Month: November 2010

Shine On

ManMix

Let us not dwell on matters of international intrigue, because international matters are not intriguing. Leastways not nearly as much as moonshine.

The prospect of clandestinely distilling my own spirits fills me with hope and purpose. It’s a grandfathered, salt-of-the-earth subversion. While I would like very much for the sweat of my brow to sate my world-weary restlessness, I do not believe this to be a realistic goal in these unreal times. So I shall, at some unspecified future date, invest my efforts into the small-scale production of a hooch that will allow me to forget my troubles, if only briefly.

While this may offend the law, I no longer indulge in flattering myself to think I am so significant as to entice it to care. And my conscience will sleep as soundly as the rest of me no doubt will.

Cheers!

WWM&SD?

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At first I felt some added discretion would be wise, but the more I think about WikiLeaks’ continued release of classified government documents, the more I support it. It is, after all, what Mulder and Scully would do.

The official position on the action is that it puts people’s lives at risk. But let’s be honest, the accuracy of this position is extremely arguable, if not definitively incorrect. The release of thousands of classified documents doesn’t put people’s lives at risk. It simply puts new and different people’s lives at risk. That is the nature of living in a global theatre dominated by ruthless murderers. Last time I checked, it was murderers—not messengers—who put people’s lives at risk.

Last week, an individual observed in response to one of my other pieces that she could be a good person and still get shot. Well:

Yes.

Good people are slaughtered like cattle. Routinely, dispassionately, en masse. Expect it to happen.

It seems to me that the promise of certain doom, regardless of whether we do right or wrong, is a perfectly comprehensive incentive for doing right.

Consumer Confidence

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I used to hate Cineplex’s pre-screening advertainment feature, until I realized I was its exact target audience.

Like all advertising, I’m pretty sure it’s designed to make people feel better about themselves. I spent many hours waiting for films to start while thinking, “Man, what kind of hopeless losers would actually enjoy this shit?” When I finally answered that question honestly, I had to concede it was probably the kind of hopeless loser who feels the need to constantly criticize advertising disguised as journalism by putting thoughts into quotation marks.

It was at this juncture that I came to one of my many inconsequential epiphanies. No matter how hopeless a loser I may be, I can still be a wildly-successful belligerent smartass. There’s probably more to be said about this, but for now, I am content to enjoy the serenity of this self awareness.

Thank you, advertisers, for shamelessly berating me along the road of self discovery.

Rumble Seat (Episode 1)

Bassnectar, Datsik, Dubstep, ManMix, Rumble Seat

Split hairs. Call it Dubstep, Lazerbass, Glitchhop or Omnitempo Maximalism. It is a rose by any name.

There’s a new track from heavyweight producers Bassnectar and Datsik entitled Yes. It’s all over the internet, single-handedly driving up the value of tech stocks and compromising workplace productivity. Listen to it while you continue enjoying my delightful prose:

Bassnectar & Datsik – Yes

Thanks largely to music like what you’re now enjoying, I spent my summer creeping around bass-fueled festivals. Along the way, I was introduced to ManMix. “What’s ManMix?” you ask. Well:

It’s mostly booze!

At least that’s the party line.

But it’s so much more. ManMix is always on offer. Fundamentally, it’s about loving your fellow man unconditionally.

Yet, if I was the kind of person who went around making baseless generalizations about complete strangers, I’d say I get the sense that both Bassnectar and Datsik would (probably tactfully) not say “Yes” to the offer of ManMix. Bassnectar would be on some new age kick about his body being a temple and Datsik would be too much of a big shot. Thankfully, I am not the kind of person who makes such random and unfounded statements. It’s a petty, insecure asshole who says such things.

I don’t have a concrete plan for accomplishing this, but I hypothesize I can prove said asshole to be hopelessly wrong by getting Bassnectar and/or Datsik unreasonably wrecked on ManMix at some, unspecified, future date—next week, sixty years from now, whenever the opportunity arises. They’ve encouraged my happiness to such an extent that I feel I owe them at least that much.

