June 28th, 2007
I don’t own a working television, so until last night I’d never actually seen an episode of Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader, rightfully judging from the title alone that this show might be the nadir of American culture in the year 2007. Seriously, how in god’s name doesn’t everyone come home with at least a cool $100,000 after appearing? Is it that hard to answer what state is east of California? Or what disease Jonas Salk invented the vaccine for? The show ought to be called Are You Smarter than a 7-year old With Down’s Syndrome, or possibly Are you smarter than your average Judas Priest fan circa 1982, or maybe even, Are You Smarter than Young Jeezy. All are better concepts, I can assure you that.
But last night, I finally tuned to America’s second lamest phenomenon (So You Think You Can Dance clearly taking the fucking cake). The reason: one of my friends randomly tried out, got picked and ended up bringing home a half million dollars. No joke. A cool occasion for sure, and certainly a worthy excuse for not having a full-fledged blog today. Then again, it is a Friday, and those two very healthy-sized Jack on the Rocks’ I pounded earlier this evening aren’t planning on going away any time soon. Hell, I’m a shot away from making the outlandish claim that I invented the question mark (and the appositive).
With such a frightening realities being close at hand, I’d like to get to this week’s links. But before I do, can we all have a moment and discuss the weirdness that is Jeff Foxworthy and his mustache? Who’s the guy fooling? Not even he can believe that the muskrat attached to his upper lip really needed to make it into the 21st century? Couldn’t the ’stach have remained an auburn colored-vestige of the mid-90s post-Seinfeld sitcom boom. Along with Margaret Cho’s All American Girl and Cleghorne!
You Might Be a Redneck if You Look Like Jeff Foxworthy
Berkeley Place has MP3’s of what is apparently one of the White Stripes’ earliest shows.
Know Good Music: The title says it all.
Over the past several months, Floodwatch has quietly become one of the best and most eclectic blogs around. A serious must read (even though I am a little biased as Flood was one of my guest bloggers last week).
I’ll eventually have something on the mess that is the new T.I. album, but there might not be a point since Joey’s review completely nailed it.
Wake Your Daughter Up does part two of his drops on Golden Age era labels. This time it’s Wild Pitch.
Nerd Litter returns with The best 10 singles of the mid-year
The always excellent From Da’ Bricks breaks down some of Diamond D’s beats from Pharoahe Monch’s Internal Affairs record.
This Onion article: Bar Skanks Announce Plans to Kiss is even funnier that it’s title would suggest.
Posted in Links | 3 Comments »
June 28th, 2007
I’ll spare the long-winded review of the National show. I’ve made my thoughts on the band clear on one, or two, or three occasions. They’re a very good band with an even better live show, so it really shouldn’t come as much a surprise that the El Rey was packed to the gills with fans, bristling with anticipation at the prospect of seeing the cuts from Boxer performed live in Los Angeles for the first time.
Stranger was the make-up of the crowd, with nary a hipster in sight. In their stead were sorority girls, frat boys, in-the-know slick Hollywood types and the few die-hards that have been down with the cause since Day 1 (if day one means when Alligator was released). Granted, the El Rey is on the Westside, but still… I’m not trying to play the “oh man, if you didn’t see them on tour with Clap Your Hands in ‘05 then you’re totally out of the know” card either (though they really did blow CYHSY out of the water). But it still defies logic that the National have become a “trendy” band.
We Got Poindexter on the Violins 
I mean take a look at these guys, there is absolutely nothing trendy about them. Nothing. Just a bunch of unpretentious dudes in work shirts and jeans. And we’re not talking a bunch of jaded wispy hipsters named Casablancas and Fabrizio, these guys are far from pretty boys. Not to hate on them, as I have the utmost respect for the band, but there’s a reason why Ian Cohen and I have spent a great deal of time debating whether or not The National or Asobi Seksu are the least attractive band in America. (my vote still goes to Asobi, save for their lead singer)
As for their sound, it isn’t pretty populist Shins-esque pop, or Arcade Fire-like bombast. Their tunes certainly display first rate songwriting and craft, but essentially the last two National records are what everyone wished Interpol would’ve done after Turn on the Bright Lights. Meanwhile, National lead singer Matt Berninger does the whole Ian Curtis thing as well as anyone can, but it ain’t like he’s exactly that charismatic. He rarely talks to the crowd and his stage demeanor vacillates between two nearly indistinguishable variations: rocking mode and swaying mode. With the rocking mode featuring Berninger performing a move that vaguely resembles the Mongolian Chop as performed by Kin Korn Karn in the old NES game Pro Wrestling.
Pro Wrestling’s Kin Korn Karn: A Huge Influence on The National 
And yet no one in the crowd cared a bit. The affected LA Westsiders weren’t exactly rocking out, (probably because the set leaned heavily on Alligator), but I did see a couple frat boys raising the roof, and after the show the unanimous sentiment seemed to be in favor of the band’s awesomeness. I couldn’t argue with them either. It was my second time seeing the band in as many weeks and both performances were stellar, further evidence that they are one of the best bands making music today. Just don’t be surprised if the next time you see them live, the cans of PBR are strangely absent. Judging from these dudes’ new fan base, it’s strictly jaeger shots, brah.
All photos courtesy of Akmal Naim. Check out his Flickr page for more outstanding shots.
Download:
MP3: The National-”Fake Empire”
MP3: The National-”Mistaken For Strangers”
Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 7 Comments »
June 27th, 2007
Photo by Carlie Armstrong
The Hollywood Bowl is probably the best venue in the world. Yes, I’m aware that you can’t prove those types of statements, just as I’m also aware of the probability that there are probably a half dozen other places on earth, equally as fantastic. But for all practical purposes, the Bowl is Los Angeles at its best, a gorgeous natural amphitheater carved into the sloping green and brown Hollywood Hills, filled with clarion sound, perfect unobstructed sight lines and a liquor policy that lets you to bring in as many bottles of wine as you can stash into your picnic basket. (No Yogi Bear.)
Accordingly, playing “the Bowl” is the sort of honor that lets musicians know that they finally “made it,” so it was a little strange hearing that DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist, were going to play 2007’s opening weekend. Not strange as in bad, but strange as in how far hip-hop and the DJ art form have come in the decade-plus since Shadow re-invented hip-hop instrumentalism with Endtroducing. Indeed, it was almost a coronation of sorts for the two pioneers of the art form, especially since Cut Chemist is a hometown boy and one of the the greatest DJs the city has ever produced.
So maybe it made perfect sense after all, for a legendary venue like the Bowl to host two master craftsmen unveiling “Hard Sell,” Chemist and Shadow’s latest impossibly funky concoction, following on the legendary heels of their two previous collabos,”Brainfreeze” and “Product Placement.” And in spite of the colossal expectations raised by its predecessors, the “Hard Sell,” set completed what might be the best trilogy since Back to the Future.
Sadly, “Hard Sell” Contained No ZZ Top
Commencing with a short parody tutorial film about vinyl and the art of DJ-ing, Chemist and Shadow managed to school the uninitiated on the science of turntablism, while simultaneously winking at the hip-hop heads and beat junkies who climbed out of the basement to make their way to the Bowl on a warm and clear June night. As for the set itself, as Oliver Wang astutely pointed out, it’s a little pointless to run down the playlist. You just can’t articulate what it’s like to have your mind blown by these herky-jerky, sliced and diced symphonies, while sitting in a cathedral of noise, watching the pair control eight decks with near flawless precision. Behind them, a video screen flickered with weird stoner images of Transformer jukeboxes firing 7″ records, giant Big Brother-esque eyeballs and even old black and white clips of Bogart in Casablanca.
Less funk and soul based than its predecessors, “Hard Sell” ran the gamut, from oldies like the Flamingos’ “I Only Have Eyes for You” to post-grunge like Foo Fighters “Everlong.” The set’s highlight (and perhaps its heart) was a segment devoted to the hip-hop classics. The Pharcyde’s “Passin’ Me By” melded with Gangstarr’s “Dwyck,” Prince Paul breaks from 3 Feet High and Rising bumped heads with Nas’ “Made You Look” (the only song I can still actually listen to from God’s Son).
“Hard Sell’s” quasi-experimental fusion of genres make it a bit less seamless than Brainfreeze and Product Placement, yet it’s no less brilliant, particularly when pared with the opportunity to see it at the Bowl. It might never reach the almost mythic status surrounding the first Brainfreeze performance, held on a winter night eight years ago in San Francisco, but it’s hard to imagine any DJ show getting much better than this. From the buzz floating around at the after-party, Chemist and Shadow are planning on taking the show on the road and I highly recommend checking it out. It really shouldn’t be such a hard sell.
Also see: Oliver Wang’s incredibly comprehensive and knowledgeable take.
Download:
MP3: DJ Shadow & Cut Chemist-”Brainfreeze” (left-click)
Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 5 Comments »
June 26th, 2007
Having grown up in LA, I didn’t need a big article in Billboard to remind me that practically every single record record store in town, save for Amoeba has gone out of business over the past five years. One by one, the music stores of my adolescence have shut their doors. From the old Rhino Records in Westwood triggering memories of an overcast winter Saturday, 14 years old and mystified by the cover of Liquid Swords; to the Tower Records on Sunset, June 2, 1997, waiting in line to buy Wu-Tang Forever, at Midnight (with a free Wu jersey handed out as a bonus for our dedication;) to the countless Wherehouses, Sam Goodies, and Penny Lane’s that used to lurk around every sun-splashed corner.
