I've been having recurring tinnitus for the past month or so. It could be related to sinuses, and is almost certainly related to listening to music on headphones on my commute, especially given my newfound love of metal. To try to stop my ears from constantly ringing and there being a metallic sound in my head all the time, I've stopped listening to headphones except a little at work when I have good headphones. Which means I've cut two hours of music-listening out of my day. This has been compounded by the fact that I'm having technical difficulties which makes it hard to synch my iPod or rip CDs, which means no new music for the near future. The short end of it is that now I maybe listen to music for a half hour or an hour at work, and then I'll listen to some jazz or kids music in the background in the mornings and evenings. That's a huge contrast to how much I used to listen to music.
It is a little like realizing that I no longer have the time to read anymore. I stopped reading non-school stuff when I was in school, and it was such a sad realization to make that I didn't have time to read any of the books I wanted. Now I have all these albums I want to listen to but I don't have time. Growing up is lame sometimes.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Andy Stott Review
And Stott
Faith In Strangers
Modern Love, 2014
“Faith in Strangers” is Andy Stott’s second album of 2014. He released “Drop the Vowels” earlier in the year as one-half of Millie and Andrea. His solo album balances the hard-hitting cacophony of “Drop the Vowels,” with the soothing dub of his 2012 album “Luxury Problems.” it manages to be the best of both worlds, offering both beats and more introspective sounds.
Album opener “Time Away” starts things off slowly with what sounds like a foghorn eventually melting into a wall of ambient swells. “Violence” also starts slowly, with just a synthesizer and a woman’s voice (Allison Skidmore, who was also featured on “Luxury Problems”). Her singing is plaintive but muffled, processed so that it is impossible to make out any words. Drums finally kick in around the three-minute mark, and this is where the song, and the album, really takes off. There are crushing 808s and distorted snares and synths, all slightly off beat. It’s an odd combination of beautiful, banging, and disquieting. It sounds like a fever dream version of trap music.
The mixture of gorgeous vocals, synthesizers, thundering bass, and distortion appears throughout the album. “On Oath” and “Science and Industry” use those elements over a skeleton of minimalist techno. “No Surrender” and “Damage” combine them with drum ‘n bass. “How It Was” applies them to house music. It’s never glitchy or harsh enough to make it difficult to listen to, but it constantly keeps you on your toes. There are two weaknesses that electronic music can fall prey to: it can be too repetitive and predictable, and it can lack any real low ends. Stott solves both problems by keeping his songs off kilter, and backing them with heavy beats.
The title track mixes things up by being less dissonant and more straightforward. I had assumed that the title of the album, “Faith in Strangers,” was meant to be ironic. I was surprised by the sense of hope and optimism in the title track, especially after the darker moments on the rest of the album. “Damage” and “Violence” live up to their namesakes, although even at its noisiest, “Faith in Strangers” can still be beautiful.
The album ends with “Missing,” which like “Time Away” is mostly ambient. It’s an ambiguous way to end things, and it doesn’t tie the album together or make a statement the way some of the other tracks do. Stott seems to be intent on challenging the listener and distancing himself from the dancefloor as much as possible. It may not get him gigs playing stadiums, but its what makes his music special. There are no phony builds, no bass dropping, no obvious patterns. “Faith in Strangers” keeps listeners on their toes, and keeps their head nodding the whole time.
Serengeti Review
Originally posted on RapReviews
Kenny Dennis III" marks the third time that Serengeti's mustachioed character Kenny Dennis has been given his own project. He has a long and storied fictional history. He started out in Tha Grimm Teachaz alongside PMDF and DJ Koufie. They were signed to Jive, and were supposed to release their debut, "There's A Situation On the Homefront," before an altercation with Shaq at a live event caused their label to shelve the album. He's released an EP and a 2013 album, and has been featured on other Serengeti projects.
"Kenny Dennis III" is a concept album with storyline about Kenny hooking up with his friend Ders (played by Anders Holm) to tour malls with a 90s high-energy hip-house group called Perfecto. The story is pure hip-hop Spinal Tap, the flailing has-been grinding through the most depressing tour imaginable while refusing to acknowledge that he isn't a superstar. He's also battling a pill addiction, egged on by his new friend Joji.
As Kenny, Serengeti raps in a gruff "Joey from the old neighborhood" kind of voice about absurdities. "Hot dogs for lunch/Hot dogs for dinner/I don't eat breakfast/I am no beginner" he raps on album opener "No Beginner." There's a Madvillain vibe to the album, especially in the way that Odd Nosdam's dusty breaks compliment Kenny's bizarre rapping. I only knew Nosdam from his anticon. days, and I didn't expect such straighforward crate-digging from him. He samples old soul and surf rock, throwing in some of the art-damaged weirdness that anticon was best known for. Nosdam's beats ground the album, making it groove even when it devolves into nonsense.
The character of Kenny is funny, but not funny enough to carry an entire album. Serengeti may have known this, which might explain why Kenny only raps on ten of the 19 tracks. Still, even ten tracks is more Kenny than I needed. It's like one of those Saturday Night Live movies that tries to stretch a three-minute sketch into a 90 minute movie. Also, the character of Kenny isn't so much funny as he's weird and annoying, which makes it even less fun to spend an entire album with him.
Anders Holm's sketches as Ders are what really end up making "Kenny Dennis III." Where Kenny is a big character, Ders is more understated. Ders is an aspiring actor who is beaten out of a Different Strokes reboot by a funnier, more attractive actor. He fully embraces their 90s throwback rap, starts wearing nothing but mall clothes, and even gets into parkour when Perfecto flames out. He catches the optimism and ego and tragedy of being an artist on the margins. I found myself listening the skits that Ders was on more than the actual songs on the album because they are so funny.
I can see how Kenny could appeal to listeners. There is a DOOM-like quality to his absurd-yet-smart style of rapping, and nobody could argue that Serengeti isn't committing to the character 100 percent. I didn't find him funny, nor did I find his rapping appealing from an aesthetic standpoint. As a result, I was more into "Kenny Dennis III" for the skits and beats than for anything that Kenny had to say.
Kenny Dennis III" marks the third time that Serengeti's mustachioed character Kenny Dennis has been given his own project. He has a long and storied fictional history. He started out in Tha Grimm Teachaz alongside PMDF and DJ Koufie. They were signed to Jive, and were supposed to release their debut, "There's A Situation On the Homefront," before an altercation with Shaq at a live event caused their label to shelve the album. He's released an EP and a 2013 album, and has been featured on other Serengeti projects.
"Kenny Dennis III" is a concept album with storyline about Kenny hooking up with his friend Ders (played by Anders Holm) to tour malls with a 90s high-energy hip-house group called Perfecto. The story is pure hip-hop Spinal Tap, the flailing has-been grinding through the most depressing tour imaginable while refusing to acknowledge that he isn't a superstar. He's also battling a pill addiction, egged on by his new friend Joji.
As Kenny, Serengeti raps in a gruff "Joey from the old neighborhood" kind of voice about absurdities. "Hot dogs for lunch/Hot dogs for dinner/I don't eat breakfast/I am no beginner" he raps on album opener "No Beginner." There's a Madvillain vibe to the album, especially in the way that Odd Nosdam's dusty breaks compliment Kenny's bizarre rapping. I only knew Nosdam from his anticon. days, and I didn't expect such straighforward crate-digging from him. He samples old soul and surf rock, throwing in some of the art-damaged weirdness that anticon was best known for. Nosdam's beats ground the album, making it groove even when it devolves into nonsense.
The character of Kenny is funny, but not funny enough to carry an entire album. Serengeti may have known this, which might explain why Kenny only raps on ten of the 19 tracks. Still, even ten tracks is more Kenny than I needed. It's like one of those Saturday Night Live movies that tries to stretch a three-minute sketch into a 90 minute movie. Also, the character of Kenny isn't so much funny as he's weird and annoying, which makes it even less fun to spend an entire album with him.
Anders Holm's sketches as Ders are what really end up making "Kenny Dennis III." Where Kenny is a big character, Ders is more understated. Ders is an aspiring actor who is beaten out of a Different Strokes reboot by a funnier, more attractive actor. He fully embraces their 90s throwback rap, starts wearing nothing but mall clothes, and even gets into parkour when Perfecto flames out. He catches the optimism and ego and tragedy of being an artist on the margins. I found myself listening the skits that Ders was on more than the actual songs on the album because they are so funny.
I can see how Kenny could appeal to listeners. There is a DOOM-like quality to his absurd-yet-smart style of rapping, and nobody could argue that Serengeti isn't committing to the character 100 percent. I didn't find him funny, nor did I find his rapping appealing from an aesthetic standpoint. As a result, I was more into "Kenny Dennis III" for the skits and beats than for anything that Kenny had to say.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Body Count Review
Originally Posted on RapReviews
Body Count
Manslaughter
Sumerian Records
Body Count
Manslaughter
Sumerian Records
It’s not that surprising that Original Gangster Ice-T would form a metal band as a side project. Ice’s love of metal was evident on his first album, which sampled Black Sabbath. What is surprising is that Body Count, Ice-T’s metal band, would be around twenty five years later. And yet last summer saw the release of Body Count’s fifth album, “Manslaughter.”
At face value, hip-hop and metal are very different. One is centered on speaking rhythmically over mechanical drum beats, the other is centered on screaming over guitars. One is a predominantly African-American art form, the other is predominantly white. But there are also a lot of similarities between the two. Both are art forms that represent outcasts and the underclass. Both genres often celebrate nihilism and anti-social behavior, and both genres often use violence as subject matter. Chief Keef and Norwegian black metal band Mayhem may sound totally different, but they both share a certain level of misanthropy and disdain for mainstream society. There’s also a level of boasting and fantasy in both genres. Few gangsta rappers are actual gangsters in the same way that few Satanic metal bands are actual Satanists.
What Body Count do well is combine the aggression and attitude of hip-hop with the musical aggression of metal. Musically the group, led by axeman Ernie C., is as tight as ever. They combine thrash, doom, hardcore, and even a little death metal. There are chugging guitars, wailing solos, and hammering drums. Whatever the novelty of a bunch of black guys from Compton playing metal, they are no joke. Musical high points include the relentless “Manslaughter” and “Bitch in the Pit,” the chugging “Talk Shit, Get Shot,” and the thrashy “Pray For Death.” It’s all loud and heavy.
The challenge Ice-T has had with Body Count is how to translate his rapping to metal. Rap lyrics might be a couple pages long; your average metal song might only be a paragraph. In trying to adapt his lyrics to metal, Ice tends to dumb them down to a ridiculous extent. It doesn’t help that he essentially rap/yells them rather than singing or screaming or screeching or growling. There’s a reason why so few metal bands have “clean” singing: the lyrics sound better when you can’t quite make them out.
Ice-T has always used Body Count to push boundaries and push buttons. He got almost all the cops in the country mad at him for “Cop Killer,” and no less than Charlton Heston read the lyrics to “KKK Bitch” at a Time-Warner shareholder meeting in an effort to get the conglomerate to drop Body Count from Warner Brothers Records. If you are pissing Charlton Heston off, you are doing something right. (The irony being that compared to Cannibal Corpse, who sang about murdering women and raping their dead bodies, Body Count seem pretty tame.) “Manslaughter” tries to be shocking and gleefully offensive, but it comes off more as dumb and sophomoric. For example, the title track isn’t about killing men. It’s about how masculinity is being killed by wimpiness. The remake of “99 Problems” is about the 99 bitches Ice-T has. This from a man with a reality show about how much he loves his wife. The remake of Suicidal Tendencies’ “Institutionalized” would be funny if not for the stale racist jokes. I’m not even going to write about “Bitch in the Pit.”
There are a few songs that get it right lyrically. “Get a Job” and “Wanna Be A Gangsta” show the humor that has always been part of Body Count. “Back To Rehab” vents frustration at addicts who can’t stay straight. The album ends with the intense and thoughtful “I Will Always Love You,” which is dedicated to “the heroes...young men and women who have given their lives and risked their lives for this country!”
“Taught you everything, dropped out of school at 17
Trying to get a job at an early age,
But no diploma means minimum wage.
Bumped into a military recruiter,
Said the same, no game, no first person shooter.
With high-school you missed it,
So that day you’re enlisted.
First day off the truck
Basic training, scared as fuck,
Drill instructors, demons from hell
You never forget what you hear and yell
Six minutes of torture drives you insane
March, run, march, train!
You’re asking yourself why the fuck you came,
Lock them all 30 rounds, watch your lane!”
It’s Ice-T dialing back his metal persona and dropping some lyrics remind you why he matters as a rapper. It’s also a song that manages to pay tribute to soldiers while not glossing over the horrors of war and the ambiguities of the wars we’ve been fighting for the past twelve years.
If only Body Count could have made more songs like that one.
D'Angelo Review
Originally posted on RapReviews
D'Angelo and the Vangaurd
Black Messiah
RCA Records, 2014
For a genre that is ostensibly all about getting down and getting it on, R&B has a significant amount of capital G Geniuses. Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, George Clinton, Sly Stone, and Prince are examples of R&B musicians who have taken the music far beyond its boundaries. Add to that list D'Angelo, the Virginia-born musician who is best known for his 2000 masterpiece "Voodoo." He's also known for basically dropping off the face of the earth after in the wake of that album (the story goes that at least part of the reason for his retreat from public life was how oversexualized he felt as an artist, and how much attention was given to his six-pack and model good looks vs. his music, in other words the same ish that every single female R&B singer has to put up with).
D'Angelo was supposed to drop an album with Prince in 2009, and every year since then has promised new work from him to no avail. He did release a few songs, played live a few times and even toured. Still, a new album from him seemed about as likely as a new album from Dr. Dre or "Madvillainy 2." And then, out of nowhere, "Black Messiah" drops.
The album was originally supposed to come out this year, but D'Angelo put it out in mid-December to coincide with the protests going on around the country and the world in the wake of the grand jury decisions on the Michael Brown and Eric Garner cases. In the liner notes he writes:
"It's about people rising up in Ferguson and in Egypt and in Occupy Wall Street and in every place where a community has had enough and decides to make change happen. It's not about praising one charismatic leader but celebrating thousands of themÉ"Black Messiah" is not one man. It's a feeling that, collectively, we are all that leader."
It's fitting that "Black Messiah" is meant to reflect the Ferguson protests, because the album is powerful and messy, and manages to convey anger, hope, and beauty, sometimes all at once. On my first two listens, I found myself wondering if there were any actual songs on the album. So much of it is texture that it takes a while to understand their shapes. This is an impressionistic album that is built around grooves rather than traditional pop songwriting. It makes "Black Messiah" a challenging record, which isn't something I expect from R&B.
The album starts off with a squall of feedback before going into the sloppy, tripped out Southern funk of "Ain't That Easy." "Take a toke of smoke from me as you dream inside," he sings. In another artist's hands, this might be a babymaking slow jam, but D'Angelo keeps things a little off. The song is a little shambling, the pieces not quite all fitting together. Even lyrically there is more going on than just a standard love song:
"Ever hit with a choice that you can't decide?
Which direction left or right?
Shut your mouth off and focus on what you feel inside
See y'all know I'ma go with my vibe
You won't believe all the things you have to sacrifice
Just to get peace of mind
And you take what they give as if it did suffice
Still it's just a waste of time"
From there the album goes into a Malcolm X song about how Jesus was black, which kicks off the noisy "1000 Deaths." The song seems to be about both staying strong as an artist in a genre that doesn't reward age, and staying strong as a black man in a society that doesn't trust his skin.
The musical fury of "1000 Deaths" seems abated by the pretty ballad "The Charade." That is, until you actually listen to what D'Angelo is singing:
"Crawling through a systematic maze to demise
Black Messiah
RCA Records, 2014
For a genre that is ostensibly all about getting down and getting it on, R&B has a significant amount of capital G Geniuses. Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, George Clinton, Sly Stone, and Prince are examples of R&B musicians who have taken the music far beyond its boundaries. Add to that list D'Angelo, the Virginia-born musician who is best known for his 2000 masterpiece "Voodoo." He's also known for basically dropping off the face of the earth after in the wake of that album (the story goes that at least part of the reason for his retreat from public life was how oversexualized he felt as an artist, and how much attention was given to his six-pack and model good looks vs. his music, in other words the same ish that every single female R&B singer has to put up with).
D'Angelo was supposed to drop an album with Prince in 2009, and every year since then has promised new work from him to no avail. He did release a few songs, played live a few times and even toured. Still, a new album from him seemed about as likely as a new album from Dr. Dre or "Madvillainy 2." And then, out of nowhere, "Black Messiah" drops.
The album was originally supposed to come out this year, but D'Angelo put it out in mid-December to coincide with the protests going on around the country and the world in the wake of the grand jury decisions on the Michael Brown and Eric Garner cases. In the liner notes he writes:
"It's about people rising up in Ferguson and in Egypt and in Occupy Wall Street and in every place where a community has had enough and decides to make change happen. It's not about praising one charismatic leader but celebrating thousands of themÉ"Black Messiah" is not one man. It's a feeling that, collectively, we are all that leader."
It's fitting that "Black Messiah" is meant to reflect the Ferguson protests, because the album is powerful and messy, and manages to convey anger, hope, and beauty, sometimes all at once. On my first two listens, I found myself wondering if there were any actual songs on the album. So much of it is texture that it takes a while to understand their shapes. This is an impressionistic album that is built around grooves rather than traditional pop songwriting. It makes "Black Messiah" a challenging record, which isn't something I expect from R&B.
The album starts off with a squall of feedback before going into the sloppy, tripped out Southern funk of "Ain't That Easy." "Take a toke of smoke from me as you dream inside," he sings. In another artist's hands, this might be a babymaking slow jam, but D'Angelo keeps things a little off. The song is a little shambling, the pieces not quite all fitting together. Even lyrically there is more going on than just a standard love song:
"Ever hit with a choice that you can't decide?
Which direction left or right?
Shut your mouth off and focus on what you feel inside
See y'all know I'ma go with my vibe
You won't believe all the things you have to sacrifice
Just to get peace of mind
And you take what they give as if it did suffice
Still it's just a waste of time"
From there the album goes into a Malcolm X song about how Jesus was black, which kicks off the noisy "1000 Deaths." The song seems to be about both staying strong as an artist in a genre that doesn't reward age, and staying strong as a black man in a society that doesn't trust his skin.
The musical fury of "1000 Deaths" seems abated by the pretty ballad "The Charade." That is, until you actually listen to what D'Angelo is singing:
"Crawling through a systematic maze to demise
Pain in our eyes
Strain of drowning, wading through the lies
Degradation so loud that you can't hear the sound of our cries
All the dreamers have gone to the side of the road which we relay on
[...]
All we wanted was a chance to talk
instead we've only got outlined in chalk
Feet have bled a million miles we've walked
Revealing at the end of the day
The charade"
While there are some neo-soul and contemporary R&B elements in "Black Messiah," much of it is built on analog equipment and analog sounds. If you told me this was a lost 70s classic, I would believe you, even though it is full of hip-hop influences. It has the heaviness and intimacy of Sly Stone's "There's A Riot Goin' On," and it is hard not to compare the two albums. It's also hard not to hear Prince on "Black Messiah," especially in D'Angelo's voice and his willingness to mix rock in with his funk and soul. Even more impressive, it sounds like the D'Angelo record we've been waiting for for 15 years. It builds on the sound he perfected on "Voodoo" while moving it forward. It's not a passible copy of his former glory that fans will put up with because they are hungry for more. We've all bought those albums, and tried to pretend we like them. "Black Messiah" isn't like that.
The fact that D'Angelo was able to release this album on a major label in this age of market-testing and Auto-tuning the soul out of any major release is a feat in itself. It's even more amazing that an album 15 years in the making is so vital. "Black Messiah" is an incredible album, and an essential addition to D'Angelo's discography.
Strain of drowning, wading through the lies
Degradation so loud that you can't hear the sound of our cries
All the dreamers have gone to the side of the road which we relay on
[...]
All we wanted was a chance to talk
instead we've only got outlined in chalk
Feet have bled a million miles we've walked
Revealing at the end of the day
The charade"
While there are some neo-soul and contemporary R&B elements in "Black Messiah," much of it is built on analog equipment and analog sounds. If you told me this was a lost 70s classic, I would believe you, even though it is full of hip-hop influences. It has the heaviness and intimacy of Sly Stone's "There's A Riot Goin' On," and it is hard not to compare the two albums. It's also hard not to hear Prince on "Black Messiah," especially in D'Angelo's voice and his willingness to mix rock in with his funk and soul. Even more impressive, it sounds like the D'Angelo record we've been waiting for for 15 years. It builds on the sound he perfected on "Voodoo" while moving it forward. It's not a passible copy of his former glory that fans will put up with because they are hungry for more. We've all bought those albums, and tried to pretend we like them. "Black Messiah" isn't like that.
The fact that D'Angelo was able to release this album on a major label in this age of market-testing and Auto-tuning the soul out of any major release is a feat in itself. It's even more amazing that an album 15 years in the making is so vital. "Black Messiah" is an incredible album, and an essential addition to D'Angelo's discography.
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Old punks don't die, they just play metal
I was listening to the NYT Music popcast recently and came across an old episode about metal with the poet Michael Robbins. He and NYT's Ben Ratliffe remarked how punk didn't seem to age - people didn't grow old with punk. At the same time, I've been listening to crust legends Amebix, and reading criticism by punks about how they went metal. Which got me thinking about how punk doesn't age. Most of the punk bands I can think of that didn't burn out early either went metal or some other genre. To whit:
Black Flag went metal. They started incorporating Black Sabbath riffs in their first proper album. Other artists that went metal include Bad Brains, Descendants, Discharge, and GBH. Subhumans last album was metal. I'd argue that the whole Epitaph/Fat Wreck Chords sound is essentially punky metal.
Other bands went in an alt-rock path, like 7 Seconds, Husker Du, and Stiff Little Fingers. Still others went roots - I'm thinking X especially, and Joe Strummer's solo work. Hell, the Clash weren't a punk band by their third album.
The whole first wave of punk bands stopped being punk by the 80s. Johnny Rotten's band after the Sex Pistols was PiL, who were not punk at all. Mick Jones of the Clash formed a dance/hip-hop/reggae hybrid. The singer of the New York Dolls became a crooner. Most of the new wave bands had members who had started out in punk bands.
Even looking at how the genre evolved, it went in a metal direction. Crusty punk, which was pioneered by Amebix and further refined by Doom and a host of d-beat bands is basically a punk riff on Motorhead, built around chugging guitars. Grindcore is owned as much by metal as punk, and the bands on punks extreme could be categorized as metal.
Looking at contemporary punk bands, Fucked Up have basically become a rock band with a punk vocalist, Trash Talk have strong metal elements about them, and many of the other so-called punk bands either veer towards post-punk or some other genre.
I think the reason for this is that punk, while a vital and energizing form of music, is extremely limited. It depends on playing fast and loud and simple. Once you learn how to actually play and want to do something beyond three chords, you end up moving into different musical territory. Near me there is an unincorporated community called Kensington that is less than one square mile and has a population of about 5,100. It's small. If you walk to far in any direction, you leave it. And it doesn't want to grow. Punk is a little like Kensington, narrowly focused, encompassing a limited musical geography, and resistant to expanding that geography.
This isn't to disparage punk at all - it is and remains one of my favorite types of music, and the early albums and singles by the classic punk bands are musical treasures. I'm not dissing "Nervous Breakdown" or "Out of Step" or "The Punch Line" or any of it. It is interesting, however, to examine why punk bands don't tend to have long careers, and why so often it is the early albums by punk bands that remain the most highly revered (this isn't true across the board, and it is also true of many non-punk bands). Punk is important, but it is not music that is conducive to mastery.
Black Flag went metal. They started incorporating Black Sabbath riffs in their first proper album. Other artists that went metal include Bad Brains, Descendants, Discharge, and GBH. Subhumans last album was metal. I'd argue that the whole Epitaph/Fat Wreck Chords sound is essentially punky metal.
Other bands went in an alt-rock path, like 7 Seconds, Husker Du, and Stiff Little Fingers. Still others went roots - I'm thinking X especially, and Joe Strummer's solo work. Hell, the Clash weren't a punk band by their third album.
The whole first wave of punk bands stopped being punk by the 80s. Johnny Rotten's band after the Sex Pistols was PiL, who were not punk at all. Mick Jones of the Clash formed a dance/hip-hop/reggae hybrid. The singer of the New York Dolls became a crooner. Most of the new wave bands had members who had started out in punk bands.
Even looking at how the genre evolved, it went in a metal direction. Crusty punk, which was pioneered by Amebix and further refined by Doom and a host of d-beat bands is basically a punk riff on Motorhead, built around chugging guitars. Grindcore is owned as much by metal as punk, and the bands on punks extreme could be categorized as metal.
Looking at contemporary punk bands, Fucked Up have basically become a rock band with a punk vocalist, Trash Talk have strong metal elements about them, and many of the other so-called punk bands either veer towards post-punk or some other genre.
I think the reason for this is that punk, while a vital and energizing form of music, is extremely limited. It depends on playing fast and loud and simple. Once you learn how to actually play and want to do something beyond three chords, you end up moving into different musical territory. Near me there is an unincorporated community called Kensington that is less than one square mile and has a population of about 5,100. It's small. If you walk to far in any direction, you leave it. And it doesn't want to grow. Punk is a little like Kensington, narrowly focused, encompassing a limited musical geography, and resistant to expanding that geography.
This isn't to disparage punk at all - it is and remains one of my favorite types of music, and the early albums and singles by the classic punk bands are musical treasures. I'm not dissing "Nervous Breakdown" or "Out of Step" or "The Punch Line" or any of it. It is interesting, however, to examine why punk bands don't tend to have long careers, and why so often it is the early albums by punk bands that remain the most highly revered (this isn't true across the board, and it is also true of many non-punk bands). Punk is important, but it is not music that is conducive to mastery.
40 for 40
I did a playlist on Spotify to commemorate my 40th birthday, which was at the beginning of the year. It's forty songs that meant something to me throughout my life, in the order that I heard them. I was going to do a song a year, but really years 1-4 are a wash and not enough time has passed in for the last five years or so to have a lot of songs that really stick out as important to my life or whatever.
I start with a Woody Guthrie song that is one of the first songs I remember hearing. My mom had a record of his. "Heart of Glass" by Blondie has been one of my favorite songs since I heard it for the first time around 1980. My sister played the Xanadu soundtrack so much my parents banished it. My day care in 3rd grade had "Rock the Casbah" on 45. "Miss You" was just one of many songs my parents played over and over again at high volume while I was trying to sleep, and one of the few I still like. "Beat Street" got me into hip-hop, and I was lucky enough to come of age in an era when much of the pop music was being made by innovative and interesting people - Prince, Madonna, even Duran Duran. Anyways, enjoy.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Best Hip-Hop Albums of 2014
There were several points this year where I had a crisis of faith about this whole hip-hop thing. I’ll be forty in a week, which is Too Damn Old to be listening to a 19-year-old brag about having sex and getting high. There were many times this year that I felt like the old guy at a club full of people half my age. Metaphorically speaking, of course; I’m Too Damn Old to actually go out to a club. I get up when those kids are coming home. But each time I felt like telling hip-hop to get off my lawn, I’d hear something that would remind me why I love this music and why I shouldn’t give up on it.
I made a point of challenging myself to listen to music outside my comfort zone, and as a result I got into a lot of stuff that otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered listening to. The Cali swagger of DJ Mustard, the gay bounce of Big Freedia, two rap concept albums, even some R&B. The best thing about 2014 was that some of the best and most thoughtful rappers of the year were either young kids (Vince Staples, Wara) or old-ass men like myself (RTJ, Open Mike Eagle). There’s room for everybody in hip-hop, so long as you’ve got skills.
15. Shabazz Palaces, “Lese Majesty”
14. DJ Mustard, “10 Summers”
13. Tink, “Winter’s Diary 2”
12. Big Freedia, “Be Free”
11. Flying Lotus, “You’re Dead!”
10. Azealia Banks, “Broke With Expensive Taste”
9. “D’Angleo, “Black Messiah” (The only reason why this isn’t higher on the list is because it came out last week and I haven’t had much time to listen to it.)
8. Kate Tempest, “Everybody Down”
7. Wara from the NBHD, “Kidnapped”
6. Ghostface Killah, “36 Seasons”
5. Andy Stott, “Faith in Strangers”
4. Madlib and Freddie Gibbs, “Pinata”
3. Vince Staples, “Shyne Coldchain Vol. 2”
2. Open Mike Eagle, “Dark Comedy”
1. Run the Jewels, “Run the Jewels 2” Let me say that I did not want this to be my number one. I’m the kind of idiot that hates to like what everyone else likes. I actively wanted to dislike the second RTJ album just so I could be different, but dammit if it isn’t almost perfect. The beats hit hard, and El-P and Killer Mike have added more gravitas and thought to their shit-talking rhymes. As a bonus, both are hip-hop lifers who are overdue to be appreciated by a wider audience than just hip-hop nerds like myself.
Best non-rap albums of 2014
Here are my favorite non-rap albums of 2014, in orderish.
Total Control, “Typical System” This Australian band veers between new wave, post punk, and punk on an album that could’ve come out in 1980 but doesn’t sound like it is trying too hard to be retro.
Angel Olsen, “Burn Your Fire for No Witness” Like a punk Patsy Cline, kind of.
Fucked Up, “Glass Boys” I didn’t love this as much as their last album, but it still is another solid entry in their discography
Aphex Twin, “Syro” He’s back, and it’s like he never left.
Andy Stott, “Faith In Strangers” Beautiful, disorienting, and with chest-shattering bass.
Bleeding Rainbow, “Interrupt” A brilliant 90s shoegaze album, only by kids who were born in the 90s.
Against Me! “Transgender Dysphoria Blues” A rocking punk album about dealing with being transgender.
Panopticon, “Roads of the North” Black bluegrass metal that was powerful and beautiful at the same time.
Ex Hex, “Rips” Old punks deciding to write pop songs telling boys off.
Tombs, “Savage Gold” Heavy, loud, melodic, and perfectly balancing black metal, stoner metal, and hardcore. This album got me listening to metal again.
Friday, December 26, 2014
More Metal
I've been on a metal kick as of late, especially black metal. Partially because I've discovered that it is good music for commuting on BART in that it allows me to drown out the other passengers and still be able to read, and partially because I've gotten into the way the music can do interesting things with guitar textures. I've always been a sucker for the My Bloody Valentine wall of guitar, and there are a lot of metal bands that do this well. Also, metal tends to be a little goofier and less "real" than punk and post-punk. I love Unwound and Fucked Up, but their music sometimes hits a little too close to home. Listening to someone I have nothing in common with growl about Satan or whatever is like reading scifi: it's removed from my day to day life and thus a form of escape. In fact, the key to appreciating both sci-fi/fantasy and metal, at least from my perspective, is embracing the genres' goofiness. The first time I read "Game of Thrones," I was put off by how silly the made up names and made up places were. Then I learned to embrace it, and now I'm an avid fantasy fan. The first time I listened to Deafheaven, I thought the screeching vocals were the silliest things in the world, but you get used to it.
Tombs' "Savage Gold" is one of my favorite albums of the year, so I've been investigating their back catalog. As in , downloading all of it. When I was in Houston in November, I bought CDs by Deathspell Omega, a French doom/black metal band who are an influence of Tombs, Blut Aus Nord, and Lair of the Minotaur. I've also downloaded albums by NYC black metal band Krallice, as well as seminal Norwegian black metal albums by Mayhem, Emperor and Darkthrone.
Let's talk about the Norwegian stuff first. I have some serious issues with Norwegian black metal, both musically and philosophically. Philosophically, some of it is rooted in nationalism, racism, homophobia, severe anti-social behavior, and Satanism. I deeply dislike all of those things. Listening to the early Norwegian black metal is like listening to Compton's Most Wanted or Lil' Boosie, gangsta rap records made by people with actual criminal records who were rapping about and doing terrible things. It's hard to do with a clean conscience. Sonically, the Norwegian black metal albums (with the exception of Darkthrone) don't usually have the same punk/crust influence that many American black metal acts have. As a result I find it less to my taste. They also have same guttural screeching vocals that Deafheaven share, which I find pretty annoying after ten minutes. I enjoy Darkthrone the most out of the three I've listened to, mostly because it basically has the sound and production values of a crusty punk record.
"Transylvania Hunger" is a an example of what the music can do. It has a melodic quality that you don't find in most extreme music, and yet the growled vocals keep it firmly extreme. The lyrics are still Satanic and possibly latently racist (having been written by Vlag Varkeness of Burzum), but they are almost all in Norwegian so it is hard to say.
I also got Mayhem's "De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas," another seminal black metal album that while good, is so friggin creepy that I have a hard time listening to it. I also downloaded Emperor's "In the Nightside Eclipse," which has a more epic scope than Darkthrone or Mayhem. Emperor were one of the seminal and notorious black metal bands, since the singer was a church-burner and their drummer killed a man who came on to him. So, you know, kind of assholes. They incorporate synthesizers and have a more "metal" feel than Mayhem or Darkthrone. It's interesting, but feels a little like a D&D aficionado who is way too into collecting swords.
I'm more into the American stuff, especially what I guess would be disparagingly referenced as hipster black metal. Deafheaven and Liturgy are the most obvious examples, but I've also gotten into a New York band called Krallice, who do a highly technical version of black metal. Listening to "Dimensional Bleedthrough," you understand that there is a droning quality to the music that isn't totally unlike electronic music. The songs are almost always long, often stretching past the 10 minute mark, and there is an element of composition to them that you don't get in most pop music. A 10 minute black metal song isn't that different from a 10 minute Burial or Andy Stott song, only they are using different sounds and going for a different emotion. The contemplative, repetitive nature of the music is similar, though.
I'm especially into Panopticon's new album, "The Roads to the North." Panopticon are a one-man band who mixe bluegrass with black metal, leading to something powerful and very different. It's sort of like the Pogues if they were from the Bluegrass State, and were into black metal and not punk. In other words, nothing like the Pogues.
Panopticon and Krallice, like Deafheaven and Liturgy, don't share Scandanavian black metal's love of Satan or whatever. Panopticon is allegedly leftist, but I can't understand a word he says so I'm not sure.
Finally, there is French band Blut Aus Nord. I checked them out after Pitchfork compared them to Aphex Twin. They've been around for years, and are basically a one man band with a backing band. Their latest album Memoria Vetusta III: Saturnian Poetry, is more melodic than other stuff I've heard from them (which at times veered towards industrial). I'm into it.
I've struggled to try to understand why music nerds are so into black metal as opposed to other forms of extreme music. Why doesn't Pitchfork review hardcore bands or crusty punk bands? I think the answer is that there is more room for experimentation in black metal. It's music built around textures rather than chords and choruses, so there is more room to get weird. The music inspires artists to do these grand, ambitious projects. Blut Aus Nord did a three-album "Memoria Vetusta" series, and in between that released three albums in the "777" trilogy. Fellow French black metallers Deathspell Omega similarly did a trilogy of music about Satan or whatever. Panopticon have done several concept albums, including one about coal miners.
I don't know that black metal is destined to be my favorite music, but it's interesting and I've enjoyed getting back into louder music. What does it say about me though that I am forty and listening to this?
Tombs' "Savage Gold" is one of my favorite albums of the year, so I've been investigating their back catalog. As in , downloading all of it. When I was in Houston in November, I bought CDs by Deathspell Omega, a French doom/black metal band who are an influence of Tombs, Blut Aus Nord, and Lair of the Minotaur. I've also downloaded albums by NYC black metal band Krallice, as well as seminal Norwegian black metal albums by Mayhem, Emperor and Darkthrone.
Let's talk about the Norwegian stuff first. I have some serious issues with Norwegian black metal, both musically and philosophically. Philosophically, some of it is rooted in nationalism, racism, homophobia, severe anti-social behavior, and Satanism. I deeply dislike all of those things. Listening to the early Norwegian black metal is like listening to Compton's Most Wanted or Lil' Boosie, gangsta rap records made by people with actual criminal records who were rapping about and doing terrible things. It's hard to do with a clean conscience. Sonically, the Norwegian black metal albums (with the exception of Darkthrone) don't usually have the same punk/crust influence that many American black metal acts have. As a result I find it less to my taste. They also have same guttural screeching vocals that Deafheaven share, which I find pretty annoying after ten minutes. I enjoy Darkthrone the most out of the three I've listened to, mostly because it basically has the sound and production values of a crusty punk record.
"Transylvania Hunger" is a an example of what the music can do. It has a melodic quality that you don't find in most extreme music, and yet the growled vocals keep it firmly extreme. The lyrics are still Satanic and possibly latently racist (having been written by Vlag Varkeness of Burzum), but they are almost all in Norwegian so it is hard to say.
I also got Mayhem's "De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas," another seminal black metal album that while good, is so friggin creepy that I have a hard time listening to it. I also downloaded Emperor's "In the Nightside Eclipse," which has a more epic scope than Darkthrone or Mayhem. Emperor were one of the seminal and notorious black metal bands, since the singer was a church-burner and their drummer killed a man who came on to him. So, you know, kind of assholes. They incorporate synthesizers and have a more "metal" feel than Mayhem or Darkthrone. It's interesting, but feels a little like a D&D aficionado who is way too into collecting swords.
I'm more into the American stuff, especially what I guess would be disparagingly referenced as hipster black metal. Deafheaven and Liturgy are the most obvious examples, but I've also gotten into a New York band called Krallice, who do a highly technical version of black metal. Listening to "Dimensional Bleedthrough," you understand that there is a droning quality to the music that isn't totally unlike electronic music. The songs are almost always long, often stretching past the 10 minute mark, and there is an element of composition to them that you don't get in most pop music. A 10 minute black metal song isn't that different from a 10 minute Burial or Andy Stott song, only they are using different sounds and going for a different emotion. The contemplative, repetitive nature of the music is similar, though.
I'm especially into Panopticon's new album, "The Roads to the North." Panopticon are a one-man band who mixe bluegrass with black metal, leading to something powerful and very different. It's sort of like the Pogues if they were from the Bluegrass State, and were into black metal and not punk. In other words, nothing like the Pogues.
Panopticon and Krallice, like Deafheaven and Liturgy, don't share Scandanavian black metal's love of Satan or whatever. Panopticon is allegedly leftist, but I can't understand a word he says so I'm not sure.
Finally, there is French band Blut Aus Nord. I checked them out after Pitchfork compared them to Aphex Twin. They've been around for years, and are basically a one man band with a backing band. Their latest album Memoria Vetusta III: Saturnian Poetry, is more melodic than other stuff I've heard from them (which at times veered towards industrial). I'm into it.
I've struggled to try to understand why music nerds are so into black metal as opposed to other forms of extreme music. Why doesn't Pitchfork review hardcore bands or crusty punk bands? I think the answer is that there is more room for experimentation in black metal. It's music built around textures rather than chords and choruses, so there is more room to get weird. The music inspires artists to do these grand, ambitious projects. Blut Aus Nord did a three-album "Memoria Vetusta" series, and in between that released three albums in the "777" trilogy. Fellow French black metallers Deathspell Omega similarly did a trilogy of music about Satan or whatever. Panopticon have done several concept albums, including one about coal miners.
I don't know that black metal is destined to be my favorite music, but it's interesting and I've enjoyed getting back into louder music. What does it say about me though that I am forty and listening to this?
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Favorite Songs of the Year
In alphabetical order, here are my 15 favorite songs of the year.
Against Me!, "Transgender Dysphoria Blues"
Andy Stott, "Violence"
Angel Olsen, "Forgiven/Forgotten"
Atmosphere, "Southsiders"
Bleeding Rainbow, "So You Know"
D'Angelo, "Sugah Daddy"
Ex Hex, "How You Got That Girl"
Flying Lotus, "Never Catch Me ft Kendrick Lamar"
Fucked Up, "Paper the House"
Ghostface Killah, "Love Don't Live Here No More"
Kate Tempest, "Lonely Daze"
Mirel Wagner, "The Dirt"
Panopticon, "Echoes of A Disharmonic Evensong"
Run the Jewels, "Oh My Darling (Don't Cry)"
Tombs, "Ashes"
Total Control, "Flesh War"
Vince Staples, "Nate"
Wara from the NBHD, "Beige"
Against Me!, "Transgender Dysphoria Blues"
Andy Stott, "Violence"
Angel Olsen, "Forgiven/Forgotten"
Atmosphere, "Southsiders"
Bleeding Rainbow, "So You Know"
D'Angelo, "Sugah Daddy"
Ex Hex, "How You Got That Girl"
Flying Lotus, "Never Catch Me ft Kendrick Lamar"
Fucked Up, "Paper the House"
Ghostface Killah, "Love Don't Live Here No More"
Kate Tempest, "Lonely Daze"
Mirel Wagner, "The Dirt"
Panopticon, "Echoes of A Disharmonic Evensong"
Run the Jewels, "Oh My Darling (Don't Cry)"
Tombs, "Ashes"
Total Control, "Flesh War"
Vince Staples, "Nate"
Wara from the NBHD, "Beige"
Monday, December 15, 2014
Megabusive Review
I reviewed Megabusive and Awkward's "Hell On Hell." last week on RapReviews. I liked it.
I also downloaded Angel Olsen's "Burn Your Fire For No Witness," which sounds a lot like Patsy Cline at times. I like it. I love this song:
Thoughts on the Brown/Garner Verdicts
Originally posted on RapReviews.
The non-indictment of police officers involved in the murders of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri and Eric Garner in Staten Island have led to protests all over the country in support of the murdered men. The narrative of the protesters and those supporting them is that the police unfairly target African-American men, treat them more harshly than whites for similar infractions (which is a documented fact), and that the police are not punished when they murder unarmed black men.
"And fuck the popo because that 39% tax I pay
Don't get me nuthin' but a choke hold and some pepper spray"
- E-40, "It's All Bad"
The argument in support of the police officers, which has been taken up by the more conservative elements in this country, has been that both Garner and Brown were crooks who were aggressive with police, that police interact more with African-Americans because they commit more crimes, and that blacks should really be more concerned with black-on-black homicides, since a young black man is far more likely to be murdered by another young black man than by a police officer.
The conservative reaction is interesting and infuriating on a few levels. For one thing, it's interesting that a group that positions itself as being against government oppression would be in support of the government literally getting away with murder. At the very least, as a citizen it should concern you when law enforcement is able to kill an unarmed man in unclear circumstances (or in the case of Mr. Garner, all too clear), and get away without so much as an indictment. The only reason why Michael Brown's murder was even investigated by a grand jury is because citizens made a stink about it. If it hadn't become a national issue, nothing would have happened at all beyond the Browns having to go on with life without their son.
"Fucking with me 'cause I'm a teenager
With a little bit of gold and a pager
Searchin my car, lookin for the product
Thinking every nigga is sellin narcotics"
- N.W.A., "Fuck Tha Police"
There's also this idea that the problem in both cases is that the suspects did not cooperate with police. In the video of Eric Garner it's not clear to me that he was aggressively resisting, and the reaction to what resistance he did offer would have been overboard even if it hadn't killed him. Michael Brown's alleged reaction does sound unfortunate and not the best call. Giving lip to a police officer is never a good idea, much less getting physical with one. But even if we concede that both men's reaction to the police were overly aggressive and out of line (which I'm not saying is true), the outcome should not have been death. You don't get the death penalty for assaulting a police officer, shoplifting, or selling contraband cigarettes. Telling black men in the wake of this that the lesson they should learn is to be nice to cops is like telling a rape victim not to wear such revealing clothes or accept drinks from strangers next time she's goes out. It's focusing on the victim's behavior, as if the resulting act is inevitable and excusable. I can accept that if you pull a weapon on an officer of the law (or anyone for that matter), you should expect that they might react with lethal force. But getting mouthy with a cop should in no way be a death sentence, and we as a society cannot accept as much.
"Now tell me who protects me from you?"
- Jay Dilla "Fuck the Police"
Now let's talk about the elephant in the room: black criminality. Conservative rocker Ted Nugent had a Facebook post in the wake of the Ferguson decision in which he said, among other things, "When a cop tells you to get out of the middle of the street, obey him & don't attack him as brainwashed by the gangsta a**holes you hang with & look up to….And don't claim that "black lives matter" when you ignore the millions you abort & slaughter each & every day by other blacks. Those of us with a soul do indeed believe black lives matter, as all lives matter. So quit killin each other you f**kin idiots."
I normally wouldn't take anything Nugent says seriously since, like Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter, his whole schtick is more or less troll baiting liberals (or in this case, anyone with half a shred of decency). But since 517,000 people liked that post, I think it is worth addressing.
Nugent is right on one count: blacks are much more likely to be killed by another black than by a police officer. (Whites are also more likely to be killed by other whites, for that matter.) Blacks are also more likely to be killed by heart disease than by a police officer. We don't have to solve every other problem African-Americans have in order to address police violence. And all 44 million African-Americans in this country don't have to be perfect before they can complain. More importantly, there is a difference between crimes committed by criminals and crimes committed and condoned by the system. I keep seeing people post things on social media asking why blacks aren't marching to protest (white) people killed by (black) muggers. The answer is simple: because the mugging victim's death wasn't caused and condoned by members of the system. I saw a sign at one of the Ferguson protests that summed this up perfectly. It said "We aren't mad because the system failed, we are mad because the system worked."
"This fucking city
Overrun by pigs
They're taking the rights away
From all us kids
Understand, we're fighting a war we can't win
They hate us, we hate them
We can't win"
- Black Flag, "Police Story"
High rates of black criminality does something to explain the disproportionate amount of contact African-Americans have with police, in regards to other ethnicities. In the San Francisco Bay Area, the majority of high-crime areas are largely African-American. They are also the poorest areas, but class is an issue we don't talk about in the U.S., unless it is to label the poor "takers." Unfortunately, it seems that in the eyes of some police departments, the fact that some young black men are involved in crime has led to treating all of them as criminals.
