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A couple weeks ago, I went on a trip to the middle of the country to see my favorite band, AFI, play shows up and down the midwest. Some of my time there was spent writing my thoughts and daily activities down. This is the first half, the September half, of the tour diary. I'll be posting parts of it over the next few days before I leave again to write more in a couple weeks. Thanks for reading!

What Inspires You? A (Sort of) Tour Diary: Sept./Oct. 2013

Preparation:

            "What inspires you?" When it came time to begin planning for this trip, the idea didn't thrill me. I knew ahead time that a small trip to Chicago would turn into a road trip across the Midwest. Summer came and AFI announced their tour. My best friend and significant other, Sarah, had planned it all out before I even had a chance to process in my head that this band--this group of individuals that have had a larger impact on my life more than anything--were back after 3 years. Excitement hit... and then dread. Why would I be opposed to seeing this band, damn near every night, for nearly two weeks? I'm not entirely sure. There are bits and pieces to the puzzle that form the answer though.

            Sarah asked me one day if we could go get some journals to document the trip. I said, "sure," but I didn't plan on getting one for myself. We get to the store and I help her find the perfect one for her writing needs. While browsing, I came a across this expensive, little, journal booklet with an orange owl embedded on the cover. I turned it over to find the words, "What inspires you?" I thought to myself, "not a whole lot anymore." However, these words did. It was at that moment that I decided I would do this tour diary.

            These days, I'd say my two primary sources of inspiration are Sarah and AFI. I've been writing music for nearly half my life, but I've never done anything with it. It's no coincidence that I've been listening to AFI as long as I've been writing music. They're still my biggest inspiration, along with many others, which we'll get to later. Fast forward to September. AFI announced they'd be doing a show primarily for their fan club (which I undoubtedly am apart of), at a small club in Hollywood--The Troubadour. Needless to say, I lost my shit. My favorite band in one of my favorite venues with my favorite people...again?! Yeah, I was excited beyond belief. The last time they did this was in 2007, and it's still one of my favorite show experiences. Correction: was! AFI's show on September 10th, is a night I will never forget.

            Nothing could shake my excitement. Not even going over 24 hours on no sleep. The night before we had gone to L.A. to see, someone I'd like to call "a friend's" band, Dear Boy, for their record release show. He doesn't know it, but in recent events, he has served as an inspiration as well. I'd like to thank him for it. Following their show, Sarah, our friend Addie (who had flown in for the night), and I went straight to the Troubadour to begin our wait. Our nineteen hour wait. The fans were in great spirits. Most of all my best friends were in attendance with smiles on their faces. Some that I haven't seen in years. It's a wonderful feeling knowing that there's still something that can bring us all together.

            As time ticked down, everyone's anxiety kicked in. What would they play? How would they perform? Would it be as energetic as in the past? Well, the setlist was full of surprises, despite it being spoiled for a few when a fansite for the band got a hold of the setlist and shared it with the internet before the band even came out. Luckily, it was not spoiled for me. Anticipating their setlist is one of my favorite things about AFI shows. When guitarist, Jade Puget, played the opening chords to "The Last Kiss," it prompted me to yell, "holy shit" about seven times. And had I known beforehand that they'd be going straight into "Brownie Bottom Sundae," after "Cruise Control," all the magic would have been lost. The band, which hadn't performed in over 3 years, played with hardly a misstep. There were a few hiccups here and there but no one's perfect. The So-Cal crowd was as powerful as ever. Everyone sang every word at the tops of their lungs. When the show ended, I couldn't wait to get home, catch up on sleep, and then fly out two days later to do it again.

Great Lake, I Don't Need a Great Escape: Day 1

            Back in April, I was fortunate enough to catch a short, last minute, Lawrence Arms set at Hollywood's legendary, Viper Room. The band doesn't get out to the West Coast very often. It was my first time seeing their show, and that night still sticks with me. I was sick, had work early the next day, and the venue was an hour and a half drive from my home. Regardless, I made my way out for their 35/40 minute set, and I still don't regret it. That night after the show, I went home and all I could think was, "yeah, my music sucks. I can do better." It's a notion that hasn't left my mind yet.

            Now, I find myself on a plane to Chicago where I'll be attending Riot Fest. On the flight, at this very moment, I'm blasting The Lawrence Arms to get pumped for their set on Saturday. I haven't felt so privileged to get a chance to catch their show again. It's a shame I don't have my guitar with me, because I know the second they walk off the stage, I'll be ready to write every chord that can swim around in my head. For now, I'll continue to sail across these skies while I await for the descent into O'Hare. Meanwhile, the lyrics, "Your life spins like a carousel. Your hopes are buried in a wishing well," are melding into my thoughts.

