Since day one, Camp Lo have always been Hollywood. Their technicolor tales could only fit on the big screen: blaxploitation fantasies of bloody Bronx shoot-outs, slick diamond heists and jet-black getaway cars gunning it 100 miles per on the Bronx Expressway, plane to Aruba waiting at Teterboro. All matinee style: swaggering in fly panama hats, Oscar Gamble afros, and floor-length minks. And, of course, the finest weed, wine, and women stolen money could buy.Speaking with Byzantine slang, the duo of Chiba and Suede dropped a classic on their first try, 1997’s Uptown Saturday Night, a record that seemed to herald the emergence of a classic hip-hop duo. What rises in the first act, though, falls in the second, and Lo fell as hard as anyone, with label woes causing them to basically vanish for a decade. In fact, until last year’s Fort Apache Mixtape, Lo were more likely to appear on Nas’s “Where Are They Now ‘90s Remix” than they were to drop an album, let alone a good one.Black Hollywood is that album. Just 35 minutes start to finish, it wastes no time in proving its case, commencing with “My Posse from the Bronx,” a Ski-produced banger full of nervous stuttering hand claps and a “My Philosophy” sample. Like champion middleweights, Cheeba and Suede bob and weave, jabbing the beat with perfect rhythm. The tone of the record is clear from the first bars, with Lo still spitting subterranean Bronx tales full of frantic car chases, stolen drugs, and Rugers to shatter spines. In the hands of lesser lyricists and less colorful personalities, the gun and drug talk would seem hopelessly tired, but with Lo, it’s never really been what they rapped about, it’s the way in which they did it
Won’t Tell These Guys It’s Not 1977 If You Don’t
Each track is a different scene in Lo’s seamy netherworld myth: “82 Afros” finds the pair embroiled in a dice game shootout, while “Sugar Willie’s Revenge” sees the pair painting the portrait of a “Dirty Harry carrying” pimp named Sugar Willie. “Ganja Lounge” is that moment in the movies when the store-owner flips a switch, the walls revolve and suddenly you’re transporting into the redolent haze and dim lights of a plush drug den.Two tracks in particular form the record’s emotional core and make it more than just a paean to the spoils of crime: “Jack and Jill,” a cautionary tale that pays homage to Slick Rick’s “Children’s Story,” and “Sweet Claudine,” a love song to a woman recently jilted by the father of her children. Wise enough to know which clichés to avoid, Lo’s rare glimpse of sentimentality imbues the album with a degree of depth and three-dimensionality often lacking in contemporary hip-hop.Sure, the album has a few flaws. Roughly half the tracks appeared on a little heard mixtape the pair released last year. Several beats are just OK. And with the exception of maybe “My Posse from the Bronx,” nothing stands up to “Luchini,” “Black Nostaljack,” or “Cooley High,” the holy trinity of Uptown Saturday Night singles. But, then again, the sequel is never as good as the original, and while it may not be the second classic Camp Lo album, Black Hollywood marks a satisfying return. Cheeba and Suede’s Hollywood production might not be about to shove anything off any AFI’s greatest of all-time list, but in a weak year for hip-hop it certainly deserves an Oscar nomination or two.Download:MP3: Camp Lo-”Posse from the Bronx”MP3: Camp Lo-”Ganja Lounge”
I never really got into the Rapture. It wasn’t actually their fault. I blame it on the whoever the music writer was that coined the label “dance-punk.” To me, “dance punk” always sounded like something that Buford “Mad Dog” Tannen would yell at Marty McFly, not a type of “life changing music” rumored to cause world peace, cure polio, and lower your miniature golf score, all in one fell dance-punking swoop. It was as though, with “dance-punk,” the Rapture themselves were personally responsible for getting hipsters to dance, which in turn has caused me the misfortune of actually having to watch hipsters dance. Thanks dudes.
But last year when The Rapture dropped their excellent third record, Pieces of the People We Love, I finally saw why everyone liked these guys in the first place. Of course, dance-punk didn’t end up curing polio (merely acne) so all the web mags snubbed it come year-end list time, despite the fact that Pieces was way less self-serious, way more organic and way better than Echoes. The lyrics were still sort of retarded (High / High as the sky / Low / Low as a ghost / Purple dragons fly into your eyes / Milkshake shimmy cry and cry and cry).” But no one really listens to bands like The Rapture for the lyrics anyway.
Early in their career, the Rapture apparently had a rep for being terrible live, but you’d never know it now, with the four-piece seeming polished, self-assured and ridiculously funky on-stage, turning the Mayan Theater into a packed, sweltering dance party. The guitars were hard, the drums harder and they had a guy alternating between the sax-a-mophone and the cowbell. I couldn’t complain. Stripped of the cumbersome, unrealistic expectations and media attention that had the Rapture leading a dance-punk movement stretching all the way from Williamsburg to Park Slope, the Rapture have matured into a pretty awesome band.
Little Known Fact: The Album Cover Was Designed by a Team of Gay Four Year Olds on Mescaline
If you ran into these guys on the street, you’d never have a clue that they were among the most soulful white boys in music. Front-man Luke Jennner looks like Topher Grace after six bong rips, while bassist/vocalist Matt Safer channels Rick Moranis circa Ghostbusters 1. But they gives you no nonsense about accounting, Dana Barret or being “the Keymaster,” instead they shuffle across the stage, guitars strapped to their shoulders, owning the crowd and letting off some wailing pinched-nerve vocals that can only come from a man wearing his pants much too tight.
The set drew heavily from the most recent record and the band sounded great, flicking off fast rumbling guitar licks, lightning drums, jazzy sax bursts, and of course, a fever that could only be quelled by more cowbell. The Rapture love the cow bell, but honestly, can you blame them? Not I. The songs themselves sounded fantastic, to the point of where I’m reasonably convinced that Ford could resurrect its flagging fortunes if they used “First Gear” in their next advertising campaign.
So believe the hype. The Rapture are the real deal four years after they were the real deal, a band that were so overrated that they’re now actually really underrated. If I’ve lost you at this juncture, it’s probably because I’ve lost myself in the process. But my point, if I have one, is that now that the dance-punk has been placed into its form-fitting, vintage grave, the Rapture are starting to look more and more like the band everyone thought they’d turn out to be. So dance, McFly dance!
Chances are if you’re reading this you probably already know, Zilla Rocca, 1/2 of Philadelphia rap duo Clean Guns, and one of the founders of Beat Garden Entertainment. I’ve posted about them once, or twice, or thrice in the past year, and though I’m probably biased, I sincerely believe these guys to be the most exciting new rap collective to emerge from the underground since Def Jux and Rhymesayers bubbled up a half dozen years ago. With the major labels in a perpetual state of panic, I was curious to hear Zilla’s thoughts and experiences in getting a label off the ground at a time when the music industry seems more tenuous than ever.
Running a label is like being the general manager of a basketball team. You’re always looking for a balanced squad: someone to bring the ball up the court, cats to clear the boards, shooters to hit open three’s, etc. But then there’s always the question of team chemistry. We’ve had to let some people go due to toxic personalities and lack of contributions.Things always move faster once you drop dead weight.With everyone on board, you can move forward and focus on marketing and promotion, figuring out which venues to establish contacts with, which big purchases you should get next (i.e. CD/DVD burner) and who to take shit from and who to tell to go fuck themselves.
Most importantly, you need to constantly work on the music.I don’t mean that in the Lil’ Wayne/2Pac, doing 23 songs a day way. But there always needs to be a project for your crew to get on. That way MC’s stay sharp and producers stay hungry. That’s what made the Wu great—RZA cut whole verses from cats because they weren’t as good as someone else’s bars. What hip hop needs is quality control. I hear at least 20-30 new hip hop songs a week. I end up re-listening to less than half .
In Philly, EVERYONE has a mixtape, a DVD, a company, a “movement,” etc.This causes everyone in town to hate each other off the bat because a) they assume the next man is garbage (most of the time they’re right) and b) that next artist is taking up their spot.What separates us from the pack is that we try to be cool with everybody.We maintain positive relationships with people we collaborate with, as well as with people from out of state who have only seen our stuff online.
