September 10, 2012
February 18, 2008
New Jersey Drive
Jackers!
To the person or persons who jimmied my locks, blew out my windows, and straight-up ransacked my car on
Thank you for demonstrating excellent musical taste. Joke’s on you.
Seriously – this isn’t an attempt to ironize myself out of the fact that my car got run while I was up the block speaking about brotherhood, community empowerment, and hope. It just happens that I have a way better anti-theft system than the alarm that didn’t go off when someone crowbarred my door handles. It’s a sophisticated two-part system:
I always keep my money stacks where my pockets at, and
I’m really disorganized when it comes to filing CDs while driving.
When I left my car around
Now, I’m assuming, because literally every compartment, bag, folder, and book in my car was rifled through and it would have been really easy to filch 60 CDs at once, that these two cases were taken for a very specific reason, namely, the bandit or bandits’ love for Wu Tang. Sorry, my sticky fingered friend(s), but Forever Disc 1 was in my Big Doe Rehab case (which was back in the Canine Crib, collecting dust, BTW), Forever Disc 2 was in my King Sunny Ade Juju Music case, and 8 Diagrams was in the disc player in my helicopter. As best I can tell, whoever jacked my car made off with Apparat’s Walls and Stars’ Heart, two albums I wish I had listened to a bit more, but would never accept in a trade for the collected works of Shaolin’s righteous wax chaperones.
Car talk aside, I've got two new items for this month -- an exclusive review of One Be Lo's The R.E.B.I.R.T.H. and (finally) Part II of "America's Most Policed Art Form," courtesy of the good folks at PopMatters. Enjoy.Hip Hop Review: One Be Lo, THE R.E.B.I.R.T.H.
A CanineMind ExclusiveIn their Wu-fever, our hapless antagonists also missed my advance copy of One Be Lo’s The R.E.B.I.R.T.H. (Subterraneous Records). Lo’s latest might not have been worth a grand theft auto charge, but its second half was at least worth a listen while they were rooting through my shoeboxes.
Lo initially broke through in 2000 as One Man Army, one half of the Michigan duo Binary Star; their full-length from that year, Masters of the Universe, got over as much on its smart rhyming as on its raw authenticity. At a time when underground stalwarts like De La, Tribe, the Roots, Mos, Kweli, and Common were producing more and more polished projects, Masters of the Universe had a youthful, do-it-yourself vibe that was much closer to Enter the 36 Chambers, Soundbombing, and People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm than Art Official Intelligence, Things Fall Apart, and Like Water for Chocolate were. Masters was low-fi, low-budget, and fun, the kind of album that listeners could probably see themselves making in a basement somewhere.
Several projects later, Lo’s M.O. hasn’t changed much – he’s still about conscious rhymes, day-in-the-life narratives, and independently produced beats… for better and for worse. And we might as well start with the “worse,” because that’s how R.E.B.I.R.T.H. plays out.
From the start, the album suffers from “overages” of all sorts, from beats to song structures. Despite contracting his beats to producers outside his own Subterraneous camp (which handled the bulk of his prior efforts), R.E.B.I.R.T.H. still suffers from the same wack music surplus that plagued 2005’s S.O.N.O.G.R.A.M. What’s more, the beats on the album all suffer for the same reason – overlayering. Even in their best performances (“Hip Hop Heaven” comes to mind), Lo’s production crew adds too many elements to the mix; all the loose noises and extra instruments not only give the tracks sloppy feels, but, in many cases (“Keep It Rollin’” especially), they make it hard to concentrate on Lo’s lyrics.
Meanwhile, the same producers take the abuse of sampled dialogue to new extremes. Nearly every song on R.E.B.I.R.T.H. features at least one audio sample from a movie; in certain spectacular cases – “The G Gap” – the count runs as high as four. None of these outside voices are talking to each other, which becomes readily apparent when two that close out one song run flush up against a third that opens the next.
Lyrically, Lo doesn’t do much to salvage the album until its second half. With his ageless voice, athletic flow, and bundles of energy and intelligence, Lo has always been a top prospect, but it isn't until late tracks like “House Rules,” “Gray,” and “Hip-Hop Heaven” that he finally asserts his vet status. On “House Rules,” Lo looks at ghetto life through the lens of dice games, taking a great conceit and matching it with top-notch lyricism: “It’s only natural Seven-Eleven / Enter and exit this world / Life is a gamble for hell and heaven / Pourin’ my soul on stone / Born to roll / In front of corner stores where little Joe’s throwin’ bones / Ace trey or maybe a deuce deuce / They roll up on the scene where it takes place lookin’ for who’s who.” The shimmering atmospherics and sighing background vocals on “Gray” up the “House Rules” ante… after forty minutes of imperfect fits between beats and rhymes, all aspects of “Gray” (well, except for the soft jazz sax) come together to create five minutes of palpable soul
Last but definitely not least, Lo closes out with “Hip-Hop Heaven,” a legit contender for the best story rap since Nas’s “Rewind.” Hold up, run that back. Yeah, I said it, the best story rap since Nas’s “Rewind.” I can’t do the song's concept justice without spoiling it – you’ll have to listen for yourself.
Unfortunately, a handful of great songs don’t make an album. After almost eight years recording as a known quantity, Lo’s facing a basic decision: stay in the basement or innovate. In this case, “innovating” doesn’t necessarily mean adding things – money, guests, producers, etc. – it might mean cutting things – concepts, layers, samples – to get a cleaner, more direct sound. After all, a R.E.B.I.R.T.H. is always chance to father a new style.
