Gotta hop on a big jet airliner and head back to the Bay Area in a couple of hours. In honor of my trip, I would like to post my five favorite NorCal rap videos. Enjoy: #1 "The Oakland Stroke" by Tony! Toni! Tone!
The big jam session up in rock 'n' roll heaven is truly slamming today as the mortal rock community mourns the death of R&B pioneer, Ruth Brown. Nicknamed "Miss Rhythm," Brown had a string of hits in the early fifties, including one of my all-time favorite songs, "Mama, He Treats Your Daughter Mean." She was so successful that many music historians call her label, Atlantic Records, "The House That Ruth Built." If you're not familiar with Brown's work, check out Rhino Records' 5 song EP titled, "Rhino Records Hi-Five: Ruth Brown" on the iTunes Music Store. (it's only $3.96!) And definitely give a listen to Brown's live version of "Mama, He Treats Your Daughter Mean" on the R&B compilation, Night Train to Nashville. It's a total rave-up. Rest in peace Ruth Brown, and I hope that nobody's treating you or your daughters mean anymore....for your mama's sake.
This weekend’s guest blogger is the stupendous Samantha Fillian. Sam grew up a seashell's throw away from the Jersey shore, and she currently resides in the bitchin’ borough of Brooklyn. She is a part time writer, a part time nanny, and a full time ass kicker. In this essay, Sam shares her fascinating fascination with parasitic twins. This might be a good time to point out that the views expressed in this essay are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of this blog. Take it away, Sam!
Hey Man, Get off My Stomach!
I used to press my nose against my best friend Megan’s elbow while she was driving. Barely able to control my laughter, I would say, “What if we were Siamese twins connected like this FOR LIFE?” Though she tried to wiggle and flap me off her elbow, my nose did not budge. Fed up with me, she would threaten to smash her white Neon into a tree in order to separate us. At the time, I found this act hysterical and performed it often.
However, this was before I discovered my passion for parasitic twins -- conjoined twins much cooler second cousins. Parasitic twins seem to be the result of some crazy biological dish that calls for you to double the recipe; but then your autistic friend comes in the kitchen and fucks up the ingredients. For example, Myrtle Corbin, a big hit on the freak show circuit in the 1920’s, had four legs and two vaginas. She mothered seven children, five down the right side and two down the left. She had more children on the right side because, that was vagina she preferred to have intercourse with. Nice to have the choice!
Frank Lentini was also a lucky bastard with two sets of genitals. What was unlucky for Frank was the third leg that protruded from his right butt cheek. His third leg proved useful only in the entertainment business. While working as a sideshow freak, Frank would dutifully walk on stage, reveal his third leg, kick a rubber ball, and walk back off the stage without saying a word. His one-trick act amazed audiences.
My favorite parasitic twin is Lallo. A very charming and handsome man from India, Lallo loved to read, spoke many languages, and had three quarters of his twin attached to his torso. His twin was placed in such away that its hands were always hanging around Lallo’s neck. Its headless neck hovered somewhere near his ribcage, and his feet jutted out near his hips. Lallo dedicated his life educating the public on the differences we all share. He did, however, have to spend a fortune having his shirts tailored. Most excellent essay...thanks Sam!
In Which the Critic Critiques the Critic's Criticism of the Critic
It appears that many people were outraged by Village Voice music critic Chris Ott's personal attack on Colin Meloy of The Decemberists in this week's Voice. That's not a surprise. Ott's "review" of the band's CMJ performance at Hammerstein Ballroom doesn't even mention the music that was played at that show. As far as valid criticism goes, it's a joke. But it was surprising to learn that the piece ruffled the feathers of Meloy and his girlfriend, artist Carson Ellis. If you scroll down to the bottom of the comments left below the article, you will be treated to an entertaining ping-pong match of insults between Ellis and Ott.
Since Ellis fired off the first retaliatory attack, the war over Ott's review has spilled out all over the Internet. From Stereogum to Brooklyn Vegan, battlefields have sprouted up all over the Web and have inspired some pretty hilarious message board repartee. Here are some highlight snipes from the comment sections:
“he hates the decemberists just for the crime of being white. there is nothing wrong with meloy being proud of his white Irish heritage. i bet if he was black and talking about the jungle guys or whatever it would all be fine.”
“most ‘indie’ music sucks. regurgitating the same fey, ironic, no-talent, generic crap under the guise of being 'smart music for smart people' when in reality it's boring middle of the road, forgettable poo.”
