Thursday, May 31, 2007

I don't even know how to start this


I had a bunch of R Kelly counterpoint type stuff to follow up on what Skinny was saying yesterday, but something very serious came up... like another R Kelly song.

I seldomly agree with much that Bol says, but this is most certainly the greatest most insane thing that has ever happened to anybody ever. This even tops Sex Planet, arguably.

Ron Isley just died so he could roll over in his fucking grave over and over until forever.


I need to sit down.

R Kelly- REAL TALK (zshare)

Edit: This from JTJ on the Hollerboard: "A song where you call your girl out for being paranoid about you picking up girls at the club sandwiched between an entire album worth of songs about picking up girls at the club is some next level logic." Yeah.

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Wednesday, May 30, 2007

sex planet (what is it?)

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I openly and unironically enjoy Cam'ron and Juelz Santana. I believe about 99% that they are both incredibly talented artists who are fully aware of how absurd they can be. I don't doubt for a second that Cam knew exactly how wild he looked wearing a pink mink, and as every hipster I know (myself included) owns a purple hoodie, I'm pretty sure his change in favorite color cirica 2004 was just another example of him being ahead of the curve. I think the dumb grin on Juelz's face during the "Santana's Town" video is due at least in some part not only to how awesome the track is, but also how he made it awesome by/despite rhyming the same word a hundred times. It's not a dumb grin, dude got away with murder and then made it trendy.

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I don't listen with bemused "oh you silly rappers" chuckles, and I'm not sure there will be many rap songs better than "Down And Out" in this decade. Or hip-hop songs.

The same goes for Kool Keith, as Dipset is sort of this generation's version of Keith Turbo, and Purple Haze is Dr. Octagonecologyst for the new millenium. There was some serious apprehension about rap ten years ago, and not just because it was scary and had bad words in it. It was also hard to know where to start and where to go from there, even if you weren't shook. What better place to start than an insane space-rap album by a hip-hop legend with lots of turntablism built in? But as the album became hot and Keith got a following, many didn't really get it. Space doo-doo pistols? How could he be serious?

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I personally didn't really understand dude was serious until me and Burnso saw Keith on the Matthew tour. Burnso brought a tub of vaseline to give to dude, I guess to have him sign or something. It made some kind of crazy sense at the time, he kind of expected Dr. Octagon would need lube as girls opened legs for beer kegs, and thus would welcome it, or at least sign it. Instead I think he called Burnso a faggot. Thus I understood that Keith doesn't think the whole Dr. Octagon schtick is that funny. Dr. Octagon was just another facet in Keith's already-meandering career which started by throwing the nascent rap rules out the window with Ultramagnetic. And if you listen to Critical Beatdown and The Cenubites back to back, you realize that there is a unique but acceptable method to his madness. Given that, showing up to a Kool Keith show with vaseline was kind of like showing up to a Jay-Z show with crack vials.

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Most innovations--rapping, sampling, "reality rap"--in rap provoked questions like "are you fucking kidding me"? Keith and Cam are just the latest steps forward, and you only expressed such shock because you weren't ready. Judging from this pattern, it would unfortunately seem that Robert Kelly has next. Is this really the case? That is, what are we to make of "Sex Planet"?

Let me start by saying the Chicago Watersports Championship was not that big a deal. Famous people break off groupies of all ages in the freakiest ways imaginable on a regular basis. It's safe to say Robert Kelly has probably done everything one can fathom doing to a girl, and nobody should be the least bit shocked. I'm honestly amazed dude isn't totally jaded, and I wouldn't be surprised if the follow-up to Double Up is all about video games or some shit. The hit single will be called "Bonin My Friends" and will consist of Kells singing the answers to the crossword puzzle he is doing while his boys run a train.

But consider Trapped In The Closet. Taking your hit song, repeating it for forty minutes and adding new lyrics each time about an increasingly convoluted love polygon is pretty funny. Making a movie starring Omar from The Wire makes it even better. But nothing about Trapped feels ironic, or even campy because Kells has so much hubris. He makes masterpieces, ones that are worthy of repetition and low-budget DVD's. He makes art. It is this self-seriousness--hubris, even, if one can have r&b hubris--that separates Kells from the bottomless pit of cut black men who make terrible sex jams. He's not the first one to make a smooth song about something nasty, but he is the first to demand we take him seriously while releasing albums named after websites.

