May 22nd, 2009
Too bad the Philly Freezer and Beans didn’t rip this. Presumably, they might’ve advised Black Thought against shouting out Pitchfork in a rap song. No disrespect to my friends who write there (it’s usually a good site), but that’s the lamest name-drop since Nas copped to a Barbara Streisand fixation on “It’s Mine.” Couldn’t ?uest have recommended Mojo? Naturally, I’d also advise rappers to avoid giving props to Passion of the Weiss–it would sound unwieldy and unduly Semitic.
Nonetheless, the track lives up to its hyperbolic name. As for “Magic,” the other track leaked via Wale’s Twitter–it fails to live up to its titular promise. It’s solid alright, but if you’re going to call something “magic,”you better sample “The Final Countdown,” and reference Tony Wonder not 9th.
I’ll never get into the magician’s alliance at this rate.
Download:
MP3: Wale ft. Young Chris, Peedi Crakk, Black Thought-”Hot Shyt”
MP3: Wale-”Magic”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 1 Comment »
May 21st, 2009
In an ideal world, the Maybach Music and Toyota Tercel rhymes of Rick Ross’ Deeper than Rap would’ve been exchanged with Crime Pays’, “Ross Dress for Less” Beats and Bergdorf Goodman raps. If you’re scratching your head at the clunkiness of the mixed metaphor, that’s the point–it’s Killa, the man calling out for a James Toback documentary, the man who brought you “no homo,” the man who brought you “He Tried to Play Me,” and its sequel, “Bottom of the Pussy Hole.”His albums are the auditory equivalent of The Phantom Tollboth (no Milo).
Let’s discard the Cam=Rene Magritte meme disseminated by the usual suspects. He’s a skilled if not ultimately minor rapper who thrives on excess. Sans Blaze, Kanye, Heatmakerz, and the rest of Dipset, Cam might as well rock faux mink, ersatz gators, and drive a Mitsubishi Eclipse. This is Econo-Cam–bargain bin beats salvaged by surprisingly strong rhymes. Apparently–like journalism–crime doesn’t pay enough.
LA Times: Cam’ron-Crime Pays
Download:
MP3: Cam’ron-”My Job”
MP3: Cam’ron-”Get it in Ohio”
Posted in LA Times | 1 Comment »
May 20th, 2009
The problem isn’t white rappers.* The problem is the popular perception that beyond the Beasties, Vanilla Ice, Everlast, Marky Mark, Eminem, and Asher Roth, white rappers don’t exist. You probably don’t need me to tell me you this. The few thousand people reading this don’t need NY Magazine’s comprehensive guide to white rap, or my less thorough version tailored to the print daily audience.
The attacks on dudes like Themselves usually say more about their critics than the artist uh…themselves–a series of ad hominem assaults involving reductive generalizations branding them as either emo pussies or plinkety-plink spaceship rappers. I’m not trying to revive Hip-Hop Infinity. I’m just saying that liking Boosie and Aesop Rock aren’t mutually exclusive. Popism doesn’t mean Soulja Boy can’t co-exist with CloudDead. “Gucci Bandanna” and “Know That to Know This,” are two of the best songs of the year–no need to pat yourself on the back for your “eclecticism,” that’s just how it is.
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Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 10 Comments »
May 20th, 2009
Somewhere in a dazed diatribe, I recall mentioning the revelation of Tinariwen at Coachella. The notes I took during the performance are crude and cryptic. Bear with me. The gist is that the set was one of those times when a battery of hallucinogenic ideas infect your head–the notion of what it means to be swallowed whole by music. To an inveterate cynic, that’s a tough glass of Tuareg tea to sip. But this is sacred sun and sand music that cuts to an atavastic core. Songs that emerge from the water, air, fire, and ether. If you can’t feel it, you might be hollow.
Tinariwen make gangster music. Not like the coke-tasias spouted by your favorite trappers rapper*, but exile, rebel music. Nomadic warriors from Mali, banished from their homeland to drift across the desert, recruited by Kadafi to turn their Kalishnikovs on their countrymen. In the blazing bronze Mojave sun, they seemed at home, subduing the 100 degree heat with white headwraps and hand-drums, floor-length robes, and resurrected guitars tilting towards infinity, dancing slickly with no sweat, thanks to thick Bedouin blood.
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Posted in African Music | 2 Comments »
May 19th, 2009
Maybe it’s time I gave John Vanderslice another shot–even if the Game’s pushed less weight than a midget sumo wrestler.
D: So what do you think of acts like No Age—bands that intentionally shirk self-consciousness, or make a point of being shambolic?
JV: If you’d asked me what I’d wanted to do five years ago, I’d have told you I wanted to be Viktor Vaughn or The Game—I would want to be a rapper with an eight ball of coke in my pocket and a wad of hundreds. Because that kind of freedom—well, perceived freedom—is where I want to be. And that’s probably as far away from what I could do. To make a live record—something that has a lot of lice in it—is difficult. After slaving away for years in the studio, when I hear a No Age record or when I hear Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ first EP or when I hear DRI or really early punk stuff, it’s just so powerful, so raw—and I know how hard that is to create. It’s very deceptive. It’s like a Dardenne brothers film—it seems like just a handheld camera following some people around in a trailer park, but it’s incredibly difficult to do that.
