Post by fugees-online on Feb 24, 2006 18:00:59 GMT 1
"What is a voice really?"
**Terrence grabs guitar and formalizes a melody for his song. Calls Lauryn and has her shout over him**
Terrence:
Orange and Calibur sittin in a tree
F-R-E-E-S-T-Y-L-I-N-G
First comes love, then comes marriage,
then here comes Orange with the...5th baby carriage
Lauryn:
GRGGRRRRRRR!! ARGGGGGGGGG! RAH, RAH, RAH!! YIIIIIIII! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. GGRRRRR! YEAH! BING! GRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Terrence: What was that
Lauryn: Okay, that was Killing me Softly. I haven't sung that in a while. And what is voice really.
Ms. Hill:
“Voice” is a socially-constructed, institutionalized, esoteric convention of systemic depravity, much like the growling-Mary J. Blige paradigm. Oh, my audience loves my growling. I’ve got a great audience. But what is “on key” but a fleeting notion? Is it reality or just emotion? When a (super smart, Black) woman is singing about herself, why are you cringing in pain unless the discordant howls are relevant to you?
See, what the Devil says to people. Cover your ears. Let your eardrums bleed. This isn't fun. “Please don’t harm your voice Lauryn,” they plead, and the old Lauryn would’ve let the woman touch me, and beg me to save my ravaged vocals. But now I have the courage to tell my husband - tell my children - tell Wyclef - I don't wanna do that! Get back on the f*#&ing stage and do this right!
Wyclef:
Bing!
Ms. Hill:
If that’s the definition of a growler, then I’m a growler BLOOD CLOT!
Coronary, triple bypass, heart attack. Jah bless.
By the way, xxcalibur, you need Jesus. Desperately, desperately. Everything you post is either a pointless phrase saying you agree, something about hip-hop, or something sucking up to OrangeShoe. Yes, I read this board. As a matter of fact, Zion, honey, sign on please. The username is “dazonne” and the password is “empress.” Thanks.
And please Terrence, stop posting up those damn conversations. That’s my intellectual property, stealin stolen commodity. (In fact, I’m home-schooling Selah Louise in philosophy, so your screen name will be a copyright infringement in a matter of months.) I could care less if you’re mad at me!
And OrangeShoe, or should I say Ms. S - - - e (yes, I know your real name), you crossed the line and there’s no coming back. You’ll get sucked into my intergalac - tical pull. Bing, I have to bing myself for that one. Yes, I remember you from the underground circuits. And let me tell you something. “The real reason livin is a struggle, cuz of MS. HILL. Atlantis and Rome became rubble cuz of MS. HILL.” That doesn’t make sense, but the point is, I got moxy, I’m so damn foxy. I breathe fashion. Tell them chicks, get off my style!
PETA Rep:
Lau…Ms. Hill, the dead fox you’re wearing is bleeding!
Wyclef:
That's not blood on her fur, man, that's ketchup.
Ms. Hill:
Okay, I’ve decided to be called Empress. That’s Empress to EVERYONE. Stay gold like Stevie Wonder, don’t blunder like O. J. Simpson.
Empress:
Okay, I’m not crazy. I’m a Black queen in a post-modern paradox. Supreme from another time. First of all, f*#$ you PETA, this is faux fur.
And f*#$ you Rah Digga. When you see me sit my a.ss down with a guitar and cry, I’m saying YES! This is my time – to sell exponentially more than you with cryptic messages, strained vocals, and seven hours of the same chords – to get nominated for a Grammy by an association that don’t begin to comprehend what I’ve got to say – to get sampled by the most successful and c.ocky hip-hop producer in history – to refuse to clear that sample and have some girl name Syleena study the growling-Mary J. Blige paradigm to flowstyle copy me – and, as Karma so profoundly put it – to watch you go ‘quadruple frozen piss’ while I’ve been layin back for a hot 10 years, collecting residuals from off the Score. And making sure I’m in the 144.
Pras:
Bing!
Wyclef:
Okay, man, you’ve used up your 8 bars of recording time for this month
Empress:
Funny money change a situation.
These dimensions and extensions will secure your future pensions, Pras.
Did I mention corporate lynches like the cowboys did to Injuns, Clef?
