Schijfruiter Schaduw - De Verdwenen Opbrengsten

December 26th, 2007 by ikiro

Seed thrown on a soil naturally fertile but totally unprepared would be an advance almost entirely lost. If it were once tilled the produce will be greater; tilling it a second, a third time, might not merely double and triple, but quadruple or decuple the produce, which will thus augment in a much larger proportion than the advances increase, and that up to a certain point, at which the produce will be as great as possible compared with the advances.

Past this point, if the advances be still increased, the produce will still increase, but less, and always less and less until the fecundity of the earth being exhausted and art unable to add anything further, an addition to the advances will add nothing whatever to the produce. Anne Robert Jacques Turgot.

It’s the Law of Diminishing Returns, that not only has its application in agriculture. When you’re a celebrated San Francisco weirdo that has been asked to fill the two hours of the Radio 1 Essential Mix, you’ll have to be wary of the fact that around two-third of your mix the audience simply can’t handle anymore all the jewelry from your crates that you throw at them. Then it’s about time to start tilling another piece of land, preferably something that your regular fanbase have never set foot upon.

Diminishing Returns (2003) is an eclectic mix courtesy by Schijfruiter Schaduw in two parts: first part is some of the wickedest hip-hop from the underground west-coast and one of hip-hop’s Golden Ages (alas, the late 80s period). Second part features some of the grooviest and eclectic psychedelic rock songs I ever heard (not that I’m a connoisseur on this front). Plenty of reviews exist that you can Google-up yourself. I can only say that since I’ve discovered this deep in the vaults of Joid’s Ãœberlink, this has been etched into the hard-drive of my mp3-player and has accompanied me on numerous (cycling) trips around Europe.

The tracklist is a well kept secret, probably only to be revealed by the SChaduw himself, however, here’s a suggestion for the hip-hop set, and here’s one for the psych rock mix (thanks to fellow-editor gast! for the latter). Rests me to say to enjoy the selection, the beats, the rhymes, the scratching, and the amazing blends in the psych rock mix. Let’s party!

You might find this hard to believe, but you stand poised on the break of hearing the mixer of the year. Cool people! Where ya at? Taking the gang to another level. I’m not Garth Brooks but I’ve got friends in low places. I’m from Jamaica, my brother is a dread. But as for me, I have no locks in my head. I got more class than a Coca-Cola classic. Now this is no threat, no proposal of death, just a promise that’s going to be kept. Who is this? I’m detective John Kimball. In the case you need a better example, of what you bit, here’s a small sample. I’m like nitro, I get you hype yo, so cook your petrol, because they all know, that’s when I throw, I let the funk flow, not only in the studio, but when I rock a show. I feel like smoking and you’re looking like a cigarette. I saw a girl at the party, I was staring at her lap while drinking Bacardi. She had the baddest wardrobe ever invented, I had on a tuxedo, but it was rented. She had everything I wish I had, she came in a limo, I came in a cab. May seem like much too ask baby, but really, it’s not. So just drop those silky drawers, and give me all the love you’ve got. Give it him, never should have promised to him, give it him, don’t hold back now. My motor runs for hours, like a well oiled machine. Isn’t that amazing? I don’t put my mouth for everything, only chocolate cakes and chicken wings. I am Nakim bringing forth the rhythm maker, Akim! We know all beatboxes aren’t created equal. The bass was pumping about a quarter to nine, it was a Friday night and we were feeling fine. First out the limo was Charly Mack, my man Billy Bill was chilling in the back. Stepped out the car what did I see? It was a fine young lady looking dead at me. She said MC Peace won’t you please do, the name of this jam Jodeladyhoo.

Party on the dance floor, party people want more, time to hear something from the Treacherous Three. I want you to bring that track in, I want you to turn up my mic, turn up my headphones so I can start it. A def DJ has come out of the dark, we found him slicing suckers down in Central Park. So super sucker DJs run for your life, cuz’ scratching singles with a scissor is a slice of Mac Nife.