            We arrived at the hotel later than we had expected. Addie had picked us up on her way down from her home in Milwaukee. Tim had been waiting 4 hours in the lobby by himself. It's a small lobby clearly visible from the counter, so I imagine the concierge found it confusing as to why this lanky fellow had just been sitting there for so long. I had never met Tim before. Every one of us that would be together for the weekend were drawn together by the same band, so when we finally met, it was like I had known him for years. Everyone else in the group was delayed for one reason of another. For the time being, it's just me, Sarah, Addie, and Tim. We decided to head over to a Subway across the street. For every AFI event in the past, we have bought Subway. It's become a tradition amongst the core group of friends that travel together.

            As the night dragged on, the others slowly started to file in: Vikki, Nick, Logan, Ally, and Casey. Casey's another one of my best friends and the one I've known the longest. It'd been awhile since I last saw her. Thanks to this amazing band, she became a good friend. She helped make me a better person. She's taught and brought things to my attention that I probably wouldn't have thought twice about if it weren't for her. It's also because of her that I know any of these people. Without her, I probably never would have met Sarah. I'm very grateful for her, even if we don't mingle like we used to.

            Sarah and I tried to get some sleep while the others went out for the night. A sign of getting too old for this? Maybe, but I'm pretty sure we were just exhausted from all the traveling and lack of sleep over the past couple of days. We didn't get much sleep at all, if any. By 4am, Sarah, Addie, Casey, and I made our way to Detroit.

Stay tuned for Days 2 and 3 next...

FLAG, T.S.O.L., Cerbral Ballzy, Off WithTheir Heads

First Avenue

Minneapolis, MN

September 13, 2013

After spending a few hours in a sports bar down the street, where my compadres and I drank numerous tallboys and discussed really important stuff like how in retrospect it was actually a good thing that nu-metal happened because it weeded out a lot of dipshits from the ‘90s punk scene, we stumbled our way into Minneapolis’ legendary rock club, First Avenue for a Friday night rock ‘n’ roll show. 

We arrived just as the opening band Off With Their Heads was finishing up their set.  It didn’t appear that they were garnering much response from the crowd, but that was probably less their fault than it was a booking one.  The band usually plays smaller, more intimate stages where there are no barriers between the band the audience.  They also suffered from some poor sound quality.  Unfortunately there’s not much to note here, other than they looked like most of the people in attendance— male, black tee-shirted, and partially bearded.

Cerebral Ballzy was up next.  Despite having a great name, they were completely disappointing and wholly uninspiring skate punk.  My notes say, “You can tell they are from New York because the guitar players have Strokes haircuts.  Probably rich kids.  Probably sons of famous people that work for Vice or Cartoon Network or something.  More punk than me though.  They have the outfits to prove it.  ONE LOVE.”  (One love ???)  To be fair, like OWTH, they were also the victim poor sound engineering and playing too big a venue.  Also, ONE LOVE.

The crowd had nearly doubled in size, as had the amount of drinks I consumed, by the time T.S.O.L. took the stage.  Without so much as a hello, they went right into “World War III” from their 1981 eponymous debut EP.  Jack Grisham did his trademarked stalking, as he walked briskly back and forth the length of the stage, while the band tore through a set of uninterrupted songs.  They played “In My Head” and “Terrible People” from their 2001 reunion album Disappear, before finishing up with another one from the debut EP—“Superficial Love.” Without any enticing whatsoever the audience shouted along to the final line of the song, replacing Ronald Reagan’s name with our current president, “President Obama can shove it!” 

It was at this point that Jack took to the mic for some of his characteristic banter; always equal parts punk history, blue collar comedy, and general asshole-ness.  He recalled the first time he saw Black Flag in the ‘80s at a place called the Hong Kong Café, as well as memories of FLAG guitarist Stephen Egerton’s old band, Massacre Guys.  He then poked fun at FLAG drummer Bill Stevenson.  “And look at Bill.  Bill is still alive.  What a pleasure that is.”

