I can make it good, I can make it hood, I can make you come, I can make you go! I can make it high, I can make it fly, make you touch the sky, hey maybe so!
For some in Los Angeles, this is just another exciting day on the job.
Hmm. Let's see. When I was 14 years old and residing in Los Angeles I had no clue what a part time job was, was busy preparing myself for a four year stint in Hollywood at Fairfax High, enjoying this thing they call "masturbating" a little too much, and bumping Crazy Sexy Cool from time to time. Now I'm 23, residing in Los Angeles, a year or so out college, trying to move from the part time world to the full time world, and trying to not be enraged [entertained(?), disgusted(?), inspired(?)] by the 14 year old Los Angelino with the $7,000 camera making dough the old fashioned way: By snapping up celebrities.
"Jeff Clanagan wants to ride Tyler Perry's coattails.So does 20th Century Fox. They are pairing up to make several Gospel-inspired films that are much like the ones that have made Perry a sensation..."
I know, I know. You were this close to forgetting about and/or getting over your addiction to the life and times of Madea. It's okay baby. It's okay...
Now if you visit this blog often, you know that old school jams are more often than not posted under the "Old School Funk for the True Funk Soldiers" headline. But sometimes old school joints are so good, so well put together, so classic to a brotha, [see Montell Jordan's This is how we do it] that all I can do is marvel at their goodness as they boldly play on and show us how's it done. This jam, presented below, is one such example.
Go on and sing that chorus likes there's no tomorrow. It's not like you're the only one singing out of key, trying to hit that call me Al part.
BONUS:
After you kick it old school, come back and bump this:
Riddle Me This: What the fuck happened to Papoose and Rah Digga?
A funny thing happened around the top of 2006.
People started to care about Busta Rhymes again.
And it was all because of this one track; this new Swizz Beatz produced single that excelled in showing off many of Busta's patented trademarks: his mastering of the pre-chorus voice lift, often confused for a scream or a yell, and less often recognized as what it truly is: an invigorating exercise in verbal intensity. And of course, there's the soft yet animated verbal dexterity present on the verses.
You know what song I am talking about.
"Touch it- bring it - pay it - watch it -turn it - leave it - stop - format it..."
For nearly four minutes, people began to care about Bus-A Bus, taking him up on that offer at the the top of the song of taking our asses "back to the club real quick", something that apparently, we weren't "ready for."
And truly I don't think we were, but all of a sudden, out of nowhere, many of us realized that we missed Busta. Even the many of us who checked out E.L.E (Extinction Level Event), [okay, or Genesis which really ain't that bad either] boobed out heads, got crunk, and listened without prejudice. We were reminded of what he had been missing, thanks to poor single choices and spotty albums. We also realized that we wanted this crazy shouting fool back in our lives coming with the bangers.
I realized this twice in the past week.
The first time was last Saturday night at the Los Angeles Sports Arena. Daft Punk show. Sweaty mess. Lights go dark. Pyramid gets highlighted. The bots get to it. Over an ass shaking, block rocking beat comes the voice of Busta's fembot
"Touch it- bring it - pay it - watch it -turn it - leave it - stop - format it..."
I went bananas because well, it was Daft Punk, and also because this song had been brought back into my life, and 1)I hadn't heard it in a minute, and 2) I forgot how much I adore it, and love shaking my ass to it. And when I say "shaking my ass" I mean shouting out a loud OHHHHH SHIIIIT! when I hear it, and dancing too hard to it as if, to quote my girl Teresa, "I ain't never heard music before."
Cut to Thursday night.
The Echo Plex.
Echo Park.
No disrespect to Chromeo. [Who put it down by the way] But by the time those fellas took the stage I was fucking exhausted. Flosstradamus killed it. I mean kiiiilled it. Working up a black sweat, shirt in my pocket, dancing with androgynous Asian hipsters killed it. Many songs in the set stood out, but which one took me back to that oh shit moment of that Daft Punk show? "Touch it- bring it - pay it - watch it -turn it - leave it - stop - format it..."