The problem with "Sex Planet" is that as soon as you heard that R. Kelly had a song about space, you shuddered in fear and braced yourself for the worst fucking joke conceivable. And there it is, in the second verse, like a piece of glass in a slice of pizza:

Girl I promise this will be painless / we'll take a trip to planet Uranus

You could stomach "don't trip, I got a giant rocket" and "let me taste your milky way", but even Beavis and Butthead may have passed on the Uranus joke. Is he some kind of idiot savant, playing flawless rondos on piano one moment, but unable to dress himself the next? This concerns me because I once thought both Dipset and Kool Keith were utterly ridiculous. I used to listen to "Halfsharkalligator" over and over again, my mind blown wide open each time. I used to laugh out loud at the line "I'm a baller baller / you not at all a baller". Shit was mad silly. But now its brilliance is clear as day. I sincerely hope I don't look back on these days wondering how I mised it.

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And it scares me too, because I'm clearly drinking the kool-aid on some level. The line "I been drillin these hoes like Major Payne" sounds, to me, like an expression of some importance and frustration. Kells is telling you how hard he's been drillin these hoes because it frustrates him to no end that he just cannot make these hoes understand the extent to which he is the mack. The verse isn't braggadocio, it's bizarro world player blues. He is lamenting to Fat Joe and his comrades on the remix, that when he makes it rain, they just want him to continue making it rain. "Do it again!" they say, for the gesture has lost its meaning.

If anybody deserves to be complaining about such things, it would be the veteran who started out aiming squarely for the lowest common denominator and saw the entire industry fall to his sleazy level within a little more than a decade. But even if the ballerific lifestyle has melted into a Salingerian search for identity, it is imposssible to excuse some things.

Just sayin.

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Friday, May 25, 2007

Fog Machines and Laser Rays

Memorial Day means put on your white slacks and start drinking Boone's Farm straight out the bottle.


-Seclusiasis presents the 2-year anniversary of The Straight Dope at the Khyber. Resident Fooderist Stumble and the whoadie Dev79 welcome Krames to the Commonwealth up north from the Commonwealth down south. As usual, shit will be extremely grimy.

-Making Time turns 7 at Pure with the Faint.


-There's really nowhere else to be but the Khyber... unless you hate birthdays, free mixtape giveaways, special guest DJs and our nation's war dead.


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Thursday, May 24, 2007

Chris Gardocki, we hardly knew ye...

So long and fare thee well.
1,177 punts without a block.
50,336 yards.
16 seasons.
4 teams.
1 Pro Bowl.
We knew it was happening. Peace.


Dave Parker: American Hero

The NL Central is currently living up to it's billing as the best imitation of the old NL West- only one team will survive, by virtue of being not as supremely bad as everybody else. It's possible that Chicago will float to the top, but it seems like a 50/50 proposition at this point. Likewise, Milwaukee could nosedive at any minute, once guys like Corey Hart (no, not that Corey Hart) stop wearing their Stunner Glasses in a domed stadium and Bill Hall reverts to being some dude named Bill Hall.

Meanwhile, the Pirates inexorable march towards mediocrity continues, although there is still a glimmer of hope that the season could turn into a disaster or a mildly inspiring half-success. For one, Ian Snell and Tom Gorzelanny have pitched well, the latter being a pleasant surprise. Zach Duke, however, has decided that his one year of success should be enough to guarantee him a future job somewhere else, so he's going the Jason Schmidt/Oliver Perez route and bottoming out of town.

The Pirates fate seems relatively sealed, and its the same old story. The guys who we counted on to do the big hitting aren't hitting. The guys who we counted on to provide reliable starting pitching are getting shelled. There are a few surprises, but I'll be damned if we don't make the mistake of counting on these breakouts next year. Can we name this pattern after Freddy Sanchez or is it too early to do that?

C'mon assholes, invalidate my pessimism.

