Inspiration! I wrote this in my private journal, and thought “well fuck you should post that on the music blog” At this point the readership isn’t different between the two, but the idea is it may be sometime.
Here tis:
So I have this wild fan in Oakland – not a person I met living in Oakland. This guy, Craig, has an online radio station, and a new site called BuddyFetch which is kind of this crazy search tool that finds people’s IM addresses based on their interests and such – where you can go looking out in the non-browsered cybersphere for people of like mind, which is kind of a wicked concept to me.
Anyway I think Craig was DJing or writing some publication about – oh 13 years ago or so. Or 15? Hell. He has a BUNCH of my old recordings – I mean OLD – like from before I ever did a CD. He has cassette tape demos I did when I was like 17 or 18.
He found me again and reconnected and is totally about how I’m fucking badass and creative and compared to me Eminem is a fucking douchebag (which may be, who knows). He’ll get on IM and shoot me a message quoting some old song – now bear in mind these are REALLY bad recordings, distorted as fuck, made with pause loop taping and crappy synths and no knowledge and burned out radio shack mics and – just holy bad. And sick, angry, twisted violent stuff, a lot of it. Nothing way out there like Eminem or ICP, no shit like I might say nowadays for fun, like “HEY MOTHER FUCKER GONNA CUT YOUR ARMS AND LEGS OFF AND USE ‘EM FOR FIREWOOD, BUT BEFORE I DO THAT I’M GONNA SHOVE A CORN DOG IN YOUR MOTHER’S ASSHOLE AND WATCH IT COME OUT HER EAR AND EAT THE BRAINS OFF THE END FOR FIBER SO I CAN SHIT IN A CANISTER AND SEND IT TO IRAN, BUT HEY IT’S ALL GOOD!” (see how that actually rhymed?), just, I was angry and young and I’m almost embarassed that some dudes are still big fans of my whole “i’ll fuck you up!” era. Examples of some lyrics Craig likes:
“thin kids gonna fuck you up!”
“fuck me up fuck me up fuck me up”
“mutha fuckin heroes, got me bleedin in a dixie cup”
That last one is actually worth revisiting I think. But that’s another topic.
So anyway that reminded me to make a new music blog post and up next in my queue to talk about was Artistic Apocalypse, which I think Craig has as well. It’s a couple years newer than the oldest stuff. And I was listening to some of it just now expecting it to just suck so bad but now I feel all empowered because dude’s right on one point at least: I’m so fuckin creative – or I was *shrug* *laugh* I’m so all over the map and man I was breaking every fucking rule I had no idea wtf I was doing but I was ROCKIN it dude. WOOT!!!
And I also expected all the lyrics to be violent angry machismo, but they’re not. Yes I was violent and macho, and it shows big time, but there’s some real concepts man, that frankly, I can still get behind a lot of ‘em. Like this one that’s playing right now in my speakers:
corporate identity
confusion of humanity
major label conspiracy
industrial hipocracy
you can’t stop the way this act is
the fact is that you can’t stop the way this act is
i don’t really care just who you are
i ain’t hitchin my wagon to a black hole
yo i don’t really care just who you are
i ain’t hitchin my wagon to your burned out star
you can smack all that you want
and you can sell a billion records if that’s what gets you off
but i’mon carry on the new jack swing
and it’ll be to my advantage if the phone don’t ring
lord money find the bunny kinda funny
when the honey on your tummy ain’t really very yummy
and when the jiggida jiggida thrill is gone
will you really want to be another king without a throne?
no!
i didn’t think so you pushin to the brink yo
what you gonna do when your fame boat sinks bro?
you caught emergency i think you gonna panic
while nquit stays quietly manic
corporate identity
confusion of humanity
major label conspiracy
industrial hipocracy
you can’t stop the way this act is
the fact is that you can’t stop the way this act is
i don’t really care just who you are
i ain’t hitchin my wagon to a black hole
the king of rock ain’t got nothin on me
swivelin his hips like he just don’t see
you just another wanna be rich punk
sign on the dotted line and they will junk your funk, yo
but they don’t care if your name means more
to them you’re just another one of their rich whores, yo
and they will take you for the soul you’ve got
black out inside the vision of the treasure pot
your heart is cold and hard as granite
while nquit stays quietly manic
corporate identity
confusion of humanity
major label conspiracy
industrial hipocracy
you can’t stop the way this act is
the fact is that you can’t stop the way this act is
i don’t really care just who you are
i ain’t hitchin my wagon to a black hole
I mean sure i’m pissed off and saying yo a lot, like a dumbass, because I’m from fuckin Taos – maybe if I said “you’re just another one of their rich whores, esse” it would be less dumb. Of course I still say yo alot, yo. anyway but yeah – FUCK you fuckers! *shakes fun fist* *funnly shakes fist* *fist shaking booty shake* *truck punch*
Oh fine, Steve and Mischief and Spec and whoever else, here:
[sc_embed_player fileurl=”http://www.nquit.com/sounds/MCMurph/ArtisticApocalypse/14MCMurphQuietlyManic.mp3″] Quietly Manic, by M.C. Murph
Now this a music blog all of a sudden. I might repost this up there later. or part of it.
Actually I think [my friend] Spec saw me perform that one live. I did two, count ‘em two, shows where i performed Artistic Apocalypse songs live. Not sure which ones I did. It was at Word [a poetry show I used to run with The Outsider, of Word. fame, and Tamara Nicholl, of Third Option fame], and just to be nice and small worldish, the 2nd show, the bigger one, where I might have done this tune, was at Monte Vista Fire Station [in Albuquerque] at Word. on the night that [my friend] Shanti and Spec met [and subsequently dated for five years, lived together, bought a house, and broke eachother’s hearts and broke up – sorry guys – love you both though still!].
I also puked on the bar at Monte Vista Fire Station years later on St. Patty’s Day right after getting dumped by aforementioned Tamara of Third Option fame, with Spec sitting on one side of me and Shanti sitting on the other. They rushed me to the bathroom where I sang along to some Irish tune playing OVER AND OVER which had some swear word bleeped out so I would yell “SHIT!!!” as loud as possible whenever it came up, and whenever someone came to pee in the urinal, I’d yell “SHOES!” I also was on Prosac at the time, which can react with large amounts of alcohol and kill you, I’d heard, so I was praying for my life.
I’m rambling.