-Sigh- It never gets old.
Hearing this song takes me back to a time when Busta Rhymes was an artist worth ponying up money for when a new album dropped. Took me back to a time where I stood in awe of this man's stage presence at Moby's Area Two tour. No hypemen. No weed carriers. No guy shouting the last word or few words of Busta's verse. Just Busta, his boy Spliff, a stage, a DJ, and a mic. The choruses were loud, and during the verses, the beat got low, real low, and Busta took his time, emphasizing every single syllable, making sure you took note of that verbal and lyrical dexterity I spoke of earlier. And trust me, you did.
That's the Busta we miss. That's the Busta we want. Not the Busta who gets more air time on BET, not because he has a new video to drop on Rap City or 106 & Park, but because he attacking "faggots", toting glocks, or ridin dirty. It's a goddamn shame, cause if anything, the banger that is Touch It, (along with that hot remix presented above), his scene stealing turn on T.I's latest disc, along with the presence of Touch It in Daft Punk's and Flosstradmus' sets show that we the people still care about Busta, the question is, does he still care about us?
Damn. Those Flavor of Love girls just can't stop, won't stop huh?
Deelishis. [I hope Flav is getting a little dough on the side for coining a name she is foolishly deciding to stick with as she does it way big]
Rumpshaker.
Enjoy.
And I apologize for all the video postings as of late, but this week has been crazy for my social/real life. Job interviews, after parties, concerts, in and out of clubs, etc. Hopefully things will slow down after tonight's Chromeo/Flosstradamus show. Going? Look for me. I'll be the short black kid brining it with the two step.
Prior to today the lesbian twin sister indie rock duo who could were just another act on the radar who, if you brought them up in conversation I would go, "oh yeah I've heard of them," but then couldn't turn around and wax poetic about one of their tracks because I'm just not familiar with their music.
Cut to today.
New release Tuesday. Lots of new stuff to take in, one of them being the Con, a new full length LP from you guessed it, Tegan and Sara. Critics are raving, fans are salivating. Guess I'll go ahead and give the sound clips a listen.
Well what do we have here?
This is some good shit.
Guess I'll add it to the list of things to buy this afternoon.
Head out to the local Best Buy. All they have left is the double disc version. One disc a CD, the other a DVD. I don't need all that. History has shown, even with my favorite artists that I don't touch the DVD's. Nothing personal. I don't know. They just collect dust. The same also occurs, 9 times out of ten, with bonus discs, unless the bonus tracks and/or remixes are just that kicking. No worries. They got the single disc Con for 9.99.
Or maybe they don't.
Sold out.
"Try Amoeba," he says.
Don't mind if I do.
Go north. Arrive at Amoeba. What is this line all the way around the building? Jesus Christ. Once inch closer to the store and it hits me: Tegan and Sara, live at Amoeba. 6PM. It is now 5:15. What the fuck was I thinking?
Walk to the front. Ask if I can shop. "Sorry. We are at capacity. Fire Marshall won't let us allow anyone else to come inside. Here, have a coupon!" Wow. Tell that to the people wrapped around the block inching towards Fountain. That'll make em happy.
Oh well. I got my Prince and I got my new Yeah Yeah Yeahs EP. I'll have to wait to get that new Tegan and Sara. And when I do, here's hoping I won't have to deal with chain stores who recieve about 15 copies of a new indie joint on new release Tuesday, or giant record stores packed to capacity.
Why can't a heterosexual guy tell a heterosexual guy that he thinks his booty is fly? Not all the time obviously, just when he's got a problem with his self-esteem...
Did anybody else catch episode six of Flight of the Conchords titled "Bowie"? Hilarious television I tell ya, hilarious! If you ain't hip to this show yet, do what you can now to get yourself into it.
While I can appreciate the task of devoting an entire website to the dissection of every song ever recorded by your favorite artist, I still don't see why one would find it necessary to draft up such a website for the one they call T-Pain.
Last night I spent damn near three hours with my shirt around my neck, working up a black sweat to the sweet, sweet music provided by Ratatat, Sebastian and Kavinsky, and of course, Daft Punk. In honor of last night's sonic goodness, I present to you this remix, spotted over at
So I am sitting here dicking around on the internet, and for some strange reason I got this song stuck in my head. But it ain't from one of my favorite artists or an album I own. It's from a movie. A movie starring Whoopi Goldberg and some nuns. And no, it ain't the one with Lauryn Hill.
Look Mr. DJ. July is almost over, summer is in full bloom, and I came here to party. So please, come with it, and...
GET ME BODIED! one/XR2/M.I.A. two/Young Folks (Cousin Cole Re-Edit)/Peter Bjorn, and John three/Helicopter (Weird Science Remix feat Peaches)/Bloc Party four/Get it Shawty/Lloyd feat Yung Joc five/Drugs in my Body/Thieves Like Us six/Crescendolls/Daft Punk seven/Heinreich Maneuver/Interpol eight/We Are Your Friends (Edison Remix)/Justice vs. Simian nine/The Party/Justice feat Uffie ten/Beautiful Girls (DJ Sujinho Remix)/Sean Kingston eleven/Camera (Rubber Bullets Remix)/The Editors twelve/Romantic Rights (Maczech Makuziak Remix)/Death From Above 1979 thirteen/Love Stoned (Justice Remix)/Justin Timberlake fourteen/It's The Beat/Simian Mobile Disco fifteen/Me & My Man/Chromeo sixteen/Canary in a Coalmine/The Police seventeen/Lindsay Lohan's Revenge/Pase Rock eighteen/Da Dip/Freak Nasty nineteen/Boy Looka Here/Rich Boy twenty/Come Back/Kelly Rowland twenty-one/My Boo/Inoj*
*totally stole this last track option from that DJ at La Cita whom I am forever indebted to for bringing this jam back into my life.
Don't get me wrong, it ain't bad, but I don't know, I was just expecting a little bit more. And why wouldn't I? Way before the album's July 10th release date, lead single D.A.N.C.E. was generating all kinds of positive buzz with its infectious refrains, child like harmonies [provided by children of course], funk laced bounce, and dizzying yet gratifying music video accompaniment.
I don't know. Maybe I need a little more time. Maybe I was expecting more vocals, scat raps, and gets downs of the Basement Jaxx, Presets, and Daft Punk variety, and less trance like vibes. I don't know. But I will say this, midway through the album I sit up straight, go oh word, and find myself enjoying a song that I think could go on and become my new D.A.N.C.E. And we all know how much I adored/adore that track.
Kanye West's Graduation was set to drop on August 21st, but now the word on the street is it has been pushed back to September 11th, the same day 50 Cent oft-delayed new album Curtis is set to drop.
I'm a big fan of the last full length LP from Iron and Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days. And when the new single Boy With A Coin made the rounds on the interweb a few backs, I took a listen and fell in love all over again with the words and music of Sam Beam and Co. And now it seems that I may find myself falling in love all over again once I get my hands on this:
Another day, another post about the Rapture starring this album cover.
I am going to see Daft Punk this weekend. There's even talk of maybe getting a limo and doing it up, Big Willie Style. [We take our Daft Punk concerts very seriously round these parts] Though working up a black sweat to Daft Punk, Sebastian, and I forget who else in the Sports Arena is a great way to start and/or spend a Saturday night, I must say I was a little disappointed to find out that the Rapture aren't joining Daft Punk in Los Angeles this Saturday as I had mistakenly thought at the outset, and as is the case when Daft Punk touchdown Berkeley, Seattle, Morrison CO, Chicago, Toronto, Montreal, and New York.
But then I got over it. I mean come on, it's fucking Daft Punk.
