SONG OF THE DAY: Fairchild

Willie West’s “Fairchild” is so damn funky, a song written by the Southern Gothicc Futurist wizard Allen Toussaint, which when combined with West’s impeccably crossroads-ish smooth vocal stylings, it was an immense force, albeit not one which reached the popular masses after Josie Records released it in 1970. In fact, the hauntingly funky beat of “Fairchild” was unfairly categorized as a threat to social stability, and used to pass draconian anti-funk laws throughout the South, from eastern Texas through northern Florida, and all the way up into Central Appalachia, as far north as Kentucky and West Virginia. The government was afraid of mystical funk. Most of this was repealed and came undone, culminating in another Toussaint song channeling of the Universal Mystics, “Southern Nights”, being re-recorded in a far less metaphysical manner, and popularizing a more vanilla funk behind Glen Campbell’s cover. Once they’d added 3 tablespoons of vanilla to the raw funk, it lost enough of its drunken universal magnetics that we could all have it again. But if you put the breakbeat of “Fairchild” on loop (as much of it as you wanna consider a breakbeat) during a new moon, and light colored candles to the four directions (purple to the south, orange to the north, green to the west, and a golden one to the east), that raw funk is opened up even more than a normal ear hears. This is a version of high fidelity involving deep metaphysics, which Toussaint was a clairvoyant for, though our consumer society makes you think “high fidelity” requires expensive stereo equipment. Willie West, too, was a clairvoyant for these deep metaphysics, which is how he recorded “The Devil Gives Me Everything (Except What I Need)” later in life.

SONG OF THE DAY: Wild Side of Life

Any time I hear a wannabe wanton women refer to her own big ass as a “dump truck” instead of a “caboose”, it makes me sad about all we’ve lost.

SONG OF THE DAY: If You Believe Your God Is Dead

This is a good jam for these trying ass times.

SONG OF THE DAY: Hold It Now, Hit It (kudzu'd)

Folks at work were thanking their God for it being a Friday, and talking about how it was the “week end” excitedly. But I don’t give calendars that type of authority over my life. They really want us all to stuff our entire existence into boxes, both physically and mentally. Ain’t nothing about me fit that shape though, and most of my life I’ve struggled with this, thinking something is wrong with me. But ain’t nothing wrong with me…this is how I’m supposed to be. I don’t know what God they believe in but ain’t no God that shares my heart and soul that would want all these damned boxes trapping every little piece of our lives. And it just gets worse, as human descent into spiritlessness continues. Used to be we had little travel boxes of roadside motels we wandered off to briefly to escape our regular box and see a little bit of the world. But now we hunker down in our regular boxes, and got it stuffed with so much shit that we can’t even keep it all inside the regular box, but are too psychically attached to the material clutter that we mistake as identity as a being, that the old travel boxes have been converted into storage boxes, so we can put all the stuff we don’t want but don’t wanna not have into storage boxes, so that stuff can see a different part of the world. We are a demented bunch, aren’t we?

SONG OF THE DAY: It Was Me (Car Chase)

Not a lot of people vibe out to Weather Report, but pretty much any group out here that says Weather Report was an inspiration is making good shit. I just ordered some percussion instruments myself, because Prolo is playing a show next week, and why not decide a week in advance that I should totally be able to play agogo bells while I’m delivering rhymes. This is how my mind works, even as I get older.

SONG OF THE DAY: Hard Times (kudzu'd)

Last night was the Vice-Presidential debate, and I suffered through about 15 minutes before I decided it was better to go to bed and read Eduardo Galeano. The pain of watching a pair of bland middle manager types try to appear as inoffensive and competent as possible, without any passion or flair, and with heavy heapings of performative realness… it was pretty frustrating. I went to bed thinking maybe it’s time we give up on American politics ever being reformed, or slowly moved anywhere. These folks are so entirely clueless, but cosplaying as authentic souls in a cesspool of elite narcissism and unaware corruption, that there’s no redeeming it. And I don’t even mean that as a revolutionary statement, because whoever succeeds in revolution seemingly just perpetuates the same damn hierarchies eventually. I know so many folks struggling right now, not just economically but psychically, and there’s no acknowledgement by the political infrastructure that these things are tied to far deeper problems with our society than which jackass is at the top of the pyramid scam. As the devastation in Southern Appalachia made wretchedly clear, most of us actual human beings who happened to be born inside these arbitrary borders are secondary to higher interests that are promised to trickle down to us as benefits, but instead rain down with the opposite effect and flood our existence with struggle and misery. These folks position themselves as binaries to each other, when in fact both of them sit on the other end of a spectrum of privilege from the majority of us. And I just can’t give even a tiny fuck about which of the two spoiled brat children gets to win the fight about who jumps on the far end of a see-saw to violently smash the rest of us standing at the other end unsuspectingly on the jaw, and expecting us to hold back our frustrated screams as we bite through our tongue again (and again… and again). These folks don't know actual Hard Times.