ARTICLE/ESSAY: America's Most Policed Art Form, Part II: Subway Graffiti, NYC's Visual Criminal
The policing of the art form has been so thorough and enduring that it’s become possible to see hip-hop as just that: an agent, or better, a target, that has a life over and above the individuals that practice it. (More...)
Jam Session of the Absurd
Not that I haven't seen some ridiculous, insane, and otherwise gravity-defying moves in NBA dunk contests past, but were Bertolt Brecht and Eugene Ionesco the creative consultants for this year's? Absurd doesn't begin to describe it.
Gerald Green's "Birthday Cake Dunk"
Dwight Howard's "Superman Dunk"
Yul.
Gerald Green's "Birthday Cake Dunk"
Dwight Howard's "Superman Dunk"
Yul.
December 17, 2007
Hip Hop Review, Soulstice, DEAD LETTER PERFECT
Originally reviewed for okayplayer
I guess since this is okayplayer, we all want to “keep it real,” “stay true to the essence,” and “battle the evil legions of Soulja Boy-ification,” etc. etc. But do we really want to be Dead Letter Perfect? Chicago’s own Soulstice says yes, emphatically and repeatedly; I – a devotee of hip-hop as a living language – beg to differ. (More...)
November 21, 2007
INTERVIEW: "No Limits": An Interview with Oh No
With all the helium-voiced alter egos, metal mask-wearing supervillians, and ghosts of underground legends teeming around Stones Throw Records, beatmaker-slash-rapper Oh No faces some stiff in-house competition for listeners’ attention. He’s managed to carve out his own niche, though, with a fun and fearless approach to the art and a knack for outside-the-box concept projects. Oh No followed-up his 2004 debut, "The Disrupt," with "Exodus into Unheard Rhythms" (2006), a compilation album built on samples from the back catalog of Canadian producer Galt MacDermot. This past July, he one-upped himself with "Dr. No’s Oxperiment," a 28-track bonanza of amped-up Turkish, Italian, Greek, and Lebanese breaks. Oh No woke up early on his bornday (it’s a blessing) to take a phone call with OKP’s T.M. Wolf. What follows are some slices of an hour and a half convo that touched on everything from sampling to "Midnight Marauders" to his upcoming project with Alchemist… (More...)
November 01, 2007
October 02, 2007
Summer Recap: The Whole World Like, "T, Where the You Been?" Me: "You See, What Had Happened Was..."
"Give a dog a bone
Leave a dog alone
Let a dog roam
And he'll find his way home."
Well, I have. The past few months have been an absolute and uncharacteristic whirlwind. Stops in France, Belgium, Switzerland, and Germany -- unshaven, with all of my possessions (sans a razor) in the green backpack I've been carrying around since high school -- kept me on my feet every moment my dissertation didn't keep me in my seat. Now that autumn has fallen once again, I'm back in the States, having just wrapped-up my two year exile in England. To the sponsors of my scholarship: much thanks from the bottom of my heart. To my readers: much apologies for the past few months; rest assured that some good will soon be coming out of it.
A few longer articles, followed by my master's dissertation on NYC, hip-hop, and policing, are on their way, as well as a new slate of reviews. In the meantime, some recently penned items for your consideration (music-related and non-) and a quick run-down of what's been up musically for July through September.
MUSIC: Welcome to the Doghouse
After getting hit with Ta'raach's The Fevers and Black Milk's Popular Demand within the first two months of new year, I thought 2007 would be a great year for hip-hop. Boy, have I been disappointed. Since early February, a slew of hotly anticipated releases (by myself and/or others) have dropped and, in my opinion, few have matched the hype, or even approached vaguely close. The major offenders (off the top because I don't want to dwell on the negative):
Chamillionaire, Ultimate VictoryIt should be no secret around these parts that I've been a major Koopa partisan for quite a few years now. I even dug his material enough to put up with hours of sloppy rapping from his brother Rasaq (if you haven't heard him, he's got a style only a blood relative not directly responsible for fathering him could love). His 2005 major label debut, Sound of Revenge, was the sleeper chart-topper of the year and wildly underrated by everyone except the 1.5 million people who bought it. Since then, Chamill regularly tore apart guest verses (see Papoose's "Pop the Trunk" or the "Party Like a Rockstar (Remix)") and dropped a solid-if-inconsistent free mixtape (The Mixtape Messiah 2)... all signs pointed to a strong second effort from Houston's platinum-jawed wunderkind. Then Mixtape Messiah 3 hit the streets, full of goofy cadences and half-ass rapping that had me more than a little worried. I pretty much knew Ultimate Victory would be an iffy effort when Chamill started discoursing on MM3 about his loss of love for rapping.
Unfortunately, Ultimate Victory ended up worse than expected. Having spun this disc endlessly to squeeze every last redeemable ounce out of its stony grooves, I feel secure saying it's more or less 19 versions of the same song, complete with identical workmanlike rhymes and identical, generic-ass, slapping-me-in-the-face, drilling-into-my-left-ear-drum-with-various-pieces-of-heinous-looking-dental-equipment beats (meaning both the beats and the mix are subpar).
