Live-Fi :: Top (1)8: The Re-Up, Recoded – Lily Allen’s No Shame Tour, Buckhead Theatre

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[Lily Allen’s] understated introduction to the world was that Saturday morning wake-up from the flashy Friday night of .com 40 puffery. Fear not: all isn’t lost in the MySpace generation; for the ten thousand avastars, there is Lily Allen: the reason, that just so happens to rhyme with silly. So, allow she to reintroduce herself…

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Wednesday night, amidst Atlanta’s metropolitan backdrop of ubiquitous development, and the internal company of a most eclectic motley crew of New South denizens, Buckhead Theatre became the stellar soundboard for Lily Allen’s latest iteration, No Shame.

The Scene: Lily’s setlist spanned eleven years of the Wordsworth of the MySpace Generation’s rhythmic discourses and dialogues by-way-of Pop lyricism; line by line, the audience retraced the footsteps and and soundtreks that led us through said decade of lucid chances… oscillating fame, and independent identity lost and found.

mood:ring :: rhapsody in muse

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mood: onyx views and new world vantages, terra nova upon alchemical wings of indigo angels… manifest movements with divine ministers and mainframe muses… synchronous rhythms and rhapsodic blues

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audiobiography: punk me tender

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The Audiobiography series invites artists to narrate the first-hand account of their lives (thus far) through soundtrack as score. A sonic signature in framework, fashion and function, Audiobiographies explore the lives of creatives through the universal language of music… that cosmic connective chord maintaining said constellation’s lived terrestrial tapestry animating this world.

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The mysterious artist Punk Me Tender is known for his very graphic, raw form of art. … Like many artists, Punk Me Tender doesn’t have a strategy for his art. He only acts based on instinct and doesn’t follow any rules.

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First things first:

Vinyl Cut Prose

(effectually, stream of consciousness conversational riffs with creative work in the world)

Punk’s pieces amplify guerrilla art’s definitive deviation from the established normative constructs in-and-of fine art convention. Compositions find harmony in the consummation between abstract and concrete… ultraviolet symphonic imagery evoking visceral engagement between feminine form and masculine technique. In a textbook term: Rebel Romanticism.

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Mutinous matriarchs survey urban scapes through pastel-sprayed ocular veils, porcelain and onyx converge, femme frondeurs don monarch wings of triumphant metamorphosis; floral couture and chandelier corsets, shattered chrysalis shells trail beneath nocturnal parchment.

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mood:ring :: “inner outer views”

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mood: lifted and gifted, stealth serenades with star-crossed silhouettes and soul-flame renegades c/o @hijackart 

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mood:ring :: “supersonic tint, cosmic disguise”

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mood: silhouette sockets and corner pockets, windows to the soul all in the palm… hand-eye coordination station c/o @evanyorkart #lightguisezeitgeist

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mood:ring :: “release the cosmogony”

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mood: motion imagery halfway between the silicon glitch and source periphery, mossless lossless c/o @artworkbyartlord 

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mood:ring :: “the greatest soul dream cure of all”

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mood: musing future movements with capeless crusaders, evolution revolution on-call with pint-sized guerrilla prismatics c/o @mrbrainwash

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mood:ring :: “the final cut must show on”

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mood: raising the curtain on goldenrod rhythms and hollywood hymns with scene animators… c/o @chaz_bojorquez x @og_slick 

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mood:ring :: “new beat vibes”

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mood: scribing the dance of denizen chameleons and the art of camouflage backdrops with urban guardians c/o @hushartist 

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SnappScenes: “John Wayne,” Lady Gaga x Jonas Akerlund [Work Tape]

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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

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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 –

mood:ring :: “some might say i echo moonbeam levels”

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mood: traversing future movements with valkyrie trilogies somewhere between valhalla and cerulean ocular canopies c/o @pamgood2 @drsc0

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mood:ring :: “starchild to 5th dimension, it’s augustine code”

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mood: architectural alchemical dia del sol sessions with language artists and rhapsodic blues c/o @retna

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mood:ring :: “memory of a free human after all”

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mood: telepathic televisuals and inversive innervisions, channeling anatomical retrospectives with human starmen c/o @drsc0 @d7606art @voxxromana 

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mood:ring :: “diamond mind making nature scene”

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mood: dream awhile, scene awhile, studio side prophets over profits with siddhartha c/o Restitution Press, “photography for pleasure or profit…” #dontuseyourfilmforuglypurpose 

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mood:ring :: “the cool brew”

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mood: ears open, eyes wide, tell a scope touring with the mellow yellow tribe c/o @gift.davis 

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mood:ring :: dancing apocalift float

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mood: rooted in cardiac rhythms beneath stellar canopies c/o @obeygiant 

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Serving with Slaysia, Ep. 4

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Asia… Asia, Asia: Asia. Is a very real thing. And reality will deal. In increasing measure. Well into the forseeable future. Asia is a Hollywood Renaissance. Black, Female, French, Bulldog. Serving for the stars. Slaying for life. Sitting sideways. Shading moonlight. Asia didn’t sign up for this, but — as a wise man once said: you don’t sign up for what you’re born into. Asia was born to slay for life and serve the light. Werk. It. Black. Sheesus. #amen

Act 1: Serving “I’ll Worry About My Opposable Thumbs – You Worry About Your Data Plan” Realness

· · ·

Act 2: Serving “Let Them Eat Couture” Realness

mood:ring :: stage fruition

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mood: coffee in the canyon, high tea on the hills… sunrise over silhouettes … c/o @theblakhat @wrdsmth, “hollywood has been resting on its laurels far too long.”

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In Defense of… Music

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It’s dead, right? That’s the tone. “Music is dead wrong right now.” No. Never. Not, ever. Somewhere in the midst, art lingers, latent but everlasting. Immortality rests in the rhythm. No matter how broke, bullied, abandoned, starved, outcast, paralyzed, apparently descended… you can always muse. The language of the gods from the stars exudes. Those lyrics and harmonies will sustain the seemingly los culture. From the mouths of babes, from the medley of blues, from the birth of tragedy, sagas continue.

MaM

Vinyl Cut Prose: “Pneumatose”

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I date many things… cities, sounds, dreams. These things happen. When I date sounds, it is a full-stop courtship: get to know their interests, their background, their dreams, with whom they engage, do they have siblings, where do they post up to get down – can they read. These things. Eventually, the dalliance fades and something worthwhile is made. Eventually, we mix a master, and reverberate rhythms of the most loyal low-fidelity.

All of this is to say, I mingle with sonic musings. I’m a made match for muses. What does a first date sound like? Like the first take. It’s slow on the uptake, but fairly deliberate. It finds a track it grooves with, and explores it from myriad angles, pitches, and plays. We talk about life, shared experiences, we find lyrical camaraderie and beat-driven commonality. We find freedom in the music. There’s liberation in improvisation. You take an understood foundation and say: “I know you, you know you – here’s how I hear you, here’s how you appear to my ears… Here’s how the finished product unravels into the unknown.”

It gets weird. It remains inspired. It leaves few scores unsettled. It’s somewhat manic. It’s experimental. It is not interested in how you move, more so in the guarantee that you move and what compels you to move at all. It, takes, its, time.

Vinyl Cut Prose: EAU DE GAGA – A FILM BY STEVEN KLEIN

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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.
#youmeansallofyou

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 …

Lyrically Speaking: “PARTYNAUSEOUS,” Lady Gaga

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Good music speaks volumes… listen, look, and linger in fantastic rhythmic reality: lyrically speaking

“PARTYNAUSEOUS,” artRAVE (2014)

Hi, I want to come and make peace with you
but they won’t let me, no, they won’t let me through
I don’t mind if they a-arrest me
’cause I’m wearing my Versace

Why can’t we just put on a smile
and a buzz buzz buzz buzz? We all might be sick
Whether it’s at first or after a few
drinks; we’re gonna unite, don’t they?

Vinyl Cut Prose: “Free Falling,” Florrie

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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

Vinyl Cut Prose: SxSwine

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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.

Vinyl Cut Prose: “Home,” Jess Glynne

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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.

Biorhythmic: “Seashells,” Florrie

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Florrie Arnold’s career has to be one of the most enjoyable to follow as a Pop fankid, culture connoisseur, and audio-anglophile; it’s, just, good, music – period.

2010’s Introduction, 2011’s Experiments, 2012’s Late – all EPs, all independent, all soundtracks for something of an anomaly in the current industry – sonic record of artistic development, unbound by mainstream market trajectory.

