Ronnie Laws, “Pressure Sensitive.”

“My problem lies in reconciling my gross habits with my net income.”
- Errol Flynn

Ronnie (L) and me, with the things that bring us joy, respectively.

Name: Ronnie Laws, Pressure Sensitive (Blue Note, 1975).


Is this title acceptable? Yes, because it can be construed in sort of a sexy way. We’re all animals, really, guided by our emotional tides, sensitive to pressure. My absolute favorite is the physical kind of pressure, though.


Produced by: Wayne Henderson, who also produced a little Roy Ayers (!) and a little Willie Bobo (!!).


Global events at the time of its release: THIS HAPPENED and nothing's more important. It turns out that NYC, as Horace Swaby discovered in 1975, is way wayyy east of the river Nile.

Gingham lapels!

Entered my life: Don’t know exactly; can’t remember. Recently enough for me to buy it specifically because it has the Black Moon break on it, so…it had to have been in the last few years. I am a poor historian. Luckily, my enthusiasm for breaks and overall sunny demeanor make up for that. Amoeba; $5.99 (!).


Difficulty of finding, vinyl-wise (1-10 scale): 7.2. DUDE IT’S GOT THE BLACK MOON BREAK ON IT. AND I FOUND IT. Amoeba tried to throw me off by selling it for less than 10 bucks, but it is quite a treasure.


Breaks contained:




Lots, but “Tidal Wave" with its excellent '90s rap credentials*, is the biggie.

*Black Moon, “Who Got Da Props.”
Organized Konfusion, “Stress.”
Quasimoto, “Return of the Loop Digga.”

“Tell Me Something Good” was used in “Shake Your Rump,” though.



Reason for this post on today of all days: I miss Black Moon in general, and Evil Dee in particular-?
(there’s no reason, I suppose)



Facts of nerdy interest that excite me and might show up on Jeopardy! someday:

- Mr. Laws was once a member of Earth Wind & Fire and handled woodwind duties on the most bangingest track on Last Days and Times, “Power.” I'm always saying this about every song, but this thing is a timeless walking-down-the-street-in-a-sundress fucking jam. I wish other people’s brains were flooded with this music like mine is; then maybe people would understand when I open my mouth.




- He wrote and co-produced “Very Special” by his sister Debra Laws, which is always on Art LaBoe. It's been used by Big Daddy Kane and some others--including Master P & Nas, together, on the same song, in “Where Do We Go from Here,” an awful thing from '99 that I could not believe actually happened when I heard about it. Anybody’ll do a song with anybody, whody.

Fully clothed. This one goes out to my mom, who likes me in this kind of attire and warns me I'm “attracting them for the wrong reasons” in my usual little pieces of swimming attire. BUT MOM, I say. Ain't no right or wrong, 'long as they're attracted.

Sartorial accompaniment: Inappropriately short shorts, fancy-lady white oxford shirt, and lace-up boots that were an unholy amount of money but they’ll last for years and years. My aesthetic is “Stripper librarian goes horseback riding.” My aesthetic is also Whatever Kool Keith Wants Me to Wear, I Wear (“Open your eyes, now you realize/Now put on thigh highs/
Tie your boots up tight/Very tight with all your might”).



Suitable activities while listening:

- visit Massan’s place.

If these 3 lived on my block I’d go over with a fake-impossible-to-open jar of spaghetti sauce 3-4 nights a week and ask for help.

- Familiarize yourself with Scott Fujita: Saint, gentleman, linebacker, incredible human.


- Drink in (heh) the visual beauty of this, which somehow perfectly describes the appeal of water during hot discomfort. (The Big Picture)




Best YouTube comment:

I’m including a trio today, because all together they constitute an adorable conversation between 2 nerds with whom I should be hanging out.

BrokenExitProduct: “(‘Tidal Wave’) was sampled In ‘Crooklyn Dodgers’.”

dubbsway4life counters (correctly) with, “Actually, ‘Crooklyn Dodgers’ sampled Black Moon's ‘Who Got The Props.’ Black Moon sampled ‘Tidal Wave.’ I think they were the first to sample it.”

Bluefoxking @dubbsway4life: “LOL, Sample chain.” Aww. Call me, gentlemen!



Other notable things about today:

- That “Tangerine” remix, YES (other than Rawss' part, of course). Big Boi loves his stripper army and his friends do too. She don’t even walk; she wobble past, Fabolous says. Yes, darling. YES. When I was 19, rap songs had to be about Steve Biko or the socioeconomic factors at play regarding the sales of illegal narcotics by young men in big cities in order to convince me to buy the album. Now all I like are Nitti beats and Toomp beats and lyrics about licking and grabbing ass. I’m devolving, making sure only my most base and primal needs are met. I’d say “I hope it’s a phase,” except I’m a lot more fun to be around now than when I was 19. I hope it’s not a phase.

- “My wife with the hair of a wood fire/With the thoughts of heat lightning/With the waist of an hourglass/With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger.” This could be a terrific Big Boi lyric, but it's Andre Breton. You're mixing up your female-body-loving wordsmiths. Big Boi is the one who said “You killing them of course/With the features of an angel and the bottom of a horse.”

-Today in LA driving/radio-listening adventures: Wiz isn't allowed to say “lesbian.” It's given that weird radio-friendly slurred (played backwards) effect, just like the word “fuck” or “gun” would be. Lesbianism is bad, per Clear Channel, but Kings of Leon can say “head while I’m driving,” and Lloyd can discuss his future rough takeover of that girl’s special place (“beat it I bet she’d let me”). That's some stupid arbitrariness, whody.

