posted by
Charles Mudede
on
February 29 at
12:02 PM
Reintroducing the man who helped inna city British blacks understand the language of inna city British whites, Smiley Culture.
He breaks it down like this:
Cockney's not a Language it is only a slang
And was originated inna England
The first place it was used was over East London
It was respect for the different style pronunciation
But it wasn't really used by any and any man
Me say strictly con-man also the villain
But through me full up of lyrics and education
Right here now you a go get a little translation
Cockney have name like Terry, Arfur and Del Boy
We have name like Winston, Lloyd and Leroy
We bawl out YOW! While cockneys say OI!
What cockney call a Jack's we call a Blue Bwoy
Say cockney have mates while we have spar
Cockney live in a drum while we live in a yard
Say we nyam while cockney gwt capture
Cockney say guv'nor. We say Big Bout here
In a de Cockney Translation!
In a de Cockney Translation!
posted by
Charles Mudede
on
February 19 at
11:44 AM
A hiphop that aspires for the national stage is a hiphop that must dilute its substance. We can see an example of this in Black Eyed Peas: the substance of their hiphop at the local, LA, level is not the same as their hiphop at a national level. And the group made the transition from one to the other with the understanding that a local form of hiphop can not survive in that state on the national stage. So, a truth: you can have static and innovative hiphop at a local level; you can only have static hiphop on a national level.
Also, the transition from rapper/DJ mode to the rapper/beat market system results from the movement that leaves the local for the national. Hiphop, then, can not in all honesty (or in a state of honesty) be national; its home can only be local. Even a group like Common Market, which focuses on global issues and parallels its political views with those of the global justice movement, is still local because the political views the duo represents dominate the liberal and progressive discourses of its city or region.
Finally, hiphop can not happen in an arena; it is a music for basements and clubs. The national and mega concerts empty the music to such an extent that, as is the case of Kanye Omari West, it is not hiphop anymore.
The principles: keep local and keep the crowds small. Only listen to local hiphop (by local, I mean hiphop that is made with the local in mind), and stay away from mega shows. Think of the local as a storefront church; and the national as a megachurch.
The more you apply these principles, the closer you will be to the truth of hiphop. And hiphop, like all other cultural practices, has its truths.
posted by
Charles Mudede
on
February 14 at
3:31 PM
Good news! Greg Tate is coming to EMP's Pop Conference.
There is no other reason why I write for a weekly than the work Tate produced for the Village Voice in the 80s and 90s. True, I do not agree with his position on Miles Davis' late work (on that point I side with another hero, Stanley Crouch), but Tate's pieces on hiphop and contemporary black culture in general overflow with brilliant insights and ideas.
Sadly, I will miss Tate's reading because at the moment he is talking about his thing, I will be taking about my thing. And my thing will be Linton Kwesi Johnson.
The dub poetry of Linton Kwesi Johnson still gives me the intoxication of the revolutionary mood. Wine and Kwesi always get me drunk.
posted by
Christopher DeLaurenti
on
February 10 at
10:23 AM
Music by underrated electronic music pioneers Josef Anton Riedl and Alwin Nikolais, the first person to buy a Moog synthesizer. Also on deck: Leticia Casteneda, who served up a superb set at the Wooden Octopus Skull PFest in 2006, acousmatic music by Darren Copeland, and the League of Automatic Music Composers, perhaps the first group to make music with networked computers.
Also in the mix: two Seattle sound artists - Byron Au Yong and some fine field recordings from China by Jason Kopec, who performs this coming Tuesday at the Chapel Performance Space - as well as work by Annea Lockwood ("Delta Run," a haunting end-of-life portrait of the sculptor Walter Wincha), John Adams, Nico Muhly (pictured above), and much more...
Catch the on-line stream or tune in to KBCS 91.3 FM from 10 pm to midnight.
Hot on the heels of Megan's interrogation of Tad from TAD I bring you another slice of grunge history.
It was mid-April of 1991 and Nirvana was playing the OK Hotel, debuting songs from their forthcoming second album (which ended up being the culture-shifting Nevermind). My friends and I had no idea history was about to be made. We were just pumped to see another Nirvana show and to hear some new songs.
Across Alaskan Way there was a film shoot going on in a giant warehouse on one of the piers. Apparently it was for a big "rock show" scene from a movie being made "about the Seattle Scene" and that Matt Dillon was in it. That movie turned out to be "Singles." Thankfully we missed the cattle call to be extras in the movie and ended up where the real deal was going down. (When I finally saw "Singles" about a decade later I was amazed how bad it was. Barely a notch above "Reality Bites." Barely.)
