June 23rd, 2009
There’s no right way to write about your friends’ music. Gush effusively and you look like a fawning cheerleader. Ignore it and you do a disservice to the people that should matter the most. That said–conflict of interest aside–The Slow Twilight is not only one of the finest indie-rap records of recent vintage, but it’s a flat-out great record.
You probably know Zilla Rocca and Douglas Martin from their various blogs, their Clean Guns and Fresh Cherries from Yakima material, and occasional contributions to this website. They’re two of the most uniquely gifted talents I’ve encountered in my nearly four years of blogging, and The Slow Twilight is the finest manifestation yet of their prodigious talents.
In some small way, this site helped incubate The Slow Twilight, and I had the privilege of A&R’ing the project from start-to-finish. I’m still not sure exactly what that title entails, as no money was exchanged, and my entire creative input seemed to consist of little more than, “you need to re-do that hook.” However, I’m proud to have played even a small role in helping bringing this album to life.
Sach O will write a more comprehensive and un-biased review soon. In the meantime, if you’re interested in an excellent album inspired in equal parts by Aesop Rock, the Gza and murky film noirs, I highly recommend downloading The Slow Twlight for free at Zilla Rocca’s Clap Cowards blog or from this link. For those interested, the hyperbolic but sincere one-sheet that I wrote for the album is below the jump.
Read the rest of this entry »
Posted in Douglas Martin's Dirty Shoes, The Beat Generation, Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | No Comments »
December 11th, 2008
Zilla Rocca has never attended a conference for stuttering children, though he lives by Big Pun’s credo that even if you stutter, he will still sh…sh…shit on you.
Good friends and fans of The Passion and Clap Cowards, I feel like we’re family—you can borrow my Murs CD and never give it back, I can crash on your futon after a show in your town, we both hate the same M. Knight Shamalamadingdong movies, etc. You’ve been gracious enough to read my ramblings, steal my music, and hate on my Justin Timerblake fandom for almost two years now and I am truly grateful. With that said, I feel comfortable enough around you to kick it from the heart, yo. p>
Ladies: what’s with this “friends” bullshit? Much disrespect to Monica and Chandler.
I had a date recently with a nice young lady who thankfully doesn’t read my writing’s online.Before we went out, I noticed her Facebook page had an enormous amount of photos with other dudes in them yet her marital status was “single.” Cool—losers are relegated to being tagged in Facebook photos, not tagging said woman in the sheets.God loves ugly.Beautiful girls love done up men who won’t be getting a nitch of natch.
At the conclusion of our evening, after several cups of lager and games of pool, I went in to seal the deal and, is if she had advance scouts follow my strategies in preparation for a Frito Lay-sponsored college bowl game, she artfully maneuvered my hook and gave me a friendly hug, noting she “had a great time” and POOF! She was out of my car like bats from hell, bullets from a gun, Big O from a buffet missing chicken fried steak . She even texted me later that night thanking me for “hanging out” because it was “sooo much fun J.*”
What the hell just happened?
At no point before or after the evening did I indicate that we were going out as “pals,” two grown folks of the opposite sex meeting up after 7pm to “kick it” and not “fornicate.”I complimented her outfit, her scent, her eyes.I asked in-depth questions about her profession, her penchant for exclamation points at all turns, why Hooters isn’t a bad stop-gap job. We went out to eat and the body language she gave off indicated she would be down for the get down later on.
These Guys Are So Lame But You Seem Really Cool.
Umm…not really!
No, it appeared that I was a man asking her out on a weekend evening to eat, drink, play pool and watch a band because none of my other 82 male friends/associates/acquaintances were available to do such.
Am I fucking crazy?
The next morning I sat and thought about this over a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch, and I came to realize this:
Every female I’ve known that was born and raised in the suburbs had a ridiculous amount of male friends their entire lives. Whether they grew up in Pittsburgh, or Andalusia, or West Chester, or Folcroft, it appears that beautiful babes are surrounded by male “buds” who don’t want to take off their pants as much as they want to drink Coors Light, play Madden, and eat cheeseburgers with them.
Huh?
I started thinking about the kind of female friends I’ve had over the years, as well as the female friends kept by my homies.We are of South Philadelphia and this is how we get down.We are “friends” with a chick who:
1. We aren’t really attracted to but has a hot friend. The kinda ugly friend becomes our conduit and a bond is formed after the hot chick gets herpes from the bartender at Pop Pop’s II.This is actual friendship that starts out of necessity but evolves into a loyal camaraderie.
2. We are really attracted to but who has an assclown of a boyfriend that we are counting the days until he blows it so that we may swoop in. This moment of vulnerability-turned-hot-over-the-line-friend-sex is the only acceptable time to play Coldplay. Then things get “twisted” and “complicated” and the friendship is ruined. But we score! (Note: this scenario potentially takes years to pay off but is mostly worth it. Not for the impatient nor impotent.)
3. We used to make out with/date/be engaged to but it didn’t work out, however their knack for pop culture references is so enthralling, we get over it and become platonic—until both of us are drunk. Friends with benefits I guess**.
4. We are really attracted to but we have a girlfriend. Sometimes, we try to talk said girlfriend into having a three-way with this “girl friend” and then play it off as a joke when actual girlfriend is insulted and disgusted. “What? I WOULD never do it with Gwen. She’s like my FRIEND, you know? I’m like her big brother.”
5. We are really attracted to but have no guts to make a move, so this friendship goes on and on and on hoping that one day the female has the balls to open her eyes and notice that everything she ever wanted was right under her nose the whole time! Meg Ryan’s seven properties and personal staff of 19 are eternally grateful for these guys. Word to John Cusack.
Sack It Up
Are my urban based friends and I savage, horny, closeminded, traditional, and devious? You betcha! But we are also bold, forward, honest, direct, and manly. These suburb cats, what exactly are they getting out of this arrangement? Do they genuinely cherish the life long bond they have with beautiful females they will never see naked? It’s not like having the one guy friend who is a “sweetheart” to women (note: he’s a pussy)—these American Eagle guys across the board have a squad of chicks in their lives who are totally cool with being seen in a hoodie, sweatpants, and a scrungie on the daily.
Reading over that last paragraph, I sound like I watch Spike TV too much. I don’t. I just can’t get my head around proudly spending time with an available beautiful woman if there is no chase, no romance, no possible rejection, no potential neckgrabbing***. I’m maybe too aware of my maleness and too aware of her female form to get past the platonic gateway—is that some subtle form of sexism in today’s ultra-sensitive culture? If so, I don’t care. You can’t numb attraction, folks. So why did this chick ASSUME friendship from the gate?
One of the ladies that I’m cool with (not friends) said on this subject that she has a bunch of male friends she is extremely close with since childhood. She’s slept in the same bed as one of them and nothing happened, and she would be skeeved out if it did. She’s hooked up with a male friend on a drunken bender and then almost cried when she sobered up because it ruined the friendship.
Vince Neil just committed suicide.
Were things always like this? The majority of chicks I’ve been friends with are women I have yet to kiss, and most of them I end up kissing down the line. But I’ve stopped that practice in 2001 after realizing I never wanted to be the lovable friend ever again. It’s useless to be neutered around someone you are attracted to for the sake of “chilling.” Sure, women are interesting and funny and layered people, and I’m not suggesting interactions solely based on swinging an ep’ on a backstreet. But if that thought is running rampant DURING the interaction, why lie and pretend to be non-threatening/safe/asexual?
Say what you will about South Philly, but guys here do not lack machismo, cockiness, or alpha male tendencies. “Hunters” is probably the best word. I’ve spent a lot of time outside of the concrete and never noticed this epidemic until now.
Where does it come from? Am I totally full of shit? If not, can I add your hot female friends on Facebook?
I’ve said this before, but I’ll leave you all with this quote from one of my best friends. This was his response to a woman he interested in dating who tried to christen their upcoming night out as a “time to hang out as friends:”
“If I wanted more friends, I’d join a book club. I want to date you because I’m attracted to you.”
Needless to say, they are not hangin’ out tonight eating sloppy joes.
*Charlie Murphy was right on “The Boondocks”: bitches love smiley faces.
**What is the proper age limit to cut off friends with benefits? It starts off usually in college but Jerry and Elaine on “Seinfeld” were doing it in their 40s. Do people in their 50s ever text a shorty on some “What’s good witchu? Wanna come over to hang out? I got West Wing on DVR.”
***Used primarily to touch her soul. Kanye’s got David Cronenberg’s Crash on his iPod, yo. Put money on it.
Download:
MP3: Camera Obscure-”I Need All The Friends I Can Get”
MP3: Biz Markie-”Just a Friend”
Posted in The Beat Generation | 20 Comments »
October 29th, 2008
After a long hiatus spent attempting to assassinate Blake DeWitt and blogging at Clap Cowards, Zilla Rocca has returned. If you have yet to hear his excellent new mixtape, Bring Me the Head of Zilla Rocca, download it here. I can assure you that it is better than anything Charles Hamilton and Asher Roth will ever do (no XXL.)
Since releasing my mixtape Bring Me the Head of Zilla Rocca! I’ve been beseiged with anecdotes, requests, and child support payments by ladies and gentleman who want to know how Flow God Zilla really gets down. But instead of pulling back the sheet and giving you the Wizard (no Fred Savage), I’m going to share with you the type of ladies who inspire me to write lewd sex tales because the best love stories come from rejection via girls who like Grey’s “Anatomy” a little too much.
1. Girls who wear hoodies/sweatpants/Uggs. Any one of those pieces by themselves, and I’m done. If they are wearing the Holy Trinity, I am eviscerated like the vampires in “Blade.”
2. Girls who wear those huge “movie star” sunglasses. It makes their face look small and their persona to be overly important. Listen sweethear, we’re both in line at the dry cleaner. Fall back.
3. Girls with full sleeve tattoos or massive pieces that take up more than 22% of their skin. We always start off vibing, and then things somehow go awry. Maybe they’re lesbians.
4. Bartenders. I’ve read and watched “surefire methods” on how to succesfully scoop a hot bartender, but honestly, that’s WAAAY too much effort when you can probably bump into one at a yardsale the next afternoon or something. Also, I never wake up in time to attend yard sales.
5. Strippers. Again, too much work. Sure they smell good, they definitely don’t need YOU paying for everything, and they hate their dad. But the only stripper I’ve seen who was pretty awesome off the poll was D’angelo Barksdale’s chick (and later Lester Freamon’s main boo) on The Wire. ”Velvetina” and “Secret” don’t belong as contact names in my iPhone. But it would help my rap catalogue.
6. Girls I was “friends” with in the 90s. Sometimes an impression is too strong to shake. I give women all the credit in the world for seeing through most guys’ bullshit and alterior motives, so why can’t my female “friends” from the 90s see that I lusted after them and the only reason I didn’t make a move was because they had a boyfriend who later got them pregnant? Your mom knew, your girlfriends knew, and your boyfriends knew. I wasn’t on the phone with you till 1 am about why Jimmy was “an asshole” who got with your “best friend” and your “cousin” for my health. I was a loser with an acne then, now I’m a grown man with skills! RECOGNIZE A TRUE DON WHEN YOU SEE ONE!
7. Girls who are in love with other guys but aren’t assertive enough to decline their number when asked for it by me. This is the equivalent to accepting a friend request from a ”hot hip hop producer with industry beatz, eight bangin’ trackz for $20!!!” on MySpace and you don’t even rap. Get it together!
8. Girls with dark lip hair.
9. Professional girls aged 24-27 who want a “normal” life (i.e. me proposing after dating for a year). I spend most of my time with other industry-type folks (read: insecure artists with minor drinking/drug problems), I am addicted to Netflix and DVR, I spend all my money on CDs and sneakers, and I have an unhealthy collection of toys, doo-dads, Chicago Bears merchandise, and Adidas track jackets. You have a 401K and a cat. This isn’t going to work out.
10. Girls from New Jersey. I don’t know what it is–my deep rooted Souf Filly axcent? The coke I don’t sniff? The Keystone State sensibilties I wear on my sleeve like a tribal band tattoo I can’t afford to lazer remove? The garbage I toss out of my car window onto your drive way? You let me know–we share the same zip code, we eat the same overpriced panini’s at cafe’s on the verge of collape, and we steal the same WiFi from our older neighbors. Girl, I’m here for you. *turns up “End of the Road” and walks with a cane on the beach*
Posted in The Beat Generation | 14 Comments »
June 10th, 2008
Zilla Rocca brings you Day 2 of Lil Wayne week. Stay tuned for tomorrow where we’ll discuss his dental records, what television programs he Tivo’s and his favorite breakfast foods (omelettes, one egg short.)
Anytime I go to a hip hop show or a DJ night or a cookout held by people who love music, I’ll hear the usual cavalcade of rap songs: something from Black Moon/KRS/GangStarr, “Passin’ Me By” by Pharcyde, and “Get it Together” by the Beastie Boys & Q-Tip. An “event song” by hip hop standards—”Get It Together” features a first-time collaboration from two massive acts. Hell, in 1994, you couldn’t find two acts with more commercial appeal, critical praise, and loyal fans than the Beasties and Tribe. Yet “Get it Together” doesn’t feel or sound like an event. The beat sounds like an album cut Tip could’ve passed to Nas, Mobb Deep or Large Professor. The rhymes are loose with references to “Happy Days,” John Starks, and Patty Duke. Q-Tip is clearly going off the head, and they kept all the parts where he messed up (“One-two, oh my god”) and turned them into small choruses. The song isn’t mind-blowing or revolutionary—it’s just really good.
