nijmakesbeats

[nijmakesbeats]

A poem I wrote on 18.4.21:

"In a world of masks

I am finding it harder to find you.

I knew you'd go and make it

A trial

For me to reclaim you

Throwing me snatches

And dropping breadcrumbs

And leaving footprints

On the grainy sands

Of my underexposed film

But not even I knew

You wanted away from me

So much

That you'd unleash this

Upon the world"

[nijmakesbeats]

I’m not a writer, I just write a lot.

[nijmakesbeats]

Old Notes from my iPhone Pt. 1:  A Dream About Raaj (14.10.16)

I had a dream about Raaj last night [13.10.16].  It was only a short dream (I think) and it was really strange. It goes like this:  

We are all together in a big country manor house and everyone is dressed incredibly smartly (smart?).  We are all in silk blue suits, thin lapels, white pocket squares, each with a pink carnation; very sharp.  Raaj is there and he looks incredible.  He’s tanned and big (but doesn’t look overweight) and his skin glows.  He looks happy;  like I always remember him.  I’m there too but it’s a bit like I’m behind a camera, filming it all; this incredible scene.  I keep circling Raaj slowly as he talks and tells jokes and makes everyone laugh.  Wherever this place is, it is beautiful; so bright and full of sunshine.  It is the perfect temperature; warm with a very delicate breeze.  Raaj is on a stone patio overlooking a huge garden that goes on for miles.  He’s walking back towards the house, Satpal and Bill are on either side of him; and you [Aj], G and Lagh are walking close behind, laughing along to Raaj’s wise-cracks and put-downs.  The patio leads into the main drawing room of the house and the girls and parents and other elders are sat there all looking very glamorous.  I think someone says something which indicates that it might be my wedding day and the seats that they are all sitting on face some kind of “alter”.  The kids are running around, laughing, playing, having fun.  I can hear the murmur of excited chatter.  The walls are golden, soaked in sunshine and you can hear Raaj’s voice and the sound of laughter. At one point, you look at me and something in your look indicates to me that Raaj is dead.  I acknowledge it but we carry on, pretending that he’s alive.  We can see him and hear him and talk to him, but he’s not actually there.  I look over at Aman and she’s drying her eyes.  She smiles at me and we look at Raaj.  Raaj looks back at us, smiling.  He’s really happy but there is something in his eyes that tells us that he wants to be there with us because he knows he’s not.  It’s kind of where I wake up but just before I do, there are flashes of a storm, like thunder and lightning;  every time the lightning flashes, I see everything in black and white and the suits and clothes no longer dazzle but are black and different shades of grey and white.   The smiles are replaced with tears and the laughter is replaced with the sound of crying.  And we’re in Leamington, at Raaj's old house, and not the wondrous country manor house.  And Raaj isn’t there.

It was horrible how the dream ended, but the first bit, which lasted so much longer than the last bit, was incredible.  I know it doesn’t mean anything but it was just the first time I’d dreamt of Raaj since he died and he looked happy.  

[nijmakesbeats]

Missing the match

I wrote this at the airport during the second leg of the Champions League Quarter Final between Manchester City (0) and Liverpool FC (3), a match I couldn’t watch but desperately wanted to. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd been blocked from watching it because it was cheaper to fly on this day and at this time and from this terminal with this airline.

My brother had tried to remember his log in details to allow me access but neither combination of username password worked and I found myself blocked out of the channel until some further unknown time.  So I retreated to the Oriel Brasserie, the port of so many other of my journeys and ordered a Bloody Mary and some frites (more commonly known as: fries).  

"You'll Never Walk Alone" was replaced by a cover of "The Girl From Ipanema" and the fevered anxiety of match day nerves was replaced by lounge calm, my change of heart palpitation? beat? caused by the mellow intoxication of the conjugal reunion of the vodka and Worcestershire sauce and tomato juice.  

I ordered another with some baked emmental cheese sticks and tapped my foot to "Love & Happiness", thinking about my love and the happiness that a victory or draw (or loss of only 2-0) would bring to my day.  But I wasn't thinking about that. I was thinking of my love, and my drink, and the fact that the barman could make a Mary Verte and replace the El Blanco tequila with the vodka of my current wave.  I didn't want to land far east with a hangover, however mild it might be.

I'd finally settled down and away from a blue arena, where I hoped a flurry of red was dizzying and dazzling, to leave a Purple Rain descending over green grass. But no sooner had I delved into a chapter from my past, All-India Radio beaming in my eyes, I heard an almight, "OHHH!!! Come on ref!! That's a card!!" and in an instant, my heart palpitations? beats? went from Burt Bacarach to Art Blakey.  I took a gulp from my green drink - all vodka and coriander and pineapple and spicy jalepeno and no subtle tomato juice or Worcestershire sauce - settled it back on its coaster and began to sweat.