Anyway, back at the OK Kurt came out with pink hair and did a solo vesion of Polly. Not quite what we were expecting. Then Chris came onstage with his arms outstretched, nearly spanning the width of the stage, and so tall his head was almost grazing the ceiling. Plus they had their new drummer who was a fucking powerhouse. Then all hell broke loose.
I'm the kid who starts crowd-surfing at the 2:20 mark.
posted by
Christopher DeLaurenti
on
February 7 at
11:00 AM
In case you missed the Seattle Chamber Players' Morton Feldman marathon, Kyle Gann posted his talk, In Dispraise of Efficiency: Feldman, which profiles and parses Feldman's influence on post-classical composers today: "Feldman changed what composers think, how we feel about what we think, and how we are allowed to defend our choices. He gave us a sword with which to shatter the thick shields of rationalism, professionalism, and conventional wisdom."
Following the tradition of composer-as-writer (Berlioz, Wagner, Debussy, Schoenberg, Stravinsky, Cage...and later Ellington, Braxton, Mingus, Cardew, Gann...), Feldman was a fine, fun, wry essayist. Peruse a selection of his essays here, especially "Boola Boola" - "...my father said he would give me what his father gave him - the world. The world turned out to be Lewisohn Stadium on a hot summer night. It never occurred to me to go to a University."
A few folks asked me about the source of the Anthony Braxton quote in "The Score" recently - "anyone seriously studying composition and making music in this current time-space needs to pay attention to what the video-game people are doing. They're navigating a dynamic system that can go just about anywhere at any time and we can learn a lot from their solutions." Read the rest of it here. Hat tip to HurdAudio.
I'm also enamored with Music as a Living System by Seattle composer, improviser, and SIL2K honcho Stuart McLeod: "Time is not an absolute entity but instead a ruler by which we measure the relationship between objects." I don't agree with all McLeod's propositions, but he thinks big, something composers rarely do these days. It's provocative - and essential.
I finally read the masterly profile, Frank Sinatra Has a Cold, by Gay Talese. The piece portrays Ol' Blue Eyes at work, with his cronies, and talking about his "bird."
History
Turn The Beat Around: The Secret History Of Disco by Peter Shapiro
posted by
Terry Miller
on
February 7 at
10:52 AM
I don't know how I missed this book when it was published in 2005.
Turn The Beat Around is an absolute treasure trove of interviews, information and critique on the culture of the disco era which stretches, by Peter Shapiro's standards from roughly 1973-the beginning of the eighties. Full of amazing insight into race, gender and (duh) sexuality, what he describes seems obvious when read, but I've never read a book so eloquently written on how thoroughly disseminated disco became in America and abroad.
The writing about it's downfall and the "disco sucks" movement, which still exists in the anti-dance music attitude of some musicians today, and it's basis being awash in racism, misogyny and homophobia at the dawn of Ronald Reagan's "Morning In America" is both exciting and frightening to read.
Fascinating threads on electronic music and why it attracted so many transgendered artists, whether in drag or completely transformed, were ideas I'd never even heard discussed before. His section on "The Hustle" and disco dancing being welcomed by conservative movements for it's rigidity and "teamwork" by people like William Safire was revelatory. And in-depth critiques of groups like Dr. Buzzard's Original "Savannah" Band and Chic opened up albums to me I've revered for so long, and can now look at in completely different ways.
Did I tell you yet that this book is just really fucking great?
You know a book is done well, when it can reach out to people who might not have an interest in the main subject and pull them into the discussion as well. That is exactly what Shapiro has managed to do with this book. As I read it last week I would email my partner, who is not in the least bit interested in disco ("Show Tunes" are his thing...), quotes from the book and discuss elements with him about the time period. Eventually I found him curled up in a chair reading it and asking me to play him records he'd never even feigned interest in before. Really? You want to hear that? Um. Okay.
If you haven't already read it, which I know from previous comment threads, some have, go out and buy it.
From Peter Shapiro's book Turn The Beat Around: A Secret History Of Disco comes this perfect description of the Earworm. (A song you can't get out of your head.)
Talking about Van McCoy's "The Hustle":
But thanks to that infernal flute line boring into your skull with the savage ferocity that only elevator music can muster, "The Hustle" was inescapable and inevitable, the kind of record that crawls under your skin, subliminally taking root to the point where you find yourself whistling it while masturbating.
posted by
Charles Mudede
on
February 1 at
12:31 PM
Because of the violence going on and on, because mainstream hiphop used to care about all of the violence going on and on in the hood, I offer this reminder of hiphop at its finest hour. Really, what's happening brother?
Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions are the ultimate early/mid-60s pop soul group. I clued into their elegant teenage pop greatness last year when I picked up their 1964 and '65 classic LPs "Keep On Pushing" and "People Get Ready."
Their falsetto and horn section (and slightly African) pop tunes were graced by an MLK civil rights-era sensibility that give these albums an extra dimension.
So, it's strange that one of their last albums, 1969's disappeared "The Young Mods' Forgotten Story" is—despite a heavy dose of politics on a song called "Spade and Whitey" and despite the over-the-top politics of 1969 in general—is a wonderfully apolitical outing. It's mostly gorgeous pop masterpieces about pretty girls and love with Mayfield's perfect voice at the center.
Also weird (and out of sync with '69), there's no psychedelia or guitar rock or experiments. 9 of the 10 songs clock in around 2 minutes. They're just snippets of soft soul, much like the earlier material, but less contrived—with Mayfield's falsetto and horn arrangements making the scene. Another song comes in at 3 minutes.
The album goes by too fast. But repeat keeps it on all day, which I highly recommend.
posted by
Charles Mudede
on
January 29 at
12:59 PM
It is a comeback for LL Cool J.
In the late 80s, a heap of dumb love/sex songs had made him irrelevant and he desperately needed to come back to the core of things, the source, the purpose of hiphop. But the first line of his comeback track, "Mama Said Knock You Out," declares: "Don't call it a comeback!" He tells us not to call it what it is. What he says and what he knows are not united. What we know and what he says are not united. What is unsaid is united: this is a comeback. What is said reveals what it is in reality by stating what it is not. Is this a case of what Run-DMC called: "Bad meaning good/not bad meaning bad"? LL Cool J negates what is true and therefore makes it more true than it actually is? The negation enhances the fact? "Mama Said Knock You Out" has a difficult opening line.
posted by
Charles Mudede
on
January 28 at
11:27 AM
Banished from this 1998 video for NTM's hit "That's My People" are dancing/sexy women. The video has no sex in it. It is not selling sex, or the erotic bubbles of a good time, or the Amazonian pleasures of rump shaking. The video is about the stern (severe, spiritual, refined) realm of the b-boy. A pack of French b-boy's roam the empty spaces of the underground and the night streets of Paris. What is on their mind is not their money; nor is money on their mind. Their mind is on the city (in the way the city is on the mind of a flâneur), their rhymes, their art, their political struggles with the forces of the law and the global market system. The b-boy's mood in its most ideal condition is cold and sexless. The fall of the b-boy begins when LL Cool J declares he needs love.
Sorry I originally said it was David Lee Roth's birthday. I got it right in this week's paper, and I would've gotten it right on Line Out too if it weren't for that photo of David Lee Roth's bottom that totally fucked with my head and got me all confused but not in a good way.
I will keep up this photo of David Lee Roth's ass anyway. Just because.
History
Another Story About How Kimya Dawson Deserves Everything She Gets
posted by
Ari Spool
on
January 25 at
10:32 AM
Kimya Dawson is hot shit right now, and everyone on the entire planet is happy for her. Including me. Because Kimya Dawson made me grow up.
If you hate when people make music about themselves, stop reading here. It's about to get real personal.
When I was 17, I was working as an intern at the University of Maryland in College Park, MD, which is right outside of DC. It was the summer between junior and senior year of high school, and my dad had gotten me this job for the summer for two reasons: to keep me out of trouble at home and to give me a test run of living by myself.
I was working at UMD as an intern for some graduate students who were building a room that was also a robot. It was pretty interesting, and I learned how to solder, shape liquid latex, and organize informational hierarchies. But there was one problem--all my co-workers were over 25. And they were the only people I knew. I had been having trouble sleeping, and there was no one to talk to.
The first night I was there, they took me to see Fugazi play in the park. That was cool, but it was the only time they hung out with me.
I started working at a co-op as a volunteer in my spare time to make friends, but they were all older people too. But they felt pity on me, and one night two hippie girls took me to a show at the Black Cat. It was Ladyfest. I didn't know who was playing. When I got to the club, I claimed that I had forgotten my ID, and they X'd out my hands (viva Dischord) and let me in.
First up was some band that I don't remember very well. Lesbians, one playing drums and one playing guitar. Then some burlesque, which was still hip at the time. After that, Kimya came on.
My jaw dropped the floor. KIMYA FUCKING DAWSON! OF THE MOLDY PEACHES! I had her pictures plastered to the wall of my bedroom in Boston. I read Paper magazine religiously, and they were featured one month. I LOVED them. But I didn't know how to keep track of my favorite artists yet, and I had no idea that Kimya had a solo career. I got right upfront and watched her, spellbound, while she sang songs from her first three solo CD-Rs, My Cute Fiend Sweet Princess, Knock Knock Who?, and I'm Sorry That Sometimes I'm Mean. I remember her playing "The Beer" and laughing until I almost cried. She was funny and real and sweet and sad and brilliant.
