2009/03/09

Thrillseekers

If we all knew about all the same bands at exactly the same time, and we could all vibe on it, then there would be no need for the elitism that lays to waste so many potentially beautiful minds. That said, most people have terrible taste in music, and that is totally acceptable (most people believe that most other people have terrible taste in music).

I was particularly late on the Wilco bandwagon; I was watching THE Ohio State play for the national championship against UMiami (FL) and kicker Mike Nugent's favorite band was none other than the above mentioned. I had known of them for some time, but "A Ghost is Born" was the first album I ever actually acquired and listened to multiple times. Freshman year hallmate Marisa Beltramini was a big fan of "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot", but I only knew that from my clandestine mental photo-cataloging of her CD collection; it was sandwiched between Sufjan Steven's "Come On Feel the Illinoise" and Ben Folds Live.

So, 2007 marked the release of Sky Blue Sky, which, fittingly, I listened to for the first time today. It's pretty fucking good. I was doing dishes and lying on the couch at various points while taking it in, thinking of a lover far away; it's real good for that.





W-SBS

Four Course Meal

Awesome. The bestie bounces yet again, so now I have to keep whittling down the list of eligible euros to hang out with. Basically it's a slow road to hope, but, lord willing, I won't go insane with the slowness of Huelva (aka nuclear contamination land, seriously they just completed a serious investigative report on this toxic dump) in a non-productive manner.

I met a guy named Deshawn who listens to good music; it was the perfect antidote to Spanish pop. The shit he's in to sometimes reminds me of Make Believe, a band that Joel Handley put me on to some time ago.

The brothers Kinsella and their kinfolk/bandmates thrash with elegance, I don't know how else to put it. Their second LP, "Of Course" shows them maturing (they somewhat recently released a new LP entitled "Going To the Bone Church" which I HIGHLY recommend).



MB-OC

Kids Don't Know Shit

After a lovely weekend of traveling around southeastern Iberia with Red, friend, Rosa and co., I'm back grinding the axe of the death pit of despair we call Huelva. It's not that I have any odious thoughts so much as I am a tad disorganized, or at least perceive myself to be extremely far away from where I could be at; this type of thinking usually results in an extremely satisfactory nap.

This looks interesting, if you're in to that kind of stuff.

NYT Op-eds have a tendency of scaring the bejesus out of me, especially when coupled with the baroque e-mails I'm getting from working adults (READ: not recent college grads) about the gravity of the situation back home, that said, everybody is kind of full of it, so at some point you gotta say fuck it.



I have just discovered; some girls are bigger than others.

Uploads will continue now that there is interwebbing; the one euro tariff per session isn't so bad I suppose.

2009/03/06

Princeton Heads Continue Making Moves

Hokay, I just creamed my jeans. This is the best new band I've heard in a long time.

All youse guys on faceboo might be interested in giving these dudes some well deserved love, here.

credit this to the OFFICIAL Nick Koenig facebook page, as well as some humble hype from keyboardist\vocalist martin raboteau.

The Hardest Thing ever I done

I have a theory that Tennessee Williams would probably like Bill Simmons; at least he might consider him a fellow writer. That said, T-Dubs would probably be appalled at the hyperbolic amount of analogies Simmons uses in comparing sports teams to marriages.

So, I know I said I wouldn't be posting any albums or writing this weekend, I was supposed to be on the road to partly sunny Lisbon, but plans change; Red's feeling under the weather and her 2 week paid vacation to Prague requires her full health. At least, if she wants to have a better time than Maurice in Albert Camus' "A Happy Death".

So, I want to talk more about Nick Koenig; who doesn't? Besides being my number one influence musically, Hot Sugar has always had the balls/confidence to understand that making beautiful/interesting/funny things will not captivate the minds of all who come across your creative work. It's good to start in 8th grade, because his star began its rapid ascent thanks to several pranks which will forever live in my head.

A group of 9th graders had started a mountain bike gang, just writing those words leads me to believe that I am a two bit hack (but you gotta fake it till you make it), that also occasionally sang unaccompanied renditions of RHCP tunes (namely, under the bridge); they all wore Hoagie Haven T-Shirts and talked shop on shocks, disc brakes and the like. Us outsiders, namely the chubby cum insecure underlings, were in awe of their brazen confidence and zen materialism. We all wanted fancy bikes too; we didn't care about the process back then, like a child in the CVS who sees the candy isle, and by that logic, in my case, didn't get the coolest bike in the world (in hindsight, I'm so fucking grateful that my dad bought me a bike, since our mini-mansion in the woods was a stones throw from some really lovely hills). I had befriended Koenig, so to speak, at a little league game at the tender age of 11; I was kind of a motherfucker on the diamond, to the extent that I was a big baby who could waddle around the bases with a cocky gracelessness. He was talking shit, and despite at first finding him unsavory, came to enjoy that someone without even a minimal knowledge of the admittedly complex rules of the game could heckle anything/anyone that he felt like.

It is also worth noting that DMX was HUGE amongst suburban boys and girls at this point; and that I paid out the ass for Capital Punishment and It's Dark and Hell is Hot second hand, thanks Zac Anglin.

One sunny spring morning, while the masses are gathered out on the northeastern entrance of John Witherspoon Middle School, the one that leads to the parking lot/cafeteria/basketball courts, a faint signal grew stronger and stronger. As, we all stood and waited, it became abundantly clear that it was "Party (up in here)". Slowly, but surely, Koenig arrives, flanked by two now anonymous counterparts blasting the music out of a shitty CD/Radio player that he has fastened to his handlebars. Noone could deny him, and rightly nobody did; I made some snide remarks, but the truth is that he had won everybody over with his winning confidence/remarkable lack of awkwardness.

Basically, pay this motherfucker.

Oh, and he put me on to this triumphant work of guitar great Ryland Cooder. Enjoy.



RC-BS

quick comment

I hope the music uploaded this week will tide you over for the weekend (which in my case is friday-sunday). I'll be running around the western coast of Iberia with Red & co.

If not, then oh well, but either way don't feel disappointed that I am lazy and selfish.



2009/03/04

Inevitability

One of the links on the right side of the blog will no longer be providing new posts. Yes, that's right Katharine Mooney has hung up her golden gloves of caffeine induced web log posting to pursue a career in fine dining/writing/living away from the unhealthy glow of a macbook screen. So, what's a guy to do? I suppose you could skim the archives. Or, you could do the only thing that seems to make sense on a cold, blustery March afternoon and put up a special post to serve as the death knell to an occasionally fantastic read.

So, it's only right to offer some context first; Mooney often spoke highly of The Band, mistakenly referring to them as a quartet, but an aficionada nonetheless. Enough so to change the name of her blog's final incarnation to "Moondog Matinee"; late in the game, The Hawks released an album with the same name. For those in the know, The Band were a quintet composed of Levon Helm on drums/mandolin/vocals/guitar, Richard Manuel on Piano/Vocals/Drums/chugging Gran Marnier (wikipedia says around 6 bottles a day before cirrhosis won out), Rick Danko on bass/vocals/fiddle, J.R. "Robbie" Robertson on guitar/vocals (it's worth noting that the only song he sang lead on in their entire studio discography is "Till Kingdom Come" (obligatory pontification of the relation to Jay-Z/Coldplay and this song begins and ends NOW!) and Garth Hudson on Organ/Saxophone/Accordion/Piano (he plays that signature line on "The Weight"). Some serious fans consider producer/tuba player John Simon the "6th" member of the group; you can't deny his playing on "Rag Mama Rag" among other standout tracks. I forgot to mention that every single member took a turn on playing various auxiliary horns among other things, leading to a distinct sound (the breakdown in "Chest Fever" springs to mind most immediately).

In honor of the passing of a blog, and the broke as a joke nature of basically everyone I know (save the rich jews, I'm not kidding), I'm doing double time in posting a second album today. Also, I think Mooney eye fucked my older brother at commencement.