July 3 saw the release of two high-profile releases. On the hip-hop side we had T.I.'s give it a little time to make an impression new album, T.I. vs. T.I.P. and on the R&B side we had the aren't you happy it's finally out in the streets sophmore release from Kelly Rowland, Ms. Kelly.
Now as of late I have been refraining from downloading albums before they come out and hoping for the best, and/or giving my favorite artists the benefit of the doubt when I step inside the record shop on new release Tuesdays. That, or I listen to clips of an album, hoping that 30 second snippets will give me more than enough of a reason to get my hands on a new album.
Now I love me some Destiny's Child as much as the next man. [Destiny Fulfilled included] And we all know how I feel about Beyonce's solo output. But I still wasn't ready to just go out and purchase Kelly's latest and hope for the best, no matter how much I love lead single Like This feat Eve. [And trust me, I love that damn song. One of the best singles of the year, hands down] The sound clips didn't grab me on Itunes and when it came to Kelly Rowland and solo outputs, all I could think about was that song with that video where she sat in a classroom looking all sad, and after school special like. In other words, her first go round with this whole solo thang left a bad taste in my mouth.
And then I hung out with Brandon.
Him and his damn affinity for moving, grooving R&B and slow jams.
Get in the car. Hit the road. Press play on the car stereo and Like This begins.
Hell yeah.
That's what I 'm talking about.
As the car ride went on, and we made our way to our movie, I found myself sitting up straight and clearing out my ears, enjoying what was coming through the speakers. Ms. Kelly is a light and pleasant little album. Smoothly paced, subtle and restrained when it needs to be, as well as vibrant and colorful when the time calls for it. Been playing it every so often round these parts, start to finish with no skipping, and enjoying it. So my bad Ms. Kelly. I aplogize for blocking you out and literally picking up your album that Tuesday, two weeks ago, scanning the back and cover artwork before saying "nah", and putting it back on the shelf. I should have known better. And of course, I can't leave without posting this jam for the masses:
Is this shit on repeat? Or is the listener simply not content with letting the song play from start to finish.
Oh hell naw, it's that guy.
Every fucking weekend, he never fails. Makes a left turn right in front of the restaurant making all the customers turn and stare. And not in a good way.
Brotha is always blasting, repeat BLASTING hip-hop and R&B as he rolls through the lean streets of Venice.
Today his Back to the Future looking red hooptie is parked directly in front of the restaurant's four open windows. The Bartender run has come to an end and he is now blasting Snoop Dogg's Tha Blue Carpet Treatment and talking to a familiar face from the neighborhood that eats at the rant from time to time.
Oh my.
So this is what homeboy looks like.
5'11 or taller, but no more than 6'4. Fitted Cap. Built. Caucasian. No homo, but I can't look away. You gotta understand, this man bumps the current hip-hop and R&B like it's his job and he's rolling on dubs.
His sweater/jacket thing comes off.
Ah hell naw.
It gets worse.
He's wearing a tank that stops at the belly button. Thin straps. Fuck. Looks like none of us got tickets to his non-stop gun show. You know the kind of shirt I am talking about. It's the kind of shirt that 50 Cent wears all the time. Except this one looks like it was bought at a Metallica concert in 1988. In fact the front is that Metallica album cover that is a row of cemetery like crosses or something. He's wearing a pouch, AND he's sagging. Yes a pouch AND sagging, for all the world to see. Did I mention the grape flavored blunt resting on his ear?
No?
Don't worry. I was not stalking him out or staring him down. "Homeboy" came in to get a tall cup of Black coffee to go, that's when I got a chance to take the whole thing in. I guess the coffee was his drank to go with the blunt he proceeded to smoke with the familiar face in front of the restaurant windows blasting Tha Blue Carpet Treatment's Crazy feat Nate Dogg, screaming along with Nate at the top of his lungs whenever he sang "LONG BEACH TO COMPTON!"
Riigght....