Made my way so I can see it at night, then your eyes arise to the skies bringing life, then I shine and blind ya and you wish me home cuz’ I know my rhymes explode like a time bomb. Hi, hello, what’s up? I slide your vains, I hide no pains. Our rhymes are different from others. You’ve got to be down, and swing and attack, and of course you’ve got to like the cool hip-hop sound. I guess you’re wondering why my haircut’s so high. None on the back and yo there’s none on the side. The sides is slick and yo the back silk smooth so when girls wanna feel, they just go oooh. Nowadays we don’t dance cheek to cheek in the time of high-popular electronic beats. Even when a record is nice and slow, people jump up and down and yo yo. I see men dance with men, calling it battles. Call it what you want, shaking it rattles. I like a girl against my chest, I like to feel her long arms around my neck. Rhyme-Ski ready to rock, rock to the riddim, riddim. Rock, rock to the riddim. Rock, rock, mutescreamer. But I feel that rap is more real, matter of fact, this music started making many to appeal. In the red corner with cuts galore, its DJ Quick, tougher than a dinosaur. Rippin’ and cuttin’ like Norman Bates, cuz’ a record is a terrible thing to waste. Yes he’s a wizard, rippin’ out gizzards, cool like a blizzard, cuttin’ like scissors. You know who rapped at MC skool, sucker sucker, whooha, cuz’ you ain’t cool. Stop flaming on stage talking all that bull, do you want back to MC skool? I take them one by one, before you know I’m done. Like Al Capone, I’m alone with my smoking gun. Ten years ago in New York City, from the streets of the Bronx came the real nitty gritty. A kung-fu man from hip-hop land came fighting down, dancing on the ground. To do it with ever, for me to loose never. Fresh is not enough, must always get fresher. I’m rhyming by the hour, it’s you that I devour. Energy from the sun seem seem to increase my power. He makes scratching on the turntables obsolete, to what he has in store is dramatical treat. All musical powers what he unfolds, he gets paid in kerosene and also showers in gold. Yo, I got the termination based on my expiration. Suckers I would drop in this type of situation. Yo, I rest the case, the case is rest. I don’t sit and let it mess, I give it the best. In the morn’ and it don’t stop, daydreamin’ about flaws in the drop-top. Blue light snaps me back to reality, I hit the alley quick and toss what they got on me. Back by popular demand. On the battle stand. Is the funky fresh crew. Whose name starts with Man! So if you think you’re a fan. And you’re down with the clan. Get up everybody. And clap those hands. Yes, I’m the rhyme writer and he’s the beat creator. I’m talking to you know, but I’ll run into you later. And when it comes to beats, there’s no one greater. You see, raps is what I do and I do it well indeed. The old stuff we take, the new stuff we make, so check it out for 87 and 88. These are the good old days, cuz’ hard work pays, that’s why I make all my friends amaze, that the way I configurate and arrange, you wanna tip, then I’ll leave the change. You’ve got to come inside, how can you say it ain’t fun when you haven’t even tried? I guess nobody told you before that the party won’t come knocking at your door. Why you say your style’s hardcore, when your records bore? I will start the euphoria. Yes, just we, the style warriors. Big beats pumpin’ with the bass. She was heading upstairs, and after my analysis, yo, I have to get this. I’m one of popularity proofs, apparently I’m a smooth, aggressive and devastative, immediately you will be moved. All dope sounds of the man James Brown, with the 808 kicking and humming in the background. Wait a sec’, this ain’t no test drum-track. It’s for real, and now we’re stating a fact. We’re the awesome totally perfected rap, and we’re here to put our state on the map. Behind the bars, where the troopers act funny. Where booties, the sex and your act is the money. Cold chillin’ with the raw dope posse in effect, straight to the dope. Listen to my turbo. Understand? That’s right boy, subject matter of the eighties. Martin was my kind of guy. And if you wonder why, because he wanted equal rights for blacks and even whites. It’s alive in Philly and all over the world. So that all the men and women, all the boys and girls, may not be judged by the color of the skin. But by the conscience or the character that dwells within. Smokey Joe give those tables a play!

For many years, this planet has been under constant surveillance and observation. Unknown forces have been responsible for producing strange and unusual phenomena. To date, only 7.7% of the many thousands of UFO sightings are still unexplainable. Perhaps what this planet really needs is something that will jolt us out of our self-centered, selfish outlook on life in general. But, time will tell. Time is yet to be conquered by man. But when the time is right, perhaps the greatest revelation of all time will dawn upon us.

Yes my friend, this might very well be the year. This could be the day. The day that no earthly power, governmental or otherwise, will be able to keep the secret of the saucers from the human family on this, the third planet from the sun. Until then, keep looking up! Search the heavens! Be alert at all times and remember: truth has a habit of marching on.

Available at your local library.