SONG OF THE DAY: Jbiti (Bosq Remix) (kudzu'd)

The world’s feeling a bit fucked up, so I guess you gotta dance like a fool along the thicc Earth’s edge, and know that the other side of everything being fucked up is a whole lot of sobering thoughts that give assholes a whole lot less space to run wild. That’s what I hope, even though folks are crazy drunk off their propaganda right now. But when the power source dies, reality sets in. They Live taught us that.

SONG OF THE DAY: Hey Leroy, Your Mama's Callin' (kudzu'd)

Jimmy Castor’s first two singles released in his long recording career were this song, and “Troglodyte (Cave Man)”. I’m not sure there’s a lot of people who could top that as their first two single releases. And though his commercial success was limited (although this clip is from him performing on American Bandstand), Castor is a huge legend and source of material for hip hop. One of my dork back-to-backs I love to spin when playing slowed 45s live is this with “Hold It Now, Hit It” by the Beastie Boys, because they mimic the talking parts of “Hey Leroy” and the two fit together wonderfully beatwise. I miss DJing to be honest. I gotta try and get some gigs.

SONG OF THE DAY: I Wanna Sex You Up (kudzu'd)

C’mon girl, let’s take my time machine back to the jacuzzi room in the 1996 Comfort Inn just outside Myrtle Beach. Bring the coconut oil, and that lime green silky outfit I love.

SONG OF THE DAY: The Clown

This was on one of those Essential Soul albums I bought that came with digital download, and I played this fuckin’ song so damn much, I had to go out and find the actual 45. This is a fuckin’ jam and a half, and matches up sweetly with Los Yesterdays’ “Nobody’s Clown” and James & Bobby Purify’s “I’m Your Puppet”. I need to be working on more mixtapes, because sometimes I realize this type of shit is such a vibe, but it’s one I’m not sharing with the world and it gets overlooked. It's a lot of really wonderful vibes on this Earth that easily get overlooked. We got such a biodiversity of cultures, and yet all we ever see are the same ol' bouquets of basic cultural intelligences.

SONG OF THE DAY: Cheatin' in the Next Room

If you’ve ever wondered how there’s a ZZ Top and a Z.Z. Hill, it’s because Billy Gibbons – always a purveyor of the rawest things in life – was a huge fan of Z.Z. Hill and somehow combined B.B. King and Z.Z. Hill into ZZ Top. Billy Gibbons won’t wrong. This track was towards his later years before he died, when he was on Malaco Records, doing them down home ‘80s blues that were entirely their own vibe. I’ve actually been on a Malaco Records kick the past few months, and any time I’m digging in some 45 crates, if I run across a Malaco single, I snatch it up, regardless. Folks often only think of blues in the old ways, but damn, it’s some good ass stuff out here that’s been made since the old blues days, and nothing captures a certain life aesthetic quite like blues music. Of course, there’s also some horribly bland ass sterilized blues that’s been made the past 40 years, too, by dudes who listen to talk radio all day at work, but dick around on an expensive guitar as a hobby. That ain’t the blues, that’s propaganda. Propaganda never has the same soul as real shit (whether you’re talking about music, politics, or anything). On the old "Down Home Blues" collections commercials that run constantly on local TV, this was one of the songs that got the highlight title lyrical line. I could probably recite that whole commercial, line for line, because they played it on Channel 13 every damn day while I was trying to watch Scooby Doo after school.

SONG OF THE DAY: Cumbia de los Ovnis

I hope that racist America’s love of taco trucks eventually allows cumbia music to be more prominent as well. I want local cumbia acts far out of traditional Mazatlan. It’s impossible not to think about what an idiot J.D. Vance is when discussing such a subject, but if the U.S. Senate was made up of more cumbia musicians than venture capitalists, we’d have a much better legislature. Of course, cumbia musicians know better than to be politicians. Only assholes wanna make rules over everybody.

SONG OF THE DAY: Empty Talk

“Empty talk, an empty mind… I’m supposed to be a wise man but I’m wasting my time,” is about as hard as the first couple lines from a song could possibly go. Can’t remember how this song showed up on my ancient iphone doubling as an ipod assorted playlists, but this one was in super high rotation for a while, and I had to get the 45 as soon as I found one not too godawful pricey. This is a goddamn jam right here.

SONG OF THE DAY: Easy Evil (kudzu'd)

“Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m done,” tattooed in cursive script on my ribcage sideways like it’s a Bible verse, which it kinda is I guess.

