Tuesday, January 25, 2005
electric glue society
Airborn Audio makes me feel warm inside--fuzzy, hyper-minded and complicated. The beats are walking machines, all shiny and bulbous. M. Sayyid makes me remember why I wanted to marry lyrics and High Priest throws tongues together like the French. Which brings me to our erudite post-Zen counselor, Greg Tate: for all the Hegelian umph and broad theorizing, hip-hop is still kicking. Perhaps what we're talking about here is purely semantic--time to come up with a new name. Critics--my peoples--let's get hot and heavy with the alphabet and name this post-rap Blob something meaningful and anti-marketable. Something we can all agree will die in the near futurepastpresent. Scratching my chin, I realize that jazz has put up with all kinds of freaks and it never changed much semantically (except for bebop, the word "free" in front and something we all would like to forget--fusion). F*ck it, let's just wear MF Doom masks and run around the playground.
