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Recognize
5.28.2006
So College Right Now
While Joey is across the Atlantic, I offered to provide this lovely site with a post. Since I promised him that I would be a somewhat frequent contributor back in December, but have yet to post since my first one (12.12.05--peep that; I am not well versed in this internet-blogging business so I can't provide a handy link like Joey would), I figured it was time. Fortunately, this weekend provides a perfect opportunity to post because yesterday at Northwestern was Dillo Day. Dillo Day is Northwestern's spring festival day, comparable to many other schools' "spring fling" events. The day is known for relaxing with friends (and buddies!), widespread importation of friends from other schools already done with finals, wandering around from party to party outside, fast-food consumption (It just seems to fit in so well! I had both McDonald's and Taco Bell yesterday; disgusting, I know.), and general debauchery. It really is a fantastic day, mostly because everyone is so relaxed. The official, university-sanctioned event is a music festival from 12PM-10PM, outside on a field right on the shores of Lake Michigan. It is an incredible venue since the eastern border of the field is actually the lake. Anyway, some of the real fun was watching the Northwestern student population watch and receive the performers.
And before I go any further, let me congratulate NU's Women's Lacrosse team on their second straight national championship! NU really knows how to win big in the inconsequential sports, yet congratulations nonetheless. Okay, enough with the digression.
Anyway, here is the Dillo Day line up:
Ben Folds
Mo Gunnaz
Rain Delay Theater
High End Trio
Mae
Little Brother
Robert Randolph and the Family Band
The goal of Dillo Day programming is to attract a wide audience by having a varied group of artists. No artist is ever huge because they try to spread out the funds. Also, the programmers go for a "chill" atmosphere. Ben Folds and Robert Randolph were the "headliners," but I was most excited about Little Brother, who were late addition when Clipse cancelled. Those three acts are the only ones I saw actually, a.k.a. the only ones that fit into my fast-food-consuming schedule. I'd say the student body was by far the most excited about Ben Folds. A very solid amount of people turned out for his hour long set. He did a lot of his famous songs like "Still Fightin' It," "Zak and Sara," "Rockin' the Suburbs" and "Brick." I admittedly like Ben Folds. It is hard to admit such a fact since a) Joey will certainly be disappointed and b) I assume a lot of his readership will be as well. Yet, I have 5 tracks in my itunes library and his song "Evaporated" is one of my favorite mellow songs. But that is just what Ben Folds is: mellow. To me it was a weird choice to open the show because while it is good background music for a big field party, it's not really an exciting show to kick off a great day. I enjoyed myself, but I would say it was not nearly as good as my very first concert in seventh grade: 98 Degrees with Jessica Simpson as an opening act. And Ashlee Simpson was one of Jessica's back-up dancers! My friends and fellow students seemed to have really like Ben Folds, as I know of many self-described "die-hard" fans. It was pleasant as we basked in the 90 degree heat and sun, but nothing more than pleasant.
I am little embarrassed that my school embraced Ben Folds so warmly. I am especially embarrassed since my friend, a Cornell student, had told me a few weeks earlier that Ben Folds was also going to be playing at their Slope Day and that it was "ridiculous" and that "Cornell is going to boo him." I mean NU CANNOT be lamer than Cornell. I am just going pretend that NU is a welcoming arena. I am also embarrassed since it is never good to be less than a suspicious of an artist who is completely replaceable. After all, what is the real difference between Ben Folds and Jack Johnson? (Yes, I like both, but neither get me pumped up nor would I list either as a favorite act.) I mean Jack did the Curious George soundtrack and Ben did the Over the Hedge soundtrack. That is embarrassing for both of them, which by law of syllogism, is embarrassing for NU. The situation makes me think of when Mena Suvari said in American Beauty, "There's nothing worse than being ordinary." Is NU just "so college" but nothing else? I can't think about it right, it's making me upset. So moving on...
There is really little to say about Robert Randolph and the Family Band. I've seen them twice before (I think), both times opening for the (legendary) Roots. I am just not a fan of their jam-funk hybrid. Also, they did it A LOT of covers. I am all for a great tribute band, however Robert Randolph does originals, right? Again, they were pleasant, especially when they provided a soundtrack for the end-of-day fireworks show. But really, they probably got too much money as they were the "headliners."
The penultimate act was Little Brother, and they were definitely the musical highlight for me. Well, I didn't see the other acts but I feel comfortable in saying Little Brother's set was far more exciting than High End Trio's. I've seen LB at least two times previously, so I knew to expect a good set. Unfortunately, Ninth Wonder wasn't there. However Phonte is such a fantastic MC that I actually can't imagine it any better. He is so energetic. Peep the clip below. I'd say the sound quality is not bad granted I captured it with my digital camera.
Even with that solo, his energy is so high. Not to mention: he was jumping around as usual, and then he was also throwing around a football with the audience. (Phonte clearly is buddy-friendly!) He is just so entertaining to watch and he matches it with being a great rapper. It is amazing the way he is able to exude playfulness from the stage and engage with the audience, no matter how lame the audience may be. A really weak crowd came out to the Lakefill for the LB set. Too many people had never heard of them or were not motivated to come back out for the 6:20-7:00 slot. Still, there were quite a few people who knew the lyrics. Pooh and Phonte graciously seemed to enjoy the performance anyway. They mostly did tracks off the Minstrel Show, which they were heavily, heavily promoting. They were asking for myspace posts and the like. I really appreciate their humility, however aren't publicity avenues like myspace what contribute to the lame nature of Ben Folds? Such a fine line between shameless promotion and bland, mainstream character.
Anyway, it was really interesting seeing my college turn out for concerts. The NU student population is definitely one marked by apathy. I'm not sure if that is a general college characteristic these days or if it is just NU. It is kind of scary given the abysmal state of this country on all levels--from GDubsBush to TomKat. The two biggest events of the '05-'06 school year were Kanye West's stop here in Evanston on his Touch the Sky tour and Ben Folds. Basically, NU students only turn out in droves when mainstream America calls. But you know, I think the concert aspect of Dillo Day is just an example of what is "so college." In the end, I am okay with NU's concert going display because I do know that there is more going on at my beloved university. (I promise another post to prove it, but this is already too long.) Being outwardly passionate--about causes, performers, and seemingly good music--is just out right now. Too bad for Al Gore.
The two leading reasons that people go to London. It's science.
Now hear this: Straight Bangin' is going on hiatus until Tuesday, May 30th.
Why? Well, I am off to London, where the streets all salute me and we sell rocks and roll since I'm a member of the Dip Set Euro Gang. The Jesus, his brother Ya'aqov ("James," or "D'BrickaShawn" as the Cottage Inn "pizzeria" crappy delivery hut in Ann Arbor knew him), and I are off to visit Mr. Drunk Tank. There is a strong chance that we'll all get dead this weekend.
In my absence, I have a challenge that is more like a game that is more like a mindless, bizarre parlor activity that for various reasons has become an odd hobby of mine:
Rod Stewart's "Maggie May" is arguably one of the most annoying songs ever: It's got that lame-ass Elizabethan opening; It sounds like it could go on forever, with all of those sections running into each other; Rod Stewart blows; etc. But that said, it makes for great karaoke since the lyrics are kind of off and it is fueled by ambivalence that gave us insulting lines like "The morning sun/When it's in your face/Really shows your age."
For some reason, I have always fixated on this line and the other bitterness in the song, and I can no longer actually hear it, recite it, or anything-else it without conjuring the most vile lyrics detailing a pimp's relationship with one of his women. Blame it on Wayne Brady, hip-hop, or whatever. It is what it is.
I guess what I'm saying is that skits like the one above yield lyrics like:
"Wake up, Maggie, I think I think I got something to say to you It's late in the morning and you owe me money, don't act a fool You didn't give enough head You gotta fuck, you ain't gotta wed Oh Maggie, I need that money, in my ha-a-and
You made me choke three hoes Just to save me from breaking your nose You ain't trick enough, and now I gotta whoop that ass"
It goes on and makes N.W.A.'s "She Swallowed It" seem like a paean of loving affection. And usually, it's done as a "freestyle" so I have no clue what horrible stuff will come out of my mouth ().
So my challenge to you, good friends, is this: Who can write the best song about street life using the song structure and melody of "Maggie May"? Post your responses in the comments section and we'll round up all of the notable entries.
Which one has driven a cab? Which one has lived in a cave? Which one has been homeless? And by that, of course, I mean another collection of random links:
- The sports commentary in which this blog and so many others participate is a wonderful way for likeminded sports fans to find each other and fans with differing takes to engage each other. For the most part, the style is reminiscent of the writing that guys like Peter King have been posting on SI.com for years. However straight bangin' blogging diverges from the path taken by the de facto mainstream bloggers because while each road may offer similar scenery, the termination points are vastly different.
When you read a blogger's writing, you are getting your first exposure to him or her, and the content of the writing is often inextricably linked to the style in which it is presented and the general life ideology by which it is informed. You may not always agree with a blogger's take on something, but at least you know where he or she stands and what kind of person he or she may be. But with traditional journalists to whom readers are first exposed in non-normative pieces like the reporting that constitutes your typical issue of Sports Illustrated, readers don't really know the wordsmiths. Perceived biases are often attributed to institutional values, and there is little non-sports information readily relayed by an account of the Colts-Chargers game.
That's not the case with King's Monday Morning Quarterback column, and it sucks for everyone. First of all, King is an aspiring baseball dork who is in love with the Boston Red Sox and the oh-so-precious esoteric rhythms of baseball. That, by itself, is usually enough to induce vomiting and make you resent your high-speed connection as is. But still, your average Peter King reader soldiers on because King's NFL reporting is excellent (except when he's addressing one of his sacred cows, like Bret Favre) thanks to the access he enjoys. King just knows things that other people don't because personnel types and coaches and GMs like and trust him.
