Pretense: I never really got around to developing this one (thus the “[Work Tape]”), but for the sake of the record… 160-second snap reaction from the day they emptied this clip on the digisphere
So, it is, and here we are #againagain Hollywood corpses, technicolor torches, muscle cars, and glorified blaze-bound stars: Lady Gaga’s back with another sonicscape of cinematic audiobiographical bombast – kiddies, let’s get high #scenethespace
Fair pretense: Every track on Joanne is entirely autobiographical (full-stop got it, full-stop great) that said –
Black and white, oft-tread and well-read. Speak easy, swing hard. Record this life in absolute truth, to mine the media and peak the press, to establish mint, you brilliant bard.
If… IF I were to blinkk this I’d probably say … Fame Kills … like chewing on pearls … oysters and aphrodisies, flights of fancy and fights of fantasy … drunk in love on cake cake cake … love made edible incredible Anna Mae … the chosen one selecting apparent wanderlust servitude … will and desire … grace to transpire … mental gender on Parade … bonfire of the Vanity Fair … Parisian blazes … Harlem faces … eternal embers … Pompeii … knockout …
Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun, and baby when it’s love if it’s not rough you’ll never come … masculine … feminine … rocket number nine blast off to the Martian … Hephaestus in the bath haus … Aphrodite perched upon the partition …
Sirens Round Two: “Free Falling” … English Channel tunage courtesy of Florrie #getgravitational
First seven seconds hit:
and it feels like taking a little something to channel loose wires…
Free falling… it’s like I’m free… falling… it’s a change of course
Here I am, I sing the verse, sing the verse, sing the verse…
Upside down, and in reverse… in reverse… in reverse
We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams… four years ago we pulled a stunt that went and turned into a scene
G.U.Y – An ARTPOP Film:
“I know. But I can’t stay up here on my hill forever.“
ARTPOP … facing glamorous cruelty in Spears subtext and fantasy
I didn’t get to this place in my life by doing the smart thing every time. How ’bout you, frank farmer? Out there on the edge… did you ever do something that didn’t make too much sense, except maybe inside you? In your stomach somewhere? Something that wasn’t smart? I’ll bet you have plenty. I’ll bet you do. Nobody gets really good without it. And you’re good. I know that. – Ms. Marron
I suppose the only way to take this one sonically is through the sounds of an autobiography… at this point in my pop literary career with a one said Lady, certain signatures will emerge at some point within each piece – namely: each release being #theanthem, each release “solidifying this time and space voice of twain,” and autobiographical points of reference expounding on the sheer cosmic Pop of said beat drops. #postoculus #postpop This time, will be no different #letsdelve
… and on the sixth day Gaga unearthed the feast, saw everything that she had gamed… and behold: it was very good
I love my fans so much… I love my fans, because they always let me be myself… they don’t care what anybody says… and the reason that that’s important… is because, something you probably don’t know, is that when you’re not yourself, it’s so much harder… it’s so much easier to be yourself, than it is to be someone else… because when you have to pretend to be someone else… like things you don’t like… do things you don’t want to do… it eats your soul inside, and makes you do stupid sxxt… so I wrote this song about all the things I’m sorry for… and I’m mostly sorry to myself and I’m so sorry to myself that I, I don’t always be myself … – The
Mockingjay Lady Known As Gaga
In case you were wondering what’s behind the swine … existence of the living gold mine … the reality that human traffic runs through vinyl, video, and grapevine … that spectacular misery is of industrial design … that the vomit you spew, pre-emptive anesthetic to the polity coup, our very own blood red, sterilized white, and royal blue … the surrender in silence, the deafening void, the sadness… the sadness… the lament and suffocating isolation of that human capital demise … that behind the lids are empty exes where once haused Tiresian eyes.
British tones. Angeles tempos. That’s the point. That you can come to the light amidst darkness, create an echo in the silence. Basilisk beats, She wanders. Homeward-bound, London found in lost Angeles.
