Category Archives: Apartment 680 is amazing

Bye bye, hoops

L1140346-3

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.

 

Redd Foxx, Sly Sex (Dooto, 1960).

"Too clean? All right, then. Back to the gutter.”

“Too clean? All right, then. Back to the gutter.”

Sly Sex, it turns out, is not a bunch of songs about that summer I spent on tour with the Family Stone being Sylvester Stewart’s coked-out plaything. Sly Sex is nothing more than Redd Foxx being filthy and hilarious, you enormous dummies!

Depending on when you catch me during the day, I’ll either insist that this should’ve been called Slyy Sexx for continuity purposes, or I’ll say nope, that’s stupid, such a title would be overkill and kinda corny. There’s just no pleasing me, you guys.

(I hate how I look in redd but this cover kept calling me. It was just so damn easy to recreate. And besides, how could I not pay tribute to Mr. Sanford?)

Ain’t nuttin to it but to do it but I can’t do it, Oliver Nelson

L1120782-6-1000Saluting Black, Brown and Beautiful (Flying Dutchman, 1970), one of the square beauties in apt. 680 wholly inappropriate for Instagram album cover recreations.

L1120724-1 1000

L1120727-3-1000

L1120726-1-1000

L1120727-4

Good for talking about when stuck in an elevator with: Pharoahe Monch (I’d say DJ Scratch since he made the beat, but I wouldn’t be able to recognize DJ Scratch in an elevator), Daniel Dumile, jazz bros, Hofstra alumni (heh).

My cut: the title track.

Stupid: “Yearnin” is included on the 1989 CD reissue. That’s my actual cut, as it features Dolphy’s brass plea for me to take my dress off. It should’ve remained on The Blues and the Abstract Truth instead of shoved onto an album crafted to be a tribute to a murdered civil rights leader (recorded the year after he was murdered), and as a result I have huge beef with RCA and its subsidiaries.

STUPID: No cover model credit. It would not have killed you, Chuck Stewart, to have given a nod to your beautiful subject. I mean, for this one and this one and this one, the name of your selected model is in huge print right on the cover.

Questionable: “‘Black, brown and beautiful’ is the way I feel about my people. All of them.” All of them. All of them? (Probably not.)

Lady stuff: “Pearl Kaufman playing a piano line of 7½ minutes duration without raising a cry for help.” I’d also include the contribution of the lady on the cover, but there’s no credit for her.

Jazz game George Foreman: Oliver Nelson, who sired 2 boys and proceeded to call them Oliver Jr. and Nyles Oliver.

Can’t do the cover recreation for the following reason(s):

Oliver 3

 I will did, however, do: this. Don’t tell my mom.

 

 

The Brides of Funkenstein, Never Buy Texas From a Cowboy. Atlantic, 1979.

 

I believe the expression is “The bigger the headache, the bigger the pill.” Less popular but no less true is the expression “The bigger my love for Dr. Funkenstein, licensed administer of ear-canal narcotics including but not limited to rubbery bassline antidepressants, the greater the likelihood that I’m willing to forego monogamy and share my groom with my other sister-wives so we can blow the cobwebs out your mind.”

I wish George would give women a little wiggle room when it comes to roles – we are backup singers and side-project wives, and that’s it – but if I complain I’ll get kicked out of the family and he’ll easily find another fake wife to hit in the protons and make sure her hips keep moving. Having to share Dr. Funkenstein with some other ladies is better than no Funkenstein at all.

 

 

The Cecil Taylor Unit, Live in Bologna. Leo Records, 1988.

Cecil 1-1

 I’m a Cecil lady, but not a huge Cecil lady (too-abrasive style, obnoxious flying elbows). However, it’s Jazz Pianists week in my apartment (Peterson, Jamal), I finally got Dark to Themselves, I heard Cecil was the inspiration behind Sen Dog and EPMD’s bucket hats, and I thoroughly enjoy Cecil’s charming DNA makeup of “iconoclast operating on a far more spiritual plane than the rest of us” + “bitter old shit-talker” (about Wynton Marsalis – so I totally get it, Cecil).

 

 

The Commodores, In the Pocket. Motown, 1981.

photo 4GODDAMN RECORD DOESN’T FIT IN MY POCKET, COMMODORES. YOUR ALBUM NAME IS STUPID. The handclaps and entire chord progression in “Lady” make up for it, though! I love youuuuu! xoxo.

[Besides, they’re most impressive OUT of the pocket, in front of a crowd - just like my man (or, more accurately, my mom’s man) Randall Cunningham! And, sigh, even though I’m a Raider fan I am contractually obligated SIGH to mention the unfortunately-tatted Colin Kaepernick when it comes to good scrambling QBs. I’m sick of the 9ers but Kap is pretty agile & smart; I’ll give him that. Plus at least he’s not my SWORN MORTAL ENEMY Philip Rivers, so there’s some silver lining.]

Special thank you to my personal Tom Jackson/Shannon Sharpe/Chris Berman/Deion/Jimmy the Greek (minus the obesity and the thighs comment). 

The Brass Company, Colors. Strata-East, 1975.

The Brass Company 2

Started off 2014 with a spirited round of Vinyl Scavenger Hunt! The clues for this one were “Find an album containing a tight brass section, pretty colors on the cover, and no fewer than 3 dudes named Bill/Billy in the credits. Bonus points if it happens to be one of your Strata-East beauties with a title paying homage to the great Ice-T.”

 

Jimmy McGriff, Christmas with McGriff. Sue, 1963 (STLP 1018).

20131222-160524.jpg

It was December 24th on Hollis Ave. after dark! J/K it’s the 22nd and I’m in Echo Park. If I can’t have Christmas in Hollis I’ll take Christmas with McGriff.

E-40, The Element of Surprise. Jive, 1998 (JDAB-41645-1).

20131222-164826.jpg

No disrespect, Ramsey, but in my house, “Sun Goddess” is referred to as the “The ‘Hope I Don’t Go Back’ Beat.” ALAS, FINALLY, YOU GUYS, a tribute to my English & Economics professor, the mighty 40 Water! Sorry it took me so long.

(Special appearance by Xavier, Nick, & Shawne behind me, relaxing on the the bench after ballin outta control, oh wait no being mediocre as fuck.)

Horace Silver, In Pursuit of the 27th Man. Blue Note, 1973.

Horace

Bonkers/awesome cover design approved by George Butler only because Reid Miles was gone and George was distracted by plotting to make as much money as possible off Donald Byrd and Lou Donaldson.