Released 1971
If the revolution ain't gon' be televised, then, ****, I'll probably miss it.
When you can appreciate a reference from an Aesop Rock track without having any idea who sang the original song it's obviously an iconic track, or maybe just title. Either way, I was about to scroll right past a blog post on Gill Scott Heron's discography until
The Revolution will not be Televised caught my eye, for which I'm thankful.
There's something about the phrase that has carried its powerful sentiment and bleakly witty commentary from 1970 to the present day without losing much at all.
The song opens the album, as well as being somewhat of a black sheep, due to its spoken word, proto-rap delivery compared to the rest of the album's smooth soulful vocals. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite live up to it's label. The message doesn't develop past that one line, and the rest of the lines are just variations on the premise. Granted they're often hilarious.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.
Now we launch into the album proper, and musically it is much more satisfying. The arrangements have a jazz vibe with funk edges and Heron's vocals are emotively striking and make for some surprisingly strong hooks. Home is
Where the Hatred Is in particular only takes one listen to sink into your mind.
There's something timeless about the piano melodies, in the way that you'll throw the album on and a sense of familiarity will wash over you.
Lyrically Heron is at his strongest, with stark imagery and commentary fuelled equally by anger at and hope for his society. Nothing matches the ferocity and radicalism of
The Revolution will not be Televised, but his more subtle and nuanced performances eventually paint a richer image. The title track, wherein he delves into his childhood is one of the most touching moments of the album.
Jagged jigsaw pieces
Tossed about the room
I saw my grandma sweeping
With her old straw broom
But she didn't what she was doing
She could hardly understand
That she was really sweeping up..
Pieces of a man