- Joell and his annoying nasally voice. Hmm. I usually like him, but in this new “Oh” song he says “I get at Twitter; I’m street to the 9th power.” Nope. No. I challenge that statement. The simple goodness of “I’ma come see you, and punch you in your face,” though: oh! Oh yes, that's what I need. More scrap raps & fewer computer raps, please. (And regarding life in general: more good posse cuts and pillow fights, please.)

- When is Yelawolf going to take a shower and wear a shirt that has sleeves. Thank you.

- Breton also said, “Words make love with one another,” and I can't think of a better way to end this post.





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The Main Ingredient, “Euphrates River.”

“My problem lies in reconciling my gross habits with my net income.” - Errol Flynn





Name: The Main Ingredient, Euphrates River (RCA Victor, 1974).


Is this title acceptable? Yes, because of that Pixies song and because euphrates is fun to say. Etymologically speaking, Euphrates probably means “good to cross over,” stemming from Greek or Persian roots. But then, it might not mean anything at all, yet I’m not upset about that. You know what I'm upset about? That they use “Smokestack Lightning” to sell Viagra. I look fine on the outside but inside I'm screaming.


Produced by: The Main Ingredient.


Global events at the time of its release: I covered this material already during my last post about a '74 record (Cobham). But I would like to mention that, this week in 1974 on the R&B chart, Kool & the Gang's “Higher Plane” was #1. It will depress you if I tell you that “Deuces” is #1 this week on the 2010 R&B chart, so I'll shut my mouth. Let's keep it moving.


Entered my life: October 1, 2010. Amoeba. $14.99; a steal. Almost daily on Los Angeles radio, I have to listen to Dorrough berate me by saying You ain't got enough money. That's true, but small victories like finding breaks-laden records for less than $20 make it easier to cope.

At the store, Andrew rang me up. He seemed excited and he chatted with me the whole time, commenting on my purchases (“OOOH, The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter”). I can't criticize this because if I worked there I'd do the same thing while ringing people up.


Difficulty of finding, vinyl-wise (1-10 scale):Oh I don’t know--5.8? 6? It was never issued domestically and I’ve never seen it during my record store adventures so, honestly, I’m surprised it was so easy to find. I am truly blessed, and as usual, I must acknowledge the deity responsible for my good fortune.




Breaks contained:

- “Looks like Rain” was used in Tragedy's “True Confessions,” a song notable for its awful singing chorus with a stupid reworking of that Luther Vandross song, all the boys I know freaking out over Imam's verse, and for its adeptness in painting the simple and accurate picture of someone “shaking like a pregnant cokehead” in verse.

- “California My Way,” my future hit-the-dance-floor-at-my-wedding-reception-and-cut-a-fucking-rug jam, was used in Da Lench Mob’s “Guerillas in the Mist.” Despite attempts to be all cute and subversive by flipping and bouncing the LAPD's racist words and using them in the chorus, the lyrics of the song lack the astute political and social criticism you'd think it would. Thus, I've deemed that the best part is I'm laying in a cut, I'm laying in a cut/I'm laying in a cut, bout to shoot me a mutt/With the boooooom, ping-ping/Listen to the ill shit that I bring-bring. I mean, come on, that's just fun wordplay.





[1:02 until just past the 2-minute mark is the alpha and omega, the thing that gets me through the dreary workday. The drums at 1:39, and the part where all the cities on the itinerary are named--Here I come, Los Angeles! San Diego, San Francisco, here I come! A-Hollywood, Hollywood, Hollywood, Hollywoooooood, yeah. All I can muster is an UUNNLLLLHHHH (pleasurable gibberish, almost like a moan) when asked to describe those 58 seconds.]

“California My Way” and the not-as-great “Summer Breeze” were both used in Biggie's “Things Done Changed.” (By the way: no fucking kidding, Chris. They done, in fact, changed. If you were here we'd have a bitch session about the fact that a Chris Brown song is #1 on the charts.) When I first heard Biggie's song I did not know what this thing called “skelly” was. I looked it up; it’s a New York activity. No wonder. Out here, we don’t play skelly. We also don’t say “jerkoff” and we don’t wait “on line.” It’s in line, dummies. (Jerkoffs.) Oh New York, your rappers are way better than ours but your colloquialisms are usually dumber. Plus I am almost positive The Main Ingredient never wrote a song called “New York My Way.”


Reason for this post on today of all days: It's probably just because I found the record earlier this month at the store, and I liked how the colorful cover contrasted with my cream/white ensemble* when I brought it home and was thumbing through my collection. It's that simple. I bet you it also has something to do with the fact that American Gangster was on basic cable again yesterday, which means I of course got upset all over again about the horrendous idea to cast Cuba as Nicky Barnes. Cuba's dad was in The Main Ingredient, and there you have it.


Facts of nerdy interest that excite me and might show up on Jeopardy! someday:

- Willie Hutch wrote “California My Way.” He was born in LA but raised in Texas. The song was therefore inevitable, because he missed the weather, women, and greenery.

- If you type “main ingredient” into the search box on Amazon, the “customers who bought ____ also bought _____” box comes up and says that people who buy albums by The Main Ingredient also buy albums called The Main Ingredient by a duo called Pete Rock & CL Smooth. Um, yes, Amazon. Thanks. And I'm almost positive that 1 of those customers is named Logan. (but not “customer” in a bad way, like in a Jay-Z way or EPMD way).

- Cuba Gooding's family history is one of sexy Caribbean adventures, murder, and Pan-Africanism. 2 generations later, Snow Dogs happened and Marcus Garvey wept. “DAMN. Shit done changed” - Chris Wallace.


Life lessons, important messages contained:

- The album is strictly cover songs and the very very good title track was originally by Seals & Crofts, with a “Many Rivers to Cross” kind of feel. Every day brings us closer/Every night, my soul sees/A worried mankind suffering blindly/Guess I'll walk the Euphrates River. Rivers make a man think about life and his place in it, I guess.



*

Sartorial accompaniment: bathing suit and sweater, because what if I go for a swim and then the clouds roll in? Out in Cali we refer to this as “preparedness,” jerkoff.


Suitable activities while listening:

- Read about genius leftist attempted-poverty-ender Upton Sinclair and think about how amusing it would be for some rapper from Harlem to call himself Uptown Sinclair. (Did Jim Jones already do this? I don't listen to the music of him or his crew so it's unfair to expect me to know. If he did do it in song, I'm retracting the part where I said it would be amusing.)

- Watch the mighty Oakland Raiders actually get to .500! Bishop and me are both like Fuck yes.
(sorry, Mom)



- Fashion editorials for inspiration, always. Today's collection of fantasy lighting/outfits/photos that I wish to someday emulate is that of Caroline Winberg in tiny underthings but also in cozy things like gloves and socks and sweaters...you know, in case the clouds roll in. Hmm. I should try that sometime. It would look far less classy and much more stripper if I did it, though, since the vulgarity of my hips makes me look like a stripper no matter what I wear. Magic City, stage #2, 11:40.




Best YouTube comment: “lool sa me fait penser a des scenes d'avant the soul funky train lool...sa ferait plaisir a des gens que je connait ce son bien joué!”

Ah! Oui, Firdaws1977! You have perfectly summed up my feelings.



Other notable things about today:

- Falling in love is coke-y feeling and only takes a fifth of a second to happen. I already knew this, because that's just how it went the first time I heard Del's voice.


- I just discovered Green Eggs and Ham read in patois, and, on a related note, the Baddis riddim mix some kind soul put on YouTube that goes nicely with my hips (even though it's actually called the Retro Baddis riddim). These things are fun--just harmless, delicious fun, like being witness to the glorious 2010 implosion of the Dallas Cowboys, or hearing the greatest Morrissey song Morrissey never did during your drive on the crowded 101 last Sunday. FUN!


- Jakey n’ Freeway’s “Beautiful Music.” Still listening to it; still in love. This is also true of that “Up & Down” song, my new fave, which has a video filled with jiggling, well-placed female body fat and ShakeWeights and makes me wanna take the #2 stage at Magic City. Sorry, Gloria Steinem, Mom, Angela Davis, and all those ladies before me who worked tirelessly to get me the right to vote. Your influence on me is simply not as powerful as that of a terrible Chicago MC who warms up for his verse by actually using the phrase “more cockier.”


- The 12-year-old tomboy in me loves Epicly Later'd, but the grown woman in me recognizes the signs of a chemically-based life about to be wrecked and has concerns. “Henny and Heelflips: the Ballad of Antwuan Dixon” is the thing that we will all look back on and shake our sad heads at when Antwuan inevitably goes into alcohol-induced respiratory failure or gets 48 months at Corcoran. He's a sad clown so of course I kinda feel like I could save him. It's that soft spot of mine that always throbs for the self-destructive. But our story would end in heartache after I spend too many nights sick with worry, and I would once again bemoan my bad choices and then walk away from the whole affair.


- I hate sulk-rap so I've never been a Rhymesayers kind of lady. But the Eyedea tributes on the RS site, oh. They are touching. The one that really gets me is P.O.S's--the heart-wringer “I will read every book you told me to.”


- Deerhoof's “The Merry Barracks” is my new walking-down-the-street-in-a-sundress song. Hurry hurry, listen to it and like it before Lupe or Cudi raps over it and ruins it.


mp3.


- Art-school clove-smoking Kanye bores me, but I must acknowledge the part of his latest thingie that speaks to me--the scene in which the scantily-clad chaise-lounging angelically-winged birdlike girl creature is enthralled and physically excited by a beatmaking male human. Let's just say I can relate.





- CyHi da Prynce is from Decatur, murders my Spellcheck, and is intensely annoying but makes up for it with talent. It's OK, Cy; people only like me 'cause of my sick flow too. The best parts in that "Sideways" video are his collection of various ice grills (from the left, from the right, looking down, then up, and, um, sideways, of course), and his collection of fitteds--the Reds, the Pirates, the Braves. Obviously there was a sale on National League hats at Champs. He makes a Stevie Williams reference in a verse (I just told you I have a 12-year-old tomboy lurking inside of me) but that cannot make me forgive his overly manicured facial hair. And since every day there's a new reason to prove to me I'm outgrowing post-2007 rap and its industry that condones stupid behavior, of course he has a Twitter and makes all kinds of Twitter goofball moves replete with inappropriate use of exclamation points--"When I was in hawaii with @kanyewest I stayed at the kahala!!!" He enjoys laughing out loud frequently and gives himself heaps of shine ("A painting of me!!!" "I love Louie bags!!!", !!!!!, LOL, etc). This young man is clearly pleased with leading a newly luxurious lifestyle courtesy of rap, inc. and that's sort of cute. I can appreciate someone appreciating. But like the great Vincent T. Lombardi said, Act like you've been there before. He gets points for his historically accurate name-drops of Ralph Abernathy and Rosa Parks, and then promptly loses those points by using a distasteful word that starts with N in the very next line. Ugh. Show some respect, Decatur.


