Omar S - The Maker

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.

Storm Queen - Let's Make Mistakes

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.

Delroy Edwards-4 Club Use Only

L.I.E.S.



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.

Josh Deep - Cool It

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

Steve Moore - Zen Spiders

Simper - a silly smile to one’s self. To smile in a silly, self-conscious way.



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.