Monday, October 10, 2005

b@byl0n, i

i and i will never die ...

now, i have always been a relatively cool cat, i mean i'm usually or almost always in the know about music, culture and social trends along with political thought. i have always enjoyed this and have taken it as a given that i can chill in almost any social realm or circle, or so i thought.

the other day i'm hangin with a very stoney friend of mine doing what comes naturally. on this day we were playing music and recording vocal tracks around the studio. i have been into music a long time and have also been playing the bass guitar for quite some time, I'VE BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK, let's just say.

'hey man'
'i got some homies coming over.'
'right on i'm down.'
'they are musicians, you ought to dig em.'
'right arm! cool wit me.'

we continued to play for a bit until someone knocked at the door. three rasta-style cats show up and my buddy and all them hug and exchange 'rasta'-ish greetings (i'm pretty sure in only the way that non-rastas and white kids do). a lil 'fakin-Jamaican', this ought to be good. hell, i've played in ska bands and reggae set-ups, i always dug the flava.

we all go upstairs to the living room of the studio and settle down around the low ikea coffee table. next thing ya know we are sparking up a 'chali' (a chalis for the rasta herb slang impaired) and sitting down for a lil bit to rap and hang out.

this is when i notice something. all the dreads did'nt know eachother. so when we got together to puff they all started to fake jamaican at eachother like birds from similar flocks chirping at eachother for praise. 'fire up to jah' and such when they lit the bowl , etc....

everything was going good until they decided to toast the chali to room. as the dreads toast they said a prayer to bring down babylon and turn all 'them' into rastas. them? huh? but this is what got me, when they all said BABYLON they all looked at ME. WTF? am i the man now? did i send all the california suburban dreads into the woods to hide in religious persecution like the mountain men of jamaica? GIVE ME A BREAK. HEY BUDDY, at least my accent is real and i don't splip between the islands of jah and brentwood california with every conversation depending on who i'm trying to impress with my pseudo-soulfulness and happy-nappy hygene.

as the evening went on they sang repetitive songs about (what else?) praying to jah and other such contrived culture-vulture crap.

this shit kills me, it really does. 'BABYLON I and I' said dc9!

listening to ))) the real deal

Bad Brains - I Against I
Bad Brains - Pay To Cum