Friday, June 29, 2007

Fog Machines and Laser Rays

Friday:



WestWax returns to West Philly with another outsized lineup in a warehouse stylee. Here's the lineup: Apt One (Philadelphyinz), Andrew Gaspar (Bleached Black), Operant 77 (Paradise), Stepchild (Paradise, Hip Replacement), JJC (fresh of a US tour!), Whyte Hott, Sebastian Petsu, Honkeytron. The shit's at PhilafunkLive, 8 N. Preston (btw 40th and 41st off Market- 40th and Market El stop). 10 PM-3 AM, $5, BYOB

By the way, although he's not playing at this one, WestWax and Tech Support buddy Kenny Raw just got his Tech Supporters Mix, seen first on this here site, reviewed by OkayPlayer.

Saturday-Tuesday:



We gon' be in Pittsburgh! That's right, the whole Just Sayin' fam. Get at us if you're in The Area!

Wednesday:



Oh, sorry. Wrong picture. I meant:



The nation celebrates its 231st birthday by getting down with our founding fathers' favorite, Hall & Oates. I'll be tryin to get a spot at the Art Museum- close enough so that I can gather some moustache tips.

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Thursday, June 28, 2007

Supreme Court to Thurgood Marshall: DROP DEAD



Just play this tape backwards

From the NYTimes.
The Supreme Court on Thursday rejected diversity plans in two major school districts that take race into account in assigning students but left the door open for using race in limited circumstances.

The decision in cases affecting schools in Louisville, Ky., and Seattle could imperil similar plans in hundreds of districts nationwide, and it further restricts how public school systems may attain racial diversity.
As somebody who went to an integrated magnet school in a big city- I can say that my experience with poly-chromatic culture was extremely valuable. Most people I come across have never met enough people of other colors to be anything but unconsciously prejudiced in some way, just due to sheer ignorance. This type of racism is perhaps worse than the on-the-sleeve racism of times past, when it was consider acceptable to be racist publicly. Now, there are tons of racist people floating around out there utterly convinced that they are not racist, but unconsciously exercising racism just due to the natural human fear of "the other." Fuck it, I'm just gonna stop right there.

Welcome to 1950, America.

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Monday, June 25, 2007

We can provide



Your boy's got a new hustle. Peep game.

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Handclaps



Recently I've watched with curiousity as Just Blaze, producer of such bangers as Freeway's Flipside, Cam'ron's Oh Boy, a whole shitload of JHov tracks and my favorite Ghostface beat ever, The Champ has been blogging up a storm. Blaze is a curious character in the rap world- being both a top-shelf beatmaker and an unabashed tech nerd. This makes him a rather unexceptional character in the blog world, where motherfuckers have been mixing up "peep this tricked out new phone" with "remember that one great moment in rap history?" for quite a while now. However, unlike most bloggers, who live in their momma's basements (as legend would have it) he's periodically able to insert himself into those "rap history" moments in the first person.

Also, he had some beef with Saigon or something that aired out over the internet, but truth be told I didn't follow it. That shit is dumb.

Anyways, now Blaze's blog has a message board called, uh, The Matrix. Yeah. Predictably, it's a rare vinyl, conspiracy theories, sneakers and video games. What did you expect? I don't think it's gonna be the popoff internet forum or anything, but keep an eye on it for some nice tracks passing through, especially if you have an afinity for Golden Era rap.

There is no forum devoted to handclaps.

[Just Blaze's Blog]
[The Matrix, the message board]
[Wikipedia: Just Blaze Discography]

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Sunday, June 24, 2007

rated xxx

Online Dating

FUCK THAT JS2000 IS FOR THA YOUNG'NS.

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rated xxx

Online Dating

Mingle2 - Online Dating



FUCK THAT JS2000 IS FOR THA YOUNG'NS.

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Friday, June 22, 2007

Photoshopping Steelers with cute adorable animals

I'll go first...



There's a tradition behind this. One visit to the Squirrel Hill Record Exchange shall tell all.


adieu,
Burnso

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Fog machines and laser rays



Henge it out, phone it in

Friday:

Panda Bear at the First Unitarian Church...but shit's sold out... head on to peep Dem Seclusiasis Boyz doing The Straight Dope.

Saturday:



There's a lot going on, but you well know that there's nothing better to recommend than Philadelphyinz "OG" at the Khyber. Unfuckwithable.

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Thursday, June 21, 2007

junior boys

my dude jamey...well, he made the following series of posts:

I Will Carry Your Baby
How I Will Carry Your Baby
What To Expect When You're Expecting Me To Carry Your Child

let me also say we used play a game called "the jamey drinking game" where he would throw a party and every time he cleaned something, we would drink. this inevitably devolved into us just dropping bottle caps everywhere.

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Brainiac dumb dumbs bust the scientifical



New Phawker piece up. I tip out a little ether on a punk who wants to go McCarthy on mp3-bloggers. He's got an axe to grind.

[Phawker: Pop In Tape]

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You know what it is



Other grinds been pre-occupying the team here. We're so sorry when we let you down. After all, you did subscribe to the jawn on bloglines. Here's some internets to keep you from swallowing your tongue.

-The first rule of Rap Club is... [We Design Sound]

-If Beanie thinks Kanye was unfit for hood consumption three weeks ago, wait until he see's dude with his helmet on faking the Thomas Bangalter. [The Fader]

-The Federation's College Girl- dumbest song of the year? No, I mean actually stupid. [XXL]



-On the flipside of the Bay, Turf Talk- SO MOTHER FUCKIN ILL. [Vibe, Nation of Thizzlam]

-A depressing headline: "Pitcher with 10.97 ERA blanks Pirates, 7-0, in Seattle." [Post-Gazette]



I went to a Pirates game in Pittsburgh last weekend for the ol' Father's Day. I realized, after being away from Pittsburgh for the better part of a decade that Pirates fans have zero expectation of ever winning. Errors don't make anybody upset anymore. That's unacceptable.

I've decided that the Pirates are on a very short leash with me, and they have done little to justify any more unrequited loyalty. I will not be taken for granted as a fan by ownership that has no plan of winning in the forseeable future ESPECIALLY after my tax dollars built them a beautiful stadium.

I have yet to decide on a time-frame in which the Pirates can either show a sign of true commitment to progress or else I may have to start one of those "Fire Such and Such" type blogs only about Fuck the Nuttings.

In a rare moment of lucidity, Smizik basically laid out my steez yesterday, so if you don't know, now you know, Nutting.

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Monday, June 18, 2007

the battle rages but they die in vain



We have reached that time in the season when Where Have You Gone Andy Van Slyke? has gotten too depressing to actually read.

WHYGAVS is a top-notch site, with good run-downs of every game and a full understanding of the Pirates organization that saves me from ever having to consider what's poppin down on the farm. But it's spot-on coverage is its strength; it's not that funny and it's not that quirky, nor does it need to be. But part of me feels like dude should just give up on the Buccos for a season so he won't have to barely contain his rage and frustration through every methodical wrap-up of the latest bullpen collapse.

Adding to the suffering is that Dejan Kovacevic is being wasted on the Pirates too. That dude is on point.



A man in a Yankees shirt lept out of his hatchback on Court St. after seeing my Pirates hat, so he could vent his frustrations with our team. He had grown up in Buffalo, where the Pirates were the closest baseball team physically, but his six-year-old brain also though the "New York" in "New York Yankees" was the whole state, so thus he had two generally non-conflicting baseball alliances. And with the straightest of faces, this grown-ass man angrily expressed his loathing for "Dave Littlebrain" and mourned the resources the team had wasted on "Kip Smells".

