PURCHASE | LISTEN

The first time I put on Ceremony’s new record, Rohnert Park, I knew I’d heard it somewhere before. The promotional material told me I was supposed to be reminded of protopunk and 80s hardcore. RIYL Fucked Up, Black Flag, and the Stooges. Maybe. But that didn’t sound quite right.

Then it clicked. On Rohnert Park, Ceremony reminds me of Flipper, the San Francisco punk band that didn’t tune, played terribly and slowly, and featured irritatingly repetitive vocals. Flipper hopped on hardcore bills just to mess with the scene’s expectations. And they were awesome for it. Ceremony takes a similar approach, and this record is already dividing hardcore kids.

Rohnert Park begins with “Into the Wayside Part I” (of III) and leads directly into the first true song of the record, “Sick.” On “Sick,” vocalist Ross Farrar lists a whole bunch of stuff he’s sick of, including 20 year old bands like Cro-Mags and Black Flag (presumably because they rhyme), politics domestic and international (realism?), and even–you guessed it–sick of being sick.

“M.C.D.F.” swings awkwardly, and “Moving Principle” rails against the modern world (hate that thing). The next track, “The Doldrums (Friendly City),” is a slogging three minutes of piercing single note melodies and jangling guitars, torpedoing the momentum of the first few tracks. Later in the record, Ceremony offers the No Trend -esque “Into the Wayside II,” which forgoes lyrics in favor of a story about saving some old guy (I think), and includes an ill-advised guitar solo.

The album continues with four indistinguishable minute-and-change songs, and then, inexplicably, it gets great.

“The Pathos” and “Nigh to Life” make the most of the grinding bass tone and–for the fist time on the record–the music rises up to match the vocals. And it’s during these songs that Ceremony sounds the most comfortable. The album concludes with the final installment of “Into the Wayside,” which vocally and musically recalls mid-era Elliot Smith (I know, right?), and features a woman’s speaking voice (David Axelrod gets a shout out) and a great chorus. Ultimately, and after a minute of silence, the buzzsaw bass and pummeling drums return to close out the record.

Which brings me back to Flipper. The concept of out-punking the punks, of undermining expectations and saying “DEAL WITH IT,” is amazing. You can’t listen to Album – Generic Flipper without getting a bit of a wry, in-joke smile. And with Flipper, it’s not like they could have done better–they were really terrible at their instruments. But on Rohnert Park, it’s clear that Ceremony could have made a truly excellent album (for example, if they released the last three songs on this record as an EP). So, while it’s great to raise a middle finger to presumptions, it doesn’t necessarily make for the most enjoyable listen.

Rohnert Park is out on Bridge Nine Records.

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1. Strike Anywhere – Iron Front [Review]
2. Defeater – Lost Ground [Review]
3. Shout Out Louds – Work [Review]

You Are Here, the debut album from (south) Brooklyn-based Field Mouse, is just that sort of record. A lush blend of shoegaze and 90s indie rock, You Are Here is steeped in hazy harmonies, delayed guitars, and emotive strings. But the crowning achievement of the record is the voice of Rachel Browne, whose soft, pristine vocals provide a consistently impressive narration through a stylistically diverse set of songs.

“Good at Me” opens the record, and features tight drumming and memorable (read: this will get stuck in your head) guitar riffs that recall mid-era Built to Spill. Tracks like “Anomie” and “Touché” show off the band’s shoegaze acumen, and include a few of my favorite moments on the album. And on “Tracing the Map,” the band picks up the pace with a cross-country adventure, where “time taps out slowly” as the song rockets forward.

Of all the songs on You Are Here, two stand out in particular. “Dirt vs. Grass” is a perfect summertime song. A simple, swinging jam including infectious handclaps and harmonies, the track is a welcome return to the best of carefree, 90s radio. The other highlight of the record is found in “End to End,” a heart-slaying, broken-down lullaby. The Disarm-esque chorus and the syncopated vocal line get me every time, and it has quickly become my favorite song on the record.

While the album is a fantastic listen, it is not without imperfections. Tracks, including the opener, could have been better served with a warmer bass, which is at times a bit too treble-y. “Tracing the Map” lacks a heavy guitar to match the locomotive drums and strong vocal delivery. And while the production is generally immaculate, sometimes I found myself longing for a more organic tone, without the effected guitars and vocals that make up a large part of the record.

However, these minor deviations do little to take away from the album’s overall strength. You Are Here is an excellent debut and a welcome addition to this summer’s soundtrack. Now let’s go outside.

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2. Danger Mouse & Sparklehorse Team Up For New Album
3. Dum Dum Girls – I Will Be [Review]

Each song in the 5-track short program is catchy, carries the unmistakable tinge of sincerity and is ably performed. But the opening track “Check Thyself Before You Wreck Thyself” best represents their vision: Well thought-out campfire songs with a keen eye for old world aesthetics melded into spontaneous outbursts of modern rock magic.

Still, the production of the vocals is a frequent annoyance. After all, I have never seen a concert in a small cavern – so if that’s what The Governors are going for, it’s too distracting. And if it’s not what they’re going for, their work is too good for that sort of simply mistake in a sound booth.

But you’re more likely to remember some mesmerizing guitar and harmonica work. The Governors aren’t afraid of silence, and they know how to walk the thin line between monotony and progression, offering plenty of inspiration to learn these songs and belt them out in one of the many skeezy establishments we all adore.

The Got Better Plans EP is not quite ready for air, but worth it for any dedicated music fan who wants to help The Governors build a aircraft. If they were more confident that their voices could carry themselves, this EP might be a classic, but it’s certainly worth a listen, if only to keep track of their progress. I know we will.

The Governors Got Better Plans EP by The Governors

p.s.
The Governors reunion show is on Friday, April 23rd, 2010 at Spike Hill, 184 Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn, New York.

Related posts:

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2. Serena Maneesh – Abyss in B Minor [Review]
3. Shout Out Louds – Work [Review]

You get this:

If Go Organic Orchestra sounds like the worst kind of faux-avant garde nonsense, I have to admit the lack of hyper-aware, arched-eyebrow brand consciousness is refreshing to me. They don’t need a cool name to sell me on the concept.

Whatever it is. It’s something that is neither jazz nor orchestra nor “world music.” Despite a conductor, it’s somehow freer than jazz, which tends toward either the nihilism of free jazz or the sing out, step back of the quartet. Here we can improvise more than how to get from A to B; we can go to Z and get there on the kazoo. And instead of a conductor being a performance showboat who did all the real work with the orchestra in rehearsal, we get the thrill of music being invented on the spot; in theory, with the precision of a decoded Beethoven symphony and the carefree collectivity of African drum circles.

The thing about this is that it almost doesn’t matter when it doesn’t work. And it often doesn’t work. That’s what you miss unless you see this in action. (Go Organic played Roulette in New York last week; see here for stops on Rudolph’s tour.) Rudolph can be furiously signaling, starting songs over, to little effect, and yet you almost hope the orchestra keeps fighting him. If jazz and classical music are both caught in an age-old battle of tonal versus atonal, structure versus improvisation, the Go Organic Orchestra at least stages the battle in a completely new way.

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For a brief period of time in middle school, I was a riot grrrl. My friend Ben and I used to request Bikini Kill on K-ROCK (denied!), ‘surf’ the nascent internet for information about Olympia, WA, and at one point my parents even took away my Bratmobile record (denied again!). Needless to say, I still have an affinity for girl groups that slay. And Dum Dum Girls slay.

I have to admit I’ve been extraordinarily skeptical about “summer-sounding” bands of late. Perhaps after the nth time of having my low expectations met, I was over it. Or maybe it was the weather/music disjuncture (I don’t want to trudge through the snow to hear a band that sounds like the Beach Boys in a fishbowl). In any case, at first, the name Dum Dum Girls set a nearly insurmountable mental barrier. To my surprise, after dismounting my high horse and giving DDG a listen, I’m totally sold.

“It Only Takes One Night” starts off with driving, slightly overdriven drums and droning guitar, before the song is overtaken by haunting harmonies. The straight-ahead surf-rock beats, coupled with simple, fuzzed-out guitars work well throughout the record, especially on tracks like “O Mein M.” For my money, “Yours Alone” is the standout here, caking a simple love song in a hazy feedback and straight-ahead, single-note guitars.

In my view, the only missteps on this record come where DDG tone things down (see e.g. “Rest of Our Lives” and the incurably Vaselines-aping “Blank Girl”), losing the punch that otherwise sets them apart from the pack. On the whole, however, I Will Be stands out because, underneath all of the fuzz and reverb, it actually sounds like Dum Dum Girls are having fun. And isn’t that what summer is all about?

Related posts:

1. Dum Dum Girls – Jail La La
2. Shout Out Louds – Work [Review]
3. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Beat the Devil’s Tattoo [Review]

After 12 years of playing together, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is a California band that has tried it all and still hasn’t found what it wants. After releasing the maligned “The Effects of 333,” BRMC returns to its roots with Beat the Devil’s Tattoo. However, like a cultural mutt, it can’t quite figure out what style to call home. And unfortunately, on this record, BMRC refuses to do the hard work of creating a coherent, consistent identity.

The record starts out promisingly, with the title track, “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo”, a chant-filled hillbilly stomper, where the vocals follow the minor-tinged guitars and the percussion is provided primarily by the boots of the band. The song iterates between verse lyrics and and “AH-ah-AH-ah” choruses, with more guitars added as the song reaches its climax, a hypnotizing recitation of the song title. A promising start.

The next tune, “Conscience Killer”, is a faux-Stooges rocker that tips its hat to the band’s Wild One motorcycle roots. Unfortunately, for all its “rock”, it gives me a greasy garage-rock-revival feeling that I thought was left back at the beginning of last decade. A brief detour for the brit-pop “Bad Blood” (and more guitar pedals), and the band returns with more stomp. The molasses-paced “War Machine” would be punishing, but for the deep-on-drugs vocals, which seem to have forgotten that the band was supposed to be gritty again on this jam.

After quickly breaking it down for the ladies on the acoustic “Sweet Feeling” (which according to the lyrics, “is gone”), BRMC drops “Evol,” a Jesus & Mary Chain-bitefest that does violence to the legacy of all earlier iterations of the name “Evol.” And as the album progresses, BRMC doesn’t “do” all too much. Mid-tempo rocker. Acoustic breakdown. Brit-Pop jam. Repeat. The album’s closer, “Half-State”, isn’t the impressive hail mary that it was likely designed to be. Instead, it’s like a conversation with too many goodbyes.

If this record was released in the late 90s, with a full run on the British festival circuit, “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” may have hit my ears differently. But it’s been well over a decade, with a full cycle of progressions and revivals on both sides of the pond. As a result, this record comes off as late to the party, downing the swill from half-empties and searching the fridge for leftovers.

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1. Pollution – Black Commune [Review]
2. Shout Out Louds – Work [Review]
3. The Beets – Spit In The Face Of People Who Don’t Want To Be Cool [Review]

Purchase | Listen

Download audio file (04-Someday-Soon.mp3)
Cedar Avenue’s Someday Soon is a pop rock confection with fresh programming and keys – turning what should sound monotonous into engaging experimentation. But the album could certainly use more of it.

Above all else, the Minnesota-based four piece offers smooth radio-friendly vocals and harmonies that the younger lady set will love. And its no wonder, Cedar Avenue is an immensely talented ensemble that seems to have ironed out any wrinkles in days long past.

But in music, you can oftentimes be too perfect — the primary weakness of Someday Soon is that the singing and melodies don’t sound much different across tracks, and the album needed far more experimentation with tempo and digital programming to distract from that.

The lyrics are passable – good enough to keep the younger fans’ attention, but not hold them rapt.

“The rain keeps falling after me,” singer and guitarist Jesse Mathews sings on the title track, “but all I need is a possibility.”

Midway through the 10-track album, you get that dreaded feeling that they’re trying to sound like something someone told them to sound like. As technically proficient as this album is, I’m not sure I believe them.

But songs like Icarus will make you reconsider. The seventh track features a programmed progression of beeping computer harmonics and a bouncy guitar riff that makes the chorus toe-tappingly catchy.

The following song, “Running Home” achieves much the same. It’s the dancy, digitized style of pop that makes Cedar Avenue stand out. Someday Soon leaves you wishing they would have leaned on that harder than the conventional-style pop rock.

It’s tracks that find the perfect middle of these two identities like “6am Tomorrow Morning”  that make for truly a solid pop offering.

Watch out for these guys and gal.

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Give Up The Ghost by Good Kids Sprouting Horns was recorded in a bedroom, and it sounds like it was recorded in a bedroom. Not to mention a thin bed of static. But that’s the thing – It’s real.

But sometimes real just means that you’ve heard this stuff before. The instrumentation is hardly ground-breaking — it is layered well enough, but sloppily. And much of the production doesn’t credibly offer the live feeling it seeks to create or stumble into much else.

The album begins with Popcorn Ceiling, the track posted below. It’s an ode to the thought of ever having to leave that place — that bedroom and the mental state it governs. The lyrics and arrangement recall countless conversations had in small rooms littered with out-of-date recording equipment and wires shaped like the red lines on your feet. Conversations that always seem to conclude, “what do we know?”

Download audio file (01-Popcorn-Ceiling.mp3)

“Popcorn Ceiling” has the kind of sonic repetition that seems like the perfect kind of cynical in that bedroom, but hurts an album’s replay value in the real world.

For every time the purposefully off-kilter keyboarding produces a lively result, such as the second track, Double Digits, A Life Achievement there is a track like the appropriately named Effigy, that just seems out of place.

Still, it takes a certain amount of bravery to leave tracks like, “Headache” so sparce, with faint rolling percussion that lives outside a simple keyed melody on the choruses and vocals during verses.

