RKNet Blog... Thing

So I was having a pretty good day today. Surprisingly good in fact, all things considered. When WHEB had to go and ruin it for me. Again.

This time, it wasn’t the overabundance of sloppy-joe instigating Herpes-Crisps (Godsmack), nor was it a double shot of Nickleback. No, this was something even more asinine. Today, the dj’s announced that, according to world-renowned psychologist Cliff Arnall, Monday, January 21, 2008 is “the most gloomiest day” of the year. Depressing nature of the retarded phrasing aside; none of these conclusions are all too revelatory, and… thanks for reminding me, Asshat.

Here’s what Arnall, an expert in the study of depression concluded, based on some mathematical formula that we’re not privy to.

This time of year produces six [how about 200] factors which lead to feelings of gloom and doom, and all of them converge today [as the cosmos align and Pluto weeps?] to “leave us at our most miserable.” The factors are as follows.

• Christmas Debt (Ok, Sure)
• A Feeling of Monotony after Christmas Cheer has Faded (Christmas Cheer?)
• Broken New Years Resolutions (I hope you knew better than to make any)
• Low Levels of Motivation (Um… This is a Temporary Thing?)
• A Desperate Feeling That You Need to Act to Improve Your Life (Always)

He goes on to offer a couple of insights as to how to combat “Blue Monday.”
1. Stop Whining. It is boring and you are boring. (I feel better already!)
2. Focus on the good things you do have in your life. If one of your limbs does not work, focus on the three that do. (Haha, Cripple.)

Enjoy the rest of your shitty day. But, chin up. Tomorrow the debt/motivation/goal-oriented fairy is due to swoop in and save the day.

J-Dilla, also known as Jay Dee, is widely regarded in the hip-hop community to be one of the most innovative producers ever to grace the turntables. Known as a “producer’s producer,” Dilla’s work was so highly esteemed that many of the biggest and most important names in hip-hop (like Common, Talib Kweli, ?uestlove, Erykah Badu, A Tribe Called Quest and Madlib) looked to him not only for inspiration, but for actual production work on what ended up being some of their most accomplished albums to date.

J-Dilla was also one of the first to release entire albums of sample-heavy, instrumental work, which incidentally is how he ended up collaborating with another master of the genre: Madlib. Madlib had been extremely impressed with Dilla’s innovative style and couldn’t help himself but to play with some beats for inspiration. The compliment didn’t escape Dilla and this initial meeting led to the creation of the now somewhat legendary JayLib.

Part of what makes their album, Champion Sound (2003), so distinctive stems from the way it was recorded. The duo met only once during the making, and the rest of the album was recorded by sending beats and vocals back and fourth. The collaboration ended with half of the album consisting of Dilla beats with Madlib’s vocals and the other half Madlib beats with Dilla’s vocals. I hesitate to call the final vibe earthy but for lack of a better word, it does feel somewhat organic in that there is nothing forced about the way these two artists blend their individual styles.

Dilla was a pioneer in blending hip-hop with a kind of neo-soul music that brought to life both genres and infused the result with a little bit of jazz, funk and a personal touch that can only be described as heart.

Talk about heart. Dilla struggled with TTP, a rare blood disease, and Lupus, and in 2005 performed throughout Europe from a wheelchair. He finished his last album, the brilliant Donuts from a hospital bed where he passed away just three days after its release. Check him out.

Special Bonus: If Champion Sound really appeals to you, CD Universe has a deluxe reissue, complete with TONS of extras and backstory.

You’ll you either love or hate Atmosphere. As it’s known today, the group consists of producer Anthony Davis and lyricist Sean Daily or “Slug.” The moniker is telling in that his lyrics often center on a Dave Eggers’ like self-awareness that generally morphs not so subtly into a masochism with which we’re all familiar. The music is grimy, emotional and very real.

A self-described “white boy from Minnesota,” you won’t hear Slug rhyming about any ghettoes or hard-knocks. Rather he’ll speak to you about heartbreak and self-loathing in a way that often hits a little too close to home. The melodic but sometimes raw-edged beats make the perfect complement in that they evoke a broken emotional state infused with a touch of self-conscious irony.

I realize that, thus far, I’ve given you little reason to want to subject yourself to his sometimes wrenching commentary, and the more I think about it, I’ve got little to say on that topic except: Trust Me.

You’ll laugh, you’ll cry (um, that’s true only if you’re as emotionally fragile as I am) you’ll crank it up and let Slug articulate all the bullshit that you can’t seem to get out. (”All she wanted was a little bit of solid.”) Okay, well, this is getting a little personal here; but I guess that speaks to exactly why I love Atmosphere so much. Slug reminds me of a particular ex-boyfriend: drunk, manipulative but oh so soulful. [And everyone in his life would mistake it as love.]

Some of my favorite lyrics:

Fuck You Lucy:

And I travel with feels so I can deal with touch/ It’s like that/ Thank you very much/ Fuck you very much/ And everyone in his life would mistake it as love.

Little Man:

I know there’s gotta be something kickin’ your bruises/ How’s the love? How’s the music? How’s the self-abusiveness?

A girl named Hope:

And that’s the sound that a dog will make /When he’s just been hit by a car.

The Woman With The Tattooed Hands:

There’s good and evil in each individual fire/ identifies needs and feeds our desires/ as long as we keep our spirit inspired/ she can bite her bottom lip all she wants.

My favorite albums are: God Loves Ugly, Seven’s Travels and You Can’t Imagine How Much Fun We’re Having. Check them out!

Madlib: Mind Altering Demented Lessons In Beats

This guy is a genius. He’s a musical prodigy. He’s got more than 13 aliases, each allowing for a metamorphosis of character and style that is stunning in its diversity. He’s a composer, a drummer, a DJ, a jazz musician, a beat-maker, a lyricist, a producer and one of the most original minds in music, not just today, but ever. In 2003 he told Mugshot Magazine that he considers himself a “DJ first, producer second and MC last,” but in limiting himself to those three categories he is either extremely modest, self-deluded, or high as shit.

While he might be most well known for his quirky pseudonym, Quasimoto, this funky and often psychedelic form of hip-hop does not even begin to define Madlib’s complicated aesthetic. Of course, that might be because Madlib’s aesthetic defies definition. It is a relative abstraction based on the character he is embodying, and is anything but static. The son of a jazz and soul musician, Madlib has been a pioneer in blending the genres with an understated hip-hop that is a fresh take on all three.

Search for Yesterday’s New Quintet, The Beat Konducta, Quasimoto, DJ Rels, Ahmad Miller, Monk Hughes, Malik Flavors, Joe Mcdurphy, Monk Hughes and the Outer Realm, The Joe McDurphy Experience or Astro Black and all will bring you back to Otis Jackson Jr.- Madlib.

From 2002’s “Blunted in the Bomb-shelter,” a remixed dub of old reggae beats infused with a touch of ska, to 2004’s “Madvillany,” a collaboration with another bizarre genius of sorts, MF DOOM, Madlib is well recognized within the hip-hop community to be an innovator in changing the way we think of the genre.

Check out: Mind Fusion Vols. 1-3, Blunted in the Bomb-shelter, Beat Konducta Vols. 1-4 (India, his most recent, is a subtle fusion of traditional Indian music with modern beat-making techniques), Yesterday’s New Quintet and Sound Directions: The Funky Side of Life, for just a taste of what this guy’s got up his sleeve.

Blender magazine recently named rapper Common #36 on its “The 40 Worst Lyricists in Rock.” Not that Blender ever held much credibility for me, but this atrocity is enough to discount anything the magazine will ever say again. Among others included on this list: Jim Morrison in at #10, Ian Anderson at #18, Robert Plant at #23, KRS-One at #25, Paul McCartney at #38 and Billy Corgan ranking in at #39.

I get it. Oohh how controversial of you Blender. Their rationale for naming Common #36: “Never Trust a Rapper in a Sweater Vest.” Because, that’s what we judge musical quality on these days. Let’s be serious for a minute here: a sweater vest? Who does this guy think he is? Black people aren’t supposed to wear sweater vests! Why, Common’s just a white guy in blackface!

Now I get it.

Poor disillusioned Blender. As proof of Common’s “earnest neo-soul thoughts,” they quote his “worst lyric ever” from the track “Making a Name for Ourselves.” It’s a fun, upbeat track and somewhat removed from most of what Common generally raps about. The verse, “I’m your worst nightmare squared/That’s double for niggas who ain’t mathematically aware,” does not necessarily evoke the “earnest neo-soul thoughts” they seem to have a problem with. Way to back up your claims, guys. Worse still: The verse happens to be split between Common and Canibus, who is the guest rapper on the track. If you’re going to make bogus, unfounded claims, at least get your bullshit straight. 

This crap got me thinking. There are so many voices in hip-hop that are underrated, misunderstood or simply unknown. Now, I’m not saying that Common is any of the above. He’s won numerous awards for his music and lyricism. He’s pretty mainstream and certainly well loved. But I’m sick of real hip-hop (No Lil’ Bow Wow here) not getting the credit it deserves in the musical world.  I don’t purport to be an expert on the genre. Not even close. However, I love hip-hop. I want to share some of my favorites with the hope that you’ll [ignore anything Blender Magazine ever has to say] check them out yourself.

I can’t place why this feels note-worthy much less blog-worthy, but neither can I get it out of my head. Maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it speaks too curtly to my character that I laughed so loudly when I learned of the initiative. A program, they explained. More crudely put, a “cleansing.” You have to understand; my roommates explained to me, they don’t belong here. Violating our home, resting on our resources, draining our patience with every exponential influx. Nothing has stopped them and nothing will. We killed them, they explained. We killed them all.

Improbably, I am glad I wasn’t home for the genocide. In plastering myself at the bar on a Wednesday night, I successfully escaped the gleeful cackle (and it’s resulting guilt) that I surely would have issued had I witnessed the initiative first hand. However, I can tell you, with a certain amount of shame, blended with a certain amount of sick-triumph, that I danced on their graves when I returned.

More than 200 lady-bugs (pumpkin bugs actually, orange with fewer spots and a musky aroma) lost their lives on Wednesday, October 17. Eye-witness reports state that these bugs, while quietly going about their (flying-around and crawling-all-over-my-goddamn-stuff) lives were indiscriminately sucked into a household vacuum cleaner, clinging to each other in shock and fear, their (gross, hard, shiny) bodies gripping one-another. They were then dumped unceremoniously into a brown paper bag, which had previously held an Old-English 40-ouncer and was thus crumpled and stained with malt-liquor. The bag was then dragged into the yard, doused with a liberal amount of Bacardi 151, and set on fire. The bugs were burned alive, popping like knuckles, amid a raucous blast of drunken jeering; and then pissed out (a final fuck you) by a stream of booze-ridden urine. You can still see their carcasses, littering our backyard; Burned-black ladybug flesh, shells, legs, crackling like leaves in their Machiavellian death.