Pink Siifu – Negro


If you’ve been anywhere near anything with an electronic screen for the past who-the-fuck-knows-anymore, it’s as obvious and loud as S&M sex in a quiet synagogue that people are angry. And rightly fucking so. Any audiophiliac worth their salt, or anyone that has perused briefly past this new-fangled bop ’n’ groove the kids call rap, knows shit’s been fucked and is fucked for black people in America. There ain’t a bush thick enough or hole deep enough to hide from this fact. Yet? Here we fucking are. Bush thick and supposedly living in the centre of goddamn Pluto. How the fuck? Why the fuck? Just fucking, what? HUH?! And this pressure? You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about. That child-sized weight sitting on my chest since this all started? Well, it won’t stop fucking eating. And the shit’s getting heavier. It’s sumo. And here I am carrying this bitch around like I birthed it. Goddamn, baby. I’m not your mama! Begone! And then all these tragically lost lives are used as political fodder. Surprise. Surprise. And now the simple fucking message this started with is, somehow, neglecting some piece of shit that feels left out of the party for some stupid fucking reason. Suddenly, bucked-toothed moonshiners are thinking they’re Plato by splitting the semantic hairs of mottos and picking out its lice but their only relation to the name is their malleability. And now this cunt is bringing up black on black crime? Of fucking course. Well, Cunty McCuntums, what the fuck about it? How’s white on white crime doing, or is that shit just called murder now? I don’t think that … wait a minute … let me finish. Hold up. Is bucktooth breastfeeding my chest baby? It’s matter, not are better. Sorry McCuntums, I gotta. Wait, huh? How is … But really how the …


And that’s this album. This album is the expression of anger and confusion so many of us feel at this time. It’s finally letting go and screaming so hard your guts shoot out your ass like a bloody glitter bomb. It relieves tension by expressing it. POP! SPLAT! BOOM! It’s not all screaming, either. Plenty of tears in the album if you listen closely. And at any point if you get confused about who this album is about? Visit the website, that got released along with the album and see images of black people just living normal lives. Because this album is for everybody. It may not sound like it at first cause, let’s get real, it’s fucking weird. It’s jazz, funk, rap, grunge, and punk fused into a single form. Of course it’s fucking weird. But that’s how abstract art works, motherfucker. It can express the ineffable. And when you’re surrounded with this hyperreal, noxious, and gruesome reality of this every fucking day, honest expression tends to get a bit strange because that’s exactly how we feel. This album is the scream in the night that expresses our woe, frustration, and nausea. It’s the musical version of that anger-fuelled sigh when you realize that the person you’ve been talking to for an hour hasn’t been listening to you . It’s an echoing disappointment stemming from centuries of being used and neglected. Is it angry? Fuck ya. It is confusing? It better be. But most of all, is it honest? You’re goddamned right it is.


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