“Oh, their old ‘intimate’ shows SUCKED. I mean, really, really sucked. I don't think anyone besides maybe Dave Eggers or Helen Keller would argue otherwise.”
“Can we all just agree that Hemingway would beat the living sh*t out of Colin Meloy? That's one thing to like about the guy...”
The biggest shock to me was that Ellis and Meloy cared to respond to Ott’s review. It was clearly a below-the-belt punch, but Meloy and Ellis have to realize that Ott is small potatoes. The Decemberists recently made the leap from Kill Rock Stars to Capitol Records; and any band that aspires to play on a bigger stage will inevitably face a backlash. In The Beatles Anthology documentary, there is footage of teenage girls sobbing outside of the Cavern Club in Liverpool. The girls were furious that The Beatles left to play America, and they vowed never to buy Beatle records again. That was 1964. Something tells me The Beatles didn’t give a shit that those girls were crying, and something tells me that today (if they’re still alive) those girls probably own everything The Beatles ever released. Meloy should be more concerned with his band, and less concerned with what some failed musician/music critic has to say. Goddamn it, you can always learn something from The Beatles.
Clearly, Ott has some hidden agenda for writing such an incendiary attack piece. Both Meloy and Ott have written books for the 33 1/3 series; maybe Meloy’s sales have outpaced Ott’s and there’s a little jealousy about that? Maybe Ott’s attack on The Decemberists’ Wes Anderson aesthetic reveals a pang of envy in Meloy’s talented girlfriend (Ellis) who does all of the band’s artwork? Ott has his own band, The Grace Period – maybe he is just bitter over the fact that Meloy plays to thousands of fans each night while he has to write 600 word pop music reviews for the Village Voice? Who knows?
Whoever you choose to side with in the Great Decemberists vs. The Village Voice Debate, pretty much everyone can agree that we all hate Chuck Klosterman. But oddly enough, Chuck made some smart and relevant comments about the nature of pop criticism in this week’s Onion A.V. Club section:
The people who review my books, generally, are kind of youngish culture writers who aspire to write books, or write opinion pieces about what they think of Neil Young, or why they quit watching ER or whatever. And because of that, I think there's a lot of people who write about my books with the premise of, "Why this guy? Why not me?" The thing is, if I write about Van Halen, no one really thinks I'm writing this because, in truth, I would rather be a successful guitar player. And if I wrote about Marie Antoinette, no one thinks, "Well actually, he wishes he were Sofia Coppola." But when someone writes a book review, they obviously already self-identify as a writer. I mean, they are. They're writers, they're critics, and they're writing about a book about a writer who's a critic. So I think it's really hard for people to distance themselves from what they're criticizing.
Discussion about self-referential criticism usually makes my head spin, and it's doing that right now. But I guess I threw that Klosterman quote in their because it makes some sense out of all of this. As a musician, Ott clearly had a hard time distancing himself from his subject, The Decemberists. I'm sure some of the personal attacks he made on Meloy are spot-on, but you can't write a review and not bring up the music. As a Decemberists fan, I am admittedly biased. But read the Village Voice piece, go see The Decemberists live, and decide for yourself.
The Decemberists are one of the most original bands playing music today, and now they have asked their fans to join in on the creativity. The band just shot a video for "O Valencia" on a green screen, and mtvU has announced a contest to complete the video by creating a digital backdrop. I don't know, but I kind of like the video as is. In fact, I dare you to watch this clip and not smile:
Only the Decemberists could write a song about a forbidden girlfriend getting shot by her brother, gushing blood, dying in her boyfriend's arms -- and somehow make it upbeat and danceable. If I knew how to create a digital backdrop, I'd set this video in Versailles (it has a majestic feel, you know?) or Phil Hughes Bar .
Let's face it: the daily blog can be quite a slog. For this reason, every weekend I will hand over the reins to a "guest blogger" who will get to post their two cents. This is a tradition born out of true laziness. This weekend's guest blogger is Ms. Brenna Boyce . Brenna is a fellow uptowner and former editor of Artsweek in Santa Barbara. Maybe you have read some of her work in that periodical, such as her interview with Morgan Spurlock. She and her man, who calls himself Dan, recently had a night out on the town and took in a star-studded Bob Dylan tribute concert (sans Zimmy) at Lincoln Center. Here is Bren's scintillating review of said show:
Having never been to the Upper West Side’s Lincoln Center before, I had visions of men in tuxes with top hats and canes accompanied by women in floor length gowns. However, upon pulling up to the venue in a pedicab (don’t ask) I was greeted with men in tie-dye pajamas. I realized then that this Bob Dylan Tribute show might not be exactly as I had envisioned. I consider myself a pretty big fan of Dylan -- I even like the new stuff. But I felt like this tribute was a pissing contest of sorts; he who can find the most obscure song is the "truest" fan. While some artists chose the more traditional route, playing classics like “The Times They Are A-Changin’” and “Like a Rolling Stone,” others went for deeper tracks, much to the dismay of many audience members.
