S/FJ

PEEL SLOWLY AND SEE

Click here to listen to DJ Kool Herc, who is both DNA-style important and really friendly. Click here for the new Certified Bananas mix, which has to be good because they called it Certified Bananas and you can't lie on the web because Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez is watching every word you type and he will come to your house and punch you with a rusty grill tool if you fib. The CB mix opens with the word "bananas," which is bananas, and then moves though Dipset, Television and Kelly Clarkson, which is also (help, please stop me) bananas.

More X to Y to C Dept.: The somewhat defensively designed and named the best mashups in the world ever are from San Francisco CD just arrived. It's also [insert your own, new fruit-related slang], with unusually hi-fi audio for a mash collection. The sequencing is strong, making it a better "album" than the British CD it is detourning. There are no world-changing tracks like "Stroke" or "Smells Like Booty" on the SF compilation, because the world-changing portion of the mashup program is over. The music, however, is not over and that is ____________. The only source info on the CD is this email: tbmitweafsf AT mutemail COT com.

If you miss Chris Morris or Ricky Gervais, then click here. You probably already have.

(What is the opposite of zero tolerance? A hundred tolerance? Infinity tolerance?)

LIKE LEGOLAND FOR PEOPLE WITH TOO MANY DEGREES

Julianne sends a link, which is here embellished with more links:

Cai Guo-Qiang has done something to these cars and now you can go here and see them in all their active, immobile bigness.

THANKS

To everyone who came out last night, especially the panelists: Knox Robinson, Brandon Wall, Anthony DeCurtis, Amy Phillips, Michael Azerrad and Tunde Adebimpe. Everyone kept the ball moving and the audience stayed focused, asking actual questions instead of launching into Andy Rooney testimonials. All credit to Andras Szanto and Mark Rozzo, who conceived and organized the event.

Enough backslapping.

Are you running OS 10.3.8 on a Mac? Then fuck Safari and get with Firefox now. Faster, better features (including the downTHEMall! extension for all you MP3 fans), sharper color. Do it now.

THINGS I LEARNED IN MIAMI

(All photos courtesy of Tricia Romano.)

• If you have own a club and you are unsure who to book, book MU. When MU is done performing, book MU again. Repeat until Grace Jones shows up. And then boook MU again.

• People will tell you "Omigod, it's never like this," and then say, "Oh, this is just how South Beach is, every day." You will have to make the call.

• Being on a "guest list" and having a "press badge" at the Winter Music Conference is like being mugged and having a "super power ring" on your finger. The physical doodad has no effect on the social reality.

• You can make a killer top by sewing a guitar strap to a common pink sleeveless shirt and hooking the strap over your neck.

• Some people party like this, and some people party like this.

• Fubu made some kick-ass pink and white sneakers a few years ago. The pink part is leather waffle weave. Unexpected.

• If you attend a two hour DJ set at the Adidas store, you will not leave alone.

• Cocaine can make nine people appear out of nowhere and fill up a room, like a reverse David Blaine meets the VW circus clowns trick.

• Electronic music buddies are totally comfortable talking about endorsements, commercials, co-sponsorship and all manner of mersh madness. Even bringing up the hint of the Marxist spiderweb just gets you the smiley e-face: "What, bro?" (Add hugs as needed.)

• People really say "Do you have any cold Red Bull left? Really cold?”

• Some women who walk around in black teeny kinis have no problem yelling “Fucking rapist" at car trolls.

• If you take your family to Miami during WMC, you are totes insane.

• "In Dade County, we are allowed to double up during especially busy times. We just have to agree on the fare before we begin. Ten dollars seems fair. That seems good for a trip to the Wyndham. With the congestion, people just won’t go out if they can’t get where they’re going, and that's bad for the city. We’re allowed to do this. It’s great. I paid off $5000 on my Sears credit card last week.”

• I have no idea what a fair price for a trip from the Wyndham to The Surfcomber is.

• You cannot walk from here to there. Don't memorize any set of directions that begins "You walk down Collins eighteen blocks..."

• You need to learn your photo face. You think you're above the narcissism, and then somebody takes your picture and all you can think about for the rest of night is "Did I look like that dude from The Grifters?"

