Oh, hai “that time of year again,” didn’t hear you come in – well, have a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’m not spectacular at year-end reviews… I prefer life like I prefer my albums: gapless. That said, I hat-tipped five artists, songs, and albums that made me pause and take time to jot the time and place – year included – over the last 300-someodd days; and five creations that embodied and encapsulated sonic aesthetic for 2011. To the five I take, to have and to hold; forever like a TrapperKeeper, Pop safe in the fold. #enjoi
Welcome to VMA 2011: no host, west coast, teenage dreams, saccharin-infused schemes – welcome to the odd future #bonjournaggers
At this juncture it’s safe to say we’re all slaves to the throne… some of us, say it better than others #namelythus That said, it’s safer to say we’re all slaves to a throne of indentured servants, who may or may not even belong at said royal table… #kanyeshrugsandotherthugs Who says you can’t ball out when the bottom falls out? Not America – because these colors don’t run; but if not these colors running the world – then who? #girls That said, every court needs a jester, or Jordan #jacksontyson #takeyourpick #six so for this year’s VMAs – the world is a soundstage, the stars are in the building, and amidst the bevy of deafeningly adamant ambiguity we have a soundtrack to keep the beat right on par with said backdrop: VMA 2011 EP – Welcome to the Beautiful Dark Twisted Sunset Boulevard of Golden Schemes and Silver Screens…
Blinkkit: “We’re going to skate to one song, and one song only.” This year the throne came home – and by home I mean industry royalty reflected “those ones.” You know… the ones who shouldn’t have been here at all – The Help that helped themselves to a seat at the table. When banks are broke, the broke make bank #namely.
Pop is pastiche at its finest; sometimes you need nothing more than to collect the right pieces and be the sound canvas. Half of Pop is creating the story, the other half is capturing the stars in that momentary align when the stories converge to recognize themselves…
#mindvomit The antidote, the venom, the anti-Inside Out… the cause and cure… remove the death and danger by facing the cobra head on… when what you see what you lack, and selfish love goes back to black… it takes but a mere glance in the shattered glass to change one back… Britney manifest here by manipulation – seemingly for the first time ever, for her own good – to see her fragmented self as wholly true and entirely blue… tiful
Sittin in the mirror gettin’ pretty… when the fairest of them all met the most fatally feminine fall…
Amy, Amy, Amy… I know I’ve been here before… Amy, Amy, Amy… she’s just too hard to ignore… Rhythmically she spins a spell – I know she’d wear me well… Amy, Amy, Amy… where’s her moral parallel?
Amy Jade Winehouse was our holiday. She was our release, our renaissance, our rehabilitation, and our rhythmic residency. She was her own body of work; she lived in the music, and through that magnificent manifestation she created a parallel world within and apart from the everyday mainstream anything.
In the midst of Neo-Prohibition Era America where false was ideal, imperial nudity was lauded, and deuces wild were on deck, Winehouse was our haven beneath said house of cards. Amy was a release. She was our speakeasy, her voice resonated with us as the hidden-in-plain-view perfection of human imperfection. She birthed a culture through her tales of love lost, found, and for which her heart would forever fiend. Her music brought us from the throes of auto-tune, from the perils of saccharine-infused ringtone jingles, high and away from the collective race to the bottom that was 2007.
She was our vantage into the vintage; our very own halfway point between Scott Joplin’s Post-Victorian Era Ragtime revolution, injecting the joie de vivre back into the mainstream, and Janis Joplin’s Post-Pleasantville Americana Blue-Eyed Psychedelic Soul. Amy was the embodiment of the Neo-Prohibition Jazz Era of modern music. She was the cause and the cure for our every cultural ailment. She was the radiant child, wise beyond her years – the rebellious child – but from the mouth of the basement baroness babe spoke truth.
