Tirade 8. Chiddy Bang - Because

It's sort of been a while - the long-ass hiatus is due mainly to the fact that I got a new computer (how recently, you ask? Oh, around... January 2008), subsequently forfeited my old Dell's Saved Bookmarks in Firefox, and then... forgot the name of my own flipping blog. I couldn't remember where I had decided to put the blummin hyphens (to whoever beat me to the punch and claimed "thejamblog" first, er... props, and I hope it has served you well, although from an initial and cursory skim I may have deduced that you've let your own blogging endeavor also fall by the wayside, in which case, my rancor is somewhat justified).

But I remembered! By which I mean, Google remembered for me, bless its binary heart.

So I've added a couple more entertaining links to my "Sites I visit to waste time" section (see right), and I have redone my "Current Playlist" (also see right), and now I bring you another genuinely indie gem... "Because" (as yet unsigned, possibly released 2008), by Chiddy Bang.

The fact that Philadelphia-based Chiddy Bang is comprised of four youths just now finishing their first year of college makes me want to hang my head in shame. I have, nor will I probably ever, actually, accomplish anything as cool as what they have, and I'm about to graduate. They are probably those kids that I have always wanted to be, but never will. Also, because they haven't been signed (yet), they still have a bunch of intriguing mp3s available free for download from a variety of sources (like their home page), so get on it.

However! While I am off moping about all-my-creative-energy-sans-creative-outlet, they are out putting to good use the set of samples from Radiohead's In Rainbows (Self-released/XL/TBD, 2007) that the band released following the pretty excellent critical/popular reception that album enjoyed. I really don't know what to call that set of samples, exactly (if anyone has any insight, please enlighten me), but it was basically a series of stripped-down mp3s, one of which is the bass line to a song, another the vocals, another the melody - you get the idea. The whole point was that fans would make their own remixes without risk of copyright infringement (a worry that I'm sure keeps many a bit torrenter awake nights).

Specifically, Chiddy Bang has taken a gorgeous little bit from my favorite track on In Rainbows - "Reckoner" - that starts at around the 2:31 mark, and they have constructed a tight self-congratulatory ditty using Thom Yorke's almost indecipherable falsetto as the chorus ("Because we separate as ripples on a blank shore").



Perhaps, as I and the rest of the 2009 graduating class leave the comfortable bubbles of our respective institutions of higher education in pursuit of a respectable slog in the so-called "real world" despite a very dodgy set of financial circumstances, personal, global, or otherwise, I may suggest that you sing it with me, now:

Try to bring me down, I'm bouncing back up.

Mini-Tirade: Alicia Keys feat. John Mayer – Lesson Learned

Continuing in the vein of complete girlishness inaugurated in my last entry (see Tirade 7), my love for John Mayer abounds. Specifically, my love for his contribution to Alicia Keys’ “Lesson Learned” from the otherwise unimpressive As I Am (J Records, 2007) abounds.



Oh, John Mayer, when you croon “It’s all right, it’s all right”, I believe you. I believe you.

P.S. Does anyone else think she looks a bit waxy on the album cover? ("As I Am", Alicia? Please, as you were. I'm begging.)

Tirade 7. Amel Larrieux – For Real

With apologies to third-wave feminists everywhere, who for many years have fought to dissuade the general public of the conviction that there is some essence that all women share by virtue of their biological gender that I will reaffirm in oh, about ten words:

I’m going to be a complete girl for this entry.

How could I forget about you, Amel Larrieux? Ah yes, now I remember. I remember being gobsmacked when I heard For Real on a (don’t laugh) National Public Radio music special in 2004. I remember several frustrating weeks, wherein I was not capable of remembering either the lyrics of For Real to Google, nor of figuring out how in the friggin frick to spell your last name (Larreau? Laroue? Larrue? I will take this opportunity to point out that a more accurate Anglicism of the ostensibly French “Larrieux” would be pronounced “Lar-YEUH” and not “La-ROO”, dammit). I remember wishing acute bodily harm upon whoever is in charge of NPR’s site map, because for the life of me I could not find any record of said music special on the entire bloody website. I remember hunting for Bravebird (Blisslife, 2004) in every CD store near Berklee, for God’s sake, upon finally finding a record of the song’s existence, and coming up time and time again empty-handed.

And how did you repay me, Amel Larrieux? With a more or less mediocre record. Rarely have I been so underwhelmed, which is saying a lot given Larrieux’s imposing vocal ability.