• Do not take lipgloss application lessons in a moving car from someone who has recently snorted cocaine.

• Prodigy from Mobb Deep and The Alchemist, though neither tall nor very dancey, roll through M.I.A. in a long white limo.

• DJ Hell is one motherfucking DJ.

• Your correspondent is not mad at Miami.

TRYING TO PIN IT DOWN

Bring armshouse to Columbia's house tonight, or just stop by to say hi and express your love for Movable Type and fruit fly news cycles.

I'M GONNA HOLD TIME HOSTAGE DOWN IN FLORIDA, CHILD

In case you want to think about Biolay in a few months, here's the link.

More 80s rewind: Except for "Moving To Florida," the Butthole Surfers catalog also of no utility. Time is funny. Memory is spongy. Shit moves on. But "Moving" is actually maybe even better now—pigfuck, chopped and screwed!

YOU SAW THIS ONE COMING

I am guessing Big Black and The Beatles will continute to restrain themselves; everyone else seems to be up for a reunion. If the famous "Lou punches J." incident is re-created, please take a picture for us.

EGGING YOU ON

Full Miami update soon. Or not full, and not soon.

Here is a good piece about my brother and Jonathan Hoefler, those people who make those letters on your computer.

Come out Tuesday night to this free event up at Columbia University. I will be moderating, which is a funny word for trying to make every simultaneously talk and shut up. Please attend, and ask interesting questions.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOO!

My younger son begins his sixth year of life today, and as a tribute to his nature (and a thank you to those who stop here regularly), I offer you our nightly text. The words fall somewhere between poem and song, and should be delivered with absolute relish, every obvious rhyme emphasized, "ah" and "ar" sounds delivered as "aw" when possible.

"Hey Pa, I got in to the car and went real far and saw a star and I wanted to wave my claw by I didn't want to break the law or my jaw, so I called Ma and said 'Haw haw haw!'"

More after Miami. In the meantime, if you want to live that Xanax and Frozfruit lifestyle without actually taking Xanax and eating Frozfruit, try these two recordings:

This one by Jorge Mautner, and this one by Lô Borges.

COME CLEAN

Hua Hsu:

"Barry just does not inspire any confidence. I have made it a habit to avert my eyes when he speaks. It's like, yes there is a race/empathy card to be played, but you're playing it the wrong way! It would have been far better if he had allowed the media/fans to see his vulnerability after his father passed, etc., but he maintains this self-righteous, indignant and hyper-surly pose that evokes suspicion rather than admiration. The latest: yesterday, with his oldest son next to him (and, reports Jazzbo, strategically placed in front of the camera eye) he spoke of the pain the steroid issue has caused him and his family (cue son) and how people have been ignoring the severity of his bum knee. As it stands, he claims, he will be out at least 80-ish games, possibly more, possibly forever. Which, if you think about it, is just crazy. Knee injuries of that type don't usually take that long to heal; they rarely result in retirement; and, in light of last October's bloody sock spectacle, it's even harder to believe that this isn't just a sly way to evade the steroid issue, beg out of the Babe/Aaron homer watch and pass gently into the night."

LADYFLASHDANCE

"Who's got dance moves? If I like what you're doing, I'm going to copy you. OK, you over there, with the hands! Nice!"

How long till the Ninja solo album? (Also feeling The Apes: crochet, masks, Sabbath, Funkadelic, beards, and no "fake insane" routine.)

Am I as mad as this guy? Sort of, but I can't be as brutal in my disappointment. Like a drug in a blood, this question cannot be extracted cleanly and then laser-kaplowed out of my confliction. Motherfucker is my son's hero. Angry doesn't take me anywhere.

We wish David Newgarden a speedy recovery—he was reportedly struck by a car in London yesterday, and his leg was broken. He's one of the best in the game, and I am getting very tired of good people being hit by cars in London.

Mazel tov to Lisa Gidley and Douglas Wolk, Drema and Joe Gross, all new members of the Insane People Who Have Helped Sire Children club. What we are thinking, I don't know. Oh, wait, yes I do:

LIGHTNING STRIKES, SORT OF ALL THE TIME

Oxford Collapse were great last night at Rothko. That Ron Johnson sound is back! Saw the actual Robert Lloyd fronting the portable version of the Nightingales. Lloyd's voice was a little road-damaged, so we didn't get the full onslaught. A thrill to hear "Urban Ospreys" in any version at all, such a killer lyric.

Saw about five minutes of The Go! Team. "Is the power on in the back? Is the power on in the front? Can you say [in Snap voice] 'I got the power!'?"

I hadn't listened to the Dinosaur Jr. records since 1987, when I was in a band, living in a band house with someone whose taste was literally visible: every time he listened to a record, he left big thumbprints on it. I have hard evidence that he liked Dinosaur Jr. a lot.

Except for "Little Fury Things" and their proximity to Sebadoh, I didn't find a single thing to like about Dinoasur Jr. in 2005. I am having a hard time remembering if I ever liked anything other than "Little Fury Things." Wake me up for the Slovenly reissues.

WERK

Go see The Nightingales tonight, The Go! Team any night this week, Basquiat at the Brooklyn Museum but avoid, at all costs, John Leonard's tortured (in every sense) Lethem review in NYRB, which is balanced out by Coetzee's excellent mini-bio-style piece on Faulkner. (Here is a story I need to bookmark, because I will lose it if I don't. So now I have.)

OCTOBER, 1974

My own October, 1974, was not quite this eventful.

NO BOLO

"It looks good, man. Is it big enough?"

"I'm not sure. I wear it a little back."

"You making the move?"

"Trying. I got a suit online, but it didn't fit."

"No, you gotta get that shit made. I found a guy. $40 a shirt."

[Lunch.]

"Man, I'm staying dry. You know what Lincoln said. 'I like it too much.'"

"It's too predictable. It's always the same woozy, and then the next day, the same inabilities. And you talk too much and you're never that funny. Or I'm not."

"Yeah, I don't know why my wife doesn't mind."

[Walking.]

"What is it, jazz day? You're Dizzy Gillespie now?"

"It's just a first step."

"You're making the move? Suits? Bolo ties?"

"No bolo."

[More walking.]

"Woah, nice. Are you gonna wear it indoors?"

"I don't think you can really do that."

"Sure you can."

"I'm not there yet."

[Walking.]

"Are you making the move?"

"Might. Just found a tailor today."

"Steve is making the move."

"He is? I thought that was just for the funeral."

"No, it's like three out of five days now."

"Man, I need to talk to him."

[Walking.]

"What's with your too-small hat?"

"I didn't want you to say that first. Say something else first and then say that."

"I like it. It's too small."

[Dinner, music, time, description of day.]

"That's what people say? 'Making the move'? Your day sounds like a Seinfeld episode."

"......"

QWERTYUIOP

I am glad Jessica sent me this. I am so tired I can't actually read, so I hope this isn't in Urdu or something:

"What I know about the SoundScan sheets: usually it's a tour manager doing it. You have to have it signed by three people total, including the club manager, a band member and whoever does the merch, or the manager. Every band I know that actually cared was dilgent as hell. If you do not care, you underestimate it, but the bands that actually do SoundScanning at shows are the ones who are only marginally impacted by it: i.e., Death Cab and Postal Service and Modest Mouse are playing to a few thousand people a night, and those kids all already have the records (from Hot Topic and national chains), and thusly, popular bands mostly just sell t-shirts, with some exception for MM because they have a big back catalog on less distro'd labels (though they now have stocked sections at Virgin and Tower and the like with all those bad EPs on K from like, 1997).

There was a big scandal 2 years ago with a couple smaller emo/indie bands falsifying their SoundScanning sheets, and so they were stricken entirely from SoundScan because they (SS) check the numbers against your album-pressing numbers and against Pollstar info about show attendance.

Also, curiously enough, pop punk emo bands have started doing two things: 1. Bring in a "weighted" mom & pop SoundScan store (indies where it counts 4 or 10 to 1 on every sale to "balance out" missed sales on not reporting stores) to set up a "store" at the show, and do all merch sales, plus do a big initial order to cover the release, something usually only done in the first 2 weeks of release in order to buoy SS and early ship numbers, which, in turn, is the best way to get into Best Buy and national chain stores. This was a practice popularized by Vagrant records. Last year, some moderately popular pop punk band included record purchase along with ticket price, so everyone who came to the shows on the entire tour that bought a ticket also bought an album in tandem, and so their SoundScan numbers were around 8,000 a week just based on concert attendance. People are really learning how to manipulate the racket right back.*

Most of these bands are on major label records, and have e-z distribution and high profiles; people are buying those records at Coconuts and Sam Goody, which are 1-1 ratio SoundScan reporters, meaning their data are likely to be accurate. Death Cab might be the only one off base because they are a for-real-yo indie, and this was their first break out album as far as sales. My question is this: who the fuck is buying all those Donnas records?"

* Ed.: This is how Prince got Musicology into the Top 10, and to gold. (Platinum?)

I HAD JUST GOTTEN USED TO THE PBR THING, TOO

Jack Alou writes in with some information that, embarassingly, is news to us:

"Those Billboard figures are wacky. Thought I'd let you know, as others probably have: labels, starting at about mid-indie range, tend to ask their bands to fill out Soundscan sheets at each show: you write down how many you sold, the clubowner or booker signs the sheet (as though he were monitoring that shit or something) and then you're supposed to fax it in the next morning. Reliability varies, as few people carry cash registers while many get drunk during shows, and who wants to fill out numbers sheets when they're drunk?"

Today is the day we get The Hat. (Relevant model not pictured on site.)

What is with people sneaking smokes in clubs? Dudes, plural, there is A LAW. STOP SMOKING. I am not trying to smell like you.

And don't join an online typing lesson site, because they send you these hella-guilt inducing updates: "Hello Sasha Frere-Jones, you are receiving this message because you created a user account with Learn2Type.com on February 28, 2005. Learn2Type has been awarded the prestigious 'StudyWeb® Academic Excellence Award' as one of the best educational resources on the Web; and has been featured in the Yahoo! Internet Life Magazine "101 Most Incredibly Useful Sites".

Although you have not visited us since February 28, 2005 your account is still active."

BLOGGERS ARE SO NOT CLEVER

You know who is clever? The Hollywood Poilce. Read why, below, in an excerpt from an actual press release sent by an actual publicist:

"SLASH’s trademark black top hat--one of rock’s most recognizable images--is finally back in his possession after it was missing for over four weeks. The acclaimed guitarist’s hat was taken from his limo the night of the 2005 Grammy Awards (Sunday, February 13) in Los Angeles. It was recently recovered by the Hollywood Police Department, who are still conducting an investigation.

SLASH has owned this black top hat for over 15 years and it’s traveled around the world with him. “It’s at the point where I only wear that particular hat to special engagements like photo shoots and the Grammys, etc.” SLASH notes. “I don’t take it on the road.” It was at the Grammys where VELVET REVOLVER won for “Best Hard Rock Performance” for their #1 single “Slither” and performed The Beatles song “Across The Universe” along with an all-star lineup of vocalists.

“All things considered,” SLASH said, “it was such a blown out of proportion, wacky scenario. I’m still getting reports from all over the world that someone’s got the hat. I’m just glad to have it back and we’ll see what the cops come up with as far as who stole it.” He continues: “It was a trip to go sit in the little room at the police station and they came in with a box and opened it up. I saw it and said, ‘Yeah, that’s it’.""

SOUNDS CAN

Here are some SoundScan figures I got from an unlinkable Billboard piece today. Unless I don't understand something (always likely), these figures do not represent sales of CDs through record clubs (Columbia House/BMG) and non-digi mom and pops.

The Arcade Fire, Funeral: 104,000
Interpol, Antics: 287,000
Death Cab For Cutie, Transatlanticism: 283,000
The Shins, Chutes Too Narrow: 293,000
The Donnas, Spend The Night: 450,000
Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Fever To Tell: 498,000
The Postal Service, Give Up: 527,000, "making it Sub Pop's second best seller behind Nirvana's "Bleach."

(Unrelated: Damon Albarn and Shelby Lynne seem to be staying at the same hotel, the one where they promise to give you a wake-up call and then don't.)

COME ON DOWN, LIKE BOB BARKER

Unless you've got a date with Virgin Megastore to buy your fifth copy of The Massacre, you should stop by tonight at the Bowery Poetry Club for Jordan Davis and his Million Poems Show. Our friend Franklin Bruno is reading, as is Susan Wheeler. The show starts promptly at 6:30, but if you get there early we can talk about the new DJ Drama tape, "the self," or these insane straws that turn from blue to purple when wet. I saw these with MY OWN EYES.

YOUNGER THAN THAT THEN

Where am I? What am I holding? I'm on the W—better than the V, because it never phonates like another letter ("What? I take the B? The G?")—and something falls out of my Voice. It's Savvy, a new fifteen page insert that looks like some seatback airplane asswiper, but I think it's on some Time Out New York-lite shit. It's in four colors? Our heart sinks, and then we see our man back in the game, tipping on OS X. And then, boom, Greg Tate sticks with hip-hop, and he's not letting go of Marx either. (That's when you pay attention to who owns stuff, and who gets paid off what. Like hip-hop!)

If you lost your guide to the gladiator matches, check Jeff Leeds and Lola Ogunnaike on Hot 97's Hall of Shame. Both reporters are reliably fire, and this piece is no exception—and it's a duet, like hip-hop!

And in a truly pathetic attempt to right years of discrimination against our beclawed brothers and sisters, the Times runs a lobster puff piece for the second day in a row. Lobsters—don't take the money. Stand up and fight. You need your own column.

HELP

I can't make iDisk sync. I've looked everywhere and tried everything. This is why I haven't posted to Sticker Shock. Please help me, o interweb.

LIVE FROM CITIBANK, ON E!

At the Citibank on the corner, five minutes ago: Two guys were working the "paid door-opener" routin, trying to step up their chat to cadge more change. A couple of customers entered.

DOORMAN 1: Have you seen Ray Charles?

CUSTOMER: Ray Charles is dead.

DOORMAN 1: No, but the movie is alive!

DOORMAN 2: We can't verify that. It's a movie.

L.I.N.K.E.D.

The track was fire before the video, but now the images for Common's "Corners" are establishing a new link with my favorite meme, "99 Problems." Just hold steady and let the characters speak.

OBSESSIVE

OK, the Mixtape Awards report is actually done. Enough already.

PAUSE IN THE "HILARITY"

From the unfadeable Jeanne Fury, who talks to bands about pee and brooks no nonsense:

"I just came across this site and wanted to pass it along to all of you. I suggest taking the survey to help inform this organization. Please pass it on to anyone living in nyc.

'Although the gentrification of Williamsburg and Greenpoint has received generous press coverage, the spike in violent attacks against women in these neighborhoods has not. Enter NYC-rapemap.org. This volunteer-run organization serves as a forum for women who have been assaulted and also provides an online map charting points of assault, sketchy areas, broken street lights, and safe havens.'"

BACK IN THE RSSR (WHAT'S REALLY GOOD?)

The release of Cam'ron's highly anticipated Blue Lobster is allegedly being held up by Greenpeace; sending bits of metal to bulk mailers is totally street team; Gertrude Stein has never lost her shine, and we love imagining a 13-year-old reading Margo's excellent semi-primer, then rushing out to buy Three Lives (I never made it through Americans, either). Also happy when New York acts like New York and Michiko pulls the four pound out of her Prada bag.

SCRITTI

Sean Fennessy, of Hardly Art and Complex, writes:

"As for what Nick put you up on, a lot of bombers I've talked to/interviewed have told me they fucking hate it when newbies co-opt a classic tag to make a name for themselves. To say it's "custom" for writers to do it is half-accurate. They gets no respect for it from the old guard."

I have no data of my own to add to this debate. The last time I really wrote—Kraze 12, and if you find my one public tag, you're some kind of criminal/masochist genius—I sort of knew one dude who was with Rolling Thunder Writers, maybe. That's about it. I was mostly a fan then, and definitely just a guy taking pictures now. I have no idea what the byways and laws are now.

