Mischa Maisky

One of Bach's most epic works, and I love Mischa's interpretations-generally more organic and passionate. Great brooding music : )

Gangstarr-Mass Appeal

i like the sound of his voice, takes me back to Rob hyping DJ premier tracks in our "pink" apartment.


No way you’ll never make it,
Come with weak shit I break kids,
Step into my zone mad rhymes’ll stifle ya,
Lines like rifles go blast when I kick some ass
A lot of rappers be like one time wonders,
Couldn’t say a fly rhyme if there was one right under, their noses,
I hate those muthafuckin’ posers,
but I’m so real to them it’s scary,
With my unique skills, nah they can’t compare me,
And no we don’t make wak tracks,
And all the suckers get pushed back when I’m kickin’ real facts,
I represent set up shit like a tent boy,
You’re paranoid ‘cause you’re a son like Elroy,
And you be happy as hell to have a record deal,
Maybe a soul you’d sell to have mass appeal

Oh yes I be greater than all emcees when I breeze give me room please,
I be like fascinating when I be updating
Cuttin’ off wak kids and pullin’ their trunk cards I thump hard,
and make ‘em say that I’m god,
niggaz be pretending they’re hardcore,
never know the meaning of [raw],
but I get raps like a slogan and no man,
could ever try to dis when I kicks my jams,
lyrically def and connected complete mic wreckin’,
no double-checkin vocals kill like weapons,
but if I have to I go all out with no mic,
yeah that’s right ‘cause I survived mad fights,
and for my peeps I truly care,
‘cause without some of them I wouldn’t be here,
and they all know how I feel,
‘cause suckers be like playing themselves to have mass appeal

I know I’m dope but don’t wet that,
I suffered setbacks but now I’m making greenbacks,
Just like baggy slacks I’m crazy hip hop,
Check one two and you don’t stop,
You’re head’ll bop when I drop my crop of pure bomb,
Just like the sea shore I’m calm,
But Wild, with my monotone style,
Because I don’t need gimmicks,
Gimme a fly beat, and I’m all in it,
Word is born I go on and on,
For you its tragic I got magic like wands,
So I’m gonna end this lecture and I’ll betcha,
Those who kick dirt and do time I’m gonna get ya,
‘cause I be kicking the real,
While they be losing their rings trying to chase mass appeal.

Common Sense "Hungry"

A genuine masterpiece. I used to rewind this over and over again. Like Time's Up,its a simple piano beat with raw lyrics...

Yo, niggaz don't want none of this
Niggaz know they can't fuck with this
Turn this shit up just a little more

I walk the night in rhymin armor, bomb a nigga like a winter coat
Have him on Death Row searchin for an Interscope
Yet I sparkle like Irene Cara
Symbolize dope, like sirens do terror
Mary who just had a baby someone else decapitated
Flashbacks of past raps make me so glad I made it
Players is gettin traded
I drop a gem on, them who's style is jaded
My juice is grated
Shit is so bangin niggaz say it's gang related
On philosopher's rink of thought, I've skated with precision
Crews is gettin split like decisions
Com'a let it ride and collision
Vision like Coleco or intele, I battle stars in stellar...
Regions, my thought scheme was my like my offspring
Now, it's teethin
My reason to rhyme applies to season and time
Seizin the mind, body and regions divine
In mom's cookouts, I'm leavin the swine
Verbal vegeterian, squash beef with Ice Cube
Came in this rap like nude
Now I'm fully clothed with flows
You tricks can't hide behind expensive cars and clothes
Old niggaz I expose like Luke does hoes in videos
With classic material, imperial and rugged like
Got mag, but my slugs a mic
You fake like a smile, like a hug I'm tight
Skip ladies, this is rip a muthafucka night
Oracle eros, niggaz don't even run for cover right
Downtown interracial lovers hold hands
I breathe heavy like an old man, with a cold can of Old Style
Hold a Stone Isle profile
Mix between Malcolm X and Sef when I go wild
Hold mics like a second nut until the second comin
Hummin comin towards you with power like forwards do
Hip hop, you my bitch and like a Ford, I'm explorin you
So, wack niggaz be cool, with them, I stay cordual
Flow at room temperature, cats is presumed miniature
Like golf, soft like Tiger Woods
At real nigga angles I've stood with ways that's geometric
Don't need to rob banks with dike broads to Set it
I levitate to the occasion, lounge like a lyricist
Rhyme wise, you a rest haven
You sat by the door spooked like I was Wes Craven
You need to do more deletin and less savin
A praise in hell, raisin heaven
As the bill on my pager leavens
What you should have known from day one
You will on day seven

"Hungry hip hop junkie in the city" (*scratched 3X*)

4 X #3

I will always keep you nearest here,
Four floors up, 96th down or so,
Repainting the avocado room,
With sounds of our sex,
Traversing the park in your pale hand,
Drowning in rain, fighting for the umbrella,
Settling into the overcast and rich woodwork.
Your eyes warm me like raspberry tea,
Your strength inspiring this love,
An éclair flavored kiss will stay,
mark this day with city noise,
delicate air of a Starving sleep,
Tangled in lengths of sassy red.

