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.

SONG OF THE DAY: Ain't No Big Thing

3-day weekend, if you recognize calendars, or time, or recognize both and are trapped in the status quo schedule of life events. Gonna play shit like this all weekend long, sitting on a milk crate in the abandoned factory of the mind. I wish you all well. I hope you are not wrongly perceived.

SONG OF THE DAY: Don't Make Me Creep

I’ve been cheating on the internet with real life lately, as I had the week off and was wandering. Today was back to work, which interestingly enough means I am once again bombarded with things I don’t need to know about, and also faced with the existence of people who seem to be more important or successful than me, and I don’t know why. The resentment machine is cranked back up, by design. Digital world is meant to demean us. Creep away from it whenever you can.

SONG OF THE DAY: Scorpio

Zodiac sign raps outlasted The Genius.

SONG OF THE DAY: Pico

Had conjured audio images of horseshoe stobs clanging behind the neighbor’s trailer, which could apply to the house I live in now or the house I mostly grew up in as a kid. That clang is such a deep and satisfying sound – like an old-time upright bassline to play along to a pentatonic wind chime on our imaginary collective grandma’s back porch. I’ve had a couple sets of horseshoes sitting in a pile in the shed out front (the one painted with a purple Papa Smurf signifying the power of lounge), but I ain’t even set them up yet. I’m not a MAGA nostalgia for white 1950s type, nor a hipster bougie vintage fetishist, but I gotta lot of thoughts about cornhole and the decline of American potential. (Of course cornhole was invented in Ohio – the stank anus of America.) But rather than expound a thousand words about how cornhole shows how an infantilized populace can’t be trusted throwing hard chunks of metal around for leisure, I should probably go outside and set up the horseshoe pits. Even if I ain’t got nobody to throw with, I got four pairs of shoes, spray painted purple and orange and lime green and light blue, and I can just have best of 69 games with myself pitting the colors against each other until I determine which ones got the best feel for me. That way by the time I got folks coming over to play, I’ll be dialed the fuck in, and know if I’m throwing partners with purple shoes, to pick the far pit to come down with, or if it’s lime green, go closer to the house to throw up, even though up and down is always more a metaphysical thing than actual slant to the land. Anyways, I’m thankful my mind is fucked up and imagined horseshoe clangs. I was gonna thank my brain but I know my heart had a hand in it too, and when heart and brain get together, that’s where mind is anyways. Anybody who thinks mind is entirely in the brain is out of their mind.

SONG OF THE DAY: Can't Fool Me Twice

This group apparently only has two 45s to their whole discography, and I got ‘em both, and love ‘em both. Also hard to argue with the use of “Thee” in a band. Still trying to learn the banjo, but I might switch to clawhammer, so that I can sing too (actually, “sang” because my present tense will be past). Gonna form a band called Thee Fool Cards.

SONG OF THE DAY: She's Looking Like a Hobo (kudzu'd)

I love hobo songs, always have, so I’m trying to learn this old school beat on the banjo, because it’s a banger. Plus, practice the scratches with two part harmony, so one of us is doing the "ohh.... ohhh...." but a second voice chimes in on the "looking like a hobo" to give it real flair.

SONG OF THE DAY: La Chankla (kudzu'd)

Dancing on the dirt in fresh white Jordans, keeping them crisp in spite of a grimy ass world that wants to sully all that touches it. Flat footing on a hunk of plywood sitting by the train tracks, tapping a beat of “fuck this”ness that matches my heart’s natural rhythm. When I finally get banished to hell, I hope they got cumbia rebajada on the shuttle bus.