This is an article I wrote for Vice's Anti-Music Issue. I was commissioned by the Aussie Office to write it, but then they didn't publish it. The US issue and some other random countries did feature it though. I don't know what this means.
Photos by Neil Buckingham and Blake Calderwood
As I write this, I am recovering from spending two weeks without hearing music of any sort. Two. Fucking. Weeks. It’s been awful, really awful, and, for the most part, mind-bendingly depressing.
I turned into a whining, unsociable, borderline agoraphobic manic-depressive. I hate everyone. Everyone hates me. My girlfriend told me I’m an asshole, my housemates think I’m a prick, the general public probably thinks I’m deranged to wear construction earmuffs everywhere during a heat wave, and I think I agree with all of them.
I was allowed to choose one song to listen to before my two weeks began. I decided to pick something that could potentially get stuck in my head for a fortnight without causing me to hang myself. I chose “Raspberry Beret” by Prince. An easy decision. I listened to it three times in a row the night before I began. Prince was to be my bastion of sanity.
I kept a diary for the entirety of my musical anorexia. It consists of me bitching about how shit life is when you can’t listen to music. Here is some of it.
I was terrified when I initially walked into this cubicle. The situation on the toilet seat really stressed me out. It's pretty fucking disgusting. I was on the verge of pirouetting the fuck out of there, but then I read the little ditty written on the back of the toilet seat, and, well, I felt vaguely emboldened. The second sentence is definitely not something I would condone, but masturbating over recently deceased hip hop legends is way less deviant then having a midget sex fetish or letting your dog lick your balls while you watch a chick get fucked by an octopus. It's all about moral relativism. That's all I'm saying. As to the bloodstains on the seat, that's just not on. If that's coming out of your orifice on nights out then you should probably be locked up in a cage for a while.
So, yeah, this isn't dubstep, but it's kind of like it's dreamy little offspring, free of most of the angry free-wheelin', dropping and wobbling bass of conventional dubstep. It's almost happy, sunny music at times, but not quite. I'm told that some people have been calling this kind of music "step", but that's kind of like telling someone who has a mild case of down syndrome that they have an affliction of syndrome. Which just isn't right. Well, actually, it's nothing like that at all. But no matter, my point is that it's just not right, and maybe you can just take my word for it.
The song you can listen to above is by Mount Kimbie (the same chaps that did that swell remix of Foals' "Spanish Sahara"), a UK duo who, as I have been trying to circuitously point out with an insulting analogy, have a vaguely-dubsteppy take on ambient electronica. And no, don't worry, by ambient electronica I don't mean that it's all emotional and "deep" like that morbidly depressing Burial guy. Or that photo of the guys above. Anyway, suit up your best pair of earphones and give this track a lil' whirl if you fancy. It's pretty nice.
Yet, for some peculiar reason, I still have a soft spot for Ronaldo's Castrol ad. And I just found the extended version of it for the first time. It's better than the original because he speaks more english words in his weird fucked up Portuguese accent that I can laugh at...futbul takes mi miny plaseees...hot plaseeeees....cold plaseeees...exhillirateeeeing plaseees...and other plaseees...bitturprepureforitalll... because in my life, pipple rispect only the bist perfurmeence...evan under extreme conditions...and...SODOI!
Also, whilst I'm on the subject of Brigitte Bardot, it baffles me to comprehend how this naively sensuous little sex kitten...
...could turn into this cantankerous-old-wrinkly-racist-homophobe?
This seriously disturbs me. And just in case you don't know what I'm talking about, I'll tell you. Firstly, racism. Without even consulting Wikipedia, I can tell you that Miss Bardot has been convicted for inciting racial hatred at least five times. Her general argument, as far as I'm aware, is that Muslims are horrible job thieving brown people that are attempting to destroy France by killing sheep in the wrong way.
But who am I to wittle such incendiary hatred into one mere sentence of my own design. So here she is in her very own words: “I’ve had it with these Muslims coming over here, taking all our jobs and slaughtering our sheep in accordance with their own religious beliefs.”You can just imagine her bulging throat waddling back and forth as she vigorously points an accusatory finger at the nearest Muslim in earshot.
She's also a massive homophobe, and happens to believe that gays are “fairground freaks who jiggle their bottoms, put their little fingers in the air and, with their little castrato voices, moan about what those ghastly heteros put them through”. And that quote isn't even some drunken joke taken way out of context. She wrote that down. In her very own book. I almost want to read it.
