So this fucking song rules and everyone knows that but my real beef right now is that I've never heard this Sunset mix before. Honestly, this is definitely this song in it's purest form. Everything about this mix is perfect: Slowed down (Check) Tropical (Check) Sexy A.F. (Check). Nuff said, Shit's on point.
So, I'm a little late to the new album but my good friend Andrew rectified that situation today. I must say that this opening track is an amazing way to start off a piece of work. It flutters with arpeggiated xylophones accompanied by layer upon layer of synth, guitar and vocal structures that will leave you in an amazonian tribal state. Long story short, this shit rips! Listen below.
I've come to the conclusion that Kevin Parker needs to remix every song ever written. I know it sounds mildly extreme but I think it would be very beneficial to me. You see, there's a lot of music out there that I just plain don't like; anything by U2 or Pitbull, pretty much the entire genre of reggae (aside from a few Bob Marley hits). This remix might not be the best example of that, considering I already liked the original Miguel track before this was released, but I'm obsessed with this new version. It leveled up the original on a huge scale. That being said I'm convinced that Kevin Parker (Tame Impala) will be producing a gigantic pop album for the likes of Katy Perry, Rihanna or Kylie Minogue, or someone on that level. It's the only possible outcome. The way his career is moving the only logical step now is to become a pop producing icon. He's the next Mark Ronson. Ok, the remix is below also accompanied by a video that was made for a segment of the remix that features Miguel and Parker sitting in dining room chairs in the water at a cloudy beach. Enjoy.
For those of you who know me you know that Coachella is the only thing I can talk about for around 3 months of the year. The second that line-up drops it consists of about 80% of all the conversations that I have. And trust me, I'm well aware that it's annoying. I know that I sound like a dying steam punk that can only talk about burning man who wears an old stovepipe hat and rides a bicycle that has glow-sticks for handlebars and a neon couch cushion for a seat, but honestly, I can't fucking help it. All I give a fuck about is music. These 3 days make up for every time I've ever zipped my pants too fast and caught one of my balls. It makes up for the well over 3000 Adios mother fuckers that I've poured for a sea of retards. It makes up for every car accident, every break-up and every hangover I've ever had. Some people have mass (boring) I have three days in the desert with a satchel of magic goombas accompanied by every band I could ever wanna see, aside from Kendrick (How the fuck did we not get Kendrick this year?). That being said I've spent the last 5 days compiling a playlist that spans 74 songs long, that's four hours and fifty one minutes to be exact, of every band that I think that I might wanna see without a single repeat. Not a single band is represented on this list more than once. Honestly this playlist is designed for two reasons 1: to make everyone who is going realize just how mother fucking dope this year is gonna be and 2: to make everyone else who isn't going suffer from the most jealous rage that one could ever endure. This year is gonna be so fucking good that I'm afraid that after the weekend is over I will never have a good time again for the rest of my life because nothing will compare to the line-up that we are dealing with this year. Press play, I fucking dare you. Seriously though, press play, I spent like 20 hours making this thing......
Is it possible to have a midlife crisis at 32? I guess it's probably better to get it out of the way now instead of when I become the CEO of a toilet paper company. A toilet paper company where I would park my obtrusive SUV in the front lot, in a spot that is painted in perfect block font "MR. Fawcett". Where I would leave said spot to drive to my slightly impressive track home in the La Jolla Hills. And, it is there that I would silently drink Lynchburg lemonade in my "study" whilst my 2-3 shit head kids would proceed to ruin the small ass wipe empire that I have built for them.
Anyways, I just got sent a private link to the Living Hours new album from Force Field PR. Honestly, the second I pressed play it reminded me that being a bartender who plays in a band that only my friends like and writes a shitty blog for solely cathartic purposes is infinitely better than what I'm "Supposed" to be doing with my life.
The album come's out on February 19th and it's fucking amazing. Like for real, be on the lookout. I'm speechless. Here's the opening track. The OPENING track people! Who starts a fucking album this epic?! I wish I could post the whole album because it's damn near perfect. Oh and also, They play the Casbah on April 8th. So don't fuck it up, and make sure you get there. Cause for real, shit's next level.
Vince Staples, is very rapidly becoming my favorite thing in hip-hop. Mother fucker cut's bars so heavy he makes Alcatraz look like candy-land. He paints the hood red, even though I'm pretty sure his bandana runs blue. Lift me Up is a murderous ass beat that's drenched in some of the most hood ass lyrics one could ingest. It's songs like these that gives me hope that hip-hop isn't being completely hi-jacked by pussies on some hotline bling bullshit.
I just opened my laptop to the most prolific video of the year. This Kendrick album has been rippling through the entire music community for the last couple months. Changing the way that hip-hop can be translated to the rest of world. A message from the ghetto forcing the rest of the world to look at the problems that the portion of our country, that aren’t guarded by suburban gated communities, face every single day. This video encapsulates the duality of the entire To Pimp A Butterfly album.
Beginning with the poem that rings through the entire album and a very real look at the current state of affairs with in these currently not so United States. The symbolic gestures of aggression and struggle show everything from a lit Molotov cocktail being thrown at a graffitied rainbow to the tired and weathered faces of people who know the true meaning of poverty. Cash being thrown around a lit dumpster we cut straight to a man escaping an arrest only to be shot in the mother fucking back like so many individuals over the past couple months.
Cut to Kendrick in his tore up whip with his crew shouting the truth and giving the world goose bumps. Pan back to four police officers carrying said whip like Kendrick is a mother fucking prince about to get fed grapes off the vine and shit. The symbolism from this image is fucking indescribable, all I can say is what I actually said, out loud, alone in my house, “Fuck Yeah, das wha sup.”
Cut to Kendrick doing doughnuts around a fucking cop car in a brand new spotless muscle car with the most gangster ass toddler you’ve ever seen in your fucking life throwing stacks of cash out the window. Kendrick floats through the streets as if in a dream standing above the city on light polls letting the whole world know that everything will in fact “be alright.” Only to have one-time roll up and cap our hero in the chest with a fucking finger gun. As Kendrick descends back to the streets and the reality of the world, we hear the echo of the same poem that we began with to show yet again the same duality that is represented time and time again through the entire To Pimp A Butterfly album. The screen goes black then flashes to our boy lying in the streets only to look in the camera and give a smirk. There it is again….
Drop the goddamn mic, I dare a mother fucker to make a better video this year. If you could win oscars for music videos then Colin Tilly would snatch that shit in a heart beat.