That was a decade ago, antediluvian in instant Internet time, before the music biz slid off a cliff of illegal downloading, Best Buy bulk buying domination (how else do you think they sold Fishscale for $6) and the black hole known as Amoeba Records. A great record store for sure, but one who by sheer awesomeness of size, taste and buying power further accelerated the decline of the little guys. Little guys like Echo Park’s Sea Level Records, one of LA’s last standing independent record shops, who closed up shop last night.
Sea Level owner, Todd Clifford made the decision to send Sea Level to that great record pasture in the sky about a month ago, but I waited to write about it, accepting the bad news the way I always do: refusing to believe it until the tangible concrete evidence looked me dead-on in the eyes. Which happened to me at about 11:15 p.m. last Friday night, when the boys from Division Day, aided by some special guest helpers, did a cover of the Boyz II Men school commencement staple, “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye” (which my 8th grade graduation. class was actually forced to sing). Nice work guys, you did a whole lot better than we did.
Sea Level Owner, Todd Clifford, Showing the Rugged Work Ethic And Abstemious Values Required to Survive a Day As a Music Store Clerk
Sea Level started in 2001, so it certainly wasn’t the first place I ever bought a record at, but it was the sort of place I wished I’d bought my first album at. A cluttered and cramped High Fidelity-esque playground, papered in old concert handbills, 90s Matador Pavement and GBV promos and tons of dusty old vinyl. The ideal spot for Junior High kids to rush in with weekly allowances tucked into their palms, filled with the nervous anticipation of buying a record, rushing home to put it into your stereo, hoping it as good as they’d heard it was.
About three or four months ago, Todd went off on tour to sell merch for the Silversun Pickups and thanks to Sea Level’s other employee, Sylvia, I got to fulfill every music geek’s lifelong dream: being the jerky guy behind the counter making snide remarks about used Kenny Loggins records. All things considered, it was pretty awesome getting the opportunity to see the way in which Sea Level fostered a true sense of community for the Eastside music scene. It was a rare anachronism in Los Angeles: an oasis for music junkies ranging from music writers like Duke, Jax and Kevin Bronson, to nearly every indie band east of La Brea, to the packs of Mexican and Phillipino teenagers that came in off their skateboards to read magazines and kill time talking about music for hours, to the weird ripped old dude that used to come in every week, hoping that his Ibiza Volume 6 album had finally come in.
One of Sea Level’s 685, 321 In-Stores
If video killed the radio star, the Internet slaughtered the record store. And in record time (no Buggles.) I suppose it’s the impersonal nature of the digital age, with its inexorable inertia to reduce all bits of information into 0’s and 1’s, forever stripping away the personalized touch of buying physical copies of records. Maybe it’s more efficient, but I think I can speak for all us music junkies when I say that I’ll always miss the instant connection you used to feel when you’d buy an album, studying the liner notes, reading the album lyrics and trying to figure out the over-arching meaning of it all, if there was any. Most of all, I’ll miss going to Sea Level and all the places like it, those last bastions of an actual community that feel like relics of a by-gone era. Maybe I’m just growing old and crotchety before my time, or maybe I’m just a little biased, but it feels as though the city is losing something that won’t be easily replaced. RIP Sea Level. You will be missed.
Download:
MP3: Boyz II Men-”It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye”
MP3: The Beatles-”Hello, Goodbye”
Posted in Miscellany | 8 Comments »
June 25th, 2007
In the decade thus far, scores of pretenders have been hyped as having that elevated and hopelessly nebulous notion of greatness (thanks for stopping by Strokes!). In reality, only a handful of bands have emerged that can be lassoed into such a discussion. My Morning Jacket is one of them. Before you scoff, consider the details. Their 1999 debut, The Tennessee Fire remains an impressive achievement for a band just out their teens and 2001’s At Dawn was far from a sophomore slump, but still could’ve benefited from some judicious editing (particularly on eight-minute pastoral rambles like “13” and “Honest Man”).
But like any truly great band, they matured and finally achieved greatness sometime around the one minute mark of the fifth track, “One Big Holiday” on their third record, It Still Moves. It was the band’s first certified rock anthem, a thrashing but hopelessly soulful burner, the sort of thing you’d have expected Al Green to have cut in 1973 if, for some reason, he decided to drink a quart of whiskey and record with Crazy Horse. At this point, MMJ had already ditched Darla for the world of the majors, and with it all the promotion muscle that being on ATO, Dave Matthews’ vanity label, could bring. Coupled with a punishing touring schedule that helped spread the gospel of their otherworldly brilliant stage show and an even better follow-up record, Z, and it wasn’t hard to see why My Morning Jacket had become the rare band capable of uniting the precarious divide between the worlds of hippies and hipsters.
The At Dawn and Tennessee Fire Demos are a testament to a time when the band was merely good. As the story goes, Darla’s first pressing of At Dawn came with a bonus demos album, consisting of mostly acoustic stripped-down versions of the songs from the record. Great news if you’re one of the (unfortunately named) Jacket Heads that got in early and snapped up the long out-of-print disc. Not so interesting for casual observers who will hear this once, get impressed by the stark beauty of James’ ethereal voice, and rightfully conclude that spare tranquility is the last thing At Dawn lacked.
My Morning Jacket Lead Singer: Chewbacca
In other words, listening to the demos of At Dawn fan would be hard-pressed to sustain these tracks’ meandering lilt while operating heavy machinery. That said, they do highlight one thing: the demos serve as a testament to the inherent on repeat is possibly the best cure for insomnia ever invented. The songs remain gorgeous, rootsy ballads, but even the biggest MMJmelodicism that James possesses, something oft-forgotten in the rush of praise allotted to his voice and flying “V” guitar pyrotechnics.
In addition to the At Dawn demos, Darla has tacked on some other previously un-released rarities. Several demos from The Tennessee Fire, which vacillate between dull, pleasant placidity (“I Think I’m Going to Hell,” “The Bear”) and intriguing Guided by Voices-like experiments in lo-fidelity (“Picture of You,” “Butch Cassidy”), as well as the demo for “Chills,” the b-side from “Off the Record,” and stirring renditions of Tennessee Fire cuts “War Begun” and “It’s About Twilight Now,” recorded live for Louisville radio station WFPK.
Only three of the album’s twenty cuts have never been released in any form, including the proto-punk thrash of early live show staple “L’il Billy,” the somber Johnny Cash homage “Lead Me Father,” and an abbreviated 58 second clip of a song called “Magic Man.” (Sadly, not a cover of the Heart song.) None of the new songs are bad, but none of them leave you wondering why they were left in the vaults in the first place either. The At Dawn & Tennessee Fire demos package isn’t about to win the Jacket any new fans, but it will most certainly satisfy collectors and die-hards looking to piece together a more complete portrait of a great band in their nascent stage of development. At Dawn indeed.
Originally Published at Stylus
Download:
MP3: My Morning Jacket-”It’s About Twilight Now (Live at WFPK)” (left-click)
MP3: My Morning Jacket-”War Begun (Live at WFPK)” (left-click)
Posted in Album Reviews | No Comments »
June 21st, 2007
11 days, 4,000 miles later and 6,732 people who told me that “it might be cheaper to fly,” I’m finally back in Los Angeles, a little older and a little Weisser (and yet, clearly still not wise enough to stop making bad puns). I suppose the standard question everyone wants to know is how was it? Of course, it’s more than a little futile to try to sum up 11 days of music and madness in just a few sentences. As I mentioned last week, I covered the Festival for Kevin Bronson’s LA Times Buzz Bands blog, so if you’re at all still interested in my thoughts on the festival itself, head over there for some belated coverage.
As for the extra-curricular activities that help to make Bonnaroo the best festival in the States, well, they’re unpublishable on a family-friendly blog such as this one. And when I mean unpublishable, I mean that I’m in the process of writing something more comprehensive for Stylus. Tune in at some point next week. Until then, check out my road trip partner, Davey Crockett’s thoughts on the festival.
As for my travels across the United States, I arrived at many revelations and conclusions, the greater majority of which were pretty obvious, possibly defamatory and positively puerile. Originally, I had planned on avoiding such a post, but thought better of when I realized that pointing out obvious, puerile and slanderous things is what blogging is all about it. Game on.
1. Contrary to popular belief, Flagstaff, Az. on a Monday night is not a happening place. Consequently, it is not a wise move to believe hotel clerks that brag about a famous “Martini Mondays” at the local Sports Bars. Also not a wise move? Deciding to throw a “Martini Mondays” night at the local sports bar in Flagstaff, Az.
2. At certain McDonalds’ restaurants, they offer something called a Minty Mudslide. Ostensibly, this refers to a certain type of milkshake. However, I am reasonably sure that the fiendish minds at McDonald’s named it after a bizarre German sex act. Drink it at your own peril.
