Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Lets just have a good time
Some say human experience is one of longing, suffering, only to be interrupted with brief moments of joy and child like wonderment. Sometimes the negative attributes take the form of an all encompassing nature to were you can feel it in every molecule in you. It weighs largely on you shoulders and some other times it feels like you have a grotesquely obese person fixed squarely on your chest and you can't breath. And then other times the moments of amazement are just as consuming. A kiss, a taste, a scent, a sound, a feeling - a feeling that, in this author's opinion is most commonly associated with what the experts like to say, 'you got butterflies in your belly.' Which leads us to a list things that have tickled this author's senses recently, in no particular order:
Beer from Honduras
A hot dog I ate at a baseball game this weekend in the bleachers
A warm bed
And, this tune.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Realize it's been a while, and also recognize that it will probably be a while until my next post. In any case, I have been reminded that this song is a distant cousin of 107.3 The Wave in Akron. This is becoming one of those times where you find out your parents were looking out for you all along, even though it was torture at the time. Their music wasn't nonsense, it was the ashes of disco and the liver and kidneys of modern soul and R&B.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Mmmmm, yes. Theo Parrish. He's like the professor emeritus around these parts. Theo 'Huxable' Parrish we call him.
Theo Parrish once jumped up on stage during a Wu Tang concert to fill in for ODB. Basically, Parrish played ODB at a Wu Tang concert and nailed it. That's the mark of the truest of gentlemen. (Editors Note: This story is not something I made up. I swear.)
Summer has passed which means we have no entered the waning months of the year. Fall - generally overrated in my book. Not because fall is inherently bad but it is because every year it simply serves as a harbinger of horrible things to come. If fall lasted eight months simply to turn into spring that would be the greatest outcome. It's not Fall's fault that is is followed by a season that if it was human would look like some sort of deformed pig-faced monster.
Those people who say they like winter - insufferable. I LOL in their general direction.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Night of Horrors
Some men seeing to some business
Some men grabbing at the fabric of time and unraveling it
Some men, angry, angry like their names have been besmirched
Some men who have felt the flesh of the fairer sex between their arms early in the morning only to be gone when the first rays of the sun break the horizon
Some men who when they finally shuffle off this mortal coil will have tombstones that read, "it was better to live rich than to die rich"
Some men named Feel My Bicep
Monday, September 17, 2012
Loins of fire.
I swear, when I first flagged this track last week it was only 2 minutes long. Between then and now someone posted the entire tune which is great for me and you. God bless you, whoever you are.
I've been listening to this tune for about week now - I think it's pretty great. Just some nice House/Dance/whateveryouwanttocallit that has a great vocal sample and an even better groove. Well done, Jonas Rathsman. You've made your Nordic ancestors proud. Which, seeing how Rathsman is from Scandinavia might explain why he left this as the liner notes to this tune:
Mankind is a rope tied between man and beast - over an abyss.A man who knows the despair and discomfort of everyday life on this third rock from the sun - Jonas Rathsman. His elixir for this? Bitching tunes.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Bloodstone - a stone used as an amulet to protect against the evil eye.
Well, well, well look-y here, another Omar-S track. Two in one week - blasphemy. Discogs is trying to tell me that this fine tune is from circa 2003. You can tell that this is from another place in time in the Omar-S discography. It doesn't have the normal traits of an Omar-S track but that's fine because it is still besting the day.
Omar-S, the truest of gentlemen.
I think what I like about this music is that if used properly it is a passive event. I enjoy how I can put on a long mix and sort of wonder in and out of it. It can be ubiquitous in some ways. You put a track or mix on and you come and go. You make some dinner. You read a book. You hear something you like and you focus on it. You think about how much you enjoy it because it reminds you of this one time you kissed this pretty girl and then you go back to reading your book. I don't have a need to hang on every note of every song. That sounds exhausting, in fact.
This idea will probably not sit well with high minded music critics in their ivory towers with their monocles and berets. I don't care for those people. They should be attacked by she-bears and ripped to shreds.
Don't tell me that's a duck with a man on his ass when I know it is a man with a duck sitting on his head. Don't do it.
Sloppy Angel. The Noodleman. I don't know which one I like more. Probably, The Noodleman, but only by by the whiskers on a cats behind.
You know what I do like? This track. I've been told by sources that I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw them that this song is less than four months old. I don't believe it. Not for a second. The truth is The Noodleman, and God bless every last hair on his bald head, The Noodleman has a time machine. Yea. He owns a time machine. He built it out of spare parts he found at the dump. It runs on banana peels and old motor oil and smells like an gym sock. Either way, my less than trustworthy sources told me The Noodleman went back in time to New York City, in the year of our lord 1979, and recorded a disco track with the hottest band at the time, stole the tapes, retreated to his time machine and returned to present day. Hence, this beauty.
I don't think it's fair though. I mean, if you have a time machine, you have to kill Hitler first before you go and steal a disco track, right?
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Just walking my alligator
I'm being told that this track is probably two years-old, if not older. No one said we were going to give you nothing but shit that comes out each stupid day. Sometimes you gotta dig and find the good shit. Because, on that note, I could never work for a place were every day you were required to dribble out some nonsense about every new track/album that comes out that day. That sounds like the definition of soul crushing.
But we aren't going to talk about that right now. We are, instead, going to talk about my undying love of all things Omar S. God. Damn. Do I love myself some Omar S. And today was a good day, dear reader. Know why? I stumbled upon a cache of Omar S tunes I didn't even know existed. Let me tell you, that is a good day. That is the kind of thing that makes my stomach feel funny like I'm in love again for the first time.
It's a dark, crushing world out there, precious reader. If the external environment doesn't get you then it's most likely going to be the super germ you have in you, festering right now, that you don't even know about. That's why finding stuff like this is important. It's the analog synth drums that make me get out of bed in the morning. It's the soulful vocal parts that are given just the right about of space to shine. It's the piano keys that melt the great icy core of my inner being and help me realize that today, noble reader, today, is indeed a fine day.
Friday, September 7, 2012
A bunch of half-wit dim-wits
Yea, not the best quality rip ever but you get the point. It's still better than anything else you've listened to all dumb day. It also holds the title for best track title of 2012.
If there was a soundtrack to make hot sweaty mistakes to I think this would clearly be on the list. You know, the kind of mistakes that lead to possibly rushed weddings, estranged relationships and awkward mornings.
Friday masquerading as a Thursday. A day that wanted you to think you had one more retched 8-hour trek through work. But then at the end there's a surprise for you - it's not Thursday night it's Friday night. Uhh.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Rookie of the year? L.I.E.S aka Long Island Electrical System aka Johnnie Hot Cakes aka Bronco Dollars aka Jules Nixon aka Jimmie Stick'm-Ups. You really don't want to call him Jimmie Stick'm-Ups though. He doesn't like that one.
Also, Delroy Edwards' first instrument was a garbage can and a 25-pound dumbbell. Edwards would bang on the trash can with a stick in one hand and then lift the dumbbell over his head and drop it on the ground so it made a sound like a sack of potatoes falling out of a window. The key was to make sure you were dropping the weight onto ground that hadn't received any water in a few days so it was still dry but not parched. That's how he first fell in love with the low-end.
Legend has it that Edwards still carries that dumbbell with him to this very day. He always gets to the club before anyone else, normally when he arrives it's just the waitstaff sweeping floors and taking down chairs off the tables. He brings his dumbbell with him and stands in the middle of the dance floor - just him and his dumbbell. He'll start playing some tunes and then begin dropping the weight on the floor and then run to the decks to fiddle with some knobs. His goal is always to make the bass coming out of the speakers match the feeling of standing next to that falling weight.
It's a craft and he has his tools.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
A tanker of fun
A man with style that only a mother could love
A man that raises a glass and toasts the sound of a lost era
A man that sees the beauty in the groove of a bygone time
A man that says he believes in God because he would rather be right than wrong on the matter
A man named Josh Deep
Monday, September 3, 2012
Frank wore three piece suits because I think that was all he owned. Three piece suits, white dress shirts with french cuffs, and wing tipped brown leather shoes. He was a gentleman, a scholar, and a man about town. He didn't walk as much as he bound from place to place. Walking seemed to be an ungodly waste of time separating him from wherever he needed to be. At six foot six and built like a steardy old tree this always looked like Sandrow was trying to dent the world instead of walking.
Two things in life kept him from practically springing off this planet and into his own orbit: Women and gin. Preferably both at the same time. Around the corner from his 19th century townhouse that he bought with cash was Frank's second home -the beautiful wood paneled bar The Penquin. On almost any night by 9pm you could find Frank standing at the bar drinking his gin fizz and ordering drinks for a woman sitting at the bar.
He'd first make sure to catch their eye across the bar. It wasn't hard of course, he was the tallest man in the bar and the only one dressed in a three piece suit. He'd regal them of stories about joining the rebels in the hills during the war. He'd talk about how he though he was going to be a socialist but decided against it because he didn't like all the meetings. He would wait until just the right moment when after a drink or two the women asks for a light. He'd light her cigarette, watch her take the first hit, exhale, and smile to herself like she knew a secret that no one else did.