pop music

The Kansabury Tales: Priests’ The Seduction of Kansas

Soundtrek, TK:ATL, Vinyl Cut Prose

“… from the cornfields you sing to me; all to the farmhouse born, majestic Kansan progeny … It’s the last picture show, all the cowboys they get ready for a drawn out charismatic parody of what a country thought it used to be …”

Somewhere between the Raid on Harper’s Ferry and a quiet riot in Thunder Alley, unraveling caucus tapestries of Americana mythology by way of character vignettes and under-rug-swept exposés, Priests unfurls the sails of Encyclopedia Titanica. Coasting along radio waves and traversing analogue transits, echoes of Chaucer’s Canterbury chronicles and the revenant of Captain John Brown’s Kansas crusade converge within a Heartland’s audiobiography of Kansabury Tales … it’s The Seduction of Kansas.

priests

A Jaguar’s six-string static lightning pierces the narrative into play, casting our first character onto the soundstage … electroshock genesis mellows into a steady cardiac bassline, and so we meet “Jesus’ Son:”

God came to me in a dream and told me that I’m Jesus’ son
I know this world is mean it’s lucky I’m the chosen one
I walked on eggshells backwards this secret on my face
But now the earth calls me I’m feral I’m a smoking gun

He feels like the lyrical offspring of Blind Melon’s pusher prophet, somewhere lingering in the genetic lineage of Everlast’s post-Eden duality: the rural re-up. Sowing seeds of mustard gas across the prairies of Tornado Alley, so our post-punk acolytes assemble their amplified altar, serving nouveaustalgia scene in an age of apparent great apostasy.

Crimson currents siphon through ciphers of a buy-one-get-one free marketplace on the eponymous second track, establishing the General Population’s prologue and leitmotif scaffolding: the senator, news anchor, Superman, and Dorothy, all of the Sunday dress mothers, White Castle, Pizza Hut, the Koch brothers — even Applebee’s. Totem polls check the cultural pulse as Katie Alice Greer rattles off American idols like a snake charmer luring straw men from a Stetson.

Suburbia submerges in surf rocked social distortion, while dust-laced diatribes bowl through valleys of rag dolls and puppet master parables … sonically speaking.

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The Cosmic BG-ROM Exhumes… Janelle Monáe’s “Dirty Computer”

A.V Hub, biorhythmic, TK:ATL, Vinyl Mind Flow

Dirty Computer … this synesthetic venture through the ArchAndroid’s akashic record, despite any and all attempts at erasure, remains an impenetrable audio-visualized experience of the rogue post-robotic mediatrix’s life lived … to the fullest extralegal extent of natural order.

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This record, feels like excavation, reveals by vivisection, and establishes through manifest reverie, Monáe’s living mnemonic museum… Black Girl Magic meets Read-Only Memory, CD-ROM in the age of socio-culture-dot-com.

The defining characteristic of the ROM format, is that very read-only capability (“Computers can read—but not write to or erase—CD-ROMs”); here, we have the noir valkyrie read-only memory in 1080p display: transferring data of the self-appointed dirty computer’s voyages through deserted planes of the marginalized fringe, the periphery lingering on those outskirts of the mainframe, where exiled liberation lives.

The defining characteristic of this record is the dirt; that feature beyond the bug – infiltration of organic matter, pre-modern human civilization – is the very same earth which cultivated those origin roots from which these rhythms now flow…

We all come from the dirt. I also see us as computers. We’re downloading, uploading things in our brains, in our hearts, and some of the things that make us unique can be seen as these bugs, and these viruses. And for me, I see all my bugs and viruses as features, as attributes.

… to glitch the matrix – manufactured systems and silicon structures, rewiring human anatomy in the name of “efficiency,” giving precedent to that which is programmed to function through synthetics void of soul.

They started calling us computers. People began vanishing, and the cleaning began; you were dirty if you looked different; you were dirty if you refused to live the way they dictated; you were dirty if you showed any form of opposition at all … and if you were dirty, it was only a matter of time …

Here, we are given invitation, insight, and initiation into the present emergence of homo luminous amid its signature ascent… projected illumination by way of necessary collapse, and subsequent elevation… that dirt to glitch the system, and define inherent divine, of those who are deemed different, marvelous misfits who exist boldly beyond false authority’s established confines. The organic matter manifest magic in highly-melanated vessels of starseeds navigating their native cosmic grid, in the face of silicon artifice.

The Reckoning

The first four songs are the reckoning; realizing what you mean to this society.

Jane’s introduction feels like genomic genesis; evoking a necessary balance between the lyrical syntax’s sobering disclosure, virtually fated in its penance before inevitable sterilization, and tonal sentiment’s simultaneous resilience, sparking reminiscent revival of pre-anesthetic close encounters of the digital world’s loam tribe.

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

biorhythmic, Live, TK:ATL, Vinyl Cut Prose

[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.

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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

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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.

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The De Jure, The De Facto, The Glory of Britney Spears’ Tribal Gospel

Soundtrek, TK:LA

First things first: #HOWCANYOUREADTHISTHERESNOPICTURES
Second things next: Sort it out, education is the motivation #Literacy #ImaginationPassport #GetToWork
Here's a motion picture, focus and find your chill #letsread

Here’s a motion picture, focus and find your chill #letsread

*And now: our regularly scheduled programming*

So… in the two years and miscellany of months since Britney Jean… many dramatic learning scenarios have unfolded… for the shown world, and both a one Miss Britney Jean Spears, and mutually exclusively, myself #swiperitsnotaboutyou #iknow #itsalwaysbeenaboutdora #yesiknow #everypopstarisdora #igetit #keepitmoving #peoplearetryingtoreadhere #wellnotherehere #noonereadsthis #probablybecausetherestoomanyinsecurehashtags #anyway

Much like Britney Jean, said Spears nor myself have anything to prove in this latest iteration… except the reality that we live our lives as tales to be told, we record said lives to manifest alchemical gold, and beyond any and all else, we eclipse the great with the good, and actively oppose the established fallacy that human lives are nothing more than fails to be sold… which, effectually, is the everything; because Glory finds and founds itself in the amplified actualization of De Facto over De Jure Millennial Pop music culture identity, it breeds: I applaud and advocate for Glory; because I, along with a camaraderie of unbeknownst-to-us-then-undeniable-to-the-world-now Army officials, find and found the self in this relentlessly resilient tribe of born-and-bred Millennial Pop music culture creatives, I proceed.

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Vinyl Cut Prose: “Pneumatose”

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

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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.

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Vinyl Cut Prose: “Free Falling,” Florrie

A.V Hub, Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Cut Prose

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

 

“If a living entity says that he is not controlled but that he is free, then he is insane.”

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Biorhythmic: “Seashells,” Florrie

biorhythmic, Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Cut Prose

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.

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Decennium Spin: “The College Dropout,” Kanye West

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Cut Prose

“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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Vinyl Cut Prose: Britney Jean

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Cut Prose

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.

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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.

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BlinkkBeats: “Work BxxCH,” Britney Spears

SnapTrakks, Soundtrek

Everything was worth it. Everything is worth it. Everything will be exponentially more worth it in increasing measure as the cycles continue – if, you, work bxxch #BRITNEYTAUGHTUSALL

#nowgettowork

BlinkkIt:

Please believe this could be a dissertation #ohwait #hadbeendonethat #twice #becauseitsjustthatnice

Brass tacks: It’s fun. Remixable. Killer hooks. Understandable fodder. Strong focus on the beat, pulse, and bombast – Britney claims her role as integrated pneuma, as opposed to overt lyrical / verbal navigator.

I make the governor / Call me the governor

… supports said dissertation #busherayouthsubculturecelebrityicon, and thesis #welcometopostpopmusicentertainmentculture quite nicely. I approve and appreciate.

