"Olive oil warriors". "Gypsters". "Slonkys". I cannot enter a Main street bar these days without hearing these slanderous, pejorative slurs volleyed about the room. And it is high time for our culture to check their fair downy heads.
I am referring, of course, to Slav-Bashing: the libelous, ignorant and ill-motivated mockery of Eastern Europeans. The underpinning force behind this phenomenon is the incredible belief that people of Danubeic descent are freeloading off Western culture, and thereby somehow watering down our values and popular trends.
Sound familiar? How many times have we made this mistake before, only to find that the racial group in question has co-opted our art and made into something so much better? Did the Swedes steal the couch from America? No! They borrowed it, they made it their own and they improved it (I love you, Karlstad!). And honestly people, doesn't everybody deserve to not sit on the floor? It's easy to forget how well we have it, sometimes. God, I'm certain there are people out there who still grumble about the Italian "plagiarism of the Pizza" during the "conquista" of Mulberry street. To those remaining malcontents, I can only refer to the wonder that is the thin crust, and indeed, how great it tastes when it is stuffed with Colby mozzarella (how do you do it, DiGiorno?)
Besides, North America, who are we to throw stones of malice, when our foreclosed houses are made of brittle glass? Yes, we certainly are far from clean in the cultural food fight. Consider the oft-overlooked fact that the best music of this grand last century was plucked wholesale from the open arms of another culture, and hurriedly whitewashed into homegrown goods. It wouldn't be hyperbole to suggest, furthermore, that these very rhythms and basslines have up and become the most popular anthems of our time.
Indeed. I meet teenagers every day who honestly think Polka came from Sam Phillips and Alan Lomax. A pox on what is idly called modern musical education. Those same kids probably think "La Isla Bonita" was originally composed by Ricky Martin.
Speak the Hungarian Rapper, I ask you, how long must it take for us to realize that what we mock is in fact what we love the most? I submit here that the each and every Slavist out there harbors a secret but deep crush. Yes, hating nation, underneath the ire we are all closet Balkaphiles: we adore their serpentine facial hair, their minor keys and their enterprising use of small children. And this closeted lust can only be bottled for so long (I will grant you that John and Paul could carry a tune, but the seeds of Anglophilia were sown way back by Chamberlain). We are, in memetic terms, days away from a turning tide that will douche these oppressive times clean and aroused for what will eventually be recognized as the Cabbage Invasion of pop music. Until then, I am counting the hours and tuning my balalaika.
The researcher would like to extend special thanks to the other surviving third of Mighty Tree for invaluable references.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
sym
Because a Rose Grows in Concrete: Youtube Curation Part 3
Who the hell is he, and how the hell did anyone let him on Fox News?
I'm talking, of course, about Mississippi's own Shepard Smith, the anchor of cable's highest rated newscast, who possesses the mock gravitas of Stephen Colbert and the vicious wit of Jon Stewart. He's entered the Youtube pantheon through genial-seeming but barbed friendly fire at all those other Fox News personalities. How did he get this job? Here's a story from Fox's early days, back when there was a Democrat in the White House, you could unironically talk about an American "welfare state," and Fox News could still be thought of as the Jedi knights instead of just the Death Star:
"There are several Shep Smith Creation Myths circulating around Fox — several stories of how Fox brass came to see that he was Their Guy — and what they all have in common is his willingness to do what needed to be done, without standing on ceremony. For John Moody, executive vice-president of news, it was the time when Roger Ailes — Moody's boss and the president and architect of Fox News — looked up at a television and saw footage of O. J. Simpson's civil trial and said, "You know, just once I'd like to hear some reporter have the guts to say that he's here at the O. J. Simpson trial, where there's nothing going on and nothing happened today." Moody: "I called Shepard in L. A., which is where he was at the time. I said, 'Let's think about this.' He said, 'I got it.' I said, 'Well . . .' And he said, 'No, I got it.' It was the kind of thing where he was on the air before I finished my sentence. And Shepard just did this dry, absolutely dead-on thing where he said, 'There's nothing going on at the O. J. trial today. If something happens, we'll let you know about it. But for now, this is Shepard Smith in Los Angeles, at the O. J. trial, where nothing's happening.' That's when you knew, that's when you went, 'Oh yeah, oh yeah. . . .' "
The same belief that no news is, in fact, no news animates this amazing three minute clip covering the short-lived imprisonment of Paris Hilton. He re-enacts the telenovela happening inside the courtroom, makes fun of an anonymous slackjawed dullard standing behind Paris' lawyer, explodes with joy while observing the Paris Hilton caravan driving past an actual circus, and earns a million nerd points saying "I feel like Mystery Science Theater all of a sudden." It's a bravura performance, like Jon Stewart's intro segments being done live. He gives Rod Blagojevich the same treatment, recapping the previous weekend's college football scores over a live Blago press conference. He can even come up with an instant genius monologue in reaction to a sudden fire alarm in the studio.
I'm talking, of course, about Mississippi's own Shepard Smith, the anchor of cable's highest rated newscast, who possesses the mock gravitas of Stephen Colbert and the vicious wit of Jon Stewart. He's entered the Youtube pantheon through genial-seeming but barbed friendly fire at all those other Fox News personalities. How did he get this job? Here's a story from Fox's early days, back when there was a Democrat in the White House, you could unironically talk about an American "welfare state," and Fox News could still be thought of as the Jedi knights instead of just the Death Star:
"There are several Shep Smith Creation Myths circulating around Fox — several stories of how Fox brass came to see that he was Their Guy — and what they all have in common is his willingness to do what needed to be done, without standing on ceremony. For John Moody, executive vice-president of news, it was the time when Roger Ailes — Moody's boss and the president and architect of Fox News — looked up at a television and saw footage of O. J. Simpson's civil trial and said, "You know, just once I'd like to hear some reporter have the guts to say that he's here at the O. J. Simpson trial, where there's nothing going on and nothing happened today." Moody: "I called Shepard in L. A., which is where he was at the time. I said, 'Let's think about this.' He said, 'I got it.' I said, 'Well . . .' And he said, 'No, I got it.' It was the kind of thing where he was on the air before I finished my sentence. And Shepard just did this dry, absolutely dead-on thing where he said, 'There's nothing going on at the O. J. trial today. If something happens, we'll let you know about it. But for now, this is Shepard Smith in Los Angeles, at the O. J. trial, where nothing's happening.' That's when you knew, that's when you went, 'Oh yeah, oh yeah. . . .' "
The same belief that no news is, in fact, no news animates this amazing three minute clip covering the short-lived imprisonment of Paris Hilton. He re-enacts the telenovela happening inside the courtroom, makes fun of an anonymous slackjawed dullard standing behind Paris' lawyer, explodes with joy while observing the Paris Hilton caravan driving past an actual circus, and earns a million nerd points saying "I feel like Mystery Science Theater all of a sudden." It's a bravura performance, like Jon Stewart's intro segments being done live. He gives Rod Blagojevich the same treatment, recapping the previous weekend's college football scores over a live Blago press conference. He can even come up with an instant genius monologue in reaction to a sudden fire alarm in the studio.
But it takes more than cheerful mockery to become Youtube legendary. Live conflict brings the hits whether it's Christian Bale or Bill O'Reilly throwing tantrums, MSNBC anchors butting heads, or Tracy Morgan taking off his shirt and climbing onto the counter on live morning TV, and then showing his imitation of a pregnant woman. (The show's female anchor gets eternal love for self-awarely quipping "this is going be dubbed a million times on the internet and we'll be the two idiots sitting behind him with no idea what to do." This clip was pretty close to being my third pick, as you can imagine).
Shepard Smith adeptly brings the drama, going after such eminently worthy targets as Joe the Plumber (who had recently claimed that a vote for Obama was a vote for the death of Israel, was not expecting to be ambushed by the home team media at Fox, and under attack admits that he knows "just enough about foreign policy to be dangerous.") and Ralph Nader, who ushered in the election of the first African-American president by asking whether he'll be "Uncle Sam or Uncle Tom." Shep says everything that needs to be said in the face of Nader's risible disingenuousness in pretending he has no idea why his comment could be viewed as offensive. (Incidentally, the comment thread on that clip proves the Onion right yet again. When did the racists start voting Green?)
Shep discusses both interviews with Bill O'Reilly, justifying his beatdowns while slyly subverting the Fox News pity party O'Reilly keeps trying to turn the conversation into. Papa Bear claims that this shows Fox News is not biased against Democrats, and Shep retorts that people who think that must only be watching the O'Reilly Factor. The filleting is so elegant that the legendarily thin-skinned O'Reilly does not even notice the dig. The Fox-on-Fox violence continues on Fox and Friends, where Shepard busts on the three vacuous hosts for hyping a couple toy grenade paperweights as an airport bomb scare, then admits to not watching the show. Still better is his evisceration of Glenn Beck, mocking his wonky camera angles, his faux-populist fearmongering, and his hilarious penchant for crying on air:
"We are here to celebrate, worship and adore." So are we, Shep, so are we. The right turned on him after his heroic refusal to play defense for the Bush administration during Katrina. The left will probably never embrace someone willing to wholeheartedly defend his station. But us here in the bleachers will always love America's best anchor no matter what channel he's on.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
sym
Why we should give financial executives more money
The New York Times recently published a letter from an executive at AIG explaining the real victims of the economic crisis: unfairly maligned AIG executives (what are the odds, right?) Matt Taibbi destroys the letter in inimitable fashion:
"Like a lot of people, I read Wednesday's New York Times editorial by former AIG Financial Products employee Jake DeSantis, whose resignation letter basically asks us all to reconsider our anger toward the poor overworked employees of his unit.
"Like a lot of people, I read Wednesday's New York Times editorial by former AIG Financial Products employee Jake DeSantis, whose resignation letter basically asks us all to reconsider our anger toward the poor overworked employees of his unit.
DeSantis has a few major points. They include: 1) I had nothing to do with my boss Joe Cassano's toxic credit default swaps portfolio, and only a handful of people in our unit did; 2) I didn't even know anything about them; 3) I could have left AIG for a better job several times last year; 4) but I didn't, staying out of a sense of duty to my poor, beleaguered firm, only to find out in the end that; 5) I would be betrayed by AIG senior management, who promised we would be rewarded for staying, but then went back on their word when they folded in highly cowardly fashion in the face of an angry and stupid populist mob.
I have a few responses to those points. They are 1) Bullshit; 2) bullshit; 3) bullshit, plus of course; 4) bullshit. Lastly, there is 5) Boo-Fucking-Hoo. You dog."
Read the whole thing, it's awesome.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
sym
Because Canada's GDP was way too high already: Youtube Curation part 2
Because as much as we love to exalt the youtube age for its "user-created media", its "Youability", its "new-media-slap-happy-ness" (note: none of these phrases are in fact in common use), we all really love Youtube for one thing and one thing only: its ability to provide us with things to stare at while suffering from an incapacitating hangover. And Youtube is perhaps the greatest provider of things to stare at that humanity has devised yet.
Picture for a moment the next ten to twelve hours of your life. What are you planning to do with them? Perhaps some household chores or bill-paying? If you are reading this blog at work (which is a fantastic place to read it at) there may be some spreadsheets or email writing in your future. Hell, maybe you thought you could spend that time with your loved ones, with those precious souls who we have all too little time with before we shuffle off this mortal coil. Well, gentle blog reader, I have three words for you: Fuck that noise.
You see, Youtube has entire runs of TV shows on it. One brave internet soul decides to take, say, his video cache of every single Larry Sanders Show ever broadcast and upload it onto Youtube. HBO's generous copyright lawyers see fit to ignore this copyright violation, perhaps because taking action would draw attention to their own inability to release a DVD of the greatest show HBO ever made (non-Wire edition, chill people). Then we, the hungover starers who have anywhere from one to eighty hours to kill, gorge ourselves on intelligent media satire until we start shitting young Jon Stewart guest appearances. And Larry Sanders is not the only criminally underappreciated Judd Apatow-produced 90's comedy to have its entire run posted on Youtube. There's also Freaks and Geeks, starring the comedy trio of a young Seth Rogen, Jason Segel, and James Franco talking about weed a lot. It also provides the most achingly accurate depiction of the adolescent experience outside of the Glass family stories, and besides, phoning your sick grandmother can always wait eighteen hours, right?
It's not just American shows, either. If you have been feeling a certain lack of skin-picking English awkwardness in your life recently, full runs of Ricky Gervais' Extras and the genius Peep Show are available, knocking another thirty odd hours off your life (which was getting a little too long anyway). By the by, I was going to post a link in this space to the acerbically brilliant panel show Nevermind the Buzzcocks, which features the world's meanest gay British Jew Simon Amstell making fun of unknown British celebrities (and also Amy Winehouse) to their faces. But those bastards at the BBC took the show down, demonstrating that you should watch these shows while you still can because their time is numbered. Or you could watch Amstell's spiritual forefather Groucho Marx clown random American co-eds on You Bet Your Life. TV used to be so cute!
Which brings us to my most recent Youtube obsession, The Dick Cavett Show. Watching random Youtube clips of it feels like a 20th century American history course where you can actually meet the people you're studying. Dick Cavett's guests are the sort of people that only really need one name. There's episodes with John and Yoko (Cavett asks John if he ever kids Yoko about Pearl Harbor, then you get to watch John Lennon's impression of a Japanese person. Seriously), Woody (Woody Allen and Dick Cavett get dared by the audience to do pushups), Janis (politely tolerating catty remarks by Gloria Swanson), Orson (telling what just might be the greatest anecdote ever about his run-ins with Winston Churchill, and looking disconcertingly like my girlfriend's dad while doing it), and Ali and Frazier (Dick Cavett picks a fight with both of them, they pick him up a few feet off the ground, he scampers off and jokes that they looked like an Oreo together. Racially awkward! But very, very ballsy...) The show ran in the late 60s and early 70s and wholeheartedly set about exploring the contemporary generation and culture gap without ever taking sides. There are moments where you can't quite believe that these people were ever allowed to exist on the same soundstage, let alone the same universe. And the quality of conversation is ridiculous, even the coked-up narcoleptic Sly Stone (it's up there, go find it) is more articulate than half the guests on Leno these days. What ever happened to the art of conversation? Oh yeah. Youtube happened.
This whole Jimi Hendrix interview is a thing of gentle beauty, but this fifteen second excerpt is profound. If Jimi was born in the youtube age, maybe he wouldn't have had to get up every day at all.
P.S. A big thank you to one "cavettbiter", who is truly one of the unsung heroes of our time. And just in case you haven't had enough, here's Dick Cavett's account of Norman Mailer's drunk and pugilistic appearance on the show. Nothing like this will ever happen again, and we are poorer for it.
Picture for a moment the next ten to twelve hours of your life. What are you planning to do with them? Perhaps some household chores or bill-paying? If you are reading this blog at work (which is a fantastic place to read it at) there may be some spreadsheets or email writing in your future. Hell, maybe you thought you could spend that time with your loved ones, with those precious souls who we have all too little time with before we shuffle off this mortal coil. Well, gentle blog reader, I have three words for you: Fuck that noise.
You see, Youtube has entire runs of TV shows on it. One brave internet soul decides to take, say, his video cache of every single Larry Sanders Show ever broadcast and upload it onto Youtube. HBO's generous copyright lawyers see fit to ignore this copyright violation, perhaps because taking action would draw attention to their own inability to release a DVD of the greatest show HBO ever made (non-Wire edition, chill people). Then we, the hungover starers who have anywhere from one to eighty hours to kill, gorge ourselves on intelligent media satire until we start shitting young Jon Stewart guest appearances. And Larry Sanders is not the only criminally underappreciated Judd Apatow-produced 90's comedy to have its entire run posted on Youtube. There's also Freaks and Geeks, starring the comedy trio of a young Seth Rogen, Jason Segel, and James Franco talking about weed a lot. It also provides the most achingly accurate depiction of the adolescent experience outside of the Glass family stories, and besides, phoning your sick grandmother can always wait eighteen hours, right?
It's not just American shows, either. If you have been feeling a certain lack of skin-picking English awkwardness in your life recently, full runs of Ricky Gervais' Extras and the genius Peep Show are available, knocking another thirty odd hours off your life (which was getting a little too long anyway). By the by, I was going to post a link in this space to the acerbically brilliant panel show Nevermind the Buzzcocks, which features the world's meanest gay British Jew Simon Amstell making fun of unknown British celebrities (and also Amy Winehouse) to their faces. But those bastards at the BBC took the show down, demonstrating that you should watch these shows while you still can because their time is numbered. Or you could watch Amstell's spiritual forefather Groucho Marx clown random American co-eds on You Bet Your Life. TV used to be so cute!
Which brings us to my most recent Youtube obsession, The Dick Cavett Show. Watching random Youtube clips of it feels like a 20th century American history course where you can actually meet the people you're studying. Dick Cavett's guests are the sort of people that only really need one name. There's episodes with John and Yoko (Cavett asks John if he ever kids Yoko about Pearl Harbor, then you get to watch John Lennon's impression of a Japanese person. Seriously), Woody (Woody Allen and Dick Cavett get dared by the audience to do pushups), Janis (politely tolerating catty remarks by Gloria Swanson), Orson (telling what just might be the greatest anecdote ever about his run-ins with Winston Churchill, and looking disconcertingly like my girlfriend's dad while doing it), and Ali and Frazier (Dick Cavett picks a fight with both of them, they pick him up a few feet off the ground, he scampers off and jokes that they looked like an Oreo together. Racially awkward! But very, very ballsy...) The show ran in the late 60s and early 70s and wholeheartedly set about exploring the contemporary generation and culture gap without ever taking sides. There are moments where you can't quite believe that these people were ever allowed to exist on the same soundstage, let alone the same universe. And the quality of conversation is ridiculous, even the coked-up narcoleptic Sly Stone (it's up there, go find it) is more articulate than half the guests on Leno these days. What ever happened to the art of conversation? Oh yeah. Youtube happened.
This whole Jimi Hendrix interview is a thing of gentle beauty, but this fifteen second excerpt is profound. If Jimi was born in the youtube age, maybe he wouldn't have had to get up every day at all.
P.S. A big thank you to one "cavettbiter", who is truly one of the unsung heroes of our time. And just in case you haven't had enough, here's Dick Cavett's account of Norman Mailer's drunk and pugilistic appearance on the show. Nothing like this will ever happen again, and we are poorer for it.
sym
Because beauty is truth, and vice versa: Youtube Curation part 1
Cage. Bees. Bear suit. Pathos. Rationale? Because moment 1:29 is arguably the greatest artistic achievement of the digital age to this point, and because every time I watch this video I learn something new about myself. Embrace the Wicker.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Christopher
Deus Ex Machina for Voyeurs
“YO DAT SHYT OFF DA RACK SON.”
“FUNNY AZZ VID lolz”
“i love this vid but this prick hellodude619 is a fag. he obviouslt does like the vid if he keeps spamming it”
“57 million views. This is just really sad.”
That’s right, ghostrider5378. It is sad.
As of press time, the video “Crank Dat Soulja Boy Spongebob” had 57,605,818 views. I can only assume that number will have increased by the time that you read this post.
Crank Dat's success is just one more piece of evidence that Youtube, far more than the Paleozoic boobtube, is democracy’s medium. A repository for the mundane, the melodramatic, and the magnificent, with more than 80 million videos (requiring storage space in the terabytes) mere clicks away, youtube sits at the heart of online culture. Since its advent in 2005, it has reshaped the way that we view recorded video and wasted innumerable man hours.
But despite the wide shadow youtube casts across our cultural landscape, it’s only relatively recently that the gatekeepers of high culture—artists, curators, New Yorkers—have publicly given the medium its due.
I can think of two instances off the top of my head.
There was weetube, a hilarious, small-scale piece created by Vancouver's Theater Replacement for Hive 2. Described as "part performance, part parlour game," weetube operated on a simple concept, a pair of actors spit lines culled from youtube comment threads.
Go ahead. Try it with the lines at the top of the page. You won't regret it.
Good?
The second art-house presentation that comes to mind, was at Manhattan's Kitchen Gallery in May 2008. The brainchild of curator Rachel Greene, Artists Using Youtube asked three artists—a new school video artist, a writer for Artspeak, and a sculptor with an MFA from Bush’s alma mater—to curate a personal set of youtube videos, revealing “how YouTube serves as a source of inspiration and distraction for many of today’s contemporary artists.”
The New York Times review of the show considered it a mixed bag. They didn’t like clear themes, pop culture adoration, or videos that weren’t repurposed. They did, however, make an awful lot of fuss about recontextualization and placing “primitive artifacts... in the context of high modernism.” Basically, digging through the digital detritus to discover new sources of meaning.
Nowhere was Soulja Boy Squarepants to be found.
That said, later for wankfests. Toss the pretension. Your picks are your picks!
This week’s challenge, snowjobbers: Curate your own set of three youtube videos, rationale of your choice. Bring it.
Bonus: For those of our readers that have the facebook or email address of one your three contributors (I suspect that’s all of you…), we welcome your contributions. Send a youtube link (1) with a 1-2 line explanation and you may well appear in a special reader-produced post. I await with bated breath, people.
“FUNNY AZZ VID lolz”
“i love this vid but this prick hellodude619 is a fag. he obviouslt does like the vid if he keeps spamming it”
“57 million views. This is just really sad.”
That’s right, ghostrider5378. It is sad.
As of press time, the video “Crank Dat Soulja Boy Spongebob” had 57,605,818 views. I can only assume that number will have increased by the time that you read this post.
Crank Dat's success is just one more piece of evidence that Youtube, far more than the Paleozoic boobtube, is democracy’s medium. A repository for the mundane, the melodramatic, and the magnificent, with more than 80 million videos (requiring storage space in the terabytes) mere clicks away, youtube sits at the heart of online culture. Since its advent in 2005, it has reshaped the way that we view recorded video and wasted innumerable man hours.
But despite the wide shadow youtube casts across our cultural landscape, it’s only relatively recently that the gatekeepers of high culture—artists, curators, New Yorkers—have publicly given the medium its due.
I can think of two instances off the top of my head.
There was weetube, a hilarious, small-scale piece created by Vancouver's Theater Replacement for Hive 2. Described as "part performance, part parlour game," weetube operated on a simple concept, a pair of actors spit lines culled from youtube comment threads.
Go ahead. Try it with the lines at the top of the page. You won't regret it.
Good?
The second art-house presentation that comes to mind, was at Manhattan's Kitchen Gallery in May 2008. The brainchild of curator Rachel Greene, Artists Using Youtube asked three artists—a new school video artist, a writer for Artspeak, and a sculptor with an MFA from Bush’s alma mater—to curate a personal set of youtube videos, revealing “how YouTube serves as a source of inspiration and distraction for many of today’s contemporary artists.”
The New York Times review of the show considered it a mixed bag. They didn’t like clear themes, pop culture adoration, or videos that weren’t repurposed. They did, however, make an awful lot of fuss about recontextualization and placing “primitive artifacts... in the context of high modernism.” Basically, digging through the digital detritus to discover new sources of meaning.
Nowhere was Soulja Boy Squarepants to be found.
That said, later for wankfests. Toss the pretension. Your picks are your picks!
This week’s challenge, snowjobbers: Curate your own set of three youtube videos, rationale of your choice. Bring it.
Bonus: For those of our readers that have the facebook or email address of one your three contributors (I suspect that’s all of you…), we welcome your contributions. Send a youtube link (1) with a 1-2 line explanation and you may well appear in a special reader-produced post. I await with bated breath, people.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Jedd
I don't want to go out tonight
Sikeston, Missouri
January 20, 1938
Dear Mrs. Roosevelt,
I am writing this letter in hopes that you will answer in my favor.
My father H. C. has been in bed from a stroke for almost a year. We have no money and my brother works but makes $3.00 a week and there are eight in our family.