Some Numbers For Ya

Beau Hagberry

trying to write loves

you fear in nothing past,
a piece of what you’ve been left to,
Something from a stack of images,
Once there, but now falling fast.
I’ll save the best to say, with the sweetest silence,
Only in darkness devine, in the feeling of face to side of face,
Escuchando la luna en tus sojos, prevando el oceano en tu corazon,
Sitting forever watching you birds fly,
Knowing only that you need a living freedom,
Tired, barely breathing here,
I find you in a window, in a wall that was a door once,

Stopped by Nothing but a true embrace, pain dying as it begins new,
With frayed ends like the love that mists the city overnight.
Madre luna, tus hijas y me estan dejando en pedazas
a paper soul is plenty, but shakes in the fire of your expectations.
Alone here, endlessly I’m remembering,
Smiles from the streets of dreams,
Drunken perfection of memories,
Sad regret of an empty touch.


The loneliness is not mine, only borrowed,
reminded of you in endless carbon copies,
In truth only acting, Trying to be your past,
Ending up sounding like distant conversations of strangers.
Please hold a thought of me still, as you’ve always been there,
Lying in a warm window of spring, so close,
the comfort in the thought of you, the quiet shared in twilight,
approaching in an empty corridor lit pale blue,
But never recognizable by these eyes,
Clouded By the dust of mistakes, but unbounded,
here for us, not by what we can have, but always had,
realized only when that day ends.
Know that I would gladly give my heart,
as you walk these corners, and this is how.

O.C. Time's Up 1994

You lack the minerals and vitamins irons and the niacin
Fuck who that I offend rappers sit back I'm bout to begin
bout foul talk you sqwak never even walked the walk
More less destined to get tested never been arrested
My album will manifest many things that I saw did or heard about
or told first hand never word of mouth
What's in the future for the fusion in the changer?
Rappers are in danger who will use wits to be a remainder
When the missile is aimed, to blow you out of the frame
Some will keep their limbs and, some will be maimed
The same suckers with the gab about, killer instincts
but turned bitch and knowin damn well they lack
In this division the conniseur, crackin your head with a 4 by 4
Realize sucka, I be the comin like Noah
Always sendin you down, perpetratin facadin what you consider
a image, to me this is, just a scrimmage
I'm feel I'm stone, not cause I bop or wear my cap cocked
The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock
Those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too" -> Slick Rick
(from the song _Hey Young World_)

Speakin in tongues, about what you did but you never done it
Admit you bit it cause the next man gained platinum behind it
I find it ironic, so I researched and analyzed
Most write about stuff they fantasized
I'm fed up with the bull, on this focus of weed and clips
and glocks gettin cocked, and wax not bein flipped
It's the same old same old just strain it from the anal
The contact, is not com-pexed or vexed
So why you puhsin it? Why you lyin for? I know where you live
I know your folks, you was a sucka as a kid
Your persona's drama, that you acquired in high school in actin class
Your whole aura is plexi-glass
What's-her-face told me you shot this kid last week in the park
That's a lie, you was in church with your moms
See I know yo, slow your roll, give a good to go
Guys be lackin in this thing called rappin just for dough
Of course we gotta pay rent, so money connects, but uhh
I'd rather be broke and have a whole lot of respect
It's the principal of it, I get a rush when I bust
some dope lines oral, that maybe somebody'll quote
That's what I consider real, in this field of music
Instead of puttin brain cells to work they abuse it
Non-conceptual, non-exceptional
Everybody's either crime-related or sexual
I'm here to make a difference, besides all the riffin
The traps are not stickin, rappers stop flippin
For those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too" -> Slick Rick
(from the song _Hey Young World_)

sick beat, sick rhymes, I love hip-hop

Tomorrow Never Knows

The world is changing at light speed. I personally prefer holding a magazine in my hands to reading one on a screen. However its good to know that people are challenging that. I think these guys know that the web is behind in terms of enjoyablity. I'm excited to see what pans out of this. WIRED x Adobe

What's the best way to get there?

The love of space and friends

Beau Hagberry

GIlles Peterson Show

Fantastic show from the BBC. A wide range of stuff from Jazz to R&B to Hip Hop to Dance. Below are the highlights with some links included.

Gil Scott Heron (who has a great new album)
Me and the Devil

Mulatu Astatqe

Jay Electronica
Exhibit C

How are you today?

Brian Eno

On the end of an era

"I think records were just a little bubble through time and those who made a living from them for a while were lucky. There is no reason why anyone should have made so much money from selling records except that everything was right for this period of time. I always knew it would run out sooner or later. It couldn't last, and now it's running out. I don't particularly care that it is and like the way things are going. The record age was just a blip. It was a bit like if you had a source of whale blubber in the 1840s and it could be used as fuel. Before gas came along, if you traded in whale blubber, you were the richest man on Earth. Then gas came along and you'd be stuck with your whale blubber. Sorry mate – history's moving along. Recorded music equals whale blubber. Eventually, something else will replace it."

read more here