After Kimya wrapped up, a go-go band that played and everyone danced. It was one of the first times I had ever been to a real show like a grown-up in a real club, because everything in Boston is 18+. My test of living alone had been a success--I realized that I possessed the ability to make my own fun, my own friends, and that I could experience art all the time if I wanted to. The hippie girls bought me a drink. I turned adult.
Afterwards, Kimya was working her own merch table. I had ten dollars, but I needed about $3.50 to get back to College Park on the Metro. I walked over and started gushing. "I love you so much! Your picture is on my wall! I don't have any friends here! I didn't even know you were playing! Did I mention I love you? Like, so much!" I asked her which of the CDs I should buy, since I could only afford one at $5 each.
She gave me all of them. And her book of poetry (which is amazing). And a big monster hug. I gave her $5. Kimya was my friend. Kimya did me a solid.
And from then on, I knew that I didn't have to be scared of being by myself, because there were always people around who are looking out for you, even if you don't know them. I went back to my apartment and fell asleep easily for the first time since I left home.
posted by
Charles Mudede
on
January 25 at
10:27 AM
At the end of the 80s, Just Ice rapped to the border of the rupture in the production of music. The border where played music comes to an end, and replayed music begins. The song is called “Going Way Back,” and Just Ice, prompted by KRS-One, journeys back to the limit and has a limit-experience, not unlike the one Michel Foucault experienced (or desired to experience) in the bathhouses of San Francisco. Just Ice raps to the limit of knowledge, that twilight zone haunted by the forms of forgotten MCs and DJs. And just as he is about to run out of the names of those “who were there,” and crossover into sheer nonsense and nothingness, he is retrieved by KRS-0ne: “Well, I think that is about as far as we can go.” Because it has a beginning, hiphop must have an end. Jazz, for example, ended in 1969. When will hiphop end?
History
1996: The Way it Actually Was vs the Way You Want To Remember it
posted by
Eric Grandy
on
January 17 at
10:34 AM
Megan's post about 1996 got me thinking about the gap between how things actually were and the way we like to remember them. In 1996, I was 16, living in the suburbs, and going to shows at the Old Firehouse but usually paying less attention to the bands than to the social life. My favorite bands then were probably Jawbreaker, Rancid, Green Day, the Chemical Brothers, and Red Rocket (ask Dave at Red Light about that one). But when I look back on 1996, I imagine my own musical tastes rather differently. Jawbreaker's still on the list, but Daft Punk and Aphex Twin replace the Chemical Brothers, Modest Mouse replaces Rancid, Sonic Youth and Bikini Kill make the list instead of Green Day (okay, maybe Green Day stays too), and so on... That's how 1996 sounds when I think about it now, but it probably didn't really sound that way at the time. It probably sounded a lot more like this. I guess all this is to say, thank god we don't stay 16 forever, and: How fucking dated is that Jawbreaker video?
History
Matmos's Drew Daniel's Book on Throbbing Gristle
posted by
Nicholas Scholl
on
January 10 at
8:33 PM
Did you know he was and/or had done this? From his MySpace bulletin:
Pardon my mass missive but I wanted to spread the word that I am now a published author. Thanks to the trusty/crusty crew of the Continuum imprint, I now have my own contribution to their 33 1/3 series of books, complete with an ISBN number and a Library of Congress Data tag and everything. My book is called Twenty Jazz Funk Greats and it is about the album of said name by the English band Throbbing Gristle. It weighs in at 176 (teensy) pages. It features original interviews with all four members of Throbbing Gristle, some never-before-published photos and/or drawings from their private notebooks, and lots of interpretive blood sweat and tears from yours truly. Check it out!
Drew Daniel creates an exploded view of the album's multiple agendas: a series of close readings of each song, shot through with a sequence of thematic entries on key concepts, strategies, and contexts. (For example: noise, leisure, process, the abject, information, and repetition.) The book argues that on Twenty Jazz Funk Greats, Throbbing Gristle modelled a critically new and highly promiscuous way of relating to or inhabiting musical genre - where punk rock was passionate and direct, TG were arch and mysterious, perverse and cold.
Today I bring you an excellent classic-country-music book, released just a few months ago: Live Fast, Love Hard, by Diane Diekman, the official, and only, biography of the amazing Faron Young [swoon]. This book is so compelling, I plowed through it in only a few sittings.
