December 31, 2003 (0) Comments

They had the primitive technologist convention, microPALOOZA, atGround Kontrol, a "retrocade" populated by Centipede and Dig Dug and BurgerTime and varying degrees of Commodore, on display, some for sale ($1499 for a game using vector graphics). Under-21s in nu Pac Man tee-shirts, enraptured by (Italo) disco versions of Inspector Gadget theme song on modified C64s and circuit-bent chiptune makers, danced like tent revival converts. We pumped quarters into pinball machines-- none newer than Addams Family, some older than Brooke Shields in that movie Tilt. It was the '80s version of the future, but like time had actually ceased. Why did '80s technology come encased in such boring plastic?: greyish tan, frumpy coal, ambiguous brown, as though it was something dangerous, dressed in not-quite friendly, sensible hues, for maximum neutrality. Before technology was reinterpreted in iMac raspberry, sensual G4 platinum. Before technology was sexy. My cell phone rang--vibrated, actually--and I felt uncomfortable answering it, with its auspicious earpiece and dainty nature; I felt as if, by answering, every Commodore enthusiast in the place would turn and point and scream in alien-bloody octaves. I would become Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, singled out and marked for death. And still, though some performers were using outdated technology to make futuristic-sounding music weighted heavy with nostalgia, not all the microtunage adhered to a strict set of rules re: gear Ludditism. Some set 8-bit melodies to pre-sequenced (non-Commodore) beats, or imported laptop reverb from the future, aka now.

David and I wandered around the arcade to the tunes of Qbert and Dig Dug--like moths controlled by dazzling blips--played Police Squad Pinball and Joust, and lost. Really, you always lose at these things, unless you just never stop. We happened upon one of Ground Kontrol's owners, gripping a controller and staring with a kind of anguished passion into a screen. "When I first met him," David told me, "he said he was addicted to Missile Command in college." The guy, clearly post-grad and maybe a couple decades on, did not look up, but kept shooting at incoming missiles. When he lost a post, he responded, not to us but to the game: "Shit."

December 29, 2003 (0) Comments

"Booyah," as the aforementioned Science Party Ditcher/Good Friend Jay Winebrenner would say. Ladies und Gentlemen, the Mitochondria Guy. His 1997 findings have "had a major impact on the field of ischemia-reperfusion research."

December 28, 2003 (0) Comments

My good friend Jay Winebrenner works at a froufy bar in NW Portland, where lots of rich people go, and they serve non-vegetarian items such as octopus. As a result, he meets lots of people I would never have occassion to, such as the man who sold him a mint condition baby-blue Mercedes for $300 because had too many of them, and the Mitochondria Guy.

Supposedly, the Mitochondria Guy is up for a prestigious science prize, he being the premiere researcher of mitochondria on the West Coast. Jay first said the prize was the Nobel, but then he waffled, leading me to believe he did not know what the hell he was talking about. However, any man who is known primarily as Mitochondria Guy deserves at least some sort of compensation. Last week, Jay invited me to the Mitochondria Guy's party celebrating the prize. Today, he went to the party without me. It was the only thing I'd been looking forward to for weeks--I've been hyperventilating with anticipation, wondering, "What is the Prize?"

Jay called me, after the party. He said everything was "dark wood," there was an actual, 18th Century harpsichord, and it was attended by lots of scientists from the Ukraine. And he still didn't find out if the prize is indeed Nobel. I am devastated on all accounts. However, if this hadn't occurred, I would never have discovered that my two new favorite words are: "mitochondria," and "harpsichord."

I don't really celebrate Xmas, despite being raised by the staunchest of Mexican Catholic families (I am going to hell because I haven't had any kids yet, FYI), but over the break from work and this weblog I managed to: take up a new hobby (origami), cut animal shapes into cardstock, write long, effusive handwritten letters to lost and future boyfriends, glue photos of my face to cards for my 12 aunts and uncles (see what I mean about not procreating), watch a bad documentary about John Zorn, agonize over my top 10 lists (which I will post here soon, detailing the agony, but Come One, Come All, Haters!!), write 0 emails, read 28378239 books on feminism and music, read three more pages into the wonderful Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem, see my friend/ex-co-worker Katia Dunn who now works at WBEZ Chicago, learn about all the children being left behind thanks to Bush's "No Child Left Behind" policy (Katia's beat), try to jog in the pouring rain except not jog in the pouring rain, dance for 5 hours straight to an all-house set by Jammotron, and do two loads of laundry in 35 minutes.

Sorry about the personal nature of this post, but I haven't talked to anyone in about four days. We'll get back to our regularly scheduled analysis of Kelis, Nas, and the cast of Brown Sugar (and the actual identity of the Mitochondria Guy) as soon as I reintegrate myself into society.

