“I am like a Lion from Zion…”

April 16, 2008

As I bounced around town this evening trying to find a suitable place to study for class, I became overwhelmed by the massive ambiguity surrounding my future. I almost never write personal blogs (especially not on The Haymaker), but this does relate to music and…well…it’s what most deserves textuality right now. I’ll spare the details on my personal fight for a future and a place in the world. The point is that I was fighting the mind battles of that fight, and I was losing.

I had been listening to Gnarls Barkley’s new album fairly non-stop in my car lately. So when I got into the car and turned on my cd player, I was surprised to here Fugees coming through the speakers. I had forgotten switching up the repertoire, but I was glad to hear the old school sounds blasting. I cranked the volume up as loud as I could handle it and rolled the windows down.

The interesting thing about Fugees’ album “The Score” to me is that the lyrical content and motive of the album is hard, but the music is like honey going down. The album exhibits very few moments of abrasiveness and yet loses none of its lyrical potency. As for tonight, this was just what the doctor ordered.

I felt the strength behind lines like, “boy on the side of Babylon tryin’ to front like he down with Mount Zion,” and, “Ready or not, here I come, you can’t hide, gonna find you, and make you want me…” Many of the lines are comforting, despite the fact that I did not grow up on the streets of Brooklyn. The fact that Fugees’ music and lyrics are foreign to probably 70 to 80 percent of my university is analogous to the distance I feel from everyone around me. People don’t get me. I’m too diverse, too undefinable, too hopeful, too nice. They’ll tell you they like diversity, individuality, and hope, but when it comes down to brass tax, no one knows what to do with someone they can’t box into a category, stereotype, or genre. This separation is why I identify with the revolutionaries (or at least the truly forward thinkers).

As I sit here and type the final words of this post, I realize that you probably won’t truly get this. And that’s ok. There’s always hope to fall back on. And hope is not hope if you can see it.


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