October 20th, 2008
Anyone else hear this slipped into the background of a scene on Entourage last night? Speaking of which, the episode in question might have been the most supreme case of wish fulfillment-as-television that I’ve ever seen. After yesterday’s program, LA might be wise to pass some good ol’ fashioned anti-Okie rules to help quell the ever-ongoing influx of carpetbaggers cum Ed Hardy-clad clones flocking to meet models and “hone their craft.” In that order. On the other hand, “Sweet Potato Pie,” remains the jam (no Paul Weller.)
Download:
MP3: Domino-”Sweet Potato Pie”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 2 Comments »
October 20th, 2008
Thomas Friedman opined that “drill baby drill,” is the dumbest bumper sticker in history, the energy equivalent of being on the verge of the PC/Internet-era and pounding the table for America to make more IBM typewriters and carbon paper. ” I’m inclined to agree. Though to be fair, who doesn’t feel just a bit brighter using a typewriter, wearing a low-brimmed fedora, huffing Lucky Strikes, and employing a highly skilled, cigar-chomping monkey to change your pages on command?
My story in this week’s LA Weekly concerns a prank that my friends played on me, upon my return from last month’s east coast sojourn. It involves “drill baby drill,” painted in bright pink colors onto the side of my car–not to forget, the classic phrase, “Nobama, Yes Maverick.” There is also discussion of a certain Los Feliz car wash, who suffice to say, did not live up to Rose Royce’s high standards. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll watch the video for “Car Wash,” and you will let the funk permeate the very essence of your being. Disco-style.
LA Weekly: “Drive Baby Drive”
Download:
MP3: The Beatles-”Drive My Car”
MP3: Rose Royce-”Carwash”
Posted in LA Weekly | 1 Comment »
October 17th, 2008
Jay-Z and Memphis Bleek on stage at the Palladium. Click on image to view entire slideshow. Photo by Timothy Norris.
The irony of Jay-Z being asked to open the revamped Hollywood Palladium wasn’t lost on the man who calls himself “the black Frank Sinatra.” After all, it was 68 years ago last month that the uh, white Frank Sinatra opened up the venue, along with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra and a thousand people to whom, it is safe to say, had an entirely different notion of the word, “swingers.”
Backed by an nine-piece band, including a three-piece horn section, two guitarists, two percussionists, a keyboardist and DJ AM on the decks, Jay’s career-spanning two hour set marked his continued evolution into hip-hop’s elder statesman. Indeed, 13 years after Reasonable Doubt, Jay seems to be the last commercially viable link to rap’s second Golden Age, with the audience split between long-time fan-boys mouthing every word to “Can I Live,” and “baby mama drama” aspirants ensconced in the VIP, gyrating to his abominable Neptunes collabo,” Change Clothes.”
It’s tough to imagine any of his long-time peers being asked to open the refurbished theater; not just because Jay has to earn his keep after recently signing a lucrative, landmark 360 deal with nascent music behemoth, Live Nation, but rather that it’s difficult to imagine any 90s stalwart still capable of selling out a 4,000 capacity space. Blessed with the intuitive ability to balance the dueling concerns of the commercial and the street, Jay’s cannily been able to keep his career going, when artists like Wu-Tang and Nas remain stuck on the House of the Blues circuit.
Does This Mean Don Ho Was the Asian Sinatra?
The secret, beyond the obvious (sterling discography, brilliant branding ability, having the hottest chick in the game wearing his chain), is Jay’s inherent charisma. While the word swagger is more played out than Ed Hardy shirts, it’s tough to remember that Jay was essentially the trend’s pioneer, the first to value style over substance, though never at the expense of putting out quality product (well, maybe sometimes). And in person, that charisma is prominently displayed: the loose-limbed Big Boss-man strut, the plangent baritone, the unflappable poise. Dude’s a professional, despite an inherent goofiness that’s been successfully veiled, partially from the dividends of mass appeal, partially from the massive Aviators concealing his homely hangdog looks. It’s no surprise that Jay big-upped Obama several times throughout the show, as they both possess a certain indefatigability—the notion, that no matter what you say or do to them, they can’t be rattled. Or as Jay once put it: “I will not lose.”