The only thing that upsets me more than the mailed-in-edness of Ultimate Victory is the sudden Chamill bandwagoning going on in the independent hip-hop blogosphere. In what's rapidly becoming my favorite quote for reviewing, "Do you cats listen to music or do you just skim through it?" I'll boost the size of the font to simulate yelling and righteous indignation:
ULTIMATE VICTORY IS NOT LYRICALLY OR MUSICALLY BETTER THAN SOUND OF REVENGE.
Grammy Syndrome (def.: honoring the present work of an artist to atone for ignorance or underappreciation of their prior, more inspired work) strikes again.
UGK, Underground KingzPimp C and Bun B take filler to new heights on their recently released double CD. [Disclaimer: it's easy to rip on double albums because they're so long.]The only thing more clever than the duo christening themselves "Big Dick Cheney" and "Tony Snow" (after George Bush's vice prez and press secretary, respectively) is their astounding ability to recycle lines from earlier in the album further on in the album... sometimes a full 3 minutes later. Even slimmed down to 14 tracks (with a heavy emphasis on Disc 1), the repetition is out of hand. Case in point: if you didn't catch it the first time through, Pimp C thinks that "pimpin' ain't dead, it just moved to the web" (and he has a full business plan to exploit it... "it's the American dream").
Let me also take this opportunity to say that Pimp C may very well say "Bitch" 15 times a track over 29 tracks. It's not just that he uses it as a noun a lot -- he uses it in ways that have no grammatical significance. It's like he's got Tourette's, but his only tick is "Bitch." A simulated sentence (not far from actual recorded sentences): "Bitch, I'm Pimp C, bitch, bitch better get down bitch on that flo' bitch." I don't think I'm a conservative listener at all, and I'm not easily offended, but... for real?
I think my disappointment comes from listening to Pimp C's infamous, amazingly incoherent, and incoherently amazing "Atlanta Interview," where he more or less -- it seemed -- threw down the gauntlet on the entire Southern rap game, accusing its major figures of spilling out boring, fake, socially irresponsible music. I can't say that Underground Kingz has single-handedly reclaimed the game.
Now that I write that, though, maybe there's more to the Cheney-Snow comparison than the phallic/narcotic valences: UGK does a pretty good job running the same reheated rhetoric past woefully uncritical listeners.
{At least Chamillionaire and UGK still have careers. Mike Jones. Who?}
On watch: Pharoahe Monch, Desire
Wildly
Wildly
Wildly
Underwhelming.
So who was spared my wrath?
Hell Razah, Renaissance ChildI've also been a massive Hell Razah partisan since his days with Wu Tang affiliates Sunz of Man. Since the late 90s, he's dropped a series of independent mixtapes/albums, each of which had few shining moments but were crippled by an astoundingly bad selection of beats.
My expectations for Renaissance Child were, as a result, pretty low when I copped it at FatBeats a few months back. After giving it a single spin, though, I realized I had one of the year's undiscovered gems in my hands.
The album definitely lags in places, a built-in flaw of Razah's style. Razah, along with Killah Priest, has been working on what I call the "ghetto syncretist" style: their songs draw equally on the Hebrew Scriptures, the New Testament, the Koran, 5%er rhetoric, the history of the African diaspora, black nationalism, the civil rights movement, etc. Regardless, or maybe, as a result, it's well worth checking out, and I might have a formal review of it up soon.
Madlib, Beat Konducta in India, Vol. 3 - 4The latest installment in the Stones Throw beatsmith's Beat Konducta series did not disappoint. Vols 1 - 2 have been on repeat for me for over a year while I've been working on my various writing projects. India is definitely a "produced" album - he's not just looping beats from Indian films. That being said, it's much less altered than the material from 1 and 2, or even from his Blue Note project. In that respect, this album is more like traditional DJing work... which is great, because DJs (and hip-hop writers) seem to have largely abandoned the work of finding new, unheard music for listeners. So I guess that makes this sort of a meta-review.
Kanye West, GraduationStill need to give this time to sink in. My first reaction: much more sonically focused than Late Registration, but maintaining that degree of manic sloppiness we've come to expect from the Louis Vuitton Don.
Other Albums Getting Well Deserved Play in the CanineCompound
Feist, The ReminderHer beautiful voice is being ramrodded down your throat by Verizon and Apple. Three cheers for the corporate world.
American Analog Set, Know by HeartA soothing, hypnotic set. Like staring at a wall, watching a clock ticking down the final seconds to a moment of foreseen happiness.
Interview With Myself: "Tom Wolf, Keeping Your Beaches Safe"
Answers by me, questions and editing of the answers by another.
Q: How did you find this job?
A: I had just been fired from a valet parking job at the local aquarium. As it turned out, causing vehicular damage is a turn-off for a lot of employers. Thankfully, my driving skills weren't a big problem for the Beach Control.
Q: How old were you when you started?
A: I was eighteen, fresh out of high school.
Q: Would you consider yourself buff (did you work out at the time)?
A: I had what my high school gym teacher called "wiry strength." In other words, I looked more or less like a praying mantis.
Q: What did your day consist of?
A: About two days a week, I sat in a two-by-three-foot wooden box in front of the police station. It was for the specific purpose of selling beach badges. But I spent most of my time staring at my reflection in the police station's plate glass window.
Another three to four days a week, I worked as one of the Beach Control's roving badge checkers, or "Rovers." I worked with four high school girls to ensure that every person on a 1.5-mile stretch of sand had a badge. On a single sweep down the beach on a relatively busy day, we'd check thousands of people. Once we got to the end, we'd walk back, doing the same thing. And we'd do this three times a day in 90+ degree weather.
Q: Were you ever put in any dangerous situations? Were you ever afraid of anything?
A: Listening to the presentation the Town Council gave the summer after September 11, you would think that I had America's most dangerous job. In addition to making sure that everyone had paid to enter to the beach, I had to check people's coolers for alcohol – and explosives. I never found a bomb. I don't think terrorists would come to the beach… I would imagine they've seen enough sand and human suffering in their lifetimes.
Q: Was the pay decent?
A: What was minimum wage then? Like $5.15 an hour? I think I got a twenty-five cent raise the second year because I had "tenure."
Q: Was there competition between you and the lifeguards?
A: We were pretty low-down in the beach hierarchy. Definitely above the garbage collectors, but below the lifeguards. Everyone wanted to be a lifeguard… I think it's pretty much the only job in America that lists shirtlessness and leering as requisite duties.
The best job, at least pay-wise, was probably as a senior officer of the Beach Patrol. They got to drive souped-up ATVs on the beach. It was like being a super-lifeguard, except that they had to wear shirts because all that flying sand was pretty rough on exposed skin.
Q: Did you carry any weapons or have any real authority?
A: My meager authority to throw people off the beach was undercut at every turn by the walkie-talkie I lugged around. Pretty much the only noises that would come out of it were things like, "Forget it, it's not worth the time" or "We can't do anything about that." All of which the beachgoers could hear.
Q: What were your co-workers like?
A: The older, more empowered members of Beach Control were mostly school teachers on their summer breaks. The other "rovers" and badge-sellers were high school girls.
Q: What is your overall impression of the crowds at the Jersey shore?
A: Beachgoers have an amazing ability to act as if they're the only people in the world even when they're in the midst of miles of baking, overlapping flesh.
That being said, a lot of locals had this hatred for "Bennies"–- beachgoers who weren't locals-– that I didn't share. I actually looked forward to the summer crowds. Winters at the Shore can be very lonely. You come to desire the energy and activity, even if that means having to sit in gridlock for hours on a Saturday just to get a sandwich.
Q: Did you eat a lot of french fries/listen to lots of Bon Jovi?
A: French fries? Not really. But there was this great pizza place a bit down the boardwalk from headquarters. They always gave me a massive town employee discount. It was run by a mother-father-son team –- "Auntie Jo," "Grandpa," and "Vito" (aka "The Italian Stallion"). It's since been demolished to make room for more bumper cars.
Q: Any other memorable moments from the job?
A: Once, we found an Amish family on the beach. They didn't have badges, but I couldn't bring myself to throw them off. There was something kind of majestic about how all twenty five of them stood at the shoreline, gazing out over the waves in their handmade overalls and frocks. I think the closest Amish community was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, which is about 160 miles away. I still have no clue how they got there.
Q: Why did you leave?
A: I got a better offer the next summer researching early Quaker abolitionism in New York City.
Q: Would you do it again?
A: Would Sisyphus keep rolling his boulder up the hill if he didn't have to?
Q: How did you find this job?
A: I had just been fired from a valet parking job at the local aquarium. As it turned out, causing vehicular damage is a turn-off for a lot of employers. Thankfully, my driving skills weren't a big problem for the Beach Control.
Q: How old were you when you started?
A: I was eighteen, fresh out of high school.
Q: Would you consider yourself buff (did you work out at the time)?
A: I had what my high school gym teacher called "wiry strength." In other words, I looked more or less like a praying mantis.
Q: What did your day consist of?
A: About two days a week, I sat in a two-by-three-foot wooden box in front of the police station. It was for the specific purpose of selling beach badges. But I spent most of my time staring at my reflection in the police station's plate glass window.
Another three to four days a week, I worked as one of the Beach Control's roving badge checkers, or "Rovers." I worked with four high school girls to ensure that every person on a 1.5-mile stretch of sand had a badge. On a single sweep down the beach on a relatively busy day, we'd check thousands of people. Once we got to the end, we'd walk back, doing the same thing. And we'd do this three times a day in 90+ degree weather.
A: Listening to the presentation the Town Council gave the summer after September 11, you would think that I had America's most dangerous job. In addition to making sure that everyone had paid to enter to the beach, I had to check people's coolers for alcohol – and explosives. I never found a bomb. I don't think terrorists would come to the beach… I would imagine they've seen enough sand and human suffering in their lifetimes.
Q: Was the pay decent?
A: What was minimum wage then? Like $5.15 an hour? I think I got a twenty-five cent raise the second year because I had "tenure."
Q: Was there competition between you and the lifeguards?
A: We were pretty low-down in the beach hierarchy. Definitely above the garbage collectors, but below the lifeguards. Everyone wanted to be a lifeguard… I think it's pretty much the only job in America that lists shirtlessness and leering as requisite duties.
The best job, at least pay-wise, was probably as a senior officer of the Beach Patrol. They got to drive souped-up ATVs on the beach. It was like being a super-lifeguard, except that they had to wear shirts because all that flying sand was pretty rough on exposed skin.
Q: Did you carry any weapons or have any real authority?
A: My meager authority to throw people off the beach was undercut at every turn by the walkie-talkie I lugged around. Pretty much the only noises that would come out of it were things like, "Forget it, it's not worth the time" or "We can't do anything about that." All of which the beachgoers could hear.
Q: What were your co-workers like?
A: The older, more empowered members of Beach Control were mostly school teachers on their summer breaks. The other "rovers" and badge-sellers were high school girls.
Q: What is your overall impression of the crowds at the Jersey shore?
A: Beachgoers have an amazing ability to act as if they're the only people in the world even when they're in the midst of miles of baking, overlapping flesh.
That being said, a lot of locals had this hatred for "Bennies"–- beachgoers who weren't locals-– that I didn't share. I actually looked forward to the summer crowds. Winters at the Shore can be very lonely. You come to desire the energy and activity, even if that means having to sit in gridlock for hours on a Saturday just to get a sandwich.
Q: Did you eat a lot of french fries/listen to lots of Bon Jovi?
A: French fries? Not really. But there was this great pizza place a bit down the boardwalk from headquarters. They always gave me a massive town employee discount. It was run by a mother-father-son team –- "Auntie Jo," "Grandpa," and "Vito" (aka "The Italian Stallion"). It's since been demolished to make room for more bumper cars.
Q: Any other memorable moments from the job?
A: Once, we found an Amish family on the beach. They didn't have badges, but I couldn't bring myself to throw them off. There was something kind of majestic about how all twenty five of them stood at the shoreline, gazing out over the waves in their handmade overalls and frocks. I think the closest Amish community was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, which is about 160 miles away. I still have no clue how they got there.
Q: Why did you leave?
A: I got a better offer the next summer researching early Quaker abolitionism in New York City.
Q: Would you do it again?
A: Would Sisyphus keep rolling his boulder up the hill if he didn't have to?
October 01, 2007
SPEECH/ESSAY: The Wisdom of Paul Turner
Paul Turner passed on in June 2007 after fourteen seasons as Harvard University's field coach. I considered him a major father figure and counted him among my closest friends and trusted confidants. In what could only be an understatement: He'll be deeply missed. The following was prepared for a memorial booklet produced by The Friends of Harvard Track & Field, but written more to be spoken.
(More...)
Reggae Review: Collie Buddz, COLLIE BUDZ
Originally reviewed for okayplayerZarathustra: “Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel of existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again; eternally runneth on the year of existence.”
Collie Buddz: “Finally, the herb come around!”
Zarathustra: “Yo, could we do something else?”
(More...)
June 26, 2007
May/June: On the Grind
Photo copyright of T.M. Wolf
Late-spring/early-summer has been hectic for your favorite man of letters. 14,400 miles in the air in May between Mumbai, London, and Virginia? Excellent. Perusing the arcades of Paris in fine Benjaminian style? Magnifique. Linking up with some old friends? Great.
Keeping pen to paper? The best. The nature of my writing has been changing quite a bit over the last few months. After spending almost two years turning out relatively short reviews, I'm moving into longer format pieces -- more extensive reviews and, now, a set of long articles for PopMatters. At the same time, I'm cooking up my second master's dissertation, a 15,000-word piece on neoliberalism, hip-hop, and policing in NYC. In other words, if there seems to be an early summer drought at CanineMind, don't worry: there's a flood of stuff on the way for your extended reading pleasure.
Enough with the persona-building backstories, let's get to the monthly business: I've got the first installment of my multi-part piece on hip-hop and policing, "America's Most Policed Art Form" -- "The Rise of the Informal Mixtape Economy," courtesy of PopMatters. A video essay on inside jokes centering around MC Hammer's astoundingly terrible-great "Pop Ya Collar" (shout out to the "Committee to Elect Hammer and Wee-Wee). And, of course, some recent reviews from okayplayer.
In the spirit of inside jokes, and in keeping with the miserable weather in dear old Londres...
"Baby I make it flood
Now you gon' need a boat."
ARTICLE: America's Most Policed Art Form
POPMATTERS -- Hip-hop, as any number of industry executives, gaudy videos, and endlessly self-referential rhymes will tell testify, is big business. And yet, even with its fabled rise “from ashy to classy” – leapfrogging from ghettos to rural hamlets and back again, from New York to Los Angeles, Atlanta to Houston, and all points in between – hip-hop has retained its status as Public Enemy #1: the subject of endless crusades, tirades, crackdowns, and lockdowns. Just ask DJ Drama and DJ Cannon, two prominent Atlanta-based DJs and radio personalities who spent the evening of January 16 this year cooling in sheriff’s custody on racketeering charges. The early-morning SWAT raid on their Gangsta Grillz mixtape operation – the culmination of an investigation supported by the Recording Industry Association of America – did more than confirm the high stakes involved in hip-hop’s newest, most dynamic addition, the informal mixtape economy: it solidified hip-hop’s long-running status as America’s most policed art form.
(More...)
VIDEO: MC Hammer, "Pop Ya Collar" b/w ESSAY: Inside Jokes
Ah, the perils of inside jokes. They start out funny, but after a while, as more and more knowing glances, elliptical comments, and general jackassery pile-up, they generally collapse under their own weight into powerful, sociability-destroying black holes. I've been involved in my share:
1. "50 CentGate" (Spring 2003): It's rare that you'll hear me say I "hate" anyone. Hate is a very strong word, and I don't throw it around lightly. So let's just say that I LOATHE 50 Cent. But even I'll admit that Get Rich or Die Tryin', his major label debut, was a titanic album. I must have listened to it once or twice a day for a good three months -- whether on my headphones, my room stereo, or the dusty boombox we kept in the weightlifting cage. Within a month, we had most of the album memorized. Within 6 weeks, we started communicating only in soundbites from the album. Scenarios:
a. Lunch: One friend grabs another's sandwich, takes a bite, stares. "I'll eatcha food in broad day like it's lunchtiiime."
b. Practice: Training partner fails to complete jump, gets lashed on back by bar. "Damn, homie. In high school you was the man, homie. What happened to you?!"
c. Evening news:
TV Reporter: "Gunfire erupted..."
Friend: "I love the sound of gun-firer."
Yeah, that was annoying... and pretty sad.
2. "ChapelleGate" (Spring 2004): similar scenario to #1, just involving the infamous Rick James and Prince sketches from Chapelle. Also pretty sad when you think about it.
3. "PappadeauxGate" (Spring 2005): at Mike Jones' behest, we visited the popular Houston eatery.
Waitress (looking at me, the only white guy in the restaurant): "Where are you from?"
Me: "New Jersey."
Waitress: "Why'd you come here?"
Me: "Well, we heard that real baller's eat at Pappadeaux. We're real ballers, soooo..."
Waitress (stifles laughter behind menus, leaves to compose herself)
I think PappadeauxGate is actually a sub-joke of the much longer running MikeJones/SwishahouseGate of Spring 2004 to the present.
4. "Hammer&Wee-WeeGate" (Spring 2004 to Fall 2004) aka "The Great Collar Popping":
For a brief period time, I was engaged in an ironic detachment contest of epic proportions. My opponent: a certain Johns Hopkins student known as the Ph/f[?]atmaster. The objective: search for rap videos that were so bad they were good. And were there ever some great bad ones -- Black Russians' "Back Up Out My Way" (Description: "The Black Russians have a beach party! Magoo plays football!") comes to mind. The best/worst by far, however, was "Pop Ya Collar" by MC Hammer, featuring Wee Wee. When Ph/f[?]atmaster inboxed me this one, I knew I had lost.
The video speaks for itself, but I always have to have the last word, so...
I'm not lying when I tell you we learned every pop -- by name -- and that we (and by "we," I mean the specially formed "Committee to Elect Hammer and Wee-Wee") executed them with an undeniable level of grace, fluidity, and swag. I'm also not lying when I say that I "Delivered the Pop" in a Notting Hill club last weekend... to applause, nonetheless. Popping is now just part of my DNA. I don't even have to think about it, I just do it. Wu-wei-wu.
Looking back at the video, though, I now realize that I never fully appreciated the pain, the heartbreak, and the cosmic wisdom that're packed into this song. Hammer pours his heart out and you can't help but feel bad for him. Doubly so when you see that hideous dress shirt he's wearing.
"Sounded like them good old times
Reminded me of when the world was mine...
Bring back them good old days
We danced the night away"
"I had to get away
Put it down and learn to pray
Now that's the only way
Now that's the only way"*
*Although I would like to note that, in following this immediately with "POP YA COLLAR MAYNE!", Hammer seems to locate his salvation not in God, but in the pop. Or perhaps God is the pop... Ever since "Pray," Hammer's theology has been kind of questionable.
Other inside jokes-cum-universal-implosions I've witnessed and/or been involved in: "ForeignDirectInvestmentGate" (Fall 2006 - Present), "Costa/AbbeyBank-CafeGate" (Spring 2006), "BalmIrahqGate" (Fall 2003), "SockPuppetGate" (Fall 1999 to Spring 2001), and the grandaddy of them all, "DoucheGate" (Fall 1997 to Spring 1999) [please, don't ask, it's a long story involving an all-boys Catholic high school that deserves a much more extensive telling than I could give here].
"I need to stop doing this blog stuff, oooooooh weeeee!"
1. "50 CentGate" (Spring 2003): It's rare that you'll hear me say I "hate" anyone. Hate is a very strong word, and I don't throw it around lightly. So let's just say that I LOATHE 50 Cent. But even I'll admit that Get Rich or Die Tryin', his major label debut, was a titanic album. I must have listened to it once or twice a day for a good three months -- whether on my headphones, my room stereo, or the dusty boombox we kept in the weightlifting cage. Within a month, we had most of the album memorized. Within 6 weeks, we started communicating only in soundbites from the album. Scenarios:
a. Lunch: One friend grabs another's sandwich, takes a bite, stares. "I'll eatcha food in broad day like it's lunchtiiime."
b. Practice: Training partner fails to complete jump, gets lashed on back by bar. "Damn, homie. In high school you was the man, homie. What happened to you?!"
c. Evening news:
TV Reporter: "Gunfire erupted..."
Friend: "I love the sound of gun-firer."
Yeah, that was annoying... and pretty sad.
2. "ChapelleGate" (Spring 2004): similar scenario to #1, just involving the infamous Rick James and Prince sketches from Chapelle. Also pretty sad when you think about it.
3. "PappadeauxGate" (Spring 2005): at Mike Jones' behest, we visited the popular Houston eatery.
Waitress (looking at me, the only white guy in the restaurant): "Where are you from?"
Me: "New Jersey."
Waitress: "Why'd you come here?"
Me: "Well, we heard that real baller's eat at Pappadeaux. We're real ballers, soooo..."
Waitress (stifles laughter behind menus, leaves to compose herself)
I think PappadeauxGate is actually a sub-joke of the much longer running MikeJones/SwishahouseGate of Spring 2004 to the present.
4. "Hammer&Wee-WeeGate" (Spring 2004 to Fall 2004) aka "The Great Collar Popping":
For a brief period time, I was engaged in an ironic detachment contest of epic proportions. My opponent: a certain Johns Hopkins student known as the Ph/f[?]atmaster. The objective: search for rap videos that were so bad they were good. And were there ever some great bad ones -- Black Russians' "Back Up Out My Way" (Description: "The Black Russians have a beach party! Magoo plays football!") comes to mind. The best/worst by far, however, was "Pop Ya Collar" by MC Hammer, featuring Wee Wee. When Ph/f[?]atmaster inboxed me this one, I knew I had lost.
The video speaks for itself, but I always have to have the last word, so...
I'm not lying when I tell you we learned every pop -- by name -- and that we (and by "we," I mean the specially formed "Committee to Elect Hammer and Wee-Wee") executed them with an undeniable level of grace, fluidity, and swag. I'm also not lying when I say that I "Delivered the Pop" in a Notting Hill club last weekend... to applause, nonetheless. Popping is now just part of my DNA. I don't even have to think about it, I just do it. Wu-wei-wu.
Looking back at the video, though, I now realize that I never fully appreciated the pain, the heartbreak, and the cosmic wisdom that're packed into this song. Hammer pours his heart out and you can't help but feel bad for him. Doubly so when you see that hideous dress shirt he's wearing.
"Sounded like them good old times
Reminded me of when the world was mine...
Bring back them good old days
We danced the night away"
"I had to get away
Put it down and learn to pray
Now that's the only way
Now that's the only way"*
*Although I would like to note that, in following this immediately with "POP YA COLLAR MAYNE!", Hammer seems to locate his salvation not in God, but in the pop. Or perhaps God is the pop... Ever since "Pray," Hammer's theology has been kind of questionable.
Other inside jokes-cum-universal-implosions I've witnessed and/or been involved in: "ForeignDirectInvestmentGate" (Fall 2006 - Present), "Costa/AbbeyBank-CafeGate" (Spring 2006), "BalmIrahqGate" (Fall 2003), "SockPuppetGate" (Fall 1999 to Spring 2001), and the grandaddy of them all, "DoucheGate" (Fall 1997 to Spring 1999) [please, don't ask, it's a long story involving an all-boys Catholic high school that deserves a much more extensive telling than I could give here].
"I need to stop doing this blog stuff, oooooooh weeeee!"
Soul Review: SUPER COOL CALIFORNIA SOUL 2
Originally reviewed for okayplayer.com
In keeping with the obsessive-compulsive “cultural should” that jackhammers repeatedly in the back of my brain, I’ve accumulated a tidy stack of cultural objects I “really should” consume. Among the items in the aforementioned stack include:
1. Bartleby the Scrivener
2. The collected works of Stendahl
3. Madame Bovary
4. About 800 pages of Rem Koolhaas manifestoes
5. The Very Best of the Stylistics
6. A turkey sandwich
7. My ego
Count Supercool California Soul 2 as the most recent item transferred from the “should” to the “did” pile. Should I have? Yeah, most definitely. Would I have, given an alternative? Depends on what I… or, better, you (trusty reader *identified with an e-finger extending from the ether directly toward your face*) want to get out of your listening experience. (More...)
World Music Review: Angelique Kidjo, DJIN DJIN
Originally reviewed for okayplayer.comTo say that I had a love/hate relationship with college would be a gross understatement: I LURVED and *haaaaa-teeeeed* virtually every moment of it, sometimes simultaneously. But rarely during my two-year period of post-baccalaureate self-questioning, self-recrimination, self-satisfaction, and various other “self-”modified activities did I ever think I had ever learned anything straight-up wrong while in school. Unpleasant perhaps; astounding frequently; pretentious almost always, but never wrong. Except for basically all of evolutionary psychology. Or maybe all of evolutionary psych isn’t wrong; maybe I’ve just finally realized, after listening to Angelique Kidjo’s Djin Djin, that – try as music executives and image consultants might to convince listeners otherwise – music isn’t like faces.
Yes. Parents, what an astounding advertisement for a liberal arts education in the 21st century. Four years, X dollars, and all I can come up with is “Listening to Angelique Kidjo’s Djin Djin made me realize music isn’t like faces.” No, the concrete on sidewalks doesn’t bother my knuckles. Why do you ask? (More...)
April 29, 2007
April: Prague Spring
But how can you front on a region that also features the world's only lion-drawn chariot?
That's gangsta.
Anyway, after a jaunt through the land of Freud, Kafka, and Kundera -- and an educational stopover in Bratislava, the land of... um... (guys?) -- I'm back with the April update. I've got an extended reflection on Detroit's hip-hop avant-garde, two new soul reviews from okayplayer, and some Nigerian pop. That's a lot of verbiage to spread between your twin vanilla wafers...
Enjoy.
(all photos copyright of T.M. Wolf, except the Vienna Fingers package, which I wouldn't claim to have taken even if I did -- unlike Spanish eateries, I like to keep food and art separate)
(all photos copyright of T.M. Wolf, except the Vienna Fingers package, which I wouldn't claim to have taken even if I did -- unlike Spanish eateries, I like to keep food and art separate)
Detroit's Art Hop: Ta'raach and Black Milk
Detroit is still haunted by the ghost of the assembly-line worker, whose endless welding, pounding, and riveting fed a nation’s insatiable appetite for mass-produced tangles of steel and glass. Odd, then, that the former home of Ford’s legions has also produced a smallish clique of rapper-producers who have been steadily but quietly manufacturing boutique beats for the underground public. The passing of D-godfather J. Dilla might have monkeywrenched the operation briefly, but a year later, Detroit’s post-Fordist hip-hop formalism shows no signs of slowing down, at least as far as Black Milk and Ta’raach are concerned. Even with the recent release of Dilla’s resurrected, retooled Ruff Draft pointing back to pas[t/sed] greatness, the two are forging ahead as the new avant-garde of Detroit’s art-hop tradition. (More...)
Soul Review: Musiq, LUVANMUSIQ
Originally reviewed for okayplayer
BeHonest:Howmuchlawngercoodeyeritelikthisb4youdstopreedin’?iwuldimagineitculdbe “qte”or“charming”forlikealineor2butitgetsreallyannoyingreallyqwikly,likeeye’mcovering
upforalakof interestingcontentbyhyperstyl-eye-zingmywriting.
Translation: When is Musiq going to stop stylizing and start singing? (More...)
upforalakof interestingcontentbyhyperstyl-eye-zingmywriting.
Translation: When is Musiq going to stop stylizing and start singing? (More...)
Soul Review: Ryan Shaw, THIS IS RYAN SHAW
Originally reviewed for okayplayer“No idea’s original / There’s nothing new under the sun / It’s never what you do / But how it’s done.” – Nas
Eff the “anxiety of influence.” After a few spins of Ryan Shaw’s This Is Ryan Shaw, I’m more concerned about the boredom of influence. (More...)
Video: D'Banj, "Why Me"
The first time I heard this song -- sitting in a two-door hatchback screeching on two wheels through Northern London -- I thought I heard a harmonica. I quickly dismissed that thought as some sort of hallucination brought on by far too much Nigerian cinema. Imagine my surprise when I found the video. Dude - is - playing - a - harmonica. Is that what's really hot in the streets? Maybe it should be.
April 01, 2007
VIDEO: Buju Banton, MAGIC CITY
I've been a massive Buju Banton fan since my sophomore year of high school. It's a shame that his youthful homophobia continues to cast such a pall over his later career, because the man of 'Til Shiloh and Inna Heights is one of the most insightful, soulful, and, in my opinion, truly good (as in authentic and virtuous, not skilled... although he is that, too) artists in contemporary music. "Magic City" never made it onto a Buju album, but it easily ranks among my favorites. I wan yuh fi check it out...
March 30, 2007
March: "It Don't Take a Whole Day"
Sliding right in under the March deadline, I've got an update to tie my sporadic early spring posting together. In addition to my debut pieces for Stylus (RZA and Sean Price), I've got reviews of the Bar-Kays latest, as well as an older review of Planet Asia's The Sickness out the okayplayer vaults. Be on the look-out for a nice big Stylus piece on Detroit's art-hop, coming soon.
"I don't usually do this but, ah, break 'em off with a few shoutouts":
Shoutout to fellow hip-hop literati Blake Brandes for putting the wraps on his latest album, Soulfire.
Shoutout to Michelle McDevitt of Audible Treats for a number of nice leads as of late.
Shoutout to Todd Burns and Mike Powell of Stylus for a new platform and some writerly advice.
And last but not least, shoutout to my international network (from Beijing to NYC to Cambridge to London) for putting up with me and holding me down over the past few months: Christian, Chuk, Cliff, Dave, Jacob, Mike, and Ross. Whether we've known each other since Mr. Wiz's gym class or since opening days at the DPU, I appreciate the words and the time you've given me, especially as of late. "That's what friends are for"? Forget it... I'll make it up to you all, please believe. In the meantime, just remember:
"It don't take a whole day to recognize sunshine."
Cr/f[?]unk Review: The Bar-Kays, HOUSE PARTY
Originally reviewed for okayplayerYou know that saying, “You can't teach old bands new tricks”? Turns out you CAN. It's just mad embarrassing. (More...)
Hip-Hop Review: Planet Asia, THE SICKNESS
Originally reviewed for okayplayerThe history you know never happened: long before “Tell Me When to Go,” the Cali underground was primed to snatch the crown away from New York. It’s funny, in a sad way, because the future you expected never happened either: by now, Planet Asia should have hit us with at least one classic solo album. Instead we got The Last Stand EP and The Grand Opening. Now, we’ve got the equally uneven mixtape The Sickness. (More...)
March 07, 2007
VIP Hip-Hop Review: Sean Price, JESUS PRICE SUPASTAR
Back with another STYLUS piece...
Sean Price—formerly known as “Ruck,” one half of the on-again, off-again duo Heltah Skeltah—reintroduced himself to hip-hop audiences on 2005’s Monkey Barz as “The Brokest Rapper You Know.” Price used his first solo project to comment endlessly on his lack of success as a rapper…and a husband…and a father…and, well, as a human being in general. On Jesus Price Supastar, Price sounds like he’s been taking his own self-deprecation a little too seriously.
Sean Price—formerly known as “Ruck,” one half of the on-again, off-again duo Heltah Skeltah—reintroduced himself to hip-hop audiences on 2005’s Monkey Barz as “The Brokest Rapper You Know.” Price used his first solo project to comment endlessly on his lack of success as a rapper…and a husband…and a father…and, well, as a human being in general. On Jesus Price Supastar, Price sounds like he’s been taking his own self-deprecation a little too seriously.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
