Drugs>Pigs>TheBelz

I can't believe the guy who plays Stringer is British. That's like finding out that Dan Marino is actually a snapping turtle.

The prodigal slothra returns! My lack of internet juice has kept me out of the blogging game, and my ethernet wire's still dead, but I should be back up like Bacon in Flatliners before you can say "Shizzam Bangles."

Hey speaking of wires, I ploughed through the third season of The Wire in two days this week. By the end, when Stringer gets capped by Omar and Brother Mouzon, I was might as well have been a junkie in Baltimore Robbing Tom Breihan's parents and tagging after Bubbles like the kid from Kids. I was immersed like I was Echo the Dolphin. (Speaking of everyone's favorite Voice rap blogger, I recently found out that he's 6' 11". Not so recently, I found out that he needs to stop using adjectives like "gorgeous" and "syrupy" when describing music. Indeed, Hemingway's ghost and the adjective police need to SWAT that boy). Even though the Wire isn't even the best police procedure drama set in Baltimore, it's probably the second best show on TV now (gotta give the edge to Deadwood). While it never quite acheives the level of cinematic perfection that it's HBO siblings sometimes do, it's more fun to watch in a lot of ways, and in its treatment of the Drug trade, portraying it as the complex business operation it is, is thrillingly new ground (no matter what the Puppy says, Belly doens't quite do it, although I havn't seen Killa Season, so maybe I shouldn't be making jumping to conclusions). After watching all three seasons of The Wire this summer, I realized that the chances of me ever watching an episode of Law and Order again are about the same as the chances of my ascendancy to the throne of England.

Termanology - Watch How It Go Down

Gnarls Barkley - Smiley Faces

Seth Green shouts out Jackson Pollock, gets punched

Congrats, but Please No More Bobby Brown-Ja Rule Collabos...

This sort of flew under the radar, considering how big a deal it was...

Go Go Gadget Genremaker

Procrustean F. Manhandles, blogger new jack and general pookie-about-town, reps D.C., sordid puppies, and Go Go music. I don't know what Go Go is, but its regional popularity reminds me of hyphy and B More, who are similar only in that neither style will ever blow up on a national scale. E-40 is hyphy, I guess, although it seems like he just decided that recently; I doubt seriously that anyone hearing Hall of Game would have predicted that this guy would one day be called an architect of a scene that produces acts like Rick Rock's apostles, Federation. Plus, "U and Dat," unquestionably E-40's biggest hit of all time, bears no resemblance whatsoever to hyphy, save perhaps for those kids with dreadlocks that shook their heads around one too many times and now find it impossible to stop doing so. So I guess the Ballatician wanted to help these upstarts get noticed -- he namedrops hyphy all the time now (as well as the fact that he invented such phrases as "Good Morning," "How's it going?" etc.) -- or maybe he was just hoping to jump on the bandwagon (or Vespa, or whatever) and finally get the sales he's always deserved. Don't get me wrong -- I like Rick Rock and I really like E-40 and Too Short is the MAN but besides these two aging pimps and a beatmaker who's making plenty of scratch making beats for Busta Rhymes, is there anything more to the Bay Area's rap scene right now than putting your car in gear and getting out of it so it drives itself down the road? I mean, it's hard not to draw up a trend's obit when its new product is an outfit of teenagers that you'll probably see on Nickelodeon in the not too distant future. If you like this song, it's only because you made the mistake of never buying real sneakers as a kid, are now stuck with a load of these, and the track makes you feel all right about it.

Speaking of the Bay Area, the NYTimes seems to think Oakland's not such a great spot at the moment...

I'm not quite sure what to say about B More Club Music, because like Go Go and Hyphy, I don't really know what it is (I know even less about whether to capitalize the names of recklessly invented musical subgenres). I thought Spank Rock was going to be the first big name to come out of the scene, but then I heard that they're not even from Baltimore (or if they are, they don't live there any more), which I think disqualifies them, and their first album never got big, so that's that. So who else is there? I've heard of a guy named Bossman, but his website says his new joint is dropping soon...in December 2004. Doesn't seem to be much doing there. There's a wikipedia entry re: this stuff that would lead one to believe that this style is dead and gone, though it sounds like when I was still bumpin Raffi this was a great scene. I'm sure Tom Breihan over at the Village Voice would have a great deal to say about all this, being from the gritty streets of Charm City and all, but ever since his careless post "previewing" the new Outkast album, through which he made it perfectly clear that he hadn't opened his ears to the tunes in the first place, I haven't frequented his site. I guess we'll just have to move on...