She provided a place for us to turn when the clock struck five, following our every dogged day, mourning every minute after the ninth lie. She was our happy hour. She was our winehouse – our own special place where humanity was okay, where everyone was in the dark together, where the soul and the sin were the norm. Beneath the blinding light, neither she nor we knew better than what we had – and after nearly a decade of lost everything, all we had was our lone selves.
Welp… this, is… bleak; that said… just dance – gonna be okay
It’s like… when the Bayou Brady Bunch subbed out their Sunday Best Sears photo-op for a blurred backstage glimpse into when what could have been wasn’t, when what you shudder to recall overshadowed what should have been, and what is translates into: “Listen, we all we got.”
Professor Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests – Students: Edie Sedgwick, Lou Reed, Nico, “Baby” Jane Holzer, Dennis Hopper, Paul America, Ingrid Superstar
… when the exhibitionists become the voyeurs…
Start with a cheerio, pour on some milk, add a heavy-handed dose of synth sweetener, and you’ve got Van Go Lion’s British debut, “We Don’t Miss A Beat:” proof that an earful of VGL does the body good, and a spoonful of sugar makes the melody get down.
Watch This Space: They’re armed for 8-bit battle, and deliciously digitized #literally
“The Edge of Glory:” It’s an edge, and it’s glorious – and that’s all we need to say about that.
I love this video. When I saw this video, some less fatigued part of me wanted to run across the Brooklyn Bridge and upload footage of said jog to YouTube #literally – some more juvenile, bad tomboyish part of me #justcheesin #cake Gaga’s videos are like Matcha Green Tea ice cream – good, good for you, invigorating, a little unconventional, a lil’ left of west, undeniably delicious, but digest it too fast and you’ll get a brain freeze. There’s so much all the time, and it’s all so good, but there’s just not enough time in the day, week, month, or decade to digest any of it properly; which doesn’t stop you from eating it again, and again – and only intensifies her need to dish it out again, and again – until we’ve got a roadside diner full of dead bodies. That said, I couldn’t face the iceberg this time… I’m just a kid – even this bouncing baby brain needs a break #haveyouhadyourhappymealtoday – even still, I bowed to Atlas, and anticipated said final cerebral demise when watching said glorious film.
New York has more culture in one sidewalk square than some towns have in their entirety – and it is the only City.
If only said streets could talk…
… they would lament the passing of footprints for Facebooks… former world citizens locked behind Windows… the death of the denizen in light of the digital domain… the detachment from nature, the self-inflicted exile from stoops and sidewalks en route to a metaspacial superhighway… the ever-increasing distance between neighbors, the inhumanity of modern man… the rapture of the human soul, the cavity of urban decay upon the human condition… the plight of used people in the midst of adored products… profits superseding prophets… and the bottom line suffocating the technicolor dream… the peril of the poor human – a requiem fit for the most divine of creatures, those most virtuously insane: the denizens
not for nothing – and never to be overlooked, nor forgotten – is the everlasting human spark… the innate nature of good
A splash of symphonics, a dose of distilled spirits, twist of turntablism on tap, chilled swelter of the most aurally intoxicating blend… resting forever assured it will satisfy most any fiending trap… Mix me a beat fit for the most keen of tongues, and cultured of eardrums… intoxicate me: i’m a lush #inthelyricalsense
“New York has more alcohol in one establishment, than most cities have on entire blocks…” I live life like the classics… I choose three steps over twelve any day… eat, drink, be merry… I feast on socio-philosophy, I sip on life’s most delicious libations, and music makes this muse the merriest of all… in a city that is The City… in the comsopolitan metropolis that puts other microcosms to shame… Each drummer marches to their own beat, just as each bartender mixes to their own drink…
Tunes on Tap: #avotresantebushebushe
