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The hard working, kind and timid Kim Mi Young has little in the way of education, beauty or wealth, but all that changes after a fateful night of accidental passion with the spoiled, rich heir of a family company, Lee Gun. Her insignificant existence completely transforms when she finds out she is pregnant and must tie her life to his in a shot-gun wedding. The couple decides to make the best of a bad situation, but just when Lee Gun begins to show his growing affection for Kim Mi Young, his first love re-enters the picture to stake her claim.
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Actual Factual Pterodactyl [Boy Sand Industries, 2008]This logorrheic rhymer says he comes music first, which means extended loops from anywhere: speed-rock, roots dancehall, humming and whistling, Bach or somebody, Jon Hassell or somebody, Kenna nailing his Thom Yorke impression. On the one about the ill-fated mambo contest, there's a mambo; on "I-Tunes Song," there's an intrusive jingle. But though the loops have some jam and Kenna will never sound better, what sustains is the words. Some you'll get right away, others you'll let pass with your head spinning. But they'll be there waiting. Conscious enough, Homeboy loves to play, which greatly enhances his wisdom hear how "Or" arrays 200-odd "or" rhymes: "I am a sight for sore orbs/Flow like a cyborg albacore." Married to this hip-hop for richer or poorer, he's never been divorced. His brand of hip-hop is nothing like yours. A-
The Good Sun [High Water Music, 2010]He's a believer--once withdrew from a freestyling contest rather than rhyme to a gunshot beat. He's a vegan who forswears cursewords and caffeine although not reefer, brags about how poor he is, and is avowedly "not pop." But he's no ascetic. His songs come equipped with brief melodic hooks, his rapid rhymes brim with delight, and from gravelly to singsong his flow is always ready for whatever comes next. Sandman has heard the insult knuckleheads aim at every rapper who makes them feel guilty: "Maybe you think I'm whinin' like BeBe and CeCe." But he knows he rhymes for love and for the fun of it, and so will you. A-
Subject: Matter [Stones Throw download EP, 2012]He says this EP's subjects matter because no other hip-hopper has touched them, and except for the opener about his creative process, he's got a right, as in the one about his material possessions thatincludes his sock drawer. His beats stick, and even when he's merely rhyming there's a musicality there: "Carpe diem/As a.m. turn to the p.m./The zone I be in/Muy bien." From the grounded erotic obsession of "Unforgettable" to the down-in-the-flood nightmares of "Soap," he's got a vision. And nowhere is his subject matter more materialistic--philosophically, and maybe even dialectically--than in "Canned Goods": "Other food spoils much quicker/The spoils go to the victors." A-
Kindness for Weakness [Stones Throw, 2016]Strictly on the down-low (is that the phrase?), Angel del Villar has recorded more quality long-players than anyone over the past decade. He's not a great--his sibilantly articulated flow just isn't as beautiful as Jay Z's, Lil Wayne's, or Nicki Minaj's. But when I wanted to demur mildly from his 2013 All That I Hold Dear, all I could do was quote his perturbed "How can an artist make too much art?" The answer is for the artist to fall in with a disrespected genre, as alt-rap seems doomed to remain, kinda like polka. His staccato three- and four-beat lines suit the rhyme-mad verbiage and moral directness you should love him for, and it's nice that he adds a common touch and a sense of humor. Highlights here are the lyrical "Heart Sings," the rousing "Real New York," the unrequited "Sly Fox," the religious "God," and the more religious "Speak Truth." Give him a fucking break, willya? A-
Anjelitu [Mello Music, 2021]Skills ace as ever plus Aesop Rock augments their lice trilogy, but his distaste for beef seems inconsistent with his love for "cow's" milk and any 36-year-old who's never washed a dish should grow up already ("Go Hard," "Lice Team, Baby") **
Since that new Tower of Babel was erected, Westminsterhas watched other foundations arguing andstriving to discover the correct pronunciation of classicalLatin. Despite the periodical rebukes of its rivals,it has held stubbornly to its course, knowing that thereis no sure means of recreating the speech of Cicero andthat Westminster at least is too deeply bedded in thepast to bend before each new breeze of educationalfashion. A hundred customs are preserved to teach newgenerations that progress need not be divorced from thehistoric sense: when the bell rings for prayers at the endof afternoon school, a Second Election knocks with hiscap at the doors of the form-rooms adjoining school andcalls out, "Instat quinta", or, on "plays" (half-holidays),"Instat sesquiduodecima", although the actualhour is now nearly one o'clock; a Second Election hasknocked thus since the time was told from a single clockand shouted through the school by a junior; beforeprayers begin, the doors are locked, and, when they areopened, one of the School Monitors mounts guardoutside to repel a chance raid by the "sci's" of theneighbourhood who in less orderly days carried on atown-and-gown warfare against the school. At thelowest, such customs are a picturesque survival, likethe Latin play acted in College Dormitory, the PancakeGreeze on Shrove Tuesday, the countless phrasesand customs which only a Westminster understands andwhich all Westminsters love; perhaps, too, they foster,in the alien and the iconoclast, a sense of the past. Abbeyand School are a monument to continuity and orderedprogress; in 1906, they were a monument at which theleaving seniors had been involuntarily staring for half adozen years.
