Category Archives: I’m so ’70s

Willie Mitchell, record collection superhero (even without the Wu link)


“The synergy between Al Green’s magnificent vocals and Willie’s crisp & sophisticated production and arrangements became the soundtrack to the endless summer of the early seventies.” Willie Mitchell was born in Mississippi in 1928. He died today. Even so: that endless early ’70s summer soundtrack goes on and on in apt. 302! Love you, Willie.

Memphis’ Hi Records held Al Green, Syl Johnson, Ann Peebles, and O.V. Wright in its warm, enveloping bosom while Willie did the production. He had Al Green use the same dirty old RCA microphone during the recording of all his ’70s songs; the 2 of them became so attached to it that they named the damn thing: “Number Nine.” I find this so charming, words fail me. Love you, Willie.

I done told you 59 times: everything was better in the ’70s. Just everything. Um, you ever heard an Al Green record? NOTHING FURTHER, YOUR HONOR.

.
.
.

I’m nervous ’cause Kanye and Budden have been awful quiet lately.


Until the next e-storm breaks,

join me, won’t you, in gazing upon a Lansing, MSU, pre-Association Earvin Johnson, young n’ fine in ’79. All the dudes say damn, all the ladies say swoon, all the people of both genders say Pro Keds.
Courtesy of SI.

If I weren’t from here I’d probably hate the Lakers and every last one of their courageous, handsome, and upstoppable point guards.
If I weren’t from my dad and mom I probably wouldn’t be a lady musicnerd and wouldn’t have the hips that I do.
If a frog had wings it wouldn’t bump its ass a-hoppin.
So let’s stop talking in hypotheticals, people, and just enjoy it all.

I listen to everything at inappropriate volume in my headphones and this, I think, is why I seem to get so much more excited about songs than everybody else in my life. Billy Joel – “Big Shot.” A big fucking beast of a song, courtesy of Long Island and the year 1979, that will always always bang. Just always.

mp3.

.
.
.

Redacted: “I hate the Bee Gees.” (me, 04/16/92)

Namath, probably telling her she’s different from all the others and her eyes are pretty.

Chain-store ambiance music is clearly the result of a partnership between the devil and Timothy Geithner, designed to distract me from the comatose economy and make me stay longer in the aisles, browsing and touching and spending my cash. This has been effective thus far, because I like magical pop music and I like brightly-colored nail polish, and I like scenarios in which I’m immersed in both. So:

I heard this today at CVS, added it to my “Fuck Off, I Love This” list and just like that, my whole day was improved. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

The Bee Gees, masters of chord progression and the build-build-build-to-crescendo, had been missing from the musical power rankings in my head. The hi-hat at the beginning, the bassline, and the whole tone of the song is so Withers-esque*. My sometime boyfriend Jake One flipped/bounced it for that Freeway song (underwhelming), but there’s just nothing like the tinny speakers at the drugstore piping the original one straight into your heart and mind to make you stay in the makeup aisle longer than you had planned. The Saturday Night Fever soundtrack was Saturday Night Fire, of course, and you’re welcome for the pun, but other than that I was just slipping so hard regarding Bee Gees appreciation until this point in my life. I also need to acknowledge the relentlessly dope work of Arif Mardin, a completely badass Turkish man who produced this as well as numerous badass others: Average White Band’s School Boy Crush (!), Aretha’s Rock Steady [Starbucks this morning, thanks coffee guy at the one at Pico & Westwood!], Son of a Preacher Man, Someday We’ll All Be Free, I Feel For You (Chaka, not Prince), plus Against All Odds! Like I said, badass. And Turkish.

Blamin’ it all on the nights on Broadwayyy, singin them sweet sounds to that crazy crazy town. If it were 1975, In not-really-related news, there’s this:

“When you win, nothing hurts”

attributed to Joe Namath. Nice one, Broadway Joe.
In apt. 302, though, the saying goes “When you blog, nothing hurts.”

Here we are in the room full of strangers,
Standing in the dark where your eyes couldn’t see me

Well, I have to follow you
Though you didn’t want me to.
But that won’t stop my lovin’ you
I can’t stay away

Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin’ them love songs,
Singin’ them straight to the heart songs.
Blamin’ it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin’ them sweet sounds
To that crazy, crazy town.

Now in my place
There are so many others
Standin’ in the line;
How long will they stand between us?

Well, I have to follow you
Though you didn’t want me to.
But that won’t stop my lovin’ you
I can’t stay away

Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin’ them love songs,
Singin’ them straight to the heart songs.
Blamin’ it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin’ them sweet sounds
To that crazy, crazy town.

I will wait,
even if it takes forever;
I will wait,
even if it takes a life time.
Somehow I feel inside
You never ever left my side.
Make it like it was before
Even if it takes a life time, takes a life time.

Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin’ them love songs,
Singin’ them straight to the heart songs.
Blamin’ it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin’ them sweet sounds
To that crazy, crazy town

*

.
.
.
.

I’ma rub your ass in the moonshine.

Let’s take it back to seventyniiiiine. – Russell Jones, 1997

Found these pictures from Magic’s rookie year. The obvious next step was to do some extensive research into music of the day.
(the day = 1979)

Best point guard in history of The Association? Debatable. Best smile in the history of The Association? COME ON NOW. Never believe it’s not so! (©1974)

mp3.

Instant Funk – “I Got My Mind Made Up.” YES x 1,000. 5 days you work, 1 whole day to play.

mp3.

Dire Straits – “Sultans of Swing.” Used to hate this song. Not no more, though I can’t explain when the shift occurred. Funny how that happens sometimes.

mp3.

Chuck Brown – “Bustin’ Loose.” I feel warm all over, like the temperature of the room is slowly increasing.

mp3.

Charlie Daniels, more hiphop than me since the ’70s and I can hardly stand it – “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” (Respect and thanks to the person hosting this mp3 for deciding to make it the original “son of a bitch” version instead of the ultrawack “son of a gun” one.) That Charlie – such a storyteller! This jam’s the “Trapped in the Closet” of the greater Atlanta area.

mp3.

Ricky Lee Jones, “Chuck E’s in Love”; Kenny Rogers, “The Gambler.” Fucking FIRE. Also, stop counting your money when you’re sittin at the table! JESUS CHRIST WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU.

PS:

.
.
.
.

Vision dreams of passion.


Brain Scan Study Shows Cocaine Abusers Can Control CravingsScienceDaily.

The craving response can be quelled, say scientists. The study provides the first evidence that cocaine abusers have some ability to cognitively inhibit their cravings, even in the face of drug-related cues. This news could help develop clinical interventions to prevent relapse.

Finally! part of me says, since
Your little habit has been tearing this family apart,
Yay no more Vice mag! and, more importantly, people who read Vice,
Nas’ whole Escobar phase is gone and I never ever want it back,
We all hate how it ravages your skin, turns you bitchy and makes you barren; and
NO, me and my friend do not want to come with you into the bathroom.

But Oh dear, that’s terrible! another part of me says, since:
Will 80% of my cultural references be obsolete now?
Ki’s opening doors, the trap and bricks and pots and cooking fish not really meaning that you’re baking some nice salmon sorry Mom, John DeLorean and every day above ground is a good day and blah blah blahhhh,
I can’t feel my face, fish scales in my veins like a pisces, “__________” – Biggie, Pato Banton, Eric Clapton, various Wu operatives, any MC from the state of Georgia, Louisiana or Florida. Or Texas or NY or California;

plus
when you said you liked white girl I thought you meant you liked ME,

oh and PS,

it’s Richard Pryor’s birthday!

.
.
.
.

NAS: Variations on a theme. (basically I just wanted to post some JB’s.)

1. OH LOOK, somebody took a picture of the inside of my head.




2.
I forgot to wear my “showgirl who jumps out of a cake at AZ’s party and becomes Nas’s personal cigar-lighter” costume for Halloween this year! Aw damn.

2010, look out for me in my getup, prepare to analyze how it evokes notions of power and control. (The part of Nas to be played by Nas next year. I hear he’s single now.)


3. Nastradamus is 10 years old this week. Like sands through the hourglass, kids.

My excitement meter isn’t at Illmatic-turning-20 levels, of course, but what can you do. Also, the whole “It could’ve been worse” argument for a god MC turning out sub-par work several years after his masterpiece is always comical to this particular god-MC-fan lady blogger.


PS, I like you about 50 times more than usual when this comes on at the club and I look over at you. I mean, I see sparkles around your face, I hear birds chirping, I wanna take you home to meet my mom and see if the family dog deems you acceptable:

It’s at 02:34, lazy ass. (If you can’t take a whole 8 minutes out of your day to listen to a JBs song in its entirety, it’s over for you, buddy. Abort mission now.)

. . . . .

Not just ANY mother, silly; THIS mother.

there’s a whole lot of rhythm goin round.

.

I’d also like more information on

getting up,
getting down,
hitting it,
quitting it,
putting a glide in my stride and a dip in my hip,
going beyond merely knee deep,
figuring out why I must feel like that and why I must chase the cat, and
doing things to the roof – including but not limited to raising it and tearing it off the sucker.

Funkadelic – “Cosmic Slop.” Because it’s what we’re all wallowing in at this very moment.
And because even though it rules I just can’t bring myself to post that MC Hammer song.


mp3.

.
.
.