- Heard “You Gots to Chill” on the car radio the other day, it was rainy all afternoon and I like that, and when I got home, fucking Goonies was on TV. Perfection. Thank you, LA radio and Time Warner Cable, Inc., for your combined efforts to make me happy.


- Is it just me or is Intelligent Hoodlum a way better name than Tragedy Khadafi.


- How perfect of a couplet is In the beginnin' I like to let my rhymes flow/And at twelve I press cruise control. I'm serious about this. Let's discuss.


- Giving up on completing a phrase halfway through it is a nice thing to add to your lyrical repertoire. “Your arms too short to box,” Curren$y says during yet another musical meetup between a microphone and his brain's hundred thousand cannibanoid receptors, the most consistently beautiful working relationship in rap music right now. Hey, remember GZA's “Rhymes too short to box with God” remark? I enjoyed that. Anway, there are 8 measly comments about this lovely song on RapRadar, which is just additional fuel for my adorable bitterness regarding the current state of rap affairs.



- “France on strike” as told by The Big Picture. There aren't any good French rappers but I'd still like to live in a country that produces such stylish and politically active teenagers. That girl atop shoulders (which might be those of Phil Lynott's?), especially--the hair, the scarf, the fist. It's like they always say when you're protesting new retirement laws and a president who's let you down--cherchez la femme.










.

White girl side hustle opportunity I missed: N.E.R.D. on Letterman

N.E.R.D., “Hypnotize You.” Letterman, 09/28/10. Can you spot me?

(This is what it would have looked like had I been informed of this casting opportunity.)

Pharrell hired a bunch of underweight girls with that good hair to wear white tanks and sit and just keep on sitting for the duration of his terrible song. This is a performance for which I'm sure he paid them handsomely. Accordingly, I need a better agent.

I often acknowledge that my ethnic identity group is full of corny types. We're super annoying at the club 'cause we can't shake it*and our latest favorite song to get slutty to on the dancefloor is Wiz's “Black and Yellow,” a song all over LA radio that's produced by 2 Norwegians who are experts in making catchy R&B so of course white girls love it. So the Letterman gig above is something I may not have taken right away, because it's corny. Pharrell in '10 is nothing like Pharrell in '02 when he was amazing and Nore-affiliated--I mean everything in my Honda's CD player during those days had some kind of spy chord. But, but, I still would've done taken the white tank top job eventually, because Pharrell is really cute and probably always will be, and because during rehearsals he and I could've debated whether Talking Book is superior to Innvervisions or is that just something people like to throw around, and because hey, white ladies like to get paid just like everyone else. We are coming up in the world as rapper accessories, which makes us like the new...Skypagers? Anyway, I haven’t been this proud of us since we were Bishop Don's lap ornament at Andre 3000’s wedding, and then there was my cousin who made an appearance as Juelz’s pale-skinned jumpoff in “Beamer Benz,” providing something called becky. You remember. She made him almost crash his Bentley. : (





* unless you're talking about me. I can shake it.

Major Mackerel - “Pretty Looks Done.” Just saying, ladies. Cash in while you can.

mp3.




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Billy Cobham, “Crosswinds.”

“My problem lies in reconciling my gross habits with my net income.” - Errol Flynn

L-R: me, Billy, me.
Head tilt, my dude. HEAD TILT.

Name: Billy Cobham, Crosswinds (Atlantic, 1974).


Is this title acceptable? Yes. Aviationally speaking, “crosswinds” are those that blow at an angle, um, across the intended line of flight of an aircraft, the course of a ship, or anything in motion that needs wind behind its back. Crosswinds blowing across the runway make plane landings and takeoffs more difficult than if the wind were blowing straight down the runway. It's a metaphor for being a jazz drummer/composer/arranger, you see. Musicians always think of dope and meaningful album titles (with the exception of Maybach Music, which is stupid).


Global events at the time of its release: Taking it back to '74, epic epic sexy songs on the charts included George McCrae's “Rock Your Baby” (!) and William DeVaughn's “Be Thankful for What You've Got” (!!). The Raiders' record was 12-2 (the NFL season was only 14 games). Shaw Brothers movies were on the teevee, sloppily dubbed and getting the blood flowing inside a whole generation of boys who'd grow up to be rappers. Big L was born. Dilla was born. Derek Fisher was born (FISH!). Kareem was playing for the Bucks and that was a big time-waster, just a stop along the way in his career--a prelude to his destined greatness in LA. Everyone wanted to see Raquel Welch naked. The Ramones got together. The Rumble in the Jungle between Ali and Foreman took place, which was just an excuse to fly the whole Fania crew and Bill Withers and James Brown to Kinshasa to do a concert (Zaire 74). I am almost positive there were lots of songs by lots of singers during the show, but the VOICE OF LAVOE drowned all of them out, as it was at its strongest and clearest and Lavoe was convinced he had the strength to shake off the heroin devil and if you were backed by Marrero on timbales in front of a euphoric crowd, you'd probably feel invincible too.


Produced by: Mr. Cobham himself.


