giovedì 5 dicembre 2013

When the revolution comes


When the revolution comes
Jesus Christ is gonna be standing on the corner of Lennox Ave and 125th Street trying to catch the first gypsy cab out of Harlem, when the revolution comes

Poeti, musicisti, attivisti, rivoluzionari, “MC” senza microfoni, newyorchesi. Neri. Last Poets.
Abiodun Oyewole, Omar Ben Hassen, Jalal Mansur Nuriddin si incontrano spesso all’incrocio tra Lennox Avenue e la 125°. Mettono in ritmo, più che in musica, le loro rime.
Non si parla di sesso, né d’amori finiti o ragazze dei sogni. Si parla di società, di politica, di razza, razze e razzismi. Di diritti. Lo si fa in un modo che 20 anni dopo abbiamo chiamato hip-hop. Non ci sono chitarre, pianoforti, mellotron né sezioni d’archi. C’è il battito delle mani, la chiamata e risposta tra il solista e il coro.
Per un bianco ascoltare questa musica è sempre spiazzante. Inevitabilmente; ai limiti dell’imbarazzo.
Chi dice il contrario, mente.
Si potrà obbiettare che per chi ascolta, parla, ha ascoltato, scritto e trattato di Ornette Coleman, dell’Art Ensemble of Chicago e di tutta quell’ enorme mole di Great Black Music, potrebbe essere facile sparare qualche sentenza anche in questo caso. Non è così; però certamente anche questa è “Great Black Music” nella pura accezione che ne dava Joseph Jarman.
Ma resta spiazzante.
Come trovarsi nel mezzo di una scena tipo quella in cui Clint Eastwood/Henry Callaghan va ad interrogare  Albert Popwell/Mustapha in “Cielo di piombo ispettore Callaghan”:

-You got the wrong number, boy. We don't deal in violence.-
-What do you deal in?
-Waiting.-
-For what?-
-Waiting for all you honkies...to blow each other up so we can move on in.-

O come nel pranzo che Al Pacino/Tony D’amato offre a Willie Beamen/Jamie Foxx in “Ogni maledetta domenica”:

-Maybe it’s not racism, maybe it’s placism, but the black man still gotta know his place, right, coach?-




Forse c’è ancora una cronica incomunicabilità.
Credo che qualunque bianco americano possa ascoltare un album del genere, come Last Poets, apprezzarlo, ammirarlo, magari idolatrarlo; ma mai farlo proprio. Figurarsi noi europei degli anni duemila. Tanta parte scappa, tanta parte sfugge, è un’esperienza di pura superficie, di puro radicalismo-chic tanto per dire “Però, che figo che è condividere gli ideali nella Black Nation!”.
Ammettiamolo, finalmente.
E’ come appendere al muro la maschera di ebano al ritorno dal safari in Kenya.
Quale Kenya, quale safari?
Non esiste quel Kenya, quella Tanzania. Non esiste quell’Africa. Esiste, anzi persiste nella perenne mentalità missionario-colonizzatrice-educatrice tipica della storia centenaria del bianco europeo cattolico.
Educhiamo il buon selvaggio in cambio di qualche devoto alla nostra sacrosanta religione. L’unica giusta, s’intende!
Sono troppo estremista? Chiedere a Kurtz per chiarimenti…
Allora ho deciso che tanto vale ascoltare “Last Poets” per quello che è, esternamente: un archetipo di hip-hop analogico all’incrocio tra Lennox Avenue e la 125°. Ad Harlem. Rime, ritmi, africanismi, bidoni di alluminio percossi con le mani, belle voci; frenesia da rito laico; ma pur sempre rito. Testi strampalati, che mi dispiace di non potere interiorizzare fino in fondo. Anzi, il farlo mi sembrerebbe un’ingerenza indebita.
Non voglio portarmi a casa la maschera. Mi basta ammirarla nella bottega dello scultore.



