Category Archives: re:play

My-Fi: Chester French – Music 4 TNGRS

So… if nothing else, 2012 proved that by George the Mayans had it all kinds of right: the year proved a renaissance of apocalyptic proportions – a year when the culturally amnesiac cynics failed to recognize a sea change over the screams of their own skeptic scoffs… alas, even in the midst of privately-backed Super-PAC pocketed media, bindered women, NRA publicity stunts, mass school shootings, a deluge of false formations and knowledge starvation, the spectacle’s continued triumph over literacy shrugged – and oh, Sandy; even in the midst of all that, there was music – glorious music – because after all, to mark the fall, the birth of tragedy is forever conceived in the spirit of music.

Somewhere along the 365 steps on the road to perdition where those albums that in their own way, reminded me of what “those” Mayans might play had they lived to see this day…

Music 4 TNGRS – Chester French

CFIT

Beyond the prominent production, the ever-enveloping electronic environment, it is the enduring lyrics that take us back to the playground. Some songs are like long-lost love notes, retrieved from a time capsule beneath the sandbox, or somewhere under a tree in the quad. Other songs take it back to the cyber sandbox of whichever social network was your shelter, reading along like a comment your present-day self would leave your former self. That’s what I dig most about the album. It doesn’t try to be anything it’s not. It is a 2012 LP of the mixtape you would have made for your Post-9/11-But-Pre-Katrina-So-There’s-Still-Hope self, about yourself, now. I also like it because … I’m a TNGR and it’s my kind of music.

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Unforgettable, Vol. 22 :: Lady GaGa: G.U.Y. – An ARTPOP Film

We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams… four years ago we pulled a stunt that went and turned into a scene

#kanyeshrugsandpoplove #electricworldlife

G.U.Y. – An ARTPOP Film:

because,

I know. But I can’t stay up here on my hill forever.

#queenedknight #kingdomed

ARTPOP ... facing glamorous cruelty in Spears subtext and fantasy
ARTPOP … facing glamorous cruelty in Spears subtext and fantasy

 

I didn’t get to this place in my life by doing the smart thing every time. How ’bout you, frank farmer? Out there on the edge… did you ever do something that didn’t make too much sense, except maybe inside you? In your stomach somewhere? Something that wasn’t smart? I’ll bet you have plenty. I’ll bet you do. Nobody gets really good without it. And you’re good. I know that. – Ms. Marron

#neverforget #girlunderguardian

I suppose the only way to take this one sonically is through the sounds of an autobiography… at this point in my pop literary career with a one said Lady, certain signatures will emerge at some point within each piece – namely: each release being #theanthem, each release “solidifying this time and space voice of twain,” and autobiographical points of reference expounding on the sheer cosmic Pop of said beat drops. #postoculus #postpop This time, will be no different #letsdelve

HoG P

… and on the sixth day GaGa unearthed the feast, saw everything that she had gamed… and behold: it was very good

The scene opens and I feel the last four movies I watched on Netflix (America The Beautiful, Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, Boogie Man: The Lee Atwater Story, and Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism ) “How do you tell a twelve year old they’re being manufactured for disposal?” echoes beneath sounds of the digital stock market, laser arcades and electronic abacuses blend with footsteps over barren plantations of the The Deep South’s perpetual state of reconstruction.

FOX News anchors divulge contents of executive morning gag-ordering memorandum for daily broadcasts, Former California Governor Gray Davis recalls the Summer of 2001 when Arnold Schwarzenegger took his position on the wings of George Bush and Ken Layforever the manufactured blackout, roll tide.

The rise of the South, crimson syndication – Carolinian Lee Atwater’s landmark Reagan / Bush campaign victories premised upon political theater at the expense of a misinformed public, Enron’s ascent from Texas prestige to global market dominance at the expense of $38B from California – the swelter of the Swine lingering ever-so-close by; the deserted landscape of our spectacular marketplace, entertainment and speculation, valuation on manufactured ideologies … and in the midst is the artifact, beneath the data-driven logistical bottom line: art as fact is buried.

ARTPOP Title Card

#bodiesguardiconinc

It is no longer enough to be good, to be well-made, of inspired design, of impeccable craftsmanship, to be one of a kind – to transcend scalable. In fact, it is a loss; time spent maturing is a liability – “either die or don’t die, just let me know if it’s the first one so I can get a grip and camera guy.

I see #sxswine heading up the hill. GaGa face down – in clothes not incredibly dissimilar from her Swinecore attire – money scattered, archaeological dig in disarray, Mitochondrial Eve rests in Mesopoptamian ruins… and the scene begins where Austin faded

In case you were wondering what’s behind the swine … existence of the living gold mine … the reality that human traffic runs through vinyl, video, and grapevine … that spectacular misery is of industrial design … that the vomit you spew, pre-emptive anesthetic to the polity coup: our very own blood red, sterilized white, and royal blue … the surrender in silence, the deafening void, the sadness… the sadness… the lament and suffocating isolation of that human capital demise … that behind the lids are empty exes where once haused Tiresian eyes.

#theendisthebeginning

Interlude

VENUS Interlude

The scene shifts, I feel the movie I was in the middle of watching on Netflix when a majestic eclectic heralded G.U.Y.’s arrival: Disney’s Hercules#ayverse

Vinyl Mind Flow #prosewego

Even when you doubt, you cannot deny the truth. In the beginning, was the word, and the word was good; in the end, all that remains is that seminal word to rebuild from the ruins of slander… the only four-letter word from where life springs …. ishq to mark the mortal compass, eros to transform, love to transcend.

The electric world life: owning nothing in the Haus, all is had in electric word; all is manifest from mental creations given wings within tangled webs … beneath the static, found frequencies connect and channel perceived truths as canons of a new world. Bound not by domains, built instead upon the orbits of psychopomp relays.

It’s not real, it’s theatre; because reality is the illusion of essential materiality … the delusion of juvenile insanity washed away by the beauty in mysterious mentality … the rhythmic word, the love game’s dans … the choreography across this dimension’s canvas …

Magdalene ascends from the realm of lower mystery: Rilke’s triumphant female returns for the first time. The caterpillar sheds its biological echo chamber, claiming imperial divine on behalf of the natural, where fabrics of the regal are indeed invisible in design.

The sin is not the fall, salvation is not in calendar spring; the sin is to see in shame, to bear false witness against the love made manifest in anything: to posture on the production of mortal death to profit from false life … to fragment, displace, and deny the father his liberated child of light and she, who cultivates endlessly those creations of which never die at night – forever beautysleeping in a trance, but never sleeping to dream, the perceived pain in work, and the beautiful bond of shared experiences yet to be unscene.

That G.U.Y. … makes me want to be a doper person; that G.U.Y., made GaGa cry tears and tempos of cosmic civilization’s arising reign – those G.U.Y.s stepped foot on the shores of a celestial sandbar four years ago: baptized by the stellar, bound to the state, burdened by paradoxes that make us great… silently rolling, navigating while blind, guided only by the music and faith that in time, the walls would crumble and the streets would main, Valhalla would rejoice at The Angels’ true frame, the disparate light would emerge from the dim; and The South would walk through antiquated resentment, to bathe in capital h.i.m.

… four years ago: a maker was met, as moonwalkers first stepped onto the currents beyond wires; houses of song where once wrested lyres …

HOS

ARTPOP could mean anything, ARTPOP means what you make of the muse; ARTPOP means mastering the verse, chorus, choreography, bridge, breakdown and sample of life’s cyclical soundtrack. ARTPOP is crafting an atmosphere in the perfection of your mind, from truth of the spirit, the pulse of your heart, and absolute certainty in the mysterious divine. Four years ago a king said, “This is it;” here that G.U.Y. says: “Now, it’s time.”

#knowthisplace

The secret language of G.U.Y.’s destiny is transcendence through empowered innocence of love eternal

My-Fi: The Weeknd – Trilogy

So… if nothing else, 2012 proved that by George the Mayans had it all kinds of right: the year proved a renaissance of apocalyptic proportions – a year when the culturally amnesiac cynics failed to recognize a sea change over the screams of their own skeptic scoffs… alas, even in the midst of privately-backed Super-PAC pocketed media, bindered women, NRA publicity stunts, mass school shootings, a deluge of false formations and knowledge starvation, the spectacle’s continued triumph over literacy shrugged – and oh, Sandy; even in the midst of all that, there was music – glorious music – because after all, to mark the fall, the birth of tragedy is forever conceived in the spirit of music.

Somewhere along the 365 steps on the road to perdition where those albums that in their own way, reminded me of what “those” Mayans might play had they lived to see this day…

Trilogy – The Weeknd

The-Weeknd-Trilogy-630x630

After the party is the after-party and after the after is the hangover… a house of balloons bacchanalia, lifted nocturnal Thursday smolder exploding before sunrise’s echoed silence. The Weeknd’s major label release captured the entirety of an amnesiac culture’s underground. Monstrous melodies and ominous epiphanies linger through a three act hip-hoperatic. It is so beastly and so beautiful, so filthy, so rich.

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My-Fi: Analogue Transit – “Gearheart”

“I am the truth, the thing you long to hear. I am analogue, I am analogue;” so opens duo Kwaku Aning and Jeff Shreiner’s formal introduction to the music world – and moreover, magnificently introduced the music landscape for 2010 in a softly spoken, but strongly cemented artistic tone.

Analogue Transit’s freshman album compiles acoustic and electronic sounds so authentically that it gives a soul to the seemingly synthetic – it gives the machine a mood, and is the heart behind the gears. Raw piano and strings ride along with classically crude industrial effects. As they harmonize with beautifully melancholy vocalizations, the juxtapositions create an atmosphere that reflects artists’ core – but more importantly, the catalyst for that second decade’s creative identity.

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Unforgettable, Vol. 9: Justice – †

At a time when nothing was sacred, everything real was artificial, and “America” was the culprit: we found freedom in the music – we found our Jesus and our Kubrick. Justice’s 2007 release Cross was the literal presentation of Arcade Fire’s standout album; the neon bible was authentic synth soul. The French came to the rescue again – via Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay – in a musical Yankee liberation movement. Cross was the 21st Century Lady Liberty, a shining beacon of hope for the sonically stranded stateside souls. Before Justice, it was just us brother – lonely.

When something falls out of place, take your time and put it back… to the start we go as Cross opens with “Genesis.” This is the kind of track that takes you back to confession, kneel before the turntable altar because Justice is taking you to Church – not merely metaphysical, but a complete out-of-body spiritual experience.

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Unforgettable, Vol. 10: N.E.R.D. – In Search of…

No one ever really dies… You believe that? Well, if not – for you – it’s almost over now.

Where we left off with Justice’s French futuristic opera, we pick up with the album that almost was an electronic eh – but instead became a funk-infused flashback that found more in searching than most others did in attaining. Pharrell “the Imperial Skateboard P” Williams, Chad Hugo, and Shay Haley, better known as N.E.R.D., while on the brink of The Neptunes’ next-level stranglehold on Western radio, retreated to Europe to release their highly anticipated debut album as a trio. Then, as modern lore has it, they recorded the original as an electronic album, decided it was trash (read: American Top 40 Treasure), went back in the studio to record the album with live instruments, and shipped it as a proper international release. In 2010, in the spirit of moving on to the next one: I say we all embark on a similar search.

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Unforgettable, Vol. 11: Lupe Fiasco – The Cool

Whatever it was that N.E.R.D. was in search of: Lupe Fiasco found with his 2007 release The Cool. What is Cool? Cool is a living contradiction. Lupe doesn’t avoid the nature of Cool – he clutches to it like an insomniac to the other side of the pillow. This album lives The Cool through and through.

“They thought it was cool to burn crosses on your front lawn as they hung you from trees in your backyard. They thought it was cool to leave you thirsty and stranded, Katrina! He thought it was cool to carry a gun in his classroom and open fire, Virginia Tech, Columbine – Stop the violence! They thought it was cool to tear down the projects and put up million dollar condos, Gentrification. They think it’s cool to stand on the block hiding product in their socks to make quick dime bag dollars. They think it’s cool to ride down on you in blue and white unmarked cars busting you upside your head. Freeze… ‘Cause the problem is we think it’s cool too. Check your ingredients before you overdose, on The Cool…”

Continue reading Unforgettable, Vol. 11: Lupe Fiasco – The Cool