SIDENOTE: ( I’m not a youth subculture celebrity icon of an era ushered in by an incumbent governor president-elect – but if I were, I would probably hook it with: “I make the governor call me the governor” – I approve, I appreciate, I acknowledge that if ifs and ands were pots and pans there’d be no #WORK for tinkers’ hands… #luckyguesses #Y2Kforeveryall)

SnappIt:

If, you, want, that life – the glass house, the fame balls, the applause, the roar, the 20/20 experience, the carte blanche to go rogue, the holy grail, the crucifixion, the revolutionary rebirth, the ability to make them go berzerk in a breath,  that ticket to kiss land – you, betta, werk.

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VMA Day 2013 – Four Butterflies to Watch #heylookamonarch

Soundtrek

Honeymoon isn’t even the furthest stretch of one’s falsified imagination when it comes to the Video Music Awards since 2010 #generous This year, I …. okay, I don’t actually know half of the nominees, and I might not have heard of 75% of the songs, but I can pick up a pattern from a mile away #universallaw #fortherecord

No one can predict the future, but we can recognize the present – and that’s good enough for me. Four butterflies to keep an eye on when watching the monarchy tonight… #theeverythingelse

1.) “[T]he renaissance of Pop Art and a Warholian world of blurred lines between reality and fantasy”

Sedgwick Germanotta

[T]angent. Point is: Edie said of herself something that resonates so deeply with GaGa tonight, “if you just listened to what I had to say it was sane, but if you just looked at me you wouldn’t bother to listen. And none of them did. God it was a nightmare.” There isn’t that futility with GaGa, but the nightmare is quite apparent. Performance artists live their art — completely. The world is their canvas — truly. Where the art succeeds, the artist suffers, but it is for the sake of art — even if only for art’s sake.

2013:

2.) Jimmy Timberlake 

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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

Soundtrek

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…

MDNA – Madonna

MDNfAce

This was easily some of Madonna’s best work to date – contextually – period. Although sonic cohesion and precision ebb and flow within the confines of Madge’s contemporary discography, MDNA solidified a mood and melody for the Monarch’s tumultuous mindset. Ciccone grabbed the circuit and spun it up proper, regardless of all analog static enveloping the release. Best friends, boyfriends, and rhythmic revelations in tow – Madge dropped a bomb, aurally addicting, introspectively intriguing, albeit misguided at times, but always spectacular – MDNA what a mighty majestic show.

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Keep Calm and Kari On … with Chester French

Interview, TK:LDN

Skin… is a many layered thing; it is artistic, it is cultural, it is biological, it rests on the fragile fringe of one’s inner and outer space… not to be melodramatic, but we consider it an overlooked focus – an abstract opus – of cultural connective tissue.

So, for Art Nouveau’s Skin issue, we chose a duo who connected all of those elements in a most masterful manner: Chester French – black tears, faced fears, a pair so open-minded about the lovable future that their well-endowed brains have descended upon every listener’s ears. We had a chat with Max and D.A. to get an inside look at how they view those elements that make the epidermis so oddly endearing.

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When we come into this world, our skin is supple and soft, that unhindered remnant of divine design. For artists like Chester French, the first album is of that same fresh design. The label signs you because of that new-new you bring to this world. Musicians wear that skin like a manifestation of the self. Unlike the child though, an artist can craft their own primary skin; now more than ever though, it is getting harder to make that sonic aesthetic a signature different than all others.

KE: How important is it to build your own sonic aesthetic through your music, and what do you think your skin is in the industry?

CF: I think – to answer the first part of the question – I think for us it’s kind of important to try and carve out what is our territory creatively in terms of what we want to make and how we want it to sound. I think there’s so much music and so many people in music feel like they have to constantly be following, either super-new trends or really established ideas about how music should sound at a given moment. For us it’s way more important to find a sound that’s unique to us, than it is to “fit in” to any group, necessarily…

KE: Basically, my thing is this: skin is functional and fashionable. It is the first line of defense, but musically it is that very foundation of artistic identity which requires the greatest defense of all.

It’s one thing to look good, a freshman feat that Love the Future achieved, but it’s another entirely to make that good look last: enter Music 4 TNGRS.

KE: What is a TNGR, and what is this music you’re making for them from this standpoint?