3. The world would be a much better place if they had Steak N-Shakes and Waffle Houses’ in Los Angeles. Waffle House’s All Star Special Breakfast with cheese n’ eggs, cheese n’ grits, sauge & Raisin bread is that crack. Literally. As every night the Murfeesboro, Tennessee Waffle House fills up with crack whores past 2 a.m. True story.
If You Take Away The U and the S and the E, You Get….Nevermind
4. In a decade filled with brilliant posse cuts (top 10 Posse Cuts of the 90’s list coming soon), “Flipmode Squad Meets Def Squad” from Busta Rhymes’ The Coming is the most underrated and perhaps one of the five best. Of course, it’s clear which crew was better. You can argue that Red and Busta’s verses cancel each other out. But Keith Murray bests Rampage in the weed carrier shoot-out every single time.
Download:
MP3: Busta Rhymes feat. Redman, Keith Murray, Rampage et. al-”Flipmode Squad Meets Def Squad.” (left-click)
5. Speaking of underrated, The Lords of the Underground’s 1993, Marley Marl-produced Here Comes the Lords is probably the most underrated rap album of the decade. I’ll have more on this soon. In the meantime, listen to “Here Comes the Lords” and try to argue with me.
Download:
MP3: Lords of the Underground-”Here Comes the Lords” (left-click)
6. Inhaling at the Clinton Library in Little Rock? A must. Nothing says trippy like Janet Reno and Donna Shalala…..on weed.
More Like Donna Shalalove
7. Naming a restaurant, Grandma Max’s is just a bad idea. I’m fully in favor of people being themselves. However, I am not willing to frequent a restaurant named after transvestite grandparents. Maybe that’s just me.
8. The only drug you can’t get at Bonnaroo is weed. Figure that one out.
9. There are places in America that are so redneck that they put thousand island on burritos. The fact that this actually can and does occur is as strong an argument for increased Mexican immigration as any.
10. Truckers are apparently the only people in America that still listen to cassette tapes. According to my informal survey, the most popular trucker tapes in America are Bread’s Greatest Hits, Frampton Comes Alive and The Best of Deep Purple.
11. Upon entering the state of Tennessee, the song “Tennessee” by Arrested Development should always be played at a very high volume. If possible, one should also go down to Peach St. and/or play a game of horseshoes.
Download:
MP3: Arrested Development-”Tennessee” (left-click)
Posted in LA Times | 9 Comments »
June 21st, 2007
Here. C’mon…you know you want to.
Posted in Links | 2 Comments »
June 20th, 2007
While Jeff is being nursed back to reality in the decompression chamber, I thought I’d take some time away from my curator duties at floodwatchmusic.com to share a story with you. You see, back in the day, I used to catch terrible hell from my friends whenever the subject of the “greatest rapper ever” was broached. It was all in good fun, of course, but my vehement insistence that Kool G Rap was greater than Nas, Biggie, Kane, KRS, and yes, Rakim, was always met with laughter and ridicule. In my daydreams I envisioned a different scenario: I would quickly locate the nearest stereo, pop in a cassette of “Men at Work,” hold my arms out in a cocky “what?” pose, and watch in delight as they scurried around the floor to pick up their jaws. It never really happened that way, of course, but I refused to be swayed, and I still feel the same about the Kool Genius to this day.
Everyone generally acknowledges in some way or another the man’s undeniable importance in the development of hip hop, but few truly comprehend the gravity of the following fact: Kool G Rap is one of the rare few MCs who excelled at every aspect of lyricism. Deadly battle rhymes. Multi-syllabic wordplay. An endless stream of metaphors and puns. Visceral storytelling. Humorous punchlines. Raunchy sex raps. Violent gangster fantasies. The only item missing from G Rap’s legacy is a solid, start-to-finish classic album, which is why it hardly came as a surprise when he was nowhere to be found on the final tally of Jeff and Joey’s Top 25 Greatest Hip Hop Albums a month ago. Regardless – and I hate to play the “if it weren’t for x there would be no y” card – but suffice it to say that if you can recite every lyric from Ready to Die, Illmatic, or 36 Chambers, you would do well to familiarize yourself with G Rap’s early trilogy of releases with DJ Polo and gain some insight on the genesis of the much-heralded mid-‘90s New York era of hip hop.
Among the multitude of his supreme lyrical abilities, perhaps what I love most about G Rap is the way he could take any beat with a fast tempo and, seemingly without any preparation, suddenly launch into a furious tirade of crass obscenities, hilariously outrageous braggadocio, and a predilection for the most brutal and grotesque ways in which he will take his opponent’s life. By the end of one of these unstoppable tongue-lashings, one would have to be out of their fucking skull to cross Kool G Rap, unless they needed to satisfy some masochistic death wish. “’Nuff Said,” from 1992’s criminally underrated Live and Let Die, is one of my favorites, a two-minute verbal asswhooping that’s so wildly over the top it frequently borders on comic. Let’s dissect G Rap’s form, blow by blow.
