Lordhavemercy | Ike & Tina & the Wrecking Crew | Limbaugh & Ali | Darryl | Pharrell | The Jazz Loft Project

(It gets cold in Michigan.)

Why yes, I am still enjoying and cuddling with “Power,” but LAND SAKES ALIVE, what we have here* is some additional fine rap music! The week started out slow, as Gibbs presented more of his unfettered Hoosier testosterone-rap that I can appreciate but that just doesn’t wow me. I mean, I’m a girl. I’m allowed this.

But then Dumile made an appearance (!), then Rae with his mixtape that stimulates my central nervous system, and Kanye returned toting his big booming ego under his arm–an ego that is, unfortunately, absolutely warranted when he makes big booming songs like “Power.” I had all these feelings welling up inside.

“OH SHIT” – the Pharcyde.

“Right here” – Monch.

“Oooh, and I like it” – DeBarge.

“I feel free” – Cream.

“Press rewind” – Del.

“We will never, ever, ever be apart” – Bieber.

Black Milk – “Don Cornelius.”
As always, I wish you love, peace, sooouuuuuulllll
, and Detroit-bred songs of sweltering fiery goodness.


That break:

Lee Fields and the Expressions – “Love Comes and Goes.” In the battle-of-the-backing-bands extravaganza that takes place in my head, Lee and his Expressions go up against Curtis and his Impressions. (They do it all to see who wins my hand in marriage)


Rick Ross & Kool G. Rap – “Knife Fight.”

Let’s get it: Doom motivation 101!
Last of the Ansars/On the microphone, cyclone like Myanmar. Madvillain – “Papermill,” part of the Adult Swim Singles Program. All the boys on the Internet are whining that this song is too short. In response, all the girls on this blog say “Stop complaining” and “How come you don’t hold the Ramones to that same standard.”


Today in 1966, Ike & Tina’s “River Deep, Mountain High” was released. Did I mention I’m a girl? If you are too, you know and love this song. If you’re male, you probably think you love it as much as a girl could, but no. You’ll never understand and I’m sorry about that. But hey, your bigger paycheck most likely makes up for it.

And it gets stronger, in every way. And it gets deeper, let me say. And it gets higher, day by day. SING IT, ANNA MAE. Girl singer, girl songwriter (Ellie Greenwich), girl bass player (Carol Kaye), plus Larry Levine sitting on a stool behind the glass, Ike no doubt off to the side seething because the song’s creation had nothing to do with him, and crazy gnome Spector overseeing the whole damn thing.


This week on NPR, Rush Limbaugh’s biographer Zev Chafets equated Rush with Muhammad Ali.

Dave Zirin wrote a piece negating this idea, of course, which was a courageous but wholly unnecessary thing to do. It’s a fun read, reposted at the Huffington Post from The Nation (where Zirin is normally found, distracting me at work with his excellent sports writing). My piece is entitled Good One, Zev Chafets, consisting of just the words “But seriously though,” and it’ll be running all week on HFS.

Pavement – “Rattled by the Rush.”


Darryl Strawberry had a big case of the crankys (which I’m guessing is not unusual for him) and shared them with the Mets, popping into the dugout last week and yelling at them to win when they were not giving it their best effort against the Nationals. I would suggest that you do not fuck with Crenshaw High, New York.

I like this, a man in recovery who decides to scream on ’em rather than go make a dumb hokey song with a big dumb chorus produced by the dude with the single dumbest name in musicdom (and that includes all the Animal Collective boys). I also like this story because it means I can post the above picture.

Pharrell’s been wearing the same outfit all over the globe, for many days in a row, and people wanna criticize and say he looks bummy. I say he pulls off the Echo Park boy uniform with much more finesse than all the actual Echo Park boys–and that, along with the almighty spy chord, the greatness of his work with the Thornton brothers, that voice, and of course those cheekbones, makes me fall back in love with him like it’s ’98 and I just heard that Nore song.

(“OMG, HAVE YOU HEARD THAT NORE SONG?? It basically just goes what-what-what-what-what-wh-what but it is SO GOOD” – me in ’98.)

Monk & band at rehearsal, 1959.

From 1957 to 1965, the photographer W. Eugene Smith exposed 1,447 rolls of film to record the goings-on inside his loft building, as well as scenes from street life visible from his windows. He also made 4,000 hours of audio recordings that captured random conversations, phone calls, radio programs, and above all, many legendary musicians of the day, who came to the building to hang out, rehearse and jam.

Well then.
The Jazz Loft Project: Photographs and Tapes of W. Eugene Smith from 821 Sixth Avenue is a book that I need. No 2 ways about it.

[NYT–slideshow and voiceover narration!]

Left: exactly how I’d look getting out of a car in front of the building if I had been around in 1960.

Right: girl gazing at Zoot Sims exactly how I gaze at my OJ Simpson vinyl.


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