Song Search

Jungle Warfare

by Paul Cree

By the tender age of 14 years old
I fully understood the nature of the war I was up against.
I had a duty to protect the fragility of my lug holes.
The gateway to my soul.
My Bus journey to school was the frontline.
Commercial breakfast radio was the enemy trying to infiltrate my eardrums.

Even back then I used to think that radio DJ's all the sounded exactly the same.
I imagined that were all really the same person,
Broadcasting to the nation simultaneously,
Like the voice of the mysterious.

So I had to fight back.
My chosen weapon to retaliate,
Was a walkman.
With tape cassettes,
Copied from tape cassettes,
Copied from tape packs
One Nation, Helter Skelter, Dreamscape and Fever
Blackmarket and Hyper D at energy 97 was the one

Me and my bus mate
One earpiece each
Opposite ear covered by a hand
Exterior frequencies could not penetrate us
Me,
Century position. commandeering the seat,
My mate,
Asleep.
Not even a hectic amen break could keep him awake.
But he was safe there none the less.

Tuts, scowls and frowns.
Occasionally, someone would turn round form the sit and front and say
"Can you TURN that repetitive crap down"?????
I'd reply as best I could
"Sorry, but I'm fed-up with hearing Boyzone playlisted on repeat.
And I'm not interested in tailbacks on junction 9 of the M25,
I'm 14 years old.”

The more I listened the deeper I delved.
Lost in a world of beats, bass, MC's and DJ's
Bus journey sessions,
Expanded to include lessons whilst sitting in class

I had a mutual understanding with school
I wasn't really interested in School
School didn't seem intrested in me
Unexpectedly,
I just about scraped through GCSE exams,
But I had to search for knowledge and opportunity myself
Carving them open with my own hands,
Moulding them to shape my needs
But Music,
Music, was my defence mechanism in times of need.
A sonic shield
A forcefield to protect me from my enemies.

Now I don't remember precisely when
Defence became attack.
Maybe when my brother bought a second hand set of belt-drive turntables.
I was a different journey by then
College had taken over whhere School had left off,
I didn't last very long.
Finishing before my time was due to expire.
I was kicked out.

Despite the inherited pessimism,
Questions began to form in my brain
I started to believe, then see, that there could be opportunities.
Even for me.
I could be a DJ.
Even an MC.
I remember the day I found out Shabba D was white.
Just like me.
Except he was form East London
Not like me
I was from a small town in Surrey
Opportunity overruled fear and embarrassment,
And I belly flopped into the deep-end

The idea that I could write lyrics gave me enthusiasm that I never knew I had
Any slice of information I could get I grabbed
I began to write lyrics
I realised I had a lot I wanted to get off my chest.
I realised too how hard it was,
I didn't have a clue,
But I persevered.
Trying desperately to manifest the blood sweat and tears,
Artists so often talk about when referring to their work

Hours spent cocooned in my bedroom
A Base shoe box quickly began to fill,
With backs of envelopes, card and scrap paper.
It's all I wanted to do

The generic radio DJ's on the school bus,
Were now a distant memory.
Boyzone had long since split up
I had a new enemy to contend with.
Tacky nightclubs and pubs pumping out the same crap,
I'd spent years trying to shield my ears from
Except this time it was harder
There was booze
There was girls
Temptation almost took me off the rails
The Snake skin Base loafers belonging to the Base shoe box,
Were almost permanently swapped for my trainers
Lyric writing made me prone to isolation
Someone was testing my patience
I decided to counteract
Fridays were dedicated to making mixtapes
1 damp smoky shed cramped with me and my mates.
Smoke and mix sessions in shed's and bedrooms,
Quickly turned into house parties,
Then a monthly night at a local venue.

Still my enemies lingered
Appearing in the form of managers, supervisors and team leaders
Stronger and harder.
Since leaving education with little but a few laughs
My days were now consumed with low paid work
Time was now more precious than ever before
Gradually I started to see friends go there separate ways.
Some fell by the wayside,
"Man down,”
Succumbing to the dull drums of uniform behaviour
Commercial breakfast radio polluting the air space of their kitchens each morning,
As they sip on the bitter taste of strong coffee,
Just to stay awake.

Me?
I soldiered on.
But balance of power has shifted rapidly.
I'm still fighting,
But I'm tired from battling.
Hanging to the belief that can I still win this war.
Struggling to keep my head above the water,
Swimming in the moat of the enemy's keep

I can feel them slowly closing in around me.
I'm circled.
Flanked at all angles.
Barely anywhere left to run
Day time radio,
Prime time television,
Glossy magazines
Billboards,
Buses,
Tubes,
Trains and trams.

Still, I fight on.
If my earphones aren't clasped around my ears,
Then it's my hands.
Refusing to listen.
If I'm loosing the faith
I just re-wind my old rave tapes.
Reload, and start again
"Jungalists are you ready"