The show featured several of Dylan's old cronies, including Al Kooper , the organ player on "Like A Rolling Stone." Kooper brought out a wealth of studio musicians and played his heart out on “It Takes a lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry.” That track was cut 11 blocks from Lincoln Center and some 30 years later rocks harder than anything on the radio today.
In a surprising move, comedienne Sandra Bernhard , known for her raspy voice and cornucopia of cunt jokes, took the stage to perform “Like a Rolling Stone.” Her original take on the classic was preceded by a funny story of a young Bernhard destroying her brother’s collection of Dylan records because she thought it made him smoke pot.
I finally understood the tie-dye pajamas when Phil Lesh, original bassist for the Grateful Dead took the stage. The applause and cheering from the audience was deafening while his rendition of “Thunder on the Mountain” was plain awful. Equipment troubles, lack of preparation and just plain cockiness led to a jumbled, loud mess—that was given a standing ovation nonetheless.
One of the highlights of the night was The Roots who performed “Masters of War” with guitar, drums, and tuba. The amount of energy and emotion conveyed along with creativity and talent was unsurpassable. Complete with military drum beats and Jimi Hendrix-style guitar playing, their rendition got a whole lot of white geezers bobbing their heads.
In perhaps the ballsiest performance of the night, Ryan Adams took to the stage with not one, but 2 songs—a 20-minute conglomeration of “Isis” and Victoria’s Secret’s own “Lovesick." I watched as a few older people in the front got up and left mid-performance, but I saw that as a sign of success. If the elderly aren’t walking out on your set, you’re probably doing something wrong. Adams, his usual cocky self, blazoned the stage with the aura of a young Dylan—smug, risky, talented and intelligent. His hard-rockin’ riffs, noisy feedback, messy dress, and admirable desire to break the rules stood out against the aging musicians who preceded him and his band.
The dust has finally settled after Tuesday's elections, and the Dems have a majority in both houses of Congress for the first time since 1994. It was pretty satisfying to open today's NY Times and see a photograph of Nancy Pelosi sitting in the Oval Office with Bush and Cheney, who look like they'd rather be getting teeth pulled than have their picture taken with a San Franciscan.
While I'm on the topic of politics, I would like to address the overwhelming push to get people into the voting booths. When I first voted, at the tender young age of 18, I'd read the occasional friendly reminder in the local paper to vote on the first Tuesday in November. After 9/11, politics became more important than they ever had in our lifetime, and people started to severely guilt trip each other if you didn't vote. Since the 2004 presidential election, the pressure to vote has reached a fever pitch -- it has come down to getting death threats from Paris Hilton. Well, Paris's intimidation tactics were successful, because I made it out to vote on Tuesday. My polling place is just around the corner at P.S. 158 on York Avenue. I walked in at around 6 pm, and surprise of all surprises, there was no line. The funny thing is that after all this recent talk about electronic voting machines, my polling place still uses the old-fashioned voting machine with the little switches and the giant red lever. It looked like a leftover from the days of Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall. The voting machine actually looked exactly like this drawing, which is dated 1936: Embarrassingly, it took me about five minutes to figure out how to use the damn thing. After reading the instructions over and over, I finally got the gist of it and started to get my vote on. When I got down to State Comptroller on my ballot, a woman pulled the curtain back on my booth, thinking that it was empty. When she saw that I was in there, she let out a piercing shriek, like she caught me masturbating or something. She quickly flung the curtain shut and let me finish voting in private. Hooray for democracy!
Fun Things To Do on the Walk From My Apartment to the Subway When It Is Raining
Step inside Le Pain Quotidien; have a hot chocolate by the fireplace.
Challenge random strangers to umbrella jousting matches.
Lay down a Slip 'n' Slide from 3rd Avenue to Lexington. Ride it naked.
Create a fun iPod playlist with songs like "Rain" by the Beatles, "No Rain" by Blind Melon, and "Raining Blood" by Slayer.