I'm left, then, with Go Go, of the three certainly the most difficult to really follow (sort of like this post). Go Go Radio's internet stream provides 24/7 access to D.C.-area advertisements and the truly bizarre mash-up (?) music that is Go Go. Mash-up probably isn't the right word -- it's more like if you (can possibly) imagine 80s and early 90s era house beats being pillaged by some guy who's had too many Zimas and is yelling out the hooks and call-and-response bits of every southern rap song or east or west coast rap song that sounds like a southern rap song. These, at least, are the jams that are easy to decipher. Juelz Santana's "Whistle Song" slams into Da Musicianz's "Camera Phone", which bellyflops onto a stirring rendition of the Purple Ribbon All-Stars's "Kryptonite (I'm On It)" that you could have heard at your local karaoke bar on Sunday night. In general, it's just the bits that everyone at the bar would know -- the choruses, as I mentioned before. That's sort of genius, really -- you can be sure that everyone knows the words to every song, so no one has a bad time. Go Go is like karaoke if karoaoke was acknowledged as a musical style unto itself and got you chicks and "respect". Go Go is pretty sweet.

New Flesh - Wherever We Go

MalteseFalcon>BirthCertificates>SitcomAliens

Sydney Greenstreet, right after he ate Humphrey Bogart

First: So it took Lil Wayne to get arrested for having too man Flinstones vitamins to find out that he's 26, not 20 or whatever the myth was. This makes sense, because he has kids and I'm just not sure its humanly possible to have procreated and taken the throne at the South's biggest rap label before acquiring the right to legally order 17 bottles of Cris for for his ho-biting pekonese. Anyway, now I can say I've been listening to him since he was 20, while in reality it was six months ago, when Dwayne did collabo with a Seaver.

Second: DVD Game on:

Brick (2006), Rian Johnson) One of Slothra's favoritos of 2006, even though it should not be good at all--which, of course, makes it better. It stars Joseph Hyphenated-Lastname, the kid from "Third Rock from the Sun" and the Taming of the Shrew remake, Ten Things I Hate About You, which, if you remember, also starred Julia Styles' globe-shaped face and Heathcliff Gaychaps, who little Joey actually resembles in this one. Brick is a homage to Dashell Hammett-style hardboiled cigar chomping, always raining, "see here buster," tricky dame Bogart noir--and a very sincere homage at that. Even setting the movie in present day, where there's nary a Fedora, Bowler, or Stetson to be found outside a Brian Setzer Sporkestra show, is balls from the window to the wall. This guy takes it to the next level, though, and and sets it in goddamn High School. Genre mashing of this sort so easily end up in gimmick land, but ultimately, the movie doesn't give a fuck that the characters are in high school. Johnson uses the skater terrain of California High Schools well, but we never see the kids in school, ands besides one fairly hilarious scene, where one gangster kid's mom offers our hero apple juice while her son, "the pin," (played by dumbo-eared lukas haas) nibbles at a cookie laid out on a napkin, 'rents are nowhere to be found.

Ultimately Brick's driven by the dialogue, which sounds like its written by a cross between Ghostface and Elmore Leonard, and a well constructed plot with more chicanery and backdoor exits than the Nixon Administration. The talk is some of the densest patois this side of Miller's Crossing. Indeed, the director admitted the Coens' own twisty-plot faux-noir as an influence. But while the Coens mostly just wanted to dress up Gabriel Byrne in finely tailored suits and have him say stuff like "take your flunky and dangle"--all with half a tongue in their cheek, Brick ain't joking around much. Like Miller's, the movie makes up its own slang, and the characters spit that shit with abandon. "Nah that's upper crust, Dode's pie pan grease" says the Brain, the coke-bottle-spectacled, rubix cube-fiddling consigliere to Brandon (the protagonist). I had to watch it three times to understand half of what's said. For instance: "No, bulls would gum it. They'd flash their dusty standards at the wide-eyes and probably find some yegg to pin, probably even the right one." Apparently a 'yegg' is someone who burgles burglars, in case you were wondering. Rating: James Monroe

Oh No feat. Dudley Perkins & Georgia Anne Muldrow - T. Biggums

Acetate>ChiaPet>RalphMacchio

Fuck this, Shrek ain't even supposed to have hair.

I was talked to a flaming Chia Pet in a Bulgarian monastery who told me the number seven was holy:

1. I'm writing a long-ass article about Laguna Beach/The Hills/Adam Morrison's mustache. Hopefully it'll end up in the New Yorker Talk of the Town Section. Otherwise it'll be here pretty soon.

2. The Minutemen drop a funk bomb on ya. And I'm not talking bout the legendary Fife and Drum corps with Bootsy Collins' greatgreatgreat grandpappy on bass.

3. S dot mini dog always pushin Killer Mike. Took me until now to tease him out of masses in the A. Which means differentiate him from Big Boi. "That's Life" gets a John Quincy Adams even though I can't figure out his stance on Cornell West.

4. Blogger is annoying as fuck if you have a mac. You hafta be Steve Woznifuck to link to Tera Patrick's elbow or a recipe for fertilizer gumbo. How much do I wish I owned a HTML wiz who is a midget who always wears a nacho hat? This much (Kevin McHale wingspan x 97098032982398)

5. The Wikipedia Chia Pet entry is a tour de force. That there's a Chia Shrek and no Chia Early Ludacris makes me cry much. One of them has an afro one of them doesn't you fukers

6. I wasn't gonna blog bout no Red Sox jingoism, cuz I feared the Puppy might maul me with anti northeast/pro midwestern manicured doggy claws---- but Papi did the crane kick, Karate Kid style on second base, for no reason. I nearly combusted with love for the man.

7. I found an italian-import red vinyl reissue of Pere Ubu's seminal LP "Dub Housing" for $15. On my way out, I gave Madlib and Shadow the League of Extraordinary Cratedigging Gentlepeople handshake. Although not sure is Otis or Josh is into Postpunk. Wait...those two are into (insert humorously obscure genre).

DJ Khaled - Born N' Raised

This isn't fair. First two verses, anyway. Jury's still out on the "Boobie Boys" tee.

Busta Rhymes - In The Ghetto (Feat. Rick James)

This track sure is better than "Touch It"

DJ Khaled - Born 'N Raised feat Trick Daddy, Pitbull, & Rick Ross

Trick luv da kids, and you luv this track. This is required.

http://music.yahoo.com/ar-30124963-videos--DJ-Khaled

As soon as it's up on YouTube, it'll be up here; til now, click on the link, dummy.

*props to Ozone Magazine for the pic*

EastVSWest>Haggis>PinchHitters

"I'm so excited about the sublime quietude of contemporary Taiwanese cinema!"

Let's check in with Slothra's DVD game:

Yi Yi (2000, Edward Yang): The first DVD transfer of this Chinese beast was put out faster than a brush fire in the middle of a water convention, and as a result it had the editor's KFC grease in some of the shots; it was nearly unwatchable, but Criterion just released a new one that they pulled Cindarelly tedium shit on, so you can finally catch the serious knowledge. I've only seen it once, so I don't wanna get too Mount Rushmore, but Yi Yi (translation: "a one and a two") is one of the best movies I've seen in long time. It's an epic family medodrama that's not really epic and certainly not melodramatic. In most scenes the camera barely moves. Sometimes, the subjects of a scene will walk away from the POV, into another room or into the background, to the point where they're no more significant to the composition of the frame than a lamp or an opossum. It has funny parts, but you don't remember any of the lines. At the beginning of the movie, the little boy of the family tells his father that he wants to help people know the half of the truth that they don't know. Later, after you will have forgotten this line, the father discovers a bunch of photos in the kid's room of the backs of people's heads. I may have pumped my fist when this happened, like I was Kirk Gibson. Rating: Thomas Jefferson

Heat (1995, Michael Mann): With Miami Vice out, which I'm not sure deserves my 10 bones, I thought I'd go back to this DeNiro vs. Pacino circus from Michael "grey suits w/o ties" Mann. Wow, Mr. Mann cannot write a story. With Collateral, and even The Last of the Mohicans, guns and crazy actors keep the movie going so when a stylistic sunset or skyline shot comes up, we don't want to throw rotten watermelons at the screen. Heat, on the other hand is a like an old caddy with an ill paintjob and polished chrome covering an rusty, farting engine. It looks good, but its way too long and and it breaks down on the way to the porn shop. Gawdy, clunky fucker. The movie is basically an excuse to get Travis Bickle and Serpico in the same room, and it feels like one of those times (observational humor warning) when two of your good friends from separate places meet each other and while you think the two of them together should create a vocanic eruption of charismatic hanging out-ness, it's just regular and kinda awkward. Mann knows action though, so we do get some AK cop killing choreography with Val Kilmer spinning around a lot with his backswept blond ponytail. A slightly post-pubescent Portman is in this too, as a totally obtrusive and unnecessary subplot/back-story thing. She appears twice, cries, and then tries to kill herself. At the end, one of the Corleones caps the other one, then holds his hand as he dies, because after all, even though one is a cop and one a robber, they're really the same. They look at the stars and the credits roll, while I scoured the house for some large fruit with which to pull a Gallagher on my TV.
Rating: Calvin Coolidge

The Wicker Man (1973, Robin Hardy): This is scheduled to be remade by Neil LaBute. A lot of people have told me to see this, gets the 'cult film' label. Its tone is light, and much of the acting is borderline cartoonish, which is interesting, considering the movie is about pagan sex romps and human sacrifice. There's lots of singing and folk music in the movie, including a recurring tune about barley rigs. During a sort of chase sequence a can of funk is opened up on the soundtrack, which makes sense because the Average White Band is Scottish, and black people are often chased. The twisty-wisty ending is cool, and there's some exorbitant zoom-in shots that will remind you of Kung Fu and its mysterious power.Rating: Ulysses S. Grant

part two coming soon.

Cam'Ron: Love My Life feat. Nicole Wray

Sentimental stuff from rap's evil genius, Killa Cam.

Rick Ross Proposes to Oprah Winfrey

Rotund Ross dropped his album today. I wonder if Oprah's heard the line on "Push It" (see video below) that shouts her out for being a fat kid who grew up to become herself. I'd love to say that, before handing out awards for realizing one's existential potential, Ross should learn how to rap well, but he's got a moderately formidable team behind him that sees real talent as the triviality that it is and fills the void with stunning beats.

Mostly stunning, I should say; in the case of "Push It," I'd like to reiterate that "Scarface (Push It To the Limit)" by Giorgio Moroder has yet to be done justice in a hip-hop sample. I'm not sure who produced Ross's "Push It," but the track ain't that great and fat man does not convince. You would think that these rapper types, who feel the need to fill their houses with cheesy reproductions of the awe-inspiringly cheesy stuff that T. Montana adorned his halls with, would treat Moroder's masterpiece as unfukwitable.

Forego "Port of Miami," then, and go buy the soundtrack to "Scarface," because it's way more likely to inspire you to great feats of criminal enterprise than Ross's labored tales of cocaine kingpindom.

And buy those sunglasses, too. Sweet.

Rick Ross - Push It

SCARFACE'S Push It To The Limit

Giorgio Moroder's "Push It To the Limit" is a pretty awesome song. Rick Ross's new single "Push It" (to be posted here ASAP) is a good song, but will not be the best rap song to sample Moroder's masterpiece. What producer/rapper combination will properly capture the feel of the original composition? It's only a matter of time...

F*$%ing Balls

Sordid Puppy felt pointedly sordid today, and not because he's awfully torn on the subject of whether wearing cartoon characters on one's shirt (a la Lot29 or this new ish from Disney 19twentyeight) is slyly gangster or purely silly. What had his fur all a-prickly today was the anticipation of a trip to the emergency room, made necessary by the disovery of a particularly troubling pest of a "mass" in your hero's nether regions. Earlier today, S. Puppy, administering (as any dog with half a brain should) a little self-perlustration while taking a doggy bath, came across a distressing little bastard of a object in his doggy bag.

As awful wankers found in the worst possible places go, this manky piece of work was especially worrying because it fit the profile of, well, the sort of thing that makes a puppy wonder if, god forbid, he's got this. With great trepidation, then, S. Puppy crept over to the E.R. to face his fate, however dire it might have been. Initial examination was not encouraging; the vet who saw Puppy wasn't at all confident that the letter right after beluga but just before dingo wouldn't rear its fearsome head.

To the ultrasound, then, Puppy -- what's that you say? Pregnant, noo, you're not pregnant; well, at least not with cute little Sordid Puppy babies. We fear you may be carrying a load of a different, and decidedly less cute, sort, though weighty nonetheless.

One fainting studio gangster and several tubes of weird sound-repelling gel later, your favorite hound is returned to the E.R. via wheelchair (sittin' on 26" spinners, naturally). Torturous conversations with nurses-in-training are had -- "Well, y'know, I was talkin to some kids the other day at our summer program about TSEs and they, y'know, were gigglin and such, and I just said, 'Hey, y'know, it's not funny! These things happen mostly to young men!' Y'know? Hey, did you say you were from Ireland?"

That's right, missy. An Irish dog am I, and your words of underhanded malice, crafted to sicken me with fear, don't impress me. Now excuse me as I pass out. Again.

S.Puppy awoke, slowly at first, to a Big Mac dangled just under his snout. "Ah hah!" exclaimed a radiologist. "I knew it would work! Always does with these types." Puppy chose to ignore the gawky imbecile's derisive comment and devoured the all-beef patties. Then, our man heard news more delicious than the freshest Whopper Jr. he'd had the pleasure of tasting: no death sentence would be handed down today. Rather, a, well, if you really want to know then here it is -- anyway, this dog will live to, er, lay about for another day. Follow-up meetings and future ultrasounds seemed like invitations to parties that all the prettiest poodles would attend. All was well, and Puppy felt an onus lift off his shoulders. He then fainted.

He trotted straight off to Runza after being discharged I haven't seen him since. Am I worried? Not at all -- let him eat all the double cheeseburgers he wants, I say. Every dog has his day.

Commerce>Railroads>SheFriendedMe

"I do yoga before ballin with VCs. This position is called 'pet rock'"

Most of the time, shit is free for a reason. When I see the word "free" atop some little goodie or curio, I immediately think said product is made of boiled-down chipmunk toenails or something. Free music, when not in the computer/parrot-and-eyepatch variety usually comes in the form of samplers from eskimo down-tempo cowpunk labels, which usually don't have guest appearances by Akon.

Well, here's a way to get 25 free songs which probably don't have Akon on them either, but some of them are good. I found out about this from Riffmarket. It's a facebook thing, and since the Zuckerburg kid has all kinds of capitalists on his dick in various positions, it's not suprising Apple's here for the gangbang too. All you have to do it join the "Apple Students" group and you get a code to download the songs. Every week until the end of the summer they switch up the genre. The playlists been surprisingly not poopable so far. Now the taxonomy is "electronic" and the first song by the Junior Boys is pretty borderline feces-hot. Those guys aren't European, so you don't hafta worry about gay robots trying to molest you when you listen to that one. Problem is, your impeccably medium-ironic group list will be slighted, and if you lick your Dellpod all the time because you hate Steve "billion dollar budget" Jobs, then you risk defection. But shit's free comrade. Bread line'll never be shorter.

In other news, Xtina Aguilara namechecks Etta James to impress DJ Premier and then rhymes Coltrane with "soul train." Herbie Hancock, her best friend, looks on, wondering if "ain't no other man" is a conscious double-negative and what she thinks about "Ascension" and its unbridled formlessness.

Download - Christina Aguilara - "Back in the Day" Rating: Zachary Taylor

Eggplant>Grimace>Prince

Yes I own these fuckers. Had to do it. I don't wear things like wear purple-camo on black hi-tops. Just like I don't request a reverse mohawk when I go down to Supercuts for my weekly rap with the rotating employees. When it comes to my wardrobe, I'm muted. Fucking quelled. But when I first saw these things, I knew that one day I would don them, hopefully in a Cam'ron DVD. When they first came out, they were over $100, but luckily, nobody in the world bought them, and this summer, they're givin em away ($27). I've already had a complete stranger tell me they were "the ungliest thing I've every seen" while I was pumping gas, and at that point I decided that they would be for special occasions, like participation in a basketball-playing strike force in Oompa Loompa land.

Nomenclature>LoveTrysts>TradeEmbargoes

"Intestinal bleeding's got nothin on me"

Let's run down the docket quickly, before Castro dies.

1.I just ate a cookie that was called "Chocolate Walnut Rendezvous." On the back of the box are displayed other varieties, including "Mint Chocolate Serenade" and "Coffee Chocolate Tango."

2. When I woke up I had not heard of a band called "Holy Shit" or a band called "Holy Fuck." When I go to bed I will have heard of both, which is to say I came upon both of these bands today. I read about them independently, in unrelated contexts: one in print, one on my computer screen. Holy Shit is a side project of Ariel Pink, who strangely, is a mantooth, not a woomantooth.

Download - Holy Shit - "Ashes to Ashes"

This sounds like one of those singer dudes with a guitar fell into an abyss filled with computers. I am tired. Rating: Jimmy "Hotpants" Carter

Download - Holy Fuck - "Tonebank Computer"

Holy Fuck is one of those bands that fiddles with knobs on stuff made of circuits and tries to get people to break stuff at their concerts. Either break stuff or drink chai, there is no between. Rating: Chester "Albatross" Arthur

Neither of these bands can play on the Ed Sullivan show or identify themselves on on the radio.

3. When it's very hot outside, a good tip for cooling off is to shave your head like Yul Brynner. Steve Malkmus wrote a song about big Yul. And then he played it into some microphones and slapped it on his first solo album.

Download - Stephen Malkmus - "JoJo's Jacket"

This song is in my top seven musical tributes to Yul Brynner. Bone thugs have one that's pretty good too. Naturally, Malkmus called this one "JoJo's Jacket." Rating: John "more of a kayak man" Tyler

Rhymefest - Fever

Hot rocks from S. Puppy's favorite album of 06.