I’m pretty sure, with the exception of DJ Khaled’s purposeful “epic posse cuts,” most “event songs” don’t really get much burn after the idea of “Famous Rapper A Rapping With Famous Rapper B” has happened. There’s about 25 songs from his catalogue that I’d listen to before I put on Nas & Jay-Z’s “Black Republican or “Success” (which is still one of my favorites from ’07). However, when I listen to the Beastie Boys’ Ill Communication, there are only 3 songs I’d play before skipping to “Get it Together.”
And the same thing happens when I listen to Ready To Die—“The What” must be heard ASAP! Other non-event event songs that are pretty amazing include “Life’s a Bitch,” “Respiration,” “The Bizness,” “Guess Who’s Back” (Scarface with Jay and Beans). There’s tons of songs like these, and they all succeed because at their core, none of them strive to “change da game” or “make history, bay-bee!” It’s rap dudes doing what rap dudes do best. Do you want eMC or do you want The Firm?
I Will Suck Your….Oh Nevermind…
This past week, I haven’t been able to tiptoe through the Internet without reading reviews of Lil’ Wayne ’s The Carter III. Of the reviews I’ve read, it seems that Wayne stumbled with the whole “masterpiece breakthrough LP” aspect. Subsequent follow-ups from the Holy Trinity of East Coast MC’s (Jay, Nas, Big) have been ehhh too….and from what I gather about The Carter III it looks like Wayne fell into the same box. Kanye might be the only rapper who set out out to make his own Sgt. Pepper and actually pulled it off with Graduation. But he first had to stumble with Late Registration, a pretty good album that featured Jon Brion and Adam Levine and strings and French horns and songs about conflict diamonds and race and women chasing materialism. With all of that wizardry, it still wasn’t better than an album about a suburban Carlton Banks hip-hop geek that never got his B.A. and worked at the Gap accompanied by beats straight jacked from “Solid Gold” compilations of Marvin Gaye, Chaka Khan, and Luther Vandross.
Bands like Pink Floyd wouldn’t get out of bed unless they had a grand, indulgent, and moving statement or laser light show to smack people with. The Wall stayed on the charts for 49 years straight, the movie made $97 billion dollars (pro-rated for 2008), and the songs, t-shirts, and influence are still everywhere. It all happened exactly like they planned it.
Make no mistake: rock bands in the 60s and 70s wanted to take over the world. Rappers do too. Their personas and endorsements are built to handle this task, yet few can. I’m thinking Kingdom Come and Stillmatic and Born Again and LL’s Phenomenon and Puffy’s Forever didn’t really pan out as gloriously as hoped.
StillOverrated
The Masterpiece Rap Album is rarely constructed on purpose. There’s too many variables: new trends, fickle fans, “it” producers, bad ideas that aren’t scrapped before the album is handed in. Even worse, rappers try to make events out of songs instead of just making them plain ol’ good. Good songs = good album.
It seems like having a mediocre album with 2 great moments suffices, whether that moment be a beat from Timbaland or a guest appearance from Jay or a song featuring Fall Out Boy. The new Busta single with Linkin Park is an “event song” but the “Ante Up Remix” was an event. Puffy’s entire career has been built on botched attempts at “events songs” when really he’d never be able to top two of the best events in rap history: “Victory” and “All About the Benjamins.” Akon grabbed Eminem for his first of many “event songs” with “Smack Dat” but it will never get as much replay value or be remembered more than “Forgot About Dre.”
And that’s what’s truly ailing most mainstream rap today: good is boring.
I thought the first two Carter albums were really good. I thought both Dedications were really good mixtapes. But Lil’ Wayne cannot allow himself to be just good—he has be transcendent. He has to be the hottest. He has to Pink Floyd the shit out of mainstream rap music. Jay-Z strived for the same thing with Kingdom Come. He failed. He then went back to just being good with American Gangster and reclaimed his spot as “one of the hottest in the game” (no MTV News). Long-standing acts like The Roots and Ghostface Killah don’t have any inkling to be anything but really really fucking good at making albums. But unlike Wayne , every time they come out with something new, people aren’t tapping their foot waiting for that elusive classic album to validate them in hip hop’s canon.