Nugent's phrase "don't claim that 'black lives matter' when you ignore the millions you abort & slaughter each & every day by other blacks" is instructive in its use of "you." He doesn't realize it, but Nugent is proving one of the main points of a lot of the protesters. He's condensing 44 million African-Americans into one person, one "you," and making them all responsible for one another's actions. He's saying in my eyes, you are all the same, and I don't differentiate between a vicious criminal, a young kid, a petty thief, a blue-collar father, a security guard, a white collar worker, a CEO, or the President of the United States of America.
There's a Twitter hashtag #alivewhileblack that collects stories by African-Americans of uncomfortable interactions they've had with the police where they were treated like criminals whether or not they were doing anything wrong. Those stories echo what I've heard from my friends and colleagues of color. African-Americans are treated as suspects from the minute they enter the system. They are suspended from school at higher rates than their white classmates. They are stopped more frequently, arrested more frequently, and get longer jail terms than whites. From the cradle to the grave they are treated as defacto violent criminals.
What's frustrating to me about this focus on black criminality is how the fact that Michael Brown and Eric Garner may have been involved in something criminal means, to many Americans, that they deserve what they got. Even if you think that both men were being aggressive, shouldn't the fact that they were killed during a routine police interaction raise some serious questions about how law enforcement are interacting with African-Americans in those communities? At the very least, from a management perspective, the police force in Ferguson and New York City should be questioning why the public they are serving has so much distrust and hostility towards them that questioning someone for a shoplifting or selling illegal cigarettes ends in an officer killing someone. Having someone's son, husband, or father lying dead shouldn't just be chalked up as the price we pay to be "safe."
Even as a white guy who can't relate to the feelings these two verdicts have raised personally, I still felt deeply saddened by both of them. Because I can only imagine what it is like. Because Killer Mike was crying on stage about how scared he was for his two sons' lives. And because I know how deeply embedded the fear of black people, and especially black men, is in our culture. Fear of black men is what sells car alarms, security systems, and a lot of the firearms that are sold today. It is why parents in cities send their children to private schools. It is why we choose the neighborhoods we live in and the neighborhoods we don't visit.
The weekly murders of young men of color in cities like Oakland, Richmond, and San Francisco are barely make the local news unless it is a young child or a so-called "good kid," one who did well in school, played football, and thought about going to college. Otherwise we, as a society, assume that they have it coming, that is something that doesn't involve the rest of us, that their lives don't matter. We write them off as thugs, gangsters, or crooks. If there is any good to come out of the deaths of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, John Crawford, Ezell Ford, Kendrec McDade, Patrick Dorismond, Tamir Rice, and the many other unarmed men who have been killed by law enforcement, it is to bring to question how the police use force, the unequal treatment of African-Americans by police, and remind people that these men's lives mattered.
The non-indictment of police officers involved in the murders of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri and Eric Garner in Staten Island have led to protests all over the country in support of the murdered men. The narrative of the protesters and those supporting them is that the police unfairly target African-American men, treat them more harshly than whites for similar infractions (which is a documented fact), and that the police are not punished when they murder unarmed black men.
"And fuck the popo because that 39% tax I pay
Don't get me nuthin' but a choke hold and some pepper spray"
- E-40, "It's All Bad"
The argument in support of the police officers, which has been taken up by the more conservative elements in this country, has been that both Garner and Brown were crooks who were aggressive with police, that police interact more with African-Americans because they commit more crimes, and that blacks should really be more concerned with black-on-black homicides, since a young black man is far more likely to be murdered by another young black man than by a police officer.
The conservative reaction is interesting and infuriating on a few levels. For one thing, it's interesting that a group that positions itself as being against government oppression would be in support of the government literally getting away with murder. At the very least, as a citizen it should concern you when law enforcement is able to kill an unarmed man in unclear circumstances (or in the case of Mr. Garner, all too clear), and get away without so much as an indictment. The only reason why Michael Brown's murder was even investigated by a grand jury is because citizens made a stink about it. If it hadn't become a national issue, nothing would have happened at all beyond the Browns having to go on with life without their son.
"Fucking with me 'cause I'm a teenager
With a little bit of gold and a pager
Searchin my car, lookin for the product
Thinking every nigga is sellin narcotics"
- N.W.A., "Fuck Tha Police"
There's also this idea that the problem in both cases is that the suspects did not cooperate with police. In the video of Eric Garner it's not clear to me that he was aggressively resisting, and the reaction to what resistance he did offer would have been overboard even if it hadn't killed him. Michael Brown's alleged reaction does sound unfortunate and not the best call. Giving lip to a police officer is never a good idea, much less getting physical with one. But even if we concede that both men's reaction to the police were overly aggressive and out of line (which I'm not saying is true), the outcome should not have been death. You don't get the death penalty for assaulting a police officer, shoplifting, or selling contraband cigarettes. Telling black men in the wake of this that the lesson they should learn is to be nice to cops is like telling a rape victim not to wear such revealing clothes or accept drinks from strangers next time she's goes out. It's focusing on the victim's behavior, as if the resulting act is inevitable and excusable. I can accept that if you pull a weapon on an officer of the law (or anyone for that matter), you should expect that they might react with lethal force. But getting mouthy with a cop should in no way be a death sentence, and we as a society cannot accept as much.
"Now tell me who protects me from you?"
- Jay Dilla "Fuck the Police"
Now let's talk about the elephant in the room: black criminality. Conservative rocker Ted Nugent had a Facebook post in the wake of the Ferguson decision in which he said, among other things, "When a cop tells you to get out of the middle of the street, obey him & don't attack him as brainwashed by the gangsta a**holes you hang with & look up to….And don't claim that "black lives matter" when you ignore the millions you abort & slaughter each & every day by other blacks. Those of us with a soul do indeed believe black lives matter, as all lives matter. So quit killin each other you f**kin idiots."
I normally wouldn't take anything Nugent says seriously since, like Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter, his whole schtick is more or less troll baiting liberals (or in this case, anyone with half a shred of decency). But since 517,000 people liked that post, I think it is worth addressing.
Nugent is right on one count: blacks are much more likely to be killed by another black than by a police officer. (Whites are also more likely to be killed by other whites, for that matter.) Blacks are also more likely to be killed by heart disease than by a police officer. We don't have to solve every other problem African-Americans have in order to address police violence. And all 44 million African-Americans in this country don't have to be perfect before they can complain. More importantly, there is a difference between crimes committed by criminals and crimes committed and condoned by the system. I keep seeing people post things on social media asking why blacks aren't marching to protest (white) people killed by (black) muggers. The answer is simple: because the mugging victim's death wasn't caused and condoned by members of the system. I saw a sign at one of the Ferguson protests that summed this up perfectly. It said "We aren't mad because the system failed, we are mad because the system worked."
"This fucking city
Overrun by pigs
They're taking the rights away
From all us kids
Understand, we're fighting a war we can't win
They hate us, we hate them
We can't win"
- Black Flag, "Police Story"
High rates of black criminality does something to explain the disproportionate amount of contact African-Americans have with police, in regards to other ethnicities. In the San Francisco Bay Area, the majority of high-crime areas are largely African-American. They are also the poorest areas, but class is an issue we don't talk about in the U.S., unless it is to label the poor "takers." Unfortunately, it seems that in the eyes of some police departments, the fact that some young black men are involved in crime has led to treating all of them as criminals.
Nugent's phrase "don't claim that 'black lives matter' when you ignore the millions you abort & slaughter each & every day by other blacks" is instructive in its use of "you." He doesn't realize it, but Nugent is proving one of the main points of a lot of the protesters. He's condensing 44 million African-Americans into one person, one "you," and making them all responsible for one another's actions. He's saying in my eyes, you are all the same, and I don't differentiate between a vicious criminal, a young kid, a petty thief, a blue-collar father, a security guard, a white collar worker, a CEO, or the President of the United States of America.
There's a Twitter hashtag #alivewhileblack that collects stories by African-Americans of uncomfortable interactions they've had with the police where they were treated like criminals whether or not they were doing anything wrong. Those stories echo what I've heard from my friends and colleagues of color. African-Americans are treated as suspects from the minute they enter the system. They are suspended from school at higher rates than their white classmates. They are stopped more frequently, arrested more frequently, and get longer jail terms than whites. From the cradle to the grave they are treated as defacto violent criminals.
What's frustrating to me about this focus on black criminality is how the fact that Michael Brown and Eric Garner may have been involved in something criminal means, to many Americans, that they deserve what they got. Even if you think that both men were being aggressive, shouldn't the fact that they were killed during a routine police interaction raise some serious questions about how law enforcement are interacting with African-Americans in those communities? At the very least, from a management perspective, the police force in Ferguson and New York City should be questioning why the public they are serving has so much distrust and hostility towards them that questioning someone for a shoplifting or selling illegal cigarettes ends in an officer killing someone. Having someone's son, husband, or father lying dead shouldn't just be chalked up as the price we pay to be "safe."
Even as a white guy who can't relate to the feelings these two verdicts have raised personally, I still felt deeply saddened by both of them. Because I can only imagine what it is like. Because Killer Mike was crying on stage about how scared he was for his two sons' lives. And because I know how deeply embedded the fear of black people, and especially black men, is in our culture. Fear of black men is what sells car alarms, security systems, and a lot of the firearms that are sold today. It is why parents in cities send their children to private schools. It is why we choose the neighborhoods we live in and the neighborhoods we don't visit.
The weekly murders of young men of color in cities like Oakland, Richmond, and San Francisco are barely make the local news unless it is a young child or a so-called "good kid," one who did well in school, played football, and thought about going to college. Otherwise we, as a society, assume that they have it coming, that is something that doesn't involve the rest of us, that their lives don't matter. We write them off as thugs, gangsters, or crooks. If there is any good to come out of the deaths of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, John Crawford, Ezell Ford, Kendrec McDade, Patrick Dorismond, Tamir Rice, and the many other unarmed men who have been killed by law enforcement, it is to bring to question how the police use force, the unequal treatment of African-Americans by police, and remind people that these men's lives mattered.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Review wrap-up
I've still been managing a review a week at RapReviews. I thought I'd stop this year, but I'm managing so I'll keep going for now. I have three new reviews up;
I reviewed Jack Jetson's "Further Adventures of Johnny Strange" last week.
I also reviewed Ruane Maurice's self-titled.
And the Sleaford Mods "Divide and Exit," posted below.
Sleaford Mods are not from Sleaford, not mods, and not a hip-hop group. They are generally classified as punk; I came across "Divide and Exit" after I heard several people call it the punk album of the year. All I could think of when I heard them, however, was that they were a rap group. Singer Jason Williamson speaks rhythmically over producer Andrew Fearn's beats. Sure, Williamson's heavily accented rants are more similar to Crass's Steve Ignorant than Lil Wayne, and Fearn's beats often feature guitar, bass, and drums. But they are beats, and Williamson's rants are not singing. They may not be classified as a hip-hop group, but it sounds a lot like rap music to me. In fact, it is one of the best pairings of punk and hip-hop since P.O.S.'s "Never Better."
