Whoa, Maybe I Should Start a Heady New Brooklyn Music Blahg Brah

conduct breast cancer screenings every year on your friends

Or maybe not. But with the amount of time I have been wasting spending listening to music lately — both live and, er, dead? — I thought I would share a couple of recent thoughts and finds. In recent posts I have talked about rappers with interesting voices and the fact that listening to late-50s era Hawaiian records on cold gray rainy days could theoretically make you happier and more productive, but I caught a show last week (does that phrase sound like a euphemism for getting a venereal disease?) that revitalized my love of live music, especially "catching a show" that doesn't cost a ridiculous amount of money to see (or cure).

When I lived in Athens, GA, there was always so much music to be seen, and covers/tickets were always pretty cheap, otherwise I wouldn't have gone because I was a broke college student whose monthly budget — and how I spent my time — was usually broken down as follows:

~ 35-55% finding "things" with names like "Hawaiian Sativa", "Princess", "Grape-le", "Outdoor Indo"

~ 25-35% eating, trying to eat, driving somewhere to eat, grilling on the front patio, buying food

~ whatever % is left was for drinking, girls, drinking with girls, reading, drawing, listening to music and school (and school was always last)

But you could go out on a random Tuesday, plop down a $5 cover and see a great performance from a band you'd never heard of before (this link also shows the beautiful Georgia Theatre before it burned down). I even saw Kings of Leon (when they were good, around 2004, which was coincidentally when they could barely play their instruments other than make a bunch of noise and howl) and My Morning Jacket play at the 40 Watt Club, a small standing room only venue that only fits about 300 people. The MMJ show was a "costume required" show they called the Under The Sea Prom — everyone was required to wear prom or "under the sea" attire and they threatened to deny entrance unless you conformed to the dress code. They wore pastel tuxes and rubber Elvis hair, played songs like "Dancin' In The Moonlight" and "Johnny B. Goode" and even elected a King and Queen for the night: it was a three-hour dance party and the most fun I've ever had at a concert.

Pre-show dance party at my brother's apartment, listening to The Rolling Stones' Beggar's Banquet, the best pre-show album of all time:

At the show, random blond stickin' her finger in my nose, probably because I was groping her all night.

lookin' for love in all the wrong places

All that being said, (probably unnecessarily) I went and saw Morning Teleportation at Brooklyn Bowl last Friday for $5, and it reminded me just how great SOME of the music here in Brooklyn can be: Just like Athens, there is a ton of flotsam, basically the result of the ratio of available time slots at bars, lazy club bookers and underemployed twenty-somethings wanting to have a band and skateboard.

This was one of my favorite songs of the night, because I think it best represents the band's rootsy, picking guitar playing that doesn't come across as folksy, but instead modern and splashy.



The whole performance is up on the band's YouTube channel and is worth watching if only to look for the guy wearing the neon green suit; I think the "hit song" that you may have heard is Expanding Anyway.

An upcoming show that isn't crazy expensive and worth checking out if you're in New York is my friend Kurt's band, Country Mice, at The Knitting Factory on Friday. If you don't like the song "Ghost" (streaming from the link above), I probably won't like you. It's a damn-near perfect rock song, just like Kurt's mustache is damn-near perfect.

Also, my token African friend Jasper's band, North Highlands, is fresh out tha studio and is playing later this month at the Mercury Ballroom. Go see them immediately (later this month). I will be in Ohio filming a documentary about Lionhead Rabbits, but you should go and dance and twirl and go to Nice Guy Eddie's afterward to eat cheap hot wings, drink shitty beer and play Naked Photo Hunt and just have an all-around classy night out on New York's hip and trendy Lower East Side. (That is the grossest sentence I have ever written.) Here's their amazing video that features Jasper's amazing van.



