Frank Zappa, Prince Paul, Robert Anton Wilson, John S. Hall and John Linnell beat each other up in my head most of the day. Just about every action that I take is the result of one of them bashing the other over the head with a shovel. Most of the time they don’t make direct contact with each other as they tussle over control, but every now and again, one of ’em lands a clean shovel-shot right to the forehead. The victim sinks into the suddenly soft earth of my brain-land like a rail spike, all the way up to his pale neck. He is rendered immobile since he can’t use his arms to defend his head under the dirt.
My personal royal rumble has a rotating cast. Just seven years ago it was Tom Robbins, Q-Tip, Kurt Vonnegut, the perennial John Linnell and lord-help-me, Dwayne “the Rock†Johnson. He’d usually win then because he knows suplexes and such. He was replaced in 2003 when he left the wrestling world for good. It then became clear that he was no longer concerned with my entertainment. Just as easily replaced were Busta Rhymes, Jay Dee, and the recently switched out MF DOOM. At some point they all did something to let me know that they were no longer concerned with my money, admiration or attention. I’m always upset by these exhibitions of free will… more proof that they’ll never be slaves to my ideas like I am to theirs.
Zappa and Hall are winning right now. Therefore I’m compelled to share with you, dear reader, parts of my psyche that don’t breathe fresh air too often. Excuse their impoliteness, they come from an autistic place and don’t get to practice social skills often enough to stay sharp.
The current soundtrack is a beautiful beat composed by Kuest, a member of the Swim Team. It’s a piece of warm psychedelic wonder and I’ve been attempting to write to it all day. It’s challenging my skill as a writer. Not because of any complex rhythmic structure—on the contrary, its got the smoothest little boom-bap swing to it. The problem is that its too genuine.
All beats, especially sampled ones, come programmed with certain pre-determined aesthetic messages. It’s a combination of the tonal vibrations of the track itself along with the intent and mood of the producer and multiplied by the intent of the composer(s) of the original sound. When an emcee hears a track, this “vibe†guides the rapper in the construction of the lyrics to the song. For example, Common heard a No ID beat tape, and from nostalgic, bluesy guitar licks of the track, he was inspired him to write “I Used to Love h.e.r.â€. However, he could have ignored this vibe and wrote a song about Polish sausages and deep-dish pizza (see “Similak Child†by Black Sheep)
Kuest’s beat is telling me to write something genuine. I wrote a verse about how tired I am and how tired you should be of mainstream rap. As of today that was the best I could come up with. This made phantom-Zappa call me a robot. Hall’s making me write about it to validate my existence. I don’t believe myself to be a mechanical person, but at the moment I don’t have much evidence to present on my behalf.