Akon Pictured Here With Jay-Z and An Unidentified Companion
By touting himself as “great” and “the best,” Wayne really screwed the pooch (disguised as Baby) on this album. Since I didn’t start listening to rap when Beg For Mercy came out, I haven’t championed Wayne ’s 19,342 mixtapes of the past year. Besides the 4 releases from him I already owned, the most I’ve heard of Weezy was three songs: “Barry Bonds,” “Hello Brooklyn,” and Little Brother’s “Breakin’ My Heart.” Wayne was good, not great, on all three songs. He received a lot of backlash from stans and haters alike for each performance. Sure he got sonned on each song, but so did Raekwon on “Criminology.” So did Talib Kweli on “Get Em High.” So did Royce on “Motown 25.” The difference is that having Wayne on your song today is an attempt at an “event song.” And since those songs were memorable because of the other guys rapping on them, Wayne took the heat because he, along with the online press and MySpace DJs, has built himself up to a level he could never consistently match.
Jay-Z has popped up on some many remixes and guest appearances for shitty rappers that he no longer makes songs “events.” But listen to Rick Ross’ “Maybach Music” featuring the original Carter from Trilla. Jay made it an event just by rapping really dope over an ill beat. No grandstanding, no dramatic intro, no orgasms from publicists. Jay spit a good verse on a good song, something that is escaping mainstream rap. Knives or guns, you still have to kill a cow to eat it. It’s like they said in Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrells: “Guns for show. Knives for a pro.” And a lot of these cats are just plain misfiring.
So what’s next? I have to think that the best course of action for Lil’ Wayne would be to stop rapping for about 2 years, then hit the lab with 3-4 producers and speak his mind. I think if Wayne was just real, honest, and organic, he could make a timeless hip hop classic. Technically, he’s done just about everything a rapper can do with his voice and flow. The problem is that he hasn’t mastered being good. If a song with this lyric “I eat the fuckin pineapple now and laters, listen to me now or listen to me later” can become classic material, the guy who claimed to be “allergic to the wintertime, hot!” can surely cook up some marvelous shit.
Be good, Wayne .
MP3: The Beastie Boys ft. Q-Tip-”Get it Together”
MP3: The Notorious BIG ft. Method Man-”The What”
MP3: Rick Ross ft. Jay-Z-”Maybach Music”
Posted in The Beat Generation | 16 Comments »
May 28th, 2008
Zilla Rocca once held a Backstreet Boys CD in the palm of his hand. It was directly after taking it out of the grasp of a knocked-out shoplifter. So what if it was a 13-year old girl, she was a thief.
It was revealed last week that Lou Pearlman, the “mastermind” behind the Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC (last time I’ll ever be using that asterisk), was found guilty of more than just polluting the youth of the late 90s with songs rhyming “fire” with “desire” and “love” with “above.” Big Lou is ready to do an up north trip to the tune of 25 years for a decades-long scam that fleeced relatives and business investors in the hundreds of millions. Hopefully he’ll start a blog like Prodigy. Either way, Vanilla Ice suddenly didn’t seem that evil anymore…but fuck him, still.
After reading over the news story at OMG!, which apparently is run by a 12 year old white girl who loves texting, I decided to do a quick Wiki look-see at Big Lou.
Two words:
Holy
Shit
This guy makes George Bush and Isiah Thomas look like Amish farmers. First off, his cousin is Art Garfunkel—I mean the resemblance is uncanny, right? Second, he got his start in business by hanging around a German blimp tycoon named Theodor Wüllenkemper. Will Ferrell and Adam McKay should store that information for when they begin working on “Anchorman 2.” Big Lou then started a blimp advertising company that would’ve maybe worked out, except for the measly little crash of a Jordache blimp. No reports on whether or not the blimp was acid-washed.
Fat Man In A Little…Kid
This transitional period of Big Lou’s life was a true crash and burn. And how did this balding, morbidly obese phoenix rise from the ashes? He became “involved” with the Chippendale dancers. Ok—this is where Wikipedia gets kinda scary. Here’s a quote from Big Lou: “I got involved with Chippendales before Backstreet and it’s Chippendales and New Kids on the Block that gave me the idea to pursue Backstreet.” How, why, or what level of involvement actually that means, no straight man should ever know like the ending of “Fried Green Tomatoes.”
He then took his fake aircraft leasing business Trans Continental Traveling Services, home of penny stock swindlers and pump-and-dump schemes, and turned it into a label, Trans Continental Records. The label signed the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Backstreet, Nsync, LFO, and O-Town. If that wasn’t enough, he signed Aaron Carter, Jordan Knight, C-Note, and Smilez & Southstar. *
In short, this Lou Pearlman is responsible for 72% of all returned CDs in US history while setting balding, sweat-caked white millionaires back 35 years.
To run a talent scouting company in 2002, Lou hired a man named Ayman Ahmed El-Difrawi “who had a criminal record, spent nearly four years in prison for fraud, and is banned from doing business in Illinois” probably for buying White Sox season tickets. To Lou, he wasn’t a felon—he was “just the computer guy.” This PC dude left the agency in 2003 along with some credit card numbers of unsigned talent who registered and paid $200 to be on the website to host their pictures in hopes of being discovered by an A&R.
Rolling Stone: The Prostate Exam Issue
When Big Lou wasn’t discovering Orlando ’s best colostomy bags, he was pillaging investors in Ponzi schemes for millions of dollars. He was first sued for $130 mill, which turned into $317 mill, which topped out at $500 mill. Props to the Orlando Weekly for putting a foot up investigators’ asses: “”Old news, amigos. We told you three years ago that Pearlman was a corpulent pusbag who would rip off anybody and anything within reach of his scaly appendages. But did you listen? No, you did not.”
Lou Pearlman’s ten different companies, which all existed to rob and extort people, were peanuts compared to the TRL-flavored extortion sauce he fed BSB and Nsync. He not only got a cut of BSB’s profits as the manager and “producer,” he was also paid as the sixth member of the group. With his big ass, he should’ve pushed to be paid as the seventh and eight member too.
Nsync generated over $300 mill during their heyday, most of which landed in the pockets of BMG and Big Lou. Nsync took home $7 mill to split five ways, which led to this statement in Rolling Stone by Justin Timberlake: “”I was being monetarily raped by a Svengali.” That could’ve been a hook for Madonna’s new album seeing how it’s spunky, subtle, and full of potential sex-pop innuendo.
Never Forget
There have also been several claims that Big Lou was really sweet for man candy. He was alleged to have had inappropriate dealings with Rich Cronin of LFO, some 13 year old kids in the group Take 5, a cast-off from Backstreet, and Aaron Carter. Why he didn’t fondle Vanilla Ice for good measure is beyond me.
In a 2007 interview with Radar magazine, Big Lou was apparently high on crack cocaine he bought from Howie of BSB when he made the statement, “I’m planning on this chapter ending soon….This is just one of those hurdles in life that you have to get past….I mean the Backstreet Boys are about to get going again. They had a band member quit, but they’re about to stage a comeback…we are still entitled to a share of the revenue.” Maybe he forgot that Justin Timberlake wasn’t in Backstreet, but rather the douche who tried to marry Paris Hilton and sold less records than his kid brother, who had a single called “That’s How I Beat Shaq.” **
As we bid farewell to one of America ’s biggest sharters, it’s important to note that Lou Pearlman has learned the error of his ways. He just released a statement full of remorse after his conviction saying, “I’ve come to realize the harm that’s been done” as if this all was a slow revelation.
When he wasn’t crashing blimps full of jeans from the 80s, hanging around chest naked male strippers, fantasizing about New Kids on the Block, creating dummy corporations, robbing relatives/retirees/investors of their life savings, molesting Disney channel favorites, hiring felons, or introducing Joey Fatone to the American consciousness, he was eating live cattle with his bare hands.
Goodbye Louis Jay Pearlman and fuck you!
*When I used to work at Coconuts, we had to listen to shitty in-store CDs every month. Each CD had a tracklisting full of songs that labels paid to have placed. There was a good 3 month stretch when Smilez & Southstar were on these in-store CDs. I remember picking up their CD on the shelf and looking at 2 guys and thinking “Which one is Smilez?” Neither one really beamed personality. “And how does one become Southstar when you live in Orlando ?” The one guy looked like the not-so-funny black comedian Flex of “Homeboys in Outers Space” fame and the other looked like Jin of “Why isn’t Ruff Ryders returning my calls?” fame mixed with a chihuahua. Regardless, they were both better than Lil’ Wayne.