I’ve professed a lot of love on this blog for certain honky tonkers, but I’ve been keeping Faron Young, one of my most cherished, to myself. Yes, I have mentioned how handsome he is, but otherwise there’s been no timely reason to write about him. While I’ve been a huge fan of Faron’s music for years, I can’t say I really knew much about him, other than that he’d killed himself in the ’90s. I always felt so bad for him, because he was so great and once so popular, and he'd been forgotten.
Diekman was personally acquainted with Faron, and she did a ton of research for the book—it’s full of so many tiny details and anecdotes from many sources, including Faron’s family and peers. Her research is impressive. There are lots of great stories about Faron and other country stars of the ’50s and ’60s. I was kind of shocked by what these twentysomething men were doing while out on the road back then; let’s just say nothing has changed where sex and drugs are concerned.
Tears were streaming down my face once I got to the end of the book. I knew how the story was going to end, but I didn’t know how much turmoil Faron lived with and inflicted on others throughout his life, dealing with depression and alcoholism and severe daddy issues. When he was sober, he was a kind, fun, generous man; when he was drunk, he was mean, manipulative, and downright cruel. There is a lot of punching in this book—Faron punching various people, various people punching Faron—and most disturbing is the number of times throughout his life that he threatened suicide, and even faked suicide to freak people out (and, I assume, as a cry for help). Despite all that, he remained incredibly loved by and endearing to practically everyone who knew him.
It’s a fascinating story about a man who had a lifelong struggle with depression and intimacy and insecurity, but who hid it so well behind a larger-than-life personality. I guess that’s not really a new story—we all know men like that—but I had no idea the extent of his problems; sadly, his friends and family had an inkling, but they seemed to be helpless due to his stubbornness and a general ignorance of depression back then. While this is a comprehensive portrait of a troubled man, I do feel like there could've been more detail about his early career and his songs. But, his story is heartbreaking and exciting, and Diekman nailed it. Get the book.
But who is this guy, other than a mean drunk? Why do I love him so? Well, he’s not just a pretty face; he’s one of the greatest country singers ever. Period. He had an amazing, beautiful voice (and perfect pitch, I learned from Diekman’s book): It could be high, low, nasal, smooth, soaring. His recording career began in the early ’50s and went all the way through the ’70s and into the ’80s; he kept it country all the way. And he was insanely popular.
His music is swoon-worthy. His ballads make me melt, with their perfect combination of aching steel guitar and Faron’s gorgeous voice: songs like “Tattle Tale Tears,” “My Two Open Arms,” “I Miss You Already (And You’re Not Even Gone)," “Sweet Dreams.” But he can also rock out, as evidenced by upbeat hits like “Three Days” (written way back when by Willie Nelson) and “Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young.” And he’s got plenty of shuffles, like the absolutely perfect “Wine Me Up.” And have you heard “It’s Four in the Morning” from 1972? My god, what a song.
I’ve got a couple greatest-hits albums, and I'd highly recommend Live Fast, Love Hard: Original Capitol Recordings, 1952–1962. I wish I had the cash for the $100 Bear Family Records’ five-disc box set. Live Fast, Love Hard: Original Capitol Recordings, 1952–1962 is basically flawless. It’s got all the aforementioned tracks (except “Wine Me Up” and "It's Four in the Morning"), plus many more, including “Country Girl,” with its bitter chorus, “Now you’ve gone and left me/you’re with somebody new/but I wonder if you told him/I bought the clothes on you”; the equally bitter “A Place for Girls Like You”; the upbeat “Alone with You”; hell, they’re all great songs—I don’t really need to list them all. And note the hot cover photo:
Really, anyone who likes classic country and hasn’t heard Faron Young needs to check him out. You will be an instant convert.
Here’s “Hello Walls” (also written by Willie Nelson, and a more poppy number), which was my introduction to Faron Young, via my dad. My dad seems to have had this song perpetually stuck in his head since it came out in 1961; he’s been randomly belting out the opening “hello walls” for as long as I can remember. Sometimes he answers the phone that way.
posted by
Nicholas Scholl
on
December 20 at
3:59 PM
I got to know MSFB's "Love Is the Message" because the Larry Levan version of it was sampled in Malcolm McLaren's "Deep in Vogue," which appeared on the single for his "Waltz Darling" in 1989, released during the height of the Harlem drag ball culture immortalized in Paris Is Burning. Over a trotting disco beat, several voices commemorate the most famous New York "houses" —LaBeija, Xtravaganza, Magnifigue, Saint Laurent, Omni, Ebony, Duprée.
Who the hell are they? You know, they're somebody when they're in that little ballroom.
Were you creeped out for infinity years by McLaren's v.v. fey yet reedy speaking voice? It's like his pharnyx is wearing a dress.
