Friday, November 14, 2008
DOWNLOAD: ViceVersah, "Man Vs. Wild"
Over the past year, ViceVersah has been spotted grinding in New York, outside Boston Phoenix headquarters, and on bills with hardcore street rappers whom he can easily hang with despite, well, being white. This week, after a pair of expertly executed mixtapes, the Greater Boston native turned North American wanderer drops his James and the Giant Beats debut. “Man vs. Wild” attests not only to Vice’s beastly abilities (“I’ll invite you in for dinner but not for your entertainment”) but also to producer the Arcitype’s ability to upgrade contemporary hip-hop while staying true to boom-bap basics. For real rap fans only — hipsters beware. You can catch Vice at Harpers Ferry on November 15 and grab the MP3 here.
--Chris Faraone
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Less than 24 hours after Barack Obama ended his historic victory speech with a rhetorical flourish riffing on the life of 106-year-old Ann Nixon Cooper -- a life that
spanned black suffering, black suffrage, and now black presidency -- Cooper's grandson, Lawrence D. Bobo, who is the W. E. B. Du Bois Professor of the Social Sciences at Harvard University, was scheduled to introduce Michael Eric Dyson, the preeminent black intellectual, at Harvard's DuBois Institute for African and African-American Research in Cambridge. "The family knew that Barack was going to mention my grandmother," Larry Bobo said. "But no one had any idea that the last 10 miunutes would be seeing the world through my grandmother's eyes."
"Few have carried on the legacy of Du Bois's of public intellectualism as well, or with as much verve, or quite as much rhymin', as Professor Dyson," said Bobo, perhaps understating the case. Earlier this year, Dyson had been invited to deliver the annual Du Bois Lectures at Harvard, and had decided to give three talks on a cultural figure whose works are not universally celebrated by his colleagues, under the quintessentially Dysonesque title "From Homer to 'Hova: Hustling, Religion, and Guerilla Literacy in the Pavement Poetry of Jay-Z." (Larry Bobo is a notable exception: he knows from Sean Carter, though perhaps not as much as does his wife, Marcyliena Morgan, the global hip-hop academic and founder/director/curator of the Hip-Hop Archive, who is also on the Harvard faculty.)
Alas, Jigga's DuBois debut was not to be. Instead, as Henry Louis Gates announced, "Michael's decided that maybe, as interesting as Jay-Z is, he decided he wants to talk about Barack Obama." The crowd, which had spilled out of the wood-paneled Thompson Room and into an adjacent cafeteria, erupted in delight. "The Du Bois Lectures are published by Harvard University Press," Gates grinned, as the sociologist Orlando Patterson walked in and snagged the last front-row seat. "And our editor over there is my friend [executive editor for the humanities] Lindsay Waters. You should have SEEN the smile on his face! He could just hear, 'Ka-CHING'!"
Dyson, who moves as easily between the lexicon of academia and the vernacular of the corner as he does between the podium and the Today Show green room (he'd been interviewed by Matt Lauer that very morning), spent 15 minutes delivering shout-outs to his colleagues in the audience and teasing Gates, his mentor and occasional intellectual rival. And then, working without notes, he dropped a sermon-like 90 minutes of freestyle academic science and blew the doors off the hall.
It's a remarkable performance: celebratory, incantatory, revelatory. Even our attempts at bullet-point paraphrasing are turning into essays, so we'll just tell you to download and listen for yourself. Then read Orlando Patterson's recent Op-Ed in the Times (published the Friday of Dyson's third lecture), and then take a breeze through New Yorker editor David Remnick's 15-page essay on "Race and the Campaign of Barack Obama" (it appeared a week after Dyson's lectures but was likely written before them, although they follow some eerily similar threads). This month's election immediately opened the floodgates for a new discipline: Obama studies. And when the textbooks are written, they will probably begin right . . . here.
THE 2008 W.E.B. DUBOIS LECTURES
DOWNLOAD: Michael Eric Dyson, "Obama and Race" (November 5, 2008) [mp3]
DOWNLOAD: Michael Eric Dyson, "Obama and America" (November 6, 2008) [mp3]
DOWNLOAD: Michael Eric Dyson, "Obama and Rap" (November 7, 2008) [mp3]
The Phoenix is posting these files with the permission of, and in cooperation with, the W. E. B. Du Bois Institute. Special thanks to Vera Grant and Dell Hamilton for their help in making this possible.
The Fatal Flaw are a new pop-punk combo comprising recently transplanted bassist and singer Joel Reader (Mr. T Experience, the Avengers), guitarist Zack Wells (the Information), drummer Jason Seaver (the Vershok), and guitarist Matt Goldman (Steel Train). Local girlfriends who specialize in harshing all over their boyfriends’ respective rock bands might not appreciate the familiar bro-before-ho moral at the heart of their stunning new “The Great Indoors” — that settling down equals giving up, and that girls just don’t get it — but that shouldn’t stop them from eating up the song’s sugar-sweet pop-rock choppage. Catch the Flaw live at the Middle East upstairs on November 15 as they release their debut, We Are What We Pretend To Be (Lunch Records), and inspire a whole new generation of young people to be passive-aggressive dicks to their significant others. And get there early for the Lie Society, Harris, and Taxpayer. In the meantime, show your iPod who wears the tight pants in your house by grabbing “The Great Indoors."
DOWNLOAD: The Fatal Flaw, “The Great Indoors”
--Michael Brodeur
Monday, November 10, 2008
Juliana Hatfield was released today from an eating disorder treatment center, where she went to face down anorexia, according to Stereogum via Hatfield's personal blog. Yesterday, the 41-year-old Boston rocker/author/former Blake Baby wrote an extensive blog post from the treatment center:
"For the most part I
have not ever been inclined to escape with drugs and alcohol. In the
drugs-and-alcohol sense I am and have always been very straight. My
coping mechanism — or one of them; the one that kicked into high gear
again most recently — has been restricting food.
...I am having to come
to terms with the fact that at age 41, I found myself unraveling. Or,
rather, I unraveled. I wasn’t fully conscious of it. Others around me
noticed it before I did. A good friend forced me to confront the fact
that I was in serious trouble. “You need to get well” were his words.
...They
tell me here at the E.D. treatment center that people have been
hospitalized for being as low (at my height) as I was when I came here.
(I found that kind of alarmist and hard to believe — I was still
skeptical and in a little bit of denial, like everyone is when they
first come in for treatment for anything anywhere — but it scared me
anyway.) In this environment they shorten “eating disorders” — the name
of our problem — to “E.D.,” and say it like a man’s name (“Ed”), like
he is a bad man; an evil man whom we need to cast out of our lives, our
psyches.
Before
computers you never would have found me blabbing (blogging [blogging is
blabbing]) so openly like this about this. This is me being modern."
Hatfield goes on to describe the experience of being at an E.D. treatment center, which - as you might expect - is fascinating, yet sad. Read the full blog post here.
Previously:
"Baby fights the blues," by James Parker
"Windows: An excerpt from Juliana Hatfield's memoir," by Juliana Hatfield
Monday, November 03, 2008
The Abbey Lounge, Union Square's venerable garage/indie/punk dive, has lost its battle with this shitty economy. According to club employees, the Abbey's last day will be November 28. In addition, Abbey booking agent Mike Fuedale (a/k/a the Coffin Lids' Skinny Mike) confirmed this afternoon that the Abbey's final show will be November 26 -- bands are still TBA.
Back in September, when the Phoenix reported on a "last ditch" attempt to save the club with a series of benefit shows, Fuedale spelled out the financial problems afflicting the Abbey:
"We're saddled with debt from renovations
that were made a few years ago," says Abbey booking agent, Mike
Fuedale. Feudale — better known as "Skinny Mike "of the Coffin Lids —
says the renovations included removing a wall between the bar and the
performance area and building a separate wine bar next door . . .
But
debt isn't the only issue affecting the venerable venue. While clubs
everywhere are hurting as a result of a disastrous economy, the Abbey's
usual regulars are also growing older. "Priorities change," says Skinny
Mike. "I don't see a lot of the familiar faces."
Updates and conversation are ongoing over at the Lemmingtrail board.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
DOWNLOAD: Amadeus the Stampede, featuring Reks, “Deadly Toxins”
When the highly mobile Lawrence MC Reks returned to Mass before his Grey Hairs release party this past August, he blessed a mess of Boston affiliates with doses of his recently revamped dynamic slickery. Among his fortunate collaborators were Illin’ P, DL, Black Madeen, and Greater Good mic menace Amadeus the Stampede, whose full-length non-mixtape debut, House of Broken Mirrors, is set to drop early next year. On “Deadly Toxins,” Amadeus chases a nimble Reks burner with three dense minutes about Percocet abuse, blurred vision, and the gang of monkeys on his back. Whammy-bar dramatics and frenetic piano stabs courtesy of Guns-N-Butter producer J. Scrilla.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
As I walked down
the Paradise corridor toward the Murs show last
night I worried that the joint might not be stuffed to the balconies. It’s not
like I expected a riotous sell out, but considering that Lil Wayne and Jay-Z
packed the biggest room in Boston
one night earlier, it would have been extra disheartening if hip-hop’s most important
major label artist couldn’t draw a serious crowd.
Refreshingly, my
fears were squashed by a venue full of young white college kids. Most rappers will
tell you: if not for privileged English and psychology majors who puff herb,
there would be no feasible enlightened rap scene. There were hardly any girls
in sight, but I’m not complaining so long as we can keep attracting acts like these
to town. I’ll take what I can get – fill the place with Young Republicans for
all I care.
Due to time
constraints and my looming influenza, I only caught the middle of the show.
That is to say I regrettably arrived near the end of Big Pooh (Little Brother)
and Joe Scudda’s set, then stayed through Kidz In The Hall (KITH) and for 45
minutes of Murs. I just want to keep it honest; there are way too many critics who
lazily bounce before encores, and I’m not usually one of them.
KITH has been
gigging relentlessly, and, as a result, have developed theatrics that guarantee
fans a good time. With DJ Double-O smacking down his drum machine and MC
Naledge exhaling semi-didactic swagger, the Ivy Leaguers rocked with
commendable competence and confidence. As a kicker, they delivered a hilarious
live skit in which Double-O sang through an Auto-Tune processor a la T-Pain
just to show how easy that shit really is.
That said – and
this was my problem with the KITH album – their bangers are few and far between.
I mean this respectfully, as I believe that these guys can ultimately help
steal the torch from trite phonies such as Kanye West, but they’re at their
best when interpolating Tribe tracks and familiar Native Tongue aesthetics. And
one more thing on KITH: I’m feeling them and all, but I’m not sure they’re established
enough to douse crowds with Poland Spring.
Until last year,
Murs always hung out around his merch table. As he noted at the show: at least
on the East Coast, he’s for-a-minute been the guy opening for El-P, Mr. Lif,
and Aesop Rock. But even though his exceedingly excellent new disc, Murs for President, is on a major label,
Murs is hardly allergic to his fans; before his set he strolled through the
club and stood up front to read the crowd. The DJ cut in “Better Than The Best,”
and he jumped on stage to corroborate the hook: “The best that ever did it / Murs
is better than your favorite rapper admit it.”
From there he
ripped “H-U-S-T-L-E” – a track that every aspiring MC and so-called hustler
needs to internalize – and moved on through new album cuts, more 9th
Wonder gems including “Bad Man,” and even his Def Jux repertoire. I dare
someone to show me a more entertaining solo performer in all of hip-hop; in
addition to there not being a single dud in his canon, Murs does the running
man through his whole set and pulls that move where you grab an ankle and jump
through with the other leg. For good measure homeboy and his hype man even
covered Sublime’s “Date Rape.”
I hope this
major label stint is working for Murs; fuck knows he doesn’t need the money
considering his Paid Dues tour paper and various other hustles. Naïve as this
assumption may sound to anyone who prejudicially believes that all rappers are
materialistic nihilists: I’m sure that Murs didn’t sign with Warner for the cash,
but instead to reach and influence larger audiences. I’m certain that he could
have done last night’s numbers without an evil empire behind him, but I could
be wrong; and if one person at The Paradise would have missed out if he stayed
independent, then I suppose it’s all worthwhile. Plus he got a pretty sweet
tour bus out of it.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Poor JAM’N 94.5.
Just a few years ago their Monster Jams were suffering; hip-hop and R&B
fans were lucky if they caught more than one artist with more than two hit
songs. But in 2008 the station staged a commendable comeback with a roaring Summer
Jam line-up and a subsequent pre-Halloween blowout featuring Jay-Z and Lil Wayne,
only for the latter not to show up.
Actually he did
show up. But due to security demands that he be frisked, hip-hop’s most
notorious prima donna told the TD BankNorth Garden – as well as Boston, his fans, and
every hard working person who saved money to buy expensive tickets – to go fuck
themselves. I’ve interviewed Wayne
three times, and this shouldn’t surprise, but for some reason it bothers me.
One source close to the backstage fiasco claimed that homeboy was dusted, and
that would generally be a good excuse for such paranoia, but there’s no excuse
for nearly causing a riot.
As much as I
deplore the mini sluts and their drunken suburban boyfriends who filled the
crowd, I don’t enjoy seeing anyone’s fun crushed. No doubt this was a first
concert for a lot of kids, and I can only hope that they’ll continue supporting
live music after being elbowed by their hip-hop idol. This was a disgrace for
the entire rap establishment, and it shouldn’t be forgotten soon. Wayne didn’t just forget
where he came from, he forgot who helped him get where he’s gotten, and that’s
even worse.
I’d love to say
that Jay-Z saved the day. After all, Hova did emerge after a hostile wait with
an hour-and-a-half long set stuffed with enough hits to quell both young
materialists and weathered Brooklyn rap
traditionalists such as myself: “What do you want? I got 50 hits or I got 100,”
he said. But a lot of kids didn’t care; one bitch next to my friend complained:
“Who cares about old ass Jay-Z – Wayne
is our rock star.” It’s too bad, really, because Hova might be hip-hop’s last
distinguished gentleman. His soldiering performance this past night was proof
positive that he’s not just the King of New York, but of hip-hop as a whole. He
would never turn his back on fans, and that’s why he’ll be lamping long after Wayne is found overdosed
in a hotel room.
In a collateral
tragedy, Akrobatik and Jadakiss – two talents ten times the size of Lil Wayne –
were backstage. I know the practical answer to this rhetorical gesture, but why
couldn’t they come out and rock? In fact – why aren’t cats like them the ones
getting radio burn and murdering arenas in the first place? Maybe now that Boston’s “number one
place for hip-hop and R&B” has witnessed what a spoiled lil’ shit Weezy
truly is, they won’t beat listeners to death with his superficial
intellectuality. But I’m sure that won’t be the case.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Elliott Smith, "Say Yes" live (last show)
Elliott Smith, August 6, 1969 - October 21, 2003. Still just an immensely sad story.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I’m not packing clothes
for this year’s CMJ Marathon in New
York City. In fact, I’m not even bringing down a
laptop. Instead of spending five straight days inhaling various poisons,
feverishly blogging on the same nonsense that everyone else is covering, and
ransacking my weathered eardrums with out-of-tune guitar shreds and swollen
bass lines, I’m limiting my trip to one day and two nights, and seeing how much
I can cram in.
Armed with two
note pads, running shoes, an itinerary, and a fistful of Ritalin, I’m leaving Boston on Wednesday
afternoon. Upon arrival in Manhattan,
I’ll check in with CMJ, then head directly to a showcase (Please note: I won’t
have to drop bags off since I’m not bringing any). I’m aware that this seems silly.
How much can I actually cover in such a short time? Why not spend the whole
weekend? Surely I’ll end up staying for more debauchery.
Not so much. I
turned 29 this year, and music festivals are squandering my hopes of living one
more decade. This past March at South by Southwest in Austin I lost 13 pounds;
my trainer at the time said it was the result of complete malnutrition. He was probably
correct – I barely ate for an entire week, and, save for some shower water, I
hadn’t drunk a thing besides canned beer and whatever free cocktails were
served at sponsored happy hours.
So that I don’t
waste your time and mine, I devised a strategy. On my first night, the plan is
to check Homeboy Sandman and P. Casso at S.O.B.’s, then roll to the Gallery Bar
for Arabian Prince before peeping NY Oil and other progressive cats at Studio B
in Brooklyn. From there I’ll smash back
downtown for Ho-Ag at Bowery Poetry Club, then to Hollywood Holt at 205
Chrystie, Moby at Le Royale, and, finally, the Fools Gold Showcase at Webster
Hall until at least four in the morning.
On Thursday I’ll
wake early off whoever’s couch and gorge myself in a Burger King French toast
sticks before bouncing to the NYU
Kimmel Center
for a workshop. Despite having gone to CMJ more than half-a-dozen times, I’ve
never actually seen a panel; but I can’t miss the flagitiously phony DJ Spooky
partaking in a discussion titled “Current Independent Culture through the Eyes
of True Indie Pioneers.”
Since I’m out of
words like “run,” “hop,” and “roll” to over-describe how I’ll be commuting between
shows, here goes a simplified list of some remaining artists who I’ll be trying
to see before I jet early Friday morning: Ovum, Dirty On Purpose, Cheeseburger,
U-N-I, 88 Keys, George Clinton, Ill Bill, Sean Price, Dujeous, Mobius Collective,
Pharoahe Monch, Statik Selektah, Reks, Termanology, J-Zone, Q-Tip, Yo Majesty!,
Hercules and Love Affair, and Shout Out Out Out Out.
I won’t make
more predictions – other than that I’ll feel badly for the person sitting next
to me on the bus ride back – but I will make one promise: my exclusive on line
feature, “CMJ In One Day,” will be posted on The Phoenix web site before 5pm
this Friday. Hang tough.
Filed under: Hercules and Love Affair, Ho-Ag, Mad Decent, Shout Out Out Out Out, Moby, Dirty On Purpose, Dujeous, Mobius Collective, CMJ, Pharoahe Monch, J-Zone, Termanology, DJ Spooky, CMJ Marathon 2008, Fools Gold, U-N-I, South by Southwest, Ovum, NY Oil, Yo Majesty!, George Clinton, Homeboy Sandman, Cheeseburger, Bowery Poetry, 88 Keys, Sean Price, Arabian Prince, Reks, Ill Bill, Statik Selektah, Q-Tip, P. Casso, Studio B, SXSW