Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Things that kill it, 06/30/09.

1. The Dirty Projectors, "Stillness is the Move" video. Yes, yes, a thousand times YES.
It's my jam, it's your jam, it's everybody's jam. Hello, soundtrack of the summertime & frolicking in my sundress! (boning, anyone?)

Isn't life under the sun just a

Special shouts to my pop, my Sesame-Street-watching buddy from way back because this video takes me back to the "Me & My Llama" days. Parental figures x PBS, I'm nothing without your collaborative efforts. Thanks and praises.

Killa bees all over your fuckin planet, thirty-six chambers of death, three hundred and sixty degrees of perfected styles, etc, etc...

Oh, and all over OB4CL2, says Rae; every single Wu god will make an appearance. The outcome is critical.

Me, when I heard this news:
"Even U-God? Is that really necessary?"
We were all thinking it; I just said it out loud.
And then I posted a bunch of Rae pics I like. The end.

Rae kickin it with Brett Favre and then 2 herbs get in on things.

I wish you would apprise me of exactly what is occurring here.

And here. Thanks.

PS, you guys, doing an image search in order to cull material for this and future Rae posts yields many results revealing that there are a whole lot of cats* in this world named Raekwon.

*literally, cats. Not dudes, like "this jazz cat I know," but actual felines, named after the rap Larry Daves.

3. Phonte on MJ and demonstrating why Phonte is the bawss, reason #15,000: "My Hero Didn't Molest Them Bitch-Ass Kids."

(Thanks, Rafs!)

4. Uncle Rick producing Crosby Stills & Nash! My hip hop and folk music worlds just fornicated and made a beautiful, healthy baby.

I hold close to my heart each and every one of the precious first 16 seconds in the song below. More "Baby Logan playing with her stuffed animals on the carpet in the living room in the early '80s" music, courtesy of the 2 heathens.

File under "Song Intros That Shall Never Be Outdone, Forever And Ever, Amen."

Tomboy Moment # 1406: Iron Mike, 06/30/66. Baseball's color line. Shoe history game proper.

1. There's been lots of talk lately about talented, tragic public figures. Just sayin.

I'm not sure how someone can seem sweet and rage-filled at the same time, but you done did it, Mike.
Happy 43rd, Mr. Dream.

2. Nice, Red Sox. Reallll nice.

How sneakers got their names!

Rhebok = African antelope. Reebok = Afrikaans spelling.

Adidas = Adi Dassler, German businessman.

ASICS = an acronym for the Latin phrase anima sana in corpore sano: “a healthy soul in a healthy body.”

The one about Chuck Taylor is kinda fresh, too.

Puma Clyde = duh, although the article taught me that the nickname came from Clyde Barrow and I enjoy that. Mostly I just wanted to post this picture and have used this post as a vehicle to do so.

"The subtle suede Puma Clyde is another classic shoe with origins modern wearers might have missed. In 1973, Walt Frazier, the flamboyant and fashionable point guard of the New York Knicks, wanted his Puma basketball shoes to fit a little differently. Frazier thought he’d be more comfortable in a wider shoe and asked Puma if they could design him one. Puma was glad to give the dapper Frazier a hand, and he quickly signed on to endorse the revamped kicks. To tie the product even closer to Frazier’s famously cool public persona, Puma gave the shoe Frazier’s nickname, “Clyde,” a moniker a Knicks trainer bestowed upon Frazier to honor his tendency to dress like famous bank robber Clyde Barrow."

The city winks a sleepless eye.

Dwele. Call me.

Just out of camera range: me, lounging on the couch in some Hipster Gap thigh-highs, swooning and having my heart break into a hundred pieces because my Detroit boyfriend is just too talented.

(Sorry, I couldn't help it. Things were gettin too serious round here! Now let's all go listen to "The Way You Make Me Feel" and remember the good times.)

Monday, June 29, 2009

Pusha T and Malice been gettin high off they own supply

Something like a phenomenon, baby!

"Clipse Call Themselves 'Best Duo Ever',
have vision dreams of passion."

"Gucci Chuck Taylor with the dragon on the side,
Wamp wamp,
Trust, I know them twenty's real well, and
we're the best duo EV-ERRR."

They breed some real comedians out there in Virginia! What I have to say about this is what you would expect me to say about this, so I shall let the musical superheroes in my life do all the talking and express my thoughts and/or feelings about this unfortunate incident:

When reached for comment,

Eric B & Rakim,
Erick & Parrish,
Mos & Kweli,
Kool G & Polo,
Monch & Po,
Prodigy & Havoc,
Bun B & Pimp C,
Guru & Premier,
KRS & Scott, and
Big Boi & Andre

all said the exact same thing, which was, "What the fuck?"
followed by uproarious laughter. A good time was had by all.

Then Malice and Pusha told that one about the guy from Nantucket, and then the one about the priest and the rabbi, and then asked if we knew why the chicken crossed the road.

Annnnd scene.

(PS, they didn't even say best hip-hop duo...they said best DUO, which takes it to next levels of delusion. Aw, confused and grandiose mic-wielding brothers from Virginia are so adorable! Dear following epic duos, Malice and Pusha would like you to please see yourselves out: Quincy & Michael, Tyson & D'Amato, Magic & Kareem, Marley & Tosh, Slash & Axl, Tiger & a 9-iron, Stevie & a keyboard, me & hips, me & music nerdery, me & general nerdery.)

Licensed to Ill. Sick wid it. Still Ill. Touch me I'm sick. Hustle with a sick style/jump off the boat. Illmatic.

Sick today. Sadface.

Somebody please come take care of me. K, thanks, bye.

Sean Combs makes my life less wonderful, episode #803

"Diddy to promote Red Stripe."

And then Satan laughed.

"Diddy may strike a deal with Diageo, the world's largest brewery company in the world, to promote the Guinness and Red Stripe beer brands, according to Advertising Age. In 2007, the Hip Hop entrepreneur teamed up with Diageo to promote its Ciroc vodka brand."

- Hiphopdx

My official stance on this news is that I most definitely do not under any circumstances care for it.

Upsetting a nerdy bikini-clad blogger is a misdemeanor in most states.

I love Red Stripe with a red-hot intensity--the shape of the bottle, the cheery red & white label, the way I can dupe myself into thinking it's bottled in some plant in Kingston and employs citizens of a poor and exploited country when I'm pretty sure it's from upstate NY or something. Plus I'm a lightweight--I can nurse 1 of 'em for an hour or two.

Me and my precious lager, in happier times.
(no idea why I'm holding it so tightly. Other than, you know, I'm a doofus.)

Ciroc, you'll be hearing from my attorneys for this little stunt. Also, purely from a marketing standpoint, I must ask: Diddy? Really? Was Gucci Mane busy or something? You need to hitch your wagon to his horse and soon you'll have all the kids talkin bout how Red Stripe is so icey! Just a little free advice from the skinny girl in apt. 302.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Sunday morning with Fela & Lemi Ghariokwu.

Nigerians have the best names in the whole world, no? Chinua Achebe, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Babatunde Olatunji, Nnamdi Asomugha, Christian Okoye, and
your ex-girlfriend Oluchi, She of the Amazing Rack.

Nigerian artist Lemi Ghariokwu has designed 2,000 album sleeves thus far, 26 of which were for Fela albums.
PS, this was just some of his discography, cuz Fela had
more than 26 albums; I see you, Weezy.

Shook Mag: How did you end up designing sleeves for Fela?

LG: "I said to my mum (that a journalist who had seen my work) wants to take me to Fela’s compound, and that why I always remember my mum supported me throughout, she wasn’t reluctant to let me go, she said ok, I should go with him. So when we got to Fela’s place and he saw the portrait he really loved it and he used two words that I’d never heard before until that day and I will never forget them, he said, “Wow! Goddamn!” So he actually offered me money, in those days I used to earn 30 Naira for my portraits, he didn’t know this and he wrote out a cheque for 120 Naira! But I gave it back to him and said no Fela, I give it to you from the bottom of my heart, I don’t want any money. He was really surprised, and so he tore out a sheet of paper and he wrote out a gate pass, he wrote ‘Please admit bearer. Free of charge.’ So that was my pass to Kalakuta (Fela’s compound)."

"A couple of weeks later, Fela’s house was attacked by the police; it was headline news on the radio, television everywhere. So I was naturally eager to find out how he was, the journalist came (to the bar) and I said to him how is Fela? Is he ok? He said he is ok, he is in the hospital so he took me to the hospital. When we got there, the room where Fela was had maybe 20 or 30 people and he was talking, so we inched our way closer to the bed so he could see us and then Fela said “the artist!” and those words ‘the artist’ I felt it deep in my spirit. Then he started talking about a song he was going to write to lampoon the police called ‘Alagbon Close’ so that was the first sleeve I designed for him in November 1974."

I don't know if Lemi designed this one (the Internets failed me in my research efforts);
but, really, who cares? This whole post has been one big excuse for me to post the track below.

I need more of a 1971-type situation in my headphones these days.
Fela & Ginger Baker - "Let's Start." Life is wonderful.


at Rich Mix gallery.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Jonathan Mannion.

Things I like:

1. My beat down low
2. My top let back
3. Pictures of mic-wielders.

Dear Mr. Mannion, while I appreciate your efforts to convince me to let you take me out for a nice steak dinner by giving me the photographic eye candy below, I must regretfully inform you that I only sleep with musicians with chemical dependency issues. Just ask Trevor Traynor; you guys can commiserate.
Keep doin it real big, though! I approve of your work!


Then they all went home and Twittered each other about how amazing the photo shoot was. "OMG Bleek, your fitted/chain combo was so dope!"

Friday, June 26, 2009

Using audio ammunition.

Birthday goodness!

Mick Jones. Clash-er, guitar-wielder, Brixton superhero.

If you thought I was gonna post anything other than "This Is Radio Clash" in tribute to Mr. Jones, there's just no hope for our relationship at this point. Those faux-ominous booms and that cackle at the beginning like the sound of a villain entering the room! C'MON. There was no other option. Get your mind right.

Oh and did I mention: CLAPS, echo, lasers, bassline, Strummer trying to get me to take my pants off with his vocal stylings, and on and on.
That "Teheran" screencap, too--planet Earth's cyclical history game is the tightest)

The real question here is, why the fuck don't you go 'head and make me something just as great as this piece of banging sonic bliss? They did it in '81 and I need more in these current times. Hurry, please.

Years later (i.e., today), Mick wears a suit and demonstrates what time does to beautiful tortured young Cockney punk boys when they outgrow their vices. Sigh, oh dear, that's unfortunate, etc.

Look at your boy next to him, though! Laugh out loud!
That's how we'd all feel if it were us getting snapped with Mick, most definitely.

Round black pieces of vinyl. Curved body, six strings & a fretted neck. Slum Villy. Jimi.

"Darling, your love is just like my music."

Marvin Gaye.

1. Justin Holbrook made this, clearly a charming attempt to get me to go out on a date with him (maybe to see that Bill Withers doc?).

Digging from justin holbrook on Vimeo.


3. Los Angeles: I Love You, part 937.
I was walking down El Centro several days back, heels clicking, jeans probably a little too tight but listen, it's hard to find ones that fit both the waist and the hips. Don't judge me.
Somebody had put a needle to
"Diana in the Autumn Wind" on the platter in his living room, it came out strong from the speakers, through the open windows, onto the street. I heard it, stopped my feet, paused, had a still, quiet moment to myself, and it was the year 2000 for a quick second, when everybody I knew in LA loved Fantastic, Vol. 2 and hadn't heard of Conant Gardens but were inhaling the magical drum-looped beats that came from there.

If you're a girl, like I am, you've secretly filed "Fall In Love" in the "romantic songs" section of your brain even though you shouldn't because that's innacurate. It's just hard to believe, when you hear that melody over the drums sounding like a heartbeat, that this was not written in tribute to someone of the womanly persuasion.
Sometimes all a girl needs is some sunshine and ear candy on a June day to remember for certain that life is, in fact, wonderful.
In conclusion:
Thanks, anonymous Angeleno record-spinning soldier.

(I should also add that I'm pretty sure I fall somewhere on the autism spectrum because of the effect music has on my body and brain.)

I do it because it gives me a sort of peace of mind/And for the love.


"When things get too heavy, just call me helium."


Ride the boogie. Share that beat of love.

james-brown-obsessed little boy from indiana, voice like the musical equivalent of sunshine.
ps, humans: please be kind to your offspring.

the note at 01:17. beautiful/aching.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

YOU BIG DUMMY. Dirt naps. Stick-ups. Brown & Bambaataa.


(Malt liquor=lager. Redd knows.)

5 O'Clock Shadowboxers, "Dirt Naps."
At first I thought I didn't like this, but then I kept listening to it over and over. Spoiler alert: I like it.

The rhyme-sayer on the song sounds like Ase Rock if he were on Rhymesayers. This guy is the production wizard behind it. And mostly I'm posting it because I like the dude saying, "I don't care for it" at the beginning, since I say this many times per day and it's pretty cute.
("I don't care for Ash Roth; he frightens and confuses me."
"OH NO, everybody on Tumblr reposts everybody else's stuff all day; it's just one
via after another. I don't care for that.")

Oh and did I mention that the line

"Back in the days, I was tentative/Riki Rachtman, summer days, Bon Jovi, "Bad Medicine"

is pretty great, and

"The blog boys got holes & can't fill em up/cuz a Zshare link don't equate to real buzz"

is pretty goddamn fresh, too.

Plus they have a song called "Eric Lindros," the greatest song title-that-also-happens-to-be the-name-of-a-foreign-sports-figure since "Detlef Schrempf."


3. "Stick-up kids play in the front of Latin Quarters/Keep home your daughters."

OC's verse on "Return of the Crooklyn Dodgers" got me thinking about common lyrical content. (Dudes verses making me think about things is a frequent occurrence in apt. 302.)

Also, Rae got me thinking. He usually does--especially when he's doing his impression of Ace Rothstein.

the runners is watchin the fiends
now the look-outs is watchin the runners
the runners are watchin the spot
while the spot is bein ran by the hustlers
the hustlers is bein watched by the dealers
and while the dealers are bein watched by the stick-up kids
the stick-up kid watches the dealers
the police is watchin the stick-up kid
we watchin the police
and the eye in the sky is watchin us all

The Roots. Stick-up kids is jumpin outta plated Dodge Rams.
Biggie. Big up, big up/It's a stick-up, stick-up.
Eazy. This is a stick-up.
Rakim. You know, that one line.
Greg Nice. Gangstarr. Stick-up kids is out to tax.
M.O.P. You know, that one line.
Nas. Stick-up kids with no conscience, leavin victims with doctors.
Organized. Fifty-two pick-up, a stick-up.

Plus, Honey Cone has that song "Stick Up," which I hope the SKs chop & loop someday.

Once again, I go and do the damn thing with yet another excellent non-example of me using my expensive master's degree: in this case, pondering and then culling from memory a retrospective of various lines from MCs over the years about petty theft with a firearm. I'd like to give a special shout to Cal State Long Beach for the piece of paper in a frame on my wall, and say hi to my mom and dad, without whom none of this music dork/fiend business would be possible.

4. Socialize, get down/Let your soul lead the way.

Harold Melvin (06/25/39) & Sean Carter.

We've all been shopping at Macy's so we're all familiar with the nonthreatening adult contemporary music coming out of the speakers--like Simply Red's version of "If You Don't Know Me By Now," which is kinda fresh but also not so fresh when you compare it to the original Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes version.

In other news, you put this here song on the platter in the living room and tell me nerdy girls are beautiful, and I'll forgive all of your transgressions. I'm easy.

(Oh, and Teddy Pendergrass was in the Blue Notes. Look at that--it's only 10:30 and I have already reached my music history/nerdery quota for the day.)

I know, I didn't think a dude named Harold Melvin could be so cool, either. Today's his birthday, and as we all know, the birthday of an old soul singer provides an excellent way for me to post something from Kanye's pre-Autotune, 2000-2005 body of work--"This Can't Be Life," which has Scarface on it but he's actin real un-Scarface-like in his lyrical content and delivery and it's disappointing. The beat is all I need to get by, though. Hand over that instrumental, please, Yeezy. Gimme a copy when we meet up and exchange air kisses at Jeremy Scott's next show. Thx.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

In '95 we take back Ebbets Field. "Return of the Crooklyn Dodgers."

So much Brooklyn-ery lately on the web log!

'95 was so good to us, 'member? We were so young and bright-eyed and hopeful, there was a Democrat in office, the Raiders returned to Oakland but it was OK, and ODB was still around and gettin psycho, killaa Norman Bates. I'm sad to say I had totally forgotten about the song below, but we recently got reacquainted like we had never lost each other. Feels lovely.

Press play, just trust me, cuz you'll remember how happy you were all those years ago, when you first heard the Premier production finery on this track--the way he chopped up the vocals on the Tribe-produced '94 original, oh my goodness--and then that one verse came in (the way Chubb says, "Kennedy,"), and then that other verse (OC saying, "Fort Greene would hem ya, wreck the fuck on up"), and then the verse after that.

Jeru for President based on that Sega line*; I don't need nothin else from my political leaders.

O.C. for VP.
Chubb can be Secretary of State, or maybe Speaker of the House.

It's the Masterful Voice and Delivery In A Golden-Era Rap Song Seminar of nineteen hundred and ninety-five. Please take your seat; these dudes are the 3 keynote speakers.

(song complimented by the lovely visual of yellow crime tape as a basketball hoop net, the greatest Barbara Walters reference of the last hundred years, and the presence of Masta Ace, who can thrill me by committing the simple act of saying words into a microphone.)

"Peace to the East New York, Perverted Monks, and Mike Tyson"
- Jeru

*Chips that powered nuclear bombs power my Sega.

"Pictures of music gods in their youth somehow enthralling to nerdy female blogger."

Baby Slash, Baby Dilla, Baby Rae (!!).
OMG, you guys just fell in love with me ten times harder.

It's him. It's really him.

"Rae got it goin on, pal."

Dudes I do not know but hate nonetheless.

1. THIS guy.

That's his collection. Of cassette tapes. Of Wu and Cypress and Joy Division and old KDAY shows. That he's GIVING AWAY. Because he just had a lobotomy and/or hates himself.

2. And THIS guy.

on Hannity's latest white-man roundtable discussion, via Deadspin:

"This is what scares me about President Obama...he's creating a foundation from which he must lead from, and that foundation does not have the same character traits that have made this nation great...(including) standing up for what is right."

Jay Feely, I must pull you aside and inform you that you're off my Fantasy team. Oh wait, you were never on it, but still. You are currently on Republican/D-Bag Reserve and I don't see you being healthy/non-Republican enough to play for my squad in the near or distant future.

Per his Twitter bio, he's "Kicker for the New York Jets, 9 yrs in NFL, Husband, Father of 4, golfing fanatic, fishermen, Christian, with political aspirations."
(He left out "SuperHater of Current Black Presidents."

OK, let's break it down. Dear Jay,

1) Fishermen is plural, dun. You are but one man.
2) Sporadic capitalization is not cute, dun.
3) "Political aspirations." Yes, definitely--but you should wait to pursue this until you're done performing your current job of using your foot to forcefully project a ball between goalposts on Sunday afternoons at the Meadowlands.

(Also, his location according to Twitter is "Florida/New York/Michigan"; a valiant effort, Jay, but far inferior to my own holy trinity of whereabouts--Marcy Projects/the trap/K-Town. You should probably sit this one out, buddy.)

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

A commitment to excellence. In a cotton sundress.

I don't wear too much gold because it's tacky
I bust a Raider hat T-Shirt and Khakis.

I already knew about Biggie and NWA and DMC, but

It turns out that Too $hort and Chuck D and Bishop and ME all like the same football team!

PS - because I always have to offset an "NFL and fresh-dipped MCs" post with some girlyness,
what we have here is an interlude on how fashion can sometimes be

The corseted top of my simple dress keeps its shape and holds my girly parts in place because of thin metal or plastic pieces sewn into the garment. Many years ago, tailors and costumers used small whale bones for this purpose; as a result, we call it boning.

Much to my mother's dismay, this is why I now prance around and show off my stuff in my cheerful yellow cotton dress and announce repeatedly, "I LOVE BONING."

The dress is from H&M; the eyes & eyebrows are from way back when the Moors conquered everybody in Europe.

"You have face of baby! Large eyes."

- Mr. Cherenkov in apt. 206, in Russian-accented English, every time he sees me.
FACE OF BABY. Los Angeles, you're crazy and I love you.

The rebel/I make more noise than heavy metal.

Glenn Danzig might be a pretentious, dramatic, muscular midget, but
today's his birthday and he's done some great things in the history of White People Music so I'll thank you to show a little respect.

a) This fucking melodic beast of a song makes me want to act all '80s white trashy, get implants and pose like a mudflap girl and get knocked up by my boyfriend on his lunch break from his shift at Pep Boys.

b) You love some NASCAR guitar riffs and a quiet build-up leading into a chorus that makes you want to raise your Tecate in triumph. Don't front.