*starts rapping in an advanced, polyphonic, quasi-psychokinetically transmitted combination of Morse code, C++, Aramaic, cybernetic terminology, the Boy Scouts secret handshake, the Hebrew Shema, harmonic bleeps from the Neptunes, and subtle sampling of Amerie’s hit single “1 Thing”*
Wyclef:
We’ve got Rohan Marley in the audience. Get on the drums, Ro
by Terrence aka Philo and xxxcalibur (runboard)
**Terrence grabs guitar and formalizes a melody for his song. Calls Lauryn and has her shout over him**
Terrence:
Orange and Calibur sittin in a tree
F-R-E-E-S-T-Y-L-I-N-G
First comes love, then comes marriage,
then here comes Orange with the...5th baby carriage
Lauryn:
GRGGRRRRRRR!! ARGGGGGGGGG! RAH, RAH, RAH!! YIIIIIIII! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. GGRRRRR! YEAH! BING! GRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Terrence: What was that
Lauryn: Okay, that was Killing me Softly. I haven't sung that in a while. And what is voice really.
Ms. Hill:
“Voice” is a socially-constructed, institutionalized, esoteric convention of systemic depravity, much like the growling-Mary J. Blige paradigm. Oh, my audience loves my growling. I’ve got a great audience. But what is “on key” but a fleeting notion? Is it reality or just emotion? When a (super smart, Black) woman is singing about herself, why are you cringing in pain unless the discordant howls are relevant to you?
See, what the Devil says to people. Cover your ears. Let your eardrums bleed. This isn't fun. “Please don’t harm your voice Lauryn,” they plead, and the old Lauryn would’ve let the woman touch me, and beg me to save my ravaged vocals. But now I have the courage to tell my husband - tell my children - tell Wyclef - I don't wanna do that! Get back on the f*#&ing stage and do this right!
Wyclef:
Bing!
Ms. Hill:
If that’s the definition of a growler, then I’m a growler BLOOD CLOT!
Coronary, triple bypass, heart attack. Jah bless.
By the way, xxcalibur, you need Jesus. Desperately, desperately. Everything you post is either a pointless phrase saying you agree, something about hip-hop, or something sucking up to OrangeShoe. Yes, I read this board. As a matter of fact, Zion, honey, sign on please. The username is “dazonne” and the password is “empress.” Thanks.
And please Terrence, stop posting up those damn conversations. That’s my intellectual property, stealin stolen commodity. (In fact, I’m home-schooling Selah Louise in philosophy, so your screen name will be a copyright infringement in a matter of months.) I could care less if you’re mad at me!
And OrangeShoe, or should I say Ms. S - - - e (yes, I know your real name), you crossed the line and there’s no coming back. You’ll get sucked into my intergalac - tical pull. Bing, I have to bing myself for that one. Yes, I remember you from the underground circuits. And let me tell you something. “The real reason livin is a struggle, cuz of MS. HILL. Atlantis and Rome became rubble cuz of MS. HILL.” That doesn’t make sense, but the point is, I got moxy, I’m so damn foxy. I breathe fashion. Tell them chicks, get off my style!
PETA Rep:
Lau…Ms. Hill, the dead fox you’re wearing is bleeding!
Wyclef:
That's not blood on her fur, man, that's ketchup.
Ms. Hill:
Okay, I’ve decided to be called Empress. That’s Empress to EVERYONE. Stay gold like Stevie Wonder, don’t blunder like O. J. Simpson.
Empress:
Okay, I’m not crazy. I’m a Black queen in a post-modern paradox. Supreme from another time. First of all, f*#$ you PETA, this is faux fur.
And f*#$ you Rah Digga. When you see me sit my a.ss down with a guitar and cry, I’m saying YES! This is my time – to sell exponentially more than you with cryptic messages, strained vocals, and seven hours of the same chords – to get nominated for a Grammy by an association that don’t begin to comprehend what I’ve got to say – to get sampled by the most successful and c.ocky hip-hop producer in history – to refuse to clear that sample and have some girl name Syleena study the growling-Mary J. Blige paradigm to flowstyle copy me – and, as Karma so profoundly put it – to watch you go ‘quadruple frozen piss’ while I’ve been layin back for a hot 10 years, collecting residuals from off the Score. And making sure I’m in the 144.
Pras:
Bing!
Wyclef:
Okay, man, you’ve used up your 8 bars of recording time for this month
Empress:
Funny money change a situation.
These dimensions and extensions will secure your future pensions, Pras.
Did I mention corporate lynches like the cowboys did to Injuns, Clef?
*starts rapping in an advanced, polyphonic, quasi-psychokinetically transmitted combination of Morse code, C++, Aramaic, cybernetic terminology, the Boy Scouts secret handshake, the Hebrew Shema, harmonic bleeps from the Neptunes, and subtle sampling of Amerie’s hit single “1 Thing”*
Wyclef:
We’ve got Rohan Marley in the audience. Get on the drums, Ro
by Terrence aka Philo and xxxcalibur (runboard)