Do Not Believe the Rumors: Vanilla Ice Has Not Signed to Beat Garden
Of course, there’s daily nonsense to deal with. Paramount above all is the fact that Clean Guns is comprised of two white guys.It’s amazing that this is still a “weakness” for MC’s in 2007.I honestly never think about it.But the rest of the world must think that white dudes are still Vanilla Ice-ing it because people are SHOCKED when they hears us for the first time and our racial identities are revealed. We just did a show at Liquid Charm in Philly where the crowd was overwhelmingly African-American and hadn’t heard us before. The moment we set foot on-stage, people ice-grilled me, knowing that we’d waste their time, hoping we’d be corny.Halfway through “Watch How it Go Down,” the crowd was in our hands.By the end of the four song, 10-minute set, (“Econo-rap” says Sean Price), damn near everybody in Liquid Charm rushed up to us with pounds, business cards, flyers and CDs, saying “Yo that was CRAZY!Oh my god, let me get some music. Here’s my info, where y’all playing next?!!?” I felt like Hendrix at Woodstock. Except I was wearing a “crack is wack” shirt. We put out our debut record last August and only now have heads in Philly really started to open up to us, asking us to do shows and get on tracks.We rehearse before every show. We constantly write new songs.We try to maintain a presence online as well as venues and clubs and shows.Songs from our album are getting spins on college radio.And the company meets every month to go over whatever’s clever to make sure we’re all focused on the common good.It’s a full-scale operation that never stops.If I’m not checking my email, the MySpace accounts, all the hip hop blogs plus the forums on 215hiphop.com, I feel lazy.I need to know what’s going on from a business standpoint, but also because I’m still a big fan.
From now on, the fifth element of hip hop will be the computer.Not the internet, but the computer.Cats make beats on computers—shit, I do exclusively.Cats write rhymes on computers—Nico does exclusively!Cats design their little mixtape covers on Microsoft Paint and print them out on their HP inkjets (really, no excuse for this but I see it all the time). People bitch about the Internet, but the Internet is a byproduct of owning or having access to a computer, which does more than just let you get the new T.I. album for free. The computer and with it the Internet, allows artists to get an instant response for whatever they’re doing.The bad news is that it birthed MySpace rappers. But ultimately,I don’t care if people download or burn our music for free—the fact that they want to own it, hear it is money in the bank to me. The truth is, Nas was wrong.Hip hop isn’t dead—CD’s are.
As far as I can tell neither of these men is a bishop which might make this the biggest misnomer since Weed, California. I’m sure a lot of you guys have heard about Bishop Allen. I think they’ve actually been on every single blog in the history of the Internet. However, I have yet to ever write about them and I did a story on them this week for the Arizona Republic, so why not? Their new album, The Broken String is out right now and I think it’s pretty solid in a smart and melancholy indie pop sort of way. It’s a little depressing and a little esoteric (with a song about the Civil War Battleship, The Monitor), but what can you do? They went to Harvard. They’re probably smarter than us all.
Bishop Allen in the Arizona Republic
Life will always be shot full of heartache, melancholy and sadness, some of which can’t be blamed on the popularity of Pat Robertson, Everybody Loves Raymond, and Big Momma’s House. You might get fired from your job. You might break up with your girlfriend. You might be forced to sit through a sequel that may not involve Martin Lawrence dressing in drag and shattering any and all fond memories you have of Martin (but not Tisha Campbell circa 92).
That’s why it’s always nice to have records that can capture the sense of lonesome despair that can creep up on you when you realize that Arrested Development can’t exist in the modern world (at least, not on network). Travel By Sea’s Shadows Rise is one of those records, a dozen melancholy and beautiful folk songs perfect for that low ebb. It sort of reminds me a a darker varsion of the last Peter and the Wolf record. A record that seems slight on first listen but gains in complexity and depth with each run-through.
The collaboration of Tustin, California’s Kyle Kersten and Denver, Colorado’s Brian Kraft, Shadows Rise was actually released last year, but is deservedly getting the re-release treatment from The latest release from Justin “Aquarium Drunkard” Gage’sAutumn Tonelabel. With a follow-up “Days of My Escape,” slated to be released later this summer, Travel by Sea are definitely worthy of being placed on your radar. Especially if your radar doesn’t come equipped with Prozac.
