10-21-2011 @ Royale
10-21-2011 @ Royale
I try to be somewhat selective about which M-Dot joints we post on JTTS, not because of anything against the guy, but simply because he drops a dump truck load of new songs into the inbox every week. The guy works hard, if you didn’t notice. But when I saw this, there was really no deliberation necessary. M-Dot hooked up with former Dip Set soldier Hell Rell for this song, and that’s all I needed to know. I know Rell’s work well from my last job at a music distribution company that manufactured/sold many of his stellar, option-filled mixtapes like Eat With Me or Eat a Box of Bullets and Get In Line or Get Lined Up, the choose-your-own-adventure of rap albums. I haven’t heard shit from him in a while, but in his prime, Rell was a pretty decent Dennis Rodman to Jim Jones’s Scottie Pippen and Cam’s Jordan. I’m glad that M-Dot took him up on the offer to eat with him…
Ladies, the weekend forecast calls for a high chance of impregnation with temperatures in the upper 80s in downtown Boston. Our man Flynt Flossy and the Turquoise Jeep crew will be riding through Fresh Produce where things are gonna get hot, sweaty and very, very ignorant. Wasted Talent will be celebrating the release of their new EP and DJs Frank White, Evaredy and Knife will keep asses shaking with two floors of hip hop, reggae and party jamz. So join the JTTS crew and get to smanging this Saturday night at Good Life, 28 Kingston Street, Boston MA 02111. $5 to to get in. 21+
There’s an endless philosophical showdown in the rap community. Some have fallen in the struggle. Others have just wasted countless hours bullshitting on stoops and in barbershops, debating whether hip-hop is for dancing, or for revolution.
Obviously the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But while Furious Force of Rhymes director Joshua Atesh Litle acknowledges boom bap’s park jam roots, his focus leans decidedly toward the genre’s more rebellious side. (more…)
Some falsetto from Frank Ocean. This kid’s all over the Internet. Can’t even go on Spotify without seeing 10 ads for “Novacane.” Good stuff, but waiting to see how he does on Watch The Throne, August 8th.
So I’ve ate, shit, and slept with Mister Jason’s Frankensteez project for nearly six days now, and it’s rewind-button-city-all-day. Despite having disappeared from the recording side of things for years – since his Porn Theatre Ushers days with Nabo Rawk – Jason managed to return with a comeback strong enough to rape a horse. Even the artwork is classic.
The video above is for “Skeleton Key,” which features DJ Frank White (on co-production), with MC duties handled by Kno Supreme, whose nice and smooth flow is ear crack for any hip-hop junkie. As for visuals; there are too many cameos to name, but Paul Foley (of Wasted Talent) deserves a special shout-out for his Oscar-worthy turn as a bespectacled pedophile murderer.
Which brings me to the vinyl release of “Mister Jason Has A Posse.” Over the past year and then some, the Frankensteez crew tapped 26 MCs (track list below) – each representing a different letter of the alphabet – to throw two polysyllabic cents apiece into Jason’s beat bank. The result is a heroic feat, easily one of boom bap’s stand-out moments of the year. And the B-sides are fire too. I might buy two of these despite having but one out-of-commission turntable.
LISTEN: Frankensteez – “Mister Jason Has A Posse”
DOWNLOAD “Mister Jason Has A Posse”
So, hip-hop is alive you say? Well allow me to retort: may I present Kreayshawn’s little homie V-Nasty from the White Girl Mob. As she says, I’ve never walked in her shoes, so I’m just a hater. But I do notice that she loves dropping n-bombs left and right, even though, as she says, it has nothing to do with race. I mean, why would it, coming from a girl in a group called WHITE GIRL MOB. But as she says, I should be mad about this album she’s about to drop on the haters, because she’s “just doing me.” This retarded (what, I can’t use the word retarded? I’m doing me) perspective has destroyed the fabric of society as we know it, to the point where “Fuck you hater, I’m doing me” is a valid response to anything. Why didn’t Obama just say that in his speech last night? That would have been some White Girl Mob shit. Well, V-Nasty, if you are reading this, I’m hating on you and I never heard a goddamn song you’ve ever done in your life. But fuck it, I’m doing me. On some real shit. Hater.
We mentioned Moufy’s sell-out of the Middle East Downstairs last week, and now here is the video for “Ms. Newton,” which scared enough people in the #3 greatest town in America to warrant coverage on the Channel 5 news. I’ve heard some of Moufy’s other stuff and wasn’t particularly impressed, but this video/song is dope. Moufy shows his talent as a song writer and story teller, and the video is very well put together; reminds me of those ill story videos that Aerosmith used to make with Alicia Silverstone. As for the message of the song, well, only people living in the pristinely preserved bubble that is Newton would react with surprise. Because, you know, rich girls never have self-esteem issues. Stick to making songs about the ghetto and stop sullying the reputation of this fine town, right? FOH.
I know that it’s 2011, and most rappers have had websites for close to a decade. But R.A. the Rugged Man tends to be behind on things, like when he took something like 15 years to drop a debut album.
And of course there’s another good reason to celebrate this relatively momentous occasion: R.A. is actually a writer, and there’s already some good content up there. For those of you who don’t know, he’s covered boxing, gore flicks, and hip-hop for a flush spread of publications through the years.