Semantics aside, "Divide and Exit" is a brutal but funny album. Williamson takes a cynical and caustic view of contemporary living. Every punk band since the Ramones has criticized the boring squares, but the fact that Williamson is in his forties gives his rants extra bite. It's one thing to skewer the middle-aged middle class when you are twenty years old and living under your parents' roof, but it is another thing altogether when a peer is doing it. On "You're Brave" he calls out a wealthy weekend warrior whose money hasn't managed to buy him taste or respect. On this song, as with most of the album, Williamson (or his character) is right there, doing drugs with the guy and sneering at him the whole time:
"Sat around the bloke's house
He liked me because I made some informed comment
About the early history of his fucking country
Big mirror
Lumps of drugs
His own private lift
Shit pieces of art
Matter-of-fact statements about how he is picking his kids up
In two hours
Twat
As if
You're brave"
A lot of the songs have a stream-of-consciousness feel to them. That, along with the incessant swearing and frequent drug and scatological references, make "Divide and Exit" feel like an Irvine Welsh book come to life. There's a bit of "Trainspotting" in "Tied Up in Nottz," for example:
"The smell of piss is so strong
It smells like decent bacon
Kevin's getting footloose on the overspill
Under the piss-station
Two pints destroyer on the cobbled floors
No amount of whatever is gonna chirp the chip up
It's the final countdown
My fucking Journey
I woke up with shit in my sock outside the Polish off-license
'They don't mind' said the asshole to the legs
You got to be cruel to be kind, shit man
Save it up like Norman Colon
Release the stench of shit grub like a giant toilet kraken
The lonely life that is touring
I got an armful of decent tunes, mate
But it's all so fucking boring"
Williamson had been kicking around his ranting style for a while, but it is when he met Fearn that Sleaford Mods really became a group. Fearn's mix of punk rock with hip-hop beats provide a sonic backbone that perfectly supports Williamson's spoken word/singing/rapping/whatever. Williamson may be the core of Sleaford Mods, but without Fearn's beats it would just be a guy ranting for forty minutes. Fearn's beats give dynamics and variety to the album and to the band.
The resulting album is an intense, visceral experience. It manages to combine the aggression of both punk and hip-hop. However you want to classify it, "Divide and Exit" is a great album.
I reviewed Jack Jetson's "Further Adventures of Johnny Strange" last week.
I also reviewed Ruane Maurice's self-titled.
And the Sleaford Mods "Divide and Exit," posted below.
Sleaford Mods are not from Sleaford, not mods, and not a hip-hop group. They are generally classified as punk; I came across "Divide and Exit" after I heard several people call it the punk album of the year. All I could think of when I heard them, however, was that they were a rap group. Singer Jason Williamson speaks rhythmically over producer Andrew Fearn's beats. Sure, Williamson's heavily accented rants are more similar to Crass's Steve Ignorant than Lil Wayne, and Fearn's beats often feature guitar, bass, and drums. But they are beats, and Williamson's rants are not singing. They may not be classified as a hip-hop group, but it sounds a lot like rap music to me. In fact, it is one of the best pairings of punk and hip-hop since P.O.S.'s "Never Better."
Semantics aside, "Divide and Exit" is a brutal but funny album. Williamson takes a cynical and caustic view of contemporary living. Every punk band since the Ramones has criticized the boring squares, but the fact that Williamson is in his forties gives his rants extra bite. It's one thing to skewer the middle-aged middle class when you are twenty years old and living under your parents' roof, but it is another thing altogether when a peer is doing it. On "You're Brave" he calls out a wealthy weekend warrior whose money hasn't managed to buy him taste or respect. On this song, as with most of the album, Williamson (or his character) is right there, doing drugs with the guy and sneering at him the whole time:
"Sat around the bloke's house
He liked me because I made some informed comment
About the early history of his fucking country
Big mirror
Lumps of drugs
His own private lift
Shit pieces of art
Matter-of-fact statements about how he is picking his kids up
In two hours
Twat
As if
You're brave"
A lot of the songs have a stream-of-consciousness feel to them. That, along with the incessant swearing and frequent drug and scatological references, make "Divide and Exit" feel like an Irvine Welsh book come to life. There's a bit of "Trainspotting" in "Tied Up in Nottz," for example:
"The smell of piss is so strong
It smells like decent bacon
Kevin's getting footloose on the overspill
Under the piss-station
Two pints destroyer on the cobbled floors
No amount of whatever is gonna chirp the chip up
It's the final countdown
My fucking Journey
I woke up with shit in my sock outside the Polish off-license
'They don't mind' said the asshole to the legs
You got to be cruel to be kind, shit man
Save it up like Norman Colon
Release the stench of shit grub like a giant toilet kraken
The lonely life that is touring
I got an armful of decent tunes, mate
But it's all so fucking boring"
Williamson had been kicking around his ranting style for a while, but it is when he met Fearn that Sleaford Mods really became a group. Fearn's mix of punk rock with hip-hop beats provide a sonic backbone that perfectly supports Williamson's spoken word/singing/rapping/whatever. Williamson may be the core of Sleaford Mods, but without Fearn's beats it would just be a guy ranting for forty minutes. Fearn's beats give dynamics and variety to the album and to the band.
The resulting album is an intense, visceral experience. It manages to combine the aggression of both punk and hip-hop. However you want to classify it, "Divide and Exit" is a great album.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Ferguson
As I write this, another night of protesting the grand jury's decision in the murder of Michael Brown is ending. I spent too much time arguing with people online yesterday about the case and reaction to it. So let me share my thoughts about it, for what it's worth.
"You all kicked me in my motherfucking ass. You all got me fucked up. Because I got a twenty year old son, I got a twelve year old son, and I'm scared to death for them." Killer Mike, on Monday night.
First of all, let's get this out of the way. The racists and haters and conservatives naysayers aren't wrong: black men in America are much more likely to be killed by their own than by a police officer, or even a white man. Black men are also statistically disproportionately involved in criminal activities, compared to whites. Let me lift from the NAACP:
"You all kicked me in my motherfucking ass. You all got me fucked up. Because I got a twenty year old son, I got a twelve year old son, and I'm scared to death for them." Killer Mike, on Monday night.
First of all, let's get this out of the way. The racists and haters and conservatives naysayers aren't wrong: black men in America are much more likely to be killed by their own than by a police officer, or even a white man. Black men are also statistically disproportionately involved in criminal activities, compared to whites. Let me lift from the NAACP:
Racial Disparities in Incarceration
- African Americans now constitute nearly 1 million of the total 2.3 million incarcerated population
- African Americans are incarcerated at nearly six times the rate of whites
- Together, African American and Hispanics comprised 58% of all prisoners in 2008, even though African Americans and Hispanics make up approximately one quarter of the US population
- According to Unlocking America, if African American and Hispanics were incarcerated at the same rates of whites, today's prison and jail populations would decline by approximately 50%
- One in six black men had been incarcerated as of 2001. If current trends continue, one in three black males born today can expect to spend time in prison during his lifetime
- 1 in 100 African American women are in prison
- Nationwide, African-Americans represent 26% of juvenile arrests, 44% of youth who are detained, 46% of the youth who are judicially waived to criminal court, and 58% of the youth admitted to state prisons (Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice).
Drug Sentencing Disparities
- About 14 million Whites and 2.6 million African Americans report using an illicit drug
- 5 times as many Whites are using drugs as African Americans, yet African Americans are sent to prison for drug offenses at 10 times the rate of Whites
- African Americans represent 12% of the total population of drug users, but 38% of those arrested for drug offenses, and 59% of those in state prison for a drug offense.
- African Americans serve virtually as much time in prison for a drug offense (58.7 months) as whites do for a violent offense (61.7 months). (Sentencing Project)
Contributing Factors
- Inner city crime prompted by social and economic isolation
- Crime/drug arrest rates: African Americans represent 12% of monthly drug users, but comprise 32% of persons arrested for drug possession
- "Get tough on crime" and "war on drugs" policies
- Mandatory minimum sentencing, especially disparities in sentencing for crack and powder cocaine possession
- In 2002, blacks constituted more than 80% of the people sentenced under the federal crack cocaine laws and served substantially more time in prison for drug offenses than did whites, despite that fact that more than 2/3 of crack cocaine users in the U.S. are white or Hispanic
- "Three Strikes"/habitual offender policies
- Zero Tolerance policies as a result of perceived problems of school violence; adverse affect on black children.
- 35% of black children grades 7-12 have been suspended or expelled at some point in their school careers compared to 20% of Hispanics and 15% of whites
If blacks are disproportionately involved in crime, they are also disproportionately arrested for it, and treated more harshly than whites by the system. In shorts, blacks, and particularly young black men, are seen as defacto criminals and treated thusly by the system.
People like Ted Nugent who point out levels of black criminality to justify/explain the killing of Michael Brown are proving the point: because some of the group are involved in crime, the entire group is treated like criminals, and it is perfectly legal and acceptable to murder them. Never mind that law enforcement should be held to a higher standard than a 16-year-old gangbanger. Never mind that being treated as guilty until proven innocent is unconstitutional. Never mind that basic management skills teach you that treating people with disrespect and suspicion is not a good way to get them to be on your side.
There was a sign among the protesters in Ferguson that read something to the effect of "We aren't mad because the system failed, we are mad because the system worked." That sums up a lot of how I feel about Ferguson. I can say for sure if Wilson genuinely felt his life was in danger. His injuries don't seem to indicate a brutal attack by a "demon," but I'm not a doctor and I'm judging from a photo. I do think that cops should be able to apprehend robbery suspects without killing them, and that anytime an officer of the law shoots and unarmed person, it should be a Big Fucking Deal. I also think that the police in communities like Ferguson need to work doubly hard to work with the communities they serve, and take care that they aren't being perceived as an invading force who are there to keep the animals in line.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Kate Tempest Review
Kate Tempest
Everybody Down
Big Dada, 2014
Originally posted on RapReviews
While all rap music could be considered poetry based on its form, not all rap music is poetry in the Merriam Webster definition of "writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rhythm." Even good rappers only offer occasional "poetic" moments in their songs. The majority of their time is spent on less literary pursuits. Hip-hop is party music, after all, and it is hard to rock a party and comment on the human condition at the same time.
British rapper turned poet turned rapper Kate Tempest attacks rapping with a poet's ear for language. Her poetry is informed by her love of hip-hop, and her rapping is informed by her love of poetry. She's also a playwright and has performed Shakespeare. There's certainly a theatrical element to her debut album, "Everybody Down." Not only is it poetry by way of hip-hop, it's also a story divided into 12 songs. Let it never be said that Tempest takes the easy way out. Given that rock operas and concept albums have a history of being overlong, self-indulgent, and convoluted, the listener can be excused if they approach the idea of a hip-hop opera with trepidation. While "Everybody Down" falls into some of the common traps that plague rock operas, it mostly succeeds.
The most important part of any concept album is to focus on the music. Kate Tempest gets that part right by bringing in producer Dan Carey, who has worked with Bat for Lashes and M.I.A. His EDM-inspired beats are based in fuzzy synthesizers and throbbing bass, with elements of dub and electro pop sprinkled in for good measure. They have bite to them, but there are also soft edges and melodies.
Tempest has a thick South London accent, and you can definitely hear the spoken-word influence in her delivery. The most obvious comparison is Mike Skinner of The Streets, who has a similar accent, storytelling style, and outsider perspective. However, as amiable as Skinner is, his music often felt frivolous and inconsequential, at least to me. The same cannot be said of Kate Tempest. Her lyrics are serious as a heart attack, and she is intent on making art that Means Something. At a time when hip-hop is the template for a lot of meaningless pop music, it's nice to see someone treating it like art. Also, she can rap. She cites Roots Manuva as an influence, and you can hear some of his smooth, reggae-lilted flow in Tempest's delivery.
As a poet, Tempest has a gift for words. "Everybody Down" is full of moments in which she captures what it is like to be young and broke and confused in just a few short sentences. "Everywhere is monsters...shouting and screaming just to prove they exist" she starts out on opener "Marshall Law." She sums up the shallow crowd at a video after-party in just a few cutting words. "Everybody here has a hyphenated second name/Blowing more breeze/Than the wind at the weather vane." "The world is the world but it is all how you see it" she raps at the chorus. "One man's flash of lightening ripping through the air is another's passing glare, hardly there."
