5/23/2007

If There's Nothing Funny to Blog About, You Live in Philly. Alternate Title: The Facileness of Music Blogging


Crazy Dave dancing

Download: Lindstrøm & Prins Thomas - Nummer Fire En

"Julianne wrote a great piece on Lil Wayne today, worth reading because it is most likely about you, the hyperfingered blogskimming danceremixing motherfucker who hasn't listened to any one song the last six months more than six times, except maybe "Young Folks."-- Riff Market

This whole trendfucking trend: grading music, making aesthetic evaluations (um, some suggested reading btw: Kant, Immanuel, Critique of Judgment), according to preconceptions of artist and genre-- until last week I maintained some hope that hipsters really didn't work that way. But the blind acceptance of the new Axis of Evil (indie, new rave, mash-up) in fact proves that "hipster" is a euphemism for scenester. I define a scenester as a Catholic, someone that needs a support group, that can't stand alone, can't ask questions, and never can be wrong. People like me, (I say this with honest conviction) ex-download whores, who were bloodthirsty for the new, the free, back when our iTunes libraries weren't billions of gigs, in large part created this monster. Now we have to suffer it.

I guess it's job and/or old age be praised, my bad habits have been broken. Since last November I have not heard much music. But I have spent some quality time with a few things. Here they are:

LCD SS - 45:33, Sound of Silver
Lil Wayne - The Greatest Rapper Alive, Da Drought 3
Wolf Parade - Apologies to the Queen Mary
Sunset Rubdown - EP, Shut Up I Am Dreaming
Keith Fullerton Whitman - Playthroughs, Multiples
Lawrence - The Night Will Last Forever
The Rolling Stones - Exile on Main Street

To a slightly lesser degree:

The Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
!!! - "Heart of Hearts", "Must be the Moon"
Beyonce - "Freakum Dress"
Faze Action - "In the Trees" (Carl Craig Remix)

Some new stuff sure, but three items are from 2005, and attest to my own whoreishness. I didn't listen to the entirety of the Wolf Parade record until around X-Mas '06. It's one of five cdrs (along with LCD, Weezy, Sunset and Whitman, ok my copy of Peedi Crakk 4 Prez is still in there, but that's a good thing) in my car, the place where I now most often listen to music (SIX RECORDS), whereas in previous years it was my iPod (5,000 songs, divide by average of ten, 500 RECORDS).

I think this Lindstrøm & PT track may be the next big thing for me. I guess that parental inculcation of fucking Coltrane's "Ole" has left me with a soft spot for 15+ minute tracks. Heard it for the first time yesterday, have listened to it four times since, that's right people over an hour of my time on one song. Sprawling and organic sure, its first half surprises with its sinisterness, something Lindy and PT aren't exactly known for, and provides that somehow never cliched foil for the prettier second movement. You can dance to it sure, but it's special to me because of its ubiquity, I can listen to it before work to psych myself up or after work to unwind. If you aren't an asshole, you'll want to listen to this track more than once.

The near future has some promise too, so don't despair. I'm curious about this Get Him Eat Him stuff. New Sunset Rubdown, Wolf Parade, Caribou, Interpol-- hey the first record was great, the second good, there's no reason not to be stoked for the new record, except of course if you believe there's a strict rule that says indie rock bands have five year shelflives. So for those few like me, maybe we'll have a chance to reclaim some ground in the next few months. Let's keep up the good fight.

5/19/2007

Rag Sags, Dragged Down by Rap Baggage



Today, I read another really infuriating T.I. review. I think this might be the new worst T.I. blowjob ever, although there have been plenty of others. It got me thinking: what can be done to combat the plague of bad rap love in the independent press?

In case you don't feel like reading it, here's what happened in the article. In the course of reviewing a generic new rap single, a minor rap dork casually proclaimed that T.I. was definitively not a case of style over substance. In this case, the proof lies in "inscrutable" substance that the rap dork is willing to take on faith.