“The sidewalks are cracking/ there’s no place left to step/ my god isn’t listening and he will not save our mothers” vocalist and lead guitarist Anthony Bitetti sings on the fourth track, “but if I had just a little more time/ I would tell you all the reasons I love to hide — tonight is the night we die.”

A bit over the top, yes. But if that’s the kind of thing that scares you away, you won’t like this album anyway. (The track concludes with about a minute of static-y chatter.)

Good Kids Sprouting Horns aren’t the only band of their sort with these kind of resources to make an album with this mood. But they pull the rare feat of to keeping it somehow fun and light — it’s not forced. Truly, the saving grace of this effort is that Good Kids Sprouting Horns are making real music in a genre dominated by fakery.

But it’s hard to escape the conclusion that the keys are mixed incorrectly in promising misfires like “Route One South.”

It’s almost frustrating that so many of the little things — atmospherics, short instrumental breaks, vocal inflection – are done so perfectly,yet the songs as a whole don’t produce enough rhythm to make you tap your feet, or evoke enough emotion to make you sad.

What “Give up the Ghost” most often needs is more creativity from the drumming. But the structure of the songs themselves also seems lacking.

Still, Good Kids Sprouting Horns can and does get it right at points in this album — the second half of “Tight White Lines” features an infections drum and key centered musical break — one of the rare times the instruments find a voice of their own in this effort.

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Abyss in B Minor, the latest album from Oslo natives Serena Maneesh, is a stellar and challenging follow-up to their self-titled debut. Incorporating electronic and industrial elements, Abyss creates a haunting, shape-shifting atmosphere.

In order to fully understand what you’re getting into, two points of note are in order. First, Abyss was recorded in a cave. Second, it was mixed by Rene Tinner, longtime dedicated engineer for krautrock masters, Can. The result is that the album frequently sounds like Can, recorded in a cave.

That’s not to say Serena Maneesh ditches the familiar (some would say too familiar) elements of their first album. In fact, the album seems to alternate between its new, heavier influences and their older, more Shields-laden style. But the ubiquity of that sound (especially after the MBV reunion), makes those tracks sound particularly staid.

The standout tracks here are, conveniently, the odd numbered ones. The album opener, “Ayisha Abyss,” is a sonic expedition. It features dark, haunting chords, chopped vocals, undulating bass, and layers of percussion that build and collapse over nearly eight-minutes, never quite releasing, never quite resolving. Serena Maneesh has always been best in its opening moments, and this album is no different.

“Reprobate!” incorporates airy vocals (read: MBV) over syncopated open hi-hat hits, which give the song a solid groove in the vein of similar experimenters, Laddio Bolocko. “Blow Yr Brains In The Morning Run,” which sounds like four songs at once, is an excellent example of Serena Maneesh’s continued mission to make its listeners work for the melodies, which are perpetually hidden within the chaos.

For me, the real success of the album is the way that it highlights the band’s progression over the last few years. Where the Serena Maneesh of the mid-aughts tended to mimic the sonic results of its forefathers, Abyss pushes the envelope, internalizing the innovative process that made its influences so great while creating a unique atmosphere they can call their own.

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Purchase

Fan Death, why did you leave us? Originally from Brooklyn, the now Vancouver-based disco-pop duo just released their first EP, A Coin for the Well, on Pharmacy Records. In 2008 they released their first single Veronica’s Veil, and while it was the string-driven disco I’ve now come to except from them, it still felt right playing it alongside the likes of CSS and Yelle. With the release of this EP, however, I’m not sure I still feel comfortable saying that. A Coin for the Well is straight, unadulterated disco.

Their second single and the first off this album, Cannibal, displays this best. Actually the first five seconds may be the most disco part of the album, and if for some unfathomable reason that is a turn off for you I insist that you listen on. Just before lead vocalist Dandilion Wind Opaine chimes in, a somehow fitting, Middle-Eastern influenced violin line drops to conclude the opening. Opaine’s blasé voice carries the rest of the most pop track on the record.

The rest of the album leans more disco on the disco-pop spectrum. Power Surge is the unheralded anthem, which I hope turns into the next single. Sans the retro synth, Soon plays like a R&B ballad that ends with a sax that can’t settle on being too cool or too sultry, a problem this album has in droves. Instrumentally, The Son Will Rise is the closest Fan Death gets to Hi-NRG, but Opaine remains unmoved even as the synths beg her to kick it up a notch during the chorus. Finally, the first track, Reunited, may be my favorite thanks to the epically eccentric video below. What can I say? I’m a sucker for any Purple Rain shoutout.

The duo, now with backing band, is currently on tour overseas opening up for Vampire Weekend. If you’re heading to Austin next month you can catch them during SXSW though. Their debut album Womb Of Dreams is scheduled for a May release.

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Standing toward the back, I watched Paramore-haired teenage girls and their bro-meets-lumberjack-cowboy male counterparts stream into the main hall of the Gramercy Theater in New York City. For a second I had that feeling you get when you visit your old high school. To think that many of the kids in the crowd were born in the same year that I picked up the first Punk-O-Rama, I felt distinctly “cooldadish.”

The first band on the lineup was Title Fight, who I regrettably missed. If you haven’t spent some time listening to “The Last Thing You Forget,” please do. It features gritty vocals over melodic but unrelenting technical hardcore. It internalizes the best of Hot Water Music, Small Brown Bike, and Latterman. For an up-and-coming band, Title Fight is one of the brightest spots in the scene today.

This Time Next Year, on the other hand, was wholly unimpressive. On appearance alone, they came off as the kind of ready-made band you’d see in a teen movie–you know, when the guy goes to find the girl at the punk show or whatever. The music isn’t too far off from this impression. Too clean cut, too predictable, too vacuous. Another Found Glory. “I’m sorry I’m not sorry.” Ucht.

Thankfully, the set was short, and when the lights went down on This Time Next Year, there was a palpable change in mood. The next band up was Strike Anywhere, whose new album, Iron Front, I’ve also reviewed for A&SB. Strike Anywhere is neither clean nor cut, but holy hell they were tight.

The band ripped through eleven songs at lightning speed, pulling from deep in the catalogue they’ve built up since 1999. The songs lost much of their melodic sheen in the live context, but overall, this was for the better. Even “I’m Your Opposite Number,” a bit of a clunker on the album itself, had a fist-to-gut quality that put the crowd in a frenzy. In fact, as the show went on, the songs only got more intense.

The one unfortunate moment came in “Chalkline,” a song about women’s rights–and against, oh I dunno, “corporatized misogyny”–in the vein of songs like Fugazi’s classic “Suggestion.” Before the song, singer Thomas Barnett called for all of his “hardcore sisters to prove that this hardcore thing is not just boys fun.” But when the song burst in, the boys only became more aggressive, and the girls remained on the sidelines. It was a shame, and only further highlighted the line between the scene’s ideals and its reality. The set concluded with Barnett screaming “pledge allegiance to the world,” and with that, Strike Anywhere exited, leaving the crowd in a sweat-drenched and breathless state.

The final band of the night was Four Year Strong, one of the leading acts in pop punk today. They are a perplexing amalgamation of pop punk, melodic hardcore, Vagrant-style emo, and Killswitch metalcore. If you’re the kind of person who likes bands compartmentalized into neat genres, Four Year Strong is not the band for you. But for the crowd at Gramercy that night, Four Year Strong was exactly what they wanted.

Similarly to Strike Anywhere, the live setting took some of the polish off of the vocals, which to my mind, benefits the band. The live setting also put the usually forward-mixed synths back into the maelstrom, which was a big bowl of relief for me, because if there’s one piece of advice I could give to every one of the pop punk and nu-emo bands out there, it’s “fire your synth player.” Not to say the keyboardist here didn’t have a valuable role–some of the best moments of the show came when he stepped from behind his setup and took the role of front man. But in my mind, that guy needs his own hardcore band: they would slay.

The best song, far and away, was the band’s new single, “Wasting Time.” The drums were jet-propulsive, and laid a rock solid foundation for the band to pile on one of the catchiest pieces of rock music I’ve heard in a long, long time. I’m especially thankful that the band eschewed its usually tongue-twisted lyrics for this track, heightening its memorability and ultimate staying power. The melodies are classic, but buttressed by a new and refreshing forcefulness. Without question, this is the best song they’ve ever written, and I’d be surprised if it didn’t explode.

Among all the positive aspects of the show, however, one thing that I found a bit odd was how frequently the band prefaced its choruses and breakdowns with “if you know the words…!” The first time was justified, the second time was curious, but by the 10th or 11th time, it got a bit tired. Further, during “Maniac (R.O.D.),” the call for a circle pit felt out of pace, especially in contrast to the similar call during Strike Anywhere’s more roots-oriented set. But such is the combination of pop and punk.

I could talk about the differences between when I was a kid and now, but I think it’s important to refrain from imposing values from my youth experience on today’s bands and young fans. To some kid in the crowd, it was the best moment of his or her life, and that person is going to go home and check out bands like Lifetime and Gorilla Biscuits and start a band. Even to jaded twenty-somethings like me, that’s still really awesome.

Related posts:

1. Strike Anywhere – Iron Front [Review]
2. Andy Lehman & The Night Moves – Lowcountry [Review]
3. The New Year – The Company I Can Get

Strike Anywhere is a melodic hardcore band from Richmond, VA with over a decade under their collective (collectivist?) belts. Since 1999, they have been churning out records of aggressive music steeped in activism and political awareness.
On Iron Front, released late in 2009 on Bridge Nine Records, Strike Anywhere continue their tradition with an album that is musically pummeling, if a bit heavy on the platitude. The band is tight as you’d expect after ten years of playing in lockstep at 200 bpm, and the production has the signature Salad Days punch. Thomas Barnett’s vocals are as strong and passionate as ever, alternating between infectious melody and throat-shredding shouts.

The record starts off with “Invisible Colony,” a blistering track that decries the influence of organized religion, the media, and war in “a glamorous, divisible United States.” At barely over one minute, the song leaves a strong first impression, portending good things to come.

Next comes the album’s single, “I’m Your Opposite Number,” which is vigorously… anti-stuff. Barnett has said that this song is about voting and remaining on guard even in ostensibly good times (see the references to “change”). In other words, it’s “against” the “system,” man. Unfortunately, the message is overshadowed by a slowed-down tempo and awkward jumps between the anthemic intro/outro and the lukewarm verses and choruses. The song comes off as designedly “the single,” with an unnecessary solo and browbeating repetition of the song’s title. I could have–and the album could have–done without it.

The next few tracks bring back the energy, a testament to Strike Anywhere’s commitment to their sound amidst the myriad stylistic “developments” in the scene generally. “South Central Beach Party” is the most upbeat of the songs on Iron Front, and finds Barnett and company “knocking like heartbeats on the skyscraper door.” He speaks “for justice” and demands “this future, not chaos” (though an anarcho-punk calling for “not chaos” is a bit ironic).

“Omega Footprint,” for my money, is the strongest song on the record. From start to finish, it is emblematic of the broader stylistic mission of Strike Anywhere. Beginning with breathless, rapid fire delivery and leading-word gang vocals, this track is relentless. The chanted chorus is a call to arms for environmentalists who are “tired of standing still,” and forms the song’s backbone. If you listen to one song from the record, make it this one.

The record concludes with a series of songs beginning with “Summerpunks,” the simplest and most straightforward track on the album, laden in “whoa-o-ohs.” This is followed by “First Will and Testament,” which for some reason I can’t help but compare to “Last Will and Testament” on the most recent Propagandhi record. In that light, this “First Will” sounds oddly corporate, a barrage of platitudes floating above run-of-the-mill pop-punk. But fear not! “Western Scale” is a welcome return to the forcefulness and passion of the beginning of the record, and an excellent closer.

The album is certainly a repeat-listen, a welcome addition to the Strike Anywhere catalogue. But a few questions always ring in my head while listening to activist punk rock. After you organize, after you smash the state, after the revolution: then what? And what if people don’t play along?

Related posts:

1. LIVE REVIEW: Title Fight, This Time Next Year, Strike Anywhere, Four Year Strong on 2/12
2. Ceremony – Rohnert Park [Review]
3. Shout Out Louds – Work [Review]

When I first saw the trailer for Inglourious Basterds my initial and admittedly bigoted response was, “A bunch of nerdy Jewish looking actors brutally killing Nazis… did Tarantino just set-up the ultimate Hollywood executive (read Jewish) circle jerk?” Needless to say, I didn’t bother to catch it in theatres. Reviews came in overwhelmingly positive from my pseudo film buff guy friends with a penchant for violence (fittingly). They promised stunning cinematography, a well-paced and cleverly written story, an Oscar worthy performance, another dope Tarantino soundtrack, and a healthy release of testosterone. After the easily foreseeable and overblown finale I was left with most of the aforementioned items matched by a serious case of blue balls. Historical revisionism has been employed here merely for the sake of another undeniably cool yet empty Tarantino film.

On the road to pointlessness there is a lot of fun to be had while watching Inglourious Basterds. Christopher Waltz deserves all the praise he has received for his performance as Colonel Hans Landa aka ‘The Jew Hunter,’ leading this impressive ensemble cast (with the exception of Brad Pitt’s rarely amusing, mostly annoying Aldo Raines and Hostel director Eli Roth’s awful acting turn as ‘The Bear Jew’). It’s a Tarantino movie so of course the dialogue is slick and absorbing and like I said before, the soundtrack kicks ass. The moving pictures are beautiful and major props are due to cinematographer Robert Richardson. The opening sequence is probably Tarantino’s best yet and the careful pacing and elegant visuals from a stationary camera (not handheld) are much appreciated.