Ooh, and here's the video—one of the first to display voguing (certainly before Madonna's mainstream hit) and featuring Legendary Father Willie Ninja. This one uses a heavier, more tribal beat than the original, with lots of small interludes and lots of samples from audio interviews and Paris Is Burning soundtrack:
On a related note, I totally admit that I was part of that meme in 2004 or whatever where everyone was making fake iPod ads, except for how I was also totally getting into Old Way vogue. Don't you just wish?
For y'all children that have no idea what's going on, perhaps you should go to school.
posted by
Trent Moorman
on
December 12 at
10:16 AM
The Zeppelin update you’ve been waiting for.
Yesterday in Greenwich, London at the O2 Arena, Led Zeppelin headlined for the first time in 27 years. Robert Plant – 59, John Paul Jones – 61, Jimmy Page – 63, and Jason Bohham – 41, drumming for his late father, John.
The internets have been scoured to bring you video and song by song commentary on the show from OpenFanSite. (The commenter gives no name.)
I know FITS is especially dying to know what the set list was. He didn’t sleep last night worrying about what the set list was. I regret there are no details on how Zeppelin smelled. And I’m not sure if they played any Van Halen songs.
The set. Crack an Icehouse and turn the heat up:
** Update: All Zeppelin videos from this show have been removed from YouTube due to a "copyright claim by Warner Music Group." What a crock. There are rumors a DVD will be released.
(Pictures: cloudfree.org)
1) 9:02 p.m. – “Good Times Bad Times” - The first song from their first album. Page is playing a Classic Sunburst Les Paul.
2) 9:05 – “Ramble On” - Plant seems to be singing a little lower on this one.
3) 9:10 – “Black Dog” - They’re already bringing out the big guns. Bonham is doing a fine job filling in. Page is tearing it up. The crowd is singing along with the “ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhhhhh” refrain.
4) 9:17 – “In My Time of Dying” - Page has switched to a hollow-body electric and pulled out the slide for this epic workout from Physical Graffiti.
5) 9:30 – “For Your Life” - Before the concert, Page said the band rehearsed this buried treasure from Presence, which they never performed live before last night.
posted by
Jonathan Zwickel
on
December 11 at
3:22 PM
An email from a reader:
Hey,
It was cool to see a Jewish event in the Stranger Suggests block of the paper, but why use the word kike?
Just curious what made it "okay" in your reasoning. I was taken aback by it and felt offended.
Thanks,
[Redacted]
Seattle Jew
Redacted refers to the Stranger Suggests I wrote to preview The 8, a Hanukkah concert that went down at the Croc last Saturday. (Which featured a klezmer-punk quintet from Brooklyn called Golem that sang in Yiddish and instigated the only hora-style circle dancing the Croc is ever going to see. Fuck yes.)
As a response, I offer two things. The first is "Kike on the Mic" by the Hip hop Hoodios, a Jewish-Latino hiphop outfit from L.A. that's better than their name implies.
The second is an excerpt from a story about new Jew hipsterism I wrote a couple years ago. The quote is by the Hoodios' Josh Norek, who's also a publicist that reps a bunch of Latino electronica bands:
"We have a new song called 'Kike on the Mic,'" Norek says. "We played that song at a show in L.A., and afterwards the booker came up to me and said, 'You're never coming back here! I grew up in New York public school, and if you said kike or nigger, you'd get your ass kicked.' I explained the origin of the word — it comes from the Yiddish word keikel, which means circle. And then over time, the word took on a derogatory connotation because immigrant Jews would get off the boat at Ellis Island and, not knowing what to put on their immigration paperwork because they didn't read or write English, they'd just draw a circle. So when I sing 'I'm a kike on the mic,' the point is, I'm not offended. You're calling me a circle. It takes the sting out of the word. And if you listen to the music itself, it's a really powerful, punchy song. It's hard rock meets hip-hop meets Klezmer, probably the loudest song you'll ever hear with a Klezmer horn. And that's deliberate. It's in-your-face. It's militant, but it's proud. No more of that nebbishy Two Live Jews crap."
Happy last night, fellow Jews/kikes/heebs/chosen people.
I have this Shostakovich CD, his trios: Piano, cello, violin. The first batch was written in the 1920s, I think, when he was a conservatory student. The next batch was written in the 1940s.
Tacked on at the end of the CD is a set of songs he wrote in 1967 for piano, cello, violin, and soprano. Whoever produced the CD apparently thought the songs—which don't seem to show up much of anyplace—should get there due here.
Wow. I'd never sat down with the end of the CD before. But wow.