Entered my life: August 2010. Grady's Record Refuge, in lovely Ventura, CA. $5. Five dollars, knucklehead. Five! HA HA. I rule. This record is simply unavailable in Los Angeles County; I know, as I have tried to locate it for several years with great lack of success. YEARS. Luckily, in Ventura, I am the only person who's been looking for it since nobody's a digger there. Everyone's either surfing or shopping at antique stores downtown.


Difficulty of finding, vinyl-wise (1-10 scale): Please refer to the previous paragraph. In Ventura, it's a 2.4. In LA, it's a 10. Once again, LA-area dusty-fingered crate-digging boys who are my competition for good finds: HA HA.




Breaks contained: “Heather” is used in Big K.R.I.T.'s “Somedayz” but it's more well-known for providing the sparkly intro for “'93 Til Infinity” when Tajai is talking and introducing his buddies (We hailin from East Oakland, California, andummm...). “Crosswind” was used in Gangstarr's “Here Today, Gone Tomorrow,” which is not Guru's finest lyrical moment but that bassline makes up for all his shortcomings. Plus it sounds so much like Ripple's “I Don't Know What it is, But It Sure is Funky,” it would blend beautifully into Special Ed's “I Got it Made.” Email me if you want me to shut up about imaginary blends, and/or if you want me to draw you a diagram about imaginary blends.

Regarding the Souls who hail from East Oakland, indulge me for a second while I discuss. The whole “greenbacks in stacks” stanza is a great example of rhythmic wordplay, and “If you're really dope why ain't you signed yet?” is one of history's great devastating lines and feelings-hurters, a straight, painful shot right into the hearts of so many independently-minded rappers. Today's version would be “If you're really dope why don't you call out rappers who keep asking Ricky Rawss to hop on their tracks.” The best, though, has to be “So many females/So much inspiration,” a truth about life that packs so much meaning into 6 little words and makes you nod in agreement, even if you're a straight girl like me. It works in 2 ways: a) I find it flattering—because perhaps, as a female, I have provided or could hope to provide inspiration to a young man who may or may not be a rap professional; b) I find it to be the god's honest truth—females are inspiring, fuckin A, let's face it. Even if I weren't one, I'd mean that. Examples that immediately come to mind are Raquel Welch, all those street fashion sites with ladies who are naturally stylish (unlike myself), and Lara Stone's impossible face/hair/body/swagger.


Reason for this post on today of all days: 93 'Til Infinity came out 16 years ago this very day! Aw, that's sweet. Rap anniversaries are only going to become more frequent and more poignant as I get older. I'm especially looking forward to 2034, when I'll be celebrating the 30th anniversary of Mm…Food.


Facts of nerdy interest that excite me and might show up on Jeopardy! someday: Billy Cobham es panameño! I didn't know that; did you? This is because “Cobham” does not strike me as Panamanian-sounding, but then, Bernie Williams is Puerto Rican despite being named “Bernie Williams.” So, sure, Billy is of Panamanian descent - just like Ruben Blades, who started writing songs while working in the mailroom at Fania Records. Cobham was also in Jazz is Dead, a Grateful Dead cover band made up of jazz musicians. I tell you, this man is perfect in every way.


Sartorial accompaniment: shorts, tank, fabulous Wu pendant that protects me from all enemies like it's '93, and sandals, because it is approximately 157 degrees outside today. This whole outfit cost me $23. Buying clothes is not my thing; buying records is. Gross habits/net income, people.


Suitable activities while listening: Call up Bridget (she got friends). Think about Guru and get flooded with memories. Take a look in the mirror and wonder if you've gone a little bit too red with the highlights (as it turns out: no, it's just the peachy color of the tank top brings out the ginger in a girl's hair). Prepare to get street harassed upon stepping out the front door in that outfit (the flesh-exposing shorts! the flesh-exposing shirt!); really get that psychological guard up. Peruse pictures of the various Fashion Weeks and fantasize about the chocolate-brown Pucci number with not enough breast coverage paired with lace-up footwear that's perfect to add to my “Stripper librarian goes to Coachella” closet.


Life lessons, important messages contained:

- The whole album is just over a half hour long. That's the way to do it. Those of us afflicted with musical ADD appreciate it. Coincidentally or maybe not so coincidentally, Ramones was recorded the following year and is just under a half hour long. Obviously Joey and Dee Dee and the gang were influenced by Billy's fusion jazz.


Best YouTube comment: “I listen to this tune at the great antiquity, and remain very much in the impression. And, I am glad to listen to this tune now. Thank you.” I couldn't have put it better myself, sdpragit. Honorable mention goes to Dinso11's "really great song...it really make me relaxing."


Other notable things about today:

- The Kinks released “You Really Got Me” today in 1964. Dave Davies got his guitar to do those magical things by him cutting the speaker of his amp with a razor blade and poking pins into it.

- Dr. John and the Beastie Boys getting into any and all Halls of Fame is really great. Do we all no longer care about MCA's health, by the way?

- Maino + Joell's “Ask Me About Brooklyn” works because of that Morgan Heritage hook, despite it being a not very good song with verses full of references to individuals whose deaths will be avenged but whom I've never heard of.

- Freeway + Jake One's “Beautiful Music” works because Jake One exists and decided to go into music as a career. Freeway still has that dirty-lookin beard and that fatigue in his voice, but those are good things to me. I don't care for a pretty rapper. Those factors make up for the fact that the opening verse in which Freeway talks about himself like an actual freeway (“They said the freeway closin'/they said they saw the signs/but we done construction in preparation/we back open”). Groan. Sloppy songwriting.