The war has caused the English people to examinesearchingly its scheme of education and especially thatpublic-school system which trains the sons of the well-to-dofor future eminence in government, the publicservices and the learned professions. There have beenmany books and much discussion: the English love offinding fault with cherished institutions while approvingthe result has led to a hazy belief that the English public-schoolboyis the finest raw material in the world, butthat only his inborn superiority has saved him from destructionby a burthen of useless learning, devastatingignorance, insane athleticism and vicious associations.It is more than time to suggest that his excellence is adelicate bloom nurtured and saved by the public schoolfrom the criminal neglect of his parents and that mostcritics, failing to distinguish between the phases throughwhich every boy passes, have written down as chronicdisease what was but temporary green-sickness.
Before public schools are denounced for making boyslicentious of habit and obscene of tongue, parents mightask themselves what preventive measures they themselveshave taken. And, before any one attacks the insistenceon athletics in public schools, he might ask himselfwhat better physical discipline he can propose andwhether this derided love of sport is inculcated at schoolor at home. If a boy were not compelled by fear ofpunishment to take part in games, he would be coercedby the opinion of parents who would not understand nortolerate a son without the Englishman's normal andnatural preoccupation with sport; and, though compulsorygames are easy to ridicule, they do not kill the chivalryof good sportsmanship: an early Westminstermemory is of a football shield passing, after long andhonourable contest, from one house to another; whilethe head and captain of the winning house fetched awaythe trophy, the losing house lined up to cheer their victorsand, if possible, to drown the cheers of the winninghouse for the one that had lost.
The answer of history was that every member ofevery community gained in security and comfort by thecomfort and security of the community and that nonewas tolerable in which fear and injustice, want andcruelty were permitted; in his own interest every manmust strive to eradicate them, for the other memberswere his daily neighbours. Side by side with theteaching of the biologists, who destroyed with theirtheory of evolution the belief in a special creation, therecame into the common stock of ideas the teaching ofthe utilitarians, who offered a new criterion for privateand public conduct. While Christian dogma might bean obsolete shortcut to an eternity which few desiredand fewer still could contemplate, Christian ethics remainedthe noblest and gentlest counsel to perfection.At length reconstruction found itself back at the injunctionthat a man should love his neighbour as himself.
If, on the last Sunday, many lacked the detachmentto set out in detail their debt to Westminster, all couldacknowledge their love and treasure their last moments.Next morning the Major Candidates were imprisonedin a form-room leading to School and summoned oneby one to stand before a long table for the viva voce examination.There followed the match between theKing's Scholars and the Town Boys. Next morningthose who were leaving rose and for the last time put ondress clothes and a gown for their last day at Westminster.
In all political relations an Irishman interprets patriotismto mean his love for Ireland; in all relations withthe British Government Ireland is offered, a year toolate, what she would have accepted thankfully a yearearlier. When English political parties are vying withone another to press upon Ireland a remedy for whichthe time has passed, it is hard to recall the days whencoercion bill trod on the heels of coercion bill and"twenty years of resolute government" was proposed asthe blunt, common-sense method of curing a nation thataspired to independence: Ireland turbulent, it was said,was unfit for self-government, Ireland at peace nolonger wanted it. In two hundred and fifty years Englandhad tried every expedient, from the Cromwellianmassacres to the Wyndham land act, with the exceptionof just that political autonomy which she blessed sofervently when it was won by Greece and Italy, Bulgaria,Servia and Roumania. Still the Irish dreamedof a national destiny, still the imperial genius of theEnglish bled Ireland slowly to death. More than acentury after the act of union, a conservative ministrydiscovered that perhaps the Irish really desired to controltheir own fate; and the twenty years of resolutegovernment ended in an abortive scheme of devolution.It is true that Mr. Wyndham, a great scholar, a greatergentleman and one of the greatest friends that Irelandever had, was denounced, betrayed and left to die heartbroken;his work lived after him; and, when the Liberalparty returned to power in 1906, it was agreed, thoughnot admitted, by all that some concession must be madeto the Irish demand for home rule; all in turn now prescribemilk, when brandy is required, and brandy, whenoxygen alone will save the patient's life.