Saturday, May 05, 2018

KANYE WEST - A NEW KIND OF FOOL

Beneath The Spin*Eric L. Wattree

KANYE WEST - A NEW KIND OF FOOL
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I’ve been told that Kanye West is just having issues, but he’s a hip hop genius. Okay, but how can you say that Kanye is a hip hop genius when hip hop itself represents nothing more than a collection of vulgar nursery rhymes?  It’s for kids. The music is monotonous and souless, and the poetry is illiterate. In fact, when I look back on the 60s, what I look back upon with most fondness is the fact that there was no such thing as hip hop.
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Hip hop is what happens when you take music out of the schools, and stop paying English teachers a living wage. It’s an expression of wannabes wanting to be, but can’t be, because they lack the resources, the education, and a knowledge of the world around them. They feel the genius of Trane, but can’t play a horn, the eloquence of Baldwin, but can’t turn a phrase, and the passion of Malcolm, but can’t complete a thought.
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Did you know that Don Carnelius walked away from Soul Train because of hip hop?  He said, “Oh, hell naw! I can’t take this!” So what is hip hop? It’s an expression of the White Man’s complete success in dumbin’ down the Black community, so we shouldn’t be the least bit surprised that it produced a Kanye West.
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On the other hand, here’s what poetry set to music is suppose to sound like. This is grown folk's music, not kid shit. The music is real, played by real musicians, and not sampled or driven by monotonous drum machines. The words are literate, profound, and pregnant with meaning, not simply an attempt to rhyme “door” with “floor” to the rhythm of a souless beat, and it expresses a solemn love and respect for our women instead of the swag and immaturity of referring to the very womb of our culture as “bitches” and “hoes.” This is a music that celebrates the heart and soul of Black creativity, not the White man’s success in robbing us of our minds.


Morning Thoughts
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I Bear Witness
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I sit, I watch,
and I grow ever more obsolete
as I bear witness.
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I bear witness
to a once vibrant people greedily gulping down society’s hemlock. Even as they claim to be “keeping it real,“ they continue to maim, kill, and despise their own in hot pursuit of the prime directive with the passion of a sheetless klan.
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I bear witness
to Black fists in the air in false solidarity promoted by self-serving poverty pimps as the world looks on and giggle at crooked fingers pointed elsewhere.
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I bear witness
to the superficial attempt to ban the “N-word” while the new "un-niggas" stand around watching children killing children and fathers drugging sons, as they celebrate, lionize, and enrich those who denigrate the very womb of their culture with impunity.
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I bear witness
to a generation of lost knowledge, cut off from its roots by Ronnie’s “Just say no” generation of crack, greed, death, and political corruption; A generation where the new N-word is pronounced “Responsibility” and the keepers of the flame completely ignore the destructive power of bitch, slut, whore, and tramp.
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I bear witness
to the reckless disregard of the words uneducated, irresponsible, and classless. Should we not ban these words as well, or should we ban banning words altogether as we celebrate their meaning?
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Yes, I do bear witness.
I bear witness to a new world -
a world where gross ignorance comes disguised as enlightenment, and funky sneakers look down with disdain upon the sweet smell of Florsheim; a world where saggin’ pants and gaudy glitter enable country bumpkins to masquerade as elegant, and the exquisite surrender of eloquence is the very essence of what it means to be hip.
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Where's Langston? Where's Baldwin? Where's Oscar Brown, Jr?
We need you stormin' this beach, because . . .
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I now bear witness
to a world where motherhood stands alone, to be “dope” renders a smile, and posterity is forced to embrace the wind for paternal sustenance; A world where the walking dead strut about rapping the wisdom of idiocy, and we praise the illiteracy of vulgar nursery rhymes as profound; a world where the mother of salvation's final gasp is compared to the pigmentation of brown paper bags.
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Malcolm, Martin, where are you?
I once stood with a crowd.
Now seemingly alone, I'm forced to bear witness -
horrific witness . . .
to the imminent demise of our people,
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And my heart bleeds.

Eric L. Wattree
Wattree.blogspot.com
Ewattree@Gmail.com
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Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

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