Niggers are scared of revolution

Niggers are scared of revolution
But niggers shouldn't be scared of revolution
Because revolution is nothing but change
And all niggers do is change
Niggers come in from work and change into pimping clothes
And hit the streets to make some quick change
Niggers change their hair from black to red to blond
And hope like hell their looks will change
Nigger kill other niggers
Just because one didn't receive the correct change
Niggers change from men to women, from women to men
Niggers change, change, change
You hear niggers say
Things are changing? Things are changing?
Yeah, things are changing
Niggers change into 'Black' nigger things
Black nigger things that go through all kinds of changes
The change in the day that makes them rant and rave
Black Power! Black Power!
And the change that comes over them at night, as they sigh and moan:
White thighs, ooh, white thighs
Niggers always goin' through bullshit change
But when it comes for real change
Niggers are scared of revolution
Niggers are actors, niggers are actors
Niggers act like they are in a hurry
To catch the first act of the 'Great White Hope'
Niggers try to act like Malcolm
And when the white man doesn't react
Toward them like he did Malcolm
Niggers want to act violently
Niggers act so coooool and slick
Causing white people to say:
What makes you niggers act like that?
Niggers act like you ain't never seen nobody act before
But when it comes to acting out revolution
Niggers say: 'I can't dig them actions!'
Niggers are scared of revolution
Niggers are very untogether people
Niggers talk about getting high and riding around in 'els'
Niggers should get high and ride to hell
Niggers talk about pimping
Pimping that, pimping what
Pimping yours, pimping mine
Just to be pimping, is a helluva line
Niggers are very untogether people
Niggers talk about the mind
Talk about: My mind is stronger than yours
"I got that bitch's mind uptight!"
Niggers don't know a damn thing about the mind
Or they'd be right
Niggers are scared of revolution
Niggers fuck. Niggers fuck, fuck, fuck
Niggers love the word fuck
They think it's so fuckin' cute
They fuck you around
The first thing they say when they're mad: 'Fuck it'
You play a little too much with them
They say 'Fuck you'
When it's time to TCB
Niggers are somewhere fucking
Try to be nice to them, they fuck over you
Niggers don't realize while they doin' all this fucking
They're getting fucked around
And when they do realize it's too late
So niggers just get fucked up
Niggers talk about fucking
Fuckin' that, fuckin' this, fuckin' yours, fuckin' my sis
Not knowing what they're fucking for
They ain't fucking for love and appreciation
Just fucking to be fucking
Niggers fuck white thighs, black thighs, yellow thighs, brown thighs
Niggers fuck ankles when they run out of thighs
Niggers fuck Sally, Linda, and Sue
And if you don't watch out
Niggers will fuck you!
Niggers would fuck 'Fuck' if it could be fucked
But when it comes to fucking for revolutionary causes
Niggers say 'Fuck revolution!'
Niggers are scared of revolution
Niggers are players, niggers are players, are players
Niggers play football, baseball and basketball
While the white man cuttin' off their balls
When the nigger's play ain't tight enough
To play with some black thighs
Niggers play with white thighs
To see if they still have some play left
And when there ain't no white thighs to play with
Niggers play with themselves
Niggers tell you they're ready to be liberated
But when you say 'Let's go take our liberation'
Niggers reply: 'I was just playin'
Niggers are playing with revolution and losing
Niggers are scared of revolution
Niggers do a lot of shootin'
Niggers do a lot of shootin'
Niggers shoot off at the mouth
Niggers shoot pool, niggers shoot craps
Niggers cut around the corner and shoot down the street
Niggers shoot sharp glances at white women
Niggers shoot dope into their arm
Niggers shoot guns and rifles on New Year's Eve
A new year that is coming in
The white police will do more shooting at them
Where are niggers when the revolution needs some shots!?
Yeah, you know. Niggers are somewhere shootin' the shit
Niggers are scared of revolution
Niggers are lovers, niggers are lovers are lovers
Niggers love to see Clark Gable
Make love to Marilyn Monroe
Niggers love to see Tarzan fuck all the natives
Niggers love to hear the Lone Ranger yell "Heigh Ho Silver!"
Niggers love commercials, niggers love commercials
Oh how niggers love commercials:
"You can take niggers out of the country, but
You can't take the country out of niggers"
Niggers are lovers, are lovers, are lovers
Niggers loved to hear Malcolm rap
But they didn't love Malcolm
Niggers love everything but themselves
But I'm a lover too, yes I'm a lover too
I love niggers, I love niggers, I love niggers
Because niggers are me
And I should only love that which is me
I love to see niggers go through changes
Love to see niggers act
Love to see niggers make them plays and shoot the shit
But there is one thing about niggers I do not love
Niggers are scared of devolution




