09.02.2011 călin torsan
I've known them for yonks. Not sure how long. A long time, all the same. Must be, 'cos back then, I still listened to music on cassettes. One day, just like any other ordinary guy, I suddenly flipped. I was hungry for trouble, something other than normal. So, I shaved my head, got my hands on a hip hop tape, one of those with a parental warning on it, opened the window wiiiide, and forced my neighbours listen, to chew on, to ram down their throats, the music of the Ghetto-Dacians. That was my first encounter with them. With Deceneu, and Metadon, Vexxatu Vex aka Norzeatic, with their ill-tempered lyrics, as if struck off the tip of the boot, the toe cap, spinning, like a Hagi free-kick. With the tracks 7 zile and Din sub, with this gypsy music, artfully put to a beat, with "soldiers in the head".
It wasn't really music, though with its recognisable traces of rhythm, a melody of sorts and a smattering of harmony, you might just about call it that. No, this was poetry. Heavy poetry, as modern as it gets, twisting the words to breaking-point, reducing the great primordial soup to a splotch of phlegm, dominated by and crammed full with word play, though that might be a better way to describe a book of crosswords. Things you need to listen to over and over again before you even start to think you're on to something. Villon.

The lives of minstrels, minnesingers, troubadours conveying their words by the delicate, unseen wings of an inexistent cantilena. And here's the strangest thing, something you can't ignore: knitted together and at times dominated by a dry, dull rhythm meant to make you move your head, brain and all, for many the lyrics are like a shadow, an inaccessible place, the wardrobe that hides lovers. A lost bet. Their meaning is worth deciphering, though, if only for the fact that the language, the words, in the form they reach us, all of them docile sheep, members of a flock, have little left to offer. What's left to squeeze out of an already squeezed lemon?

Getting to know them some years later, I began to pay more and more attention to their words. As much as I could. I caught myself borrowing some of their phrasing, the way their internal voices become external gestures. I was no longer surprised by their simplicity and their real names; these names, the ones they were baptised with, were in stark contrast to them, especially in the case of Deceneu. What do you mean, Viorel?! Ha, haaaaaaa!
Have a listen... You'll find them all over the internet. I wouldn't know what to suggest... These two made the history books in Romanian hip hop. Hear that, Guess Who?
călin torsanSour and cold like Romanian ground beef and potato salad. Queasy like mayonnaise. Good on the holidays and bad during the rest of the year. Has olives instead of eyes and bell pepper slices instead of lips.
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Just Tilly

09.02.2011 la 16:57

misto (adj.v.) ca e/sunt misto (subst.n.)!



09.02.2011 la 18:30

tre sa fii tanar ca sa intelegi 'desenul' asta acustic?
ce bine ca inca pot face acest exercitiu...


din miziliada

09.02.2011 la 21:42

Torsane, te-ai injugat si matale la buiestrul cuvintului si ti-ai dat singur bici. pacat ca Gais are opritor la "cuvente". te-ar fi prins binele din toate partile daca te-ar fi lasat aici sa-ti scrii cartile: de la sfirsitul adolescentei pina la sfirsitul admiratiei. da' nu s-a intimplat, pen' ca, vorba ta si a multor cartiere mustarii din care se scurg cuventerii, pen' ca, asa precum ziceam, admiratia pentru Deceneu, cu care o vreme mi-ai facut zile abrazive, pi cari di la tini mi le-ai dat pi buni, si pentru Vexxatu Vexx, care mi-a smuls si mie ofiteru' din cap in multe dimineti cu fleru' rimei, admiratia asta ti-a ramas intacta. asa ca poate mai inhami tu niste d-astea si pentru alte dati, si pentru alte parti. "Vijeliosii" de pe placile picapului din '80 n-au imbatrinit, s-au apucat de mustarit si ie bine.


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