This is the subterranean sleepwalk operetta for Black-Magic-Venus, lyre, harp, and seance that you've been waiting for.
We'll skip what Hank Jr. sounded like. What's interesting is how far the Williams family has come in three generations. Hank III has also done his share of twang, but now he is the drummer of the band Arson Anthem, with Phil Anselmo of Pantera on guitar and Mike Williams of Eyehategod on vocals. They sound like this:
JOURNEY--Neal Schon (guitar), Jonathan Cain (keyboards), Ross Valory (bass), Deen Castronovo (drums)--is proud to introduce fans all over the world to their new lead singer, Arnel Pineda (“pin-eh-da”). He replaces Jeff Scott Soto, who parted ways with the band earlier this year after stepping in for Steve Augeri, who had to leave the band in 2006 for medical reasons.
Arnel hails from Quezon City in the Philippines and has been singing Journey songs--in addition to original material--with his band, The Zoo, for the past couple of years in clubs all over his homeland. Joining the legendary band is a dream come true for him.
“It’s so exciting to sing with one of the best bands in the world. It’ll be a lot of hard work on my part and I’m actually looking forward to the scrutiny I’ll get from the hardcore JOURNEY fans. I know they’ll expect me to sound exactly like ‘the voice’ (Steve Perry), but that will never happen. I know there's only one Steve Perry in this world.”
When it was time for JOURNEY to look for a new lead singer, the internet came to their rescue. Guitarist Neal Schon wanted someone new to the music business, so he turned to YouTube. After finding Arnel singing “Faithfully,” he knew he had found the perfect frontman.
As Levislade points out in the comments of this post about Wu Tang Clan's just announced Dec 30th show at the Showbox Sodo:
today is the anniversary of ODB (AKA Ason Unique, The Bebop Specialist, Big Baby Jesus, Dirt Dog, Osirus, The Man of All Rainbows, Prince Delight, The Professor, Rain Man, Super Bastard, Peanut the Kidnapper, RJ Tha Mad Specialist, Dirt McGirt, Freeloading Rusty, Joe Bananas)'s death.
ODB passed away just three years ago today. Pour one out (or whatever it is the kids are doing these days for their dead homies) and please enjoy this timeless classic (with a kind nod to Idolator):
While checking up on the video confirmation of the much-anticipated My Bloody Valentine reunion, I couldn't help but watch Ian Svenonious' conversation with Fall frontman Mark E Smith on his VBS show Soft Focus. Behold, the clown prince of agit-prop punk takes on the OG of mumblecore:
Player doesn't seem to be working. Video should be here.
After fleeing her late-'80s synth-pop group Y Kant Tori Read, Tori Amos kicked off her solo career in 1991 with "Me and a Gun," the a capella track dealing with her survival of a rape at knifepoint.
Since then, Amos has become the crazy star at the center of her own crazy universe, and I hardly follow her shenanigans anymore. But as the Tori-loving Pink is the New Blog reports, Ms. Amos is spicing up her new tour by performing her hallowed rape anthem with a full band, in the character of her American Doll Posse alter-ego Pip, and employing disturbing props. (See photo above, shot by Bullocks Troy.)
And to see video of Tori—uh, Pip—performing the full-band, propped-up "M&AG" live in Chicago, go here.
posted by
Sam Machkovech
on
November 2 at
10:09 AM
No, not those Sonics. I'm talking about the return of the best thing to happen to Tacoma since glass-blowing--The Sonics, the band whose "Psycho" and "The Witch" rekindled my interest in rock 'n' roll right around the time of The Great Electronica Scare Of 1997. Thank you, Nuggets sampler CD at the used music store down the block. You saved me from Decks and Drums and Rock and Roll.
The garage rock legends return to the stage for the first time in 20 years at the Cavestomp Festival in Brooklyn this weekend. This interview's mumbling, unclear response to "why a reunion now" makes me wonder which member's got a gambling problem to clear up, so does that mean we should expect the old men to scream at us in a local venue any time soon?
"If we come back with our tails between our legs, I'm not goin' out of my house," [guitarist Larry] Parypa joked. "But if it goes as good as I hope that it does ... I would like to if there's a venue that we agree to. We want to do it in a prominent (place). We don't want to play some local tavern or anything."