Visceral. The vocals emerge from serpent strings, Valkyries returned on ravens wings, crooning tales to be told of once-lived dreams. Jess sings the blues of a sapient soul found in barren canyons of scarred star-trails. The lyrical lens navigates mood and melody, the narrative unfolds within spliced vignettes – into the Pacific Channel on angels we arrive, through the lostlands and Sunset, emerged from neon aquatic.
Tone and timbre, tears and tempos; bricks and mortar for the rhythms we inhabit as our own. Letting go of what you didn’t know you had, that is what this finds with home.
Hello little Rock Shop of Horrors, what have we here… #tuneage
I live for the applause, applause, applause – I live for the applause-plause, live for the applause #paws
What I loved about Alejandro…
This is the drop after the first waves and floods: I’m not here to talk about her facial features, or how to convert atheists into believers; I’m just saying that somewhere in the midst of a[n] indie short film, and a scene-by-scene homage to immaculate conceptions – and collections – lies a near perfect Pop music video period. Is pastiche supposed to be coherent? It is now – let’s delve.
What was lambasted in Born This Way
I don’t know where to begin or end with this one… and I suppose that’s the best way to be – as there is no beginning or end to the perpetual renaissance … What artists do wrong is they lie, what critics do wrong is they try; I’m not going to try and pretend I know every conceptual reference here, nor analyze from a detached place of fault-and-fact finding – this isn’t about Pop cheat sheets and checklists… I’m just going to riff on what I know for me, and what I see
What lingered along the fringes of Scheiße…
Lady Gaga broke her notoriously extended hiatus, premiering her first mastered piece of “new music” … Those two years of antagonizing anticipation culminated into the club-pulsing climax … Forget the fact that this may or may not be what you wanted to hear from someone about whom you may or may not give a scheiße – ether that; from start to finish, career and current track, no one – no one female Pop body – can produce: produce, what Gaga can. Line after line, time after time: perfection – the wait is always worth it.
There’s the flawlessly deft production we’ve come to expect from the Haus mother … stratospheric synth, deep bass, smooth distortion, uncannily human reverb pulsing the cacophony. Gaga lends her voice as an added layer, as much a part of the score as the bevy of inanimate instruments behind her
Lady Gaga has solidified her sonic aesthetic and social impact – and they are one in the same. If the backbeat pulses harder than my own heartbeat, why not dance together? This is cold technology and hot harmonies, sheer energy, factory fashion, raw humanity, grime, graffiti, and glitterbombs; this is stream-of-consciousness that doesn’t make sense now, but will before the rest of the globe makes sense of itself: this is 31st Century schizo world – welcome Haume.
Is what lays the foundation for “Applause:” The pulse as nothing more, and never anything less, than the traverse between polarity
– once you know the system’s rhythm, all that’s left to do is choreograph the rendevous #multiversallyspeaking
Nouveau riche in thé vintage frame. The forever first lady and the one time flame. The brunette bombshell and the trap star, lost and found in the endless hyperreel… Because the spectacle said so – when the young culture is American culture, and Lana’s lyrics drown out Key’s ode to Lady Liberty… Where standing wealth disappears beneath the facade of runaway riches. Where race fades in the place of the envy, the currency, the one, the only, the greenface. Where Cognac and Cuban cigars line the seersuckered pockets of star-spangled bangers… Here in this place in time, suspended in the gilded gift of the omnipresent: the market is the new monarchy, fame is the new family, pledge allegiance to the powers that be: Marilana Yolonassis and A$AP “Call Me More Like Dom” F. Kennedy
This is just… quite good really – in, many many ways; albeit, many simplistic ways, but simplistic ways necessary in an otherwise unnecessarily muddled music scene… Check out Florrie’s latest: “Shot You Down”
Nice progression, smooth – milk smooth #isthataphrase – bass riding through the track. I’m obviously a fiend for most electro-acoustic hybrids – by that I mean, any melodic melange capable of bringing out the best of synthesized effects in tandem with (not drowning out or exploitatively distorting #notinthegooddistortionway acoustic instrumentation) and the soul of live instruments. I’m even more fiendish for that most tangible and raw of instruments – los tambores, le batterie, الطبول, Gǔ, – the drums.