They played “Sounds of Laughter” from the 1981 album, Dance With Me and “Sodomy” from Disappear before Jack stopped again; this time for a cheap pop from the local crowd.  He gave a shoutout to Husker Du before saying, “I remember back in the day we slept in Grant Hart’s (Husker Du drummer) mom’s trailer in a trailer park.” He then went on to talk about how that was around the time people started to classify what was punk and what was not, recalling going to a Go-Go’s show when they were punk.  I’m not really sure what his message was here though.  I got really confused, most likely because of being, you know, drunk.  But I wrote down in my notes, “Jack Grisham talking about punk…I’ve seen this documentary a million times before.  Which one?  ALL OF THEM.”

T.S.O.L. finished with a lengthy set that relied largely on older tunes; pulling a healthy number from Dance With Me, and peppering it here in there with a track from their post ’01 reunited era albums like Divided We Stand.  Despite carrying quite a bit of weight on him and having an indestructible hairstyle that rivals that of Conan O’Brien, Jack can still hits his signature haunting notes surprisingly well.  At one point they did “Wash Away” from 1982’s Beneath the Shadows, but then I sort of lost track.  I know they wrapped up with energetic renditions of “Abolish Government/Silent Majority” and “Code Blue.”  I wrote down, “Great for nostalgia reasons, but otherwise, eh. I’m going to go home and watch Suburbia now.”  I did not go home and watch Suburbia though because that would have meant missing FLAG.

An anticipatory wave began to roll through the audience, as everyone made last ditch efforts to use the bathrooms, grab drinks, and snatch up available sightlines.  By my alcohol-clouded estimation, the room wasn’t completely sold out, as it no doubt would have been had Henry Rollins been a part of it.  Say what you will about what the man has become, but he would have considerable drawing power over Keith Morris if he were in the same position.  That is not intended as a shot at Morris, whom I am a big fan of, but rather a realistic assumption.  I couldn’t help but notice and appreciate the surprising lack of smart phone use amongst the crowd.  In a strange way this helped convey an overall feeling the we were about to witness something, let’s say, historical, rather than contemporary.

“We’re not Black Flag.  We’re FLAG and we’re going to be doing some Black Flag songs.  I want to make that clear.”  That’s what FLAG singer Keith Morris said before he and his fellow former members of Black Flag ripped into staples of the Morris era, “Revenge” and “Fix me.”  And who could blame him; with a list of past members that’s long enough to fill two NBA team rosters, and another band currently making the rounds, who calls themselves Black Flag, and who’s primary member (Greg Ginn) is currently trying to restrict FLAG’s usage of the four bars and other Black Flag likeliness, it’s not only a general clarificaton, so much as it is a safety precaution.  FLAG consists of former prominent member of Black Flag: Keith on vocals, Dez Codena on guitar and vocals, Chuck Dukowski on bass, and Bill Stevenson on drums.  They are joined by the latter’s Descendants/ALL band mate, Steven Egerton on guitar.

The first half of the set included songs “Police Story,” "White Minority,” “Wasted” and several others.  Despite Keith Morris’ apparent lack of energy (at least in comparison to recent OFF! performances,) most people in the place were gyrating at a feverish pace. The area in front of the stage was a swirling dervish of arms, legs, dirty hair and flung beer.  Meanwhile, from my vantage point a few feet back, the only beer being flung was down my throat.  Perhaps Morris was under the weather a bit, or at the very least, feeling snarky.  At times it looked as though he was mocking Henry Rollins when he sang songs from Damaged. 

Dez threw his guitar aside and took over vocals for a rowdy set that included “American Waste,” “Thirsty and Miserable,” “Padded Cell,” and “Spray Paint.”  In my notes I wrote, “SPRAY PAINT THE WALLS…but not on a Friday night in Minneapolis because if you get arrested you won’t see the judge until Monday morning.”  So, ah, there's that.  “Six Pack” may or may not have been in this set.  I can’t really remember if Dez sang it or if Keith did, probably because I had drank somewhere in the vicinity of two six packs myself.  Hence my note-taking was pretty much done at this point.

I know Keith took back vocal duties for “Rise Above” and everyone went ape-shit bananas.  The lead singer of local-ish skate-thrash revivalists Dios Mio managed to pull off a stage dive much to the chagrin of security.  At this point at least one person was hauled out of the pit by security with that old arm-twisted-up-behind-your-back-while-another-one-is-around-your-neck move.  Then they did “Louie Louie,” which is a pretty ridiculous cover any way you look at it but it was OK because you knew there was no way they would end the show on that note.  I remember thinking to myself, “They better not end on ‘Louie Louie’ or we all riot.” 