IPOD, NOW WITH NEW THESAURUS FUNCTION

I can see why you might spend your life trying to relive the moment when you really heard Highway 61 Revisited for the first time, as I did on Saturday, while cleaning the house and craigslisting old baby gear. It was like hearing "Rocking It" by the Fearless Four or "Buffalo Gals," or some other shit that made me feel like I had been turned into a vacuum sucking the world in through my nose. (Sunday, I heard someone with "Rocking It/Man Machine" as their polyphonic. Easily the best ringtone of the last few months. Where did they get that?)

iPod? Still scared of its curatorial bent. Cornelius' Point? So slept on. So wrong, this sleeping. The Charlie Watts on "Bitch"? Makes me want to have five kinds of sex all at once and then listen to "Bitch," again, at the same time, before I had even thought of doing it. And then came, true segue (no pomo), "Bitch Niggaz" by Trillville. Fun programming quirk, but not a great transition and it's a b-list track by New South standards.

Converge? Still heart 4ever.

IF 4 WERE 5

"I'm so confused! I don't know when my not real party is. Everything is confusing!"

PAY DIRT

Out with "Ring My Bell," a column on ringtones, and in with "True Grime," which is about the concept of eminent domain and the collapse of international law. (Just checking if you were awake.)

The photo in the print version got shrunk, so here is a little JPEG with IDs.

REAR: Jammer, Durrty Goodz, Target, Flo Dan, Ears, Taliban Trim, Riko. FRONT: No Lay and Lady Sovereign. (Photo © 2005 Anton Corbijn.)

There's also a new Pop Note on Beck's Guero.

3RD ANNUAL BREAKBOTS BOOTLEG DVD

"Dude, do The Human, do The Human! Rock that shit"

"Can't handle it, brah. I'm totes buzzed on Mountain Dew."

CITIBANK WILL KEEP A MOTHERFUCKER ON HOLD, FOR REAL

Unqualified high: Introducing DJ O.G. Ron C. to "Making Plans For Vinyl." More qualified high, which needs elaboration: Watching Ears/Airs, D Double E and Jammer introduce their reloads and rewinds. Sidebar on Rothkopf's unsually large bouncing crew, and I don't mean bankheads.

FEETNOTE

Nick schools us: "Re: tag reissuing - stayhigh is still out and writing every now and then, but it is custom for new writers to tag the names of old ones (usually when deceased) to ensure their tags still 'run'." This wasn't the case when we were tagging in the 1840s, but we are told that time keeps on slipping into the future. I would like to see some Sake tags reissued. That W ride to Times Square is hella dull without the calligraphy.

P.S: Natasha Bedingfield really isn't a full-on Nelly Furtado, but The Soundtrack of Our Lives really did take the Oasis pill. It wasn't some low-blood sugar perception.

WHEN DID THEY START REISSUING TAGS?

Anyone know anything about the biting/tributing author of the above throwback tag? Is this some Red Bull campaign?

BONUS OLDIE: I am sure this is wicked last week, but it remains relevant.

TIMES MACHINE (AN EXCUSE TO POST A BUNCH OF RSS FEEDS BEFORE THEY DISAPPEAR INTO THE PAID ARCHIVE)

It only costs a dollar, but The New York Times can make you feel like motherfucking Michael J. Fox. Pow! It's 1936. Pow! It's 1958. Pow! It's 1994. (Better tell Dido about this whole folk-hop thing.) Pow! It's 198forever and Axl won't come back.

When you're done, you can come right back to now, because all that time travel will eff with your mental.

(PS: Because some readers apparently need to have their hands held any time something other than raw endorsement or snark is on offer, here is a helpful clairification to keep on hand for future reuse: I am not snapping on all of these people, nor am I usually when I reference people. I don't always know what I think, and I don't think it always matters if that shoe ever drops. The Guns & Roses piece is lotsa fun; Lubow's Beck piece seems fine, except for the remarkable idea that folk-hop = Beck; Hajdu's piece is outside my ken so I can't really judge it; Clyde Hooberman has been dafter than a bag of nails for years; and K is Killer K. The cumulative effect got to me--it seemed like of people running all over the timeline at the same moment, and that was, like, funny, or notable. And like I said, if you don't get those Blogspace feeds, the pieces become costly in the arkive. And we say no to that!)

GRUNK

Here is a piece on grime.

DROPS

Last night was the next level of long-range vision enhancement gear. After the jump, DJ Vlad's kicks and Cuban Link's Jacob products (sorry for the crap photo on that one). We are more in love with hip-hop than ever, including the night Islam played The Birthday Tape.

[P.S.: Because blogs like this one right here are often totes (!) annoyingly locked inside their own slang and worldview, I have included a small definition of mixtapes at the beginning of the report. We can all get along and there is no shame in this game.]

What the eff are the Mixtape Awards, and why didn't the CD I made for my girlfriend get nominated?

This is hip-hop, cousin. I cannot help you with the Belle & Sebastian vs. Decemberists tape you made. In fact, no one can. (But I will get a dub of that new live A Frames boot, if you're not too busy.)

Mixtapes—a term that represents the product’s physical origin as a cassette tape, though mixtapes are now pressed and sold as CDs—circulate in a national circuit of DJs, m.c.s, online outlets and street vendors. The material on mixtapes tends to be either new songs donated to DJs by artists months before their official release, or the work of lesser-known m.c.s. rhyming over the well-known beats from other songs. This music is all glued together by “drops,” the moments when the mixtape DJ yells his name and acknowledges his friends. None of this robust activity acknowledges the traditional legal obstacles of licensing or legal clearance: Mixtapes simply appear, over and over, making the major label hip-hop CD feel somewhat anticlimactic, like a brief Monday morning summary of cheerfully miasmic weekend (or awards ceremony).

Onwards:

By the relaxed standards of hip-hop events, the show went smoothly. Mishaps were few and impermanent, none of them life-threatening. Nominees carrying actual tickets for the event were sequestered behind a barricade in the cold for an hour, while an amoebic crush of "guests" claiming to be "on the list" tried to squeeze into the club. Scram Jones was on line behind me. DJ Kay Slay arrived wearing a leather cap and matching jacket both emblazoned with variously colored Louis Vuitton logos. As he walked into the club, unimpeded, someone cried out, “Kay Slay don’t need no ticket!” which was apparently true.

A curious theatergoer headed for “The Lion King” asked what everyone was waiting for.

“The mixtape awards, son!” someone replied, though he was addressing a woman.

“What’s a mixtape?” she asked.

“It’s the truth, mommy, street truth,” his friend added, helpfully.

“Sounds great,” she said cheerfully, stepping over a blanket of flyers and posters for 50 Cent and Brooke Valentine.

Justin Faison, 36, the man who started The Mixtape Awards in 1995, stood at the bottom of the stairs inside the club, greeting people, some salty, some calm. Justo did not look worried.

“Here’s the two reasons why you can’t make mixtapes corporate,” Justo explained, as people filed into the main room of the club, plainly flouting Bloomberg's no smoking rule. “You can make mixtapes till you’re blue in the face, but selling them is illegal. The other thing is that hip hop is meant to be like it is on mixtapes. How can I hear Jay-Z and Nas together on a song? Only on a mixtape, because if you got an instrumental and an acapella, you can make anybody be on anybody’s record. You get to hear some of the things you would never get to hear in real life, the things that should be possible.”

Ron G, a DJ who began releasing tapes in the 1980s, is widely credited with creating the “blend,” a combination of the acapella vocal track from an R&B record with the instrumental beat of a hip-hop song, or vice versa. Years later, Sean “Puffy/P. Diddy/Sean John/Cardinal Richlieu” Combs used the “blend” method for releases on his Bad Boy label and secured his commercial reputation.

“Puff took what Ron was doing and made records out of it.” said DJ Green Lantern, winner of the evening’s 2005 Mixtape DJ of the Year award. “That’s a known fact. It’s all good.”

After I found the VIP section, I sat down. It was too dark to read and I couldn't figure out who was a DJ and who wasn't. Along the nearest wall was a series of basketball jerseys, hung MSG-style, created to honor various DJ legends: Kay Slay (99), Doo Wop (10), Screw (13), Starchild (20), S&S (31), DJ Juice (7). After taking a totally useless picture (it didn't feel like a good moment to use the flash), I asked the enormous man sitting beside me if he was a DJ.

"No. I don't mind DJs," he said.