My step-mother is very good to me and I try to help her. She takes in washings and I have to walk for six or eight blocks and then carry the washings home. I have to go of a morning before school and it has been very cold here. If you could send me a bicycle to ride when I go after washings for her I shall appreciate it. I am in eighth grade at school and work very hard to make passing grades. The Principal of the school bought two of my sisters and me a pair of slippers so we would not have to stay at home. If you would do this for me I shall be able to help my step-mother more. If you send me one I would like a girls bicycle. I am about 4 feet 3 inches tall so if you send me one you can judge as to what size.
Loving and appreciating-
A. L. C.
Not as anachronistic any more, international consumers and lenders??
How recent it was that we flippantly stayed at home for recreational purposes. But in tight times, my couch has frankly become my best option. It is simply remarkable how many fascinating formations one can see in ceiling stucco, much like the transient frescoes in passing clouds. But in the apartment, the ceiling stays in one place, so you can share discoveries with friends at your own pace. And you can do it all day, no matter the weather.
Ah, for the teenage halcyon days of hanging with your buddies at your parent's house. If we were only as good as it now as we were then. I am certain that there is some serious indie cred to be found in just hanging out with peeps on your bed, talking about crushes, but so far my retro "duvet vs. bedspread" parties have not been the viral hit I thought they would be. People, it costs nothing to participate! Get with the (bailout) program!
The Thai kids totally get it. We first heard the fresh petulant jangle of Slur late on night drinking beer in Chiang Mai (aptly, we were hanging out on a guesthouse bed). Much as M83 is channeling the teen sexual dramas of the past, Slur is quickly solidifying their position as retrospective bedroom rockers. Witness the first smash video single off last year's Bum LP, "Magazine". Take note of the slow migration from the singer's room, out to the pool (don't be fooled, the house is forclosed! It's in the lyrics), and finally outdoors to the back forty and the beach (this is Thailand--the beach is just down the road). They need neither bicycles, nor sneakers--let alone motorbikes, ipods or mortgages--to have a really nice time. I think we could all take a page from their harmless lo-cost urban antics.
sym
Kanye West doesn't care about black compression artifacts
The economy is a funny thing. The media trumpets the rise and fall of NASDAQ numbers every day, and if they go low enough for a long enough period of time, they call it a Depression (by the way I have a Master's Degree in Advanced Economicalism, so I totally know what I'm talking about). But just because economicalist indicators show one thing doesn't mean they affect me personally. I've been perfectly cheerful during housing market crashes and a depressed angsty teenager during stock market bubbles (not possessing anything of material value is a fantastic insulator from the market's vagaries).
This current depression took a while to hit me. Sure, Vancouver restaurants are empty, Craigslist job postings have dried up, and the USA decided things were so bad even another old white guy couldn't dig them out. But on the inside, my heart was singing. Until the fateful day when I watched Kanye's new one:
KANYE WEST "Welcome To Heartbreak" Directed by Nabil from nabil elderkin on Vimeo.
It's gotten so bad that Kanye can't even afford a data compressor! With all his money and fame, Kanye doesn't know how to make a video that doesn't look like a half-downloaded bittorrent. And what happened to the sound playing in the video? Kanye couldn't afford beats, or a catchy hook, or a back-up singer to sing his song for him (the one timeless rule of the market I learned in my degree program: when rappers start singing, sell!) ``Welcome to heartbreak`` has all the melodic sense of an AIG CEO bonus. At least the lyrics are a salutary reminder that no matter how bad things get, rappers still have lots of money:
My friend showed me pictures of his kids
And all I could show him was pictures of my cribs
He said his daughter got a brand new report card
And all I got was a brand new sports car
But on the other hand, Kanye sings these lyrics in a mournful tone, as if having multiple houses instead of kids is a sad thing deserving of sympathy! What a douche. Save crying about how much money you've made to the professionals, like Jim Cramer. Barack Obama, I know you have a lot of problems to deal with right now, but can we bail out Kanye? Can we get him making rap records again? And while you're at it, can you get Mos Def and Andre 3000 making good albums again too? I implore you to act urgently, Mr. President. Kanye West has become too big to let fail.
This current depression took a while to hit me. Sure, Vancouver restaurants are empty, Craigslist job postings have dried up, and the USA decided things were so bad even another old white guy couldn't dig them out. But on the inside, my heart was singing. Until the fateful day when I watched Kanye's new one:
KANYE WEST "Welcome To Heartbreak" Directed by Nabil from nabil elderkin on Vimeo.
