Dance to the underground!

This is, hands down, one of the best news blurbs about Coachella that I have read thus far. [Oh Coachella. Another year, another missed opportunity to sweat my ass off in the most unattractive of ways, feel ugly about myself, be psyched that so much music is in one place, and then easily feel defeated and as if it all is a little much.] Check it out!

USELESS THINGS: Coachella Is A Joke

Love/Hate Sensation

HATE! HATE! HATE!

"While Blake's take on the song certainly was "a risk," the mashing-together of beatboxing/drum dueling and the song's huge, anthemic chorus sounded like a bad club DJ smooshing together Incubus and Bon Jovi while not knowing anything at all about beat-matching--or the concept of rhythm, period. It was terrible." [IDOLATOR]

"...the worst performance of the show was probably also the most memorable, as Blake Lewis, the beatboxing fool mentioned above, took "You Give Love a Bad Name" and gave it into a complete mindfuck of a wicky-wicky fake-DJ-scratched Euroclub remix, even staging a duel with an onstage percussionist...it was just the most deliriously weird two minutes in recent TV history."[STATUS AIN'T HOOD]

I need love, love, love to ease my mind!

"I'd place my wager on Blake Lewis, whose electrifying retooling of ''You Give Love a Bad Name'' has likely surpassed Mindy Doo's ''My Funny Valentine'' as the season's watercooler performance...The ''you give love-lllll-love-love-lll-love a bad, bad name'' breakdown had me clapping like baby-seal Paula, and while the judges seemed a little tentative in their praise, this was the performance that — whether or not it secured Blake a spot in the final two — pretty much guaranteed him a record deal."[EW]

"Fuck. He is so hot. So. Hot. And this rendition rocks. He looks awesome, he looks grown up. Oooh, here comes the beat boxing!!!! And the dancing!!!! He plays off the drummer, who’s standing next to him. He pulls up the mic stand and leans into the audience, Bon Jovi style. This is awesome."[THE EVIL BEET]

What do you think?

One mo gin'

I just can't get enough! I just can't get enough...

Wamp Wamp What it do!

Sisqo. Who's Your Daddy? "Don't call it a comeback!"

Concrete Loop

reports:

"Brian posted this “new” Sisqo song last November and I finally got my hands on the video. We may be a little late with this one, but that is always better than never. Word is, Sisqó is currently working independently and finished his third solo album, titled Last Dragon (to complete the trilogy), and it is set for release this Summer...Don’t act like you weren’t bumping “Unleash The Dragon” like no tomorrow back in ‘99!!"

'99? Shit, no need for me to even front. I brought this disc back into my life towards the end of January and couldn't get enough for a few weeks. It felt like 1999 all over again.

But seriously Sisqo, what is with this video? Is this your Every Little Step for the two double zero seven?



And no, contrary to popular belief, this is not an ad for the Universal Soul Circus.

NO NO NO NO NO

Lordy, lordy, lordy. The things people do in cheap hotel rooms.

Attention Jesus and the Mary Chain fans:

If you just so happen to be in Indio, California this weekend, don't be surprised if a familiar face is standing in the background getting her sang on.

Digital Spy

reports:

"[Scarlett] Johansson is now confirmed to sing backing for the band at their date in Pomona, California....The concert is a warm-up gig before the band play at the Coachella festival in Indio...It is not known whether the collaboration will be a one-off or it will be repeated at the festival."

Just a heads up.

Y'all think this is a game?

Clash of the Titans?

TV GUIDE: A Britney-Sanjaya duet in works?

Never too much/Never too much

So you like music and and you live in Los Angeles, but you couldn't snag a ticket to the much hyped and much adored Coachella Music Festival this weekend. Don't fret. Turn that frown upside down and see if you can get tickets to this show presented below:

LCD SOUNDSYSTEM/The Standard/This Sunday, April 29th/Featuring DJ Sets from Pat Mahoney and the man with the masterplan, JAMES mothafunkin' MURPHY!!!

See, life ain't so bad after all.

PITCHFORK: Franz, John Cale Cover LCD Soundsystem on Single

HIT ME!

OH. MY. GOD! Okay, okay, okay, I need to calm down, yes I know, but you see this song right here, this one right here, this is one of my top ten jams of 2007. And now there's a kickass video to go along with it? AWW SHIT!...but seriously watch the video and try not to do the D.A.N.C.E. or smile from ear to ear. And if you break out in a sweat it's all to the good cause remember, the way you dance is a misery.

1,2, you know what to do!

Go on. Press play.

Fluff, fluff, DANCE!

I gotta get up early Wedsnesday morning and fly out to New York City, so I don't know if I will attend, but if you live in Los Angeles and have no other engagements, you should weather the hipster storm and check this out.

Keep it on the downlow...

Nobody has to know...[Remember that one? WOO! That was the jam! And that video? E-P-I-C!]

Oh, and before I forget...

STOP SNITCHIN!





Really Anderson? Really?

Holla if you hear me!

I would, but I'm confused.

As soon as this video started and Bizzy Bone opened his mouth [coupled with his tight crossed legs], my mind went straight back to late junior high/early high school. You see it was then that I couldn't afford to support my cd buying habit on my own. I had family members/relatives who were nice enough to come through and buy an album or two for a brotha from time to time. On one such occasion I was strolling through the rap section of the Wherehouse with my uncle when we just so happened to come across a few Bone Thugs-N-Harmony CDs. It was then that my uncle, out of nowhere said, "I heard that Bizzy Bone got a little sugar in his tank. Yes, brotha likes it up the butt," or something along those lines. That's all I could think of as I watched this clip. That is until he started shouting and shit, then I just thought he went and lost his damn mind.



Oh and Tameka if you see this, please get a nigga his plaques already. JESUS!

Pic of the Day!

Amy Winehouse answers the door and recieves her mail without a shirt, looks confused. [As does the mailman] Discuss.

EGOTASTIC: Amy Winehouse's Bra Gets the Mail

[I be saying] NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

Oh woeth me!

What's next? Hot Chip and LCD Soundsystem decide to no longer bring in da noise and/or bring in da funk?

PITCHFORK: Patrick Wolf: "My Final Concert Will Be This November"

Tried to save myself, but myself keeps slipping...

Another day. Another post working trip to an all you can eat Korean BBQ buffet. Drifting in and out of sleep. Tried to save myself, but myself keeps slipping. It's all in my head. I'm hearing it over and over again. Can't remember the song title exactly, but I have got to hear the song that bears that lyric right now. Go to the iPod, it's not there. WHAT?@#! This can't be right. No The Fragile? On my iPod? Oh no, no, no. Certainly I have made some kind of mistake/spun that click wheel a little too fast. Check again. Nope. No Fragile. It's not here.

...okay?

Now I am just confused. As I have said many times before, I have to be one of the few people who truly adored this album; all one hour and forty-three minutes of it. This was the disc I stereotypically put on in the dark in high school when I felt down. It's also the album that the rents would stereotypically come in and turn down as I sat in the dark being a teenage cliche.

Go back a few days.

Got my hands on two new cds this week. Avril Lavigne's [what? you think I am going back on that one? too late. already typed it.] and Nine Inch Nails' latest. Scanned them both. One went on the iPod. One needed more time and didn't hit me as fast as the other one did. One was played quite often in the past few days. The other one was dusted off today as I worked out and found myself enjoying it more than I did when I first pressed play.

Cut to today.

Beverly Center. Escalator down. Everyone waiting on the sole elevator that will get us to the shops. Relatively average and quiet Monday in Los Angeles. Look to the left. There he is, dressed in black, nearly three to four inches taller than me. Yes I am about to [and in a few seconds will] share an elevator with Trent Reznor, frontman for Nine Inch Nails.

Two minutes earlier...

Did the iPod earphone check. Took them out of my ear, and placed them in front of me to see if the music I was blasting was too loud. [I've had an unfortunate experience back in college where I was rushing to class and jammed myself into an elevator with others who were also rushing to class. Was wearing Bose Noise Blocking headphones. Was playing a screamy Le Tigre joint. You can imagine the looks I got and the discomfort everyone felt. I was that guy. I should have let one rip, drowned myself in cologne, or refused to move from my spot as others entered the elevator just to top off the cliche]

Anyways...

I would go on to turn down my iPod seconds later as I stood in an tiny elevator with Mr. Reznor. Why? Because I got my hands on two albums last week, and the one that was currently playing into my ears was the same one I kept giving a spin all weekend. [And, in case you are wondering, not by him. I needed more time. Not even on the iPod. Somehow I found myself apologizing to Mr. Reznor without saying a word or interacting with him.] Awkward. Especially when you are a young black male in "cut-offs" [

told you I liked those damn shorts

] and a tight fitting tee, standing in an elevator in close proximity to Trent Reznor. Good times.