Before it descended into a hell-fire of Yung Berg, Lloyd, and partying like a rock star, local “urban” station Power 106, used to play more than just hip-hop & R&B. Eclectic DJs used to throw weird old funk and club records into the mix, making you just likely to hear “Nothin’ But A G-Thing” as you were to hear Frankie Smith’s “Double Dutch Bus,” or the Egyptian Lover’s “Egypt Egypt.” More than anything you’d hear a whole lot of Parliament-Funkadelic and a whole lot of Zapp. In fact, I’m reasonably certain that there are still parts of east Los Angeles where Roger Troutman is worshipped like a minor deity due to “More Bounce to the Ounce.”
The Troutman and old funk records might have been as lyrically simple as the cliche-riddled hooks that modern mainstream rap and R&B singers try to pass of as anthems, but unlike “Lean like a Cholo,” the Zapp records never had a sense of calculation to them. They weren’t trying to sell a million ringtones or get played on Rap City, they were just trying to have fun. Indeed, you’d be more hard-pressed to find a more funky, loose-limbed party starter than the funk collective’s greatest hits. But for all Troutman’s influence on West Coast hip-hop (and Erick Sermon), his impact had been rather minimal outside of it. Until Chromeo.
Full of vocodors, huge synths and impossibly catchy pop hooks, Fancy Footwork is probably the best party record of the year. Part Roger & Zapp, part Rockwell circa “Somebody’s Watching Me,” part Hall & Oates and a bit of Steely Dan , Fancy Footwork flirts dangerously with being a pastiche-like homage , but ultimately who gives a fuck? It’s fun, the songs are good, and on-stage, the pair have a natural affability that allows their songs to translate well to the live environment. And if you don’t believe me, 1,000 hipsters at Cinespace in head bands and designer hats would tell you otherwise.
My Personal Favorite Facet of Roger is His “You Are Getting Sleepy” Hypnotist Face (see, top and center)
The decision to use Troutman’s music as source material comes as little surprise when you learn of Chromeo’s hip-hop centric background. In fact, the duo of Dave 1 and Pee Thugg, werea strictly known as hip-hop producers (Dave’s brother is Kanye’s DJ A-Trak) until their friend, Montreal producer Tiga asked them if they wanted to make an electro record. They figured, what the hell, and without any background in the genre, they made She’s In Control, an auspicious debut, but one slightly less consistent than it’s predecessor.
Running through a set-list that drew off both records, Chromeo are the proverbial on-stage odd couple. Dave 1, the lead singer is a lanky Jewish dude who looks like a GQ version of Dan Bejar from Destroyer. Handling 75 percent of the vocals, he chips in the occasional guitar riff. Pee is a heavy-set Arab dude, who rocks the keyboards and chimes in back-up vocals with vocoder tubes dangling from his mouth. They bill themselves as the greatest collaboration between Jews and Arabs in the history of time and neither seems to take themselves very seriously, solely concerned with making sure the crowd has a good time, constantly smiling, cracking jokes between songs.
Admittedly, the concept of a vaguely ironic, Vice-sanctioned electro-funk group is enough to keep your eyes rolled until November, but while the idea seems silly on paper, it works in reality, thanks to Chromeo’s exceptional gift for writing great pop songs. In an ideal world, these songs would get as much radio airplay as Chromeo’s inspirations used to receive. But even if they won’t get “Party Like the Rock Star” off the airwaves, Chromeo actually are capable of getting a bunch of hipsters in fedoras to party like them, which I suppose is the first step.
See also my piece on Chromeo in the LA Times
We all should’ve known this was coming. There were those Zoolander Gap Ads. The burgeoning bad acting career. The Gay Jedi album cover. And that odd-couple b.f.f. relationship with Jeremy “I’m Just Happy I’m Famous and Able to Get Girls Now” Piven. But a decade and half after Can I Borrow A Dollar, Common has managed to drop the worst album of his career. And it isn’t even close. With Finding Forever, Common has become the worst type of rapper: one with nothing to say.
Before all the Okayplayers start flashing their back-pack signal (like the bat-signal but more into Mos Def), let the record state that I’ve always liked Common. Hell, I even really liked Electric Circus, a record that made most long-time Common fans want to show up at Erykah Badu’s house with guns and pitchforks. But even the most staunch Electric Circus haters have to admit that there was a something noble about Common’s desire to innovate and test the boundary between the worlds of hip-hop, soul, & electronica.
