Baley

Neutral Milk Hotel - Oh Comely

Oh, shush. Jing wu ying xiong (Fist of Legend) + Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne (The Ladies of the Bois de Boulogne) Jet Li > Bresson.

You're a good man, Pete. As for 50, well, the last time I came in contact with his work was a few years back, when I watched that late-night P.I.M.P. video, you know, the one with the pimp stick and the naked babes, yeah, it wasn't all that bad, of course 50 can't rap and he's voice irks me terribly, thankfully though Snoop was there and you gotta love Snoop. I mean, it's Snoop. There's no way around that, the man's the epitome of cool. Oh, I know the lyrics to Candyshop from a mate, he used to sing it while walking home from school. Funny stuff. Screaming Jay Hawkins - Constipation Blues

I've been meaning to check it out ever since Asimov name dropped it in one of his articles. Yes, I own a book filled with Asimov articles. Yes, I know I'm a gigantic nerd, but the man was awesome, funny and informative.

You missed an "r" there. But yeah, I like the amazon sample and will try finding the book. Tomorrow.

Frank Zappa - Hungry Freaks, Daddy Weird Al (With Dweezil Zappa) - (Absolutely Brilliant)

Um, I meant the really long title (which doesn't see to much match the one on the box). Has the novel been translated? Cause I'd like to read it, yeah. Charly Well, the direction hasn't aged well, some scenes are pretty bad while others are absolutely brilliant. Guess I liked the script and actors.

I'm loving it thus far, Rogue's wasted his first femme, your typical well-endowed feminazi, got his pals killed and sneaked inside his various hardware, wasted tons of fascist propaganda spewing scum via his friend Mister Shotgun, all this with Snoop pimping in my headphones and rays of sun invading my room. I get what you mean by easy, but really, I'm awful at video games, no skills.

Yi tian tu long ji zhi mo jiao jiao zhu* (Lord of the Wu Tang) *Can someone translate this mess? I'm looking at you, Julian. - - -

Tai ji zhang san feng (Twin Warriors) Having no need for women has made me a success.

Tupac - Blasphemy Is God just another cop waitin' to beat my ass if I don't go pop? Tupac - Life Goes On As I bail through tha empty halls breath stinkin' in my jaws ring, ring, ring quiet y'all incoming call plus this my homie from high school he's getting bye It's time to bury another brotha nobody cry

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - In the Ghetto

I owe you one, so to speak, and even though I don't see what's to celebrate about one's 37th anniversary, I'm here hoping your wife discovers the pleasures of bisexuality, both in flesh and spirit, and shares you with that foxy gal you mentioned in a thread not long ago. That or Koine, drugs and booty. Matter of preference. Just be happy I chose not to make bad puns concerning your age, puns so bad, may I add, that I came close to clawing out my eyes once the realization that these were the thoughts-on-screen of a person older than 5 struck. And now that I have become a walking cliche of soulless writing, I bid you adieu. Uh, screw this, mate. Just have some fun, it happens one's a year and than poof it's gone, I mean you're probably going to be drinking a little and partying a little more and having a good time while I stare with my nerd eyes at the above paragraph, guess what I'm trying to say is this, Happy Birthday is horribly over-used, I hope you have a good time and humour is overrated, especially when one is borderline drunk, battling frustration and day-to-day malcontent. I honestly hope you don't log in for a few days and enjoy life.

Oh come on, let the chap enjoy his forum furlough.

You might be able to find this best of compilation in stores. Has just about the best version of the River on it. And I'm listening to it. Right Now.

Huo Yuan Jia (Fearless) And, Fong Sai-Yuk (The Legend) I and II. +

Crooklyn Dodgers - Return Of The Crooklyn Dodgers (Final Mix With Intro) (Street Version) + Hey Drabs, you get a chance to listen to Nomeansno yet? 's The River (live), Jack's gay for this song. They're playing the states again. And maybe Southeast Europe in late 2007. Oh God, Please.

Nice generalization there. For every Brotha Lynch (Wiki: His second album Season of Da Siccness in 1995 proved to be the one of the most gruesome and mysogynistic Gangsta Rap albums ever released, graphically chronicling a life of drug use and sale, promiscuity, ultra-violence, rape, infanticide, and supposed cannibalism. ) there's a Killah Priest and a Jeru The Damaja. Sure, lots of lyrics are about violence, guns and hoes. But quite frankly, that's their reality, that's their world. And they're writing about it. Writing with tremendous talent and determination. Sometimes I think Hip-Hop's poetry's last refuge. Full of honesty, vitality and emotion. Free of scholarly old farts and mental pre-teens wanking soulless letters for a living. I'd rather hear Snoop telling me bout his hoes than some white boy from Minnesota barking bout his ghetto-consciousness. Yeah, they're hiding behind words, afraid of taking the next step. And that step's on the street, where it oughtta be. Here's some poetry for you, Killah Priest: Early natives related to throwns of David captured by some patriots and thrown on slave ships they stripped us naked while they wives picked they favourite lives were wasted, in the hands of the hated, driven from the garden [garden], now we starvin' in the martyring Sodom, they call it Harlem, wordly problems got us at the bottom, the Earth crisis, and the righteous grab their ice picks, seekers like us for our rices, I stay in ciphers, our live is, connected to second son of Isaacs, which had a tight grip, on the heels of his brother, revealed to his mother, the elders who served the younger, words heard in thunder, down from under, rose and fled to grow in hunger, now it's cold in summer, to slow your slumbers, behold a number, 600, 6 and 3 score, the same as he saw, who ate his heat raw, in the time before, they climbed aboard a dinosaur, information held behind the doors, we came from the atmosphere, the physical trapped us here, then they gave us crack and beer, in the back of the stairs, please adapt your ears, add or subtract the years, and form the unwise, and watch the sunrise from sunset, none-slep, one flesh, one breath Phaorace Monch: Let the trigger finger put the pressure to the mechanism Which gives a response for the automatic *bang* Clip to release projectiles in single file forcing me to ignite then travel through the barrel headed for the light At the end of a tunnel with no specific target in sight Slow the flow like H2O water Visualize the scene of a homicide a slaughter No remorse for the course I take when you pull it The result's a stray bullet Niggaz who knew hit the ground runnin and stay down Except for the kids who played on the playground Cause for some little girl she'll never see more than six years of life, trif-le-ing When she fell from the seesaw But umm wait, my course isn't over Fled out of the other side of her head towards a red, Range, Rover, then I ricochet And I used to watch my grandmother catch the Holy Ghost in church For her soul she would search Five years later now I'm off to work in a department store I'm foldin pants and shirts ah At the end of the week ah lawd Just enough loot to put some cheap sneakers on my feet That's when I made a promise to my momma I said "I betcha you see me at the Apollo one day and I'ma.. be kickin that fat funk [----]; black, mackadocious -- speakers in the back trunk [----]" Cause the boss is boss and need is costing me to miss classes and I feel he spoke to me to be a jackass in the future; then, who's gonna shoot ya? At this point in my life is where I chose to write rhymes.. .. instead of doing crimes Biggie: I know how it feels to wake up [----]ed up Pockets broke as hell another rock to sell People look at ya like use to used Selling drugs to all the loosers mad buddha abuser But they don't know about the stress filled day Baby on the way mad bills to pay That's why you drink tangarate So you can reminisce and wish You wasn't living so devilish s-[----] I remember I was just like you Smoking blunts with my crew. John Cale - Leaving It Up To You

The Price?

Leonard Cohen - Famous Blue Raincoat Famous Blue Raincoat It's four in the morning, the end of December I'm writing you now just to see if you're better New York is cold, but I like where I'm living There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening. I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record. Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair She said that you gave it to her That night that you planned to go clear Did you ever go clear? Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder You'd been to the station to meet every train And you came home without Lili Marlene And you treated my woman to a flake of your life And when she came back she was nobody's wife. Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth One more thin gypsy thief Well I see Jane's awake -- She sends her regards. And what can I tell you my brother, my killer What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you I'm glad you stood in my way. If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free. Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes I thought it was there for good so I never tried. And Jane came by with a lock of your hair She said that you gave it to her That night that you planned to go clear -- Sincerely, L. Cohen

My biggest problem with indie hip-hop nowadays is the lack of compelling rappers. Don't get me wrong I like a few of em, especially MF Doom, Mr. Lif and Aesop Rock, but I ain't gonna pretend they anything but mediocre rappers. For example I love Doom as a producer but would much rather hear someone else do the actual rapping. Mike Skinner's a British equivalent. But really, I'm a sucker for hardcore rap. I love the violence, I love the chaos, I love the social anxiety, the sense of helplessness and the do it yourself mentality. Anyway, I owe you an explanation of what I mean by compelling rapping, here are a few examples: Brotha Lynch Hung - RIP Organized Konfusion - Stress GZA - Cold World Jeru The Damaja - You Can't Stop The Prophet Crooklyn Dodgers - Return Of The Crooklyn Dodgers Big L - No Skinz No Endz Gravediggaz - Diary Of A Madman

And you can listen to some bitchin music at the same time. Like this great piece of history, and one of my favourite recordins, Helen Humes, Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, Willie Dixon, T-Bone Walker and Memphis Slim - Blues Ain't Nothing But a Woman

Yikes. Jeff's Tweedy's first name. That's what made my joke. The fact that you had 2 Wilco guys in 1. And I really like Uncle Tupelo. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'll stop talking about it now. Here's my harmonica player of choice. Sonny Terry. I absolutely love Hip-Hop. Pac, Jeru, Biggie, Big L, C-Bo, Killah Priest, Roots Manuva, Jehst, Pharoahe Monch, Prince Po, Brotha Lynch, Snoop, Big Pun, E-40, Slick Rick, Wu-Tang, Brand Nubian, Gang Starr, Jungle Brothers, A Tribe Called Quest, Public Enemy, Masterminds and the list goes on and on. Don't even get me started on Rap producers. Killah Priest - B.I.B.L.E. Knowledge this wisdom, this goes back when I was twelve I loved doing right but I was trapped in hell Had mad ideas, sad eyes and tears Years of fears, but yo my foes couldn't bear I searched for the truth since my youth And went to church since birth, but it wasn't worth the loot that I was paying, plus the praying I didn't like staying cuz of busy-bodies and dizzy hotties That the preacher had souped up with lies Had me cooped up lookin at loot, butt, and thighs Durin the service, he swallowed up the poor And after they heard this, they wallowed on the floor But I ignored, and explored my history that was untold And watched mysteries unfold And dropped a jewel like Solomon, but never followed men cause if you do your brain is more hollow than Space oblivia, or the abyss With no trace of trivia, left with the hiss Does it pay to be deaf, dumb and blind? From a slave we was kept from the mind And from the caves he crept from behind And what he gave, was the sect of the swine When the bible, it condemned the pig I don't mean to pull your hems or flip your wigs But we used to wear a turban, but now we're in the urban No more wearing beanies and dress like a genie No hocus pocus cause I focus on the facts And put it on the tracks and brought it through the wax I speak on Jacob, it might take up some time And too much knowledge, it might break up the ryhme I did it anyway just to wake up the mind of those who kiss stones or prays on the carpet Those who sit home, or sell books by the market Need to chill and get their mind revived For years religion did nothing but divide The basic instructions before leaving earth

You've combined 'em both to father some hideously bland musician?