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Rating: Let yourself be enveloped by the groove.
No, we're not in Curtis Mayfield territory, the approach is opposite and thus naturally complementary: as much as the former is anchored in the blaxploitation imagery in bringing the black soul to the public (including the white audience), the latter embraces its blackness towards a music as harsh in the lyrics as in the notes (a mandatory mention goes to "Pretty" Purdie, an exceptional drummer responsible for more masterpieces than you think).
So what to say about this "Pieces of a Man"? Gil Scott-Heron came from the successful experiment of "Small Talk at 125th & Lenox," an album of recited poetry on a base of percussion (bongos and little else), and decided to bring his lyrics on universal themes such as the emancipation of black people and the plight that affects them (and afflicts them), primarily drug addiction, but also dedicated to intimate and private themes, on territories rich in soul, jazz, funk suggestions, acting a bit like a rapper, a bit like Marvin Gaye, a bit like a confidential singer of very personal late-night tales.
The opening is entrusted to his most famous piece, "The revolution will not be televised", a proto-rap on hard drums and powerful, deep bass, all accompanied by a clarinet, while the lyrics announce that "the revolution will put you in the driving seat", "the revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner", "the revolution will be live". A classic. The record then unravels along a series of excellent pieces, following essentially three strands: that of a funk colored at the borders of soul like "Lady Day and John Coltrane", a tribute to two fundamental exponents of black music; that of harsh invectives both in words and music (see "Home is where the hatred is", a bitter biography of drug addiction developed on a claustrophobic guitar loop); finally, that of the confidential song (essential in this regard is the title track, cinematic like never before, with the double bass flying light on the wings of a night tinged with alcohol, of missed hugs and kisses, longed and regretted, a faint piano and the warm and persuasive voice that sings solitarily its last piece before ending the evening).
In conclusion, it is worth mentioning the lengthy "The prisoner", which in composition resembles certain long daydreams of Bob Dylan (see "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" or "Hurricane"): with these compositions it shares the incessant repetition of a structure which, magically, does not bore, but rather emphasizes the minstrel's singing, who in this case, from the depths of a well that is more than suggested by the gloomy but tense atmosphere, recites his verses on imprisonment, fear, loneliness, and incommunicability.
What to say then? Let yourself be enveloped by the groove, by these atmospheres rare for their beauty, do yourself a favor, retrieve this album, which if not a masterpiece, is so close to one that it deserves the 5.
It's a public service announcement…
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (03:09)
You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and
skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.
There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.
Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be right back
after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.
The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.
02 Save the Children (04:27)
If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playing after school
They seem to be so unaware of
The things that they soon have to take care of
We've got to do something to save the children
Soon it will be their turn to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of
My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach school
If we know all we say we know about the problems
Why can't we do something to try and solve them
We've got to do something to save the children
Soon it will be their turn to try and save the world
We got to do something to save the children
To save the children
To save the children
04 Home Is Where the Hatred Is (03:22)
A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
might not be such a bad idea if i never, never went home again
stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
hang on to your rosary beads
close your eyes to watch me die
you keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
to turn your sick soul inside out
so that the world, so that the world
can watch you die
home is where I live inside my white powder dreams
home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
home is where the needle marks
try to heal my broken heart
and it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again
home again
home again
home again
kick it, quit it
kick it, quit it
kick it, quit it
kick it, can't go home again
06 I Think I'll Call It Morning (03:31)
I'm gonna take myself a piece of sunshine
And paint it all over my sky
Be no rain..
Be no rain..
I'm gonna take the song from every bird
And make em sing it just for me
Bird's got something to teach us all
About being free, yeah
Be no rain..
Be no rain..
And I think I'll call it morning
From now on
Why should I survive on sadness?
And tell myself I got to be alone
Why should I subscribe to this world's madness?
Knowing that I've got to live on
Yeah I think I'll call it morning
From now on
I'm gonna take myself a piece of sunshine
And paint it all over my sky
Be no rain...
Be no rain...
I'm gonna take the song from every bird
And make them sing it just for me
Cause why should I hang my head
Why should I let tears fall from my eyes?
When I've seen everything there is to see
And I know there is no sense in crying
I know there ain’t no sense in crying
Yeah I think I'll call it morning
From now on
I'll call it morning from now on, yeah
Cause there ain't gonna be no rain
Be no rain
Be no rain
From now on...
08 A Sign of the Ages (04:03)
It's a sign of the ages
Markings on my mind
Men at the crossroads
At odds with an angry scab
There can be no salvation
There can be no rest
Until all old customs
Are put to the test
The gods are all angry
You hear from the breeze
As night slams like a hammer
Yeah, and you drop to your knees
The questions can't be answered
You're always haunted by the past
The world's full of children
Who grew up too fast
Yeah, but where can you run
Since there ain't no world of your own
And you know that no one will ever miss you, yeah yeah yeah
When you're finally gone
So you cry like a baby, a baby
Or you go out and get high
But there ain't no peace on Earth, man
Maybe peace when you die, yeah
10 The Needle's Eye (04:51)
A circle spinning faster
And getting larger all the time
A whirlpool spelled disaster
For all the people who don't rhyme
Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him who just don't understand
Understand, understand, understand
A brand new sense of freedom
A brand new sense of time
Him may go and stand alone now
And leave the hate and fear behind
All the millions spent for killing
Seems the whole world must be dying
All the children who go hungry
How much food we could be buying
Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him who just don't understand
Understand, understand, understand
A brand new sense of freedom
A brand new sense of time
Him may go and stand alone now
And the leave the hate and fear behind
People wake up every morning
And simply push their lives aside
They seem to carry all their feelings
Crushed and crumbled up inside
Inside, inside, inside
Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him who just don't understand
So I went to see my father
Many questions on my mind
But he didn't want to answer me
God, the whole world must be blind
Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him may someday go insane
Insane, insane, insane
Without a brand new sense of freedom
A brand new sense of time
Him may go and stand alone now
And leave the hate and fear behind, yeah, behind
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