Privately mourn the divorce of Britney and K-Fed.
Collect rain water in buckets; form a hypothesis; test the water's acidity; study the results; draw conclusions; write an award-winning essay on the adverse effects of acid rain in urban environments.
Build an ark; announce, "All ye heathens shall perish in the flood!"
Walk halfway to train, turn around, go home, watch "Guiding Light" marathon all day.
Today's date will go down as one of the greatest days in grunge history, alongside July 8, 1988 (the day Mudhoney debuted "Touch Me, I'm Sick"), January 25, 1992 (the date Nevermind surpassed Michael Jackson's Dangerous at #1 on the Billboard charts), and June 4, 2004 (the day Creed broke up). Why is November 7, 2006 so grunge-tastic, you ask? Only because of three monumental, flannel shirted, drop-D tuned releases that are hitting record store shelves today! The most important of the three is, of course, the DVD release of Live! Tonight! Sold Out! by Nirvana. This film was one of the last projects created by Kurt Cobain before his suicide in 1994, and it chronicles the year leading up to Nevermind's release, and its subsequent explosion on the charts. Most importantly, Live! Tonight! Sold Out! shows something that has been overshadowed since Cobain's death -- Nirvana was one of the funniest bands ever. They were also quite a rude awakening to the bloated mainstream music of 1991. For further evidence, check out their appearance on BBC's Tonight with Jonathan Ross show, which is one of the highlights of the DVD:
The second, and almost equally important of today's releases, is Matador Record's deluxe edition of Pavement's brilliant third album, Wowee Zowee. You may not label Pavement a "grunge" band per se, but just take a listen to either "Flux=Rad" or "Serpentine Pad" off Wowee Zowee, and you will agree that either of these tracks would have felt right at home on a Mudhoney or Tad LP. At the time of its release in 1995, Wowee Zowee was pretty much trashed by critics and deemed unlistenable slop. Over time, it has become a cult classic and a fan favorite -- Rolling Stone even named it the 12th coolest album of all time (and they originally panned it)! The lesson here is to never trust Rolling Stone, and that Pavement ist Rad. I could wax poetic for hours about why Wowee Zowee is my favorite Pavement album, but I'll just link you to Pitchfork's stellar review of the "Sordid Sentinels" edition instead. And if that isn't enough to convince you, take a listen to this mp3 of "Rattled by the Rush" (shredding guitar solo, right?) or "Heckler Spray/In the Mouth of a Desert", which is a live bonus track.
Finally, the Foo Fighters' live acoustic album, Skin and Bones also sees its release today. While this isn't as earth shattering as the aforementioned releases, Skin and Bones is important to the Grunge Nation for a couple of reasons. This album includes a version of "Marigold," Dave Grohl's lone songwriting contribution to the Nirvana canon (and the B-side to "Heart Shaped Box"). Skin and Bones also features the return of Pat Smear to the band, as well as the addition of Petra Haden, a major league crush of mine. Dave Grohl has been known wade into the sea of sappy with his music, and this album may fall into that category; however it is worth mentioning that the Foo Fighters' 9-piece acoustic band stole the show at these year's Bridge School Benefit.
In short, I've had this date circled on my calendar for quite some time. This evening, I am planning on donning my best flannel shirt and ripped jeans, then taking the M72 bus across town to Tower Records. After making my purchases, there will be a viewing and listening party at my apartment. So load up on beer, and bring your friends.
“I executed hundreds of thousands of Iraqi Kurds, and in return, you are executing me. Isn’t it ironic…don’t you think?”
“Let’s hug it out, bitches!”
“Ian Curtis died by hanging. I will die by hanging. Ian Curtis was the lead singer of the seminal post-punk band Joy Division. I was a genocidal tyrant. I guess the comparisons end with death by hanging…”
“Whatever you do, don’t post this on YouTube.”
“Twenty bucks says tomorrow’s Post headline is: SAD-DOOMED HUS-HANGED.”
“So long as you can assure me that Jim and Pam will get back together on The Office, I can die in peace.”
“If you are really going to hang me, please let me wear a cowboy hat and some spurs.”
This morning I watched the NYC marathon in front of the 79th Street Cafe on First Avenue. For the first half hour, Jake and I commented on almost every runner that passed. For example, if a man with green sneakers ran by, one of us would say something like, "Shamrock shoes!" You know, real comedy gold.
