RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Friday, May 19

[HH3os] The Summertime Barter, Don’t Go Outside trio

(1st round match-up 23 of 27)

It is Friday, you ain’t got no job, you ain’t got nothing to do. Get high on whatever you get high off of. Personally, I self-medicate with the out-of-doors, generally seated somewhere shaded on some sort of perhaps not-made-for-sitting contraption, like milk crate or steps, and watch regular shit. Watching regular shit is a great activity, and fairly abnormal now. No phone to look at (I hate carrying my fucking phone, I wish phones would fuck off tbh), no devices that connect to TOTAL INFORMATION AWARENESS state, just sitting there, watching regular shit. Loud ass truck gonna drive by, and I’m gonna do the two finger wave like “what’s up” but also shake my damn head at stupid ass young dudes making big noise in their jacked trucks to compensate for feeling like their dick ain’t as big as the redtubes. Old fucker crawling by in the busted ass Caddy, but he’s still got them elbows on it. Blue heron flies over (again), back off to the lazy small river on other side of farm at end of road where they’re doing discrete sketchy trans-atlantic pipeline repair work. Just sitting there, loungin’ like a motherfucker. That’s how I get high, by not doing fuckin’ shit.

Earl Sweatshirt – I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside
(released March 23, 2015; #25 on 2015 Pitchfork Albums of the Year list)
Damn Earl, why you got to hate on the outside with your album title. I was just fuckin’ talking about how great it is to just sit there and not worry about shit but just observe regular ass shit going by. Sounds like Earl Sweatshirt might need a digital timeout. Maybe his mom needs to send his little angsty ass back to Samoa.
Earl is the only Odd Future shit I really still fuck with. I didn’t even like that last Frank Ocean joint too much (though I’ve yet to scope the OG Ron C version, which generally changes my mind). Earl stays interesting enough to me, and I assume that’s because his dad is a Nigerian poet. The Nigerian part is secondary really, but deep genetic exposure to poesy inclinations is a good thing for any artist. Him being Nigerian can’t hurt though, but I do wonder if he’s Igbo or Yoruban? Nigeria is some colonial manifested bullshit, not real people, although it’s been enforced so long now it is real people. That’s the fucked up thing about fake shit – if you force everybody to agree that it’s real for long enough, it actually becomes real.
On our shared itunes, Earl Sweatshirt album this one here is has high play counts beginning to end, because my daughter plays the fuck out of it. Both her front windows are fucked up and wedged up with paint sticks right now, and I just got the clips to fix her driver side window (passenger side one needs a whole regulator part, which I kinda don’t feel like fucking with) but I’m not in the mood to go outside and fix it. It’s hot as fuck outside, and when I go out there I’m just gonna sit, like I said in the intro blurb. Fuck work. But I appreciate the fact my 18-year-old kid appreciates Earl Sweatshirt. I can’t understand everything young dumbasses love, nor should I, because my brain has not developed under the watchful eye of Total Information Awareness. But we meet in agreement on young Earl. FOUR STARS (****)!

Young Thug – Barter 6
(released April 17, 2015; #14 on 2015 Pitchfork Albums of the Year list)
I don’t get Young Thug. Feels like his music is alien conditioning of some sort, but really it’s not even alien conditioning by pharmaceutical company conditioning trying to shift me off into Ambien consciousness where I briefly spike my fogged daze with an Adderall. Not only do I not get it, but it makes me afraid that human beings no longer have feeling. TWO STARS (**).

Vince Staples – Summertime ‘06
(released June 30, 2015; #4 on 2015 Pitchfork Albums of the Year list)
I consider Vince Staples one of the great young promising men of hip hop, and look forward to his ascent to artistic greatness, regardless of whether that is supported by fickle consumerism or not. The drawback to me thinking this way is I expect everything he drops to be fucking fire classic. This album, if it was anybody but Vince Staples, I’d probably fawn all over, and talk it up like mad. But because it’s Vince Staples, my expectations are so high due to his potential that it felt like a letdown believe it or not. This is why expectations are stupid – they completely fuck up your enjoyment of otherwise decent days. FOUR STARS (****) if I am being real with myself.


THE WINNER: Sweatshirt and Staples tied up on the star rating (I’m an avid star rater), and it’s nice to have tie between two such fine young rappers, neither of whom has had a Drake feature yet (that I’m aware of) nor is likely to be sucked up into the Kanye Machine. Much love to both of these young men. In choosing which moved forward, considering my stupid expert expectations from both, I went with Earl, because he failed my unfair expectations less than Vince. This is entirely unfair, I am aware of that, but fuck man this is all just opinions on consumer arts inside the epic fog machine that is the internet. None of it fucking matters. Now I’m going outside to wait for a Cadillac to drive by.

No comments: