I had the pleasure of seeing the band Joseph at the Lab PDX last night. It was this good, but about a zillion more times so. Holy shit these women can sing.

For as-of-yet-unknown reasons, I’m unable to access this (or any other sites I host) from my apartment. This is very troublesome.

Insolent, self-involved or obsessive as it may be, I’ve had this site since I was 16 and so its presence in my brain as a constant digital thought experiment is basically permanent. Without it to be able to interact with, I find myself abruptly at certain losses.

Hopefully this is soon dealt with.

( … this, though, meanwhile …)

© NBC, but fuck Jay Leno

Seminal performance. I’m addicted to pop music of late. Things to note:

  • I know nothing about Rihanna other than that Chris Brown beat the hell out of her once and that every last fucking thing about her in this video is completely on point. That little scowl she gives the camera before the second verse? Yow.
  • That guitar lick.
  • Little gravel in Jay’s voice makes this ten times better.
  • This is right after Kanye interrupted Taylor Swift at the VMAs, so he’s off his rocker and completely tolerable.
  • All black everything.

Yes yes yes yes yes. Though I’ve already heard the new record live (it’s a single, 45 minute piece titled “Behemoth”), the fucking production on this clip is stellar and I absolutely cannot wait to hear the rest.

Really, I have three days of the world / internet to catch up on and all I can do is sit and listen to this.

On Rotation

On Rotation

Regrets: Not holding on to the brown / orange / blue triple vinyl of this. One of the best records. Not sure where that point went.

Whoa.

Not one to usually endorse covers of Nirvana, but damn. A great thing about this is people who never read Kurt’s writings (or could understand the songs on the radio) will be able to understand his lyrics were some of the most profound social anachronisms that resound even more today.

Appropriate hymns for Sunday mornings.

Screaming some hard truth right here.

So don’t matter how much I say I like to preach with the Panthers
Or tell Georgia State “Marcus Garvey got all the answers”
Or try to celebrate February like it’s my B-Day
Or eat watermelon, chicken, and Kool-Aid on weekdays
Or jump high enough to get Michael Jordan endorsements
Or watch BET cause urban support is important
So why did I weep when Trayvon Martin was in the street?
When gang banging make me kill a nigga blacker than me?
Hypocrite!

They say history is written by the victors, but that isn’t necessarily true in the art world. The achievements of artists in their life do not always reflect their legacy; some for the better, some for the worse. I can only hope this remains true in this day and age, so that history can forget Damien Hirst and Kanye West as simply cultural phenomena of over- and under-conceptualized works in a market-based economy.

(Although, I will say that Kanye could really be up to something; everyone says man fuck the Grammy’s but when he actually interrupts them and causes a bit of a stir to pageantry, people flip the fuck out. It’d be a really interesting play if it was intentional in that vein.)

Whatever, though; people were freaking out that Iggy Azaelea may win a year after the Grammy’s displayed a completely blasphemous opinion on hip-hop? How about the fact this wasn’t even nominated.

Welcome to the work week. Kill the precedent.

Are you wishing on a star? Did you know your dreams are sold to people who dream only of gold? They’ll find a way to pull stars down. Stand there. Dance with a memory. The caption reads, “It’s all over now.” Do you feel alone in the secret? Are you standing there just weeping? Do you feel the light is gone? Is it hard to remain strong in the face of all you know, in a world that’s brought you low?