**My lone Aaron Carter memory once again comes courtesy of Coconuts in-store CDs. I forget the title of his single, but I do vividly recall one of his lyrics as “mom and dad be trippin!” That’s not much else you can say about Aaron Carter after that, but that song was still better than “A Millie.”
Posted in The Beat Generation | 7 Comments »
April 30th, 2008
Zilla Rocca’s chief problem isn’t too much rapping, but rather too little stunting like his daddy.
As someone who loves, loves, LOVES lyrics and rappin’ and bars and spittage and darts and verbal dexterity, it occurred to me the other day that rappers today rap way too much. I have a few theories as to why this happened: shorter attention spans, an oversaturated market, cheap recording equipment, MySpace, an endless supply of “producers,” exploitation of mixtapes, Lil’ Wayne, etc.
It seems as though now, most rappers pride themselves on that ability to have recorded 150 songs for an album that will “only” carry 22 songs, 16 of which will blow cow choad. This works great if you’re a member of the Wu-Tang Clan—I think GZA only spit on 7 joints for the entire double album “Wu-Tang Forever.” But for someone like Young Jeezy, to pen a full forty-eight bars over a 100 times in 3 months, well it’s safe to assume he won’t be unleashing anything close to “Verbal Intercourse” soon.
Here’s the biggest problem: most prolific rappers aren’t that interesting. They don’t take many chances. They don’t dabble outside of the same 6 concepts often. They don’t comment enough on the world around them outside of a few lines randomly addressing Obama, the Jena 6, Sean Bell, shitty public schools, etc. To quote Brother Ali, “There’s 8 million ways to wrap words around beats, and 6 millions rappers be using the same three.”
But what happens if you don’t rap ENOUGH? Well, you end up making “True Magic” or whatever the name of the new Mic Geronimo album is. It’s a delicate balance.
Read the rest of this entry »
Posted in The Beat Generation | 26 Comments »
April 15th, 2008
Zilla Rocca also does a mean cover of “Play That Funky Music, White Boy”
I started my day here at “work” as I do any other day: keeping the lights off, drinking some Bolthouse Farms Mocha Cappuccino, and cruising the internet until my eyes open and I can be “productive.” I go to AllHipHop.com first thing every morning to find out what’s the latest on Fat Joe getting clowned by G-Unit, who got shot/arrested the night before, and more info on “albums” I have no intention of ever purchasing (Flo Rida didn’t get a good review!?!? I’m calling Pitchfork right now!). It’s a great site and I’m sure you’re all familiar with it.
However, this morning, the top news headline was:
“Vanilla Ice Charged with Domestic Battery .”
That headline got me thinking: has there been a bigger douchebag than V-Ice the past 15 years in the world of entertainment? Seriously, outside of probably the funniest moment in TV history when he was on that one-off special on MTV (Chris Kattan yelling “VANILLA NO!” as Rob Van Winkle went batshit on the VHS copy of “Ice Ice Baby” with a tiny Louisville Slugger is still the funniest thing he’s ever done), this guy has been nothing but a canker sore in almost all facets of existence. I’m not sure if he’s the Britney Spears of hip hop, or if Britney is the Vanilla Ice of pop music. That question has been pestering zen monks for hundreds of years. Either way, they’re both white trash living off that 90s compact disc money.
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April 7th, 2008
Now that Zilla Rocca and U-God Zilla have joined forces, the planets shall align and miniature golf scores shall plummet.
U-God is probably one of the most interesting MC’s in Wu-Tang. And by interesting I mean “not very talented.” He had that scene-stealing verse on “Da Mystery of Chessboxin” (you’re welcome, Brandon Soderberg) but he also did “Black Shampoo,” still the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard on a hardcore hip hop album. He’s flexed a rhyme style of Mafioso threats, misdirected 5 percent slang, Dungeons and Dragons word salad, and a flow that never quite landed on beat all the time. He’s always had a cool voice, but hasn’t done anything notable with it like Lord Have Mercy. He wore the Wonder Women bracelets years before Ghostface. His first solo album “Golden Arms Redemption” ranks up there with Cappadonna’s “The Yin and the Yang” as one of the holes that helped sink the Wu boat in the late 90s. And the video for “Bazar” shows what happens to your budget when your name isn’t Method Man, Raekwon, Ghostface, RZA, GZA, or ODB.