For those who have confronted me about this- there's a big difference between the Phillies and the Pirates when it comes to whining. Pittsburgh fans aren't the caustic auto-haters that Philly fans are- the circumstances are pretty extraordinary. Phillies fans are pessimistic because they often have successful teams that fail in the clutch. Pirates fans are pessimistic because their team hasn't broken .500 since George H.W. Bush was president. There's a difference.

Pirates Magic Number: 124


Wednesday, May 23, 2007

IS THIS RACIST: Got Dat Poi edition

Is it?

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Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Trendier than Jesus

-I finally got around to writing a new piece for Phawker. I kind of phoned it in, to be honest- I talk a bunch of BS about records I've found at garage sales in West Philly. But it's worth a read just to see a picture of Jerry Weber lounging on some sort of duvet or something rubbing records all over himself. Peep Game.

-Saw The Rapture do an in-store at Urban Outfitters yesterday. The set-up was pretty poor- most people couldn't see anything. I'm pretty sure nobody bought any clothes either. I think 75% of the people there were DJs or promoters anyway, so it was a bit incestuous. The music was ill- they are everything they are made out to be, but hearing songs live after hearing them 500 times in the club or on the internets is an underwhelming experience.

By the way, if the Beatles really wanted to prove they were bigger than Jesus, they should have named themselves something like "The Rapture" and googled themselves.

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Sunday, May 20, 2007

Live from the piano bar

As many of you know, Skinny and I, when we form like Voltron, we are the hosts of the Philadelphyinz party- a twice monthly event running in Philly since '05. We just put together our first collaborative mixtape, and, in an extremely ethnocentric move, we call it "The Bar Mitzvah."

This coming Saturday, May the 26th is the official release party- where we let our crisp, full color pressed CDs swim like sperm into the world. It's also my birthday party, so if you're in Philly this coming weekend, you now know you have exactly zero (0) reasons to be anywhere else. Peep the rowdy flyer for more info.

So, without further ado...


For the cover art, the tracklist, the thank yous and all else, go here.

Knock yourselves out (unconscious) with it. And we will be seeing you Saturday.

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Saturday, May 19, 2007

Point not-so-Breezy

Beanie Sigel is probably too high to actually go gay bashing.

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Friday, May 18, 2007

Fog Machines and Laser Rays

For all your weekend highs and lows

Fri: Glengarry Glen Ross by Theatre Exile. Extended for the weekend by popular demand.

"Are you interested? I know you are, 'cause it's fuck or walk! You close or you hit the bricks!"

Sayin. Tickets at

Sat: Tech Support at the Bubble House. Kenny Raw is making flyers out of Counts albums, so you know he means business.

Sun: Mike T and Kyle M do the Morrissey thing at their Panic jawn @ Sal's. If it were me, I'd make it Morriseey vs. Bobby Brown, but that's just how I roll.


Thursday, May 17, 2007

Make em say unnnnnnngh!

I'm gonna have to sell this laptop to eat

The only member of CockBlock 4 who doesn't roll with the Philadelphyinz or the Myron Cope Experience or JustSayin2000 is the homeboy Relative Q. Relative Q is like a cactus- very few things are needed to sustain him. He needs beer, low grade processed food, minimum wage and the ability to make electronic music. Since it's pretty hard to send Beefaroni over the internet, I think we're going to have settle for some electronic music.

Relative Q- Touch My Bunny (320k)

This here is a first class hard house track- snappy snares, hard but elastic bass kicks, some inhuman android-type noises and sexually suggestive lyrics. Personally, I like it because it moves and evolves more than your average house track. I can get down with some house as long as the shit doesn't just drag ass, and this one doesn't. This track makes the standards in East Berlin and West Virginia.

[Relative Q's Racecars and Techno Blog]

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Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Bad boys inna London, Rude boys inna England

But just when you though he was soft on haircuts

The heat

Michael Nutter won the Democratic primary yesterday, virtually ensuring his bid for Mayor of Philadelphia. Although I had my reservations about Nutter, especially in regards to some of his Giuliani-esque policing ideas, I honestly didn't think any of the other candidates were as smart, innovative and complete as Original Nutter (Barrington Levy say "Bohhhhhh!"). I feel like dude can think on his feet and he has the ability to explain first principles about policy on the fly, which nobody else seemed to be able to do.

Anyway, now that I have completely blown my impartiality cover, I should say that one of the reasons I am most pleased about Nutter winning is that there is a long Q&A I wrote about his days as a DJ in the late 70s and early 80s sitting on his press secretary's desk, vetted and ready to be answered now that important matters of electoral politics are behind us. That should be appearing on Phawker whenever dude gets around to answering them.

If you have time, peep NutterforMayor's flickr photos, they are funny as fuck. It pretty much seems that the Nutter walked around Philadelphia for 3 months and anytime somebody said "lemme get a picture of you on my motorcycle" or "get in this dunk tank" or "I'm fucking drunk and wearing an Eagles mascot costume, let's take a picture" dude was like "ok."

Shy FX- Original Nutter (Stream from Beatstreet.CA)

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Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Now he's hangin with Dirt McGirt

Jerry Falwell is dead, Long live Jerry Falwell which means that there is now one fewer fundamentalist around to admonish me for being a decent human being. Do I stop compulsively picking against Liberty in my NCAA pool now? To my knowledge, the cause of death was "sweated his own skin off." Or was it "turned into a pillar of salt?"

Now they're together again

The bol Mike Squid tossed together a little requiem for ol' Jerry.

You can grab it here: Farewell Falwell.

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Ay dawg, Ay

Hey Philly- Go vote.

-Here's how you figure out where your polling place is.

-Here's a good voter's guide.

-If you see any irregularities or funny bidness at the polls, Joey will help you notify the authorities.

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Monday, May 14, 2007

Pete Seeger- wide receiver

As some of you probably know by now, Alan Faneca, the Steelers long-tenured All-Pro lineman out of LSU has said that he is skipping town at the end of the season. He's upset that the Steelers won't reward him with a long-term contract commensurate with the top guards in the league. Faneca is 30 years old, so the Steelers told him "that'll be all."

Over at Heels, Sox, Steelers, Ryan Wilson came across quite the tantrum by Adam Gretz of the Black and Gold Blog. Here's a taste
Somebody from my immediate family has been at every single Steelers game - Pre-season, regular season, playoffs - since Heinz Field opened. It's an honor. Really, it is. Around the time that Hines Ward held out - and I lost a lot of respect for him over that, as well - my dad made mention that it took him some 30 years of work to total a million dollars.

Alan Faneca has made more than 30 million dollars before the age of 30.

I don't feel bad for him that he's only(!) going to make 4.5 million dollars this year instead of 7 million dollars.

The only thing missing from his whiny ass, woe is me, tantrum today was the "I have a family to think about it here!" cliche. Give him time I suppose.

Hey Alan, you get to do what you love for a living, whether you want to admit it or not you are MORE than fairly compensated for it, and once you retire at the age of 35 you'll never have to work another day for the rest of life.

Shut up already.

Here comes the ether:

If you hate hearing football players bitch about money, stop giving your money to football.

Professional football is a business. You exchange your money for the pleasure of being entertained. As much as the Steelers may seem like family, they are no different. NFL owners are trying to get as much money from televison and merchandise as possible while paying as few expenses as they can. That's why pro teams extort troubled cities for stadiums and pay their players as little as they possibly can.

Professional football treats its players like shit. Players can be cut at any time and bumped off the payroll. They often die young. Many leave football with terrible physical and emotional problems and few obvious post-football career prospects. So when Alan Faneca says he's leaving Pittsburgh after this season because of the team's refusal to infest in him long-term, don't make him out to be Barry Bonds- he's thinking about Mike Webster and Justin Strelzyk. He's a guy who knows he better get his before he's brain damaged at fifty.

I remember once, years ago, when Curt Schilling was asked if he was overpaid. He said something to the effect of "I'm overpaid compared to the guy working minimum wage- he works as hard as I do, but wouldn't I be an idiot if I didn't try to get what I'm worth in the market?" Of course football players make a lot of money, but a guy like Faneca knows that he better get as much as he can because he could tear up his knee tomorrow and never make another penny from football for as long as he lives. And after football, then what?