Here’s the motherfucking magnificent,
I’ll even bag innocent motherfuckers, see suckers like they was ten a cent.
So if you come in my way, great, I pull out the trey-eight,
Kool G Rap’s your fate and not your playmate.
Producer Sir Jinx opens the track with a four-bar intro of drum teases and scratching before letting the track loose. G Rap patiently waits for his cue, that downbeat for him to begin by titling himself “the magnificent” and claiming to coldly take out innocent bystanders. There are two techniques of note here. G Rap’s substitutes “motherfucking” or some similar variation to act as ‘filler’ syllables, which some may claim as lazy, but rarely does he overdo it (see GZA’s “Swordsman”). He also introduces his proficiency at stringing together vowel sounds (“great/eight/fate/playmate”), a now-required lyrical skill that he practically invented back in ‘88. He continues:
So all you niggas on the floor bitching that shit is dead,
Tell it to the motherfucking mortician.
So get ready to let the lead out, I’m knocking niggas dead out,
And blowing the back of your fucking head out.
Cooking niggas better than mama’s dinner,
So let the drama enter, I’m sending niggas to the trauma center.
Because I’m rolling with force, tearing niggas out the frame
Like they was pictures of a bitch that I divorced.
At this point in the track G Rap is already on a roll, and the punchlines begin to tumble out uncontrollably. In the first couplet, he eschews a comparable end rhyme for “dead” to instead rhyme “bitching” with “mortician,” a technique that provides some variation to his pacing, which he then follows with a triple rhyme scheme. While the compound rhyming of “mama’s dinner” with “drama enter” and “trauma center” is staggering enough, G Rap follows it with one of my personal favorite lines, the “tearing niggas out the frame like they was pictures of a bitch that I divorced.”
Boss, so come on nigga, get wild and loose,
I whoop your motherfucking ass and get arrested for child abuse.
Even your bitch can get it, nigga,
I shove the barrel of a nine up her behind and pull the fuckin’ trigger.
Going psycho like Norman Bates, G, you better sedate,
Because lately niggas ain’t able to take me.
It ain’t a man in the land that can stand G Rap,
Save that candy rap shit for the handicapped.
Now he’s angry. G Rap continues with a misogynistic couplet that admittedly has some juicy alliteration, then constructs one of the most impressive quadruple compound rhyme schemes of his career, the glorious “Bates, G/sedate/lately/take me.” Rappers have always loved to drop some sort of reference to Hitchcock’s Psycho in their battle rhymes, but rarely in a context as intricate as this. The last couplet, from a technical standpoint, is absolutely breathtaking, as he crafts a complex rhyme pattern using the “-and” and “-ap” sounds. One would think that G Rap had completely exhausted the possibilities of rhyming his name, yet he executes not only one but two compound rhymes (“candy rap/handicapped”).
Niggas will get slayed like a bunch of play pirates.
Fucking with me, ya’ll would rather fuck with the AIDS virus.
Cause I set ‘em up, wet ‘em up like sprinkles,
And put niggas to sleep longer than Rip Van Winkle.
The thicker the shit, the quicker the hit, I’m kicking a fit,
Leaving niggas sicker than Liberace’s dick.
Good luck, another hood bucked,
I kick you so far up your ass I get my motherfucking foot stuck.
I don’t believe there has been a more creative warning of the dangers of HIV than rhyming “play pirates” with “AIDS virus.” G Rap dips into his bag of similes here with a literary allusion, then a pop culture reference to ‘70s Vegas icon Liberace that’s just laugh-out-loud cruel. He also varies his cadence here, ranging from hyper-syllabic (“set ‘em up, wet ‘em up”) to a polyrhythmic juxtaposition against the beat (“thicker the shit,” etc.).
See, I manage to give niggas more than a bandage,
Blue Cross and Blue Shield couldn’t cover the motherfucking damage.
‘Cause I’m bold and bigger, putting manholes in niggas
And holding triggers up to them gold diggers.
So if you all over my dick just like a rubber,
My rap is so fat, I make sales from fucking whale blubber.
You better duck, ‘cause like a volcano when I erupt,
You bitch ass rappers are getting fucked.