April brings the Bristol-native’s fourth EP, entitled Sirens. The album’s first track, “Seashells” was released late last week and – it works.

Scene Canvassing: Oli Holmes’ “… Downtime,” “Paper Graffiti”

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Oli Holmes is an artist by medium of craft installation and illustration, global citizen by way of Sydney #auslandwizardry and sheer creative by destined decree. Behind the monkier of Electric Puppet, Holmes crafts miniature masterpieces, subtle second glances, and pop portraitures with a fresh perspective.

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I love that with Oli’s work, the world is his coloring book, the sidewalk is his sandbox studio.

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Decennium Spin: “The College Dropout,” Kanye West

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“Through the wire, to the limit to the wall, for a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all…”

#dropthuglife

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Junior year of high school, despite – and, in a contrarian way, due to – the re-election of George W. Bush, 2004 was an amazing year in an equally-understated way. Off the heels of Jay-Z’s blueprint, in the slightly distant midst of red-crossed cameras, stood the gifted present of a re-educated maestro, the Don in pink Polo: Kanye West.

Kanye West's Performance at the Canal Room

Ten years ago today, pre-Yeezus walked onto the scene a solo rapper; through the wires, past the slow jamz, West set his own blueprint for fame’s new workout plan.

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Now Prosing: “Gondola Crimewave,” Night Surgeon

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Love, this

in so many ways…

Night Surgeon’s Gondola Crimewave EP is slated for a March 2014 release, but I was given an early appointment to sample the latest from Portland’s sonic doctors. Needless to say, if the ailment is color-by-numbers iPop – today’s prescription is two GCs and a midnight call.

#POPCANONS The Anatomical Zeitgeist No. 8, Est. 2013

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Here’s a little story that I made up, so let’s make believe: four years ago I had a party that was too much fun for me…

– “I’ve Just Begun (Having My Fun)

#basically

Back in 2009, I had a little fun drafting up my list of the top twelve Pop artists from the first decade of the millennium (I get bored, it happens). I made up a little narrative of the icons that lived the blueprint for a global lifestyle – more than a genre, an ongoing epic poem defining the general public of that elusive scene, scape, soundtrack we like to call Pop. I was fresh out of undergrad; but forever a 90s kid caught in the nostalgia of homecoming kings, queens, and courts, naturally I paired off the lords and ladies of the said vanity fair, in a fitting hommage to the heralded pantheon of celebrity (which is effectually no more than a glamorized high school) #youcantsitwithus Five coupled jesters of the court, a pair of regal deities, and a pair of honorable mentions (because it’s America – so as long as you’re the best loser, there’s space for you on the podium – but don’t get crazy).

The list went a little something like this…

Vinyl Cut Prose: Britney Jean

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I’ve spent the past two years since Femme Fatale mastering the art and science of global media and communication with Britney as my canon. I don’t really need to prove anything, and apparently neither does she; because Britney Jean founds and finds itself in that, it breathes … I appreciate Britney Jean.

Holding the thread close to a dream, while intelligence becomes the steal
For what if gold, showed token sold, while manners abright and rightfully bold
Make a wish, a princess dream, unfold the map, a small lil bean
To vanish the air and trace out the new, so scared to love, so soon who knew
Beautiful voice creeps in my head, only one person person can wear this red
Traces behavior, young and small; I see land, I must fall

 – Britney Jean

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Linger in the legacy… intelligence as the steal is Britney Jean – no, she is not Gaga, nor Madonna, nor is hers the aspired claim on their cerebral domain, that knowledge which detaches one from visceral humanity… that spark to light the first morning star. Yet, only one can wear the red, the Scarlet Letter Britney dons instead… And so seeing land, she must fall; that grounding rooting the human and iconic plight – from dust we came and to dust we return, no matter how high the peak flight.

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This is the record of someone who’s already been where you want her to stay, but that’s the point – you can’t evolve, and still return to that place unchanged. But you’ll never see it that way, because you’re not she.

Revealing itself much like a sunset over the Hollywood Hills we have an aural venture through lightly hued layers of majestic technicolor faded, ascending as a systematic rise within the naturally spectacular, muted neon chromatic escalating to the heavens, forever rooted in the Canyon, steady upon the capitalized moniker of America’s finest institution – studio stardom.

