Again... The Crayon Box

Oh shit...

It's happening again.
Damn me, damn it all.
I'm fucking myself over,
can I stop it before its too late?

You mean more than the last,
but I'm doing the same.
I'm getting you mad and I'm pushing you away,
Why do I always screw myself over?
My mind is racing,
how do I stop this?
How do I quit?
I want the game to be over,
but not like this.
Sometimes you stop talking
and I feel like giving up
maybe I should.
I know I've lost (you.)
I just hope
that it doesnt happen again,
will you still be my friend?

The Best Kept Secret Album Review ... Mookho Makhetha

The Best Kept Secret Vol. 2, the latest offering from hip hop crew group Royale, segues to the group’s formal release, which is expected later this year. Royale is a collective from Lesotho and it features artists, Mr. Maps, Nuch and L-tore. Royale employs the talents of an array of other artists for this piece as well. The vast number of influences makes the compilation seem schizophrenic and moody. The changes in tempo, narrative and humour can be very jarring when you first hear it. But, once you get to the end, the oscillations naturally blend into each other.

Unlike most hip hop mix tapes that begin with the inescapable and interruptive ad libs of obscure hype men or the DJ himself, The Best Kept Secret Vol. 2 starts of as a conventional radio promo. A creative and fresh introduction to the mix tape, it’s like your mother calling out for you from the kitchen door to stop playing and come home for supper – it is hard to ignore. It is homage to Mr. Maps’ previous stint as the host of what was arguably one of the best music radio shows on Lesotho’s airwaves. I was hoping Mr. Maps would explore the radio motif throughout the album and not just use elements of radio to punctuate it. It might have been cool, Ray Ban and a leather jacket cool, if the whole mix tape was carried out like a radio show.

                                                                                      

The songs.

Let’s start with the car bangers. Ka Mahetla by Nuch is possibly the most idiosyncratic song on the album. Nuch almost effortlessly manoeuvres 4 different parlances in the same verse. He exhibits his bravado by interspersing English, Sesotho and Zulu lyrics. Then he adds a forth dimension of slower reggae-dancehall-inspired rhythms. Qekha’s Banana (not to be confused with the fruit) is an impressive ode to Basotho women with a very catchy chorus. The backing track is chilled and summery. It is the kind of song that could be a ubiquitous summer anthem.

Real Talk, much like All I Need, is reminiscent of the hip hop street cypher - when emcees spat rhymes from the top of the dome and blew you away with lyrical mastery before you even noticed that there was dope beat behind it. Listening to these tracks is like one is peering over a wall to watch emcees make magic in a secret basement.

L-Tore’s You Not Me and T-Mech’s Ba Tseba (ft Mosta Pi) are the most pop-oriented songs on the tape. Ba Tseba’s chunky guitar and the synthesised mid-tempo chords in You Not Me are en vogue.

The transitions between the songs seem too abrupt and jolts from one song to the next. The explosions that accompany these transitions are needless sometimes grating. By the time you notice you are in a completely new zone, the song has neared its end, punctuated with another ‘bang’ or ‘shoosh’.

The strangest transition occurs between L-Tore and Qekha’s interpretation of Kelly Rowland’s Motivation and Soul Slipping Away (Leomille ft Olive Branch). The rugged sexually charged lyrics of Motivation are juxtaposed with the morose theme of death and a broken silver cord found in Soul Slipping Away. An uneasy vibrato carries - the shuddering yet reflective offering. The beat hauntingly lingers over melancholic lyrics, forcing one to pain attention to what is being said.

Under My Arm (L-Tore Qekha & Mr. Maps) is an audacious but penetrating narrative of sexual rapture told over a hypnotic beat (see what I did there?). However, the women-sex theme is repeated so often in the rest of the album that by the time the record has spun into It’s Yours (Royale ft Minister Po), the whole idea is just trite. It’s Yours is a psychedelic trip through the minds of the hip hop stars as they vividly describe their erotic escapades, real or imagined. The stars almost sound lovelorn.

The rendition of the Bad Boy anthem, Bad Boy For Life – which here called is Backdoor For Life, for obvious reasons - is a rather underwhelming finish for the entire album. The nostalgic reference to radio at the start of the album sets one up for a more dramatic conclusion. Understandably, the song is an emphatic pronouncement or even anthem of The Backdoor team. But the track and the chorus take away from the strong lyrical content in the song. It is a rather lazy choice. Backdoor For Life does not do the rest of the mix tape any justice. It is like buying a Rolex for your father on his birthday then wrapping it up in the brown paper used to cover school text books. 

The mix tape augurs well for any forthcoming releases. It whets the palate – a good appetiser.