When the revolution comes

When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes some of us will probably catch it on TV, with chicken hanging from our mouths. You'll know its revolution cause there won't be no commercials
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
Preacher pimps are gonna split the scene with the communion wine stuck in their back pockets
Faggots won’t be so funny then and all the junkies will quit their noddin’ and wake up When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
Transit cops will be crushed by the trains after losing their guns and blood will run through the streets of Harlem drowning anything without substance
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
Our pearly white teeth froth the mouths that speak of revolution without reverence
The cost of revolution is 360 degrees understand the cycle that never ends
Understand the beginning to be the end and nothing is in between but space and time that I make or you make to relate or not to relate to the world outside my mind your mind. Speak not of revolution until you are willing to eat rats to survive
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes; guns and rifles will be taking the place of poems and essays. Black cultural centers will forts supplying the revolutionaries with food and arms when the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
White death will froth the walls of museums and churches breaking the lies that enslaved our mothers when the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
Jesus Christ is gonna be standing on the corner of Lennox Ave and 125th St trying to catch the first gypsy cab out of Harlem, when the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
Jew merchants will give away motza balls and gifilka fish to anyone they see with afros. Frank Shieffin will give away the Apollo to the first person he sees wearing a blue dashiki, when the revolution comes
When the revolution comes afros gone be trying to straighten their heads and straightened heads gone be tryin to wear afros
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes
But until then you know and I know niggers will party and bullshit and party and bullshit and party and bullshit and party and bullshit and party...

Some might even die before the revolution comes

5 commenti:

Massimiliano Manocchia ha detto...

L'ascolto di superficie è una caratteristica degli anni Duemila; vero è che i Last Poets sono impenetrabili per un europeo con la carnagione chiara, ma lo è anche il fatto che oggi non si ha voglia di penetrare un bel niente. Culturalmente parlando, certo...
Bellissimo articolo.

Vlad Tepes ha detto...

Sono d'accordo con la superficialità attuale, ma ci sono gradi e gradi di ascolto.
Un italiano potrà mai capire. Il blues del Mississippi degli anni Dieci?
No. Eppure chi si legge Alan Lomax (si sforza di leggerlo), ha il privilegio di avvicinarsi alla comprensione.

mr.Hyde ha detto...

Le voci che chiamano e quelle che rispondono da una parte e dell’altra della foresta da una parte e dall’altra del ghetto metropolitano, ed in sottofondo le percussioni. Le rivendicazioni e le lotte sono rimaste più o meno le stesso come così il razzismo, che pensavamo ad un certo momento fosse scomparso..

Evil Monkeys ha detto...

C'e' un sacco di musica che mi piace un sacco... su cui avrei mille cose da dire; che mi sembrano tutte stupide, tirate un po' ad indovinare, senza profondità, penetrazione, cognizione.
Pazienza, resterà la fruizione "a pelle" che poi alla fine magari è anche la cosa più importante e che rende certe cose universali.
Però sarebbe bello "sapere" di più.
Thanksss guysss!!

Jacopo Serafinelli ha detto...

Niggers are very untogether people
...allora in comune coi bianchi...questa la vedo proprio bene...ossìa...bene ma male!

...oggi non si ha voglia di penetrare un bel niente...dice Mssimiliano...e dice bene...ossìa...bene m male!
Jacopo

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