A Moment of Clarity

From Saul Williams to Oprah Winfrey:


Dear Ms. Winfrey,

It is with the greatest respect and adoration of your loving spirit that I write you. As a young child, I would sit beside my mother everyday and watch your program. As a young adult, with children of my own, I spend much less time in front of the television, but I am ever thankful for the positive effect that you continue to have on our nation, history and culture. The example that you have set as someone unafraid to answer their calling, even when the reality of that calling insists that one self-actualize beyond the point of any given example, is humbling, and serves as the cornerstone of the greatest faith. You, love, are a pioneer.

I am a poet.

Growing up in Newburgh, NY, with a father as a minister and a mother as a school teacher, at a time when we fought for our heroes to be nationally recognized, I certainly was exposed to the great names and voices of our past. I took great pride in competing in my churches Black History Quiz Bowl and the countless events my mother organized in hopes of fostering a generation of youth well versed in the greatness as well as the horrors of our history. Yet, even in a household where I had the privilege of personally interacting with some of the most outspoken and courageous luminaries of our times, I must admit that the voices that resonated the most within me and made me want to speak up were those of my peers, and these peers were emcees. Rappers.

Yes, Ms. Winfrey, I am what my generation would call "a Hip Hop head." Hip Hop has served as one of the greatest aspects of my self-definition. Lucky for me, I grew up in the 80's when groups like Public Enemy, Rakim, The jungle Brothers, Queen Latifah, and many more realized the power of their voices within the artform and chose to create music aimed at the upliftment of our generation.

As a student at Morehouse College where I studied Philosophy and Drama I was forced to venture across the street to Spelman College for all of my Drama classes, since Morehouse had no theater department of its own. I had few complaints. The performing arts scholarship awarded me by Michael Jackson had promised me a practically free ride to my dream school, which now had opened the doors to another campus that could make even the most focused of young boys dreamy, Spelman. One of my first theater professors, Pearle Cleage, shook me from my adolescent dream state. It was the year that Dr. Dre's "The Chronic" was released and our introduction to Snoop Dogg as he sang catchy hooks like "Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks..." Although, it was a playwriting class, what seemed to take precedence was Ms. Cleages political ideology, which had recently been pressed and bound in her 1st book, Mad at Miles. As, you know, in this book she spoke of how she could not listen to the music of Miles Davis and his muted trumpet without hearing the muted screams of the women that he was outspoken about "man-handling". It was my first exposure to the idea of an artist being held accountable for their actions outside of their art. It was the first time I had ever heard the word, "misogyny". And as Ms. Cleage would walk into the classroom fuming over the women she would pass on campus, blasting those Snoop lyrics from their cars and jeeps, we, her students, would be privy to many freestyle rants and raves on the dangers of nodding our heads to a music that could serve as our own demise.

Her words, coupled with the words of the young women I found myself interacting with forever changed how I listened to Hip Hop and quite frankly ruined what would have been a number of good songs for me. I had now been burdened with a level of awareness that made it impossible for me to enjoy what the growing masses were ushering into the mainstream. I was now becoming what many Hip Hop heads would call "a Backpacker", a person who chooses to associate themselves with the more "conscious" or politically astute artists of the Hip Hop community. What we termed as "conscious" Hip Hop became our preference for dance and booming systems. Groups like X-Clan, A Tribe Called Quest, Brand Nubian, Arrested Development, Gangstarr and others became the prevailing music of our circle. We also enjoyed the more playful Hip Hop of De La Soul, Heiroglyphics, Das FX, Organized Konfusion. Digable Planets, The Fugees, and more. We had more than enough positivity to fixate on. Hip Hop was diverse.

I had not yet begun writing poetry. Most of my friends hardly knew that I had been an emcee in high school. I no longer cared to identify myself as an emcee and my love of oratory seemed misplaced at Morehouse where most orators were actually preachers in training, speaking with the Southern drawl of Dr. King although they were 19 and from the North. I spent my time doing countless plays and school performances. I was in line to become what I thought would be the next Robeson, Sidney, Ossie, Denzel, Snipes... It wasn't until I was in graduate school for acting at NYU that I was invited to a poetry reading in Manhattan where I heard Asha Bandele, Sapphire, Carl Hancock Rux, Reggie Gaines, Jessica Care Moore, and many others read poems that sometimes felt like monologues that my newly acquired journal started taking the form of a young poets'. Yet, I still noticed that I was a bit different from these poets who listed names like: Audrey Lourde, June Jordan, Sekou Sundiata etc, when asked why they began to write poetry. I knew that I had been inspired to write because of emcees like Rakim, Chuck D, LL, Run DMC... Hip Hop had informed my love of poetry as much or even more than my theater background which had exposed me to Shakespeare, Baraka, Fugard, Genet, Hansberry and countless others. In those days, just a mere decade ago, I started writing to fill the void between what I was hearing and what I wished I was hearing. It was not enough for me to critique the voices I heard blasting through the walls of my Brooklyn brownstone. I needed to create examples of where Hip Hop, particularly its lyricism, could go. I ventured to poetry readings with my friends and neighbors, Dante Smith (now Mos Def), Talib Kweli, Eryka Badu, Jessica Care Moore, Mums the Schemer, Beau Sia, Suheir Hammad...all poets that frequented the open mics and poetry slams that we commonly saw as "the other direction" when Hip hop reached that fork in the road as you discussed on your show this past week. On your show you asked the question, "Are all rappers poets?" Nice. I wanted to take the opportunity to answer this question for you.

