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Oh Weird. I must have been very tired this afternoon. I need some new Aphex Twin music to reignite my mind, I guess.
It must be pretty cool that have Richard D. James as a dad. I wonder if his kids ever get embarrassed when he rolls up outside their school to pick them up in the afternoon and he is blasting “Come to Papa” out the windows of his minivan.
Sigh… “Sorry guys. My dad’s here to pick me up.”
I’m totally with you there.
Oh, crap, I don’t mean I’m like WITH you. Please don’t somehow misunderstand my comments as an excuse to have sex with me without asking!
I’m following you. I think I can see what is maybe going on though. This is track 4 on the album. That’s not a common place to put a lead single. And it’s a lyric video and not proper promotional vid. I think this is just a banger they are throwing out in front to get people excited with as much ENERGY as they can find. But it’s not like it’s the first or second track that is setting the tone for the rest of the album.
I suspect there are moodier, experimental, more complicated tracks on the album that they are just holding back right now because they aren’t really the best promotional material.
That said, I can dig this track. It’s a pop song. A radio track. It’s almost literally written to be played at high volume in the car with the windows down. I get that. And there are some really really cool grooves wrapped up in this song. So, I’m okay with it, but I think there will be much more beneath the surface when we get the complete album.
Remember when Win Butler stole that guy’s basketball and the guy started a blog about it andthen Win and this guy argued back and forth about it for several weeks?
That was a lot of fun. I would like Win to do that again, for charity.
This album is beautiful. It sounds like music interpreted through the mind of a mechanical child floating through space in a ship made of collected dust. It’s other worldly, but oddly familiar. It is puzzling and enlightening. Perfectly sequenced. Magically mixed. Patiently performed. And Inspirational Challenging Cleansing Calming Fantastical record.
I know man. I’m just joshing with you. I knew what you were really referring to. And thanks for addressing it, because I’ve also been struggling to find answers to the great Kanye conundrum.
I am just baffled by the near unanimous critical love for Kanye. I mean, I get and respect what you are saying here about BDTFantasy being some sort of high point in mainstream rap’s story arc, but I have a hard time seeing it as anything other than just a really well done mainstream rap album. But Kanye’s ego is poison to the music. I mean, that rapper-as-god persona is a 15 year old cliche. There is nothing original going on there, and it is SO Imbedded in the music. It’s the Hip Hop equivalent of the mainstream country songs that talk about trucks and tall grass and base the song around a catch phrase in the chorus after the drums drop out. Hip Hop music needs to move away from this formula of lyrics and theme if it is going to move in a vitalizing direction. I’m afraid the overwhelming praise of this album has actually damaged the evolution of this genre for years to come. Perhaps we will get better production standards out of the transaction, but what we are going to get along with it is an infinite tide of try hard copy cats riding the same stale rap god themes we have been seeing for decades now.
There was a glimmer of hope in recent years as people have started adopting hip hop styles and mixing them with other genres of and sounds. And art rap for all it’s eye roll inducing desperation really deserves to be encouraged, simply because it is breaking out of this mold and finding new territory where other artists can follow and make it more accessible. But yet these efforts are consistently panned by publications like Pitchfork, and Kanye is heralded as king eternal. It is almost like Pitchfork wants hip hop to stagnate.
I know, right? Titus Andronicus Forever!
For the record, probably my favorite video in the past 5 years is Ramona Falls “I Say Fever!” It is better every time I watch it.
Titus Andronicus “The Monitor” is monumental. I had an epiphany with that album not long ago, and it took the album from to new levels of appreciation in my personal collection of music.
This past May I was sitting in the back of a crowded bus weaving our way north from Mariupol to Donetsk Ukraine. Traffic was slow along the highway since every few miles the military had roadblocks set up where the army was searching vehicles for foreigners that they expected were involved in agitating the precarious political situation in Eastern Ukraine. By this time there were already armed separatist groups taking government buildings and blocking off towns in the region. To my right was a companion of mine with his face pressed up against the curtained window, to my left was an elderly Ukrainian woman with a large bag in her lap filled with bed sheets. We quietly stared ahead of us and swayed in unison as the bus slowly swerved to avoid pot holes. The air was tense and thick with the fear of an impending civil war between the native Ukrainians and Russians. The stench of unwashed bodies and stale cigarettes gave the mood an acidic flavor.
I peered through a gap in the bodies and out a window as I watched the country drift past. Rolling green fields lined with narrow bands of trees and capped with wide open blue skies. Several months from now the fields would be yellow with ripe wheat and corn and the scene would transform into the blue over yellow of the national flag. I quietly pulled my earbuds out of my pocket and pressed them into my ears. As we slowed for the first checkpoint, i saw a long line of cars. The car at the front of the line was in the process of being tossed by uniformed men with automatic rifles. Our bus pulled to the side of the road and jostled past the waiting traffic. We had been told that buses were not being searched. With a sigh of relief we discovered this to be true. I saw several other passengers slouch slightly with relief. I considered who else might be smuggling themselves between cities with us.
I looked down at my music player and flashed through my available playlists. My finger paused on an album, as if by instinct, and with a few flicks of my finger I started the first track. It began as the silhouettes of armored cars and roadblocks floated by on the other side of the curtained window. The sun baked the soldiers by the side of the road with a warm static. And as the bus accelerated away a voice softly began speaking in my ear.
“From whence shall we expect the approach of danger? Shall some transatlantic giant step the earth and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe, Asia, could not by force take a drink from the Ohio River or make a track on the Blue Ridge in a trial of a thousand years. If destruction be our lot we ourselves must be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen we will live forever or die by suicide.”
And then the ruckus tones of Titus Andronicus layed waste to the rolling hills, and the elderly woman next to me was disintegrated into ash. The sky filled with clouds as drums fell from their hanging mass leaving nothing but craters and smoldering loss. The Monitor had arrived and its reckoning would be just and swift.