So it pains me to admit that I have never been a yes man. It’s times like these when that reality is especially burdensome. I’m not of the opinion that Yes reflects either Bassnectar’s or Datsik’s best work. But it’s not a bad effort, either. As is the case with many of Bassnectar’s tracks, Yes grows on you, like a benign tumour nestling blissfully into your amygdala. And considering Bassnectar builds tracks with mixes in mind, I know better than to pass final judgment on his work until I’ve heard it in context.

Ultimately, Bassnectar and Datsik have both made enough indefatigable bangers that they’ve set an impossibly high bar for all their future endeavours. While still not their best work, these two currently-free downloads are cases in point:

Bassnectar feat. 40 Love – Wildstyle Method (Radio Edit)

The Crystal Method feat. LMFAO – Sine Wave (Datsik Remix)

Keep up the good work, boys.

Go Banana!

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I’ve been working on a ridiculous piece of writing that I cannot, for the life of me, conclude. I know I had a point when I started it, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was.

The experience has me reflecting on what is, perhaps, my favourite conclusion to an episode of The Simpsons. The episode Das Bus, loosely based on Lord of the Flies, strands the students of Springfield Elementary on a deserted island. It randomly finishes with a narration from James Earl Jones that ends with, “And, eventually, the children were rescued by—oh, let’s say—Moe.”

Then I realized that reflecting on Simpsons quotes is something old people do. I am old. Oh, well. I guess I knew it was coming. I just assumed I would have accomplished more by the time it happened.

Like maybe finishing that stupid piece of writing.

Ghost Write The Whip

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I have always maintained that topic should never determine a piece of writing’s ability to entertain or engage. Pop music, then, would seem to be as ideal a place as any to wind up the ol’ hot rod.

A short while ago, Willow Smith’s Whip My Hair shocked and awed my facebook news feed. All of my earnest intentions to see the new Karate Kid movie collapsed into a burning desire to waste a couple of minutes on Youtube.

Not that any of us should ever feel compelled to justify why we did or did not watch a music video, it would be extraordinarily difficult for anyone to argue that this video/song/product spread through our attention-deficit popular consciousness on any merits beyond brand recognition and market capitalization. If I was feeling particularly hurtful, I might suggest that Willow Smith is to Will Smith as Shark Tale is to Finding Nemo. But Willow Smith has won my heart and mind, so I will make no such disparaging remark.

Whip My Hair isn’t topping my most played tunes, but if I’m playing radio roulette I’d much rather hear Willow Smith than, say, John Mayer. If I had a nine-year-old daughter, I would much rather she spend her formative years programming her brain with Willow Smith generously spreading mantras of self-determination over top of a Samsonian kick drum ambling along like a drunken Tyrannosaurus than with Taylor Swift desperately mixing metaphors about owning some obtuse boy.

I’d like to think I’d raise a daughter who is capable of shooting someone rather than a daughter who is likely to shoot someone. There’s a big difference. But I digress.

My initial objection to Whip My Hair was the line:

Don’t let haters keep me off my grind. Keep my head up, I know I’ll be fine.

Willow Smith is one syllable away from having arguably the most recognizable name in contemporary popular media. As a pop princess, she’ll never have to worry about haters keeping her off her grind or whether or not she’ll be fine. These are both very real concerns for the rest of us. Maybe it’s little more than clever marketing, but I feel it’s commendable that Willow Smith isn’t addressing her issues but our issues. I could sit here all day whining about how she’s disingenuously pandering to a commercially-viable demographic monstrosity, but that would ignore the reality that she is offering that demographic something tangible, regardless of how she’s doing it.

Gifting her subjects with hope is the fundamental function of a princess, pop or otherwise. In a time where the existence of royalty is no longer necessitated, we have, for reasons I don’t comprehend, elected to celebrate it anyway.

I appreciate the return of the favour.