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TrapperKeeper: MDNA – Madonna

Soundtrek

MDNA… the last time I wrote those letters in said sequence was, well, four years ago when I was at AU studying Advanced Bio; proper Madonna album debut… the last time I sat down to indulge in one of those was, well, four years ago when I was in life living Advanced Pop. Those were different days, simpler days. Days where Hard Candy was a passable stab at soundtracking Pop’s sticky-and-sweet soul, until a few years later when we’re in the midst of the reality that it was more a passable set of fillings in the cavity-laden mouth of Mod Pop.

M-D-N-A… the last time I chanted those letters in said sequence was but a few moments ago when Pure Pop emerged from the cultural tar pits of Detroit born-and-bred, Euro wed-and-bedded electronic sublime filth that is “I’m Addicted” – that is the cosmic bass stealth anthem from the primary piece of modern Pop’s genome: M.D.N.A.

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The Parisian Throne [Work Tape]

TK:LA

Pretense: This one never really sorted its scope, or structure for that matter, never quite got around to cementing its fundamental triumph beyond the blasphemous battleground, thus released as a work-in-progress (thus, the current “[Work Tape]” nomination), but for the sake of since-it-was-released… the first-take-suzeey riff

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As much the Four Evangelists as they are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Jay-Z, Kanye West, Britney Spears and Lady Gaga — our proud and prestigious pillars of Pop — stood tall and held rapturous court this year as the cause and cure for our ailing culture…

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Lyrically Speaking: Lily Allen – “Kabul Sxxt”

Soundtrek

Good music speaks volumes… rather than impose analysis, step back and expose linguistic artistry… why critique that which has achieved perfection at its own masterful conception… listen, look, and linger in fantastic rhythmic reality: lyrically speaking

 

There’s a hole in our logic
There’s a hole in the sky
And one day just like magic
We’re all going to die
‘Cause we didn’t turn the lights off
And we didn’t take the bus
Even though we know we should have
Oh, silly old us

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

A.V Hub, Soundtrek, TK:LDN, Vinyl Cut Prose

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.

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… Like Blood Flowing Through the Veins of Bad Kids: Born This Way is One Hell of A Drug

Soundtrek, TK:NYC

I don’t want to be part of the machine – I want the machine to be part of me.

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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

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SnappScenes: “Blow,” Ke$ha

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The 2011 Pop Apocalypse continues with Ke$ha‘s latest video for her upcoming single “Blow,” as James Van Der Beek drifts down Dawson’s River Styx to join the Southern Strumpette and her social herd of mythological mares.

Go insane, go insane; throw some glitter – make it rain

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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.

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BlinkkBeats: Parade – “Louder”

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Transatlantic treats on Parade this humpday – literally! A one Mister Brolley Genster dropped this spicy-in-a-safe-way (read: passable, but seems to still be missing the Ginger) English Muffin on my virtual doorstep this morning.

Meet Parade: the latest set of girls allowed entrance into the realm of Euro-sugarbaby pop melody makers – delve

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BlinkkBeats: Lady Gaga – “Scheiße” (Mugler Remix)

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428 days later… Lady Gaga broke her notoriously extended hiatus, premiering her first mastered piece of “new music” since 2009’s The Fame Monster. Those two years of antagonizing anticipation culminated into the club-pulsing climax: the exclusive Thierry Mugler “Scheiße” remix – in a hashtag #discodemonic, in seven words: THIS is why my paws stay pilot. While this may just be a remix, be well aware it is the Wemix 2011 anthem for monsters-turned-zombies: ignite the living dead

Step back from the fact that this is “just a remix,” 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.

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BlinkkBeats: Lady GaGa – “Animal (Jungle Claws)” Demo (Produced by Darkchild)

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Yep… just… yep… Two weeks into 2011 and we’ve already got new Yeezy, Hov, and Britney, plus Andre 3000 on a Ke$ha remix – in case you were worried about Pop #dontbe. Just in time for the weekend, Gaga rounds out the cavalry with the drum-laden Darkchild-produced “Animal” demo – so kick up your feet, put up those paws, and get wild.