With that said, I’ve always kinda rooted for U-God. He was never as technically precise as Inspectah Deck or GZA. He was never as intriguing nor mysterious as Masta Killa. I’m not sure if he did as much cocaine as Ol’ Dirty. And he didn’t pronounce his “R’s” as “W’s” like RZA. U-God (does anyone refer to him as Golden Arms anymore?) would sneak up on you with some standout verses here and there like on “The Big Doe Rehab” (“Semi-Automatic Full Rap Metal Jacket” from the “High School High” soundtrack is probably his best verse). And who could forget him flipping out on Method Man as they cruised on a bullet train through Japan during “The Show?” Plus if my memory serves me correct, his character on the Wu-Tang video game for Playstation was pretty decent, so kudos to you Mr. Lucky Hands.
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March 11th, 2008
Zilla Rocca is such a good rapper that Dilla refused to give him beats.
The last two weeks I’ve spent an abnormal amount of time listening to the late great James Yancey. I have nothing new to add to his technical prowess as an innovator of the beats AND of the flow. He’s been written about graciously and comprehensively since his passing 2 years ago. At this point, all we can do as hip hop fans is hit repeat on “Stakes is High” or “Fuck the Police” and vibe in our cars with the King of the Hand Clap.
What I did notice though after listening to The Shining, Welcome 2 Detroit , Like Water for Chocolate, Amplified, Fantastic Vol. 2 and Jaylib’s Champion Sound was that Jay’s greatest triumph as a producer wasn’t necessarily the off-kilter pacing of his drums nor the seamless blend of phlanged-out samples and spacey Detroit synths. No—Dilla had the gift of making average, ho-hum, nonsensical rappers sound like superstars.People worship at the altar of DJ Premier because not only does he make burger-flippers like Group Home sound dope, but he makes technically GREAT rappers sound UNFUCKWITABLE (hello Nas, Royce, Common, Jay, Big, etc). And they’re right—his tracks have a signature thumping kick drum and harsh snares (that 9th Wonder still can’t mimic) coupled with 2-4 bar chopped up samples that never get in the way of the lyricism. No big drum fills, no crashing cymbals—just supreme head nodding.
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February 14th, 2008
Zilla Rocca has no heart. Instead, his chest cavity is filled with grime and steel. Like Keith Richards, he cannot be killed by conventional weapons.
Valentine’s Day is here…again. On my quest to spend the bulk of my time not buying chocolate, heart-shaped candies, nor ridiculously overpriced flowers, I stumbled upon quite possibly the best “worst” gifts you could possibly get someone for Valentine’s Day. Below is a list of the top 10 worst gifts available RIGHT NOW on the trusty ol’ internets. Bad spelling included.
- The Valentine Toilet Paper Card
Product Description: “Are you at a loss for a Valentine gift this year? Looking for something unique yet humorous…Perhaps a “teaser” gift for your Significant Other? Try our Valentine Toilet Paper Card! Sure to elicit smiles and laughter, along with being practical, this gift will be an instant hit! A great gift for those who refuse to go the traditional candy-and-flowers route!” $14.00
Perfect Valentine’s Gift For: George Brett post-hemmoroids, Vanilla Ice (as played by Jim Carrey on “In Living Color”), whatever kid raps that “Wipe Me Down” song
Verdict: This would actually be a funny gift if you could personalize the note on the card (“Girl, you are the shit”). However, the Toiler Paper Card comes with its own poem. It’s really gay and sounds like Fran the 45 year old cat lady from Hallmark wrote it. Here’s the last line: “I’d buy a roll of tissue paper to wipe your pretty bum.” There’s nothing more romantic than telling a woman how much you’d love to clean up her poop shoot. It’s like Colt 45, except it works…(not anytime in recorded human history.)
2. The Love Gun
Product Description: “Love is in the air…literally! The Love Gun is a 5-3/4″ red and pink plastic cupid cannon. Just load one of the four tiny 1-1/4″ plastic cupids into the compartment and shoot it at the girl or guy of your dreams. The Love Gun’s powers have not been fully tested. Love is not guaranteed. $4.95
Perfect Valentine’s Gift For: Dick Cheney, die hard fans of The Love Below, passive-aggressive hippies, the designer of Gnarls Barkley’s MySpace page
Verdict: The term “love gun” itself is an oxymoron, and it sounds like a weapon left over from Mystery Men. As a straight man, I’m reluctant to purchase anything that is described as a “red and pink plastic cupid cannon.” True, “love is not guaranteed” but I’m not in an emo band nor do I particularly care for John Cusack rom-coms not titled High Fidelity nor Better Off Dead. It should boost your street cred in San Francisco which is a positive, but overall I’ve never found gay weaponry to be terribly romantic.
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