Set to a fuzzed-out shoegaze background, the video shows Lohan emerging from a pool of water set against an expanse of ocean. She stares into the camera, the apparent symbolism emphasizing her rebirth and victory over those nasty drug and theft problems. Crashing waves and a fade out of Lohan’s face bring it all home. –Kyle Chaka, Hyperallergic
A journey soon begins its prize reflected in another’s eyes;
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
Madonna fan since Blond Ambition #whenididnthavetolietothekids #truecolors Oprah fan since the mid 90s – after I made sure she wasn’t #thehelp at The White House #postreaganbush… Twenty-five years later; twenty-five years of singing “red, and yellow, black and white – all are precious in his sight” #exceptyouyouandyou at Pro-America rallys… getting introduced to the wonders of Kabbalah #seeidohaveajewishfriend #herlastnameisciccone… the genius that is Dr. Phil #osophics enabling me to raise your kids better than you #noYOUREnotcertified… the culinary marvels that are Rachael Ray’s EVOO-laden 30 minute home-cooked meals #thiswillcuthoursoffofthenannyscookingtime… the dangers of adolescent drug use “Who knew Crack was so rampant on campuses?! I need to rally the PTA for this – must focus” #theresanadderrallforthat #mysons … the ins and outs of cyberbullying #imtheonlyfriendmykidsneedonfacebook… I made it through The Rapture to see the Promised Land
Watch This Space: God only looks after children and fools… #jesussavesdesperatehousewives
So the question remains… who’s going to look after you? #watchyourback
I don’t want to be part of the machine – I want the machine to be part of me.
Born This Way is a perfect record. It is uncomfortably euphoric. First spins are ideally experienced with a few close friends, or those who have spun before; likely obtained through contraband means however – the first spin is usually experienced in the wee hours of the night or morning… where the rush of the synesthetic synthetic splendor triggering peaks and valleys – previously unfathomed – comes with a conscious uncertainty: as to whether you like it or hate it, whether or not said rush is result of the product itself, or the hype surrounding and building up to the first taste, and whether or not this is in actuality real life, some surreal fantasy – or just the delirious drunkenness of well-deserved fatigue… It’s personal, political, public, and cultural; it’s the social catalyst, sedative, signpost and staple; it’s the universal shared experience, and the pre-eminent polarizing sign of the times – like blood flowing through the veins of a buncha bad kids: Born This Way is a trip down Alice’s glitter way – and one hell of a drug. #rhythmicrapture
If nothing else, a new GaGa release means new blood #literally… check out my friend, fellow music writer, and connoisseur of #prettykewl things, Corey Bell’s “At First Listen” of Lady GaGa’s Born This Way…
We all know that Lady GaGa has a pretty wild and vivid imagination. This is quite obvious when it comes to her sense of fashion and her elaborate music videos and stage sets. It is also very prevalent in her music, as we, her adoring and yet often puzzled fans, hang on her every lyric and note. So it should come as no surprise that her new album, the heavily awaited and almost excessively promoted Born This Way, does not yield boring results in terms of being imaginative.
In my opinion, it borders on the bizarre.
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.
From “Beautiful, Dirty, Rich” to “Born This Way”… Two years, over two hundred shows later… The Lady Incubating closes the casket on the monster rendezvous, and welcomes a rhythmically routed rebirth… Still just dancin’ with Judas… she loves her life, she loves this record and…
The song that I sing to you it’s my ev-ery-thing; treat my first like my last, and my last like my first, and my thirst is the same as – when I came…
Beth Ditto is why you don’t teach girls how to read or write – because they rhythmically hold it against you when you lie about who you were with last night.
You break it off, I’ll break you down
The world is full of good intentions
Paradise is full of lies
Tell you they love you but fail to mention
Who they were with again last night
Education isn’t only the motivation: it’s contagious locomotion; catchier than phonic rocks – Ditto’s book hooks. Shakers, stark swelter, MIDI percussion, vengeance verve, dark disco structured splash, heavy early-mid nineties R&B synth carbon beats, fixed reverb, cold heat, black-and-white sonic aesthetics juxtaposed static layers and fluid forms bury the night.