And don't even get me started on his story about how he took a so-called badass friend from New York City to "the hood." [his words, not mine. 125th and Figeoura to be exact. what? he was talking extra loud. guess he thinks that's a Black Thang.] Once there, he watched as said friend shat his pants cause a) he was in South Central and b)our Venice Thug took it upon himself to instigate and further encourage a fight that was going on between these "two crackheads". He was all "Round 2! FIGHT and shit son!..."
Now you may be asking yourself, what does this have to do with music and/or what's the point? Or what, a white man can't get down with his inner black man? No. None of that. This would have stayed in my head and gotten out to nobody at all, if it wasn't for this picture of Jesse Metcalfe, presented below, that I came across online. As soon as I saw this I couldn't help but think of Homeboy in Venice, getting high, and living the life, one gangsta day at a time.
Now I don't read TMZ on the regular [or at all], and I ain't one to go linking to it in a time of need, but right now, at this moment, I just have to cause I find it incredibly funny that a bunch of bitches* will straight jump your ass outside of a club for heckling poor little old Britney Spears. Nuh-uh bitch. You done fucked up now.
I was sitting there in a com-for-ta-ble chair and that was all that I needed. Check the e-mizzle and what do I see? A myspace message from my girl Teresa. Something going down tonight? Should I dust off the dancing shoes? Who knows?
Get to myspace, log on in, hit the inbox. Subject? tix for spoon on monday nite.
Oh word?
Gotta open this one.
The body read as follows:
**repost**
Very limited number of tickets on sale tomorrow morning.
At 10am tomorrow, we'll post a link on Little Radio to purchase tickets for Monday nights party with Spoon and John Vanderslice. Only 100 will be available.
Tickets will be $15 and will include free drinks from Dewar's.
Oh hell yeah! Now unless you are living under a rock, you know that this past Tuesday was a great day to be a music consumer. There were at least three or four decent to stellar releases that dropped that day, one of them being Spoon's latest Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga.
Definitely feeling this one just as I did Gimme Fiction, Kill the Moonlight, and Girls Can Tell before it. And now you are telling me that I can catch them in downtown Los Angeles this Monday, for 15 bucks, and I get some free alcohol in the process?
Oh hell yes!
Needless to say I think you know what I got my hands on this morning over coffee. That's right, a $16 and 50 cent ticket [take that Ticketmaster!] to see Spoon and special opener John Vanderslice. Big ups to Spoon, the lovely folks over at Little Radio, and my partner in crime Teresa for the heads up! Monday night should be great.
Look I'mma go ahead and keep it real. This phrase entertains me. I remember the first time no homo came into my life. [Or at least one of the first times] Someone very close to me was worried about a bump or bite or some shit that had sprouted on a part of his body that very few eyes get to see. [Don't worry. He got it checked out. Nothing serious. It has since left the building. All is to the good.]
Before he went to drop his pants he filled me in on what was about to go down, and hit me with the now popular disclaimer presented above: "No homo". Cause you know dropping your pants for someone of the same sex who you ain't sleeping with cause you don't swing that way is, you know, gay.
I couldn't laugh, but boy did I want to. I had never heard this phrase before, but I immediately caught the context of it all, and couldn't believe that it was the new hotness in many a social circle. And then, out of nowhere, it just blew up around these parts. I added it to my own lexicon [cause I mean, come on, it's quite the verbal gem] and soon began to hear it sprinkled hear and there in a few rap songs whenever I was paying attention.
But I really knew the phrase had made it when I ventured out to La Cita in downtown Los Angeles one Thursday night, lost in a sea of hipsters, and young non-Hollywood LA types, and saw a young caucasian male adorned in a white t-shirt with no-homo written across the chest in purple cursive writing. The beast was now unleashed.
That is why I can't help but laugh and enjoy this clip presented below that both showcases the urban finesse and inherent absurdity present in the phrase "no homo".
Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you Chris Kirkpatrick (N'Sync), Bryan Abrams (Color Me Badd), Rich Cronin (LFO), and Jeff Timmons (98 Degrees), collectively known as Sureshot! [one word. not two.]
Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?
It is my belief that Kelly Clarkson is one of the few American Idol contestants/winners that people actually care about. Blame it on the success of her now ubiquitous hit Since You Been Gone, her down home, aww shucks, fuck it attitude, or recent desire to march to the beat of her own drum. Who knows?
Don't believe me. Check out this Idolator piece on her latest [and unfairly maligned disc] My December, and the nearly 30 or so comments from readers attached to it.
t fro! have you been listening to rihanna's new cd non-stop like i have? if not, you gotta check it. it is sooooooo good. right up our little pop dance beat alley. haha this sounds like im her pr. miss you, abby
"...Actually, it's hard to like any of the characters on this show. Rather than destroying racial stereotypes by showing a cross-section of black wealth, these kids drill those stereotypes into our heads so we don't forget them. A quick scan of the cast bios reveals that half of the 11 hillside denizens have some involvement in basketball. That’s either the offspring of a former NBA player, a student basketball player hankering for a b-ball scholarship, or some combination of the two. You mean the show's producers scoured all the black kids on the hill, and couldn’t find one non-athletic, black nerd counting down the days to his road trip to ComicCon? Or a single granola-eating, dreadlocked black hippie who whiles away the hours doing poetry readings in Leimert Park? Or one black kid whose musical preferences skew more towards rock than hip-hop? According to Baldwin Hills, even when black kids are well off, dribbling a basketball is still their key to upward mobility. Wha?"
"...We believe that the line between the media and the public is now completely grey. What is the difference between a writer for a big glossy music magazine and a student writing about their favourite bands on their blog? What differentiates a commercial radio station from someone adding a song to their lastfm channel? or their myspace page?..."
You think the boys in the band would be busy promoting that new album of theirs that dropped yesterday in the states. [And by the way let's take a minute to acknowledge how great yesterday was for the music consumer. New Interpol, Spoon, Mark Ronson, Justice, and even (I guess for some of you) a new Smashing Pumpkins disc to take in.]
But no, here they are remixing other people's tracks and straight murdering them. Just try and not adore the nearly a capella, symphony accompanied chorus. Too much son! Too much!
Just another Tuesday night in Los Angeles. Tonight I just happen to be at the El Rey. Sold Out show. All ages. Damn, a lot of teenagers arehere.
Who's playing? Who's playing?
Oh yeah! The Klaxons.
Good show. A lot more moshing and pushing than I expected. A whole lot. Somehow I have been pushed, shoved, and danced to the front of the stage, elbows and watch deep into the Cobrasnake's back, keeping him from Cory Kennedy, three people behind us, having no luck with moving forward.
The Klaxons are pretty entertaining. Actually the most fun I have had at a General Admission, Standing Room Only show with no encores, in a long time. Nothing too much to be completely bewildered about-. Except towards the end.
Being lodged into the Cobrasnake's back came to an end eventually, leading me instead to spend the rest of the show lodged into the backs of two girls who were a)shorter than me [I'm 5'2"] and b) I swear no older than 14. They were accompanied by a much taller couple sharing their singing along, swaying to the music glee. And then, out of nowhere, near the start of It's Not Over Yet, the girls in front of me [couple girl included] decided to throw up the Roc! Yes, the ROC! I don't know what the hell that was all about.
Shortly following the release of Tyrannosaurus Hives I got the boys in the band at the Henry Fonda, and it was, hands down, one of the most exciting and entertaining concerts I have ever been to in my short 23 year old life. That was late 2004 or sometime in 2005. And then they dissapeared. And then they reappeared on a Timbaland track I don't even play when I listen to the album. [Nowadays I check out after Fantasy or Board Meeting]
But whaddaya know? My boys are back! And they are hitting the Staples Center here in Los Angeles come November! With Maroon 5! Wait? What? Maroon 5? What the fuck?
