Everyday Music
Located about 2 blocks down from Powel's bookstore, this place is truly a Godsend. They have a massive collection of pretty much everything. It's about 3/4 the size of the bon, and filled with nothing but music.
In CD's, they've got all your normal stuff you expect, pop rock, reggae, and all that, but this place also has an expansive collection of Jazz, blues, and world. and not tiny selections either, they truly have a decent collection.
However, the best part of Everday Music is the record selection. They have tons of vinyl. Its not the best organized, but its well made up for its 5o cent bargain selection, which is really big. nor is all of it christmas music, but the who, cat stevens, grateful dead, the eagles, and tons of classic rock. The only problem is that all of it is "as is"
A really great place.
Jackpot Records.
1 block from powels in the opposite direction, Jackpot is much better organized. It's also about the size of maggie's though. And, even worse, it's really expensive. finding any vinyl below 8 dollars is impossible here, and some of them are reacing 40 dollars. as much as I like music, I can't justify myself on a 20 dollar album, unless its pretty rare.
That said, they do have some pretty rare stuff. First printing beatles and black sabbath can be found. Even some stuff that you wouldn't expect to find anywhere, Like Warren Zevon, or Flogging Molly. It may be a bit pricy but sometimes you got to shell out for the good stuff.
A nice place, but not as good as Everyday. Hit this place 2nd.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Keep murderin'
Who: Brainstorm, Cars & Trains, Ghosts & Mysteries, Hello Electric, and Silence Dogood
What: Rock'n'wastoid show
When: Friday, Nov. 7th at 8:00pm
Where: The Philosophy Mansion (3635 NE 6th AVE)
Why: Plenty of reasons that won't be posted here for fear of a government crackdown
- SpecSocWrite
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The Joycean Composition in R Kelly's "Sex Weed"
Not since Joyce’s Ulysses has an author bestowed as much abundance and unity to his metaphors as R Kelly bestows upon the extended metaphor of his song “Sex Weed” from the third installment of his Twelve Play series, the fourth of which comes out this fall. In the “Ithaca” chapter of Ulysses Joyce presents the idea that a truly successful metaphor consists of “obverse meditations of involution increasingly less vast,” in that he replaces the essence of one thing with that of another, and vice versa, thinks about it, and then looks at things more carefully to see what it means for one thing to be, at the same time, something else. What occurs in this concept of a metaphor is that reality1 (i.e. the blood of Stephen Daedalus and Leopold Bloom) and reality2 (i.e. the universe) are described simultaneously in a single moment (“the universe of human serum constellated with red and white bodies, themselves universes of void space constellated with other bodies”), which thus makes the reality of the text (the consolidation of reality1 with reality2) an amorphous ambiguity that could be called “the protagonists’ blood” while being considered “the universe,” or the other way around or any combination of the two.
The hallucinogenic experience heavily informs this mode of thinking, and indeed Daedalus’ state in the chapter is the product of drinking a lot of absinthe and losing his grasp on typical conceptions of reality, and, in the case of Kelly, one half of the “obverse meditations of involution increasingly less vast” of “Sex Weed” is marijuana, a substance that has far more psychoactive properties than it did when it, paired with LSD, was the cornerstone of traditional psychedelic music. “Sex Weed” is not smoking weed and then having sex, nor is it having sex and then smoking weed, nor is it having sex while smoking weed, nor smoking weed while having sex—all of these, in some way, would put the two concepts in some form of hierarchy. Instead, through its Joycean word play, the metaphor succeeds in uniting the psychedelic experience with the sexual experience to the point that simply smoking pot is “Sex Weed” and romancing a lady when sober is also “Sex Weed.”
The apostrophe to the “Girl [who has] got that Sex Weed” begins as a fairly simple metaphor: he wants “to hit it all the time” because “it” is “sex so good that it gets [him] high,” using the ambiguity of the idiom “hit it” to begin the destruction of the segregation of Sex from Weed. Double entendres characterize the song as a whole, addressing the girl as “Mary Jane” at the end, for example, though the exceptions give the most interesting moments. The use of a simile seems ridiculous in the face of Kelly’s level of figurative language, yet we have two at the beginning of both verses as though we need to be reminded of the simplicity of his project: “How did yo[ur] sex make me feel this way / Like I been smokin’ purple haze?” and “Girl it’s like a dime bag of [hy]dro[ponic marijuana] / The way you movin that cush real slow.” The latter simile seems silly because “cush” is another way of saying weed, so of course it would be “like a dime bag of dro,” because it IS. But of course “cush” means something else here. The motif is reversed in the line “Sex give me the munchies / And now I wanna eat it up oh,” because “Sex” is understood to be Weed, and “the munchies” are the not to be understood to be anything other than the desire to do something explicitly sexual.
The dependence upon “Sex Weed” comes up in the second verse, that Kelly is “a bud head when it comes to [the girl with the Sex Weed] / Cuz Can't nobody drop it baby / Bounce it baby, stroke it quite the way [she does].” He wants her like a drug, yet at the same time, unlike a drug, nobody can create the effects that she does. What therefore is at stake is not the immediate physical sensation, but what, a step further down the causal line, what that sensation causes, for the a psychedelic does not take its user away from the world into the senses, but rather overwhelms its user with the world by liberating the capacities of the senses. Sex, then, is therefore is a process of instigating mind-blowing experiences in another person while they reciprocate, as symbolized by "do[ing] a shotgun." "Sex Weed" is the beginning of a greater experience that becomes the beginning of a psychological dependence—“Girl I’m addicted to everything / That you do to me / Your sex got me open baby.” “Open” can mean simply “high,” “hazy,” “silly,” “flying,” “buzzing,” or “about to explode,” as he has stated, but can also mean readiness for it to all happen again, as the singer first politely requests towards the song’s end—“Let me hit that in the coupe / Girl, let me hit that in the jeep / Girl let me hit that at the crib / Girl keep bringing me that heat”—with a kind of urgency and appreciation of an adolescent hot boxing his parents’ Camry for the first time or smooching a girl for the first time in the backseat, or both. Kelly insists on the legitiamcy and thoroughness of his metaphor, that it's too heady to pin down and explain, by descriptions of his own befuddlement in the face of his dependence on "Sex Weed," that it's "about to explode [his] brain," that it's "about to drive [him] insane," and that he's "about to go up in smoke / because [her] Sex Weed ain't no joke." One cannot ultimately put either the psychedelic nor sexual experience into words, which would be to explain these contradictions in a joke that allows us to move past it; one can merely construct a text to parallel how inexplicable it is, as Kelly has done, to make "Sex Weed" the song something that'll make the listeners go up in smoke as they listen to in the coupe, the jeep, or the crib, hitting the Sex Weed. Which only makes sense if we read the apostrophe literally as Kelly addressing us, his listening audience, describing how wonderful it is to be on his side of the listening experience, getting "blowed" by the fact that so many people understand the significance of desegregating Sex and Weed, and always wanting more.
The hallucinogenic experience heavily informs this mode of thinking, and indeed Daedalus’ state in the chapter is the product of drinking a lot of absinthe and losing his grasp on typical conceptions of reality, and, in the case of Kelly, one half of the “obverse meditations of involution increasingly less vast” of “Sex Weed” is marijuana, a substance that has far more psychoactive properties than it did when it, paired with LSD, was the cornerstone of traditional psychedelic music. “Sex Weed” is not smoking weed and then having sex, nor is it having sex and then smoking weed, nor is it having sex while smoking weed, nor smoking weed while having sex—all of these, in some way, would put the two concepts in some form of hierarchy. Instead, through its Joycean word play, the metaphor succeeds in uniting the psychedelic experience with the sexual experience to the point that simply smoking pot is “Sex Weed” and romancing a lady when sober is also “Sex Weed.”
