Once upon a time you dressed so fine.

And there was that time Dylan and Ali were boys and somebody snapped a pic.
And then I randomly found out that Highway 61 Revisited was released this week in 1965.
So, see, it's like the universe was begging me to do a Dylan post.

People heard Highway 61 and got their feelings hurt; everyone wanted Dylan to sound the same as he had before. It was his The Bends or, hell, Paul's Boutique. It was too different, hard-sounding. That right there seems so corny and rude; music fans can be so obnoxious sometimes, holding onto a cardboard cutout of the way the musician is Supposed to Sound Forever. But then I remember how annoying this Nas Escobar person was in '96. And then I'm like, Ah yes. Makes sense. I mean, everyone hated Labcabincalifornia when it first came out too. Even me.

In '65, people say, the metaphors and circus imagery in "Like a Rolling Stone," plus the fact that it's 6 minutes long and has like 34 verses but got radio play, was rather groundbreaking-ish. I am not such a rolling stone; I am content in apt. 302, city of LA, in a 4-mile radius from all the record stores I frequent and an hour from my childhood home. Plus I'm not a rich girl slumming it like the breezy in this song (Edie Sedgwick, some say), so the words don't really speak to me as a person. And some of the lyrics are so cringe-y and trite now. However, there's this one Truth About Life contained therein that's right up there with

Don't get high off your own supply,

All in all it's just another brick in the wall, and

This is a man's world -

“You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you.”

Oh Robert, you are my original Man of Judaic Persuasion Crush! Don't let it go to your head. "Like a Rolling Stone."

mp3.


(Speaking of Best Intros in Music! So jangly/pretty/necessary for life.
Thanks, superhuman producer Tom Wilson.)




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I gotta get away from this day-to-day runnin around.

Depressed people are more intelligent, says my beloved scientific community.
[Scientific American]


See, that's why Ash Roth

looks like that.

People in a depressed mood spend all that time ruminating about problems, and it makes them more analytical. They dwell on a complex problem, breaking it down into smaller components, considering each one at a time. Those Cymbalta commercials are always asking if you've lost interest in formerly pleasurable activities since that's one of the clearest parts of diagnostic criteria for Depression. If you no longer find pleasure in, oh I don't know, music, for example (kill me), or sex or food (kill me and kill me), it could be because your brain needs to conserve all that depressed energy to work on analyzing and figuring out why it's depressed. It needs consistent and uninterrupted thinking time, which would also explain why people experiencing depression are often socially isolated. Everything fun in life just serves as a distraction when the brain is trying to analyze the problem.


Once again, my parents' record collection holds the answer to all questions of the universe and science and the ways of human interaction. If you grew up with Neil Young on the turntable platter in the living room, crying out that he wishes he could be back home and he's feeling disoriented and sad, you already know the smartest are the most depressed. But thanks anyway, Scientific American.


When I refer to my "grizzled Canadian fake-uncle who writes and sings songs," I am NOT referring to Bryan Adams, you guys. Pay attention.

Neil Young - "Everybody Knows This is Nowhere." The sweet sounds of a weary Canadian in the throes of existential/geographical crisis. Work it out, Neil. Work it out.


mp3.

Also, the name CRAZY HORSE for your band would have been so FRESH;
it's a shame it's already been taken.
. . .


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I know. I can't. afforrrrrd to stop.

Sometimes I just can't take it. Damn you, Dante.
And by Damn you, I mean Thanks and Call me.

It's the summer of '99 in apt. 302 today.

Oh.
Word.

Aretha Franklin - "One Step Ahead."
It's 800 degrees in the city of Los Angeles today and this feels so good to lounge around and listen to.

mp3.



honorable mentions in the category of "Girl English majors are suckers for excellent rhyme-sayers":

“Man I smashed it like an Idaho potato (sorry, Mom)
She call my at my J-O, ‘come now,’ I can't say no
Ginseng tree trunks, rockin the P-funk
Cocking her knees up, champion lover not ease up”

and

that whole “3 months/6 months/9 months” part.



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H.I. McDunnough speaks on morals.

“There's right, and there's right,
and never the twain shall meet.”

“They got a name for people like you, Hi. That name is called recidivism.”
Um, hello, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be married to a Coen brother. Either one. In 1987.





Asked to explain what makes a movie work, Howard Hawks reportedly defined the formula as

“three good scenes, no bad scenes.”

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Spread love, it's the Brooklyn way.

"Juicy" was killing it in the summer of '94.

It came out the first week of August and went gold by November.
Do the math and carry the 1, you guys; that was 15 YEARS AGO from where we're standing right now, Jesus.

Notorious B.I.G. - "Juicy"

mp3.

. . . .
"Remember Rappin' Duke?" Biggie asks, with that narrative technique that always works in a song (reference your audience; you're one of them). Yes, Big! I do remember! (not really, but I ran to look it up as soon as I heard the name). "You never thought that hip-hop would take it this far." He was right, I think--you really never thought it would. (I, of course, always knew)


You're not supposed to admit this as a '90s hiphop dork, but that chorus is terrible--not the And if you don't know, now you know, but the singing, which is most definitely not from the Mtume original. It was probably Total or something. Slightly off-key. Not cute. For a late-summer song, though, we overlooked it. We were all too sweaty to care. And nobody really listened to those parts, anyway--they were just bumpers in between his verses.

See, what you do, if you want to make a hit summer song, is you gotta keep that BPM under 100. You make it appeal to the dudes and to the ladies. And you make sure your narrator is likeable, vulnerable, but not too soft. Not a sucker. It's funny, everybody's always talking about the sweetness of the story--mom with her Acura, the diamond earrings, the Queens condo. Damn right he likes the life he lives, 'cause he went from negative to positive. Let's not forget, though, that he begins his tale with an enthusiastic Fuck all you hoes!

Jesus, 15 years ago. Late summer. 97 BPM. Perfect.
PS, Pete Rock did the beat*. This has been episode 14,268 of Sean Combs is a Buster.






And hey, how come we always put Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack/With the hat to match and I let my tape rock til my tape popped, and It was all a dream on shirts, but we ignore the superdope And my whole crew is loungin? It's so underrepresented on the chests of hypebeast-y dudes in this city.


*(“I'm not mad at anybody, I just want the correct credit. Fuck that. If you didn't do the work, I'ma expose you. When you have an idea and someone just takes it, that's kind of wack. You must not do much clever thinking. I mean, there ain't much to it, just make the fuckin' track.”)



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Pharoahe's official like Starter, hit harder than Fort Greene. Also, Random Tribute: my Fantasy Football team which will rule all things this season.

GEN-IUSSS, nearly every bar in this song. Sometimes I forget about Monch's wordplay-ical talents and sometimes I forget about the majestic musical year of nineteen hundred and ninety-nine. I've taken the liberty of highlighting the finest and most wittiest and bestest parts below.
(And yes, I do hate baseball; however, everybody loves a good fellatio reference. Everybody. Blauch my Knob like Chuck. What was that word I used earlier? OH YES. Genius.)

Monch - "Official"



“My style, make the whole crowd Se-au
Like number 55 on the Chargers
I promise thee I Dodge a n--a like Raul Mondesi
Somberly stay calm, fighting Means like Natrone”


“I'm on the phone in the luxury box like George Steinbrenner
The owner, makin you give your Diamond-back like Arizona”


“Yo the realness stuck, females Blauch my Knob like Chuck”


“Not Allen Iverson, forget crossin-over shake men
Similar to Troy, I bring the pain destined to Aik-man
Break men off, take men out, make me wanna slander
Prime Time, my rhyme defense beyond Deion Sanders
I walk the earth with my Rod in this Strick-land
Promise, people thought I was Thomas Hearns the way I Hit, Man”
(!! Goodlord, when are you write something like this??)



If only the whole beat were like just after the 2 1/2 minute mark! OH LEE STONE, why'd you have to go and do me like that, WHY. Sigh.





PS,

got mah team yesterday! Monch is official, and you know what else is official? PITTSBURGH'S DEFENSE, officially being mine*. It's official. Thanks to all of you who send positive energy out into the universe for me. Eckhart Tolle, goddammit if you weren't right after all.

I got no Mike Turner, no Matt Forte, no Frank Gore, no Larry Fitz. And I am trying to suppress my IRL feelings for that loudmouth P Rivers and just focus on the points he shall get me in Fantasy. However, please note that I officially worked out a deal with The Andre Johnson and The Jason Witten. The geniuses at Yahoo! Fantasy Football had to give me so-so players for the rest of my squad just to make it fair to everybody else in my league.

In closing, I officially have things sewn up, in the bag, tight and right, and in a headlock. It's official. BRANG IT.



*




PPS, in keeping with the tomboy theme -














Documentary Manny Ramirez Talking About Turns Out To Be 'Billy Madison'


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Todd English looks like Morrissey, and Tom from "500 Days" is easy.

Reality show judge-type person x real-life music god, Round 2.

#1. That guy (Nisan's his name) on that show called "Making His Band," about those adorable kids who are, for some reason, vying for a talent-wasting spot backing Sean Combs when he takes his awful bag of songs out on tour,

looks like GZA.

#2. "Top Chef" is that show about cooks which is hosted by that lady who is Salman Rushdie's ex-wife even though I should be Salman's ex- or current-wife. Is it wrong that if he's a writer and is or was the target of a fatwa it makes a dude like 20 times more appealing to me? Nope, probably not. They had chef Todd English on last night, who was a judge and who is no doubt a rude and awful man because he's a chef and chefs always are. Bourdain can get away with it because for some reason he gives the ladies some hot, older-man, mean-daddy throbs. I am a member of this group called "the ladies" and so yes, Bourdain does this to me (ish). Alas, Todd English is no Bourdain.

What Todd English does have, though, is that Todd English

looks like Morrissey.

Like a swarthy, non-Brit Morrissey. Who eats meat.

I picked "There is a Light" to be the one for this post, selecting it out of Morrissey's entire catalog because c'mon. It's the best. It also makes me think of Zooey in 500 Days of Summer, a movie which was cute and which made me feel disoriented because it set the bar so low for girl-music-fan-dom. The boy character is named Tom; he loves Summer because she is nice and pretty and she is Original, an open-minded free thinking type. Summer is The Coolest because she likes something called "Belle and Sebastian" and "The Smiths," so much that she even knows the Words to their Songs, and that's all it takes, evidently, to get a boy to look at you like you have a twin sister, your own weed farm, and NFL Sunday Ticket. Tom lives, I guess, in a cave, or in a part of LA that is not reachable by freeways or human females, because he has never met anything like Summer in his life, ever. She brushes her hair, doesn't have 3 eyes or a speech impediment, and likes The Graduate. Tom is held rapt, he can't believe his luck at finding this girl! Whuuuut, nobody with breasts likes The Smiths! 'The fuck outta here!

And I walked out of the theater feeling like an anomaly with hips, like a unicorn or a woodland fairy or hologram, thinking, It's a good thing Tom and I have not yet met, because I would probably make his special area explode with delight.


The Smiths - "There is a Light that Never Goes Out"

mp3.


Oh and this one too! Morrissey - "Sunny."
Because it's a cliche please stop using heroin, my friend song but it is so pretty and melodic, it'll make you feel extra triumphant when you heart that My heart goes out to youuuu. I'll be humming it all day.

mp3.



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Doom loves the sounds of nonthreatening adult contemporary radio. Soft rock, less talk.

I know about this rapper, you guys, with a face full of metal. He got more soul than a sock with a hole. And in his spare time, he listens to the same stuff they play when you're waiting in your dentist's lobby.




True, there's rules to this shit, fools dare care
Everybody wanna rule the world with Tears for Fear
Yeah yeah, tell 'em, tell it on the mountain hill
Runnin up they mouth bill, everybody doubtin still

“Rap Snitch Knishes,” Mm..Food?





With blown backs these lesser known facts thwart evil
You got no reason, like short people
No offense, the street was burnt brass
Whenever he walked on the street it turned glass.

“Trap door,” White Van Music (Jake One)





He work harder than a steam engine like John Henry
Turn dirt to dollars like Don Henley

“Batty-Boys,” Born Like This





That Madvillainy song “Rhinestone Cowboy.”
(I mean, it's called "Rhinestone Cowboy," you know?)





More rhymin, pure diamond, tore hymen, poor timing
Raw lining, Paul Simon touring, I'm in
Boring typing, snoring pipe when hyper than four hype men
Excited writing, trifling times ten

“More Rhymin,” Born Like This





The mirror shine reflect colors like your CD's
Show love to others, we all brothers like the Bee Gees
All except the broads and you
Hold your applause, they break God's laws and who pays?
The taxpayer, that's who

“No Names,” The Mouse and the Mask





It's no use blessed the design
Then the Villain has left the buildin, dressed to the nines
Like I'ma do mines and ya'll do ya'lls
He stay reppin the game like Lou Rawls

“Blacklist,” Vocal Studies & Uprock Narratives (Prefuse 73)





I'm fucking stuck in suspended animation, for one I'm done
Casting shadows over the sun for fun
I got hen to keep the chicken heads roasted
This should be boosting until I hear some Whitney "I don't wanna hurt anymore" Houston
So bitch hit the blunt and lose the Triple Fat Goose and
You're high dealer, even if it say scheming
Play some jams with some motherfucking bass in it.

“Suspended Animation,” Black Bastards





Ooh, you're like the sun
Chasing all of the pain away
When you come around, you bring brighter days
She told me, you're the perfect one
Me and you forever will be
He told her, I will rock this microphone...always

“Dead Bent,” Operation: Doomsday




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New Blu! Monch will be so pleased.

I forgot to include him on my "Going Steady" list 'cause I'm a dummy, but he's my boy, he's Monch's boy, he's Frank Ricard's boy. He's Blu. And he just put this instro tape out for me. And it's ready for download. And because I'm more than just a nerdy brain and some long eyelashes, I will now display how I'm the nicest person you know and I'll share the download with you. Aww.


Blu - "NoSleepForADay." (.ZIP - YouSendIt)


7 tracks. 8 1/2 minutes. Rhodes goodness.


"Peaz&Blessings,
ItsYaBoy,FellBackForASec
ButTheOverDoseIsComing,
SlowlyThough
WeGoneStartItOffWithSomeFunTimeShit
IDidThisOneDayThisSummer
FuckingAroundWithThe2000XLForTheFirstTime
WasGettingTheIntroduceToTheFunctions
AndThisIsWhatBlossomedFromTheCrashCourse
ALittle8MinuteBeatTapeAppropriatelyTitled
"NoSleepForADay"
ProducedByTheBluAsBulb(theBrightIdea)

Enjoy,AQuickApetizerBeforeTheBreakfastSpecial
7DaysOnly,USendIt,GoesFast,UKnowTheStee"

- MySpace

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"And in our line of work, we need all the help we can get."

Me plus your private jet, back at it again! Get me to The Apple by the 8th. Serious.

Ice Water Inc & Littles presnets this show that's supposedly hosted by something called The "P.Diddy" and his friend Pete even though we all know that I'm going to work my magic and get Prince Rakeem to provide some mastering of ceremonies. The lineup is making me a little excited and hot and bothered but don't worry 'cause it's that really good kind of bothered. Kweli & Beans & Rae and his Wu gruesome twosome are nice, but when I look at this all I see is SLICK RICK in like 200-point font with asterisks and little hearts and birdies chirping all around it; everything else on the flyer fades away.




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"Heat waves getting worse" - some scientists. "Heatwave will always rule so hard" - me.

Professionals in my chosen discipline of science are claiming that heat waves out here in my area (the western U.S.) are getting worse due to that wacky liberal myth of "climate change." Heat records keep getting shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Elevated humidity is also more frequent, and that causes heat waves to last longer. The heat increases the demand for electricity, which we mostly still get from fossil fuels because Republicans hate Mother Earth, and that, in turn, causes emissions of the gases that cause climate change. And then it starts all over. Second verse, same as the first.

Heat waves are deadlier than hurricanes or tornadoes, they say. In '08, California experienced an early and severe heat wave starting in May, and there's only more of that to come--climate experts are now warning that the impending serious heat wave will kill more and more of us. Only I'm not taking this seriously, because nobody can ever convince me that Heatwave will kill me. They might kill me with basslines and they might make me die from wanting to wind my waist too much, but it would be such a fun, pleasurable death that I wouldn't be scared to go at all.


(Heatwave's only other appearance on HeightFiveSeven was during the "Big DaddyKane's sexual skills are still unproven at this point" post of 2009, but they deserve more shine! Listen to this jam! And don't think of corny things like The Hustle when you hear it, I'm pleading with you; give in to that "Love Rollercoaster"-ish bassline. You'll be like a hundred times happier, I promise.)




Granted, we don't all have the hips of Raquel Welch in '68 like some of us, but still. You can do it/put your ass into it. Get your drink and your 2-step. Pop lock and drop it. Shake your body down to the ground. Get low. Lean back. Etc. The intro of "Boogie Nights" is SO FREAKING GREAT, it's up there with "Tigah styyyyle" and the rain at the beginning of "Sweetest Taboo." Here, it's like this:

"Booo-gieee niiiiiights/whooaaaa-ohhhh-ohhhhhh...," over that jazzy backing track with the double-time drums. Or you could just press play. PS: It's true - boogie nights really are always the best in town. Always.



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2 Greats: "Get Ready"

Trick Daddy-ish* and therefore excellent-ish,
this song is about revolution. And castanets.



Written and produced by apparently nobody, since Google hates me. It's from some mixtape a few years ago.

*Or, wait, maybe Trick Daddy is Dead-Prez-ish?






Written and produced by Smokey Robinson, this one's also about revolution (love) and the need to prepare oneself for it if you are a young lady because he's comin for you, missy. Released in February 1966, when things like A Charlie Brown Christmas were new and Berry Gordy ruled the country like a benevolent king with a music studio even though everybody thought it was Lyndon Johnson who was in charge. A young man (age 22) committed suicide by setting himself on fire in front of the White House to protest the Vietnam War; Slick Rick and Dr. Dre were babies, both born in '65 (Aww, baby Slick Rick!). Anyway, things done changed. By that I mean that nobody protests war in a super punk rock way anymore, and nobody makes pure heaven like this and puts it on the radio anymore.
(Wellllll....other than Rich Harrison, I mean)




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Oddisee is my genius of love.

I am currently going steady with J-Zone, Jay Smooth, Rafi, the bassline from "The Lovecats," President Dreamboat, all the Ego Trip boys, Del's flow/voice, Adrock in '87, and the whole A side of Astral Weeks. I'm like the neighborhood bicycle, I know.

Anyway, the newest member of my harem is Oddisee, whom I've loved for some time now but I'm finally ready to take it to the next level. Dude means business! (Tee hee. Pun!)

I missed "Song for That" when it first came out; it's from waaay back in '08 and it is a brilliant and pretty combination of a flow with style and grace, and production by M-Phazes with style and grace. I’d be lyin if I said that there’s another like myself/I’d be lyin if I said that I ain’t want it for the wealth/While tryin to stay supplyin ‘em with something that could help.
He's so dreamy with that DC way about him that he's got me singing Tom Tom Club to myself. It's real love this time; I just know it.


Oddisee - "Song for That"

mp3.

I'm.

in.

heaaaaaa

vennnn.

With my boyfriend, my laughing boyfriennnd.


Let's go out for ice cream, Oddisee. We can bond over mutual blog trials and tribs.

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Everything means less than zero.

GQ mag ranked America's 25 douchiest colleges since I guess they felt like this needed to be done? The whole list is pretty predictable--Ohio State, Arizona State, Texas, Notre Dame, USC (I love 'SC but, yeah, I see it)--and filled with the expected references to rich kids in blazers chugging substances. I do like the Paul Wolfowitz mention, though (U of Chicago; hey! Just like noted THIS GUY, Firas!) and the mention of NYU teeming with "Yeah, I did that when I was 17"-ers ('cause that one's true). That part about OSU dudes writing letters to Maurice Clarett is rather comical, too. Brown is ranked #1 because according to GQ, the height of d-baggery for college kids is putting together MoveOn.org fundraisers and using fancy terms like cultural hegemony; the writer of the piece even pulls out that old "limousine liberals" dis like it's '96! Clever! At least the writer is an equal-op critic, though: Charter College in Wasilla gets a place on the list ("'FREE LEVI' sticker on the bumper of a Dodge Ram dually," that's kinda great), and those Jesus-y types down at Bob Jones U get appropriately clowned. I enthusiastically endorse this.
I can't seem to find a byline for this piece, however. Bring 'em out bring 'em out, GQ! You ashamed of your writing staff?

And then there's Morehouse, the winner of the coveted "We Need a Black School" slot on the list. I just hadn't done enough cringing yet this morning; I'd be lost without you, Gentlemen's Quarterly! Let's do this.




First of all, don't nobody disparage the alma mater of Tre Styles and get away with it. I am not the one.

Additionally, the description makes my racism feelers get a little tingly. That whole blurb just makes me feel antsy and uncomfortable, even if I can't articulate it. But I'll try:

Look how psyched this guy (anonymous GQ writer) is on his description. "Fonzworth Bentley douche." That's not funny 'cause it's not 2003. The inclusion of the term "black socialite." (Black socialite, the writer says, in case you missed it). And OH those wacky Black collegians with their hip hop shows and the way they get all militant, despite the fact that they're well on their way to law school! The anonymous writer's point that Morehouse is filled with overachievers. Except wait, being an overachiever alone is not d-bag-ish, so why is the school on the list? Because it's a Black school, filled with Black overachievers! And that's...um...douchey (?). It is, anonymous GQ writer says, if you are a Black overachiever who has the nerve to claim that there's a white power structure in place while living it up in your fancy sweaters, presiding over your fraternity. No white power structure would allow men of color to get Bachelor's degrees and host music showcases, see? So douchey and unnecessarily complain-ey, those Morehouse dudes! Anonymous GQ writer(s), Schoolly D is on line 1 for you.

Since I excel in etymology, Def Jam in the '80s, El-P, hips, '90s everything, bearded white man music, and little else, I had best stop my rant now. I'm not too eloquent when it comes to discussing cultural identity and notions of power and privilege in America. The GQ piece and all similar content is better left to my dude Cornel West. Or Harry Allen. Or bell hooks. But since everybody knows I love a weird segue in a blog post: it's Declan McManus's birthday (08/25/54),

he has ruled my life with his songwriting and melody-writing abilities, and here he is, singing about racism in a subversive and thought-provoking way. OH ELVIS.






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Shinin'.

Carlin, Augie March, and a bluesman -

The "Things That Are Beloved by Liberal Middle-Aged White Men" post.

“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.”

George Carlin.

“Everybody needs his memories.
They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door.”

Saul Bellow.

“Smokestack lightning
shinin', just like gold.
Don't ya hear me cryin'?
whoo hoo, ooh...”

Howlin' Wolf.

If your game does not wreckonize this particular game (video above), our love affair is just not meant to be and my clothing will remain on for the duration of our relationship. We can still hang out sometimes, but my ways and lifestyle will be too exotic and foreign for you. It'll be like that scene from Training Day where Dre and Jake Hoyt first meet.

"You a long way from Starbucks, homie."




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Rick & Run have a chat, next to a van, in '87.

Yeah man, in '09 you and D and Jay are gonna get a whole fuckin street named after you!

Nahhhhhh.

I'm tellin you! August '09. 205th & Hollis Ave will become "Run-DMC JMJ Way." It's a mouthful, but it'll happen. You'll see.

Also, I heard they're changing Linden to Kool G Rap Boulevard. Or maybe Large Pro Way.



"And so now I'm just standin here shootin the gift
Me and D and my Adidas standing on two-fifth."


NYC District 27 Council Member Leroy Comrie, I applaud this, your political bankshot. And I love your hometown repping-ness. Well done, sir. (And hey, do you know anyone who knows anyone who knows Monch so that I may become someone who knows Monch? Thanksssss.)


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