But he becomes basically unbearable, causing you to question why you trust his opinions about players, when he starts to reveal who he really is: a fairly traditional, conservative suburbanite with ample access to a social-values soapbox. This week, King wrote:
"I am not a Will and Grace fan, but my wife was watching the final episode last Thursday. I was cleaning the basement. (What a man!) I came upstairs and plopped down for the last 15 of the show. During that time, I heard an old woman say, 'Suck it, bitch.'' I heard the words 'd-----bag'' and 'balls,'' meaning 'testicles.' Call me the prude of the week, but are you serious? Does my new employer, NBC, actually condone that language in prime time at any time? I must be incredibly old, but that to me is such a pathetic grab at the young audience that I'm thrilled this show is going off the air. That language should be on HBO at 9:50 p.m., not on NBC. I don't know why that bothers me so much, but it really ticks me off. I'm all for the freedom of Howard Stern in the right place, but really, think about it. I'm sure there are many 13-year-old girls who like that show. I know they've heard worse on the playground, but that's not the point. The point is that that language is absolutely inappropriate at that time on network TV."
OK, fine: you're the prude of the week. If you don't like it, don't watch it. Tell Mary Beth and Laura (his daughters) that they shouldn't be watching it. Don't tell us what should or shouldn't be on television. And keep those opinions to yourself. No one likes thinking that their football news comes from a guy who apparently wishes that Heidi were shown in primetime every night when Big Papi isn't available. (And you live in New Jersey; what's with the New England dick riding?! It all seems so self-consciously reactionary, and that's lame.) Honestly, the whole decency-in-TV diatribe strikes me as a little hypocritical, too, since it comes from a guy who worships House, a program shown on a network that has perhaps done more than any other to introduce this supposedly objectionable content into primetime television.
Also, "douche bag" (there, I wrote it) wouldn't be on TV if it weren't fairly popular with a large swath of the population. King even admits that he's certain 13-year-olds have heard worse elsewhere. So then why get all moralistic? What was he proving? And more importantly, why not just acknowledge that pop culture is what it is and that parents should be accountable for raising their children? I knew most of the vile words from all of those Onyx songs when I was in elementary school, and I didn't grow up as a murdering, raping drug dealer. I wasn't raised by the television. People like King are always so quick to wrap themselves up in the insular blanket of self-satisfaction while blaming culture for societal ills. I think he has it backwards.
- And speaking of that, welcome to those of you who arrived at Straight Bangin' while seeking "Gang bangin fucking." Enjoy the liberal vitriol and hip-hop music. - I realize that it's been years since anyone cared about Guns N' Roses; and that Axl Rose, all 50 pounds of him, was never all that menacing, but it doesn't do much for your heavy-metal image when you get your ass kicked by a fashion designer. Somewhere in this story, someone should have been eating some johnnycakes. Philly Leotardo, Captain Gully, will be so disappointed in Axl. (P.S. I can't tell you how excited I am that Little Carmine is gonna be in next week's Sopranos. When he's on the screen, it's always like watching what would happen were Jim Jones crossbred with Neil Diamond and made Italian.)
- Peep game: the b side(admirably lighting up bullshit hip-hop criticism) Admirable passion; questionable tactics?
- Gothamist had a brief post about a New York Times article profiling Columbia's $4 billion fundraising effort. The article frames Columbia's campaign within the larger picture of escalating funding drives. I guess I found it resonant because: 1) City Hangover referenced this issue today; 2) Schembechler Hall (sort of) examined the identical situation occurring in college athletics; 3) I can't read about Columbia President Lee Bollinger and not endure some sort of nostalgia. While he was leading Michigan, he emerged as a personification of the institution, a vocal advocate of its values. I always thought he did a wonderful job, and it was to Michigan's detriment that he left.
- One of my favorite records of 2005 was the criminally slept on Love Experience from Raheem Devaughn. Experience the love for yourself if you've missed out so far:
Stole my hair. What a swagger jacker. Thanks toTrentfor both. Want to play along? Use the comments section...
Four Nicknames I've Been Given: 1) Big Monkey (from an early dramatic endeavor) 2) Dumbo (from some bastard in elementary school) 3) 6'7" Joey (for the way I play basketball) 4) Broseph (from the Buckets)
Four movies I would watch over and over: 1) Scarface 2) Anchorman 3) The Hobbit (Animated) 4) Shawshank Redemption
Four jobs that I have had in my life: 1) Camp counselor 2) God-body Gap salesperson 3) Political-science research assistant 4) Office manager for the Britney Spears Foundation summer camp
Four TV shows I like to watch: (N.B: I am limiting this to programs currently on television, because there are just too many otherwise) 1) Sopranos 2) Lost 3) Big Love 4) The Wire
Four places I have been on vacation: 1) Miami 2) Charleston 3) Las Vegas 4) Bahamas
Four things I could NOT live without: (Excluding the obvious, sentimental choices like family and friends) 1) Internets 2) The New Yorker 3) Hip-hop 4) The University of Michigan
Four of my favorite foods: 1) Indian food 2) Five Alive 3) Popcorn 4) Diner-fashioned pasta
Four places I would rather be right now: 1) Wherever Sienna Miller is 2) In a hammock on a tropical island 3) Chilling with Ghostface 4) Working at a Dairy Queen with Mark Cuban
Four of my favorite rap artists: 1) A Tribe Called Quest 2) De La Soul 3) Wu-Tang Clan 4) Robert Goulet
***Bonus***
Four of my favorite one-hit wonders: 1) Jermaine Stewart, "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" 2) Rockwell, "Somebody's Watching Me" 3) John Parr, "Man in Motion" 4) Laura Branigan, "Gloria"
Word Association 1) Yours :: Mine 2) Charcoal :: Barbecue 3) Platitude :: Bullshit 4) Graduation :: No I decided I was finished 5) Hungry :: Food 6) Somewhere :: Anywhere 7) Nurse :: Cut 8) Freak :: Nasty 9) Unbelievable :: Biggie, Biggie Smalls is the illest 10) Walk :: Run
Draft Gore More on Gore, this time from New York magazine. My only concern, as my mother mentioned to me, is that maybe Gore will peak too early? I'd imagine that he has to make his move a little earlier than would have been ideal because there might be some concern that presumptive Democratic frontrunner Hillary Clinton will suck up all the campaign-contribution money, leaving none for Gore once Hillary falters or once he gets serious and official or both. I just don't want him to spend all of this positive media capital now and get sold out by chickenshit journalists like those at The New York Times when they all trip over themselves on the way to fawning over "maverick" John McCain.
And for the record, Hillary Clinton will never be President. She's unelectable, and if the Democrats wind up with her, they will have effectively chosen to show up at the boat race with the Titanic after it had already sprung a rather obvious leak. Let's hope that the powers that be aren't this stupid. I wouldn't put it past them.
- Could the Gore movement be taking off? Not if the storylines about another presidential bid are all about previous failures and shedding old labels. I realize that those are the stories that have to be told initially because that's responsible, but it's been about a year, already, since, as Tony Montana might say, Al Gore started making moves again. Let's talk about the new Gore--the one who was right about nearly every issue in 2000; who has been right about global warming for a quarter century; who has been right about the power of technology for as long; who always seems to see the big picture. Write those stories!
- Call off the death watch; the Pistons didn't kill me. What the fuck happened after game two?! Great ball movement in the halfcourt sets, less isolations for Tayshaun and Chauncey; more run-outs, fewer nervous, directionless idle seconds--that's the shit I need to see against the Heat. Detroit needs to play like the team that had the league on lock all season; the team that was 41-2 when holding opponents under 90 points. DEEEEE-TROIT BAS-KET-BALL!!!!!!!!
Music for a Monday: The Best Hip-Hop Production of 2006
More RZA than most recent RZA tracks? Hip-hop records made by weed carriers that feature those carrying for those that carry are a pretty dicey proposition. For instance, I can't imagine anyone is all that excited about the next Memphis Bleek album featuring Geda K. Nor is anyone eagerly anticipating Spliff Star and his crew of weed toters. (BTW: This is long overdue, but can we all agree that it's a cot'damn shame that anyone died in the name of the "Touch It (Remix)" video? What an atrocity...) And, of course, no one ever really cared about Cappadonna's crew of also-rans like 8-Off and Jammie Sommers.
What this all means is that it is completely understandable if you're skeptical about The Great Migration (buy it here), a new record from Wu-Tang affiliate Bronze Nazareth and a collection of mostly unknown collaborators. Nazareth is a Detroit-based producer and MC who got put on by the RZA and has produced random tracks for various Wu-Tang projects. But more importantly, he's got one of those weird, derivative names that sounds like something RZA and Masta Killa might have dreamt up one day while sitting around someone's house, smoking weed, watching some kung fu, and getting caught up in the synthesized alternate reality in which most of the Wu-Tang Clan seem to operate:
RZA: Yo son, yo son--I had crazy visions. What if you flipped it on 'em and killed it with the bronze? The bronze joint! Right? Yo, yo, like check this, check this, son: We got a cat who attack/Swingin' arms, bronze medallions/Flow from Nazareth with the force of Christ's stallions...."
Masta Killa: Bronze Nazareth. Yes.
Maybe that's just me, but that was my first reaction: I figured that dude had some incriminating photos of the RZA and had parlayed that into a weird nickname and some shine. Either that, or he just carried weed so well--kept it in the right pockets, never ran out of papers, had the fresh baggies, would take a charge, etc.--that he earned some token bullshit. But then I heard some of the Nazareth work on those Think Different joints and I was intrigued.
My curiosity was reward by this record. Simply put, The Great Migration is the best hip-hop production I've heard this year. To be even more laudatory, it's the most Wu-Tang record since Masta Killa's No Said Date, and the beats on this are better than those. No one has Ghostface's charisma, and Ghost has constructed a unique musical identity that has made his solo projects so compelling, but that has also made his work stand out as something different, and Fishscale didn't come close to sounding this much like a classic Wu-Tang record. From the sweeping strings to the creative use of soul classics to the pounding sample loops to the off-kilter drums, Bronze Nazareth turns in admirable facsimiles of nearly every element in the classic Wu-Tang sonic catalogue. And don't read these comparative compliments as tacit admission that there is something fundamentally inferior about this record. Bronze Nazareth and his guest MCs acquit themselves well enough on this record, but the star of Migration is the production, beats that nearly beg to be picked up and flipped by the familiar, colorful, cherished voices of the Wu. Throw Inspectah Deck and Method Man on a song like "Detroit" and tell me that you wouldn't be rocking the shit out of that joint. How about GZA, Raekwon, and Ghost taking "Good Morning" for a walk?
- Pharrell ft. Kanye West, "Number One" (Stream) I wrote this over at Ian's site but thought I'd mention it here as well: I like this beat as a work of musical engineering. It's interesting as an instrumental. But I can't stand how it then carries the rhyming; the lyrics don't sound right over the music. Does that make any sense?
Still haven't heard this joint out at the clubs, and I don't understand why. Seems to have everything you'd need for one of "those" songs: - On Friday, accompanied by my mans 'an 'em, I checked out Beyond Beats and Rhymes: A Hip-Hop Head Weighs in on Manhood in Hip-Hop Culture. The movie was an entertaining probe of the overt masculinity of hip-hop that is encompassed by genre staples: braggadocio, misogyny, violence, and homophobia. Among other footage, the filmmaker, Byron Hurt, included interviews with Jadakiss, Busta Rhymes, Russell Simmons, Mos Def, and Talib Kweli; candid man-on-the-street clips captured at some BET lowest-common-denominator fest in Daytona Beach; and a this-guy-is-so-ignorant-that-you-can't-help-but-laugh interview with some idiot white dude from Ohio who actually called black people "colored" and used the term "you people" (I think) in a way that always gets everyone riled up. While the notion that hip-hop is ailed by too much music that glorifies degrading social values and judgments is not a new one, there was an admirable poignancy that accompanied Hurt as he challenged today's rappers and rap fans to account for their willing participation in certain practices that are objectively objectionable. Busta Rhymes, for instance, wouldn't even let Hurt get out the word "homophobia," flipping out and leaving the interview because he finds homosexuality anathema (and likely threatening). It was unintentionally and incredulously hilarious.
It is always easy to call someone with Hurt's intentions a didactic, moralistic Cosby who is unfairly judging others. But Hurt was right to ask the questions he investigated, and one of the more resonant, less explicit lessons of the movie is that hip-hop--like everything else, really--can be taken the wrong way by ignorant consumers who will readily accept the exaggerated posturing heard on record and seen on video as validity of hurtful behaviors. It is also always very uncomfortable and potentially treacherous for one set of people to call out a nebulous, larger group of others as being foolish or misguided, but you can't watch this movie and conclude that someone like Jadakiss is really thinking all that hard, relying on varied and conflicting inputs, about some of the practices he perpetuates.
I only wish that Hurt had interviewed the Dip Set, as the "no homo" phenomenon was ignored.
- Reason #459 why hipster hip-hop fans suck: As though it were not already bad enough that hip-hop is now critically assessed for so many people through the indie-rock, ill-informed lenses provided by the Village Voice, Pitchfork, and other outlets, this growing group of, um, unique hip-hop consumers are now ruining nights out. After the movie on Friday, we rolled over to some URB magazine-sponsored album-release party for the newest Duke Da God mixtape (lotta money over there!) figuring that there would be some powerful hip-hop being played. And we were right, but I couldn't get over how many hipsters there were tearing the club up to every Dip Set song released in the past three years (Juelz's "Mic Check 1, 2" had the crowd going nuts, the homoeroticism flowing as all kinds of kids channeled their inner uptown capo) but then losing interest in the evening when the DJ threw on older Cam joints like "357" and "What Means the World to You." This is your god, hipsters. Learn the fucking catalogue!
The Checks Must Have Cleared: The Roots at Radio City
You are now backing up with the best See that title above? Well, let's just say that for Talib Kweli, that's a really, really, really good thing...
I am not a religious person. I don't believe that there is such a thing as God, I don't pray on the regular, and I find the whole concept of spirituality very difficult to apply to my life. But much like the people on TV or theinternets (replete with profanity) who get up and dance (or yell at callers on public-access television), I find that there are times when a supernatural force commandeers control of my body and takes me to a higher place. These instances commonly arise when I go to Michigan football games; watch Tracy McGrady do something spectacular; wear seersucker; lose myself in The New Yorker; and/or attend hip-hop concerts.
Last night, I went to see the Roots at Radio City Music Hall, and it was like going to church.
But hold up, first we gotta turn the beat off. I had to turn the beat off because...the show was also advertised as featuring Nas, Common, and Talib Kweli. Where was it advertised as such? On the interwebs and on the radio. Radio like Hot 97? Yes.
But when you get involved with anything having to do with the Roots and Okayplayer, the landscape changes. Suddenly, at least half the crowd is white and of that half, a lot of the people are there because the Roots "play their own instruments, man" or because "the Roots are, like, totally cool and fun to smoke to, man"; the house music is mostly classics with a heavy focus on obscure Native Tongues tracks, celebrated hits from the Okayplayer family (Talib, we all see you), or East Flatbush Project; and the show is much more likely to start on time, although that's not a given.
So what happened when these two diametrically opposed forces met in the hallowed halls of Radio City Music, *gulp*, Hall? Well, for at least one day (and certainly not at the record store), Okayplayer won, beating back the force of ignorance we know as Hot 97. Novelty-loving white kids packed the venue; stuff that even Jay Dee had forgotten about got played before the show; and the concert, scheduled for 8, was off and running by 8:10.
Now, about going to church. The Roots are arguably the best live act in the history of hip-hop, and remain quite capable of offering one of the best concerts you'll find in any genre. Over the years, I have had the privilege of regularly seeing them perform, and around the time of Things Fall Apart, they were putting on some shows that engendered unadulterated euphoria. I mean, you couldn't help but jump up and move with the spirit. You know? Cast out sin, touch my forehead, testify--the Roots crew was in the house, and you were rocking with the best. It was exhilarating.
When they dropped Phrenology and started making a concerted effort to sound different, the shows changed. The jamming increased as the studio tracks incorporated more instrumentation that lent itself to improvisation; classic Roots shit from Illadelph and Do You Want More?!!!??! likely grew tedious having been played for years and years and dropped out of the touring catalogue; the lineup changed and expanded, with dudes like Martin Luther and Kirk Douglas and Ben Kenney and Frankie Knuckles coming aboard while Scratch and Rahzel left. All in all, change happened, and it was sometimes good, sometimes bad, consistently inconsistent. A turn toward the worse, creatively and from a performance standpoint, was cemented with The Tipping Point, a boring record with few, fleeting moments of salvation. I couldn't stand the set I saw the Roots put together last summer, and it was disillusioning. One of my groups, one of the exciting saviors and champions of hip-hop seemed lost. Suddenly, going to their shows wasn't like going to church; the spirit was gone.
Like any apostate, though, I can't turn my back on something that has meant so much to me and has provided the unique sensation of willing submission. So I soldier on with the Legendary: I remain calm, my lighter pushed up because they do what they do and I love the Crew. Any words of rebuke are conjured while immersed in a deep well of regret and frustration--I don't want to be let down by the Roots because if they can't do it for me (), who will? Trappin' out a dope house is boring and makes for underwhelming live shows.
Luckily, that wasn't the case last night; we had a little revival. Bienvenue to the Roots! The show started with the usual--"And it weighs a ton..."--but that was about as similar as the evening got to a(n inferior) Roots show of recent vintage. After a few originals, including "Dynamite!" the Roots segued into the Incredible Bongo Band portion of the evening. The Bongo Band classic "Apache" gave us drums that have been used by everyone, including the Roots for "Thought @ Work" and the Sugarhill Gang for their classic, "Apache." So those were the next two songs of the night, and those famous drums took the show right into its first twist, Nas's "Made You Look," another track indebted to the Bongo Band.
With "Made You Look," of course, came Nas. I hadn't ever seen Nas in concert before, and his planned appearance was one of the persuading factors that got me to shell out $36 for my ticket. I can't say that I got my money's worth, although I am oddly not upset about this. Mr. Illmatic did four songs--"Made You Look," "It Ain't Hard to Tell," "The World Is Yours," and "If I Ruled the World." That's bullshit, right? Wrong, and I have no idea why.
Forever, I had heard from people that Nas was horrible in concert--"He just kind of gets boring," I was informed. I guess I can see that. The guy doesn't write songs with fantastic hooks; much of his appeal stems from his lyricism, a quality best appreciated at home or in your whip; and soloists, in general, need to be pretty fucking captivating to prance around for an hour, let alone anything more than that. So maybe I went in with a diminished level of expectation. But honestly, I woke up yesterday most excited about seeing Nas, and I should have been upset and ready to slap his kufi off after he basically waited for the check to clear before getting his ass off stage. But still, there was something cathartic, satisfying, thirst quenching, even, about yelling out "Nas is like the Afro-centric Asian/Half man, half amazin'" amidst several thousand other people who were losing their shit as he tore through his verses and the Roots put together a fantastic version of Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" in the background. Similarly, I can't tell you how much fun I had screaming "...Understandable smooth shit that murderers move wit'/The thief's theme, play me at night they won't act right...." It was like a sprint down memory lane: finished too soon but a great trip nonetheless.
After Nas got his money and tore off to twist out Kelis back at home, the Roots--who played "back up" all night for their guests--got back into their shit with the few highlights from Tipping Point, "Star" and "Boom!" The latter, an intended tribute to Kool G Rap and Big Daddy Kane, was an appropriate bridge over which we all traveled as the show transitioned into the night's next guest: Kane. As you are perhaps aware, the man still brings the heat. Last night was no different, although his stay on stage was brief, hitting us with just "Raw" and "Warm It Up Kane" before going back to wherever they keep him in between guest spots at concerts.
There was a little more Roots music and then the artist who was probably the second-leading star of the night, Common, hit the stage. I've seen dudea bunch in the past few years, and this was one of his better performances. (Side note #1: I really think that more solo MCs should check up on the concert guest-spot phenomenon. It helps to concentrate their strengths and prevents them from doing anything stupid, like bringing too many weed carriers up on stage.) Com laced his verse from "The Bizness" before giving us a lot of joints from Be, most notably "Food," my favorite track from the album. (Side note #2: Dave Chappelle walked out from behind the stage at the end of the night but did nothing, said nothing, and was basically just there to show off how cool he thinks he is, hanging out with rappers and all that. Had he appeared as Silky Johnson, that would have been appreciated.) As is his custom, Common trotted out "The Light" and ended with a satisfying albeit predictable medley of "Used to Love H.E.R." and "Act Too."
As Common left to the beat from Kanye's "Get 'Em High," the evening entered the tragedy portion of the night: Talib Kweli came out and confirmed what many had long suspected--he is no longer a commercially viable artist. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WAS THIS A DISASTER. Talib busted a garbled freestyle over "Get 'Em High" (Side note #3: If you're gonna freestyle at a rap show, pick a beat that won't force you to swallow so many syllables. We already have no idea what you're going to say; please do us a favor and make your words audible. Thanks, Management) and then performed one half of three respective songs. Effectively announcing that his career has been totally irrelevant for almost five years, Kweli performed "Definition" from the Black Star album (released in 1999); "The Blast" from the Reflection Eternal album (released in 2000); and "Get By" from Quality (released in 2002). It was sort of pathetic watching a gifted MC whose music I have loved in the past trying to find some way to get the crowd to care about him. Even "Definition," a standby, was received only tepidly by the most sympathetic crowd Kweli's ever gonna find. It was really sad, and I hope that Talib's bookstore or whatever else he does has made him rich, because he's never selling anything more than double aluminum again. He couldn't have fallen off worse had he stopped taking the cream and the clear. What a shame.
Following an unusually sedate rendition of half of "Get By" the Roots took over for the rest of the night, blending tracks from Phrenology and Things Fall Apart with the regular array of solos. Notable, though, were: 1) DJ Jazzy Jeff was the man spinning with the Roots on this night, and he was fantastic (Side note #4: There needs to be more cutting and DJing in hip-hop right now, both live and on record. "Don't Fool with the Dips" was my second-favorite song from 2005 mostly because of A-Trak cutting so effectively. Please take note, rappers.) 2) Kamal didn't get to lead the Legendary in a Hip-Hop 101 lesson. Why not? Because he didn't have a solo. Why not? Because there was only so much time allotted for the show. So? So, 20 minutes were taken up by the Godfather of Noyze, Rahzel. Read. That. Again.
Rahzel hasn't been touring with the Roots since 1999 or so, when he dropped his lame-ass solo album, beefed with the Roots, and then functionally fell off the face of the earth. Since his departure from the group, the Roots have been missing a certain performance flair that was unique to a man who can basically imitate any noise with his mouth and convincingly recreate entire songs--bass, melody, and lyrics simultaneously-- using just his vocals. I thought his beatboxing skills, the Homosapiens to the Cro-Magnon stylings of the Fat Boys--were a lost relic of hip-hop, something perhaps fondly remembered but unlikely to be heard again. And thankfully I was wrong. Rahzel was amazing, running through everything from the Wu-Tang Clan to all those generic reggae songs you hear on the radio on Sunday nights to "Jesus Walks" to the club joint that brought the house down, Busta's "Touch It." Honestly, I think most people would have been happy had Rahzel just put on the functional equivalent of a two-hour dance party, conjuring songs left and right.
(Side note #5: Rahzel's stage time as a soloist tripled Talib Kweli's. If that isn't an indictment, I don't know what is. Next thing you know, Talib will be opening up for Freaky Zeeky or some shit. You couldn't even get equal shine to that of a novelty act? Damn, homey! In backpack circles you was the man, homey! The fuck happened to you?)
The Roots ended the evening with "The Seed," a song that Carl of Aqua Teen Hunger Force likely had in mind when imploring Meatwad to "incorporate more keyboards and tambourines--you know, the stuff that white people like" on the DangerDoom album.
All in all, it was a fairly satisfying night: I got to see Nas; he got paid; Talib Kweli had a retirement party; Common didn't embarrass himself; Rahzel came back; Kane continued to long live; and the Roots looked to be getting back on the right track, playing their shit in recognizable ways without sacrificing some of the cherished live elements (like covers). Not the holiest of nights, but at least I was worshipping again.
Rocking with the best? The voteshave been cast and the results are in. The following industry-standard press release from Diplomat headquarters (I guess that would be the Embassy?) will accompany all promotional material for Cam'ron's Killa Season:
"This is like the soundtrack to Scarface if it were scored and written by a gang of violent and flamboyant homosexuals"--It's Killa Season! The Dip Set Movement moves on with Killa Season, the powerful new album from Cam'ron!
Back like cooked crack and ready for Killa Season, Cam'ron unleashes his diplomatic fury with twenty-two tracks of focused Harlem heat!!! Long hailed as one of the most latently homosexual rappers since Liberace, Gay-Z (chancletas?!), and Caushun, Killa Cam brings uptown heatrocks steeped in overcompensatory heterosexuality including "Wet Wipes" and the smash hit "Touch It or Not," featuring one of the greatest rappers of our time, Lil' Wayne. The whole Dip Set is opening fire during Killa Season. Don't miss appearances by Jim Jones, who really isn't too old for this and really isn't like that creepy, lecherous uncle staring at you in the corner; Juelz Santana, who really isn't just a second-rate, corny Cam'ron son; 40 Cal, who really isn't looking to make a name for himself as the all-time most-useless weed carrier; Hell Rell, who really isn't just some recidivist looking for a hobby; and Max B, who really isn't a bizarre, raspy-sounding Nate Dogg derivative with a smoking problem. That's right, you're gonna have to call squalie when these uptown capos come through. But don't let them catch you snitching. Snitches can suck a dick (no homo).
Killa Season also includes the "Ether"-like scalding critique of Jay-Z's clothing, "You Gotta Love It"; the surprisingly strong "We Make Change"; and the critically acclaimed new single "He Tried to Play Me." Just listen to what critics are already saying about a track that the poisonous Hot 97 mixtape DJs have shouted out more than any other useless and ugly track in 2006:
- "The 'I rarely had a hot pocket' line. The odds of this NOT being a sexual act involving Jim 'Kanye is a Homo' Jones and Cam'ron? Nil." - Jeff, Passion of the Weiss - "Hey, nobody's ever called Killa a beacon of good taste, right?" - Dan, The 12th Man - "Cam's vibe is that of an angry child who can't get attention even though he shit himself." - Zilla, Crooked-Soul - "Get that man a tall stack of Johnnycakes." - Southeast And the praise doesn't stop there. With anachronistic and tired tracks like "Leave You Alone"; annoying, generic wastes of brain cells like "Living a Lie"; and hilariously maudlin efforts like "Love My Life," Killa Season has quickly emerged as an underwhelming follow up to Purple Haze, not nearly as interesting or consistent as the guilty-pleasure record of 2004.
- "Cam is proof there is Affirmative Action for the mentally challenged in the music industry." - Dewayne - "Tackling this monster as a whole will probably give me all kinds of brain damage." - Ian, Sexy-Results! - "'I'm tryna to end rap music for all of NY,' says the elder statesmen, Cameron 'Cam'ron' Giles. 'No homo. I wanna look back ten years from now and be able to say to myself, "I was a wack motherfucka in my day! I may very well have been the absolute worst MC to ever come outta New York!" God, I'd love that...no homo.'" - Shock - "I was going to try and mock Cam, myself...but I don't think I can top that." - KaLiBLeeK, nahmeanuheard That's right: It's Killa Season, the most no-homo record of the year. So duck down, don't wind up on a Summer Jam screen, and make sure you get your copy of an album that will surely have you wearing pink and purple while urinating on someone who you've just beaten. And of course, no homo!
- The Roots, "Don't Feel Right" The first time that you listen to this song, you're not going to like it. Same with the second and third. The drums are fantastic and the vocal samples are great and you will initially resent the piano and singing since both appear to obscure primal hip-hop elements that have been sorely missing from too much of the Roots' post-Things Fall Apart music. (Paging Malik B....) That the Roots are musicians in the best sense of the term is admirable, and less abstractly, it has resulted in some of my favorite hip-hop music of all time. You really can't tell me that their first four albums--individually to varying extents and collectively--weren't incredible. But since TFA, it seems like the desire to distinguish themselves as musicians (read: ?uestlove is a musical genius who is too smart and too passionate for his own good) has led the Roots down a path toward experimentation without utility and thrust the group into an identity crisis. Are the Roots now some kind of jam band whose records are just outlets for the different-for-different's-sake creativity that has grown out of a functional retirement from hip-hop? Or are the Roots, instead, still legendary hip-hoppers who have just lost sight of--and have not fully abandoned--their hip-hop chops?
I think that this song puts them somewhere between the two poles. This is not TFA-level hip-hop, but it also doesn't feel as though they are pissing in our hip-hop ears and telling us to disregard the directionless rain. Unlike Tipping Point, "Don't Feel Right" does not seem like a surprisingly bland attempt to invent a new sound. It perhaps offers a glimpse into the forthcoming Game Theory--this would be a fine "album track" on a comeback hip-hop effort. Let's keep our fingers crossed.
Also, you gotta like how that funky bass kicks in during the second half of the song. I'll take that. And in concert, you know they'll launch into all kinds of shit. I'll let you know after Thursday.
- Rhymefest, "Allido" I'm a Rhymefest fan. No shame admitting that. The guy is capable of some really witty writing, he has more character than most MCs, and his sense of humor is apparent on almost every track. At his best, 'Fest is capable of hip-hop that can reaffirm your devotion to the genre. At his worst, dude relies on some tired images, some filler bars, and he comes off as an amateur who's trying too hard. You get the whole spectrum on Rhymefest's debut album, Blue Collar (buy it here), and on this track.
Really, Blue Collar is an album that ads another rhetorical aphorism to the lexicon: You know you spend too much time on the internet...when a solid though unspectacular record manages to be thoroughly disappointing since most of the best tracks have been available for months on mixtapes. The poppy, infectious-hook-bearing "Brand New"; the certified Just Blaze-heatrock "Dynomite"; the sneaky, self-aware potential club hit, "Go Out Clothes"; the emo-rap duet with Mario, "All Girls Cheat"; the cheesy and nostalgic "Build Me Up," featuring posthumous yelling from the ODB--these are tracks that, were they new, would likely make Blue Collar something buzz-worthy and well-received. But these are songs we've heard beginning last summer, and the supplemental material--an odd, deflating blend of various hip-hop styles and gimmicks--fails to deliver content that would engender much excitement. Even worse, you could piece together the album of the year were you to take other joints from Rhymefest mixtapes and replace the clunkers on Blue Collar with them. How frustrating is that?
Rhymefest really deserves better. He's smart and observant and funny--hip-hop could use more MCs like him. But he won't have the single or the marketing budget necessary to become a star, and sadly, his record doesn't possess enough inherent quality to demand otherwise.
- Gnarls Barkley, "Transformer" You've likely heard this track, but I wanted to throw it up so that I could write about Gnarls Barkley's St. Elsewhere. Sticking with the song-as-microcosm-for-artist theme, this song is Gnarls Barkley. - The title is catchy: Macrocosm - Gnarls Barkley? That's like Charles Barkley, and that's funny! Microcosm - "Transformer"? Like Optimus Prime and Star Scream? That's awesome! - It ostensibly possesses the promise of something cool: Macrocosm - Danger Mouse? I've heard of him; I'm supposed to like him. Same with Cee-Lo. Microcosm - The cartoonish high-speed electronic sound is "in" as an alternative mode of hip-hop, right? I can get down with that! - The truth is completely different from perception: Macrocosm - Come to think of it, Danger Mouse looks like a fucking charlatan when compared to real hip-hop producers. And really, Cee-Lo is mostly a walking gimmick. Microcosm - Wow, paradoxically, this song becomes pretty boring as that high-pitched loop goes on and on.
That's what this whole farce is: annoying, overhyped, and ultimately lame. "Crazy" gets touted as a hit, and people whose opinionsI highly respect like it. But to me, it's a luscious pile of bland. At first listen, it's catchy. A few more listens and it sounds like some kind of dramatic (Broadway show-like "dramatic," not that bullshit faux drama that all Eminem-produced beats are supposed to be evoking) pop ditty that you don't mind having on. But like the milk I bought ten days ago thinking I'd use all of it, "Crazy" reaches its expiration date much sooner than expected after lulling you into a false sense of security.
Wouldn't it be great if critics would go back to supporting real music and popular taste would again prioritize the authentically good over the ersatz exciting? What a stupid album.
- Lupe Fiasco, "Intro" No one starts records better than Slum Village (check the catalogue if you really want to fight about this), but Lupe summons an opening that would make Jay Dee proud. These sweeping strings infused with the fleeting electronic echoes perfectly seize the proverbial stage that seems to have been set up for Lupe thanks to the Kanye banger, the mic skills, the recent re-emergence of cult fascination with skateboard culture, and the internet hype that bloggers and message-board heads create for any rapper who we think might record something that won't make us curse 50 Cent and the radio. Really, this is a fantastic, grand entrance, a confident grasp at legitimacy.
Lupe brings the lyrical heat, as well. Want to talk about the very real, very bleak condition of urban America, even if it's a topic that we've all heard so much about for so long? Well OK, but do it with some skill, some originality. Don't give us the supposed, unambivalent glory of street life. It's tired, it's inauthentic, and it's boring--and that's even when it's actually set to some memorable production. Spin a story that impresses us with your verbal dexterity; paint a picture that puts us in the scene. Find the right perch from which you can dispense the appropriate exposition and emotional tone. Do what Lupe does:
"Hang With the killers and distributors of 'caine They dismemberers of swishas Then refill it with the Jane Then they tilt it and they lit it with a flame Then they took a pull of killa to the brain Like..."
Reading the lyrics doesn't do them justice. Listen to the track--the assonance is fantastic.
Throughout Food and Liquor, Lupe flashes verbal skills that will make his success impossible to hate on--he really can rhyme, write a song. This success may not be immediate, though. First of all, his entire vibe smacks of "underground hero who fans can cite when griping about MCs who don't get enough shine." Second, the beats he chose for this album leave a lot to be desired. Food and Liquor is a fairly serious-sounding album. There's nothing wrong with that. Ask Mobb Deep, Biggie, Public Enemy, and a host of other artists who have dropped classics. But there aren't enough great beats on this album to make it stand out as anything other than solid. I'm supposed to see Lupe in concert twice next month--once in Central Park and once at the 2nd Annual Brooklyn Hip-Hop Festival (featuring Big Daddy Kane and Rhymefest, too!)--and I can already tell that his set will be technically impressive and emotionally flat. How is he gonna rock the crowd with this somber music? Just something to keep in mind.
- Ghostface Killah ft. Ne-Yo and Kanye West, "Back Like That (Remix)" I just want to shout out two lines from Kanye's verse, an odd pastiche of the things that you love and hate about Kanye: 1) "She ordered the Kobe beef like Shaquille O'Neal"; 2) "I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal." You can't help but smile. Come on...
- Consequence "Pay 4 Your Flight" People hate on Cons all the time. They say he's corny, he's a mediocre lyricist, he's boring. I don't see it that way. I always hear a guy who loves hip-hop and just hasn't really ever figured out how to channel his energy most effectively. I mean, he wants to sing; he's using "Misdemeanor," a great sample, in a weird way; he makes amusing observations but mixes in too much corny shit. The dude wants to be good so badly; you can tell. He just doesn't ever quite put it all together.
- Prince, "Gold" I just can't get this song out of my head right now.
As the astute reader likely observed on Monday, this site was bereft of new content generated over the weekend. Similarly, the truly perspicacious surely happened upon the reality on Tuesday that this site's author only got to posting something new late in the evening. The logical question that should have arisen in the wake of these or similar discoveries was, "What gives?"
The answer is as follows: Over the weekend, your boy-boy embarked upon a thrilling, tiring month-long gauntlet of social activity that will take him out of the country, out of touch with time, and likely, out of his mind. On Saturday, I traveled out of Manhattan to the far-off shores of Brooklyn (!) to see a film, The Short Life of Jose Antonio Gutierrez (a wonderful, melancholy examination of illegal immigration), and then departed New York entirely, sojourning to suburban Illadelph for an engagement party. On Sunday, it was back to New York for the NBA playoffs, sleep, and Mother's Day festivities. On Monday, I attended a friend's birthday function; on Tuesday, I had an appointment with a family member; on Wednesday, I have an explicitly heterosexual social appointment (a date); on Thursday, I'll be seeing Nas in concert for the first time when he appears at Radio City Music Hall (where I've never been) with the Legendary Roots Crew; Friday, it's back to Brooklyn for Beyond Beats and Rhymes: A Hip-Hop Head Weighs in on Manhood in Hip-Hop Culture.
The coming weekend offers no respite: I'll spend Saturday night imbibing alcohols and laughing at visitors from Stanton, MI; on Sunday, I'll try to catch Da Vinci Code and will then set out on a journey to New Jersey for a dinner obligation.
Like the coming weekend, the following week is also chockablock with activity: the Jesus and his brother hit town for a night of binge drinking followed by a four-day trip to London to visit with the greatest aspiring alcoholic I've ever known (). Upon my return to the States after Memorial Day, I will immediately have to ramp up again: there is a social obligation that Wednesday; a Pearl Jam concert that Thursday; a bachelor party in Atlantic City that Friday; another Pearl Jam concert that Saturday; and residual bachelor-party activities that Sunday. The week after all that, The Buckets gets back; Common, Rakim, Rhymefest, and Lupe Fiasco appear in Central Park; and Raekwon gets the Cuban Linx 2 hype poppin' in concert.
Amidst all of these obligations, I will have to watch the NBA Playoffs; work; eat; sleep (minimally); watch Lost; attempt to pursue various women who will all likely wind up being boring or bored, annoying or annoyed, unattractive or unattracted.
Why do you care? Well for starters, the posting schedule is going to be erratic. And for seconders, the tenor of the writing may change, briefly. The content may become less topical, the exposition less measured. This could be a change for the better, though. The substance will be more personal, the tone more dramatic. There will be an abundance of the seemingly popular concert reviews; the oft-requested (by friends) nuggets of personal information; and, of course, regaling tales of nights spent in the seductive clutches of alcohol and mischief.
If these changes are too disconcerting for you, just remember that you can always come here and find refuge in the comments section, where thoughts about Tim Thomas, Cam'ron's obvious homoeroticism, Hillary Clinton's unworthiness, and the like are always welcome.
You Are the Gayest Monster Since Gay Came to Gaytown
I spend a lot of time annoying The Buckets and friends who haven't seen or don't watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force by talking about the show and imitating Master Shake. It's my hope that this post will forever eliminate those who qualify as the former and forever render the latter obsolete, because the show fucking rocks. If you like absurdist humor, you need to be watching Aqua Teen. (And yes, this is not a new revelation. But whatever.)
While you're here, you might also: - Watch Al Gore from the Saturday Night Live that aired over the weekend. I'm telling you, Draft Gore! Othersagreewithme.
- Consider twenty-five hip-hop albums for young bucks. Can't see compiling a list like this without contributions from De La and Tribe, though.
- Check out Nate's list of the twenty best American-born white players to have appeared in the Lig in the last twenty years.
- Derive amusement from Yung Joc, the latest transparent attempt by Bad Boy to stay current.
Knows real thugs in wheelchairs I mean, I don't even know what to write. Where to start?!
Please, please, please listen to this song. Do it twice or even three times. Observe the awkward singing; Hell Rell's GLC impression; the piano flourishes; the bizarre juxtaposition of the song's lyrics with its emotional tenor. Then, leave your best insult or observation in the comments section. I'll round them up and we'll throw up an open-source track review. Cam'ron ft. Hell Rell, "He Tried to Play Me"
"I salute all the great sycophants and sellouts of our time..." When your party gets its ass handed to it in most important elections and during other political wrangling, it can very quickly lose its way. And that appears to have happened to the Democrats these days. As though the news that presumptive presidential-nomination frontrunner and COMPLETE SUCKBOX (not an intentional reference to lesbianism, just a generic, gender-neutral insult) Hillary Clinton will enjoy the fruits of a Rupert Murdoch fundraiser were not discouraging enough, on-point liberal blogger Kevin Drum recently made an excellent observation:
"At the same time, though, there is a massive misconception at the center of this argument that's worth mentioning. At least I think there is, anyway.
Chait calls the Kos/Atrios wing "left-wing activists." Marshall Wittman more colorfully calls them "McGovernites with modems." But this is a serious misreading. In fact, if I have a problem with the Kossite wing of the blogosphere, it's the fact that they aren't especially left wing. Markos in particular specifically prides himself on caring mostly about winning elections, not fighting ideological battles.
Now, there's no question that the left blogosphere is vaguely in favor of all the usual liberal goals: progressive taxation, decent healthcare for everyone, tolerance for minorities, and so forth. And, yes, they're loudly in favor of these things. But let's face it: with occasional exceptions here and there, these aren't the things that consistently get their blood boiling. What does is two things: the war in Iraq and the almost criminal negligence and incompetence of the Bush administration."
There's no reason to ever excuse or ignore the historic incompetence of the Bush Administration. Honestly, I can't think of one good thing that has happened to America since Bush assumed control and began amassing power and attacking the Constitution. But Drum hits on something important: Though liberals are often mischaracterized as condescending complainers long on rhetoric and short on substance, we rarely prioritize policy discussions over attacking President Bush. I'd like to think that Bush's obvious transgressions are so flagrant but also so maddeningly accepted that most on the Left are consumed by an understandable burning desire to shout, "Look at this!" as they undertake the Sisyphusian task of calling attention to all that ails America. But at some point, if we aren't talking about what a real healthcare system would look like, what better education ideas should be circulated, which steps have to be taken to create valuable jobs and reduce the massive deficit then we run the risk of squandering any power that we might ever again capture.
As Drum continued, identifying a legitimate reason for liberal angst:
"Frankly, I wish lefty bloggers did care more about fighting over policy issues. Not only is it a healthy argument to have, but it would give us something to coalesce around if we win back Congress in November. As things stand now, though, I have a feeling that if we win in November the netroots won't really have a very good idea of what it wants to accomplish, and will therefore default immediately to the longtime favorite game of liberals everywhere: the circular firing squad."
What happens if the Democrats win and don't know what to do? What is the party's agenda?
As I survey the leftwing political landscape, I see a loose confederation of political leaders who share a common ideology but differ greatly from issue to issue. And that's before even addressing the fact that so many appear to have obvious faults that could preclude winning a presidential election.
I think that Democrats need to fight the battles of 2006 and 2008 by using the facts. Get pie charts and graphs together. Want to provide a snapshot of the country since 2000? Trot out the credible economic data that demonstrates the growing deficit; the widening gaps between the rich and the poor; the loss of real wages; the stagnant creation of jobs that add real value to the economy. Don't let the Republicans win this issue by boasting about tax cuts and GDP growth and lowering unemployment. Find a way to explain why these misleading numbers are exactly that: one big fucking ruse.
And don't just stop there. Make global warming an economics issue, arguing that adherence and international cooperation is good for business and avoids unsustainable opportunity costs; demonstrate that the lost social-services spending is a function of all the money wasted fighting a frivolous war; drill down on education data and find a way to tell the story that I hear from teachers all the time--No Child Left Behind has been a disaster. Fuck, commission a trust/perception survey demonstrating just how alienated the rest of the world feels. Let's talk about these things--there will be plenty of time to bash Bush along the way.
If the Democrats can't begin to take back the power in this country while sitting on top of this mountain of evidence, then they should just quit. And if they're smart, they'll draft Al Gore to lead this fight. He is absolutely the BEST POSSIBLE CANDIDATE for President. Not convinced? Watch:
Hip-hop, a decadent moron's wonderland. I got this on email from the Brooklyn Capo. The broken English caption below came with the above photo. It was unattributed. Insert a "sic" as needed; it's too tedious for me right now.
All I can say is that this is grimey. Please tell me that it's a joke:
"New York -- Kimora Lee Simmons, the estranged wife of multimillionaire businessman and rap mogul, Russell Simmons, told reporters yesterday while seemingly intoxicated, received a pedicure in five bottles of 1957 Nickolls and Perk Cristal valued at $1,312.50 a bottle wearing a Chanel satin suit.
'I am happy and wished that Russell and I departed years ago. Russell and I had outgrown one another years ago and the little blue pill did not help our sex life," she said.
This is off the record, oh hell you can report it, Russell was awful in bed!!!...We will continue our business relationship and we will both be active in our kids loves, but the romance is what?...Over!!!'"
- Athens, GA music legend MC Travel (who now goes by his government name, Jamie Radford) records this unique, haunting electronic hip-hop that you have to, at the least, admire for its courage. Putting one's creativity and emotions out there for public consumption is pretty brave. I find his shit to be pretty easy to listen to. Can't wait to peep the full album. Want to know what I'm talking about? Download some samples (just right-click the links and hit "Save Link As"):
- Objectively, I agree with Jay Smooth: Star needed to be fired. Threatening children? Not a good look. But as an unabashed Star and Buc fan, I gotta say that this is some bullshit. What the fuck is worth listening to on hip-hop radio in New York now? Every time I put on Hot 97, it's some bullshit reggaeton, arguably the WORST GENRE OF MUSIC EVER. And Power 105.1 is always playing H-Town, and yet it is, in fact, 2006. Free Star! The Resource is riding with me on this one ().
- Not to get all up in someone else's business, but dude needs to chill out. Who said anyone was looking to get quoted or referenced in The New York Times? Isn't that almost the antithesis of maximizing the attractive potential for individual expression that characterizes blogging? And isn't it kind of, well, realistic to employ common vernacular and slang in this personal writing given that the language is culled from the personal idiolects of those whose authentic passion and creativity fuel these blogs? I bet that it would be OK if Matt Leinart used words like "douche" or "fuck." Oh well...
- This story was on the FRONT PAGE of ESPN.com. In related news, Charlie Weis needs someone to help him pull his pants up and ESPN needs a tissue. Not that this is new.
- Tired of going to OHHLA.com, looking something up, and then later finding out that the words to your favorite song (I am speaking in generalities, don't trip) weren't really "I said my n***as don't care/They just pull up a chair/And eat the whole buffet/I'm fat/I'm fat..."? Well then peep the new hotness: LyricWiki.
- Um, yeah, this is also hilarious. Watch the whole thing:
- I won't front: I was a little disappointed that a second Waist Deep trailer dropped because I had damn near memorized the first one. I mean, it was shown before, literally, every movie that I saw for a good two months right around February and March. But then the shit got pushed back to June 23rd or something and the studio likely had to cut a new promo so that everyone in the theater wasn't growling along as The Game sought out his money. I mean, Big Meat gets what he wants, you know?
- Dork Set Brooklyn Capo James uploaded the entire Transformers movie onto YouTube. Technology rules the world!
- Funkdigi comes with ?uestlove's Sample Lesson Mix, the DJ equivalent of the Roots' hip-hop 101 sessions. This is probably one of my favorite mp3's of all time.
Show's no love to homo thugs...but sends this out to them as a greeting card. In this episode, some of your favorite rappers try to stay current...and generally fail.
- Outkast, "Mighty O" Like most Outkast, I need some time to full internalize this joint and figure out if I like it. My initial reaction is that the hook is too much of a gimmick and the synthesizer is grating. Why do I think that everything having to do with Idlewild will wind up getting more critical acclaim than it deserves because people think that they're supposed to worship Outkast? And that's not commentary on Andre and Big Boi; that's commentary on how happy most people are to have thinking done for them.
- Busta Rhymes ft. T.I., "Cannon" The Busta Rhymes comeback is now officially intriguing me. This blaring horns sample and the overpowered bass work nicely. Just a really easy track to swagger around with, no?
- Freeway, "Bang Bang" - Freeway, "Rep Yo Clique" 50 singing hooks? Not a good look. Lil' Jon grunting and yelling over a crunked out version of generic New York street hop? Surprisingly better than expected, but incredibly disposable, nonetheless.
- DMX, "Lord Give Me a Sign" - Jadakiss, "Thug It on Out" Isn't it strange that at one point, DMX was probably the most popular and revered rapper in the hip-hop universe? Wow. And can we all definitively conclude that Jadakiss is great when you're in need of a guest spot but wholly underwhelming in most other instances? There are some rappers just made for a group, and he's one of them. He shines in limited supply.
- Talib Kweli ft. Jean Grae, "New York Shit" It became popular at some point to shit on Talib because his beats got bad and his content got stale. I don't know if this is gonna rehabilitate his image, but the guy can still flow. You can't front on that.
- Rick Ross, "Listen" He's not passing this off as a new beat, right? This is a T.I. song. And that one's better. Rick Ross's microphone presence isn't bad. Does he say anything new? Or anything old in an interesting way? I guess we have to conclude that he doesn't. But this track is all about Kanye--and classic Kanye, not the new-wackness version.
Not a Good Look: Straight Bangin' Summer Fashion Guide
"Dear Summer, I know you gon' miss me..." Now that spring has undeniably and irrevocably sprung here in New York and throughout much of the United States, it's time that we turn our attention to a persistent problem that plagues society annually, emerging from a winter hibernation each year to wreak sartorial havoc on New York: shitty summer fashion.
This is a problem that afflicts men and women of all ages, incomes, intelligences, and creeds. White, black, Latin, pan-Asian--it makes no different who you are: if you're wearing some of this shit, you've got a problem. From too much of the wrong kind of skin to too few of the right sorts of decisions, the choices people make when the weather gets nice indicate that the shared consciousness of humans in warm weather engenders a false sense that no risk is too great, no wrong properly dissuasive. Well, fuck whatcha heard.
To be fair, there are a plethora of looks that can work for the proverbial "you" if said "you" have the body or attitude or unspoken whatever. And, of course, this review of all that blows is fueled by subjectivity, but what would a hater like me do were he not spewing fire and venom indiscriminately, occasionally even burning loved ones and friends as they wander through a fashion haze getting too close to the fire? But we haven't come to praise fashion; we've come to bury it. Or at least, the clothes that should be donated to the Salvation Army.
Open-toed shoes: Not a Good Look No one wants to see your stankin'-ass feet This applies to men and women because all feet are disgusting. They secrete fluids; they smell; they're crusty; they collect grime in between the toes; they easily blister. And let's not even get started on the fact that most pinky toes look like a failed experiment of evolution. Much in the same way that no one is clamoring that the arm pit deserves more exposure, no one should be proudly showing off their nasty-ass feet.
Men are guilty of this like women are, but ladies, you take this shit to a ho' 'nother level. I know that you get all excited about your super-cute pedicures and all that, but your feet still smell. And they still sweat. And you can be damn sure that they're not sexy. So this brings us to the open-toed shoe corollary #1: Get...that...shit...off...at...work!
I cannot tell you how many women in corporate America ruin a perfectly nice outfit--to say nothing of a perfectly nice work day--by wearing flip-flops to and at work. It's so unprofessional that I feel embarrassed having to write about it because it should be obvious. But no, the issue won't go away. As early as March, women are putting their stank-ass feet out there for everyone to see as soon as the first hint of warm air enters the atmosphere. You're not doing us any favors by letting us know that your toe-nail polish is ruby and that your feet are collecting dirt at an alarming rate as you traipse around the City. And no one can take a person in flip-flops all that seriously at work, either, so have some respect for yourselves and your jobs and stop wearing flip-flops as though they don't project the idea that you don't really care about what you're working on. If you're dressed like you couldn't decide whether you were going to work or the Hamptons that morning, maybe it's a little harder to honor your request to borrow the stapler. Maybe those of us who didn't decide to dress in the most self-indulgent and pungent way possible simply didn't hear you when you asked. You dig?
Corollary #2: The flip-flops with the 27-inch soles are annoying and obnoxious. Perfect for twelve-year-olds...and no one else. I'll give little girls a pass on this one because they're immature and, accordingly, they can get away with wearing something that reinforces their relative lack of sophistication. But college kids, working women, mothers (!)--what is your fucking excuse? Are you just, like, really into seeming slightly off balance? Do you like that we can hear you from three miles away in every direction as you putz around in those castanets on your feet? These things are sloppy.
Corollary #3: John Kerry is not a flip-flop. Already lining up vacation spots at which the press can photograph him as he "campaigns" (Sorry for the momentary political digression, but it's damn near impossible to run image searches for "flip-flops" and not wind up with this patrician mug staring back at you. Back to business...)
Corollary #4: Men should NEVER wear jeans or any other pant with flip-flops. Probably at a Guster concert as we speak I'm not really sure when this douchey look took hold, but I'll say it was 1999 or so. That's the year when I was a freshman in college and suddenly, nearly ever dude on campus seemed to suffer from the same malady: their socks became allergic to their jeans. Again, I don't know if 1999 was actually the year that this started happening or if I simply became aware of it then because: a) I had been in a high school for dorks and thus didn't know what was up in the rest of the world where enduring five and six hours of homework each night for four years was not some kind of social escalator; b) I was living in New York and there weren't enough warm days that I didn't spend away at summer camp to notice the trend; or c) living away from home and grappling with independence forced me to confront the harsh realities I had previously been willing to ignore.
Whenever it happened and for whatever reason, as a freshman in college, I became acutely aware of the fact that a disproportionately large percentage of the male population happily eschewed wearing socks and sneakers or shoes to instead throw on jeans and sandals. Beyond my obvious objection to open-toed shoes, I can't fully articulate why this is such a bad look. My objection could be so vehement because it seems like an obvious and contrived attempt to seize some modicum of disingenuous distinction as a cool, calculating rebel by juxtaposing the warm-weather freedom of the flip-flop with the cold-weather protection of denim. The aversion could instead stem from my roots as a Nike head, the willing embrace of the flip-flop a symbolic rejection of the sneaker. Maybe I bristle because I am tired of the hackneyed college routine whereby at least one person on every college campus, regardless of latitude, is wearing shorts and/or flip-flops every day of the year. Or maybe it's just because most of the kids who I saw doing it were usually generic tools who couldn't get enough Dave Matthews and thought that they were way alternative because they had heard of Guster.
Now, I should say that I am painting with a broad brush right now since I have a lot of friends and blogger colleagues who like to rock this look, like to listen to Guster, like to do both, or somehow qualify for inclusion here in some other way. I am not trying to be a dick, I'm just sayin': this is not a good look. In fact, if you're reading this now and thinking that I am a judgmental jerk, you should remember two things immediately: 1) I am, in fact, a judgmental jerk, and that's why you like me; 2) you should be really mad at all the tools who have ruined this routine for the non-tools. I know that you aren't all suckboxes...it's just that so many of the nondescript college-aged masses are.
Sadly, the college-era fascination with projecting a certain ennui through the jean-sandal fusion doesn't end upon graduation. It just seems to become the default look for generic men as they make "grabbing brunch" a Sunday ritual and lazily walk a dog or "grab a paper" or do any number of similarly mundane alternatives. You know, I think that's what it is: this shit just makes you seem either self-satisfied or completely out of it. I can accept the jeans with sandals if you're genuinely the latter. But if you've adopted the latter pose externally while clinging to the former internally, well, then that just pisses me off.
Corollary #5: As bad as feet are, you do yourself no favors by adding socks. As Will Ferrell as Alex Trebek once asked, "Are you British or retarded?" Confused? Don't be. Just remember that I make Star and Bucand N.O.R.E. seem accepting. Really this goes back to the original premise: open-toes shoes are a disaster. You can't win as your stank-ass shit just floats out there in the breeze, and you certainly can't do any better by adding socks to the equation. Wearing socks and sandals of any kind, to me, indicates that you either have some kind of mental issue or that you're a tourist. And if it's the second one, then you're probably wearing a fanny pack. And that's not good for anyone, either.
The lone notable exception to this rule is the athlete. There is a certain seductive, athletic indifference that can sometimes stem from wearing slides--like these--with those ankle-high socks. But even that is not a look to be abused.
Corollary #6: What the fuck is with this dawn of civilization movement? Hail, Caesar! Seriously, what's with it? Have other people noticed the steady proliferation of these women's sandals that look like something best worn with a toga or some other similarly shapeless flowing gown? Why are so many women so quick to embrace the Roman foot-soldier look? Do they come with a sword and a shield?
Corollary #7: Don't look Israeli. Seen behind the glass counters of electronics stores throughout Manhattan This is a good rule for life, in general. "Dress British, think Yiddish" is how others have described it. Having never been to Israel, I'm likely speaking from ignorance here, but why would I let that stop me? You know the men's sandals that have about 70 different pieces of leather all over the place? For whatever reason (likely because I have been led, by television and anecdote, to believe them to be popular over there), I associate these with Israel. When I think of Israeli men, I picture them all in these half-a-cow sandals. I may be wrong, but I feel as though I've described these to others by calling them "Israeli sandals" and that usually gets the job done. Doubt me if you'd like, but don't say I didn't warn you as you walk down the street somewhere in Midtown Manhattan and get asked about the cameras in your window and the t-shirts and postcards that you're selling out in front of the store.
Moving on from footwear, there are other things that get people in trouble during the summer, too. For men, thought, it's pretty easy. We're wearing button-down or polo shirts with pants to work most days. Maybe on Friday we're breaking out a pair of jeans and something from the Frank Costanza cruise-wear collection. On the weekends, mostly more of the same: shorts, a t- or polo shirt and (hopefully) sneakers. Boom, done. For formal occasions, we might rock a pastel shirt or a seersucker suit, but the fashion remains mostly the same from year to year. And while there are certainly pitfalls--like getting a little too invested in matching patterns or popping multiple collars at once (you shouldn't even be popping one unless you're trying out for a Three 6 Mafia video)--getting dressed is easy.
Women, though, well, they have some issues...
Muffin tops need to go. Not hot. At all. Was there a meeting at which hoards of women decided that they weren't going to buy clothes that fit them anymore? When was it? Who were the featured speakers? I'm asking because this whole muffin-top thing--you know, spilling out over the pants and then showing that off--was a bad idea. Y'all got some bad advice from whomever hatched this scheme to prove that you don't know what the fuck you're doing when you go shopping.
The muffin-top look is horrible. What is it proving? That a woman's clothes are too small? That she has back fat like a man? Kudos for bringing about even more gender equity. With men whose clothes don't fit, the blazer sleeves come down a little too far past the wrists, the waistband bunches up because the belt is cinched too tight, or the gut hangs out. But at least we aren't showing these things off: no man is wearing a cut-off shirt that exposes his stomach so that everyone can see that he could stand to lose a few pounds. Why are women doing the functional equivalent? I am not arguing that everyone needs to be the same shape, become anorexic, or look the same way. I just don't understand why women don't want to wear clothes that fit, to say nothing of actually flattering them.
I don't know if I'm speaking for all men, but I would imagine that at least a few would agree with me that showcasing one's explosion out of a given pair of pants, and then framing what bubbled over with a shirt that's too small, is not a good look.
Gaucho pants should be left for cowboys and cattle herders. And Rafael Nadal. Nice cankles. This is applicable for men, too, because cropped pants really don't flatter anyone, but ladies, why do you wear these? To work?! What is the idea? If you have long, slender, well-defined legs, I'd imagine that gaucho pants might make you seem taller and accentuate a positive. But what percentage of the population--men and women--qualifies for this distinction? 2%? 10%? The rest of you/us don't look good as you show off just how difficult it is to tell where your calves end and your ankles begin. And if you have wide calves, just forget about it. The billowing gauchos, the loose-bottom capri--they do nothing more than help us see just how much circumference your shit takes up. At least skirts carry with them a certain dignity. The gauchos--especially the ones that look like they're made out of the thinnest cotton possible--just look sloppy.
See above: no one is dying to see your arm pits. Don't wear one of these to: an auction, a sporting event, school, a head-scratching contest... You know, in theory, the capped-sleeve t-shirt is a fine, innocuous item because it's a t-shirt, right? And it's just a cultural norm that girls will wear skimpier stuff, right? Well, that's all well and good until the sleeves on one of these things start riding up into a girl's arm pits. Then one of these shirts becomes the functional equivalent of an undershirt as it collects foreign agents and grime while exposing a part of the body that most people, male or female, don't usually seek to showcase. Women, stick with a regular t-shirt. Or even a tank top. At least with those, we know what to expect. The capped-sleeve t-shirt is sort of like going to McDonald's: in theory, it's gonna be good because you know that there will be some sort of superficial reward. But then, once you've gone through with it, you realize that it was gross and you regret the decision.
The male analog would be a white dude who thought his shorts were long enough but who really wound up rocking something that displayed the pasty portion of the thigh that seems to contain absolutely no pigment. NO ONE wants to see that.
So there you have it, the fashion don't's for the summer. Stay classy, San Diego.
On the Bruce Bowen Summer Jam screen - I realize that this video has now been seen, but I still can't get over it:
A few things:
1) Has there been a more embarrassing moment for white people in recent times? (Wait, forget that...) 2) What is with that fake Katie Holmes woman who plays Cruise's wife in the movie? I almost feel bad for her because she seems so befuddled. I guess she's probably just thankful to actually be in something. 3) What, exactly, is Ving Rhames doing? What's that hat dance he's trying to pull off? He looks mildly retarded. 4) Poor Laurence Fishburne. I like that he's kind of into the music. 5) Does anyone else pull a muscle as he or she laughs and cringes simultaneously?
- More Cruise being ridiculous! Using Internets Explorer, go here. Open the Overdrive channel. On the top right of the pop-up screen, select "Search Music Videos." Search for "Kanye West." Choose "Impossible," the third video from the bottom. Do not let your ears fool you. Cruise calls Kanye "brother" and actually says "We'll see you in Harlem!" What. The. Fuck. (HT: The Buckets)
- And speaking of Fishburne and Kanye, watch the movie Deep Cover. There's a character named "Eddie" who's played by Roger Guenveur Smith. Who's that? He's the token non-descript minority who's often cast as a Muslim or light-skinned black person. Like me, you may know him as "Huseni Mershah" from Oz. Anyway, in Deep Cover, Mershah plays this arrogant dude who's always running his mouth, talking really quickly, and dropping a lot of pre-rehearsed punch lines and gimmicks. He's eerily reminiscent of the persona Kanye has cultivated on record and MTV. Someone watch this and tell me that I'm wrong.
- Finally, is this gonna be another one of those playoff series in which Dirk get punked by a guy who's willing to play real defense as The Diggler fails to beat a real team?
The walking epitome of cognitive dissonance One of these days I'm gonna sit down and write a long letter I'm gonna have less work and more time to do my thing. Until then...
- While Terry losing on Survivor would give it a run for its money, nothing is more improbable than Tim Thomas contributing on a playoff team. I literally cannot think of anything less likely than a total bum who was effectively paid $13 million to NOT play basketball suddenly turning into a crucial component of a division-winning team. I mean, this surpasses Lloyd Carr winning a national title. What has ever been so mind-blowingly unlikely and yet still happened? Tim Thomas is suddenly walking proof that anything can happen. You know those ESPN tributes to Jim Valvano during which they show a photo montage as Jimmy V's famous words are broadcasted? Well, when he says "Don't give up; don't ever give up" images of Tim Thomas on the Suns should be on the screen. Somewhere, Korleone Young is getting his game together...
- Save the money that you might have spent on Mission Impossible (not a good look) and instead spend it on something that appears as though it will be completely fucking awesome:
- How sad is it that in this country, being educated can be a political handicap? It's especially sad that among so many poor people--black and white--aspiring to learn at the highest levels engenders so much animosity among social, economic, and ethnic peers. I can understand how jealousy, desperation, and the unavoidable feelings of inadequacy brought on by consistent institutional marginalization might serve as elements that yield a vitriolic and mistrustful emotional compound when mixed in the right quantities. I am not discounting the significance of those feelings nor of the deplorable framework that creates them in the first place. But still, there is something fundamentally wrong when a seemingly capable and demonstrably committed individual has to fight against his own accomplishments in order to win trust. Interloping is something to be wary of, but still.
- For a long time, I felt as though there was something insincere about The New York Times' seemingly new-found interest in black people. This sort of thing doesn't help. But I can't help but feel ambivalent as I read stories like these because widespread and ongoing discussions of race, the many steps still needed for racial equity, and the competition among ethnic groups are all important, and their facilitators deserve some credit. Say what you will about the thoroughness (or absence of) of the Times' reporting, but at least the paper is asking us to talk about race without the self-conscious whispers and stammering that might regularly accompany discourse that ran into the uneasy and happily neglected waters of racism.
What do you do when you're sick and have too much work? You post audio and video. Enjoy.
- Every Day Should Be Saturday posted what might be the greatest most-horrible video ever. Please enjoy? This makes that kid from Penn look like James Brown and Michael Jackson rolled into one. I'm just wondering why we couldn't have gotten any Dave Matthews Band and maybe some 50 Cent. Let this be reason, um, 76 trillion why South Bend sucks. And why did they have to use that Alan Parsons Project song at the beginning?! Wasn't that retired years ago? Oh, white people...
Movie comes out June 28th. Fuck yes! The trailer is unimpressive, but this is one of those pieces of pop culture that you either love or hate. If you love it, who cares what the trailer looks like, right?
- I haven't heard this song out at the club yet, but I won't be surprised when I do given the ascendancy of snap music. This joint, "Do It, Do It (Pool Palace)," is from K-Rab, whose publicist tells me that he claims to have invented the genre. Dude produced "Laffy Taffy," if that's a credential you care about. Here he is with some weed carriers, BHI, and Lil' Jon. I could listen to this song or not listen to it for a while. It's such an innocuous sound--well, until Lil' Jon starts yell-rapping. Stream the video and see for yourself. Do Dem Franchize Boyz sound like everyone else or does BHI purposely try to recreate their sound (you know, if they even really have their own)? Probably both. And I can't see myself choosing to do the pool palace if given the choice to instead lean wit' it and rock wit' it. The latter doesn't seem as tiring.
"Phon-tigga, still sick with the homonyms" I spotted the blog entry below on a message board somewhere. It is supposedly from Phonte's blog--you know, Phonte of Little Brother--but I can't find a link for this on MySpace, where dude usually posts shit. Is it from Okayplayer?
Regardless, please read this. It's amusing. And it helps illustrate why Phonte is among my favorite MCs; the dude just gets it. And props to a certain culture critic for dropping similar knowledge in the past.
6 pages in that other post and nobody's figured it out yet huh? Lemme break it down....
*sighs REAL deep*
Mobb Deep is gone. Club Mobb is what you have now. And you can either take it or leave it.
To me the last classic, dark, moody, make-me-wanna-open-fire-on-a-group-of-innocent-schoolchildren Mobb Deep single was "Quiet Storm." Hav and P were sharp as ever on the boards and on the mic respectively......and then.......
Enter Hov.
I'm sorry.....but I've never seen ANY emcee past or present be as VISIBLY affected by a dis as Prodigy was by that Summer Jam screen. All of a sudden, the same emcee who gave us countless quotables for 3 albums sounded as flustered and unfocused as ever. Hell, most of the time he wasn't even RHYMING..... Thus, we saw the beginnings of what I call "Club Mobb," a group that had had their street cred tested so many times (see: unfavorable incidents with TruLife and Keith Murray), that they figured '**** it.....let's take *****s to the club' and the results ranged from dope ("Burn"), to dope-once-it-grows-on-you ("Got It Twisted"), to horrid ("Hey Luv" feat. 112).
So what exactly happened?
Most people don't realize that the magic of Prodigy (and Mobb for that matter), lied in Prodigy's first bars. Literally......Prodigy has some of the most classic and memorable first bars in hip hop history, and that made for their best singles. Don't believe me?
"I got 'chu stuck off the realness....." -Shook Ones
"The saga begins.....we go to war/ I draw first blood be the first to set it off...." -Hell On Earth
"I put my lifetime in between the paper lines...." -Quiet Storm
"I break bread, r i b s, hunnid dolla bills...." -Keep It Thoro
Now as you listen to "Blood Money" try to find that bar. Dig through that album and search for that one line.....that ONE bar from Prodigy that made you and your mans rap along in unison like "I used to be in love with this ***** named E&J/ don't **** with her no more now I **** with Tanqueray" from "Drink Away The Pain."
You can't find it, 'cause its not there.
For better or worse depending on how you look at it, Havoc is now the best MC in Club Mobb. I take my hat off to him. Dude sounds hungrier than ever. And although P still has his moments (his verse on "Capital P, Capital H" is dope), for most of the album he's the same rambling, non-rhyming, unfocused guy that he's been for the past few years. He really sounds clinically depressed. It's sad.
So aside from its obvious artistic shortcomings, what does G-Unit have to do with people's hate for "Blood Money?"
Honestly......everything.
Like I told y'all so many times, even in regards to my OWN career.....in this game, PERCEPTION is reality.
And if people's general perception is that you cashed in 13 years of hard-earned respect for a Porsche...
AND you're rollin with the industry's hot new franchise boy (who DISSED you a year earlier, mind you)......
AND gave him total control of your album...
AND engaged in blatant cock-sniggling in interviews and on records by referring to him as Curtis Billion Dollar Budget Jackson.......
AND the only features on the record are G-Unit (no Noyd or any other QB *****s).......
Then what is the general consensus?
"Maaaaaan, them Mobb Deep *****s sold the **** out," that's what.
Now personally, I have no problem with an artist selling out, or cashing in (however you look at it)....but I understand the ramifications of it. And the fact remains that when you sell out: 1) it damn sure better be financially worth it so that you NEVER have to sell out again, and 2) your post sell-out records better be artistically ****ing BULLETPROOF. I mean, you better make the record of a lifetime or else there will be hell to pay.
And from the looks of things, Mobb may fail on both counts.
Cats are trashing the record left and right. Most die-hard Mobb fans have written them off by now. As dope as "Put 'Em In Their Place" is it ain't gon' get the 106 and TRL'ers, so those diamond numbers they were shooting for are looking more like Yayo's.
Not to place all the blame on 50, because truthfully, the songs he's featured on are among the best on the album. And I always thought "Outta Control" was dope, because it felt like a natural progression for Club Mobb.....it was the grown and sexy Club Mobb and it knocked. The same can't be said for "Give It To Me" and "Backstage Pass." They are club attempts that sound forced and honestly, are downright laughable.
I will always hold Hav and P near and dear to my heart, and they will always be viewed as hip-hop legends to me because of their first 3 albums (honorable mentions go to "H.N.I.C" and "Free Agents" tho). But I gotta call a spade a spade.
For longtime Mobb Deep fans, "Blood Money" pretty much confirmed our worst fears of what we thought a G-Unit/Mobb Deep partnership would bring forth:
