Ford vs. Brown

That Colored Fella asks the eternal question:

Who had a greater impact on American society:
Gerald Ford or James Brown?

If you ask me, I'd say Mr. Sex Machine.

Wolfgang's Vault

Dude. This is the coolest thing. Evar.

Concert Vault is a virtual shrine to legendary concert promoter Bill Graham and opens up the Bill Graham Presents archives to share with The Great Unwashed.

Go to Concert Vault, register, and listen to recordings from past BGP concerts, including Bob Marley and the Wailers, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Who, Steppenwolf, David Bowie, etc. Concert recordings, people. Each listing also gives you the play list, musicians that played that night, and puts the concert in context within the career/lifespan of the band.

Wolfgang's Vault also contains old poster art, laminates, backstage passes, and vintage t-shirts.

Freakin' awesome, I know.

Thank me later.



(Props to Brion for the tip. He's just a *little* cooler than I. Just slightly.)

I don't want the world, I only want what I deserve

Standing in the way of control
You live your life, survive the only way that you know

I'm off to Bottom of the Hill tonight to catch The Gossip. If you've never heard of them, I suggest that you check them out. "Blues-y punk" is the best I can come up with right now to describe their sound. If I had a band, this is what I would want it to sound like. Lead singer Beth Ditto fucking rocks.

I'm so excited, I'm even wearing eyeshadow tonight. Take that, bitches.

Anthony Hamilton Sings the Truth

I know he has a newer album out, but I am still obsessed with Anthony Hamilton’s “I’m a Mess,” from 2003’s Comin’ From Where I’m From. And here’s why:

There’s just something about Anthony Hamilton’s voice. Its rough, gravelly quality smoothed out with a bit of molasses betrays a long history of pain, of rough times, of love lost and found. His voice is instantly recognizable: gruff and gritty, yet tender; strong and earthy, with a thin undercurrent of emotional fragility just below the surface. And while the very timbre of his voice is a play on opposites, one thing is for certain: Anthony Hamilton sings the truth, chile.

The song begins with Hamilton’s belting out a loud and soulful “Oh.” But it’s not just any “oh.” Oh no. Immediately, this “oh” hints at the despair, the frustration, and a bit of hopefulness that he’s feeling. And this “oh” leaves you smoldering. Guts wrenched out. Get ready for what’s coming up. Anthony’s got a story to tell you.

He’s split up with his lover, his best friend, his soul mate. Any breakup is painful to some degree, but this particular kind, the kind I like to call the “no call, no show” tactic, has got to be one of the worst:

You could have called, you could have wrote, you could have tried
I’d rather you slit me ‘cross the throat so I can die
Instead of leaving, no explanation as to why
You don't want me no more

Anyone who’s been dumped in this way immediately understands the bewilderment; the betrayal; the endless questioning of self; the indescribable pain. Oh Jah, the crippling pain:

I'm a mess right now, I can't eat, can't sleep
Bills are piling high, ain't worked in three weeks
Ain't bathed, can't shave, ‘cause my heart is so tender like living in a blender
I'm shaken and I'm stirred

Hamilton’s sorrowful pace is relentless. The listeners get no reprieve from the emotional journey he takes you on. In fact, after the second verse and chorus, the backup singers sing the following:

Call me, write me, love me
Come home

You think it’s going to end at two repetitions, but no. It becomes the song’s coda and becomes a seemingly endless pleading for the loved one’s return. It’s an emotional request from the spurned lover whose level of loneliness increases with each increasing octave. Call me. Write me. Love me. Come home.

If you’re a sensitive bitch like me, I dare you to not be able to identify – or to not cry, even – singing along to this part. As the pitch increases, your throat and vocal cords tie themselves into knots – but does your throat hurt because you’re not that great a singer and are having trouble reaching the notes, or is it painful because each repetition brings that all-too-familiar ball in your throat, as if you were holding back the tears? And at the same time the pitch increases, the coda takes you to a deeper level of pain and desperation: This visceral reaction is almost as if it was you, in fact, who was left behind by a lover who disappeared without a trace.

And maybe you really are that person who was left behind, in which case this song becomes an emotional post-breakup catharsis. And maybe through the sorrow in Hamilton's voice, you eventually realize that he will never call. He will never write. He will never love you. And he will never come home.

But you will get through it. Eventually.

Why running sucks

A runner died during the San Francisco Marathon on Sunday in what appeared to be the first fatality in the event's 29-year history.

William Goggins, 43, of San Francisco, collapsed from apparent heart failure after he passed the 24-mile mark of the 26.2 mile race, authorities said.

Fine. I'll start riding my bike again.

Stop looking at me like that.

My heartfelt condolences to the Goggins family.

Tell me where the light is

By the way, I caught a snippet on MTV of the video for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' new single, "Gold Lion." Please believe I downloaded it and the Diplo remix from iTunes straight away. This song has a fuller, richer, produced (but not overly so) sound than anything you might find on Fever to Tell. Am loving it.

