My favorite Houston person is Brad Jordan.
Houston Person is from South Carolina. He’s pretty aight, though.
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.)
“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.
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.
Before 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.
I’m still deeply invested in the playoffs, guys, so my album recreation output continues to be somewhat stifled. My 2 beloved worlds of televised sporting events and recorded music intersected in a weird, cosmic way this week, though, as I picked this record at random and noticed that it’s produced by LOGAN WESTBROOKs(!), a clear indication that OKC is trolling me. Nice try, Russ, Sefolosha, and Cawrong Butler.
Anyway, Chuck says “Gimme the bridge, yall” at all the wrong moments in the title track. I hate that ex-Hoya Hibbert seems to be battling some Space Jam demons inside his enormous body. Dan Snyder remains a fucking terrible human being. And John Wall lacks a Jamal Crawfordesque buttery crossover. But still – DC, I love you. Please accept my humble tribute.
“Arranged by, producer, composed by, drums, bass, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, clavinet, synthesizer (Mini-moog, Arp String Ensemble), grand piano, Hammond B-3, talkbox, vocals: Junie Morrison” – back cover.
Posing, keeping hair looking fucking fantastic while posing, staying strategically covered by flimsy robe, and spouting unsolicited music history while posing, though? That’s alllllll me.
Al is on the very very short list of gentlemen I’d let talk to me about Jesus (Prince, Stevie, the young Sam Cooke, the Doobie Brothers). I love Al’s voice and phrasing; “Simply Beautiful” is one of the greatest dress removers of all time. BUT.
Al is also on the very very LONG list of male musicians who’ve been accused of physically assaulting their romantic partners. Cognitive dissonance remains a constant when you’re a feminist music nerd, guys.