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Eyes up here, buddy.

“Whether a man is drawn to a woman's body or her face may depend on whether he sees her as a short-term fling or a long-term lover” - LiveScience.

Men considering just a fling with a woman were more likely to peek at a picture of her body than men who were thinking about a long-term relationship, research found. The guys considering a long-term relationship showed a preference for looking at her face.

The findings may reflect men's evolutionary drives... Men who want a fling may be subconsciously looking to a woman's waistline to judge the woman's current fertility. Men looking for long-term partners, on the other hand, may be more interested in her face for clues of reproductive potential in the future.

Otis Ray Redding, jr. covering Samuel Cooke - “You Send Me.”
I don't want to hear your version of “B.M.F.” that you just put on YouTube, and I don't want to discuss Kolb v. Vick in Philly. I just want you to play this, darling. It's OK if you look down there more than up here, but only while this song is on.

mp3.





.

Please tell me how I feel about this.

The Roots and Q-Tip doing “Straight Outta Compton,” via RapRadar.

The god Ruscha said, “Good art should elicit a response of ‘Huh? Wow!’ as opposed to ‘Wow! Huh?’.” See, the problem is that I do not know which one is being elicited here, Ed. I simply do not know.



How do I feel about this? Is it shockingly good? Is it awkward and terrible? Feelings are colliding in my soft little rapfan heart. Please help me sort through the emotional wreckage.




I love it!:

- Classic song. It makes me want to do inappropriate things with Dre's Akai. I mean, I'd really like to be hugged up with that thing in a dark corner. Then I'd like to stop for some coffee and have a cop ask me for my number, and say Sure!, and write it down but then slowly rip it up in front of him and his dumb cop face, then laugh haughtily as I stroll away like an ice queen. HA HA, officer. 5 points.


- It's melodic and mad, and it owns its duality. It's fun to sing along with, it's catchy. But wait, how can that be when it's so oddly industrial-sounding and impersonal? WOW. These gentlemen are really waving that around and throwing it in your face--here's a murder rap to keep y'all dancin. Anyone but Biebs or the Free Credit Score guys could do it and it would still sound amazing and have that energy to hypnotize and convince you to pull, I don't know, some kind of jack move. The D.O.C. co-wrote it; MC Ren co-co-wrote it. Both are tragically, painfully underrated. 4 points.





- A villain with a hat, and it's like that
I tied yo' moms to a motherfuckin train track
Flat on her back, I give her some crack
It's ten o'clock - DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR MOMS IS AT?

3 points, just by association.


- A bunch of rap-celeb east coasters know all the words! Everyone probably knows all the words, but c'mon. I come from a time when stupid geographic allegiances really meant something, and masculine bravado based on ZIP code was the popular thing, so these guys being familiar with the lyrics of men from a whole other coast is impressive. (I must own up to my bias here and remind you all that Ice Cube getting his songs covered by other rappers or even referred to by other rappers is a great thing to me--just today, in fact, there was Curren$y saying I think I'm Doughboy on my front porch/'63 Impala in my driveway, Saints gold.) Wow! 5 points.






On the other hand:

- It's so weird that it's these 2 guys doing it. Stylistically, they're just trying to keep up, and lyrically, the words coming out of their mouths coupled with their curated personae are comically mismatched. That's no disrespect to them as performers, since Ice Cube trying to get loose on “Electric Relaxation” would be equally weird. Ha, can you imagine? Still: -2 points, based for the most part on the cringe-inducing moments when the Abstract does that corny pantomine during the mix 'em in a pot like gumbo part, and when he actually says the words Here's a murder rap to keep you dancin/with a crime record like Charles Manson/AK-47 is the tool/Don't make me act the motherfuckin fool. Aw Tip, that makes the kids on Linden Blvd cry. To be fair though, Cube was never that tough outside of his song lyrics either--he's just a better actor. Also, Black Thought saying dirty ass ho. a) HUH? b) Nope. -6 points.


- Jerry Heller is probably making money with every YouTube play. Royalties n shit. -2 points.


- There's a tuba on stage. -2 points.


- I didn't hear either of the gentlemen on stage with microphones say You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge, a song intro that wrestles all other song intros to the ground and makes 'em say uncle. It could be that the filmer just didn't catch that part; maybe Tip said it just before the cameras rolled. But I just don't have time to entertain “what if” scenarios. I don't have time. And what's that thing that the idiots on the Internet say? “Pics or it didn't happen”?
-4 points.



It's a draw. I could do the math but this decision was based more on intuition than anything a boring old equation could tell me. Any attempt at substantial analysis never stood a chance, as it was buried under regional alliances, my fondness for Black Thought's Yankees fitted, and my giant wish that the city were flooded with music like old NWA. So that's it. After a series of melodic/lyrical highs and corny stage-antic lows, Huh and Wow are about even.


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Everything named Watts is wonderful and a thing of quality.

Life is wonderful, fly living rooms, brass brooms
Catch me in the city of Watts, dusted out with Doc Doom

- Ghostface, “Belt Holders”




Essentialism is ridiculous, I learned in Lit 101. Identities are always in flux, changing with the times. Nobody is bound by their socially-constructed religious or gender or skin-tone tribe; that's ridiculous! Just pulling this random example out of thin air: you can be a woman feminist with a master's degree who is also a part-time studio apartment swimsuit model; these are not opposing things. The notion of “false universalisms,” that there are attributes that all members of a particular group share, is dead. Canadian white women aged 18-24 are like this, and Black men who wear suits are like that; ridiculous. Really. All of that aside, the truest thing in apt. 15 today is that if a subject has Watts in its name, it is a wonderful, high-quality thing. Everything with Watts in its name is amazing! Everything.