There was no riot because they came back out for two more songs; both of which Dez sang.  He introduced “What Can You Believe” by saying, “This next one comes from those 1982 demos that everyone talks about” and then shrugged his shoulders.  I don’t know how you shrug your shoulders at that shit.  Everyone talks about it because it’s fucking fantastic.  Perhaps he was being facetious.  They finished out the evening with an awesome rendition of “Damaged II.”  It was pretty apparent throughout the entire show, but really hammered home during the last two songs just how important Steven Egerton and Chuck Dukowski’s roles are in FLAG.  Dukowski’s dirty “lead bass” paired with Egerton’s mastery of the Greg Ginn style of manic guitar playing really helped transmit as close to an authentic Black Flag experience as you’re going to get these days.

Setlists:

T.S.O.L.

World War III

In My Head

Terrible People

Superficial Love

Sounds of Laughter

Sodomy

Dance With Me

The Triangle

Fuck You, Tough Guy

Wash Away

???

???

Dance With Me

Abolish Government/Silent Majority

Code Blue

FLAG

Revenge

Fix Me

Police Story

I Don't Care

Depression

I've Had It

No Values

My War

No More

Gimme Gimme Gimme

White Minority

Jealous Again

Wasted

Clocked In

Nervous Breakdown

American Waste

Spray Paint

Thirsty and Miserable

Padded Cell

Six Pack

Rise Above

Louie Louie (Richard Berry cover)

Encore

What Can You Believe

Damaged II

@OMG_NOB

Caïna, Hordes, Barshasketh

The Unicorn

London, UK

September 6 2013

We've been talking a lot about the rebirth of Caïna of late and we'll soon have a review of the new record, Litanies Of Abjection, as well as an interview with the man behind the project, Andrew Curtis-Brignell. With the excitement around new music building, Andy made the decision to step back into the live arena and it followed that I took a chance and arranged his first live performance after four years away from the stage. Of course, I couldn't review the event because that would be a huge conflict and so after putting a call out, Chris Thomson of Beer And Life Matching threw me a message and said he'd review the gig. Below is his honest account of the evening. Thank you Chris. 

After weeks of uncharacteristic sunshine, a cold, grey gloom has descended on London today. I’m assuming this has been arranged to coincide with a Bleak Metal-curated night at The Unicorn, Camden.

First up are Barshasketh, who deliver a set drenched in despondent rage. Building on a foundation of hopeless guitar melody that suggests an appreciation of bands like Taake and Gorgoroth, soaring harmonic intervals intermittently offer up some belief that the crowd can escape the relentless misery, but those dreams are soon crushed when blasts of desolation inevitably return.

Tight, with a focused intensity, the band command attention but do occasionally look a little awkward on stage and uncomfortable in their own skin. Perhaps that’s because this is their first appearance in London and they’re overly eager to impress. Whatever the reason, I can’t imagine any awkwardness will linger much longer as I can see them playing on London stages bigger than this in the not too distant future.

Hordes, by comparison, have a more practised approach to their set. They turn off the stage lighting and are illuminated only by a projection on the wall behind them. The moving images soon disappear into the background of my consciousness though as the band starts to slowly, methodically shape a coherent noise before launching into a claustrophobic, oppressive onslaught.

Where Barshasketh brought a sense of space and melody, here there is none. The sound seems to be constructed around the drummer – specifically his snare – and he is fucking loud. It’s stifling, unyielding and the crowd are transfixed.

I’m not sure I would have the confidence to do what Andy Curtis-Brignell, the man behind Caïna, does next.

Following two accomplished, well-received black metal bands with nothing more than a guitar, a scattering of pedals and yourself in a pub on a Friday night in Camden just strikes me as, well, brave. But Andy uses that exposure, that rawness, that vulnerability to empower a performance that captivates his audience.

The unmoving wall of manipulated feedback, layers of looped distortion and desperate shrieks is mesmerising. Clearly completely improvised, at times it seems like Andy has lost control and his sounds are going to expand exponentially until they are torn apart, but he reins things in to such an extent that implosive collapse then appears imminent.

There’s a danger with this type of solo performance that everything can get a bit art school and pretentious, but Andy brings so much conviction and concentration to the stage that nothing feels forced or anything other than pure, honest expression. By the end of the night, the crowd are as lost in his music as he is.

It's that time once again! The fabled Progressive Music Awards are tomorrow night, and I've spent the last few weeks getting myself familiar with the best of the best in this year's progressive scene. Here are my thoughts, predictions, criticisms, and general sputterings about this years' selections.

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

I'll start with the category everyone is watching, and that's the prestigious Album of the Year award. Last years went to Rush's excellent Clockwork Angels, and while they totally deserved it, it did set something of a precedent—clearly fans like the legacy acts a bit more than their contemporary ones. On that, I'm putting my money on Steven Wilson's The Raven That Refused to Sing (And Other Stories). While he's not an older artist, The Raven is essentially a love letter to '70s progressive music, written and played faithfully to sound like Genesis or Yes in their early years. He also has the benefit of being one of the highest-profile musicians in the modern prog scene (being the frontman for Porcupine Tree does have some fringe benefits). None of that is to say that The Raven doesn't deserve that distinction—I personally think it's the best progressive album released in the past year. But there's no denying that Wilson has some very specific benefits on his side, and, no matter how cynically, that will do a lot to sway the fans.

I actually suspect that's part of why Steve Hackett's Genesis Revisited II received its nod for album of the year. It's a fantastic album, no doubt, but the fact that it's two discs of Genesis “covers” probably had a lot to do with that decision. I really do love Hackett's fresh interpretations of his old work, but let's be honest, a covers album really shouldn't be considered for an “album of the year”, even if it is the kind of stuff fans like to hear.

I'm actually stunned at the huge presence of post-progressive music at this year's awards. I thought it might have been a fluke when Anathema's fantastic Weather Systems was given a nod last year, but the inclusion of both Big Big Train and Amplifier this year seems to show that they've embraced the movement wholeheartedly. Which is good, because Amplifier's Echo Street is a fantastic album that deserved to be recognized. Though it wasn't quite on par with Weather Systems, it nonetheless displayed one of the best interpretations of the genre to date, and one that I find myself returning to frequently. More puzzling was their decision to nod towards Big Big Train's English Electric (Part Two), as opposed to (Part One). While I did enjoy the second half of the album immensely, (Part One) was leagues better than its successor. In fact, it was probably the only album that had a serious chance of swaying my opinion over The Raven as my personal favourite. That's not to say (Part Two) is bad, mind you—just that it was worse than part one.

It's also nice to know that the PMAs are beginning to recognize progressive death metal acts, even if they are on the fringe of what constitutes “death metal”. Though I'm not surprised they were nominated (especially after winning the Emerging Artist award last year), TesseracT also received a nod for their fantastic Altered State, one of the few truly impressive albums to come out of the djent movement. Though it's still not up to the standards that produced, say, Vildhjarta's måsstaden, it's still one of the first albums that takes advantage of djent's progressive roots, and it sounds all the better for it.

THERE WERE SOME LESS DESERVING ALBUMS THIS YEAR AS WELL

The fanservice to legacy acts turned up a couple of unimpressive nominations from otherwise fantastic bands. The Enid's Invicta and Marillion's Sounds That Can't Be Made both struck me as lacklustre, if still enjoyable, albums from bands very late in their career, and far from the best they're capable of. There was also the nod towards Spock's Beard's Brief Nocturnes and Dreamless Sleep, and while they're not really a relic from the '70s, they're still one of the few major names in the scene today, which makes me believe that their nod also falls into the "appeasement" category. And though I didn't think it was a bad album, the inclusion of Tame Impala's Lonerism is also a bit of a stretch. Though progressive rock is a vast genre, Lonerism never quite seemed to fit into it for me; it's a great psychedelic album, a great pop album, even a great rock album, but I don't think I could call it a great progressive album.

One thing that seriously bothers me about the nominees this year is that, while they're beginning to reach out towards post-progressive music, there are still no post-rock or post-metal albums to be found. This is a bit distressing, because near-perfect albums like Vertikal, Sky Burial, Pelagial, and 'Allelujah! Don't Bend! Ascend! have seemingly no chance in hell of getting noticed. And that's without even talking about progressive death metal. Though TesseracT did get a nod, let's face it, they're only death metal in the most lenient sense of the term. Albums like Between the Buried and Me's fantatsic The Parallax II: Future Sequence have almost no chance of getting the attention they deserve here. And though they do seem to be branching out into some more esoteric subgenres with Lonerism, it'll still be a while before, say, One of Us Is the Killer gets its fair shake. (And this is another one of those albums that might have been discluded by the ambiguous cutoff date, but man, it would've been nice to see Sunbather up there.)

