Only white rapper with a "BET" tattoo on his throat. This dude is amazing. what does it all mean? who cares. Writing about "post racial social identity" or whatever is something I'll leave for Cornell West. This video makes me want to get a snake. Follow this dude over on twitter, anyone who refers to themselves as "RAP GAME JODiE FOSTER" is for sure worth it to.
click on that cover up above to download a mixtape of his latest and greatest. That album title really makes it....Is it good? I dunno but it exists.
Also...there this one too. Song produced by Diplo...
Oh ya this too... but just for the guy in the polo shirt next to him.
Possibly one of the creepiest compositions in contemporary classical music history. The videos are a "visual tone poem" to go with the music directed by Godfrey Reggio and performed at radio city music hall in 1982
I was thrown in a cab my third week living in NYC and taken to what I now know was the New Sonic Loft Party. It was not a music venue but more like someone’s warehouse space turned into their home and then turned into a party, with a stage. They were selling canned beer, the whole place smelled of weed and I was not impressed with the music at first. Then came Navegante who I had never heard of and it changed everything. A mixture of rock, techno and other stuff I can’t describe. The light show was incredible adding to the euphoric moment. The second album is not even on iTunes yet and the first was done entirely in Spanish so if you go digging around you won’t find much. However there is a great short doc that sums them up real well.
I <3 danzig. check out this comic On the back is a quote from Henry Rollins which says: "Has Glenn seen this? Trust me he would not be amused" Probably Not.
I sweat tellier so hard right now, not that i ever stopped sweating him. His whole essence is just so alluring. His tongue in cheek sleazyness is something I aspire to develop. Below is his new video for his jam "look" off his 2008 release Sexuality. Its a masterpiece of animated asses. Spectacular.
Last Saturday I got a lead on the 6 fingered man so I followed it to the 930 Club in Washington, DC. My lead was bunk, he'd either left before I got there, or had never been there to begin with. The bartender, an old friend of mine named Wesley, bought me a large glass of Jim Beam with ice. I rarely drink these days, but when I do, I drink a pint of Jim Bean with 4 ice cubes. I was glad Wesley knew what I wanted without my having to ask because the band was loud and I was in no mood to yell.
There was an aging transvestite onstage singing for a band called Hole. When they went on set break I asked Wesley who the guy was. "That's no guy," he said "It's Courtney Love." Sensing I didn't know who he was talking about he explained, "Kurt Cobain's wife"
"The girl that killed him?" He shrugged unknowingly. I'd liked Kurt Cobain and never fully believed he'd killed himself. He was a sweet kid, though he couldn't write for shit. I remember one time he was working on a song he called 'Smells Like a High School Bathroom.' "No," I told him, "call it 'Smells Like Teen Spirit,' and change the words around to match."
"What's 'teen spirit'?" he asked.
"Fucked if I know, but that high school bathroom crap won't fly." I heard that song ended up selling a bunch of records for him before he died. I was glad for that.
Wesley thought me and this Courtney Love guy should meet. It took me about 4 minutes to drink my whiskey and I was hammered by the time we made it backstage. We walked through a cloud of smoke that burnt my nose like cocaine and fire, I could only imagine the source was a combination of the two.
I don't quite remember what happened after that. I know I freebased with Wesley and Courtney, and I know I woke the next afternoon to find Courtney licking my flacid penis, begging it to rise. I seized the opportunity and pissed in her mouth and eyes. "Why?" she asked.
"Because Kurt was my friend." She wailed in tears and I, having too harsh a headache to deal with the noise, hit her on the head with the but of my sword, knocking her out. I finished peeing on her face and hair, and I left.
The year was 1971, October. I don't remember the day. The radio of a car parked outside told me the Pirates had won the world series, a 7 game sweep. Though I could hear the game as clear as a bell, our calls for help were either unheard or ignored. It was me, Mick Jagger and this Spanish guy, I think his name was Eusubio, locked in a basement in the Bronx. I never got to find out for sure what his name was, Eusubio was sick the whole time and dead by the 3rd day. Mick and I had eaten some nasty peyote in a sweat lodge 10 miles outside of Reno the previous weekend, the next thing I knew, here we were. Our captors had a speaker playing into the room, "Tighten Up" by Archie Bell and Drells, over and over for god knows how long. It was torture. Mick looked at me and said, "I used to like this song. Now I want to bloody kill myself but they've left us nothing sharp." At that moment, a thin shaft of light spilled through a crack in the boarded up window and onto Mick's face. Right then, and I don't know why, I said to Mick, "May the good Lord shine a light on you. Make every song, your favorite tune." The next day we woke to find the door unlocked, the house was empty and we ran, in separate directions never to speak of the incident again. The next year Mick recorded Exile on Main Street with the Stones, one of the greatest rock albums ever released. I haven't seen him since, but I think about him every day.
I dunno, I'd prolly have a good time bonging it up with Wiz and his frodo looking buddy, just saying. Nothing really goes on in this song/video really, but whatever, its like a summer day...not that important. I saw this dude at a festival not long and yeah he's pretty popular...so i thought id drive some traffic over here for our ads and what not...you know how we make all our money off of advertizing right? Click on some of the ads.......
