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…
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.
Water cooler tip of the day: Complex Magazine posted an article about Lady GaGa’s adolescent cocaine use
#becauseitissonews #becauseyoucare #becausenewswasbornthiswaybaby
You know what would be fun? If somewhere in the Deep South “Miss American Dream Since She Was Seventeen” was recording Maybach Music, riding shotgun with Ricky Ross, redefining what it means to be a BMFn white girl… if only to remind you that, from the Kentwood Police Department to Kevin’s apartment: Britney Jean’s Been Murkin’ Feds… well, if you find Ms. Spears on leave guarding the Keys with Rick in Miami – you can hold it against GE: this mash-up had to happen #greateeclecticsighsyourewelcome
This might just be the hardest, coldest, hottest, street Urban-Junglegum Pop in existence… this is the darkest alley, and the whitest picket in the fence… it’s Teflon Don, and it’s Tupperware Amy… it’s black magic, fam.
DOWNLOAD: Britney Spears x Rick Ross – “BMF (‘Hold It Against Rozay’ Remix)”
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.
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.
This installment of Dime Dailies finds itself resting in the progressively nostalgic nook of Nouveau Music, as we listen to the monstrous melodies of Ben Carson:
Ben Carson is a musician, writer, rock n rolla, day dreamer and sweet talker rolled into one human being. Ever since discovering the guitar, his eyes were opened to the alternative world that would rule the rest of his life. Drawn into the world of teen angst and crunching guitar riffs, there has been nothing more interesting than the world of rock.
Carson’s debut EP rolls through this crisp Fall Manhattan Sunday afternoon like a much-welcomed, warm, and hazy Georgia breeze. The six-track sampler tastes a bit like beer-battered Ben and Jerry’s – hops and heartbreak – one part lover and one part lush: all parts rock, and rhythmic southern soul.
“Hey now what’s that sound? That’s Noise Porn goin’ down…” Kendrick Daye and Art Nouveau graced me with their symphonic filth just in time for Valentine’s Day weekend. In the midst of the gratuitous shell, the substance is a bonafide indie homage to Pop musik – Noise Porn: because we couldn’t fit Bruises and Heartbreak from Sexy Cupid’s Sinfully Seductive Squeeze on an album cover.
Noise Porn is literal and an ironic lie. In the same way Pop can be artificial, as much as it can be authentic; Art Nouveau’s album captures the empty clamor of instantly gratifying words and sounds, as much as it does the soulful sonicscape of well-courted and even better crafted rhythms and lyrics.