Monthly Archives: September 2010

Why did I title the Crystal Castles review “A Pixie in A Blender”?

Posted on by
1

via likedancingaboutarchitecture.tumblr.com

Imagine the delicate pattern of her wings fluttering frantically. Imagine her screams for help distorted by the glass. Imagine the occasional throb of her tiny fists on the glass. Imagine the vicious never-ending whir of the blades. It goes on and on and yet you know the music of it will change in moments when the pixie runs out of tricks and breath. Now hear the interruption of those blades, the gutteral whipping and whirring, as she uses whatever magic her wand can muster. Imagine the dreadful glittery blood, her tiny bones shaking against the glass. This is what Crystal Castles sounds like.

Posted via email from Like Dancing About Architecture

The Drop

Posted on by
1

In learning to DJ I have gained an even greater respect for the art of the drop. In mixing it’s the easiest thing to lift the pace of the music slightly up and up throughout the night. The energy in the room goes up and the asses shake it just a wee bit harder.

To do the opposite is far more difficult. We’ve all been on a dancefloor when a careless DJ tosses a slow groove on after a stomper and the crowd disperses. You know this is a real fail when the slow jam is actually a mighty sexy, danceable song, but it’s location after the fast bass makes is seem like the kind of tune that would make you want to change the station. But if you can pull off one of those drops you have a much more dynamic, interesting set than if all the songs volley around the same beats per minute range.

If you want an exemplary DJ in this respect, go see Diplo. As much as I love The Twelves and Miami Horror, Diplo will remain a favorite because he is so good at tempo drops.  Befitting his name, you never know when Diplo is going to switch it up and drop a low sexy beat that makes the jumpers switch to vertical humpage (time to dip looooooooow). He dares to play slow lusty numbers after bangers and pulls it off every time.

I have this idea of the well-excuted drop on my mind because there is a beautiful drop Loo & Placido mashup Californication [2Pac feat. Roger Troutman vs. Plump DJ's vs. Zero Cash] that has me keeping the song on repeat. DJs talk about teasers, grabbing a snippet of the forthcoming song to get the crowd excited about what’s coming up. There’s barely any 2 Pac at the front end of this song. When the teaser comes in at around the two minute mark, “In the city…” it doesn’t sound like it is going to lead you into the familiar 2 Pac tune. There’s exactly thirty seconds of echoing build up followed by the most glorious drop I’ve heard in a long time.

Hip-hop is usually much slower than dance music, surprising to some, even slower than rock and roll. So when that voice sings “California loooooove” the whole room slows down. What slays me about this mashup is, at this point, the song isn’t even mashed; it starts right where it should if you bought it on the juke box. Loo & Placido are essentially having a cigarette break, just throwing that 2 Pac down into the middle of the song, naked as the day it was born, without all the fancy trimmings a DJ provides. They are saying with the wave of a hand, “this shit is so good we are going to serve it to you straight, no chaser. AND YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE IT. AND YOU ARE GOING TO DANCE.”

And it works. There is a gorgeous ecstasy in leaving that steady electro beat for the opening bars of “California Love” that will make you wonder if you have ever heard 2 Pac before, if you were every really listening. It will make you start to wonder what magical powers these two French men harbor in the simple act of selecting and combining songs. They will make you think perhaps every song is going to sound better when delivered by Loo & Placido. That’s one hell of a drop.

 

 

 

Photo vi hrrrthrrr

Posted via email from Like Dancing About Architecture

Neologisms

Posted on by
1
SDC13119.jpg.scaled.500 Neologisms

As part of the ongoing crusade to remove trite words from my speech, lately I've taken to using the word "puppycock." This is not to be confused with poppycock. Or rather, it is too be confused so that I may delight in making the correction. I use this word in situations of surprising dismay, such as stubbing my toe or discovering a parking ticket. "Puppycock" is a perfect curse word. It captures something real that civilized people would rather not think about in the space of nine letters. It conveys a clear image of this thing. It is disturbing enough to furrow the brows of my fellow citizens, so that they may join for a moment in my unhappiness. But it is not so disturbing that polite ladies will not sit next to me in the dining hall.
Christopher is a dog lover (considering the context of the curse, I beg you not to read into that) and he does not approve of my use of the word "puppycock." In retaliation, he has taken to using the word "kitty poon." Alas, his blade has reached a tender spot as my psyche wishes I had never heard him utter that terrible phrase. I am not even convinced the phrase existed before he coined it. I suggested he google it to be sure, he declined—a first for the man who, at the whim of an offhand query, spent an hour on Wikipedia last night learning about the Statue of Liberty. I believe he has outdone me. Because no one wants to think about the vag on a kitten. He pointed out that a cat in heat is all too happy to spread the notion but I responded that kittens do not go into heat—only fully mature, womanly cats. Serendipitously we made the discovery that just as "puppycock" sounds like the word "poppycock" "kitty poon" has the benefit of being easily mistaken for "kiddie porn." We look forward to having a conversation that goes something like this:

Civilized fellow: My word! Did you just say "kiddie porn"?
Christopher: No, no, of course not! What kind of gentleman do you take me for! I would not utter such blasphemy as a simple declaration of displeasure!
Civilized Fellow: Thank goodness! There are women and children present! What did you say then?"
Christopher: I said "kitty poon." KIT-TEE POOHN.
Civilized Fellow: [blank stare]
Christopher: You know! as in the immature snatch of a wee baby kitten!
Civilized Fellow: Come along Margaret. We're going back to the first train car with no air conditioning and the writhing hobo.

Posted via email from Future is Fiction

The 800 Bus

Posted on by
Reply
media httplh4ggphtcom Bnqab.jpg.scaled500 The 800 Bus
via picasaweb.google.com

The 800 is my favorite bus in the Bay Area. This is the bus that goes back and forth from Downtown San Francisco to Berkeley and Oakland in the wee hours of the morning. You have your bar staff getting off work, one-night stands, forlorn lovers and, mostly, working-class partiers. This is the bus that runs only during the hours it is too late to catch the train. The evening is over and there are a lot of stories in those faces.
Most of the time I ride public transit I wrap myself in a book. But on the 800 I’m usually with a friend, and either too pooped or too pumped to read. Instead I find my plots in the desperation of the singles and the eavesdropped sarcasms of couples. I find my character in the swagger and slick coifs of the lovers and the heavy-lids of the night shift workers.
The first time I caught the 800 I sat behind the tall hair of a drag queen. The second time I sat surrounded by a tourist group from Eastern Europe. The whole ride home they sang Communist Party songs while a drunk hobo ingratiated himself into their clan. The most recent time I caught it was the worst. I caught it after a run-in with some bitches itching for a fight at the Denny’s, post-party (Twelves at the Mezz), post-breakfast, indeed so late it was almost early. It seemed at that hour things were a little less festive, a lot more tired and wolrd-weary. But the stories were still there.

Posted via email from The Bay is Better