So consider the Palladium launch a victory for both Live Nation and Jay-Z. At times, ol’ brown eyes shouted out his kinship to his blue-eyed predecessor, at others he cracked jokes, offering the Democratic nominee an extemporaneous bit of advice, about “the girl…you know…what’s her name..’you betcha.” To which, he lit into an electrifying version of “99 Problems.” Aided by Memphis Bleek, the intensity crackled with feverish pitch, the crowd alternating between arm waving and throwing Roc signs in the air. At one point, T.I. performed an impressive version of his verse from “Swagger Like Us,” punctuating it by telling the crowd, “It’s the King, bitch.” Which has a 73 percent chance of becoming my new favorite tagline (I mean, “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter…Spray,” was just getting tired.)
Clad in a black Roc-A-Fella shirt, black jeans and black Yankees fitted, Jay’s energy level was high and throughout, he seemed genuinely thrilled to be there. Not everything was perfect: the set list hewed heavily to Jay’s more comparatively lackluster post-Blueprint material, strangely avoiding much of his two greatest triumphs: Blueprint and Reasonable Doubt. Still, despite the fact that his recent recorded material might not live up to his catalogue’s former luster, Jigga left no doubt that even though he might be a bit long in the tooth to be CEO, he remains Chairman of the Board.
Download:
MP3: Jay-Z-”Jockin’ Jay-Z”
MP3: Coldplay ft. Jay-Z-”Lost (Remix)”
MP3: Jay-Z, Kanye West, T.I., Lil Wayne-”Swagger Like Us”
Bonus: (Because Zilla Did a Better Job Than Jay’s Tepid Version”)
MP3: 5 0′ Clock Shadowboxers-”Lost”
Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 7 Comments »
October 16th, 2008
“You can’t judge me on this because it’s a reflection of my heart and soul. It’s like judging a grandmother’s love. Can you judge a grandmother’s love by giving it 2.5 mics, or saying that it only sold a million?”–Kanye West, directly after the first unveiling of Heartbreak & 808s
So Kanye’s already on the defensive. He should be. Let it be said unequivocally: people are going to hate Heartbreak & 808s. Like loath it with every fiber of their being-type hate. Like Godsmack fan at a Decemberists concert hate. Of course, more people will love it. Expect radio to grind the singles into the dirt. Expect 2 million copies sold. Expect critics to get hot and bothered like Leon Phelps in a hot tub with some ginseng and a lady. Indeed, in its auto-tune excess and punch-drunk, woozy 80s electro, it brazenly signals a drastic turn for the weird that the cognoscenti won’t be able to resist. If this doesn’t get Kanye the Album of the Year Grammy that he so nakedly covets, dude might as well change his name to Steely Dan.
But like I said, people are going to fucking hate this record. First off, the conservative rap diehards that West rode in with are probably going to want to pelt him with rotten grapefruit. Get ready to hear that this is Kanye’s Love Below or worse, his Electric Circus. They’re the easiest comparisons and they’re apt–but only to a point. Thing is, like Common and Andre 3K, Kanye has reached that vanishing point, convincing himself that rambling down an experimental path is that only way to avoid growing stale. And rest assured, this is way out past the Euro-techno tongue kiss of Graduation. 808s and Heatbreak is out on the fringes, a pulverizing and plaintive mash-up of pop, electronic and hip-hop into unidentifiable splinters of sound.
Some will inevitably decry this as a cynical bid to earn critical plaudits, snag a half dozen Grammy’s and further burnish Kanye’s image as the troubled artiste. But I don’t buy it. Sure, artists care about critics but only to a limit–no artist really worth a damn would alter their craft for the sake of appeasing the fourth estate (and whatever bloggers are.) Regardless of what you think about Kanye, questioning his artistic bona fides at this point seems counter-intuitive.
