Thursday, March 19, 2009

simon says




This week has been busy. Not because I'm one of the masses getting collectively wasted in Austin, but because I have socialised beyond the point of no return. I think I have used up the funds at my bank of social skills and have resorted to having the most mundane (on my part) of conversations with people about the weather, politics and various forms of social sciences. So if I've seen you this week and been a little out of it, sincere apologies. I'll be awake and in touch again soon I think.

I recently came to a fairly startling conclusion. On the hip hop/ hip pop revivalist tangent I've been floating on recently I began to notice the prevalence of vulgar subjects and fairly nasty lyrics in some of my favourite songs. Nice songs in hop hop piss me off. Ballads are for the phenomenally lame. The songs I love in this genre start something, incite movement (be that it may, just head nodding), and really, it's not always good. For instance, Method Man's remix of Pharoache Monch's 'Simon Says', contains the lyrics "Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor/Oww! Fellas pull ya cock out" and "I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her/I leave a nigga hanging like ya moms muffler/Snuff her/ Then my boys follow up". Hilarious and more than a tad gross right? This is nothing new. The main focus of the song is a line based upon the sensationalism of profanity (yelling "Get the fuck up!") and telling girls to rub their breasts in public ("Fuck it! Girls, I said rub on your titties/ Fuck it! I said rub on your titties!"), of which the appeal escapes me. 
Another of my favourite hip hop songs is "Pass the Courvoisier II" by Busta Rhymes, an artist who my dad introduced me to at age eleven. You'd think being exposed so young to music so lyrically gross would have some sort of profound effect on kids like me, but while I would not mind a life in which I could bathe in jewels and be surrounded by a posse of large bottomed women and amply muscly men feeding me grapes, caviar and champagne, I have somehow come out the other end a mild mannered normal young adult. Who only occasionally dabbles in decadence. Despite being a fairly educated individual I continue to endorse and sing along happily to music made by the very misogynists aforementioned and their contemporaries. Why? As I can't help but want to nod my head in that awkward "street" manner that I learnt from watching Dangerous Minds back when I was a kid. The lyrics become like script, albeit an amusing one, and I'm character acting for three minutes. In this I realise, my mind has surrendered and on the most basic level I've engaged with a piece of music, and just music. With this instinct I rarely approach indie or rock music, as I enjoy it in a different way. So today I thought I'd try something new, here are some indie rock and pop bands, acts and individuals who I've tried to gauge with my "hip hop ear". To see who indeed might make your head bob up and down. Let's go...

Well after a few scarring experiences with electro proper it's safe to say I will never love the genre. However if there ever was a need to (I don't really see why there would) go to anything vaguely resembling an electro night once more I guess I'd want to hear the mild and childlike blip pop of Old Folks Home. I actually listened to them when I came home from a night out not too long ago and had the most messed up dream of a choir of children wearing white gowns playing tag in slow motion on a rainbow. It was pretty spacey and pretty scary. Electro clearly freaks me out.

Say Hi claims that he sounds like "the moment just before the orgasm", which I translate to mean either you'll find him hilarious or euphoric. Either way, it's a pretty corny description. Going back to the theme of the post, I'm not too keen on the way his voice sounds on the recordings, I do however really encourage the listening of his Bazan-esque, sort of Jimmy Eat World-ish spiderwebby songs musically. They're very delicate, as in if a song could be diaphanous, this is the perfect example. I've heard live he's quite powerful, so if he ever makes it across to British shores I'd be sure to check him out.

Final Flash remind of the National in places, Band of Horses in others. I'm a little in love with their floaty, calm alt-pop. They come from Montreal and deliver songs of grace, lightness and have the basis from which to morph into a really powerful force in their chosen genre. They have an album coming out this year and I'm hot with anticipation already. They will soundtrack many of my walks about towns and places for months to come, and I really hope Austin treats them well this week. I believe in big things coming their way.

The Break Mission might be compared to Bon Iver by some. I think they're way better. Earnest, hushed and intense, I find them to be reminiscent of early Shins and, once again Band of Horses. The songs seem to shimmer in a hypothetical musical light. Hardly one for emotional outpouring, I have to say I do feel a certain warmth when listening to them, the kind I haven't felt for a band in a long, long while.

Gigantic Hand are categorised as Americana, a genre I associate only with Springsteen, so I find it quite hard to compare them to anyone. The songs are quite hollow, but not in a bad way. They are easy and difficult in an instance, the kind of band I wish played in bars to provide pleasant ambiance to soundtrack dear moments with friends. However, at the same time not acting as a distraction. They have a long way to go, but march on in the right direction.

Dog Day first attracted me because I adore their cover art. It evokes different eras engaging you with gorgeous graphics. Providing a fusion of that late 80's shoegaze haze and early 90's pavement denim jacket-floral dress indie, the result is charmingly engaging. As I listen I begin to ache for American Summers, the skipping of continents, and excites me for the approaching Summer months of travel and experience- gardens, beaches, parks and dusty roads in hot cities.

Finally, you likely don't need me to tell you but Spring's finally here, and this calls for nothing more than a digging out of some Illmatic, and some Sublime. I'm going to go put on the Whackness and feel like it's 1994...(and act like I don't recall I was only seven back then, and not in fact old enough to appreciate the golden age of hip hop...)


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