Live fast, die young… #badgirlsdoitwell… Maya Arulpragasm – like the Mayans – had it right… even when wrong:
It turns out that the Mayans had it right. History is a giant alarm clock. As the bell starts to ring, we awaken from the dream, and remember who we are.
Bad Girls… from Eve and Mary (and Magdalene), to Cleopatra and Nefertiti, from Frida and Josephine, to Eleanor and Marilyn – are the backbone of wake-up calls and real talk, courtesy of rogue revelry. #doitwell
Top-to-Bottom two cents #topback: History is a giant alarm clock, and discographies are giant phonographs… as the bell starts to ring, and the needle hits the groove, we awaken from the scene, and remember who we are… This year, Maya got back into the groove: Kala style.
Oh that Madge… I can’t help it, I’ve got the biggest Cheshire grin plastered above my chin right now…
See the thing about it is, I wanted to not like this video – hear me out: I wanted to not like this video because after the hoopla and hype, after the media blitzes and reductionism, this era was gearing up to be the bark of Confessions with the bite of Hard Candy #notgreat then, there’s the distractions and the white noise pulling attention from the product at hand and towards the peripheral gossip… in a nutshell: I was ready to not like this video for the same reason I was gearing up to not like Born This Way – because people were going Gaga over Madonna; but lo and behold… Pop never lets you down.
You can reproduce your past, you can rewrite your present, you can dictate your future… beneath the metronomic hum of the running film reel Gaga brings the monster from the hub of the city to the heart and soul of her own fatally fame-laden tale…
If you knight it then you should’ve put a ring on it…
BlinkkIt: #bam Manhattan’s Pop monarch came back after three betrayals to bring Brooklyn’s Finest’s line to fruition… closing out Born This Way with a single that slays the sanctimony of matrimony and raises a glass to the twice-kissed sinners… “Birthdays was the worst days, now we sip champagne when we thirstay;” here’s to all of your future pain being champagne. #cheerstotearsontap
On this of all days, it’s important that we take time to remember those we’ve lost en route to creating a more profitable union… that gated community upon the dollar bill *a moment of silence for civilization*
Culture – Commerce = Civilization
From Brazil’s Christ Redeemer to B.o.B, Stonehenge to the endless Sk8er Boi party, Madonna Litta eclipsed by the Purrs of California’s Kitty Lolita, Easter Island, Themis, The Sphinx, man-made structures bordering on the divine – resurrected here if only to remind us of what we left behind… All Day I Dream About Significance, Society, Substance, Something – anything more… Mount Rushmore cashed out, Noah’s Ark now nothing more than a two-by-tomb, while the ruins of civilization go all in, stumble, and settle in the Mediated Mesopotamian womb…
From behind the veil of the ever present bottom line, sights of the American celebrity to drown out the French artisan’s sound… when culture is dependent upon commerce, justice remains forever blind
Watch This Space: Anything less would be uncivilized #allin
The modern music industry’s Mitochondrial Eve returns with a fervor to prove – once again – that despite all patriarchal restrictions and destruction: she who bears the womb… the forever battlefield, and said burden… is she who is best equipped to commandeer the cultural revolution. Who rev the world? Girls.
The revolution will be feminized. She who betrayed Jesus, she who betrayed Adam, she who bears the weight of said world on her naturally sinful shoulders, in her superseding of submission, will ascend to prominence; born to blossom, bloom to perish, just as man destroyed that which he cannot create, so in the wake of destruction and suspension in social smolder, here woman returns to bear life again… Strong enough to bear the children, then get back to business
Who run the world? Girls. Girls, women, females have the unparalleled capacity to create life. Despite all social constructs, religious constraints, and artificial inferiorities women are able to create something lasting, something outside of themselves, and from their sin comes the succession – well, that, or a dance nation… my persuasion can build a nation #literally
#inanutshell Self-reference and atmospheric concept #letsbeyhonest #independentringonit
Clockwork Orchestra is a quirky electronic band led by Irish oddball Mango. His songs sound something like broken toys, miserable old men, vintage children’s TV shows, rotting fish, burning plastic and digital clown nightmares.
Clockwork Orchestra is a blueprint citrus symphonic. Hailing from Dublin with a sound hearkening to a soundtrack of life cinematic – think one part Alexander McQueen, one part Arthur Burgess, and a heavy dose of clockwork quirk.
Three days later… minds are made for swiping, and that’s just what they’ll do, and one of these days – or three – Swipe’s mind vomits all over you #inthemostbiblicalsense
In the cultural sense: Gaga smited her own spoken futuristic pretense; in the most biblical sense – her lips behave beyond repentance: a miss’ single kiss birthing culture from the crucifix – by all means, sir, take offense.
The Cash Money/Young Money ship continues to sail full-speed ahead with the release of Lil’ Wayne’s “6 Foot, 7 Foot” video featuring Cory Gunz. Naturally, Hype Williams directed the Inception-influenced four-minute foray into the street-pristine psyche of a one Mr. TuneChi.
I speak the truth, but I guess that’s a foreign language to y’all; and I call it like I see it, and my glasses on – but most of y’all don’t get the picture ‘less the flash is on
I don’t know where to begin or end with this one… and I suppose that’s the best way to be – as there is no beginning or end to the perpetual renaissance that is Born This Way.
On G.O.A.T, a Government Owned Alien Territory in space, a birth of magnificent and magical proportions took place; but the birth was not finite – it was infinite. As the wombs numbered and the mitosis of the future began, it was perceived that this infamous moment in life is not temporal, it is eternal. And thus began the beginning of the new race, a race within the race of humanity, a race which bears no prejudice, no judgment but boundless freedom. But on that same day, as the eternal mother hovered in the multiverse, another more terrifying birth took place, the birth of evil. And as she herself split into two, rotating in agony between two ultimate forces, the pendulum of choice began its dance. It seems easy, you imagine, to gravitate instantly and unwaveringly towards good; but she wondered, “How can I protect something so perfect without evil?”
That… is the truth.
What artists do wrong is they lie, what critics do wrong is they try; I’m not going to try and pretend I know every conceptual reference here, nor analyze from a detached place of fault-and-fact finding – this isn’t about Pop cheat sheets and checklists… I’m just going to riff on what I know for me, and what I see when I watch that which the world will be.
I see George Clinton. I see One Nation Under a Groove, I see One Race Under the Hooves. I see Atomic Dogs reborn as Spearheaded Stallions. I feel what I felt when I lived in the eternal Funk of George Clinton’s 25th Anniversary show at the Apollo in 2005. I feel like a freshman again, caught in the unknown precipice that is Harlem’s heart with hippies and hipsters and blipsters and soulmen dancing together under the translucent kaleidoscopic gaze that is the pre-eminent Funkmaster’s view. Then, I witnessed the vintage funk future as George unearthed the mothership; here, I live the future as Gaga births the mother monstership.
The 2011 Pop Apocalypse continues with Ke$ha‘s latest video for her upcoming single “Blow,” as James Van Der Beek drifts down Dawson’s River Styx to join the Southern Strumpette and her social herd of mythological mares.
Go insane, go insane; throw some glitter – make it rain
Huzzah! Britney Spears released the video for “Hold It Against Me,” the first from her seventh studio album Femme Fatale. 14 clips later… don’t tease me, bro! Tase? Oh, by all means – ha ha he he ha ha heaux… #okgo
In 140 or Less:
A, B, Ri, Ri, S, and M… H, I, J, A, K the press P, L, E, A, S, E… I imagine Rihanna’s alphabeat plays along to a tune something like that… it doesn’t rhyme, it has some semblance of reason – but boy if it doesn’t spell out a message loud, clear, and in living color; much of the same can be said for her “S&M” video, the latest from her fifth studio album Loud. … and yes, it has Ms. Melina’s direction all up in the bank with a funny face
‘Cause I may be bad, but I’m perfectly good at it; Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it… Everihbody comes to Hollywood, they want to fake it ’til the getting’s good… they love the smell of it in Hollywood, how could it hurt you when it feels this good – flash the lights out: this time it’s hot to be bad.
Nick “Still Not a Don” Cannon’s new group, Wonder Broz, premiered their debut single “Chitty Chitty,” and it is sure to slay more sandboxes than the Cabbage Patch Kids, with all of the soft street appeal of a clean-shaven Mon-Chi-Chi – or a PG version of Snoop, Pre-Wire
The track is par for the tween urban contemporary course: fun in a isn’t-it-past-your-curfew kind of way, romantic in a you-know-more-about-the-birds-and-bees-than-Sesame-Street-and-Burt’s-knees part of the park, and uncomfortably Don-Magic-Juan-for-the-Dora-demographic in a whatever-happened-to-holding-hands state of mind. Chairman Teen Nick penned the right ones for this one: two baby-faced LA charmers with formidable flow and the Degrassi pack in their back pocket… it’s like crib-friendly Cali Clipse!
Nicki Minaj aka Onika Maraj aka Young Money Mistress aka #yougetthegist released the video for “Moment 4 Life” yesterday, which is the third single from her debut album Pink Friday. The clip takes stage as a modern fairy tale, featuring Mr. Young Money himself, Sir Drake, as Minaj’s knight in sullen armor.
Once upon a time there lived a king named Nicki. One day, while sitting on her throne, she received an enchanting visit from her fairy Godmother. She would remember that moment for life.
The video is very Nicki Minaj, very “Moment 4 Life,” very Pink Friday, very Drake, very Young Money – very veneer.
We meet Nicki in the boudoir of her own castle, she is the everything – the King, the Queen, the fairy Princess, the Fairy Godmother, and her own favorite company even in a crowd of guests. Yet at the same time, she’s not entirely any of those things. What’s interesting is that Nicki’s fairy tale is void of struggle or hardship: there is only the eternal eleventh hour with no looming midnight fall. There is no fragile glass slipper, only an unbreakable diamond stiletto. There are no evil stepmothers or stepsisters, just the soft-spoken Aubrey Graham. There is no infernal blaze or funeral, only the fireworks overhead a royal matrimony.
This Music Monday finds itself steamrolling Westward to the glory and the gold
Takeaways, Runaways, and #mytwocents: Connecting the Pop Nots… one track at a time… #letsgo
As Kanye stands above it all – his head bowed beneath the crown, “Now this would be a beautiful death. I’m jumpin’ out the window” echoing over a sea of ballerinas, the camera zooming out to snapshot the finale: West’s leap to posthumous glory, orchestrated by Prague’s native son, Yemi; he presides over his latest masterpiece manifesto – Prague, meet “Power: The Defenestration of West.”
In honor of Bitches Brew‘s 40th Anniversary, a cinematic parallel capturing the aesthetics of Miles Davis’ psychedelic fusion jazz masterpiece.
Maya Arulpragasam cemented iconographic status last decade as the brazen bamboo banga – the staple sound of subwoofers from Sri Lanka to Santa Monica. She laid out her vision for this decade in music in NME magazine – the running theme of which was, “whatever they did last decade: don’t.” M.I.A.’s Arular and Kala play as soundtracks to the past decade’s apocalyptic crusade against genuine culture. She went larger-than-life with indigenous-gone-electric sounds that were catchy enough to become a mainstream radio mainstay (because, well, that’s Pop). This decade she’s going bigger and badder in a politically-charged punk way that highlights the American idiocy in last decade’s domestic attempt to do the same.