The Nativity, The Passion, The Pascha Pop Soul of Lady Gaga’s “The Cure”

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Live from the Calvary that is Coachella, welcome to this Pop Communion that is The Cure …

The-Cure

Feels, on, reals.

So it is and, again, here we are… and #againagain I don’t really know where to begin or end with this one as again again again there is no beginning or end to the perpetual Pascha that is “The Cure.” I still haven’t figured it out yet, but I enjoy musing in the meantime… #fortherecord #noneofthisisbinding #itsalljustmakebelieve #dontciteme

On the seventh day, Gaga had finished this work of creation, so she put to rest this Famous curse…

The Pretense

So, “The Cure.” I guess, broadly, briefly, it feels like… surrendering into the unknown abyss after a forty-day desert trek, only to find… that the hard-fought rock bottom was but a bridge, all along, before that luminous cloud rocket number nine.

Ciao Manhattan… Sunset Genesis in the Living Lens of Perfect Illusion

biorhythmic, Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Three years later: Perfect Illusion; welcome to the new testament.

^

#literallytheonlyfeaturedreferencedirectlyexplainingwhatanyofthatmeans

pi_single_10x10

Perfect Illusion, as its own release is a mirror, an aural gaze inside the disco boulder of sonic self-realization. Building scene from a grain of salt, mother of pearl emerging from this her world oyster, three lifetimes later emerges the post-pressurized diamond, setting sail from Shangri-La, steady rolling along the PCH with a rhythmic detour down Laurel Canyon, from rebel hippie rock through the Sunset Strip’s Electric Ladyland until we settle in the gapless gallivance of Xanadu’s disco wonderland – that living pantheon for all Angeles-bound-and-stellar-bred cosmic artists.

That boulder, that diamond, that crystal gem here finds its sonic identity in the literal pop; that cataclysmic synthesis of hard rock and disco inferno – that blast to birth the boulder’s mirrored glass.

So here, as its own entity, Perfect Illusion is the synergy of Golden Coast tones maximalized and harmonized with that most signature human chord, to the point of genre eradication in the face of just well-crafted tribal opus soundtracking. Rock, Folk, Disco, R&B (check the background vocals, kids, some kind of rhythmic blue), together, in a manner most-threatening to the sonic status quo… any time we merge those most marginalized Canyon dwellers, city slickers, urban denizens, soulmen, cosmic dancers, punk rockers, jazz cats, and funk grooveallegiant together in that secret space of aural invisible, we usurp the very system that gentrifies through genre and “mainstreaming.” Welp, with Mark Ronson, Kevin Parker, BloodPop, and Josh Homme (get it, Queens of the Stone Age… get it, Radio… Gaga… Queen… of the… never mind) on soundboard as the latest four Gospel Unicornmen of the Apopcalypse squad: buckle up buttercup, bricks-and-string are back on the airwaves #catchthebeat

Perfect Illusion, as the lead single of a comprehensive record album, is the first law of universal dynamics; the Law of Mentalism: the all is mind, the universe is mental.

Vinyl Mind Flow: RAINBOW BODY /// Millie Brown

art, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Full Disclosure: I went to an art gallery one day, one thing led to another and here we are. I don’t know much about art, but I like words. When collected in a contained space, regardless of intended cohesion, sometimes these words take on a life of their own. Regardless of proper punctuation or standardized syntax, sometimes these words manifest into atmospheres of linguistic articulation made visual. Sometimes… the message is nothing more than the mood conveyed, and the connection between messengers new and old. This… could be one of said times. #kanyeshrug

#ForTheRecord I don’t write reviews: I wax poetic and wane retrospective

*Here’s when you can start paying attention

DSC_0893i

Le Trap Haus Presents: Vinyl Mind Flow, Ep. 2

TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

The mind is a Geppetto.