Sounds of the Mayan 2012: Five Albums That Existed This Year – Food and Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Part 1

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So… if nothing else, 2012 proved that by George the Mayans had it all kinds of right: this year proved a renaissance of apocalyptic proportions – a year when the culturally amnesiatic cynics failed to recognize a sea change over the screams of their own skeptic scoffs… alas, even in the midst of privately-backed Super-PAC pocketed media, bindered women, NRA publicity stunts, mass school shootings, a deluge of false formations and knowledge starvation, the spectacle’s continued triumph over literacy shrugged – and oh, Sandy; even in the midst of all that, there was music – glorious music – because after all, to mark the fall, the birth of tragedy is forever  conceived in the spirit of music.

Somewhere along the 365 steps on the road to perdition, albums debuted, someone named Frank caused an Ocean of tears, a boy named Ken lamented the m.a.a.d. urban terrain, and Fiona spun the wheel while time idly passed by… but this isn’t about them – although everything else prior has unremarkably revolved around the former two – this list is about five albums I listened to, five albums I didn’t need people to tell me I liked, five works that are tragic in their own right, five that may not be cool, may be too young for school, but five that at the end of the day reminded me of what “those” Mayans might play had they lived to see this day…

Food and Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Part 1 – Lupe Fiasco

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Lupe is to the educated, the other culture connoisseurs, those presently existing from an existential perspective, what Kendrick became for those who don’t have the time, patience, attention span, or concern for anything external of the mainstream myopic. Fiasco is the good wiz in a mad capital to Lamar’s maad citied good kid. Food and Liquor 2 is the gospel opus, this Great American Rap Album is Part 1 is a raptrospective on the imperial collapse of a nation unchained in a state of voluntary mass surveilled servitude. If this black everything is too long winded, too creatively intertwined between vocabulary and vernacular, too scriptural with slang, too substantial for contemporary tastemakers’ slacker style – that’s the point. Much like Lauryn sitting atop her hill – Lupe’s distance from the nucleus of now is what grants inevitable goodness: Fiasco’s Tiresian opus remains forever sitting mad pretty.

Sounds of the Mayan 2012: Five Albums That Existed This Year – 1991 EP

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So… if nothing else, 2012 proved that by George the Mayans had it all kinds of right: this year proved a renaissance of apocalyptic proportions – a year when the culturally amnesiatic cynics failed to recognize a sea change over the screams of their own skeptic scoffs… alas, even in the midst of privately-backed Super-PAC pocketed media, bindered women, NRA publicity stunts, mass school shootings, a deluge of false formations and knowledge starvation, the spectacle’s continued triumph over literacy shrugged – and oh, Sandy; even in the midst of all that, there was music – glorious music – because after all, to mark the fall, the birth of tragedy is forever conceived in the spirit of music.

Somewhere along the 365 steps on the road to perdition, albums debuted, someone named Frank caused an Ocean of tears, a boy named Ken lamented the m.a.a.d. urban terrain, and Fiona spun the wheel while time idly passed by… but this isn’t about them – although everything else prior has unremarkably revolved around the former two – this list is about five albums I listened to, five albums I didn’t need people to tell me I liked, five works that are tragic in their own right, five that may not be cool, may be too young for school, but five that at the end of the day reminded me of what “those” Mayans might play had they lived to see this day…

1991 EP – Azealia Banks

Azealia-Banks-1991

This debut EP is Banks’ foray into the music industry by being in its entirety what every great pop album captures with their tracklist: four successive opening tracks riding in like the horsemen of the apocalypse – square up. Azealia Banks hearkens to a more boldly beautiful time… a more vamped and vogued era, a most smooth new jack swelter, zoot suited synth and burgundy sugar bass. Brazen hooks spring from the mouth of Manhattan’s newest underground monarch, Kombucha punchlines break the rich beats, and track names like “1991” and “212” bring to the fore some voodoo kind of mathemagical to the mainstream. New York comes to life in a most clear 20/20 hindsight within Banks’ sonic bacchanalia. It is the cultivated synthesis of electronic music, subterranean subculture, and signature borough flow that crowns Azealia N.Y.’s most high chosen.

