Oh Word: still draggin' crates/SWAT/tanggolfwang/Bavitz/Reatard/Panda Bear/Queens/CMYMB/based/Rollins/Deitch edition

1. “During the shootout, I was free.

“I was making a stand, and in that moment I was free. You can’t get in, and I can’t get out. But in my space, I’m free. I’m making the decision right now, and that decision is fuck you.”



A little fetishizing of gunplay to start out my Top 10 Or So Oh Word moments of the week. I had some heavy emotions at the laundromat on Thursday night, thanks to the LA Times magazine and its article about the LA SWAT team using the Black Panther Party for target practice/political gain in late 1969. The whole affair is depressing and the article is hard to read in some places, with all the COINTELPRO nefariousness; fuckin cops I said softly to myself while reading it. Mixed in with that, though, was some emotional uplift courtesy of the quote from Wayne Pharr (above), and knowledge of the sheer existence of epically-named humans Geronimo (it says Elmer on his birth certificate, but I'm ignoring that) Pratt and Alprentice "Bunchy" Carter.





2.

- Harpers mag, April 2011.

More heavy laundromat emotions (same visit as the SWAT team article), only this time it was humor tinged with irony. Pepe the architect was 2 machines down from me, being nice during the spin cycle. "Beautiful eyes; you are part Basque!" (nope. Sorry, Pepe.) I always fall for that stuff (nice words) because I figure everybody means everything they say, all the time. Then Pepe commented on my ass and I wanted to cry. I mean, I was asking for it in those jeans, but still. Anyway, the stat above is from Harpers index, the section I always flip to first.

And from the Logan Index:

Number of visitors to apt. 680 as of this writing: 6.

Times today the Time Warner tech verbally marveled at the number of records I have: 4.

Number of girls in the world who listen to Kool Keith, according to the Time Warner tech, upon seeing First Come First Served on my shelf: "not a lot." PUMP YOUR BRAKES, homeboy. I didn't ask for that kind of attention; I just wanted some Internet. The intimacy level he and I experienced during this, his first/last visit to my apartment, felt a little rushed for me. I handled it with grace, though. You guys would've been proud.






3. Aesey’s “Free hook” giveaways!

Get 'em, Don Rickles Aesey!

Get 'em, Keith Thornton Aesey!

4. a) "Greed, money, useless children," Reatard sang. "No. It's not for me." Yep, I say in reply. I mean nope, it's not for me. Me too/me neither? Yes, it's not for me. What Jay said, is what I'm trying to say.

He also b) had that cover where he's in a tub with a bunch of 45s. And even though the act of being a white man screaming into a mic about being a white man with burning-hot emotional pain/numbness like death inside is nothing new, he c) somehow made it sound new.



If you slow down when you're driving so you’re going the exact same speed as the cop car in the lane next to you, like you’re skeered to pass him, I am afraid your brain's anti-fear device is faulty, you're unabashedly wack, and therefore my naked body is not going to be yours for the taking/defiling. The "I’m scared to get a ticket" way of going through life is not something that will serve you well. Dudes don't all need to be like Reatard but they do all need to have a little DGAF in order to make it in this crazy world and see girls naked. On the current things-to-GAF-about list: friends/fam, words in songs, being nice, and telling people how much you like em 'cause life's too short.






5. "Left Brain extract bitches minds and give 'em left brain
Soft synths, hard drums, give your bird chest pains."


Still listening to Dome and Hodge's "Tanggolf." Still. Can't let go. Can't stop listening. Plus it gives me energy while moving from one tiny apartment to another. (I'm still draggin crates)

a) The spirit of Gary Grice guides these young men through their journey. And b) the raspy-voiced stuff, the mark of a good passionate rap song, starts around the 2-minute mark. Plus c) SOFT SYNTHS, HARD DRUMS means they check this blog from time to time and understand what this particular bird needs, even though they are probably fornicating their way through Los Angeles due to their fame and that does not bode well for our love affair. Dudes who give me everything I need but also make me cry are still worth it because they give me everything I need (wordplay, bass, hugs, kisses).






6. "Yo, every gang, every hood’s in my veins
It’s my thing, it’s real, I’m in tune
I chill like the cold side of the moon
Silence you dudes like an empty room."


I heard the Kings of Queens (Prod, Hav, Nas) were linking/building, squashing USDA prime beef (wait, was that beef ever confirmed?), and I got excited...until I heard the song ("Dog Shit") and listened to the cliched lyrics, and the sleepytime beat made me take a nap, and then when I woke up I remembered what I heard and I wanted to cry. I chill like the cold side of the moon. First, no you don't. Second, that's a stupid thing to say. The Wu one was terrible too. Listen, dun, I've had it. No more songs called "Dog You-Know-What." You had your chance and you squandered it.





7. The realness, however, is foundation. STILL. And is shall remain so until I say otherwise. The realness is foundation; who else would think to say such a thing? You wouldn't think that it works, but it does. Really, who else would think to put that particular string of words together. Who else. OH MY DEAR PROD, you are catnip to an English major.







8. "I just bought a coupe, the roof is translucent
Pockets on etc., money talk, bullshit walk like George Jefferson."

Mack Maine on Baby's "I Get Money."


Money talks; bullshit walks. We all know and we've known for a long time. But my goodness what an awful song, mostly because of the presence of T-Pain and yet another verse by Wayne talking about his dominance of planet Earth ("I hold it in my hand" - although at least he's not describing how he penetrates it like that one time and that other time). At first I hated those church bells laid on top of the beat but they've grown on me. And making a cliched phrase come alive by adding some '70s sitcom flair is the best way to make my Oh Word awards for the week.

(Additionally: did Cash Money ever chop n loop "Cash money ain't nevvvvver gonna play out" from "New Jack Hustler" in one of its releases? That would've been Fresh, super Fresh, so MANNIE - call me*! I got a million ideas!)


*before you left Cash Money, I mean.






9. "One critique: 100% not buying Lil B’s heavily not-based claim that he does not go down on girls."


HA, Fader mag regarding Brandon's new jam "Salute to the Bitch"! We're all adults here so I figured it's OK to mention grown-up stuff (sex stuff). Some of us are based, some of us not so much. Some of the more based individuals among us have scratch-offs, flat screens, pink bandannas, 65 bitches. Some of those same people lie about their sexual practices. That needs to stop.





10. "Just hanging round with older boys
Oh big thighs
Creepy, creepy in the dark
Shiny, shiny Joan of Arc
When the moonlight starts its glow
Cold hard Helen, Queen of Troy
She's got Christmas, got thunderstorms
Like a baby, never, never been balled
She's got fat men, vermin in disguise
In the cold rooms of her eyes
Oh, Helen Of Troy."


Rollins has a radio show out here on Saturdays (not sure if it's national or just a regional thing) and he plays some good stuff in between overly-enunciating everything and injuring his big toe with all the names he drops ("...So then Ginn and MacKaye took me to Olive Garden and I had the all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks and blah blah blahblahBLAH"). He played John Cale's "Helen of Troy" during his most recent show when I was driving, and I liked it (it's an OG "Logan walking down the street" song, but during the walk I'm probably wearing short shorrrrt shorts like a little tease, instead of my usual sundress). And he played Eno's "Blank Frank" and I liked that (the Bo Diddley beat). Then he went into some blah-blah tale about Here Come the Warm Jets and the best part of that was it made me wonder if Curren$y will ever do a funny take on that for a mixtape. PS, is it true that that title isn't about actual jets that fly in the sky?





11. "Sliding in the back screamin MMG
10 bitches and they dime so it’s Tennessee."

Meek Mill on Rawss' "Tupac Back."



OK. Sigh. Oh kayyy. Not sure where to begin here.

Invoking the name of Tupac in your rap song title is sacrilege on the level of a Blink-182 member calling his record something that James Joseph Brown used to say regarding the god Clyde Stubblefield, or Leto trying to do Cobain ("Kurt debe estarse revolcando en su tumba!!" - YouTube commenter, whom I adore). Busta, you're a member of this club too, with your "featuring Biggie" attempt to move units. Ugh.


Anyway, this makes Top Oh Word of the Week because the song's concept and lyrical content is so awful, so tragic. It's hard to believe it's real. Meek Mill's pun in particular - it's awful. 10 I see. Tennessee. Here's an example of a good pun, for future reference: Orion's belt is a waist of space.

On the plus side, I like it when everything I hate is condensed into one, easily-hateable unit.

12. "All these bitches is my sons
And I ain't talking 'bout Phoenix
Bitch I get money so I do’s what I pleases
I live where the motherfucking pools and the trees is."

MINAJ, of course.


I DOOOO'S WHAT I PLEASES. This is like her version of my beloved "I'm grownnnn. I do what I wanna do," which is appropriate for all situations in which people try to constrict me with rules and regs. Nicki says everything I want to say, only in a fiercer way and with a Queens accent. I mean, bitch I live up in some trees too but unlike Meek Mill I know when to shut up about such mundane things unless I can give it a colorful spin.






13. "The medicine often given to Parkinson's patients is L-dopa, which is converted into dopamine in the brain."

Gucci upset me just recently and that confuses me (just recently). Jimmy Jones did a good thing and that confuses me. And Ashley Judd makes me cringe, as her particular white girl hustle ("rap music is sexist and violent; buy my book") is boring and misdirected. I also promised myself I wouldn’t read the RapRadar comments about Mister Cee’s arrest, but then I did, and now I feel disheartened.

And then it just takes one spectacularly fine grouping of words, like the quote above from that time-sucking science site I always look at, to make it all better. L-Dopa was 'Clef's original nickname for Lauryn. (In the end, L-Boogie won out.)






14. "Whenever you call, baby I roll up, I roll up, I roll up
Whenever you call, baby I roll up, I roll up, I roll up
Whenever you call, baby I roll up.

No matter where I am, No matter where you are
I’ll be there when its over, baby
Cause I was there from the start
No matter if I’m near, don’t matter if you're far."


What a goddamned fool. Khalifa is the worst and he's all over my car radio. I roll up, I roll up, Irollupirolluppppp. Shawtyshawty, baby, weed, shawty, Taylor, rararah. Please save me. I'm trapped. Feels like in every song there's a hidden message just for me - play it backwards and he says "Ha ha, Logan! I'm a terrible rapper and I'm RICH! WHEEE." Just, I mean, what more can I say. C'mon, everybody. In your most secret places, in your heart's tiny spaces, you know Khalifa's a terrible rapper. Cornball city. But because this is the world in which we live, and its system of rewarding people is hideous and flawed, the fact that he is a terrible corny rapper means he'll make a billion by next week.








15. "Even before I wrote any songs, I had this idea of a triangle where the voice was at the top, some sort of guitar element on one side, and then some sort of really basic rhythm on the other side. That's where I started from in the recording process. So having everything filter through this one brain, this box, seemed like a really good idea. It's a hellish thing to mix live, but I liked how it would connect the dots in the songwriting sense, because everything has these weird little tongue licks of certain types of sound. There's an effect matrix in the thing with five effects you can run through."


Panda Bear, on his Korg sampler thingy mod. I'm still writing my secret-admirer letter to the "Kurt's Jag" guy from a couple weeks ago, and then I see this interview with PB, and now my heart is conflicted, tied up in knots. "Panda Bear, I like you; do you like me? Circle yes or no and pass this note back." I'm in love with the Carl-Sagan-ish levels of detail/nerdery on display here, and the phrase tongue licks of sound, which describes nice things that, when placed in various combinations, give a young lady good feelings.

Oh wait! I like him, and his little speech about Dilla*, and he would probably suggest Reatard's "Tiny Little Home" as the first song played in apt. 680 to christen it. That's dope. But Panda seems sorta pretentious and would probably not like to discuss the skrip club with me. He also would not understand my appreciation for gigantic raspy-voiced ridiculously named Brick Squad representatives. Bye bye, Panda. Our love affair was fun while it lasted.


* "And then the last thing is J Dilla's Donuts, just in terms of pacing. The first two times I listened to that album, I couldn't wrap my head around it because it would go from piece to piece really fast. The rhythms really ground it, but I had no idea where everything else was coming from. It might have been alien music for all I knew. Nothing really waited around for very long. But after listening to it a couple of times, it was like a sea change-- my mind just totally connected to it, and suddenly it was the best thing. After doing these songs that took their time going where they were going on Person Pitch, I wanted to take those songs and squeeze them down into your hand like a little ball."




16. "Feels like I'm doomed to dealing with women whose
Relationships with their fathers won't allow us to bloom."

Pusha T, "Alone in Vegas."


Probably the weakest song on terrence_thornton_mixtape.zip, but that fathers line right there is a good one.

I think the problem for Pusha is that he is not choosing the women who have/had good relationships with their fathers. Those are the ones who aren't showy or hardboiled like Marlowe liked 'em. They are shy, but they're good, solid, won't run away when times are tough. He should talk to 'em at Vons sometime. (they are sweet)





17. "Three piece band on the corner played 'Nearer My God to Thee'
But Delia whistled a different tune, what tune could it be?
The song that woman sang was 'Look Out Stagger Lee'
The song that Delia sang was 'Look Out Stagger Lee.'"


Please indulge me, pretty please, when I want to a) pick the songs on the radio during car rides and when I want to b) go on and on about Robert Hunter lyrics. In both cases, I do sort of an excited wiggly thing and open my mouth out of sheer joy.

OHSHIT THIS MY SONNNNNG.

(I'm guessing "Devil's Pie" here, just based on the hand motions)

a) Like when I screamed with pleasure when I heard the opening bass of "Walk it Out" earlier tonight, Glendale and Montana, eastbound, sitting in traffic - it was, after all, not the stupid original but the remix! With Andre! I haven't heard that version in, what, 2 years? "Real talk"! Cars - metal instead of plastic! Westside walk it ah-ah-out! (Aw, I'm not typing it right. You know the part I mean.)



b) As far as Hunter's lyrics go, there's "Stagger Lee," which has been swimming round in my head ever since I saw that compilation of murder ballads (not Murda Muzik; that's something else). I'd appreciate some new MC coming out the gate calling himself "Swagger Lee." Anyway, then I read Tom Waits' quote about murder ballads being "just a cut above graffiti...the oral tabloids of the day," and speaking of -


18. Deitch said the word "cholo" and I wish I had been around to hear it. Him in his tiny fancy glasses. I bet it was funny. Oh and Risk has run off to join the Allman Brothers.




"Blue Sky."

mp3.












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Ambient 1: Music for Airports Moving

27 of my favorite things in one thing. This image is pure sex and the most pornographic thing I've seen ALL WEEK, cuddie.

Crates n' crates n' dresses n' books bring me joy every day of the year, except for this particular day and the next few days that follow since I am moving. I am moving to a new apartment home in the city. I'm moving, again, just because I enjoy it so much. Soon there will be posts emerging from "apt. 680," which I know, I knowwww doesn't have the same catchy appeal as "apt. 15," (Deck didn't go to jail at the age of 680, sadly) but it's a much better place, you guys! You'll see. I'll stand in my living room, probably holding a record and most definitely wearing something my mother would not approve of, take a picture of it, then post it. I know this girl with her own crib, in isolation, Keith said. That song's about me. Sometimes I need to alter my surroundings. The background changes, but the overall themes of my life (bathing suits, ice cream, breaks, science stuff*, venom directed at bad/lazy rappers) never will. And yes, now I'll be living up in the treez, but my heart's still down at street level with all of you.


* The most powerful influence on women's appreciation of their bodies is how they believe others view them, science says, to which I can only respond No fucking way/Yes, perhaps you have seen my blog.




Moving songs to give me energy while I drag crates and to, well, move me of course, include



1. V White and the Politician's "Sixes on My Seven Deuce," a song that'll make you forget about the damage you're doing to your car's suspension with your heavy round chrome darlings. (Not to be too preachy. Sorry. They look tiiiiiight.)

Brilliant corners. The video was directed by Casual!

The sun is a-risin, most definitely. A new day is comin. (Ain't it beautiful)

The beautiful bodies of ladies are fetishized in rap music/all music/America/HeightFiveSeven/the street when I walk down it. The bodies of cars: also fetishized. Players (the rims); players (the people) - fetishized (every gangster movie, every UGK song). The concept of things being "deeper than rap" (a statement which holds no meaning, it's not real, since that's like saying something is "deeper than everything" or "deeper than life," which is to say that rap is a thing that can be quantified which of course it cannot). Of course that's a fetish. Nearly everything I love is fetishized but I've mastered the ability to separate that from my enjoyment of those things. When I hit a relaxed mood and I'm just coasting on good feeling, I don't mind so much that women and cars are usually described/beloved/criticized in the same way by straight men. I mean, who cares, because the beautiful paint-glisten in the pic up there resembles sweat, like that of a human female.

The Politician, whose heat is in the trunk along with that quad knock, also happens to have the face of Huey Newton on his tricep. (Black revolutionaries: also fetishized) I am listening to this song over and over, because that's how my particular form of OCD (the flood of brain chemicals! fetishized) works.

2. I know nothing about these individuals other than a) fixies and b) drums. Warm-sounding drums. I don't know if you'll have the same love for it; I had to share, though.

(The greatness of an already-great song is slightly distorted, amplified, when I put on my precious expensive headphones. That's the Sennheiser Effect. The sound is crystalline, booming and emotional. Hearty and fulfilling. My brain's reward center needs it every few weeks - a song not about hookers and ki's. This one's like the musical version of steel-cut oats.)




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The hustle is a thing which cannot be knocked (variations on a theme)

1. “From the motion picture soundtrack album NEW JACK CITY, available on cassette and Compact Disc.”

Going through crates n' stacks n' leaned-against-the-wall random groupings of records (Super Cat, the Impressions, Yes, Love, the Chi-Lites, that Dr. Buzzard's song from that Ghosty song ("Cherchez," I think-?), the "We're All in the Same Gang" 12", something called Music for Astronauts, annnnnd Cheap Trick of course), you realize you have stuff you had forgotten about. In my brain I got a capitalist migraine/bassline/Bobbi Humphrey. Moving's not so bad.





2. Fillmore Slim.

It's a lot of psychological wear and tear to be a woman and carry around something that you know has been traded and sold forever and ever (a woman's body). The female form is currency. It's just ill. If you were a lady you'd think about such things too. Oh and is Magic City hiring?

(Jon Dragonette)

3. I heard you did the right thing and donated some of your tax refund to Bryan Stow for his medical care. You're a good person and now I'll either let you see me naked or just do a blog tribute post to you (coin flip). The kindness hustle is the one you never hear about in mixtapes but it's probably my favorite out of them all.






.

Doomsy, regarding my new apartment home up high.

I tried Trees is free, please leave a key/These meager fleas, he's the breeze/And she's the bee's knees for sheez, but it covered up the whole picture plus it sounded like I was referring to myself as the bee's knees which is not the case (I'm the cat's pajamas).

Deep Earth - “House of Mighty II.” Motorik will perhaps give me energy to move the remaining 92% of my record collection (not seen in photo).

mp3.





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Ridin through the city lights, Monday Magic City night

“My relationship to groceries is directly related to how much I earn as a street musician,” says the man profiled in a Wall Street Journal piece from a couple months ago.

Well yes, sir, but

anybody's relationship to anything purchase-able is directly related to how much that person earns as a ______ (occupation).

The article is called Ten Rules for Street Musicians, but it could just as easily be 10 Rules for Strippers, or 10 rules for anybody with any type of hustle, anybody who uses what they have to get what they need. 10 Rules for the Cardboard Sign Wearer on the Corner. 10 Rules for Those of Us who Expect Payment for Services Rendered. 10 Rules for People who Need to Eat. 10 Rules for Humans.

The street musician's list of rules came about after he “explored the ideal circumstances for generating the funds to feed (his) food habit.” That's a universal exploration, though. My food habit is a beast, as is my rent habit and my Amoeba habit. And goddammit if I'm about to let something prevent me from generating funds to satisfy all my habits even if it means I need to take it to the Magic City stage. The street musician's primary means of securing ends to feed himself has been playing the cello on the streets, but for the girls in the club, just as it is for any professional, the advice on how to succeed is no different.




1. (Take Into Account) Day of Week / Time of Day.

“I make two or three times more money on Friday mornings than Monday mornings,” the street musician says. “Friday afternoons are second best. Tuesday morning is better than Wednesday morning although Wednesday afternoon is better than Tuesday afternoon. Thursday mornings aren’t so good but Thursday afternoons are.”


In a free market economy, people can choose the things on which they spend their disposable income and you better adjust accordingly, mama. The tightness and rightness of your game should be a given, but there are variables you need to consider. Stock market crashes, the latest with the Libya situation, a major sporting event on TV--try to predict the factors that will decrease or distract your audience so you don't waste your time putting time and effort into something that won't reach your best-paying customers. But then come extra hard when your audience returns so you can recoup your losses. They'll return, luckily. “It's like dope,” Frank Lucas said about money but it applies to anything pleasurable, “they always want more.”

I could never get hired as a stripper due to my innocent face and sassy mouth but I think Tuesdays and Wednesdays in the club would be deadsville. Thursday nights would be pretty lucrative, though--everybody psyched because the week's practically over. Fridays and Saturdays would be good too, but it seems like the club might be full of too many dudes being rowdy for the sake of rowdy (i.e., weekend warrior types coming to gawk with their crew rather that to tip the performers). No day shift, ever. The day shift is for the ugly girls, we know this.




2. How to Prepare for the Job.

“I get up about 6:00 a.m., eat a solid breakfast and listen to the Market Place Morning Report on National Public Radio while I drink a cup of coffee,” says the street musician.


Other than a Teflon psychological shield and vanilla cherry perfume oil, it's autopilot time for me at the club. There's nothing to prepare for or think about. The shield one is exhausting, though. And dude we all listen to NPR, so stop.




3. What to Wear.

“I dress respectably but not too nice - somewhere between grungy and preppy. I wear brown leather suede shoes and dark pants. If it’s cold, I wear a sweater but t-shirts are fine. People don’t need to see a collar.”


I could never be a stripper because I am terribly shy; however, I'm not an idiot so I know that if I were a fantasy fulfillment professional I would dress accordingly. I'd dress respectably but not too nice - somewhere between librarian and hooker. And no, people really don't need to see a collar.




4. Eye Contact.

“Eye contact is essential. I don’t wear sunglasses or a large brimmed hat.”


YEP. This one definitely applies to the seduction-arts specialist. People never talk about the importance of eye contact (music and outfits get more discussion time) but it's of the utmost. I could never be a stripper because I'd get tired of people asking me Ha, yeah, so what's your real name? when I tell them my name's Logan, but if I were, I would master the “I enjoy pleasing you” direct gaze. At first I thought it would feel gross to fake such a thing--the “I'm thrilled to be here” thing that a girl at the club has to put on, like a jacket or a hat, except worse even than a heavy, hot and itchy jacket or a hat because it fucks with you psychologically. Then I remembered everybody at work is doing this constantly no matter what the job is, including me at my government job, except at my job I don't get to hear any new Brick Squad or Grand Hustle stuff. Really, I'm thrilled to be here. Honest.




5. Location.

“The Charles/MGH Station is best for me as a solo cellist. It’s big, open and glassy, kind of like a greenhouse. I feel happy there so my music is probably better.”


Other than east of the LA River, south of the 10, or anywhere in the valley, I think I'd be fine with any club location. Obviously the ideal place would be next to the Starbucks at 2nd and Central downtown, so all my LAPD admirers could finally have their dreams come true. GROSS. Now I'm thinking about them! Moving on -




6. Competition.

“Once I showed up at the Harvard Square stop before 7:00 a.m. and wasn’t able to get a spot because other musicians were already set up. I came back another day and found an empty spot. I start to play and another street musician with a guitar comes up and said, ‘Did you guys do the lottery this morning?” I said, “There was space. I started playing.’ He said, ‘Usually we show up before 7 and flip a coin to see who goes first.’ I don’t know what’s true. Street musicians talk a lot of shit. I don’t go Harvard Square anymore because people who play there are so territorial. And the money isn’t as good for me.”


The original meaning of hustle was “to shake, to toss.” And if it's stripping we're referring to here as the hustle of note, there is no competition for me if I do say so. Have we just met? Shaking it and nerding it up are the 2 things at which I am most skilled. I get my fondness for logic from Dad; hips from Mom. I have excellent balance and I did ballet for 8 years. Combine these qualities and you get pure practicality - I heard that people will pay me if I do this thing and that thing with my body, so I'll go get a job at a place that will hire me to do this thing/that thing. Makes sense. I'd probably hold back a tiny bit on stage, though, so that my coworker with the young child would still be able to make a decent amount. We all need to get ours and the nature of the free market means that the girl with the most hips will get the most cash, but that doesn't make it right. Women get stereotyped as being competitive and catty, the whole crabs-in-a-bucket thing, but that's just a by-product of our culture's fear of female sexuality. What can you do.




7. Selection of music / Weather.

N/A regarding that second thing, but oh yes, the first one is definitely important - Toomp, Nitti, Mannie, Lex, Collipark, Shawty Redd, Neptunes '98-02, Rick Rock, DJ Paul who never gets any accolades but whose compositions are just amazing, 80% of David Banner's catalog, 100% of Nickatina's, that Minaj instro, the “Ha” instro, oh fuck it, really any rap instro from the states of Georgia, Florida, or Louisiana between '96 and '03, and in a surprising twist, some Jake One instros. The DJ might try to drive the particularly nerdy musicdork bassline-loving ladies who were raised on the Stax catalog out of their minds by playing something from Black Caesar or maybe some Cymande or something. Please, no. It reminds such ladies of their parents' record collection, and therefore it reminds them of being a kid. Kid stuff doesn't belong in the club.

Mr. DJ might also try to play “The Next Episode,” since it's burned into our collective psyche as that song with that stripper video and it's the perfect BPM, plus it has provided the image to open this post. That one blonde girl at the club with the hips who you came specifically to see and who you're pretty sure would go on a date with you would not enjoy this coming out of the speakers, however. She would be thinking about David McCallum and it would distract her too much. She's also thinking about the unadulterated epicness of the name “Kurt Vile” for a musical human, the catchy/sad accuracy of the words You only want me when I'm gone/You only want me when I'm fever dreaming, and how she just figured out that the “All of the Lights” drums sound like Hanna Barbera characters when they're running in place. “Xxplosive” is perfect, though, a slow swangin one to balance out all the frenetic Waka stuff. Anything by him or Weezy I would refuse to dance to, just based on the triteness of such a scene; girls getting money to the sweet sounds of “Bingo,” ooh. Groundbreaking. I refuse to take part. (If “No Hands” is played, though, all bets are off.)




8. Bad situations.

“One day, two guys come up,” the street musician says. “They keep giving me a hard time. I say to them, ‘Can you please just leave me alone? This is my workplace. Don’t bother me. I’m just trying to do my job.’”


I wouldn't get hired as a stripper unless I gained 7-10 lbs, but if I ever did, I bet I'd think about the possibility of bad situations pretty frequently. Getting followed after my shift is the scariest thing that could happen, I suppose. Bad tippers, although not scary, are a bad situation too. Dudes being visibly uncomfortable, resulting in me feeling sorry for them. Dudes bringing their girlfriends in to get cool points. (No cool points awarded, dumb dumb; you're a cliche). I could never be a stripper and sometimes I feel inadequate because of that, but then I remind myself about the pitfalls of such a job and I'm fine.




9. Customer / audience demographics.

“Race and gender make no difference if someone is going to stop, listen and/or give me money,” the street musician says.


WORDEMUP, buddy. We speak the same language. Stripper Logan fully concurs with street musician's assessment, as does Nerd Logan, Lazy Saturday Afternoon Logan, Bookstore Logan, Bikini Logan, Record Hoarder Logan and Grocery Shopping Logan.




10. How to measure success.

“One day was a bad day,” says the street musician. “Everybody was unhappy. I didn’t get much money. But when I got home, there was an email from a woman. She wrote, ‘Every time I see you, it brightens my day.’”


Is this one a trick? The answer to this is “REVENUE RETRIEVIN--money, in rolls or stacks, even though that's impractical and we only store it that way because that's how Gs and Henry Hill do it and it looks dope.”

There's a reason an E-40 synonym for “hustling” is “grittin & grindin.” If I'm a stripper, I don't make an hourly wage. I don't get medical or dental. I have to pay the house at the end of every shift. My legs hurt. I felt on your private parts with my soft ladyparts but neither of us got any intimacy or connection to each other as humans. And nobody ever emails me afterward to tell me I brightened his day : (







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Oh Word: Bavitz 2011 edition.

[end rap] is probably a thing Rawss writes in his notebook so he knows when to stop heaving cliches into the microphone. End rap, William!, he jots down. He underlines it for emphasis.

A slow-witted fellow whose skills include really capitalizing on the popularity of DePalma and really pushing my buttons, Rawss once tried to get away with the line Lookin straight in the eyes, they show vagina on a professional mixed tape. I heard his gmail password is “password,” too. Or “password1,” maybe, to try to throw people off.




When [end rap] is on an Aesey-related transcription, though, it is charming. And when Aesey discusses the cancer beast, it's all heart and alienation*, that mix at which he is great. (The whole “masticated fuscia”/“baby teeth” thing, and the flow charts/beeping couplet are especially lovely)

* “what it is to be a fucking human being” (David Foster Wallace)


The verse is about Camu Tao and it's on a new Kimya Dawson song called “Walk Like Thunder.” You'll feel a little down after his verse because disease is a shattering thing, but then he swoops in and reminds you that you're here, you're not a robot, this is life, you're breathing, and there's pie! There's pie.





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Oh word: Birthday/Lethem/Radric edition.

“I just got a RZA mug for my birthday just recently” - Gucci, I'm pretty sure. But I might be paraphrasing.

“You can't be deep without a surface.” - Jonathan Lethem, regarding the birthday girl.
I hate it when you can't pick just one favorite ridiculous bathing suit RZA mug photo out of the bunch.

It's my birth date and here are the 2 songs that'll be in my head all day (I mean, other than “Recently,” of course):

The Falcons' (old-timey Wilson Pickett and Eddie Floyd!) love song for the birthday girl- “I Can't Help It.” Falling in love, head over heels, etc.

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Pete Rock instrumental for the birthday girl walking down the street.





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Oh word (Marlowe, Ghosty, Curren$y, 2 Thorntons, Ayler, Lethem, Monche & Radric edition)

• Philip Marlowe's thoughts on the sexy girl who's not me:




Congrats, Marlowe! Best Use of Words to Make Logan Feel Bad about Herself! The problem is my greed, though. I want it all, identity-wise. It's too hard to pick just one thing. Half the time I'm pleased being me, making my way through the world, even with all the affection from LAPD officers. But then half the time I want to be the not-me girl, smooth and shiny. Cops never try to talk to her, I bet.

And then I remember Ghosty said Nice girl that's clean, that was raised to cook/On the couch chilling, shorts on, reading a book, and I'm like, Philip who? Such is the pleasure of language.




This week's other awards, culled from the week's collection of all the LA sign quotes, Harpers mag snippets, and rap lyrics that bounce around in my head while I'm at my government job (your tax dollars at work, people):



• Still got a throwaway phone in my sock drawer.


Pusha T, “Raid”


Most Efficient Use of Words in Which our Narrator Tells a Saga of Where He Once Was and Where He is Currently. Pusha tells a better story in 1 line than Rawss can in 32 bars. Also when you download Fear of God your computer will save it under his DMV name (terrence_thornton_mixtape.zip), a thing I keep yelling about because it just amuses me so much! (sorry, everybody)



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• This is tailor-made drug dealer theme music
Test it on your tongue or either watch a fiend do it
I got you hooked and I laugh as you lean to it.

“Raid” again. Best Use of Evil (that last line). Ooh he's like Nino Brown except from Virginia.




• It's like Raaaaaaid, spraying on you roaches
The AK is an animal, it is ferocious
A n---a wanna sing but we is the dopest
Watch that n---a disappear, hocus pocus
Ring, ring the n---a won't sing
Ring, ring, I keep that bitch clean
Ring, ring the n---a won't sing
Unless he is an insomniac and dying to dream.


Pharrell, in, oh would you look at that--it's “Raid,” a song by Pusha T of the rap duo the Clipse.

Best Tribute to a Household Item Other than Pyrex.
Best Use of Pharrell's Weird Deep/High-Pitched Voice--there's nothing else like it in music. I also love the cheerful, punchy piano, 'cause it's nice “bitches-double-teaming” music as my grandma would say. The perfectly-placed ding in “Drop It Like It's Hot” (you should think about it...take a second) is probably P's finest moment (next to the almighty spy chord, which isn't really a moment as much it is a ubiquitous thing from '98-'02). Snoop's exaggerated delivery gets tiresome in the song but that DING sounds like the call for a threesome to begin, oh god it's like the very souuuuund of girls undressing. You got your willing ladies and your neck-tatted pretty-faced producer. “Annnnd places, everyone!” DING.

Hocus pocus, I just learned, comes from an old-timey Latin blessing in mass--Hoc est corpus meum, meaning “This is my body.” I am guessing that's not the first time P has used such a phrase to his own ends, most likely while in the company of ladies. By the way, P, this is my body; you like? (I mean, that's what I would say if I engaged in groupie antics which of course I do not. HI MOM.)





• Sleeping with the finest
The thread count is bindless
Security blanket of cocaine, I am Linus


Pusha T, “I Still Wanna.” FUCKYES, Charles Schulz raps. Peanuts raps. Thumb-suckin, socially-anxious-children raps. Dumbest Line That Still Works Somehow.





• Still push weight like my car broke down.


Genasis, “Jackie Chan”


Forgive me for this one, please. I can't take it when you look at me that way; just hear me out.

Best Simile in a Catchy Dumb Power 106 Rush-Hour Banger with No Redeeming Value Other Than Pure Aural Pleasure. But see, that in itself is redeeming value--the pleasure. I realize that everybody's quick with the bad music/junk food metaphor--“Potato chips are also SO SO GOOD, Logan, but they are bad for your body.” Jerk, listen: if they taste good, they are good for your body. You're overthinking it.

PUSH WEIGHT LIKE MY CAR BROKE DOWN, by the way. Not sure if you heard it the first time. So crisp and clean, and it's funny but I've never heard anybody say it like that before, even with the years and years of songs about how being a dopeboy is in the blood and it'll always be with an MC despite shine/fame/money. Love it. He also says My car breakfast--745. Aha. Haha. Cute.





• Bullshit convo, five minutes invested
Now she buck naked lying next to you via text message.


Curren$y, “Flight Briefing”


Best Use of QWERTY.
No getting around it; this is just pure poetry. So much is said here about menfolk and womenfolk, and in fewer than 20 words.





• My family know--rarely seen, they know I'm married to my dream
So in love with that green that my bitch every day threatens to leave
The only thing that's left for me is to suggest that she do what she please


Curren$y – “Frosty”


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Best Use of Manners by a Southern Gentleman. I could quote you a hundred GTFOH raps by some of the greatest lyricists this world has ever known (come by apt. 15 tomorrow night, around 7:30). I don't mind screamin on em/“I'm mad at you, woman” raps. Passion is a good thing. But it's a little guy from N-O who shows restraint that gets the award today. I suggest that you do what you please, my dear. I'm also thrilled to announce that the instro has hereby just been added to the “Logan Walking Down the Street on a Sunny Day” song canon.




• We can share beginnings, walk before you run, but she so independent
And I could see us fly, the sky is the limit
We so real, got my own quarter mill
Counting money on the bed, watching Deal Or No Deal
In a perfect world, just my guns and my girl


Pusha T, “Feeling Myself.” This particular “Feeling Myself” has a hideous R&B hook and is not as good as the Mac Dre one, tragically (although Pusha could also get away with the line I treat my bitch like my ATM card). And it's pretty unremarkable as far as lyrical creativity goes, but I just like the incorporation of boring game show. Best Use of Boring Game Show?






• If people don't like it now, they will.

Albert Ayler



The Joker's henchmen break into the museum and empty the display cases; this occurs repeatedly, again and again: finally it can be reckoned upon beforehand and becomes a part of the exhibition.

Jonathan Lethem


a) Most Accurate Description by a Jazz Genius of Your Mom's and Your Mailman's Feelings about Odd Future 6 months ago.

b) Most Accurate Description of OF's Current Stranglehold on Music-Consuming Human Beings.






• Please, pretty please
I just wanna see you down on your pretty knees

(Sorry, Mom)

Pusha T feat. Kanye, “Touch It”


This is a love song to coke and that line is code for “I just wanna sit in a room and stare at you, pretty white lady, 'cause your value as determined by capitalism in the unregulated free market has made all my dreams come true.” Alas, this cannot totally make up for This Week's Worst Use of Kanye (who insists on trying to do sex raps because he is delusional and doesn't know how ridiculous he appears), and Worst Attempt at Disguising a Reference to Oral (You are such a champ, how you take it on the chin). This does, however, get Second-Best (after Curren$y) Use of Manners and Decorum. Please, pretty please. I figure if you're a dude it's hard to keep up with girls who sometimes like to be bossed around but who also appreciate dudes saying please and thank you. But I always say just rely on the context of the situation, you know? That should tell you which way to go.





• Get off my elevator.


Best Use of Old Kool Keith to Soothe After a Hard Day at Work in a High-Rise Downtown.
Backrub please, pretty please.







• I just brought a drop just recently
I killed the parking lot just recently
I just brought a whip just recently
I made another flip just recently
I just bust a check just recently
I bust a bad bitch just recently
I’m screaming out “who want a piece of me?!”
I just got a deal just recently


Gucci & 50, “Recently.”


I just got a bikini just recently! I just made an illegal left just recently! I can't stop singing this hook just recently! I just had a birthday just recently! (oh wait, no. It's tomorrow.) Best Use of Catchy. Best Use of the Word “Just” (Twice in the Same Line!)

Lambo round that Autobahn, 50 says in the not-hook (sometimes I manage to tear myself away from the hook). This reminds me of that Monch interview in the Voice, wherein he describes “Immigrant Song” as “sounding like someone either riding a horse through a snow forest or doing 120mph on the Autobahn,” fucking YES that's exactly what it sounds like! And I'm not even a big Led Zep girl! MONCH YOU NAILED IT/WHERE THE FUCK IS QUEENS RAWRR RARRR RARARA. Monch. Goddammit I love him. (Even though he said Fuck you; pay me on “Assassins,” a cliche straight outta '99, and that's almost unforgivable.)





• My people sleep in coffins, I miss em--I’m breaking down
In the face of a bad bitch that I’m ‘sposed to be taking down
Baby ride while I’m crying, I’m dying inside
'Cause my pain is Poseidon or a giant leviathan that I’m hiding from the world
They hit me with everything but the kitchen sink
How ironic--same place I vomit when I lick a drink
Apparently I need to get a shrink
How can therapy take care of me when I don’t give a fuck what n---s think?

Crooked I, “Sober Up.”


Yet another song between the years of 2009 and 2011 that sounds like a video game. And JESUS CHRIST I think I just linked to a song with Budden on it. Crooked I's good, though. He veers dangerously close to crybaby Eminem territory with those lyrics, but that last line redeems it. Best Way to Bring it Home with a Closing Line. Get 'em, Long Beach.





• I speak of world peace, war, famine and flood
Watchin Pan's Labyrinth while I'm unraveling bud


Pharoahe Monch, “Evolve.” Best Mention of the Mundane/Everyday. One day I'll do a Random Tribute: Raps about Watching Movies While Rolling/Smoking Ls post, even though Ls is east coast slang and we don't say it that way out here. He also says Please seize the moment in the struggle against Lucifer. K, Monchie! You got it. (If I have time today after doing laundry)




• You gotta take it back to face the fact
These D’s look at us as just another case to crack
If I bust a gun in the hood I get Attica or the cat
I bang a gat in Iraq I get a pat on the back
Best believe I know better than that
This a lesson for all my listeners, this shit ain’t just regular rap
It’s the greatest story that ever been spat


Saigon, “The Greatest Story Never Told.” Best Use of “Spit" in Past Tense.
Most Success with Preachy Lyrical Content While Still Holding My Interest.
Regarding the beat: Best Just Blaze Doing an Impression of Just Blaze in '01.
And aw, the Attica thing reminds me of this:

I just got this Archie Shepp just recently!
I just stared at the cover for 8 minutes straight just recently!
It's almost my birthday just recently!

Willis, “Word Up.”

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I also believe there are some couplets on that new Big K.R.I.T. that will make next week's Rap Lyric Awards.







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Daydream nation.

1. People, it was the chopping off of the “I” in “imagination” that did it.

This week in 1971, “Just My Imagination” was at #1. Eddie Kendricks was the main man, the glory-grabber, the point guard on this one, plus I heard Kendrick Lamar was named after him*, but Paul Williams was the assist leader with those gravelly vocals on the song's bridge.

In '71 it was Vietnam and Manson all over the place. I bet pretend womanly love was nice to think about, a dreamy distraction, if you were driving around back then and it came on the radio. Yesterday it came on at CVS and I got a few minutes to myself for pretend time, imagination time--no stupid fears about radiation levels or keeping up with coke slang. Just my 'magination on the hook, Eddie Willis' guitar, or the whole string section: not sure which one jabs my warm beating heart the most, but all together they made the best valentine ever to looking and wanting.


*I did not actually hear that. But I feel like it might be true.







2. Am I a bad person because I like that Weezy/Game song more than I should and that Lil B/Grae/Phonte song way less than I should?


God no! I'm a bad person because I just heard about the time Fear was on SNL ("It's great to be in New Jersey") and that's no way to retain my nerd championship belt, because I think my sweetie pie Curren$y looks stupid in BBC gear (although I'm too nice to tell him, which I believe makes me a pretty good person), and because I crave rewards just for being born--kind gestures and material items. I want all these things for my birthday (03/29), starting with item a above. I am requesting an adapted version of the shirt, though--a girl's cut, please. I need one that hugs a too-skinny-but-still-curvy ladybody.




b. Just like my beloved Ghosty doll, this is something that I would make fun of if you had it on your bookshelf but it's something I'm totally allowed to have and be braggy about. (I'm adorable!)



(I couldn't wait on you to get me the poster.)

fancy-lunch-in-Santa-Monica attire is similar to "church clothes" except I'm a heathen so that phrase means nothing to me. (The invitation actually said "ladies must wear stockings," because it's 1948-?)

c. A nice high-res version of that photo of James Baldwin and Nina Simone--individuals whose combined presence in a picture on my bookshelf shall, I hope and pray, bathe me in epicness each day. Get up out the bed, turn my somethingsomethinglalaswagswaggolfwanggolfwang/Take a look in the mirror and say whassup, then kiss my first two fingers and press them onto the Baldwin-Simone photo for luck as I run out the door. Framing of the photo is not necessary, because I'm not greedy and I'll be happy with the photo alone, and because frames are expensive. Why are frames so expensive? (I'd like the answer to this as a birthday present). They're made of, what, wood and glass?



d.

This was yielded from just a regular ol image search, and I realized, ha, it kind of looks like one of Kanye's covers.

Spice 1, Avey Tare, Jay Reatard and Hodgy on the remix.

e. Roberto Bolaño, The Return. Vibrating Porn Stars and Two Chileans Arguing about Knives is the name of your next mixed tape.




f. A new Curren$y collection of carburetor/naked flesh/sticky & citrus-smelling raps, now rather than later. NOW PLEASE.




g. Derek Lam's ram-head-clasp bag. Even though astrological signs, like Jesus and message boards, are just another attempt by humans to make sense of the world and judge each other*, the fact remains that Aries is my sign/I know that I can rhyme. Additionally, sometimes I rhyme in riddles/Plus I make the honeys** wiggle.


*astrological signs are also useful when it comes to naming OutKast albums.

** just myself. I make myself wiggle--haven't you seen my driving-in-the-Civic dancing? (yesterday it was Snoop's “Gangsta Luv”). There's no room for anything but wiggling in a Japanese compact.





h.
THE JAGGERRRZZZZZ. All those z's are because 2-3 times a week I feel like I'm dozing through life, drifting along in a haze of Power 106, oatmeal and tea for breakfast every morning, rent checks, cops asking me how my day is going in obvious attempts to get me to have sex with them. The people across the hall playing cumbia on Sunday mornings is pretty nice, but it's not enough to save me from the daily sleepwalk. I need this round black piece of vinyl to feel alive again. And to feel closer to Curren$y.




i. Soft furry pelts and boots (not made from anything that once had a face, obviously; I'm not a monster), and a room that's sunny all the time--and empty except for a bed. I'd prefer not to have to trick for any of it but who am I kidding. Sorry, Mom.

My ideal man gets me cruelty-free fur and lets me be Frank Lucas' side piece in my spare time. Here's Diane Kruger, livin the dream.

Bobby Womack - “Across 110th Street.” Just found out Bobby's got a brother named Friendly and that's real funny 'cause friendly is what I'd like to get with some sheets and fur in a room that's sunny all the time (and empty except for a bed).

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3. “I was just pondering about the vibrato.”



Who posted this on a guitardork message board? Was it you? And if so, why haven't you called me? Christ I'd like you to call me, please--I am daydreaming about you. I'd also like you to warm those hands up, chief, 'cause you're bout to give out lots of backrubs. Not to brag, but I'm down in all the best possible ways and my love is heavenly when my arms enfold youuuu, so I think you'll be very happy. I like discussing weird factory mods, and how Eddie Willis is known for his signature style of muted riffs. And I'll call you the don before during and after _______ (various things we take part in together).










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I'm grouchy (real quick Note on a Theme)

RapRadar's unfortunate photo selection to accompany their RIP post.

OH WAIT -
7:39 am - They changed it to something more appropriate and respectful! Nice job, gentlemen.




“Lay Low.” Fellow drivers of Civics within a 50-mile radius of LA County, I know you're with me on this one. There's Nate's perfect vocals, of course, but also KEYS.

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My ideal man wears conflict-free diamonds and is fully aware that I would leave him if it were legal to marry the “If You Want Me to Stay” bassline.

He also doesn't judge me when I discover a thing that I shouuuulllllld've known a long long time ago (it was Bobby Womack, not Ike Turner! JESUS, LOGAN, who played guitar on “Family Affair”)

(It's Sly's birthday. Kanye's fond of kid stuff--labels, lasers, lights; Sly was into space travel, coke, and girls with my skin tone back when it really meant something).

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L. Cohen on self-soothing, the passing of time, loneliness, joy, and doing chores.

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Random Tribute: Riding (but mostly just a tribute to Duane Allman photos)

The only people you should trust to teach you about the general history of the world are Chomsky and Zinn. (Everybody else is either on the payroll at Fox or is trying to get website hits by making up dumb outrageous facts.) And the only person you should trust to inform you of important events in the Allman Brothers story is the girl whose middle name is Melissa.

On March 12 and 13 in 1971, the Alllman Brothers Band's At Fillmore East shows were recorded--40 long years, but put it on the platter and I swear it throbs like it was made yesterday. (For the record, “Live at the Fillmoe, East” is a Rappin 4-Tay/San Quinn collab song that has yet to be made, but it exists in my heart and in my fantasies.) Anyway, before Duane Allman's crying guitar played over the montage of everybody from the Lufthansa heist getting theirs, the wreckage of past sins finally coming to light, his crying guitar played in the living room on the platter while I lay on my stomach and colored. I'm a grownup now but I have a thousand pictures of him on my laptop because I still love him. Sometimes I swear I see him at Trader Joe's (nope; it's just all the boys in the neighborhood go 7 months between haircuts and wear nothing bigger than an M in t-shirts). He was quiet in real life, they say, and he was usually high, plus he died when he was 24; these are qualities that usually make me fond of a musical individual. And before I wanted to ride with the kid, and before all I wanted to pretend my name was Sally so I could ride around with abandon (ride, Sally. Ride.), before I was down to ride and definitely before I was prepared to ride or die, before I fully committed to the hoo ride lifestyle, before I begged the sweet chariot to swing down, stop, and let me ride, before I loved breathless ladies' man Toney Knight Rider, way before I wanted to ride the plain bow in flare gully yellow rain coat, before I Ruff Rode and really believed in the Stop, drop, shutemdown-openupshop mantra (which is what I will forever think of any time I hear “Free Earl”), before I obeyed when a Gulf Way Blvd g told me to pop the trunk, get it crunk, it's time to ride, show them boys I got that front back and side to side, baby, basically before I ever wanted to take that ride, and way before I asked myself how should I ride?, I knew running away and riding was the way to go 'cause Duane and the last 12 frets on his guitar were like honey, let’s ride.





“Midnight Rider.”

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It's OK if you think of that Devil's Rejects opening when you hear it. I don't mind. The shit was pretty incredible. (Good job, Rob.)



King Curtis - “Games People Play.” Duane's guitar on this isn't really a standout performance, but still. So lovely (01:20). And the original is kind of like “Ether” but directed at half of humanity, and with harmony and a la-la-la chorus.

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Look at this sorry ridiculous dumb bastard who will never ever see me naked NICE SHOES, sir!

Sour mash surgeon, heavy glass up at the Wally bash.

“A reveler takes a sip of bourbon as he sits next to a sleeping man on a couch during the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club parade on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans on Mardi Gras Day March 8.” (Patrick Semansky/Associated Press - The Big Picture)

Yo Gotti & 8Ball - “Walkin in Memphis” (Wally Sparks mix). Because I needed a Wally something or other to complete the post, of course, but also because Memphis meant “city of white walls” in ancient Egypt. And because the Civic has stock rims and nearly-bald tires, but this song is always on the playlist during hot sunny days driving around LA and it feels so good I'd swear I have gangster whites.

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1. Prod's snowy screwface is the best but hey what about that 12/44 statistic* 2. that new Gibbs/Bun B** is nice too

3. More MCs in ties, please.

* NPR.

** “Highway to Hell.”


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Oh excuse me miss I couldn't help but notice you have the same taste in clothing as epic white man Dennis Coffey.

L-R: Librarian, Coffey (back of Goin' for Myself), stripper/librarian.

Silver magic ships you carry/Jumpers, coke, sweet Mary Jane. Dennis' spooky pale intense face is pleasing and trance-y just like that Pusha T flaming GIF, and he obviously knows how to dress, but I'd like to focus for a sec on his quality production work, please. Sixto Rodriguez - “Sugar Man.”


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