I used to play a lot of Tha Alkaholiks and used to be an alcoholic. I actually got the 12-inch single that was the first beat Madlib made that got released on wax, when he was still part of Lootpack. Tha 'Liks used to be an absolute favorite, so though I don't drink no more, I never gave up them. And I still say, in old head way that references archaic media, Side A of King Tee's Tha Triflin' Album, where Tha Alkaholiks made their debut, is one of the all-time best hip hop tape sides ever.
Saturday, July 20
Friday, July 19
SONG OF THE DAY: Glad Tidings
I bring you glad tidings of the beginning of the end of this false age of hyper-awareness and hyper-productivity and hyper-speed expectations of the human mind. The wind chimes of destiny should be all you hear once the outage has spread through enough machines to silence the white noise we've pretended was progress towards utopia all this time. Do not be afraid, though I know many of us will be, with real questions about the logistics of post-epoch distribution of survival ingredients. Have faith in the Universe, as well as all the wonderful humans already blessed with universal magnetism that have been silenced by all the buzzing we were trained to believe was comforting. The men who have led us led us astray, way further back down the line than most of us realize. It's okay though, because the Universe always recalibrates into balance. The Earth is only a small piece of the Universe, but it too can recalibrate if allowed to. Man is only a small piece of the Earth, and we too can recalibrate if we let ourselves. But we are also a small enough piece that if we don't let ourselves, we're expendable, in order for balance to be maintained. Let's hope our egos don't get in the way and we continue to claim a false dominion over all the we are able to sense.
Tuesday, July 16
SONG OF THE DAY: When I Hear Music
One of the main reasons I don’t get all caught up on “Oh, gotta listen to this new music right away!” is there’s always a false sense of immediacy attached to capitalism, that we all gives ourselves because we act like we’re supposed to be curators of culture when actually we’re mostly just getting tricked into consuming a bunch of shit. There is no must-watch TV or must-see movies or brand new albums we have to hear, and if any of that shit is actually as good as it’s being hyped, it’ll still be around when we get around to it.
I say all this because I had no idea this song existed six months ago. I never even heard of Debbie Deb that I can remember. And if I had heard of it back in 1983 when it came out, I was a little aspiring delinquent metalhead, so I probably would’ve been too cool to give a fuck. But this song did come across my experiential radar this year, and it immediately became a favorite. The 45 also went to the top of the list to acquire, because I could tell that beat slowed down was gonna bump like crazy. And it does. I can’t imagine not spinning this record already whenever I have a slowed down 45 gig. That doesn’t happen often because most people don’t want things they don’t recognize. They want nostalgia or basic, and usually a combination of those two. Shit, even when I was at the stupid local community radio station, when I was getting run off for daring to think I could play records in the daytime, the rock programming manager lady was like “We just prefer to keep weird stuff late at night.” To a basic ass fucker, a slowed down beat is weird, especially if they don’t already recognize the song.
We live in such basic times. We need more Debbie Debs.
I say all this because I had no idea this song existed six months ago. I never even heard of Debbie Deb that I can remember. And if I had heard of it back in 1983 when it came out, I was a little aspiring delinquent metalhead, so I probably would’ve been too cool to give a fuck. But this song did come across my experiential radar this year, and it immediately became a favorite. The 45 also went to the top of the list to acquire, because I could tell that beat slowed down was gonna bump like crazy. And it does. I can’t imagine not spinning this record already whenever I have a slowed down 45 gig. That doesn’t happen often because most people don’t want things they don’t recognize. They want nostalgia or basic, and usually a combination of those two. Shit, even when I was at the stupid local community radio station, when I was getting run off for daring to think I could play records in the daytime, the rock programming manager lady was like “We just prefer to keep weird stuff late at night.” To a basic ass fucker, a slowed down beat is weird, especially if they don’t already recognize the song.
We live in such basic times. We need more Debbie Debs.
Thursday, July 11
SONG OF THE DAY: Take Me In Your Arms
I am not a music nerd so I didn’t know “Latin freestyle” was a genre of music that bridged the gap between disco and house music. But since I been collecting 45s the past few years to play them all slow because fuck regular speed anything, it’s too damn hot, one thing I realized is my all-time favorite beat when calculated at 45 at 33 rpms is “Let the Music Play” by Shannon. And apparently because of this whole ass compilation of “Latin freestyle” I downloaded from a bootlegging music blog (because I still play mp3s like an old ass man who isn’t that old because mp3s are fairly new in the grand scheme of things), there’s a whole genre of that style of music. So I’ve been playing the shit out of it, and now trying to find all this shit on 45 as well. I do not have Lil Suzy’s “Take Me In Your Arms” on 45 yet, and Suzy used to be my ex-wife’s name, but after we got divorced she took her herbalism more seriously and became Suzanna. I thought about texting her this song but didn’t because it’s better to maintain good boundaries now. A weird fact of 21st century life is it’s usually them folks who always be talking about boundaries that you need to be practicing having boundaries with. She’s not Suzy anymore anyways, so the song no longer applies.