Classic Darkchild: stop-and-go staccato, deep bass and synth strobes, effortlessly paralleled instrumental and lyrical dialogue – unconventional, but highly communicable viral beats. Classic Gaga: simple lyrics, systematic delivery, monotone repetition, subtle steady escalations with increased definition, elemental and enveloping everything, omnipresent voyeur/exhibitionist vantage:

I can see the way that you’re looking at me, like you’re hungry and I am the only thing that you see; won’t tame you, love the way you’re watching me.

Together, the tandem create a black panther track prowling through the aural Amazon. This song is modern jungle fever – it’s basic, it builds, it breathes, it swelters, it designates and dominates tricks; in a nutshell: call it what you want, but call it – because it’s never too busy to get busy. #pawsupheaddown

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Dime Dailies: Ke$ha – “Sleazy” (Remix) ft. Andre 3000

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2011 keeps getting better with each passing play… off the heels of Ophiuchus comes the tale of two outkasts, as Andre 3000 joins Ke$ha on her bombastic “Sleazy” remix. Sit back and listen to the sounds of Southern scorch – nom: sonic Jambalaya.

“Sleazy” was a Cannibal standout, coming in after “We R Who We R,” the title track, and “Blow” as the Apopcalyptic album’s fourth horseman track. Bangladesh brought a true urban feel to “Sleazy,” blending Cannibal‘s Drum N Bass sound with his signature bonafide street tone. Ke$ha enlists on Daddy Fat Stacks himself for the remix to harness that tone and bless her throne. The duo bring a Rhett and Scarlett back-and-forth to the track, with their tangy smooth Southern flow over cold 808 drums and dense jungle bass. It’s a remix, not for the sake of a quick hit, but because this New South needs a pop anthem. The “Sleazy” remix perfectly blends Ke$ha’s Nashville twang with Andre 3000’s Sweet Georgia Brown timbre – these stars drop bars.

This crazy lady named Kesha is guessing my Mercedes
Would be all new and through through, but its the 1980′s
But now that we are cool cool, she sippin’ Irish Baileys
She say “Stacks, you’re true blue?”
I said “Nah, I’m Navy”
I call her Kesha, she like it, because it’s hood to her
She call me Andre 6000 cause I’m good to her

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Unforgettable, Vol. 21: Lady Gaga – The Fame

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Pop: grab your old girl with her new tricks; if this were Gaga’s first and last album, it would be just as complete as it is in context as a dynasty starter.

The Fame is nothing more and nothing less than a perfect Pop debut through and through. Visceral, catchy, panoramic, reflective, progressive, chock full of hit singles, formidable filler, and fun; foreshadowing or foreboding depending on how you look at it – and yet, so very simple. The Fame is merely a skeleton, and the beats are nothing more than an atmosphere. In Britney’s wake we saw a sea change: where Spears’ genesis was plot-driven – a tale of a singer at the whim of heavy production, and a girl at the whim of a weighty world – Gaga’s voice is the fuel behind The Fame. She gives life to the beats, as much as she injected the joie de vivre back into Pop’s consciousness.

The sound is underground and mainstream, simultaneously past and present. “Just Dance” couldn’t be more straightforward as it rips the disco skeleton from the past, fleshes it out with simple synth layers, and slaps an electro-futuristic veneer on for 21st Century tech propulsion. The beat is a night out: airy synth, simple percussion, minimal layers, basic four-count – nothing crazy, nothing coercive, just dance music. The lyrics are universal: just dance, gonna be okay – and repete after moi.

Gaga is “that girl” from the club. This is the first step of the journey through a tumultuously memorable relationship between lovers, the celebrity and the scene, the artist and the industry, the author and the audience. It all starts with “Just Dance.” You just dance to get to know their name, you just dance to get on Page Six, you just dance to get that record deal, you just dance for reassurance that it’s going to be okay – and this is The Fame.

