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[24 Sep 2005|01:08am] |
 So I legally stole the early release version of "Extraordinary Machine" a few months back, and I [still] like it. It's been 6 years since "When the Pawn..." came out, so maybe I'm being too generous in the aspect of depravity. I don't know if anyone has heard the news and politics that Sony has with Fiona, but it's pretty much a rape in progress. Sony trying to make the album more marketable to a mainstream America is...well dicey. I wouldn't necessarily call her fans "mainstream alternative," but hey, strange things happen when people take risks, right? I can't judge. It's sad though that the new recomposed album in progress will be vacant a Jon Brion and his jazz instrumentals, as I am a huge fan of Jon Brion. I have a large collection of his work, and his music has a heavy influence on my writing. There's talk that Mike Elizondo is working on the updated version that'll drop in October. Mike Elizondo is infamous for his collaboration with Dr. Dre in "The Chronic 2001," which is kind of up my alley. As for the other thousands of socially inept white girls, I feel for you. Though I graceiously accept her first attempt, I'm willing to try [and buy] a Fiona singing over kicks, snares, and G-Funk.
 I can't believe I misplaced this CD! "Things Fall Apart" is undoubtedly my favorite Roots album, if not my favorite rap album, if not my favorite music album, ever. I always keep a copy in my car which I put on rotation from time to time, at least twice a quarter, and I honestly went into some sick mental hysterical this afternoon, turning my car inside out looking for it. I refuse to just burn a copy, although in the long run, I will probably end up doing so. I also lost their Live CD, which fumed me more, because the Roots are so bloody incredible live. That's how they do, and everybody fucking knows it. Ugh. What a villainous day! Apparently Malik B. will be returning back for their 2006 album because he cleaned up his drug addiction. It's still kind of ambiguous whether or not that he will aid to a stronger comeback album. But if Common can do it, certainly the Roots can, easily.
 Due to lack of Roots, I am temporarily putting this album on my morning commute rotation instead. I don't know why, but I can only listen to The Cure's old stuff. There probably isn't any rational or legit reason why this is acceptable.
 DJ Dangermouse won my affection after "Ghetto Pop Life," and yeah, I still dig "The Gray Album" even though after more and more playbacks I see it more as novelty. MF Doom however took some warming up to. I heard "Operation Ironman" one of his first discs and wasn't entirely impressed. I liked the cheesy production above his lyrical skill. Lyrically he's dope, delivery wise, that's another another story. Then "Madvillany" dropped last year, and it ties as a favorite hip-hop album from '04, with Kanye's "College Dropout" and Cee-Lo's "Soul Machine" contending strongly. Adult Swim has been promoting the shit out of the collaboration, although I think it merits its own buzz. Spin, Rolling Stone, XXL, and the Source (which, by the way, I hate all of these magazines) are all "anxiously looking forward to it," and frankly I am too. Sofa King is definitely a decent track, considering it's only a 2 minute cut, as Dangermouse keeps doing his thing -- and I think MF is adjusting to become more diggable.
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[17 Sep 2005|12:14am] |
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Mobb Deep - Shook Ones Pt. II |
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Note: Must be logged in to read.
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| you need to pump yo' breaks 'n drive slow, homie. |
[30 Aug 2005|09:53pm] |
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Kanye West - Drive Slow |
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The first album I bought this year that lived up to its hype.
[Edit] I stole System of a Down's Mezmerize, and borrowed the White Stripes' Get Behind Me Satan. So technically, I never really bought them, but they are really good albums too.[/Edit]
[Edit 2] M.I.A.'s Arular came out of nowhere, thus, there was no hype to begin with.[/Edit]
[Edit 3] Fuck you if you disagree with my taste in music.[/Edit]
[Edit 4] Bite the new Big Billy S. Braintree if you haven't got a taste yet, bitches. [/Edit]
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| Truth is, I tell horrible anecdotes. |
[19 Aug 2005|10:22pm] |
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Moody |
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Common - Faithful |
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While I was downstairs it rang. I didn’t hear it, which is abnormal; I can hear my phone buzz from just about anywhere in the house. I checked the caller I.D to catch a familiar name, “Smokes.”
It’s been about seven months since the name last appeared on my phone, and about eight since I saw him last in Dublin. He left a voicemail telling me that he just came back from Bulgaria – he habitually travels to Bulgaria during the mid-summer – and that he received the message I impulsively sent him on his birthday: I’m coming to Boston sometime within the next three weeks.
I’ve been meaning to do a road-trip for this summer, desperately. My first attempt was (and still is) an art fags dream: cross the entire country and document it. It was planned for of June 2005 with my magazine Co-Editor, Andrea Rissing. Unfortunately we nixed and postponed this due to poor planning and lack of stipends.
New York with Fuzzy, Cadillac, and Batman fell through as well; possibly due to the same reasons Ma’am didn’t receive her exposure of Americana, added with a hint of apathy and a fat slab of laziness.
Now ye ole’ dog days of summer have settled in. We cuss at the ice-cream truck for jingling its fucking jingles and the inflation of Popsicles, insanely dashing down the corner in a heat index of 106 degrees to actually do any of this. Colleges are wise to resume classes in August, or else God would have to crumble society up, aim for the office wastebasket, shoot, hit the rim, and land on the floor situated next to another crumbled brainchild labeled “Dinosaurs: Totally Awesome!” This, I feel, symbolizes the tragedy of late summer perfectly. Unfortunately for anyone attending the Ohio State University, God is considered a nonentity, which easily explains the riots, drunken revelries, and autumn quarter not beginning until people pin up their October calendars. Although, it ain’t all that bad.
With most of my accomplices migrating back to university dorms, I am left by my lonesome for a few extra weeks before I tread through their footsteps. This is a perfect opportunity to make a run away. Nobody would notice it, and it is so very necessary. An antic. My life revolves around an unhealthy need for stimulate my inner artist, if I could even call myself one. I only fit in the category of performance artistry. I don’t act nor can tell jokes (without laughing at them awkwardly, mumbling the punch line beyond any form of coherency). But I do have one thing to my advantage that I hope to exploit for the rest of my life. I am very improvisational, and random as [the days yo’ momma and daddy decide to] fuck. If I cannot find what I need, I create it. And once I create it I must finish the job by showing/telling people said anecdotes, particularly slightly older women on Friday nights, in hyperbole. And now my inner artist is starved and my situation is critical. I am beginning to cross stories, bore the older women. ‘Tis a dangerous rut to lie within. 2004 antics are well exhausted. It is time for the future, not dinosaurs. It’s time for Boston!
What the hell is in Boston?
I’ll tell you what’s in Boston. Free boarding.
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