Instead of peppering in evidence of his film buffery, movies appear to be the only real focus of Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. There are memorable characters but they serve no deeper purpose than being a part of the spectacle of vengeance and endless film related references. If you are going to rewrite history I would hope that it would be a bit more interesting and thought provoking than simply having the bad guys die in grand fashion. But Quentin would rather continue to glorify violence while simplifying and trivializing such an important chapter in modern history. A great opportunity to comment on fascism and American foreign policy was squandered in this film.

There exists a disturbing phenomenon of military personnel who masturbate to war footage captured from the cameras attached to remote-controlled drone planes. Inglourious Basterds comes off like a high budget piece of war porn. If you feel dirty after watching it I might suggest renting Joyeux Noël, the powerful true story of French, German and Scottish soldiers in the trenches of WWI breaking rules by calling a peace and spending Christmas together. I’ve heard the argument that Taratino’s excessive use of violence is somehow satirical. Oh sure…it’s about as satirical as Rush Limbaugh’s use of ‘retards.’ And for the record, some of my best friends are super Jewish.

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2. Movie Monday: Charlie Wilson’s War
3. A&SB Presents: Movie Monday [omfg]

Shout Out Louds are an indie-pop band from Stockholm, Sweden. They have some boys and a girl in the band, and are affiliated with Peter, Bjorn & John (famous for the single most important moment in whistling history since Axl on “That’s Good“. The song builds with a piano line that is equal parts “All My Friends” and Peanuts theme, cutting out sporadically for vocals, which are unfortunately a bit too heavy on the reverb (think Arcade Fire covering Phoenix). The chorus would be fantastic but for the odd choice of guitar line, which is a bit too present in the mix and distracts from the rest of an otherwise driving chorus.

The next track, “Fall Hard,” is the real standout on the record. The guitars, while still a bit overwhelming, do not ultimately disappoint. The song features really interesting chord progressions and technical but still memorable leads. The horns are smooth and pleasant throughout. And while the vocals here are slightly too Robert Smith for comfort, the chorus differentiates Shout Out Louds from their contemporaries and gives the song a welcome uniqueness that is mostly absent on the remainder of the album.

After “Fall Hard” the subsequent songs are somewhat fly-over. These include “Play the Game” and “Walls,” which despite picking up the pace features a pinking piano line that reminds me of a similar, screeching Tegan and Sara song. “Moon” adds a nice violin in the mix that toes the Arcade Fire line (yet again) but is still nice enough.

The album doesn’t really regain its momentum until “Show Me Something New,” which brings the Grammis-award-winning bassist to the forefront with a simple but commanding line. The guitar-play on this track is stellar, I just wish the album had more of it. The chorus lyrics, while a bit simple in the thought department, plant a flag in your brain and won’t let go. It’s a great jam, and Shout Out Louds should have ended the album there. Unfortunately, they add an aptly-named plodder, “Too Late, Too Slow.” Yes, it was too late in the album for a song this slow. The melodies are salvageable, but without any drive, the song is a muted ending to an otherwise respectable album.

Work will be released on February 23rd, 2010.

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3. Dum Dum Girls – I Will Be [Review]

I used to make jokes about wanting to do heroin. It amused me because I didn’t know any junkies and I liked to see how far I could go before my friends called my bullshit. You’d think watching Requiem for a Dream as a teenager would be an effective deterrent, or maybe after seeing Trainspotting last year in my Edinburgh apartment (where the film is set in the late 1980s). Not until seeing Candy, a 2006 independent film from Australia, did I put the brakes on this jest.

Candy is not as sleek or inventive as its heroin-movie predecessors. What it lacks in luster it makes up for in a pair of gripping performances. Neil Armfield’s directing debut—based on the novel by Luke Davies, who co-wrote the screenplay with Armfield—is a poetic no frills look at how smack can derail young love. Heath Ledger plays Daniel, a selfish dispassionate slime ball who is in love with Candy, played by up-and-comer Abbie Cornish. The chemistry between Cornish and Ledger is electrifying, sparks which eventually burn as they nosedive along the spiral of addiction.

Unfortunately for the filmmakers, the main attraction in Candy is the chance to see Heath Ledger in one of his final roles. This was right before playing one the Bob Dylan iterations in Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There, and two years before his celebrated interpretation of The Joker. It can be seen as a sort of a villainous warm-up for Heath. It’s painful to watch Daniel take advantage of Candy’s admiration, pulling her into his pathetic life of petty crime and indifference. Cornish often steals the scene, giving a harrowing performance that does much more than compliment Ledger. Geoffrey Rush is excellent as their functioning junky benefactor, an organic chemistry professor who makes his own pure grade heroin.

In addition to the heart-wrenching glimpse into the junky life, Candy is also a brutal reflection on misogyny. Daniel’s credo is stated early in the film, “I wasn’t trying to ruin Candy’s life, just make my own better.” He is at moments quite charming but self-absorption and detachment defines this loathsome character. I remember watching Ray (starring Jaime Foxx) and thinking “well, the guy’s a musical genius, he’s blind and he’s haunted by his past, he gets a pass for using heroin.” I can’t say the same about apathetic dickhead Daniel. Ledger is difficult to watch as he reminds us just how much drug dependence can damage personal relationships. While in the throes of addiction it is easy to forget they were ever in love. You can imagine this ugly road does not come to a happy ending.

If you have read President Obama’s Dreams From My Father then you know how close he came to trying heroin. Teenage Barack was working at a restaurant and went into one of those big refrigerated rooms with a coworker. The coworker shot up and something about the sight convinced Obama not to do it. I say let Candy be your refrigerated room. Heroin use is just not funny when it ruins the one great drug that’s out there, romantic love. Cheesy, I know. But so is the bleacher seat song and dance sequence (‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’) in 10 Things I Hate About You. Here’s to Heath Andrew.

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Helen Earth Band is the latest incarnation of brothers Marc and Adam Allen, who previously played together in the criminally-underrated San Diego band, Counterfit . Counterfit was known for its unique blend of Southern California pop-punk and midwestern emo, drawing comparisons to bands like Mock Orange and Braid.

With Helen Earth Band, the Allen’s have built upon their old sound, drawing on new influences and instruments. Their latest single, “(We All) Talk With Knives,” is a pitch-perfect example of this progression.

The song swirls in a complex web of guitars, vocals and keyboards. The guitar lines feed off of one another in increasing complexity over ever-changing time signatures, all the while retaining a subtlety that prevents them from ever getting in the way. The vocals are similarly complementary, passed between the two primary vocalists and regularly augmented by the inclusion of a third vocal line. What they may be talking about in terms of content, I haven’t the faintest idea, except that its with knives, which can’t be a good thing. In any case, it’s not what they sing, but how they sing it. And damn they sing well.

The guitar and vocals are are sandwiched between a buzzing, ethereal keyboard and a steady, driving bass, giving the song a constant sense of movement and space. And it’s all anchored by rock-solid drums played with military precision. The drumming is deceptively complex, a seemingly straight beat that rarely repeats itself and accents the individual elements of the song at exactly the right moments. If you don’t believe me, try this: isolate the drums and vocals in your head, then do the same with the drums and the guitars, etc. It’s baffling.

But wait, you don’t need to imagine, we have an amazing video that does it for us.

Watching this video is like opening up the back of a grandfather clock, revealing in bright detail how each of the parts works independently to form an interconnected whole. You’ll be forgiven for not realizing that the backlights change between white, black, and an array of hazy blues and red bulbs. No matter. By focusing on the music, the video creates a further appreciation for the process of songwriting and live execution, shifting the focus from fashion to function.

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2. Shout Out Louds – Work [Review]
3. Your New Favorite Band pt 2: RUBIK

If you’ve ever seen Run’s House on MTV, then you know who Diggy is. If not, all you need to know is he’s the 14-year-old son of Run DMC member Rev Run. He actually spit a song on the show, but he’s improved much since then.

I had two major doubts about Diggy: 1.) While he undoubtedly has rap and hip hop in his blood, his older brother JoJo is less than impressive on the mic and 2.) Adolescent rappers just aren’t always impressive. They still have that whiny pre-puberty voice. See Lil Twist, who actually appears on the “Make You Mine” track. Diggy’s voice sounds pretty mature and his rhymes are actually pretty slick.

Diggy’s also got a nice taste in beats. All of the tracks are originals – no remixes on this mixtape – and he’s working with two of the best up and coming rap and hip hop producers on the majority of the songs, “Black The Beast” and “Young Jerz”.

But probably the most impressive thing about The First Flight is that Diggy’s rapping about real issues (at least for a teenager) and he makes it clear that he doesn’t want to coast through the rap game just because of his family connections (which seems to be the complete opposite for his older brother, JoJo).

As he says on “Point To Prove”: “You know they said I was born with a gold spoon in my mouth, right? Well actually, it was platinum. But the real point is, I didn’t plan on this type of life, I didn’t ask for this, honestly. But something I can plan on is wanting to be myself,” before he raps Yeah, and I already know what you expect / Ugh, now let me tell you what gon get / You probably seen me in the fast lane, flash frame / Now let me guess, you already know my last name / You probably seen me on TV, life’s so easy, but what is it even like to be me? / People jumping to conclusions, my own name is what I’m proving, my independent movement, no allusion.

The First Flight is surprisingly good, so give it a listen and keep an eye out for Diggy in the future as he continues to grow up.

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When The Soft Pack (at the time still called The Muslims) released their self-titled 12-inch I thought to myself, “This is garage rock.” The San Diego-based band had no intention of reinventing the genre. In fact, it played more like a Best Of. No surprises, but everything you could ask for in 10 garage rock songs, all in one place. Fast forward two years and the band is once again releasing a self-titled album, this time under their new, less controversial name The Soft Pack.

The problem with doing something so — I guess — unoriginal, is that you need to completely nail it. Unfortunately, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, they missed the mark here. Matt Lamkin, whose nonchalant vocals have always been a part of the band’s apparent Cali vibe, sounds much more like he doesn’t care at all versus being too cool to care. It’s really hard for me to call the lyrics uninspiring because I’m well aware that’s sort of what they are going for, but strictly going through the motions doesn’t become acceptable just because you admit to doing so. There needs to be something to justify repeat plays of the album that isn’t “because I’m reviewing it.”

Of course, if The Soft Pack come to town I would be more than happy to pay the 10 bucks to see them live and not just because I want to hear them play their old songs either. I can see this record translating much better in a live setting. Partly because it’s a little overproduced, but after seeing them at Don Pedro’s I have a feeling they can pull these tracks off. As long as they play Extinction too. Answer to Yourself, one of the better tracks off the album, is embedded below.

The Soft Pack ‘Answer to Yourself’ from Felipe Lima on Vimeo.

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2. Andy Lehman & The Night Moves – Lowcountry [Review]
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Million To One

Sumptuous, melodic, well-composed, earnestly written — What can’t you say about Andy Lehman & The Night Moves’ new album, Lowcountry?

Oh yeah, their next show is at a high school. And the one after that, too.

In Lowcountry, Lehman and his cohorts take a style of music that seems destined to be derivative and reinvent it into a fresh sound in all 11 tracks — no small feat. What stands out most here is that even though these are unabashedly pop songs, they draw much of inspiration from the crude oil of country music, which heartens the thin broth of pop-rock where they firmly land.

Andy Lehman & The Night Moves are an unabashed product of Greenville, South Carolina (I could tell they were from South Carolina before I even looked it up — and that’s a good thing) whose sound would play well anywhere. Great bands know who they are, and don’t shy away from it — a strategy that works so long as who you are is good. Albums of this quality from a young band make it plainly obvious that these guys benefit greatly from a range of favorable influences.

Hipsters Read: Country Music is Not Terrible.

But what really pulls Lowcountry together is the masterful production, which draws the rhythm elements into a space of their own. The one real question mark is how well this album would translate to live performance – since it seems to rely on many subtle and extra-band (a term I have just invented) sounds. But then again, with melodies this good, it’s even harder to imagine a band so talented screwing it up

But don’t worry Mauldin and Hillcrest High Schools, you’ve got a good one on your hands.

Go Rams!

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Guitar. That’s a quick and easy one-word description for the debut full length from Florida based band Surfer Blood. On their debut record, Astro Coast, they nail the clean and propulsive thrust of records like Weezer’s Blue Album and The Strokes’ Is This It. And while some may be quick to lump them in with the growing ranks of bands who have all heavily invested in reverb pedals, Surfer Blood display the chops and the songwriting skills necessary to help them avoid becoming a one-trick gimmick.

Like their peers in Real Estate, Surfer Blood utilize their guitars in a way that doesn’t shove them down the listener’s throats. But while Real Estate tend to smear the lens in vaseline and shoot straight into the sun so to speak, Surfer Blood take a more streamlined approach. Opener Floating Vibes is indicative, featuring interlocking riffs over a sturdy backbeat. While the guitars on this track do explode from time to time, it’s always in the guise of a tasteful solo. By the time the handclaps and “bah-bah” backing vocals come in, Surfer Blood have completely betrayed their power pop leanings and you can remark to yourself, “Man, it is so nice to hear Weezer sound like Weezer again.”

Elsewhere, such as on their buzz-bin (they’d appreciate that distinction) anthem, Swim, lead singer John Paul Pitts’ hoarse shouting tops a series of titanic riffs and stop-start drumming. The key to Surfer Blood’s appeal lies in the fact that behind the guitar heroics and shimmering textures, these are great pop songs. Lyrically is where Surfer Blood run the risk of falling into cliché, as a lot of their songs recall mid-90s emo poet laureate’s like The Promise Ring and Christy Front Drive. But this is a minor complaint on an album that ultimately serves its purpose as an enjoyable fist-pumping indie record. In a year where we’ve seen that term used and abused to the extent that all it takes is some facial hair to be indie, Surfer Blood seem proud to know on which side of the fence they stand.