Beyond that, at first listen, “Just Dance” is any other Pop track, a brilliantly choreographed debut. It couldn’t be more literal, and at a time where the world is a collective skeptic for good reason – the truthiness behind WMDs – that clear transparency was a trailblazing mindfreak in and of itself. Everything the track is not makes it everything it is. It is not new, it is not groundbreaking, it is not particularly deep or profound – and yet, coming from a world of life under-rug-swept it was that very transparency that broke America out of its shell. Just. Dance. No more, no less, no hidden agenda. Before auto-tune and vocoders, before ice and chains, there was lighthearted, carefree disco – the most basic, infinite, constant, life stream of music by method.

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Follow Friday: A Tale of Two TwitPics

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We are on the brink of a sea change – the Post-Apopcalypse is upon us…

Out with the old

… in with the new

#mytwocents: This is big. This is massive. This is the changing of the guard. Britney Spears, reigning zeitgeist from 2000-2008, about to lose the top spot on Twitter to Lady GaGa. This is like Bad Romance leapfrogging Circus on TRL: #itslikethat. Just as the Pop cultural barometer du jour last decade was the illustriously dubious TRL, so this decade it has become Twitter. Britney was the indisputable Queen of Total Request Live, but just as the show retired – so must she. Kids nowadays need something for an attention span that can’t – hey look a butterfly! What? Oh, right; they need someone who’s crazy – but in a “way existentialist” way, not an “okay, so maybe I was strapped to a gurney once” way. Back then: kids needed a whole day to decide who to vote for 38 times on the way home from school, just in time to see the results on television at said home 10 minutes later. Now: kids love, hate, envy, loathe, approve, tolerate, and swear allegiance to their favorite celebrity in 10 minutes – television just can’t keep up with that – but just like Droid does, Twitter can. The revolution will not be televised, but the evolution will be digitized: enter Twitter – the crowds have spoken: #papapaparazzi

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Unforgettable, Vol. 19: Britney Spears – Blackout

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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.

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Follow Friday: Freshest of the Fourth Estate

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It’s Good Friday, so let’s make it great and take it to Follow Friday – today: the freshest of the fourth estate. Follow these tweeps because you, yes you Lost Generation, need a cultural barometer

Q Magazine

The pre-eminent music/culture magazine – period. Hailing from across the pond, Q Magazine delivers any and everything any worldly (wannabe or otherwise) Gen-Y audiophile needs, fiends, and desires on print and via twit.

Why follow: I’ve been a Benedict Arnold since 2003, and I really don’t feel badly about it – because Q feeds me more than apple pie ever could. Besides, Rolling Stone’s gathering moss and Spin needs a British twin.

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Thinkpieces, Vol. 1: Lady Gaga

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March 28: 1,767 years ago today De Pascha Computus commemorated the Nativity, birth of a man – son of God – who brought mankind from the darkness of sin; today, we commemorate the birth of a woman – deity of Pop – who brought a generation from the dark ages of social oblivion. On this day, ancient Romans celebrated the production of the Sun and the Moon; today, we celebrate the personification of The Fame and The Monster. In the midst of a generation described as Godless, artificial, celebrity-obsessed, and lost, emerges a renaissance artist who gave you freedom in the music – found your Jesus, and your Kubrick. Happy Birthday Lady Gaga.

LGHK

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Music Monday Melange: February 1, 2009

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Post-Grammy “What I’m Digging That They Didn’t” Playlist – aka “Welcome to Hipster Heartbreak”

Today we’ve got some monsters, some mavens, some Basement Jaxx, some MGMT, some “Kids,” some Cudi, some Jeezy, some Common, some Lily, and some of her womanizing problems…

Has anybody seen my disco stick?

So, LoveGame… doesn’t play

Its remixes though… go harder than Baltimore: dig it, dug it, done

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Haus of GaGa w/ Alexander McQueen’s Plato’s Atlantis: “Bad Romance”

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Pop Music Will Never Be Low Brow. Period.

 

The romance may be bad, but the art is brilliant.

Watch this space: Pop done right is the perfect, seamless, organic blend of art, advertisement, culture, society, beauty, ugly, intimate, and universal; GaGa is a one-woman renaissance.

