The Roots
How I Got Over

The real question isn't how long it's been since you smiled at me. Damn it, I'm tired of chasing after you like a damn poodle. The question is, how long has it been since I smiled at YOU, a question that you never even asked yourself, because you just don't care.

Little Horn, a spectacle of irritability and badassery, back on track, as always. Even more than before. And constantly teetering between life and death. Now, since in almost all religions suicide becomes a useless act, just to spite, I've taken my followers and founded my own religion. The first commandment is that I don't give a damn about my followers, because as that Nietzsche dude said, I have no answers for you; do whatever the hell you want and don't bother me, you disgusting creatures. The second commandment is that your only God is beauty: so I just want hot chicks and that's it. If you're one of those who say "oh my god, no, beauty is fleeting, what matters is character. How can you fall in love with something fleeting?" well then know that even love is by definition fleeting, so screw you right away, you dogs. Do you want to compare the pleasure of being with someone who's actually hot and not a damn loser who only hooks up with you because she's ugly? The fourth commandment is that there isn't a fourth, so who the hell cares.

Last night was epic: fleeing from Las Vegas, while driving a Porsche, with one of my faithful (and hot, of course, because I would never go against my own commandments) disciples beside me. Fast driving, beyond all limits, with a middle finger raised towards the starry sky, because hell, I know as well as you do that those damn stars are nothing but her eyes, looking at you with a disgusted and amused air. Pathetic humans, insignificant conglomerates of emotions and faded dreams; slaves to time, slaves to vice. Little Horn is not above all this: Little Horn has drowned in the human dimension. Don't judge me, I'm just like you, maybe just a bit more pissed off.

Hooooorn, you’re the boss. Hooooorn, you never let us down, even if you insult us, even if you let yourself get taken by total delirium. Everyone disappoints, but not you.

I think it’s bullshit, because around and around, the first to disappoint is me. And I have a nice list of people who can confirm it, starting with that fool of a father who still wonders why he didn’t just jerk off that day. Following that, a dozen friends I devoured over the years, and last but not least, HER. But that's another story...Anyway, the ones who don’t disappoint are me and The Roots; well the band needs no explanation, because damn, if you don’t know them, there are two possibilities:

1) You're a damn masochist. In that case, beat the hell out of yourself, idiots

2) You listen to Emis Killa

So the album in question is called How I Got Over: released in 2010, for Def Jam, the album perhaps boasts more openness to the mainstream world, managing to cleverly mix the group’s classic sounds (see soul, funk, and jazz) with a more melodic cut, or to put it in more "vulgar" terms, a more pop cut. Obviously, it would be stupid to label said product as a mere commercial operation, since it is certainly consistent and elegant: maybe it's precisely the elegance that most characterizes How I Got Over and the group in general, able to renew itself with each album. A cyclone that encompasses black music, tackled by the group, with some glances to the future; its frontman Black Thought graces us with pearls upon pearls, whether he dives into social issues or addresses more intimate and delicate themes, without ever falling into banality or clichés. A deadly flow and technique to spare. It all is then enriched by the much-appreciated, absolutely precious collaborations.

My religion, my world, and my goddamn rules: if you've lost your mind in some pub, or at the bottom of some bottle of alcohol, or in the vagina of some girl, if you're one of those who extol life only after having assaulted an angel and tasted their dust, or if you're people who haven't rejected life, but have been rejected by it, then follow me. Horn will be your religion, your only God. But I'll repeat it again, in case you didn't understand: DON'T ASK ME ANY DAMN QUESTIONS BECAUSE I HAVE NO DAMN ANSWERS.

Clear pacts, long friendship.