A song by The Fugees with beautiful Lauryn Hill and her impressive voice, who during last years had a successful career and four children by one of Bob Marley’s sons. Unfortunately she is now having some problems.
Ready Or Not can be read on several levels (personal, musical, political).
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[CHORUS:]
Ready Or Not, Here I Come, You Can’t Hide
Gonna Find You and Take it Slowly
Ready Or Not, Here I Come, You Can’t Hide
Gonna Find You and Make you want me.
[CLEF:]
Now that I escape, sleepwalker awake
Those who could relate know the world ain’t cake
Jail bars ain’t golden gates
Those who fake, they break,
When they meet their 400 pound mate
If I could rule the world
Everyone would have a gun in the ghetto of course
When giddyupin’ on their horse
I Kick a rhyme drinkin’ moonshine
I pour a sip on the concrete, for the deceased
But no don’t weep, Wyclef’s in a state of sleep
Thinkin’ ’bout the robbery that I did last week.
Money in the bag, banker looked like a drag
I want to play with pelicans from here to Baghdad
Gun blast, think fast, I think I’m hit
My girl pinched my hips to see if I still exist.
I think not, I’ll send a letter to my friends,
A born again hooligan only to be king again.
[LAURYN:]
I play my enemies like a game of chess, where I rest,
No stress
If you don’t smoke sess, lest.
I must confess, my destiny’s manifest
In some Goretex and sweats I make treks like I’m homeless
Rap orgies with Porgy and Bess,
Capture your bounty like Elliot Ness, YES
Bless you if you represent the Fu
But I’ll hex you with some witch’s brew if you’re Doo Doo
Voo Doo,
I can do what you do, easy, BELIEVE ME
Frontin’ niggas give me hee-bee-gee-bees
So while you’re imitating Al Capone
I’ll be Nina Simone
And defacating on your microphone.
[Chorus:]
Ready Or Not, Here I Come, You Can’t Hide
Gonna Find You and Take it Slowly
[LAURYN'S INTERLUDE]
You can’t run away
From these styles I got, oh baby, hey baby
Cause I got a lot, oh yeah
And anywhere you go
My whole crew’s gonna know
You can’t hide from the block, oh no.
[PRAZ:]
Ready or not, refugees takin’ over
The Buffalo soldier, dread-lock rhasta
On the twelfth hour, fly by in my bomber
Crews run for cover, now they’re under pushin’ up flowers
Superfly true lies, do or die,
Toss me high - only puff la,
With my crew from lock high
I refugee from Guantanamo Bay
Dance around the border like I’m Cassius Clay
[Chorus (Lauryn) REPEAT 3X:]
Ready Or Not, Here I Come, You Can’t Hide
Gonna Find You and Take it Slowly
Ready Or Not, Here I Come, You Can’t Hide
Gonna Find You and Make You Want Me
Rüdiger Safranski, Il male, Longanesi, 2006, 310 pag., 22 Euro
Cos’è il male? Presenza demoniaca o mancanza d’essere? La tradizione culturale occidentale opta per la seconda ipotesi già con Agostino e l’uomo ridotto ad essere unidimensionale. Oppure, con Schelling e Schopenhauer, nel rinnegamento del bisogno metafisico. O, in seguito, con la degradazione dell’uomo asservito a scopi egoistici teorizzato da Kant, il cui perfetto contraltare, per Safranski, sarebbe Sade e il piacere inteso come fruizione di persone-oggetti. Fin qui all’interrogazione iniziale ha risposto la filosofia rinvenendo legami di senso dove ne manchino. E cosa dire invece dell’arte? Rüdiger Safranski le attribuisce la capacità di dare significato al potente silenzio della natura che minaccia l’uomo di estinzione. L’artista, quindi, cerca di superare la naturale tendenza alla dissoluzione insita nelle cose sostituendola con un mondo altro nato dalla fantasia. A questo proposito Safranski ricorda anche che, per Hannah Arendt, la menzogna diventa centrale nella creatività e nei rapporti tra gli uomini: chi mente sa bene come stiano le cose ma le presenta in modo diverso per andare oltre la realtà e occultarla per i propri fini. Fino al raggiungimento del parossismo di Hitler secondo cui le masse vogliono “credere alle bugie più sfacciate”, imitando la figura di Mefistofele che, pur godendo davanti alla distruzione, deve tuttavia arrendersi al cospetto dell’onnipotenza della vita e alle sue risorse salvifiche.
When Marillion were prog and Fish could be a sexy boy.
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
Hiding in her cellophane world in glitter town
Awaiting the prince in his white Capri
Dynamic young Tarzan courts the bedsit queen
She’s playing the actress in this bedroom scene
She’s learning her lines from glossy magazines
Stringing all her pearls from her childhood dreams
Auditioning for the leading role on the silver screen
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child
One day they really love you, you’ll charm them with that smile
But for now it’s just another Chelsea Monday
Chelsea Monday
Tju
In the city of dreamers…
Drifting with her incense in the labyrinth of London
Playing games with faces in the neon wonderland
Perform to scattered shadows on the shattered cobbled aisles
Would she dare recite soliloquies at the risk of stark applause
To Chelsea Monday
She’ll pray for endless Sundays as she enters saffron sunsets
Conjure phantom lovers from the tattered shreds of dawn
Fulfilled and yet forgotten the St. Tropez mirage
Fragrant aphrodisiac, the withered tuberose
Of Chelsea Monday
Sweet Chelsea Monday
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child
One day they really love you, you’ll charm them with that smile
But for now it’s just another Chelsea Monday
Sweet Chelsea Monday
Voice: “Hello John, did you see The Standard about four hours ago?
Fished a young chick out of The Old Father
Blond hair, blue eyes
She said she wanted to be an actress or something
Nobody knows where she came from, where she was going
Funny thing was she had a smile on her face
She was smiling
What a waste!”
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
Buried in her cellophane world in glitter town
Of Chelsea Monday
Chelsea Monday
She was only dreaming
