Veus Dox

Stage one is complete, I am thinking. The part where I sort of cast about wildly and look, look, observe.

Here is the gist of it: I have been doing this in an incomplete fashion. By nature, all the songs I post on here and there have been put through the selection thresher of my exquisite tastes.
They are the stuff that sticks in your head and are highly enjoyable to listen to, but a dinner of nothing but Turkish Delight proved to be one young boys downfall and this metaphor is that it is time to grow up and also something about Narnia?

I Need. More. Music.

I need binders full of discs. I need crates full of music. I need more that is if not equally good, at least adequate.

And that takes a fair decent amount of time. You have to listen to songs in real time to get a proper feel for them, and I need literally hours of music that I can paint with.

AND it's always been the hard part for me, is accepting things I don't particularly enjoy the flavor of - not to say I dislike so much as prefer other varieties.

God I hate Tiesto. I hate Tiesto so much right in his stupid face.

I dislike trance, but love house.
I dislike acid house, but love electro house.
I love dubstep but hate darkstep.
I love drum and bass and breakbeat but hate glitch.
I hate minimalist, some trip-hop is nice, high-energy rave stuff is an aural assault (seen that porn), and wobble bass is the best sliced bread since thing.

So. Obviously there are some hurdles I will have to overcome, or some hoops I'll have to jump through to manage a proper set list library without playing the same. fucking. UNST UNST UNST. for ten minutes my GOD I hate Tiesto.

So my new rule is, if I hear a song that's remotely bearable I am by law required to hunt it down and physically download it. I need a decent quality copy on my drive so I can manhandle it. Youtube-only songs are no longer allowed. Unless youtube downloading software has suddenly made a giant upswing in quality.

Have they?

Am I A Sinner Because I Lust For You?

Gentlemen!

I have nothing to do.

It's, I mean, I've truly exhausted the entire "sit down" portion of the internet. Not in content, perhaps, but most definitely in ability.

Oh this island is awful. Offal. Wreckage. Detritus.

Late night discussions, apparently, are all we are capable of here.

Or rather. Late night drunken tirades. We take turns.

I also send texts. Here is a gem from last night, verbatim:
"
;














v7ttttqiooo cell ohone upside down deiciouus pasta. And whorres."


Oh lordy loo.
I need a hobby, a time waster. Ask me about my Cataclysm preparations.


So. SO.

I'm going to do something I haven't done in, uh, ever.

I'm going to sit and listen to the radio.

No, not that bullshit 98.1 FM bullshit No Song You Haven't Heard Yesterday And Forevermorebestofthe80s90'sandtodayareyougettingtiredofthesame15songsyetordoyouonlyplaytheradiotocoverupyourowndesperatesilenceyouawfulperson.

I'm going to listen to Pete Tong's Essential Mix on BBC Radio 1 and he is going to instruct me on what people want to listen to.

My end goal for this project is an hour, maybe two or three, of solid transitioning and crossfading beatmatching etcetc dance music, hand selected by me.

You there. Arcadian. Give me your electrohouse. Give me your big beat dubstep wobblebass.
Give me, as Lily Allen put it, "any kind of like, sort of punk-y electronica kind of grime, kind of like new-wave grime, kind of maybe like more broken beats, like kind of dubby broken beats but a little bit kind of soulful? like kind of drumandbass-y, but kind of more broken drumandbass-y, like a kind of broken beats break beat kind of broken drum bass kind of..."

Edit: Oh you know I can't stay mad at you, internet.


MARK RONSON ILOVEYOOOOOU


Biggie, you're okay too.

Nope, Wait, That's Stronger Than My Body

Wahhhhrrrhhgh

I have grown fat and happy in my dotage. Rain and grey and the warmth of satisfaction have set me out to pasture, and I'm totally okay with it except for the part where I'm exiled to this, my Saint Helena, for the next two months.

And so quickly, too!

Usually I travel at a slow enough pace that I gather my bearings, proceed with some dignity, and adapt. My philosophy of isolate and resume, remember. The world of California and the world of Maui and the world of College, three separate worlds of Mother and Father and Self that I maintained for as long as I've had them.

Only in the past day or two I've blazed from one, past the other, and fallen into the third before I was capable of remembering how I'm supposed to act here.

Hrmmmmm.

I was thin and miserable and sharp, or at least I fancied myself acceptably so. I had established myself as such, anyway, a while ago.

Like the end of the Lion, Witch and Wardrobe. They fall back out and go "Uh, buh, kingdom, grownup, stag hunt, oh right boarding school and war. Damn."