Mr. Wes is in the building…
Don’t worry about reading… enjoy the sounds, and focus your mind on nothing more than the natural exchange of simply breathing… just settle down, calm your nerves, and fall into the rhythmic splendor that is Wes Montgomery’s swelteringly smooth mood… A day in the life of the sonic summertime Cyrano, right around midnight…
Brit and The Bic spark the firework as Good Friday brings 2011’s crucifixition of culture courtesy of Pop: for those who think young *ding*
When the dust settles at the feet of Rihanna’s brothel, and Madam Spears breaks away from the feature… it becomes glaringly clear that when placed in the company of her peers and those whom she preceded – Britney is best as the ringmaster, swag over doccious – all eyes on the three-ring-circus… in a beautiful demise upon Neo-Roman American eyes… the products of Pop’s most prominent puppeted puppeteer… Nicki Minaj… Ke$ha… sounding off as pop donatellas from the shoulders of their predecessor Spears, and simultaneously protecting the legacy of that very same ill-fated musing godmother…
The LectroLips boys are back in town… with an electronically-fueled, invasively-visual record sound…
A quick-and-dirty post for a quick-and-dirty pair from across the pond.
BlinkkIt: Sound rides in on the lightly warped horseback of Madonna’s confessional future love… “I would like… to be your clone…” vocodors like Sebastien Tellier’s twin with a British tone… then the kick drum stomps – bum. bum-bum. BUM. BUM-BUM – less Tom Green, more Euro-synthed-dance-scene #thatsagoodthing Ambient waves crash under a raw percussion-piano pound, the fever pitched “I like to watch – voyeur, voyeur” vocal crown, the peaked aerial crescendo mounds – and calm: “I want to taste… you ecstatic…” #eargasmic “I want you to slip… into something… more uncomfortable…” never sounded so engaging – in a musically matrimonial way.
The monster hit-and-miss… and the Monster Hidden Miss…
Aside from being an absolutely masterful piece of work – completely; Judas is an immaculate conception of the most divine du jour…
Betrayal runs through the track like bad romances through the veins of the Haus madam. There is a betrayal of comfortable pop song structure, the assault on the eardrums, the screams and distortion, the chord progression into further confusion… This song runs train on conductors… this sounds like Bad Romance’s bigger, badder, biblical older sister who just got back from Barnard – educated and disinfatuated – that older sister. Betrayal runs through the very being of Judas. Ju-da Ju-da-ah-ah… There’s a deep ingrained cohesion to every thread and theme of Judas. It opens with just vocals, flips to just instrumentation, then tandems to a crucifixtious climax – and that’s just the first three signatures #betrayals The verses go HAM on Sunday brunch…Thematically, from Mary Magdalene to Peter, from Judas to Jesus, channeling to Gaga – iconographies illustrating betrayals of biblical proportions… Anatomically, the inevitable unironic fist pumps betraying any sense of social decency… and yet being a product of the preeminent voice of a generation – the anthem of the slanderer becomes the cultural signature…
I’ve never met GREATeclectic, but I know him quite well. I’ve yet to feel more innately connected to someone with whom I’ve never shared conventional contact; but that is the beautiful mystery that is the Great Mister Daye. He conveys and connects with the world and the one individual alike, because he is his work; as with any masterpiece, that connection lives in the unconventional void – where authenticity cannot be barred by limitation, and catharsis cannot be marred by sterile sanity. He lives in his work – it is in that shared space where I feel, and it is in that shared experience where life is present.
The kids are back in town with a Van Go vengeance on the dance floor…
Body Moves: (n) 1. Sonic bridge between astral and human anatomy; 2. rhythmic ebb and flow between verse and synth verve
Quite digging Van Go Lion’s debut single… It’s subtly infectious without being overbearing, smooth without being bland – miracle-whipped ephemeral sounds blended with layered vocals in a spectral sonic electro-pop parfait, if you will.