The story follows the exploits of a young woman named Becky who works as a waitress and masseuse and spends too much time and money drinking and doing drugs. Tempest describes her as having "Eyes full of mornings/Spent without sleeping/Grew up in a city where it's hard to be heard and nothing really has much meaning." Becky meets local drug dealer Harry at a party, then meets and falls in love with his younger brother Pete. Harry is trying to save up money to open his own club. Pete is just trying to make an honest living in post-recession London. Pete and Becky fall in love, but learn the hard way that love fades. "If I love you like I say," thinks Pete in "The Stink," I would not treat you this way."
As is the case with almost all rock operas, the storyline is hard to follow. Tempest tries to tackle a lot in the confines of an hour long album. Each track seems to introduce two or three new characters, and it is hard to track all of them. Essentially what happens is that Pete is jealous of Becky's side gig as a masseuse, Becky is pressured to blur the line between masseuse and sex worker, and Harry and his friend murder and steal drugs from a supplier. Pete ends up convincing his mother's boyfriend's son Dale to book a massage with Becky to see what happens, and Dale recounts how the massage went when he sees Becky and Pete at a surprise party on "Happy End." Pete and Dale get in a fight, and Becky runs off with Harry and his friend Leon, because they are both in trouble with Becky's uncle.
"Happy End" is indicative of what is right and wrong with "Everybody Down." There are so many characters that it is impossible to keep track of what's going on. Take this passage, for example:
"Dale and Pete
Were in a pile of trainers and feet
Clenched fists and black eyes and chipped teeth
Their dads had tried
To get in-between them
It was like they couldn't wait to get involved
Graham was beating David's skull with his elbows
David was kneeing Graham's nether regions
And Miriam was at the bar weeping
Ron was pleased as punch
With the outcome of the evening
While Becky, Harry and Leon headed for the beyond"
That's nine people mentioned in one verse. Even if it were a play, story, or movie there are too many characters. The fact that this is happening in song form makes it even more of an issue. Tempest is much more effective when she focuses on the little moments and doesn't try to bite off so much at once. The next verse in "Happy End" describes Harry, Leon, and Becky's getaway, and it packs a bigger emotional punch:
"Off to Dover for the ferry
And from there, wherever
Harry looked at Becky
'Let's feel this way forever?'"
Of course, that's the same thing she said to Pete earlier in the album, and you know that they are probably going to get caught by the mob, and even if they do escape Harry and Becky are probably doomed. The aggressive beat hammers in just how hopeless their situation is. Still, in just a few words, Tempest manages to capture the fleeting feel of young love.
What ultimately makes "Everybody Down" successful (and most concept albums for that matter) is the way in which it allows the listener to connect with the story. We care about what is going on with Becky and Harry and Pete because they reflect our own experiences. I can't relate to being a young sex worker or drug dealer, but I have definitely blown it with a cute girl by saying too much, and I've had to work a crap job that was beneath my degree, and I've been cruel to someone I was in love with, and I've experienced love fading, and my dreams fading, and felt like my life was losing its meaning. Tempest manages to bring those experiences to life in her songs in ways that seem real and true.
"Everybody Down" may try to tackle too much in its 48-minute run time, but even if the story isn't always coherent, the emotions of the characters shine through. Kate Tempests paints a world of young people who are searching for themselves and meaning in a world that seems to offer only disappointment. In doing so, Tempest reminds us that rap music can be art, and that the poetry of rap can indeed be poetic.
Everybody Down
Big Dada, 2014
Originally posted on RapReviews
While all rap music could be considered poetry based on its form, not all rap music is poetry in the Merriam Webster definition of "writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rhythm." Even good rappers only offer occasional "poetic" moments in their songs. The majority of their time is spent on less literary pursuits. Hip-hop is party music, after all, and it is hard to rock a party and comment on the human condition at the same time.
British rapper turned poet turned rapper Kate Tempest attacks rapping with a poet's ear for language. Her poetry is informed by her love of hip-hop, and her rapping is informed by her love of poetry. She's also a playwright and has performed Shakespeare. There's certainly a theatrical element to her debut album, "Everybody Down." Not only is it poetry by way of hip-hop, it's also a story divided into 12 songs. Let it never be said that Tempest takes the easy way out. Given that rock operas and concept albums have a history of being overlong, self-indulgent, and convoluted, the listener can be excused if they approach the idea of a hip-hop opera with trepidation. While "Everybody Down" falls into some of the common traps that plague rock operas, it mostly succeeds.
The most important part of any concept album is to focus on the music. Kate Tempest gets that part right by bringing in producer Dan Carey, who has worked with Bat for Lashes and M.I.A. His EDM-inspired beats are based in fuzzy synthesizers and throbbing bass, with elements of dub and electro pop sprinkled in for good measure. They have bite to them, but there are also soft edges and melodies.
Tempest has a thick South London accent, and you can definitely hear the spoken-word influence in her delivery. The most obvious comparison is Mike Skinner of The Streets, who has a similar accent, storytelling style, and outsider perspective. However, as amiable as Skinner is, his music often felt frivolous and inconsequential, at least to me. The same cannot be said of Kate Tempest. Her lyrics are serious as a heart attack, and she is intent on making art that Means Something. At a time when hip-hop is the template for a lot of meaningless pop music, it's nice to see someone treating it like art. Also, she can rap. She cites Roots Manuva as an influence, and you can hear some of his smooth, reggae-lilted flow in Tempest's delivery.
As a poet, Tempest has a gift for words. "Everybody Down" is full of moments in which she captures what it is like to be young and broke and confused in just a few short sentences. "Everywhere is monsters...shouting and screaming just to prove they exist" she starts out on opener "Marshall Law." She sums up the shallow crowd at a video after-party in just a few cutting words. "Everybody here has a hyphenated second name/Blowing more breeze/Than the wind at the weather vane." "The world is the world but it is all how you see it" she raps at the chorus. "One man's flash of lightening ripping through the air is another's passing glare, hardly there."
The story follows the exploits of a young woman named Becky who works as a waitress and masseuse and spends too much time and money drinking and doing drugs. Tempest describes her as having "Eyes full of mornings/Spent without sleeping/Grew up in a city where it's hard to be heard and nothing really has much meaning." Becky meets local drug dealer Harry at a party, then meets and falls in love with his younger brother Pete. Harry is trying to save up money to open his own club. Pete is just trying to make an honest living in post-recession London. Pete and Becky fall in love, but learn the hard way that love fades. "If I love you like I say," thinks Pete in "The Stink," I would not treat you this way."
As is the case with almost all rock operas, the storyline is hard to follow. Tempest tries to tackle a lot in the confines of an hour long album. Each track seems to introduce two or three new characters, and it is hard to track all of them. Essentially what happens is that Pete is jealous of Becky's side gig as a masseuse, Becky is pressured to blur the line between masseuse and sex worker, and Harry and his friend murder and steal drugs from a supplier. Pete ends up convincing his mother's boyfriend's son Dale to book a massage with Becky to see what happens, and Dale recounts how the massage went when he sees Becky and Pete at a surprise party on "Happy End." Pete and Dale get in a fight, and Becky runs off with Harry and his friend Leon, because they are both in trouble with Becky's uncle.
"Happy End" is indicative of what is right and wrong with "Everybody Down." There are so many characters that it is impossible to keep track of what's going on. Take this passage, for example:
"Dale and Pete
Were in a pile of trainers and feet
Clenched fists and black eyes and chipped teeth
Their dads had tried
To get in-between them
It was like they couldn't wait to get involved
Graham was beating David's skull with his elbows
David was kneeing Graham's nether regions
And Miriam was at the bar weeping
Ron was pleased as punch
With the outcome of the evening
While Becky, Harry and Leon headed for the beyond"
That's nine people mentioned in one verse. Even if it were a play, story, or movie there are too many characters. The fact that this is happening in song form makes it even more of an issue. Tempest is much more effective when she focuses on the little moments and doesn't try to bite off so much at once. The next verse in "Happy End" describes Harry, Leon, and Becky's getaway, and it packs a bigger emotional punch:
"Off to Dover for the ferry
And from there, wherever
Harry looked at Becky
'Let's feel this way forever?'"
Of course, that's the same thing she said to Pete earlier in the album, and you know that they are probably going to get caught by the mob, and even if they do escape Harry and Becky are probably doomed. The aggressive beat hammers in just how hopeless their situation is. Still, in just a few words, Tempest manages to capture the fleeting feel of young love.
What ultimately makes "Everybody Down" successful (and most concept albums for that matter) is the way in which it allows the listener to connect with the story. We care about what is going on with Becky and Harry and Pete because they reflect our own experiences. I can't relate to being a young sex worker or drug dealer, but I have definitely blown it with a cute girl by saying too much, and I've had to work a crap job that was beneath my degree, and I've been cruel to someone I was in love with, and I've experienced love fading, and my dreams fading, and felt like my life was losing its meaning. Tempest manages to bring those experiences to life in her songs in ways that seem real and true.
"Everybody Down" may try to tackle too much in its 48-minute run time, but even if the story isn't always coherent, the emotions of the characters shine through. Kate Tempests paints a world of young people who are searching for themselves and meaning in a world that seems to offer only disappointment. In doing so, Tempest reminds us that rap music can be art, and that the poetry of rap can indeed be poetic.
Black Milk Review
Black Milk
If There's a Hell Below
Computer Ugly, 2014
Originally posted on RapReviews
Detroit rapper and producer Curtis Cross, better known as Black Milk, has been pushing the classic hip-hop sound forward since his 2005 debut. He's in the lineage of DJ Premier, Pete Rock, Q-Tip and Dilla, but constantly evolves so that his beats never sound stale. He's worked with electronic sounds and live bands, managing to stay true to his old school roots without being restricted by it. His beats are always grounded in hard-hitting drums, a nod to his boom-bap heritage. Those drums are all over his sixth album, "If There's a Hell Below," which contains some of his best production work to date.
The title is a reference to the Curtis Mayfield song "If There's a Hell Below We're All Going to Go." Milk's interpretation of that song is that that even though the inner city can resemble hell, there is also joy in it. Along with using the Curtis Mayfield song as a lyrical inspiration, he uses it as a musical inspiration as well. "If There's a Hell Below" is a soulful record. You can hear the influence of "Curtis!" and "Superfly" on "Everyday Was," "Hell Below," "Gold Piece," and "Up & Out." Those tracks have a dusty, nostalgic sound that makes you think of childhood and old records. They have the same beauty and power that Curtis Mayfield's music had. Black Milk gets compared to Dilla all the time, but Milk has moved beyond Dilla's innovative sample flipping. Milk is using a combination of samples, programming, and live instruments to create music that has an organic feel to it. His beats feel like songs.
Lyrically, much of the album deals with looking at where Black Milk has come from and where he's at today. There's a lot of references to hip-hop history, whether through clips of a eighties rap battle, an early news program about rap music, or snippets of Ghostface and Dilla that pop up. The theme of seeing the joy in difficult situations recurs throughout the album. On "Leave the Bones," Black Milk describes his childhood:
"Where the blood is spilled
City bruhs get killed
Little kids dodging bullets on their big wheels
[...]
Ignored all my teachers
Bored by my preachers
Instead I went home and played 'Liquid Swords' out my speakers
Start writing something about the time my cousin Pookie got locked up"
On "What it's Worth," he explores his career:
"Hear too many questions about
Why you not working with the latest
Never been one to go to another one to be validated
[...]
