Instant Release

Instant Release

BandWorldReggae

Instant Release is Afro-Caribbean/urban/spoken word fusion - that is, the band draws in influences from reggae, calypso, African, jazz, funk, soul, R&B and hip-hop, and then lays sung lyrics, rap & especially spoken word over top for a unique sound that's accessible, danceable & socially conscious.

Biography

Since coming together in summer 2008, Instant Release has been perfecting its bass-heavy, unique melodious sound. Blending elements of reggae, soul, hip-hop, R&B, calypso, African, funk and spoken word, the group is working hard to bring its blend of sounds and words to the people. Just like the drug Ritalin, the band drops an instant release of positive energy, uplifting lyrics, pulsing urban beats and emotional responses sure to leave you craving more. With Ritallin on lead vocals and the band blending voice, beat and strumming into a wide variety of soundscapes, Instant Release will inspire you to leave your chair, get on your feet, and feel the groove.

Lyrics

Tropic Gal

Written By: Ritallin

she’s one bad maama jaama rockin’
rockin’ Dolce and Gabbana lookin’
lookin’ glamorous like Vanna jumpin’
jumpin’ up at Caribana
knee deep ina de draama
or the drama if you ratha
as the playas swarm and gatha
titillatin’ causin’ latha
as the playas swarm and gatha
titillatin’ causin’ latha

the mas’ is playin’ soca for the
for the hos, b-boys and jokas try to
try to be the ace in poka play it
play it straight to get a soaka
she smile in your direction
and your game get no objection
move in close for an inspection
pulls you in to make connection
move in for an inspection
then pull you in to make connection

Hook

the float start play de reggae grab her
grab her ass to make it ready one foot
one foot skank to hold it steady cuz the
cuz the poka’s gettin’ heady
de costume damp and sweaty
from the steel that’s ever ready
feel the good good whole wheat shreddie
when she grind the firm spaghetti
feel the good good
when she grind the firm spaghetti

Hook

costume tight like plasta cast – body
and body fit to ever last rev you
revs your engine full of gas
she drive you hard, that sexy lass
wine her waist until she groan
and you nuh care you’re not alone
she own you in the zone
where sensually she make you moan
'cause she own you in the zone
where sensually she make you moan

cuz she’s one bad maama jaama rockin’
rockin’ Dolce and Gabbana lookin’
lookin’ glamorous like Vanna jumpin’
jumpin’ up at Caribana
knee deep ina de draama
or the drama if you ratha
as the playas swarm and gatha
titillatin’ causin’ latha
lookin’ glamorous like Vanna
jumpin’ up at Caribana

Hook

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2005 and 2008. All rights reserved.

Feel the Old School

Written By: Ritallin

So come on (now) everybody
Everybody clap your hands
Because this poem that I’m dropping
Straight into your dome
Gon’ bring back the old school jams
(x2)

Check it out!

Keep on walkin’ till you feel the real love
Like Luther gave to us before he left for up above
They reminiscence over you and that’s true
Cuz love is a wonderful thing, ain’t mad at you
But Chuck D. and Flava Flav are in another summer
They down with the king when they hear the funky drummer
And watching fast feet of Rick James the super freak
Givin’ lots of TLC to ladies – so I creep
Backstage to get blazed, you know what’s up
I’m a blunt gettin’ smoked and I can’t wake up
KRS and LONS, Nice n’ Smooth and Cypress Hill
They fill me with my hip-hop hooray with mad skill
Don’t beat it when you’re bad, it’s dangerous and off the wall
This thriller’s like the lady in my life after all
So don’t fall, take it slow cuz you got nothing to fear
Especially with New York – ya out there?

(So) come on, people come on
That’s right
So come on, come on, now people come on
That’s it
(x2)

Mr. Dobolina, Mr. Bob Dobolina
He was chillin’ with the Hammer when he asked him “have you seen her?”
And Missy Misdemeanor, leaning on her Beemer
Was looking for her keys so she could go sim simma
But RZA and GZA fo’ shizza were with a
Whole group of niggas who were tryin’ to get bigga
But Biggie, Biggie, Biggie can’t you see
That ODB was living in Mariah’s fantasy
Then Mary J. B., like Talib to get by
Was chilling with the Method Man, that ain’t no lie
She pulled a switch like Will, commercial mov-ah
Hitting people with the 411 like Grand Puba
And the tribe was on a quest while on award tour
Cuz you, you got what I need and even more
This music is a passion, it fashioned my soul
Merged the new with old and left me like Janet – in control

Throw your hands in the air
And wave ‘em like you just don’t care
So all the people in the room
That feel the old school
Let me hear you bawl out oh yeah
(oh yeah)
Oh yeah!
(oh yeah)
Scream
(ahhhhh!)

So come on (now) everybody
Everybody clap your hands
Because this poem that I’m dropping
Straight into your dome
Gon’ bring back the old school jams
(x2)

Check it out!

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2006. All rights reserved.

Gaze Upon The World

Written By: Ritallin

i gaze upon the world as Wonderland as if my name is Alice
then make up new words to tear down her principalis
the tweedle-dees and tweedle-dums are thumbing at my balance
like ballast settin' sail on the trade winds of my malice
blowing glowing Northern Lights like aurora borealis
make predictions more dependable than those of Nostradamus
damn it's the damage like on Kent State's campus
that i lead throughout your brain to tickle on your hippocampus

i stamp this – messages synapse under analysis
intellect dialysis preventing your paralysis
analogous to pathological psychoanalysis
as allergists devour this hour of cryptanalysis
encoded in the tomes remembered through the silence
came to study my verbal ammunition spit with violence
tearing down the constructs designed to make you callous
leave you blind, deaf, and dumb with the press strokin' your phallus

the five estates wide open for the orgy of the chalice
intoxicated by wine, money, sex and other talis-
men and women bending depending on social falla-
cies as the diseased suck all the air up in the galax-
see spots run for thirty seconds down in Dallas
politicians of all divisions – they hunt you for your ballots
but when it's time for governance – hot air against they palates
dishonesty duplicity destroy voter morale – it's
the same old song so long composed and played at the galas
in finery drink wine and leave in chic Chevy Impalas
but while all this is going on the earth is not in balance
and the whole of us are greedily exploiting all our talents

think about it, just think about all of the damage
as the world keeps turning burning cuz humans livin' savage
so think about it, just think about our near demise
if the air's too thick to breathe, how the hell we gonna rise?
think about it, just think what we could do together
it's to the goal of peace i keep my sanity tethered
so think about it, just think how wonderful to be
the generation that took action to save ecology

i implore for more to understand and turn more activist
the clock will cease to tick at clover luck's death kiss
how is it we don't see that something horrid is amiss
missed suffocating floods from the gentle warning mists (x2)

we gaze upon the world as Wonderland as if our names were Alice
then make up new words to tear down her principalis
the tweedle-dees and tweedle-dums are thumbing at our balance
like ballast settin' sail on the trade winds of our malice
blowing glowing Northern Lights like aurora borealis
make predictions more dependable than those of Nostradamus
damn it's the damage like on Kent State's campus
that i lead throughout your brain to tickle on your hippocampus.

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2008. All rights reserved.

Counselling Crime

Written By: Ritallin

Yard mon likkle bwoy come from ‘round de way
Tek time, gonna fly from his early day
Yard mon bigga bwoy teach dem how fi run
Aweh to cold habitat and further from de sun
Yard mon likkle man runnin’ from de blue
Tek time for de crime, captivate fi true!
Big mon cross de mon, mon go sen’ ‘im weh
Down to de Caribbean to mek de yardie pay

Black criminality’s on the rise
But that depends on if you see reality through uncorrected eyes
Collected I surmise that stats don’t tell the story
How my people get assigned to another category
It’s like playing Scattergories – some people play the game
While the others on the sidelines must deal with all the blame
I know I hit a vein when the shame blush your face
I’m giving you a taste of the peeps you can’t replace
When you ride them on a rail out of town cuffed up
held like chattel for the slaughter get ‘em booked and roughed up
We blame the land of origin who send the malcontents
When they learned the business here from the time of innocence
To the moment that they realize that Canada’s a fraud
Gavel licks the tabletop, they lock you in a pod
The time it takes to strap ‘em in a seat upon a plane
Is just long enough to exorcise our undiluted shame
The lessons of the world were taught to youth upon our streets
It’s funny how we do this then we kick them on their seats
For if we take the challenge of correcting our mistakes
Then we stop dumping criminals in unrelated states

Yard mon likkle bwoy come from ‘round de way
Tek time, gonna fly from his early day
Yard mon bigga bwoy teach dem how fi run
Aweh to cold habitat and further from de sun
Yard mon likkle man runnin’ from de blue
Tek time for de crime, captivate fi true!
Big mon cross de mon, mon go sen’ ‘im weh
Down to de Caribbean to mek de yardie pay

The criminals that make the news that came from other lands
And were given all the privileges we place in children’s hands
They learned it from the man but made a fateful trip
When they failed to understand the need to grab citizenship
Too late to get a grip and hold all that they wanted
When the courts dispensing justice if the rule of law is flaunted
The sentencing is over and the chance for mercy gone
With the counsel for the Queen of England chatting on the lawn
“The justice system worked, the perpetrator pays
Reuniting with the country where he learned his evil ways”
But hold up when I say that we are evil evermore
When a child is sent away to unfamiliar foreign shores
Surroundings that impound the chance to learn and to forgive
And the comment on our culture is we’ll kick you in the ribs
So send to us your immigrants to reinforce our ranks
We’ll pick all of the good ones, toss the bad with no thanks
Then as the ultimate prank the scum that we created
We’ll ship down to the Caribbean as some twisted favour
This disassociation that we never once debated
Makes our country to those nations little better than the slaver

Yard mon likkle bwoy come from ‘round de way
Tek time, gonna fly from his early day
Yard mon bigga bwoy teach dem how fi run
Aweh to cold habitat and further from de sun
Yard mon likkle man runnin’ from de blue
Tek time for de crime, captivate fi true!
Big mon cross de mon, mon go sen’ ‘im weh
Down to de Caribbean to mek de yardie pay

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2003. All rights reserved.

Fruit Farms

Written By: Ritallin

Canada – hear our pleas
O Canada hear our pleas
Coming from …

The fruit farms
From the fruit farms
From the fruit farms of Niagara (x3)
O Canada – hear our pleas

Come from Jamaica, we come from Mexico
To work the fields of southern Ontario
We come from St. Kitts and from Barbados
And come from Trinidad and Tobago
And from Antigua, from Dominica
From all across the southern islands and lands
To find our fortune eight months at a time

We are the seasonal, not the unreasonable
Living in bunkhouses on the land
And through your government we came here legal
Though many locals just can’t understand
We make our monies and send them overseas
Because we need to feed our families
Third world treatment eight months at a time

On the …
Fruit farms
On the fruit farms
On the fruit farms of Niagara (x3)
O Canada – hear our pleas

We fill a pressing need, when no one fills the jobs
Because Canadians don’t want this work
But in the tropics now, they must hold back the mobs
They know the jobs on the farms have their perks
Then when we travel here we’re unprotected
Make sure you check human rights at the door
Exploitation eight months at a time

They work us long and hard, we get no privacy
We have to sleep with three men to a bunk
We get no telephones or electricity
And our employers can treat us like junk
Though some are español, they want bilingual
English and French but we can’t immigrate
Mass exclusion eight months at a time

On the …
Fruit farms
On the fruit farms
On the fruit farms of Niagara (x3)
O Canada – hear our pleas

They took away the right to unionize our people
For our safety and our dignity in that dimension
But then they add the injury to their insults
Canada must sign the Migrant Workers’ Convention
And though our labour adds to your prosperity
We can never seek to be citizens at all
What happens if the migrants stop come work ‘pon your fruit farms?
We want justice – come join our call

Coming from …

The fruit farms
From the fruit farms
From the fruit farms of Niagara (x3)
O Canada – hear our pleas
Please
Canada, hear our pleas
O Canada – hear us please!

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2005. All rights reserved.

Boom Clap

Written By: Ritallin

Hook: So listen up to this kid – it’s the boom clap
All you brothas be asking me how we do that
Now I’m constructing progressions to make you move that
I’m coming through that, come and try to prove that I’m too Black
And who’s that bangin’ onto my boom clap
Dispensing knowledge, no dollars make me pursue that
My lyrics sing to the heavens, y’all noddin’ true dat
Bring it from the new jack to blues that construe what artists knew

That the black is the mack who brought the boom clap
Calling out and responding when shackles smacked and snapped
They can bind my body but rhythms live free
As they evolved and survived like Blacks in slavery
The drum talks in dialogue with my inner soul
Bare feet tramping dirt when I’m on a rhythmic roll
I close my eyes and the visions of mother Africa
Consume my fears and endear me to the slap and ska
With reggae rockers and down South Negro spirituals
I know that I’m free at last so let my music go
When I’m liberated by rich vocal harmonies
My heart will find a new home among savannah greens
So come safari with me to lead my people back
And embrace the pure roots of music when it’s Black
‘Cause it’s the principal vein other musicians tap
When they set off on a quest to use the boom clap

Hook

It’s a shame they neglect their inheritance
‘Cause if their art showed respect it would make better sense
It would be tying in drums straight from the motherland
To the modernizations they use to guide their hands
I love hip-hop and the blues that hit me rhythmically
The South and East that combine to rock it biblically
But just remember that notes are always written Black
Scribbled onto the scores of our new sound attack
But brothas shakin’ they asses and they don’t have to be
‘Cause we explode the block quick with verbal mastery
Underlain by the throb of Kush’s cardiac
Dominate with the brain, not where the party at
Our people good at penning lines to collect dough
About getting high or shot down in the ghetto
Given the depth of our roots we can give more than that
So rise right back to your feet and meet the boom clap

Hook

With the blingers they singing about their Alizé
And getting jiggy while their peeps die in the alleyway
Shooting, snorting and smoking their criminality
While rappers big up that shit like it’s reality
Don’t underestimate the power of trashy videos
That flip our Nubian princesses to shabby hos
And turn the African male into a pimp or thug
Leaching off society – yo, I don’t want no scrubs
I speak with strength derived from my history
And the hope that the present always demands of me
So I rebel when the beat drops for cash dough
‘Stead of raising the consciousness of my people
I implore for Black folks – get off the mental crack
Liberate your brain, not your sacroiliac
Give up the crap and take up the social Black attack
No slack as we take back our pride with the boom clap

Hook

© A. Gregory Frankson, 2004. All rights reserved.

Discography

You can hear Ritallin's poems at www.myspace.com/ritallin ... many of these have become Instant Release tracks.

Set List

Boom Clap
Challenge
Counselling Crime
Feel the Old School
Fruit Farms
Gaze Upon the World
Good to Know
Grand Entry
I'm a Survivor
Kumba Ye Ye
Rock This
Scarborough Affair
Still Here
Tropic Gal
(all are original Instant Release tracks except for Scarborough Affair)