Wednesday, July 10
SONG OF THE DAY: I've Been Having An Affair
If multiverse theory is true, somewhere in the endless expanse of universe, there's a whole planet full of humanoids who all look like Latimore. I wanna go there. That has nothing to do with this song, other than Latimore and Tonya both recorded for long time Mississippi record label Malaco Records. But a planet full of Latimores probably gonna have some hilarious cheating scenarios too though.
Sunday, July 7
SONG OF THE DAY: Let Us Pray (kudzu'd)
Praying to the hidden Gods of Greater Appalachia for rain, both real and metaphysical. The ground is brown and dry and thirsty as fuck right now. But we need a metaphysical rain, too, in the unseen realms, which have become extremely dried out by the over-application of heart pesticides. I'm sure it's been going on longer than I can feel it like I have, but definitely the past decade or so, the heart pesticide usage has become so heavy that life itself feels toxic. Nobody should be existing like this, especially not a people that love to wave flags and proclaim their freedom, in the name of the false gods of money and ego and pride, and killing off their grandchildren to have big things that are unnaturally cool. Not sure how folks don't see how this contributes to how dry our existence is, but also I can't entirely fault folks who have been bombarded with brainwash for so long. Yakubian engineers tinkering with the neurology of 85% of us, still.
Saturday, July 6
Friday, July 5
SONG OF THE DAY: Eternal Ridin' (XL Middleton remix)
[Wrote this all out because XL Middleton is the purveyor of a genre of funk I like to call "driving a customized van through the hills of Appalachia in 1978". It's an unparalleled vibe.]
As some of y’all may or may not know, I got a time machine behind my mom’s house that’s an old ’69 Chevelle Supersport. Unfortunately, like most things in my life, it’s raggedy, so my time machine only goes to the Food City in Pikeville, Kentucky, around 1978 now. (You can keep turning the dial to the left to go further back in time, but now that I’m not floating bad check at the Food City for groceries, I hadn’t been turning the time machine dial back anymore, for fear of hitting the end. 1978, where I’m at, is about 91/92 on the old school FM dial, so it ain’t gonna go too much further back, and I don’t know how to calibrate timeframes on my haphazard time machine.)
I think at some point, while getting mad about vintage clothes resellers, specifically selling old biker and wrestling t-shirts at astronomical prices, I got to thinking about old school customized vans from the 1970s. (No diss to vintage resellers, but I just can’t abide those prices. I know folks can get it, but just as there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism, not sure there’s ethical vintage reselling either. But I also accept the fact we’re all just trying to survive capitalism, too, so I’m more pissed off that this is the shared collective existence we have, more than individuals selling old school redneck shit at astronomical prices to extremely online hipsters.) And since I could always go back ton 1978 Pikeville, Kentucky, I decided, what if I got a custom van?
The problem is, well first off, money. Today money don’t look like back then money. But I had found a meticulous workaround (buying old money) that took a lot of time. I saved up money to get a car, but they didn’t have a lot of nice custom vans in Pikeville, Kentucky, back then, at least not like what I hoped to get. So I bought a ’72 AMC Matador instead, blue, because I briefly had one in the ‘90s, and it was an awesome car, even if I pretty much blew it up the first month I had it. Once I had my ’72 Matador in ’78 Pikeville, I realized a much quicker way to get old money that worked in those days was to steal it, not really robberies, because that’s not cool, but stealing it from unsecure stores because they didn’t have the same surveillance technology back then. But I usually tried bigger places away from Pikeville, kind of finding the sweet spot being going up 119 toward Charleston and hitting bigger towns in southern West Virginia (Williamson, Logan, Madison… where I contemplated trying to find a young Jesco White before realizing I probably didn’t wanna get involved in some 1978 White family chaos and derail getting back to nowadays indefinitely over some stupid shit). I mostly did my robbing there, and right before coming back to the time machine in Pikeville, so I’d park my Matador, and come back to now with the old cash, which remained old. Later, in a few days, after I knew any heat that might’ve arrived at the time died down, I’d go back. Eventually I’d built up enough of an old money nest egg through various robberies in southern West Virginia, I could go looking for an old school customized van.
I was hoping for the full deal – bubble windows, shag carpet, wizard murals on the side… all you’d imagine if you used your now brain which has been polluted with the faux infinite possibilities of digital imagination. But that type of van, customized to that level, wasn’t easily found in Kentucky. I also didn’t wanna go looking for vans in West Virginia with money I’d stole there (because maybe I was wanted, which also lolol imagine my simple 2024 ass being wanted in 1978 West Virginia). I started creeping up 23 on the look, and actually found the first cool customized van I wanted in Prestonsburg, not far from Pikeville. It was basic customized, with captain’s chairs and nice powder blue shag, and a spade bubble window, but no mural, nothing too outlandish. So I bought it.
The problem was, my time machine was just a ’69 Chevelle Supersport, so I couldn’t bring the customized van back in the time machine. So I bought it and left it parked at the Food City in Pikeville, Kentucky. And I’m not really gonna be able to bring them to now, ever. But I did keep looking. Well actually, I started going to Ashland, Kentucky/Huntington, West Virginia area, more to draw dirtgod monikers on the coal and freight cars there. I hadn’t done it ton, maybe only a couple thousand monikers there in 1978, enough that’ll be known to train riders and railroad workers of that time frame, at least there, but not wider. I hope to eventually get thousands and thousands more in those yards. That Ashland CSX yard was just a Chessie yard back then, so it’s got those beautiful yellow cabooses, which I never mark on, out of respect for the workers, and to keep them off my ass. But hopefully eventually I’ll hit enough freight cars back then that the dirtgod moniker will become known as a famous old school one like Bozo Texino or Palm Tree Herby, and the ones I do now will be disregarded as some new school hipster copycat stealing from the old legend. I don’t mind getting cancelled in the nowadays if I can thrive in the past though.
But I found a really nice customized van for sale, with a Frank Frazetta Death Dealer style mural on both sides, which this was even before Molly Hatchet had come out, so that was ahead of its time there in Huntington. I definitely bought that one, and got it back to Pikeville and parked it by the other one at the Food City, on the far corner of the lot furthest from the road, so kind of out of the way to be safer, although leaving a car parked somewhere like that was way safer back then I think. The worst person around was most likely modern me when I went back looking to rob stores in West Virginia lol.
I tried to be happy with the two vans, and my time machine fits another person, so occasionally I’ll take one of my homies with to go driving in the vans, but only certain people, because most folks can’t handle time travel and will blow up the whole thing by telling too many folks about our secret spot. Mostly, it’s made best sense to take the graff crew homies, one at a time, because they enjoy going to the Chessie yard and doing panels on old school freight in ’78, putting them way ahead of the freight graffiti movement, and actually happening at the same time graffiti was blowing up in New York City on the subway trains. Eventually, that’s gonna fuck with somebody too, to “discover” there was full-blown graffiti happening in Appalachia at the same time it was blowing up in New York City. But the graff homies know how to not run their mouth, and it’s fun to drive the vans around the mountains, even though instead of each of us driving one, it’s more fun to both ride in the same. Kinda weird to have one dude per van tooling around like that, lol, but we did it for a while before realizing that shit was weird.
But I did get to wandering on my own, and once I got to Lexington, Kentucky, the customized van scene was strong enough there were more options. I actually bought two more in 1978 Lexington, also now parked in Pikeville at the Food City, because again, I can’t transport them back. I actually put the first one I bought up for sale again, by the road, but I’m never actually there in 1978 for the most part to meet anybody to buy it, and I don’t have a phone number back then, especially not one that would work now so I could answer it here and be like, “Yeah, I can meet you on Saturday morning” to somebody from 1978 Pikeville. It’s a lot to juggle. But I’ve got it parked by the road, with a For Sale sign on it, and the other three just sitting there in the back corner of the parking lot, chilling, three nice ass customized vans, like the nicest vans in all of Pikeville.
So anyways, if you end up having a weird ass time machine that’s calibrated all fucked up like that to go to Pikeville, Kentucky, and you see the three vans parked in the back corner of the lot, with the Frazetta mural and wizard mural and bubble windows and purple to pink fade glitter paint on the one, those are mine. Leave a note for me if you want.
And even though already having four old ass vans in the parking lot there feels like a lot, I’m already contemplating driving all the way to Louisville, or maybe even taking a long week off and going up to Cincinnati and seeing what I can find. I know there’d be some wild shit in Cincinnati, for sure. But again, as always the risk with that type of trip is knowing how I am, and I could get too intricately wrapped up in some 1978 bullshit that I never make it back to 2024. And while that can seem enticing, the lack of family support and real roots in that time period leaves me feeling very out of place a lot of times driving around. If I got stuck there, it’d be way worse. And I guess once I started thinking about, “What if one of my vans got stolen?” from the Food City parking lot, it dawned on me that while I was galivanting around robbing stores in West Virginia or cruising in a van or looking for shit to get into somewhere further away, that would be massively fucked up to come back to Pikeville and see my time machine Chevelle gone. I’d be trapped, and limited to whatever I had on hand. I’d have to get a job in that time and live the rest of my life in the past, which would absolutely suck. A lot of people act like they might want that, but it’d drive them crazy if they actually had to do it. Trust me… visiting for a day or two is more than enough.
As some of y’all may or may not know, I got a time machine behind my mom’s house that’s an old ’69 Chevelle Supersport. Unfortunately, like most things in my life, it’s raggedy, so my time machine only goes to the Food City in Pikeville, Kentucky, around 1978 now. (You can keep turning the dial to the left to go further back in time, but now that I’m not floating bad check at the Food City for groceries, I hadn’t been turning the time machine dial back anymore, for fear of hitting the end. 1978, where I’m at, is about 91/92 on the old school FM dial, so it ain’t gonna go too much further back, and I don’t know how to calibrate timeframes on my haphazard time machine.)
I think at some point, while getting mad about vintage clothes resellers, specifically selling old biker and wrestling t-shirts at astronomical prices, I got to thinking about old school customized vans from the 1970s. (No diss to vintage resellers, but I just can’t abide those prices. I know folks can get it, but just as there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism, not sure there’s ethical vintage reselling either. But I also accept the fact we’re all just trying to survive capitalism, too, so I’m more pissed off that this is the shared collective existence we have, more than individuals selling old school redneck shit at astronomical prices to extremely online hipsters.) And since I could always go back ton 1978 Pikeville, Kentucky, I decided, what if I got a custom van?
The problem is, well first off, money. Today money don’t look like back then money. But I had found a meticulous workaround (buying old money) that took a lot of time. I saved up money to get a car, but they didn’t have a lot of nice custom vans in Pikeville, Kentucky, back then, at least not like what I hoped to get. So I bought a ’72 AMC Matador instead, blue, because I briefly had one in the ‘90s, and it was an awesome car, even if I pretty much blew it up the first month I had it. Once I had my ’72 Matador in ’78 Pikeville, I realized a much quicker way to get old money that worked in those days was to steal it, not really robberies, because that’s not cool, but stealing it from unsecure stores because they didn’t have the same surveillance technology back then. But I usually tried bigger places away from Pikeville, kind of finding the sweet spot being going up 119 toward Charleston and hitting bigger towns in southern West Virginia (Williamson, Logan, Madison… where I contemplated trying to find a young Jesco White before realizing I probably didn’t wanna get involved in some 1978 White family chaos and derail getting back to nowadays indefinitely over some stupid shit). I mostly did my robbing there, and right before coming back to the time machine in Pikeville, so I’d park my Matador, and come back to now with the old cash, which remained old. Later, in a few days, after I knew any heat that might’ve arrived at the time died down, I’d go back. Eventually I’d built up enough of an old money nest egg through various robberies in southern West Virginia, I could go looking for an old school customized van.
I was hoping for the full deal – bubble windows, shag carpet, wizard murals on the side… all you’d imagine if you used your now brain which has been polluted with the faux infinite possibilities of digital imagination. But that type of van, customized to that level, wasn’t easily found in Kentucky. I also didn’t wanna go looking for vans in West Virginia with money I’d stole there (because maybe I was wanted, which also lolol imagine my simple 2024 ass being wanted in 1978 West Virginia). I started creeping up 23 on the look, and actually found the first cool customized van I wanted in Prestonsburg, not far from Pikeville. It was basic customized, with captain’s chairs and nice powder blue shag, and a spade bubble window, but no mural, nothing too outlandish. So I bought it.
The problem was, my time machine was just a ’69 Chevelle Supersport, so I couldn’t bring the customized van back in the time machine. So I bought it and left it parked at the Food City in Pikeville, Kentucky. And I’m not really gonna be able to bring them to now, ever. But I did keep looking. Well actually, I started going to Ashland, Kentucky/Huntington, West Virginia area, more to draw dirtgod monikers on the coal and freight cars there. I hadn’t done it ton, maybe only a couple thousand monikers there in 1978, enough that’ll be known to train riders and railroad workers of that time frame, at least there, but not wider. I hope to eventually get thousands and thousands more in those yards. That Ashland CSX yard was just a Chessie yard back then, so it’s got those beautiful yellow cabooses, which I never mark on, out of respect for the workers, and to keep them off my ass. But hopefully eventually I’ll hit enough freight cars back then that the dirtgod moniker will become known as a famous old school one like Bozo Texino or Palm Tree Herby, and the ones I do now will be disregarded as some new school hipster copycat stealing from the old legend. I don’t mind getting cancelled in the nowadays if I can thrive in the past though.