The mind is a character, crafted at the hands of a Disney – to portray and display navigation. Precise design, guidance, vision, supposed to nurture and cultivate. Educate, inform, to build the context, the mental escape of this world for the inanimate – it has the power; and channel energy and light by way of inspired design, craftsmanship, workmanship, inspiration, execution, perspective, that creative spark

– and yet: it’s quiet, it’s sure. stoic. astute. precise and so articulate, in so few words, not that it doesn’t know them, but rather that it chooses to explore… the endless possibility in the world of language, in all its beautiful forms, and manifestations. it reaches beyond convention, and creates entirely new points of articulation. highlights them… paths, new roads to explore and ways to get from point a to point b and back again…

The Hills are Alive… with the sound of muses

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

I riffed on The Sound of Music tribute at The 87th Annual Academy Awards Ceremony for ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds: this is the verbatim transcription…

So it would seem the hills are alive with the sound of music… the Hollywood Hills to be exact, this night, this beautiful night, Oscar Sunday… and amidst all of the flashing lights, Mother Monster, the pop mistress, the matriarch of music on behalf of a flailing industry – thought to be dead thought to be gone, thought to be sold out – rose to the occasion only to prove that all the charlatans were dead wrong.

Music is that which cements the experience of any moment, that auditory moment where those aural architects, as I said before, are able to manipulate the invisible… to be able to tap into those currents and those frequencies that you cannot see, but that you can feel stronger than any other sensory experience you’ve ever felt before… when you close your eyes, and you can feel your heart beat. When you close your eyes, and you can feel the goosebumps rising; when you can feel that ugly duckling becoming that beautiful swan, rising above it all because it found the rhythm, and it could never fall – it would falter – but never off that cliff never to never be seen again…

Vinyl Cut Prose: “Pneumatose”

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Cut Prose, Vinyl Mind Flow

sc-pop-i

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.

HOW CAN YOU READ THIS? THERE’S NO PICTURES!, Ep. 1: The Crossroads, Laurel Canyon + Mulholland Drive

Vinyl Mind Flow

VINYL MIND FLOW #OKGO

I riffed on Laurel Canyon and Mulholland Drive into a recording device for eight minutes and forty-nine seconds: this is the verbatim transcription.

Okay, fifteen minutes. I’m at Mulholland and Laurel Canyon. So, I guess the most fitting thing for me to do at this point would be to talk about what Laurel Canyon and Mulholland mean to me. Fifteen minutes. So we’re on the clock, and we’re twenty seconds in: so, to me, Mulholland Laurel Canyon is just The … I wanna say The Fame. Oh. I wanna say The Fame, but it is fame: it’s American fame. What is The Fame to me? Mulholland and Laurel Canyon are Hollywood. It’s Cal – it’s … we’ll figure it out together.

Laurel Canyon is the Hippie Movement, right. It’s this, y’know, makeshift cobblestone ver– y’know, sloping – It’s… this canyon. It’s a canyon. It’s a cavity. It’s a cavity; but it’s the vein, and it’s the artery at the same time. Y’know like, you get traction. Y’know Laurel Canyon is the Hippies, is the Sixties, it’s the counterculture. It’s Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison. Umm, it’s an odd counterculture. It’s very calm and weathered. And then you’ve got Mulholland, which is fame to me.

Fifteen Minute Transcription: Cheek to Cheek – Lady Gaga, Tony Bennett

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Cheek to Cheek is an aural alloy of the most masterful. Elements converge in a record album of jazz standards and one-take suzies, tears and tempos, fine-tuned fibres of the greatest art form to emerge from this American soil… classical and contemporary pillars found a musical canon of the most necessary, that which maintains the known order between high art and popular culture by collaboration and hybrid creation… in its pairing of Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga, the immense everything of said reality (think about it, think harder) Cheek to Cheek is ARTPOP, Vol. II.