Instead of trying to create up something new and innovative, Common has stumbled into the black hole that often plagues veteran artists: the desire to clone their most popular albums. Indeed, Finding Forever feels like a caricature of Common’s most commercially popular records, Like Water For Chocolate and Be. Enlisting Kanye behind the boards, Common reprises his tired “for the people,” cracker-averse, loverman persona that he’s plowed for a half dozen records, while Kanye lazily attempts to channel the spirit of J. Dilla.
And Then Me and Jeremy Went to the Grove and He Picked Out This Adorable Sweater for me…It was from the Gap…Obvs!
Common’s strong suit has always been his ability to pare smart lyrics with a smooth, captivating flow. But Finding Forever finds him at his most creatively barren, exhausting everything he has to say. Constantly, the man born Lonnie Lynn treads overly familiar ground, stuck in the Latte Rap, Kingdom Come school of US Weekly lyricism, lamely name dropping the likes of Akeelah The Bee, Finding Nemo, Reese Witherspoon & Ryan Phillippe, & Lance Bass, among many others. I suppose we should all be thankful he didn’t refer to her as Reese Witherspeezie (Jay-Z…you are dead to me).
The production matches the listless lyricism, with Kanye sounding stale, as though he’s burned through all the good soul samples he knows. In an effort to emulate Dilla’s production, West chops his samples up a bit more than usual, but the attempts seem ham-handed, particularly in contrast to one actual Dilla beat, “So Far to Go.” Of course, this is still a Common record, and there are inevitably moments when he’s able to summon up his old fastball. The first single “The People” finds Common sounding fierce and hungry (if not lyrically mediocre), over a West-supplied MF Doom biting beat. “The Southside” with Kanye West is solid, if nothing else for Kanye’s Back to the Future babbling . But those fleeting moments of excellence are few and far between and when they do happen, they’re immediately followed up by inane bitching about “white folks focusing on dogs and yoga.”
Beyond uneven beats and dull lyrics, it’s Finding Forever’s dearth of ideas that prove the most damning. Commencing with a tepid minute-plus instrumental and concluding with more of Common’s father (Capt. Obvious) rambling about global warming, everything here has already been done before, and done better. When all is said and done, the only way that this record will find forever is in its lot to be permanently consigned to the record store bargain bin.
I’m not even going to lie. This is actually pretty good. Maybe it’s that uh…recommendation the Doctor gave me the other day (thank you California voters), but this is probably the first good song involving Ja Rule song since “Gangsta’ Shit” from the first Clue album. How happy do you think Ja Rule was when he got arrested? I bet he was skipping through the entire perp walk, thinking , “oh boy, oh boy, I might have a career again.”
As for Wayne, I’m sure prison won’t be THAT far from what he’s used to. Still, I for one will be a little sad to him go. I was even beginning to like the little fella. Sort of like in The Real Ghostbusters, when Slimer becomes the Ghostbusters’ friend and not their enemy.
Meet Scott Towler. Scott is the author of Scott’s Blizzog, this previous Passion guest post, and a number of erotic cartoons and limericks featuring Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs. In addition to his side career debunking sexual stereotypes about animated little people, Scott has agreed to begin contributing regular film and television posts to the Passion of the Weiss. Gainfully employed in the television industry, Scott has previously worked as the writer’s assistant on the third season of Arrested Development. As for his willingness to write for this blog, I remain baffled.
Odds are this Will Not Make ‘Em Jump Like Rod Strickland
Andy Samberg is not funny. Not even a little. Seriously. SNL’s writing might be weak of late, but its cast is as strong as it’s ever been. In fact, it might even rival the late 90s bunch with Will Ferrell, Molly Shannon and Tina Fey. But really, the only reason why Samberg was brought on was because he and his two friends Jorma and Akiva made a hilarious pilot for FOX a few years back called Awesometown, and Lorne Michaels picked them up as a ‘3 amigos’ deal. If you haven’t seen that pilot, follow the link and watch it. It’s actually quite funny. But still- Samberg isn’t. It’s clear that the talent of their trio comes from the other two guys. Samberg is just the face they put in front of their words.
