The fourth reprint of what has proven to be my most celebrated album! There are only 100 of these so grab them while you can, with excellent artwork by the one and only Attaboy!
Includes unlimited streaming of The Inevitable Effort
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
Coaxing the insane and idiot rabid dog of mainstream music onto the side of honest and genuinely artful music by speaking its own language.
Fear that in the future, our era will have the current illiterate and untalented artists as representations of art and cultural standards in our society... while it truly IS our current culture, taking this fear as a telling sign that we ought to change our course.
Bullying the bully, stealing their gun and using it to shoot the dead horse they're beating behind the barn.
Protecting "my young" that is a beautiful language, music culture, and art form from being bastardized by greedy and synthetic characters who are drawn up by corporations to appeal to statistically researched demographics.
Calling out fraudulent people who know this formula and consider being a rapper or an artist whatever it is they feel is in the guidelines of what is popular or sell.
lyrics
My legacies' intended to be outta this world Buzz Aldrin,
world? Tour it, orbit a month 'round it,
Son once in a blue one our dark sides are dumbfounded,
the boy who raved and cried club howling
was dubbed doubtlessly to have touched talent
when we're fulfilled, by wax n' wane at night judgment's clouded
clearly that's a phase where standards fade
that'll blaze bright when sunrise comes crowning,
if punchlines are your one pride, punch out then,
You hang with cats that are fake and striped, pouncing
plus pal if you write on the strip for a Bill, you're really just Calvin.
Ironic I'm the one foul kid pissin' fountains
on your gimmick Faustian labels wishing you're getting ousted,
funny to fit in you're switching your outfits.
I swear on every good book in literature,
I'll never buy bull within your written scripture,
Give this kid a shot and I'll black out for minutes with the bars like it didn't hit my liver,
if you think you're divine (Devine), boy I'll (Boyle), mark em (Markum) missing,
kids sure think this is Mystic River as the underground time I have spent,
rendered me twisted, ensuring that I'll live life quite obsessed 'til I die by the Penn.
If you're a writer well then you're Orwell, typed words are predicting gloom.
I'm getting confused, a lack of moral fiber's resulting in shit produced?
Assholes, this is what you need to be pushing it for,
You fucking suck, what for a buck? but your woman's the whore?
you have no real goals though you're looking to score?
You need your heart in the art before your foot in the door.
Your music's worth is measured as we sell it when the cash is tight.
My music's worth is cherished while it plays to help get past those times.
Your rhyme battle manuscripts ain't time capsule candidates.
Why does no one on your V.I.P list define genius?
Just monochromatic cats that make car tunes like that feline Felix,
Honestly that just defies reason, these guys seizing,
3 times week's rent in green by breathing,
success at least might breed them to be quite decent,
the beat aligns and meets rhymes seamless,
the CD is the seed easily spied seen sick,
single songs should stand alone and shouldn't need ninth remixes,
stop on a dime a dozen emcee, 'til we might squeeze just
two cents a fee fined frequent, then glue them until, each line's teaching,
feed fine pieces require rewind reading, to really reap my refined meanings,
guarantees I'm teeming with replay value just by my elbow design's greasing.
You have the privilege of being literate and you squander it,
the topics picked are illegitimate lethargic garbage,
misogynistic garbled vomit barfed on all your discs,
not ever attempting an honest confession or thoughtful invention,
no novelist settings, social/political comments intelligent problems,
just the stocks of weapons and aggressive arguments are you in offices,
model as a leader if you want to get a following.
Its the sonic Apocalypse, Bruce is bonkers as Arkham in Gotham
just pondering the horrible concept and awful chance that
your discography could possibly be harvested by archaeologists.
I'm not a fan of the associates you've been coddling,
I'm here with a batch of lore (bachelor) and consciousness,
I've mastered pure with confidence to take the craft and surely doctor it.
My lyrics were taught in colleges, and you've got profit-marginal-success?
It's odd at best that you can't “straight back” your words despite all
your posturing, not ponderous, not positive, you postulate,
to motivate the thoughts of kids with concepts writ on glocks and spliffs?
You oscillate as you talk of blades and poorly turn away
from the fan-base that got you rich.
Wash your palms of all of this regardless your soapbox is nixed,
Soapy is an obvious example, as it's O'Henry's ironic twist
when any one “copped” your hit anthem a despondent
audience was arrested when they ought not have been.
Your music's worth is measured as we sell it when the cash is tight.
My music's worth is cherished while it plays to help get past those times.
Your rhyme battle manuscripts ain't time capsule candidates.
These corporate puppets of the corpulent uppers,
look to sign their souls, to those who've designed a hoax
devising binding, for blind control via ties that choke,
suits them right I suppose, Gepetto's
these “real” boys call their rhyming dope,
no surprise your whole fan bases' eyes are closed,
ya'll think lying's code for fine approach?
Tryin' to grow a giant nose?
Mine's been groping the grinding stone,
while trying to hone the finer poems
I write in hopes to supply a dose
of vibes to cope on microphones.
Make art out of literacy, and a mark with your minstrelsy,
Be a bard built with mystery, Try exploring your history,
why such harm, hurt and misery? We act hard when we're withering.
Why not charm and some chivalry, something smarter and interesting?
And if you're gonna “charge” for delivery
at least “express” something outside of the box that you're shipping me.
Your music's worth is measured as we sell it when the cash is tight.
My music's worth is cherished while it plays to help get past those times.
Your rhyme battle manuscripts ain't time capsule candidates.
credits
from The Inevitable Effort,
track released June 10, 2012
Lyrics written and performed by Bruce "AllOne" Pandolfo. Production by Charlie Button. Recording, Mixing and Mastering by Michael Korb.
Left-field rapper, slam poet, singer/songwriter, and author Bruce Pandolfo from Long Island.
Creating to connect. Obsessively exploring and creating art as healing and growing.
Deeply vivid/introspective lyrics populate this ambitious folk rock project. The arrangements span from mellow/minimal to rocking and grandiose. Consistently emotive, unique and sincere. Brilliance. AllOne
Progressive yet punk, aggro yet emotional. One of my favorite bands from Long Island and doing everything they can to live up to their name, raising money for causes and making badass music, AllOne
I have been listening to variations of this album a long time. I remember I was living in a cardboard dumpster when some young guy was like yo dude it's gonna rain come crash on my couch. He played The Many Faces of Oliver Hart for me. I fell in love, I set my favorite track as Rain because we looped it when the rain came. That was one of the early acts of kindness I received in the nearly 20 years I've been homeless. @NomadRoamsFree
