Letta Mbulu - Sings & Free Soul [1967,1968 - South Africa]

Still not an Axelrod fanatic? Well, try this one on for size.

Although known as a jazz-funk pioneer, David Axelrod produced records of various genres; from psychedelic rock (see The Electric Prunes) to Afro-pop.

The Axelrod sound is still definitely apparent in this album, however the African/Western fusion results in a unique sound; Letta Mbulu powerful voice over Axelrod's orchestral arrangements.

Hip-hop heads will dig this too. I was completely unaware of the Louis Logic sample for his hilarious track "Coochie Coup" found on Letta's "Kukuchi."

By the way, it's your lucky day cuz this is a DOUBLE LP!

get it

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Undefeated

A Inspiring Tale of Man vs. Boulder!
Enjoy this short documentary set in Bishop County, CA about my rock climbing friend Kourosh.

Undefeated from clark barclay on Vimeo.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I,
but when the trees bow down their heads
the wind is passing by.

One of Biggie's illest verse:

sing along...

I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death knocking at my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug to juggle, another day another struggle

I know how it feels to wake up fucked up
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell
People look at you like you's the user
Selling drugs to all the losers mad Buddha abuser
But they don't know about the stress-filled day
Baby on the way mad bills to pay
That's why you drink Tanqueray
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn't living so devilish, shit
I remember I was just like you
Smoking blunts with my crew
Flipping oldie 62's
'Cause G-E-D was it B-I-G, I got P-A-I-D
That's why my mom hates me
She was forced to kick me out, no doubt
Then I figured out Nick's went for twenty down south
Packed up my tools for my raw power move
Glock nineteen for casket and flower moves
For drunks trying to stop my flow
And what they don't know will show on the autopsy
Went to see papi, to cop me a brick
Asked for some consignment and he wasn't trying to hear it
Smoking mad Newports 'cause I'm doing court for an assault
That I caught in Bridge Port, New York
Catch me if you can like the ginger bread man
You better have your gat in hand
'Cause man

I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death knocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug to juggle, another day another struggle

I had the master plan
I'm in the caravan on my way to Maryland
With my man Tutex to take over this projects
They call him Tutex, he tote two techs
And when he starts to bust
He likes to ask who's next?
I got my honies on the Amtrack
With the crack in the crack of her ass
Two pounds of hash in the stash
I wait for hun to make some quick cash
I told her she could be lieutenant bitch got gassed
At last I'm literally lounging black,
Seating back counting double digit thousands stacks
Had to re-up see what's up with my peeps
Toyota dealer cars had it cheap on the jeeps
See who got smoked, what rumors was spread
Last I heard I was dead with six to the head
Then I got the phone call
It couldn't hit me harder
We got infiltrated
Like Nino at the Carter
I heard Tec got murdered in a town I've never heard of
By some bitch named Alberta over nickel-plated burners
And my bitch swear to God she won't snitch
I told her where she hit the bricks I'll make the hooker rich
Conspiracy should be home in three
Until them I look south for the home family
A true G, that's me blowing like a bubble
In the everyday struggle

I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death knocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug to juggle, another day another struggle

I'm seeing body after body and our mayor Giuliani
Ain't trying to see no black man turn to John Gotti
My daughter use a potty so she's older now
Educated street knowledge I'mma mold 'er now
Trick 'er little dope buying young girls fringes
Dealing with the dope fiend binges
Seeing syringes in the veins
Hard to explain how I maintain
The crack smoke makes my brain feel so strange
Breaking days on the set no sweat from cold moet
Can't bag yet because's still wet
But when I dry back in five at a time
I can clock about nine on the check cashing line
I had to burst on the third
Rehearse that's my word
Thinking the game Ds knew my first name
Should I quit? Shit no!
Even though they had me scared
Yo they gotta eight I gotta teck with air holes

That's just how the shit goes in the struggle mother fucker

I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death knocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug to juggle, another day another struggle 

Sole - Year of the $exxx $ymbol

sing along...





saturday, june 11th, 1 year later,
it took me 21 years to make this album.
but i did 3/4ths of it in the last 2 weeks.
notebooks after phone calls, cars lined up to be extinguished in the office place.
embarcadero is the biggest mauseleum imaginable,
this house can't stay clean.
too many superstars on the rug, too many tags on the fog on the mirror.
this is it, and i can see them when i see me.
reflection is relative, nothing can be finished by then.
these phone bills pile up, forgotten half of the convos anyway.
sole is idol worship, these songs are all different sides of me,
i dont know if that's a good or a bad thing.
but this is cleansing, a baptism in babylon.
a broken bottle of humans where idiosyncrasies are fiestas.
it's party time, and i forgot my hip-hop hat,
cut off all the heads quietly naked screaming for attention.
used to wear my ego as a sweater,
now it's the cape that follows me throughout the atmosphere.
keep your eyes to the ground, swallow your pride.
talk to the voices in your head.
how did the alarm get 2 hours ahead?
it's been like that for a minute, my hands are dirty.
and somehow i manage to separate that from the keyboards and melodies
that swallow up my fantasies.
smoke on these phrasings, i dont wanna be amazing.
just leave me, so i can record album number 6 next month,
and always remain inspired.

i'd promise the outro but i don't want to spoil the moment
i'd promise the outro but i don't want to spoil it...

i picture chubby deaf girls dancing in a black and white freeze frame.
i hear galaxies as communities i shall never see.
oh no, it's those creatures with the big heads and eyes and they're coming for me.
i think of pages burning, and lots of light beaming from an unseen source.
i'm more like this giant making boquets,
the bullet just entered and she entering pain.
it don't rain, it splatters, that's why my data remains after the pain.
don't blame me if all my songs sound the same.
i'm a product of envy and turmoil roller coasting insane.
trying to change the world 5 pages at a time,
calling green lights stops signs, it's all aura laborious.
my aura and story is static like clouds are sculptures.
humanity is too much cotton candy.
here's some food for thought in digestion decompose.
we compose, here's another patented product for your collection.
language is action packed, come on let's picnic,
and nitpick between factions, fact, fiction and mineral.
drink well the cactus...centerfold)?
sink fast, the uprise goes on without us.
i'm all ears, all here, blind to you and your puppeteer.
everyday is truman show,
true men show their face and expose flesh.
who made the cut? my pen is the sax, so the horn blows the grand scheme. relax.

i'd promise the outro but i don't have any time.
i'd promise the outro but this is only the beginning...

sole is the protocol, sex symbol, fly on the wall.
this a pre-emptive strike, match struck.
awestruck beyond comparison, white collar barbarian,
telling the librarian; these are the papers to bury the sky.
it's christmas time, bring in styrofoam cups filling outside of the lines.
these are scribbles for an older exhausted pulse.
it's the return of the never been there.
give me 5 minutes we'll melt you're 12 dollars we stupid crackhead cupids.
milking the earth for what it's worth, with my family or single handedly.
this hand breaks things, this hand molds things.
son i'm in my own shadow,
the mold that breaks the glass.
your ears are my walls and these are mere paragraphs.
follow the architect, sure we're erecting art and texture.
now sole is only human, enjoy my imperfections.
put a red dot on that, slaughtering articles, pen and pixeling particles.
here's your entry, posing makes participants feel practiced, so keep them skills dull.
i bang symbolism off doldrums and still spare minutes.
check my postcards these are letters from god.
i've been practicing this face for centuries.
these are acts of pretention.
i've been practicing this face for centuries.
how you like my grill?
how you like my smile?
i've been practicing this face for centuries and i'll be like this for a minute.