So, I’m at the Tribeca showing of “Beats, Rhymes & Life” – the forthcoming movie about a Tribe Called Quest’s life, death and possible rejuvenation.
Prior to seeing this movie, I know not very much about Tribe. I mean, I like them. I have their “People’s Instinctive Travels” album. “Left My Wallet in El Segundo” gets stuck in my head when I’m looking for my wallet. I can make sly Facebook status update references to “Can I Kick It” (incidentally, Phife Dawg’s least favorite of their songs). But, you know, knowledge? Uh-uh.
So when this movie starts waxing eloquent about the significance of the first eight words of “Buggin’ Out,” which is on their second album, my instinct is to discount it. Say, with the tolerance of a parent listening to their five-year-old’s shrieking over Justin Bieber. The way my friends probably do with me when I start talking about Radiohead.
Says ?uestlove: “’The way that I would describe that ‘Yo’ is the same way that NWA busted through the Martin Luther King ‘I have a dream’ piece of paper on the ‘Express Yourself’ video. Like, they busted through that piece of paper like ‘What!’”
But on reflection: ?uestlove is right. He’s right. Of course he's right.
Yo, microphone check, one two what is this? This is the groove, is what.
Movie Videos & Movie Scenes at MOVIECLIPS.com
Monday, July 04, 2011
Saturday, April 02, 2011
I Walked with Trouble
Keren Ann song "My Name is Trouble" came into existence, I think, after Sufjan Steven's "I Walked." But it feels spiritually like a predecessor.
"My name is trouble/my first name's a mess," she sings, so sweetly. "If you let me love you/I will love you to death," she chirps. And later, a bit apologetically, "If you were to come back to me/in pieces or in melody/there couldn't be a better way through."
Listen to "I Walked" after this, and you can't help but feel that Sufjan's narrator is merely doing what he must. That doesn't in any way lessen the bit of grim horror felt as it dawns on you that the line "I'm already dead to you" is, it seems, literal. "I deserve more/At least I deserve the respect of a kiss goodbye" has to be one of the most heart-wrenching universal wails ever expressed.
Sufjan Stevens: I Walked (via Pitchfork)
"My name is trouble/my first name's a mess," she sings, so sweetly. "If you let me love you/I will love you to death," she chirps. And later, a bit apologetically, "If you were to come back to me/in pieces or in melody/there couldn't be a better way through."
Listen to "I Walked" after this, and you can't help but feel that Sufjan's narrator is merely doing what he must. That doesn't in any way lessen the bit of grim horror felt as it dawns on you that the line "I'm already dead to you" is, it seems, literal. "I deserve more/At least I deserve the respect of a kiss goodbye" has to be one of the most heart-wrenching universal wails ever expressed.
Sufjan Stevens: I Walked (via Pitchfork)
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Took My Melody
"Is that all, then?" is the response of some Radiohead fans far more intense than I to the King of Limbs. Only eight tracks? Why you do us like you do, Radiohead?
It's leading to all sorts of conspiracy theories. Is there a second half of this album coming? Why are there going to be two vinyls when the physical album gets released? Why is the last song on the album titled "Separator," and why does it contain the lyrics, "If you think this is over/Then you're wrong"?
Then there's the below mysterious video clip of mysterious trees (You know, King of Limbs and all that), posted on YouTube on Feb. 18 by someone named "branchesandlimbs," whose profile says they live in the U.K. Complete with morse code that, translated, reads "BranchesBranchesBranches" and some lyrics looped in that plausibly could have come from Thom Yorke's brain, it has the AtEaseWeb message board - where the most hard-core of Radiohead fans lurketh and the rest of us tread only when we REALLY REALLY want some b-side or another - in a bit of a tizzy.
The ones who hope for more say it's evidence that the Radiohead MOTHERLODE is coming: a song called "Burn the Witch" that Thom has been teasing fans with for years, without ever playing more than a few bars of (click here for those few bars). The naysayers point to all sorts of reasons why this is just another fake (and Radiohead fans do love playing tricks on their hapless, gullible peers!): it's Separator reversed! I recognize those trees, they're in a park near my house! The technology behind this video is different than the technology behind the official video!
Time, I suppose, will tell. In the inbetween space, the new album is more than deep and wide enough for me to swim around in for a while. I'm enjoying listening to the songs that have had demos and live versions floating around for years that the band has finally managed to record to their liking. "Good Morning Mr. Magpie" in particular - what a gem.
Click here for the album version. And here's what it used to sound like:
It's leading to all sorts of conspiracy theories. Is there a second half of this album coming? Why are there going to be two vinyls when the physical album gets released? Why is the last song on the album titled "Separator," and why does it contain the lyrics, "If you think this is over/Then you're wrong"?
Then there's the below mysterious video clip of mysterious trees (You know, King of Limbs and all that), posted on YouTube on Feb. 18 by someone named "branchesandlimbs," whose profile says they live in the U.K. Complete with morse code that, translated, reads "BranchesBranchesBranches" and some lyrics looped in that plausibly could have come from Thom Yorke's brain, it has the AtEaseWeb message board - where the most hard-core of Radiohead fans lurketh and the rest of us tread only when we REALLY REALLY want some b-side or another - in a bit of a tizzy.
The ones who hope for more say it's evidence that the Radiohead MOTHERLODE is coming: a song called "Burn the Witch" that Thom has been teasing fans with for years, without ever playing more than a few bars of (click here for those few bars). The naysayers point to all sorts of reasons why this is just another fake (and Radiohead fans do love playing tricks on their hapless, gullible peers!): it's Separator reversed! I recognize those trees, they're in a park near my house! The technology behind this video is different than the technology behind the official video!
Time, I suppose, will tell. In the inbetween space, the new album is more than deep and wide enough for me to swim around in for a while. I'm enjoying listening to the songs that have had demos and live versions floating around for years that the band has finally managed to record to their liking. "Good Morning Mr. Magpie" in particular - what a gem.
Click here for the album version. And here's what it used to sound like:
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
My Favorite Songs of 2010
One woman's trash is another woman's treasure. Who knows if these songs are the best of 2010? I mean, I couldn't get into Arcade Fire, so assuredly there's something wrong with me. These are my favorite songs, though, my friends this past year, my soundtrack.
Sleigh Bells: Tell 'Em. This song makes me wish I had a car. And not just any car. One of those cars with those stereo systems that are so loud when they drive by you, frames rattling off their wheels, you think it must be an alien driving, because the music would explode a human's head, splat. And on that system, I would put this song, and I would crank it up, and I would drive round, windows down, blasting it delightedly, splat or no splat.
Secret Sisters: Big River. Take 2 cups pleasant folk harmonizing, maybe just a tad too sweet. Add tablespoon vinegary Jack White strumming of guitar. Mix. Taste. Add more Jack White as needed.
Delta Spirit: St. Francis. I have been a fickle lover to the songs on this, my favorite album of the year, jilting one tune for the next and then the next and then the next. St. Francis, though, wrapped me up in its minor key modulations, its yelled chorus (live, it'll blow the plaid off a roomful of hipsters), its not-belongingness, and it won't let me go.
Gil Scott Heron + Nas: New York is Killing Me. Sometimes a song seems like it has been written at you. Not for you, at you. From the south via Chicago. In love with New York, but it's bad love, youknowyouknow? Yeah, I can see "why some get up and move where it's slow." Bet they sorta miss it though.
The Hold Steady: The Weekenders. You had me at "The theme of this party's the industrial revolution. You came in dressed like a train wreck."
The Morning Benders: Excuses. If this song took physical form, we would saunter down Flatbush Avenue together, our arms draped around each other, our hands in each others' back pockets, until we reached the park, where we would lie on our backs, not touching, but close, and watch the stars come out.
The National: Conversation 16. Nothing particularly struck me about The National's new album until, at Prospect Park over the summer, the lead singer's giant, warm, 8-dimensional voice reached out directly into my head and sang, "I was afraid/I'd eat your. Brain." But by then it was too late for hesitation, for he already had.
Menomena: Intil. Deceptively simple, this song. It stalks you, a soundtrack in the background, those simple piano chords, that repeated lyric. "Sometimes I say too much. I never thought I'd lie" until it cuts off, and you think, "Wait, what?" and hit replay.
