An extremely limited edition copy of Making Space, in a full colour gatefold cd sleeve. Your copy will be just 1 of 85 CDs that are available to the public and one of just 50 CDs that are available from Bandcamp. Choose the "Signed" option if you want me to write my name on it.
Includes unlimited streaming of Making Space
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
Many, many weeks after recording this tune, I fell deeply out of sorts with one of the lines. I say at one stage, "Some chicks rip mics but none of them produce". Of course, many do produce but my point was that producers are overwhelmingly men. Always wanted to change it to "few of them produce" but I never did. I regret that. What a difference a word makes.
Shit's changed… (ad-lib)
Let me tell you bout a story when,
Emcees were still underground and poor with pens,
Used to flow on the corners in fours and send
Their lines to the atmos for props, not ends.
And they, got their dues not from rocking shoes,
But rocking rhymes and frees, spitting lines. And leave,
The cypher, the night was a pocket of hope.
Rock a show for ten cats and leave the place broke.
I'm not joking, old shit it got me open,
And kept me coping, kept me clean like soap and -
The scene that we lived in was gifted but proud? Hardly.
Mostly emcees dropped verses at house parties.
And nobody knew our names. All the same -
We copped fame when we dropped the flame,
And kept the glow on. Every emcee they'd beat make too.
And DJ's could cut as well as juggle a break loop.
Fake crews were plenty. The beef became hotter.
We'd call them accent rappers, they'd call us ockers.
Sometimes shit went down and there were fights.
But it would always get squashed by the end of the night.
Let's slip up a few years…
Some cats are dropping wax, some cats disappeared,
Some cats are getting cheers.
Some cats are getting signed to a label for years.
And it appears that the scene is much better,
But all said an done it's just one small step up,
The underground is… much maligned,
Hipsters are spitting rhymes all crazy off time
And the laziest lines are getting… shine for cash,
Coz every second act is the next big splash
Fashion is now more important than the passion,
And actors are acting when directors call action.
Lacking direction… losing affection,
For breaks and horn sections, fucked without protection.
Lessons are learned but we learn them too late
Trying to shift weight create by the records release date.
Seems simple like a kid with dimples,
We rocked beats in the streets, now it pops like pimples,
You hear it on the FM. Back when I started -
They wouldn't play us. Now they've had a change of heart.
It's no longer left to the PBS, yes, we've come a long way,
But got ages left. And it's best -
To just back down, let it settle,
When we first kicked raps, had to watch the mic level,
Couldn't afford a popper stopper, a proper dropper,
Would spot a pop a mile off and hip hoppers,
New their old school, plus their funk and jazz,
Used to wish we were Scott La Rock or Grandmaster Caz,
Now we're after cash. Is it really different?
I mean those rappers used to claim wealth and even slander women,
And now we stand within them. Living with less precision,
Missing mission status and these rappers even lacking rhythm.
And it's just a bunch of dudes. Too true.
Some chicks rip mics but none of them produce.
The sad fact is, we preached what we practice.
And realised what we theorised fore/for we had this.
from Making Space,
released October 31, 2012
Written, produced and performed by FG
FG is a Perth-based, Melbourne-born producer and emcee. In the past he has produced and rapped on a number of albums with
the likes of The Funkoars, Muphin, Draino, Terra Firma and Crixus. He can usually be found haunting dusty old record shops muttering "Need more breaks. Need more breaks."
FG is one of a few people to be featured on both seminal oz hip hop releases, Culture of Kings 1 and 2....more