1) Formed in NYC by Peggy Jameson (vocals), Adam King (keyboards), DJ Jimmy Connelly (instrumentation) and Phil Painson (sound engineer). It happened in New York City--the only place where four such diverse artists could come together to create one unique sound. Their recording debut not only signals an important development in the realm of electronic dance music, but also represents a much-needed return to the original values of East Coast hip-hop. While British trip-hop bands like Massive Attack and Portishead repeatedly acknowledge their significant debt to the New York beat aesthetic, the collective members of Market have been seriously working in the midst of this particular scene for years. The collective of four have been improvising live and in the studio, fusing down-tempo rhythm tracks with obtuse ambient samples and jazz-infused percussion; layering evocative female vocals, structuring it with meticulous sonic architecture and adding the sensibilities of an old-school dj to create textured electronic music that evokes a definitively urban groove. The band split up but they haven't been forgotten.
2) Market is a band from Prague, Czechia. They released their debut album Art Star in May 2018. A follow-up is called A Certain Beauty, an EP released in late 2020.
3) Samuli (of Clouds) and Tom (of Dunckergatan) has this new band called Market. Market likes to record long improvised sessions with synths & samplers & guitars. Then it goes like cut-paste-mute-solo-add new track-overdub-remove channel-record some monk style singing on top of it-go back to original-duplicate-copy-mute-mute-find that other external harddisk etc.. and then it becomes a song. Their debut album is out now on Guggenhavn Archive. 8 songs on it.
Market
Market Lyrics
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Yeah, knawhatimean, Killah Priest
I changed my name, man, it's Leo Angel now
Knawhatimean? Yo, this is Black Market
Knawhatimean? Trag', Will Cooper, yankee, knowhatimean, uh
[Killah Priest]
First and foremost, we let our jobs toast, and sing bravo
Through the congo, beneath the cosmos, Priest the 5th apostle
I'm like Picasso, I paint a hot flow, the canvas is your mind
When you visualize, you can see it like an art show
It's warm like a bullet goin' through the Pope shirt
Sinkin' in the lungs of the quiet Cardinal
I'm like Leonardo Da Vinci, my pen squeeze out sculptures
High, like a ski Alpen, grease with my feet stretched out
On a sheik sofa, turn that beat loud, I'm bout to freestyle, soldiers
My rhyme show the depths, like a rich photographer in Yugoslavia
To Romania, fills whole stadiums, to them Hungarians, that's done carryin'
To Bogaria, to the Bocan peninsula, the flow turn vocals into pictures
The beauty is like the snow fallin' in the winter
Rhymes, are like icons of heroin adicts
With fiends, with their bare arms, scratchin'
They palms practice, the plan that the white, can't craft to
Turn our people backwards, in black hoods to Spanish Harlem
The plan is Gotham, and I'm Batman, amongst these crack lands
I hold revolvers, listen to the soul of Marvin
To bring back the promise, it's Black Market
[Interlude: William Cooper]
Chill, Priest, yo chill
'cause you got William Cooper in here
You know this Black Market, you got Tragedy Khadafi
You got Razah the Renaissance --
[William Cooper]
Stroll through the tunnels of death, fighting the devil
Every night go to battle, squeeze that nine milli' metal
Until that beat settles, plus randomly complete me
'cause they all beneath me, when night falls, we speak in tepee's
My peace pipes are Philly, demons grill me
It takes a proverb and a chronic herb to thrill me
I keep pennin' for a moment, second amendment, I own it
Just give me a minute, I'm zonin', like Pagan prisons, I'm thronin'
Say my name, vision a Roman, the Trojan spittin' on omens
Why shogun never have a slow gun, trust no one
But Market fam, you know it's on, when the flag market's land
Stick it in the soil, we only toast with the loyal
[Interlude: Hell Razah]
Drink up, breadren, get off the grounds, break bread
Uh-huh, yeah, take this jewel
[Hell Razah]
In the hood, guns go off, advise you, to don't show off
You can die in the streets, or the seat of your Porsche
I seen drama back off, when you handle the boss
Burn a cross on the White House porch, with no remorse
Four horses of apocalypse, hidin' politics
Common sense, where the poor's oppress, a prophet is
He maybe live in a project crib, the more hard livin' it is
Mothers be abortionin' kids, birth control
The few will make it, most of them fold
I'mma break it when it's cold, or a tissue to a runny nose
And when we die, is the answer that God knows
Til then, tell the angel of death, he's no threat
Jesus wept, when Lazarus left, he got vexed
He symbolic to that parable, follow the footsteps
Ain't no tellin' what felon could die in the hood next
[Interlude: Killah Priest]
Yeah baby, Black Market, lift ya glass
[Tragedy Khadafi]
Yeah, why some sinners got the hood wroten
I'm outspoken, the general's spittin' minerals
At criminals lotust, allow me to catch your attention
Focus on the next dosage, smokers and dopers
In the hood where it's hopeless, thus he has arrived
The black prince, now, will he survive, yeah, son
I don't know 'cause I'm bent, it said his mom was a virgin
And his pops was a carpenter, good with his hands
And nice with the revolvers, and a brown skinned complexion
Wooly hair, man with twelve killers, live niggaz
They met up in Times Square, true story, how you know God?