(The exceptions, because of course there have to be some since blog posts never go as smoothly as you'd like, is former Republican Congressman J.C. Watts, and the Watts uprising of 1965. Neither of those things is wonderful, and neither did any good for anybody.)







Alan Watts, philosopher, radio host, friend of John Cage and Gary Snyder and other sensitive white men of whom my parents are fond. Known for his radio show, for making Buddhist tenets easily digestible by white kids In Search of Meaning (my parents, ca. 1974), and for such snippets of genius as “No work or love will flourish out of guilt, fear, or hollowness of heart,” and “Saints need sinners,” and, regarding the use of psychedelics, “When you get the message, hang up the phone.” Oh. Word.

Hating ass individuals come in droves with this guy, like they always do with popular people; Watts was often criticized by fellow Buddhists for not interpreting Buddhist texts accurately. Russell Simmons relieving himself in his solid gold toilet before he goes to yoga knows a little something about that. But how can you fault somebody for wanting to spread some kindness and free us all from the rotten cycle of samsara? Get a grip, people. Watts saw a basic human alienation among Westerners that he felt the need to soothe, and his radio broadcasts are quite pleasant to listen to. I think Watts did more good than harm, and his place on this list is well-earned.








Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd St. Rhythm Band. They're the reason this whole idea sprouted in my brain, and the first Watts-related thing I wrote on the list. Charles Wright got his start playing in clubs where ladies took their clothes off, which is so funny because, years later, this lady enjoys taking her clothes off to Charles Wright! I'm sad to say Express Yourself is the only record from Watts 103rd in my collection; the reissues aren't hard to find at Amoeba, so there hasn't been that panic I usually feel when I'm missing an endorphin-swirling funk classic among my records. I could go get In the Jungle, Babe tomorrow if I wanted to, and if I had any money left over, You're So Beautiful (with the superfine “What Can You Bring Me?”* that punks jumped up and got beat down to in '93). Express Yourself was released in 1970, but even in 2010 it hasn't lost its sweaty power. You put it on and Charles and his boys are still bumpin & grindin like a slow jam, and Cali is still where they put they mack down; gimme love.


The Echo Park Eagles are currently 0 and 1. Opening week (last Sunday) I dressed in a cozy sweater, loungey underpants, and socks to watch various football games you can see on basic cable, and waited for someone, my pretend boyfriend like Pharaohe Monch, to join me. Nobody came. Evidently you people hate a skinny girl who can make good baked chicken and who has 10,000 records and a backyard weed farm. So I hugged Charles Wright (in 12" form) and documented my ridiculous pouty face to show the Internet, my actual boyfriend. Nobody gets me like he does.



“I'm Aware.”

mp3.


*








Michael Watts, producer, label owner, deuce chunk-er, Screwston work put-er in-er. Texans from his neighborhood swear he invented the “chopped and screwed” term; since I have no reason to dispute that, I'm posting it here like it's the truth. Back in '05, I thought I was real cute and funny when I wrote in my “Music” section on my MySpace page, “anything as long as it's chopped and screwed.” 5 years down the road, ain't shit changed; I still represent Swishahouse* (*2005-2006). Michael gets a place here mostly because of all the one-liners in “Still Tippin'” -

Boss Hog on candy.
It takes grindin to be a king.
I got the Internet goin nuts.

Another thing I like about him is that instead of “5000 Watts,” his nickname could be “5 Kilowatts.”






Reggie Watts, 21st Century Schizoid Man. Included here because he's post-comedy, post-weird, has a nice thick head of hair, and is probably deeply depressed—everything I need in a man. He's the smartest guy in the room and I always tag along behind the smartest guy in the room, hoping he notices me. And everything in his act sounds like something out of a Doom song.











Wattstax, 1972 concert. Just...oh god, it's the most amazing thing, I can't believe I even have to describe it here. Go watch the movie, motherfucker. Rufus, Isaac, Carla, the Staple Singers, the Bar-Kays, and numerous others lift ev'ry voice and sing at the mighty Coliseum. And it only cost $1 to get in!

Sweat plus bass plus absorbing the crowd's collective high from Jesse Jackson's call-and-response means I surely would've gotten pregnant at this event. “In Watts, we have shifted from 'Burn, baby burn' to 'Learn, baby learn',” Jesse says, without a trace of corniness. Later, Rufus Thomas comes on stage to do “The Breakdown”; “Ain't I'm clean?” he rhetorically asks, 30 years ahead of Kanye's whole Dear audience, please tell me how great I am and how fucking fresh my Junya Watanabe dunks are act. WATCH IT, I said.















The Watts Towers, tall, spindly, metal/glass/mosaic/mesh/mortar/porcelain creatures rising from south Los Angeles concrete, built by immigrant hands. Simon Rodia was a construction worker from Italy who built the thing over the course of 33 years and called it Nuestro Pueblo--“our town.”

“(Rodia) constructed a dream-like complex of openwork towers . . . and encrusted them with a sparkling mosaic, composed mainly of what had once been refuse,” said Calvin Trillin in The New Yorker, in 1965. Like the architectural, tangible version of the Dust Brothers and Paul's Boutique, kids! Soon there'll be a skatepark there, too.








