RetroMastas

by Retrogott / KutMasta Kurt

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credits

released November 30, 2014

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KutMasta Kurt Kansas, Kentucky

One of the more underrated producers and DJs in the West Coast, Kurt's friendship with the groundbreaking, underappreciated Ultramagnetic MC's paid off when, in 1994, ex-leader Kool Keith tapped Kurt to handle DJ and production duties for his new solo career. ... more

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Track Name: Expertise feat. Hulk Hodn
Rappers hop on stage like some cheerleaders
Their altitude flights end up as paper planes (in german, altitude flight is also an expression for the state of mind of someone who is too hyped up)
I'm fed up with all their dirt
So I unfold them and use them for my writing
And fuck writer's blocks
I rather get lost than ask the police which way to go
Don't know if that makes me a rebel
Maybe I'm just neurotic doing the same thing for years
I don't try to stage something too spectacular
But on stage my breath is long even in vacuum
While you sit in that leased Porsche
I rap without gimmicks like KRS and Lord Finesse
Hiphop is sick but never really dies
It gets reanimated constantly by KutMasta Kurt's
Programmed drums and chopped flutes
You analise Retrogott like it was Goethe
Who knows if you see the meaning behind it
Because behind happens to be in front in times of the internet
If everything I say is true is hard to say
The best is to stick to what the experts say
 
"I'm mad funky, ask the experts"
 
I control the mic as if my name was
Retro the Damaja
MC's try to spy me and collaborate with the NSA
So I quit writing raps on a computer
Quit writing in alphabet scripture
Your management charges some
Conspiracy theory drifted weed heads
With decoding my cyphers
Without success
Rap without me is like a revolution without people
Me without mic is like Lucky Luke without colt
Like Tut Anch Amun without the gold
MC's are staring at me like those tourists in Paris looking at the Mona Lisa
Making rapmusic is simple as Pizza Margherita
Still not everybody understands the microphone physics
Use too many ingrediants, make the dough too thick
MC's wear make up, piling it on a lot
Put pressure on and catch a hick up
The pabulum made in musical canteen kitchens
Makes fans fleeing to the loo during your concert
Rap is a question of taste
And regarding alimentation you better stick to what the experts say
Track Name: Acknowledge This feat. Motion Man
I battle MC's in a frequency
That only bats are able to hear
I juggle with juggling jugglers
Hypnotize the hypnotist
My flows are fat
"Like what?"
Like "Beurre"
That's french - terminology for butter
You don't get the joke
You don't know about Parrish Smith
Motion Man, Retro Mastas
Rap U.N., with my veto it's done
Kut Masta Kurt's beat is the shit
Yours is just born anal (in German "Arschgeburt" is a cuss word that litteraly means birth out of the ass)
Boom Bap in times of cholera (alluding to García Márquez' novel "Love in times of cholera", saying by that , "boom bap" as
a notion is as played out as love)
While you are in the restroom your manager's checking out on your girl
You reflect on how dope it was
Back then
A couple of minutes ago
When your bottle was still full
Because your flows are just moldy beer
I drink five and pay four
Robin hood
Without the hood
Turn the beat to scree material
Destroy the mic
Because outside my space-limosine is waiting
And the pilot is startin the turbine
Track Name: Showtime
You’re antother rocket scientist ambitious to become a superstar
Who shatters in the spotlight, as your sword does
Kamikaze pilot without enemies
Dying alone in the battle for company
The main issue is to reach with all your strength
Any arbitrary podium
Creative stagnancy in a pioneer’s pose
Dandering generously through cities like a dandy
With those anoxeric knees
But actually just looking for plastic bottles, cans of Coke and beer
Provisions for environment protection yield a profit
Freedom’s exposure serves for a pin up
Or as enducement for violating her
Or for abusing the deprecation of that
Machines are running, people are sitting
Programming combats that they don’t need to fight
Peace doves breed cuckoo’s eggs
Gods carrion belongs to good Indian vultures
And the devil in the detail particularises
That nothing happes on the whole
 
Showtime
Everybody wants to be an mc
You don’t need a dj
Take all the cash
 
Hip Hop reflects peoples faces
Who render possibilities to margin themselves
MC’s are a regular case
Within that all-inclusive-tour party in space
Vacation is employee morale’s primal scream
And pronounces once again this epochs’ „never ever“
(After the 2nd World War, the phrase „never ever again“ was common as a political statement on the level of violent excess reached in this war, but also on german participation in a war in general. It was also expression of a new epoch or an era of a pacifistic Germany.1990 Germany participated in a war in Kosovo)
Once again we are not ashamed
to love god in an awkward disposition
Espressing positions becomes a positional play
And a speculation of the single-bourse with style (in German these websites where you can date people are literally called single-bourse, or single market)
I convey people to my thoughts height
Wich shakes them off like fleas
And marks space with its piss
I am well educated,but bad trained
The patriot whore leaves the lonly swath of land (in German swath means the area where prostitutes work, to go on the swath literaly. We use the same word ( swath) for any district, so it’s a wordplay I can hardly translate)
And moves into the motel with black red and golden paint
Track Name: Moderngladiatoren
Modern gladiators fill up forums.
Since you’re a juryman for a casting show your flows improved.
MC’s aren’t in the house anymore, they are in people’s mouths.
Porters in Atlantic ask you where you’re going (Atlantic is a hotel in Hamburg where Udo Lindenberg lives, a german songwriter which some rappers that went pop and now make singer/songwriter music work with or admire).
Somewhere between Smudo (member of a famous german pop-rap group, quiet MC Hammerish from the very beginning) and Udo, plastic surgeons from Pluto take you to their laboratory.
Even outside of all gender roles, the cleanest subjects have to pay duty on their dirt,
Only scarce articles get delivered.
Acoustic bands turn wack rappers to lead singers.
Don’t tell me nothing about rap, you babbler!
Pull those fat laces out of your bathing slippers!
Step out of the whirlpool!
Retrogott Mic Mogul-
In the land of the funk fakers, flavor’s consul-
Fuck the press.
I send my dispatch via vinyl press,
With Kutmasta.
 
I remain fresh like dead bodies in the swamp
I enlace the mic like a boa
I enslave your freestyle, volunteers step up!
You get on the mic with piss in your Eyes and shit in your ear
Brainwash and ideological coloring in poly-color
MC Plastic and DJ styrofoam on promotour in Mururoa
Your new style is a genetic defect
Tomorrow everybody’s trying to have it too.
The whole backstage is talking about it, everybody’s asking
You’ll have to cancel that interview.
Those discussions you have with god about love
Remain Hieroglyphics in a plastic pyramid
Your mummified ego awakens in mental home
Individualism is  just an inefficient weapon of mass destruction

I'm more about the pressure of exposure that is revealed in
the struggle for attention, success, acknowledgement. I think
especially in music and arts, people fight for that grace of their audience.
So, all those big egos exposing themselves as the best, the strongest, the hardest, etc.
actually are just shown up by the media.
A rapper who point himself out as very interesting for other people is actually interested in other people.
It's about the failure of the narcissistic attitude of artists.
In all their good attributes, stars and wannabe stars are just shown up
to an audience who lacks those positive attributes, and that makes them
mediocre, that makes those strong (mostly) men being modern gladiators.