Happy winter celebration time to all, and good will to humanity.

December 22, 2003 (0) Comments

From Andrew Miller, homie in the KC:
ON the cover, a sleigh and the word "you"
Inside, "sleigh me" and an inscription:

"Julianne,
May your holidays reign (like blood from a lacerated sky), and may you fly free in 2004, like a rabid angel of death.

xoxo Andrew"

December 21, 2003 (0) Comments

Homeboy P-Disco and I are obsessed with New Jack Swing and will, in fact, start DJing it the second we can find Toni Tony Tone vinyl. As such, the best $8.50 I spent yesterday was not for tickets to the Blazers-Spurs game (where shots materialized and then vaporized and, despite a couple good [pointless] plays, the Blazers didn't seem to notice another team was even on the court).
The best $8.50 I spent yesterday went towards Bell Biv Devoe's greatest hits record, used. "Gangsta" sounds like the second half of Kish Kash and maybe B-Jaxx is New Jack Swing, is all. Lisa Kekula reimagined as a Fly Girl-era Rosie Perez, all pomp and circumstance and uncircumscribable power.

Spent all day at the library, inhaling the dust of knowledge, reading back issues of Sojourner magazine and wondering how some of the same arguments in feminism keep repeating themselves, politics vs. mechanics of sex and sex work in particular--1970s Audre Lorde, 1980s Andrea Dworkin vs. Karen Lindsey, Camille "I don't even know if she's at all considered because I am not in college nor was I ever, really" Paglia, Bust Magazine. Ideas that reconsider sexual freedom, and see female appropriation of aggressive male sex power characteristics as self-degrading and anti-humanist. And, a thought from the early 20th Century, from Suzanne LaFollette:

"Nothing could be more grotesquely unjust than a code of morals, reinforced by laws, which relieves men from responsibility for irregular sex acts, and for the same acts drives women to abortion, infanticide, prostitution, and self-destruction."

Nearly 100 years later, Sabrina Sojourner:

"I want a female centered and defined sexuality that recognizes the power of surrender and capture."

And, this year, Lil' Kim lyrics (from "Cant Hold Us Down" w/Christina Aguilera):

"Check it--Here's something I just can't understand
If the guy have three girls then he's the man
He can either give her some head, or sex her raw
If the girl do the same, then she's a whore
But the table's about to turn
I'll bet my fame on it
Cats take my ideas and put their name on it
It's alright though, you can't hold me down
I got to keep on movin'
To all my girls with a man who be tryin to mack
Do it right back to him and let that be that
You need to let him know that his game is wack
And Lil' Kim and Christina Aguilera got your back."

What conditions make it necessary for Kim and Christina--two women who've been vilified for their sexually aggressive appearances/lyrics, who may or may not practice a complicit self-objectification--to indict the double standard, addressing issues that were not only integral to the feminist movement of the '70s, but were integral to the feminist thought of the Suffragettes? A hundred years have passed. We still don't have the answers. Or maybe we have the answers, but mass practical application is kind of a snag.

This is what I am researching at the library. Exploring like I'm and the Temple of Doom.

My favorite library employee, David Chandler, caught me in the reference section and played devil's advocate, questioned Christina and Kim's debt to the record industry, and whether they were just "jumping on the bandwagon." I considered it. But what bandwagon? The massive bandwagon of explicitly feminist song lyrics that's sweeping Clear Channel? Oh yeah. If that's what they were doing, jumping on a bandwagon of it being cool and accepted and economically rewarded/beneficial to be a vocal, unfaltering feminist in the context of Today's Popular Music, I would tattoo the letters S-T-O-K-E-D across my belly in the queen's cursive, or at least Olde English. Where is the magical bandwagon--the Liz Phair bandwagon? The Brody Dalle one? Missy? Anyone who wants to enlighten me gets a special handmade, non-denominational, non-gender-specific winter holiday card.
Then David Chandler, my favorite library employee, playing devil's advocate after fixing the printer of the lady librarian who showed me where to look, shared with me this rad link. This link is where we will download every deep house track in the whole wide world. All things considered, even shoveling my way through piles of conundrum, I feel very fortunate for the privilege.

December 19, 2003 (0) Comments

Portland Oregon's Voodoo Doughnut, home of the Tang doughnut, the caffeine doughnut, and the world-famously disgusting Robitussin doughnut (until the FDA smackdown), has created a new doughnut called "Maple Blazer Bluntz." It is a doughnut shaped like a blunt, rolled in cinnamon, with one end dipped in maple with a red-sprinkled ember. On game days, if the Blazers score at least 85 points, regardless of win, Blazer Bluntz cost 85 cents. If they don't hit 85 points, the price is $1. And if Qyntel Woods gets busted at any time during NBA season, they are lowering the price of the Blazer blunt to 55 cents.

Voodoo Doughnut. You can even get married there. And last week, Janet Weiss (Sleater-Kinney, Quasi) set a record for "Longest drum solo ever in a doughnut shop"--she played drums for one hour without stopping. No word if she was fueled by Blazer Bluntz, or Oregon cheeb.

December 18, 2003 (0) Comments

Whoa, mami. It has come to my attention, both in person and via this MTPPS weblog, that certain competitors and audience members of the Portland All-Area Laptop Battle 2003 are dissatisfied with some of the judges' choices. While I will never rat out my fellow judges, nor will I divulge my votal leanings lest the code of honor/oath of silence be violated and the integrity of future laptop battles be compromised, I will say that certain decisions (especially Dampkrane vs. Deceptikon and the aforementioned, highly controversial Glomm vs. Y.A.C.H.T. deathmatch) were incredibly difficult to reach consensus, often hinging on the very agonized vote of one person. It was, as put by Steven OPB Cantor, choosing between apples and oranges, or choosing between the carefully composed, conceptual naturescape vs. the IDM jam, as in the case of Waterdog vs. Deceptikon. And how is anything ever decided upon? Through a series of subjective paradigms, rooted in the individual and collective histories of each of the judges, held up to knowledge of other musics, of other programs, of life experience. In the end, it is every nanosecond of every moment in time, collected in one snap decision, affecting all the future, everywhere, from that point on, through the ages of eternity. It is the meat of life's sustenance.

I find the assertion that my giving Jona (Y.A.C.H.T.) the "Most Profusely Sweating" award was a slap in the face, a slap in the face. Do you know how long it took me to embroider little laptops on sweatbands? THE ENTIRETY OF the WINGED MIGRATION DVD, plus additional scenes, dude. I am a slow embroiderer. But Jona deserved every moment of every bird caught midflight by minicam, if you consider "sweat" to be the physical embodiment of love, exertion, determination, endurance and sheer human will. As I do. A slap in the face? Nay--an offering. Would Good King Wenceslas turn his back on an offering? I think not. He would accept it. And pass it on to those less fortunate. Only to be murdered by his own brother. Chew on that.

The judging was excruciating. I would say it was a nightmare but nightmares are not fun, and the laptop battle was inspiring, dramatic, exhilarating and educational. FUN. The talent was astonishing; the turnout, moreso (hey, where are you guys at all the regular shows?!?!?!). Some of my favorite compositions included flexy, improvised drums burrowing deep into my naisty soul (Dampkrane) to manic pop 'n' bass (Y.A.C.H.T., Waterdog's second set), and the second to last Strategy number, which was crazy cabana house--crazy cabana enough to compel Steve Schroeder, an onlooker, to play air bongos. Deceptikon won the championship, in a breathtaking final sweep after Strategy's laptop shit the bed--reminding us all that even technology is mortal.

Indeed, there were haters in the crowd, but it was a battle, after all. Even in Portland, it's not like we should've expected group knitting, tea sipping, vegan marshmallow recipe-swapping, or other conventions of civilization. I got booed several times. Did you see me running home to mommy? No, sir, you did not. I simply flipped those cowardly, anonymous boo-boo heads the bird from the stage, and God raised my hitpoints by about 25 or 26. You should totally go to Hip Hop Tonight sometime---the shit-talking at that massive hater potluck makes even the bouncers cry. It makes Brock Lesnar writhe around on the floor like a little baby, and dude isn't even there. You'll be eatin deep dirt!!

In a Lesser assertion of ridiculosity, and in homage to the roots of the contemporary laptop composer and '80s brethren, today I spent some time on the horn with Los Angelean Seth Sternberger. As 8-Bit Weapon, Seth uses SIDplay, a program that emulates the sounds of the Sound Interface Device, which was the first digital analog synthesis chip for computers. He runs it on two Commodores, with a Pong paddle controller, remixing old video game theme songs and composing original music. Seth's part of a community of composers who make"chiptunes" or "micromusic." Though some micro is indeed house, it is not to be confused with microhouse.

ADDENDUM/CORRECTION 12/22:
Seth would like to point out that he does not, in fact, use SIDplay on 2 C64s. He uses SIDplay on 2 PCs. "Live, I use a c64 with a music machine cart, and a c128 with a SID synthcart (wich uses the Pong paddle to alter the resonance)...As well as a Gameboy classic (big grey one) with a sequencer/syhthesizer/sampler called little sound DJ!"

Which is way cooler than what we'd first imagined. Apologies to Seth for short-shrifting his bonkers set-up.

December 17, 2003 (0) Comments

TONITE!
Portland All-Area Laptop Battle
Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison, Portland, OR, 9 pm

WHO IS THE BEST LIVE IMPROVISING LAPTOP PERSON IN PORTLAND?
Competitors include Strategy, Glomm, CNS Engineering, Y.A.c.H.T., [[VVRRSSIONN]], Brian Foote, Deceptikon, Dizzystarhouse, EIGHT MORE! (two women!)

All- and Semi-Star Judges panel: David "Brokenwindow/Solenoid" Chandler, E*Rock, Steven "OPB" Cantor, Kris "I won the Seattle Laptop Battle" Moon, and yours "totally stoked" truly

ENCAPSULATED HERE LATER FOR THOSE UNABLE TO ATTEND

December 15, 2003 (0) Comments

On Kelis' "In Public" off TASTY: Why must Nas refer to his "erection," awkwardly instructing Kelis to "spread your legs"? Where is R.Kelly, wielding his smooth lyrical bible when you need him? (Picture him as Gandalf with a wand of sexaphors, it's real funny.) As the only Nas/Kelis collab on the album, "In Public" should have striven for at least half the exhilirating passion of "Crazy in Love," but it resonates with all the mystery of a pap smear. The chorus is "Let's get it on in public/oh daddy, won't you let me be your subject"; a line so clumsy I cringe--sans lyrical foreplay, it's just exhibitionism for exhibitionism's sake---the narcisstic thrill of being watched, but very little audible passion. This is absolutely the wrong move compared to the steamy zip-lip their counterparts (/rivals[?]) Jay and Be keep on their thing--that is, at least if Kelis and Nas care about making it to Numero Uno on the hottest couple list in Vibe Awards, 2004.

And if you can judge chemistry by the sound of music, Nasir Jones had best watch out for Andre Benjamin, because "Millionare," his collabo with Kelis on Tasty, throbs with the breathy infatuation of new lovers getting dizzy. Then again, Dre has enough charm and charisma that, on the Love Below, he even sounds hot for Norah Jones, aka one of the coldest-sounding supposedly passionate ladies currently on disc, barring, like, Celine Dion.

More non-celebrity obsessed stuff on that later, as I further spelunk the eros of the most anticipatedly erotic record of the last month, at least. (Sorry if that was grody)

Speaking of tasty, I'm going for a burrito now. In homage, here is how my mom and grandma made enchiladas:
mix a pinch of salt and a bunch of really good chili powder with water to make a slightly watery paste
cover a tortilla evenly with your paste
fry the pasty chili tortilla in oil
dump in a bunch of shredded cheese, onions, peas
roll it up
put in oven at 375 and bake until cheese is melted
eat
go for a really long jog

here is how my mom and grandma made sopa:
fry some DRY, UNCOOKED angel hair pasta, until it is brown and real crunchy
cover in vegetable broth, chopped onions, chopped tomatoes, boiled chicken if you're into that kind of thing
boil and simmer until pasta is cooked
eat
run around the block

For the love of god, it's like the first time I ever ate a vegetable was in like, 1997.

December 14, 2003 (0) Comments

My "DJ" Night at Tube: An Index

Number of times resident DJ guy had to fix my levels: 2928
Number of times record skipped due to a stiletto heel: 2
Amount of money drunk guy gave me to play "Spoonin' Rap" by Spoonie Gee: $1
Length, in minutes, of "Spoonin' Rap": 20 hours
Amount of times drunk guy's drunk friend asked me if I had any "old school Cypress Hill": 2
Percentage of patrons in bar who were my friends: 97
Number of those friends who are actual, bona fide DJs: 3
Number of those friends who left to go see other friends DJ: 2
Number of those friends who came specifically to hear Roxanne Shante: 2
Number of notches I had to push the levels because Roxanne Shante's Greatest Hits is mastered like ass: 4
Roxanne Shante song played: "Brothers Ain't Shit"
Number of times Kelis' "Milkshake" was requested: 2
Number of times Kelis' "Milkshake" was played: 0
Number of times Nas was played: 0
Number of times Jay-Z was played: 0
Number of times Beyonce was played: 0
Number of times Destiny's Child was played: 2
Number of Destiny's Child tracks played which were garage mash-ups: 2
Amount of money earned: $50
Combined cost of Destiny's Child garage mash-ups: $25.98
Number of Diet Colas consumed: 3
Number of Diet Colas consumed after midnight: 2
Was that a good idea: no

December 14, 2003 (0) Comments

As the final paragraph indicates, this is either depressing proof of the predictability/redundance of the Top 40, or affirming and uniting, in that people can respond to the same tones and patterns in the same ways. WE'RE ALL CONNECTED, MAN. I think we should make legislation NOW that says if a label uses Hit Song Science to make its tracks, we should be alerted, PMRC style, with a sticker: "Warning: These Tunes are Prosthetic."

Hold up, wait a minute: is music generated via artifical intelligence even music? (If so, I totally have a boyfriend on SIMS.) In the interest of not being cynical--about the possibility of a producer changing tracks in order to be more algorithmically resonant (aka monetarily rewarding)--what if tweaking music in Hit Song Science is, essentially, a more efficient method of communication? (Because its manipulated modes are both music AND math.)

But it's all right for now, because there will always be the folks who like their art messy, and bloodied with mistakes.
Like right now, I, personally, would way rather listen to the difficult jawed rhythms of Gyorgy Kurtag than booooring old Beethoven.

December 12, 2003 (0) Comments

things are not looking good for the fringer Dems for Prez, access-wise, after ABC pulled its three reporters embedded in the Kucinich, Carol Moseley Braun and Rev. Al Sharpton campaigns.

December 11, 2003 (0) Comments

Not to keep harping, but I am utterly obsessed with this woman's writing. This woman writes like words are numbers. She is writing like science, and her reviews are an equation. Ending in a grade. As if wrapped in cellophane. Sheared away. And leaving me hungry for more.

December 11, 2003 (0) Comments

Here's another.

(thanks to my homeboy, Rob Kelley, for putting us up on this amazing woman.)

And our old pal Rasheed has some interesting things to say about the NBA hiring younger and less experienced.

December 11, 2003 (0) Comments

Monsieur Christgau, Bowling Green wants a word with you.

December 10, 2003 (0) Comments

The name of this Movable Type Weblog is cribbed from a thrift store in Berlin, also called "Cowboyz 'n' Poodles," where I did not shop but marveled at the possibility. Last night, however, at the fantastical Thomas Fehlmann performance, "Cowboyz 'n' Poodles" became a new dance.

Okay: stand taut, body facing forward, shoulders turned left at a 45 degree angle. With your left hand, pretend that you are lassoing; watch your lasso out of your eyes' periphery, head cocked slightly for balance. Meanwhile, extend your right hand forward and shuffle, as if you are being pulled along on a leash (by your poodle). As usual, get real pelvic, s'il vous plait.

It clicked during Fehlmann's sweet shuffle, an ingenious little loper with a country/western rhythm. MIDI jacks on the range! And for a brief heavenly moment, the room breathed with the energy of a Madonna video, with Fehlmann himself savvily working the audience, bopping around behind the laptop, making eye contact and grinning just before hitting a new bassline, seesawing funky melodies and crinkling rhythms like paper. We loved him; he was cool with that.

Scott, the Holocene booker, was lovely and giggling from his single Scorched Earth (151, kahlua, espresso--ay, chihuahua!). After the show, he introduced me to Monsieur Fehlmann. Our meeting was brief; I felt a vaguely embarrassing sense of giddiness, which hasn't happened since charming Jay-Z told us he wouldn't shake our hands to save time. I offered the inane compliment, "Wow, that was great," while feeling self-conscious at the sweat collecting underneath my fuzzy hat, wondering if I was stanky from two hours of busting the Cowboyz'n'Poodles. Thomas Fehlmann beamed, bigger than Madonna and sweeter too, and said he loved it here and was coming back. Daniel Meteo played reggae 45s into the night.

December 8, 2003 (0) Comments

CONFESSION: I used to be really worried my uprock narratives looked more like Michael Flatley.

RESOLUTION: Then I saw the video for "Pass That Dutch" and realized my sucky b-girling was, in actuality, next level visionary.

Missy, thank you for affording me the confidence to step into the cypher. (PS if I suddenly disappear from writing here, it's because I got my ass kicked)

December 8, 2003 (0) Comments

Despite the headline "Marijuana: The Blazers' Toughest Foe," which makes me think of a traveling medicine man on a soapbox, the Trib wrote effusive soft praise of Young Zachary Randolph, including details of his throwback jersey collection and a genuinely nice comment from Grampy John Nash (Blaza Hata). Zach's best friend on the team is Qyntel Woods, which is so sweet my eyeballs are making fresca.
You can't see it on the website, but in the print version, there's a giant photo of Zach in his house, wearing a Patrick Ewing Knicks jersey, playing some ESPN NBA game on the X-Box on the floor of his darkened, stark living room, which is fully tiny-bachelor style---tile floors, a couch, a TV, halogen floor lamp. As if to illuminate the stark contrast of an innocent youth, poised precariously at the cusp of NBA gigastardom (thanks Monsieur Safire) yet still heavily tethered to his small-town roots, his siblings, his loving mama. And who will guide him, that he may keep his innocence? Who will protect Zach's character from the ravenous, moralizing sports media, from the voracious, maniacal, bizarre behavior of Sheed Wallace (I still love you anyway, man), from the back-stabbing step-dadisms of John Nash? Who will protect him from the Orwellian nature of the North Portland Police Squad aka Beyond Thunderdome?

Qyntel and Zach, you must clasp each other's hands tightly, as you walk through the valley of darkness. I will kiss my junior Spalding each night before sleep, that you may have luck in the ether. Godspeed!

December 8, 2003 (0) Comments

"I got a rap that's as fat as my waist band
You got a rap that belongs in the waste can"

--Vast Aire, on the Jean Grae EP

Must loop, listen always.

December 7, 2003 (0) Comments

Found this in unrelated search: Libretto does indeed have a full-length coming out soon, on.... DIM MAK?

I have mixed feelings about this, mostly because I think Libretto is amazing and I don't want his album to be lost in a tear in the fabric of time, which could happen given Dim Mak's track record (their releases hit on waves and trends, from political hardcore to art/noise/dance to field samples of like, Brace Paine barfing in a can of Hormel chili). And now: hiphop. From Misfit Massive.

But I also "heard" Dim Mak bands can just call up Steve Aoki (a very very nice and earnest, well-meaning fellow, I must assert) and procure truckloads of money to record, so more power to everyone. Steve: save some dough-re-mi for Libretto's crew! They do drink quite a lot of bottled water.

It will be the best record Dim Mak ever releases, perhaps barring Young People, who are magic, like eating gladiola petals on a moonlit night.

December 7, 2003 (1) Comments

Why do I need nine versions of the same track?

Ty's "Wait A Minute" comes on two plates--Original b/w Dwele; Fusion remix b/w Sticky remix--effectively compelling me to spend $16 (minus frequent flyer miles, thanks homie) on tracks I will play out maybe, five times.

The song itself is the anti-"I Luv U" (another single pressed in two versions but for a combined $20), all adult and pragmaticized, Ty expressing frustration with his lady, frank and emotive, but wanting to work it out. The Fusion mix is best, with guest MC Microw (p.s. way more lady rappers represented prominently on wax in UK than US these days!--is UKG emceeing less obsessed with man-flex?), who responds to Ty's confusion with a funny treatise on his inability to fuse art, career and love: "Your music is your life, and I'm just an extension of that." Um, holla.

UK legend-en-proceso Sticky interprets the melody with horn accordion organ, like Yann Tiersen on a 2-step vibe, or Super Mario goes to Paris. Plus my favorite, the requisite tweaky keyboard squelchy bass straight dropping bombs, aka the second reason I love 2step/UKG (the first: R&B, but w/xtra BPM!!!)

ALSO: Miami Bass classic, Missy Mist's populist party jam "Make it Mellow" b/w "Just Kickin' It" on NeverStop. There's room for us all, no need to get uptight!

(P.S. I'm playing records on Sun Dec 14th at TUBE for NOISE INDEX w/Ron A [Get Hustle, Terrifick]. He will probably play metal. I will play the slow jams. Get out your Kangol cause like MS.E and LL, we're doin it and doin it and doin it well.)

December 5, 2003 (0) Comments

... a line freestyled by Jumbo last night, of Lifesavas.
Show review:
they are the best thing to ever happen to Portland.

THE END.

oh, p.s.: keep checking for Libretto, also of the Misfit Massive crew, who keeps getting better, the newer songs are GREAT and by the way, One Drop, where the eff is the full length.

December 5, 2003 (0) Comments

Add water, and he gets smarter, even while living in Switzerland. Today, he sent this great anti-RIAA link, complete with DIY flyer campaign. Download some posters and fight the power!

Also, remember when RIAA issued those anti-piracy artist statements, and Everclear's Art Alexakis was all, "Downloading takes money out of my kids' mouths" [sic]?

Ethan reminded me that Artie, who lives in Portland, used to try to get into shows at 17 Nautical Miles for free, an act literally akin taking money out of kids mouths', because 17 Nautical Miles was a hole-in-the-wall run by a bunch of starving art punks from or around Reed College.

It's like, dude, Art, YOU DRIVE A LAND ROVER, I think you can pay the fucking five bucks to be one of the 50 kids at the Joan of Arc/Kremlin Bronx/I Live the Life of a Movie Star Secret Hideout gig. (That's some old school PDX shit.)

December 4, 2003 (0) Comments

My favorite local 21-year-old emcee, Sleepyhead, who "never leaves the bedroom cause he does it twice a day" (paraphrased), will be at Tonic Lounge on Wednesday 12/17 with his crew, Dismal City, doing ALL DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS RAPS. I can't go because I'll be a judge in the First Annual Portland All-Area Laptop Battle that night, but I'll make a thematic mix CD for anyone who goes and films it for me!

Sleepyhead's bio from the DC webpage:

"Sleepyhead is one skinny ass motherfucker. Weighing in at 110 lbs., he's practically non-existent. But in the true hip-hop vein, he still sports a wife beater. Always broke as shit, bumpin' Goodie Mob while mowing his grandmother's lawn, and generally chillin' too hard, Sleepyhead keeps it raw. Founding member of Genomes, emcee/producer, and owner of the largest tape collection out of anyone in the crew, he brings a substantial amount of insight and ability to the group. Sleepyhead stays consistently creative, while always keeping a classic hip-hop feel to his rhymes and beats. The cat just wants to give the people what they want, as simple as that. "

December 3, 2003 (0) Comments

I have seen the film that is HONEY, and, while it is definitely terrible, I absolutely love it. ADORE IT.

Honestly I don't have awful taste in movies, at least not completely. My two favorite filmic genres are:

profoundly bleak (sur)realism, usually replete with destruction and allegory
urban dance Cinderella stories

[Favorite films in the former category:
Repentance by Abuladze
Werckmeister Harmonies by Bela Tarr
The Pianist by Polanski
Network by Lumet
All about Lily Chou-Chou by Iwai]

Okay but back to the urban dance Cinderella stories. I LOVED HONEY, if only for the audience, which seemed entirely shipped in, by bus, from the Clackamas Girls' School for the Performative Arts: 350 early-teenaged ladies w/chignons and puffy vests, all messing with their cell phones.
Movie:
The first part totally bit off Flashdance (definitely not a recommended movie to bite) and the second bit off Electric Boogaloo (also, another movie not recommended for biting) but man---choreography plus starpower plus a dancer with a heart of gold is a formula that has enchanted me since I first saw Thank God it's Friday (Donna Summer as aspiring disco diva, what) and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (Sarah Jessica Parker as aspiring dancer on the movie's equivalent to Solid Gold).

A Couple Logistical problems with Honey:
1. Honey gleans choreographical inspiration from boys playing basketball and girls doing double dutch in the park

--Despite the fact that it was filmed in TORONTO, yet supposedly takes place in QUEENS (big problems here), choreography inspired by street shit is so obvious. My dance teacher, Mariecella DEvine, taught us that through-the-legs dribble move like, three years ago.

2. Groups of dancers do choreographed video dance combo in the club; it is "realistic"

--Okay... Portland is not renowned for its cutting edge dance clubs, but even when I've been at the club when everyone was nasty-freaky, taking off their clothes and everything, I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANY GROUP OF DANCERS DO A CHOREOGRAPHED ROUTINE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CLUB. The closest would be b-boys coming with the tag-team battle shit, but that's not what they were doing in the club in Honey--they were like, fan-kicking in unison. Absurd. When b-boys get pissed about the video hiphop dance stuff infiltrating their world, this is what they are talking about.

December 3, 2003 (0) Comments

The place where I live/work, the Portland Mercury (our motto: "we put the "urinal" in "jourinalism"), is auctioning off a bunch of weird shit on ebay and donating all the money to charity. Highlighted items: a Sleater-Kinney autographed baseball bat, a Gus Van Sant autographed poster for Elephant (hey, it's better than Gerry!), the top 10 CDs of 2003 from the best non-specialized indie record store in pdx, Ozone, as chosen by their staff, and a personalized battle rap from our staff battle rapper, Sweet Pete, who comes with the cold-cutting rhymes. The whole point is that one of the things I'm auctioning is essentially a date with me, that's not really a date at all, but me taking the highest bidder to the final Blazers-Lakers game of the season, where we will talk lots of shit to the dumb Lakers and cheer the Blazers on for eternity, and hopefully get kicked out for being too obnoxious and or bumrushing the court, because I love them with all of my heart.

Or, more accurately, I love them as only a mother could love them, because they keep doing stupid shit, or rather, the NoPo PoPo watch them like hawks through a periscope. The latest (and unexpected) casualty, our greatest hope, Lil' Zach Randolph, was driving DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD without an Oregon driver's license, without proof of car insurance (which I have done, as well), and while smoking a thickie of fine Oregon cheeb.

I have stopped asking why... I only continue to love.

December 2, 2003 (0) Comments

Gayle Ferraro smuggled cameras into Myanmar (formerly Burma) to produce this amazing documentary, about the Southeast Asian sex trade. Her subjects are young prostitutes--the primary character is 17--and most of them have been sold or tricked into the business, some at ages as young as eight. Their only alternative yields devastating poverty (wages sewing in factories: $1 USD/day).

A couple months ago, I had the opportunity to see Sex in Asia, Reagan Louie's photographic essay about the Asian sex trade at SF MOMA, and had mixed feelings about them, in their glossy splendor--were they perversions, exploitation, art, indictments? His captions, with quotes, gave his subjects a voice, but their photos were blank, guarded, suggestive. A document such as Ferraro's makes it abundantly clear how little Louie's photographs let his women tell their stories. It's not necessarily fair to compare them outright, because they're two extremes--Louie's photographs are large and beautiful, and express more about the artist than the subject, while Ferraro's film is bleak and narrated almost exclusively from the mouths of the women who live that life--but it made the grey area between them glow like a nuclear reactor.

[FYI: I am not across-the-board against prostitution--I actually think it should be preserved, regulated, and unionized.]

Ultimately, I think the fantasies Louie's exploring, with his larger-than-life, objectifying glamour shots of Asian prostitutes, are certainly interesting, and undoubtedly worth questioning, i.e. how Western portrayal (through media, entertainment) of the Asian sex worker is glamorizing and how he, as a Chinese man raised with Western values, is both complicit and a tool of the process. But to me, before this sort of inquiry can hold much weight, we need more journalistic exploration into the lives the women who live this life--true ones, with guards down, which probably can't happen that well from an American who's paying.

December 1, 2003 (0) Comments

Tonight saw Seattle's MODULE! make live electro that was so funky it made me want to bite it, like the sound chalk makes when it scrapes brick. I was sweating three minutes into it and then my friend Honey, the cool sound lady at Dunes, which is where all the party people wanna be (and whose existence caused P. Sherburne to believe Portland is a mecca of West Coast experimental electronica, which, okay, I will definitely give him that, because we have Nudge and Ainu and E*Rock and Audio Dregs and Valet and Decapod Claw and my favorite ever, Solenoid [known to some for his wonderful mashers as DJ Brokenwindow--dude works at the library, knows more specifics about electronic music history than anyone I personally know, makes a great booty bass mix and can DJ the shit out of a party], and OMCO and now Aesthetics and CNSEngineering and Toast & Jam and Das Yellow Swans and Valet and Office Products and STrategy and etc.)
INNYWAY
So then Honey cranked up the subwoofers and I could feel my fallopian tubes crinkling up or something.
Module is David Farrell, who owns Tone Records in Seattle (electro, IDM, abstract, glitch) and he'll soon release a single on the great boutique label I just larve, ORAC, which is run by Randy Jones who, if he ever DJs in your town, sell the keys to the Lexus to go see him if you have to.
[TIP: if you are at an electro party in Portland and you do NOT hear Solenoid's "Lotus Eaters" 12" on ORAC, you are not at an electro party in Portland. Check to see if you are vaporizing!]

He played after a boy from Olympia named Joey Casio who did the ennui-and-a-drum machine thing. Sample lyric:
"The new religion is a comic book
Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron."

I could totally relate to that one, for sure--that book made me hallucinate--not like the time my friend Marie dosed three hits of Jesus Christ Superstar and my mom made us go to church with her and she practically converted to Catholocism right then and there (after flushing her LSD stash down the rectory toilet)
but ALTERED MY REALITY. Unfortunately, the Casio Olympia boy didn't alter my reality much, the Oly boy liberal arts school damaged-by-ennui thing gets veddy veddy tiresome and I'm not interested much in people singing about boredom, because, you know, why? though I have to give him credit for massive energy on a Sunday night. He did a Screamers cover. One thing, though--
and I'm sure this has been meditated upon before, but I find it really bizarre when folks using knobby samplers and things affect the rockstar stance--lots of boys (no girls do this, that I've seen) twiddle those knobs like they're playing a guitar, like the knobs themselves are sucking the life right out of them, or reverse, like the knobs are tiny lightning bolts that turn them into robot Mick Jaggers. And it's like, actually a little embarrassing to me because, why be so tied to the classic rock move when you're trying to make music that isn't irrelevant, that doesn't have to pay a tithe to the rock because it's creating its own history. (Not that classic rock is irrelevant, but classic rock being made today might be.)

But I do like that people are striving for onstage energy kinda thing, and I don't think making laptop music automatically makes your performance boring, either. Otto Von Schirach, for instance, is the single most entertaining man-behind-a-laptop live show I've ever seen, visually speaking, partially because Otto Von Schirach looks fucking crazy or like he just snarfed a Jolt Cola and stole a 2004 Honda Civic with rims. His eyes could melt acid. I also saw him remove one of his checkered Vans deck shoes, put it on the table next to his computer, say something about how it represented "IDM," then chant "IDM" repeatedly, then freestyle a nonsensical rap over Miami glitch.

So basically, my advice to boys in sampler bands who sing like the Hot Hot Rapture: stop moving your knobs like they're hurting you, and genuinely go crazy. Okay!

December 1, 2003 (0) Comments

JShepherd: How are you feeling about electroclash?
Ghettotech producer/DJ/Mr. De protege Disco D: "I call electroclash 'AFE': ass-free electro. That’s what I call it. It sounds like someone took the ass knob and turned it all the way down."