I adore the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Their new album comes out on Tuesday, and I am giddy. They're also playing the Warfield 4/28 and 4/29.

Note to self:
1. Find out if tickets are sold out.
2. If not, buy them, and
3. Find someone to come with.

(Photo credit: Yeah Yeah Yeahs page on MySpace.)

Caress Me Down

It's been a while since I did one of these silly Internet quizzes, so I thought I'd start the weekend off right. Have a great weekend, everybody.

Which Sublime song are you? Caress Me Down Te gusta reggae, y te gusta punk rock. Oh and what's that other thing you like...oh yeah-sex. You're hornier than Ron Jeremy. Uuh, and that's the lovin' sound.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

Is TuPac alive?

I have a cousin that is a huge Tupac Shakur fan. Huge. As in, she'll play his songs all day on his birthday.

Found this on Drudge. It's supposedly some footage that shows Pac chillin in some parking lot with his homies, smoking and just chillin.

A Holla Back exclusive, yo.

I don't know if this is real or not. And the resolution isn't all that great, but well, you never know.

It's hard out there for a pimp.

Out in the streets, they call it murder

I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm a huge reggae/dancehall fan. I first heard this Damian "Junior Gong" Marley song on the way to work one morning, and almost got into a wreck because I was feeling the music a little too much.

Anyway, here's a link to the video, courtesy of That Good Good, who made me as happy as a little girl - mystery solved, now all I have to do is figure out how to get a copy of this song for my very own.

Sidebar: Checked out the reggae night at the Shattuck Down Low. All in all, very mellow vibe, great music, $2.50 Red Stripes, and two - count 'em, two! - female selectors!

Lenny speaks the truth

So I have the iPod on shuffle, right? And this cool song I hadn't heard in a while comes on. Thought in light of what's going on in the world lately, the lyrics are especially profound.

Sing it, Lenny:

The government’s the devil’s hands
It’s a lie and it’s a scam
They wind us up, put us down, and watch us go
And if you close your eyes
There’s a big surprise

What the f*** are we saying ?
Do we feel what we dream about ?
We’ve got to keep on praying
And one day we’ll see the light

I’ve been lost in the name of love
And we kill our brothers daily in the name of God
We’d better chill before we take on some tribulation
And if we realized
Then we’d make a little love now sing

What the f*** are we saying ?

"What the F*** Are We Saying?"

Lenny Kravitz, Mama Said

Beat Junkie Style

Ten from the iPod

I’m out of ideas today, so I’ll follow Generik’s lead and give you the First Ten Random Songs That Came Up On My iPod. Like to hear it, here it go:

1. “Dirty Man,” Joss Stone
2. “The Quarterdrawing of the Dog,” Siouxie and the Banshees
3. “Cannons” Siouxie and the Banshees
4. “Hand in Glove,” The Smiths
5. “Numb,” Portishead
6. “Always on the Run,” Lenny Kravitz
7. “What About the Half,” Dennis Brown
8. “It Was a Good Day,” Ice Cube
9. “Ordinary People,” John Legend
10. “I Love Jah,” Beres Hammond

What's on yours?

I need to go to more shows.

Sam's blog inspired me to make my own list (not in chronological order, and a mix of "known" and "unknown" bands because, quite frankly, I don't go to enough shows, period).

Instructions:
- Reply to this message telling me which 30 artists you have also seen perform.
- Take the ones from my list that you have seen, and post them on your own blog.
- Keep adding until you have 30. Unless you're like me, who needs to get out more.

1. Peaches
2. Native Elements
3. Dick
4. Smashmouth (pre-"Walking On The Sun" mediocrity)
5. Voodoo Glow Skulls
6. The Cranberries
7. Bjork
8. No Doubt
9. Jurassic 5
10. Dilated Peoples
11. Pharcyde
12. Lauryn Hill
13. Superbooty
14. Planet Asia
15. Carl Cox
16. Sasha/John Digweed (okay, 15 and 16 are DJs, sue me)

Free Fiona

If you're like me, you've been wondering whatever happened to Fiona Apple. The tiny little songstress with the smokey eyes and waifish posture has been incognito for eons. I remember her cute little rant during the MTV video awards. I remember her you-should-feel-somewhat-guilty-for-being-turned-on-by-this video for "Criminal."

Anyway. So Mark Morford, my favorite columnist and honorary owner of one of my ovaries, has the scoop here. Apparently Sony shelved her latest oeuvre - Extraordinary Machine - created two years ago because there wasn't a "hit." Not "radio friendly." Nevermind that it quite possibly may be, oh, I don't know --- artistic?

Apparently this album of Fiona's is out on the internet, available for download somewhere. I haven't gotten around to downloading it yet, but I'm gonna. Because to me, Fiona is the consummate artist. She writes, she plays the piano, she's moody, she's quirky, she's just ... real. And I miss her.

I could go off about how big record label conglomerates are effectively watering down artistic talent to its most accessible, its most mediocre forms. But I won't. You all know that already.