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2. The Beets – Spit In The Face Of People Who Don’t Want To Be Cool [Review]
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Charlie Parker used to hang out in Charlie’s Tavern, a musician’s bar in midtown New York. To the dismay of his acolytes, he liked to play country records on the jukebox. There was reluctance to question the taste of mighty Bird, but finally a brave jazzman asked him. “How can you stand that stuff?” Bird looked at him and said, “The stories, man. Listen to the stories!”

I have a tough time with lyrics. I generally don’t care what an artist has to say, and I’m frequently disappointed when I focus in on the words in a song I love, only to find that the lyrics are slapdash, cliche, or try way too hard. It’s like finding out what someone’s symbolic tattoo means (dignity, obviously). You can’t unlearn the lyrics; you can’t bring it back to gibberish. In my mind, a truly great song, or album, is one that can tell a good story, evoking not just time-lapse Adamsesque landscapes (I’m looking at you, post-rock) or ubiquitous-yet-overworn interpersonal issues. It’s not easy, nor should it be.

Defeater, a Boston hardcore band, have two releases that stand apart from their peers based on their willingness to take chances with storytelling. In an interview, their guitarist has said, “[w]ith no disrespect to any bands out there I would say that hardcore has enough songs about straight edge / unity / family / etc.” Acting on this impulse, their first LP, Travels, recounted the life of a broken-down man from unwanted birth to church-steeple suicide. It was like Luke the Drifter gone hardcore, and it’s still one of my favorite albums from 2008. With Lost Ground, Defeater spins-off the story of a bit player in Travels, the homeless vet from “Prophet in Plain Clothes,” to great effect.

The record opens with “The Red, White and Blues,” which finds the protagonist at a bar, downing whiskey on the night before deployment to war. As the story progresses, he fights on the front lines of some unknown war, as his resolve and compatriots are killed (“No hope/Just folded flags.”), and he himself is gravely wounded. Upon returning to the States, he becomes jobless and alcoholic, pining for a better life a train-ride away (“Singin’ New York Town”). But NYC eats him alive, and the record closes with the vet “Beggin’ in the Slums.” The album trails off with the familiar folk strum of “A Prophet in Plain Clothes,” dovetailing with Travels and completing the circle. And, mostly importantly, the vocals don’t come off as yelling-to-yell, nor are they so quick or obfuscated to completely cloud the words and meaning. In short, they fit the story.

And while the story ropes the listener in, the real standouts here are the instrumentation and the production.
This record is an air-drummer’s dream, perhaps designedly so: it’s the first thing that the listener hears upon hitting play. The drums sit high in the mix, the snare has a perfect FWAP!, the kick is like a heel to the chest, and the toms have an incredible, infrasonic boom. The drums on “The Red, White and Blues” are flat-out pummeling, and the verse on “The Bite and Sting” is tech enough to impress but tasteful enough to respect the listener’s ears. The hi-hat work on “Singin’ New York Town” is similarly amazing. It’s as if the record has taken the best of melodic hardcore and post-hardcore, eschewing the trappings of the maligned “bro” variety. And thankfully, the record never gives into the temptation to use today’s scene-standard Meshuggah rhythms (“da-dun, da-dun, da-dun-da-dun, dun, da-dun”).

But that’s why Defeater is so compelling, they don’t give into any scene-standards. It’s formula free, devoid of cliches. The guitars use big and complex chords to add constant tension and release–not chunky power chords or cheesy octaves. On the low-end, Lost Ground features the thickest and dirtiest bass you’ve ever heard, which simultaneously buttresses the guitars and colors the already-deadly drums.  Finally, Defeater breaks free of the typical verse-chorus-verse-chorus-breakdown-chorus structure, keeping things interesting throughout.

Lost Ground is a perfect addendum to Travels, preserving its amazing storytelling while continuing to improve song-writing and structure. It is a must-listen.

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3. LIVE REVIEW: Title Fight, This Time Next Year, Strike Anywhere, Four Year Strong on 2/12

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It’s understandable that in 2010, the idea of a band being lo-fi might ring a bit false. With the ascension of band’s like Vivian Girls, Wavves and No Age, to be in a band identified as lo-fi (or, even worse, “shit-gaze”) is in some circles equivalent to being in a dance-punk band in 2003 or Sebadoh in 1991. Not a good business decision so to speak. And while lo-fi will always rub some the wrong way, it will also always find an audience with those who value youthful enthusiasm over chops.

To that end, The Beets’ “Spit In The Face Of People Who Don’t Want To Be Cool” is a record that is bound to attract its fair share of admirers and detractors. Full of ramshackle stand up drumming, spare guitar, and an outlook that can best be summed up as “truculent,” Spit In The Face is at it’s best when the band’s carefree attitude doesn’t get in the way of the songs. In many ways, the Beets’ remind one of the Violent Femmes on their first record, or the Feelies without the Glenn Mercer guitar heroics. The songs are little more than playground chants about hating school, being confused, and hanging out with your friends.

For You is the standout track here, an awkward and touching statement of loyalty and friendship that lolls along at a breezy pace over Juan’s (no last name’s here folks) skeletal acoustic guitar and thudding floor toms. “No Blood” also reveals itself to be a charming ditty, with all three band members singing to create a schoolyard chorus of mild disaffection.

Elsewhere the band picks up the pace on tracks like Go Away and What Did I Do, lending these songs a Bo-Diddley or early Fall feel (think “Container Drivers” or most of the Slates EP). Some have called Spit In The Face monotonous and disengaged, and they could be right. But the Beets don’t seem to give a shit, and that, in it’s own way, is kind of cool.

Editor’s Note: Sorry, this is not the band from Doug. We will review that album next week.

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With his Conjure cognac about to hit the nationwide market, Ludacris dropped the A Hustler’s Spirit mixtape this week to help promote the liquor he has taken a strong personal investment in. If the yak is as good as the mixtape then definitely go grab a bottle when it hits the shelves.

As usual, the Atlanta-bred rapper spits some lyrical fire. Mixed in with some four “Conjure Commercials,” Ludacris’ main goal on this mixtape is to simply let know about his new liquor, but he does it with some clever rhymes as well.

When I get a remix Imma rip this song / I dedicate this flow to the conjure cognac that I’m sipping on/ Four fours Im tipping on/ Wood grain Im gripping on / If ya girl don’t like my music, tell her leave my dick alone, lone, lone, he raps on All The Way Turnt Up, a remix of the popular Travis Porter that has been making its waves around the internet.

Luda’s beat selection doesn’t disappoint, either. Mainly the tracks are taken from fellow ATL residents’ recent hits, such as Gucci Mane’s Wasted, Wacka Flocka’s O Let’s Do It, and Rich Kids’ Patna Dem, among others.

Ludacris included the single ATL, GA that he appears on with Shawty Lo and The Dream, which is worth the download itself.

DTP label mate Lil Scrappy appears on a number of tracks and sounds refreshed after essentially being out of the mainstream limelight since his Money In The Bank single in 2006. Scrap and Luda definitely made Addicted To Money a banging hit on this mixtape.

You should definitely go cop this mixtape and after listening, you’ll probably want to grab a bottle of Conjure (don’t worry, the retail price is around $30).

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Vampire Weekend is so easy to hate. They are gentrification in musical form, unabashed cultural exploiters. Sure, they aren’t the first clean-cut, intelligent white guys to appropriate “world” music (Brubeck, Simon, Byrne), but they are certainly the most annoying. And now they are #1 on the Nickelback-affirming Billboard charts.

I should state up front that I thought the first Vampire Weekend record was refreshing. There was very little of it at the time. A-Punk was a great pop tune. The record had good hooks, crisp production, and simple instrumentation. Some have suggested that the Vampire Weekend project is really just a tongue-in-cheek take on white privilege. If so, with Contra, the joke has gone too far.

Listening to Contra is like having a hangover on a sunny day. I don’t care how happy it is, it’s too much. Slow down, try playing in a minor key, use your natural voice. Who are you, really?

Perhaps I’m overthinking the whole thing, but to me this album sounds like the byproduct of an ethnography thesis. This is a conscious appropriation of cultural styles not their own, both African/Caribbean and experimental.

First, there’s the “world” music (a loathed genre if there ever was one). The clear first point is that this music is not something that comes out of the natural noodlings of a well-off 13-year-old learning guitar.

It is well known that Paul Simon has been accused of brazenly claiming credit for the culturally-authentic work of his collaborators. Similarly, Vampire Weekend has internalized Simonesque inflection and stylistic exploitation. As such, if we’re looking at links in the chain, Vampire Weekend is at least two steps away from honesty.

Of course, artists are free to explore new and interesting styles, and reappropriation has been fundamental in the development of art in the West. But there is a core difference between exploitation of an other and a good faith appropriation of styles. It’s not hard to see where Vampire Weekend falls.

The second exploitation apparent on Contra is its pillaging of modern experimental music. While artists like Animal Collective utilize new tools to challenge listeners to rethink how pop music can be made, Vampire Weekend is appropriating the superficial outcomes of those earnest efforts in such a way as to simultaneously suck out its experimental value and inject something designedly commercial.

Examples abound. There are those god-awful yelps in the background on “Cousins,” the harmonized ays on “M79,” the arpeggiated synthesizers on “White Sky.” The most clear-cut (clean-cut?) case, though, is “Horchata,” which sounds like a poor man’s “Summertime Clothes” mashed with Mark Mothersbaugh’s “Rugrats” theme. Again, too much. It’s OK to show your influences, but not to milk them.

And so, with Contra, Vampire Weekend becomes the band that the frat kids name-drop to get in with the indie girl at the party, the “jam” they play at the Nantucket barbecue, squeezed in between “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and “No Woman No Cry.” Great.

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If there’s one style I’d like to see find a quiet place to die in 2010, it’s the disaffected, out-of-tune, and reverb-awashed excuse for rock music that infected Brooklyn over the last two years. Vivian Girls? Yeah, I get it. Real Estate? I still don’t get it, but whatever. Pollution is the antidote. Their 2009 cassette n.s.DRUGS is pissed off and loud.

Black Commune starts with a punch to the face, and continues with less than two minutes of pummeling drums and guitars that couldn’t give less of a fuck what you think. The second track, Fuck Hope (yeah! fuck hope!) turns the first track on its head, slowing things down to a crawl as feedback sucks the song into itself. The d-beat returns on Reds, another two minute banger with an attitude seemingly designed to wake Brooklyn from its beach-bummer malaise.

These tracks are followed up by two more feedback nightmares, which is followed by the surprising–but totally appropriate–cover of “Downer” by Lush. (A 90s era indie shoegaze band from London.)

One of the best parts about the whole package, though, is the fact that it was released as a cassette, standing as a giant middle finger to the era of digital immediocrity and stultifying High Fidelity pretenders. It’s almost as if, to really get the full experience, you need to hear the shake-click-clack of the tape dropping into the deck. And that’s awesome.

Listening to Lush, you hear hints of the modern-day Brooklynites. But the Pollution cover adds a palpable attitude that today’s forgettables haven’t been able to muster. Let’s hope more bands take a cue from them.

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2. Ceremony – Rohnert Park [Review]
3. Dum Dum Girls – I Will Be [Review]

After a short delay, Cam’ron’s second installment of the Boss of All Bosses with DJ Drama finally hit the mixtape market on Tuesday night. Don’t judge this album based on the cover art (c’mon, Drama, step your Photoshop game up) – Cam gets back to his Killa Dipset status on this one.

Teamed with his Harlem protégé and fellow U.N. member Vado on every track, Cam’ron goes hard on this mixtape right from the get go. The first four tracks are all hot and as Cam can do as well as anyone, he’s spitting some witty rhymes.

However, Vado really does the heavy lifting on this mixtape. While he sounds a little bit like Cam’ron and has the same flow, he’s pretty smooth on all the hooks and a lot of his lines are actually better than Cam’s.

“I’m 20-something, still Young Money Mack Mainin’ / Champagne flowing / Bright leg glowing / Sour diesel blowing while my right hand plowing / And every broad glass I don’t ask, they knowin’ / I get that work back to the condo, they goin’ / Yup, they goin’,” Vado spits on “Nuthin’ Like Araab Musik.”

They Feelin’ Us and Bezel Up really have that Diplomats kind of sample on them. While that alone shouldn’t spark any rumors, it’s interesting given that Jim Jones recently alluded to a Dipset Reunion.

“Shout outs to Juelz, Zeke and Cam – Dipset for life,” Jones said on 106 & Park. “We might have some surprises for y’all, but I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”

The rest of the mixtape is OK. The only other notable tracks being Get Away, where Cam’ron and Vado rap over the classic Mobb Deep track of the same title, and the last song Whistle, which is just humorous that someone would rap over the Tetris song, though surprisingly pretty good.

Overall, Boss of All Bosses 2 is a solid mixtape and definitely worth the download.

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The Liarbirds have two gears: Balls to the wall and balls through the wall.

The Minneapolis-based band features driving, almost manic instrumentation on every track of their debut full-length. But unlike many other bands of the sort, they care enough and are good enough to make it fit.

Cut the Slack is an album distinctly reminiscent of a post high-school daze that afflicts our early 20′s. It sounds like the music you liked back then (if you listened to good music) except everything is more full, from the lyrics to the drum fills, guitar progressions and the singer’s voice. Growing up without giving in – that’s what The Liarbirds have done.

At it’s heart, the 14-track album is a collection of songs about everything besides precisely what they are writing about – alienation. Cut The Slack is written as a desperate bid to keep the party going, despite the growing influence of time, which they come to realize will inevitably catch them.

“Hey I hope you’re better, hope you’re making some improvements/ because the last time that we saw us you weren’t making forward movements anymore/ you’ve got the right to be crazy/ you’ve got to be crazy to be right/ so frequently so it seems you’ve got a couple of couches/ platonic relationships/ you’ve got a couple of problems a headache like God’s own grip/ you’ve got a wet paper bag from which your conscious drips and a case of jet-lag still naggin from high school trips”

Made clear in this album is that frontman Zach Rapport truly has a gift for writing choruses- specializing in ambitous, catchy hooks that split the difference between punk and pop.

The Liarbirds benefit greatly from a singer, Rapport, who knows the limits and strength of his vocal range. He’s gained that punk ability to make three notes sound like an orchestra by pushing vocals through his throat in every way imaginable, pausing to vary the cadence and yelling when appropriate.

Probably the best example of that is the sixth track – R&R on Ice

“Gave up on sleep so long ago/ ice water sheets glacier pillow/ I need some R&R on ice that’d be nice/
freeze my teeth then slowly thaw my smoke stack throat scratched red-meat raw…”

Whether by design or accident, the somewhat scratchy production quality helps this album, making it seem as if you are hearing the songs the way they were meant to be heard. Namely, at a seedy club where everyone’s drunk on the cheapest drink in the house.

But the production does narrow them, thankfully into the place where they’re most comfortable. Infectious as Cut The Slack is, you can’t help but think they can do more. It’s because they can.

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PURCHASE | WESBITE

“In the beginning I discovered wordplay. I experimented with some syllables from the first to the third day. On the fourth I searched for the words to say – how to compress complex verbiage in the least amount of space. I was perfect at it – I mastered the tactics. On the fifth day I decided that I would combine it with mathematics. On the sixth day I became a fanatic, and I couldn’t kick the habit. I would just look in the mirror and practice. On the seventh cycle? I had to take the day off. I was exhausted, I guessed my work would never pay off. But if it happened to Him, it could happen to me. And if it happens to me it was destined to be.”

If the true art of rap is a quest for a logical proof that the emcee is a God, Germaine “Canibus” Williams has come closer than any artist in history. On several occasions.

Rip The Jacker is a surreal, sometimes whimsical display of lyrical aptitude laid over beats drawn from an eclectic collection of western-hemisphere influences.

Seemingly, the entire purpose of the album is for Canibus to prove that he is a divine entity. His other work seems to tip-toe around his obsession – but in Rip the Jacker he seems liberated to take it on full-bore. But here’s the thing – when he’s rapping about the things that really are dear to him – the countless hours of practice, the philosophers he tries to emulate, the purpose of hip hop, why he failed so miserably and why we are no more likely to succeed – we actually learn something about the man. In Rip the Jacker, Canibus combines his unheard-of talent with the kind of introspective lyricism that can only come from a man who has seen all of his dreams fall to pieces.

Like so many rappers, he is better when he has nothing. It is too bad that the world first heard Canibus after Wyclef Jean told him that he could have everything.

By the time he released his masterpiece Rip the Jacker, Canibus’ career had already fizzled.

His first album, Can-I-Bus, was one of the most anticipated rap releases of the era. Williams was produced by Wyclef Jean in his heyday and was an underground legend for his unheard-of freestyle talent. But backing up those stratospheric expectations with a reggae producer and his first-ever mandate to be “radio friendly” was too tall a task for Canibus.

It’s not that the album was terrible, indeed, his flashes of brilliance amidst the piss-poor production, sloppy beats and comically bad guest rappers left him with a strong underground following that is loyal to this day. Still, Can-I-Bus was no hit – the album floundered on the Billboard charts and left him exposed to a frontal assault from media darling LL Cool J (with whom he had been feuding over a stolen tattoo).

His follow-up 2000 B.C. (Before Can-I-Bus) was better, but not good enough – it’s poor sales numbers got him dropped from Universal Records.

Then came C: True Hollywood Stories, where his feud with Eminem began. Remember that Eminem line, “two trailer park girls go round the outside, round the outside, round the outside?” He was actually mocking a Canibus line from this very album.”Canibus is coming for ya’ll ’round the outside, ’round the outside, ’round the outside.”

Here’s what The Onion’s A.V. Club said about his third album C : True Hollywood Stories –

“Next-big-thing turned hip-hop footnote Canibus leaped into the post-9/11 xenophobic fray with the noxious macho fantasy “Draft Me.” With sophisticated lyrics like “Draft me! I wanna fight for my country / Jump in a Humvee and murder those monkeys!” the song instantly hurled itself into a time capsule of kitsch. At least Canibus proved a man of his word: Denied the compulsory draft he so richly desired, he enrolled in the Army, only to be kicked out for smoking cannabis. How appropriate.”

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Download audio file (OldCanes_Trust.mp3)

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3. AWESOME IN 1996: WEEZER

For those of you out of the loop, Bruce Wayne is dead. Long live Batman (and Robin)!

It’s an arduous task, introducing a new Dynamic Duo to the world, and the creative team of Batman & Robin # 1 pull it off masterfully.  Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s former protégé, is the Batman while Bruce’s son, Damian, takes up the mantle of Robin.  Gotham City hasn’t seen the Caped Crusader or the Boy Wonder in the months since the Final Crisis took Batman’s life.  They were dark times, but that’s about to change.

Morrison and Quitely show us Gotham in a state it hasn’t been in a long time: fun.  Batman and Robin (in their brand new Batmobile) chase Mr. Toad through the streets of Gotham City.  Each twist, turn and disabling missile give the villain a wild ride that can only end in his defeat.  Batman and Robin are back in town and crime is doomed.

This issue, while predominantly set-up, is how you introduce a new status quo.  Every panel of this book is flooded with detail and nuance.  Through banter, clever facial expressions and clever panel layout, Misters Morrison and Quitely communicate more about these characters and their world in 22 pages than I’ve seen since their last collaboration (All Star Superman).

The Batman’s been with us since 1939.  He died at the age of 70.  I can only hope his replacement, so long as he’s handled as ably as he’s been so far, will last as long.

Viva La Bat!

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The show was part of the “TRL National Tour.”  The set list was comprised of fan-voted favorites like “Los Angeles” and “Burning House of Love.”  X’s original line-up shredded through hits like “Johnny Hit & Run Pauline,” “Under The Big Black Sun,” “Los Angeles;” hell, pretty much all their classics.  I couldn’t help but feel the exhuberance throughout the near two hour set.  John Doe’s and D.J. Bonebrake’s energy was awe-inspiring.  Billy Zoom, stood to the left of the stage, smiling, nodding and playing perfectly in tune.  Exene even broke her usual seeming disinterest for the situation by occasionally bantering with the crowd.

Just before going into “The Have Nots,” John Doe made a comment about the song being responsible for too many DUIs and how he was happy to play it in New York, since the locals don’t drive.  A fairly innebreated woman then screamed, “We’re New Yorkers!  We don’t fucking drive, we take the train!”  With a mix of disdain and a hint mischief, Exene looks the girl dead in the eye and said, “That’s what he just said.  You people don’t drive.”  She rolled her eyes and X played the song.

This was one of the most high energy show’s I’ve ever been to.  There was a symbiosis between the band and the audience.  The more excited the crowd became, the more enthused  got and vice versa.  The crowd, many of whom were well into their forties or older, were more lively than an audience at a grindcore show.  There was one gentleman in particular who kept on moshing outside the pit.  Despite the best efforts of those on the edge to keep him in, he still found his way into groups of perfectly psyched folks who just wanted to enjoy their beers or waters.  Naturally, his flailing prevented such enjoyment.  I could have sworn John Doe shook his head when the guy knocked my friend’s beer all over the girl to his right.

Other than that minor incident, the show was fantastic, absolutely fantastic.  They’re playing at the World Cafe in Philadelphia on June 4 and making their way west.  I highly recommend checking out one of the remaining shows on the tour (you can peep the show dates here).

Fair thee well,

Ian

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Drag Me To Hell follows the story of Christine (Allison Lohman), a loan officer at a small California bank. When Christine refuses to grant an old gypsy woman an extension on her mortgage, the woman places a curse on Christine. Christine has three days before a demon drags her, body and soul, into the pits of Hell. The plot is that of many a Hammer or Universal horror movie that cam before, but Mr. Raimi, aided by a well-rounded cast, play all the beats just right. There’s a fight scene in a parking garage between Christine and the old gypsy woman that is both terrifying and hysterical. The scene is a masterpiece of macabre absurdity.

In a summer of remakes and rehashes capitalizing on your childhood memories (I’m looking at you McG and Michael Bay), I urge you to check this flick out.

Be seeing you,

Ian Gonzales

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I’m a little ashamed to say I’d never heard Metric until just a couple of weeks ago.  The name of the band gets thrown around in conversation all the time, although never by me, and it’s generally thrown in my direction along with other bands I pretend to have heard.  Like Placebo.  Go ahead and laugh at the jerk who never heard Metric.  When you’re done laughing, I’m going to punch you in the face and tell you how rich I am.  It will be a soft punch and I’m actually quite poor.

In 1992 I was 14 years old and attending high school in the small town of Oakland, NJ.  I will refer to this time as “back in my day” when describing it to my grandchildren.  At this point in my life, I was freebasing cassette tapes.  There was a small group of kids in my school that were immersed in the alternative rock scene and, in retrospect, were probably one or two genes away from shooting up the place.  It was during this phase that I first heard Pod by The Breeders, which was recommended to me by a female alterna-friend who made her own miniature pottery and sold it to kids at school.  Yes, the kids actually paid for this pottery.

There was something about Kim Deal’s voice and her lyrics on the Pod record that interested me.  I needed to know what she looked like, who she was and where she came from.  Since this was before the internet was widely in use, I had to find pictures and information by visiting record stores to thumb through the magazines.  At one point I made a visit to the library to search their archives and find out as  much as I could.  Needless to say, the Oakland Public Library didn’t have much.

The first time I heard Metric’s new album Fantasies, I decided not to look at the band.  I resisted the urge to Google them, and have avoided reading articles with detailed information or photos.  It’s become so easy to get information about a band and a lot of the mystique is gone.  There’s something about Metric that makes me want to file their record along with the cassettes and CDs from my high school days, and I’d like to keep the information overload at bay so I can be left alone with the music.

Watch the video for “Sick Mise” below:

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Listen

Joel Dobbins’ free online release Investment is almost astonishingly well produced. And Dobbins certainly has an ear for the grand, but this album is too epic for its own good.

From the first track Tears of Joy – an impressive sonic accomplishment – you can’t help but feel that Dobbins is walking a tightrope over mindless pop oblivion. And you can’t help but cover your eyes for fear that he won’t make it to the other side. He doesn’t make it. But Dobbins doesn’t die in the fall, either.

In Investment, at least, Dobbins comes across as a young man who seems to instinctively know that that good writing and catchy melodies are all that matter. But he hasn’t yet reconciled that truth with his amazing technical proficiency. Conserving the pop gadgetry for when he really needs it would do Investment wonders.

In the third track, Out of the Blue,  Joel Dobbins combines the slick studio instrumentation you might expect from a committee-written studio pop CD with indie-rock style staticy flair. But once the song is over, you’re still not sure whether it was a good idea.

Indeed, Dobbins seems trapped between a Green Day style protest of narcissism and the too-crisp pop sound he often tumbles into. It’s a conflict that leaves an unbridgeable gap between hip party favors like Life on Paper and the mostly unlistenable Out of the Blue.

What makes his inconsistency all the more frustrating is the brilliance of tracks like What’s Come Over Me, a tastefully understated sonic wonder.(Although it could lose a few notches on the vocal effects.) It’s no coincidence that Dobbins’ voice sounds best at the end of Selective Memory when the filters finally give it a rest and Does Heaven Have a Flag.

My numerous gripes aside, it’s undeniable that this album comes from the heart of a nifty lyricist.

“If I want a legacy worth leaving/ This is something that I must believe in/ Life is not a human right/ It’s simply
something borrowed and we’re running out of time/ How will you invest it?”

Dobbins asks in Question of Ownership, one of a number of Investment’s surprisingly adept new wave-style tracks.

Joel Dobbins’ “Investment” is a bit like like reading reading F. Scott Fitzgerald’s high school English papers. The talent is there, but who is the demon over his shoulder telling him this is how it has to be done? Once he figures that out, a masterpiece seems almost certain.

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Enter Tortured Soul to save the day and gently rock you and your mother.

The band cleverly maintains a soft jazz edge on their album Did You Miss Me while merging it with dance and elevator music. A lot of funk and groove is laced in the bass lines and keyboard riffs, but it’s never anything too hectic or sweat-inducing; you’ll find yourself tapping your toes and swaying with the beat, but not grinding up against the crotch of an adjacent person who also feels the groove.

The vocals are a pretty awesome amalgamation of things that probably don’t belong in the same sentence. They’re Hall and Oats meets Prince meets Stevie Wonder, with the songwriting sensibilities of Erasure.

Take “Another Lover” as an example. It has hardcore 80s vibes with some spaced out synths, and throws a funky bass line and soft soulful vocals into the mix to force your head to uncontrollably bounce and your jheri curls to suddenly become popular again (Rick James fans rejoice!).

The lyrics on the track, as with most of the album, are pretty light fare about the ins and outs of relationships. As lead singer John-Christian Urich croons about being unfaithful, “baby you left me alone/ never called me on my phone/ so it happened naturally/ hope you’re not too mad at me.” We’re not talking Hemmingway here, but it certainly matches the simple, uncomplicated fun that the music has to it.

