mooBlog 15-9-08: Putting To Sleep A Lion

As I finished work today, I started thinking about modern popular music. Something told me that there was, and still is something definitively wrong with it. I guess it started by thinking about the most recent of pop music, and possibly the most popular current genre today, that is Hip-Hop. When I think about the history of this music, in particular, what the most well known artists had originally been trying to achieve, I can’t feel a little let down by the state of it. Take this song for example.
When I think about the message that this song carries, I guess I feel slightly refreshed to know that in a time when the tides of the civil rights movement seemed to be receding, that a group of young black men in America were able to say what the problem was, and to say it right to the face of the people oppressing them. They stood for nothing other than the idea that they should be able lead the lives that they choose, without the persecution of the government and their enforcers, namely, the police. In the years that followed, somehow, this music that continued this message was high-jacked by corporate America. They saw hip-hop as a medium to put forward their brands and products, because they were sly enough to recognize that this was the easiest way to reach the fastest growing ethnicity within their country. Artist, after artist was swayed into trusting that what they were doing was right, it is little wonder that those groups who actually did verbalize about the injustices of the world had to bow out under the pressure of the combined attacks from the corporation machine (which were ironically the people ‘the message’ was aimed at taking the power away from.) Bands such as Jurassic Five and Rage Against the Machine, had to indefinitely halt the progression of their groups, as they saw this as the only alternative to eventually being used as an advertising mule, someone with enough following to generate profit for the very people they were attempting to stand up to.
My point about hip hop is this: When all the kids are listening to an artist ‘rapping’ lyrics like 50 cent's "In Da Club," who the FUCK is going to take the notion of social progressiveness seriously?
This isn’t to say this mutilation of a pop-music genre is isolated solely to hip-hop. In fact, punk rock, rock, dance, disco, etc, etc, have all had moments where they end up selling out their fans for free lunch, and quite honestly, it sickens me. Songs from these originally rebellious genres should never be used to sell you a product. They should be a protest, a verbal riot and A BIG FUCKING MIDDLE FINGER to all those who think that this pilfering of the people’s music is acceptable.
I’m not saying that these bands are the devil. And I’m definitely not saying that there isn’t amazing hip-hop doesn’t exist anymore. I just want you to know that we can fight against the robbery of OUR music, whatever genre that may be.
Some wise words to finish this one off:
“If we settle for nothing now, then we’ll settle for nothing later!” – Rage Against the Machine
Solitude proves itself as the only form of true peace. The inevitability of death outlined by the wind, arriving as strongly as it departs, shows us an able but unjust life.
In my dreams and the antiquity of nostalgia, I dream of my childhood, when the company of others made me feel secure. Just as I had once thought that man's eternal battle was against the universe, I now see that it is against himself. Man cannot describe his life in the battles won, but the battles lost. It is human nature to verbalize our victories, to shut out the desperate haunting of our losses.
However, loud voices are carried by stronger men, who, inevitably also pass onto the next world without it. It is this inescapable destiny that has assured me that my vulnerabilities are completely redundant. Those who go quietly, still go, just as those who scream and bellow at the unjustness, those who suffer at the hands of the gods and those who believe in the virtue of solitude still go. Memory is not concrete, which is an incredible thing to remember. In the heat of the dire summer, when the dryness of the air seems overwhelming, when the trees lose their leaves, not through natural process, but through a sickly thirst, it is then that we see the world at its natural pace. Solemn and sober, we wander the streets of our towns, wondering upon the stupidity of rushing, and we recognize the importance of knowing that that which forces us to lose our pace is wonderful.
A burden of memory has fixed itself in my life. It is certain. Regardless of the poisoness ales and long rivers of tears, the dense and heavy heart that remains is tormenting. The false grins hide the long soul within, allowing me to function without the momentous task of swallowing my pride, of begging for another chance, which if it were granted, would only serve to move my torment to another time, and the entire proven process would eventuate once more.