the ghost robot
for my dedicated readers (ha)
Late Registration Bonus Tracks (Japanese/Internet Import)
Kanye West- We Can Make It BetterkanYe West- Back To Basics
Like Vybez Kartel, I keep it up ta de tyme.
Hollabacks go out to the guy with new sneakers, the girl in Geneva, and the guy with girl problems.
- Imagine if yr record collection looked like this.
Daft Punk- Rollin' & Scratchin'
- On the Southbound 405, on a Friday afternoon, traffic is measured in inches, not delays. I spent long, long hours in that eternal sunshine, splaid across two seats, headphones on, zoning out. I'd listen to a cd over and over again, or flip back and forth between KROQ and Power 106 (blazing hip hop and r n b). Hearing "Da Funk" on one of those long rides absolutely blew my mind.
- In 1995, Thom and Guy-Manuel were just two regular dudes with a passing interest in funk and soul records, out on a Friday night, looking for girls. Drunk and tired from another relatively uneventful night on the dancefloor, our everyday young Parisians stumbled towards their ratty apartment. Trolling down a backalley, a doorman dressed in red space suit stops the two, pulling back a velvet rope to unmarked club, probably one of those underground ones that only a friend of a friend knows about. Inside the club, it's completly silent. Thom can't even hear his own footsteps, but Guy is too busy looking at the amazing light show- mon dieu. As the two friends find their way to the middle of the dancefloor, it's completly barren- like the goddam surface of the moon or something. As the two keep looking around the club, there's suddenly a keyboard and a drum machine in front of them, black, shin monsters. Holy shit- what is this place? Thom and Guy look at each other in fear, amazement, hope and terror. As they gaze back at the keyboards, they see a gigantic black obilisk, square and about 18 feet talk. This is what the next seven minutes and twenty eight seconds sounds like.
Cut to a space station called Plantain Studios, somewhere in the Manhattan system. As Vito and the rest of members of UNSC Rapture float in space after a "docking malfunction," Doctor James Murphy has taken matters into his own hands. Attempting to manually remove the higher function drives from KORG, the stations onboard artificial intelligence, our human protagonist hears the booming stereo system. "James, is that you? James? I'm worried about you James? You've seemed strange lately... Oh don't do that James. You don't want to do that. Would you like to hear a song I learned to sing?"The Boxer (DFA Version)- The Chemical Brothers
On that NERD tip: "My name plate medallion says never trust a HAL 9000."
here it go
Dipset, for all its glory, is fairly insular. While hardcore heads hunt down Hell Rell freestyles and worship the purple footprints of the Killa himself, most folks just shrug and either go 'meh' or 'huh'?
For the uninitiated, Juelz Santana is Human Crack, which makes this track human crack on wax. The picture at left shows our lyrist with a tissue all up in his nostril, on the set of an upcoming four part music video crime drama setter from Cameron (they obviously owe the R. like whoa). This song cooks up"Grindin" and "Wait" like coke and baking soda.There it Go (The Whistle Song)- Juelz Santana
poster for college radio sign up
It's the jump off, so just jump off!
yr favorite holiday comes early
This is amazing. I had to run aross the house and tell my roommate about it before i even finised listening to this song. Why can't pop culture be like this all the time?
A parody of "Do They Know It's Christmas?" in particular and benefit songs in general, this gift features an ensemble cast of alt-indie-weird icons, including at least two of your favorite bands. Nick Diamonds of the Unicorns and Adam Gollner of the New York Times wrote it, and Nick does all the art.
Will it save the world? Let's hope it's the biggest single ever and it feeds tens of thousands of hungry children. If making great songs are a good cause, does that make this a good cause for a good cause?North American Hallowe'en Prevention Initiative- Do They Know It's Hallowe'en?
Buy it this October. Twice. It's for UNICEF. Really. Honestly. Please.
rocker, i know what yr talking about
"Dear M. Jones,
Suffice to say, I dig the repetition in the music. I did a song once where I just said L.A. over and over and over again again, and it's probably one of my best. I don't really get out much, but one of the small studio fucks played me one of yr songs. Not bad. Saying yr name over again and again, and the cell phone numbers, good shite. Suffice to say, I dig the repetition in the music. Lots of blokes play with language in music in all those miserable, predictable ways, with cutesy puns and rhymes and dead ideas that died out 400 years ago. I mean using "back thens" as nouns? Those slowed up "know whut i'm saying" things might give one a head expansion syndrom. Fucking great. Let those small trainspotting music critcks run their yaps, but uh, keep your grind on er something. Shite, I never went platinum.
Mark E. Smith"Mike Jones- Know What I'm Saying (Feat. Bun B and Lil' Keke)
Yes, Rory Themfinest
, I'm lurking. I posted some pics of Diplo in Japan from you before, and now I'm posting your incredible pop culture mash up poster. I want to steal this so bad. Instead, I guess I'll steal the loose idea of taking classic movie posters over to the photo-chop-shop and going to work.
i'm working so i won't have to try so hard
This hooded sweatshirt reminds me of the internet. A man stands on block of code, clears his throat, and screams "I've got something to say!"
This is a live recording of Built to Spill covering the Strokes, and it makes me feel better about both bands. Sometimes indie rock only equals the sum of its gestures, a whiny guitar line, a quirky vocal, and echoes of someone else's record collection. Here, Doug Marsh and company are finally freed from the pressure of being themselves (indie+Idaho). Replacing the impossible telephone cool of those guys in chucks and ties, Marsh's vocals makes "Someday" vulnerable and accessible This tale of teengage kicks and the good old days in New York gets brought to your hometown, and now sings about your old crush, and the funny she did that summer. Striped of the Strokes themselves, "Someday" finds itself to be a great pop-rock song, and a little surprised to be more than a new-vintage accessory.Built To Spill- Someday
Head over to One Louder
, where you can get their take on this little number, as well as some other choice mp3s.
that's my tee shit
You up on this?
-that skindie indie rawk rock
-grimey for the limey
-those pop (your) culture anthems
-gang gang dance dance
of the seventies
-bands from Britain that wanna be
-No New York
meets Yes New York
-the mdma of XTC
-los mutantes de os mutantes
-haunt musik straight from tha trap
Like 'Ye said, "Man, you ain't up on this!"
ps- who's rocking rubber rain boots tucked into their dark selvages this fall? who knows about dri-fit from taiwan? woven dunks?Le Tigre- After Dark (Diplo Mix)
it was me
So you're in the hip place in the bigger city, and you're like "Well, yeah, I like that new Spoon album, but only the first seven tracks- hey, watch where you're going! Shit, these are suede. Fuck! Anyway, I don't really understand those last tracks- it's like the album has an 'A' side and a 'B' side... like grades! Hahaha! You like that?! Yeah hahhahahahahahathat'sgoodi'madouchebag."
Well, first of all, fuck you.
Second, follow these tracks (mine) and you'll understand.
We spent most of the day looking through the old house. We drilled a hole in the vanity fixture, wired in the switch, screwed everything in place, cut the power, wrapped it in electrical tape, switched the power on, and voila, like Ben Franklin's magic, we had light. We checked in the crawl space, pulled out a three wheeled radio flyer, and fiddled with the ancient fuses on the intercom system. It's a fixer-upper, but the possibilites are fininte, in sight, and hopeful. The three of us drew big plans in the air and had a couple of cold beverages. We shot the shit, and Andy told us the story of the sophmore and the coonskin thong.
It got dark, and then it got darker. The boys left, and I was about to get a call from across town. I hopped on the blue beach crusier, just trued the wheels last week, and was over in ten. We sat on the porch, and she told me about the fight, how she was scared about the move, and wondered when the uncertain present would turn into the bright future. I agreed- it was scary to be in your mid-twenties- shit, had it been really been ten years since we huddled in the basement and had that first sip? We talked till around one, and when I offered my hand, she gave me a hug.
As most good roads in honest small towns do, this one took me through the woods. Black clouds had dropped in around seven, and the asphalt was still wet. They always spray down the streets on movie sets, and it was just that perfect kinda damp. Uphill, I passed a nervous skunk and a newly fallen tree. Downhill, night birds swooped down, nearly kissing the handlebars. Right turn, down main street, officially a state highway, but locally two yellow lines. Without a car for miles, I tried to keep my wheels right in the middle, neither oncoming nor outgoing. As I began thinking about the day, I passed under a streetlight, then out of reach.
I am not in darkness, I am.
I am not in, I am.
I am not in, I am darkness.
In that great murky black, I alternated stranger, ghost, stranger until I reached the park. As a cop car came out from a side street, I stashed the bike behind the big tree and under the bush, and walked that last block home.
Did you get that? That's what the last four songs of Gimme Fiction
are about. Hipster-yuppie scum, get your vintage bike and iPod out, wait till sundown, and see what I'm talking about.Spoon-Was It You?
you gotta live
First, a statement of relevant findings.
1. I got zero hits yesterday or the day before.
2. Like, OMG, there's so much drama in the LBC. The ghost robot stayed up past his bedtime talking to a friend about a situation that is on some b-a-n-a-n-a-s shit, and mercifully unrelated to me.
3. I haven't gotten to sleep before 4am in a week.
4. Unprofessional personal expression need not be the province of snarky criticism or self-doubt.
5. It's my blog, and it's now or never (I ain't gonna live forever).
Since the previous five facts are true, the ghost robot will break off regualary scheduled music evangelism and present some high-school level unfocused emotion more appropriate for the live journal set(interruption already in progress). [post edited, major redactions, suffice to say, things have been tough lately.]
This song ends Optimo's How to Kill the DJ Part 2
mix. It is a certified mixtape killer. More importantly, it is one of the best represtentations of human existence in popular music. Admittedly, that sounds like just more internerd blog bluster, but this is no joke. You are entitled to your own opinion, but, please, just listen and you will know the reason why.
Love- Everybody's Got To Live
diamonds all in my mouf
Now introducing the perfect graduation present
for your youngster. Finally, goth kids, vampires, okayplayers, Pharrell and Paul Wall can agree on something. Let the healing begin.Boss Hova- Sittin' Sideways
where it's at...
Big news, which has very little to do with this blog, but has everything to do with the syncopated wails of haunted robots.
are on their way, along with Serato, a ridiculous mixer, and nite club needles, all courtesy deejay ray ray.
I'm very, very excited about this, and I'm trying to keep my expectations tethered like ballons at a birthday party. Now let's blow out the candles and cut a song like birthday cake.
In the summer of 1976, prog and pub rock left their post atop the British charts, and some young punks struted in like they owned the place. The Stranglers decided that they didn't belong in either camp, so they mooned the departing geezers spat upon the mohawked upstarts. In the ensuing generation riot, the Stranglers stole keyboard hooks and a sax solo from Roxy Music, nabbed a thumping guitar line or two from the punks, and some old fashioned talent and show-manship from the pubs. (Get A) Grip (On Yourself), their first single, shows what the Stranglers did with these stolen goods.
The Stranglers- (Get A) Grip (On Yourself)
Photo credit: rorythemfinest