I have a confession to make. I sorta, kinda like Hilary Duff. There I said it. I don't own any of her albums, but I'm gonna go ahead and let it be known that I am fan of most of her singles. [Yes that includes So Yesterday, Come Clean, and that somewhat trie song about partying in Tokyo or Hollywood and Vine] I don't mind taking in a minute or two of a Lizzie Mcquire episode, and there are four tracks off of her latest album Dignity that are straight up poptastic. [Someone's been listening to Kylie Minogue. More on that later] So this is why I am worried about this Hannah Montana chick. She may only be 12? 14? 8? I don't know, but next thing you know, it'll be 2012, and she'll be dropping some infectious pop ditty, trying to get out of her Disney contract and spicing up her image. And who'll be at the other end of it all trying his hardest not to enjoy said single? This guy. This is why Billy Ray Cyrus' daughter must be stopped. Now! And while we're at it, somebody do what they can to stop the kids of High School Musical. Pronto.
A good friend from college, back home in New York City wonders how life is in Los Angeles: "What up? How's the glamorous life in LA? Alec [a good friend from Bowdoin who made the jump from Connecticut to LA following graduation] says every woman there is trying to look like Fergie."
-Sigh- You don't even know homie. You don't EVEN know.
"So representatives from Interscope just hit me up and asked me to remove the Curtis and Justin joint. The request by itself isn’t out of the ordinary, especially when album cuts leak prior to the official release date, or when singles hit the streets before that magical day that the labels decide the public is ready to hear them. So it’s no big deal, and I have no problem removing the song, but let’s talk about how stupid a move this is for a minute...It’s the golden rule. People hear music, then they like music, then they buy music. It’s the only order it can happen in. If you try to do it in any other sequence, it just won’t work..."
Yo Diddy. I got a bone to pick with you. Okay so looka here. You are currently at the outset of finding yourself a new O-Town, Dream, or Da Band [-Sigh- Da Band. Oh how I miss thee. Now that was good television], and I can't help but feel sorry for those poor lads lining up to join your new all male supergroup. They'll get a sweet pad, an opening spot on the Scream Tour, [or opening for TGT] and a hot producer of the moment to produce that hot debut single that'll get it's own episode of Making the Video, and aid in moving some units. And then that'll be it. And that's a goddamn shame.
I say this cause as of late I have been finding myself returning to Danity Kane's self-titled debut album quite often. Now I know a lot of people like to harp on the ladies of DK [particularly Aubrey for some reason], but if you take the time to listen without prejudice, you'll find that their debut LP is quite refreshing; a sweet slice of harmony driven R&B.
Now like those before you, I had no reason to go out and get this album, no matter how much I enjoyed lead single Showstopper. [thanks in part to a late night MTV Making the Video viewing]And then I started to read positive reviews and decided to give it a shot. [ and by give it a shot I mean hit up a torrent site]Yes I am that easy sometimes. Why do you think FallOut Boy's latest is one of my favorite albums of the year? Read an A- minus review of it over at
and got my download on. [Don't fret RIAA I then went out and bought it.]
But I digress...
What I came to encounter is a disc that succeeds in letting five unknown talents shine, tackling the tried and true arenas of contemporary R&B: love gone, love lost, love seeked, and jealous ass females who can't stand a girl in love.
But then again I am a closet female R&B boy at heart; I grew up loving my Monica's, SWV's, and Aaliyah's. So maybe I am a little biased. But the ladies of Danity Kane got it right [I dare you to skip a track starting with One Shot right up to Ooh Aah. The sequencing is magnificent] and that is why I don't see why Diddy ain't out there getting them a little more exposure and publicity that this disc just craves? This ain't nothing revolutionary, yes I know, but I feel these girls might deserve a little better. Dream anyone?
Ooh and best of luck fellas. Diddy's pulling for ya!
