Minnie Riperton, Perfect Angel (Epic, 1974)

Perfect Angel Fuck Goodell 1264

“You got to give the peeeopllllllle/give the peoplllllllle what they wannnnnnnt” – my buddy Jalen, channeling the O’Jays.

I’m not referring to the truth, the truth and no more lies, freedom, justice, and equality, though – in this case, the people have asked me again and again to do the easy, classic Perfect Angel cover, so here I go. You really do got to give the people, give the people what they want.

I chose this cover during the last 72 hours – coincidentally, the same period in which I was reminded that the National Football League does not give a single fuck about women, the violence done to women’s bodies, or the behavior of its employees – unless that behavior involves important shit like getting caught with weed or free tattoos in college.

I’m an NFL superdork with 2 Fantasy teams & a picture of 6-year-old me with Howie Long on my fridge, but I’m also a woman superdork and a person with a conscience, and the NFL is just such a terrible and gross organization that I don’t know how to cope during moments like this. The cognitive dissonance is real, people. Luckily, I’ve found some brief comfort in ice cream, overalls, and the soothing production work of Stevland Morris. And since I’m angry with the cartoonishly evil Roger Goodell but I can’t boycott NFL sponsors I never supported in the first place (Frito-Lay, GM, Anheuser-Busch, Gatorade), I believe the best way to deal with my disgust and sadness is to inform you that the NFL’s contact number is (212) 450-2000. Ask for Mr. Goodell, like I did. They won’t put you through to him, but you’ll at least reach the comment line where you can tell Rog you’re furious. I did, and it makes me feel a little better.

(I’ll probably do this same post all over again when Goodell makes a slap-on-the-wrist ruling about Greg Hardy – remember, the NFL doesn’t give a fuck about women – but until then: ice cream cones and Stevie Wonder!)

Now stop emailing me about this one, guys. xo.

 

 

Can You Dig It? The Music and Politics of Black Action Films 1968-75 (Soul Jazz, 2009)

Comp Can You Dig It 1264“Not half, not some, but ALL my cash. Because if she don’t, I’ma put my foot

dead in her ass.”

 

 

 

 

Murs and 9th Wonder, The Final Adventure (Jamla, 2012)

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My adorable niece and I hold dual citizenship in California and the Raider Nation.

 

 

Houston Person, Harmony (Mercury, 1977)

Houston Person Harmony 1264

I had a long, annoying inner debate with myself about whether or not to buy this Lakers #88 bodysuit. There was never a #88 on the Lakers, you see, and I didn’t want to be called out by sports bros in the comments section. (The only group more insufferable than vinyl bros is sports bros. I am a member of both of these communities, so it’s OK for me to say this.)

Anyway, I decided that 88 is like 2 Kobes, right? 2 pre-2007 Kobes, right? RIGHT. The issue has been successfully resolved. Now let’s all band together and form a committee to get rid of the idiot son left in charge when the king died. We can have the first meeting at my place. I’ll provide the coffee and donuts and the repeat playings of “I No Get Eye for Back.”)

Yeah y’all c’mon

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HERE IT IS, BAM/AND YOU SAY GODDAMN/GOT 10K FOLLOWERS TODAY ON INSTAGRAM.

#SoBlessed #IfYouCanDreamItYouCanAchieveIt #OnlyGodCanJudgeMe

I pray that none of you dummies find out that this site is actually run by a vinyl bro with a slightly underweight girlfriend (cc: @sexistdudesofinstagram, @idiotsworldwide). Until then, please continue being shockingly kind in my comments sections and sending me cover suggestions. (But stop it with that fucking Herb Alpert record, for the love of God.)

 

Kool & the Gang, Funky Stuff/Jungle Boogie (De-Lite, 1977)

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“Everyone kind of had a nickname. So I tried to fit in, and I decided to come up with a nickname, and I came up with Kool. There was another guy in the neighborhood who was named ‘Cool’ also, but he spelled his with a C. So I just changed that and spelled it with a K.”

Big big shout to the comically large egos of men who bestow nicknames upon THEMSELVES, bands with the bass player as the frontman, musicians who do songs about themselves (Kool & the Gang, “Method Man,” “Bo Diddley,” “Black Sabbath,” “Minor Threat,” etc. etc.), and albums that give me an opportunity to bust out the zebra skin rug AND my dad’s headphones from the Carter administration. People, this record satisfies me in so many ways.

 

 

Bye bye, hoops

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Good fucking riddance: Joey Crawford, Pitbull, the word “framily,” Toyota commercials that have managed to make me hate the Muppets (!), Mark Jackson and JVG’s cornball love affair, Dwight Howard’s big dumb face, Klay Thompson’s big dumb face, having to type “Klay” spelled that way, amateur psychoanalysis of Roy Hibbert, people defending poor Don Sterling (LOLOLLLLLL), Deron Williams’ disturbing hair, the nickname “the Servant,” and LeBron Raymone James. NOW LET’S GO TO WORK, KHALIL MACK.

 

De La Soul is Dead (Tommy Boy, 1991)

de la 1264

SNUGGLE TIGHT AND HANG LOOSE, BOYS. It’s time to groove to a De La Slow move on WRMS!

Teddy Pendergrass, It’s Time for Love (Philadelphia International, 1981)

teddy p it's time 1264Before Jay-Z did it, Diamond Dallas Page did it. And before both of them, Teddy P did it – but instead of throwing his hands toward the heavens to seduce a bunch of teenage boys in the crowd, he laid back, kinda fashioned his hands into a sexy diamond made of flesh, and waited for his woman to come over like an elegant gentleman. Teddy doesn’t need to make a big show about his jewels, you guys.

Teddy doesn’t need to wear a watch, neither, because no matter when you look at it, the clock always says IT’S TIME FOR LOVE.