The genius, as far as the marketability, of Hip Hop is in its competitiveness. Its roots are as much in the dignified aspects of our oral tradition as it is in the tradition of "the dozens" or "signifying". In Hip Hop, every emcee is automatically pitted against every other emcee, sort of like characters with super powers in comic books. No one wants to listen to a rapper unless they claim to be the best or the greatest. This sort of braggadocio leads to all sorts of tirades, showdowns, battles, and sometimes even deaths. In all cases, confidence is the ruling card. Because of the competitive stance that all emcees are prone to take, they, like soldiers begin to believe that they can show no sign of vulnerability. Thus, the most popular emcees of our age are often those that claim to be heartless or show no feelings or signs of emotion. The poet, on the other hand, is the one who realizes that their vulnerability is their power. Like you, unafraid to shed tears on countless shows, the poet finds strength in exposing their humanity, their vulnerability, thus making it possible for us to find connection and strength through their work. Many emcees have been poets. But, no, Ms. Winfrey, not all emcees are poets. Many choose gangsterism and business over the emotional terrain through which true artistry will lead. But they are not to blame. I would now like to address your question of leadership.


You may recall that in immediate response to the attacks of September 11th, our president took the national stage to say to the American public and the world that we would "...show no sign of vulnerability". Here is the same word that distinguishes poets from rappers, but in its history, more accurately, women from men. To make such a statement is to align oneself with the ideology that instills in us a sense of vulnerability meaning "weakness". And these meanings all take their place under the heading of what we consciously or subconsciously characterize as traits of the feminine. The weapon of mass destruction is the one that asserts that a holy trinity would be a father, a male child, and a ghost when common sense tells us that the holiest of trinities would be a mother, a father, and a child: Family. The vulnerability that we see as weakness is the saving grace of the drunken driver who because of their drunken/vulnerable state survives the fatal accident that kills the passengers in the approaching vehicle who tighten their grip and show no physical vulnerability in the face of their fear. Vulnerability is also the saving grace of the skate boarder who attempts a trick and remembers to stay loose and not tense during their fall. Likewise, vulnerability has been the saving grace of the African American struggle as we have been whipped, jailed, spat upon, called names, and killed, yet continue to strive forward mostly non-violently towards our highest goals. But today we are at a crossroads, because the institutions that have sold us the crosses we wear around our necks are the most overt in the denigration of women and thus humanity. That is why I write you today, Ms. Winfrey. We cannot address the root of what plagues Hip Hop without addressing the root of what plagues today's society and the world.

You see, Ms. Winfrey, at it's worse; Hip Hop is simply a reflection of the society that birthed it. Our love affair with gangsterism and the denigration of women is not rooted in Hip Hop; rather it is rooted in the very core of our personal faith and religions. The gangsters that rule Hip Hop are the same gangsters that rule our nation. 50 Cent and George Bush have the same birthday (July 6th). For a Hip Hop artist to say "I do what I wanna do/Don't care if I get caught/The DA could play this mothaf@kin tape in court/I'll kill you/ I ain't playin'" epitomizes the confidence and braggadocio we expect an admire from a rapper who claims to represent the lowest denominator. When a world leader with the spirit of a cowboy (the true original gangster of the West: raping, stealing land, and pillaging, as we clapped and cheered.) takes the position of doing what he wants to do, regardless of whether the UN or American public would take him to court, then we have witnessed true gangsterism and violent negligence. Yet, there is nothing more negligent than attempting to address a problem one finds on a branch by censoring the leaves.

Name calling, racist generalizations, sexist perceptions, are all rooted in something much deeper than an uncensored music. Like the rest of the world, I watched footage on AOL of you dancing mindlessly to 50 Cent on your fiftieth birthday as he proclaimed, "I got the ex/if you're into taking drugs/ I'm into having sex/ I ain't into making love" and you looked like you were having a great time. No judgment. I like that song too. Just as I do, James Brown's Sex Machine or Grand Master Flashes "White Lines". Sex, drugs, and rock and roll is how the story goes. Censorship will never solve our problems. It will only foster the sub-cultures of the underground, which inevitably inhabit the mainstream. There is nothing more mainstream than the denigration of women as projected through religious doctrine. Please understand, I am by no means opposing the teachings of Jesus, by example (he wasn't Christian), but rather the men that have used his teachings to control and manipulate the masses. Hip Hop, like Rock and Roll, like the media, and the government, all reflect an idea of power that labels vulnerability as weakness. I can only imagine the non-emotive hardness that you have had to show in order to secure your empire from the grips of those that once stood in your way: the old guard. You reflect our changing times. As time progresses we sometimes outgrow what may have served us along the way. This time, what we have outgrown, is not hip hop, rather it is the festering remnants of a God depicted as an angry and jealous male, by men who were angry and jealous over the minute role that they played in the everyday story of creation. I am sure that you have covered ideas such as these on your show, but we must make a connection before our disconnect proves fatal.

We are a nation at war. What we fail to see is that we are fighting ourselves. There is no true hatred of women in Hip Hop. At the root of our nature we inherently worship the feminine. Our overall attention to the nurturing guidance of our mothers and grandmothers as well as our ideas of what is sexy and beautiful all support this. But when the idea of the feminine is taken out of the idea of what is divine or sacred then that worship becomes objectification. When our governed morality asserts that a woman is either a virgin or a whore, then our understanding of sexuality becomes warped. Note the dangling platinum crosses over the bare asses being smacked in the videos. The emcees of my generation are the ministers of my father's generation. They too had a warped perspective of the feminine. Censoring songs, sermons, or the tirades of radio personalities will change nothing except the format of our discussion. If we are to sincerely address the change we are praying for then we must first address to whom we are praying.

Thank you, Ms. Winfrey, for your forum, your heart, and your vision. May you find the strength and support to bring about the changes you wish to see in ways that do more than perpetuate the myth of enmity.

In loving kindness,

Saul Williams

STEREOGUM: An Open Letter To Oprah, By Saul Williams

Video of the Night!

James Murphy is my hero.

Allow me to reintroduce myself...

Has this ever happened to you? You get a song stuck in your head and you just gotta hear it. You go to your iPod eager to press play only to find that the song or album you are looking for ain't there. This happened a few weeks ago with me and Ambulance LTD. I had to hear Stay Where You Are off their self-titled debut, only to find that Primitive[The Way I Treat You] was the only track my iPod was offering. Don't fret though, the problem has been remedied and I now get to revel in the "well-worn subjects of love, loss, and regret and wraps them in sounds and arrangements that are both soothing and imaginative."

Now, earlier today I learned that the Gorillaz are done producing more albums. Okay. I can accept that. I don't like it. But I can accept it. And then I am hit with this from Entertainment Weekly's Popwatch:

"For all of you music geeks looking for the next big thing on MySpace, you should follow that last back slash with the words: The Red Romance. TRR didn't just appear out of nowhere; they're the remnants of Ambulance LTD, a little indie rock band that released two EPs and a full-length CD in 2004 and even had an impressive whirl on MTV for a while. The trio wasn't creatively aligned with lead singer Marcus Congleton so they did what seemed like the natural rock 'n' roll thing to do: they declared a coup."

-Sigh-

So of course I went over to the band's Myspace page and pressed play. [Oh Myspace and mp3 blogs. Hard to imagine a world without them huh?] And the verdict? I am not wowed and head over heels in love with them the way I was with Ambulance LTD, but I can see why they are currently opening for the Killers. It's as if it's 2004 all over again and the boys are looking to stand out amongst their peers the Bravery/She Wants Revenge/The Strokes/Hot Hot Heat etc. In other words, I dig it. I'm okay with it, and I can accept it. But still, I want better.

EW POPWATCH: A Blossoming Romance

MYSPACE: The Red Romance

Tauwan's Top Albums of 2004. [Scroll down. Ambulance LTD's self titled LP came in at number three]

Just because...

Stay Where You Are


Primitive (The Way I Treat You)

Strike a pose!

The time has come once again to camp it up with the Scissors Sisters. So ladies and gents, I present to you the Scissor Sisters in, Kiss You Off.