A lot of the subject matter tackled on the album revolves around the guys not being around but hoping that their woman is faithful. Apparently they’re really busy guys, but they can be sure about their girls approximately 99 percent of the time.

They also like tequila, as evidenced by their track We Like Tequila. It has the feel of a lounge act, with a vocal delivery that has Urich calmly implying that everyone likes tequila in the type of tone that subliminal messages are made of. A female vocalist joins the fray, repeating “tequila” with an inflection that turns from inquisitive to hyper sexed up in a matter of seconds. The whole track crescendos into a quasi-Hokey Pokey in Spanish as a crowd of Mexican singers come out from the woodworks to make their voices heard. Seriously.

Tortured Soul has crafted some fantastic, guilty pleasure-worthy music that is worth a listen. Their music has a knack for grooving its way into your heart, and its uses are about as varied as the musical styles they draw inspiration from. It’s not quite music to make love to, but it’s certainly suitable for your next wine tasting party.

Don’t forget the brie. Listen here.

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But instead of asking why the hell I still use CD players, you should ask yourself why you’ve never heard of Chase Pagan. His second release is a fun, bouncy pop rock wonder that shows off Pagan’s tremendous range without, well, showing off. What makes Bells & Whistles a truly special work is that Pagan’s range is so broad that the listener never even considers whether he is reaching too far.

While he can hardly contain his affinity for instrumental flourish in this 13-track album, Pagan always has the good sense to break each song down to the bare-bones melodies and sing-songy rhyme patterns that form the base of any good rock album. Even better, his lyrics are interesting.

Son/ where ya going in that dress/ who’s your lover and whats their sex?/ is it a boy?
Darling can’t you see you’re a boy/ you shouldn’t play with those pink toys/ they should be blue/
…
alright son lets just sit down and have a talk/ man to man/ you’re a boy who should like women/ just like your mother

The single best element of this album isn’t the meld of old-timey instrumentation and modern gadgetry, but that most of Bells & Whistles sounds like entries in Pagan’s journal, with the music cast as the haze of thought. If anything, it is a reminder that good music never has to be immaculately poetic, just carry a ring of truth. And this album is laced with a folksy twang befitting Pagan’s Arkansas roots.

Bells & Whistles isn’t especially challenging or groundbreaking, just a fun and fresh listen from an artist who seems certain to be a star in the future if his work ethic matches his talent. Chase Pagan has found a sound that’s palatable to casual music fans with the layering to satisfy most any audio buff. What more can you ask for, really?

The album will not be released in stores until June 9, so we’ll be sure to remind you when the time comes.

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“Zero” Video | Myspace

by Zach Huff – A&SB Contributor

Have you ever stayed awake at night, staring at the slowly rotating ceiling fan blades above (or empty ceiling, should you be fan-less) while wondering, “What would a Yeah Yeah Yeahs album sound like if Karen O and Brian Chase decided beat down the guitar-driven awesomeness that is Nick Zinner’s overbearing guitar prowess, likely through the use of baseball bats and lots of rope?”

Well, lie awake no rore.

It’s Blitz! has finally been released, and allegedly it’s totally a “dance rock” album. How’s that? They replaced most of the guitars with synths. Or at least that’s why I think people are touting it as a dance rock album.

To be clear, I’m not saying that it’s a dance rock album… because it isn’t. I mean, I don’t think it is.

The album does start with a few songs that can kinda be considered dance-y. Lead single Zero has a whole lot of blips and quasi-industrial sounds and rhythms going on that illicit the feeling of awkward underground goth clubs (you know, like the one from the first Matrix movie). Heads Will Roll hits with the synths hard, and Chase’s live drums play around with the drum machine beats to force your feet to tap, if not get up and move you around with whatever dancing skills you may possess.

The dance argument can also be made for Dragon Queen, which feels like the love child of Air and Hiroshima (the band, not the city). It certainly has a swagger to it that someone could silkily grind against your crotch to at a dark dance club. I’m sure there’d be lots of foam there.

But beyond that, I don’t know what to really consider the rest of the album. Other than “not dance rock.” It’s a new genre, about to blow up all over the hip blogs…

Shame and Fortune feels like a track that could have come off of Fever to Tell, with Zinner’s complex guitar hooks ripped out, stabbed with sharp implements of musical molestation and flimsily thrown back in. Skeletons and Runaway are almost uncomfortably slow. They work well on their own, but looking at the album as a whole… it’s equivalent to throwing on a Climax record in the middle of a techno set. And no one wants to hear Precious and Few while dripping sweat on the dance floor.

Soft Shock takes the better parts of light synth pop circa 1985, dirtying things up and replacing the high pitched male vocals in the style of, say, a-ha’s Morten Harket, for Karen O’s sultry vocals that seem to soar and hit lows at the same time. The drumming is fantastic, little changes and flicks thrown into the constant low-key-yet-awesome rhythm. And Zinner’s guitars? Kept to the same Asian hook that swirls in and about from time to time. It’s not quite dancy, but it certainly pops like nobody’s business.

So yeah. The new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album is not terrible. It’s far from that. It’s fantastic, and certainly worth a listen if not several thousand of them.
It’s very different from their previous works; the transition from Fever to Tell and Show Your Bones was much more of a “soft shock” (ha!) than from Bones to It’s Blitz!, and that’s fine. It’s nice to see the band mixing things up, treading new waters and whatever other metaphor one can thing of for trying something different.

But please… untie Zinner and let him do his thing on the guitar again.

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Video records of Spumoni’s farewell performance at p.s. 118 in Greenpoint have been lost, save the above still image captured from a security camera in the school cafeteria

Dino Spumoni, once the undisputed king of New York City pop, takes a wistful look back in his latest and final album My Last Bow. Spumoni’s sensational run was largely defined by his legendary in-show antics at Manhattan’s old Circle Theater, most notably his debut of chart-topping single Smashed.

“Darling, you left my heart/ In pieces on the floor/ So tell me why shouldn’t I/ Break some things of yours?/I’ll smash your lamp/ the antique chair/ … Darling – POW – I’ll smash ‘em all”

Ever since, Spumoni’s lyrics have revolved around a comic zeal for chasing women at the expense of his own, or everyone else’s physical well-being. His next hit, No Touching – said to have been debuted at a demolitions-worker convention – seemed to perfect these themes.

“You’d better not touch my gal,” Spumoni crooned in halted, almost threatening tones. “I’ll pop you in the kisser pal.”

In My Last Bow, Spumoni makes it painfully clear that his partying days are over, and the same goes for his time as an inspired songwriter. (Some would argue it became clear when he released YO Dino Raps in the mid-90′s) In the title track Spumoni wails, pathetically, “Life was a gas/ but that gas has passed,” over a somber piano melody that falls down sonic stairs, much like Spumoni’s painful attempt at introspection, “I’ve gone from top of the pops/ to the back of the class.”

By the end of his opening tune at P.S. 118 the students seemed morose and inconsolable. One large-nosed child with a southern twang sobbed to his football-headed friend, “This really bites, Arnold!”

My sentiments exactly.

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by Alex Truong – A&SB Contributor

Just when you thought the universe was running out of cool stuff to dance to, MSTRKRFT comes up and slaps you upside the head with some amazing beats. A duo with a penchant for capitalization is capitalizing on the market for synth beats that have the pop appeal of Justice (MSTRKRFT actually has a Justice dance remix on their MySpace, which is absolutely worth checking out) with a little bit of the weirdness of the Faint. MSTRKRFT’s ALP and JFK have a sound that can also waver a little bit more in the way of a techno-ized Dub Trio in its distortions backed up by rapid drumming. It is not, however, so heavy that the movement of feet becomes impossible. Featuring the likes of Ghostface Killah, E-40 (hyphy love), and John Legend shows that ALP and JFK’s new shit has no shortage of talent. Their latest LP, Fist of God, is being released digitally to the plugged-in this March 17th.

Most of the tracks, like “It Ain’t Love (Featuring Lil Mo),” and “Bounce (Featuring Nore and Isis),” feature a consistent beat with solid and repeating hooks (read: easy to improvise dance steps, WORD) that might give way to a synth-heavy breakdown a couple of minutes into the song.

The tracks featuring the famous dudes like Ghostface, E-40, and Legend are “Word Up,” “Click Click,” and “Heartbreaker,” respectively. “Heartbreaker” shines through both of them, and is a tightly wound hit that really benefits from the smooth lyricism of the Legend. In fact, MSTRKRFT’s better stuff has good vocals backed by a solid wall of dance music sensibility (or sensible danceability). “Click Click,” is pretty good too, and Ghostface Killah’s rhymes work well in a heavier beat that, if groove was part of the human anatomy, would cause it to climax uncontrollably.

With a headline on their Myspace of “THESE CIGARETTES WON’T SMOKE THEMSELVES,” MSTRKRFT probably advocates ecstasy and cocaine abuse at their shows. While they may not explicitly say this, the music is definitely advocating the production of buckets of sweat. Fast beats and constant repetition of lyrics induce the listener to almost automatically start bobbing their head forward fast and hard and maybe that’s unhealthy, or maybe it’s just a product of some hot music. Seriously, this music’s call to the dance floor is almost impossible to resist, and I dare anyone to try to listen to this and not move a single limb in time with the beat.

If you’re going to pick up an album randomly this month, than MSTRKRFT will provide some sheer joy that you can work out through some booty shakin’ and sweatin’ that probably still won’t compare to how hot these tracks are. The band hits the road today, so make sure to check out their tour dates below & watch the video for “Bounce”.

05-Mar Cholula, Mexico – lAniversio Bombay w/Felix Cartal
06-Mar Monterrey, Mexico – Nueva Leon w/ Felix Cartal
07-Mar Mexico City Plaza – Condesa w/Felix Cartal
13-Mar Phoenix Myst – Bird Peterson
14-Mar Denver – Ogden Theater w/Felix Cartal, Bird Peterson
19-Mar San Francisco – The Independent w/Felix Cartal
20 Mar Dallas – Pontiac Garage at the House of Blues
21-Mar Austin – SXSW
28-Mar Miami (WMC) – Ultra Music Festival
28-Mar Miami (WMC) – Louis @ Gansevoort
03-Apr New York – Webster Hall w/The Bloody Beetroots, Bird Peterson
04-Apr Baltimore – Sonar
09-Apr Toronto – Koolhaus w/Crookers, The Bloody Beetroots, Steve Aoki
10-Apr Philadelphia – Theater of Living Arts)
11-Apr Montreal – Metropolis w/Felix Cartal
18-Apr Indio – Coachella

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2. Del Marquis – Character Assassination
3. Pollution – Black Commune [Review]

We’ve all heard it before these last couple years: 80′s music is back. That was close to true, but nearly every band to carry that meme has added distinctly modern touches to the synth-laden, filter-blanketed tunes danced to at coke parties in a decade long past. Del Marquis thinks 80′s music is back too, but he means that literally. His EP Character Assassination could have been released in 1984 and none of those bloodshot eyes would have looked at the DJ twice about it.

That’s not to say Character Assassination is a bad EP. Del Marquis (The guitarist for Scissor Sisters) takes a fresh take on music that replaces the guttural tones of acoustic instrumentation and smooths them with the tonic heights of modern technology… wait a minute, isn’t that what they said about new music in the 80′s?

Regardless, the EP isn’t completely rigid, either. It’s lyrics are dark and honestly introspective pieces of storytelling that are near-perfectly reflected by the computerized beats and rhythms. The instrumentation truly sounds the way it’s supposed to sound, and that’s no small feat. Not to mention that the beats will have music fans of all stripes bouncing around and secretly wishing they were at an out-of-control 80′s party with stockbrokers who will one day be indicted.

Still, you can’t remove that twinge in your head saying this music got old pretty much exactly two decades ago. Character Assassination is the work of a talented musician who makes a conscious effort to reach outside the box, but the EP leaves you thinking there’s a more expansive sound in Del Marquis’ head that he’s just not sharing.

But despite all my criticism, I can’t imagine I won’t be listening to this EP on occasion a few months from now – a reflection of the quality of Del Marquis’ compositions. Not to mention my affinity for 80′s music.

p.s. Yes, I know all about Scissor Sisters, but prefer to review music in a vacuum. After all, you’re not listening to context, you’re listening to sounds.

pps. There’s also a “digital motion intersode” featuring his first foray into acting. I watched most of it, I swear.

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2. We Are The New Audiophiles
3. Copeland – You Are My Sunshine

Now that the football season is over, our sports-literate hipster readers have turned their attention to basketball. The rest of our readers are wondering why the heck anyone cares about basketball.

Fear not! A&SB has the answer – It’s just like Hip-hop!. We are proud to present more of our scientifically proven, e-Harmony personality-matching robot verified hip-hop basketball equivalency equations.

Grant Hill – Big L

For a short period of time, they seemed sure to be counted among the greatest of all time. Grant Hill kept getting injured and Big L got the rap equivalent – getting shot in Harlem. Still is fun to look at their old highlight reels though, if only there were more of them…

Chris Webber & Peja Stojakovic – Mobb Deep

Much like the classic hip-hop duo, C-Web and Peja were humorless as they dismantled opponents. But when each tried to pull off a stylistic shift to take it to the next level, they were dismantled by the Lakers and Jay-Z respectively. I don’t have to remind you that we compared Kobe to Jay-Z in part 1, do I?

Ron Artest – MF Doom

Okay, so the e-Harmony personality robot didn’t like this one so much. But when you block out the personal issues and focus on their roles in the league and their wide array of talents, this one makes perfect sense. Plus, MF Doom wears a mask, and Ron Artest’s entire personality is a mask.