And here's a taste of one of my jam's from Danity Kane:
50 tries to bring it for the clubs in an old school, late 90's LL Cool J kind of way. Is it enough to make you care about his upcoming album Curtis? Do you love Justin Timberlake and Timbaland, but wish their contributions to the song were shorter than they actually are?
"...That makes iTunes one of the most important music stores left open, just behind Best Buy and Wal-Mart. And here's the thing about iTunes: it doesn't need to exist. Anyone computer-savvy enough to buy music from iTunes could just as easily download that same music from any number of illegal services, and yet we still buy this shit out of some misguided loyalty or because we're afraid of accidentally downloading a ton of viruses. Anything that makes it harder for us to buy shit from iTunes is just that much more likely to send us to download this shit for free instead..."
*Kudos to all the folks who know what song this shout is from.
PRINCE: Don't you wanna come? TAUWAN: Prince, you don't even know
Prince held it down here in Los Angeles recently for about seven nights at the Roosevelt Hotel. Did I go? Hell no. Dropping $3000 for an intimate Prince show? Shit. You think I got it like that? I almost caved in and bought a $300 dollar standing room only ticket, but by that point the last three nights were sold out. Too bad I don't live in Minneapolis. They get an aftershow this Saturday and it only costs, get this, $31 and 21 cents!@#* AND to make it fair you only get one ticket per purchase AND the show is 18 and over. DAMN. Now why couldn't you have played some Targets and cheap shows here in Los Angeles Prince? Huh? Answer me! ANSWER ME!
Big ups to Maggie Fitzgerald for reminding me of how deep one's love for a friend can truly go by sending me this e-card:
Yes we will Maggie, yes we will...
Oh and before I forget to mention it, I wanna send a Happy Belated Birthday to the one they call Lindsay Lohan who celebrated her 21st birthday yesterday.
Riding in the car with my cousin last week. Apparently I just had to hear this song, played as loudly as possible as we ran out to Bruno's to get some pastrami sandwiches. I couldn't help but think of the song's instructions when I read this article's headline.
"When that got out [about her and Ne-Yo supposedly getting it on], I actually panicked. I was nervous. Because I didn't want him to think that I did that [You know, kiss and tell]. That's not my style."
I would offer up some commentary on this music video presented below, but I choose to let you all dive in and enjoy it without me ruining the sheer pop perfection for you. Zac Efron. Bet On It. High School Musical 2. You can thank me later.
Also...
I hate to be a dick, but for the time being, in my mind, Zac Efron is a singing version of
Look I get it. I understand. People grow up. People grow up and make grown ass man or woman decisions. Nothing novel, nothing out of the ordinary. But damn it, what is up my brothers and sisters who helped make my childhood worth living here in this black surburban area of ours? We are now all in our 20's or at least we are getting there. The oldest one of us will be 25 this October. He is doing big things now. Got a job job. Got his qwn place. On his second car. Living the life. Oh and his girlfriend of nearly seven months [more like two if you count the random daliances that occured before they started applying labels like boyfriend and girlfriend] is pregnant. That's right pregnant. And he is so excited, and hoping that she decides to keep it. He's 24.
Now I know what you are thinking. This is nothing new. Young people get pregnant. But damn. He wants this baby. Go down the street to the left and another one of our friends from growing up [who is my age] already has a little girl. Cross the street and our boy who is a year older than me has a little boy. His little brother who is a year or two younger than me also has a baby on the way. Oh and did I mention that my little sister is ready pop sometime before the end of summer/start of fall. Seriously. What the fuck? what is up my brothers and sisters who helped make my childhood worth living here in this black surburban area of ours?
I know one thing though. Y'all can all joke about how I'm next and this and that, but that is simply not the case. I wish I would go out and go half on a baby. You must have gone and lost your cotton picking mind.
Oh and congratulations to all who are taking the plunge and doing the damn thing. Bringing a child into the world ain't an easy thing to do, but if you're ready and fully committed to raising a child like a good parent should, then I can't hate. Big ups and I guess keep it poppin.
