If I look completely miserable at a show, it’s because I’m enjoying the music. A lot of folks don’t have that skill. They just can’t hide how they really feel about music. Even if they swear to only liking a specific sound frame, there’s no denying the tapping of toes or the nodding of heads. Now, I’m simply unapologetic to the recourse of not fist pumping and shuffle stepping to look like I’m having a good time. Selfies, Group photos, and pics with the artists aren’t on my must do list. Staring into some blinking, fire hazard gloves just don’t cut it for me. All of those things are beneath me. Why? Because I’m actually listening to the music.
The accusation usually comes from a specific type of person about my silent demeanor. It wouldn’t be as insulting if it wasn’t this type of person, but after I throw the term out, let me clear table of gross prejudice. Mainly, it’s the unexperienced when it comes to the matter of show protocols. Yes, that’s a bit general, but musically it speaks volumes. These are the mobs of bodies that populate cheesy establishments. And in those places, it doesn’t matter what music you play, as long as it’s the flavor of the month. Nondescript enough to not take away from the purpose of all the people are there for; to get black out drunk and forget that they probably have to go to work at some soul crushingly predictable time. A couple of years ago, it was Dubstep, and we all tried to support it or at least tolerate it. It did have some respectable origins full of plenty of growing pains that long standing genres need to survive, but then that turned to Trap, and Trap is ok for the most part, but it was just stealing from a select amount of influences and that wore down quickly. So we go the left overs of Ratchet now, which will eventually turn against itself and what I’ve been hearing is, it’s going to merge with sloppy Trance. That’s good for the causal crowd who worships top 100 lists instead of following their own style. It carves the cheese down, leaving just the flatulent response we, as involved music makers, fans, and aficionados are accustomed to hearing from them, “I like it for the beat.” These are people I speak of.
Sure, they come around and offer some harmful entertainment, like yelling catchphrases with emphasis that when they scream it aloud it includes a hashtag. Or my favorite, their exuberance on why the only eat one color of drug. It’s always a funny story, usually involving one or more people with no shirts on and how their friend’s cousin’s uncle uneducated told them to only eat the red ones, because it’s like the Matrix, bro. That’s cute and all, but just like their music it’s all cut and pressed the same way. The difference of colors and slight repackaging are to feed the uneducated, before the right type of people come along to help them out and tell them it all comes from the same place and pokes the same amount of holes in your brain. This is an illusion of safety, wrapped up neatly with a psychosomatic response. The same methods are used as marketing schemes to bring in the same unanchored souls. They promise you the belonging of a family. You know who else promises instant family; cults. Therapy is used as a gimmick to get them to a show and have some emotional breakthrough. If you need catharsis so much, and to shed a few tears to make yourself feel better, candy stripe a cancer ward. Mass acceptance, at some gargantuan event, in some sweaty, smothering crowd to some undistinguished music, doesn’t sound very enthralling. If I’m completely miserable, it’s because I see a generation of manipulated eardrums, and their doing it with our music.
Yes, I also enjoy it when a favorite old song pops up in the middle of mix, as much as the next person. Any mix honestly; as long as it done correctly. What I don’t enjoy is when it’s fumbled and fractured like Mr. Glass trying to DDR a heavy mode song. If somebody going to use nostalgia to get reaction from the crowd, you can try to keep some dignity of the original somewhere. Using that one chorus or punch line to snag attentions is wrong. It’s an offensive tactic used too often on the unsuspecting people who have little to no depth of understanding to what their listening too. They just like the beat, remember. There is no acknowledgement of history or even the glint of mystery it beholds. Instead, they hear a “Dirty Remix” and nod away complacently. It doesn’t matter what hardship that song had to go through to be created; just run it to a filter, slap a chibi title on it, and play it for a bunch of drunk people who are getting trashed because they don’t want to go to work on Monday. These are the people that judge. These are the people that make our medium look “ratchety”. These are ones that scare away a newcomer more than an over opinionated elitist (cough fucking cough) who just wants to know what music you listen to. We just want to know, because maybe we have some files in the zip, that you might like.
So instead of judging or performing a sermon on the joys of original djing, before the computers had everybody in beat matching baby walkers (because training wheels is still two years away for them) or how difficult it probably was to play back in 79’; on dueling 45’s, I just want to present some of my favorite ultra mega cross over mash ups for your enjoyment. Just because you want to pop bottles doesn’t mean that you can’t do it with some style and some soul.
Let’s start with a little introduction to the pitfalls and follies of being good at the mash ups. Now this is isn’t for the crowd that goes to places specifically because the waitresses have on skimpy booty shorts and call you “BAE” every time they ask for more napkins to remove the taste of the shitty wings off my lips.
I heard Girl Talk the one time and was immediately a fan. I tried to wrap my mind around the selections and the timing. There was a staggering moment where I hoped it wasn’t just a formulaic evolution in beat matching templates. A computer just couldn’t come up with how smooth and seamless every song fit together. Even less so when there was four tracks combining into one solid apex. So I need you to watch this short documentary on copyright and publishing, featuring our man, Girl Talk. (Yes, thats an American Slendor reference)
Rip: A Remix Manifesto
I’m sure you’ll never see a cheeseball D.J. the same way again, especially after a 19 year old kid (at this time) is doing engrossing crossover work. Then not even getting paid for his albums, that feature over 200 songs in a thirty minute span.
The album in the documentary is All Day. And it features an amazing mix starting with Portishead together with Big Boi, into Ice Cube that then goes into Edgar Winter’s “Frankenstein”, that then goes into Skee-Lo’s “ I Wish I Was”, that jumps into Radiohead’s “Creep”, which is accompanied by Old Dirty Bastard’s “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” lyrics. Really, if there was some “Bohemian Rhapsody” and some Soulwax thrown in, you’d basically have my taste in a three minute movement. The whole album is free for download off of his website. It’s pretty much a no brainer. If you just want put on some varied music for a musically assorted set of friends who all have different tastes.
If you like all of that, Girl Talk just started releasing new material, after a three year silence, which I’m also eager to hearing.
I couldn’t even find the name of the person to credit for this. It’s been passed along for years and lost into the remixer’s web of copyright tangles that the person probably doesn’t want to go up against the juggernaut of Beatle’s lawyers. That doesn’t take away from the beautiful and fragile line it walks across mixing and while keeping the genuine feel of both songs. Even with the acceleration of the beats, they feel almost meant for each other. This is on the darker side, but never goes away from a bluesy feel.
DJ Zebra- Get It On My Mind (Marvin Gaye vs. The Pixies)
So speaking of being meant for each other, this is the song I want to dance to at my Beetlejuice themed hypothetical wedding. If I could ever find somebody crazy enough. The crossover of the simple guitar strings combined with such powerful lyrics, and emotional imprinting for some, push this far into my favorites. These are two classic, wondrous songs, that have been brought together by some cursed subsector of the artform, which was then transformed into something so beautiful. Yes, you can call it Hipster to its juicy self-aware core, but I know you’ll be downloading this song, and that’s all the inside joke I’ll ever need.
Now for This week’s Music.. Once again free for download, like the ones above.
Dizzy Womack – Bounce
By the time you get this article, this song will probably be two or three weeks old. Only because I submit my articles days before hand. Someone needs to edit the insane word vomit I make, so the lovely people who are beholden to this blog aren’t forced to try and make sense of it on their own. It’s a funky, party House track that says it all in the name. The creative overlay sampling of multiple anthem snippets with that factory floor measure make it a perfect for dance floors in full throttle. Please enjoy with your friends, and even a little booze. I know you probably won’t hear it at the generic market clubs we dislike so much.
Raul Chacon is a self-aware douchebag, who only listens to bands you’ve probably never heard of. His years of writing for literary reviews and magazines, lead him to a couple of scholarships for his work, which he quickly squandered by moving to Austin and going to shows six days a week, instead of class. Eventually, he became as a touring security and witnessed hundreds of shows and dozens of festivals firsthand. He would tell you how many shows he’s been too; but there’s too many holes in his brain at this point.
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