Posts Tagged ‘Kanye’

Disappearing Into A World Of Echo

March 10th, 2016

It’s a soulless time in modern music and the music makers are reaching at straws to try to fix the problem. Some of them try to sing like Al Green and record their tracks on tape in analog on big machines like in the day. Some producers sample-jack an entire song’s vibe and use that to fill up the vibe, flooding the airwaves with recycled audio stew.


I thought about that when I found out that one of the songs on Kanye West’s new album contains an Arthur Russell sample. In 1986, Arthur Russell (d. 1992) released an album, World Of Echo. The instrumentation on this album consists of Arthur Russell’s vocals, cello, hand percussion, and echo treatments of such. Hence the title.


Thirty years after the album comes out and nearly twenty-five years after Russell dies, some asshole comes along and samples his track. Cold comfort for a guy who’s long gone and not around to enjoy whatever sliver of fame or financial windfall come out of this.


How much soul is left in 2016? People live Second Life to avoid the reality of the first one they were given. I am more real on the Internet than I am in real life. Immortality in the face of a flood of similar seekers.


I have dreams. They mock me. My subconscious taunts me. Drink a lot of liquid before you go to bed so you have to wake up and piss. That will get you out of the mocking dreamstate. I want to disappear into the world of echo. Or have my own like Arthur Russell tried to create. Just a man with a cello, feeding the echo-distorted audio back into his headphones. Lost in a trance. A repetitive, minimalist trance.


If you get lucky you’ll hear an album that changes you. The person you were before you pushed play is no more and replaced with a new bunch of molecules. World Of Echo has disturbed my molecules. I am shaken to the core. What are you hiding behind?


Russell’s voice is that of a scalded soul. Soft but tortured. Some sick cross between James Taylor and the big Bear from Canned Heat. Which he probably wouldn’t enjoy those comparisons. I’m only trying to help.


It is a shy, unconfident voice but it hits just so as it should. He sings well in the genre of Arthur Russell. There is nothing powerful or flamboyant or melismatic. Perhaps he is confident but only in the quiet of a dark room. This is not the life of the party. This is the wallflower at the end of the night, staring balefully and earnestly. Life isn’t fair. As if he had to wait for everything to die down so he could get in a word.


I am not the same man I was before I heard World Of Echo. And even that is too late for comfort for the composer. Appreciate the living who are still here trying to make things right. Love and lose and let your heart break a little bit.

Junk Bomb JPG Blues

January 27th, 2016

I have never sent a picture of my junk to a girl. I am far too paranoid to do such a thing.

Even if I’d been asked to send a picture I still wouldn’t send a picture of it. I can just picture some girl I’m texting with hanging out with her besties, having a cold drink and joking around and waiting for me to send it. Then they get a picture of my junk and they’re like OHMYGODHEACTUALLYDIDITCANYOUBELIEVEITLOOKATTHEPOORTHINGHAHAHAHLOLOLOL.

I am too paranoid at times, but on this one I think I’m on the money. You need to be a little paranoid in order to survive. Maybe all the conspiracies that cause people to be paranoid are bunk. Maybe JFK was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald and nobody else. Maybe 9/11 was carried out by terrorists without the assistance of our government. Maybe the New England Patriots truly earned those first three titles they won with Tom Brady.

Whether or not we believe this things, we need to believe at least one thing (and I’m talking to the fellas here): if you send a girl a unsolicited picture of your junk you are flirting with disaster. For one thing, she probably didn’t expect to see it when she opened her messages. For another thing, the male genitalia do not look well in the harsh light of a phone flash. And rather than interpret your intended message of “I am a sexual man. I want to do sex with you and use this as my primary implement of fun-having”, your junk jpg will more than likely cause the gal to be. . . revulsed.


Look at Brett Favre, the poor sap. A former NFL MVP, Super Bowl winner, one of the greatest quarterbacks in history. He sent some girl a picture of his junk unsolicited. And she laughed at it! Why? For one, it was a pathetic excuse for an erection (compared in at least one comment section as resembling “a four-inch thumb”). For another thing, she wasn’t interested. She didn’t care about the MVP and Super Bowl trophies. She didn’t care about him throwing four touchdowns against the Raiders the day after his father dropped dead. She didn’t care. Know why?


Because she just wasn’t into him. He pestered her with phone messages but she wasn’t into it. Being a quarterback, Brett thought it was Hail Mary time and dropped the junk bomb via text jpg. It was needy and sad. It was pathetic. A man who had accomplished incredible things. . . acting like a goddamn fuckboi.


You can’t have any girl you want. Don’t you fucking know that already?


And the beat goes on…

The Truth About Kanye

February 9th, 2015

Kanye West Grammys

Kanye is in love. It’s obvious. You wouldn’t suspect it but everything he does is a cry for help, a cry for acknowledgement that his feelings are being understood. I get it, ‘Ye. You’re in love. She’s the most beautiful woman in the universe. She could crush entire ecosystems with a flick of the hand through those luscious locks. She moves with purpose and makes you feel like a little Timmy wearing pocket protectors like it’s junior high math club all over again.


I don’t blame you. Who wouldn’t be intimidated by She Who Is Beyonce?


Beyonce performs on her Mrs Carter world tour in Amsterdam


Oh, Kanye. You poor sap. You’re a famous rap star, songwriter and producer. You are a complex person. You contain multitudes but one look from Beyonce strips all that away. One look from her deep, thoughtful eyes into yours and all senses of self, self-image and self-consciousness go away. That is why you run on stage when other people win awards that Beyonce is nominated for. You did it in 2009 to Taylor Swift. You did it last night to Beck.


This is not about art, music, music video, or awards for such. This is about love. This is about your love for her crying out but not wanting to say it explicitly. You betray your feelings, Kanye. I get it. It’s called “unrequited love”. You are infatuated, obsessed. You want to tell her. You want to tell the world: “I AM IN LOVE WITH BEYONCE KNOWLES. I WORSHIP HER LIKE A MINION FOLLOWS AN IDOL.”


Sometimes when no one is around, you write “Beyonce West” in your notebook. Then you cross it out and write “Kanye Knowles”. Your heart fills up with joy at the very thought of being Kanye Knowles.




Who do we not seeing protesting Beyonce’s awards losses? Jay-Z. Beyonce’s husband. Because Jay-Z has Beyonce. He has the aloof confidence of a man who has the world by a string. The money, the success, the fame, the most beautiful woman in the world. You are indebted to Jay-Z, Kanye, yet you hate him and resent his happiness. Jay-Z gave you a break in show business but took away the thing you wanted most. . . her.


Put in literary terms, Beyonce is the white whale and poor Kanye is Ishmael. But Kanye will never get to harpoon her. So what does a lovestruck fisherman do when he can’t get the big catch? He looks for another white whale.




And what a whale Kanye caught. Who envies the fishermen who make these great catches? Other fishermen. It is better to be envied than it is to envy. Kanye knows this and that is why he married Kim Kardashian and sang those bizarre “Bound 2” lyrics to her face while riding a motorcycle in the video. Distract yourself with, make a baby, get weird with the most famous ass in the world.



And yet it’s not enough. As soon as you’re in the room with “her” again, everything changes. You feel your molecules going crazy inside you. Beyonce is the alpha, the omega and all in between. The world is not enough, in the words of a James Bond film.


Show business is like high school but with money.