Sounds of the Mayan 2012: Five Albums That Existed This Year – Trilogy

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So… if nothing else, 2012 proved that by George the Mayans had it all kinds of right: this year proved a renaissance of apocalyptic proportions – a year when the culturally amnesiatic cynics failed to recognize a sea change over the screams of their own skeptic scoffs… alas, even in the midst of privately-backed Super-PAC pocketed media, bindered women, NRA publicity stunts, mass school shootings, a deluge of false formations and knowledge starvation, the spectacle’s continued triumph over literacy shrugged – and oh, Sandy; even in the midst of all that, there was music – glorious music – because after all, to mark the fall, the birth of tragedy is forever  conceived in the spirit of music.

Somewhere along the 365 steps on the road to perdition, albums debuted, someone named Franked caused an Ocean of tears, a boy named Ken lamented the m.a.a.d. urban terrain, and Fiona spun the wheel while time idly passed by… but this isn’t about them – although everything else prior has unremarkably revolved around the former two – this list is about five albums I listened to, five albums I didn’t need people to tell me I liked, five works that are tragic in their own right, five that may not be cool, may be too young for school, but five that at the end of the day reminded me of what “those” Mayans might play had they lived to see this day…

Trilogy – The Weeknd

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After the party is the after-party and after the after is the hangover… a house of balloons bacchanalia, lifted nocturnal Thursday smolder exploding before sunrise’s echoed silence. The Weeknd’s major label release captured the entirety of an amnesiatic culture’s underground. Monstrous melodies and ominous epiphanies linger through a three act hip-hoperatic. It is so beastly and so beautiful, so filthy, so rich.

Vinyl Cut Prose: “National Anthem,” Lana del Rey

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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

SnappScenes: “Shot You Down” – Florrie

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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.

SnappScenes: “No Church in the Wild,” The Throne

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The Throne… Black Jesus walks in the wild… Where there is no church, just a primal society of spectacular sinners in the magnificent monde a la mode… Amen fashion… London is looting, Paris is burning, New York is occupied, victors are vilified, and the beasts are the beautiful beacons of a new world… Postcolonial cultural institutions, Neo-capitalism beneath the civilly disobedient liberated lady, soundtracks run through the veins and veneer of a blind Justice Judy… Mitochondrial thieves, sons of Reagan’s mythological Welfare Queens, tears on the mausoleum floor, lies on the lips of a priest… Faustus grants voices, viles of victorious libations, and a hand to grasp to the thug’s prayers reached…. Human beings to a mob, what’s a mob to a king, what’s a king to a god, what’s a god to a non-believer who don’t believe in anything… #preach

December 22, 2011

Live-Fi: Florrie – HMV’s Next Big Thing, Barfly Camden, London

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Pop. Out. My. Ears. #yes

The Siren: Florrie Arnold

The Scene: Snow, ice, pints, and Summer Nights… on the outside: London’s first snow of the year, on the inside: the strobed sublime of HMV’s Next Big Thing – snowballs and disco balls make for a splendid sonic nightcap. Roughly speaking, Barfly hosted a beautiful melange of art gallery purveyor types, thirty-something Euro/Dance Pop aficionados, twenty-something knit hooded hipsters, Camden characters, low-key Diesel-and-cardigan donning Pop fiends, raven-haired East London teens… moustaches, brown leather satchels and black rimmed glasses, cocktail dresses, red lipstick and suede heels, scarves and sailor stripes… On the floor: an Anglophilic audience with a distinct taste for Xenomania; at the helm: a doe-eyed, denim-donning neo-disco diamond in the rough behind a pulsing pokerface bluff, and the beat of her own drum #litrally

The Sound: All the best bits of Brit-and-Synth-Pop – period. Much like a fine wine, or the Fugees break-up, Florrie’s stint as an unsigned artist yields a product that gets better with time. Saturday’s set list covered her relatively brief back solo catalogue, spanning both her Introduction (“Left too Late,” “Summer Nights,” “Give Me Your Love“) and Experiments (“Begging Me,” “I Took A Little Something,” “Experimenting with Rugs,” “What You Doing This For”) EPs, and throwing some new tracks in the mix (“Without A Trace,” “Go“).

TrapperKeeper – Best of 2011: Subway in Harlem 2: Breakfast in Philly

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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

“SaturdayMorningKungFu” – Subway in Harlem 2: Breakfast in Philly Savvy Society

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Night in the Sweype: Toro Y Moi, The Relentless Garage, Highbury, London

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The Sire: Chaz “Toro Y Moi” Bundick

The Sound: Chillwave/Eighties Synth-Funk

The Scene: The Relentless Garage, Highbury, London, UK

Toro Y Moi graced East London with the infectious sounds of his South Carolinian synth-wave swelter on Wednesday at Canonbury’s Relentless Garage. The venue packed 600 people in a mingling of Red Stripes and sailor stripes: yuppies, hipsters, blipsters, iPhone photographers, and Instagrandmas on sway in a hazy hole-in-the-wall. The mood was mellow, the bassline ebb, beasted, flowed, and bellowed, as Chaz Bundick brought his signature Southern Hipstertality to Highbury.

SnappScenes: “Marry the Night,” Lady Gaga

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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

Vinyl Cut Prose: Black Jesus † Amen Fashion (Mugler Remix)

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Sometimes… my heart, sometimes, feels so black…in the dunes of sand… and other days, my heart feels like rainbows. Mugler. Mugler. Amen. Jesus is the new black. I am Mugler woman. I am quiet; I am strong. Amen. Planet Mugler. Mugler. Gaga. I am Mugler Woman. Don’t f*ck with me. Don’t f*ck with Mugler. Don’t f… f… Don’t f*ck with Mugler woman. Mugler. Scheiße. Say a prayer… Take me, Paris. I am Paris; we are Paris. Do not anger a Mugler woman; she will eat you. Planet Mugler. I will eat you. I will eat you… Mugler, Mugler… Jesus is the new black. I am Mugler woman. I am quiet; I am strong. Amen. Welcome to Paris. It’s Fashion Week. We are Paris.

ADIMAS :: In Memoriam: “Civilization”

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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*

#alldayimemeaboutscene

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

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Play of the Day: Clockwork Orchestra – “Mummer”

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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.

BlinkkBeats: Lady Gaga – “Government Hooker” (Mugler Remix)

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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

SnappScenes: Lil’ Wayne – “6 Foot, 7 Foot” ft. Cory Gunz

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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

SnappScenes: Britney Spears – “Hold It Against Me” Video

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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

BlinkkIt:

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In 140 or Less:

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SnappScenes: Rihanna – “S&M”

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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

SnappIt

‘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.

SnappScenes: “Chitty Chitty,” Wonder Broz.

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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!

SnappScenes: “Moment 4 Life” ft. Drake; Nicki Minaj

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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.

The Masquerade de Maîtresse Nicki Minaj

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Nicki Minaj is the pre-eminent female MC of Generation Now. She’s a massive attack on the senses; scorching eardrums with fire-breathing vocals, and blinding corneas with neon-shine vestments – and it’s all at once. She’s so pink you can taste it – a Blow Pop, scattered, chopped, and cooked up by a local street vendor on the Brooklyn block: pank; young culture’s saccharin-infused quarter water: Pank pop. Hype, hair, and hyperimmediacy with hood-pass in hand – she is the pop face of urban misses.

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Her style is a snapshot; an urban blender mixing and matching gutter gear with cosmopolitan couture – pose, a harder Harajuku girl posted on the corner of Tokyo-chic and Harlem-beast – pose, a cracked mirror brightly reflecting what’s left of iconic Barbie’s shattered remains – pose, the Young Money queenpin reigning supreme beneath a neon crown – pose, an amazonian commander-in-chief sitting shotgun rocking steady in pink – pose.

Her sound bites eardrums, breaks vinyl, and borders on schizophonia. One minute she’s a soprano-pitched Valley Girl with a bubblegum Swiss Army tongue, and the next she’s laying down lines colder than Weezy’s grill, with the bassment boss swelter of Biggie Smalls. In any given moment, she’ll switch gears like a Maserati, as she blesses every track with her manic John Hancock signature flow. Her records are deviant dialogues between a milieu of manic personalities; line-by-line she throws ventriloquist vocals across a cerebral sonicscape – from Roman Zolansky to Onika, Nicki stands somewhere in between.

Music Monday: Kanye’s “Power” on SNL – The Defenestration of West

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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.”