Music Writing by Carson Arnold
Music Writing by Carson Arnold
R.B.G. WARRIORS- DEAD PREZ'S TURN OFF THE RADIO
There's hip-hop. De La Soul, Run DMC, Afrika Bambaataa. Then you gotcha' mainstream stick-shift rap. 2pac, Wu Tang Clan, Mobb Deep, Bone-Thugs, little House Of Pain here and there. Of course then there's the fluff-thug rap, that most slop-slop white boys with straight teeth and gold chains are cruisin to with Daddy's new sports car. That'd be all the r&b wigga-crap chillin' since '96, the very year when the whole world threw in its towel, cheapened, grinned and replied, "Buy Me". No need for names, breathe it in, we're boiled alive in it now. Course, there's the shock-cock rap like junkyard dogs, Cypress Hill and Ice-T. The intelligent ghetto rap- Guru, Mos Def, Fugees, The Roots- radical and dangerous, but just safe enough for ma and pa to compromise for little Alex with no posters in his room to own and play at low volume. And last but not least, the guerilla-molotov, take no prisoners, shoulder-to-shoulder, revolutionary assassins, brick against the cop's head, neo-Africa, Riot-Rap. Name 'em all well, throw your hats down and grab your guns; Public Enemy, X-Clan, The Coup, down to The Last Poets and to the Panther movement, Fela Kuti, all of Africa, the Harlem Renaissance, and back on up again to our latest rebel revolvers, Dead Prez.
Yessir, in other words, the only rap conceivable now-a-days if you ask me. In fact, possibly the only music that's close to being relevant and vital to our submerging modern veil, and important to this dark age of authority. They're all the knowing voices who've amplified the incentive of black poetry, carried the dirt of all great leaders and objectors before them, and wept with the blowing cries of the hanging tree. Rescued the Accused, fought like hell for the Hunted, and exposed War in all feathers of our daily protocol.
When Sam Cooke cried with the pained verse a change is gonna' come, Dead Prez is here to make it happen. When Malcolm X fell to the floor riddled with bullets, Dead Prez is here to carry on his word. When the Black Panthers were all killed, committed, and smothered into submission, Dead Prez is here to fight right back. And when Rev. Gary Davis chants that if he'd had his way he'd like to tear this whole building down, Dead Prez is no doubt, clearly here to make it happen. Today. Now. Soon. You.
After you listen to them you wanna immediately be black. I don't care how awful that sounds, it's true. Hey, don't look at me, question the world. Their latest release, Turn Off The Radio, isn't making a pilgrimage, isn't a dry foreplay of genres, and isn't just another commercial Uncle Tom sale that plays the cash for all top-floor executives, keeps the poster white gal dancin', and ostracizes, oppresses, and exploits the entire black population further more than it already is as a doped-up commodity. (Equation: distribution of hate = violence = drugs = Rap = white money = more)
Dead Prez is far from any of that, folks. Turn Off The Radio is not only a loaded middle-finger, but a solution, a plan, a mission, a documented statement. Something to follow, and foremost, to believe in. No Motown here. No sweet vanilla. And no phony bling-bling either. Instead, the locus of new Black Power. The stallion of soul, body and voice, angered by the policy and fueled with the words to change, question, answer and humanize it all.
The album is the first of any kind since the disclaimer this country has been registered by since post-9/11 to shatter the very Item of this event, strip George Bush naked on the front lawn of White House (or the 'rockhouse', Uncle Sam the Pusherman), disclose the famine stretching its arms across the world and attack every possible tadpole of capitalism's brutal gallows imaginable. All in twenty-seconds sometimes. Hell, rock music's at this time still pussyfooting around trying to properly tune its guitars. Still wondering what it is they're doing, strumming or plucking, living or dying. Forget that. Turn off that bullshit, they yell. This rap shit is way bigger than entertainment.
See, bin Laden was trained by the CIA, but I guess, if you're a terrorist for the U.S, then that's ok. That lyric right there is one of the golden groves of this mighty record. The type that sets fires and ignites love at the same time. There's an obvious huge, essential Black Panther/Huey Newton influence in here that seeps all throughout Dead Prez's intense revolution. Notably, the R.B.G. Code Of the Warrior teachings that is the main scale ranted throughout the entire album, most evident in tracks like "Hood News" and "Hit Me, Hit Me" (two minute bongo chant, very, very Last Poets). You're only scared of Malcolm X cuz' he died for ya', they pound and warn surging in the deliverance of "food, clothes + shelter pt. 2". The cops stop you just cuz' you're black, that's WAR, they thunder in another song. We died for diamonds in Africa . Why? . Got the idea? Get it? These guys are the Soul On Ice of rap. The explosive rhythm galloping and raining throughout the minds of all "welfare poets". The Victor Jara of the ghetto. The divine purpose of a fist.
Not since Massive Attack or Nirvana in the early nineties, not since Ice-T declared pop-shot war against all cops and Benedict pigs around, or Wu Tang Clan's epic paramount in "I Can't Go To Sleep", have I felt such a hot, raging weather of power and liberation in just one band. Screw everything else, Dead Prez is the musical answer to the universal 'may-day'. All forms of hip-hop, all colors of race, all music watch out. All white folks slangin' around town goin' "nigga" and "dawg" watch out. You ain't no motherless child. Dead Prez is armed and waiting with the thunder of a movement. Waiting for you. The rounds. The lightning.
Now crash.
Dead Prez Graves:
Turn Off The Radio (2002, Full Clip)
No More Prisons (2000, Raptivism)
Let's Get Free (2000, Relativity)
-They've also appeared on The Coup's Party Music and the tribute to Fela Kuti as a fundraiser against AIDS, Red Hot + Riot.
-Carson Arnold March 25, 2003
copyright 2003 Carson Arnold
H(ear) is an online music column consisting of interviews, articles, and investigations written by Carson Arnold. As a freelance writer for various magazines and liner notes, living in the woods of Vermont with his family, Carson widely encourages one to submit their art, writing or any interesting piece of material that you would like to share. H(ear) is accepting both promos and demos for review or any other valuable music-related subjects. If you wish to make a comment or would like to receive H(ear) weekly by email please contact Carson at [email protected]
Thanks and enjoy!
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