That’s Gold, Jerry, Gold…
What I heard on Tuesday night at the Ace Gallery on La Brea is the sort of album that makes hyperbole effortless, an opus wildly original and ingenious, one that I’m still wary to praise to the extent that I believe it deserves . After all, I only heard it once and subsequent listens ain’t going to to top the experience of listening at vertiginous volume, pounded by blood-red epileptic lights, with a Vanessa Beecroft-designed array of 40 nude models (black girls up front, white girls in the back), their faces shadowed by some sort of ersatz-lamb’s wool mask, and an entire crowd of people gasping with disbelief, sensory overload–aided by an open bar. Still, I might as well say what I’m thinking: namely, that this is on my short-list for album of the year.
Take those words with a Cosco-sized bottle of Morton’s. God knows what the replay value will be like. I’m sure, on repeat, a litany of lyrical clunkers will thud like bowling balls. Maybe the sonics will grate: all weary, wounded vocals, all auto-tune, all the time. As for the production aesthetic, think about an El-P I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead-type blur of sound and darkness: a Goliath stomp of stadium-sized, marrow-disintegrating noise. But rather than use 9 Inch Nails/Bomb Squad as the starting point, it’s rooted in Michael Jackson, Prince, Cameo, Morris Day, a little KLF/Utah Saints hip-hop house-type stuff and maybe even TV on the Radio’s sense of space and harmony. And yes, a lot more singing than rapping.
Guest appearances are scarce. From what I could tell, Weezy and Jeezy are the only two who pop up, with Kanye bending them to the will of his lightning and thunder wall of sound. What I heard wasn’t perfect. One song in the middle of the album lagged into treacly, Boyz II Men territory. But I’m willing to forgive it; after all, this is quite self-consciously, Kanye’s break-up album. Get ready to hear the word “mature” thrown around carelessly. Because the focus, as Kanye pointed out afterwards, is on “the irony…That the one who talked about so many labels…Louis Vuitton, what car I was driving, what girls I was getting… lost the most important person to me to Hollywood.”
Keeping Your Love Locked Down: Also Good Advice If You Ever Go To Prison
According to West, the album was recorded in just three weeks in Hawaii, but unlike first single “Love Lockdown,”it doesn’t sound rushed; rather, it’s principal characteristic (and strength) is its achingly palpable sense of heartache and disillusionment. Here, we see the decade’s most arrogant and histrionic persona coming to grips with stark, basic realities: death, heartbreak, isolation. The sort of heart-on-sleeve wrath that made 2Pac so triumphant. It’s a turbulent psychological train-wreck, tailor-made for these jangled, twitchy times.
As for the scene, it was everything you’d expect from a Kanye West LA listening party. Art school girls in high waist pants, high fashion Japanese girls, sundry Hollywood snake-types, the sort of crowd where everyone is somebody, or thinks they are. Celebrities crawled the walls: Rick Ross, Danger Mouse Mos Def, Will.I.AM and most awesomely, a slick-looking Lamar Odom, to whom I was tempted to whisper: “Remember that you can’t do stuff like this in Detroit or Milwaukee come contract negotiation-time.
So bring on the Electric Circus and Love Below comparisons at your own peril, but out of the bunch Kanye is the only one who understood that the next Prince wouldn’t sound like the old one. Perhaps in six months, or even six weeks, I’d rather be locked up than hear “Love Lockdown. “But for now, I’m convinced that Kanye West has delivered another brilliant work. For all his noxious narcissism and eye-rolling bombast, he’s continued to evolve into the most interesting and innovative figure in pop music today. When I left the party, Jay-Z walked in past me, all Sinatra swagger and effortless cool. It seemed fitting, the one-time ruler coming to pass the torch to the new champ–even if he doesn’t rap anymore.