'cause I was right there, we broke bread
Bliss me three times, I held my head, said my disciples
Will soon have me dead, that's when the D's rushed through
Yo, pardon you, reached under my cougi robe, and grabbed my God-you
They was comin' through like Nazareth Jews, yo, I was through
[Interlude: Killah Priest]
Here's a toast to Black Market, ya'll
[Killah Priest]
Time to time, things change, but the realer alway remain
The hood, the life, Black Market, we the voice of the people
Live it out, whether right or illegal, feel me?
The song "Market" by Black Market is a collaboration between four different rappers (Killah Priest, William Cooper, Hell Razah, and Tragedy Khadafi) who each bring their unique lyrical skills to the table. The song speaks to the harsh realities of life in the hood, where violence, poverty, and hopelessness are rampant. The rappers use vivid imagery and metaphor to convey this message, with references to artists like Picasso and Da Vinci, as well as Biblical and historical figures.
Killah Priest's verse is particularly powerful, as he speaks to the idea that our thoughts and beliefs can shape our reality. He paints a vivid picture of his words as a work of art, and encourages listeners to visualize the message he is conveying. William Cooper's verse focuses on the struggle of living in a violent and dangerous environment, and the importance of self-defense. He also speaks to the idea that he is above his rivals, both artistically and spiritually. Hell Razah's verse is more philosophical, with references to the Book of Revelations and the four horses of the apocalypse. He also speaks to the idea of redemption and forgiveness, and the importance of living an honorable life. Tragedy Khadafi's verse is more personal, with references to his own life experiences and struggles. He also references Biblical figures like Jesus and Lazarus, and speaks to the idea that even a great leader can fall victim to his enemies.
Overall, the song "Market" is a powerful commentary on life in the inner city. The rappers use their skillful lyrics and vivid imagery to paint a picture of the harsh realities that exist in these neighborhoods, while also speaking to the idea of hope and redemption. The collaboration between these four talented artists creates a powerful and thought-provoking piece of music that is sure to resonate with listeners.
Line by Line Meaning
First and foremost, we let our jobs toast, and sing bravo
We celebrate our accomplishments by toasting with our weapons and congratulating each other
Drink the red wine, the sands of time, stampeded by a million broncos
As time marches on, we drink wine and endure the chaotic pace of life
Through the congo, beneath the cosmos, Priest the 5th apostle
We journey through the Congo and outer space, led by the fifth apostle, Killah Priest
I'm like Picasso, I paint a hot flow, the canvas is your mind
I'm a master of rap, akin to Picasso, painting vivid imagery in the listener's mind
When you visualize, you can see it like an art show
When you engage your imagination, the picture becomes clearer, like a beautifully curated art show
It's warm like a bullet goin' through the Pope shirt
My rap is so potent and powerful that it's like a hot, piercing bullet passing through the Pope's clothing
Sinkin' in the lungs of the quiet Cardinal
Even those in high positions of power can be moved and affected by my music, like a bullet sinking into the lungs of a silent Cardinal
I'm like Leonardo Da Vinci, my pen squeeze out sculptures
My writing is like Da Vinci's art, creating intricate, detailed sculptures out of words
High, like a ski Alpen, grease with my feet stretched out
I'm on top of the world, like a skier atop the Alps, relaxing with my feet propped up
On a sheik sofa, turn that beat loud, I'm bout to freestyle, soldiers
I'm lounging on a luxurious couch, listening to loud music and getting ready to freestyle like a seasoned warrior
My rhyme show the depths, like a rich photographer in Yugoslavia
My lyrics are deep and thought-provoking, like the work of a wealthy photographer in the war-torn region of Yugoslavia
To Romania, fills whole stadiums, to them Hungarians, that's done carryin'
My music reaches a wide audience, filling stadiums in places like Romania, and resonating strongly with the Hungarian people who share similar struggles
The plan is Gotham, and I'm Batman, amongst these crack lands
I'm a hero to my community, fighting against the dark forces that threaten to destroy it, like Batman in the troubled city of Gotham
I hold revolvers, listen to the soul of Marvin
I carry guns for protection, but soothe my soul with the music of Marvin Gaye
In the hood, guns go off, advise you, to don't show off
In the dangerous streets of the inner city, it's best to not attract attention and risk becoming a target
You can die in the streets, or the seat of your Porsche
No one is safe from violence, whether they're in the poorest neighborhoods or the wealthiest luxury cars
The black prince, now, will he survive, yeah, son
Tragedy Khadafi wonders if he'll be able to survive and navigate the dangerous world around him, like a black prince
I don't know 'cause I'm bent, it said his mom was a virgin
Tragedy Khadafi is unsure if he'll make it due to his own issues with drugs and alcohol, and recalls the biblical story of Jesus, whose mother was a virgin
Here's a toast to Black Market, ya'll
Let's raise a glass to Black Market, who represent the voice of the people, whether their actions are right or wrong
Lyrics © O/B/O APRA/AMCOS
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind