I wish I knew Sarah Shahi.

I find Natalie Portman to be underwhelming, and this could never top “Superstarr, Pt. Zero”*, but DUDE:

It's got a Phantom Planet break and that break happens to consist of one of the greatest Pop Music Triplets with a Freeway Reference of all tiiiiimes (Hustlers grab your guns/Your shadow weighs a ton/Drivin down the 101)! Also, I love Canadian rappers not named Drake. So even though my boyfriend YouTube's got a rare chink in his armor, failing to suggest this for me yesterday when it was released, I'm trying to focus on the positive. The important thing is that here it is, a groove, slightly transformed. I love you, Toronto.


via So Much Silence



Max Fischer on drums, Seth Devlin with the lead vocal, Marissa Cooper out getting fucked up somewhere, and that piano break making every day sweeter in sunshiny Los Angeles.

Phantom Planet - "California"

*The year IS twothousandandtwo (in apt. 302),
when we were kids we all watched Electric Company (in reruns from '71-'72, but still),
that piano at the beginning murders everything,
Why the hell do I front/I'm hardcore is today's Statement of Self-Esteem,
and calling your girl a superstarr to her face (especially in the medium of song) is so manly, so romantic, you should try it with her tonight and I bet you good things will happen in your private area.

“Superstarr, Pt. Zero”

mp3.


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"Stop annoying me, yeah I play my music loud/

11/15/68.

It takes the bastard ol' dirty
to move the crowwwd.”


Dear Russell, miss youuuu.
It's the Era of Twitter and you would be straight. murdering. the. game. if you were still here. Love, Logan.


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Ernest Hemingway fights pretentious symbolism, kicks a can.

“There isn't any symbolism.
The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish.
The sharks are all sharks, no better and no worse.
All the symbolism that people say is shit.
What goes beyond is what you see beyond when you know.”

Cenobites - “Kick a Dope Verse.” Kool Keith + Godfather Don + Bobbito/Fondle 'Em + '93.



Scared federal bureau, fuck investigation/No phones, no beeps, fuck communication. Cenobites are members of a religious group living together in a monastic community. Kool Keith is obviously the head monk, holier to me than the Dalai Lama, even though I don't buy for a second that he practices asceticism (try it somewhere else, Big Shot on the East Coast). In summation: what goes beyond is what you see beyond when you know.



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YouTube understands me in a way you never will.

Per my boyfriend YouTube (the only thing on the Internet that really listens to me and really understands my wants and needs), I am doper when trolling for online content than I am in real life. YouTube's suggestions for me prove it.

Lookie here. YouTube purports that I am a '70s genius/self-destructive comedy lover, a Zev Love X dork, a '90s Afrocentric medallion-wearer who is protected by the red, the black, and the green, plus I drive a Camaro and sometimes do a teeny bit of coke with my long-haired Caucasoid funkster friends*:



Also, says YouTube: I like pretty ladies (Christina Hendricks, Sarah Shahi; SWOON), I'm a 17 year old dude from Queens in 1990, a 17 year old dude from Queens in 1997, plus I'm a breaks dork (Harold Melvin, The Dramatics, Caldwell!, Curtis):



I'm still a 17 year old dude from Queens, in love with Black Moon, but goddammit YouTube: it's '93, not '03! 2 songs from Total Eclipse, and nothing from Enta da Stage? Points deducted. It's nice to know that I'm still a '70s R&B breaks dork (Harold Melvin, again. Curtis, again. Plus Brass Construction), and oooh, I like Big Shug, slightly obscure Gangstarr associate! YouTube, you've redeemed yourself for the Black Moon error:



YouTube knows I like some pretty ladies, so now, says YouTube, I'm a lesbian. YouTube wants a threesome, I do believe. It knows I'm a '70s soul nerd (again), a lovesick girl listening to Art Laboe and Wishing on a Star, and wants me to give Main Ingredient's version of “I'm So Proud” a shot, even though The Impressions' version is the be-all, end-all.” You're reaching here, YouTube:




I'm a Wild Pitch dork, a Monch fanatic, a RZA fanatic, a Rick the Ruu-ler fanatic. YouTube spent about 3 seconds on my blog, then took the easy way out here. I do like the inclusion of a Juice soundtrack banger, though. YouTube also knows that when I cook beef/the smoke'll never clear:




* Tried to find the mp3 of this; couldn't. Still friends?

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CMB! We all we got!!

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On Thanksgiving I be passin out turkeys like Nino Brown, baby!

Look at what the Internet has placed before me:

Lennon* plus Snipes plus hiphop times nineties divided by Ice T equals texty tee I must have if I am ever going to smile again during my lifetime.

I've said I need things before. Many times, in fact. Those were lies, all lies. The only item I need in order to survive is the screenprinted, 100% cotton one above, because what else is there to wear when I take over The Carter?? I'll sport it and then you people will be forced to finally respect my hustle.

Therefore, GIMME.

What I've forced on you above is yet another post written solely so I'd have an excuse embed a Fucking Classic Video from a Bygone Era. Today, it's the video for this song. THISSSS SONNNNG. I love it, I need it, I wanna be on it. If this song came to Crazy Girls during my shift (Fridays at 11), it would get a free lapdance. And you, DJ Aladdin, darling, I know I say this to all the musically-inclined boys, but MARRY ME. How can I be down???

Special appearances by pagers galore, 19-year-olds with fifty-thousand dollar cars, and the one and only Michael G. Tyson:







*




PS:

Nice nod to the OG name of the “Live at the BBQ” guy. That font, though. It's the wrong one, brought back from the “Breaking Logan’s Heart” Years ('97 - present) probably just to torture me. Dude, make um say appropriate typeface. I need some Old English, STAT.

The only warriorz I like are Billy and Fame. However...

War, according to Edwin Starr, isn't good for anything. Absolutely nothing, in fact. (Groan. Sorry). Plus I know all the words to “Tragedy of War (In III Parts),” and I'm probably some kind of communist according to Glenn Beck if he and I were to ever meet. So I'm not feeling Veterans Day so much.

But see, Cash Money is an army. And '04/'05 popular song is one of the finest things the world (AKA me) has ever known. So, because I am merely a pawn in the great A&R machine, I simply can't help but love the military motif here.





- Rich Harrison is the general, wielding basslines like hand grenades.

- Beyonce is the leader of the Pretty Girl Infantry and I hardly ever tire of looking at her unfairly gorgeous face even though, like the sun, it's kind of painful to stare at her head-on.

- Donning a short skirt and heels to prance around in front of dudes on a soundstage seems like the best thing I could possibly do with myself today. Video Girl in Oh-Five was, for me, this year's Halloween costume that Could Have Been.


- T.I. is a wee man, just tiny in real life (80% of rappers are, it's a fact), but his jaunty fitteds and unfairly gorgeous face are what my lack-of-self-esteem/alter-ego/rapper-groupie dreams are made of. All girls like T.I. Even girls who only like girls. Even your girl. She probably wants to do it with Blu, too. Accept it, my dude.


- Bandana tied/so mami, join my troop is the most seductive line Dwayne Carter has ever uttered.

- O'Shea's scowl appearance makes all the hurt go away, makes the rain stop and the sun come out, almost makes up for Bey's cringe-y attempt to Crip walk at the end of the video. (Reign in your woman, Jay.)



- Good girls like dudes from Cali, NY, and Georgia who drive dark-colored vehicles, who find good girls fetching, and who may or may not push weight. My umm...friend told me so.

And please note: I'll be needing a Doberman puppy from you soon.


(Thanks for humoring me with this one! There should have been a disclaimer at the beginning--You probably need to own lady parts in order to enjoy this song--but I'm secretly or not-so-secretly a 15-year-old girl listening to Power 106 in '05 and dying inside every time I'm buying jeans at Forever 21 and this comes on. EAR CANDY to the nth.)



PS: Less guilty pleasure (not as much pleasure as the one above--sorry, Stevie--but not as much guilt, either):




. . .




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Monch is my own personal Jesus.

Reach out, touch faith.

Current protagonists in my life include myself, immediate family, RZA and other assorted Wu gods, Olbermann who always keeps me informed, a bunch of bloggers I'll never meet, Chris Berman on Sundays 'cause goddammit I can't quit him, the nice young man in my life who touches my body in a special way before and/or after our time spent eating, drinking, laughing, talking (ooohhh, Real Life Reference!), those people behind the counter at Amoeba who gladly take the cash from my hands, Radric Davis of course, and President Dreamboat. Oh, and EVERYBODY* in the AMAZING podcast below, from VTech's CMJ soiree last month.


It's almost an hour long and please believe me when I tell you I WANT TO TOUCH IT. (If you don't want to touch it when you listen below, check your private-parts area 'cause something has malfunctioned). Please press play and commit to the next 50 minutes, please. Honestly, I can't think of a better use of your time.


*Exile, Blu, Pharoahe Monch, J. Rocc, Spinna, Large Professor. And, as I believe I may have already mentioned, MONCH. PS, Barrington Levy's wail, which sustains and feeds me, starts around the 33-minute mark.


mp3.


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"Enter the 36 Chambers" is old enough to drive a car.

11/09/93.
It arrived in the universe at just the right time, a dirty, dirty, beautiful opus of handsome wordsmith kung fu dorks stating their cases over dirty filthy drums. The combination made my eyes bleed.

I don't know exactly where he is geographically right now, but I'm quite sure at this moment RZA is standing triumphantly on the cusp of a cliff or on top of a large rock, arms outstretched, looking down over all he has wrought.



Wendy René - “After Laughter Comes Tears”

mp3.



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Fantastic, Vol. 19,312

J. Rocc is behind this, putting Mike Jackson over Dilla, then whipping everybody into a frenzy by suggesting it's from a release (mixtape?) called Share My Bed. Via Stones Throw even though I got it from somewhere else since I have my finger on the pulse.

The song's pretty because anything sounds pretty when placed over the “Players” beat. I'm deducting eight-tenths of a point for you, J. Rocc, for taking the easy route and for lack of focus. Ouch.

But still - it's pretty, and that's enough to offset some of the pain of this Dilla/MJ/Baatin post putting me knee-deep in tragically deceased musical figures.


“Player has Butterflies”

mp3.


The sample actually goes “Claire.” Clayyyy-yurrre, they're singing when Dilla slows it down. I'll take “Detroit Breaks” for $600, Alex.





PS, NahRight's contribution to making my Monday morning crabbiness subside:

Blakroc: "Ain't Nothing Like You (Hoochie Coo)" Ft. Mos Def and Jim Jones

Minuses: Jim Jones, Dame Dash.

Pluses: Mos, pale-faced Ohio funk, Mos singing you're suuuuu-per cooooooollll.
Dude. It just sounds really really good.

Advantage: my turntable when this comes out (date TBD)


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Hungry for power.

(Also: food)



Dash + Sigel by ITO.

Via The Hundreds, because it's ok for me to make fun of it, and make fun of you for wearing it, but still mine their site for quality prints. (Hypocrites are sexy. Look it up.)



Royce! - “Dinner Time.” Lovethis! Lovelovelove.

mp3.



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PJ O'Rourke discusses weighing out the work. (Ghosty with the assist.)

“Drugs have taught an entire generation of Americans the metric system.”

1 kilo = 1,000 grams. It's easy to remember.

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"All you hear is Timb boots stompin."

I just just found out about this break. It's from “Johnny Ryall” and some old Common ones, only (it pains me to type this) nobody in my life ever put me up on any sort of game whatsoever regarding this. Thanks, friends and family who I thought cared about me. How can I ever trust again? Sigh. Moving on to more positive matters: The drums, the drums! Other than the decade known as the '60s, and “Say Say Say,” this is McCartney's finest work.




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I let my tie rock til my tie popped, or something to that effect

The only dudes in ties that excite me are Don Draper, Cornel West, Misters Blonde, Blue, Pink, Orange, White, and Brown, all Int'l Players with an Anthem, and the 3 “Sabotage” detectives. Oh, and YOU, in THIS, HOLYCHRIST:


Sonic Fabric neckties! Each is make from fabric woven from 50% recorded audio cassette tape and 50% colored thread. The fabric is actually audible if you run a tape head over it!

You will need to rip apart an old Walkman, you free the playhead from the player and then rub it over the fabric (oohh/ahhh); with the headphone you will hear the MUSIC of the fabric! It contains the designer’s own music, a collection of looped and layered samples grabbed from the NYC metro system (a creepy, beautiful, David Lynch-ian soundscape), but in a daydream I just had, the ties sound like Busta on "Case of the PTA," Too $hort's trunk, Guru's Saints hat on the cover of Step in the Arena, G Rap on your cousin's tape of Stretch & Bobbito, rainbows, dewdrops, truth, and also purity, light, and goodness.



Creator Alyce Santoro:

“The idea behind the tie is that the wearer becomes a beacon for other-dimensional, intangible, subtle forces of good…much in the manner of a superhero. only this part of the superhero garb can be worn on the outside in the most conservative environment without detection! looks equally great with dress shirt or t-shirt. this tie is the thinner version – 2" wide at the widest point. i also make a slightly wider version for more mature audiences.”


Alyce Santoro, you wacky hippie visionary, you're my future best friend and my density, only you don't know it yet.





Unattractive, yet you need it, right? You're like GIMME. Or, more appropriately, you're like GIVE IT HERE.

Joe Tex - "I Gotcha"

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A little Obama-ry to kick off November.

1. Halloween at the White House: Swoon/delicious/yes please/I love you, President Dreamboat/participating in Halloween is corny unless you're the leader of the planet/sometimes I am cranky but really all I need is to be greeted by an image like this on the Yahoo! home page on Sunday morning and everything in life is better, all better:

Cameo - "Candy"

2.

There's that Ed Norton documentary on HBO that I need to see*; I hear it's all sugar and gloss and bathes the Prez in heartwarming golden light and fairy-tale charm, but that's because dude, we totally fucking have a President who's not a rich old white man and that right there used to only happen in fairy tales so, hey, let's celebrate with a fluffy pro-Hope, pro-Change documentary.

Sometimes I get emails from people asking me to be more critical of Prez Dreamboat. Aw damn, see, I find that doing so would be an inappropriate use of my wit, intelligence, and comedy skills, so these critical posts of the President will probably not be happening. Haters to the left, now and forever.


*


I'm almost fainting re: Barry O., backstage lookin like James Brown about to take the Apollo stage in '73 - but it's not because of any similarities in ethnic background between the 2 of them, mind you. It's because James was a god on the mic beloved by his followers, and the Prez is a god on the mic and beloved by his followers and because he also stays on the scene/like a sex machine. (in my head)


Also, every time I see Ed Norton I remember that Ed Norton used to do naked things with Salma Hayek. I believe they were lovers for several years. You guys, you've seen Ed Norton, right? This provides conclusive evidence that ladies blessed in the womanly-body department love smart leftist dudes, no matter what the dudes look like. On a related note, I've recently discovered that the leftist, brilliant, but rather unfortunate-looking Bill Maher has a comely ladyfriend. I am hereby officially announcing my official ladycrush on Bill Maher's official ladyfriend.

See? Foxy.
(the one on the left)

3. Michelle Obama is a fucking G, I mean a real bona fide power hitter. She'll take your seat at the Yankee game, Rudy Giuliani!, and then turn and smile at you with grace and decency, and you love her cashmere twinset so much, you just sigh and realize you really wanted to sit in the upper deck behind left field. The seats just to the right of the Yankees' dugout are overrated. OH MICHELLE, you're always right.

"I'm the New York power hitter." - Juju.
No you're not, Juju. Michelle is. Thanks for providing me with a half-assed excuse to post this song and relive '01, though. 8 years later, the average cat still don't even know his fate. Crazy.

Beatnuts - "No Escapin' This"

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Half man, half amazing.

“Autistic artist Stephen Wiltshire draws spellbinding 18-foot picture of New York from memory... after a 20-minute helicopter ride over city” !!!!

- The Daily Mail, via Paul Barman's amazing Twittery ways.
(exclamation points mine, because I'm excited)

“This astonishing 18ft drawing of the NYC skyline was created by autistic artist Stephen Wiltshire after he spent just 20 minutes in a helicopter gazing at the panorama.

The unbelievably intricate picture was drawn from Stephen’s memory, with details of every building sketched in to scale.”

Here, again (pay attention this time, please): The unbelievably intricate picture was drawn from Stephen’s memory, with details of every building sketched in. To scale. From memory. The memories in his head guided his hand in drawing the skyline. Which he memorized. To scale.

Meanwhile, yesterday I paid my electric bill, did half a crossword puzzle, and then, to really show off, I found out what the lyrics of Carolina Carol Bela are in English with the help of my good buddy Google Translate. BOOM. I'm schemin not dreamin, people.



Diagnosed with autism at an early age, Stephen's talent for drawing emerged as a way of expressing himself. He has amazed and astounded already with his sketches of Tokyo, Rome and Hong Kong, and most recently tackled the skyline of NYC, as he feels it's his “spiritual home.” Aw, Stephen. I'm sure you've heard this and you're in love with it like I am!

His sketches which can take a week to finish; Stephen works methodically, in short bursts, and uses up to 12 graphic pens as he commits his photographic memory to paper. He also draws heavily from music, which he carries everywhere in the form of his iPod. (Oh, what! It's just like me when I'm folding laundry - I listen to Float to keep myself going and remain inspired when I start to get fatigued.)

Stephen listens to his iPod as he sketches the famous skyline. He draws heavily on music from the '70s to the '90s. (me too me too, Stephen!)

‘Stephen sketches his layout in pencil first and then scales it within the border, first adding in landmarks before filling out in more intricate detail,’ said Iliana Taliotis, who works with Stephen and his family.

Video here in which everybody in the UK calls what he does "drawwrrings" and Stephen sweetly participates in numerous on-camera interviews despite social interaction being exceedingly difficult for him. He'd rather be waving from such great heights. Also, prepare yourself: upon viewing, you will want to hug Stephen and bring him home to live with you and make him tea and make sure he has clean clothes to wear every day. Guaranteed.



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I'ma die harder like my kid Bruce Willis

“You wanna know why? Because I'm -
October 31, that is my date of birth/I got to the party, you know what I did? The Smurf.”

King Ad Whammy, it's the anniversary of your birth and despite the years we've known each other, words have yet to express my hot throbbing love for you and the way you make my heart soar up up and AWAYYY, and not only because of the way you have rendered your hegemony within the world of Nasal Caucasoid Rap or because you're in the pocket just like Grady Tate, you're fuel injected/rhyme connected/running things, and you got more bounce to the fucking bumpin. What's happened is that everyone in rap-ery these days is either a lunatic, in jail, Canadian and dumb, getting punched in the face by a '90s god, or making Jimmy Fallon way doper than he deserves. There's only a handful of good dudes - Doom, Masta Ace, Black Milk, Guilty, Mos, and mayyybe like 3 others and they're all on Duck Down. So I think I love/appreciate you now more than ever.

And here's the update on my list of OG Hot Older Judaic Man Crushes: you're still way high up there, right between your dad and Rahm Emanuel; congrats.



PS, Licensed to Ill is 23 years old tomorrow! Nov. '86! And no, dudes at the bar aged 24-40, you and your boys still can't make something like it just by "fuckin around in the studio with 3 Zeppelin records and some 808."






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Straight to the chest like Primatene mist.

Costumes are only for Doom, members of Funkadelic circa '70-75, and Shock G, but years ago I got a pass to take part in the dress-up tradition. Aside from Strawberry Shortcake in 2nd grade, my dopest & greatest, the best I ever had, was Felicity from Austin Powers, with the blue onesie and the boots. It was '99 and I mean I really shut it down (it being "the bitch"), costume-arily speaking. All that time I spent '60s-fying my hair, smoothing it and adding curl at the bottom and volume at the root, was not in vain, 'cause I got lots of Fun Size Snickers for my efforts plus free booze at the bar. Thanks, America and your diluted pagan traditions! Also, I feel that enough time has passed that I can now say to the 1999 version of me with great certainty: YOU'RE CORNY and STOP THAT. (Oh and: Rawkus will go downhill soon, fast and hard. Prepare yourself for the heartbreak. Rifkind isn't the dude you think he is!)


PS, even my mom knows I'm gonna do a Gravediggaz post on the day of ghouls and witches. No surprises here. Hi Mom!

(And just in case he reads HeightFiveSeven: HI RZA! Loved you on Tavis, babycakes! That part about ODB not understanding the meaning of his life - I sighed and almost cried. I have so much to tell you about chess and the former Soviet bloc! And what about Karzai's brother getting paid by the fucking CIA? CALL ME.)

1993 Gravediggaz Album Documentary

The death trap, Rizzy says, is that mental trap of being consumed by the streets. Ash Roth nods and says exactly, RZA. You're speaking directly to me, my dude.

Gravediggaz-"Nowhere To Run, Nowhere To Hide"

RZA could never be terribly convincing as a blood-&-guts guy even with those sharp canines, but Prince Paul pourin gravy all on your brains, callin out snakes and liars and the A&R who couldn't understand the product, is always believable. (Poor A&R, you're always doomed in rap songs. Maybe change your ways?)


mp3.


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Everything sounds better when a pretty lady says it, episode 137.

“The facts of life are that a child who has seen war cannot be compared with a child who doesn't know what war is except from television.”

- Sophia Loren,
surprisingly astute and political, saying something that
a million rappers,
Fela,
Phil Ochs,
Dylan,
Neil Young,
Peter, Paul, and Mary,
and almost every Jamaican singer
have been saying through the medium of recorded music, since the beginning of recorded music.

But,
I mean,

isn't it nicer when it comes from this










...instead of this?



(Sorry, Chuck.)


The Toothaches - “Sophia”

mp3.


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Lakeshowww. Katy is a biter. Basquiat/Jef/Adrock/MCA/Mike D. And Storchy.

1. Lakers win, Lakers win! So, y'know, maybe just pack it in and stay home the rest of the season, Everybody Who Plays For Every Other NBA Squad. PS - Ron-Ron's hair! Ron-Ron's hair!





2. Katy goes for a PR stroll around Santa Barbara with her PR accessory, attempts to get you stuck off the realness.



I suppose it's possible she actually knows that the words printed on her shirt are from the sacred texts of Mobb Deep, since this very writer is a fellow pale-skinned lady from a beachy Cali city who knows that those are Mobb Deep lyrics. However, NOPE and IMPOSSIBLE, as there can be only one. (And anyway, I prefer lyrics from Brooklyn MCs on my person.)







3. “I thought Dondi or Phase 2 was better than the Mona Lisa, because she was just a fat chick to me.” - Def Jef




My Future Employer Wax Poetics posted Def Jef's recollection of going to dinner with Basquiat at Mr. Chow's in '88, an experience also featuring my OG Judaic boyfriends the Beastie Boys smoking weed in the bathroom.

“So, Jean-Michel was like, ‘Let’s go smoke weed in your car.’ So we went out, and we were smoking in my car, and I was like, ‘You a cool dude, man. You gonna be around?’ And he said, ‘I’m gonna be around forever.’ And I think he just meant, ‘Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow.’ But time has created another resonance to his statement.”

4. Gold staples seem like the kind of thing Storchy would have spent his money on in his cokey-ist, Fucking King of the World!, oh and did I mention I am a Golden God? moments.

“Child support? Nah. GOLD STAPLES are the move.” (that's a direct quote from him, Miami circa '06)




“Intended primarily as a form of jewelry, these luxury pieces can be applied to clothing (or just about anything) with the help of your average stapler. Of course you can also impress your boss by turning in your next report decked out in gold. He will feel you.” LOL/nice grasp of American slang, Dutch design site!



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