Archives : all posts by Dan

Killer Mike - "R.A.P. Music"

I remember his beard. The way he smelled when he would walk by on his way to the stage, it would sting and start my brain. The altar, the podium, whatever; where he'd speak. His old ratty black faded George Foreman shirt, with George kind of grinning, thumbs up, one of his eyes long since flaked off in the wash. But his beard, it was like what a man could be. You could be that strong and that steady and that comfortable, and all you had to do was wait, and pay attention. He'd speak so clearly, like it were the easiest thing in the world to say even ten words in a row that made perfect sense, that didn't get choked up with hatred or sadness or blind fear. He would never yell, but it was so frigging loud. Deafening, almost. The kids next to me would have their earphones in, but you knew they were listening, you could tell by the way their jaw hung open like they themselves were speaking. Everyone listened, no one dared speak. And he would always start the same way, I remember it like it was church: "I want to say a few words to you now, and you know I mean them, because I speak from my heart."

[Buy this album]

(image of recalled Adidas)

(big thanks to Miguel Rivas for introducing me to Killer Mike. Miguel hosts a wonderful show in Toronto, Rap Battlez, where I will be performing (yes, rapping) this Friday. Please come, Jordan will be performing too.)

Chilly Gonzales - "Nero's Nocturne"

Doors within doors within doors. An entrance to an entrance where arrival meets the left. This door is outside that one, and inside the other, but the third is outside both and passing through means backing up. Don't look over your shoulder through that door, because you'll see the top of your head, from underneath, and it's very bad luck. If you shake hands with a man through that door, you will never have met. If you were in love with someone who passes through that door, they will not be fond of you on the other side. They may shove you through a door, where you'd exit a child, leg for a hand, hat on the tip of your gloved stomach. This door is for pets, or will turn you into a pet, or will pet you, while you turn the handle to another door. The breeze of opening and closing doors will take away your breath, recycle it, use it for its very breezy aims. The air that blows out your last candle is the same air as your first breath. How does it taste? Go through here. Slam. Now how does it taste?

[site]

(image)

CFCF - Exercise 1 (Entry)

"Plenty of cars will get you killed out there," he spoke furtively, as if someone were watching us. And since he was a salesman, they probably were. "But this one will keep you alive. It looks like hell, doesn't it? Egg-shaped, like they used to make 'em in the 10s, and gaudy with those stripes." I remember thinking he wasn't doing a very good job, and yet there I stood, rapt. He talked without looking me in the eye, his clothes had a greyed quality, he was a faded man, and yet I very much wanted to listen. "But pretty in its way. Ugly as a two-eyed cyclops, my mother used to say." I leapt at this, "What was your mother like?" He didn't even flinch, he either wanted so badly to make the sale, or he was really just an open book, "The most beautiful woman alive. Tall, over six feet, floated, defied gravity. She got sick during the wars, my father fought and sent back money and spoils. She wore his training uniform around the house, kept his weekly poker game going, with all the ladies in their husbands' uniforms. It was quite a sight. My sister ran away when she was 13." He caught himself there, still looking away from me, up into the sky, watching egg-shaped uglies run in soft lines to high buildings. "But I suppose that doesn't have much to do with this. This'll keep you safe, no question about that. Couldn't break it with a wind o' bricks." I almost bought the thing right then and there, when he said wind o' bricks, but instead smiled and said I'd really like to think about it, and left the lot and walked home.

[Buy from Paper Bag Records]

The Hood Internet - "Fuck With Mo' Money"

Jean shorts are meant for thighs. Ice cream is made to melt. Shoes are built to sweat, to brown from street dirt. Hair is meant to tangle. Grass to be matted. Debit cards to be lost, bike bells born for sunglasses.

Alanis Morissette - "Thank U"

When everything decides to climb to space. "I love it here, now get me out."

Matthew DeLoach - "Coastline"

I would like to present my son Gavin. Young Gavin has many special characteristics. A pre-grown frontal lobe for a headstart on learning reason and decision making. An Infant Brain Development program aimed at the motivation-response system designed to augment endorphin release around subjects related to environmental conservation and lessen release on topics related to finance and economics. And lastly, an enlarged (175%) set of dopamine receptors and producers so that he can actually feel categorically happier than anyone in history, through helping save the world from environmental collapse. He is a good person. He must be.

[PWYC]

--

Tomorrow, Wed Jun 6th at 9:30pm, come to Comedy Bar at 945 Bloor to see For My Own Benefit III, the third in a continuing series of comedy charity shows by The New Humourists. Just another historic event, that's all. [attending]

King Tuff - "Anthem" [Buy]

We were great friends. Klicky and Benton and Heat and The Nick. Back in the 110s. Never apart. Rode on thunder bikes and sniffed punges in back alleys. Klicky and The Nick dated for a while, they felt each other up and told us all about it behind the other's back. We used to get up to all sorts of trouble. Split the Vic's car in two with a homemade light cutter, wrote PUSSY IS FUCK on the side of City Dome. Got chased by a horde of Catchers, some got under our clothes, Heat got 'em where the sun don't shine.

But now...where are they? Klicky and The Nick broke up when she wouldn't graft his name, Klicky went to Seven Schools and The Nick just disappeared. Benton deals in housing re-ownership, and Heat is addicted to pills that keep him short. As for me, I'm still the same old same-old, I don't change for nobody.

John Moremen - "Flotation Device" [Buy]

Cadence Weapon - "Conditioning"

Cadence Weapon spends most of this song cowed, hurt, shrugging. He's like a horde of head-down travelers, in some electric leather city, buzzing steadily along on travel tracks, hearts open and empty, as if saying 'nothing to declare'. But at one point he rises up, and he sings with a clear, shouting voice that is toned but manic, as if saying 'except this'. This song misses long gone worlds, and makes me miss them too. [Buy]

(photo by Cari Leslie)