The apostrophe to the “Girl [who has] got that Sex Weed” begins as a fairly simple metaphor: he wants “to hit it all the time” because “it” is “sex so good that it gets [him] high,” using the ambiguity of the idiom “hit it” to begin the destruction of the segregation of Sex from Weed. Double entendres characterize the song as a whole, addressing the girl as “Mary Jane” at the end, for example, though the exceptions give the most interesting moments. The use of a simile seems ridiculous in the face of Kelly’s level of figurative language, yet we have two at the beginning of both verses as though we need to be reminded of the simplicity of his project: “How did yo[ur] sex make me feel this way / Like I been smokin’ purple haze?” and “Girl it’s like a dime bag of [hy]dro[ponic marijuana] / The way you movin that cush real slow.” The latter simile seems silly because “cush” is another way of saying weed, so of course it would be “like a dime bag of dro,” because it IS. But of course “cush” means something else here. The motif is reversed in the line “Sex give me the munchies / And now I wanna eat it up oh,” because “Sex” is understood to be Weed, and “the munchies” are the not to be understood to be anything other than the desire to do something explicitly sexual.
The dependence upon “Sex Weed” comes up in the second verse, that Kelly is “a bud head when it comes to [the girl with the Sex Weed] / Cuz Can't nobody drop it baby / Bounce it baby, stroke it quite the way [she does].” He wants her like a drug, yet at the same time, unlike a drug, nobody can create the effects that she does. What therefore is at stake is not the immediate physical sensation, but what, a step further down the causal line, what that sensation causes, for the a psychedelic does not take its user away from the world into the senses, but rather overwhelms its user with the world by liberating the capacities of the senses. Sex, then, is therefore is a process of instigating mind-blowing experiences in another person while they reciprocate, as symbolized by "do[ing] a shotgun." "Sex Weed" is the beginning of a greater experience that becomes the beginning of a psychological dependence—“Girl I’m addicted to everything / That you do to me / Your sex got me open baby.” “Open” can mean simply “high,” “hazy,” “silly,” “flying,” “buzzing,” or “about to explode,” as he has stated, but can also mean readiness for it to all happen again, as the singer first politely requests towards the song’s end—“Let me hit that in the coupe / Girl, let me hit that in the jeep / Girl let me hit that at the crib / Girl keep bringing me that heat”—with a kind of urgency and appreciation of an adolescent hot boxing his parents’ Camry for the first time or smooching a girl for the first time in the backseat, or both. Kelly insists on the legitiamcy and thoroughness of his metaphor, that it's too heady to pin down and explain, by descriptions of his own befuddlement in the face of his dependence on "Sex Weed," that it's "about to explode [his] brain," that it's "about to drive [him] insane," and that he's "about to go up in smoke / because [her] Sex Weed ain't no joke." One cannot ultimately put either the psychedelic nor sexual experience into words, which would be to explain these contradictions in a joke that allows us to move past it; one can merely construct a text to parallel how inexplicable it is, as Kelly has done, to make "Sex Weed" the song something that'll make the listeners go up in smoke as they listen to in the coupe, the jeep, or the crib, hitting the Sex Weed. Which only makes sense if we read the apostrophe literally as Kelly addressing us, his listening audience, describing how wonderful it is to be on his side of the listening experience, getting "blowed" by the fact that so many people understand the significance of desegregating Sex and Weed, and always wanting more.
Artist Profile: DjH2
www.myspace.com/djh2
Sometime in the summer of 2007 I was stumbling around electronic artists on MySpace (yes, MySpace) and happened upon this diamond in the ruff. Straight out of Harlem, DjH2 has fat beats on par with every big name producer I have encountered. Upon hearing a few of his tracks, I set out on a desperate search to download anything and everything I could of him. Yet low and behold, he was not signed to any label, or anything of that nature. He had few mixtapes up to download, and so I took what I could get. I was amazed by the talent and quality of the tracks available for download, and amazingly enough, over a year later he is still a regular in my rotation. Any time I want to relax, or listen to some smooth beats, DjH2 is first to be put on. When posed with the task to list my top 5 chillist beats, DjH2 held the number one spot. His MySpace www.myspace.com/djh2 is regularly updated with fresh new beats, and the occasional free EP’s for download. Also to my great excitement, he has an album ElevatorMusik available for purchase, as well as two others, TalkingWalls and Poison Punch Socials, which will be available soon. So when you want some music for the soul, hit up his page and prepare to be taken on a ride.