Let it breathe
Heaven knows
Me and my niggas had dreams
Cashing checks with seven Os"
The theme of the album is especially clear on album closer "Up & Out," in which he describes the drama and the joy of where he grew up:
"You seen hell before
My niggas already lived it
If There's a Hell below
Then we're already in it
Tell your white friends though
Come and pay us a visit
Our neighborhoods don't look like theirs
Don't be scared
When you see teddy bears on light poles everywhere
You see
Streets watching everywhere you be"
"If There's a Hell Below" is built around strong beats and a strong concept. Unfortunately, Black Milk's rapping isn't as strong. He's not a bad rapper, just an average one. There is a forgettable quality to his rhymes and delivery, at least to me. It's what has prevented me from getting more excited about him as an artist; I recently got rid of my copy of his 2010 "Album of the Year" when I realized I had only listened to it four times in as many years. There's a reason why his collaborations with other rappers always feature him on the boards and not on the mic. His mic skills can't compare to his beatmaking skills. Milk gets assists from Bun B, Blu, Mel, Ab and his Random Axe cohorts, who help elevate the album.
Even with Black Milk's limits as a rapper, "If There's a Hell Below" is a solid album. Black Milk nails the line between being retro and forward-thinking, between street and backpack, between nostalgia and honesty. Detroit's dominance over hip-hop shows no signs of slowing down.
If There's a Hell Below
Computer Ugly, 2014
Originally posted on RapReviews
Detroit rapper and producer Curtis Cross, better known as Black Milk, has been pushing the classic hip-hop sound forward since his 2005 debut. He's in the lineage of DJ Premier, Pete Rock, Q-Tip and Dilla, but constantly evolves so that his beats never sound stale. He's worked with electronic sounds and live bands, managing to stay true to his old school roots without being restricted by it. His beats are always grounded in hard-hitting drums, a nod to his boom-bap heritage. Those drums are all over his sixth album, "If There's a Hell Below," which contains some of his best production work to date.
The title is a reference to the Curtis Mayfield song "If There's a Hell Below We're All Going to Go." Milk's interpretation of that song is that that even though the inner city can resemble hell, there is also joy in it. Along with using the Curtis Mayfield song as a lyrical inspiration, he uses it as a musical inspiration as well. "If There's a Hell Below" is a soulful record. You can hear the influence of "Curtis!" and "Superfly" on "Everyday Was," "Hell Below," "Gold Piece," and "Up & Out." Those tracks have a dusty, nostalgic sound that makes you think of childhood and old records. They have the same beauty and power that Curtis Mayfield's music had. Black Milk gets compared to Dilla all the time, but Milk has moved beyond Dilla's innovative sample flipping. Milk is using a combination of samples, programming, and live instruments to create music that has an organic feel to it. His beats feel like songs.
Lyrically, much of the album deals with looking at where Black Milk has come from and where he's at today. There's a lot of references to hip-hop history, whether through clips of a eighties rap battle, an early news program about rap music, or snippets of Ghostface and Dilla that pop up. The theme of seeing the joy in difficult situations recurs throughout the album. On "Leave the Bones," Black Milk describes his childhood:
"Where the blood is spilled
City bruhs get killed
Little kids dodging bullets on their big wheels
[...]
Ignored all my teachers
Bored by my preachers
Instead I went home and played 'Liquid Swords' out my speakers
Start writing something about the time my cousin Pookie got locked up"
On "What it's Worth," he explores his career:
"Hear too many questions about
Why you not working with the latest
Never been one to go to another one to be validated
[...]
Let it breathe
Heaven knows
Me and my niggas had dreams
Cashing checks with seven Os"
The theme of the album is especially clear on album closer "Up & Out," in which he describes the drama and the joy of where he grew up:
"You seen hell before
My niggas already lived it
If There's a Hell below
Then we're already in it
Tell your white friends though
Come and pay us a visit
Our neighborhoods don't look like theirs
Don't be scared
When you see teddy bears on light poles everywhere
You see
Streets watching everywhere you be"
"If There's a Hell Below" is built around strong beats and a strong concept. Unfortunately, Black Milk's rapping isn't as strong. He's not a bad rapper, just an average one. There is a forgettable quality to his rhymes and delivery, at least to me. It's what has prevented me from getting more excited about him as an artist; I recently got rid of my copy of his 2010 "Album of the Year" when I realized I had only listened to it four times in as many years. There's a reason why his collaborations with other rappers always feature him on the boards and not on the mic. His mic skills can't compare to his beatmaking skills. Milk gets assists from Bun B, Blu, Mel, Ab and his Random Axe cohorts, who help elevate the album.
Even with Black Milk's limits as a rapper, "If There's a Hell Below" is a solid album. Black Milk nails the line between being retro and forward-thinking, between street and backpack, between nostalgia and honesty. Detroit's dominance over hip-hop shows no signs of slowing down.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Wara from the NBHD Review
Originally posted at RapReviews
Though Wara from the NBHD lives in Atlanta, the 24-year-old was raised in Brooklyn. That borough is all over "Kidnapped." For starters, Wara sounds like "Reasonable Doubt"-era Jay Z, both in terms of his voice and his delivery. His bittersweet tales of street life are also reminiscent of early Mobb Deep and Nas. Production-wise, there's some Mobb Deep, a little Neptunes, and hints of RZA at his peak. Wara also has a respect for the craft of hip-hop that comes from being raised near its birthplace.
Like many great producers, Wara comes from a musical family. His dad was a musician, and Wara knows his way around a piano, guitar, and drum set. He fills his songs with those instruments. As a result, his songs have strong melodies and choruses. Wara's specialty is adding unexpected bursts of upbeat melodies to songs that would otherwise be dour and melancholy. He'll build a skeleton around menacing bass and snapping drums, and then bring a bright guitar note in at the hook to add dynamics. Sometimes he'll change the song up completely. "Fuck You Mean/Composure" changes direction a third of the way in. "Scrilla" references Beenie Man's "Sim Simma" and Redman's "Who Am I?", but then veers off into its own direction at the end of the song. Wara keeps the album from being too downbeat, and injects his music with a healthy dose of soulfulness and optimism.
Unlike many great producers, Wara is actually as good in front of the mic as he is behind the boards. Lyrically and in terms of delivery, he treads the line between arrogance and pleading, bragging and asking forgiveness. He acknowledges the faults in his personality and lifestyle with self-awareness. On "Slangin," for example, he takes the role of his older brother telling him the downside of the life of a drug dealer. On "Beige," he uses the color as a metaphor for his skin tone and the color of crack rocks. On "Annoyed," he raps about how much he likes a girl and how much she annoys him. "Scrilla" and "Fuck You Mean/Composure" both detail life in the streets, a life full of fatherless children who are doomed to die before they are old enough to drink.
As he explains on "Slangin":
"You know what the streets do?
The streets breed assholes
Who sit around with frowns contemplating cash flows
Have their mommas paranoid
Waiting for phone calls
Like 'Mama I'm in jail'
Or 'He's as dead as a doorknob
Most kids around here they don't live past 21"
The standard template for rapping about street life is to have nine songs about how awesome it is to be a gangster, and one song where the rapper apologizes for all the trouble he causes. Wara manages to give both the good and bad in each song, laying out why people fall into the life (namely lack of role models and lack of other opportunities), and the fallout from the life. The payoff in fast cash and women is always overshadowed by the very real threat of death and jail time. And it's not private jet money he and his co-conspirators are making. He's not in the game to buy a Maybach or get a black card, he's in it for new sneakers and a new Hilfiger outfit.
Wara isn't the only rapper who pays tribute to the mid-nineties in his music and rhymes. There's a generation of younger rappers who are digging deep into album collections of their older brothers and parents for inspiration. Rappers like Joey Bada$$ and Vince Staples who make rap music that reflects an era when the music was all about substance with style rather than style with no substance. These artists aren't being slavishly retro, however. Wara's music may nodd back to the era of beepers and Cross Colors, but it's not frozen in amber. His lyrics are as much a product of this age of social media oversharing as they are a nod to the Queensbridge sound. It's hard to imagine a rapper from 90s Brooklyn being so upfront about their faults and so unconcerned with acting tough. Wara uses old school sounds as a jumping off point, not as a set of rules to rigidly adhere to.
"Kidnapped" is a well-thought out and fully realized album in the vein of "Reasonable Doubt," "Illmatic," and "The Infamous." Every note and lyric seems carefully placed, and there is not a single tossed off track on the album. It is a banging, thought-provoking album, and one of the best debuts in a long time.
Though Wara from the NBHD lives in Atlanta, the 24-year-old was raised in Brooklyn. That borough is all over "Kidnapped." For starters, Wara sounds like "Reasonable Doubt"-era Jay Z, both in terms of his voice and his delivery. His bittersweet tales of street life are also reminiscent of early Mobb Deep and Nas. Production-wise, there's some Mobb Deep, a little Neptunes, and hints of RZA at his peak. Wara also has a respect for the craft of hip-hop that comes from being raised near its birthplace.
Like many great producers, Wara comes from a musical family. His dad was a musician, and Wara knows his way around a piano, guitar, and drum set. He fills his songs with those instruments. As a result, his songs have strong melodies and choruses. Wara's specialty is adding unexpected bursts of upbeat melodies to songs that would otherwise be dour and melancholy. He'll build a skeleton around menacing bass and snapping drums, and then bring a bright guitar note in at the hook to add dynamics. Sometimes he'll change the song up completely. "Fuck You Mean/Composure" changes direction a third of the way in. "Scrilla" references Beenie Man's "Sim Simma" and Redman's "Who Am I?", but then veers off into its own direction at the end of the song. Wara keeps the album from being too downbeat, and injects his music with a healthy dose of soulfulness and optimism.
Unlike many great producers, Wara is actually as good in front of the mic as he is behind the boards. Lyrically and in terms of delivery, he treads the line between arrogance and pleading, bragging and asking forgiveness. He acknowledges the faults in his personality and lifestyle with self-awareness. On "Slangin," for example, he takes the role of his older brother telling him the downside of the life of a drug dealer. On "Beige," he uses the color as a metaphor for his skin tone and the color of crack rocks. On "Annoyed," he raps about how much he likes a girl and how much she annoys him. "Scrilla" and "Fuck You Mean/Composure" both detail life in the streets, a life full of fatherless children who are doomed to die before they are old enough to drink.
As he explains on "Slangin":
"You know what the streets do?
The streets breed assholes
Who sit around with frowns contemplating cash flows
Have their mommas paranoid
Waiting for phone calls
Like 'Mama I'm in jail'
Or 'He's as dead as a doorknob
Most kids around here they don't live past 21"
The standard template for rapping about street life is to have nine songs about how awesome it is to be a gangster, and one song where the rapper apologizes for all the trouble he causes. Wara manages to give both the good and bad in each song, laying out why people fall into the life (namely lack of role models and lack of other opportunities), and the fallout from the life. The payoff in fast cash and women is always overshadowed by the very real threat of death and jail time. And it's not private jet money he and his co-conspirators are making. He's not in the game to buy a Maybach or get a black card, he's in it for new sneakers and a new Hilfiger outfit.
Wara isn't the only rapper who pays tribute to the mid-nineties in his music and rhymes. There's a generation of younger rappers who are digging deep into album collections of their older brothers and parents for inspiration. Rappers like Joey Bada$$ and Vince Staples who make rap music that reflects an era when the music was all about substance with style rather than style with no substance. These artists aren't being slavishly retro, however. Wara's music may nodd back to the era of beepers and Cross Colors, but it's not frozen in amber. His lyrics are as much a product of this age of social media oversharing as they are a nod to the Queensbridge sound. It's hard to imagine a rapper from 90s Brooklyn being so upfront about their faults and so unconcerned with acting tough. Wara uses old school sounds as a jumping off point, not as a set of rules to rigidly adhere to.
"Kidnapped" is a well-thought out and fully realized album in the vein of "Reasonable Doubt," "Illmatic," and "The Infamous." Every note and lyric seems carefully placed, and there is not a single tossed off track on the album. It is a banging, thought-provoking album, and one of the best debuts in a long time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