Via Decider care of Largehearted Boy
Download:
MP3: John Vanderslice-”Fetal Horses”
MP3: John Vanderslice-”Too Much Time”
Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »
May 19th, 2009
12 years after Eminem tried to lock up Cage’s career before it even began, he’s essentially co-opted his fellow white rapper’s schtick: Clockwork Orange rap. Or to scavenge the carrion of rappers wounded in his “5 Star Generals” days, this is closer to what you’d imagine the Insane Clown Posse would do, were they blessed with the ability to rap better than anyone outside of Big Punisher, Pharoahe Monch, or Kool G Rap.
Ian Cohen’s Pitchfork review limns the big picture (and most of the ancilliary details.) Relapse is a devisive record, alright. Intended to viscerally convey an anomic unraveling, it’s unsurprisingly schizophrenic, yet shockingly disturbing. Even if you keep in mind that Eminem is more likely to get botox* than he is to serially murder and rape, there’s something unsettling about hearing him unspool fantasies about dismembering corpses, his creepy fixation with Mariah Carey, and that always fun party topic: graphic psycho-sexual incest tales.
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Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 11 Comments »
May 18th, 2009
There’s something sad about watching a once-great group sing old songs because nobody wants to hear the new ones. Except The Pharcyde don’t have new ones, even though they’ve been “reunited” since last year’s Rock the Bells–which means that their performance at at the Santa Monica Pier last Friday was solely to cash a check. How do I know? Because it was for an event called The Coors Light Cold Front Jam–the only other option is that they were paid in kegs.
Still, I could listen to “Passing Me By,” “Ya Mama,” “Runnin,” “What’s up Fatlip?” “Drop” et. al, performed until I have a glass eye with a fish in it–even though the quartet was rapping next a stand that sold mackerel bait. I spoke with Imani and Slimkid3 for the Times, about everything from the inspiration for “Passing Me By,” to their love of Korn (?), to the amount of hallucinogenics they ingested in the early Clinton years. As usual, the B-Sides are after the jump.
LA Times: A Reunited Pharcyde Discuss Breakups, Makeups and J Dilla
MP3: Pharcyde-”Westside 242″
MP3: Pharcyde-”Y (Be Like that?) (Jay Dee Remix)
MP3: Pharcyde-”Passin’ Me By (Fly as Pie Remix)”
MP3: Fatlip-”What’s Up, Fatlip?”
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Posted in Interviews, LA Times | 5 Comments »
May 17th, 2009
Stuck inside on a gorgeous Sunday, writing a feature on Black Moth Super Rainbow. The only consolation is that listening to this song inside is a halfway approximation of the halcyon weather. Living vicariously, I suppose. This band is severely underrated.
Pre-Order: Black Moth Super Rainbow–Eating Us
MP3: Black Moth Super Rainbow-”Neon Syrup for the Cemetery Sisters”
MP3: Black Moth Super Rainbow-”Born on a Day the Sun Didn’t Rise”
Posted in Videos | 2 Comments »
May 15th, 2009
Admittedly, you’re taking a recommendation from someone who missed Exile’s set at Fat Beats last Saturday, to see The Grateful Dead. So maybe the MPC mastery of Aleksandr Manfredi is the hip-hop equivalent of the drum circle–meaning I’m the prime demographic. Still, between Fly Lo, Exile, Nosaj Thing, Gaslamp Killer, and, of course, the venerable Otis Jackson Jr., Los Angeles beatmaking is at a 21st century zenith.
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Posted in LA Times, Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 4 Comments »
May 14th, 2009
After a sojourn in Switzerland, where he picked fights with a half-dozen cuckoo clock scions, thus, reversing their neutrality policy, Sandro Colacicco has returned.
Baseball players are historically known as partiers. After all, it’s one of the only sports where you can actually show up to work hung over and do a good job. Baseball is also surrounded with people from all over the country with different criteria for their job—JD Drew apparently never drinks because he thinks Jesus will hate him, and Wade Boggs was rumored to have drank 30 beers on a cross country plane ride. Go figure. Lord only knows how much the middle relief puts down on any given night.
In honor of Mae West, I present a speculative list of whom you want, and don’t want at your fiesta.
“I don’t know a lot about politics, but I can recognize a good party man when I see one.”
~Mae West
Derek Jeter
You honestly want to hate him, but you can’t. Sure, he hits a million ground balls to the shortstop, and doesn’t pick it like he used too, but hey, he did bring over five girls, and a case of champagne. And look at him, everyone likes him…he could sleep with all five of those girls, your girlfriend and every other female in the room, but he won’t…he brought those girls as party favors for the rest of the male crowd. He’s like Vinnie Chase in season 2.5. And, Derek, you shouldn’t have—a Carl Pavano blow up doll for us to kick in the nuts when we’re hammered later.
Manny Ramirez
Someone has to bring the chronic.
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Posted in Smokin' Dro, Sandro Colacicco | 5 Comments »