John Starks – Royce da 5’9”

Damn talented, if whiny players. I’m not comparing Eminem to Jordan in the slighest, (that honor goes to Tupac) but each could never truly break free from an insanely talented opponent, despite having seriously wicked skills themselves. Plus, “Round here they call me indiependy, causea how independent my pen be – we on that paper like ink on that paper,” sounds like something John Starks might say.

Ben Gordon &Kirk Hinrich – Little Brother

Highly acclaimed for their talent and fundamental skills. Will never win a title together so long as they are the two principals.

New York Knicks (2007-08) – Dem Franchise Boyz

lol.

Mike Bibby – Atmosphere

Cult followings in their hometowns, religiously averse to selling out or padding stats to the detriment of his team. Truly noble men who make quality contributions to their art. Unfortunately, those with higher talent levels don’t follow this example.

Elton Brand – Papoose

Under-appreciated, dominant guys you want on your team. Just listen to Papoose rap and watch Elton Brand hoop and you’ll swear its the same guy. (seriously, try it Papoose / Elton Brand) See what I mean? both ‘Ruggedy-Ruff’ – in the words of Rakim

Stay tuned for pt4. Coming soon. Also plz direct hate mail to the account where I have the e-Harmony robot delete my hate mail. bassey@airandseabattle.com

- Joey Grihalva contributed to this article

Related posts:

1. If They Were Rappers – A&SB Compares NBA, Hip-Hop Pt.1
2. If They Were Rappers – A&SB Compares NBA, Hip-Hop Pt.II
3. Challenging Opponent: Should hip-hop stop doing mixtapes?

2. The E-Street Band

So many of us in pop culture lament the puritainification of the Super Bowl since millions of children were traumatized by looking upon a breast - but there is a good side.

Sex appeal is easy, and that’s why they employed it so recklessly at halftime. It’s a sure fire bet to keep your eyes on the screen, and it spans musical preferences. Now, our corporate Gods need to put actual effort into a show — or more precisely, they need to find someone who EVERYONE knows will put actual effort into a performance.

So in the years since boob/11, we’ve seen(amongst others) Prince bring down the house with a wicked performance and a subtle reminder that he has a penis — and now, The Boss killing it.

What made this more exciting than your average concert isn’t much different than what makes the Super Bowl so exciting. It’s the same great game (or show) you love, except now one-third of the nation is watching it.

Now is one of those moments that defines your career and everyone can sense your sweaty palms, everyone can see your glistening eyes as you see tens of thousands of cameras and infinitely more people focus their attention on you for the one moment, and for that one moment you are everything that is going on in one kids’ world on the outskirts of Cincinnati, and he lives this moment through you, and you remember living moments like this through his eyes.

You remember days as a kid wishing that one day, you would be there, and now you are there, and you’re doing your best to send the feeling of being there to that kid, just like the guy who was there when you were a kid gave that feeling to you.

That’s why this was a special performance. That’s why the Super Bowl is a special game. Bravo Bruce. Bravo Steelers.

Related posts:

1. No Hype Machine Like the Super Bowl – Can America Still Belt it Out?
2. Changes
3. LIVE REVIEW: Title Fight, This Time Next Year, Strike Anywhere, Four Year Strong on 2/12

Winter break boredom is a constant for me upon any return home. My Asian parents frown upon drinking and I am forced to either languish at home or venture into the cold and languish outside. Lazing about and enjoying the no study zone that is my home has become my main preoccupation here, and the flurry coming down outside as I sit down to write this column means that I’ll be continuing the sitting around and doing nothing for at least seven hours, if not all day.

It’s not so bad. My cheapness on campus expresses itself in a lack of cable television, and so I can sit back and pretend to relax as I enjoy the novelty of syndicated afternoon programming. One place my channel-changer not surprisingly always ends up is the Food Network. Though a channel that would seemingly be a foodie’s dream, I have some big problems with the culinary entertainment monolith. There’s this ugly underbelly that exploits the entertainment part of food entertainment.

So, as a courteous service to you, reader, I have compiled a list of all the props that need handing out and all the grievances that need to be aired (even though Festivus is over, we’re doing it anyways) so that everyone can avoid ever thinking that sitting through an hour of some portly man with crazy hair making chicken egg rolls is a good idea again.

Alton Brown is most famous for being the host of Good Eats and is also on the top of my list of props-recipients. He serves a number of roles in Food Network, commentating on Iron Chef America and hosting a couple miniseries regarding travel across America in search of Dive food and purely American classics.

Mr. Brown’s credit to food entertainment is all in the approach. “Good Eats,” is informative and interesting show that often probes the chemistry and science behind the process of cooking. The show informed on every aspect of cooking at home, from the quality of appliances to the valid reasons behind baking at a specific temperature or what to look for in the texture of pre-cooked squid. His commentating on “Iron Chef America” is reserved, entertaining, and knowledgeable. We can’t all be as thorough as Brown, though, and sometimes we can’t even come close to the level of respect he gives to his audience and to his craft. There are always exceptions to the rule, and some successful chefs can be the yang to Brown’s yin.

Take Bobby Flay, for example, who sucks. He is a cocky, arrogant prick with no value of tradition and instead informs his own food philosophy by putting the weird and ridiculous twists he employs on classic dishes up on a pedestal (which is probably shaped like a phallus, because that’s how much of a prick he is). He’s been everywhere on Food network since 1996, at first hosting his own cooking shows “The Main Ingredient with Bobby Flay,” and “Hot Off the Grill with Bobby Flay.” A number of shows and specials have followed, with two noteworthy occurrences especially garnering my disdain.

In his 1997 loss to Masaharu Morimoto, Flay stood on top of his cutting board and counter while celebrating the early completion of his dishes. His lack of respect and downright hubris lost him that battle, and it all translates to own of his more recent shows, Throwdown! With Bobby Flay where he travels the country pretending to do television specials highlighting local dishes of notoriety only to sandbag the creators of these dishes (people who have ostensibly given large portions of their lives to the perfection of a single dish) with a competition that usually results in Flay tweaking the recipe of a classic dish like meatloaf (generally with spice or fruit or both) and wasting everyone’s time. It is not as satisfying as one would think when Flay loses. My recommendation is to stay away.

Speaking of disdain, Sandra Lee is the host of Semi-Homemade Cooking with Sandra Lee and some sour grapes go to her for what is basically a program pandering to lazy suburban housewives drinking things like Fresca and vodka margaritas and making Apple Betties using canned pie filling and oatmeal packets. Perhaps it’s the bleached blonde hair (check out her roots) and her ritual of matching tablescapes to the theme of the meal, but perhaps it’s the guilt I feel when watching Sandra Lee. The things she cooks up are truly semi-homemade, and that leads to a cutting of corners that is unsettling at best. It is kind of strange to see a professional television personality and author of several cookbooks using things from a can or freezer, and what she represents is so much worse.

My main qualm with Sandra Lee is that there seems to be no love in her cooking-it’s just hastily thrown together dishes using time-saving measures that make me doubt the TLC mothers across America should be putting into the meals for their children. Sandra Lee grew up as a surrogate mother for her younger siblings when her parents divorced. So much cooking experience should have lead to better chops in the kitchen. Call me old fashioned, or even call me a misogynist and a womanizer, but I don’t understand how a woman who has had to struggle through so much adversity could be so lazy. Besides, a mother that painstakingly makes an apple pie for her children will be able to savor the guilt trip she puts them on later for being total ingrates that much more.

Putting Sandra Lee’s hang-ups on trying aside, there’s always a Jedi to the proverbial Sith. The Jedi to Sandra Lee’s reprehensible Darth Sidious is Giada De Laurentiis, an Italian woman who happens to be, well, super hot. Admittedly, both Sandra Lee and Giada De Laurentiis are attractive ladies. This is a food column, though, not Page Six, and so what attracts me to Giada is the enthusiasm and giddy excitement she exudes while preparing meals. Giada is the host of “Everyday Italian,” “Behind the Bash,” and “Giada’s Weekend Getaways.” Giada brings a particularly appealing attitude toward food, as she seems to be always having fun while cooking.

Gauging food entertainment personalities is completely about perspective. If a chef doesn’t care about their food is it a surprise when the viewer has the same sorry attitude? If a chef is charismatic in the right way and brings a love and respect for food, it is easy to become struck with awe and reverence for a carefully crafted dish. All of the Food Network recipes put on air are going to be tasty to someone, but that’s not the point. The point is passion, and whoever has a lot of that is going to have a lot of props from yours truly.

Article Courtesy of the fine folks at Alex’s regular employer – The Badger Herald

www.badgerherald.com (The finest college newspaper in the nation)

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1. Do Hacks Dream of Electric Sheep?
2. No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain
3. Loney, Dear – Dear John

OK, so get this job and live on a tropical island and blog about it from 150,000 grand. And you can bring people! Anyways, don’t apply, because I’m applying… oh shit. plz disregard post.

(good marketing, too.)

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2. Grand Archives – The Grand Archives
3. Can We Have Brahms Without Raisins?

From time to time, we like to take a step back from the relentless chase of the new and pause to whip up some sweet nostalgia. Sit back and take in the rise and fall of Custard, that old standard close to our hearts and lips.

1314: Poding Withe The Yolke Ine

This debut was, at first, treated with all the fanfare an experimental food in the Dark Ages could expect.

The monks said: Is thys somme kinde of yolke? The Lord ne liken yow laffen at his yolkes.

The peasants said: We canne stille putte sausige in it, righte?

But our versatile, even gelatinous, hero proved to be more than a well-produced recipe, as happy in front of the fatted king as the tavern dweller.  The jaundiced confection, in fact, never joked and could pack away even the more questionable of folk meats with ease, and by all accounts filled the halls with sighs of content.

Was this the golden age of Custard (in these days “Crustade,” in an ill-advised attempt to appeal to burgeoning evangelical tart-making set)? It’s hard to say what the dish tasted actually tasted like before mass reproduction, but it’s probably safe to say you can skip this one. Here’s a typical recipe:

A Custarde the coffyn must be fyrste hardened in the oven, and then take a quart seven of creame and fyve or moor yolkes of egges, and beate them well together, and put them into the creame, and yf yow cooken on a Tuesday put in Suger and small Raysyns and Dates sliced, and then put them into the creame, put into the coffyn butter or els marrowe, but on the fyshe daies put in butter. And then yow putte the creame in.

On the plus side, I don’t think there’s any lard in it.

1753: The Swedish Invasion
“You eat, in dreams, the custard of the day.”—Alexander Pope

As it is an undisputed truth that the Puritans were no fun and invented the diet, putting eggs and sugar in one’s pudding was from the beginning in the New World a symbol of European indulgence.

With the chicken feather coat craze came soaring prices for eggs, so the health- and thrift-conscious invented powdered food. Sprinkled on top, custard powder could turn any meal into a wobbling monstrosity, without the need for God’s great white ovular mystery.

These were bad times for the dairy industry. Luckily, this was the year of a great turning point in the Western world. On March 1, Sweden underwent spontaneous evolution and adopted the Gregorian calendar.

Suddenly, Sweden was sweeping the world again, conquering now with disaffection and finely-woven sweaters. But mostly, sweet, sweet rice pudding.

I’ll end this installment with a traditional rice pudding recipe:

Beat half a pound of rice to powder. Set it with three pints of new milk upon the fire, let it boil well, and when it grows almost cold, put to it eight eggs well beaten, and half a pound of suet or butter, half a pound of sugar, and a sufficient quantity of cinnamon, nutmeg, and mace. Half an hour will bake it.

I’ll admit I’m partial to this side project, but that could be the Swede in me talking. You’ll just have to try it yourself. Unless you’re out of mace.

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2. Sleep Station – Songs From The Highway Vol. 1
3. Love Is All You Need

BUY

There are 2 solid reasons as to why I wanted to post this up.

1) The Uglysuit’s self-titled debut record is incredible. Every track is lush, catchy, and perfectly executed. You need to go out and BUY this right away. Also, watch the video for “Chicago” below.

2) That website/rag ‘Pitchfork’ ripped this record apart, giving it a 4.whatever which thoroughly pissed me and the rest of our staff off.

That’s right. Part of this post was made out of pure, fiery passion for the dislike of writers who have nothing better to do that tear apart someone’s hard work. I’d spend the rest of the night ripping apart his grammar if it wasn’t for the fact that it would be a complete waste of my time to give that site any more attention it deserves. On that note…

This record spent 2 weeks on my hard drive before I even listened to it. Don’t ask me why that happened, it just did. On a day when I needed music to calm me down as I was working on a project that I wanted nothing to do with, this record gave me comfort. The knowledge that new bands like the The Uglysuit pop up unexpectedly every day keeps me from throwing my computer out of the window. Stay around for at least a few records, okay guys?

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1. Nobody cares.

2. Music is all context – social, political and artistic.
Lists are the mortal enemy of context.

3. Who wants to spend the holidays trying to justify the difference between
a 5th and 7th ranked album?

4. You’ll argue with us. How do you think an argument about what sounds slightly better than something else will end?

5. Comparing hip hop and indie rock is like weighing a poetry book versus a novel – Yeah, they’re both meant to be read, but how do you read each one? How do you listen to each one?

6. Nobody cares.

7. You’ll completely forget about it the second you close the browser.

8. You already know what you like, why can’t we just show you new stuff you might like?

9. We would likely be out-hipstered by our own readers.

10. We’re lazy damned bloggers, what do you expect?

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2. LIVE REVIEW: Title Fight, This Time Next Year, Strike Anywhere, Four Year Strong on 2/12
3. The New Year – The Company I Can Get

So it seems as if there’s some disagreement over my basketball-rap picks last week.

