Rhyme Cellar, v. 15 : “Acapella” (2010)

Rhyme Cellar, v. 15 : “Acapella” (2010)

rhyming the cellar, cellaring the rhyme … semisweet chapter fifteen … where we muse upon verses in vellum tenor … a quinceañera in the lyrical lens of Acapella’s sapid scene … salud — enjoi

Acapella” — Kelis (Flesh Tone, 2010)

Writers : Jean Baptiste · David Guetta · Kelis · Makeba Riddick · Frédéric Riesterer · · Producers : Guetta · Riesterer · ·

Artist : Kelis
Vintage : 2010
Album : Flesh Tone
Label : will.i.am Music Group / Interscope
Region : Casa de Kelis, Los Angeles, California, U.S. ; Gum Prod Studios, Paris, France
Varietal / Blend : Pop / Club Pop, Electropop, Tech House

:: Primer ::

::  A(h, )capella … so, this one … emerged, in the immediate and on the external cultural, circa dawn of pisceasonal 2010 anno domini … admittedly, i remember flesh tone’s tauruseasonal release and artistic reintroduction more vividly … as a collective record album reckoning and reawakening it felt fundamentally fresh and foundationally familiar … it felt genuine and earnest … it felt intentionally nebulous … in a protostellar sort of way … planting starseeds of a deeply considered terra nova endeavor … sonically-speaking, at least … in that, Acapella served as a most apropos guardian chaperone ushering in kelis’ paschal renaissance … providing compass providence in the living lens of imminent mothership … fast forward a couple of years, shift coordinates eastward transatlantic, arriving upon victoria park, london, engerlond, circa geminancer cusp season 2012 … the lovebox festival, to be a skosh more precise … whenupon a miscellany camaraderie of pop denizen compadres, including said self, happened upon kelis’ fashionably dilatory outdoor (second?) stage set … whereupon said neon debris electrosubpop rave&b terra madre delivered a rubiksphoric set, capstoned with — as one does — a most amplisublime rendition of this very cellar’s spin in reference … which, as most, if not all, live musical experiences worth their weight in witnessed rhythm, brought the record from its origin to a certain echelon of axiomatic resonance … some sense of finicyclical … so, all of that is to broadly contextualize a general primer in context of the proximal … thus rambled and roamed, onward we profile and prose … ::

:: On the Palatte · Profile ::

:: On the front — well, first: pull focus on the palatte profile to a panorama pivot : this one, on the whole, just feels … tech house pisco sour electrpop soul … so, within said scope … let’s delve into said roundabout rouse feel, dive into the soundfeel of it all, from build to beat drop …

elementally speaking, our sonic cocktail starts with a foundation structured around those strong base notes of tech house percussive thump combustion … heavy on the egg white piston mechanization in the realm of turbine tempo propulsion … layer up the build with a formidable splash of pucker up buttercup citrus synth effects … circa lime juiced lightning vibes … then said syncopation submerges into something a bit more quick silver verve bodied … a simple syrup bassline to balance and edify, assuaging citrus acidity, bridging yolkless simplicity, and bringing some plasma saccharine feel to the fore … and we begin to feel echoes of a techpop jungle gum adjacent flavor profile taking form … but / and, of the course, beneath said aforementioned sweet sour solidified trifecta base notation station, resides our spiritual bedrock : vocalic pisco, our sonic cocktail’s signature soul

I was walking, was living
My melody was acapella
There’s a beat I was missing
No tune or a scale I could play

and so now: we dry shake — and upon said kinetic activation, our solidifying egg white elevates to its mousse adjacent mainstay atop mount pisco … fulfilling its firmament and sealing the sound of our combustion percussion’s frothy crown … and, just above our elementary instrumental edifice, the sangelorious garnish : our ricochet layered effectual and cardinal lyrical leitmotif’s angostura bitters