It's also worth noting that this album is composed entirely of cover songs; an odd juxtaposition to a group that produced some of the best original music of their time.



TB-MM

Vincent Gallo approved

RJD2 seems pretty universally adored by those who are fans of various genres of music; hip-hop heads call him one of their own, progressive rock fans are likewise enamored with how he wears his influences on his sleeve, college students who aren't too hip still come out in droves to angrily demand a return to the turntables (hello Cleveland!) and aspiring producers who utilize samples can do themselves a big favor by seeing the thin line between Moby and the guy who made Deadringer.

One group that the dude really seems to lean on as an influence is King Crimson. One of the more well known, and, furthermore, respected names in the progressive rock game. More on these fellows in a moment; until then, let's watch this clip.



As a quick tangential statement; the ploy by youtube/big music companies to end the embedding of music videos that contain copyrighted material is alright with me, in fact it is only fair.

Anyways, King Crimson get love from both sides of the rock pond fanbase; yeah their flights of fancy are indulgent and a tad ridiculous, but at the core of everything they rocked and grooved (something that few bands can do with taste).



I don't even want to write anymore about this fucking shit, I just think that one might have time to listen, if they have time to browse my incoherent ramblings.

KC-ITCOKC

2009/03/03

Pita Pockets

I miss falafel like whoa; in theory one could acquire such an item at one of the 7 "kebap" joints here in Smellva, but they don't have hummus nor tahini; crucial elements in the shwarma universe that I know and love. Here in bizarro Spain, none of these rules apply to food related goods.

When it comes to guitars, they also have some rather unique ideas here about music. I'm not entirely sure why, but the necks are fatter and the bodies smaller on most flamenco guitars, mine included.



International string ensembles are dope though. Here we have Stanley Clarke (a genuine hero) on the bass, Al Di Meola on guitar and Jean Luc-Ponty on violin. This is a really intriguing album on many levels; the sheer virtuosity on display will do it for most people, but there is real soul to this (an indescribable weight that you can feel while listening [better with headphones, but to each their own]). Rite of Strings, bang bang whoosh.

ADMSCJLP-ROS

I might be in love.

read a book.

Read a Book, Get out of Jail. That's the tagline for this interesting essay on a really intriguing alternative sentencing program up in Massachusets. Mitt Romney was probably not on board with this.

2009/03/02

Free Throw %

I was sitting on my couch listening to the Jadakiss gem, "we gon' make it (feat. Styles P) [NOT a Lox cut]" and thinking to myself, damn this guy is pretty good. Well, that logic extends to many other talented MC's, as far as I can tell. One of whom my older brother Maximillian introduced me to at a young age was Big L. A man whose legend only grows larger by the day for his combination of finesse and fire. One might even extend that argument to include the term pedagogy for standout tracks like 'ebonics'; the rosetta stone of hip-hop slang for doughy 16 year old japanese jews from sleepy suburban settlements.



BL-TBP


It does make me sad to think that the late greats like Biggie, 2Pac, Big L, and company all were depicting their actual lives through their music; well sad, and also incredibly intrigued, like most people, because noone should have to live such a polarizing existence.

2009/02/28

Bob Herbert

The Statistics on display here are a tad disconcerting for someone with 20+ G's in student loans: read on, because Herbert is a man on fire as of late.

2009/02/26

coffee, pushups, and doing the dishes

Nina Simone was one hell of a musician. I dig that she became increasingly radial with age and that she never stopped jamming; this, of course, is but mere speculation on the part of the author. Nick Koenig, aka Hot Sugar, was the first to play the lovely Ms. Simone for me at a very young age; then again this dude is always ahead of the curve.
At first I thought that we were listening to some strange relative of local IROC driving goofball Derrick Simone, but I have been known to be kind of moronic in my first impressions.

It's going to rain buckets here in Spain; another successful outing of basketball related endeavors with the people who work at my elementary school has me wondering why I was such a polarizing figure in the Oberlin College intramural circles; too much time and a girl 4 hours away in olive country do these things to the young expat.