To all those who burned me in effigy for comparing Soulja Boy to J.J. Redick or just filled out an application to Kaplan University Online under my name and cell phone number, I get the point.

You know, the images of violence broadcast around the world over this simple piece of art really got to me. My editors didn’t want to incite another round of protests, and begged me not to run this piece today. But I must do what I know is right. I stand by my scientific, double-blind, university-tested, eHarmony personality-matching-robot-verified hip-hop and basketball equivalency equations.

After all, to truly understand hip-hop, you’ve got to know basketball. In honor of that time-proven principle, the following is part 2 of what is* a 100 percent guaranteed accurate study*.

Dennis Rodman — L.L. Cool J

Who else spent the ’90s asking, “Jesus Christ, will this guy keep his damn shirt on?”

Plus, L.L. probably wears a dress now and then.

Rick Fox — Will Smith

Pretty boys with hot wives who were just barely any good. Their bland, slow and repetitive styles of play weren’t fit for the 21st century. At least Will still has his movie career, but his new albums blend mid-1980s lyricism and post-apocalyptic elevator music.

Charles Barkley — Big Punisher

This one’s obvious. NutriSystem would have prolonged both of their careers, right, NFL legend Dan Marino?

Fat Joe — Antoine Walker

Yeah, he’s good. But I can’t think he would look so winded during performances without the Caliendo/Madden gut (God, that impression’s getting old).

Wilt Chamberlain — Notorious B.I.G.

Did anyone dominate an era more convincingly than these two? Wilt scored 100 points in a game, and the NBA even changed the rules in a desperate attempt to level the playing field. B.I.G. was a lyrical sultan whose rhymes and diction are still present in a majority of modern rappers. He changed the rules himself.

Michael Jordan — Tupac

The greatest all-around performers ever in their respective fields. Tupac could instantly boost the quality of any beat with his driving prose, and Jordan instantly improved any team with what scientists might call his aura. Plus, Jordan retired momentarily, only to return as the best player alive and Tupac died momentarily before his leftover recordings crowned him the greatest rapper ever.

Scottie Pippen — Snoop Dogg

First off, they look pretty similar. No? OK, as the ultimate support man for the Tupac-led West Coast ascendance — then for Dr. Dre and Eminem — Snoop always seems to be on the winning team. Each spent his twilight years making the best of uncomfortable homes and faded away respectably. These days, Scotty Pippen is a TV analyst and Snoop is a TV father.

Dwight Howard — Lupe Fiasco

Not the most publicized or marketable superstars with their talent, but true basketball loyalists love Dwight Howard, and hip-hop loyalists love Lupe. Fiasco may not have muscles for his muscles’ muscles, but it’s attitude that makes these two true beasts.

Jason Terry — Lil’ Jon

Yeah, okay, it’s really good stuff. But it all sounds the same.

Yao Ming — Mike Jones

He gets a ton of attention from a far-away place that I don’t really understand. The language barrier is too overwhelming.

Tim Hardaway — Jedi Mind Tricks

Solid performers who haven’t won anything. We all know about Tim Hardaway’s “hate” for gay people, and who haven’t Jedi Mind Tricks offended besides non-Saudi anti-American Muslims?

1990s Indiana Pacers — Jurassic 5 (Reggie Miller — Chali2na)

Why don’t more people like these guys?

San Antonio Spurs — A Tribe Called Quest (Tim Duncan — Q-tip)

Ditto. Respect isn’t as good as buying the album.

Boston Celtics (current) — Wu Tang Clan

Boston Celtics (1960s) — Wu Tang Clan

Bill Russell and Ghostface seem like they would play frolf on weekends.

Dwayne Wade — Lil’ Wayne

Scary that, after this long, we still don’t know how good these guys can be. (UPDATE: This list was originally made last year, so you know, stuff has happened since then and whatnot.)

Of course, the list is endless. Plus, no conclusive match exists for LeBron James. But here are the rest of the matches calculated and confirmed beyond a margin of error**

p.s. more scientifically approved matches coming in the future. So Stay with the # 1 pretty okay source for half-decent media, Air And Sea Battle.

pps. Who is LeBron, anyways???

*It depends on what your definition of “is” is.

** Includes unrelated margins of error noted at some point throughout the course of modern world history.

Related posts:

1. If They Were Rappers – A&SB Compares NBA, Hip-Hop Pt.1
2. If They Were Rappers Pt. 3 – A&SB Compares NBA, Hip-Hop
3. Challenging Opponent: Should hip-hop stop doing mixtapes?

Happy Thanksgiving! In honor of this most holy of all holidays, we’ll resurrect a popular column written for my former newspaper – comparing basketballers to ballahs. A&SB will be sure to update our list as frequently as possible, so post your suggestions, gripes, moans, groans and concerns. Stay tuned for part 2!

Is there any sport more hip-hop than basketball? Sure, it’s a team game, but one great individual can carry you over the top. And legends aren’t just born via stats, but through style. All the while, it takes a truly great coach (producer), to take a team to the championship (BET award?). The bottom line is that, to understand hip-hop, you’ve got to know basketball.

In an effort to increase hip-hop knowledge worldwide, A&SB is proud to present the authoritative list of rap and basketball equivalency. Using a complicated formula utilizing stylistic similarities, career success and eHarmony’s personality matching robot, I can present a list that is beyond arguing with and guaranteed* to be 100 percent accurate.

J.J. Redick — Soulja Boy

Even in their respective primes, we all knew they wouldn’t last for long. Soulja Boy made a pop dance track, J.J. Redick made a ton of 3-pointers. It doesn’t mean they’re any good.

Kobe Bryant — Jay-Z

Some may complain about a lack of substance, but they’re beyond talented. When Kobe touches the ball, he’s going to score. When Jay-Z puts out an album, he’s going platinum.

Kevin Garnett — DMX

They look alike. They look pissed.

03-04′ Detroit Pistons — G-Unit (Chauncey Billups — 50 Cent, Rasheed Wallace — Lloyd Banks, Tayshaun Prince — Young Buck, Rip Hamilton — Tony Yayo)

Both achieved success through boring repetition, but they are pretty gangsta — no one can question that. Just ignore the anguished cries as they fade into obscurity.

Tracy McGrady — Akon

Consistent. Seriously, they always do the same thing. Akon’s songs all sound the same, and T-Mac has great regular seasons, but never gets past the first round of the playoffs. How much time are you gonna spend reminiscing about these two when you get old?

Gary Payton — Canibus

They look like aliens from the same planet. Gary Payton was an all-time defensive player who signed terrible contracts most of his career and faded away late. Canibus has chosen even worse beats throughout his career, but he’s still probably the most talented lyricist ever. And for the love of God, don’t buy that terrible album he made with Phoenix Orion.

Steve Nash — Common

Both unconventional stars who don’t fit in with the rest of the league (read: not as gangsta). Common dresses like a fly Bill Cosby and Steve Nash dresses like a tiny Canadian.

Still, you can’t argue with results — both are future Hall-of-Famers (NAACP Image Award?)

Allen Iverson — Eminem

Outstanding individual performers who never made anyone better, but then again, maybe D-12 and the Philadelphia 76ers were hopeless.

Sebastian Telfair — Bow Wow

Both are young, talented, were on TV way before they were ready. Telfair has shown flashes of brilliance, while Bow Wow has been more like a flickering nightlight.

Darko Milicic — Freeway

Way too easy: They were hyped excessively, and both really, really suck.**

76ers Julius Erving — Bone Thugs N’ Harmony (Julius Erving — Krazie Bone)

You ever catch those sweet replayed 76ers games from the 1970s? Dr. J’s famous fake behind-the-back pass is the equivalent of the foggy scenes in the “Crossroads” video.

Micheal Redd —Omarion

Damn fine, if inexplicably unpopular, players held back by comically bad teammates and management.

Manu Ginobili — Jadakiss

Everyone seems to hate this guy, but damn it, he’s on TV again.

Jason Kidd — Juvenile

Maybe I just don’t remember the ’90s well enough, but these two got old quick.

Isaiah Thomas and Joe Dumars — Dead Prez

Popularly hated, but respected by the purists. Most common reaction from their former competitors: Man, those guys were assholes.

Magic Johnson — Guru

Okay, so Gang Starr hasn’t gone anywhere, and as far as I know, didn’t catch AIDS from a backhoe full of whores. But look at their body of work in the late ’80s and early ’90s — productive, but stylish.

Vince Carter — Busta Rhymes

Defined by flashy antics, but solid all-around performers. Busta Rhymes found a better home with Flipmode than Vince Carter has at… wherever he plays now. Both fall just short of Hall-of-Fame status. (Source Award)

Shaquille O’Neal — P. Diddy

How many nicknames do these guys have between them?

Shaq, Shaq Diesel, Shaq Daddy, The Big Fella, The Big Aristotle, to name a few. And we all know about the Puff Daddy-Puffy-Diddy debacle. Plus, both receive constant praise even when things go bad, then leave the scene. P. Diddy has formed at least 40 shitty bands and disappears when inevitable failure sets in. Likewise Penny Hardaway, Kobe Bryant and Dwayne Wade haven’t won a championship without Shaq. Don’t think about that last sentence too much.

* Guarantee does not apply to the contiguous Unites States, Guam, Puerto Rico, U.S. Virgin Islands, places contaminated by trace amounts of Castro DNA, nation-states that provide fiscal support to David Hasselhoff, bodies surrounded by water on four sides, areas that used to be connected to Russia by land bridge, former member continents of Pangea.

** I mean, just awful. Really bad, but not the good kind of bad — the kind that makes you sad for them. The kind where putting them on TV feels like exploitation. Ever hear of William Hung?

If you think the list is wrong, check the stats, because it’s not.* Special thanks to Uko Etim and Joey Grihalva for technical considerations.

Related posts:

1. If They Were Rappers – A&SB Compares NBA, Hip-Hop Pt.II
2. If They Were Rappers Pt. 3 – A&SB Compares NBA, Hip-Hop
3. Challenging Opponent: Should hip-hop stop doing mixtapes?

I know it’s been a little while now, but an event this monumental for our generation takes some time to sink in. After an era of corporate cronyism, inept leadership and a stunning lack of regard for the English language, MTV‘s Total Request Live has finally come to a close.

At last, the pain has dulled to a point where I can talk with myself about it. Don’t tell this guy, but it’s time for Challenging Opponent.

Yasseb: Oh, I can hear it now. You and the millions of other hipsters around 20 years old who pretend like you’ve never watched TRL or liked any Backstreet Boys songs. You’re all singing to the heavens: Thank God, its over! Music will finally be pure and free of tenniebopper influence! But I know what you’re really thinking.

Bassey: What am I really thinking?

Yasseb: How will you know what’s popular?

Bassey: Why does it matter what’s popular?  We all know that show was MTV’s used car lot.
They would do a little survey for the industry about what songs are popular in the key demographic, play said song for 30 seconds to one minute, promote their latest crappy movie about fart and anal sex jokes, use some cheap douchebag to interview more expensive douchebags and clip in a bunch of little girls screaming about seeing Carson Daly‘s ass.

Yasseb: Wow.

Bassey: I know, pretty good points right?

Yasseb: No, its just that you know more about that show than anyone I’ve ever met. Answer me this: Who introduced you to Eminem?

Bassey: Hey, I didn’t even like that first song. And now he sucks!

Yasseb: Who introduced you to him!?

Bassey: TRL.

Yasseb: That’s right. And you needed TRL, face it, you couldn’t have been cool in middle school without it.

Bassey: Oh yeah, all the boys totally got popular in school by listening to boy bands and Papa Roach.

Yasseb: No! You needed TRL to tell you what to hate, who to loathe, they gave you establishment targets to direct your teenage rage at the system. And deep down, you wonder whether all that’s evil will ever again put such a big target on it’s back, or whether it will seep into your daily life and todays teenagers’ daily lives without even realizing it.

Bassey: Wow.
Yasseb: I know, thanks.

Bassey: No, you’re a paranoid freak. I don’t care whether an artist has corporate backing or not, so long as the music is good. You know why I’m glad that show is gone? Because playing a top 10 countdown with 30 second video clips of overproduced tripe filled with half-naked women to attract the insecure preteen girl/horny pre-teen boy vote does is a disservice to music and all art. Thank God TRL is dead because even the last thin strand of MTV’s connection to the words ‘music television’ has been cut, thank God we won’t see any more Ja Rule comeback attempts, thank God the idea of the host as a screaming, good looking, incompetent Ambercrombie employee is dead…

Yasseb: Um, have you seen MTV2?

Bassey: Oh yeah.

Yasseb: The dark side of music is still out there, it’s just changed tactics, its waging a guerrilla war against good taste. Just because you don’t see their aircraft carrier anymore doesn’t mean they’ve retreated.

Bassey: Hmm…

Yasseb: Plus you secretly liked the show.

Bassey: Come on!

Yasseb: Face it! It was like a carnival gone wrong, the sick grotesque figures dancing and yelling around their golden calf, worshipping their ego-mass in a sea of buttons, stickers, terrible noise and worse hosts. You had fun with it, and like your one-time obsession with Yellowcard, sometimes you played along.

Bassey: Now that’s a cheap shot. Just because I watched it once or twice doesn’t mean I’m sad to see it go. And don’t even try to tell me that video for 50 Cent‘s “In da Club” wasn’t hot when it came out.

Yasseb: You never admit you’re wrong! I hate arguing with stubborn, self-righteous jerks. You should be ashamed to consider yourself

Bassey, Yasseb: A Challenging Opponent.

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1. Challenging Opponent: Should hip-hop stop doing mixtapes?
2. A TRL I Can Get Behind
3. MP3s Added! How Exciting…