writing Jay-Z without a pen

Okay, so I'm supposed to be working or studying but I can't stop listening to Jay-Z. Last night I downloaded The Blueprint 3 and I'm quite in awe. I've never been a huge fan of rap, aside from a late flirtation with Public Enemy, and then some more recent stuff, like Missy Elliott and M.I.A. It was Beyoncé who first brought me to Jay-Z. And it was Empire State of Mind that got me over the line. And Mother, I can never come home again.

I think it's the combination of this music that drills into me, the stories being told, and the soothing qualities of his voice. But I can't really be sure. But I do know that I want to talk about and reference this music at every available opportunity. Not that it's his music. It's mine. I downloaded it.

He picks me up, he takes me into his arms, he sings me a beautiful anthem. And then he sings another.

He drops references to all and everything, evoking memories of things and places and other sounds that have punctuated my life. I'm reminded of Spice Girls, Bananarama, A-Ha, films, news footage, things that someone once said... Each song is an archival dig into my own small history. And he knows this - "Hold your applause, this is your song not mine" (Thank You). He writes like a thief - is it tribute or willful plagiarism? Is he a dirty coloniser, taking everything as though he owns it?:



Who's gonna run this town tonight? "We are. yeah i said it, we are!" It's Public Enemy number two. "All black everything." And it's old-friend Rihanna back for more, with Kanye stepping in for an interlude. They pass the baton as the guitar squarks its riff. Hardly Chuck D and Flava Flav, but that's okay. They're still there, still here, and the video is a nice homage. To this and so much more. It's anarchy chic. The song, the image, the culmination of history (and colour) thrusts a fist in the air that says "We run this". It's about breaking the rules and not caring for the consequences. It's about the energy of one's anger and passions rising to the surface, like a slow-building chorus, and the potential rise of a black army.

But my white arse is not immune to such sentiment. I have plenty of 'fuck you' within me, just below the surface, waiting for some trigger like this. And I wanna break some rules too. And I push myself forward, into fantasy, into the limbs of mouths of this video, and I run this town tonight. And in my town I can spit words at certain people and things and institutions that try to tell me otherwise. And I can encourage others to do the same. Because it's about 'we' not 'I', and that's one of the many beauties of this song. And then Kanye says "What you think i rap for? To push a fuckin' Rav4?" And at this point I'm dizzy with joy.

But that's not all. The album closes with more stolen goods. Jay-Z takes Forever Young and turns it around. Except he doesn't, because it's the same. He just inserts a few raps within the body of an existing text. He interrupts and shares more soft words into which I can escape the dredge or my desk life:



And it's about his immortality. Because "We live a life like a video. Where the sun is always out, and you never get old, and the champagne’s always cold, and the music's always good." And here I am watching videos, listening to music, writing things on facebook... Just this morning I contemplated changing my profile picture to a younger version on me. I found a photo of me with long hair pulled up but falling down the back of my neck. I forgot that version of me. I forget what it feels like to be cross-legged on the floor, hands on laptop, cat on lap, and a bunch of hair sliding down my face. And I think I'll post it now. Young forever.

And it does feel like my life is a series of websites, songs, images, and pop culture references. And Jay-Z helps me to paint that life for myself. And my consumerism is less about money shifting hands than images and sounds painting a portrait of who I am. Or who I might be.

"And it never ends, cos all we have to do is hit rewind."

And that's not all. What's unsurprising is that my love and fascination with Jay-Z is happening alongside my love and fascination with Bruce Springsteen. These stories overlap. The sounds might be different, but the sentiments tap into a larger narrative of self and place and loss and desire. The angry man is a small scared boy. And he's gonna run this town tonight. Or maybe he's going to flee this town, taking the highway jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive.

And there's room in my life for many Springsteens and Jay-Zs. And these songs are mine not theirs, so I must hold my applause. Though always the avid fanboy, it's difficult for me not to sing the praises of my beautiful messengers.

Bruce sings about his hometown. He travels between "my hometown" and "your hometown". It's me and it's him, and it's all of us thinking about where we're from. It's a Jay-Z moment of transference, and it doesn't matter who did it first. It's a passage that pre-exists their music and the birth of us all. And it's a connect that draws me (and you) into the narrative of a desire to remember. It's a story that only exists in its being felt. It's a facsimile where the receiver and sender are one and the same. The song is a transportation back to self. And particularly the song that sings about 'place'. Because place is what we move from and to and between. Memory is a pocketful of place. Jay-Z tells me so: