1. Informative emails from my darling readers are a mixed bag, emotionally speaking.
Joy: Finding out it’s called the rising synth! Of fucking course that’s what it’s called; use your head, Logan. Disappointment: Person who sent a yelling email that I “should familiarize (myself) with Wayne from the Sqad Up days!!” (Thanks, dollface – just please be a little more gentle with me next time.) I also received an email instructing me to “stop the hocus pocus,” which made me even more self-conscious than normal, then confused, then kinda giggly, and then finally I settled on FUTURE MIXTAPE TITLE.
2. “Milk the Cow”! What could possibly be disappointing about the new video for an old Cappa song?
How can I possibly respect Mr. Diamonds as a man when he insists on calling himself that. Luckily, there’s still the chika-pow on the hook, Cap’s “ode to joy” interpretive dance throughout the video, and Meth shouting out “bad birds that fuck nerds” at the end. HE SAYS BAD BIRDS THAT FUCK NERDS and I’ve never felt more satisfied. (Sorry for about 50 things I just typed, Mom)
3. Drake remains an easy target so I’d be a fool not to take advantage. Positive (boring) comments: In the “I’m On One” video, they do a good job of creating a melancholy landscape to match the tone of the song. It’s this weird party in the future, where everyone’s had a lobotomy and there’s no electricity; I can’t say I approve of the concept, but it’s certainly executed well. And this part, where the hook kicks in, perfectly mimics what I do in the Civic when the song comes on the radio:
I cannot get over 1. the pinky raang, and 2. grown people who count like that (using the pinky for 1 instead of 5, like the good lord intended). Nelly has arrived to demonstrate a nice clean finger style, from the video for the “Racks” remix:
4. Home-team hats: lately I’ve been talking about them in every other post. They are lovely for donning, gentlemen. And why is Nel wearing a carbiner? I feel like I’m back among my people (barefoot, idealistic, goofy, vegan) at Santa Cruz! Nells and I are meeting up later to bicker about Chomsky, then maybe climb a mountain.
Jay makes his entrance. I APPROVE OF THE TIGHTNESS AND RIGHTNESS THIS OUTFIT. I believe it would have been referred to as buttery in an old Menace skate video. Buttery kit, my friend. Oh and that new Keith Murray we listened to in your Maxima is dooooope, though not quite as good as that Above the Law. If those are True Religions I’m going to kill myself. I mean it. Pills, probably (I want something painless). Nice knowing you guys; divide up my records amongst yourselves.
6. “I’m on One” again, or maybe it’s more appropriate to say “I’m (still) On One”? Either way, we have a scene in which Wayne corners a lady in a parking garage while they are both hiding from the zombies who prowl the streets above. (This video is really fucking stupid and has no common narrative thread weaving the scenes together.)
Weezy’s prowling around her like he’s Prince, body language screaming Go to bed with me. This is the part in his verse where he says he’s going to “Put an end to your world like the Mayans.” That’s a really fresh thing to say, clever indeed, and I would love it if somebody would corner me in a club or at Vons and say that. I’m sort of odd, though. Most of us don’t want to hear you talking about the art of murking right when you are trying to get us to take our clothes off.
Then an old friend shows up!:
7. My pa is the Birdman, I’m rich as a white man/I come to your show and kill you and your hypeman, Dwayne says in “Rollin.” I don’t know where it comes from but I love a good murder rap. I swear I was hugged enough as a little girl so I can’t really explain. This one in particular is really something, following the first-person narrative formula of most of my favorite songs since 1992: 1. I’m important/I know people, 2. I’m rich, and 3. I will end you. The F in Weezy’s name stands for nothing, by the way, because his middle name is Michael. Stop the hocus pocus, Dr. Carter.
Funk Flex, a man whose ability to annoy me through the sheer power of voice is unparalleled, is hosting this “Legends” performance in NYC – and if that’s not some juxtaposition to prove the rap gods are playing a trick on you, I don’t know what is. “Yes Logan, you can stand in a dark room and drink in Monch’s stories, but you have to tolerate a radio jock doing his impression of a dentist’s drill before and after Monch’s set. And what if I told you Dru Ha would probably be there, and Evil Dee would definitely be there? And Sean P would probably make fun of everyone in a super stylish way like a rap Don Rickles? But remember: DENTIST’S DRILL. (evil laugh).”
The show’s tonight and geography says I am unable to attend, but if I could somehow get there I’m guessing I would be informed by Flex that it’s going down and reminded that I know what it is at various times throughout the evening. Also I am sad because nobody will get to hear me proclaim drunkenly, “I believe it was Paul McCartney who said, ‘Tell me tell me tell me the answer. You may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer. HELTAH SKELTAH.’”
9. THIS is my chiva. My china white. My subbies, snorted (not under the tongue; that takes too long).
(“This” being “funny little music history snippets”)
Today I learned that that Toussaint record was Prince Paul’s! There’s actually nothing disappointing about this; I just had to post it. I also learned that tinny snare sound on “I Wanna Be Your Man” was created by using a pair of scissors! SCISSORS. Hire me for your next party; I can spout this stuff for hours. And OK, fine, if you’d like a skinny girl to jump out of a giant cake, I got you.