Cincinnati Metro was blanketed with 5 inches of fluffy snow this morning and afternoon. The doomsday-loving weathermen told me it’s supposed to snow shower again this evening. So, I figured I’d post this album because it’s a perfect soundtrack for watching the birth of a wintry mix.
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Get comfy, turn up the McIntosh Tube Amp-driven system I assume you all own and behold the beautiful dance of tiny, frozen ballerinas outside of your listening room window to the soothing sounds of M83.
This past Saturday I went to the RJD2 show at Southgate House in Newport, KY. It’s my favorite venue for a number of reasons: it’s a big converted creepy mansion reminiscent of The Munster’s crib, it usually has three shows playing at a time on various levels and it has the best quality sound system within a 100 mile radius. Also, by sheer coincidence they were playing Ray Charles on the patio’s PA system the night he passed so it will always hold a special place in my heart.
Anyway between sets filled with nose-tickling bass the title track from Blackalicious’ Blazing Arrow came on over the PA in the ballroom. Instantly it took me back to 2002 when I was heavy into the underground hip hop scene. Back when I was gobbling up anything coming out of Anticon Records, attending Scribble Jam in the summers and wearing Puma knit caps. I think it went hand in hand with attempting to become one with the decrepit urban landscape of Cincinnati. Wanting to become grittier…more legit if you will.
Over time I strayed from the heart of the hip hop scene. For a long time I thought that I was just growing up but on Saturday night, standing there in the middle of the ballroom of Southgate House amidst the odd mix of hipsters, hippies and oafish frat dudes, I began to reassess my hip hop position throughout the bubbling jaunt that is “Blazing Arrow.” Had I been wrong about hiding this double LP away in the bottom of my crates?
Well, after cleaning off the layers of resin that had accumulated on these discs from my days non-stop bong ripping, I took a listen and can tell you that I was so very wrong for letting this vinyl fester. This is one of the most completely balanced albums that I own. Usually with hip hop from earlier in the decade you get one mood. With Jurassic Five you got fun old school lyrically-driven hip hop. With Talib Kweli you got the real deep shit that made you contemplate the direction of your soul. Sage Francis just creeped you out, like being inside a musty old sleeping bag as a stranger tickles you from within the darkness. Each artist chose to go their own way and we were ok with that.
But with Blazing Arrow you got a little bit of everything. And surprisingly all corners of their musically mansion were tastefully adorned…exquisitely even. There’s never a point in this album where you don’t believe the artist’s ability to work this or that particular flow. It also helps that Blackalicious collaborates with Chali 2NA, Lateef The Truth Speaker, Chief Xcel, DJ Shadow, Hi-Tek, Ben Harper, Cut Chemist, DJ Babu, Zack de La Rocha, Saul Williams, Lyrics Born and plenty of others on this disc.
As I stated before the title track is just a poppin’ and skippin’ number that you can’t help to bob your head to. If you listen to it and your head ain’t moving, and your head ain’t in traction, then you’ve got serious groove problems. Then you go to tracks like “Chemical Calisthenics” where the word conveyor belt goes haywire at the lyric plant and verbs, adjectives, solubles, and isotopes flood the boiler room. On side 4 Blackalicious takes you real, real deep down into your subconscious with the psyche-shattering “Release Part 1, 2, & 3″.
It skips all of the touristy section of the city and hits up the hottest club, the holiest mosque and the dirtiest whore house. It takes you everywhere you need to go to become a true citizen of the Hip Hop Nation, even if aren’t comfortable with your new surroundings at first. Don’t worry, you’ll eventually settle right in.
It makes me sad that I neglected this masterpiece for such a long time. Luckily my ears are still working and I can make up for the lost time. Just don’t make the same mistake I did.
Traditional history tells that this ballet is something of a rabble rouser. Apparently when Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring premiered on May 29, 1913 at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris it caused something of a riot. As the story goes the early 20th century audience was not prepared for such radical orchestral debauchery. The syncopation, the amelodic jaunts through the underbrush, the virgins performing fatal pirouettes to the tune of violently stabbing strings were all too much for the audience.
Stravinsky’s own description of the piece sums up why the audience was so riled: ” I saw in imagination a solemn pagan rite: sage elders, seated in a circle, watched a young girl dance herself to death. They were sacrificing here to propitiate the god of Spring.” I mean these people were expecting Swan Lake and they got Mad Max and the Thunderdome. The French still hold Mel Gibson responsible to this day.