We have the same sound magnificently evolved; if “Sugarblush” was then, consider now “Canerouge:” natural, pre-refinerd, deliberate confection – yet still definitively Van Go Lion.
3am – do you know where your Pop is? Chances are, if you are a fiend – like so many of us are #dontjudgemepopsconflictfree – your good ol’ grand wonderful Pop was sharing a campfire tale of epic curfew-breaking proportions to the digital world. Three is a powerful number, and this morning when the clock struck thine: Britney dropped a bomb, while GaGa posted on CP time…
Forty. Minutes. #days Later. #punctuality #lentensacrifice
Dubbed “Spooky Adu” by Steve Albini (Nirvana, Joanna Newsom, PJ Harvey producer) who recorded her solo album, Dark Joan, “Leila Adu takes you on an aural journey that most progressive rock albums could only attempt.” Raised in New Zealand of Ghanaian descent, Adu has produced three acclaimed albums, written for and sung with the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, toured extensively and had radio play in the UK, mainland Europe, the US, Australasia, Russia and the Far East.
Leila Adu has a distinct sound, one that in its antiquity finds a fresh niche space among the mainstream current. Adu’s music reflects her own rich and diverse identity, blending indigenous sounds from the South Pacific and Ghana with tangibly fantastical instrumentation – a sonic funhouse of second glances and expanded perceptions. There’s a strong sense of Steampunk flowing through Adu’s Cherry Pie in the Factory Worker’s honorable eye – ear rather – demeanor, as otherworldly themes coalesce with Victorian-tinged melodies. So below: take a listen at the old, the featured, and the new of the one Miss Leila Adu…
Britney … Britney Jean Spears – okay world, you can open your ears now… Femme Fatale has arrived.
The long-awaited seventh studio release from Gen My’s pre-eminent pop figure officially dropped today and it, if nothing else, solidifies Spears’ place in the Pop pantheon. Femme Fatale hearkens to Madonna, the preeminent Pop matriarch’s sonic evolution, but moreover finds depth and its own identity in context of Spears’ own progression. In this electric world life self-context is key, when you can build a socio-sonic identity referencing only yourself and those above you – legitimately – you’re a pretty lethal lady. Let’s delve.
… you already know what it is kids
Off the heels of the “What Would Gaga Do?” panel, the Lady herself drops a country rendition of her most successful nursery rhyme to date. “Born This Way (The Country Road Version):” because if SxSW taught us nothing else #whichitdidnt it’s that one thing hipsters, cowboys, Californians, and Texans can agree on is fashion #putitallonme – bienvenidos a la flannel panel #pawsup
But seriously: The country road version of “Born This Way” is masterful… a stripped-down settled score that takes the down-home Good Ol’ Boy twang global… blending Bible Belt sounds with multicultural lyricism, making the seemingly Patriotic polarized suddenly pluralist… free hugs courtesy of the first world as Red and Blue States unite under the Rainbow Coalition Hands-Across-the-Atlas anthem
Somewhere in the middle of Britney Spears’ “most mature and upbeat album yet,” rests the soul comfortably nestled on the album sleeve; “Inside Out,” slated to be the third single, is Femme Fatale‘s unsettlingly brilliant black sheep. Britney… Britney, Britney… – Britney: No one can properly execute your sonic psyche better than you… Opus: Magnumed.
Dr. Luke becomes an aural Darren Aronofsky, producing a sonic landscape where Britney’s voice lingers as the pneuma in a world of perpetual descent, digital raindrops fall between heavy bass and dark ambient sounds… in Spears’ world since celebrity, all she has known is a world flipped upside-down… a life lived inside-out.
A bad romance – heavily damaged but never quite done – between three… it’s a haunting aural love triangle between she, he, and the omnipresent voyeuristic we…
I’ve hit the point where Pop music is so good right now – so perfect – that I can’t even make sense of it because it makes too much sense in and of itself #senseless To be fair, that point started swinging as soon as the beast beat beneath Perry’s Dark Teenage Twisted Fantasy dropped, and it officially hit when Rozay held Brit against me; Pop: because I’ll take you everywhere – call me MC Hammer #imaboutscene. GreatEclectic isn’t a moniker, it isn’t a motto, or even a mantra – it is a melodic manifesto: #thus
And here we are again… Gaga previewed yet another track from Born This Way – at yet another Thierry Mugler Fashion Week show – as she debuted the exclusive Mugler remix to the brilliant “Government Hooker.” #greatestgroundhogsdayever
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.
Belated love for the Robert Rodriguez-directed Nike “Black Mamba” ad spot starring Kobe Bryant and Kanye West, featuring Danny Trejo, Bruce Willis, your mother, brother, grandmother #inthatorder … if you haven’t seen it yet – blinkkit below:
Nike: because Yeezy taught Black Mamba how to ball out like that #bawse
Two massive tours announcements: Rihanna’s LOUD Tour is bringing Cee Lo along for the ride, and on the other side of Planet Pop, Janelle Monae and Bruno Mars are set to launch their Hooligans in Wondaland Tour; while both shows are undoubtedly about to go a yeah, yeah, yeah so hard… it’s a Cold War, so: grenades – don’t leave home without ’em
A glimpse and what the future holds…
I got an accent – see I’m from The South – but some of the most beautiful things come out my mouth…
Punch-drunk love hangover courtesy of the most rosy-cheeked forever-juvenile heartthrob this side of Justin Bieber got your Tuesday on pause? Well, that’s what the Valentines’s Daylist vault is for – the cause and cure… sit back, bask in the afterglow of el dia de los enamorados… A quick and dirty list lingering on the fringe of lunacy and true love – enjoi…
Oh love. Timelining through Cupid, St. Valentine, Aphrodite — her son Hermaphrodite — Cyrano de Bergerac, van Gogh, John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Ike and Tina, the list. goes. on. For love to be so romanticized, it is quite a trying ordeal. On this most noted of all days dedicated to love, I’ve decided to venture down the road far less desired, but far more traveled. This path of great resistance may be long and arduous, but it makes for quite the soundtrack. It’s baneful. It’s adulterous at times. It’s abasing. It’s abstract and all-consuming. It’s fleeting. But, inevitably, it’s love. So for what it’s worth: enjoi.
Said it before, I’ll say it again #whawhawhawhatdidyousay #yourebreakinuponme in case you’re worried about Pop in 2011: #dontbe
The Grammys, if nothing else, were a top notch Pop production – a beautiful stage show presenting what will be the subsequent year in industry music #whatelseisthere This year was a collaboration of the most notable in recent years – good or bad #thegrammysarenotacheesesandwich – the event brought together a realm of musicians from heavyweights to new bloods and Country crooners to West Coast crypt-walkers… all for the love of Pop #orsomethingtothateffect The performances gave a splendid snapshot of the industry’s landscape, and reflected perfectly the identity of the respective artist on stage – Justin Bieber included… so without further ado, let’s delve into GrammyView
GaGa… oh GaGa #andAGAIN A performance stripped down, stark, and raw as a newborn; explosive, soulful, and synthesized like the new human condition; and with a pure concerted energy to fuel the next era in Pop. #bornthisway: Smoke-and-mirrors stripped – abs ripped #luccarlsdrunkdietworksforshe GaGa: because Pop just got an organ donor… because the misconception is that it was an egg, because the assumption is that – like Post-Reagan urban culture, like premature emergence – crack kills… but this isn’t an egg – it’s an incubator… and in this space the artist and era remain unbreakable.
Centuries ago, long before the advent of radio or recording technology, chamber music was the music for the masses — the music in which people from nearly every segment of society could find meaning and relevance. A decade into the 21st century, Esperanza Spalding — the bassist, vocalist and composer who first appeared on the jazz scene in 2008 — takes a contemporary approach to this once universal form of entertainment with Chamber Music Society, her August 17, 2010 release on Heads Up International.
