In the spirit of blogging for archival purposes (as everyone knows blogs are the most permanent and well-respected medium in the media market...sarcasm), I'm gonna set about digging through my old back-catalogue of rapreviews.com submissions, pulling up one or two of note when the mood strikes me. "Well how is the mood striking you now?" you may ask in a stiff Carrell-esque manner. It strikes me de la. So here is a link to my BTTL (back to tha lab, dummies) review/ode to one of my favorite group's criminally slept-on third LP Buhloone Mindstate. People just ain't making art this hard anymore...
http://www.rapreviews.com/archive/BTTL_buhloone.html
...only 24 and I already sound nostalgic
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The travails of hating: Atmosphere backlash, or how to piss off angsty teens
My only CD review for City Pages thus far in the new year gained a considerable amount of hate mail following the week of its printing, garnering the top 3 spots in the "Letter's to the editor" section (http://articles.citypages.com/2008-01-30/news/letters-to-the-editor/). The first two are reasoned and tempered pleas to be fair to such a poor, defenseless thing as a free download from the golden cow of TC rap (I mean really, it was FREE, to be fair), and by and large I agree with 'em. The third letter (printed in its entirety below for your pleasure) is the real gem: ungrammatical, offensively-worded, and emotional. Sweet. I haven't felt this much of the critic's pure-hate adrenaline rush since my early and ugly run-in with a certain White Mike so many summers ago (but that's another story altogether, of course). Here, as promised, is said "letter":
Your reviewer rides the short bus
The new Strictly Leakage album from Atmosphere is fucking dope, and Jordan Selbo is obviously a retard. I wouldn't let that dude review any more music unless it's country or something he knows about. Don't judge Atmosphere for growing and doing something different, don't put them in a box. Jordan Selbo is a fucking loser. Thanks.
-Robert Zimmerman Minneapolis
Note the signer's lazy pseudonym and the instantly quotable sentence "Jordan Selbo is a fucking loser." You can't pay for that kind of name publicity! To be honest, the free download "record" wasn't actually all that bad, just more of the same from a group I only begrudgingly accepted as important and gradually came to see as minor and one-note. My original tirade (all 800+ words of it, posted below in its entirety) was actually much more venomous than the version that got into print. Lord only knows what kind of response this would've garnered:
Atmosphere, “Strictly Leakage”
(free download)
Sweet post-holiday stocking stuffer or hard drive space waster? On the surface, that would seem to be the only relevant question when discussing a free 13-song “album” from T.C.’s established rap statesmen; even if it sucks, it’s only costing you the time it takes to skip through each track in frustration. But look deeper: does the latest offering reveal anything about our beloved duo and their future growth? Now even deeper: can something as trifling as a one-off collection of seemingly unsellable throwaways really lead to severe psychological trauma?
Jay-Z once audaciously claimed that his master plan was always to retire after his first album Reasonable Doubt, having expressed everything he wanted to in one magnum opus of originality. Not that anyone is complaining, but we all know how that romantic notion worked out. Similarly, oversaturating the market for years with their once radical and unmistakably ironic funkiness, Atmosphere has finally pushed me over the edge. Lacking innovation by giving us more (and more and more and more) of the same, “Strictly Leakage” (from its familiar soundscapes, to its clichéd subject matter, even down to its cheesy verbal puns (“Little Math You”… really?) succeeds only in beating a dead horse deader.
Peaking about the time of Ali’s Champion Sounds or even their last full-length, the combination of Slug’s easy-target tirades and idiosyncratic slice-of-life verbiage with Ant’s feel-good soul breaks once felt revelatory; now, its just stale. The formula might as well be etched in stone: behind the boards, construct beats based off layers of soulful and/or jazzy horns and vocals, dub-influenced fat basslines and boom-bappy but uninspired drums, with flourishes of classic breakbeats lurking around every corner to give the appearance of dynamism; on the mic, mix hipster mockery and an everyman’s wit with criticisms of, ironically, the very people that are most adamant about you, your core listeners (who happen to be the easiest targets out there- suburban poseurs, living-with-moms playboys, wannabe MCs and skank groupies). Variations, such as Ant’s flirtation with (or wholesale jacking of) 80s electro grooves or Slug’s take on fresh song topics (such as on the satisfying “Domestic Dog” or the fascinating early history of “Road to Riches”) prove to be the exception rather than the rule, and perhaps even more damning, illusionary in their innovation. (After all, Slug’s best vocal performance on the afore-mentioned “Riches” is essentially due to his aping of G. Rap’s signature machine gun flow, over the classic Polo beat that Ant adds little to nothing to.)
The illusion of complexity gives way to reality: whether its Ant’s simple one or two bar dusty soul loops repeated ad nauseam, or Slug’s harshly-enunciated ABAB rhyme structures, the group’s lack of flavor kills the vibe. This is most apparent on the “Symphony”-esque posse cut “Crewed Up,” where Ant’s laidback groove allows virtually every one of the seven local rhyme cats to steal the show from resident in charge Slug, even relative unknowns like St. Paul Slim and YZ. Although a good number of tracks contain, at the very least, an infectious swagger and the same wry humor we’ve all come to love (such as requesting to find a gym where Slug can “smoke up in there” while working out), the tired messages of songs like “That’s Not Beef, That’s Pork” (explicit message: wack MC’s suck; implicit message: Slug should avoid singing his own choruses) reveal what is quickly becoming reality: the once truly fresh style Atmosphere became famous for is so established and well-tread that it has now become the status quo they once rebelled so infectiously against.
I suppose we shouldn’t sound the death knell just yet; after all, if these songs are merely table scraps from the last few years, it’s unfair to expect any real advancement. That final judgment will have to wait for the next official LP scheduled for April. And maybe demanding constant innovation in today’s industrial age of rap is unfair; after all, truly revolutionary acts like OutKast and Organized Konfusion are both largely the exception, and the past. But Hip Hop is nothing if it’s not fresh, so while most “the-only-rap-I-listen-to-is-Atmosphere-and-Kanye” party people may forever crave the peculiar but comforting brand of pissed-off soul rap that these two provide, no matter how polished the formula, offerings like Strictly Leakage are only truly good as cautionary tales: this is what happens when a couple of magnetic kids with something to say get too comfortable in their own rebellious signifiers and care too much about not caring. If in the end, as that deliciously not-so-profound Hip Hop adage goes, it “is what it is,” then love it or hate it, but don’t mind me if I’m suddenly totally indifferent. And that, friends, is the only reaction that T.C.’s darling duo cannot stand to stomach.*
*death threats can be sent to selbo.jordan@gmail.com
The lesson here: don't be afraid to throw shit at the crown, but only if you can back up that shit with a sound argument. I of course am incapable of using logic or reasoning, relying mainly on pure conjecture and visceral impressions, but I'm the Fat Money and that's what I do do! Yea kids don't try this at home!
Your reviewer rides the short bus
The new Strictly Leakage album from Atmosphere is fucking dope, and Jordan Selbo is obviously a retard. I wouldn't let that dude review any more music unless it's country or something he knows about. Don't judge Atmosphere for growing and doing something different, don't put them in a box. Jordan Selbo is a fucking loser. Thanks.
-Robert Zimmerman Minneapolis
Note the signer's lazy pseudonym and the instantly quotable sentence "Jordan Selbo is a fucking loser." You can't pay for that kind of name publicity! To be honest, the free download "record" wasn't actually all that bad, just more of the same from a group I only begrudgingly accepted as important and gradually came to see as minor and one-note. My original tirade (all 800+ words of it, posted below in its entirety) was actually much more venomous than the version that got into print. Lord only knows what kind of response this would've garnered:
Atmosphere, “Strictly Leakage”
(free download)
Sweet post-holiday stocking stuffer or hard drive space waster? On the surface, that would seem to be the only relevant question when discussing a free 13-song “album” from T.C.’s established rap statesmen; even if it sucks, it’s only costing you the time it takes to skip through each track in frustration. But look deeper: does the latest offering reveal anything about our beloved duo and their future growth? Now even deeper: can something as trifling as a one-off collection of seemingly unsellable throwaways really lead to severe psychological trauma?
Jay-Z once audaciously claimed that his master plan was always to retire after his first album Reasonable Doubt, having expressed everything he wanted to in one magnum opus of originality. Not that anyone is complaining, but we all know how that romantic notion worked out. Similarly, oversaturating the market for years with their once radical and unmistakably ironic funkiness, Atmosphere has finally pushed me over the edge. Lacking innovation by giving us more (and more and more and more) of the same, “Strictly Leakage” (from its familiar soundscapes, to its clichéd subject matter, even down to its cheesy verbal puns (“Little Math You”… really?) succeeds only in beating a dead horse deader.
Peaking about the time of Ali’s Champion Sounds or even their last full-length, the combination of Slug’s easy-target tirades and idiosyncratic slice-of-life verbiage with Ant’s feel-good soul breaks once felt revelatory; now, its just stale. The formula might as well be etched in stone: behind the boards, construct beats based off layers of soulful and/or jazzy horns and vocals, dub-influenced fat basslines and boom-bappy but uninspired drums, with flourishes of classic breakbeats lurking around every corner to give the appearance of dynamism; on the mic, mix hipster mockery and an everyman’s wit with criticisms of, ironically, the very people that are most adamant about you, your core listeners (who happen to be the easiest targets out there- suburban poseurs, living-with-moms playboys, wannabe MCs and skank groupies). Variations, such as Ant’s flirtation with (or wholesale jacking of) 80s electro grooves or Slug’s take on fresh song topics (such as on the satisfying “Domestic Dog” or the fascinating early history of “Road to Riches”) prove to be the exception rather than the rule, and perhaps even more damning, illusionary in their innovation. (After all, Slug’s best vocal performance on the afore-mentioned “Riches” is essentially due to his aping of G. Rap’s signature machine gun flow, over the classic Polo beat that Ant adds little to nothing to.)
The illusion of complexity gives way to reality: whether its Ant’s simple one or two bar dusty soul loops repeated ad nauseam, or Slug’s harshly-enunciated ABAB rhyme structures, the group’s lack of flavor kills the vibe. This is most apparent on the “Symphony”-esque posse cut “Crewed Up,” where Ant’s laidback groove allows virtually every one of the seven local rhyme cats to steal the show from resident in charge Slug, even relative unknowns like St. Paul Slim and YZ. Although a good number of tracks contain, at the very least, an infectious swagger and the same wry humor we’ve all come to love (such as requesting to find a gym where Slug can “smoke up in there” while working out), the tired messages of songs like “That’s Not Beef, That’s Pork” (explicit message: wack MC’s suck; implicit message: Slug should avoid singing his own choruses) reveal what is quickly becoming reality: the once truly fresh style Atmosphere became famous for is so established and well-tread that it has now become the status quo they once rebelled so infectiously against.
I suppose we shouldn’t sound the death knell just yet; after all, if these songs are merely table scraps from the last few years, it’s unfair to expect any real advancement. That final judgment will have to wait for the next official LP scheduled for April. And maybe demanding constant innovation in today’s industrial age of rap is unfair; after all, truly revolutionary acts like OutKast and Organized Konfusion are both largely the exception, and the past. But Hip Hop is nothing if it’s not fresh, so while most “the-only-rap-I-listen-to-is-Atmosphere-and-Kanye” party people may forever crave the peculiar but comforting brand of pissed-off soul rap that these two provide, no matter how polished the formula, offerings like Strictly Leakage are only truly good as cautionary tales: this is what happens when a couple of magnetic kids with something to say get too comfortable in their own rebellious signifiers and care too much about not caring. If in the end, as that deliciously not-so-profound Hip Hop adage goes, it “is what it is,” then love it or hate it, but don’t mind me if I’m suddenly totally indifferent. And that, friends, is the only reaction that T.C.’s darling duo cannot stand to stomach.*
*death threats can be sent to selbo.jordan@gmail.com
The lesson here: don't be afraid to throw shit at the crown, but only if you can back up that shit with a sound argument. I of course am incapable of using logic or reasoning, relying mainly on pure conjecture and visceral impressions, but I'm the Fat Money and that's what I do do! Yea kids don't try this at home!
City Pages 2008 work (in pro-gress)
With winter hibernation (and enough smoke to choke a bear) in full effect for the Fat Money of prose fame, the steady output flowing from my pen that 2007 enjoyed has hit a major snag thus far. Put it like this: the industry sucks to begin with, being dead since about 1998 creatively and 2005 financially, so the new year slow-down that hits us annually has been even more severe than usual. E.G.: If you can name one quality major-label release that's come out in the last two months, major props. No one's pushing product like they used to, now it's just toys and decoys making all sorts of hollow noize.
I can't work if they ain't give me product to chew on, and if the Fat Money don't work, he don't eat. Then you get j.azzy involved and things really get ugly. But that's another story entirely. For now, enjoy this meager slice of journalistic funk and rest assured that the cache will be full as a tick in due time. Ooohhhh child, thing's are gonna get easier. But you know Fat Money let's the paper chase him, not vice versa, and believe me it'll come a knockin soon enough. With the March thaw, maybe I'll even get my ass out the door once or twice to catch a live show and grace ya'll with my supreme opinion. For now, keep bumpin Big Doe and maintain fam!
http://staff.citypages.com/authors/190279/
I can't work if they ain't give me product to chew on, and if the Fat Money don't work, he don't eat. Then you get j.azzy involved and things really get ugly. But that's another story entirely. For now, enjoy this meager slice of journalistic funk and rest assured that the cache will be full as a tick in due time. Ooohhhh child, thing's are gonna get easier. But you know Fat Money let's the paper chase him, not vice versa, and believe me it'll come a knockin soon enough. With the March thaw, maybe I'll even get my ass out the door once or twice to catch a live show and grace ya'll with my supreme opinion. For now, keep bumpin Big Doe and maintain fam!
http://staff.citypages.com/authors/190279/
City Pages portfolio from 2007
The following link takes you, sucka duck, to a listing of the totality of my work for local Twin Cities' alternative weekly standard City Pages in the year ov our lord, 2007. Since being brought on as a freelancer in March, I have steadily progressed from the fresh-as-a-babe's-bottom but unpolished swagger of early reviews of two of my favorites (Tha Dude and Dilla) to a more sophisticated stance of cynicism and superiority. After writing more than my share of bullshit A-Lists and uninspired concert reviews, I feel justified in my snobbery. Enjoy!
http://staff.citypages.com/authors/190279/2007/
http://staff.citypages.com/authors/190279/2007/
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