Download:
MP3: Kanye West-”Heartless”
MP3: Kanye West-”Love Lockdown”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 27 Comments »
October 15th, 2008
10. We need an authoritative Russian figure to babble about Sputnik–such as the one seen at the commencement of the video. Indeed, he’s got a forceful dynamism that Henry “Fester” Paulson lacks. Maybe our fearless leader might consider sending Condi over to Putti Put to test her Slavic language skills. It worked for Iceland–after all–like Roc-A-Fella, Russia has “the money.” On an unrelated note, I refuse to believe it’s just a coincidence that US-Russo relations plunged to a 20-year low after Dubya decided to give their Prime Minister a nickname that sounds like a Riverside miniature golf course.
9. Make our investment bankers dance in suits a la the dancers in “The Power.” If they’re going to cost us hundreds of billions of dollars in bailout funds, the least they can do is entertain us by doing the Cabbage Patch and the Roger Rabbit.
8. The high-top fades in the video are a stark reminder that American prosperity in the 80s was not the result of laissez-faire economic policy and trickle-down theory, but instead, our hip-hop and R&B stars’ willingness to defy gravity with their hair.
General Rule of Thumb: It’s Invariably a Safe Bet To Trust Someone With “Turbo” in Their Name
7. Turbo B boasts his lyrics are “copywritten so they can’t be stolen.” A respect of intellectual property is a must for any potential economic czar. Or not.
6. Penny Ford should sing at the next G-8 meeting. Not for crisis-resolving purposes, but because she is awesome and the Germans will love it. If this succeeds, next time use KLF.
5. Playing “The Power” at an ear-splitting volume can’t help but inspire the banking industry, the American people and people who wear leather in the summetime. Faith will be fully restored in the markets. If you can’t have faith whilst listening to “The Power,” there is something criminally wrong with you. Bruce Almighty is the proof.
4. Turbo B maintains a firm grasp on the direness of the predicament, declaring, “it’s getting, it’s getting, it’s getting kind of hectic.” No need to ramrod B.S. about “the strong fundamentals of the economy” down our throats. He gets it.
Though You’ve Would’ve Thought Someone Would’ve Told Them That The Title Script Looks Perilously Close to “The Boner”
3. As Turbo B trenchantly avers, “he has a radical mind, day and night, all the time…7/14 wise divine/maniac/brainiac winning the game/I’m the lyrical Jesse James.”
Clearly, T.B. has innovative and new solutions to solve the fiscal catastrophe. Just like McCain’s secret strategy of how to get Bin Laden, Turbo B doesn’t need to explicitly spell out his radical solutions. He’s a brainiac. Where you at Bernanke….bitch. The guy’s a lyrical Jesse James. You know what Jesse James gets? Money.
2. An advocate of a muscular foreign policy, Turbo B understands that “if you don’t stay off his back, he will attack and you don’t want that.” Cooperation is a wise move during a crisis but I for one want someone who can take charge–by rapping. Or at the very least dating an Italian Supermodel.
1. Snap couldn’t do much worse than Bush and Congress.
Download:
MP3: Snap-”The Power”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 8 Comments »
October 14th, 2008
Late last week, the Independent ran an informative encomium on Dub Colossus’ A Town Called Addis, so I’d advise you to head in that direction if you’re looking for the full-fledged review treatment. If not, take my word that Nick “Dubulah” Page’s collaboration with a team of renowned Ethiopian musicians is an exceptional effort–the rare modern-day reggae record that lives up to its 60s and 70s forebears. Tinged with an afro-beat, Azmari, and jazz filagree, A Town Called Addis is pure stoner soul: soft, narcotic nods that float in pure vernal bliss. Released on tiny imprint Real World Records, this is a sure-shot pick for one of the year’s most slept-on records.
Buy A Town Called Addis
Download:
MP3: Dub Colossus-”Azmari Dub”
MP3: Dub Colussus-”Tazeb Kush (Shame On Me, Shame On You)”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 2 Comments »
October 14th, 2008
The plan today was to do a tribute/mockery (tribumockery?) to Snap’s “The Power,” as I was in the peculiar mood to hear some German hip-house*. I’ve been raiding my cassette collection lately and as Doc Brown once said, “where we’re going, we don’t need roads.” So don’t be surprised if by the end of the week I get to Utah Saints and K.W.S. Don’t front like you didn’t like “Please Don’t Go.”