G Rap continues with the verbal slaughtering, his uninterrupted flow mowing down armies of opponents like a Gatling gun. He drops another phenomenal quadruple rhyme scheme beginning with “bold and bigger” before venturing into the nonsensical (the bizarre “whale blubber” line). I know it’s somewhat simplistic compared to its surroundings, but I love the way the beat drops out for the slightly obvious “You bitch ass rappers are getting fucked” line.
And you’ll be one hoe, like Marilyn Monroe,
Left on death row because I let the gun go bang,
Blow your motherfucking brains out,
And you need more than detergent to get that motherfucking stain out.
‘Cause I serve more crabs than Red Lobster’s,
When I pop shots I leave lots of dead mobsters.
Put down the microphone, whether unknown or famous,
You’re out of luck and I don’t give a fuck what your name is.
Boy, you better split, cause I’ma house shit,
My dick will be rich if you niggas wants to put your money where your mouth is.
Again, we have another quadruple rhyme scheme that almost qualifies as compound before G Rap drops a quick sequence of similes that rank among his best; he’s probably used that “detergent” line somewhere else, but it sounds so good here that I don’t care. By now, his internal rhyme patterns have grown into a labyrinthine complexity known only to him. It bears emphasis: the last couplet here is one of the most amazing lyrical constructions in the canon of hip hop. In its most basic form, these two lines are merely a series of syllables and sounds, but it’s the combination of each internal element – the delivery, inflection, rhyme scheme, the utter imagination of this diss – that trumps the entire rhyme books of 95% of rappers before or since. Hear it, read it, memorize it, repeat it like a mantra; it is truly the Kool Genius at his finest.
Gassed up-ass nigga, come set it,
‘Cause when I pick up the gun, that be the end of the unleaded.
Now you could be a gold or a platinum artist,
But deep down, you fucking silly clowns know who’s the hardest.
Niggas I watered down with the quarter pound,
‘Cause my slaughter sound can be caught around and found to slaughter towns.
For the clowns, got eighty rounds worth of ammo.
Play it again Sam, put on my jams, fuck a piano.
I’m leaving lame niggas brain dead…
Aw, fuck it, ‘nuff said.
By this point in the track, one is almost numbed by the continuous onslaught of G Rap’s verbal dexterity. After exhausting every permutation of the “–ound” assonance, he suddenly breaks out of his lyrical trance and realizes that he established his point a long time ago: G Rap simply cannot be defeated. Congratulations – you’ve made it out alive from a straight 56-bar bloodbath delivered by the incomparable Kool G Rap.
MP3: Kool G Rap & DJ Polo - “‘Nuff Said”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of | 9 Comments »
June 19th, 2007
Sach again, on the guest post tip. I don’t get much time to write about the other music I listen to at Ohword because well…we specialize in running this rap shit. No boom-bap dinosaur wants to be reading a Cam’ron parody or an essay about why rap sucks and suddenly be confronted with a list of Colin Meloy songs. So obviously I had to use one of these guest posts to get out my quarterly Indie rock venting/fawning. Let’s keep it positive with a list of songs that have owned my downtime since January. You probably already have these, but I’ll even throw up some audio for shits and giggles… some in alternate/live versions.
Of Montreal – Heimdalsgate like a Promethean Curse
I didn’t have to check the spelling on that track title and Itunes says I’ve played this 45 times since January on my I Pod alone. If that’s not proof that I listen to this band (and this song) way too much I dunno what is. For years the band name “Of Montreal” made no sense to me since sunny Georgian psych pop had nothing to do with my home town. No more: Kevin Barnes’ move to the Northern side of our hemisphere has turned his sunny pop melodies into the perfect soundtrack for the local winter. Count me among those patiently waiting for the man’s upcoming concept ADDance album about a Black-shemale.Amy Winehouse – Valerie/Lily Allen – Oh My God
Mark Ronson’s Version comp is spotty at best, but his two prized chanteuses both deliver the goods. Winehouse is arguably a mainstream soul singer at this point considering she went gold off what was essentially an R&B record, but she does the Zutons proud with her sexually ambiguous cover of Valerie. From the opening adlib where she appologises for having “Too Much Fun” to her grandiosely giddy vocal, this is a good sign that Winehouse can deliver sunshine just as well as she can heartbreak. Allen meanwhile continues to be every middle class white dude’s fantasy on wax. The Kaiser Chiefs’ Oh My God isn’t the most inspired song choice in the world, but she does good with what she’s given all things considered. If anything, hearing her sing is a welcome distraction from her tabloid antics which I think we could all do without. Unless those tabloid antics involve going out with yours truly.
