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shoechoe · 2 months

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another long ramble this wont get out of my head!! ur words hav enlightened me! a bit wish washy i may hav repeated some stuff but man i hav sooo many thoughts. when u mentioned how some of ur favorite prog rock songs feel more like a journey rather than conventional music experiences it rlly struck a chord in me. rlly! its such an interesting take bc it did make me reflect a bit on king crimson's *titles* in particular and their longer songs, specifically. theyre like chapters, is what ive came to realize a bit too late knowing ive been listening to king crimson since 2021... i really wish i had taken the time to delve into their lyrics. (moreover on lyrics, i did have a long conversation about starless w a friend before,, i really liked the themes of torn relationships and betrayal within the song! richard palmer james, someone who helped write the song stated that the song was actually about ending a friendship of sorts. interesting. [http://www.elephant-talk.com/wiki/Interview_with_Richard_Palmer-James_in_Tylko_Rock], tho honestly i could see many other interpretations of it. another song i analyzed, that time on my own, was fallen angel... which still makes me pretty damn emotional to this day.) the narrative parts of kc makes me think of lizard (the song, not the entire album), part one being labelled "prince rupert awakes", w v lively and descriptive lyrics. (expressing themes of royalty and social hierarchy. alluding to rupert's arrogance in being able to wipe out the enemy.) and then nearing the end of the song, is "prince rupert's lament", paired w an instrumental which expresses his death in battle!! while i hav listened to this song countless times (inadvertently bc spotify's shuffle features sucks ass) and have gotten a bit frustrated, i never rlly took the time to rlly take a look into the *beauty* of the lyrics of lizard... i jus rlly appreciate how subtle yet very profound and rhythmic the lyrics are... even if it seems like gibberish at first glance u can still make out some sort of meaning given that u have the patience n time. jus like listening to the song itself u have to take in all elements of sight (reading, obviously jbddb) and hearing.

i love the attention to detail in verses 4 and 5 in part 3 (battle of glass tears) (moreover i think this is one of the most beautiful fuckin things ive heard in a king crimson song), showing the passage of time from night to day as the soldiers fearfully yet ambitiously prepare for battle. as soon as the sun rose, they (id presume) said their prayers before they marched into battle. usually sunrise is associated with more positive emotions, but in this case id assume rupert and all of his underlings died. glass tears are also a real-life phenomena, very strong hardened glass... earlier in the song there were allusions to eyelids being torn (ouch) and yeah i can see the logic behind that bc glass cuts thru things. i think it touches on the bloodshed and lament of the battle rupert and his soldiers fought!

i feel the last portion of the rlly ties into the darker aspects of the song which i had overlooked, initially...!!! i feel that part of the prog rock experience, at least w listening to king crimson, is to immerse urself in the lyrics i guess. cuz while u may get a good 10min of instrumentals (bolero), i jus find it so fascinating that even smthn as "simple" as that could withold immense meaning to the artist which makes it shine or stick out.... fripp mentioned that the segment of lizard, bolero, was the only thing that didnt cause him intense misery. (https://www.dgmlive.com/diaries/Robert%20Fripp/simon-amp-robert-have-returned-210916) which obvs provides a lot of insight into the making of the song and album itself. twas a bit critically received and fripp called ppl who liked lizard "strange" iirc. heh. i enjoyed looking up random ass takes abt this song online. and also using my own brain. i think it adds to the experience a lot, like i said. i should def go check out echoes by pink floyd and take ur interpretation into consideration, ofc. X)

I don't have much to add since I haven't thought about them as much as you have, but yeah, absolutely. Progressive rock is fantastic at immersion and telling stories through the music just as much as the lyrics. Some of my favorite songs seem strange on the surface, but become better with thought and repeat listens. Hope you like Echoes, of course. (Pink Floyd also made an abridged 16-minute version a little while later, which I think was a good call despite my love for the original.)

#long post #mutuals (epic)#asks #king crimson #music

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perhapsthanatos · 3 years

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10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

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littlebitoffanfic · 4 years

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Thieving Bastards

Fandom: The Hills Have Eyes Characters: Goggle, Lizard, Ruby Relationship: Goggle/reader Request: Something cute with Goggle from Hills Have Eyes. Just something fluffy and romantic pls! (if you'd like something more specific I can send another ask!) Support my writing by buying me a Kofi here

The family were bickering as always. Papa was having some kind of disagreement with Big Brain and Mama was trying to get the kids settled for the night but failing after they had had a little too much sugar that evening. You and Goggle sat watching the anarchy unfold in silence. Not out of anger or annoyance, but you both had learned its better just to keep quiet in moments like these. If they wanted your opinion, they’d ask. As the clock turned 9.30, you glanced over to Goggle who was already looking at you. He shyly nodded towards the door and you couldn’t help but smile, you heart thumping hard in your chest. you were the first to slip away, saying goodnight to an exhausted Mama while the children played ‘catch me’ on the stairs. Walking out onto the porch, you didn’t go towards your house. No, you slipped between your house and the one Ruby and Goggled shared. Once into the back garden, you climbed over the small fence and towards a small, thin valley in the hills. The little lane was hidden mainly by a large bolder which stood 7 feet tall and the valley itself was only about 5 or 6 foot wide and lead to a dead end with a steep climb towards the top so it was never used. Until about a year or so ago. You stepped behind the boulder, leaning against it as you waited patiently. It was a cold evening, and you had to wrap your arms around yourself to keep a little bit of warmth in your body. You really wished you had bought a jacket out but you thought the hoodie you wore would have been enough. After a good 10 minutes, you started to get a little worried (as well as cold) as you stepped out from behind the boulder to glance towards the houses, looking out for Goggle. A very faint thud came from behind you and you twisted around, jumping at the sudden appearance of the very person you had just been looking for. “Goggle! You scared the life out of me!” You couldn’t hide the laugh in your voice as you playful pushed his shoulder. Goggle, however, was very pleased with himself as he smirked at you. But then his eyes dropped to your lips and back up. Oh, you knew exactly what he was thinking. And you were more than happy to oblige. stepping closer to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. His whole body trembled for a moment before his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and pulled you against him. You loved how he reacted even after a year of these private make out sessions every other night. It made you feel like it was the first time you had both snuck out and kissed. Every single time you went home with rosy cheeks and slightly swollen lips but never dissatisfied. Goggle turned you so you were pressed against the bolder, making you giggle into the kiss. “No one saw you?” You pulled back from the kiss, needing a breath. Goggle shook his head, panting slightly as he nuzzled against you. You ran one hand up the back of his neck, keeping his close as he peppered your neck with soft kisses. A cold wind raced though the valley and you instantly shivered, clinging to Goggle for a little warmth. “Do you wanna go back?” Goggle pulled away, his features showing concern but you shook your head. “no, no I’m fine. I don’t want to stop.” You shake your head, trying to keep your jaw from shaking as you spoke. In truth, you were absolutely freezing. But Goggle pulled away from you, depriving you of the only heat source as another gust causes you to shive and wrap your arms around yourself. “You need to go inside.” Goggles voice held a level of authority you weren’t use to hearing from him. “im fine.” You tried to say but your teeth chattered together as you spoke and you couldn’t even fool yourself. Dropping your head, you let out a sigh of defeat. “Don’t pout.” Goggle chuckled, stepping closer again and drawing your attention back to him. “I haven’t seen you in 3 days.” You point out, giving reason for your sadness. It was true. There had been a car coming through and Goggle had been required to keep watch, only getting a few hours sleep when Lizard took over. You hadn’t seen him at all. This seemed to catch Goggle off guard as he looks at you with a confused expression. He opens his mouth about to speak when a fresh gust knocks the hat clean off his head. It rolls into the valley, carried by the wind. Both you and Goggle took off after it. You knew it meant a lot to Goggle. While Goggle was quicker at climbing and scaling rocks, you were faster on foot so you overtook him and managed to swoop down and grab the hat from the floor. It was covered in the thin layer of dust and dirt that lined the floors around the hills. You tried to brush it off and got the majority of it before offering it back to Goggle who nodded his head in thanks although he didn’t put the hat straight back on for fear it would fly away again. He held it against his chest. “thanks.” He smiled at you. “Any time.” You go up on your toes and press a kiss to his lips before walking past him. Unfortunately, you were freezing and he was right. You needed to go inside. You didn’t need to explain to anyone why you suddenly had a cold when most of the days were blazing hot. Goggle walked closely beside you, occasionally nudging you and you would return it. When you both got back to the boulder, Goggle gave you his hat to hold while he scaled the side and looked over, making sure the coast was clear to get back to your backdoors. It normally was, but sometimes Cyst would do a patrol around the backs of the house. “Clear.” He said to you as he jumped down at the front of the boulder while you walked around, double checking. Walking up to the houses, you felt a little bit of loneliness set in. You had been looking forward to spending a little time him tonight. As you got to the fence, you both stopped. “You know, you could always come in?” You played with the rim of the hat while you spoke, keeping your eyes on the hat. Sure, the make out sessions behind the boulder were common, but it was strictly kept there in case someone found out or barged into you home. This would be a big step for the both of you. “Really?” Goggles voice drew your attention up to his eyes. He looked hopeful and excited, as if he had been hoping against hope that you would say that. “Yeah.” You nod your head, raising the hat to try and hid your blushing cheeks from him. You hated how giddy he made you feel. As if he wasn’t a cannibal mutant in a hill clan but just some other man who was asking you out of a date. You lead into your house, without much thought. Until you both walk into the kitchen and see Ruby, Pluto and Lizard sitting at your kitchen table, in the dark, eating the left overs of a chocolate cake you had made earlier in the day. All 5 of you stare at each other, completely stunned. “are you sitting in my kitchen, in the dark, eating cake?” you speak slowly, your eyes darting from each of them. “Are you sneaking back in whit Goggle after being gone for 25 minutes?” Lizard fire back, a knowing smirk on his lips. “its not what you think.” Both you and Goggle said at the same time and a little too quickly. “Is that Goggles hat?” Ruby asked, her eyes falling to the item in your hand. “Yes, whys it got dirt on it?” Lizard smirks as you all but frisbeed the hat back to Goggle, who takes it and shoves it back on his head. “is that the cake I made today?” you shoot back, nodding to the slice that was left in the middle of the table. “umm…” Ruby trailed off, guilty eyes going everywhere but meeting your gaze. “Tell you what-“ Lizard got to his feet and grabbed the plate with the remaining cake. “We didn’t see you. You didn’t see us.” “Agreed.” You say as Goggle nods his head. Rubys and Pluto follow Lizard as he heads to the door. “Where we going?” ruby asks. “Back to yours. Place’ll be empty since Goggles spending the night here.” Lizard snickered. “I aint spending the night!” Goggle shouts after them but they laugh and leave. You and Goggle stand for a moment in silence. In your mind, you were adding up the amount of baked good you kept finding missing in the morning. “[y/n]?” Goggles voice calls you back. “you aright?” “Thieving bastards.” You try to sound angry but you ended up laughing at the end, and Goggle joined in. You walk across the kitchen, and Goggle follows you to the bottom of the stairs. You begin to climb up the stairs but Goggle pauses, hesitating on the first step. “Well, you might as well stay.” You giggle, turning to him on the stairs as you bit your lower lip. Goggle smiled, his cheeks lighting up red as he quickly ran up the stairs to you. The two of you suddenly felt a lot more… official. Like you weren’t just making out behind a rock but that you were together… as a couple. You liked the sound of that, and as you took Goggles hand in your own and showed him towards your bedroom, you couldn’t wait to see where tonight went.

#The Hills Have Eyes #thhe #goggle #goggle x reader

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wildseedculturalgroup · 7 years

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New Music from Black Magic Woman Santigold

Santigold’s latest work has me diggin’ through the proverbial crates. February 26, 2016 she released her third solo album, 99¢, which quickly sent me to Joan Armatrading and from there Grace Jones. Such is the ‘mind life’ of a DJ - we look back to better understand the now.

In the retrospective glance, I found a thread—a shared dance on the lines that connect UK new wave to roots reggae, and Caribbean punk—musical elements of the Black Atlantic coupled with rhythmic traces of migration. I understand Santigold and her place in music to be somewhat of an anomaly, but only when juxtaposed against pop artists who shine bright under the light of America’s marketable musical mediocrity. This is why I can’t bring myself to categorize her sound as alternative. In my world, pop culture doesn’t set the standard for what's normal, regardless of mass appeal and the conditioning of the public it requires.

I was introduced to Santi White through her involvement with the artist Res. The album How I Do made it big on the low with only one breakthrough song: “They-Say Vision.” The song reached #37 on Billboard’s Dance Chart. There were no platinum sales or regular radio play for any other track.

It was an album that lived on the edge of the underground, but managed to make its way through the speakers of music heads across America and beyond. Res held her own as a vocalist and felt at home in the delivery and phrasing of the lyrics. How I Do, in all of its soul cult classic glory was an important not-to-be-slept-on collaboration. Santi White was the executive producer and co-writer for the project and my learning of that information was colored by incredulity, like word? Well who is Santi White? And what’s this I hear about her romantic connection to Mos Def? There were rumors, ones I never felt compelled to confirm or deny, but upon falling in love with the album, I, like a number of listeners, squinted my eyes, the way that people do to increase their hearing, to understand the meaning behind the track Golden Boy. Was this a sonic calling out of Mos Def the celebrity versus Yasiin Bey the personal jerk? If nothing else, I felt humanized by his ‘complexity’ and impressed by Santi White’s emotional honesty. If the rumors were true, I appreciated Res’ performative role as a representative for the perils and pleasure of black love.

And would they love you if they knew all the things we know We've got these images We need them to be true Not ready to believe we're no more insecure than you

--Golden Boys

I kept my ear to the streets of Santi’s musical movement, waiting for the release of her first solo album. When she finally dropped Santogold in 2008, I knew she had staying power and exciting force behind her creative process. The album made its mark, introducing us to the experimental nu-dub sounds of producer Diplo and pulling off that hard to achieve mature blend of electronic music and the one drop—accentuated by an unexpected black woman’s new wave voice floating between and on top.

Santi was born and raised in Philly and I’m quite sure that her ear caught wind of the regional rhythm that city is known for. Not only was she within listening range of the Philadelphia Soul sound and the masterful ministers of dance floor activism (Gamble and Huff), she grew up alongside the burgeoning Soulquarian movement, a ?uestlove led crew heralded as the founders of the annoyingly misnamed neo-soul music.

To be clear, Santi is a formally trained musician. She took her Philly soul education to one of the nation’s most prestigious music schools, Wesleyan University, and double majored in African-American Studies and music. I can feel how sonic cultural knowledge and intellectual curiosity show up in the vocal arrangement, drum patterns, and lyrics in her music. I’m equally moved by the fact that she dropped out of college to become an A&R rep for Epic Records—a proper nod to her anti-establishment punk roots.

Between 2003-05 she worked with Bad Brains bassist Darryl Jennifer, placing herself in direct conversation with Black punk (pre Afropunk) royalty. Santi was the founding member and lead singer for the Philly based punk band Stiffed and she and Jennifer co-produced the band’s two albums.

This is a big deal! Black girls have existed on the margins of punk music/culture for years and we can trace Santi’s footprints to NYC’s and Philly’s underground early 2000s punk and post punk scene through her work with this band. Both Stiffed albums, Sex Sells (2003) and Burned Again (2005), are now part of a Black punk archives, excavate at will.

It was on the east coast punk scene where she was courted by London based independent label Lizard King Records. This wouldn’t be the first time that the UK, while poking their heads into American underground culture, would find some of our brightest; see N’dea Davenport, Jhelisa, Carleen Anderson and early Detroit Techno pioneers for proof. The UK soul scene (Soul II Soul, Massive Attack, D’influence, etc.), drew influences from diasporic Caribbean riddims, continental African polyrhythms, and Black American funk. Santi fits well within this tradition—this transnational artist community. By 2006, she was offered a solo contract by Lizard King and was pushed even further along her path.

When we talk about Black Magic Women, a phrase first introduced to me through the music of Santana, I geek out thinking about the many worlds from whence this specific brand of sparkle can be found. 99¢ is exciting not only because it’s a well produced arrangement of captivating songs that speak to a range of emotions and human experiences, but also, as reactionary as it may seem, important because it challenges the limited engagement of Black women as brilliant musical creatures. That phenomenon of erasure leaves the American collective imagination about black women’s relationship to the creation of music, dull at best.

Fortunately, social media, the people’s platform, has given us so much access to unpopular Black magic women with hidden, but righteous art, ideas and intentionally developed talent. For decades we’ve been using independent media platforms as a vehicle to resist erasure, and as a tool to dismantle static ideas about beauty, gender and politics that echo out our voices as cultural producers.

Consistent with indie culture, a tradition where Santi is steeped, her latest album 99¢ is complete with interactive videos. The album cover boasts a pink background and has the artist shrink wrapped amidst a few of her favorite things, including: multiple keyboards, a pair of golden clogs, a disco ball, and a license plate with her name spelled out from Brazil. With a little homework I discovered that the license plate is a souvenir from her performance at the 2012 Back2Black Festival in Brazil, which implies that her album cover is, again, akin to a living archive. She also performed during the week of the album’s release at Jack’s 99 Cents store in NYC, a decision that seems directly related to the DIY approach found in the early hip-hop economic model.

Santi White is functioning at capacity in an underworld, a world that must be sought out and unearthed. An underworld without super video budgets, automatic radio play, a world where concerts' ticket prices will not exceed that of a car note.

Let's explore this further. I’d like to challenge you to think of Santi as a variation of Beyoncé, or better yet, think of them as variations of each other. While the two are read as polar opposites, it’s only because we’re not given much of an opportunity to interface with the large number of multifaceted Black women who make music. I would argue that both women stand in their craft with high levels of artistic integrity and did so for at least a decade before being ‘discovered’. Both women have a clear commitment to the mastery of technical skills. And while the distinction between the two are worth investigation, I’m moved by their collective drive and clear that the evolutionary aspect of their respective practices, the fine tuning of every part of the project, is largely ignored because they are Black women. People get real stingy when assigning the title genius to these particular bodies, and too generous in framing their work as naturally good versus ruthlessly perfected.

Collectively, Bey and Santigold’s work share impact - different scales of impact, but recognizable impact. That said, Beyoncé doesn’t have to be the standard against which all Black women are measured. I am very aware of her hyper-exposure, but the comparison between the two felt like an outlandish and therefore exciting way to think about how even the most visible Black women are unseen.

In 2012, a few years had passed since I’d heard from Santigold. This was after her first solo release, and I felt good that she didn’t rush into her next album. I’m not moved by the push to ride the buzz of first album success. I’d rather artists be given the space to carefully craft an album. I’m a student of the school of Sade, who averaged a new album every two-four years. In true Capricorn fashion Sade made us wait 8 years between between Love Deluxe and Lover’s Rock, then nearly another decade between Lover’s Rock and Soldier of Love. And I say yes! Let it marinate, experience life, take your time, do it right. By the time Santi’s “Master of my Make Believe” dropped March 1 of 2012, I felt good and ready, with just a slight bit of anxiety about her return. The wait between albums creates intimacy between you and the artist, it’s so precious. And the second album was indeed a demonstration of artistic investment.

So is the third - I like all but 1.5 songs on the 99¢ album. The half comes from a song on which I love her verse and the music on a track (“Who Be Lovin Me”), but that features a less talented emcee, iLoveMakonnen. To be fair to her, I have a low tolerance for guest rappers in general, most times it feels like a music industry ploy to expand the market. The other song I struggled with is the first single from the album, “Can’t Get Enough of Myself,” a necessary anthem for young people and people in general who are listening, but it left me wanting more or, to be honest, had me worried that she was abandoning her soulful punk core for some chart friendly shit. I wasn’t having it. After falling in love with the rest of the album I was able to engage the opening track from a distance and I plan to introduce it to my pre-teen niece, but I will probably forever start the album from the second track and dive head first into the dopeness of every other song on the project.

Santigold is an artist who comes from a lineage of fierce, independent, business savvy, cutting edge, socially conscious women who find a way to produce and not be (publicly) swallowed up by the by-products of success. Her presence in the music industry is no small thing, and when you check her ghostwriting credentials you’ll see she’s written for so many of your favorite people (Lili Allen, Ashlee Simpson and Blaqstarr to name a few). I’m a witness to her maturation, her growing global presence, and her interdisciplinary approach to the arts. Santigold embodies voices of the unsung.

She’s on tour now and I had the opportunity to see her Black excellence live at the Hollywood Paladium last week. But I have to admit, I was thrown off by the sea of white millenials that made up the majority of concert goers. They were there in force, mouthing her lyrics verbatim, dancing a step behind the beat, and representing the fact that she lacks the support of Black radio and the embrace of Black youth. It became more clear that Santi is one of those artists who is vulnerable to the belief that hers is not Black music, but from my gatekeeping position as an authority (DJ), my work here is to place her where she belongs, squarely between the tradition and the future of Black music.

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