So come and revive me
I can’t feel my heartbeat
It’s just me surviving alone

Before you
My whole life was acapella
Now a symphony’s
The only song to sing
Before you
My whole life was acapella
Now a symphony’s
The only song to sing

onward into a mid profile pivot from the libation station flavor profile to peruse our palate primer’s genre palette parallel … segueing for bit of a vantage in the scope of sonic synesthesia …

so, genre-sonically speaking … we’re sensing those hi tech tribalism base notes of the techno alcove … that bass oriented something very spiritual skeletal structure … a festival tempo dreamweaving lyrical loomwork … manifesting our multisensory tapestry of a cosmicpolitan village … godspeed avante alee onward toward zion vibes … memoir driven melodies developing into the futuristic sci fictive vista rooted in a lucid rhythmic intention of being experienced in context of the continuous … the meditative mantric tone echoes that certain sphere of electronic dance’s cosmic sense of self-awareness … its immediate presence in the otherwise infinite akashic … 

Everything was the same
One color was just like the others
An assembly routine
My memories were all black and white
Till I stopped overthinking
Decided to draw back the curtains
And I cleared all the cobwebs
And began to let in the light

layer up the build expound into auric bodied house modality … buoying erstwhile pique percussion with deep saturation dosage levelling, and balancing the aerial atmospheric with a dose of groove for gravitational measure … and at the heart of our cellared rhyme … signature chansonnière’s vocals … supplanted by distant echoes of cosmic tear drops, extraterrestrial radar blip radio waves, and respiratory seraphic hymnal sighs … the summit signifier of our precedent niche … a leading lady’s clarion croon … here, the backstory and backbone of our tune brings a distinct emblematic element of denizen contemporary r&b … techno house hymnal scape of pop soul …

You got the drum in my heart beat
Bass and guitar lead
Stuck on the notes you play
My heart that you play on
Red like a crayon
I can’t walk away

and in the wake of a most rhapsodic bridge, for our penultimate push, we toss a couple of ice cubes ( orbs, rocks, whichever appeals to your enterprising pleasure ) into the shaker, et repete, for a second, post-droughted, more-hydrated, shake to dose our tune with some chill and dilution

Before you
My whole life was acapella
Now a symphony’s
The only song to sing

and so, to ebb our profile to the shore with a few final for now tasting notes … in immediate retrospect, this sensory journey synoptic reveals a composition edified in its eclectic intention … bonafide in its elemental range, captured within the deceptive simplicity of an acquired tastemaker’s build, delivered by way of a dangerously palpable finish … and, not to be overlooked — beneath the bitter, the sweet, the textured, and the polished instrumental ingredient accoutrements — akin to said cocktail’s signature spirit, this elixir‘s libatious namesake, kelis’ vocals – and the linchpin lyrics themselves – feel inherently pisco … the pulse navigating said sour concoction’s palatability … the cadence, flow, style, and tonality feel … grape-distilled spirit … inherently familiar, but with a certain can’t-quite-pin-it flair of the innocuous idiosyncratic …

the sour itself, feels kindred to the composition’s lyrical components in particular … whereas, by and large, the mouthfeel / soundfeel could resemble a lemon drop in its sweet spin on the citrus based staple … but the narrative here, the ode, homage, and vocation of motherhood … the concept of conception itself … translated through a paradigmatic shift in signature sonic aesthetic … an aural record of artistic rebirth … felt egg white angostura bitter dry shake, the sour beyond a simple sugar on the rim vodka drop … that certain froth and garnish crown and garland … felt bittersweet symphonic … progeny kindred lineage harmonic … with a twist of electropop tech house, spun ‘round and served up on the akashic decks of emerald tablature … or something to said effervescent effect ::

:: Pairings ::

:: So, this seven course sampling congregates in the proximal palatte plane of … human electric terra nova saga symphonic aural origin story … but / and … make it circuit orchestral disk jockey prophecy … something synth driven something very spiritual something very percussive sybillian … epic proem of the soundtribe village … and / or not remotely in the slightest — just sit back relax and have fun with it!