Lucky Soul – Ain’t Never Been Cool
You’d think there’d only be enough room in England for one group of band-led girl-group revivalists but Lucky Soul proved conventional wisdom wrong by becoming the anti-Pipettes on their debut The Great Unwanted. More specifically, they played it completely straight with a collection of utterly earnest love songs for the nerd set. Now you have to be pretty geeky to appreciate this stuff in the first place, so it was a stroke of genius to play up the underdog qualities in the music rather than go for the angry vindictive snark inherent in Allen/Winehouse/The Pipettes’ stuff. With this in mind, I Ain’t Never Been Cool is practically a mission statement saying y’all can go dance to Cassie, we’ll be over here pretending its 1962 via protools.
Art Brut – Nag Nag Nag
If Lucky Soul unearthed the underlying geekiness of the girl-group revival, Eddie Argos sarcastically (?) bigs up the more obvious nerd-qualities of internet-sponsored indie rock. There’s something unbearably funny yet deadly serious about an art-rock group making music about teenage drama explicitely aimed at 20-something hipsters. Arrested Development indeed. Oh it’s also pretty cool that the guy can make loud guitars sound cool without having to throw crazy time signatures or other pretentious BS into the mix.
The Noisettes – The Count of Monte Cristo
Truthfully, I could have chosen any of the first 4 songs off the Noisettes’ album for this list since they’re all unfuckwitable examples of garage-folk that should be getting the kind of press that The White Stripes will receive for Icky Thump. The Count of Monte Cristo just happens to be my favorite of the bunch. A wanderers’ blues at heart, the tune highlights singer Shingai Shoniwa’s sultry vocals and tones down their roaring guitar attack in favor of layered acoustics.
The Rosebuds – Night of the Furies
I don’t like the latest Rosebuds album all that much. It seems like a classic example of a band adding pointlessly “modern” production in the hopes of expanding their audience and falling flat doing so. It’s not that the dance-drums are particularly bad, but they seem to be covering up a startling lack of good tunes. The title track is the exception to the rule though, delivering a 6 minute plus dancefloor odyssey of reserved pain. I’m not exactly sure what the lead singer is talking about but I’m pretty sure it’d sound really good over ending credits as Chow Yun Phat drives his benz off into the distance after having slaughtered a few hundred people. Mr. Woo take note.
Pop Levi – Skip Ghetto (Echo Park Version)
I have no idea why Pop Levi is signed to Ninjatune but ever since I wandered onto their website and heard his stuff I’ve been hooked. The Echo Park version of skip ghetto isn’t featured on his solo debut but instead got relegated to his Blue Honey EP and that’s a damn shame. A lazy balad for a drunk Sunday afternoon, it’s by far superior to the dubbed out version on the main album draping the balad in shimmering guitars and finger snaps.
Dunjen – C Visar Vagen
Dunjen is Hip Hop as fuck. Forget the interviews where he bigs up Madlib and talks about his skills on the 1200’s, just listen to the guys music. C Visar Vagen sounds like the kind of stuff RJD2 would sell his left nut to be able to create. A breezy 4/4 folk instrumental perfect for a long car ride or a long bong rip, C Visar Vagen is proof that this world fusion shit CAN work given the right ingredients. Can we get a break heavy Stairway to Heaven next?
The Klaxons – Golden Scans
Are the Klaxons supposed to be this year’s Arctic Monkeys or something? I have the sneaking suspicion that it’s not very cool to like these guys but I don’t really hang around a social circle that would know this stuff. Either way, while their Blade-soundtrack ready techno-rock thing is moderately cool, the straight up guitar pop of Golden Scans is what does it for me. Maybe if the British Press didn’t try to name a genre after their shit…
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 3 Comments »
June 17th, 2007
No time for a real post or anything. I’ve got to catch Bob Weir & Ratdog at 3:00 and it’s looking iffy. Bonnaroo is just as nuts as I expected. Best festival in America. Not like I’ve been to all that many festivals or anything, but at the very least it beats the hell out of Coachella. I’ve been sending Bonnaroo updates in to Kevin Bronson’s LA Times Buzz Bands blog, so if you’re interested, head that way:
Bonnaroo Updates at Buzz Bands Blog
Posted in LA Times | No Comments »
I don’t own a working television, so until last night I’d never actually seen an episode of Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader, rightfully judging from the title alone that this show might be the nadir of American culture in the year 2007. Seriously, how in god’s name doesn’t everyone come home with at least a cool $100,000 after appearing? Is it that hard to answer what state is east of California? Or what disease Jonas Salk invented the vaccine for? The show ought to be called Are You Smarter than a 7-year old With Down’s Syndrome, or possibly Are you smarter than your average Judas Priest fan circa 1982, or maybe even, Are You Smarter than Young Jeezy. All are better concepts, I can assure you that.