Although my gig got canceled, Riccardo came to the rescue and got me a one hour slot at a party inside the plaza del toros here in Huelva this saturday at 12:30 AM. What a fucking guy.

I found a youtube clip of Dolph Lundgren doing pushups. I watch it every day, because I found this amazing website where you can dl youtube clips and convert them in to .mp4 format. Those who know, know.



NS-LIAO

2009/02/23

Deborah Solomon

Is doing all the legwork on some excellent interviews with some extremely interesting people. She asked Bill Ayers all the questions that noone had the nerve to before, and now comes a, probably Trey Parker/Matt Stone approved, interview with economist Dambisa Moyo. Read on, read on, read on.

Also, love works in mysterious ways.

2009/02/20

Long Form Essay?

Re:gifting

American marketing schemes call to me, even while I’m overseas. This holds to be some semblance of truth when you consider the consequences of repackaging that America tends to embrace; a few examples, such as beer cans, popular music, and the internet. To start with the latter, let’s consider the concept of clicking through; to me, this is usually found to be true in the e-mails people send with attached hyperlinks or nowadays, in many web logs such as, Deadspin or freedarko that require extra-dimensional viewing of the ethereal complexity, or not, of lassoing in on the information that means something to you while you’re online. For many beer companies, in particular those who have “American” values, there is a tendency to find new ways to sell “old” (status quo) product with newer, shinier packaging that tries to appeal to a new base of consumers, for example Busch Beer’s camouflage containers or Candyflouge, or better yet the Coor’s Light aerodynamic Lockheed-Martin Can of the future! (No funnier beer company than the one with the CEO who got a DUI). With music, there is a strong cultural identity among aspiring “American” producers to jump on the “remix” game.

Who invented the Remix? Was it Sean Combs? Was it P-Diddy? Was it Ben Stiller?

P.Diddy - Bad Boy For Life
I’m not quite sure, but Musik Konkret is institutionalized, so that makes it special to some people…anyhoo, it’s a dense labyrinth, this remix. Like a fluid, it knows no volume on it’s own, the remix relies on a solid foundation of an already established artist by which to use as a “soundboard”, in quotations because it is not just aural, visual as well when referring to a listener base. I don’t know where to begin with this, but I do want to raise a point of awareness; big music companies send out samplers of “Hip-Hop” hit singles, let’s use DMX’s “Party Up in Here” with such great B-Side cuts such as the DJ FA Remix. If you really took the time to study each of the tracks and how they reinterpret some facet of the original, enough so to openly claim their reference in the first place, they are comfortable enough with it to put their own name on it, which changes the new containers of that substance. So, if I had to put in my two-penny head’s direct response, I’d say the remix was invented by either Phil Spector, for stealing the Motown sound; like here with “How Do You Sleep?” by John Lennon. I used to read about James Jamerson, the name when it came to Motown session men on the low-down 4 string skanking bass; that guy was potent. Or maybe the remix was invented long before, when blind poets would rouse up a string of imitators, masquerading as philosopher kings, and one day they would be translated in to other languages to have their word’s revisited and regurgitated and, perhaps in an ideal world, refined.