It's gotten so bad that Kanye can't even afford a data compressor! With all his money and fame, Kanye doesn't know how to make a video that doesn't look like a half-downloaded bittorrent. And what happened to the sound playing in the video? Kanye couldn't afford beats, or a catchy hook, or a back-up singer to sing his song for him (the one timeless rule of the market I learned in my degree program: when rappers start singing, sell!) ``Welcome to heartbreak`` has all the melodic sense of an AIG CEO bonus. At least the lyrics are a salutary reminder that no matter how bad things get, rappers still have lots of money:
My friend showed me pictures of his kids
And all I could show him was pictures of my cribs
He said his daughter got a brand new report card
And all I got was a brand new sports car
But on the other hand, Kanye sings these lyrics in a mournful tone, as if having multiple houses instead of kids is a sad thing deserving of sympathy! What a douche. Save crying about how much money you've made to the professionals, like Jim Cramer. Barack Obama, I know you have a lot of problems to deal with right now, but can we bail out Kanye? Can we get him making rap records again? And while you're at it, can you get Mos Def and Andre 3000 making good albums again too? I implore you to act urgently, Mr. President. Kanye West has become too big to let fail.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Jedd
Current obsessions: The best of all possible Flumes
How embarrassing, it was, to find about about Bon Iver in the spring of 2008, when in fact the record had been available for swooning over since the previous October. Both embarrassing in the sense of non-currency--the obtuse looking-over of a modern chestnut of an album in the internet age (where was my Twitter feed?!)--but moreso unfortunate that I had missed the debut of a categorical winter album during its flagship season.
I suppose you're technically allowed to play For Emma during non-winter seasons. You can also mull some summertime spicy-hot wine, or toss a handful of ice into a lager in a country other than Thailand if you really want to (actually, ice in light beer really is a good idea, but it has got to be stinking hot outside). But no, if people still shopped at A&B et al, I would like to think that Bon Iver's LP would have a sticker advising best results if played indoors in the proximity of at least one sizable window displaying a grey landscape, with an outside temperature absolutely no warmer than 3 degrees. That is, after all, how the album was made.
So there's a silver lining to being back in wonder winterland before the crocuses start getting drunk and making out: I'm still within the sweet spot for Contemplation With Winter Albums (did I mention I've been without music for months?). I had the opportunity to introduce the album for a great friend during some less-than-great times (come to think of it, it was during the summer, but the mood was not warm), and the choice of music turned out to be the right sort of medicine for us both. "That's fucking perfect," said my friend, and I believe not long thereafter he caught Bon Iver live, and quite recently bought the discography, such as it is (keep locking yourself in cabins and dishing records out, Justin Verner!).
In a time where album openers have perhaps lost a great deal of their relevancy, Flume is nonetheless a captivating start to what is to follow. And I would suggest that, unlike other vocal-sandwich-production lovers such as Beirut (who are fantastic live, but one does really hope against all odds for a group of wailing Zach Condon clones backing onstage), it sounds even better without multiple vocals stacked aloft. I guess I've come to expect that debut records with heavily cooked vocals (thanks Garageband!) probably have employed the cooking strategically, ie. the raw vox just aren't that good. However this is far from always the case. Cf Bon Iver at the beginning of this live take of Flume at MOKB/WEEM in Pendleton, Indiana--the best version I've heard.
"Flume (live in the MOKB/WEEM studio 4/4/08)"
Bon Iver
I suppose you're technically allowed to play For Emma during non-winter seasons. You can also mull some summertime spicy-hot wine, or toss a handful of ice into a lager in a country other than Thailand if you really want to (actually, ice in light beer really is a good idea, but it has got to be stinking hot outside). But no, if people still shopped at A&B et al, I would like to think that Bon Iver's LP would have a sticker advising best results if played indoors in the proximity of at least one sizable window displaying a grey landscape, with an outside temperature absolutely no warmer than 3 degrees. That is, after all, how the album was made.
So there's a silver lining to being back in wonder winterland before the crocuses start getting drunk and making out: I'm still within the sweet spot for Contemplation With Winter Albums (did I mention I've been without music for months?). I had the opportunity to introduce the album for a great friend during some less-than-great times (come to think of it, it was during the summer, but the mood was not warm), and the choice of music turned out to be the right sort of medicine for us both. "That's fucking perfect," said my friend, and I believe not long thereafter he caught Bon Iver live, and quite recently bought the discography, such as it is (keep locking yourself in cabins and dishing records out, Justin Verner!).
In a time where album openers have perhaps lost a great deal of their relevancy, Flume is nonetheless a captivating start to what is to follow. And I would suggest that, unlike other vocal-sandwich-production lovers such as Beirut (who are fantastic live, but one does really hope against all odds for a group of wailing Zach Condon clones backing onstage), it sounds even better without multiple vocals stacked aloft. I guess I've come to expect that debut records with heavily cooked vocals (thanks Garageband!) probably have employed the cooking strategically, ie. the raw vox just aren't that good. However this is far from always the case. Cf Bon Iver at the beginning of this live take of Flume at MOKB/WEEM in Pendleton, Indiana--the best version I've heard.
"Flume (live in the MOKB/WEEM studio 4/4/08)"
Bon Iver
Monday, March 16, 2009
Christopher
It All Comes Crashing Down
Somewhere…Somewhere, a defiant group of Ca$h Money Millionaires are refusing to pawn their diamond dollar sign insignias in order to pay their mortgage.
Somewhere, the Wu-Tang Clan is sliding towards receivership (“I’m afraid you’re going to have to cut down on your purchases of platinum-plated shuriken, Gza.”)