"Did they say Mané or Sané?" Not again! Surely... I thought.

Were their accents like the thick scouse I'd heard so many times on the terraces and the Kop of Anfield Road or different?   

Listen closer man, LISTEN!

                                                        *          *

Red mist descends and my green drink has turned purpley-brown. My heart is rattling away like an old steam engine and my armpits pour with sweat, the smell of anxiety infesting my nostrils.

                                                       *          *

I remembered past scores. Comfortable near victories which ended title runs in tears outside pubs bearing the name of divine creatures as crumbling Palaces resurrected right in front of my eyes!  Slips and trips! Sendings offs and 5-0 thumpings. Armani suits and scuffed goals by lauded villans.  The other stuff, miracles and last gasp goals of the season, records being smashed, out of this world comebacks, all failed to appear in my memories.  

Just the darkness. Dark reds. Like a bruise; dull thumping pain. That's all I could see and hear.

I couldn't hold it together! I jumped to my feet, the Oriel's ambience shattered in my panic!

"What's the score??", I scream!

"0-0. But Cardiff should have had a man sent off!"

"Oh..."... 

I settled down, sunk the contents of my glass and ordered a proper drink; closed my eyes for a moment and focused on the darkness.

[nijmakesbeats]

Gonna spend this year writing more.

Come back soon.

[nijmakesbeats]

Life mimicking art

Ch. 2: “Full Moon and Eclipse Of The Sun/On Horses Dying In The Stables�� from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

“Is it possible, finally, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another?

We can invest enormous time and energy in serious efforts to know another person, but in the end, how close are we able to come to that person’s essence? We convince ourselves that we know the other person well, but do we really know anything important about anyone?

I started thinking seriously about such things a week after I quit my job at the law firm. Never until then - never in the whole course of my life-had I grappled with questions like this. And why not? Probably because my hands had been full just living. I had simply been too busy to think about myself.

Something trivial got me started, just as most important things in the world have small beginnings. One morning after Kumiko rushed through breakfast and left for work, I threw the laundry into the washing machine, made the bed, washed the dishes, and vacuumed. Then, with the cat beside me, I sat on the veranda, checking the want ads and the sales. At noon I had lunch and went to the supermarket. There I bought food for dinner and, from a sale table, bought detergent, tissues and toilet paper. At home again, I made preparations for dinner and lay down on the sofa with a book, waiting for Kumiko to come home. 

Newly unemployed, I found this kind of life refreshing. No more commuting to work on jam-packed subways, no more meetings with people I didn’t want to meet. And best of all, I could read any book I wanted, anytime I wanted. I had no idea how long this relaxed lifestyle would continue, but at that point, at least, after a week, I was enjoying it, and I tried hard not to think about the future. This was my one great vacation in life. It would have to end sometime, but until it did I was determined to enjoy it.”

[nijmakesbeats]

MXXWLL

Came here just to post this: 

https://soundcloud.com/mxxwllofficial/sets/beatsvol1 

Might be album of the year.  

[nijmakesbeats]

Poetic Justice

Malik Abdul Rahmaan absolutely murders this remix of Kung Fu Kenny’s “Poetic Justice”: 

https://vimeo.com/223551317

[nijmakesbeats]

A Tribe Called Quest - Find A Way: hook and verses 1 & 2

This is pretty much me right now: 

“Now you caught me heart for the evening Kissed my cheek, moved in, you confuse things Should I just sit out or come harder? Help me find my way

Messing me up, my whole head Teasing me, just like Tisha, did Martin Now look at what you're startin Schoolboy's crush and it ain't on the hush The whole world see it but you can't My peoples they complain, sit and rave and rant Your name is out my mouth like an ancient chant Got me like a dog as I pause and pant

Speaking of which, got a leash and I wish just to rock you miss Make a militant move, peep my strategy End of the day you're not mad at me Not dealing with nobody, now that's what you told me I said, “hey yo, it's cool, we can just be friendly” 'Cause yo, picture me messing it up Her mind not corrupt with the ill C-Cups Shit, I'm on my J.O. Bullshitting, hoping that the day goes slow Got me like a friend, what confuses me though Is kisses when we breeze, tell me what's the dill yo?”

[nijmakesbeats]

Rumi

“The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was.

Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along.

***

Inside this new love, die. Your way begins on the other side. Become the sky.

Take an axe to the prison wall. Escape. Walk out like someone suddenly born into color. Do it now.

You’re covered with a thick cloud. Slide out the side. Die, and be quiet.

Quiteness is the surest sign that you’ve died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence.

The speechless full moon comes out now.”

[nijmakesbeats]

He’s the greatest DJ

My homeboy Ray is the best DJ in the world.  He could cold rock a party at a funeral.  This mix he did is so fire that I have a permanent stink face on. Go listen:

https://soundcloud.com/rayjuss/music-heals-mix-may-2017

[nijmakesbeats]

In spite of what I said below ...

... the rap game is on FIRE.  

In the last few we’ve had new Homeboy Sandman, Quelle Chris, Evidence, KENDRICK (!!!!), Vic Spencer, Westside Gunn & Conway, Roc Marciano and others that I am clearly forgetting. I’ve been acting epileptic on my tube journeys.  Shit’s been crazy. 

[nijmakesbeats]

Rap Chefs

Go cook up some scran using recipes from your favourite rappers. 

http://bigrapcookbook.com/

[nijmakesbeats]

Throwback

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IipP9mY3ik

[nijmakesbeats]

Sonnyjim - Mud In My Malbec

I’m rarely impressed by rappers these days.  If you like rap music nowadays, you probably like raps like this:

“I just took some molly, what else? (Hey) Got some bitch from Follies with us (‘scuse me, ‘scuse me) She gonna fuck the squad, what else? (I swear) I'ma fuck her broads, what else? (Get, get!) Bitch from Pakistan, what up? (Foreign!) Ferraris and them Lambs, what else? (skrrrt) 'Bout to fuck this club up, what else? (Get, get!) (Metro Boomin wants some more, nigga!)”

This is what we are presented with when we ask for hip-hop: steaming-turd-hot-garbage lyrics over wack ass trap beats that I can make on my iPhone in 5 minutes (ask me and I shall show thee).  

There are a handful of new-ish rappers that I definitely fuck with.  But they are few and far between.  So when I was told by one of my homies to listen to a rapper out of Birmingham called “Sonnyjim” I was quite reluctant because I thought it might be a pile of shite, like those Future bars that I made you read a minute ago (sorry).  But as chance would have it, and because sometimes the universe moves in mystery ways, I was listening to a mix by Houseshoes from his Magic show on dublab.com and heard this smooth-ass beat with a smooth-ass voice dropping dime bars all over it.  The accent was English so I was naturally intrigued.  Further investigation led me to discover that this was the same Sonnyjim that my boy had told me about.  So, I jumped on his Bandcamp and listened to his new album, “Mud In My Malbec”.  And then I listened to it again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And I’ve been bumping it ever since.  Because it is some of the firest rap music I’ve heard in a while.  

I realised today that I liked it a lot when I was listening to the same Houseshoes mix and “Doughboy Baker” came on again, my immediate reaction being, “this is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard”, which is probably because the joint gets me feeling all kinds of shades of Steve McQueen:

“Barry Horowitz, Rolled the super sonic spliff, I’m eating nacho chips, Chillin in the rocket ship, About to hog roast a pig On a charcoal pit, Garlic dip grilled the langoustine on a stick. Out in Rio on my Ronny Biggs, Standing on a monolith Scuffin up my Ralph Lauren moccasins.”

Each line is dripping with imagery and it’s hard not imagine this whole scene as he lays it down, with an infectious flow full of internal rhymes and similes.  And it’s consistent too.  The whole album has this great narrative feel to it, almost like a rags to riches story which comes right out of the same school as the rappers Ka, Roc Marciano and Action Bronson.  He also drops bars with nods to his Indian heritage (which I think is dope) with lines like “at the Interconti, backin India like Indra Gandhi” and being “back in the ends like Sukhshinda Shinda”.  

Out on the impressive Daupe Records, he’s in good company on the record with fellow label-mate Westside Gunn dropping a dope verse on “Red Mullet”, and heavy hitters like Heems and Quelle Chris joining him on “Al Jazeera” and “Dorchester” respectively.  

Go check it and cop it from the bandcamp or iTunes or wherever.  You won’t be disappointed.  That is, unless you’re a Future fuckboy fan listening to fuckboy raps.  In which case, you shouldn’t really be here.  

https://daupe.bandcamp.com/album/mud-in-my-malbec

[nijmakesbeats]

“Martini Breakfast”

is the name of the new beat tape I’m working on.  

[nijmakesbeats]

I might start writing raps.

That is all.