“Watts Riot,” Kam feat. Ice Cube. Fightin the police with my peers/With head & shoulders, and no more tears. Shampoo raps! Love some shampoo raps. DJ Pooh produced this in '93, and the place and time from which it came is clear when you hear that beat, so crowded and filled with sirens. Kam had that serious voice like a university professor, making everything sound important. Cornel West in a clean white tee and Chucks.

Do people in Brooklyn actually say “What it look like”? I've heard that in song but I just don't know. I can tell you that when Roger Troutman sings “In the cityyyy of good ol’ Watts,” like that’s something that locals say, he's just repeating what Ronnie Hudson sang in “West Coast Poplock.” Ronnie himself made that up. Good ol’ Watts. Nobody actually says that in LA. I mean, nobody used to say that; now they do. It's been added to our lexicon because it was stated over a catchy melody, like “Inglewood always up to no good.” I've heard people say these things. Such is the power of song.










Naomi Watts. Straight men, you've seen Mulholland Drive, right? That's what I thought! Hi, straight men! She's on the list because everyone, everyone loves a blonde fake lesbian. Additionally, she makes good film choices, and her man is Liev Schreiber, San Fran-raised offspring of superleftists and foxy tall artistic strong-facial-featured man of Judaic extraction. She and Liev do it in sweaty and intense fashion every night, I'm certain. For the revolution.




Honorable mention: the Watts Prophets. Semi-honorable mention: Charlie Watts (meh), drummer for the Rolling Stones. He's so very meh (I'm not really a Stones girl), although the first 10 seconds of “Paint It Black” succeeds in its goal of making me feel like I'm surfing in the great blue ocean while also pointing a rifle out of a helicopter above the jungles of Saigon.




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Don't use the term “snitching” unless you really mean it.

When Jimmy Conway grabbed Henry Hill's youthful face and said never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut, I nodded my head in agreement. Goddamn right, Jimmy! That was kid stuff, though--stealing furs, robbing truck drivers, bagging coke, then describing it all to a judge a few years down the road, pointing in the courtroom at the guy who used to be your fellow foot soldier, thereby making a disgrace of yourself like a filthy rat. Kid stuff! This here is snitching, pure and uncut:




“I don’t think that [this] changes the power of the photographs he produced,” said a smart man on NPR about Ernest Withers, and I agree. Unforgivable rat finkery aside, this new information about him makes his photos even more meaningful in context of what we just found out about him--people in the movement strongly suspected they were being tailed, trailed, spied on, and the guy taking pictures of them knew it firsthand and kept snapping away. He churned out thousands of pictures of kind-faced, sympathetic individuals on buses and in picket lines, adding a stunningly energetic Lionel Hampton photo or two along the way.

Why would the Feds be so inconsistent with their suppression techniques, though? They got valuable information from an informant, but let him keep taking pictures of men and women with kind, sympathetic faces? Since frontline imagery is one of the tools of informative persuasion for which the movement is best known, it seems like the FBI would've seen to it that negatives were "accidentally" destroyed, or brought the paranoid hand of justice down much harder on the man who was creating those images. They're now on display in museums, wordless black-and-white evidence of brutal times and brutal laws. Destroying the negatives seems like such an obvious way to go. But then, I forget sometimes that J. Edgar and his drones were not known for their intelligence.





And here, in contrast, some trifling type of behavior that's not really “snitching” at all; it's just an assortment of various attempts by a man with a dumb nickname to get out of jail a little sooner. I haven't seen this kind of penny-ante nonsense get the kids so heated* since Cam and Anderson made intense faces at each other and discussed the serial killer who lives next door.


* as of this writing, 30 comments from rap nation over at XXL.






The O'Jays, “Back Stabbers.” Because it's Gamble & Huff, with the god Thom Bell in charge of strings. And because “Rat Heads” by E-40 wouldn't upload, and the only other songs available about rats and snitches getting theirs in the end were, ironically, ones by noted rat employer Game and noted alleged rat Curtis Jackson. Oh the sweet, terrible irony.


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Zip it, Joan.

“When we start deceiving ourselves into thinking not that we want something or need something, not that it is a pragmatic necessity for us to have it, but that it is a moral imperative that we have it, then is when we join the fashionable madmen, and then is when the thin whine of hysteria is heard in the land, and then is when we are in bad trouble.”

Joan Didion.


“Fast cash should be the last resort so make it last for the risk you took
Trick, you shook your ass for some hundred dollar heels and a designer bag
Now that's ass backwards
All you got in the refrigertator is bratwurst.”

You too, Big Boi.



L-R: Elephant's Memory "Mongoose" 12"/Button kneesocks, Topshop/Small leather tote, several-years-old Miu Miu/Hooker librarian Mary Janes, 3.1 Philip Lim/Anita Bag, Alexander Wang/Whole ensemble, Free People/The Fatback Band "Put Your Love in My Tender Care" 7"/Sheer gray dress, Topshop.






I heard this was chopped & beautifully reconfigured by Premier for Gangstarr's "Lovesick." Initially this was confusing, since you hear no trace of "Lovesick" above. Then I heard it was used in something called the "Upbeat Mix," from the 7" released in the UK. Aha. I guess Chrysalis would think to release an upbeat mix of a song called "Lovesick" for the British, both because they are a dour people and because their sense of humor is more subtle and refined than ours.





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