The music and miscellanea blog that's actually necessary for your modern enlightened survival

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Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Yes, you and ten other tough guys



Every day, a Jams has to subsist in conditions far less wholesome than her loved ones would ever wish upon her. Your contributions can help, so please, give generously to housemates. Because the Jams you save could be your own.

(j is for jess) says:
so i really feel like drinking copious amounts of liquid donut ale..
and just fucking everything
Joshua says:
O_o
(j is for jess) says:
that came out wrong ..

Good lord, insomnia is a bitch.

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We'll always have your absence




Ugh.

Alright, so Dälek's shiny new album Abandoned Language has been out for just over a month now. I'd like to, if I may, quote some lyrics from this - erm - difficult piece of music in comparison to its predecessor, the masterpiece of industrial meta-hip-hop that was Absence:

Broke stride as last of men realized their deep deceit.
This troubling advance of half-assed crews crowd these streets.
Never mind of who I am, son, just listen when I speak.
Broken paragraphs hold wrath of a hundred million deep.


Brilliant. Humble. Fierce. And now this:

Ranks of MC's infested with fakeness
Dispel your bitch rumors, tune the block with hangers
Wires givin' tumors, never write my songs for consumers
Ironic, cuz' I write my songs for heads with phat laces
on their Pumas.


Yeah. Ugh.

With little exception, my favourite hip hop duo of all freaking time aren't actually doing anything different with this 11 song turd. The elements that made Absence, From Filthy Tongues of Gods and Griots, and even the mildly amateurish Negro Necro Nekros great are all present. There's heavy beats, there's socially-oriented angry man lyrics, there's industrial noisescapes. Really, that's all Dälek ever was. But Abandoned Language? It sucks. It's a nigh unlistenable yawn of an album completely devoid of any passion or depth, and I hate that I have to admit this.

Forget emcee Dälek's daftly inane lyrics this time around, they could be salvaged if his delivery lent them any meaning at all. From the overdrawn titular first track to the hilariously thin complete-with-parentheses closer, (Subversive Script), the man called Dälek just sounds tired. I could get past his needless invocation of mainstream rap protocol - from constant masturbatory self identification to dropping the N-bomb all over the goddamn place - but his limp tone and empty styling of this garbage is unforgivable. His rhythm sucks. His flow carries no impact whatsoever. He doesn't so much rap as he mutters and coughs just barely enough to keep his head above the instrumentation, so underwhelming in the wake of his fierce success on previous albums that I can't reconcile this performance with him being the same man. I don't care who you are or what your profession is, I've heard more impressive speech about social perversity from my mother on any number of occasions.

Now, here's the kicker. I've explained before how Dälek's emceeing constitute less than half of what made Dälek the group great. I was apparently mistaken in initially assigning so much praise to Dälek's partner the Oktopus, since the former actually handles the production and sampling aspects of this music where the latter seems to be chiefly in it for the beats.  But nonetheless.

The music that is inflicted on you when you listen to Abandoned Language is less than paper thin. It's flat, lacks any depth or layering, and is boring.

There, I said it.

For some reason these men decided that metallic bagpipes, played off-kilter and off-key, were the future of industrial music and rubbed this godawful effect all over a half a dozen songs with no thought to its effectiveness as a sound nor its synergy with the overall album. Where before we fans were treated with incredibly multi-faceted swaths of gorgeously envisioned, viciously executed seas of noise - both intense and, y'know - featuring rhythm and melody - we now have the five and a half minute all instrumental "scary" track Lynch dropped right in the middle of a fucking hip hop album. Not only does it make no sense for this group to be aping Krzysztok fucking Penderecki of all goddamn people when they used to go on tour with goddamn Isis - this track absolutely ruins what is already a wan, barely interesting album.

Forgive the segue, but I've heard a lot of praise for this piece of music. Those people can go to hell as soon as they get off their avant-garde fellating high horse. The title track off of Absence is ten times as affecting as Lynch, clocks in at four minutes shorter than it, and actually strengthens the album as a whole without running away with its own sense of assinine artistic license. No album is stronger for being interrupted by a piece of music that jarringly reports of its makers saying, "Hey, I've got an idea: let's torture some violins with a belt sander, record it to MIDI, and call it art."

Back to the point: Abandoned Language's production and instrumentation are the very definition of anemic. Now, I realize I'm blugeoning Dälek under the sheer weight of my favouritism here, but Absence had such dense layering and virtually endless chasms of fascinating, genuinely powerful sound that I am still discovering new facets within it. The duo managed to put together the single most gargantuan drum mix in the entire world, conjured massive blows of utterly indescribable music out of the gutters of Hades, and lashed it all together with pure dripping acid out of Dälek's mouth. It was impossible, and they managed it with grace and power. Hell, From Filthy Tongues didn't even reach to such great heights, but pulled off a direct assault of simpler industrial prowess and tighter dynamics without needing to.

Now? Now look at what they're producing: every track has the same goddamn tinny one-two drum beat; by-the-numbers industrial vapours flit listlessly from one end of the song to another without accomplishing anything; the mix is not so much dark as it is maddeningly foggy, to the point where one can hardly understand a word of what Dälek is saying (penultimate track Tarnished, for example, features half of his rhymes delivered whilst his face is behind what I assume is a thick leather baseball glove); uselessly out of place gang vocals repeatedly confuse the proceedings and there is no intensity offered by either camp of this duo and finally my god it just plain sucks.

Fuck.

I waited up for you, you guys. This was just cruel, you understand?

Excuse me while I go carve a gigantic all-caps WTF into my right arm.  Good night.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Don't go into that barn


Someday I'm going to be arrested and it's going to be over an utterly insane, ridiculously dramatic misunderstanding.
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Monday, March 12, 2007

The dryyyy cracker

I've presently no time for chit chat, except chit chat insofar as expresses my total inability to engage in chit chat.  Please except my humblest apologies and most guttural harrumphing.  

Just to tickle your interest, however, and because I'd hate to lose you to some other fancy publication hereabouts, here's a sample of the stuff I'm waist-deep in vis a vis school at the moment:

"The UNDP played a crucial agenda-setting role at an early stage with it focus on human security. It was noted earlier that development and human security are receiving more attention now from key global governance institutions such as the IMF and World Bank, partly b ecause poverty and inequality are increasingly considered to be national, regional, and global security threats.

Indeed, there seems to be a correlation between the level of entitlement to human security and propensity for conflict, defined not in orthodox inter-state arms terms but in the wider sense to include the most frequent form of warfare, instra-state. Over the period of 1990-95, 57% of countries experiencing war were ranked low on the UNDP’s Human Development Index, while only 14% were ranked high, and 34% were ranked medium. There may be a causal relationship between lack of material entitlement, health and education, and war.” Link.

Hmm?  

Did you make it through all that?  What did you think, was it boring or what?

Here's the really freaky part: I couldn't be more off my ass with unadulterated glee whilst reading this junk.  A politics major is I.

No, The Dandy Warhols, I will not listen to your infectious blend of indie rock and sparkles.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

You are the sole member of tonight's studio audience



I don't make these, I just like them.  Even better, they fit my format snugly.

On a wholeheartedly separate note, I most definitely look for meaning in the most trivial of places. What is it about the peculiar manner in which different people arrange their digital effects that so invigorates my imagination? I'd say it's a long shot, but wager it is the pixels.

Right now, my desktop is smattered with the following immaculately ordered clusters of icons: five pdf's, three on global security and international political economy, two for containing university particulars; my computer; shortcuts to the cheapest geekiest MMORPG in existence and a feverishly minimalist simulation of barroom brawling; a folder containing films on the ethical ramification of corporate law on human life; a sixth pdf which is an entire book on the subject of corporate media's legal and technical control of human culture; a comedy monster film from Korea.

I am sure that this will affect my career someday.

Sigh.

Monday, March 05, 2007

The intergalactic presses have been halted accordingly

Message History
03.05.07 9:37pm Josh: Exactly how much Dragon constitutes a Force?

03.05.07 9:39pm Dan: Infinite.

You know, I think he's right.

So,

Subtle single-handedly ruined every other concert I've ever been to by putting them all to unrequited shame. The electric cello rendered impotent the work of any mere guitarist, soaring and transmogrifying with deft insanity to produce an absolutely un-goddamn-limited palette of sound. A man I could swear was television's Gregory House played sax, oboe, flute, and synth whilst wear an enormous, body-enshrouding cape. Their drums were almost entirely provided via synth and for the first ten minutes I had no idea why that man was hitting his synthezier so wildly. Their canonical drummer also played guitar and looked exactly like Goddamn Kurt Cobaine, and from the moment the first howitzer volley of drums made my pants nearly fall off to Adam Drucker's closing litany of sun-eating machine gun nonsense scraped off of my very human soul, I knew what love was.

I am serious when I say these things.

Unbelievably personal, endlessly artistic, immaculately executed, and Doseone telling stories about New Jersian eggplant and how he got into Rapper Heaven early. He was dressed like a nineteenth century English Lord after a mugging by voodoo priests and threw plastic forks at us. I managed to rescue a filth encrusted, possibly Hep-A toting remnant of this barrage off of the floor afterward and I'm positively never going to let it go.

Perfect.

TV On The Radio's follow up performance couldn't hope to hold my attention with the same exquisite carnality, excellent as it was. Young Liars couldn't have been a better opener, and those coy bastards left Staring At The Sun to the very end of their tripartite encore, but something did feel amiss. It was too heavy, the production-laced nuances of their legendary albums were either impossible to pick out or else abandoned entirely - but then, it was still TVotR. I won't go so far as to say that the anticonian hip-hoppers upstaged the crowned indie lords of New York, but then, they did.

I'm at least three steps out of synch in school, and the ride back afterward felt like a long swim through some sort of gothic, evil cereal, but as my ride-getting, trunk-sleeping-in friends have enthusiastically drilled into my head, it was so totally worth it.

I'm going to have to write a review of the previously mentioned Abandoned Language and so help me God it is not going to be positive.