Maybe the guy is kind of a dickhead, but he's staring Gene Upshaw's raw deal in the face. Football players don't have it nearly as good as baseball players- they have entered into an extremely lopsided union contract- one which has allowed the league (read: OWNERS) to thrive at the expense of the players. Faneca wants $7 million- the NFL's TV contract is worth $4 billion- he wants about one fifth of one percent of the whole TV contract. It seems more reasonable in those terms. According to Ryan Murphy at FoxSports/ "playing in the NFL is the fourth most hazardous occupation in America behind only firefighting, race-car driving, and fishing. In fact the career expectancy of an NFL player is less than four years." Whether or not playing football actually is the fourth most hazardous occupation (this is a hard thing to prove) football players do live, on average to the age of 55- 22 years less than the average American.

I say that if you work a super dangerous job and your employer shows a willingness to cut you adrift, guaranteeing nothing more than your signing bonus while they rake in obscene quantities of money- you reserve the right to fucking stick it to them, no matter how bad the boss has the customers fooled. That's right- Alan Faneca, the guy who wants more money to participate in the fourth most dangerous profession in America despite the constant threat of being fired with no recourse- Alan Faneca is the bad guy. Dan Rooney, who makes a shitload of money while his ex-employees dry up like brain-damaged sponges deprived of water, he's the benevolent grandfather.

Pittsburgh is supposed to be a union town. Fucking act like it.

[Heels, Sox & Steelers: I Don't Think This Is How Tomlin Envisioned It]

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The return of the product


I hope everybody had a Happy Mothers day. Thanks to Fire Joe Morgan for the screen grab.

Here's some internets to keep you busy for a sec:

-Still Listen interviews Jimmy Jones' Mom. Choice quote: "The only artist I really love is Jimmy. Although Robin Thick is messed up, in a good way."

-David Banner has a new cartoon where a white southern family from the 1800s tries to assimilate into modern society. OK.

-Charles Barkley: "Black people are fucked up."

-Bobby Brown finally speaks about Osama Bin Laden fittin to dig out Whitney.

-Baron Davis introduces Kirilenko to the twin concepts of "Freeway Beard" and "pwned."

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Wednesday, May 09, 2007

A solemn message

Shamell "Star" Smalls


You will always be with us.

Edit: There is an article on the murder on the website of Charleston, SC's CBS affiliate. I'd prefer not to reprint it here so as not to have to read it over and over. There's a video as well. The link can be found here.


Dave Parker: American Hero

A Pirates fan is defined by two things. First and foremost, suffering. Second, a Pirates fan is characterized by the brief period of historical success with which he identifies. For example, I am defined by the great run of division championships in the early 1990s- an era in when real men wore mustaches, just like in the Arab world.

The Tickler

But it's not the mustache-drought that's got me concerned, it's the impending marginalization of my suffering. This season, if things go according to present course, the Philadelphia Phillies will not only finish the season with a worse record than the Pirates, but they'll also notch their ten thousandth all-time franchise loss. Philadelphians bitch and moan just as bad as anybody, but there's a certain malice to it that makes it more entertaining than, say, New Englanders, who are the fucking worst whiners. I lived in Falmouth, Mass for about six months in 2003, so I had to listen to curse-era Red Sox fans slobber pity in their beers over a team that ALWAYS MADE THE PLAYOFFS.

Perhaps the worst fate that could befall a Pirates fan this year is for the Pirates to finally crack that elusive .500 mark but miss the post-season. That would strip the team and the fans of their loser mentality. It wouldn't be unlike the kid who recovers from a bout of chicken pox, returns to school, receives a half-hearted "glad you're back" and within days, he's back to just being the "ugly bowl cut kid."

I know this to be true because, as I said earlier, I'm defined by the Pirates' early 90's success, which, as many remember, came after a solid decade of complete dog shit baseball teams. It took about seven or eight years for anybody to feel sorry enough for Pirates fans to buy us beers. So pull it together Phillies- I'm rooting for you, but not because I care.

Pirates Magic Number: 139


Tuesday, May 08, 2007

New digs.

