Cacophone

This is a new blog, entitled cacophone, because I frequently make awful noises. Let me qualify that statement; "I" refers to Unfire. That is me. It doesn't take a lot of work to find the name society assigns to me on a day-to-day basis, I'm just not typing it here. Not now anyway.

I like taking photos, writing, listening to all sorts of music, playing football, watching sports in general, film and reading books. In time I hope I'll be able to provide information about these so giving them generalised labels now would be pointless and potentially misleading.

The first thing I'm going to do is provide my maiden readers with the lyrics (as far as I can hear them) to the title track of the album "Bayani" by excellent Seattle hip-hop duo Blue Scholars. Consider it a gift. It's possibly my favourite track off the album, which is well worth checking out. And I wouldn't even say that hip-hop is my area of expertise.

Well I couldn't find lyrics for this track anywhere else online, so I'm going to put them here. I think they're mostly right and I really like them:

Turn off your radio, Turn up your stereo

Northwest rock, rock on, What’s the scenario?

Four years ago two students skipped a class

When they crafted an album, Some called it a classic

But we’ve grown past, It was good while it lasted,

Now it’s time to put that education into practice,

Beats, rhymes, rice be the breakfast of champions,

We hold the whole town now,

Together with the plan to hold the mic with compassion

Like Ruby did Malcolm,

Travelled down the coast since we dropped the last album,

That plus one is how long we’ve been war-torn,

It’s the return of the hard-knocking hardcore

From hard rock to hip hop,

The migration of flocks who once mocked what we ride for

It’s side war,

From sidewalks to billboards and stores

Telling all poor people that “the world is yours

But this money is ours, you can get a little back,

You start putting in hours, you can widen the gap”

But you can see it in the towers standing next to the squatters

Who be wandering the city in search of a job offer

The first generation in the US of A to be paid less wages

Than the ones that came before

The wicked waged war in the desert terrain,

24 short bars could have measured the pain

So now I, greet the neighbour daily

He’s on his porch smoking

Overhead thunderclouds move in slow motion

Came across an ocean in hope of some better days

Expatriated citizens of third world decay

Where children translate for their parents say

Get a landscape where the working class can escape

These languages twisted, tongues get unravelled

Can’t understand each other in this modern day Babel (/babble?)

Now we’re trying to get a piece of what the city broke down,

Barely claiming families but quick to claim the town,

Recognise it’s serious but ain’t afraid to clown,

Trained for confrontation there’s no other way around,

These sacred ground desecrators, they try to decimate us,

They hit the ballot like the mayor’s gonna save us,

And it pains me to say this, but pain is what made this,

It’s gonna take more than just rain to change this.

(Just some rain to change this.)