--

I returned to BX to see game 1 of the Subway Series on Friday night. On one hand, I generally hate the Yankees, and watching Jose Reyes run is really on par with, like, bumper cars when it comes to pure, untainted American-style fun. (Reyes hit a home run on Friday night, and I have to think this was disappointing to him, that he was expected to leisurely trot around the bases. I bet he misses the bus on purpose just so he can run after it.) But on the other hand, I fucking hate Oliver Perez, who was starting for the Mets. So for one surprisingly dull evening, I was a Yankees fan.

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Friday, June 15, 2007

Fog Machines and Laser Rays



Friday

Not much to this one. Pretty much tumbleweeds. Barbeque and get drunk.

Saturday

Predictably, when there is fuck-all going on Friday, there's too much to deal with on Saturday.

NYC:

The grande jump-off in Brooklyn (besides, you know, moving to Philly) is most certainly at Capones with Thorough. Skinny is gonna be teaming up with Seclusiasis bols Dev79, Starkey, BD1982 and Jedi of MethodsNyc. Drink specials, free pizza and, most importantly, Philly stylings. 221 N 9th Street. Flyer front/Flyer butt.

Phila:

-England Belongs to Twee- a whole bunch of oi oi and punk and the like. Upstairs at the Khyber (2nd and Chestnut). Not usually my bag but even I understand thatLabuda is for the children.

-White Tees White Belts is getting together with Caps & Jones at the M-Room- watch out for HollerNuts busted all over the HollerPlace (bring a change of HollerDrawers). That said, this is gonna be awesome. $10, Frankford & Girard.



Sunday

-For starters, holler at your dad. Get him some shaving balms or something. Or, at the very least, frame him a picture of Kim Jong Il hanging out with his proud papa Kim Il Sung.

-I keep forgetting to mention the whoadie Mike T and his night with Kyle M at Sal's. It's dedicated to all things Morrissey and Morrissey related. Also some open bar action. Can't go wrong. Just don't get depressed is all. Sal's (12th and Walnut).

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Wednesday, June 13, 2007

new hustle in town



Hey why hasn't ya boy been writing much?

The kid's got a new hustle, that's why. So serious. How serious? Business trip to LA serious.

Please to check out the site. No 800-word screeds on R. Kelly, but definitely as much rap blog slang as I can cram in there.

BONUS: SPOTS BLOWN (special Lost Angels edition)
-(redacted) gets (redacted) so fucking high that he drives three blocks, then calls (redacted) to tell him he's too zooted to pilot a vehicle and Gomez is blowing his mind!
-(redacted) is steady releasing albums outside his major label contract with (redacted) on labels like (redacted), much to the chagrin of the major!

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Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Rust belt stand up



I don't really write album reviews. I usually talk shit about football or banter on inside-baseball-like about R Kelly or late model foreign sedans. Album reviews are overwrought with contrived language that comes forth with such little lucidity that its intented originality obscures the ether it attempts to capture. See what I mean?

That's why it's hard for me to cast into words the complex and unexpected pastiche that is Relative Q's recent release Small Craft Exercise Caution. The task is rendered doubly difficult by the fact that I've known Paul Zyla for many years now, and my opinions of his music are hopelessly colored by a number of tasteless jokes about West Virginia and ugly jeans that sit on the tip of my tongue. But in an effort to give a fair and honest explanation as to why I think this album is glowing, to say the least, I'll do this Bol style- track by track, blow by blow (nullus?). All tracks are mp3s hosted by One Recordings out of Kentucky.



Track 1: Pittsburgh Winters Have Killed Better Men Than I

This track provides an appropriately ominous opening to the album- grainy monosynth tones and soaring, inhumane tones give way to blurry Rhodes-ish organ and distorted but organic drums. To say this is a shade of Mogwai would be a gross understatement.

Track 2: Sun Rises Over the Undeserved

Basically a more humane version of the first track- watery guitar in the foreground with the organ in support.

Track 3: Fairer Shores

Even though this track's title (like all others on the album) paints a pretty downbeat picture of dogshit cloudy winter and perhaps some good time West Virginia necromancing (there I go), this track brings the mood up subtly and unexpectedly, with double time drums bursting through with crisp clarity and a europop walking synth line. The parts come in slowly and build to a nice apex, just how I like. Best track so far.

Track 4: The Ghosts Came Quickly

This track reminds me of the Morning After series that came out in the 90s for when you were all cracked out after a late night of DnB. Not to mention that it takes on a certain UK-trance quality after a while.

Track 5: No Sympathy

Arpeggio is the key to electronic epics if you ask me. With the 808-ish hand claps coming out the cut on this one and the rolling glitches, I could see myself hunting a ninja or two in the middle of the night on a post-apocalyptic tip here. This track also lets you hear the craftsmanship in Paul's production- no fill is neglected, no parameter is left to sit un-twiddled as the track moves through it's phases.

Track 6: Farewells and Goodbyes

How are you gonna call the penultimate track "Farewells and Goodbyes?" I dunno. Anyways, this track mirrors Sun Rises Over the Undeserved closely in a number of ways.

Track 7: Man Your Battle Stations

Throw a sample or two into this one and it's a straight Ninja Tune track circa 2002. Jazzier drums than the rest and a rounder filter on the bass give this one a less angsty feel. Put some M.O.P. lyrics over this shit and then I'll fuckin man the battle station son!



This jawn has been in good rotation on the ol' musical box for a bit now. It makes me hearken back to the days when Mogwai, Bonobo and others were the soundtrack to my whole steez. We've previewed some of Paul's house tracks before, but he's far on his way to proving that he can make bangers for the opium den and the wile-out smut club.

You can read up some more on the release and grab the artwork at One Productions. More of Relative Q's work (and some goofy promo shots) can be found at Chill Productions.

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Monday, June 11, 2007

sopranos spoilers



The irony here is the Tivo'd-up folk won't be spoiling anything if they read this. But still.

I stopped watching The Sopranos some time a couple years back, around when Carmela moved out and the show went from the juxtaposition of the lush life of a mafia don with the harsh price of being a mafia don, to a non-stop montage of depressing, suburban circumstances.

Having caught a few episodes here and there I never felt like I was missing anything I couldn't wait to Netflix after retirement. Every mafia story ends the same way, and the pop culture meme dictates that the spoils never carry their weight as long as the troubles. All mob movies tell us this, as do all cocaine kingpin movies. With Tony Soprano, the troubles were compounded by the troubles of raising a pretty, smart daughter and an unfocused fuck-up of a son. But the end result is the same: it's all RICO charges, turf wars and hiding assorted misdeeds from wifey.

That is to say, the Tony Soprano story was never going to get any more interesting. As a matter of fact, it could only go steadily downhill. After both the kids were somewhat stabilized, laid bare would be the dull hum of mafia politics, with the occasional flare-up of gunfire and whackings, and an almost inevitable indictment.

The Sopranos ends definitively only in one of three ways:
  • Tony gets whacked.
  • Tony gets indicted.
  • Tony survives.

    Tonight, we got at least two, and maybe all three. The strange man heading into the bathroom just as the family sat down to eat was an obvious Godfather reference, so it's entirely possible the fade-out was obscuring Tony's death. It's also possible I just missed something entirely either because I haven't watched the show in two years, or because I've been traveling all day and I'm fighting of a sinus infection. But I'm gonna assume that's not the case.

    The ending was disappointing, but there was no way that story can end that makes it interesting. The whole point of the episode was that Tony's fate is sealed; it doesn't matter what happens to Tony because he's going to get shot by "some guy in plaid socks", as Meadow so elegantly once put it, or the Feds were going to catch him slipping, which seemed to be the case tonight. What does matter is that he kept his family safe and cohesive through all of it, and the kids actually turned out quite well.