If it earns her any brownie points though, she does love animals, apparently, and once tried to save some Canadian seals from being killed or harassed or something. Quite noble. But this just reminds me of an article I read a while ago about fascists having a thing for animals. Had something to do with having a controlling psyche. And being mental. Or maybe I'm just getting confused with this website, that's dedicated to pictures of cats that look like Hitler. Either way, Brigitte Bardot is pretty shit. But shit in an entertaining kind of way. Kind of like Berlusconi then, but way better looking.
I have an unhealthy obsession with Gucci Mane. I don't really know why. It's not even that he has any songs that are particularly outstanding. Sure, I admire his galactic ego, but it's probably more the way that he goes about his trade. He doesn't seem to be bothered with highlighting his punchlines. Or anything, really. Everything, and I mean everything, falls out of his heavily sedated mouth in the exact same monotone pitch. Finding his best lines are kind of like finding the Where's Wally of rap.
And pretty much everything that comes out is about what happens to be on his wrist, how swell his car is, degrading bitches, shooting people, getting shot, how large and phallic his chain is etc. He just does it better than most. He also only changes the tempo of his rhymes in very subtle ways, depending on the beat (which is always cheap and tinny sounding for some reason). Yet, somehow, you never get bored of it. It lulls you in. Gucci Mane is the Medusa of southern rap.
...but I still think Yannis is a prick. I have a thing for holding grudges against people I don't really know, and I'm still kind of shitty that he corrected my pronounciation of Kele and didn't share his joint. Dick. Look at his shitty bearded face. But I still have to admit, Foals' repulsively named new LP is pretty swell.
As is their second single and album highlight, Spanish Sahara. I'm guessing the video was filmed in Sweden (they recorded the record in Gothenburg). Actually, the remix below the video is probably better. Listen to that. Download it too if you fancy.
Above: French New Wave cult hero Martin Dupont, a rare proponent of Minimal Wave that can return photographic evidence via Google Images
Don't worry kind reader, Minimal Wave isn't the shitty buzz band that happens to be making this weeks internet rounds in return for 5 minutes of fame. No sir. In fact, Minimal Wave isn't a band at all. It's a genre of sorts, albeit one named posthumously. Also known as Coldwave, it refers to a relatively small collection of musical output, originating in France in the late 70's and spreading throughout Europe, North America and Japan in the early 80's, spurred on by the French New Wave. Most songs rely predominantly on raw sounding analog synths and primitive drum machines, propped up by some otherworldly, oblique vocals and obscure lyrics. Much of it subscribed to pop formulations, but some of it was still pretty experimental, influenced as it was by the avant-garde, so there's some weird bat-shit-crazy songs in there too.
On the whole, it's a hit and miss genre on the whole, and to make matters worse, songs are often incredibly difficult to track down as most of the bands from the movement released a 7 inch with a distribution of about 5 and then disappeared into obscurity before anyone really knew what was happening.
Now the good news. Things are looking up, and Minimal Wave is seeing somewhat of a revival thanks to a few hard-working record collecting obsessives. Already this year there's been a couple of good introductory Coldwave/Minimal Wave mixtapes put out that offer a collection of some of the best songs from the movement. The first collection is called The Minimal Wave Tapes Vol I, and it's a decent introduction to the genre.
To get an idea of what I'm talking about, take a listen to the track below. It's by a French boy-girl duo called Deux, and the song is called "Game and Performance". Listen for the unique pronunciation of the word performance. It's great! The chorus is pretty swell too (You just need / Game and performance / Your life is a prospecting company / Business man / Yet you killed / Yet you killed with us / Computers programs shadows in the night). But it's the icy synths and the drum machine that take center stage here. I'll try and put some more Minimal Wave songs up another time...
After just one album, KillaQueenz are already a rarity in Aussie hip hop. They don’t suck. In fact, Kween G (aka. Gladys) and Belizian Bombshell (aka. Desiree) offer a fresh mix of old-school rhymes and dance-hall infused beats that kick the shit out of most music currently out there. Plus, their live shows are renowned for unleashing the energy of an epileptic fit on stage whilst dressed in clothing louder than you’d see staring at Elton John, directly after ingesting a Peyote Cactus.