While Burnso is comfy enough in his new house to mention himself casually in the 3rd person, he has been venturing forth in the quest for new vinyl.

Chubukos - House of Rising Funk

This is a standard awesome 45. Big long break with a vibraslap in it, fuzz guitar, big horn section, chipmunk voices, etc... It utilizes an age old tradition of replacing a word in a common phrase with the word "funk", which essentially ensures dopeness. Plus, it was on the ultimate beats and breaks comp, so that adds some sort of arbitrary cratediggery to it.

Rimshots - Dance Girl

This is a funk 45 with another break that requires a girl to dance. Fine drum break with ride cymbal, cowbells and some dude wit that raspy voice that Sly developed in the early 70's. The lyrics are minimal (you my dancing girl...yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah...) This is on for a retarded sum. Wtf? I paid about the cube root of the online price for this shit.

De La Soul - the 12" with 2 concentric grooves on one side.

Me, Myself and I plus remixes and the double groove thing which is weird. The first side is the lp version. The second side is a remix. The second groove is a skit. No shit. It's De La Soul, which is Spanish for "put mad skits on a rap album".

sundry other rap 12"s.

good spinnables like "Insane in the Membrane" and "Pick it Up" and a Trendz of Culture 12" w/ an acapella. That's esoteric.

Gary Numan - Replicas

Please watch "Urgh: The Music War" before you die. (thanks, Paul) When I grow up, I want to be fucking nuts.

Also, I have an erhu now. It goes "Yeeeeeeyeeeeyeeeeeeeeee!!!!!". It's made of rosewood and snake. Yes, snake.

The erhu is a manly instrument.

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The art of storytelling

Let's go back. Way back. Thursday, I mentioned, whoadie to whoadie, some risky bidness that needed to be taken care of come Friday. I felt the need to prove I haven't just been sending people down rabbit trails every weekend- feeding them to Nigerian pyramid schemes or entrapping them into quasi-legal medical experiements.

Since I've been drinking Budweiser and Bombay Sapphire in the Show Me State Saturday and Sunday, I've been unable to report until today. The memory of the whole bit is pretty hazy and I am interpereting it mainly through text messages, which all read something like "U bikin?", "Shimmy Shmmmmy yaa dawg," "Freeway. Early" and "Naw, Fubz not here." Not much help to say the least. Fortunately, numerous other internet beings documented it for me:

Early bit:

A small warehouse on 4th and Green Streets. Joey Sweeney serves cheese plates and showcases fancy video projections for his new web venture . There is a keg. I talk to KT, Sarah and Thom of Broadzilla and Timothy from the Failed Alliance while a guy videotapes the back of my head. Tim is sure Joey hates him because Joey named the Failed Alliance the 6th worst band in Philadelphia. I told him Joey kids because he loves. Tim is not so sure this is true.

I discuss matters of bohemian lifestyle and urban greening with West Philly-ites Kyle Miller, Andrew Gaspar et al and that guy Patrick who builds bikes and once bought a Phil Ochs record from me on the porch. Ruth and I talk odds and ends about the super duper jumpoff that you'll soon know about. Shhhhhhhhhhh.

Middle bit:

The Philebrity jawn moved over to RUBA. That bol 19, Jayson Musson et al played some music as American Sneakers. Jayson refuses to sublimate his blackness when asked. After some unbeatmatched Ed Banger and such, Bleached Black takes the wheels and Andrew immediately plays I Feel Love and one of the tracks from Plug Me to Death by the Erotic Drum Band. Illness quotient: 90. Nerd quotient: N.

Later bit:

We rolled to the Ukie to catch the White Tees White Belts extravaganza featuring Peedi Crakk. As I walked in the door, I picked up a copy of the new Beautiful/Decay and was disappointed to see that the characteristic write-up of last issue's party was missing. At first, I was salty for purely egotistical reasons (tryin' to see my name in print), but I then realized that the paragraph or two had been left out deliberately. That show, on December 19th, was one of the last for Disco D, and surely one paragraph of "yeah, Disco D, Philadelphyinz and Caps and Jones- it was the jumpoff!" would have been an insulting tribute. RIP Dave and respect due to Amir, Ben, Fubz and their good taste.