But I found a really nice customized van for sale, with a Frank Frazetta Death Dealer style mural on both sides, which this was even before Molly Hatchet had come out, so that was ahead of its time there in Huntington. I definitely bought that one, and got it back to Pikeville and parked it by the other one at the Food City, on the far corner of the lot furthest from the road, so kind of out of the way to be safer, although leaving a car parked somewhere like that was way safer back then I think. The worst person around was most likely modern me when I went back looking to rob stores in West Virginia lol.
I tried to be happy with the two vans, and my time machine fits another person, so occasionally I’ll take one of my homies with to go driving in the vans, but only certain people, because most folks can’t handle time travel and will blow up the whole thing by telling too many folks about our secret spot. Mostly, it’s made best sense to take the graff crew homies, one at a time, because they enjoy going to the Chessie yard and doing panels on old school freight in ’78, putting them way ahead of the freight graffiti movement, and actually happening at the same time graffiti was blowing up in New York City on the subway trains. Eventually, that’s gonna fuck with somebody too, to “discover” there was full-blown graffiti happening in Appalachia at the same time it was blowing up in New York City. But the graff homies know how to not run their mouth, and it’s fun to drive the vans around the mountains, even though instead of each of us driving one, it’s more fun to both ride in the same. Kinda weird to have one dude per van tooling around like that, lol, but we did it for a while before realizing that shit was weird.
But I did get to wandering on my own, and once I got to Lexington, Kentucky, the customized van scene was strong enough there were more options. I actually bought two more in 1978 Lexington, also now parked in Pikeville at the Food City, because again, I can’t transport them back. I actually put the first one I bought up for sale again, by the road, but I’m never actually there in 1978 for the most part to meet anybody to buy it, and I don’t have a phone number back then, especially not one that would work now so I could answer it here and be like, “Yeah, I can meet you on Saturday morning” to somebody from 1978 Pikeville. It’s a lot to juggle. But I’ve got it parked by the road, with a For Sale sign on it, and the other three just sitting there in the back corner of the parking lot, chilling, three nice ass customized vans, like the nicest vans in all of Pikeville.
So anyways, if you end up having a weird ass time machine that’s calibrated all fucked up like that to go to Pikeville, Kentucky, and you see the three vans parked in the back corner of the lot, with the Frazetta mural and wizard mural and bubble windows and purple to pink fade glitter paint on the one, those are mine. Leave a note for me if you want.
And even though already having four old ass vans in the parking lot there feels like a lot, I’m already contemplating driving all the way to Louisville, or maybe even taking a long week off and going up to Cincinnati and seeing what I can find. I know there’d be some wild shit in Cincinnati, for sure. But again, as always the risk with that type of trip is knowing how I am, and I could get too intricately wrapped up in some 1978 bullshit that I never make it back to 2024. And while that can seem enticing, the lack of family support and real roots in that time period leaves me feeling very out of place a lot of times driving around. If I got stuck there, it’d be way worse. And I guess once I started thinking about, “What if one of my vans got stolen?” from the Food City parking lot, it dawned on me that while I was galivanting around robbing stores in West Virginia or cruising in a van or looking for shit to get into somewhere further away, that would be massively fucked up to come back to Pikeville and see my time machine Chevelle gone. I’d be trapped, and limited to whatever I had on hand. I’d have to get a job in that time and live the rest of my life in the past, which would absolutely suck. A lot of people act like they might want that, but it’d drive them crazy if they actually had to do it. Trust me… visiting for a day or two is more than enough.
Wednesday, July 3
SONG OF THE DAY: Cuando Vuelves
“I’m Your Puppet” in Spanish is a special kind of banger. This doesn’t appear to exist on 45, at all, which is really disappointing. I guess the market ain’t that fuckin’ free after all.
Tuesday, July 2
SONG OF THE DAY: Is It Because I'm Black (kudzu'd)
Just another slowed down old school 45 reissue, because that’s what we do.
Monday, July 1
SONG OF THE DAY: Chicken Heads
Now I might not be the sharpest throwing star in the ninja fannypack, but I think this song might be a metaphor for something else.
Friday, June 28
SONG OF THE DAY: Chains and Things
This came off a “Wu Tang sampled this shit before” collection I took off a music blog somewhere or another. RZA’s mom’s record collection must’ve been dope as fuck, to be honest.