The main attraction of this year's race was not the pack of speedy Kenyans at the front of the race; it was Lance Armstrong's debut at the NYC marathon. After waiting for at least 45 minutes for Armstrong to run by us, Jake turned to me and said, "Man, I wanna see the Lance Dance!" Yes, this is one of the stupidest sentences ever uttered by a man. An old lady standing next to us looked at me and Jake with an incredulous look on her face and said, "You want to see the Lance Dance?" Without hesitation, Jake pointed at me sheepishly and mumbled, "He said it." Ten minutes later, Armstrong cruised by us surrounded by a small entourage with a camera crew in his face. After he passed us, the old lady turned to Jake and I and cackled, "There goes your Lance Dance!"
Before going to see the 12:15 am showing of Borat last night, Brenna, Danny and I stopped off at the 86th Street Pizzeria Uno for "Snack Hours." This is a period of time around 10 pm when their happy hour specials are accompanied by mind-blowing deals on appetizers. I had a mini-pepperoni pizza for $3, and Brenna was chugging some bargain priced Long Island Iced Teas. Sort of ironic, but still highly recommended. Then came Borat. The theater was packed out for the post-midnight show, and I was already a little bit tuckered out thanks to Uno's delicious pizza and a couple of tasty Budweisers. I was also geared up for some major cinematic controversy; both Anthony Lane and David Edelstein wrote articles condemning Sacha Baron Cohen's brand of humor this week (in the New Yorker and New York, respectively). Both Lane and Edelstein allude that Baron Cohen is a societal danger, while Peter Travers of Rolling Stone wrote a glowing review calling for an Oscar nomination for Borat. So going into this movie, I was interested which side of the fence I would land on. It turns out that Borat is actually lukewarm, both in comedy and controversy. Both ends of the critical spectrum are taking it a little bit far with this one. Does the anti-Semitism go a little bit too far in Borat? Definitely; just because Baron Cohen was raised as an Orthodox Jew, and the lame ending where Kazakhs learn that is ok to torture Christians too, doesn't make the overload of Jew-bashing acceptable. But you can't compare Borat to Shoah, a 9 hour documentary about Holocaust deniers, as Edelstein does in his New York review. Borat strives for satire, but when the targets are Muslim countries who despise Jews, and Americans who hate Jews, the satire stops being funny and starts getting a little scary. It’s one thing to parody and satirize the stupidity of anti-Semites, and it’s another thing to portray anti-Semitism as funny. Borat walks a fine line.
As for Travers’s exaltation and demand that Borat be nominated for an Oscar, that is a bit ridiculous. The one thing Travers has right is that Borat is a pretty funny movie. The truly hilarious moments come sporadically: Borat singing the Kazakhs' national anthem at a Virginia rodeo, and his exorcism at a Baptist revival where he starts speaking in tongues are both pretty damn funny. But how can Travers declare Borat as the funniest movie of the year when this movie is just 12 days away?
Lesley came over after work to watch a new episode of The Office last night. I called up Charlie Mom to order some Chinese take-out so we could grub while watching the show. I am still convinced that Charlie Mom is an extremely racist name for a Chinese restaurant, but I haven't really convinced anyone else of this yet. Anyway, after I placed our order (beef and broccoli for me, lemon chicken for Les Boss) the Charlie Mom asked what I would like to drink. Of course, I had to be an asshole while making my request. "I will have one Seeeeeee-hair-aaaahhh Misssssst and one Die-ette Coke-ah," I said (not in a Chinese voice, just a goofy one, btw). There was a pause, then Charlie Mom said, "So...two Diet Cokes?" "Sure," I said.
The Office was an ok episode last night. Up until about a month ago, I was vehemently against watching the American version of The Office because I feel a strong loyalty to the original BBC version. Well, I happened to catch an episode or two over at Jake's apartment, and I was immediately hooked. The same dynamics exist in both series, but they've each got unique styles. Steve Carell's Michael Scott is not as well-rounded of a character as Ricky Gervais's David Brent, but he is just as, if not more, successful at making the viewer squirm. And I hate to admit it, but Pam and Jim (reincarnations of the beloved Tim and Dawn) are far more adorable than their British counterparts. vs. So now I've made it a practice to catch every episode of The Office. If you're not doing anything next Thursday, come on over. We'll get Chinese take-out and slam some Diet Cokes.
Yes, my friends, the release of Live! Tonight! Sold Out! is a mere 5 days away! And to pump up Nirvana fans around the world for the highly anticipated release of this DVD, Geffen Records has created a trailer!
vs. 