SONG OF THE DAY: Didn't I (kudzu'd)

Just another mark in the declining American Empire, far more lolligagged than locked in, stumbling my way with everybody else towards the thicc Earth's edge. Trying to escape the house full of clutter by finding things that ain't already in it to stuff in on top of what is there, instead of figuring out how to heal the hollow void in my heart. My metaphysical muscles make first a lot of the time, but thus far, that ain't filled the hole, and in fact has created more from me punching the drywall of my soul in times of intense frustration. I should disappear into the woods more often, and sit by the white birches and let them stare into me like an MRI, and give me a proper diagnosis. But I chase distractions instead, because that's how I been learned to do.

SONG OF THE DAY: Honey Coated

Mostly remained anti-LP during my recent year foray back into wasting too much damn money on records. But the one exception to this rule is pretty much any time Numero Group does an Eccentric Soul bundle offer, I get that shit when I’m flush. I know we’re supposed to unrealistically revere our records nowadays, but I’m tempted to not only bring back those stacking turntables, but engineer/tinker with it myself so that I can just stack about 20 LPs on that bama and let it play all day long without worry, wearing the damn albums out, which is better than acting like their precious grails. And good lord help anybody out here actually thinking they’re record collection has legitimate value that can be liquidated in an easy manner. That shit is 1970s Bitcoin.

SONG OF THE DAY: Southern Girl

Frankie Beverly died last week, and I don’t think there’s anything was more pure Black cookout music than him and Maze. It didn’t offend nobody, set a lovely mood, and there was an extensive catalog that went on for hours. I was texting a friend about it and called it yacht rock for Black folks. The next day she sent me a post that Questlove did saying the exact same thing. Maze was smooth as hell. Anyways, this is probably my favorite Maze track, at least today. It changes regularly, depending on the vibes, but I tend to come back to “Southern Girl” pretty often.

SONG OF THE DAY: What's His Name

A lot of my favorite songs from throughout music history have a sound to them reminiscent of the rhythmic combination of cicadas/peepers/frogs/insects/forest creatures making noise in the woods. It’s such a primordial rhythm, and such a symphony I got no idea what actual creatures it is making that type of sound, because likely it ain’t a single animal but a whole slew of them working in tandem. I feel bummed when dogs don’t like me, because it suggests to me I’m not doing something in life. But also when that forest symphony is popping off, and I’m moving through it (or by it, which is far more common for our unnatural human asses), whenever it stops suddenly instead of the normal build up then dramatic stop before starting back up slowly, I feel like I fucked up the rhythm. Then again, that’s a sign of needing to think more naturally, and learn how to walk within that rhythm, so that I blend it and be a part of it instead of disrupting it until it’s sure it’s not in immediate danger. And that’s also fucked up to think that I might be a danger to a natural rhythm, but that’s the reality of how we’ve separated ourselves with our perceived dominion over the Earth, whether we do it out of organized religion or stainless steel sciences. Gotta do better, by not doing so damned much.

SONG OF THE DAY: Marihuana

My brain is no longer equipped to handle smoking, even regular ass weed, much less vaporwaving that space weed y’all got nowadays. That shit just turns my mind inside out to where I’m wanting to be in a fetal position but too self conscious to actually do it, because there’s a spirt in the house called Square Man, and he might see me. I don’t need house spirits judging my old ass, and yelling at the house spirits, “You got no idea what weed is like these days!” won’t help either. Just alarms the neighbors (more than they already are, living next to me).

SONG OF THE DAY: As I Wander, I Will Ponder

It ain’t really a wasteland so much as a wasteful land, but I’m wandering it, with an 8 of Clubs on my mind, thinking about the cycles of building and destroying and how what’s old is seen as inferior because we’ve been enculturated to expect virginal consumer experiences, which ain’t realistic at all. And then instead of the better aspects of old ways being cultivated, we fetishize old consumer items, the “vintage” craze, which is a liberal bourgeoisie version of MAGA, with a hefty price tag, even though all these rare finds came from an abandoned life. We don’t need to save garments; we need to save our ways, performatively fermenting 7 flavors of spirituality without once tossing salt to protect against demons, so nothing that feels real to our heart and gut ever actually proliferates. Even if the smoke is everywhere, and it feels as if our collective trajectory is unbearable, you still gotta ponder a future, where hearts like yours can still beat along, hoping to make a peaceful pace.

SONG OF THE DAY: Play It Loud

I like to pretend I’ve stolen spaceships to drive through the upper ionosphere that I bump modern era boogie funk to, but I’m lying. Usually I’m just sitting on my screened in rural back porch in Polo boxer briefs, sipping on coffee, and wondering if I need to put anything more on when I go out front to feed peanuts to the crows or not.

SONG OF THE DAY: Rolling Love Part 2

As Neil always said, "Let love enter your heart."

SONG OF THE DAY: The Model

Kraftwerk cumbia. And yes, this exists on 45, so I got it and have ripped it slow as well. Like all super solid things, it works at all speeds in all dimensions on most all planet surfaces. That's the pure power of lounge.

SONG OF THE DAY: Funky Honky

This song does not exist on 45, sadly. We can’t have nothing nice.