POVXE4FD4LC46UT6BSX4I5N7VA

If, IF I were to blinkk this I’d probably say… don’t rush it, let it linger and waft along those invisible currents only the audible architects can manage to manipulate with their coursing lyrics and lifted crescendos…

For a girl who doesn’t wear pants, who dons only the holiest of stockings… and for a gentleman who watches an industry of beat-backed four-letter woes, where he once wailed infinite rhythms of legendary prose – anything goes. What’s old is new, and what’s new is never lost, just hidden beneath the aura of pop culture:

Vinyl Mind Flow // Be Scene: “G.U.Y – An ARTPOP Film” – Lady Gaga, Haus of Gaga

A.V Hub, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

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

#kanyeshrugsandpoplove #electricworldlife

G.U.Y – An ARTPOP Film:

because,

“I know. But I can’t stay up here on my hill forever.

#queenedknight #kingdomed

Spears Subtext Fantasy

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

#neverforget #girlunderguardian

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

unnamed

… and on the sixth day Gaga unearthed the feast, saw everything that she had gamed… and behold: it was very good

Crate Dig: My First Blog Post #ever #kindof

Soundtrek, TK:DC, Vinyl Mind Flow

Stumbled across my now-defunct first blog from back in 2007 #thatyear and in the past six years… not much has changed at all… what can I say?

For the sake of morbid curiosity… from October 2007… my first blog post… #itsadoosie #notheresnopictures

swiper sighs manifesto

So until I figure out this whole music blog thing i’ll just blog about pop culture, pseudo-politics, philosophy, anthropology, sociology, ology … the usual and of course media/entertainment which includes music, movies, tv a bit, books, or whatever suits my fancy.

Ummmm as for the music scene right now – it’s lacking in the mainstream. American Top 40 isn’t a good representation of music, the Top 40 should be indicative of the culture. The top 40 is watered down everything, even pop is watered down. Say what you will about Britney, Christina, N Sync, and Backstreet – but they were Pop: down to the core. They were catchy and they got into your head. They were like Saccharin; they were too sweet, and it was so synthetic, but they were devoured by the masses. You could not deny the sheer “Pop” of it.

SnappScenes: Lady Gaga, “Applause”

A.V Hub, Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

I live for the applause, applause, applause – I live for the applause-plause, live for the applause #paws

screen-shot-2013-08-22-at-7-36-10-pm

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

screen-shot-2013-08-22-at-7-36-35-pm

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.

screen-shot-2013-08-22-at-7-37-35-pm-1.png
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

#snappit

The Re-Branding of America: Fame, it is the New Black

TK:LDN, Vinyl Mind Flow

Fame… and it goes a little something like this

… and it smells a little something like cette

How to Make it in Famerica

 

FAME, as compounded by Lady Gaga:

Tears of Belladonna: One part government hooker #tearsontap, one part femme fatale #looselytranslated, one part Donna sans the Ma #bellathemonsterball, consummated in a nocturnal matrimony #nightshade and equally beautiful death #jumpingoutthewindow, wrapped in the skin of the most Luciferian fruit #suchaholyfood

Atropa belladonna or Atropa bella-donna, commonly known as BelladonnaDevil’s BerriesDeath Cherries or Deadly Nightshade, is a perennialherbaceous plant in the family Solanaceae, native to EuropeNorth Africa, and Western Asia. The foliage and berries are extremely toxic, containing tropane alkaloids. These toxins include scopolamine and hyoscyamine which cause a bizarre delirium and hallucinations, and are also used as pharmaceutical anticholinergics. The drug atropine is derived from the plant.

SnappScenes: “Give Me All Your Luvin'” ft. Nicki Minaj & M.I.A. – Madonna

A.V Hub, Soundtrek, TK:LDN, Vinyl Mind Flow

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.

SnappScenes: “Judas” – Lady Gaga

A.V Hub, TK:NYC, Vinyl Mind Flow

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

LGJV.gif

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.

Put Your Palms Up Sunday: Lady Gaga – “Judas”

Soundtrek, TK:NYC, Vinyl Mind Flow

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…

Sunday Best: Florrie – “Introduction” EP

Soundtrek, TK:NYC, Vinyl Mind Flow

Meet UK-native drummer, singer, songwriter Florrie. The ambassador of contempo-bossa-synth-pop dropped her debut “Introduction” EP this week; and well, needless to say, I haven’t heard music this poppin’ fresh from across the pond since I hopped off the Lily pad.

Florrie in three:

  • Florrie: as traditional a musician and performer as can possibly be, but at the same time a completely new type of independent pop artist.
  • Florrie’s bold, attention-grabbing pop music is at once robotic and human, chunky and svelte, big on ideas and not shy of explosive choruses.
  • Florrie is a 21 year old artist, originally from Bristol in the south-west of the UK.

The four-track EP is a warm welcome from the Bristol native. “Introduction” is an expansive sound board touching on disco, alternative, funk, and ska. Each track clings to a specific sonic aesthetic, and though brief, the debut is a broad-reaching soundscape that blends the best of Florrie’s wide-spread influences and contemporaries.

“Call of the Wild” comes in like the smoky haze of a surfer speakeasy as want you need you it’s the call of the wild, something animal more than physical; satisfy me ‘cos I’m fallin’ apart, synchronicity in our chemistry rides over subtle electric wet string reverb. Layered guitar and percussion build beneath breathy vocals as the woman-not-siren calls before a Misirlou-esque riff crashes onto a bossa beach. The track is a clear standout, with strong lyrics and oscillating instrumentation – one minute coasting through a mellow beatbox bridge, only to swell back into a sonic tsunami of bombast.

Life in the Sweyepe: Electric Zoo 2010

Live, Soundtrek, TK:NYC, Vinyl Mind Flow

Nestled halfway between Harlem and Brooklyn lies Randall’s Island. This Labor Day weekend the islet transformed into a beautiful blend of Wonkaland and Woodstock, Sodom and Gomorah, Israel and Ibiza, Pleasure Island and Neverland – a hybrid between that Pinocchio place where lost boys find themselves and where Peter Pan’s lost boys aimlessly meander… all perpetuated by the most nourishing of all life fuels… music – electronic dance music.

Somehow, someway, the past, present, and future of music made their collective way to this halogen Haus of worship. My journey no doubt veered from the norm, but when  the clandestine is commonplace, all odd experiences are good. I was like a kid in a candy store – no matter where I went, there I was, with a sugar-rushed stranger and makeshift chaperone there to guide me along from one aisle to the next. Though the guide may not know where you’re coming from, or how to get to where you’re going, they know your destination. One second you’re lost in Manhattan, and the next you find yourself MapQuesting directions from the UES to Randall’s Island, and then you’re watching hipsters take cabs to Harlem bus stops – simple foreshadowing that no matter how far “above” those kids one is – no matter how objectively I scoff at their ways from a far more worldly and morally superior place – we’re all the same entitled Gen-Yers… making our way from decadence to debauchery by way of urban decay.

Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect: drugs, neon, iPhones, Ray Bans, Twitter handles, something, anything, nothing, everything… Needless to say, I got exactly what I expected. I’m not really sure when Electric Zoo made sense, or when I became a part of it. Maybe it was when I knew which bus was instinctively mine, the one that was  half black women – mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmas – and half NYC Prep understudies – twenty-somethings with extra time on their hands, semi-colorful cotton clothes in their closets, and the Shazaam app for when they need to Google if “that band who does that song from that commercial” is going to be at Electric Zoo. Those preconceptions and stereotypes faded as quickly as any sense of conventional reality in a cloud of smoke behind the bus.

Unforgettable, Vol. 19: Britney Spears – Blackout

Soundtrek, TK:NYC, Vinyl Mind Flow

img00376-20100815-0940

2007 climaxed the greatest American tale since The Civil War, and Britney Spears’ Blackout was our living soundtrack. Just as Spears was our brown-eyed girl of misfortune, Blackout is the requiem of our American Dream. Britney was an ideal created in our own image. Our image, our perception of our self worth, in the past decade was dependent upon fame and projected status. Then, more than ever, our identities were aligned with iconographies: Britney was our Miss American Dream, and in 2007 we saw her strip away her white gown.

At our darkest hour, our brightest supernova wanted nothing more than to go that extra mile for us. We created a monster mistress, a pop iconography reflecting our wildest and greatest desires – embodying our most visceral conquests. She was the broken kingdom, and on behalf of her mortal peers she sacrificed herself for our entertainment. She was our gladiator and our samurai on a kamikaze mission to kill the very same system which produced her. Even with her back against the wall she was our central focus, how something so perfect could be so not – and how such reckless power could destroy our most divine wind. We watched her spiral through insanity, as cameras flashed her dancing deliriously to music only she could hear. Even though we led her to this position of mania, she gave us permission to send her on a suicide mission: before the flashing lights, she was to touch the sky and nosedive in a sacrificial spectacle fit for a fallen empire. She gave more when she had nothing to give, because we asked for it – because the same guys who told us that she was the most valuable dream, told her that her value relied on our affirmation; she Merrill Lynched our Pop selves. Her punishment was her penance, and as much hers as it is ours. The opening is the standing reminder that even after she fades, the irremovable, unstoppable, perpetuating danja remains.

Unforgettable, Vol. 4: Amy Winehouse – Frank

Soundtrek, TK:ATL, Vinyl Mind Flow

Amy Winehouse

Amy, Amy, Amy… born to blossom, bloom to perish, sleep to wake again. Drake says you can’t bring the future back, but when Winehouse asks of herself in 2003’s Frank “Where’s my moral parallel?” she defied that theory. Back to Black was the fateful answer –– the artistic masterpiece, and beautiful disaster –– but as it preceded the U.S. release of Winehouse’s true debut, pre-“Rehab Frank became the answer to its own question.

The Re-Branding of America: Twitter’s Got Me Tweakin’!

TK:DC, Vinyl Mind Flow

March 3, 2009

Oh New York Times … Twitter is the new gateway drug (Sorry Marijuana, your shot at love has ended). The ‘War on Drugs’ is so 20th century. Everything went cyber with the new millennium –– now it’s the “War on Social Medi-cin-a” (but you can call it the ‘If print parallels digital media to narcotics while we’re still ‘legitimate’ will you start buying newspapers again?’ War)


It’s not Twitter that’s the problem, nor is it Facebook, or MySpace –– well, I’ll let Chris Hansen field that –– and the problem isn’t Twitterers, or celebrities –– per se. The problem is that the Fourth Estate is back in the hands of the ‘everyman.’

PR Sidenote: I do love, though, how the Times focused the ‘drug problem’ solely on TV anchors –– because it’s not the Twittering Times readers that are addicted –––– it’s only those Tweeting pompous celebrities and pretty people, always about ‘me, me, me’ that need to be muted. It’s not like David Gregory or Demi Moore can be narcissistic without Twitter –– what? It’s not like they’re on tv for a living or anything. Common people have the luxury of millions of non-digital avenues to get their word out, like “Letters to the Editor,” that celebrities/journalists just don’t enjoy. Twitter is yet another way the liberal elite is holding the little guy down … (Lesson: Never fault the constituency, even when you are faulting the constituency.)

The media has more mileage on its laurels than Forrest Gump had on his tennis shoes –– and the biggest threat to the role of traditional media as the apex of ‘legitimate communication’ is the uninhibited digital domain playing soapbox for ‘common nobodies.’

The Times tweets. The Times tweets more than birds do. I get device updates sending NYT headlines to my cell phone … every. ten. minutes. Just now. Just now I get a text “nytimes: Bits: U.N. Says U.S. Internet and Telecoms Lags” So the Times isn’t opposed to Twitter and social media, the Times is opposed to having to share the Marketplace again –– with you; the same you who didn’t get their op-ed published in the New York Times can now Tweet the link to their Open Salon page and have the same –– if not greater –– effect.

Watch this space. Ten years from now we’ll have a VH1 RocDoc tracing the history of America through the impact of modern media –– no, not The Drug Years –– rather The Mediated Millennium .