Mark e. Smith is the hip priest on the rock front.
I remember the first time I heard hip-hop, I had to listen carefully to my computer. The voice of the poor speaker was nervous and spooky. Is that knuckle cracking? Then a slight guitar tremor, passing the steady t’s faucet, gently pointed to the impending chaos.
There’s also a voice called Mark e. Smith, and it’s probably The most memorable song he’s had in decades. I was still a teenager, and I had never heard Smith’s throat, no embellished statement, just like a corner of a shaman explosion. Now that he’s dead, I’m sure I’ll never again.
Smith died at the age of 60, also brought the death of “autumn”, because since 1976, as many members of the squad by the band, until in the end, this week, is the only regular visitors to Smith. Smith’s founder and chief creative force is notoriously difficult to work with (he reportedly fired a photo engineer for a salad). His erratic behavior may give him a reputation for controversy, but it also cements his position. He is not so much in autumn, because he is autumn.
Now there is no degradation, hard to type hard reality, let alone swallow. However, some songs – more than 30 albums worth – have been “Hip Priest” since 1982 Hex Enduction Hour. Darkness and threat, it begins in a very subtle way, first slowly, then suddenly becomes crazy.
“He’s not grateful,” Smith muttered, the moody landscape of the song. He sang a mysterious man who had to show up, and a man was raising his glass, though “this is a half reward.” Hip priest is a man of both love and hate, awe and awe. Is he the reference of Smith himself? Or is there some semi – god who deserves to be despised? Perhaps the combination of the two, though another particularly sad music icon may be the inspiration: Johnny kash.
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Smith wrote his admiration for cash in his 2009 memoir, “traitor.” It’s very meaningful; They are both talented and prolific wanderers who put the shadow theme on the protagonist. When the “hip-hop priest” stumbled into anarchy, Smith called, “the last clean dirty shirt in my closet.” This may be the day of the “Sunday morning”, the story is written “blue beer, cigarettes, and despair” Chris Christopher sen (Kris Kristofferson) in 1970 turned into cash. “I fumbled in the closet through my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt,” the cash sang, ready to face another day. Like the “hip-hop preacher” — like the character in the Smith “Sunday morning paper” — is a flawed, reluctant anti-hero.
Like the dream of a feverish fever, “hip priest” explores a person’s leaner character, though the ultimate protagonist wins. “All the young people know,” whispered Smith. “they can imitate, but I teach, because I’m a hip priest.” Whether or not the hip priest is a fictional work, this is an emotion that crawls under the skin of the listener and stays there. It’s a powerful announcement that the real winners are the odd ones that most people ignore.
Mark e. Smith is charismatic, but how he USES it is entirely up to him. He doesn’t have Johnny Rotten’s bold anarchist image, or Ian Curtis’s complicated and tragic arc. Instead, he was a poet, erratic. It’s close, but it’s definitely not normal. (in 1998, he was arrested for assaulting his girlfriend, Julie Nagle, a keyboard player in the fall.) Smith is far from a role model, but ultimately his voice and words are his ultimate triumph – perhaps not as admired as other frontline staff, but will never forget, and always appreciate.