Dancing pleases dragon. Spring comes again.
Reportedly all hell broke loose at the theatre almost immediately. Men were fist fighting in the aisles, Dandies were slapping each other with soft leather gloves…giggling wildly upon each blow, and full-figured women in corsets fainted in their seats, only to be revived by comically large Chinese fans. It was an eruption of pissed off Parisians that lasted until World War I began over a year later.
Ok, so not really. It only lasted one night at the premiere. And no one really knows the exact reason why it ruffled so many feathers. Some say it was because Stravinsky’s movement was too avant garde for the simple minds of the time. Others say it’s a reflection of the contentious atmosphere that permeated every level of European society in the days leading up to The Great War.
Violin and Bassoon Proof Masks
However, I believe that the real catalyst could have been something really stupid. If you get enough drunk assholes together in one location a single spark can fuel an inferno. All it takes is for a college team from Michigan to win or lose a title game and half of the Midwest goes aflame. Similarly, one butt rock douchebag can have a sore throat and downtown Montreal will turn into a pile of broken glass and broken French Canadians. Yes, I’m talking about you Axel Rose. I hate your guts.
People just love burning couches and throwing ‘bos for little or no reason.
That car was a Buckeyes fan.
So I’m thinking that the Rites of Spring Riot really wasn’t the significant social turning point that historians want it to be. What probably happened is that the concession stands didn’t serve vodka, only merlot, and Stravinsky completely flipped his wig. In typical Russian alcoholic fashion he proceeded to insult the general dress and physical appearance of everyone in line around him.
This incensed a few French fellows quite intensely. One guy in particular totally starting raging because he just had his mustache waxed and it looked so badass. I mean it was totally curled and everything like Captain Hook in the movie Hook, starring Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman, but like ten, no a hundred times cooler. Consequently he started to roll up his sleeves and in his haste one cuff link went flying.
This little bugger flew approximately 15 yards out toward the lobby and into some poor sap’s wine glass which caused red wine to spill on Baron Du Champ’s mistress’s new powder blue evening dress and boom, the shit hit the fan.
So Stravinsky really did cause the riot but not because he moved the audience musically…he was just a real big jerk with a drinking problem.
***Note: While silly in syntax the facts contained within this post are undeniably true. So, if you want to pick up some muscular zero-g art and support a quality organization head down to the St. Vincent De Paul in Erlanger, KY post haste.***
Acquiring a centerpiece for your personal art collection proves to be a costly endeavor. It can also be a time consuming one as well. Typically the hunt consists of scouring local art galleries for a piece by an up and coming artist. This can take weeks if not months and is sure to set the burgeoning art collector back several thousands of dollars for a truly provocative piece.
Of course you also have the option of picking up a pastel cottage scene by Thomas “Painter of Light” Kinkade at your local mall if you’re comfortable with your friends branding you a complete and utter moron. However, this option has its drawbacks as well.
Luckily, there is a third option for the art connoisseur who wants a powerful statement piece hanging above his or her wood-burning fireplace without breaking the bank. Just 5 miles south of Cincinnati in Erlanger, KY lies an unlikely safe haven of fine art: St. Vincent De Paul Thrift Store. The good folks at St. Vincent De Paul must have been saying their prayers last year because they stumbled upon the single greatest work of art mankind has ever known: “Universe Dominance.”
Behold the terrible splendor you see before your eyes. Take in the obvious facts first. Yes, that is a panther crouching with awesome presence upon the moon. No, he doesn’t have any trouble at all breathing within the nonexistent atmosphere of the moon. The Earth is of no concern to this black prowler of the cosmos for he has turned his back on its lush jungles and abundant fauna—perhaps for all time.
For the untrained eye questions swirl as to why such a proud beast would choose to impose self exile on the frigid expanses of the lunar landscape. Did he accidentally stumble onto NASA’s space shuttle after a night of binge drinking Wild Cat Malt Liquor 40’s in his native Florida habitat adjacent to the Kennedy Space Center? This is possible as panthers are susceptible to uncontrolled bouts of imbibing strong drink but this is not the reason for the image.
Simply put the panther had grown disinterested with the monotony of jungle life. His stalking skills had become too potent for simple terrestrial hunting. He knew he needed a challenge but even the Amazon, Sri Lanka, and San Francisco’s Castro district proved too tame. And so, with one really big jump, he left the Earth’s atmosphere to pursue the heavens’ scarce game.
Such inspirational subject matter would typically cost a tasteful collector nearly $350 from an online furniture rental store. But would you believe it if “Universe Dominance” and its intoxicating aura could be had for only $10? Well, brother, you better get your wallet handy because this dandy, fully boxed to protect its 48” x 38” glory, is really only 10 bones.
However, act fast because supplies are limited to only 104 copies stacked high upon a wood pallet near the entrance of St. Vincent De Paul. Northern Kentucky is a breeding ground for collectors of power-animal prints framed in black and gold so do not tarry! All 104 prints will be gone in a heartbeat, just like the intergalactic panther was from God’s green earth that crisp autumn morning.
You can never have enough vintage racing sound effects in your arsenal. The tail end of the record jacket’s description gives a good tip on how to best listen to this album:
If you keep in mind the programmatic descriptions of the sequences in this recording, it will give considerably more insight into just what is happening on the racing course or near the pits. You will always be able to tell when the cars are on the straight parts of the race course. It is easy to detect the difference between the practice runs and the actual sound of a race. There are other typical sounds of the raceway, each of which has its own individual stamp. These include pumping the gas pedal, ”whining out,” the sounds of tire squeals as the cars round the turns, the sounds of “shifting down” into another gear, the sounds of the tune-up, “backing off,” cars revving up, etc. Use of guaranteed total frequency range techniques plus special microphone placement and expert mastering of records combine to make this an exciting auditory experience.
So, folks, hold on to your seat as the “eight-bangers” roll into action, as the cheater clicks burn up, as the racing drivers come “out of the hole,” as the drivers make the most of their “goodies” and go burning down the track. The starter is flagging the drivers at Daytona.
The following videos aren’t of the cars featured in this album but they’re running on the same track from the very same year. Each video follows a team of four specially prepped Mercury Comet Cyclones as they drive continuously around the Daytona Speedway ring for almost 2 months and cover 100,000 miles. Are we there yet?
I’m really bad at paying attention to lyrics in songs. Most of the time I’ll get into a track just because I like the beat or its sound brings up a long-lost memory. But sometimes I’ll catch just a little snippet of the lyrics and think I know understand the song. Take, for example, the first song of this album: “Wop-A-Din-Din.” For the longest time I thought it was written about a sexy, exotic lover because of the first few verses:
She’s got big green eyes
And a long Egyptian face
She moves across the floor
At her own pace
When I’m here in bed
She’ll jump up on my chest
And when we lock eyes there’s so much love
I wanna cry
Wow, I thought, that’s a pretty intense. Big green eyes, long Egyptian face…this chick must be quite a looker. Yeah it’s a little weird that she jumps up on his chest but she’s probably just primed for some lovins. Those crazy kids.
And that’s how my perception stood for a long time until one day I just happened to catch the wording in the song’s next chunk and it left me scratching my head.
She comes in near
When I scratch under her ear
And she lifts her head
When I kiss around her neck
Won’t go to sleep
When she falls along my side
And two green eyes fade
To a porcelain marble white
And somehow when I sleep
She’ll end up at my feet
And if I roll and kick her out
I might knock her to the ground
But she’ll come back anyhow
Why is he scratching his lover behind the ear and making her sleep at his feet? The song took a total 180 and I actually felt pissed that he was treating her so crudely.
Then I looked over at my cat, Piano Little, as she took a stretch break from her 22 hour nap in a pile of laundry and it all became clear. The big green eyes, Egyptian face, jumping on his chest, scratching of the ear. This wasn’t some sultry Mediterranean fling. Wop-a-din-din is his kitty and I am a fool.
It was really quite obvious after taking n the time to listen to what’s right out in the open. After this I told myself I’d never listen to a song again without understanding its true meaning. And for a while I did listen to the lyrics and found that most of the songs that I liked now really bothered me. They were either too repetitive, too trite or too confusing. Sometimes I just don’t get things.
So I’m back to merely absorbing the tones of the human voice instead of comprehending the underlying message. Yes perhaps that makes me a philistine but maybe if I wanted to read a poem I’d go to the library. Asshole.
The Special Dance version of ”The Rhythm is Gonna Move You” is more or less the same song albeit longer and markedly more dramatic. The dub version on this disc is where things get really interesting. The song starts off with a funky synth part that is reminiscent of the intro to Harold Faltermeyer’s song “Axel Foley,” which is better known as the theme song for Beverly Hills Cop. It then takes its many detours through Conga Junction, New Wave Fashion Catwalk Way and Synthesizer Station. The end result is an terrifically exotic song jammed pack with the mesmerizing “Ooooayyyoooaaayyyy…..OoooayyyooooOOOOOOOahhhh” hook throughout. Hip whip outta this world.
Everyone needs albums in their collection that remind them one should never take music too seriously. These albums shoulds say yes, it’s ok that I like some groups that have had a top 40 hit. Yes, from time to time I do enjoy a band that fits into a genre or genres that would otherwise make my skin crawl. Yes, sometimes I wish I was a woman so that I could put one of those towering towel-bun things on my head, slather on a creepy-cream-cheese-or-whatever-the-hell-it-is-mask with my gal pals and let loose. You know, just put on the Go-Go’s and get our nails did while talking about boys or periods or crying or whatever it is chicks chat about when they’re having a tickle-fight sleepover.
You know just live, laugh, love. Lollipop lesbian Lilliputian.
This is one of those albums that will make you disregard all cohesive thought structure and just let go-go of the world around you. Two of the best songs from the 80’s are on this album: “Our Lips Are Sealed” and “We Got The Beat”. If you’re unfamiliar with these adorable “new wave quirk” behemoths then observe the following:
Nothing displays a carefree attitude better than packing all of your girlfriends into a copper-colored 1960 Buick LeSabre convertible and hitting the open road. This is especially true when you’re adorned in your favorite 50’s regalia while sitting on the trunklid and disregarding all traffic laws. The wind in your hair, bugs in your teeth and cops on your ass.
BUT WAIT THEY GOT IN THE FOUNTAIN! THEY’RE DANCING IN THE FOUNTAIN AND SPLISH-SPLASHIN TO THEIR HEART’S CONTENT! I’M SO JEALOUS OF YOU, BELINDA CARLISLE! DAMN YOUR FREEWHEELING WAYS!
Here again we see them flaunting their personal safety as they pull up to their live show in the back of a 50’s pickup. Where are these girls getting such badass vintage whips? Were they servicing Jay Leno as he started out his stand-up comedy career? I must get to the bottom of that.
The biggest thing that upset me about that video is the Farrah Fawcett wannabee crowd surfer the camera keeps cutting to. She is so totally 70’s…it kills my new wave buzz so hard. GET THAT HAIR RELAXED, GIRL. THIS AIN’T A BOSTON CONCERT!
There are plenty of other great songs on the album. My personal favorite of the rest is “You Can’t Walk In Your Sleep (If You Can’t Sleep).” I’m pretty sure this is the only song on the album that was written by Belinda Carlisle. It has a bit more of the ‘tude than the other tracks with its wiggly walking bassline and heavy pop punk foundation. The chorus doesn’t really make much sense but I’ll forgive them…only because the song conjures visions of Carlisle’s bratty nose squenching over and over in a fit of passion.
In my final notes I’d like to put the nail in the coffin as to just how fun the Go-Go’s are. Apparently 6 weeks after this album hit #1 on the charts a backstage video of the girls leaked to the press. The contents of that video, which are reported to be of the sex, drugs and rock and roll variety, really tarnished the Go-Go’s wholesome persona.
This loss of fan support is hilarious because it seems today that you have to make a scandalous tape to be famous. Or at least if you’re not famous you can “leak” a sex tape in hopes of becoming famous. What’s even more ridiculous is that there isn’t any actual Go-Go’s sex or nudity just some qualude-popping creep who, according to the description of the film I’ve read here, keeps flashing his junk in the hotel room of a Holiday Inn.
Too bad there wasn’t any YouTube back in the day because I bet there would have been an awesome Go-Go’s equivelant to the “Leave Brittany Alone” guy. *sigh*
This is a throwback selection of tracks from various porn films during the 70’s. The record label contests that this disc ”is much more than your stereotypical ‘whakca-chicka’ music.” The music’s style does vary throughout the disc but always keeps embracing lovers randy n’ dandy. It’ll also bring solo males to a state of maximum plumpage during their matinée viewing of equal parts deep penetration and moist pube lube.
The titles of these tracks and the movies in which they played in are simply hilarious:
SIDE A
01. Grateful Head (from “Jaynee’s Woodstock Adventure”)
02. In My El Camino (from “The Beaver Hunter”)
03. Gus On The Bus (from “The Traveling Salesman”)
04. Sweet Juices (from “Honeydew”)
05. Special Delivery (from “Lonely Mrs. Johnson”)
SIDE B
01. Dr. Mann’s Prescription (from “Insatiable”)
02. Do You Dance? (from “Right of Passage”)
03. O (from “The Story of Y”)
04. Carma’s Theme (from “Studio 69”)
05. Malibu High (from “Ride Me Like A Wave”)
06. Two Is Better Than One (from “Rosemary Cloney”)
I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have been a porn enthusiast back in the day. True aficionados were really dedicated to the cause because it wasn’t just a keyword, a click and presto: titties all up in your face . No, no, no these men had to make their way downtown or to the closest highway off ramp and visit a theatre built explicitly for X-rated films. In this theatre of sin they sat in crusty seats with a gang of other creeps and watched “The Beaver Hunter.” It was a team effort with plenty of side-glancing and glad-handing.
I wonder if the porno patrons would get popcorn for the movie. Just imagine how hard it would be to balance a tub of popcorn on your lap with one hand while you’re playing a furious game of pocket pool with the other. You’d spill it all over your lap, you’d have grease stains soaking your nice baby blue leisure suite…Jesus, how embarrassing. Well, if you split a bucket with a friend it wouldn’t be so bad. Just wedge that monster right between the outside of his and your thighs and really dig in as a pair. Only trouble is you’d have to match a lefty with a righty and that’s a whole other story right there.
God, what it must have smelled like in there. All those mustachioed, tinted-prescription glasses-wearing hombres workin’ up a deep sweat. Tricklin’ all over the place in a poorly ventilated theatre with a roof that most likely leaked as well. Mildewed carpet, mildewed walls, mildewed man parts. Oh, the humanity.
Hopefully this video, sans music from the throbbin’ record, will get your mind off of the aroma of dewy man sack swallowed whole by cheap polyester seat cushions.
I picked up this record solely because of the ridiculous lineup of instruments. Rob Mazurek uses the following: cornet, organ, celeste, piano, prepared piano, harpsichord, noise box, moogerfooger analog delay and ring modulator. The second half of the duo, Chad Taylor, plays drums, cymbals, mbira, gongs, percussion, vibraphone and prepared vibraphone. I had a look a couple of those up to make sure they weren’t trying to pull a fast one.
I wish my last name was Moogerfooger
Pouring such a complex array of sounds into an album increases the chance that said album will play with the musicality of a clothes dryer simultaneously fluffing a can of pea soup, a toddler and a string of Christmas lights. Chicago Underground Duo luckily avoids this trap and uses each instrument in perfect proportion. What they were able to achieve with such a well-stocked toolbox is seven uniquely alive tracks. Each has its own personality–it shakes your hand differently, tips differently and prepares its hash browns differently. You always want them to get cheese on that shit so you can steal a few bites but they never do, which really pisses you off but you turn the other cheek because they’re just so cool. That and they have a bitchin’ Cadillac they let you borrow while they’re on business trips.
Vibraphone: The rich man's xylophone.
I’d try to quantify or qualify how the dainty pluck of the mbira, or thumb piano, was really a step forward in Taylor’s artistic development but I’m not going to do that. The reason is that this is one of those albums that has the opportunity to mean completely different things to each listener. Each song has a distinct theme but this theme doesn’t box in the listener’s train of thought.This doesn’t mean they aren’t engaging; it just means that they enable you to unleash your inner most thoughts and ride them high in the friendly sky. It’s the magic carpet you can hop on while you’re soaking up the calming effects of a scented candle or smashing a fat ass blunt.
Mbira: Traditional African instrument. So dainty.
Finally, I feel that it must be noted that John McEntire’s engineering on this album is fantastic. Every instrument is perfectly defined and represented with full voting privileges. I’ve never been one to buy a record based on who was working the knobs behind the scenes but I’m going to make an exception this time. He took an album that could have been good and made it great.