    The Sopranos was the most vivid look at what we can assume the actual life of a mafia boss is like, warts and all. Beyond the track suits and the piles of money. Real life. And it ended with a vivid look at what we can assume happens to mafia bosses who don't go down in flames. It's not satisfying. That's the point.

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  • Saturday, June 09, 2007

    Upon those rare occasions...

    ...that Pittsburgh sports and record digging collide. I have come across a copy of a mid-70's country record entitled "So Lonesome I Could Cry". It features that song. No big deal. However, it's made by this guy:



    I have no problem with Steeler crap. I've eaten the Heath Miller chocolate bar and I own The Black Six. The thing that bothers me about the Terry Bradshaw records is that there's nothing wrong with them. They're fine by the standards to which they ought to be held.



    If there's not very much gap in quality between Terry Bradshaw's country records and someone like Jud Strunk or Randy Travis or later, drunker Glen Campbell, then really how much credence can one pay pop country. These are the seeds of what came later and is now our contemporary garbage country music. This really might be a totally shit genre. I refuse to believe that someone who has achieved so much in something so elusive (There are only 1696 current pro football players in any given year, .000006784% of the population) is equally as good in something so demanding as music. There has to be a flaw. Either: a) there's a fault with football, b) pop country and the people who play it suck, or c) Terry Bradshaw is a Emperor of the Universe.

    I cannot accept two of those.



    Frankly, it's the lack of balls. It's the fact that nobody is a badass in country and hasn't been for years and years. They're all tender love songs about dumb shit and being tame and shit. I'm very disappointed. For a demographic that loves guns and whiskey they sure as hell keep it out of their music which, frankly is reversed. Music ought to have a balanced endowment of violence. Society could use little less.

    Thanks pop country, for raping our society.

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    DP:AH Eye Witness News

    I made the trek up to the BX to see our sad little attempt at a baseball team take on New York's sad little attempt at living up to dynastic expectations with four rookies in their starting rotation. There was more yellow and black there than I expected, but you know...the 412 reps.

    Image Hosted by ImageShack.us

    Tom Gorzelanny looked really good and had lots of fat dudes with crew cuts mispronouncing his name trying to figure out who he was, but he was up over 100 pitches by the 6th inning. So they brought in the hurling force that is Josh Grabow. And when he shit the bed and put runners at the corners with A-Rod coming to bat, Jim Tracy made the call for...

    Salomon Torres.



    You have to think Tracy surveyed the field, looked at his bullpen and knew immediately he just needed a scapegoat. And who is more likely to meekly fuck up the baseball couch than a maligned closer who just lost his job? "We'll let Jason Bay's good month solve this problem because our pitching clearly isn't going to do it. Fuck it, get me Torres."

    He promptly landed his first pitch squarely in A-Rod's shoulder. I don't think I can relay to you exactly how anti-climactic this was. Everybody in the stadium was standing up, cheering extra loud because the Yanks were losing to the fucking Pirates (4-2 at that point). It was a showdown, the kind of spring-loaded moment which would either end with one of baseball's most frightening hitters doing his job and saving Steinbrenner's handlers from a thrown paperweight to the eye, or with one of the most underwhelming relievers in memorable history eking out of a jam against all odds. There are few plays that wouldn't have been somewhat exciting. Even a pop fly could have been a momentary thrill, in the split-second home run potential before one realizes the ball's true trajectory.

    Torres is not only a horrible reliever, he is a killjoy. He is ruining baseball.

    Aside from that travesty against decent pitching, the Buccos actually looked pretty good. Chris Duffy had a fucking inside-the-park home run (!!!) on a ball which Melky Cabrera misplayed. Generally monster Matt Capps giving up what was apparently an unplayable single to Jeter in the 10th is no shame. Of course, beating this year's Yankees is no boast. But still.

