May 26th, 2009
Congrats are in order to Andrew Barber, the impresario behind Chicago hip-hop, one-stop shop, Fake Shore Drive. Today marks the release of the site’s first mixtape, hosted by The Cool Kids, and featuring cuts from the likes of Lupe Fiasco, Kanye West, Rhymefest, Twista, and of course, the duo of Chuck English and Mikey Rox.
I’ve long harbored the idea of doing a similar thing for Passion, but have blanched at the time required to actually bring such an idea to fruition. Wrangling 18 artists for 23 tracks doesn’t mesh with the hand-to-mouth existence of freelance living, playoff viewing*, and my twin passions of midget moto-cross and resuscitating the moribund Cross Colours brand.
* Is it too much to ask for someone to box out Chris Anderson? And conversely, why hasn’t Birdman adopted “What Happened to that Boy” as his official theme song. He is known for that flip of the cocaina.
Download:
MP3: GLC feat. Kanye West-”Flight School”
MP3: Lupe Fiasco-”Fire”
ZIP: FSD x Timbuck2 x The Cool Kids - The Fake Shore Drive Mixtape
Tracklist below the jump.
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May 26th, 2009
Despite the sickening suspicion of similarities between myself and the extroverted pseudo-Bohemian asshole up above, I spent the majority of my Memorial Day weekend camped out at the UCLA Jazz and Reggae festival. I previewed it for the Times last Friday, so if you’re interested in the logistics head there. As for the event itself, it’s redundant to reiterate why if you book Erykah Badu, People Under the Stairs, and De La Soul, good times will be had by all.
After all, mere months after the first twittered pregnancy, Ms. Medulla Oblongata stays crushing it like pink cookies in plastic bags, rocking black leather pants, Public Enemy hoodie, and Abe Lincoln hat. Judging from Sunday’s set and her Greek Theater godliness of last summer, I’m convinced that the source of her talents is as extraterrestrial as the U.F.O. theories she harbors.
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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”
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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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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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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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May 13th, 2009
Scrambling around on deadline, and cognizant that with this clip, the site is treading perilously into I CAN HAZ CHEEZBURGER territory, but I couldn’t resist.
Glenn Beck is the Toby Keith of journalism. Watching Fox News in 2009 is a perversely joyous experience, like watching the Washington Generals furiously flop to the Harlem Globetrotters. Although, I suppose that analogy would mean Harry Reid is Meadowlark Lemon and Nancy Pelosi is Curly Neal. In the meantime, LOL CATZ.
I’ll have another post up later this afternoon. The shark has not been jumped–I think.
Download
MP3: Beck-”Soul Suckin’ Jerk”
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May 13th, 2009
It’s playoff time–posting will be light. We will just have to accept this. Sure, I could’ve indulged my pretensions, but I was busy watching Phil Jackson finally break down and give Jordan Farmar and Shannon Brown the minutes they deserve. Winning by 40 is nice, but if you can’t beat an enervated Rockets squad sans McGrady and Yao, not only do you not deserve to win a championship, you don’t deserve to coach a team of seven year-olds at the local YMCA–probably the only players Fisher can guard right now.
Part celebration, part contrite offering, I present Magic Johnson, Norm Nixon, Don Cornelius, and the Soul Train dancers jiving to Earth Wind & Fire. Also attached are three outstanding neo-soul cuts currently earning burn around my solitary apartment, that may or may not contain a chicken. You’ll like them, I promise. Deep funky grooves that even Kurt Rambis could get down to (no Kool and the Gang.)
Download:
MP3: Phenomenal Handclap Band-”Baby”
MP3: Lee Fields-”Problems”
MP3: Myron & E-”Cold Game”
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May 12th, 2009
The Joker’s not the next big thing. He already was two years ago, as an 18-year old prodigy straight out of trip-hop mecca, Bristol. Even then, he was initially pegged as a savior of grime, then dubstep. Making beats on Fruity Loops at 14, spinning regularly at 15, always heavily hyped, as far as heavily hyped Anglo-centric dance music goes. But Joker doesn’t really make dance music. Whenever he’s asked, he usually rebuts the labels, explaining, “it’s just Joker, isn’t that enough.”It is.
What’s so thrilling about the Joker’s music isn’t merely the ease with which he flouts genre restraints. Successfully dissecting his beats would require an entire evening–think a skewed geometry of post-Timbaland space-hop, a narcotized successor to Detroit House, the rightful heir to Roll Deep’s throne, or Lee Perry given drum machines, grim weather, and a crop full of bitter British herb.
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