THERE ARE ALSO SOME OTHER CATEGORIES

Here are a few of my idle thoughts on the other, much less important categories:

• Down from one last year, I have heard of exactly zero of this year's newcomers. Where do they find these guys?
• Riverside, Big Big Train, and Long Distance Calling all up for breakthrough artist? They're at least a decade old at this point!
• Most of the choices in the Anthem category were pretty forgettable, but Marillion's “Gaza” totally deserves the distinction. The rest of the album may not have been that great, but "Gaza" is a career best track.
• Also, Epicloud had a lot of great songs on it, but why the hell did they pick “True North” for a nod? That should not be allowed when “Kingdom” is sitting five tracks away. (Yes, I know it's a rerecording, and no, I don't care about the inconsistency.)
• A bunch of really cool concerts are up for the Live Event category, the weirdest of which is definitely Yes's Cruise to the Edge. Who knew prog people would like boats so much?
• Rush are nominated for band of the year? I love them to death, but what have they been doing this year, exactly?
• Thinking about Muse getting any kind of positive reaction for The 2nd Law makes me physically ill.
• A couple of interesting bands turned up in the Grand Design category: Hawkwind, 10cc, and Family, none of which I have bothered to listen to in the past year. Maybe I should change that. (Also, hooray for RiO!)
• Mikael Åkerfeldt seems to be laying low this year. I wonder what he's up to...

I GUESS THAT'S IT, REALLY.

This has been Sarah, your local prog snob, and join me next year when I complain that Kayo Dot's Hubardo didn't make the cut.

WHO SARAH VOTED FOR

• LIMELIGHT: nope
• LIVE EVENT: Devin Townsend’s Retinal Circus, though I felt really bad about not voting for Opeth and Anathema at Union Chapel
• BREAKTHROUGH ARTIST: Big Big Train, as an apology for not getting to vote for English Electric (Part One)
• ANTHEM: “Gaza”
• ALBUM OF THE YEAR: The Raven That Refused to Sing (And Other Stories)
• GRAND DESIGN: Thick as a Brick 40th anniversary
• BAND/ARTIST OF THE YEAR: Steven Wilson

Holy crap, has this summer been hot or what? Like, hot as in temperature hot.  Like, literally hot.  Which might be confusing now that Merriam-Webster and Oxford dictionaries as well as Google say “literally” doesn’t necessarily have to mean literally anymore. They literally changed the definition of “literally.”  That sucks, if anything, for this one reason alone:  It’s now totally feasible that a Kardashian sister will say, “I literally died” and not get made fun of on The Soup.  I am not OK with this. 

Speaking of people literally dying this summer, there was that one time a kid died at the Gathering of the Juggalos and nobody gave a shit because he was only one person out of thousands at an event where it is widely acceptable behavior by everyone who is not there to wish death upon everyone who is.  Juggalo or not, nobody deserves to die in a steamy tent, surrounded by scary clowns and Faygo-soaked hockey jerseys.  I am not OK with this either. 

Then there was that one time Kendrick saved hip-hop with his verse on “Control,” but everyone quickly forgot about it because Daredevil became Batman, and then Miley twerked on live TV and everybody went insane because a 20 year-old white girl did some 20 year-old white girl stuff.  This clearly means one thing:  By proxy, Miley Cyrus and her foam finger, with a little help from a soon-to-be washed up superhero, literally killed hip-hop, which was only very recently literally saved from dying.  Do the math – it works.  Depending on your definition of “literally,” the math literally works.  And this, for some reason, I am OK with. 

Word definers, dead Juggalos, Kendrick Lamar, Ben Affleck, and Miley Cyrus aren’t the only ones having a hot summer.  My shit has been cray-cray too.  For example, when I’m not putting out zines, riding my bike, watching Drew League highlights on YouTube while I’m at work, running the Tough Mudder, eating lots of grilled meats, shotgunning beers in a forest with my homies, championing The Challenge: Rivals II to anyone that will listen, getting quasi-arrested for graffiti, hate-watching Total Divas, getting married, penning scatterbrained column intros in which I summise Miley Cyrus killed hip-hop, or writing longwinded self-important lists of things I did this summer, I am literally stressing about stupid things like how there’s too many rappers.

In the Mixtapes department…

Kyle Rapps – SUB

In addition to descriptive terms like, “suburban hood niggas” and “Panera Bread,” the press release for Kyle Rapps’ SUB describes it as “a record for motherfuckers stuntin’ in the cul de sacs of the world.”  As an appreciator of good humor, I decide to give it a shot.  Sometimes it reminds me of Disposable Heroes of Hypocrisy or ‘90s backpackers but mostly it just reminds me that there is way better rap music that I could be listening to instead.  There are some notable guest appearances from the likes of Mr. MFN eXquire, Action Bronson, Murs, and Aaron Cohen.  Unfortunately for Mr. Rapps though, the best songs on the tape are the result of those features.  If you wanted to drop a track or two from this into a mix or a podcast it’d be alright, but otherwise you’re not missing much. 