But my main issue with this film is that it’s going to be a blatant Simpsons rip off. Do you remember the episode when Bart was supposed to jump the Springfield Gorge on his skateboard after he saw Lance Murdoch do it at a stunt show? Well, when Hot Rod finally hits theaters, we’ll all be treated to the site of Samberg’s character (we’ll call him Putz McMurphy) wearing virtually the same animated costume created A DECADE AGO. It’s like making a live action Simpson’s episode and leaving out Bart and Homer? Sounds awesome. An hour and a half of Lisa and Marge. Huzzah!
Hey, Robin, Maybe It’s Time You Started Doing Coke Again, I Mean You Don’t Have to Get All Rick James On Us, But Maybe Just a Bump or Two, or Three. I Know You’re Supposed to be All “Clean” and Everything But I Promise I Won’t Tell Anyone.
Where to begin? Let’s see….old ‘out of touch with reality’ actor gets agents to sign on 2 young up and comers to co-star in a movie that is intended to be a chick flick but is really just a pile of dog shit. Close? Eh…close enough. Robin Williams really should have stopped acting after Good Morning, Vietnam, with the one exception being Dead Poet’s Society. Of course that film really should have been called School Ties II: The Mystery of the Poetry Book. And of course, then they made The Emperor’s Club with Kevin Kline which I think was probably the third film in that trilogy. Anyway, Robin Williams needs to hang it up, be a father, and just pop in at the Laugh Factory and Comedy Store from time to time. Not to do comedy, but rather to chalk a rail off Janeane Garofolo’s ass crack.
Also, Mandy Moore isn’t an actress. She may have done “acted”, but she isn’t an actress. Sure, I guess I feel sympathy for John Krasinski because this could’ve been a great vehicle for him, and now it’s more like, “Hey, my parents are going to see that too!” “Isn’t that cute guy from The Office in it?” Plus there’s the whole Single File Eyes analysis of the movie poster which substantiated that the poster looks suspicious like the female anatomy…Williams being the vag. Go figure, right? But whether or not Williams is an actor or a vagina, this movie will still suck.
Then again, if he were a giant vagina, I’d probably pay to see it.
Thank You For Sucking
Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse: a movie about a chef with a child and who can’t balance her life as a chef and a mother. But don’t worry…Micheal Douglas’ China Doll…Aaron Eckhart and his hair plugs are to the rescue! Ooh, I hope they fall in love! Ooh…and maybe they can open a restaurant together in the end! Yay! Nothing like an open and shut case like this one. When someone writes a script like this, I cry. When someone buys it, I cry more. Then, just when I think I’m completely out of tears, I find out that people actually signed on to make the thing, and it’s going to be released worldwide. This is typically when the tires screech and everyone asks, “wait- you’re joking right?” Oh how I wish I was.
I blame this movie on Al-Queda. Only terrorists could be smart enough to release a film so unappealing…only terrorists could kidnap and force these B and C list stars to act in it…only terrorists could open a Universal Studios Theme Park in Dubai. OK, so that last one may have been an American sleeper cell in Dubai, but still…who gives a crap about the life and perils of a chef? Wait, I’ll tell you who does- children do! That’s why they made this movie and opted not to buy No Reservations. I don’t care how you slice it, this is a movie I will absolutely never see. And if I date a girl that wants to see it, I’ll dump her ass right then and there.
But first I gotta date a girl.
First Come. First Turd.
We all loved Rushmore. It’s like an indie film staple these days. Charlie Bartlett is just another piss poor attempt to recreate a still-good film one that has no business being tampered with. But lo and behold, there’s a whole new generation of young people to sell it to. Here’s a better idea- repackage Rushmore as an anniversary edition jam packed with deleted scenes and commentary from the director, on set carpenter, 2nd make up artist, and 2 extras. Honestly, I’d rather live through the torture sketch from Enter the Wu-Tang rather than watch this preview again.
I don’t have a lot to say about this film, because it doesn’t seem like there’s that much to it. I have to laugh though at Robert Downey Jr’s decision to take this role. I guess when you’re an ex-con, it’s hard to get the parts you want, but if you check out the movie on IMDB, you’ll notice that his character doesn’t even have a name. If he did though, I’m guessing it’d be John Doe. And man, they really pegged him well. Who better than to play ‘The Principal’ (a role ostensibly designed to lead kids to do the right thing) than Robert Downey Jr. “Hey kids, stay off drugs. Give them to me and I’ll…dispose…of them…in my veins.”
I’m Guessing L’il Wayne’s “Caddy” is Birdman. And by Caddy, I mean, Weird Father Figure to Anally Probe And Get Tatted Onto His Breast
OK, OK…I get that Andre 3000 is the “talented” one. Fine. And I understand that there’s a movie called Friday which is popular with the young people. But what the fuck is this? can only hope that it starts as a light-hearted romp in camp comedy. You know the type: a film specifically designed to cater to a black audience, intended to poke fun at the predominantly cracker game of golf, talking about wives and girlfriends, and swinging one’s worries away on the green. Except there’s one problem: most black people DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT GOLF. (Tiger Woods excluded). So why in god’s name would people think to make a movie for black people about golf?
Also, the whole ‘rappers doing movies’ thing has gotta stop. There are only a few movies in this genre that I can stomach: The Wash,Friday, and MP: Da Last Don. Yeah, that’s right I loved those No Limit and Death Row movies of yesteryear. Fuck it, I loved Thriller too. But this is different. Here, we don’t even have any actual rapping to serve as the backdrop. Instead, we’re telling these MUSICIANS to ACT. Anyone else see a problem here? Well I do, though I still may Netflix this someday, as it looks the most tolerable of the five films we’ve discussed here today.
Honorable Mention Worst Movies I’ve Never Seen:
Mighty Ducks 12, King of the Hill: Bigger, Longer and Uncut, and Girls Gone Wild ‘07: Ixtapa.
Downoad: (To Make You Forget That Who’s Your Caddy? Exists)
The long-term status of one of Los Angeles’ beloved institutions is in jeopardy right now, after the owner of the New Beverly Cinema, Sherman Torgan passed away from a heart attack last week. (See the very good LA Times obit) For those that haven’t been to the New Beverly Cinema, it’s one of LA’s hidden treasures, the last full-time revival house left in the city, a place for movie geeks and cineastes of all stripes to come together and watch classic films on the big screen.
Few theaters anywhere can match the breadth and quality of the films that Sherman Torgan hand-picked for viewing, but even fewer can match the sense of family and community that the New Beverly has built up over the years. With Torgan’s passing, the theater will be taken over in the interim by his family. If you’ve never been to the New Beverly, now’s the the time to go, as it needs your business now more than ever. Seriously, how in god’s name can you not love a theater that shows an 80s double feature of Back to the Future and Goonies, all for $7 (July 29-31)? It’s easy to shrug and hope that places like this stay in business. It’s more difficult to get up and actually patronize them. If you get the chance, I sincerely recommend doing so. LA can’t afford to lose another one of its finest institution.
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Since day one, Camp Lo have always been Hollywood. Their technicolor tales could only fit on the big screen: blaxploitation fantasies of bloody Bronx shoot-outs, slick diamond heists and jet-black getaway cars gunning it 100 miles per on the Bronx Expressway, plane to Aruba waiting at Teterboro. All matinee style: swaggering in fly panama hats, Oscar Gamble afros, and floor-length minks. And, of course, the finest weed, wine, and women stolen money could buy.Speaking with Byzantine slang, the duo of Chiba and Suede dropped a classic on their first try, 1997’s Uptown Saturday Night, a record that seemed to herald the emergence of a classic hip-hop duo. What rises in the first act, though, falls in the second, and Lo fell as hard as anyone, with label woes causing them to basically vanish for a decade. In fact, until last year’s Fort Apache Mixtape, Lo were more likely to appear on Nas’s “Where Are They Now ‘90s Remix” than they were to drop an album, let alone a good one.Black Hollywood is that album. Just 35 minutes start to finish, it wastes no time in proving its case, commencing with “My Posse from the Bronx,” a Ski-produced banger full of nervous stuttering hand claps and a “My Philosophy” sample. Like champion middleweights, Cheeba and Suede bob and weave, jabbing the beat with perfect rhythm. The tone of the record is clear from the first bars, with Lo still spitting subterranean Bronx tales full of frantic car chases, stolen drugs, and Rugers to shatter spines. In the hands of lesser lyricists and less colorful personalities, the gun and drug talk would seem hopelessly tired, but with Lo, it’s never really been what they rapped about, it’s the way in which they did it
