BSC
Contact: musicathebarrio@yahoo.com
BSC (Bellavista Social Club, named after the main prison
in Medellin, our city: "Cárcel Nacional de Bellavista") started
in 2001. We are Medina Ox Oc and Don Vito. We consider ourselves to be a political
group. We mix different rhythms, although reggae and hip hop are evidently predominant,
but we consider ourselves to be a mestizo music band. We have always been committed
with the anti-war movement: have played several times suporting different antimilitarist
groups in the city, in demonstrations against war in Irak, in Colombia and anywhere
in the world, we have also played in festivals against the abuses of every government
(specially the fascist one we have now) and against the neoliberal policies
that our politicians have so cheerfully embraced.
We firmly believe in DIY ethics which is how we released our first cd and how
we took it everywhere around south america in the "The Vuelton 2005"
tour. We played supporting the autonomous movements in Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador,
Brasil (during the WSF in 2005, in Porto Alegre), Argentina and Chile.
At the moment we are putting a performance together with a visual agit collective
from Medellin: Makinema and working on our next album which will, hopefully,
include both audio CD and DVD formats.
English Lyrics of "Luchar para substitir"- song on this abc-compilation
STRUGGLING TO SURVIVE
(Don Vito)
In these days of dissatisfactions, of frustrations, of knocking door by door
and not finding any options, of being tired of relying my future in prayers
that bring consolation and calm, but no solutions. My songs are next to me but
sometimes it is not enough. My pen is tired of always expressing my indignation
and wonders why the same again? how come the night is so long? When will the
sun rise again? ¡How should I know! I will answer, thinking that no matter
how much I swim I will drown in this river, I will sink, I won’t go after
the dreams I conceived on a day of naïveté, long ago. I am tired,
I already gave up, the future I once dreamt about has already been forgotten
and I cut up with the bullshit I used to say while I was still a kid which has
been buried under military bullets. I was faithful, I am no more, my life’s
path wore it off little by little because their promises of welfare took away
my retirement fund, bonuses, wage and social security. And while reading the
paper I learned that I won’t ever find a fair life on the street because
they are giving 26 years in prison to Leidy Tabares* and they are about to apply
a forgive and forget policy to paramilitary leaders.
(Medina Ox Oc)
Your lacks face your eagerness. Where do wishes go when everything is marked
with a dollar sign? They make you suffer needs, it’s because of dissatisfactions
that a lot of brothers did wrong. I wouldn’t be able to judge them. Whose
soul is clean enough as to say something? Is it maybe that someone called judges
to decide in this case? I only know it hurts to see how we are running out of
food while politicians act so blindly. Now, they declare me a dissident in this
unfair weighing machine. They force my generation to wear uniforms: for so many
pains, the satisfactions are so few. Options go down the abyss. Many youths
live hopelessly. The same as they, I think a discourse is not enough, the ideal
of equity is insufficient when the fridge is empty in so many homes.
CHORUS
Struggling to survive – day by day we have to resist.
(Lupa)
I resent, I feel things don’t change here. They burn flags but lift poles
for new ones. You seem naïve for believing you won’t pass away. My
feeling is based on stories from the ghetto. My hands are raised, I’m
tired, political speeches, my karma, are already worn out. TV, Jet set stories,
they cut my palms. War games oppress souls: no reasons, no arguments, they just
say stay calmed. But, what the hell! My emotions go up and down day by day and
if there are no proper conditions, how do you dare play with my reasons? How
many versions do the murderers have? How loud do those national anthems sound?
When won’t we see them again? When will I stop hearing the same ol’
same ol’ for ever and ever?
(Medina Ox Oc)
One straw will break the camel’s back, pain and rage are not over. There
are no figures to measure these conditions whipping us. Other circumstances
would be ideal: mere utopias that will hardly ever become realities. There are
plenty of authorities with their formalities whose actions could be compared
to obscenities. How many suffer their daily drama in cities? In the hood, on
the streets, hunger is not appeaseable. People die in fatal events and there
isn’t the will to change this. Our fundamental rights will remain in the
paper. How many dissatisfactions have become a costume, normal? We are flooded
by tears, the problems are so many, figures are overflowed by the inhumanity
of this facts.