Lastly, it seems like all of Rugged’s favorite themes – rap, pugilism, etc. – will regularly play out in the comment section, as they do here on JumpTheTurnStyle. However; unlike on JTTS, R.A.’s new site has something to offer his asshole visitors:
To celebrate the launch of the site, R.A. is also launching an MC contest. The “Murderous Lyricist” competition will give one lucky MC the chance to appear alongside hip-hop royalty like R.A., Kool G Rap, Jedi Mind Tricks, RZA, Celph Titled, Atmosphere, Killah Priest, Apathy, Smoothe the Hustler, Inspectah Deck, and more on the upcoming Bad Biology compilation album. Entry details and more can be found here.
Amy Winehouse – Valerie
I won’t attempt to eulogize Amy with anything long-winded or pretentiously analytical, but I will say this: her music, and especially its resonance with hip-hop fans and artists, helped show many people, who might not have otherwise listened, to the beautiful sounds of soul and R&B music that inspired so much of contemporary hip-hop. All the mythology and romanticized portions of her life will eventually fall to the wayside, but a voice like that does not.
Russell Brand posted this short personal obituary on his Twitter page, and I think it sums it up way better than I can.
When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.
Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.
I’ve known Amy Winehouse for years. When I first met her around Camden she was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that “Winehouse” (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it’s kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as a bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; “Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric” I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.
I was myself at that time barely out of rehab and was thirstily seeking less complicated women so I barely reflected on the now glaringly obvious fact that Winehouse and I shared an affliction, the disease of addiction. All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they’re not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his “speedboat” there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they’re looking through you to somewhere else they’d rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.
From time to time I’d bump into Amy she had good banter so we could chat a bit and have a laugh, she was “a character” but that world was riddled with half cut, doped up chancers, I was one of them, even in early recovery I was kept afloat only by clinging to the bodies of strangers so Winehouse, but for her gentle quirks didn’t especially register.
Then she became massively famous and I was pleased to see her acknowledged but mostly baffled because I’d not experienced her work and this not being the 1950’s I wondered how a “jazz singer” had achieved such cultural prominence. I wasn’t curious enough to do anything so extreme as listen to her music or go to one of her gigs, I was becoming famous myself at the time and that was an all consuming experience. It was only by chance that I attended a Paul Weller gig at the Roundhouse that I ever saw her live.
I arrived late and as I made my way to the audience through the plastic smiles and plastic cups I heard the rolling, wondrous resonance of a female vocal. Entering the space I saw Amy on stage with Weller and his band; and then the awe. The awe that envelops when witnessing a genius. From her oddly dainty presence that voice, a voice that seemed not to come from her but from somewhere beyond even Billie and Ella, from the font of all greatness. A voice that was filled with such power and pain that it was at once entirely human yet laced with the divine. My ears, my mouth, my heart and mind all instantly opened. Winehouse. Winehouse? Winehouse! That twerp, all eyeliner and lager dithering up Chalk Farm Road under a back-combed barnet, the lips that I’d only seen clenching a fishwife fag and dribbling curses now a portal for this holy sound. So now I knew. She wasn’t just some hapless wannabe, yet another pissed up nit who was never gonna make it, nor was she even a ten-a-penny-chanteuse enjoying her fifteen minutes. She was a fucking genius.
Shallow fool that I am I now regarded her in a different light, the light that blazed down from heaven when she sang. That lit her up now and a new phase in our friendship began. She came on a few of my TV and radio shows, I still saw her about but now attended to her with a little more interest. Publicly though, Amy increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that youtube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death. I was 27 years old when through the friendship and help of Chip Somers of the treatment centre, Focus12 I found recovery, through Focus I was introduced to support fellowships for alcoholics and drug addicts which are very easy to find and open to anybody with a desire to stop drinking and without which I would not be alive.
Now Amy Winehouse is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care. We need to look at the way our government funds rehabilitation. It is cheaper to rehabilitate an addict than to send them to prison, so criminalisation doesn’t even make economic sense. Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call.
Peep the Ricky Shabazz-directed promo video for Falside’s upcoming beat tape, Snare Conditioning, out August 16th. Limited edition cassettes will be pressed as well.
First, a quick re-cap of Thursday night’s D-Tension roast at the Good Life. Sleezy Trees and Chris Faraone both told some really bad jokes, and then subsequent roasters spent most of their time shitting on them for having done so. I had a couple Sailor Jerry’s and Coke and rufi cocktails, then proceeded (to the best my memory serves) to harass DJ 7L about how much I loved his 80’s soft rock mix, Step into the AM, which I had picked up when he DJ’d at the Middlesex Lounge in Cambridge a while back. That mix had a profound effect on my listening habits; from this mix of cuts from Ambrosia, Kenny Loggins, Seals & Croft, Doobie Brothers and others, I was buying Hall & Oates albums and even DeBarge out of the discount bins at the record store. I’ve calmed down a bit since then, and tried to restore the balance by overcompensating with Curren$y and Freddie Gibbs, but now with this second mix I fear falling down the worm hole yet again. Fleetwood Mac, Michael McDonald and others all make appearances on this hour-long volume that’s perfect for your next white party on the yacht. Bang this shit on your deck today; your white neighbors will love you, and your property value might even increase. Shout out to 7L.