Tree – Sunday School II: When Church Lets Out

Tree has a really distinguishable voice that is part soulful croon, part grayish growl.  There’s a lot of emotion in his rapping like he’s always on the verge of meltdown or something.  For the uninitiated it might not be the easiest thing to digest on the first spin.  The first Sunday School tape took a bit to grow on me but eventually it ended up being one my favorite tapes of 2012.  The second edition, When Church Lets Out is even better, and production-wise, more focused.  Although a number of producers contribute beats to the tape, it’s Tree’s own brand of “soultrap” that drives the overall sonic direction.  As expected, Tree’s songwriting is introspective and inspirational.  While that may translate to some rap fans as “not bangin’” there are some tracks that go hard too.  Particularly near the end with, “Tree Shit” and “White Girls.”  And there are noteworthy guest appearances by Danny Brown on “No Faces” and Roc Marciano on “Trynawin.”  The latter of which, is such a unique pairing, it leaves intrigue as to what an entire project from the duo would be like.  

Birdman & Rick Ross – The H: The Lost Album, Vol. 1

The H is comprised of songs that were recorded in 2008 and originally intended for a Birdman and Rick Ross duo album that for whatever reason never came to fruition…probably because it turned out to be terrible.  The only standout track is “Pop That Pussy,” which stands out mostly because it’s called, you know, “Pop That Pussy.”   This is throw away shit.  Don’t waste your time.  Yes, I feel pretty comfortable saying that from behind my keyboard.  If I find myself courtside at any Miami Heat games, I’ll be sure to wear a bulletproof vest though. 

Mr. MFN eXquire – Kismet

Kismet, which means “fate” or “destiny”, is also the name of the new tape by New York’s Mr. MFN eXquire. And while it may seem like an odd title choice for a tape whose cover art shows the emcee gripping a naked woman’s rear end in a pose that can’t be construed as anything other than standing coitus, it’s actually very apropos given the direction he’s taken things since his 2011 tape, Lost in Translation. Sure, the raunchiness and wild’n out aspects are still intact, but several tracks are dedicated to personal insights and human growth. On “Vanilla Rainbows” which apes Curtis Mayfield’s “Give Me Your Love (Love Song)”, the emcee displays his genuine love and respect for women. “Cherry Raindrops,” a tale of ill-fated love and all the struggles that go along with falling out of it, shows him being creepily honest, as he raps things like, “I kissed her on the spine and I kissed her thighs/I almost licked her ass but she started to cry.” Even the lone skit here, “She’s Not Fucking With Me” is a far cry from the blow-job-from-a-hoe-caught-on-tape one that appeared on Translation. This time around he and an unidentified woman are lying in bed, whispering I-love-yous to each other. For the most part, Kismet is dare I say, a kinder, gentler eXquire. That is not to say he doesn’t go hard in typical braggadocios rap fashion from time to time—see: “Illest Niggaz Breathin,’” “Tomorrow’s Gone,” and “Orbz a.k.a. Some Wise Quote Drake Never Said”—but overall, the tape is more on the personal revelations tip than anything else. eXquire’s flows and beat selections are as varied as you’d expect from a man who refers to himself as an “avant-garde hood nigga.” “Hoes I Don’t Remember” is the Willie Nelson “For All the Girls I’ve Loved Before” of rap songs, if ever there was one.

Joey Bada$$ - Summer Knights

Summer Knights is the latest from NYC boom-bap revivalist wonderkid Joey Bada$$.  This is his fourth mixtape (counting the Pro Era crew tape) since 2012. Over the course of 17 tracks, the emcee proves once again that he’s more advanced than many of his peers, and deserving of the praise heaped upon him.  The majority of the production is handled by Pro Era crewmates Lee Bannon, Chuck Strangers, and Kirk Knight, who acted in accordance to give the tape a cohesive resonance.  As I ride my bike around the city with Summer Knights bumping in the earbuds, I recall memories of summer days during my youth, listening to A Tribe Called Quest cassette tapes on my Walkman.  In addition to the previously mentioned beatsmiths, the tape gets a little extra mileage thanks to singular contributions from Statik Selektah, MF Doom, Oddisee, and DJ Premier.

