Monday, 21 July 2008

My MP3 Player Loves the Wu

"Wu-Tang again?" I benumbingly ask my musical friend, my brain awash in streams of visceral ultra-violence.
"Again and again!" it responds, the skeletal loneliness of Syl Johnson ricocheting off my hollow bones.
Yet I find it quite easy to relent to these circumstances. Maybe it's my nihilistic impulses, a fetishisation of escape, or my inabiliy, despite my best efforts, to recover the true ends of an artist's intent. Either way, my fingers form outlines of vengence and my lips curl in masculine braggadocio, my limbs colluding to express a personal rebirth. It becomes ever more apparent that my days are a ruse. And every intellectual pursuit a guise to mask my tendancy towards to the senseless. A truth only exposed by the Wu. For Rza and I share a love of Machiavelli's Wild West. And thus the sociopath is born.

Sunday, 13 July 2008

There's Good, there's Bad, and then there's Phil Collins


I just cannot figure where on this diverse spectrum of objective quality Wolf Parade's At Mount Zoomer rests. I mean I can't figure out if the record is really good or if it's Rick Springfield's lost prog-pop masterpiece. The vocals hold little promise of daring or danger, unless an adult alternative Isaac Brock is your idea of this era's GG Allin. And the keyboardist filling every inch of space with his zany sounds of the universe plug-ins, might as well be the drummer in your adolescent Venom cover band. Yet despite all this and the threads of Phil Collins this record wraps around my neck, I think I'll risk choking and give it a Good.


Flying Lotus Los Angeles

Another one of those is this bad or is this bad-ass? I'll label it smooth electronica and give it a Bad.

Phil Collins

Nas Untitled

Nas should be thinking immolation rather than apotheosis.

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

On Blast

John Gray is your drunk cynical uncle who prances around in a cobbled together tooth fairy outfit in an attempt to prove the adolescent impotence of your whole system of thought.

The best way to recover from such a complete ass kicking doled out by Mr. Gray is to cast your Black Kids and Vampire Weekend records into the abyss, and drown your newfound nihilistic wearyness in the din of Titus Andronicus.

And if you're too worked up to sleep, why not finish yourself off to the classic beauty of Miss Claudia Cardinale.