The Oscars are stupid and I'm embarrassed that I watched some of the show yesterday. I had been planning on boycotting because of the sheer idiocy of not nominating Christopher Nolan as Best Director for Inception; whatever you thought of the movie, he should have won that award hands-down. To be totally fair, I haven't seen The King's Speech, so I just can't say if that deserved to beat out a pretty high-quality field. But I saw 8/10 of last year's nominees, and I thought that Hurt Locker was the second-worst of all those that I saw (better only than Up in the Air, which is just a crappy movie that sucks).
With some historical perspective, however, it is clear enough that the category has always had its problems. After all, Godfather III was nominated in 1990, Rocky beat out Taxi Driver in 1976, and Apocalypse Now somehow lost to Kramer vs. Kramer in 1979, the only explanation for which being that the voters were coked out of their skulls.
But enough of this talk about the moving pictures; what about the music? I would have liked to see a classical composer take home the Oscar for Best Original Score, if only because that's one of the rare venues that contemporary classical composers have for making a name for themselves (not to mention a few bucks). One might think that the Academy was swayed by Trent Reznor's personal celebrity in selecting The Social Network over great offerings from composing stalwarts Hans Zimmer and John Powell, but everybody knows that Oscar voters are immune to public pressure and hype, so that couldn't be the case.
Speaking of soundtracks, here's a piece from a Glaswegian band called Dam Mantle. I know nothing about them, but this track I first heard on Gorilla vs. Bear is nothing if not theatrical. Right around the 3:45 mark reminds me of that part in Homeward Bound when Shadow reunites with Peter after surviving his fall into the pit by the train tracks and everybody watching the movie has a good cry. But I digress. Anyway, enjoy the song.
Dam Mantle - Movement
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Sounds of Summer
For guys of my generation, no movie conjures up semi-fictionalized memories of childhood quite like The Sandlot. A coming-of-age classic, The Sandlot uses the prism of the American pastime to hearken back to a highly idealized America - the summer of 1962 minus the racial tension and the impending danger of nuclear holocaust. That notwithstanding, the story of Scotty Smalls's struggle to make friends in a new town and the legend of future MLB benchwarmer Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez makes for a timeless look at American pre-adolescence and, as Roger Ebert put it, "its memories of what really matters when you are 12."
As I re-watched The Sandlot for the 406th time last night, I was also struck by the quality of its period soundtrack. In terms of both era-defining songs and pure musical value, I'd have to put The Sandlot right up there with Forrest Gump in the all-time movie soundtracks Hall of Fame (other first-ballot HOFers: The Big Chill, Saturday Night Fever, Superfly, Pulp Fiction). Here's the tracklist:
1. Hank Ballard and the Midnighters - "Finger Poppin' Time"
2. Bill Black's Combo - "Smokie Part II"
3. The Tokens - "The Lion Sleeps Tonight"
4. The Drifters - "There Goes My Baby"
5. The Drifters - "This Magic Moment"
6. Ray Charles - "America the Beautiful"
7. Booker T and the MGs - "Green Onions"
8.The Champs - "Tequila"
9. The Surfaris - "Wipeout"
Except, perhaps, for another song-scene pairing from maybe the best-remembered scene of Sandlot: the day at the pool. Squints's unlikely steal of first base with Wendy Peffercorn undoubtedly inspired countless ill-advised attempts at replicating his legendary achievement; champions are often imitated, but rarely duplicated. I can't put it any better than Scotty Smalls did, so I won't even try. Just listen to the sweet sounds of Ben E. King and the Drifters and be transported back to a time when behind every fence was a Beast, every busted baseball was an omen, and the game would go on as long as fireworks lit up the summer sky.
Ben E. King and the Drifters - This Magic Moment
Michael "Squints" Palledorous walked a little taller that day. And we had to tip our hats to him. He was lucky she hadn't beat the crap out of him. We wouldn't have blamed her. What he'd done was sneaky, rotten, and low... and cool. Not another one among us would have ever in a million years even for a million dollars have had the guts to put the moves on the lifeguard. He did. He had kissed a woman. And he had kissed her long and good. We got banned from the pool forever that day. But every time we walked by after that, the lifeguard looked down from her tower, right over at Squints, and smiled.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Best Rapper Ever
The debate over who is the best rapper ever really isn't a debate at all. It's just a lot of people bringing their opinions to the table and making the case for their guy without seriously considering any alternatives. Actually, that sounds a lot like political debate.
In the musical context at least, there's nothing fundamentally wrong with this, and the debate breaks down in some distinct ways. The usual suspects get a predictable amount of support: Biggie, 2Pac, Jay-Z. Underground breakthrough favorites like Talib Kweli and Mos Def have their advocates. Hip-hop heads of a certain age, like my 9th-grade history teacher Jose, will insist that KRS-One or Rakim were the greatest MCs of all time and that all rappers who came after are just pretenders to the throne. Lots of Puerto Ricans will argue that Big Pun is the best, and white boys will throw Eminem's name in the ring. Plenty of young kids these days will say Lil Wayne.
There are good arguments to be made for all these rappers, but those aren't the arguments that interest me so much. I'm more interested in the arguments over a particular class of rappers, those whose supporters make up for their modest numbers with their outsize passion and dedication. Some lesser-known MCs with such a hard core of dedicated fans include Del the Funky Homosapien, Canibus, MF Doom, Immortal Technique, and Papoose. My unequivocal favorite rapper of all time falls squarely in this category: the late, great Big L.
This Tuesday marked the 12th anniversary of Lamont "Big L" Coleman's murder in his Harlem neighborhood. At the time of his death he had only released one album, 1995's seminal Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous. Lifestylez is a difficult album to categorize. The opening track, "Put it On," is characteristic of the punchlines and multisyllabic rhyme schemes that would become his hallmark; that almost playful sensibility is also on display in "MVP" and "Let 'em Have It, 'L.'" The album suffers from generally terrible production: the beats scream mid-90s tackiness as surely as ripped baggy t-shirts or Mark-Paul Gosselaar. But it's not enough to obscure L's lyrical mastery, as evidenced by lines like, "no other rapper writes rhymes like these/ I'm cool as a light breeze/ I'm playing rappers out like strike threes."
Big L - Let 'em Have It, 'L'
Lifestylez also contains several tracks that may be the best "horrorcore" ever recorded. Tracks like "Danger Zone" and "Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous" are masterpieces of the genre, and so explicit that I've opted not to post any of those songs directly on the blog in case I ever run for office or otherwise seek employment in respectable society. Yet even in those nightmarish tracks, L doesn't lose his wit or take himself too seriously: "I've got styles you can't copy b----/ it's the triple six in the mix/ straight from h-e-double hockey sticks." H-e-double hockey sticks?? How bad a guy could he be?
While Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous established Big L firmly in the underground rap scene, he was poised to explode onto the scene with 2000's The Big Picture, which was nearing completion at the time of his death. L had changed labels and was getting steady airplay for "Ebonics," the lead single off The Big Picture and a radio favorite back when people still listened to the radio.
When the album finally did come out, it didn't disappoint. Its opening track may be my single favorite hip-hop recording of all time: "The Big Picture (Intro)." It starts with an excerpt from Gang Starr's performance of "Full Clip" at a Big L tribute concert, and the song's dedication to Big L on the studio version has ensured that his name lives on over a classic Premo track. DJ Premier then cuts in with a legendary beat, and Big L finally starts rapping and absolutely rips the track to shreds. "What's this mf'ing rap game without L?/ Yo that's like jewels without ice/ that's like China without rice/ or the Holy Bible without Christ/ or the Bulls without Mike/ or crackheads without pipes..."
Big L - The Big Picture (Intro)
The first half of The Big Picture holds several more gems. "Size 'Em Up" backs Big L's high-intensity delivery with an equally explosive beat, creating the perfect tableau on which to work his multisyllabic magic. It is not unusual for his raps on this track and several others on the album to have four- or five-syllable rhymes at the end of each line; most rappers rhyme one or two syllables at most. For example: "MCs I squash and disgrace/ it's all about the Benjies/ so why your bills got Washington's face?" "Deadly Combination" with 2Pac is a classic too, and "98 Freestyle" shows Big L at his best, just rhyming and wowing the in-studio audience.
Big L - Size 'Em Up
Some of the later tracks in The Big Picture suffer from lack of actual Big L material and try to substitute guest verses or over-production to compensate. But other tracks show L leaving behind the punchlines and battle raps and demonstrating mastery of another rap style: storytelling. "The Heist" and "Casualties of a Dice Game" are straight narratives, breathless and innovative. When necessary for rhyming purposes, he doesn't shy from using decidedly un-gangsta words like "dames," "hasty," and "well-writ", or even inventing words like "crimey" (def.: a criminal associate; used for an internal rhyme with "grimy").
Some celebrities' careers probably benefited from their untimely deaths; imagine how depressing it would be to see Stevie Ray Vaughn headlining at Foxwoods or Jimi Hendrix playing the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland for the benefit of the corporate sponsors. But Big L was very much the opposite. Clearly ascendant, and at the top of his craft, he was ultimately a victim of the violent street culture that ironically was the force behind his creative output.
There are arguments against anointing such a short-lived artist as the greatest rapper of all time, and they're frequently heard around the discussion of Biggie as well. To take an analogy, if a baseball player came in and played two seasons, hit .410, and had 75 homers each year, but then died or retired, could you legitimately call him the greatest baseball player ever? Well, it's my blog, and I say yes. Big L did what he could in the life that he had, dropping two unbelievable albums, and making the most of every track he was on. Sure, it's a shame that more people don't know his name. But for those who do know it, and know it well, there's really no question that he was the greatest of all time.
In the musical context at least, there's nothing fundamentally wrong with this, and the debate breaks down in some distinct ways. The usual suspects get a predictable amount of support: Biggie, 2Pac, Jay-Z. Underground breakthrough favorites like Talib Kweli and Mos Def have their advocates. Hip-hop heads of a certain age, like my 9th-grade history teacher Jose, will insist that KRS-One or Rakim were the greatest MCs of all time and that all rappers who came after are just pretenders to the throne. Lots of Puerto Ricans will argue that Big Pun is the best, and white boys will throw Eminem's name in the ring. Plenty of young kids these days will say Lil Wayne.
There are good arguments to be made for all these rappers, but those aren't the arguments that interest me so much. I'm more interested in the arguments over a particular class of rappers, those whose supporters make up for their modest numbers with their outsize passion and dedication. Some lesser-known MCs with such a hard core of dedicated fans include Del the Funky Homosapien, Canibus, MF Doom, Immortal Technique, and Papoose. My unequivocal favorite rapper of all time falls squarely in this category: the late, great Big L.
This Tuesday marked the 12th anniversary of Lamont "Big L" Coleman's murder in his Harlem neighborhood. At the time of his death he had only released one album, 1995's seminal Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous. Lifestylez is a difficult album to categorize. The opening track, "Put it On," is characteristic of the punchlines and multisyllabic rhyme schemes that would become his hallmark; that almost playful sensibility is also on display in "MVP" and "Let 'em Have It, 'L.'" The album suffers from generally terrible production: the beats scream mid-90s tackiness as surely as ripped baggy t-shirts or Mark-Paul Gosselaar. But it's not enough to obscure L's lyrical mastery, as evidenced by lines like, "no other rapper writes rhymes like these/ I'm cool as a light breeze/ I'm playing rappers out like strike threes."
Big L - Let 'em Have It, 'L'
Lifestylez also contains several tracks that may be the best "horrorcore" ever recorded. Tracks like "Danger Zone" and "Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous" are masterpieces of the genre, and so explicit that I've opted not to post any of those songs directly on the blog in case I ever run for office or otherwise seek employment in respectable society. Yet even in those nightmarish tracks, L doesn't lose his wit or take himself too seriously: "I've got styles you can't copy b----/ it's the triple six in the mix/ straight from h-e-double hockey sticks." H-e-double hockey sticks?? How bad a guy could he be?
While Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous established Big L firmly in the underground rap scene, he was poised to explode onto the scene with 2000's The Big Picture, which was nearing completion at the time of his death. L had changed labels and was getting steady airplay for "Ebonics," the lead single off The Big Picture and a radio favorite back when people still listened to the radio.
When the album finally did come out, it didn't disappoint. Its opening track may be my single favorite hip-hop recording of all time: "The Big Picture (Intro)." It starts with an excerpt from Gang Starr's performance of "Full Clip" at a Big L tribute concert, and the song's dedication to Big L on the studio version has ensured that his name lives on over a classic Premo track. DJ Premier then cuts in with a legendary beat, and Big L finally starts rapping and absolutely rips the track to shreds. "What's this mf'ing rap game without L?/ Yo that's like jewels without ice/ that's like China without rice/ or the Holy Bible without Christ/ or the Bulls without Mike/ or crackheads without pipes..."
Big L - The Big Picture (Intro)
The first half of The Big Picture holds several more gems. "Size 'Em Up" backs Big L's high-intensity delivery with an equally explosive beat, creating the perfect tableau on which to work his multisyllabic magic. It is not unusual for his raps on this track and several others on the album to have four- or five-syllable rhymes at the end of each line; most rappers rhyme one or two syllables at most. For example: "MCs I squash and disgrace/ it's all about the Benjies/ so why your bills got Washington's face?" "Deadly Combination" with 2Pac is a classic too, and "98 Freestyle" shows Big L at his best, just rhyming and wowing the in-studio audience.
Big L - Size 'Em Up
Some of the later tracks in The Big Picture suffer from lack of actual Big L material and try to substitute guest verses or over-production to compensate. But other tracks show L leaving behind the punchlines and battle raps and demonstrating mastery of another rap style: storytelling. "The Heist" and "Casualties of a Dice Game" are straight narratives, breathless and innovative. When necessary for rhyming purposes, he doesn't shy from using decidedly un-gangsta words like "dames," "hasty," and "well-writ", or even inventing words like "crimey" (def.: a criminal associate; used for an internal rhyme with "grimy").
Some celebrities' careers probably benefited from their untimely deaths; imagine how depressing it would be to see Stevie Ray Vaughn headlining at Foxwoods or Jimi Hendrix playing the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland for the benefit of the corporate sponsors. But Big L was very much the opposite. Clearly ascendant, and at the top of his craft, he was ultimately a victim of the violent street culture that ironically was the force behind his creative output.
There are arguments against anointing such a short-lived artist as the greatest rapper of all time, and they're frequently heard around the discussion of Biggie as well. To take an analogy, if a baseball player came in and played two seasons, hit .410, and had 75 homers each year, but then died or retired, could you legitimately call him the greatest baseball player ever? Well, it's my blog, and I say yes. Big L did what he could in the life that he had, dropping two unbelievable albums, and making the most of every track he was on. Sure, it's a shame that more people don't know his name. But for those who do know it, and know it well, there's really no question that he was the greatest of all time.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Best Rapper Alive
Given all the terrible tragedies in the news in 2010, I was surprised how touched I was on a human level by this little tidbit about Lil Wayne's time in Riker's Island. No music allowed? Where's the Eighth Amendment when you need it? The thought of poor Wayne having his iPod torn away from him by some Percy Wetmore wannabe tugged at my heartstrings as I counted down the days until Weezy's enigmatic middle initial "F" would finally stand for freedom. Wrongly incarcerated for merely exercising his Constitutionally guaranteed right to bear arms, the Best Rapper Alive walking out of prison like a modern Mandela was cause for celebration for music fans and Second Amendment enthusiasts alike.
The track from start to finish is quintessential Lil Wayne - braggadocio, turns of phrase, and puns that take a second or two to compute before you crack up laughing. The line "real g's move in silence like lasagna" alone puts the lie to anybody who would dare suggest that Wayne had fallen off. The track's only real weakness is the inclusion of Corey Gunz, son of one-hit '90s rapper Peter Gunz. Corey Gunz riding his father's dubious coattails to a record deal is a bit like Ben Quayle leveraging his father's Vice Presidential legacy to get into Congress.
Lil Wayne has more or less singlehandedly saved hip-hop from a pretty weak time, and laid the groundwork for other ultra-weird rhymers like Earl Sweatshirt and Tyler the Creator of the Odd Future family to get some of their stuff out there. Rap would be in a sorry place right now if it wasn't for Lil Wayne; instead, if "Six Foot Seven Foot" is anything to judge by, we could be in line for another classic when Tha Carter IV leaks in its entirety (why even bother talking about its actual release date?) and gives us another piece of Wayne's extraterrestrial mind.
The title "Best Rapper Alive" shouldn't be handed out lightly, and it is with some trepidation that I rank Lil Wayne above Nas, a true icon and the man responsible for arguably the greatest rap album ever (Illmatic). For the record, my top five rappers of all time is as follows:
1. Big L
2. Notorious B.I.G.
3. Lil Wayne
4. Nas
5. Jay-Z
Nas gets bumped below Lil Wayne for, in my mind, releasing a slew of sub-par albums after Illmatic (see: Nastradamus, I Am..., Street's Disciple), notwithstanding a recent flurry of strong singles.
In any case, the man of the hour is Lil Wayne. Not since Big L has a rapper kept you hanging on his every word and wondering where he'll go next, whether through the deftest of wordplay or outlandish statements like his repeated proclamations that he is in fact an alien. In a genre like hip-hop, where a lot of stuff can sound the same, Weezy scores major points for his unbelievable creativity and the sheer range of sounds that he's tried out. Not everything works - his rock album, Rebirth, was a disaster - but he gets points for effort, and even that flameout featured must-listen single "Drop the World."
Now with Wayne a free man and Tha Carter IV tentatively scheduled for an April release, Weezy has unleashed a new single to show the world he's still the boss. I doubt I'm the first person to observe that "Six Foot Seven Foot," with its sample of "Day-Oh" and lack of a hook, bears a striking resemblance to "A Milli." But then again, "A Milli" was awesome, and "Six Foot Seven Foot" shows that Wayne didn't lose a step in prison, and maybe even regained some of the passion for rhyming that made 2008's Tha Carter III such fire.
Lil Wayne - Six Foot Seven Foot
Lil Wayne - Six Foot Seven Foot
The track from start to finish is quintessential Lil Wayne - braggadocio, turns of phrase, and puns that take a second or two to compute before you crack up laughing. The line "real g's move in silence like lasagna" alone puts the lie to anybody who would dare suggest that Wayne had fallen off. The track's only real weakness is the inclusion of Corey Gunz, son of one-hit '90s rapper Peter Gunz. Corey Gunz riding his father's dubious coattails to a record deal is a bit like Ben Quayle leveraging his father's Vice Presidential legacy to get into Congress.
Lil Wayne has more or less singlehandedly saved hip-hop from a pretty weak time, and laid the groundwork for other ultra-weird rhymers like Earl Sweatshirt and Tyler the Creator of the Odd Future family to get some of their stuff out there. Rap would be in a sorry place right now if it wasn't for Lil Wayne; instead, if "Six Foot Seven Foot" is anything to judge by, we could be in line for another classic when Tha Carter IV leaks in its entirety (why even bother talking about its actual release date?) and gives us another piece of Wayne's extraterrestrial mind.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
London Underground
While it may not be Beatlemania, an unbelievable amount of hype has surrounded British electronic composer James Blake over the last year or so. A lot of that is a credit to his impressive work ethic: Blake put out three EPs on vinyl in 2010 alone. He's finally ready to put out a full-length album - scheduled for release on February 7th - and the world wide internet tubes have been jammed with Blake's new material and a couple of awesome videos for lead single "Wilhelm Scream."
I've gone ahead and posted both studio and live videos for the track because I think they both bring something different to our understanding of the song. The studio version, with its minimalist beat and Blake looking right into the camera, reminds me of D'Angelo with a little less melanin and a lot more clothing. The hazy cinematography, which becomes fuzzier as the song progresses, mirrors the singer's own confusion as reflected in the lyrics and the increasingly complex musical effects he uses.
I love this live video from Blake's set at BBC Radio 1. The first thing that I find so appealing is that we don't usually experience music like this in a live setting. Blake is really an electronic artist, and while electronic artists obviously have live shows, it's unusual for a live electronic performance to hew as closely to the studio version as this one does. The video also gives a great look at the syncopated drumming, especially on the snare, which is what gives this track its uniquely unsettled rhythm.
This is good stuff. Now normally I don't purchase British goods, because I still believe Pakenham cheated us out of what was rightfully ours in 1846 (fifty-four forty or fight!). But I think I'll make an exception in this case - Blake's self-titled LP promises to be one of the most creative and listenable albums of early 2011. Jolly good indeed.
I've gone ahead and posted both studio and live videos for the track because I think they both bring something different to our understanding of the song. The studio version, with its minimalist beat and Blake looking right into the camera, reminds me of D'Angelo with a little less melanin and a lot more clothing. The hazy cinematography, which becomes fuzzier as the song progresses, mirrors the singer's own confusion as reflected in the lyrics and the increasingly complex musical effects he uses.
I love this live video from Blake's set at BBC Radio 1. The first thing that I find so appealing is that we don't usually experience music like this in a live setting. Blake is really an electronic artist, and while electronic artists obviously have live shows, it's unusual for a live electronic performance to hew as closely to the studio version as this one does. The video also gives a great look at the syncopated drumming, especially on the snare, which is what gives this track its uniquely unsettled rhythm.
This is good stuff. Now normally I don't purchase British goods, because I still believe Pakenham cheated us out of what was rightfully ours in 1846 (fifty-four forty or fight!). But I think I'll make an exception in this case - Blake's self-titled LP promises to be one of the most creative and listenable albums of early 2011. Jolly good indeed.
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