Rapsody – She Got Game

After sifting through endless amounts of horrendous auto-tuned, hook-driven trap, it’s a rewarding experience when a skilled artist like Rapsody drops a new tape.  She Got Game marks Rapsody’s full emergence as one of the genres flyest emcees.  Even though the tape is ripe with soulful beats by fellow North Carolinians 9^th Wonder and Khrysis, and some guest spots from the likes of Raekwon and Chance the Rapper, she fully owns the project.  Showcasing her ever-flowing breath of lyrical acrobatics and impeccable songwriting, She Got Game is an album-worthy collection of songs.  She touches on a number of subjects—love, basketball, education, family, etc.—from a personal point of view, rather than speaking in hypothetical or metaphorical terms.  DJ Premier lends one of his signature cut-laden, sample-heavy beats for “Kingship,” which is one of the tape’s harder-hitting songs.  The pairing is so natural; I’d love to see a whole project by the two.  The only real drawback to the tape is that sometimes it goes a little too hard on the R&B hooks.  Well, that and Rapsody is a diehard Kobe Bryant/Lakers supporter; something I am just the opposite of.  All jokes aside, this deserves to be in consideration when measuring the year’s best mixtapes.

Spark Master Tape – The #SWOUP Serengeti

I won’t lie; I have no idea who the fuck Spark Master Tape is.  In addition I have no idea why he misspells, hashtags, and all caps a word that sounds exactly like “swoop."  (A Twitter search shows all uses of #SWOUP are directly related to this mixtape.)  But what I do know is that this tape is absolutely tremendous.  Considering that I downloaded this based purely on the punk rock imagery alone, I couldn’t be more impressed.  There are all types of things going on here and the whole thing bangs.  Because all of the vocals are chopped and screwed, at times it’s hard to tell if who’s rapping; whether it’s the mysterious Spark Master Tape or if it’s samples of like, Busta Rhymes or MC Lyte or something.   Although it would appear SMT is a skilled emcee, he is also obviously hyperaware of all of hip-hops various stereotypes, as he and producer Paper Platoon exploit them to the fullest.  The beats are reverb-heavy, as if they were constructed amidst a thick cloud of sour diesel while syrup dripped all over the 808s.  As to the identity of SMT, I have no interest in playing the guessing game; I’m too busy bumping the shit out of this in my imaginary jeep.

Fat Trel – SDMG

A new Fat Trel mixtape!  Perhaps the exclamation point is a little overzealous, but whatever.  For unexplained and partially troubling reasons I get really excited when a guy who calls himself Fat Trel comes out with a new tape; the title of that tape is an acronym for Sex, Drugs, Money, Guns; and on that tape he raps about strip clubs, doing and/or selling narcotics, stacking paper, and killing dudes.  Admittedly I like Fat Trel for the same reasons I dislike a lot of other rappers.  Take for example the hook from “Shoot.”  It goes, “Who dat nigga?/Get dat nigga/Kill dat nigga/Shoot dat nigga.”  And Miley Cyrus is the problem?  People that were mistakenly thinking this was going to be some deeply introspective story of how sex, drugs, money, and guns have negatively impacted the Washington D.C. community, in which he resides, are people that have never heard a Fat Trel tape.

In the Goofy Yet Clever Rappers department…

Check out this dude Freddy Flow from Chicago, IL.  He’s funny as hell, and definitely on the Paul Barman tip.  His delivery is on the oddball side of things, but he’s a very skilled songwriter. Plus he follows me on Twitter, which is a clear path to my heart.  Below are his latest two tracks "Constantinopli" and "Czech Your Yugo," as well as links to his various social media.

Facebook - Twitter - YouTube - WordPress

In the Shameless Self-Promotion department…

My partners in crime and I have somehow managed to put out two more new zine issues – HotDogDayz #4 and The Soda Killers #4.  Both are available for free, trade, or donation.  HotDogDayz is purely goofy stuff – dating profiles, art, photos, news clippings, jokes, found items, rail monikers, etc.  The Soda Killers is a Punk, Rap & Graffiti labor of love.  This issue rounds up the best hip-hop releases of 2012 and has some think pieces on Neutral Milk Hotel and Slayer, as well as some punk show reviews and graff flicks.

If you want to get into any of it, shoot me an email at: [email protected]

Or hit me up on Twitter at: @OMG_NOB.  I (almost) always follow back!