Beer, is delicious. Beer, is deceitful. Beer, prescription strength. Cheap Beer is an interesting phenomenon; what’s the point of expensive beer anyway, the average Natty Light 30-Rack holder may ponder aloud while carving his jousting helmet. For many companies, the need to reinvent an old brand is as old as the concept of the market itself. The makers of the 30 can pack are kind of insisting you drink a lot of beer; if they feel otherwise, perhaps they should offer other ways by which to accomplish the selling of 30 beers in a way that doesn’t seem so bohemian. National Bohemian, as a counter-example, or Natty Bo as it was told to me (retelling, haHA!) on a recent trip to DELMARVA, doesn’t look like it has ever changed it’s logo or can/box concept (it does appear to be owned by Pabst Blue Ribbon, another hallmark of holding steady on its symbols). The Coors Brewing Company, makers of such fan favorites as Blue Moon Winter Ale and Blue Moon Spring Ale (all fans, please, raise your hands, post haste!) recently repackaged the light version of it’s signature brew with a new, awfully convenient, can that ensures even greater freshness of the same great taste that prior consumers of the product enjoyed while attempting to reach out to a new extreme of the consumer base, the advertisement campaign isn’t cheap, but maybe it is effective. Another example of repackaging an old formula comes from another heavy hitter of the blackout beer industry, Belgian behemoth Inbev, formerly known as Anheiser-Busch. Insert Vaudeville interpretative dancer here. Busch and Busch Light brand beers have been spotted in some rural areas, like Princeton, New Jersey, sporting a fucking camo box and can wrapper; basically, if you go hunting, you ought to be drinking beer, and when you think about your hunting beer, it better be Busch, because the drunk guy who just buckshot you in the face drinks AMERICAN BEER! Or maybe it’s just funny and since we pull so much of this repackaging off as a culture, that we should embrace the beauty of “American” dishes like Tofurkey and Spam, what the fuck the British did LONG ago. Beer, yes beer, we got it from another country, most certainly, there were no Natives that I can remember reading about with last names like Bush or Cheney, those kind of sound like the last names of the guys who took their land and gave them syphilis, I’m just telling it like it was told to me.

For the final example, the internet, you can look no further than the above words that I recently published in this here web log. America is a nation of thieves, the old adage being that there is no honor amongst them, pillaging and plundering and plowing through like wild beasts amongst the litany of “purer” producing cultures; this is most evident in the world of “drugs”, another vague term that needs updating. Ok, thanks for reading, this was my first time trying to write something a little bit longer about exactly what I write about, or think about, in my head.

Love,

Al

Dungy Speaks!

He's only being real with you.

Lazy Os

Do you ever spend a 3 month period in the doldrums, where just as you are beginning to embrace the lonely life, only to have the Italian girl of your dreams materialize out of nowhere? This may slightly alter my plans of (not) trying to get a man to fellate me at Carnival.



So, in case you don't already peruse any of the links I post on the daily, I'm gonna give everyone another chance to pick up Party With a Drumkit post haste. It's free, but y'all better get ready to pay him.

I've been doing some thinking, and I'm going to try my damnedest to get back to posting music ("mine" as well as others and as long as I don't get flagged by a google user, which, since I'm a low-profile presence in general, I don't see happening)

First up; Mali's late greatest guitar shredding hero Ali Farka Touré's important work "African Blues". I was put on to this sound by local guitar hero Kunal Prakash/a chance encounter at the public library. It's hard to describe this collection of songs without using unnecessary superlatives that I have no business employing in the first place (the best African Blues album that will get posted on my blog today, I just can't help myself).


First, we revisit Jasha Tull's intriguing remix of a Radiohead song that uses video footage from an old Thomas Edison clip; quite good.



So, let's make friends: AFT-AB

2009/02/18

Sporting Wood For A Certain Biologist


My god. I'm so tired of being alone.

Carnival de Cádiz



Turns out there is a super shitshowzen fiesta in Cádiz this weekend that they call Carnival. When I think of Carnival I think, in this exact order, of 1) Carnies, 2)West Deptford, New Jersey's finest auto-mechanic George Carney, 3)Rodney Carney's potential as an NBA player, 4)The Simpson's episode where they go to buy a new TV and Marge finds the Chanel suit (Carnivalé! Magnetbox!) and finally 5) of large outdoor festivals.



I didn't really ever give too much of a fuck about this Manu Chao garbage till I got to Spain; Alia Kate and select company had played some of these jams for me in the past, but nay did I realize how very very popular it all was for some reason. So, I dated a girl here who really dug it, enough so to give me a copy of "Próxima Estación: Esperanza" and, in truth, it's quite good. So, thanks Allison.



I hope everyone is having the BEST BLACK HISTORY MONTH EVER! Check out Harriet Dubman when time allows.