    --

    Extra baseball related excitement:
    In this month's ESPN: The Magazine (such is the price of being an Insider), David Ortiz claims his favorite baseball player is Kirby Puckett, a fact echoed by his wife of all people. Obviously Puckett was a phenomenal player and in this era of forced full-disclosure, we have to learn to compartmentalize the boyhood joy we get from watching our favorite players, and our knowledge of their ridiculous indiscretions after the fact. Still, I thought it was funny.

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    Friday, June 08, 2007

    Fog Machines and Laser Rays



    Gon' be a scorcher

    Friday:

    Secret afterhours warehouse party somewhere in Philly- big time DJs, big time jams. If you don't know, you won't know. Wait, why did I just tell you...nothing?

    Saturday:

    Clark Park Flea Market- Records and bikes and t-shirts and shea butter and ox tail stew. I'm planning on bringing two to three crates and a shoebox of 45s- come grab em. 43rd St. and Baltimore Avenue.

    Philadelphyinz 2 @ Medusa Lounge featuring Shawn Ryan and Chris Rogy of Hurrah!.

    Sunday

    Lee Scratch Perry at World Cafe Live. I have a gift certificate for a few tix to WCL, I dropped the ball because this is the one I would have wanted to see. No word as to whether Scratch is going to bury any porridge underneath the adjacent Walnut Street viaduct in an attemt to erradicate Penn's demons.

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    Wednesday, June 06, 2007

    Dave Parker: American Hero



    It's usually impossible to address the plight of the Pittsburgh Pirates with any sort of optimism, even in a relative sense. However, today is a good day, all praises due to Lloyd Waner, Bob Prince and Chico Lind. A light is shining through a pinhole in the sky, making it impossible for Chris Duffy to field a routine fly ball.

    Saturday, June 9th, 2007 will be, by all acounts, the equivalent of Live Aid for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Only through the execution of a comically disasterous performance will the Pirates inspire the sympathy and charity of a suddenly attentive nation, watching the return of Roger Clemens on national tele. All signs must point to destitution and disgrace. Faced with an inescapable metaphor for the stinking carrion that is our nation's once proud golden calf, Baseball, fans will cry out for economic equality in baseball. Perhaps they will guillotine The Boss and the Nuttings on Federal Street, but unlikely.



    The Pirates' disadvantages will not stand so stark in contrast with the return of space-age cyborg Roger Clemens 7L3m v.2 without a number of deliberate moves designed to highlight the gross inequalities which have acted to debase the once proud Pirates franchise like a widowed aristocrat turned saloon whore. Here are my suggestions:

    -Pre-game, the Pirates' franchise player, Jason Bay, announces a demand to be traded because of the team's inability to purchase enough baseballs to hold practice.

    -This announcement comes on the heels of David Littlefield's release of a prepared statement that he would be happy to accomodate any wishes Barry Bonds might have to "come home and retire a Pirate."

    -Jim Tracy takes the field in a soiled uniform and conducts post-game interviews smelling of human waste.

    -A secret explosives team conducts a controlled demolition of the right field bleachers during the 6th inning.



    -The Bucs strike out out 20 or more times while surrendering 20 or more walks as a team.

    -Jim Tracy attempts to apprentice Ronny Paulino to Jorge Posada. The request is denied when it is revealed that Paulino has ricketts.

    -Post-game, the players make many allusions to "next year" along with appeals for help to a number of workers for NGOs conspicuously distributing grain in the locker room.

    -The Pirates bring Salomon Torres in to pitch at some point.



    Oh, wait, what's that? The Yankees aren't actually any better than the Pirates this year? Fuck.

    Pirates Magic Number/Elimination Number: 111

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    Tuesday, June 05, 2007

    soul to squeeze



    If there was any justice in this world, the south would have had its renaissance as much on the strength of its different flavor of lyrical as it did on its club appeal and exoticism. The "International Players' Anthem" video might could have set that in action four years ago. This is a depiction of what could have been a royal court: Three 6 as the jesters, Andre and Big Boi as the philosophers, and Pimp and Bun in some weird, not at all homo-erotic co-kingship. David Banner advises as needed.