Only in reverse, I suppose. That's what it feels like.
It doesn't help that I can just waltz into Foodland and go "one vodka please".
Actually, that doesn't help, because the shit is COSTLY here on Saint Helena.

Oh I miss my computer. This laptop is insufficient.

Here is the problem: I have no purpose. I am in suspended animation for the summer, with no goals and no intentions, and I have no desire for my current situation.

I didn't need a break. I was fine. Give me more school, give me the same thing I just had. God I hate change. I hate the end of the school year, I hate the end of the semester! I hate the end of the week! I just like doing what I'm doing, why does everyone think you have to finish just when you're comfortable. Yes, finals were difficult and I lost some sleep and teeth like everyone else, but then you coma up for a week and you're fine! Lets go!

(Summerschool? Summerschool might work, but I doubt the schedule will fit as finely as I've shaved my schedule)

I used to go "why would I do anything else with my summer but the traditional return to alcatraz?". It's the way it goes, we all show up in hoods and torches and go "yes, hello, I remember you, lets drink and pretend" and it's usually quite fun and I was confused as to why people seemed to stop doing it and now I realize it is out of necessity and inability. Eventually it is no longer an option. I wonder what I shall do next summer. I hope it isn't work. I hate work.


Hey, look, over there! It's the new Pendulum album!
Immersion is out!
I have figured out why I like Pendulum so damn much - other than the boring reason of "seamless blend of drum&bass and 'what DeathCab would sound like if they were all dubstep maniac badasses'".

Pendulum produces the type of songs I would want to start playing in the background if I suddenly discovered I could fling fire from my fingertips.

That is an incredibly accurate description.

If I don't find something to do in the next week I'm going to build a Warhammer and fight Caleb.
Possibly The World.

Now Wat

Finals over. Maui in 2 weeks exactly.

Um um um. New computer. Information to follow.

That's about it.

What did I do before I took tests?
Oh right. Post stupid shit on the internet.














I should get some new music...

Listening To Music As With Griffin Weston

Mother of Fuck.

God Damn It Quincy Jones One Of These Days. The credit you earned from Thriller and Soul Bossa Nova is running out, my friend.
Corrupting Akon with your latest abomination is stretching it a little fucking thin.


Now, I mean, if you take it at face value, it isn't that bad.

And I have nothing against Akon! Akon is alright! Akon...successfully uses the correct amount of Autotune, and he's allowed to because his voice is actually quite versatile and good and blah blah good businessman as well as good voice-man.
Do every single one of his songs sound the same? Absolutely.
(Does the song he did with David Guetta sound exactly like every other Guetta guest star song? Yes. But that's beyond the point, because it's exactly what I want to hear when I step into the club. With or without a bottle full of bub. Why do I have to say that every fucking time.)


However, I've discovered another interesting phenomenon exclusive to me.
I like Akon because he's real.
Now, that's a highly specific word in the overarching hip-hop terminology.
Authenticity is one of the most highly prized characteristics for American music artists today - especially in hip-hop, where the song content often has to do with personal representation, bragging, storytelling, etc etc I'm whiiiiiiite.
Growing up in the ghetto is one of the greatest things that can happen to you as a rapper. Fuck, you could make the case that it's mandatory.
(And that might be a legitimate claim, actually. If you want to connect with that audience you sure as hell better be able to give them a reason to listen to you)

For American artists in particular, this means New York City (Run Fucking DMC,Jay-Z, B.I.G, etc). MAYBE Chicago (Kanye, Common, etc.) or Philly (The Roots, Will Fucking Smith In west Philadelphia, born and raised...?), or Los Angeles if you're lucky (N.W.A, Dr. Dre, etc).

You're pretty fucked if you aren't from the nasty part of a major city.
Which I don't like, of course, because it results in authenticity being such a peacocked characteristic that it masks a lot of personality in stereotypes. Oh, you're from Brooklyn? You're going to rep the FUCK out of Brooklyn, aren't you. You're going to have stomping beats and splashy snares and your music videos are going to have a lot of panning shots of graffiti.
Because that's Brooklyn, goddammit, and that's fine!

But I've developed a new....tic, a new tendency, because of this:
If you're a hip hop artist from OUTSIDE the United States, you automatically have me won over to a significant degree.
If you're any good at all, you will garner my respect much much faster than your respective stateside equal.