It’s Not Me, It’s Dr. Rosen Rosen

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Dr. Rosen Rosen took Lily Allen’s It’s Not Me, It’s You and remixed it – he turned the tables on lyrical Lily as if to say “Maybe it is me, but let’s see what would happen if it was all you.” Rosen Rosen remixed the INMIY album by going further into the sentiment behind the substance and building an entire atmosphere from the lyrical face value. Anyone who halfway knows Allen’s music knows she lives in the subtextual world of Simpson-esque milk dud reflections on modern culture — however, this is the result when INMIY dwells on the lines themselves, as opposed to in between:

Lily Allen went more electronic and less ska, a bit darker and less light, for INMIY so she could land later gigs at concerts (because seriously, it’s hard to convey the sunny side of “LDN” at midnight); Dr. Rosen Rosen took that idea and ran with it. If the original INMIY is nighttime festival gigs, then consider It’s Not Me It’s Dr. Rosen Rosen your nightcap — it’s the stuff of which dreams (or nightmares) are made.

Lily Allen went to a hypnotherapist to get trim – a bit of image rehab; Dr. Rosen Rosen used hypnotherapuetic production to flesh out INMIY – a bit of sonic revamping. INMIDRR‘s heavy chill-out focus manifests the original album’s tongue-and-cheek dichotomies into a trance-like, catatonic delve into Lily’s literal lyrical psyche. Rosen Rosen plays doctor on INMIDRR, lulling INMIY into its most basic state and in doing so adds the beat-backed depth that digs deeper into – as opposed to deflecting from – the core message.

Prime example:

Dr. Rosen Rosen takes “Fxxk You” to the battlefield; it becomes a battle march – he expands the vibe of the lyric “you say you want to go to war well you’re already in one” to the whole track. On the heels of the Bush Administration, in light of the British National Party’s recent parliamentary ascent, and in the midst of social, political, cultural, religious, and militaristic wars on terror, terra, apathy, zealousness, and everything in between, “F*ck You” – the battle cry – makes sense of change.

SPIN Magazine hit the nail on the head when they said “‘introspective’ may not be the first word that comes to mind when one thinks of Lily Allen,” but after hearing INMIDRR, introspection might be just what the doctor ordered. Lily’s appeal is her ability to wordplay the proverbial fence and hide sincere social commentary behind sarcasm – juxtaposing substantial lyrical content with stylistic bubblegum/ska/electro-pop beats. Allen excels at being socio-politically conscious while simultaneously coolly detached. However you take her music is none of her affair, it’s yours. In Dr. Rosen Rosen’s world though, it isn’t us that matters – it’s Lily. Allen’s literal and figurative voice is her greatest asset, Dr. Rosen Rosen’s merger of the two is exactly what he ordered. All he did was elaborate on the vocal harmonies and melodies that were already there – beautifully, of course. Dr. Rosen Rosen created a complete album that takes Allen’s lyrics as seriously as her beats never quite seem to. Kudos, sir.

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Watch this space: Trust Rosen Rosen — he’s a doctor.

She’s got an alright job, but it’s not a career

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In this economy any job is an alright job, and Lily Allen is doing a pretty much amazing job of keeping her resume alright, still. Her latest single, slated for an August release, is “22.” The Fiona Apple-esque ditty is a snapshot — rather, a requiem — of a modern teen/twenty-something girl/woman on the brink of adulthood/precipice of their social peak (if it’s that convoluted to explain, I can only imagine how daunting the day-to-day must be for those girls … oh wait I don’t have to imagine, I do live that day-to-day — I am one of those girls).

Silver lining … anyone? I can wait — seeing as my life is “already over” — sad, but true — que triste, pero que sera.

Atmospheric video with a solid concept: I approve.

Watch this space: If only because this was the first song I heard to ring in my 22nd birthday/college graduation, and misery loves company — if we happen to cross paths, feel free to sit on the dock of the bay with this 22 year old soon-to-be-spinster-cat-lady. Oh that Lily: always pushing kids to “Dream Big!”