Tuesday, June 25
SONG OF THE DAY: I'm Glad You're Mine
One time I fell in false love with a woman because I woke up in her empty bed in the morning (we didn’t do anything) and she was blasting Al Green while frying potatoes. Al Green really makes me feel some kinda way.
Monday, June 24
SONG OF THE DAY: Get Thy Bearings (kudzu'd)
Bearings being gotten, on a daily basis, except I don’t go by the calendar, I go by seeing the moon in the sky. Much easier to get your bearings when you go about it looking up towards space (which also reflect inwardly, towards equal space). My crown’s been feeling a little extra stardusted lately… the beneficial effects of sitting my ass outside watching the lighting bugs create aura arrow doodads to better focus my visions of the future. Shout out to the lightning bugs, and the moon. Shout out to the future.
Saturday, June 22
SONG OF THE DAY: Bills Be Gawn (kudzu'd)
Yesterday was payday, and more so than most paydays, I had more bills than paycheck. (Most of us know this feeling. It’s more common than not.) Today, my bills do not be gone, but my paycheck is. I don’t think people randomly end up on internet sites anymore, mostly just scrolling social media for a simplified corn feed of actual information, but in the off chance anyone is, and you have discretionary income, consider buying a railroad haiku spike at my online shop my online shop. Or a book. Prices are always cheaper direct to me with cashapp or venmo too.
Friday, June 21
SONG OF THE DAY: Surreal
The wonderful thing about music on Earth is it’s so vast, you can’t possibly know it all. There’s always amazing shit out there to find out about. I never really consciously knew about João Donato, the Brazilian multi-instrumentalist. I’m guessing that despite that, I’d heard him on songs before, being he played with so many jazz heavyweights, like Cal Tjader, Mongo Santamria, and others. But he has a vast discography from Brazil, and for whatever reason, I downloaded this album he made with his son, Donatinho. Actually, I’m pretty confident the reason I downloaded it was because I saw it on a music blog (I’m one of the 19 people that still goes to those) with this album cover, which might be the most amazing father/son art I’ve ever seen. I DREAM of being the kind of father where my children would think art like this portrays our relationship. It was a surprise banger on my old iphone 5s working as an ipod in the past year, as I’ve gotten more and more into synthesized funk chaos to combat the AI cybertron battles with (as a soundtrack). “Surreal” is probably my favorite track. And apparently, it exists on a 45 from Japan, but I haven’t found an affordable copy as of yet. But one day, I will.
Sadly Donato passed away last summer, at the well-earned age of 88. That also means he was in his early 80s when he made this album with his son, which is also something to aspire to as a human being. We need less weird 80-something billionaires who want to control presidents to stifle current generations, and more weird 80-something kooks making space funk for future generations. That’s just textbook Futurism 101.
Sadly Donato passed away last summer, at the well-earned age of 88. That also means he was in his early 80s when he made this album with his son, which is also something to aspire to as a human being. We need less weird 80-something billionaires who want to control presidents to stifle current generations, and more weird 80-something kooks making space funk for future generations. That’s just textbook Futurism 101.
Thursday, June 20
SONG OF THE DAY: Keep It Moving
At some point this was something I wrote on this very blog. And then Boogie Brown used text to voice to make it into words that he dropped behind this Southern Gothicc Futurism Appalachian Boom Bap beat he made. And that came out on a Blue Globe Beats release, which I played this track a lot in the car, so it reappears on the blog as a song of the day. On one hand, it could be called “meta” if you think of it in digital terms. But it’s also just regeneration of thought seeds, with some pieces dominant and others recessive, and a re-creation of creative genetics. Nothing is original, and you can’t own art, even if it comes from your own mind. You can’t own anything. I mean, we tell ourselves otherwise, but we’re lying like a mufucka most of the time. Yes, to ourselves. But you already know that most likely.
Tuesday, June 18
SONG OF THE DAY: For Those Who Love to Groove (kudzu'd)
Posting slowed down song videos to youtube has been an interesting foray over the past few years, especially as I snag mp4s to use for the videos. I learned a long time ago that you can’t use actual videos for actual songs that have been slowed down, because there’s dueling copyrights between the song owner and the video owner, and youtube just shuts it down completely because they don’t know who to direct your views to. So I tend to try and find performances of songs rather than the “official” videos to use.
Some of the old Sonido Dueñez rips that I made videos for have been illuminating, because youtube reveals to me what the actual song originally was, because Dueñez’s mixtapes were notorious for not having the actual song title written on them. But some of those sneak through and I guess nobody owns the U.S. copyright or some shit, and I don’t even get a copyright notice where any profiteering acquired from the data accumulate while you watch the videos I made can be sent. So it goes to me (adding to my lifetime youtube earnings of $0, lol).