Somewhere, Jermaine Dupri, no longer bubbling hard in the double-R flashin’ the rings, is picking up bills that he carelessly flung onto a strip club floor.
Somewhere, Jay-Z is looking at the value of his 401(k) and ruefully shaking his head.
Can you feel it?
The heady days of bling have died.
Although I’m still waiting for some rapper to drop a line about watching the TED Spread while waiting for his belly to be fed, the game has clearly changed.
The race to name-check Obama on vinyl has given way to the race to stylize our current economic woes (‘R’ to the… ‘E’ to the….).
And we have a winner.
Off the album, Seeing Sounds, I give you N.E.R.D.’s “Sooner or Later.”
Having discarded eighties-themed coke hop for the moment, in this recently released video, Pharrell and the other guy have turned a sweet, simple breakup ballad into an ode to Wall Street’s woes.
I’ll admit this pick (and the video) is about as subtle as a Zach Snyder soundtrack choice, but there’s something about Pharrell shout-singing, “It’s over/I’m leaving,” that strikes me as note perfect for the times. Isn’t that how we all feel about this recession?
For whatever reason, the video takes an unlikely turn in its final quarter with the market making a miraculous turn toward the celebratory. Given the patent unlikelihood of such an event, I feel that for this video to be truly emblematic of the current financial crisis, it might be best to replace everything after the paired drum kick and guitar wail at 3:10 with either Marc Faber's Gloom and Doom Report or this.
Yikes.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Jedd
Brave new day
Oh snowjobbers, where did we go wrong?
Just what happened back there? What have we learned, and how can we prevent that terrible silence from happening again?
Ultimately, this is a question for sober historians, not witty clowns of the letter (nor us three). Between chilling August and chilly March, there lies a vast and inscrutable expanse of preoccupations, excuses, dashed dreams, and for some of us, several quarts of rice whiskey. For my part, I recall that, in the embers of the summer, returning to my first childhood album proved much more troubling and complex than I had expected. "Rap Traxx 5", I now realize (too late), is not light listening (I mean, eg. does anybody play Metal Machine Music at a birthday parties?). It took six months--three of them in Asia--to fully reset my sense of adult self. Thank the stars for Thai TLC (dearest Nuong, I'll never forget our time, but I will also forever wonder about your true gender).
Indeed. There was definitely a night in a Nong Khai girlie bar where Shmuel was peeling me off the floor, having been knocked paralytic by a gristly Welsh prize ex-prizefighter with 1 1/2 ears (who knew? The Thai phrase for "I am spoken for gentleman tonight " sounds remarkably like "what's in your pants?"), and I raised my head to Shmu's kind ear and blubbered "Do you remember the blog, man? How did we let it come to this?"
Never mind. Times are pithy and well-paced, while recollections are flimsy and brief. Let's make some new memories. We're excited to be writing for you again (anyone out there?). We've got a lot of hot topics on our minds, needing discussion, and a few exciting new regular features should be coming down the line shortly. This being the interactive Twitscape, we would certainly appreciate your participation through the comment form below--you are likely more clever in writing than any of us.
So let's get to it. TSJ staff, this week's question is: what recent music video do you feel is most representative of the global economic downturn?
It's good to be home.
Just what happened back there? What have we learned, and how can we prevent that terrible silence from happening again?
Ultimately, this is a question for sober historians, not witty clowns of the letter (nor us three). Between chilling August and chilly March, there lies a vast and inscrutable expanse of preoccupations, excuses, dashed dreams, and for some of us, several quarts of rice whiskey. For my part, I recall that, in the embers of the summer, returning to my first childhood album proved much more troubling and complex than I had expected. "Rap Traxx 5", I now realize (too late), is not light listening (I mean, eg. does anybody play Metal Machine Music at a birthday parties?). It took six months--three of them in Asia--to fully reset my sense of adult self. Thank the stars for Thai TLC (dearest Nuong, I'll never forget our time, but I will also forever wonder about your true gender).
Indeed. There was definitely a night in a Nong Khai girlie bar where Shmuel was peeling me off the floor, having been knocked paralytic by a gristly Welsh prize ex-prizefighter with 1 1/2 ears (who knew? The Thai phrase for "I am spoken for gentleman tonight " sounds remarkably like "what's in your pants?"), and I raised my head to Shmu's kind ear and blubbered "Do you remember the blog, man? How did we let it come to this?"
Never mind. Times are pithy and well-paced, while recollections are flimsy and brief. Let's make some new memories. We're excited to be writing for you again (anyone out there?). We've got a lot of hot topics on our minds, needing discussion, and a few exciting new regular features should be coming down the line shortly. This being the interactive Twitscape, we would certainly appreciate your participation through the comment form below--you are likely more clever in writing than any of us.
So let's get to it. TSJ staff, this week's question is: what recent music video do you feel is most representative of the global economic downturn?
It's good to be home.
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