All of a sudden, shit goes nuts

I'll be honest, most hip hop shows are fantastic in principle, but pretty boring in practice. I've put on dozens of rap shows and 90% of the time I'm disappointed. Unfortunately, this was no exception. It was fun, it was nuts, but it was still a classic "stop the song, bitch about the sound" kind of show. I think most emcees have let their egos completely destroy any notion that hip hop is Party Music. Just being in the presence of an artist I like doesn't guarantee that I'm losing my mind about the shit- I'm not 16 anymore. I think that the only two emcee-oriented rap shows I've been to in the last five years that I really really enjoyed were Mr. Lif (3-4 times) and Edan. The common thread with those two is that they practice the forgotten element of stagecraft- banter. Banter isn't "hey, turn that up, how come you ain't makin more noise than that?" it's something that needs to be rehearsed and honed so as to keep the show going and keep the energy moving from song to song. If rap is no longer a disco-influenced genre, musically, the Master of Ceremonies element of "emceeing" needs to be brought back in earnest. Play the Catskills and you'll see what I mean. But I digress:

Peedi dropped some of his mixtape jawns and even came out the cut with a little ODB medley that touched everybody on the inside. But we're talking ODB here, so I don't mean it touched their hearts. He dropped Flipside. Basically, heads were fuckin' amped that Peedi Crakk (and Freeway too, I think) was in the building, makin da mack go brrrnnggggg!. EARLY!

Beyond this, things get rather fractured- I think Jay poured a beer on me champagne style, and I danced on a pile of broken glass before jumping on Kurt's shoulders and almost knocking him into some dudes who would have hit us with pool cues. Oh, and I managed to have a ten minute discussion with Emynd about FreeDarko and the NBA playoffs. We agreed that B. Shoals cares way way more about basketball than either of us do and that we should probably leave the Wittgenstein-Arenas mashups to the professionals. But you already knew that. and RUBA photos by More photos here.

White Tees White Belts/ Peedi Crakk photos by Ian Meyer. More photos here.

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Monday, May 07, 2007

you aint a pimp, you's a fairy

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Thursday, May 03, 2007

How I keep from goin' under

Skinny's spot got completely blown.

Grandmaster Flash- The Message (Datashat Remix)

This track just popped up on Palms Out Sounds on Sunday. I had almost forgotten about it. This is a rework of The Message by Grandmaster Flash. Frankly, it's compeltely unbelievable. Skinny put it on his seminal, game changing April O'Sixtape in a full-on mashup with the instrumental of Sucker MCs by Run DMC. Last summer I used to bump that shit in the car and just rewind so I could hear it over and over. Datashat, whoever you are- props like a motherfucker.

Skinny Friedman- April O'Sixtape

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3


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Fog Machines and Laser Rays

It's one of them early startin' weekends, the kind that starts with a Thursday and eases into Friday with some tardiness or sick-day-usage. Saturday's a smasher and Sunday you want to fucking die. But that last part is a long way off.


Philly- The inexorable march of time is beginning to catch up with the venerable Paradise at Key West. There are only four more nights of 12-foot mirrors, forty-can light displays, cages, full rotary mixers, fog machines and poorly designed gay-targeted beer ads from the 1990s. Tonight, the author Apt One and Shawn Ryan (Hurrah) join resident Mike T. for a night of disco bangers, electro mindmelters, underground smashers, acid freakjams and whatever other kind of electro you want. If you weren't there to see Optimo or any of the myriad DFA or Ghostly International acts there, you still have time to see the champion of discotheques. Get ready for some real fog machines and laser rays.
Upstairs at Key West, Juniper between Walnut and Locust, FREE. (Flyer here)


Philly- The Philebrity bols (are they bols? probably not) are launching their web-television thingy. American Sneakers is shooting a video and there are sure to be screenings of various watchable things and perhaps some unscrambled porn or something. I'll be there if only because I always DJ the same night as the late night guests Bleached Black, and WestWax gotta support!
418-420 Green St., Open to the public at 10PM.