After all, T.I. could never be making generic, forgettable hip-hop. There are, of course an infinite number of reasons. First, he battles the thug inside himself in a pushup war (which the author cites as a potent artistic expression of inner turmoil). In addition, T.I. has a great wardrobe, definitely makes the best Southern rap faces, and shows conviction in his swagger (grabs his di' really hard, perhaps).

Pitchfork published an article that calls that video an inscrutable expression of inner turmoil that is convoluted but extremely exciting. It's a generic commercial hip-hop video. What's it got to do with Pitchfork?

"Okay, we have to really to be on point for this new T.I. Breihan will knock our teeth out if I don't give dap to the King. ha-HAA! No haters in this place! Okay, I need an article that says that T.I. is a totally complex guy. Here's a video of him in a dualistic struggle. Make it work, okay?"

All jokes aside, I'm sure this was written of the author's own free will. No matter what, though someone has to read an article like this one and say "wait, this doesn't even makes sense." It's state school campus paper sports section. It's Long Island prep valedictorian personal diary. Its only clear thesis is "the editor of this section is in way over his or her head."

No one is charmed or convinced by Pitchfork's primarily vapid obsession with mainstream hip-hop. It's obviously forced, and increasingly absurd. This is the most inexplicable review yet.

T.I. is like "Keep my big shit poppin, D, in and out ya mouth."

~~~~~

Here is a playlist of 10 psychedelic songs that are guaranteed to blast all thoughts of shitty hip-hop entirely out of one's mind:

Caetano Veloso - Irene
The Bees - The Ocularist
Panda Bear - Bros
Black Moth Super Rainbow - Melt Me
Os Mutantes - Baby
Deerhunter - Wash Off
Caribou - Bijoux
Pink Floyd - Remember A Day
The Besnard Lakes - And You Lied to Me
Blood, Sweat and Tears - I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know

5/18/2007

Black Madonna! Begone once more from this place.



JS came home from the thrift store the other day in good spirits, with a small bag. I asked him what he'd bought.

"Authentic Brazilian jeans," he announced, "a hundred bucks," pulling out a slim, sleek bundle, which he then began to unroll. My head swam in a familiar way. The jeans spoke to me of a deep history, as objects sometimes do, owing to my peculiar disposition. Their deep indigo threw me into daydreams.

The most patrician Tropicalist there ever was, pupils blossoming, scaled a tree that grew from warm, wet ground... in these same impossible jeans! He reached the top, straddled the trunk, and the sweet woodwinds seemed to ring out just as he shouted in triumph: "Quero ver Irene dar sua risada!"

"How remarkable. Those truly are Brazilian jeans. Are they the size 29 that you require?"

"28," he replied, as he ran upstairs to try them on. My consciousness exploded with imagery from the legends with regard to Brazilian jeans. Miraculous control over a soccer ball in a man who'd never laced a cleat. Leonine chocolate manes sprouted from a gray, stubbled head after just two weeks. What blessing might be conferred upon my old friend by the bountiful character of Brazil that bolsters those seams?

Five minutes later, he'd yet to return. My stomach wrenched with guilt as I charged up the stairs. I'd left him alone far too long.

Before I could even ram his door, and my face twisted as though I were the stricken Priam. Through the door, plain as day, came the shriek of that old nightmare, the one I thought I'd heard for the last time. I burst in, ears covered, but still heard it plainly:

"CHARLIE, HOW YOUR ANGELS GET DOWN LIKE THAT!"

That obscurant shade, the queenly succubus, had perched again by the bed of my oldest friend. Her otherworldly shout tripled impossibly into harmony with itself. A shitty R&B beat looped like a camouflaged midnight adder beneath JS's feet, which struck the floor on beat with nightmarish precision. The single pulsed sickly under the needle of his turntable, and on his laptop screen danced the Queen herself, in Yellow, clutching the scolloped scraps of her vestments in a way meant to excite the obsessive feral appetite.

He pumped his fists in empathy as she howled, in three distinct and chilling tones:

"CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW LIKE VERIZON! OHH! AND THAT'S THE WAY IT IS YEAH!"