In this year's Best American Non-Required Reading, edited by Dave Eggers with a charming introduction by Sufjan Stevens, there is a short non-fiction piece by Scott Carrier, called Rock the Junta, about the most popular rock band in the severely fucked military dictatorship of Burma. It's a great story; I would call it required reading, but...you know. The story contains a paragraph that might be the most concise, poetic history of rock'n'roll ever written (forgive me, I'm channeling Charles Mudede this morning):
When I was seven years old, in 1964, I went over to a friend's house after school. He had a teenage sister, and we were in her bedroom, and she put "I Want To Hold Your Hand," a 45, on her little box record player. She hung her head and swayed back and forth so her hair bounced off her cheeks. Then she started dancing with her arms up in the air, twisting her ass, jumping up and down. I'd never seen anything like it, but I knew it was dangerous.
According to the greatest Disco blog in the world, Disco Delivery, Twiggy's 30-year-old disco album will finally get its release.
Produced by Donna Summer and Jürgen Koppers (Moroder associate).
Engineered by Elton Ahi.
With help by Pete Bellotte, Keith Forsey, and Harold Faltomeyer (all Moroder associates and ex-Munich Machine).
Tracks written by Pete and Thor Baldursson (also ex-Munich Machine).
As my parting shot today, I'd like to pass on to you all a music game that was passed on to me by the wonderful young men (and Richie) of Police Teeth having been passed to them from one Bradley R. Weissenberger of .22. In the fine tradition of Crap/Not Crap and Rank, I give you Better or Worse Than Bon Jovi. The game is simple. The active player suggests a band and then each player states whether that band is better or worse than Bon Jovi. While simple, this game can reveal the most complex inner workings of our universe. It will force you to confront the way you think about music, about Bon Jovi and, perhaps, about yourself.
A few pointers to the BOWTBJ n00b - most importantly, this is not the time or place for artist on the extreme ends of the quality spectrum. Poor choices here would be Joy Division, The Velvet Underground, and by the same token, Celine Dion and The Eagles. This game is the realm of the neither the wheat nor the obvious chaff but the would-be-chaff. Here are are a few artists to get you started:
Bryan Adams
Depeche Mode
Some Velvet Sidewalk
Jane's Addiction
Monster Magnet
Police Teeth
Ministry
Janis Joplin (solo)
Big Chief
And so forth. Don't say I never gave you anything...
History
Backwards Masking Unmasked! Who Is Jacob Aranza?
posted by
Terry Miller
on
October 5 at
9:31 AM
In the final chapter of his book Backwards Masking Unmasked, called "My Song", Jacob Aranza describes how he became so virulently opposed to rock music. When read on the surface it has a charm that makes you think this young man was stuck in a bad school that needed to transform in some way; Jesus was apparently that way.
After describing how he got into rock music via his brothers and sisters (who dropped out of school) and drugs (he says, "Psychedelics were in and words like 'far out, heavy, solid, and wow' were in their prime. It seemed the whole world was taking acid, snorting THC, and dropping mescalin.") and the hippie lifestyle ("All the one-time flower children were so stoned that all they could see was flowers."), he talks about the school he went to.
From the book:
As if all this wasn't bad enough, they had just started integration in the schools. Because out school was 90-percent Mexican a lot of integration was to come its way.
By the time it was all over we ended up with a school that was 60 percent Mexican, 39 percent black and one percent white! Our school already had problems with drugs, sex and violence. All the integration did for our school was put the match to the fuse of a bomb thatwas already there.
We began to have race riots. All the blacks were running around saying, "We's (sic) want black power." The Mexicans were running around saying, "Hey dude, we want Chicano power." The whites were just running around saying, "We want OUT!"
While Aranza doesn't say which group he thinks he belongs to, I think it's fairly apparent he counts himself in with the whites.
Aranza goes on to tell how a preacher man came to the public school and converted 1000 of the 2500 students to christianity.
Our school turned into a rivival center! Instead of carrying knives and chains, they began to carry Bibles! You could see T-shirts throughout the classrooms that read "Read your Bible. It will scare the hell out of you!"
It's apparent that Aranza took that to heart. His whole way of writing and talking to people is all about scaring you to Jesus. Hardly a smooth sell. In my view, and memory, this might have brought you to the well for a drink, but didn't sustain you for very long.
As with all scare tactic campaigns, whether it be regarding drugs, sex, politics, or music. It always seems to backfire. Once you find out that the view that has been forced on you is a tad paranoid and unreal, to say the least, you often turn against it and experiment even harder.
In that way, I think I have Aranza to thank for pushing this shit so hard at me and my fellow schoolmates. I mean, seriously, if it wasn't for him it would have taken me a few more years ot find out about Iron Maiden, Led Zeppelin and the like. I probably wouldn't have gotten into listening to them at such an early stage, had I not wanted to rebel against everything that my school was trying to shove down my throat.
So, thank you Jacob Aranza for helping me to find all of "Satan's glory" in the rock music I listened to in the '80's and all the "secular" music I listen to today.
I got to know 
