All about his dad and his drug use is really pretty great. The beat is so weird too, such an ambivalent feel and then over the top of it floats this classic Tom Scott mix of anger, grief, pain, neurosis, indignation… and somewhere deep underneath it all, it’s coming from a place of deep care, love and respect and commitment to individual autonomy and anti-authoritarianism. His work speaks to me like almost no other artist – from one angry, frustrated, cocky, occasionally neurotic white guy to another.
Couple of bonuses:
(Incidentally, that last track, Tom’s verse is the only one that manages to establish, develop and reiterate the theme/title of the track! No slight to the other guys, both of whom have rock solid and awesome flow, but we’re talking quite different league of lyricist)
I’ve been listening to this mixtape on an off since late 2012. Only one or two others even comes close.
This is a pretty amazing clip. In terms of song writing tho, I think I prefer (tho that might just be that im more familiar with) Water Me? Idk i don’t really love her delivery in Two Weeks, its too much ‘breathy young girl’ for me.
The whole album LP1 is on Spotify. Catchy stuff.
I haven’t seen this film but this music is really great.
Benge has an album of songs made with synths, once from each year between 68 and 87 (bazinga).
(I couldn’t find a youtube vid of the song but if you use Spotify, listen to this one the 1981 Yamaha CS70M – it is hauntingly beautiful)
“Actually, in spite of the fact that everyone considered him mad, José Arcadio Sugundo was at that time the most lucid inhabitant of the house. He taught little Aureliano how to read and write, initiated him in the study of the parchments, and he inculcated him with such a personal interpretation of what the banana company had meant to Macondo that many years later, when Aurelian became part of the world, one would have thought that he was telling a hallucinated version, because it was radically opposed to the false one that the historians had created and consecrated in the schoolbooks. In the small isolated room where the arid air never penetrated, nor the dust, nor the heat, both had the atavistic vision of an old man, his back to the window, wearing a hat with a brim like the wings of a crow who spoke about the world many years before they had been born. Both described at the same time how it was always March there and always Monday, and then they understood that José Arcadio Buendia was not as crazy as the family said, but that he was the only one who had enough lucidity to sense the truth of the fact that time also stumbled and had accidents and could therefore splinter and leave an eternalized fragment in a room.” Garbriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude, p.355.
This is my second favourite passage from the whole book (the first one involves a two page long description of some rather animated and purposive blood trails and their passage throughout a town, across roads, under tables, skirting objects, etc. Blood is fairly magical in this book. Heck everything is magical, its fair to say.)