Find the link to the album here:  http://www.mediafire.com/?17bvt6rl77rxfid

A Day In Your Life ... Chrisette Michele

Could you buy me a day
In your life 
When I'm wearing the clothes 
That you wear, 
And could you give me your dimes for a day 
And just for one day take my place 

See mama says that I am beautiful, yeah 
And I am lovely the way that I am 
But if I am so sweet 
Why won't life 
Just give me 
What you have
What you have 
What you have

Or can I get away with
Being you for a day
Oh I wonder if I can

Put me in a Box 
For a little while
Tomorrow
Take me out, again

Or am I already
As lovely as You
Are you in my window pane
Looking back at me
Saying, Here I am 
Girl,
You're Beautiful

Could be that I am just too afraid
To become who I already am
Could it be that the life 
That was spoken to me
Is indeed in my spirit, man, Oh

Mama said touch the sky with your heels 
And to fly on the wings of the Lord
Could I only believe that 
It is inside of me
To be free
To be free
To be free

Or can I get away with
Being you for a day
Oh I wonder if I can

Put me in a Box 
For a little while
Tomorrow
Take me out, again

Or am I already
As lovely as You
Are you in my window pane
Looking back at me
Saying, Here I am 
Girl,
You're Beautiful

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=Vdr0cSJPQYA

The Funniest Thing... Selina Tan

The things I find funny
People don’t laugh
Things I don’t find funny
People always laugh
The funny thing is
When I find things funny
People laugh

Sometimes

Vodka... Joel Brouwer

The Stoli bottle's frost melts to brilliance where I press my

fingers.

Evidence.

Proof I'm here, drunk in your lamp lit kitchen,

breathing up your rented air, no intention of leaving.

Our lust

squats blunt as a brick on the table between us.

We're low on

vocabulary.

We're vodkaquiet.

Vodkadeliquescent.

Vodka doesn't like theatrics: it walks into your midnight bedroom already

naked, slips in beside you, takes your shoulders in its icy hands

and shoves.

Is that a burglar at the window?

No, he lives with me, actually.

Well, let him in for Christ's sake, let's actually get this over with

Just be... Tsholofetso Seeletsa

The day we meet was carved in stone, no rain or hail could ever destroy.

I looked at you as just a friend, not knowing what God installed,
Our paths have crossed, and here we stand. You and I are intertwined,
A day can never pass without me feeling how much I'm loved,
Even when we are far apart,
I feel your gentle hands on my face,
If you only knew how special you are I can only hope to make you see,
I'm blessed because I got to know someone like you,
I get so emotional when I think of you, I sometimes even cry,
But it’s okay because it makes me feel warm inside,
May God be with us through all the joys and tears,

Let's be together and enjoy each other.

My Mom ... Samantha Blackwood

Waking up to a new day

I find my mother there
Always up to awaken me
And to help me brush my hair
She does everything imaginable
And helps me on my way
On the road to a successful future
Every single day
Yet, sometimes she confuses me
And puzzles others too
Saying, Hey, don't talk back to me.
But then, answer, when I talk to you
I love my mother very much
But sometimes don't understand
I'm thirteen years old
And crossing the street
Still she holds my hand

But we are all thankful for our moms
That person in our lives
Who takes good care and nurture us
And supports the way we strive
No matter what we do or say
We know we'll never lose
The love and support
That they have for us in whatever path we choose
Most times my mother makes me laugh
Sometimes I think she's insane
But then again she may take a look at me
And think the very same
When she goes out and shops for food
She may even get frustrated
On the double
The cashier had better get the math right
Or else she'll be in big trouble
I used to think that no one else would do the things she'd do
Yet I'm absolutely sure
That your mother does the same things too
My mom could be a lawyer
She loves to argue too
But don't debate with her
The loser will definitely be you
So thank God for mothers
And the crazy things they do
Stop and think
When you're a parent
You’ll act the same way too

Want More Hair?... John W. McEwers

I'd love
I think
more hair
more hair
like a big
old grizzly bear
more hair makes
you manly
more hair
makes you tough
more hair feels
like carpet
more hair keeps
you rough
more hair
for pretty ladies
to rub their faces on
more hair for
guys to jealous of
and more locks that can
be flung
I think more hair would be awesome
but I wouldn't wanna overdo it
because too much hair would make
me like a little furry blanket

and I couldn't cover both of us
just you and that ain't fair
more hair!

And She Was Gone ... Ginger

She chose to walk alone.
Though others wondered why.
Refused to look before her,
Kept eyes cast upwards,
Towards the sky.

She didn't have companions.
No need for earthly things.
Only wanted freedom,
From what she felt were puppet strings.

She longed to be a bird.
That she might fly away.
She pitied every blade of grass
For planted they would stay.

She longed to be a flame.
That brightly danced alone.
Felt jealous of the steam
That made the air its only home.

Some say she wished too hard.
Some say she wished too long.
But we awoke one autumn day
To find that she was gone.

Some say she wished too hard.
Some say she wished too long.
But we awoke one autumn day
To find that she was gone.

The trees, they say, stood witness.
The sky refused to tell.
But someone who had seen it
Said the story played out well.

She spread her arms out wide.
Breathed in the break of dawn.
She just let go of all she held...

And then she was gone.


(From the cartoon series 'As Told By Ginger' )

Bring Me The African Guy... Solo

At least you have your breasts to play with when
you’re alone.
Breasts,
      after all,
have more subtlety,
more nuance,

Than a penis—
which is really
straight
        forward and BORING.

Beautiful, for a black girl … Shelly-Ann Woo

Straight narrow nose

Small pouty pink lips

High cheekbones Wavy locks

You are beautiful

For a black girl they say

My heart aches.

Racial prejudice

Still lives on in the 21st century western world

They have an obvious preference for the mocha covered Scandinavian girl

To not have Broad, flared nose

Wide full lips

Round cheeks

Nappy coarse hair

Is my good fortune?!

I shall shun your Euro-centric standard

Your world of black is not beauty

To tell me I am beautiful you may

But don’t you dare tell me I am beautiful, for a black girl