I remove my shawl now you’re all appalled
When you’re walking out of Sears now you see me here
Saying unclean unclean trying to grope your rear
Unclean unclean walking in your direction
You huddle your family in the food court section
And you say no Leprous Man don’t sit next to me
But I’m all gross because I have leprosy
Leprous man lurking around at the mall
When you exit from Macy’s I am standing there now
12.
Bronx L ("a dope freestyle for all you folks")
Here’s a dope freestyle for all you folks
Who are totally skeptical whether I’m so dope
I am totally fresh my name’s MCB
And I’m proving it now because I’m rapping on beat
I’m the gray haired ball juggler fuzzy wall hugger
Therefore proving conclusively I’m your mother
Now I’m at a coffee shop looking for a hockey puck
When I found a bolt lock connected to a black truck
Next thing you know my wig fell off
Then I vomited blood until I went into shock
MCB rock the beat
MCB your style is sweet
13.
Fighting Warlock Zorg
I was riding my horse upon the rolling hills
When all the sudden a wind came and gave me a chill
So I pulled back the reins and I drew my sword
Next thing you know I’m speaking to the Warlock Zorg
Now the Warlock Zorg is like the Spirit of Nature
But his powers are various and suspiciously greater
There was a light surrounding him with a vision of demons
Then my horse got scared my horse’s name is Stephen
So I said hey Stephen it’s OK don’t worry
But then my vision got blurry because I was in a hurry
And I hadn’t eaten before I left my house
That is probably Warlock Zorg’s plan no doubt
To take me by surprise, but I’m far too wise
So I utilized my alchemy power to make fries
And a hamburger from some rocks I found
But then Warlock Zorg comes down and swoops down
And takes my food, changes my food back to mud
By this time I was real mad and ready for blood
So I told Stephen to go over and graze in the grass
Yo Stephen I got a job to finish I’ll be fast
Don’t worry there’s a little spot of grass over there
That you can eat while I go beat this wizard of air
Now Warlock Zorg puts his hand up high
And lightning bolts flash from his fingers five
But I used my mind power of python yoga
To achieve Buddha consciousness and form a Toyota
From the surrounding herbage, so I hit him I’m swerving
Now I drive back over him and my tires are burning
Then the whole scene collapsed in an illusion of matter
So I unhooked Stephen and mounted him with a ladder
Then we rode to the sunset our job is done
Who the heck says fighting Nature Sprits ain’t fun
No comments:
Post a Comment