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video/photo: Lauryn Hill @ Wilbur Theater

21 Dec

Yo, she really exists.

She is so beautiful, but y’all knew that.

I’m still recovering from shock myself. I used to paint to her entire album.

Ten years. Still awe-inspiring.


BUY IT [please]

8 Nov

Say hi to Ashanti, The Mad Violinist.
(A pretty legendary un-dead guy.)

(you can click the picture.)

My dear friend arranged and soloed violin on Lupe’s single from LASERS (dropping March 8, 2011..or so they say). I can’t accurately describe how awesome he really is, because it’s hard finding words for shit like that. BUT.


Ladies and gentlemen, that there thing below is in FACT the very audio clip of his single “The Show Must Go On”. Ashanti stressed a VERYYYYY important message to me to tell y’all:

Please, buy the music.
It’s $1.29. Run & tell THAT.
I wanna buy it! [here]

“So if I come to your job, take your corn on the cob / And take a couple kernels off it that would be alright with youuuu..” (classic.)

Lupe Fiasco – The Show Goes On by pigeonsandplanes

itchy fingers

6 Nov

I vaguely remember a blog post I did, kinda sorta revealing a new project I’m working on. I listed an EP set list and err’thang.. and I’m actually kinda happy to inform you all that some shit changed. I first tweeted about my project not having much of a shape but that I would pretty much do my damndest to get it together by January 1.. then this week kinda happened and uh, change of plans.

So after sitting with Mi Corazon (aka I Dont Know If He Wants Me To Name Him So We’ll Say My Friend Who Designs Trill Shit), I let him hear “Boys & Girls” (longer story about that LATER) and he immediately spoke my language and joined my team as chief of imaging epic shit. Then lah-dee-dah, a couple more days go by and I fuck around and meet Grizzly (aka A6 and Prodigal Son), a throwed ass dubstep DJ & rapper who decided that besides my rolling skills being comparable to that of a machine, my songwriting and live violin was definitely fuckwittable.

This is an unofficial addendum to the older blog or whatever I said to promote it: I got people on the shit and it’s going to be a great project. Stay tuned!

-xoxo, Charly

Screams of Consciousness :: Vol I

2 Nov

I am working on a new project series, dropping January 1, 2011 called Screams of Consciousness. I decided to stop being shy and get my violin arrangements together so that y’all can understand where my head is most of the time. This project means a shitload to me, man.. I really hope you enjoy it. I’d say this to your face, actually. I am putting a lot of love and vulnerability into a piece of art with my name on it and distributing it for free publicly.. I’d appreciate if you’d give it a chance. Stay posted on my blog and I’ll keep you updated on where I am in the creative process.. for now it’s deciding imaging. But I have a few surprises tied to that : )

All songs written, recorded, and arranged by me. I had a lot of inspiration, but the best one was a producer who blurted that artists “should learn how to do things themselves” and he couldn’t have been more right. Still love you, boo. Anyway..

This is the EP list:

Cloud Session #1 (Step Into My World) :: violin & vocal arr
Love, Charly :: violin & vocal arr
Boys & Girls :: violin and vocal arr
Reality TV
Money Under the Floor :: acapella

The Artists: Mother Speaks

21 Apr

NO pitch correction on Erykah’s new shit; the offkey notes came completely out of her human heart. I needed to deprogram my autotune-conditioned ear–I needed to love those notes to know I’m human too.

Man I can’t lie. I wrote this post completely stoned. I jammed Miss Erykah cuz this is the only time I’m completely open to the world around me. I needed to hear Mother speak, at least she’s my mother now. My real mother was like Lauryn Hill, actually. I think they could be kindred spirits.. I don’t even think I’d mind if my mom was deep enough to have a non-sexual lesbian relationship with Lauryn, cuz then I’d have had two genius mommies. I don’t talk about mommies anymore.

She says so much with so little; and she sings notes that wouldn’t marry each other if you forced them with any other instrument. Underwater is where you have to place yourself to listen to this shit, because artists like that can’t fuckin talk to anybody while they’re “sober”. They’e still thinking about how much they just spent on her album. They’re thinking about their cell phones and who they’re gonna text to tell about song #4. They’re completely unfocused. Artists can only talk to people when people turn into sober artists. And a sober artist is a slightly inebriated soul.

We’re all born artists. Then the world forces us to drink ideas until we become drunk with the “reality” that we’re adults now. What’s really going on is that we are reared to accept lies about who we can look like, what we can only buy for a limited time, and how we’re supposed to think if we’re a certain color. Some people become extremists; those are the addicts. And the rest of the people tread the line between naturally sober artists under the moon and drunk, non-artistic adults under the sun. And those are called robots.

And then there are the people whose souls remain highly tolerant to the consumption of those lies. We are called the artists. Some of us are victims of believing too many lies and we become prisoners of our own love; but most of us share what our souls look like to the rest of the world. But nobody really pays attention, and some of you try really hard to but our souls are written in a language you can’t decipher, so you admire the handwriting. We artists know we can’t reach you because once you do get a glimpse of our souls you forget about what you saw the instant you hear a new lie.

So the only way people can listen to artists is when they’re completely sober; back in their natural state as artists–their birthright. And what’s the only way to become sober? To forget all the lies. What makes you “sober”? To reverse your condition with the most natural means of releasing inhibitions: blaze one, motherfucker. And look at my soul.

So anyway Mother still sings. Miss Badu is baaaaaad.

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