I had one especially great song I ripped and made a video for, Karthago’s “I Give You Everything You Want”, which was a 45 reissued by Fraternity Music Group in 2016, but copyright owners wouldn’t let the song live on youtube, regardless of speed or video added.
Anyways, all this is to say there’s a lot of weird behind the scenes data analysis going on, and sometimes I have to make 2 or 3 videos before one actually clears youtube. But in the process of slowing down this amazingly funky song by Ray Parker Jr. & Raydio (his band from before the “Ghostbusters” era), I got the normal copyright notice where someone else was taking the profits off it. Except it wasn’t Ray Parker Jr. & Raydio. Somehow, some rapper/producer from Texas named Six2 basically took this old “For Those Who Love to Groove” synth funk, and claimed it as his own beat, and had some woman throw a hook over it, while he raps. Not trying to hate on nobody’s art, because normally I wouldn’t, but his song ain’t all that to where he needs to be claiming the copyright of me slowing down the old Ray Parker Jr. jam. But he did, which tells me he ain’t my kinda people. Out here playing lawyerball and calling it art. The release the song that claims it’s this comes from also features a couple of features from Big Mike of the Geto Boys and Timbaland, so maybe Six2 had financial backing and was throwing money at features and actually cleared the entire rights to the instrumental. I don’t know. I do know when I spin that motherfucker live, slowed down, next week while DJing, can’t nobody say shit to me in real life. And art is more for real life benefit than filing legal paperwork and attempting in vain to stack some coins like Scrooge McDuck.
Some of the old Sonido Dueñez rips that I made videos for have been illuminating, because youtube reveals to me what the actual song originally was, because Dueñez’s mixtapes were notorious for not having the actual song title written on them. But some of those sneak through and I guess nobody owns the U.S. copyright or some shit, and I don’t even get a copyright notice where any profiteering acquired from the data accumulate while you watch the videos I made can be sent. So it goes to me (adding to my lifetime youtube earnings of $0, lol).
I had one especially great song I ripped and made a video for, Karthago’s “I Give You Everything You Want”, which was a 45 reissued by Fraternity Music Group in 2016, but copyright owners wouldn’t let the song live on youtube, regardless of speed or video added.
Anyways, all this is to say there’s a lot of weird behind the scenes data analysis going on, and sometimes I have to make 2 or 3 videos before one actually clears youtube. But in the process of slowing down this amazingly funky song by Ray Parker Jr. & Raydio (his band from before the “Ghostbusters” era), I got the normal copyright notice where someone else was taking the profits off it. Except it wasn’t Ray Parker Jr. & Raydio. Somehow, some rapper/producer from Texas named Six2 basically took this old “For Those Who Love to Groove” synth funk, and claimed it as his own beat, and had some woman throw a hook over it, while he raps. Not trying to hate on nobody’s art, because normally I wouldn’t, but his song ain’t all that to where he needs to be claiming the copyright of me slowing down the old Ray Parker Jr. jam. But he did, which tells me he ain’t my kinda people. Out here playing lawyerball and calling it art. The release the song that claims it’s this comes from also features a couple of features from Big Mike of the Geto Boys and Timbaland, so maybe Six2 had financial backing and was throwing money at features and actually cleared the entire rights to the instrumental. I don’t know. I do know when I spin that motherfucker live, slowed down, next week while DJing, can’t nobody say shit to me in real life. And art is more for real life benefit than filing legal paperwork and attempting in vain to stack some coins like Scrooge McDuck.
Monday, June 17
SONG OF THE DAY: Ain't No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down
This is such a wonderful song (even if this is a cover version). It seems too simple that it got co-opted for zombie movie/show soundtracks, but that also just goes to show how entertainment lacks nuance and doesn’t really see beyond the one line of the song. Anyways, a clean copy of Brother Claude Ely’s original 45 of this is probably the highest of high on my holy grail list of 45s I hope to come across some day. But I tend to get any cover of it I can find that’s at least 20 years old. (New ironic religion lacks the holy ghost spirit.)
Saturday, June 15
SONG OF THE DAY: Play At Your Own Risk
The history of racism in America affected the segregation of musical genres, which is a shame. It would’ve been nice, in retrospect, to have music jump those borders more easily. A great example of this for me lately is Planet Patrol’s “At Your Own Risk”, which was made of extra tracks not used in Afrika Bambaataa’s “Planet Rock”, so has a similarity to it, like an alternate third jersey version of Planet Rock almost. But there was a time in my life, when I had just gotten my license, and on Saturdays the liquor store in Farmville would close at noon, but the one in Drakes Branch was open ‘til 6. And my dad would get his weekend’s liquor supply Thursday after work in Farmville, because that was payday for him, and the liquor store was usually the first stop. But generally speaking, folks would show up on Friday night to play cards at our trailer, and bottles would get passed, and if anything was left at the end of a long Friday night, it wasn’t gonna go long on Saturday afternoon. So we’d drive to Drakes Branch to hit the liquor store, so he pops could restock for the impending long Saturday night (which would basically be a repeat of the previous night most times, with most of the same characters). If it was football season, he might even have to double up on the Saturday run to make sure Sunday afternoon was covered for the Redskins game.