Unfortunately, my friend/neighbor/television savior, Ben, convinced me to ditch blogging to watch the Phillies beat the Dodgers. (Side note: Was I the only one who thought that Torre should’ve left Kuo in the game?). You guys may need to be patient with me for the rest of the week. I’d say month–but really–if it’s a Tampa Bay-Philly World series the only people watching will be the player’s moms. During the final few innings, we decided to drown out the C.P.A.-dull TBS broadcast team and listen to DJ Muggs’ show on Sirius’ Shade 45 channel. While his banter can’t match his beats, the program was solid, including this oft-overlooked gem that the Rza and Gza cut in ‘97 for the Soul Assassins album.
Re-watching the video for the first time in over a decade, it’s tempting to play sentimentalist. Directed by the Gza, the militaristic mini-movie is swathed in ice-cold blues, camouflage greens, vermilion reds and a dull, phosphorescent purple. The song itself almost perfectly distills the Wu aesthetic. Muggs’ Rza-aping beat is menacing in its minimalism, with guitars tense as arched bowstrings, drums caked in dirt and dust, and sinister, savage drum kicks. On the mic, Rza and Gza operate as perfect foils, with the Gza’s cold-blooded malice off-setting his cousin’s maniacal excitability. Best of all, Rza drops the line “send ‘em back like George McFly,” who actually never went back in time (perhaps he was referring to Shaymus McFly?). Then again, who am I to quibble with the man who once wrote “Glock-O-Pop”?
*I’m not sure what mood this constitutes exactly. Of late, I have been struck by the powerful lust to eat bratwurst, wear Lederhosen and listen to Neu!.
Download:
MP3: Soul Assassins Ft. Rza & Gza-”Third World”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 7 Comments »
October 13th, 2008
So here’s the problem. Halloween is two weeks away, I’m invited to a couple of parties and am completely bereft of costume ideas. For reasons that can only be explained to my eight-year old self, I want to be a Ghostbuster. The dilemma is that I’m aware it’s corny and has been done ad infinitum. On the plus side, I’m pretty sure I can get a few of my friends to join in. On the down side, no one wants to play Stantz.
I thought I’d turn to the “Ghostbusters Theme” for answers. Now all I want to be is Ray Parker Jr. This is more confusing than expected. As a last ditch salvo, I turned to the video for Bobby Brown’s “On Our Own,” from Ghostbusters II. Needless to say, I’m speechless and need to take the rest of the week off to study New Jack Swing videos. There’s gold in them hills (and presumably in Bobby Brown’s jacket.)
Currently, my only other costume option is this; primarily so that if anyone asks I can say that I’m the big yellow joint. A little help please.
Download:
MP3: Ray Parker Jr.-”Ghostbusters Theme (Extended Version)”
MP3: Bobby Brown-”On Our Own” (Theme From Ghostbusters 2)
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 6 Comments »
October 10th, 2008
Let’s say that you’re drunk. You’re very drunk. It’s 7:00 p.m. You’ve been steadily getting smashed since work got out two hours ago and you have a fiery, insatiable craving to listen to some music. But then you realize that the High Places and Abe Vigoda show at the Smell (you carpetbagger you), doesn’t start for a few hours and you wonder, how can I pass the time while waiting in Los Feliz Village?
Well, my good friend, the answer is nigh (or near, if you’re not into being completely pretentious.) Yes, this year’s Best Music Writing book reading will be held tonight from 7-8:30p.m. at Skylight Books in Los Feliz (see Facebook promo page.) Here’s to hoping that both wine and cheese will be served, as I’m allegedly supposed to regale the crowd with an anecdote regarding my Soulja Boy article. Rest assured, If I manage to imbibe a reasonable quantity of Sauvignon Blanc, I am a serious threat to humiliate both myself and my family name with an impromptu “Crank That” dance.
Good times had by all. All.
Download:
MP3: Love-Seven and Seven Is (from Da Capo)
MP3: Glenn Gould-”Aria Da Capo”
Posted in News | 3 Comments »
