Jack White > Jimmy Page > The Edge

Documentaries With Conflict > Those Without (which is why this one is an interesting failure.)

Also not sure why they chose The Edge — his style is without doubt different than the other two, but during the jam session he just looks lost.   Jack White astounds.

Rating: 5/10

“It’s crazy how you can go from being Joe Blow,” West begins his rap, “to everybody on your dick—no homo.” No homo, to those unfamiliar with the term, is a phrase added to statements in order to rid them of possible homosexual double-entendre. (“You’ve got beautiful balls,” you tell your friend at the bocce game—”no homo.”) [...]The term’s appearance in hip-hop coincided with the rise of the so-called “down-low brother,” a closeted black figure often demonized as a disease-spreading boogeyman, invisible by definition and thus potentially, frightfully, everywhere. Saying “no homo” might have started as a way for rappers to acknowledge and distance themselves from the down-low phenomenon. As the phrase has spread, many have decried no homo as depressingly retrograde, a pigheaded “That’s what she said” for homophobes. But the term functions in a more complicated way than a simple slur. [...]

Often, no homo appears not just as a disclaimer but as a punch line, a See what I did there? that flaunts one’s cleverness. “Just shot a video with R. Kelly, but no homo though,” Lil Wayne rapped in 2007. In this line—a sly nod to both a music video co-starring Wayne and Kelly and to the R&B singer’s alleged sex tape—no homo isn’t an afterthought; it’s the keystone that holds the whole joke together. A funny side effect here is that the no homo vogue doubtless encourages rappers not only to scrutinize everything they say for trace gayness, but to actively think up gay double-entendres just so that they can cap them off with no homo kickers.

Full Article at Slate.com

“Daggering” is slang for dance moves simulating sexual intercourse, some of which include excitable gymnast-like moves, writes Donna Hope Marquis, a lecturer in reggae studies at the University of the West Indies, Mona, in Kingston Jamaica, in an e-mail to NEWSWEEK. [...]

Jamaican doctors assert that those trying to replicate the powerful moves of daggering in the bedroom can end up with dramatic injuries: they say the incidents of broken penises have increased in the past year; according to an article in the Jamaican Star, some clinics are seeing two a month. [...]

Full Article at NEWSWEEK.com

Don’t take it too hard, Kel.  We’ll still call when we’re drunk and feeling alone.

(This post was probably better at Go Fug Yourself. They are always better.)

Wonder Years Troubadour from Evan Romoff on Vimeo.

Franz Ferdinand drew in a near-capacity crowd to First Avenue on a dreary spring day.  My excitement was actually more piqued for the opener, Born Ruffians, than for the headliners — but no mind — Franz has always lived in my mind as a band that could bring a live-show worth shelling out a few duckets for.  My whiskey-stunk hands gladly handed the girl $30 and I was in.  Hello….   uhh…. hello, who?  Who were these people?

My first reaction was that every square within 100 miles decided it was a big night out in Minneapolis.  (Side-note… upon reflection I realize that I think of geeky guys as “squares” and geeky girls as “adorable.”  May help explain my reaction….)  The vibe?  The girl in the ’ship had been nagging that they “never do anything fun and/or cool” and this hopeless schlub decides that Franz Ferdinand would be the perfect show to impress his slumdog girlfriend by VISA’ing some surprise tickets.  They all had on their finest plaid and their freshest kicks.  Was I annoyed?  No.  My car had broken down on the way and I was just happy to be there.  Plus…  I was with good company and my eyes were slightly dull with Jim Beam.

The Born Ruffians were just as skinny and awkward and fantastic as I imagined.  The leads voice seemed significantly less whiny than on CD (which for some reason really dissapointed me) but they had good energy and I loved the idea of the bassplayer ending up with some 4th string groupie at the end of the night.  (Note to self: learn bass.)

I planted myself towards the front of the stage, my big tall head obscuring tons of sightlines and proceeded to watch FF set up.  The screen never came down which led to this conversation:

Me, Drunk and Loudly, With Incredible Amounts of Observation Intelligence: Hmm… I’ve never seen the screen not come down between acts… is this normal?

Girl, 19, sober as a church mouse: What?!  I’ve NEVER seen it come down between acts!

Girls Boy, 20, Abercrombie Beclothed: Yeah, dude… check your facts.  Screen stays up at this place.

MDLWIAOI: How many shows have you two been to here at First Avenue?

G1SACM: umm… like… 5

GB2AB: 3.

MDLWIAOI: Oh… go drown in a pool of your grandmas blood.  I’ve been here at least 200 times.  At least.

The point?  I was right.  These fools… wrong.  And because of that, I wouldn’t feel bad dancing my fat-ass all over their toes once the band came on.

And I did.  And it was great.  And unlike the eponymous Franz Ferdinand, this one didn’t strike me as the 1-Shot group I had expected.  They played a number of great songs, then Take Me Out and then another one… I have no idea of the names but the whole crowd went nuts, the band rocked out, and I felt the PASSION in that room.  Then they decided to slow it down… and I left.  They should have finished with the hit single, the next bonkers single and then walked off stage.  It would have been brilliant.  I would have left drunk, happy and satisfied that I got my $30 worth.   Oh wait… I did.

Completely meaningless score with no baseline or relativity: 9/B

The Minnesota Twins = Duck Down Records

They’re never as great as people want you to believe but are always lauded by traditionalists for playing “the right way.” They compete well with homegrown talent (Heltah Skeltah/Black Moon/Smif N Wessun = Joe Mauer/Justin Morneau/Francisco Liriano) mixed in with some savvy free agents/trades (Kidz in the Hall/B-Real/Torae &Marco Polo= Joe Nathan/Joe Crede/Delmon Young).  And Dru Ha is Ron Gardenhire.

“Shouldn’t the Twins definitely be Rhymesayers? Isn’t that screamingly obvious?”–Doc Zeus

I’m not sure besides Atmosphere and Ali what homegrown beasts Rhymesayers has produced. POS?  Musab?  The Twins always have 3-4 developed All-Stars, much like Duck Down. Plus, thumbs down to the entire Rhymesayers label for never making ONE reference to any hometown teams in 10 years.

“I can’t imagine Slug would ever be into sports. Who has time to root for baseball when you have a girlfriend to bitch about? I’d spit up blood if I ever saw him sporting a Twins fitted. Besides would YOU want to give a shout out to the Timberwolves if they were from YOUR hometown? I don’t think so.”–Doc Zeus

What Hip-Hop Label is Your Local Baseball Team?  Find out at Clap Cowards

EI: Has anyone ever spelled his name “Fill Collins” out of respect for his performance on “In the Air Tonight?”

DK: If they didn’t, they missed a big opportunity. That is a moment where man and drum connect, bound to the earth through passion and strength. If drum fills are meat, that’s prime rib. The irony is that the first half of the song is an 808 drum machine, probably programmed by Phil himself. This shows his dedication to new technologies even though he was a bad-ass on the tubs. In no way was he threatened by little buttons and bleeping lights. Phil knows himself.

You all know I already stand behind [almost] anything Dave King says, but when he was quoted as saying, “double fuck Don Henley,” my respect for him doubled.

From Do The Math, the Bad Plus blog (run by Ethan Iverson).

I agreed wholeheartedly with his analysis and found myself nodding to his refusal to participate in a corrupt system.  I’m a concert goer — I’m a ticket purchaser –  I have an expectation that the process be “fair” because of a personal desire to a) sit hella close and b) not pay very much for the tickets.  Why do I have this expectation?  Michael Arrington does a brilliant job explaining the and disspelling this myth that ticketing should be “fair.”

Ticket brokers are really just market makers. They risk capital, hold inventory, and place bets that they’ll be able to make a living on the spread.

Pricing tickets is very, very hard. Demand for an event peaks just before it occurs, then falls to zero as it begins, like food that has gone bad. Changes in the economy have a dramatic impact on ticket prices, too. A good ticket broker is thinking about the quality of the event, the date of the event, the venue, the seat locations and the state of the local economy when pricing tickets. And if they do it wrong, they eat their inventory and take a loss.

Most ticket brokers don’t make much money, particularly when you factor in that they’re putting their own capital at risk. A few, those that have good instincts and the right connections, do very well.

But it’s important to know that everyone is in on the game. Players and coaches who go to the Super Bowl sell their tickets to brokers. Venues sell some of (or all of) their best seats to popular events to brokers. The artists do the same. Everyone along the supply chain gets their cut. Usually in cash, which isn’t claimed as income.

The only people taking any risk are the brokers, who put their money on the line. And when an event turns sour, they take the hit.

Full Article on TechCrunch