In retrospect, that drive from our trailer in southern Prince Edward County, to Keysville, then turn by the abandoned factory on 59 to get to Drakes Branch, turning left onto Main Street of a town that was already dying even then, that close to Reagan’s politics of doom that turned the doomed into The Doomed, “At Your Own Risk” would’ve been the perfect soundtrack. And it’s a long enough song it could’ve ate up most of that 10 mile or so stretch on 59. I do recognize and appreciate my dad’s constant wishful thinking back then, that one bottle liquor on a Thursday evening was actually gonna be enough to last the whole weekend. Too bad he never got the help to get closer to making that equation actually work out. That too is the byproduct of all our segregation and division, where we get fractured into our little silos of self-destruction and think we’re out here going through something entirely on our own, when in actuality in that 10 miles we just drove down the road, even out in the middle of nowhere, we just passed 50 motherfuckers going through the exact same shit.
In retrospect, that drive from our trailer in southern Prince Edward County, to Keysville, then turn by the abandoned factory on 59 to get to Drakes Branch, turning left onto Main Street of a town that was already dying even then, that close to Reagan’s politics of doom that turned the doomed into The Doomed, “At Your Own Risk” would’ve been the perfect soundtrack. And it’s a long enough song it could’ve ate up most of that 10 mile or so stretch on 59. I do recognize and appreciate my dad’s constant wishful thinking back then, that one bottle liquor on a Thursday evening was actually gonna be enough to last the whole weekend. Too bad he never got the help to get closer to making that equation actually work out. That too is the byproduct of all our segregation and division, where we get fractured into our little silos of self-destruction and think we’re out here going through something entirely on our own, when in actuality in that 10 miles we just drove down the road, even out in the middle of nowhere, we just passed 50 motherfuckers going through the exact same shit.
Friday, June 14
SONG OF THE DAY: Nous Savon Stout (kudzu'd)
One time a friend of mine stole a spaceship in high school, and had it hidden down a logging trail near where we lived. Getting in was really cool, because you realize you’re climbing into a spaceship, and also we were really high, plus had like two cases of Miller Genuine Draft with us, which is what we drank back then. But I remember the windshield being really hard to see out of, like it had a fucked up angle, and I guess whatever radar screens a normal spaceship uses to see ahead of itself was broken in this one, so we couldn’t really drive it in the daytime, because then somebody would’ve seen us, but we couldn’t really drive it at night either, unless we went super slow, because we couldn’t see shit. Luckily, there’s not a lot in the sky, but even then, a couple bowls too far into 1990s homegrown and more than a handful of empty MGD bottles clanking around on the ground, it wasn’t as fun as I would’ve expected. Plus we couldn’t figure out how to work the stereo, like in retrospect I think it had some sort of aux cord we haven’t gotten to yet, but back then we were just like, “How the fuck do we put a CD or tape into this thing?” I think the second time we went out, I took a little boombox with, but for whatever reason batteries die faster in the sky once you get outside the atmosphere. Shit never works out like you hope.
Thursday, June 13
SONG OF THE DAY: A&W
I listen to newer music, too, especially when I think it's love songs to root beer.
Wednesday, June 12
SONG OF THE DAY: Get Thy Bearings
Sometimes I dream about releasing bootleg 45s of things that absolutely should’ve been issued on 45 at some point but never were. I’ve got a cover version of this by The Sand Dollars on 45 that’s pretty great, but the OG is the OG. How did Donovan have a beat like this in 1968?
Tuesday, June 11
SONG OF THE DAY: I'm In The Mood
I used to have a knockin’ boots situationship with a woman who always dimmed the lights down low and played old blues music, like every time. It actually was nice and created quite the vibe, plus her bed was small, like an old school twin bed which is great because you gotta get serious, no room to escape and dilly dally. Because of this cellular memory in my physical body though (with serotonin exclamation marks), when I hear certain old blues music, it gets me all riled up. And of course it does, because just look at this song. That was sexy ass music, designed (by divine minds not actually purposefully designing too hard with the brain) to make one inclined to do just what we was doing while we was listening to it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)