MTV Mash-Ups: linkin park vs. jay-z
So, I just saw this concert on tv, and it was pretty cool. jay-z's rapping was even faster than usual to keep up with the rock music and back in the studio when he made a mistake, he said he might have to break out the "young jay-z" and that when he makes an error is when it gets exciting. Mike did the voice of the cop pulling jay over in 99 Problems. Mike looked like he especially enjoyed that part. jay-z was way enthusiastic about "trying different things and collaberating". During one song while Chester was singing, jay said, "It sounds beautiful!" So guess where my mind went. Actually, I'll admit I wanted to see this just because I anticipated real-person-slash possibilities. How predictable of me. Man, now I really want someone to write some combination of jay-z, Mike, and Chester for me. Maybe I'll post a little drabble, but I'm not so sure of how well I can get inside these guys heads for fic purposes--especially jay-z's. Oh well, I might just write it anyway, since I doubt anyone will scratch the itch for me, even though I'm supposed to be doing a PowerPoint project that I haven't even started yet. If anybody catches wind of someone being inspired by the same pairing(s?), let me know, will ya.
ETA: Dude! I wrote it! Go me. It's pretty mild and mostly implied, but maybe it'll convince someone to do their own spin--only smuttier. Either way, I'm pretty happy about it, but maybe I'll add more if the need strikes me. Which wouldn't exactly be a stretch. ::grin::
Title: "The Collaberation", for now, unless I think of a better one
A/N: I tried to capture jay-z's speech patterns, in that he tends to mix street-slang and more formal, "correct" speaking. I respect jay-z as an intelligent person, which I hope comes across in this story. I may or may not have failed. Hopefully, as a white girl, my attempt came off as reasonably convincing and authentic, instead of offensive and laughable. I've had many black friends before, but this was my first official attempt at writing from the perspective of an African-American. Feel free to tell me where I went horribly, horribly wrong as long as it's constructive. Or other ways I screwed up. Positive comments welcome as well, natch. ;)
Jay looked over in Chester's direction in the studio, who was laying down vocals for their CD collaberation. He was alternating between silvery, mournful-sweet actual-singing, and what could only be described as a painful-looking process of shrieking at the top of his lungs. It hurt the first few hundred times to watch, before he was finally convinced that Chester's vocal cords could stand the constant abuse and weren't being shredded beyond repair. Apparently he was super-human. It was fascinating, cuz even when his own patience had been tested beyond his normal iron-control, he never let loose like that. Wasn't sure he could let loose like that. Sure looked cathartic, though. Mike, though, in his oversized navy hoodie and the headset around his neck, letting the hip-hop flow all golden around him and in him and out of him in clever, controlled words that built in a slow, steady burn that transformed into a sudden quicksilver . . . gave him something he could relate to. It didn't take him long to realize Mike was the control and Chester was the chaos. In more ways than one. But even when Chester was screaming his guts out it sounded melodic, and he began to appreciate the band as a whole for each member's unique contribution. But particularly the way those two overlayed each other. Opposites attract and are attractive together, and that whole bit.
Took some getting used to seeing that much power and rage coming out of a skinny white boy with a boyish face and glasses with thick black frames and a t-shirt at least three sizes too big. Add to that long blue-and-red flames that licked up the surface of each forearm, and the dude made an interesting picture, to say the least.
Jay shifted his eyes back to Mike whose own dark gaze looked suspiciously warm and bright, like laughter was hiding in the depths there, somewhere. Must've been staring for too damn long. Fuck it. "He's kinda . . . " Jay tried, as he struggled to find the right words, feeling ten kinds of ridiculous. Frustrating cuz someone in his line of work, among the best of the best and at the top of his game, ain't never supposed to be at a loss for words, of all things. He was beginning to wonder if this was anything like what Dre felt when dealing with Eminem for the first time. Like someone knocked his head loose and set it spinning crazily around, and it might never get set straight or still again. Only in his case, he was being double-teamed.
Mike flashed him a white-toothed grin that contrasted sharply against his light mocha skin. "Yeah," was his answer, eyes flickering for a moment in pure warmth in his bandmate's direction. "He is that." Almond-shaped eyes even darker than his own round ones confronted him directly and he had to respect that. He found himself nodding his head in agreement before he knew what he was doing. Maybe this silent, non-verbal thing had its place.
In the beginning, it had taken a little getting used to, because the linkin park crew seemed to interact more instinctually than strictly in a verbal way, though there was plenty of that, too. Not always needing to communicate through the loud, agressive words and good-humored posturing that was familiar to him among the hip-hop world. Among those who didn't mix their hip-hop with guitars and pretty screams.
But he thinks he's got the rhythm of it now. Or he will soon. These rap-metal/rap-rock/rap-whatever dogs move as fast as their music. But he ain't bowin' out just yet. Not when the game's just starting to get interesting. He always liked trying new things.
ETA: Dude! I wrote it! Go me. It's pretty mild and mostly implied, but maybe it'll convince someone to do their own spin--only smuttier. Either way, I'm pretty happy about it, but maybe I'll add more if the need strikes me. Which wouldn't exactly be a stretch. ::grin::
Title: "The Collaberation", for now, unless I think of a better one
A/N: I tried to capture jay-z's speech patterns, in that he tends to mix street-slang and more formal, "correct" speaking. I respect jay-z as an intelligent person, which I hope comes across in this story. I may or may not have failed. Hopefully, as a white girl, my attempt came off as reasonably convincing and authentic, instead of offensive and laughable. I've had many black friends before, but this was my first official attempt at writing from the perspective of an African-American. Feel free to tell me where I went horribly, horribly wrong as long as it's constructive. Or other ways I screwed up. Positive comments welcome as well, natch. ;)
Jay looked over in Chester's direction in the studio, who was laying down vocals for their CD collaberation. He was alternating between silvery, mournful-sweet actual-singing, and what could only be described as a painful-looking process of shrieking at the top of his lungs. It hurt the first few hundred times to watch, before he was finally convinced that Chester's vocal cords could stand the constant abuse and weren't being shredded beyond repair. Apparently he was super-human. It was fascinating, cuz even when his own patience had been tested beyond his normal iron-control, he never let loose like that. Wasn't sure he could let loose like that. Sure looked cathartic, though. Mike, though, in his oversized navy hoodie and the headset around his neck, letting the hip-hop flow all golden around him and in him and out of him in clever, controlled words that built in a slow, steady burn that transformed into a sudden quicksilver . . . gave him something he could relate to. It didn't take him long to realize Mike was the control and Chester was the chaos. In more ways than one. But even when Chester was screaming his guts out it sounded melodic, and he began to appreciate the band as a whole for each member's unique contribution. But particularly the way those two overlayed each other. Opposites attract and are attractive together, and that whole bit.
Took some getting used to seeing that much power and rage coming out of a skinny white boy with a boyish face and glasses with thick black frames and a t-shirt at least three sizes too big. Add to that long blue-and-red flames that licked up the surface of each forearm, and the dude made an interesting picture, to say the least.
Jay shifted his eyes back to Mike whose own dark gaze looked suspiciously warm and bright, like laughter was hiding in the depths there, somewhere. Must've been staring for too damn long. Fuck it. "He's kinda . . . " Jay tried, as he struggled to find the right words, feeling ten kinds of ridiculous. Frustrating cuz someone in his line of work, among the best of the best and at the top of his game, ain't never supposed to be at a loss for words, of all things. He was beginning to wonder if this was anything like what Dre felt when dealing with Eminem for the first time. Like someone knocked his head loose and set it spinning crazily around, and it might never get set straight or still again. Only in his case, he was being double-teamed.
Mike flashed him a white-toothed grin that contrasted sharply against his light mocha skin. "Yeah," was his answer, eyes flickering for a moment in pure warmth in his bandmate's direction. "He is that." Almond-shaped eyes even darker than his own round ones confronted him directly and he had to respect that. He found himself nodding his head in agreement before he knew what he was doing. Maybe this silent, non-verbal thing had its place.
In the beginning, it had taken a little getting used to, because the linkin park crew seemed to interact more instinctually than strictly in a verbal way, though there was plenty of that, too. Not always needing to communicate through the loud, agressive words and good-humored posturing that was familiar to him among the hip-hop world. Among those who didn't mix their hip-hop with guitars and pretty screams.
But he thinks he's got the rhythm of it now. Or he will soon. These rap-metal/rap-rock/rap-whatever dogs move as fast as their music. But he ain't bowin' out just yet. Not when the game's just starting to get interesting. He always liked trying new things.