I am also not exaggerating when I say that I do not regret expending all of that energy in pursuit of one song, because I am somewhat enamored of it. Lyrically speaking, it is complete mush. It sort of pains me to confront this, but For Real actually opens with what sounds like a toddler’s effort to pronounce the chorus’ affirmation, “I can live, I can love, I can be better with you”.



I know, I know, the baby voice, the girl, the beach, vomit everywhere. But hold onto your poncey horses, because if you are not awed by the way Larrieux puts Mariah Carey’s sometimes-high-E to shame (see 2:33), you may actually be missing a soul. And speaking of soul, the phrasing is fantastic. It’s not a traditional composition, per se, so much as it is more a conjunction of melodically genius eight-counts, with this swoon-y pause in between that, so juxtaposed, just makes intuitive sense when the song sighs back into progression as such. It doesn’t exactly make you want to break it down so much as it makes you yearn for a pair of eyes to gaze into. (Eyes that are, preferably, attached to an agreeable human being, but I’ll take what I can get.)

Tirade 6. Madvillain & Medaphoar – Raid

Instead of writing one of the three final papers that must somehow be completed by 14 December, I have been grappling with iTunes for the better part of the past hour. The best way I can describe the struggle is that it was similar to a condensed episode of “EastEnders” (I would have said “Coronation Street” but then I wouldn’t be adequately communicating violence and carnage), perhaps without the hackneyed Cockney (oh, but that does look nice on paper), but definitely inclusive of the tears, fighting, threats, physical blows, incoherent babbling, pleading, tantrums, bribes and empty promises.

With that introduction I wish to communicate that a) I hate computers and b) I haven’t actually watched “EastEnders” except for two (one?) episode(s) I saw when I was perhaps twelve.

So after a software update (that initially appeared to have mysteriously deleted the outdated copy of iTunes that was installed on my laptop), multiple restarts and several desperate reinsertions of my dodgy Ethernet cable, I figured I deserved a reward. Of the musical variety, that is. Which is how we arrive at “Raid” from Madvillainy (Stone’s Throw, 2004). (Yes, I am pretty pleased with myself.)

Ironically (or is it coincidentally? Damn you, Alanis Morissette, and your meta word games), JAMBlog has not been extremely representative of the beefiest part of my (admittedly meager) music library. But I love rap. I do. And I also have an enormous soft spot for anything that Madlib has a hand in, given his partiality for vintage funk (or vintage soul, or vintage blues…) samples and my… well, my love of vintage funk samples (post a comment if you, too, are of the opinion that Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up” basically made the whole “Late Registration” album, which was already a more than worthwhile endeavor to begin with).

Behold, my favorite YouTube video of all time, which owes approximately five eighths of its greatness to its soundtrack - Madlib's "Slim's Return":



Because I am something of an aesthete (stop laughing), I originally wanted to write about track twelve of Dangerdoom's The Mouse and the Mask (Epitaph, 2005), “Vats of Urine”, if only to see its provocatively repulsive title sprawled gleefully across the post heading in no-nonsense 14-point Arial. But all fanfare and no content makes JAMBlog an unfortunate waste of time, rather than the serendipitous one I had hoped to furnish.

I couldn’t resist Wikipedia’s paraphrasing of Madvillain's unusual style: “short songs, obscure lyrics, few choruses and a sound which [is] generally unfriendly to commercial radio”. (Diderot would be proud, rest his French soul.) Would that I were slightly less friendly to commercial radio, because then I could faff about forever with music that actually reflects some semblance of creativity on the behalf of the (gasp!) artist. Ignore this if I go a little further than merely running the risk of incriminating myself as nothing more than a self-inflated poseur, but “Raid” is one of those songs that makes you feel cool just listening to it. It may feel damn good to be a gangster, but frankly I’d be right chuffed if I could manipulate a couple of turntables to come up with two and a half minutes of jazz-laced looping this solid.

Mini-Tirade: Mix tape

William sent me YouTube links to these two vastly entertaining music videos that happened to be on a mix tape we listened to when we were little. They’re pretty dire one-hit wonders, but they’re also dead catchy and pretty irresistible.

The first one is Musical Youth’s “Pass the Dutchie” from The Youth of Today (MCA, 1982), which apparently performed very well on the UK’s Top of the Pops.



How does it feel when you’ve got no food? (Bloody hungry, is how. What sort of a question is that?)

The second is “Walk the Dinosaur” by Was (Not Was), from their (embarrassingly titled) 1990 release What Up, Dog? (Capitol). I’m not sure what walking the dinosaur refers to, although I suspect it has something to do with an obsolete dance move; note the awkward, pigeon-like head bobbing they’ve forced upon the Pebbles clones.



Boom boom, acka lacka boom boom.