Reminiscent of old school beats, and heavy jazz influences, H2 is one of the most talented Dj/producer/beat makers of our generation. Long overdue for big success, his intricate working of obscure (Star Trek radio show vinyl) and oldschool breakbeats and samples lets his immense talent shine. He touches down on the soul of earlier eras and creates something completely new and his own, all the while paying tribute towards those he samples from. This underground producer is one that should not be missed and is a must have in any hip-hop/soul/funk/jazz/blues aficionados music library.
[Nick Erickson]
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Nightmare or utopic future?
Interplanetary Revolution
Saturday October 25th, was the annual Revolution party - this year hosted at Plan B. On the bill were both of p-town's only Russkie bands: Mirumir! and Chervona; as well as Niayh and a hectic set by Golden Greats
Arriving late, one was presented with a devilish scene. The dark misty night, pierced by cries of joy or pain, was juxtaposed with a packed darkly flashing room. It was a circus. What it might have looked like if the 1917 revolution had taken place in a cramp basement with a hodgepodge of 20th century misfits getting drunk to celebrate the end of time. Explosions of glitter and melting faces, trapped between concentric loops of gyrating soviet hips, sip that 22 out of your bag because you shouldn't drink whatever these people have been. A free speech stage in the back lot, sporadic piles of bicycles and heaps of broken youth, while someone's sad mumbles of the futility of our supposedly democratic system were washed away by the chanting of the red-painted Obama youth brigade. A confusion of elements, Halloween a week too soon? Mario with sad drooping whiskers bent over a mechanical music monster, perused by Hunter Thompson in board shorts and safari cap, while a chair fight broke out over the last of the cold left-over socialist french fries. sensory overl
oad
So swig it fast, try to ska-dance, and get the hell out of there while you've got your wits about you. Tom Waits, heckling and jeering, the Master of Events, his waxen face almost brushing the stage lights as he beats those lousy derevniks in their striped shirts. beats and beats them with his howls and curses; oh so painful - as they strike up another rollicking tune.
Back outside, lit cigarettes, and nervous shuffling. What's 5$ when you have the whole future ahead of you?
Lurve,
SpecSocWrite
Saturday October 25th, was the annual Revolution party - this year hosted at Plan B. On the bill were both of p-town's only Russkie bands: Mirumir! and Chervona; as well as Niayh and a hectic set by Golden Greats
Arriving late, one was presented with a devilish scene. The dark misty night, pierced by cries of joy or pain, was juxtaposed with a packed darkly flashing room. It was a circus. What it might have looked like if the 1917 revolution had taken place in a cramp basement with a hodgepodge of 20th century misfits getting drunk to celebrate the end of time. Explosions of glitter and melting faces, trapped between concentric loops of gyrating soviet hips, sip that 22 out of your bag because you shouldn't drink whatever these people have been. A free speech stage in the back lot, sporadic piles of bicycles and heaps of broken youth, while someone's sad mumbles of the futility of our supposedly democratic system were washed away by the chanting of the red-painted Obama youth brigade. A confusion of elements, Halloween a week too soon? Mario with sad drooping whiskers bent over a mechanical music monster, perused by Hunter Thompson in board shorts and safari cap, while a chair fight broke out over the last of the cold left-over socialist french fries. sensory overl
oadSo swig it fast, try to ska-dance, and get the hell out of there while you've got your wits about you. Tom Waits, heckling and jeering, the Master of Events, his waxen face almost brushing the stage lights as he beats those lousy derevniks in their striped shirts. beats and beats them with his howls and curses; oh so painful - as they strike up another rollicking tune.
Back outside, lit cigarettes, and nervous shuffling. What's 5$ when you have the whole future ahead of you?
Lurve,
SpecSocWrite
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