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Corpsey

bandz ahoy
I almost went mad last night and posted 'Hold My Body Tight' by East 17 so Craner could confirm that it was (dodgy rap aside) the greatest British RNB tune other than 'Return of the Mack'.

Now this is the sort of thing I'd usually frown on, but since this is my thread and you're all my sons in this...


Lovely bitta gawidge fa ya all
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
deleted my 2 tb of music only a flac copy of this song remains. sorry no more jazz jams lads.

perfection. the most accomplished composition in the world ever ever.

British gospel.

 

craner

Beast of Burden
I almost went mad last night and posted 'Hold My Body Tight' by East 17 so Craner could confirm that it was (dodgy rap aside) the greatest British RNB tune other than 'Return of the Mack'.

Now this is the sort of thing I'd usually frown on, but since this is my thread and you're all my sons in this...


Lovely bitta gawidge fa ya all

I used to find East 17 absolutely hysterical.
 

catalog

Well-known member
That one tune is really good but I don't like much else by him, not that I've listened to much apart from the big hits
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
"This is not consonant with the millenary voice of rebellion. That voice, on the contrary, tells us that ‘we was robbed’, the thrifty by the thriftless. That honest toil was not paid in full, owing to the superior coercive power of the mighty. That ascribing a necessary ‘productive’ role to the ruling classes is pernicious ‘ideological’ mendacity. All value is created by the workers – this is Lassalle’s view, and not Marx’s.45 All oficial and triumphant ‘socialist’ art from Soviet social realism to Latin American muralists glories proletarian might, sinews, purity, work and victorious confrontation with the puny and unclean enemy – unlike the few works of art truly inspired by a Marxian vision, from George Grosz and Gyula Derkovits to the more extreme avant-garde. These latter creations are almost invariably dark and pessimistic. Their problem was succinctly summarized by Georg Lukács thus: ‘[T]he objective reality of social existence is in its immediacy “the same” for both proletariat and bourgeoisie’.46"

 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
"What makes the whole thing demonic indeed is that in contradistinction to the external character, the incomprehensibility, of ‘fate’, ‘the stars’, participants in the capitalist economy are not born to that condition, they are placed in their respective positions by a series of choices and compulsions that are obviously man-made. To be born noble and ignoble is nobody’s fault, has no moral dimensions; but alienation appears self-inflicted.
Marx is the poet of that Faustian demonism: only capitalism reveals the social, and the unmasking; the apocalypse, the revelation can be reached by wading through the murk of estrangement which, seen historically, is unique in its energy, in its diabolical force.5 Marx does not ‘oppose’ capitalism ideologically; but Rousseau does. For Marx, it is history; for Rousseau, it is evil."

 

sadmanbarty

Well-known member
Early on in year 8, one of my friends from primary school had a birthday party.

It was significant in a couple of ways. The first was that it was probably the last children's party I ever went to. By the end of year 8 people were smoking and drinking and buying weed and all that so having a party (organised by parents no less) seemed a bit embarrassing and childish.

The second way in which it was significant was that it was the last time I really socialised with my primary school friends. I’d gone to a different school from them, a school in which there wasn’t really a ready-made social clique for a white, middle-class boy to fit into. So by year 9 I was getting into dancehall and UK funky, feigning a cockney accent, wearing track suit bottoms and becoming friends with people at my school, so naturally I drifted away from my middle-calss primary school friends.

i was reminded of this party the other day and it stirred all sorts glorious emotions in me. i was the king of the world at that party. for starters there were some girls there who didn’t go to our primary school and the primary school girls were being all unkind to them. i swooped in and kept making sure they were included and felt good and all that (the boy's mum told my mum how much of a good boy i’d been afterwards). so i'd engratiated myself with one group of girls as it was.

but another of the girls at the party was this blonde american from my primary school. she’d been the one all the boys fancied at primary school and had developed some boobs since i last saw her. incredulously she spent the entire evening with me and laughed non-stop at everything i said (i was a bit of an outcast for the first couple of years of secondary school, and was initially rather starved of female attention).

the party started at a laser tag place and i remember making her laugh with a riff about the word “maybe” being very non-commital and meaningless (possibly it’d been something she kept saying and i was teasing her a bit). back at the boy's house they had a chocolate fountain and she spilled some melted chocolate on her shirt meaning she had to take the shirt off, revealing the tank top she was wearing underneath (it drove me crazy that night and i still have thing for tank tops). at the end of the party she made me give her a hug and it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

the next day (after all us boys had a sleepover) i felt awful. really, really in pain. i needed that girl. genuinely heartbroken i wasn’t spending every waking moment with her. in true emotional agony. like coming back from narnia and a removal company had taken away the wardrobe.

she’d mentioned that she liked the cinnamon swirl from milly’s cookies and i did have a plan to take her out and buy one for her (and she’d be all blown over that i remembered it), but organising a date would have meant getting my mum to phone her mum and that was too embarrassing, so i never did it. that night was left a fleeting utopia.

that party will forever be sketched in my memory. it was so, so, so magical. so special. all the enchanted splendour of childhood combined with teenage enthralment. it was transitional; the emotional potency of seeing the world through a boy's eyes, but with the untameable libidinal desires of a man.

the piano on this sounds like that.


 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
huh i never went to any kids parties. was too busy watching bergkamp vierra team with my geeza Bilal. top lad, was into original nutta and kawali and stuff like that.
 

sadmanbarty

Well-known member
corpse don't i get a gold star for doing your thread properly? always adding write ups or adding paintings to illustrate what the song means to me?

not just chucking a youtube on here and there willy nilly like some of these heathens.
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
huh i never went to any kids parties. was too busy watching bergkamp vierra team with my geeza Bilal. top lad, was into original nutta and kawali and stuff like that.


barty you better use this in one of your cultural commentary posts, either here or on another thread.
 

entertainment

Well-known member

I remember playing j dilla for a friend at age 15 or something and he was into house and techno, which I knew nothing about. Said it sounded a bit like Theo Parrish and played me this. Was blown away and still am.
 
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