We hung out with them on a muggy Monday in Sydney, and in between sweating profusely, drinking a weird array of organic juice and chuckling at Newtown crackhead banter, KillaQueenz took us shopping. It was kind of like going shopping with your girlfriend, except we didn’t get dragged around shops that specialise in handbags made out of some near-extinct species of Amazonian tree frog which cost more than your soul. Even better, we could yell things in crowded areas like “Hey Belizian Bombshell I think that this flourescent pair of space-age sneakers would look rad next time you support Lady Gaga!!” And Belizian Bombshell and Kween G would laugh because they can shop and retain their great sense of humour. Take that girlfriends. We took some photos and chatted about fashion.
This is an ad I placed on Craigslist a while ago. I was going to do an article about my experience meeting a dwarf/midget and facing my "fear". It was going to make me famous. I was going to be like Louis Theroux except more awkward and self-involved and less famous. But still famous. It was definitely going to make me famous. I even heard back from two midgets. They both requested that I pay them an exorbitant amount of money per hour. I joked that we could adjust the price by foot of height that they measure. They didn't fall for it and both sent abusive emails back. One referred to me as a "pig". So I referred to him as a "greedy little capitalist fucker". Things got ugly. The article no longer looked promising.
ps. if any dwarfs/midgets read this, I'm still up for it. I don't hold grudges against your kind and I know that there must be some dwarfs/midgets out there who aren't greedy. I don't even care whether you're friendly or not anymore. The horizons are broadening. A hostile midget will do fine.
A list. Everyone’s already done one and, to be honest, I feel kinda left out. Sure, I dislike them, but I'm bored and hungover, and maybe someone out there would appreciate a 2009 list that’s released after the year has actually ended. Seems everyone else has already moved on to the new year. Just a couple of weeks ago I read quite possibly the worst article ever. It was based around the confidently held premise that “Vampire Weekend are going to turn out to be the Strokes of this decade!”.
Anyway, now I'm going to do a quick reflection thingy on 2009, which is what you do before you release the list. Builds tension or something. Ok. 2009. Here we go.
Chillwave. What the fuck is it? A genre, a sub-genre, some awesomely named Mexican kid? Or is it just one of those little indie-specific-uber-crazes that lasts approximately one year and probably began with a combination of some asshole journalist and Neon Indian's song "Terminally Chill"?
I really don't know and you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but I think it's a shit name and it makes very little sense when you listen to all the bands that are generally lumped into the Chillwave category (Washed Out, Memory Casettes, Neon Indian, Nite Jewel, Teengirl Fantasy, Nosaj Thing, Gold Panda, blah blah blah). The only thing that seems to unite them is that they generally have two words in their name that when placed together amount to something that sounds "cool" and means absolutely nothing (kind of like a band name version of a Guy Ritchie film).
Are Fuck Buttons Chillwave? If not, they should be, because that name has perfect Chillwave credentials. Anyway, what I've been meaning to get at is that while I think I hate Chillwave as a whole and I hope it dies in the ass (or maybe I'm just jealous that I wasn't that asshole journalist?), I also happen to like a lot of the bands that are touted as purveyors of Chillwave. An example is the song above. It's by Toro Y Moi (still two words...almost) and it's called "Blessa" and I like it.
[Interview I did for Vice with my boy Bangs. My boy Tommy took the pretty photos]
You remember my boy Bangs,right? He’s an internet phenomenon/international hip-hop superstar all thanks to his smash-hit single “Take U To Da Movies”, which revolves around taking a shorty to the movies and buying her popcorn and a drink. If you haven’t seen the video clip, watch it NOW. It’s the best. We were all over that shit when it first hit YouTube. No wonder he’s been referred to as everything from the “Sudanese 50 Cent” to “the illest rhyme-spitter this world has ever seen!”
I caught up with Bangs and had a good long chin-wag and photoshoot in the driveway of the carpark that happened to be next-door to the peculiar Latin-themed restaurant he was playing at in Sydney. We talked about popcorn, ladies and how inspirational Chingy is. Bangs turned out to be much more likeable than Kanye West at an awards show.
Ashrita Furman (born Keith Furman) happens to be the douche that holds the douchiest world record on earth: the record for holding the most records in the Guinness Book of Records. He began his record-breaking career after meeting his inner spirit while riding a bike non-stop for 24 hours (he’s a devout follower of the Indian mystic Sri Chinmoy), and has kept on breaking records in order to “inspire” normal people to find their very own inner spirit. He currently holds 98 records and habitually demands people to refer to him as Mr. Versatility. We decided to fuck with Ashrita Furman in the only way that Ashrita Furman can be seriously fucked with: we set out to break some of his records. And then laugh in his shattered face. read more