· ·

Rhyme Cellar : Acapella : Pair’d Playlist :: · “Selfmade” – Agnes · : · “Psalms” ft. FKA twigs – SOPHIE · : · “Refuge” – Moby · : · “Modern Bliss” ft. Ivy Barkakati – Roza Terenzi · : · “Arcadia” ft. Bim – High Contrast · : · “Acapella” – Kelis · : · “Safe and Sound” – Justice ·

so, off the jump with agnes’ Selfmade … this scandigem felt aligned as prologue primer within the capacity of … synthump wave kick driven underscore ruminating pop industrial manufactured isolation and the state of socially mediated solitary confinement in the age of late capitalist mechanical reproduction …

We live in the era of being selfmade
So who is a keeper, who goes to waste?
We live every minute, delete and replace
It’s all or nothing

but / and fundamentally, the imperative to create from said crevasse, to articulate one’s own structure of feeling in order to establish some bard heralded bond of the oppressed — in order to usurp said suppression … to muse the mark of the heretofore marginalized …

It takes a human to change, resetting the frame
It takes a human to draw the lines out
It takes a human to know, a human to grow
It takes a human to be alive now

to prose lyrical poetic a people’s history of the creative contemporary, from the vantage of neoteric terra mater …

It takes a woman to know, a woman to grow
It takes a woman to draw the lines out
It takes a woman to know, a woman to grow
It takes a woman to be alive now

It takes a
It takes a
It takes a woman

onward … and so then, somewhere at the crux of symphonic sacrificial, on the severed wings of terranean angels … fka twigs x sophie aria Psalms

I’m saved by your holy kiss
Only angels taste like this
But could there be more?
Let’s clip our wings
Feel the rapture of Earthly things

capturing the descent of once pantheonic citizens, now earthbound denizens … kenosis flows through the faded coruscant aqueduct alcoves …

I wanna love my way
I’d clip my wings for you
Falling through the skies and holding onto you for life
I’d clip my wings for you

sagas of equivocal salvation sermonized by way of demiurgic channels … the textures on this one … just … the sheer hushed bombast viscera on that hyperbop elixir … get glitch’d matrices … whew … onward … rebounding from rupture … recouping from pared plumes …

To us who were of necessary birth, for the Earth’s hard and thankless toil …

ever ardent we march ahead … approaching objective visibility … embarking upon a trance familial plane where silence ceases to sustain significance … in moby and linton kwesi’s realm of Refuge …

To us, to us, to us, to us, to us, to us, to us …
To us who were of necessary birth, for the Earth’s hard and thankless toil … : silence has no meaning

Silence has no meaning

Silence has no

Silence has no meaning

onward … where from exile we emerge upon terenzi and barkakati’s contempocelestial canopy of Modern Bliss …

clarity, intention … direction
exactly where i need to be my thoughts create reality
no rush, no fuss
clarity, intention, creativity, direction …

exactly where i need to be

coasting along oscillating crescendos … deep pneumatic trance in transit … pulsing native tempos, building mantra boulevards, plotting catalyst coordinates … gravitating musocommunal tribe kids back to this goa coral reef reverb home cove … in the electricikey of intention … alee

ascending, yet again, godspeed onward ever upward toward signaturepiece crystalline symphony … we enter high contrast and bim cool’s cosmic cortege … musing mythosophy, orating origin stories, ambling about the halcyon planes of Arcadia …

No such place exists
Just an empty field
We all learned the transmissions
Someone must have sent them
Someone must have
Brought all these people here?
But why?
And where did they go?

Just like you and me
Together we are free

You and I

ewe and eye … striding high … onward godspeed … wherefore, at long last – well, patient penultimate – we arrive upon our signaturepiece leitmotif : kelis‘ Acapella … avante

and, summarily merrily merrily merrily … of the course, as always, upon reunion with our divine compliment … there is nothing left but copacetic rest in the universal womb of an actualized dreamscape …

Hold tight
Driving dark
Head up, foot down
Speed of sound
Time’s up, kick start
Keep on track
Flags out, sit back
Safe and sound

free falling into the franconouveau disco groove armada deep pulsating perambulator … courtesy of Justice … just us … Safe And Sound … et repete … because, it takes a woman … and scene ::

· ·

:: Impressions ::

:: First and lasting impressions … well, in immediate retrospect … this one just feels … record of conscious revival … eclectic conception … manifesto museprint … electropop tropcoppice world progression … in the wake of apparent requiem, chorale resounds … from dark daze, a baroness hearkens her bright knight … ::

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