Phil Jackson is a bad person and a pretty substantial asshole? Nofuckingway.
Why you people never saw this before is beyond me. (not to sound like a jerk. Sorry.)
Rappers have ghostwriters, my blonde highlights aren’t from the sun, and rich men like to hold onto their money. Phil Jackson’s salary is rumored to be around $12 million. Wake up from dreamworld at some point, babycakes.
Phil is, I’m guessing with so much certainty that it’s not even a guess anymore, a GOP supporter. There are some nefarious goings-on at play in the boardrooms of successful business organizations, including such businesses as national sports franchises, and shiny championship rings are so blinding that they prevent us from seeing it.
It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness, Tolstoy said. It’s also amazing that a tall, deep-voiced white man with a calming presence can throw around snippets of the teachings of Siddhartha and completely delude everyone into thinking he’s some kind of hippie. Phil’s got Buddhist mystique but he’s clearly hollow inside, driving his Boxster to Iyengar class, popping Viagra, going to sushi with Russ Simmons probably a couple times a year. Dude is just a jerk. A cold, hard, hollow man who is rich and who favors awful and unconstitutional immigration laws.
That said, LAKERS IN 2.
Steely Dan – “Bodhisattva.”
El-P, on the other hand, is the good kind of asshole! The very best kind, in fact. “Whores: the Movie,” via the Village Voice.
There’s all this talk of Exile on Main Street, everywhere, just all over, because it’s being reissued. The only redeeming thing about this is that it makes everyone fall in love again with Billy Preston’s piano wizard hands, and it provides me an opportunity to revisit my love of Anita Pallenberg and briefly summarize my feelings about the soft-skinned muses who put male frontmen in heat.
There is simply not enough love for music’s inspirational ladies, who often get the disrespectful “groupie” label by unknowing dolts who don’t understand the magic of lady power when it comes to good recorded sound. What’s that? What could I mean by this? OH NOTHING, just Prince’s ENTIRE CAREER. Tina so inspired Ike that he made her the focus, the one to belt out stuff that he had written. Quincy Jones was so inspired by Peggy Lipton’s undergarments that the song “PYT” just burst out of him. Then there was Ice-T and Darlene, of course. And Tawny Kitaen, obviously. And now Jay Elec is just murdering the game, slicing and dicing everything in his path, and it’s probably because of the sweet love he makes to Erykah.
(Amber Rose, we shall see what kind of production your influence has wrought when your “boyfriend”(?)’s next album hits the streets/Internet. I have my doubts but I’ll reserve judgment until I hear the finished product).
In sum: people of Earth, the root of the word music is muse. Give your girlfriend a smooch. Bloody hell, beauty is goodness! Fuck off, Tolstoy.
“Tumbling Dice.” If your parents did it right they raised you on Muddy Waters and Howlin Wolf instead of this drivel. That said, it’s hard to get mad at enthusiastic white kids wanting to be cool by copying the greats. I love this song in spite of myself; right around the 2:30 point I just give in to it. All of us women are low-down gamblers, and we’re lovable as hell. CLACKETY CLACK.
“Hip-hop is the most important art form in my life, because it is the art of democracy.”
Ta-Nehesi at The Atlantic, back at it again with so much truth it kind of knocks you over: “Forever Young,” it must be said, is awful – especially in comparison with really great flipped/bounced loops in rap songs over the years.
People who agree with me about bad songs are the coolest and will obviously get linked to on this blog. Nice one, Mr. Coates.
It is clear to me that Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” is about me (small town girl, lonely world) and Guilty Simpson (city boy, south Detroit). I still haven’t gotten How to Wreck a Nice Beach but this whole “Journey/bearded Michigan MC” motif that came to me today provided a nice soul-soothing distraction during my workday.
“Drums.” Obviously I need the instrumental of this within the next 48 hours or I’ll throw a tantrum; however, I do love his vocal on here. He sounds sleepy but still like he could do a whole shift at the factory. Then the chorus comes in with various ways of praising the almighty DRUM! If you say you don’t want a part of this you’re lying. (Thank you kindly, Stones Throw)