Emynd and Bo Bliz bring you another installment of White Tees White Belts featuring Peedi Crakk. Whoa. Sponsored by our good friends at Beautiful/Decay and others. Not really much else to be said about this one.
The Ukie, 847 N. Franklin. (Flyer here)

Boutros Boutros: used to be called "Boutros Crakk"


NYC- Skinny Friedman only seems to roll out when there are imported beers to be had. This Saturday, it's Cinco de Mayo (which he told me means "five with mayonnaise" but I'm not so sure). The Corona, tequila and floorfillers will flow like Mezcal. Also reppin are the superwhoadies Tres Gueros aka Tatum and Matt Brownell (who makes an appearance in Philly at Medusa Lounge next weekend).
Rififi, 332 E. 11th St. (between 1st and 2nd Ave.) 10 - ???, FREE (Flyer here)

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Tuesday, May 01, 2007

white lines

"And it's the best way to get the hos," adds Pusha T, who has been chopping salt on the table with a knife, cutting, sweeping and recutting until it's a fine powder. "The hos, Oprah, the hos ..."

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golden state terrorists

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Freeway f/ Sleepy Brown - Some Say Yes

Just sayin, beards are what's up. And this fucking insane Monta Ellis montage.

(shouts to Spine)

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It's a setup

That ain't milk

Just Sayin 2000 is the site you know you can count on to absolutely avoid the big story. After covering football like some street-wise Grantland Rices in a wall-to-wall stylee, we barely even touched the draft. We didn't even mention it when the Penguins were eliminated from the playoffs. Instead, we covered baseball and Dipset because those subjects require casual invective rather than research. But we are so presumptuous as to believe that we owe our readers a public service- after all, Joey, BShoals et al don't cover football.

So here it is, JS2000 NFL Draft Recap:

First, why does anybody attend the NFL Draft? What a non-event. Do these people go to auctions and will readings just in case they have to boo anybody?

Dem Stillers:

I think it was Ryan Wilson who said that a Steelers draft inspires chants of "serenity now...serenity now" from the faithful. Not only does the Steelers front office seem to have fatherly wisdom and foresight, but they are also impenetrably cryptic when it comes to their future plans. Usually there's one good "need" pick (mostly defensive backs in the past) and then a bunch of whothefuck type picks from I-AA schools and guys that they have charted high simply because they feel that they should draft anybody with the temperment to work in a mill.

Everybody is on pins and needles because Tomlin is running the ship, panicking a bit because dear old Dad Cah'r is gone (and they just debuted a stupid fucking mascot, but that's another story).

Watch out for Haiti bitches, I heard they throw hex

I like the fact that the Steelers picked a punter, even though everybody thinks they're nuts. The three things that have plagued the Steelers in the last ten years, in descending order of importance: 1. Inconsistent quarterback play, 2. Porous defensive secondary, 3. SPECIAL TEAMS. This new punter guy is going to be worth something like 30 or 40 yards a game. That's actually a pretty big deal.


-It was fun to watch Brady Quinn fall like a rock through the draft and then end up with the Browns. Hopefully he will make them good enough for me to hate them again, but not so good that they actually beat the 'Lers. Also, if he turns out to be a decent quarterback, he'll be a perfect evil totem- pretty boy quarterback with an ego and a blister sheet of repressed homosexuality pills.

-The Pats traded for Randy Moss. People think that there's no precedent for the Pats picking up a "star" and assimilating him into their Belichick Red Bloc Groupthink, complete with Soviet style tenement housing and lots of root vegetables. Not so. Remember a guy named Corey Dillon? Didn't he have six 1,000 yard seasons before he got to New England? Wasn't he some big cancer in Cinci, playing Project Pat at full volume while the Akili Smith was trying to call the signals (or something like that)?

Anyway, I love Randy Moss. Anybody so black that they make Joe Buck's country club neck turn purple with rage gets a place on the ballot for my Hall of Fame. Also, dude's from West Virginia, which means that Paul has probably fucked his sister at one time or another.

-The Eagles drafted a quarterback. I guess they've figured out that the best way to sustain interest (for lack of actual success) is by stoking racial tensions in Philadelphia via incessant quarterback controversies. If you don't know, I can't explain it to you.

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