I’m the Devil, I love Metal!

I’d been revisiting The Pick of Destiny lately, for the fuck of it, prompting me to a) marvel at the badness of Dave Grohl’s ass, as well as b) develop my appreciation for Ronnie James Dio. But I think it was my recent experience watching Anvil: The Story of Anvil that put me over the edge into what I can now officially declare a full-on metal kick. Anyway, stretching the parameters of this blog’s ostensible focus on music “with soul,” I’m including the first song from Dio’s Holy Diver, which I feel has a timely and positive message promoting healthy self-esteem and touting the freedom of expression! What could possibly be said to have more soul than that? Also, Anvil’s “Metal On Metal.” For the fuck of it.

Dio – Stand Up and Shout

Anvil – Metal On Metal

“Big Momma Thing,” by Lil’ Kim

In honor of her stint on Dancing With the Stars. Truly the classiest class-act of them all [I have taken some artistic liberty with punctuation, but the sentiment is entirely and eternally hers].

[Intro:]
You got it goin’ on, wha wha
Uh, wha wha
(etc.)

[Verse One: Lil' Kim]

I used to be scared of “The Dick.”
Now I throw lips to the shit!
Handle it like a real bitch–
Heather Hunter*, Janet Jacme–
take it in the butt. Yah, yaess, what??
I got land in Switzerland (even got sand in the Marylands),
Bahamas in the spring. Baby, it’s a Big Momma thing–
can’t tell by the diamonds in my rings?
That’s how many times I wanna cum: twenty-one
(and another one, and another one, and another one).
24 carots, nigga–
that’s when I’m fuckin’ wit’ the average nigga.
Work the shaft, brothers be battin’ me (and oh,
don’tcha like the way I roll and play wit’ my bushy?).
Tell me, what’s on your mind when your tongue’s in the pussy–
is it marriage?
Baby carriage?
Shit no! On a dime, shit is mine!
Got to keep ‘em comin’ all the time.

[Chorus (Lil' Cease, Lil' Kim)]

Killers be quiet, my nigga bring the riots.
Tough talk, tough walk?
Shit is tired.
You wanna be this Queen B, but you can’t be.
That’s why you’re mad at me.

Killers be quiet, my nigga bring the riots.
Tough talk, tough walk?
Shit is tired!
You wanna be this Queen B, but you can’t be–
that’s why you’re mad at me.

[Verse Two: Jay Z]

How B.I.G. and ‘Un’ trust you in the studio with me?!?
Don’t they know I’m tryin’ to sex you continuosly
(pull a high power coup, make you jump ship, leave who you with)?
I’m with the Roc-A-Fella crew–
trip you for the cheese,
tear your boom up,
spread a ill Boomer, make you flip on Little Ceas.
Pushin’ backwards,
get the dough from your platinum hits,
rock Lil’ Kim hats and shit!
I gets down and dirty for the dough!
I got love and Big know it.
(He must got the studio bugged!)
Probably, as we speak, he’s on his way up the street
with the M.A.F.I.A. thugs and all types of heat!
But I ain’t tryin’ to beef,
I’m just tryin’ to eat
(horizontally–the way I hold my iron, sweet!).
And no, my niggas,

but I like the sound.

“Lil’ Kim and Jigga…”
It sounds like figures.

[Chorus]

Killers be quiet, my nigga bring the riots.
Tough talk, tough walk?
Shit is tired.
You wanna be this Queen B, but you can’t be.
That’s why you’re mad at me.

Killers be quiet, my nigga bring the riots.
Tough talk, tough walk?
Shit is tired!
You wanna be this Queen B, but you can’t be–
that’s why you’re mad at me.

[Verse Three: Lil' Kim]

Before, I caught some nigga’s disease–
got caught with his ki’s.
B.I.G. scooped a young bitch off her knees,
threw me at high priced Beams**.

Face on TVs,
platinum CDs–

shit, I never fought.

Saw a nigga whah–
pussy greased up–
stack the G’s up (keep the knees up!).
What the fuck?  Stay fillin (half a millin!).
Geneva Diva–
yeah, I throws it down,
lay around, clown…
The clock stops for no one.
Never 68 and owe 1 (takes one to know one)–
better off wit’ the Playboy magazines, uh!
Fuckin’ wit’ da Don?!?!?
Push the keys, Gs threes for papis***.
Yeah, I ride crate state to state.
Lieutenant takes mad dimes, from New York to Anaheim.
While you daydream and whine,
I’ll just keep gettin mine!

And I’m married to this!
Ya’ll strategy misses–still plannin’ weddings?!?

M.A.F.I.A. also deadens all the bullshit–
any “type of-” threatens to pull shit? Uh!

[Chorus]

[repeat x4:]
Killers be quiet, my nigga bring the riots.
Tough talk, tough walk?
Shit is tired.
You wanna be this Queen B, but you can’t be.
That’s why you’re mad at me.

Killers be quiet, my nigga bring the riots.
Tough talk, tough walk?
Shit is tired!
You wanna be this Queen B, but you can’t be–
that’s why you’re mad at me.

* former pornstar, turned hip-hop artist. (Wikipedia article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heather_Hunter)
** most likely BMWs
*** a reference that is completely lost on me.

Beware of the Blog

I have a certain music and film professor to thank (you know who you are) for successfully getting “The Blob” stuck in my head, with no prospect of leaving in the foreseeable future.

In case you’re not privy:

This was introduced as an example of musical atrocity in film, along with the bicycle scene (“Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head”) from Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid and Henry Mancini’s “Baby Elephant Walk” (the latter included superfluously, I am told, into the 1962 film Hatari–suffice it to say that the song title leaves very little to be said about the scene in which it appears). Now, one of these things is not like the other, as only later did I learn that Burt Bacharach also composed the aforementioned novelty gem seen above. I don’t mind a fair amount of proseletizing about bad music or bad films, much less from a professor of both (the tendency exists at the near-molecular level here), but let’s at least be fair about terminology. Opposition to the use of certain types of music in film is fine, but there is a point where a pathological opposition exclusively to the use of Burt Bacharach in film should–and by all means, should be allowed to–be advertised as such. I mean, I would get behind that 100% (or, at least, the right to have it–please…it’s Bacharach).

Spiral Frog

is not as good as Ruckus.

Ann. Peebles.

“I Can’t Stand the Rain.”  Repeat.  Tina Turner’s extended version, then da Capo.

C’mon, People Now…

So, not so much a chance that you’d have stumbled upon this blog by happenstance just quite yet.  But, ignoring the fact that only close friends and family will be reading this post in more-or-less real time, I’d like to welcome all you people to yet another lofty music blog.  Rather, a Soul blog.  Does that mean that I will focus only on “soul” music as a sub-genre of Rhythm & Blues, presenting examples of some of the iconic (and hopefully unspoken) artists and works representative of this, the greatest style of popular music ever born?  Possibly.  More likely, however, is that I will talk about whatever music I happen to be touting at any given time–and, since I only like good music, it naturally follows that the music presented here will have soul, will be soulful (rather than soul-less), and generally make you want to belt out a sequence of “yeahs,” “uh-huhs,” or any other melismatic string of interjections until the sweat gleams off of your brow like the sequins on your royal blue tuxedo/evening gown.  And if not, well, then, fuck it.