So.. it’s Grammy night – again. Thus…
inanutshell: I’m excited for a surprise this year. While I haven’t been keeping as up-to-speed with all things Grammy-related this year, apparently GaGa is doing something, and if that’s not enough something, she’s doing something in a coffin (incubator… death/birth… monster/madam… #kanyeshrug) so… that’s something – and if nothing else it’s a heads up that yes: something is going to get kilt like a Scotsman. Moving forward… Eminem has many-a-nods this year, as does Katy Perry, the Wayward Baby, Bruno Mars, Mr. Sean, and Lady Antebellum. I mean… it’s the Grammys; so – you already know. No pretense this year – let’s get to predictin’!
Album of the Year
Arcade Fire – The Suburbs
Eminem – Recovery
Lady Antebellum – Need You Now
Lady Gaga – The Fame Monster
Katy Perry – Teenage Dream
BlinkkIt: Eminem released his most authentic album to date since The Marshall Mathers LP, but from a place of noted maturity. He had a massive year with two key Super Bowl spots highlighting the soul and scene of America – Brisk as the creative claymation “this is why I don’t do commercials!” commercial, and Chrysler for the theatric homage to the lost Motor City of Motown. Lady Antebellum brings the down-home mainstream twang that is not to be overlooked in Grammy-town Nashville. The Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs captures the Pitchfork-friendly sonic aesthetic; which, historically, is triumphant in its place as a nominee – not as a victor. Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream … still not settled with this nomination by technical standards, or any standards outside of radio play really… but it’s nice to have that aspirational everygirl Pop presence within the category. Inevitably: Lady GaGa for the win, for the cause – and if nothing else, for the paws. #up
SnappIt: Well look who just got a job at the electric company… bringin’ the sweatglam-seventies-borderline-aerosol-eighties club scene back with more flamboyant fervor than the lil’ tranny train that could work a runway:
girl paws yes please.
#inanutshell: Just as big as before, but a more detailed, well-composed, worldly, optimistic “Bad Romance.” Very “After getting best undressed senior in high school, I went to Cal Berkeley, hung out in the Haight and now I’ve expanded my rainbow horizons.” *That* big sister. … *that* Dennis the Menace to Madonna’s Mr. Wilson “I love you and all but, the what are you doing on my lawn – all the tick-tock time?!”
Two Snapps A Whirl A Twirl and Circle Around
It’s a wrap; somewhere, Ronald Reagan is crying on Basquiat’s shoulder #postpostdiscodemonic #allsmileshere This is what some would call a “Game Changer,” this is what lil’ monsters would refer to as a “GagameChanger” – before underwriting “AND IT WAS BORN THIS WAY, BABY!” for
a quick fix good measure – either way, this matters. She’s been saying it all year, but it’s a bit different when it happens.
“Ugh swiper… but how does it soundddddd – what does it all meannnnn?”
Grammy Noms: the sweetest thing this side of Nana’s cookie jar #popnom. A nibble is all you need, so let’s blinkk the besties #getitgramms
Grammys 2011 Best Dance Recording: because cosmic dancers flow dolo
And then amidst the Age of Ophiuchus… just before the break of dawn… just beneath the disco ball… feet gallivanting just so above the dancefloor… voices calling out ever so viscerally, reaching over and beyond the electronic loop… five neo-disco beatknocked ballerinas found freedom in the music… dancing beyond sanity to a tune only they could hear… recreating the sense of inclusion through isolation…
Grammy Noms: the sweetest thing this side of Nana’s cookie jar #popnom. A nibble is all you need, so let’s blinkk the besties #getitgramms
Grammys 2011 Best Rap Solo Performance: because it doesn’t matter how low you go, as long as you’re not afraid to come back and claim the throne… defenestration is a beautiful death… the legendary leap into night fall… goodnight cruel world, see you in the mourning… this is far from over #musicislifeismusic