The Dead Weather: Die by the Drop. If I could be a rock star, I would be Alison Mosshart. I would slink about the stage. I would strut. I would stalk. I would fling my hair. I would snarl and sneer. I would take Jack White's aura of cool in my teeth and fling it about, and demolish it, and leave it lying wrinkled up on the stage. And then during a break, I would bake cookies for the band.
Lindstrom & Christabelle: Lovesick. Forget all this artsy musical hooey I've been talking. This song makes me want to dance.
Also:
Matthew Dear: You Put a Smell on Me.
The Liminanas: Je Suis un Go-Go Girl.
Big Boi + Jamie Foxx: Hustle Blood.
Caribou: Found Out.
Belleruche: Bobby. This is my "I am irked that I didn't know about these guys three years ago" band of the year.
Warpaint: Shadows.
Breathe Owl Breathe: Own Stunts.
Besnard Lakes: And This Is What We Call Progress.
April Smith: Terrible Things.
Kid Cudi, Best Coast, Rostam: All Summer.
Sleigh Bells: Tell 'Em. This song makes me wish I had a car. And not just any car. One of those cars with those stereo systems that are so loud when they drive by you, frames rattling off their wheels, you think it must be an alien driving, because the music would explode a human's head, splat. And on that system, I would put this song, and I would crank it up, and I would drive round, windows down, blasting it delightedly, splat or no splat.
Secret Sisters: Big River. Take 2 cups pleasant folk harmonizing, maybe just a tad too sweet. Add tablespoon vinegary Jack White strumming of guitar. Mix. Taste. Add more Jack White as needed.
Delta Spirit: St. Francis. I have been a fickle lover to the songs on this, my favorite album of the year, jilting one tune for the next and then the next and then the next. St. Francis, though, wrapped me up in its minor key modulations, its yelled chorus (live, it'll blow the plaid off a roomful of hipsters), its not-belongingness, and it won't let me go.
Gil Scott Heron + Nas: New York is Killing Me. Sometimes a song seems like it has been written at you. Not for you, at you. From the south via Chicago. In love with New York, but it's bad love, youknowyouknow? Yeah, I can see "why some get up and move where it's slow." Bet they sorta miss it though.
The Hold Steady: The Weekenders. You had me at "The theme of this party's the industrial revolution. You came in dressed like a train wreck."
The Morning Benders: Excuses. If this song took physical form, we would saunter down Flatbush Avenue together, our arms draped around each other, our hands in each others' back pockets, until we reached the park, where we would lie on our backs, not touching, but close, and watch the stars come out.
The National: Conversation 16. Nothing particularly struck me about The National's new album until, at Prospect Park over the summer, the lead singer's giant, warm, 8-dimensional voice reached out directly into my head and sang, "I was afraid/I'd eat your. Brain." But by then it was too late for hesitation, for he already had.
Conversation 16 by The National from Ruthie Cristobal on Vimeo.
Menomena: Intil. Deceptively simple, this song. It stalks you, a soundtrack in the background, those simple piano chords, that repeated lyric. "Sometimes I say too much. I never thought I'd lie" until it cuts off, and you think, "Wait, what?" and hit replay.
Menomena - Intil (Live at OPB) from opbmusic.org on Vimeo.
The Dead Weather: Die by the Drop. If I could be a rock star, I would be Alison Mosshart. I would slink about the stage. I would strut. I would stalk. I would fling my hair. I would snarl and sneer. I would take Jack White's aura of cool in my teeth and fling it about, and demolish it, and leave it lying wrinkled up on the stage. And then during a break, I would bake cookies for the band.
Lindstrom & Christabelle: Lovesick. Forget all this artsy musical hooey I've been talking. This song makes me want to dance.
Also:
Matthew Dear: You Put a Smell on Me.
The Liminanas: Je Suis un Go-Go Girl.
Big Boi + Jamie Foxx: Hustle Blood.
Caribou: Found Out.
Belleruche: Bobby. This is my "I am irked that I didn't know about these guys three years ago" band of the year.
Warpaint: Shadows.
Breathe Owl Breathe: Own Stunts.
Besnard Lakes: And This Is What We Call Progress.
April Smith: Terrible Things.
Kid Cudi, Best Coast, Rostam: All Summer.
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