"JS! I squashed the power switch on the receiver and swatted away the hand that shot out by reflex. He looked up at me with dull eyes, and mumbled "... exciting.... anth...anthemic chorus... and hard druh.. umbeats."

I fled the house in tears of grief. There would be no bringing him back this time. The song was nearly over. It had done its Stygian worst.

What happened on that day? I've always thought that the impetuous courage endowed upon him by the Brazilian jeans was to blame. As indestructible as he felt, it is no wonder he decided that he could stand for just one last look at the visage of the Black Madonna herself, the stupefying siren. And he must have found his fix, maybe some B-side I'd never discovered, never taken any precaution...

No mortal man can stand to be entangled with the mad Queen in her tattered mantle. I had reminded him just three hours before.

5/09/2007

Sorry We Haven't Been Blogging. We Forgot To Take Our Freakum Dresses Off


Just playin, B

T.P.O.'s "Freakum Dress" Spectacular


I know, you need some explanation. I have not yet listened to B'day. I figured why bother, there'll be videos for all the "good" songs, I'll get what I need from MTV Jams. Kinda liked "Ring the Alarm", not so much the others. (So far I think "Deja Vu", "Irreplacable" and "Upgrade You".?) "Deja Vu", well, indeed. "Irreplacable" is the most misleading song title of all time. Also, its message is way more devilish than any Lily Allen could birth. "Upgrade You" is too cocky, and way too materialistic. To be expected, (yawn), etc. Then I heard "Freakum Dress".

While everybody still trendfucks Justice and new rave and Diplo and sleaze, I'll make my stand here, and say "Freakum Dress" has become my "Best Song Ever" for this week, and right now, I can't imagine liking anything more this year. The video debuted either early last month or very late in March, which for me means 2007 single. Can I talk about the song now?

Thematically, "FD", amazingly, offends no one, and moreover is universally relatable. We all have that one goto outfit. The one that fits perfectly, for your physique and spirit. Mine? I'll tell. It's a dark gray t-shirt that reads "Creature of the Night" and a bullet-hole riddled pair of Diesel's. It's a song about looking, but more importantly feeling your best, and thankfully Beyonce's vocals are complementary: her most confident and powerful yet, even more so than on "Crazy in Love."

Musically, the Rich Harrison production also outshines former standard "Crazy". On "Freakum Dress" the producer deepens the bass, immediately giving the song a more delightfully sinister feel than its predecessor. The muted, synthetic saxes, and understated Morse code beeps, as opposed to the blaring trumpets of "Crazy", wisely defer to, rather than struggle against, Beyonce's brilliant performance.

"Freakum Dress" exemplifies my ideal pop single. It celebrates and empowers, has universal appeal, and does so tastefully and concisely. Hey, Indiedom, the song hasn't blown up like it should. You won't lose face if you get behind it. What you will do though is show that discriminating crossover knowledge and eclecticism you now spuriously tout.

5/03/2007

Exhibit B



Today on Bitchfork (Whose bitch? The dollar's.):

Stream: M.I.A. - Hit That

"Who knew M.I.A. could do subdued (the appropiate tone for a sex jam, keep reading)? Over this skeletal (unfinished), stuttering (unsure) Bangladesh Production beat, her voice actually sounds smooth in places (good enough). Just in case the song's title was unclear, she's driving the point home: This is a sex jam. Of course, it's also about how awesome she is (you're kidding me, right?), and her trademark cockiness (TM) is still omnipresent. Even her come-ons sound like challenges ("Boys let me see you hit that"). Still, it's an interesting change of pace (bad career move) to hear her over a beat that isn't all destruction, terror, and mayhem."

--------------------------------------------------

I had a talk with a few people that know about these things in August 2005, and we agreed M.I.A. would be finished after Arular-- she couldn't possibly have anything left to say. If "Hit That" represents the entirety of Kala, then we were right. This Spank Rock move was all too inevitable, and sounds just as awful if not more so coming from Maya. If, after brutally punishing yourself for four minutes, you think you can still defend this song-- well, you know what, you're right, and I'm wrong, you're under Pitchfork's umbrella.