    Cynical notes about the contrast between marriage and a whole bunch of pimps duly noted, possible blatant attempt at smoothing over the issue for my target audience also acknowledged. But while prostitution is an exploitative and abusive trade, I'll take a track about pimpin (literally, not figuratively) over some softbatch "we aint gotta get married" love jam any day. And I even like "You Make Me Better".

    How many nights started with drunken grinding at a frat party to "P.I.M.P." and ended four years later with a house in the burbs and small diamond earrings for the missus? Just sayin.

    Also: rotund light-skinned dudes in fur coats will always look like Sir Mix-A-Lot. Sorry Chad.

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    Sunday, June 03, 2007

    The couch



    Ultramagnetic MCs- Traveling at the Speed of Thought

    This has always been one of my favorite videos- between the fanny packs, bizarre scarecrow-esque Slick Rick dis costumes and Kool Keith's exploits during his, uh, blue period (?), it's some of the best mid-level B-rate entertainment that can be found on these here internets. Let's not forget that the song samples Kraftwerk, Bambaataa and, inexplicably, Wild Thing while Kool Keith hints at his future fascination with space and associated headgear.



    Commercial for Japanese Biz Markie doll with "booger picking finger"

    When you see Japanese kids taking on American culture at a 30 degree angle, it's tempting to say that they "don't get it." It's not that they don't get it, they just get it in their own, different and unique way. Anytime you geographically dislocate culture, this is what happens. But Biz Markie, we don't understand him either.



    Dr. Dog on Letterman last week

    Very good buddies of ours (and the backup singers too- the gals getting dolled up!) on the tele. The beards are looking immaculate and shit, they can all hit baseballs at least 350 feet. If you haven't bought their new CD, go do it now! Watch out for Zach's flailing claps around 2:39- DANGER!



    Jimmy Castor Bunch- Troglodyte

    I met Jimmy Castor last weekend- he was hanging around at a soul festival in the Clark Park down the street from my house. He powdered his nose at one point (he referred to this as the "Jimmy Castor Thing") and also told me I should come out to see him play next weekend...in Vegas. This all struck me as kind of strange, but then I remembered Troglodyte, and it all made sense. Well, maybe it didn't make any sense, but at least his whole steez is cohesive. Frankly, the video is three to six times more bonkers than the song.



    guh?

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    Saturday, June 02, 2007

    shrapnel



    Grinderman - Go Tell The Women

    --

    In the preview for Fantastic Four 2, the Silver Surfer flies over a wedding. Everyone looks at the Human Torch because something mysterious is going on and he can fly, so obviously it's dude's job to handle this one. And he says something to the effect of "dammit, I just bought this tux". This is a lost comedic opportunity. All the Alba in the world won't get me to the theater for that movie, but I think it's safe to say there will not a running joke in which the Human Torch is constantly getting clowned because he has to rock seven bills worth of Goodwill gear all the time because he's constantly burning off his clothes. And that is a shame.

    --

    Somebody handed me a copy of Connected Magazine on Broadway last week and it is kind of great. Indie streetwear/rap mags always have decent writing with awful grammar about mindblowing shit. Frankly, if you are interviewing Swizz Beats or writing "The Rules For Pigeons" ("There is nothing worse than getting hit in the face by a pigeon"), I don't give a fuck about your grammar. Back when I wrote for Rap Reviews (Web 1.0, stand up!) I used to get shitty mags like this all the time in the mail, and since I was a huge herb, I used to e-mail the dudes about their puncuation. In retrospect, I should have just appreciated the totally bizarre interviews with their friend's friend who owns a security firm in Atlanta.

    Also note that this idea--grammar-adverse writing about wild topics--is pretty much the Vice steez. Which says........something.

    --

    Why is Wiz Khalifa rapping like Project Pat?

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