Finally, for a band that I have no ties to but has come onto my radar (which sounds vaguely dirty porno sexual if you change the spelling a little) is a band with a relatively awful name, Apache Dropout, but with a lo-fi anthemic sound that I'm diggin' on right now. I want to listen to them while dancing with girls dressed all in black with bleach-blond hair, drinking whiskey and cheap beer from cans and making out while waiting in line for the single bathroom with a broken lock. You can download the first side of their LP at the link above: Listen to "Sam Phillips Rising" over and over and support your bad habits and theirs by buying the album.

Love the cover art, courtesy of Bull City Records:

Also, I think my rabbit's tail is getting too long? Does anyone have any information about this? How long is too long for a bunny tail?

Oh, three more things then I promise I'm done. One: You should save up your allowance and get cultured and smart by seeing my dear friend Cat on Broadway in War Horse, which officially opens today! It had a huge run in London and it is Steven Spielberg's next film, which is slated to come out in December. Congrats to Cat who is the hardest working woman in show-biz that I know, and here's to a long, multi-season run! While you're in that area of town gettin' some culture, don't be fooled by thinking you'll take a break from being smart if you follow this sign:

It is NOT a midtown location for the Insane Clown Posse but instead a bunch of artsy photographs, if you're into that kinda thing, so don't be fooled.

Two, I want to once again issue a formal apology to my friend Stephanie for missing my call to be in Abel Ferrera's new film and get yelled at by Willem Dafoe. That was a mistake I'll never live down and I'm sorry.

Three, I am now going to start editing/programming my friend Matt's great website, Staccato, featuring the best micro-fiction available on the webz. What began as a literary mag in Athens is being reborn once again in Brooklyn and soon in paper form! But for now, check out the website where we will be publishing submitted stories twice weekly. Submit! Read!

Final non-sequitur, this disturbs me: What is corn up to? And what is Korn up to?

 

A Fruitful Use of My Time

I made this today. I don't know why. I rarely find memes funny, but somehow I stumbled upon a picture of a chayote squash or, as it's called in the South, a mirliton, and thought of how it looked like the face of a grumpy grandma with her dentures soaking in a glass on the nightstand.

Chayote squash are very delicious, I have had them pickled and also fried, which makes them taste very similar to fried green tomatoes. There is even a Mirliton Festival in the Bywater neighborhood of New Orleans every year, because people in New Orleans love frying things and hosting festivals.

While making this, I have been listening to some amazing old Hawaiian music, Leo Addeo & His Orchestra, Hawaii in Hi-Fi, that I found at that record store.

It's wonderfully calming and soothing, and although I can't find this album online, Stax-O-Wax has the follow-up album for download and it's great, too.

A rabbit is sitting on my feet right now.

7 Rappers With A High Probability of Teenage Teasing, plus How I've Become One of "Those" People

A few weeks ago I stumbled across an amazing vintage turntable at Housing Works and decided to buy it. I know what you're thinking: How did you not have one before now? Aren't you a part-time barista, freelance editor and Brooklyn resident? You write a blog. Two blogs, actually, and one is about Maury Povich. Don't they hand those things out at the Bedford L stop? I get it. Stop yelling.

(Oh, also: If you're unaware, Housing Works is a well-curated thrift store whose mission is to end homelessness and AIDS, global problems that need every bit of funding they can get. But ... and I'm sorry for saying it, but am I the only one who finds it odd that in doing so they've created an orgy of discount-priced designer clothes, modern furniture and whimsical art? This seems counterproductive to the cause. Throw in a nice martini list and a tapas menu and you've got a Chelsea nightclub. Or why not just get those cool clothes on some hobos? A briefly sobered-up wino wearing a Valentino suit is ready for his Wall Street interview, and who wouldn't prefer their local flasher to reveal not only his hook-shaped penis, but also show off that soothing tan-red-black-white plaid from inside his newly donated, gently used Burberry trench? I know this is going to count against me at the Pearly Gates, Angelic Saint Peter pausing briefly to leer at me over his reading glasses then saying, "Remember when you wrote that thing on your blog? The thing that insinuated stereotypical prejudices about certain types of people?" I'll say yes and *poof* I'll be in the 'other' place roasting like a marshmallow. It's just that I need to know if I'm the only one who notices real-life irony.)

But back to the story for the zero of you who haven't quit reading: So although I have probably the most ostentatious stereo system to ever grace a 10'x10' shared college dorm room (at high volume, it could be heard 4 floors up), I didn't have a turntable until recently. As my preference in pant legs gets narrower and I patiently await my FleaBay'd leather jacket so I can finally emerge from my fat winter cocoon blob into a spring-weather-loving alcoholic unemployed stereotype, I have been repairing and restoring this turntable. I disassembled it, cleaned everything, put it back together and it works like new. Pat on the back for me. One of the biggest draws of my new hobby/obsession is that I live only a few blocks from the largest selection of used records in NYC, a junk store with — no joke — at least 100,000 records; I think it's way more than that but I'm being conservative. The guy who owns the place makes up arbitrary prices and I've never paid more than $2 for a single item in the shop. It's great, because I don't think he cares if he makes money, he just likes people coming into his store. He sold me this oil painting, in its frame, for two bucks.

it's like a stained glass window on acid

I always find a few great records rooting through milk crates full of vinyl. Yesterday, however, I stumbled upon a treasure from my early high school days:

luv 2 luv my nostalgia for this album

This album was the jam back in the day, and I believe "Luv 2 Luv Ya (Remix)" went on the very first burned CD I ever made. (In 9th grade, my buddy and I went halves on a CD burner because they were really expensive and we were really cheap, which is why we were buying a CD burner in the first place — to download music illegally from Audiogalaxy or Napster and burn CDs.)

Listening to this for the first time in probably 12 years got me to thinking about being a freshman in high school. I have a, let's say, "distinct" sounding voice: deep, slightly nasal and with a twinge of Southern accent. I didn't know I had a distinct voice until I was about 15 years old and guys on my baseball team did an impression of me, for me. When I was still writing for magazines, I showed up to an interview with a famous hip-hop/pop/R&B producer who, surprised to see Saltine cracker me waiting in the studio lobby, said, "When I talked to you on the phone, I thought you was a brotha." So I apparently sound a little bit black on the phone. I guess. But this is where I was going before I started asking questions bound to send me to hell: Was Magoo ever teased for his voice? Were any other rappers? I mean, Magoo's real name is "Melvin Barcliff", which sounds like the kind of name that could get you beat up while waiting for the school bus.

So here's my list of "7 Rappers With A High Probability of Childhood Teasing" who, in no particular order, also happen to be some of my favorites:

MAGOO: Timbaland & Magoo, "Luv 2 Luv Ya (Remix)"

CEE-LO GREEN: Cee-Lo is just more fun when he's rapping, not singing. His verse in Goodie Mob's "They Don't Dance No Mo" is the part I look forward to every time I hear the song.

CHALI 2NA: The deep-voiced dude from Jurassic 5, my guess is that kids would've been holding him down at recess and making him recite James Earl Jones quotes. He's the first one to rap on "Thin Line" and his voice juxtaposes nicely with the sweet-sounding hook.

ODB: A man who needs no introduction and a voice that cracks like a teenage boy going through puberty and eating animal crackers at the same time. ODB was great.

BIZZY BONE: I know for a fact that Bizzy gets made fun of for not only his voice but also his effeminate mannerisms (see comments here), but he is/was part of Bone Thugs and this song makes him manly.

KRAZIE BONE: Can't talk about Bizzy without his balancing act Krazie Bone, who also has a deep voice with a little country twang like me.

EAZY-E: Last but not least, Eazy has a high-pitched almost Urkle voice. I actually had to stop listening to Eazy's sex-laden lyrics for awhile — I had been listening to him a lot and thinking about sex constantly then had one of those "scares"... luckily she got her period and now I can listen to him again.

Maybe the world is ready for another white rapper: I'm calling myself Roscoe Listerine.