Is this bad? It just seems logical to me. It's a continuation of the thought process.
You think you're tough in Ohio? Go to Los Angeles, they're rough as shit.
You think you're tough in L.A., go to Brooklyn.

You think you're tough in the U.S.?
Go to fucking AFRICA.

International artists have an automatic win card.
Back to Akon, for example. He's from Dakar,Senegal.
So, in fact, is MC Solaar.
M.I.A. is, of course, from Sri Lanka.
This guy, Blitz the Ambassador

is from Ghana.
Fuck, man! I don't even know where Ghana is.
50 Cent got shot nine times? Who gives a dick. This guy is from GHANA.
(Also he's got a live horn section on his tracks and is actually quite good regardless of his country of origin. I'm using him to prove a point.)

Hell, even Rihanna is from Barbados, and that makes me like her more because sometimes it shines through! It's legitimate!

("Rude boy", of course, being the Anglo/Jamaican term for either a street-level gangster-type or a fat white boy who likes ska way too much. You decide which one she was going for here. The giant pixelated Rastafarian lions in the background might help with that decision)

You can't let it define the musician, though.
That's stereotyping. Is Was Nujabes good because he was Japanese? No. Can you tell absolutely that he's Japanese when you listen to his music? Absolutely.

More importantly, are there a shitload of really shitty international artists? F'sho.

It's just like everything else, I suppose. It's a beneficial characteristic on those characters who are already beneficial, and it's null and void on those who don't have anything else.

Makeup makes pretty people look prettier, and boring people look like they're wearing makeup.

How depressing.

Oh, and by the way - the reason I'm pissed disgruntled with Quincy Jones and Akon (remember? remember from the beginning? go. go listen. go check em.)
is because it's a shitty cover of the song "Strawberry Letter 23" by The Brothers Johnson, one of the greatest funk duos of all time.


SO MUCH BETTER.

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I don't listen to the words of hip hop.
Wait for it.

I mean, I do, I acknowledge that there are words being said and often I will follow along - especially if the flow is well done and if the wordplay is hilarious.

Does Jay Z "check cheddar like a food inspector"? Absolutely.

Does Kanye West have a "Jones like Norah for your sorror'"? Fuck, of course.

Is NOE in a rush, so should you "show the money like Maguire, or get your ass nestled in a trunk like a tire" because the "situation's dire" and he's "not a new buyer" so should you better get it or "you can feel the Cannon like Mariah"?

....Goddamn. Let me run that past you - NOE is performing a drug deal, and he wishes to just get it over with easy and quick. He references the movie Jerry Maguire, in which Cuba Gooding Jr's catchphrase is "show me the money!", and threatens that if you do not comply he will shoot you - a play on the slang "cannon" for giant ass handgun being exchanged for Nick Cannon, who married Mariah Carey in 2008. Holy fuck.

However, I isolate exemplary shows of master wordsmithing. I don't listen to the song as a whole, I don't follow the "story" that songs apparently follow. The title isn't a preview and I don't finish agreeing with the singer.

This is not exclusive to hip hop, it's just most evident there. Words account for more mean weight per song than in, say, rock music.

Now, of course, the moment I realized this trend of mine I immediately began reversing it. I've been listening earnestly to the message songs are (I assume) attempting to convey to me, the listener.
This is exactly what our old Republican tightass ancestors feared. Obviously I'm going to surround myself with hookers and blow and the blood of innocents.

Actually, I'm going to immerse myself in music I A)listen to fairly frequently and B)consider the vocals to merely be another instrument, unladen with greater significance than as a rad noise element.

What I've been finding out is, song lyrics are usually basically the equivalent of literary fluff in essays you used to write for English Lit.

To sing for several minutes about a single subject is pretty damn intensive, and apparently the modus operandi is to say the same damn thing over and over again until a sweet guitar solo picks it up.

This is most evident in "older" music like general rock and roll or blues.

Led Zeppelin's "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" is basically Robert Plant wailing about how he absolutely has to leave his lady, for no apparent reason. For six and a half minutes.

Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady" is, as you can guess, Jimi basically soundfucking this girl with his guitar and voice. This girl is a stone cold fox, and Jimi (noticing this) makes the case that he needs to get on top of that like immediately. For three minutes he advances until the song just sort of anticlimactically fades out. (Actually, the Experience always had a real hard time deciding how to end this song. Fun History Fact)

(Not implying, of course, that all rock is straightforwardly titled. Paul McCartney is recorded as saying "Let the fuckers work that one out." while writing I Am The Walrus, and so on. Usually rock going pear-shaped is a direct measure of how drug addled the singer is at the time.)

This travels to the hip hop genre pretty fluidly.

Notorious B.I.G. raps in "Big Poppa" about how he loves it when girls call him Big Poppa.

But it goes so much farther than just matching song content with the title.
He says the same goddamn thing for four minutes:
He calls the attention of all the honeys in the club. Informs them where he'll be, and drops hints about how horrifyingly stuffed with cash money his pockets are. He assures the women of his stupendous sexual prowess - and as well, indeed, the sexual prowess and economic status of his entire crew.
That's verse ONE.
Verses two and three further compound on this general idea. He actually lays down a gameplan for the night in verse 2 and fits in time for a little self reflection on how nice his life is now that he doesn't have to sell drugs for a living (not to imply that he's some kind of pussy fag, he still straps gats cause he's a hardass thug).


I guess what got to me is the concept of saying the same thing for multiple minutes, considering that that's such a cardinal sin in any other medium.
As well, the fact that I listen to these songs so often and yet completely ignore the overarching message that (I can only assume) the musicians intentionally crafted me to listen to.
That's why hip hop distinguishes itself - so much importance is placed on the words the emcee is delivering. It's a specific message, it's a statement, it's got weight.
At least, you know, like, decent hip hop. 50 Cent is obviously worthless

Not that that is inherently better because of that. Music doesn't always have to be such a charged bomb of importance. Jamiroquai probably doesn't give a shit about much other than dancing and fuckin' ladies and smoking cheeba. (Disregard the songs Virtual Reality and the entire album Emergency on Planet Earth, which blatantly contradicts my previous statement)

I guess what I'm saying to is that all music revolves around sex

except in the case of rock music where 10% of it revolves around just being rad(see Foo Fighters etc), 5% of it revolves around the opinions of the artists (see Rage Against the Machine etc), and 5% of it is completely acknowledged as nothing more than a vehicle for noise (see any Radiohead song, White Stripes), and the REST revolves around sex (see everyone else especially the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

except in the case of hip hop, where 20% of it revolves around how great the artist is (see[among others] Jay Z, Copywrite, Aceyalone etc), 20% of it revolves around money and ways of getting/losing it (Wu Tang, etc) 10% of it revolves around the opinions of the artists - usually on how damn racist white folks are(Mos Def and Talib Kweli, etc), 5% of it revolves around the concept of Old School Hip Hop (Jurassic Five, Soul Position), and 5% of it is completely acknowledged as nothing more than a vehicle for noise (see Outkast's middle albums, Del The Funkee Homosapien, etc)
and the REST revolves around sex.

100% of all funk music revolves around sex.
100% of all electronic music revolves around electronic music.
100% of all indie rock revolves around revolving around indie rock.

Bjork revolves around a small pebble in Iceland.
Kanye West orbits around himself.
Jack Johnson orbits the concept of frisbee golf
Yeasayer orbits the planet Glorgnarg in the Farbzee Nebula
Griffin Weston keeps making jokes only he thinks are funny

It seems like this blog has devolved. Oh, the time, it slips away

Nearly every chapter of this book used Sagan as the “model”, or as the perfect example of what the scientific community needs to emulate. He made science interesting to everyone (willing to watch Cosmos), he played the media expertly (he wrote Contact, for crying out loud), he explained without dumbing down (too explicitly), he held the ear of the President (a few, anyway), and managed to churn out insightful and (most importantly to many) professional and diligent scientific publications.
It seems as if all of the many steps Mooney and Kirshenbaum outline as being needed to take are specifically planned to tailor our universities towards producing the next scientific Kiwsatz Haderach.

And yes, that’s a Dune joke. It seemed appropriate for an Environmental Politics class.

Well, I've always been a fan of white boys who can sing. VevoYoutubeBannerAdwhatever just reminded me that I need to get Daniel Merriweather's album (see: Mark Ronson post for a quick reminder).

It also reminded me of Jamie Lidell.

Oh Jamie Lidell.

Imagine if...Gnarls Barkley grew up in an affluent white neighborhood.
Imagine if Sufjan Stevens was a beatboxer. Imagine if Jamiroquai and....a dancing Sam Rockwell from Charlie's Angels had a baby.

That was British. And had a set of fucking PIPES on him. Observe.



Eh?


Oh my gaaawd, and if that hasn't sold you, watch him kill his unicorn girlfriend with an axe.
Wait, what?


Or: Ignore the video (srsly, corrupted)