A woman with a huge pink afro wig sat at his table. Someone got on stage and said "Respect to my motherfucking nigga who was doing it when everyone else was watching Music Video Box—DJ scratch of EPMD and every motherfucking group."

I saw Buckshot and told him that I wore out my underwater bootleg cassette of Enta Da Stage while employed as a "desktop publisher" in the 1990s. We shook hands many times. I made the BB King fried catfish move, which was a regrettable look for me. Then I walked around and tried not to step on anyone's shoes. (I think I knocked over someone's drink, but I kept on stepping.) I found some actual DJs, including Teddy Ted of the Awesome Two, who handed me a business card, which makes clear that Ted is an on-air personality with Sirius. I did not know this.

“Yo, if your shit is banging, it’s gonna make it on my CD,” said a very drunk man name J-Love, a DJ who has made several mixtapes featuring the work of various members of the Wu-Tang Clan, and has been a winner at the Mixtape Awards several times over the past five years. “If it’s not banging, I’m not fucking with it. I don’t play politics.” J-Love is also a Sirius on-air personality, says his website.

“It’s just the realest form of promotion” said Green Lantern, “because it deals with the streets and the people directly, with no marketing team involved, no label clearances and no lawyers. It’s a great look.”

The presentation began about an hour and a half late. DJ Jassy Jase played popular hip-hop songs of the moment like Amerie’s “1 Thing.” Frank Jigga, a local host of club nights, and Mad Linx, the host of the BET cable show Rap City, served as our hosts.

Mad Linx announced: “Seats are at a premium right now, so if you don’t wanna stand up all night, you might want to plop your ass in a chair. Big up to all my people at the bar, what’s good? Lovebug Starski in the house!”

We did a brief "I say B.I., you say G!" call and response for Biggie—March 9th and all—and Linx kept a sort of CNN crawl going when he espied a person he recognized: "Craig G and S&S in the house! Cuban Link, what up my nigga!"

Awards were presented in twenty-six categories, including best Midwest Mixtape DJ, Rookie of the Year, and Best DVD Magazine. One award, for Mixtape of the Year, was presented by a seminal 80s mixtape DJ named Silva Sir-fa (introduced as "the LES' finest") and a female m.c. from Newark, New Jersey, named Rah Digga.

“Let’s present this joint right here,” Silva Sir-fa said. “But it may be a little confusing, because it’s confusing to me. This is the best mixtape of the year.” The two presenters struggled through a list of names, which seemed to be both the only nominees and the only winners. “Big Mike, Green Lantern, and Jadakiss for ‘The Champ Is Here’!” Rah Digga finally concluded.

Sway got up and said something about "the first black Jew, Pooky Goldstein." DJ OG Ron C won for Best Dirty South Mixtape and shouted out DJ Screw: "If it's slowed down, it's breaking records like it's supposed to be."

The awards themselves became increasingly surplus to the activity in the room. The main purpose of the evening appeared to be drinking Patron margaritas, shaking hands and exchanging business cards. Several awards were greeted with total silence, overwhelmed by the vigorous socializing in the room. Several brief performances by m.c.s received attenuated response; when the very same person left the stage, he was greeted by embraces and hand clasps. It was a very huggy evening.

The action eventually moved into an impromptu green room, off to the side of the main stage. I talked to Stat Quo about getting on Dexplicit's "Forward" rhythm.

"My man gets on the internet, and he gave it to me. Shit is crazy."

A man named Booz from a website I will not link to showed me a belt from "the Pum Pum Federation" of Brazil. He made a woman show me her breast, which didn't do my microcassette recorder, or me, any good. It was soon apparent dude was not nominated for anything and was only there to act like an assbrush and perpetrate.

I spoke for a while to Pitbull, who was sharp and focused. I didn't expect that, since M.I.A.M.I. felt kinda dull but I am thinking the next record might change his profile. (What am I, Billboard?) Pitbull said he got "Pow" directly from DJ Semtex. He dropped it with Lil Jon at a show in London and the audience, apparently, turned right into bangers and mash. Pitbull says he is going to make an official version of "Pow" for a US compilation, which will earn him this year's "Move Ya Body"/"Beware The Boys" Riddim Belt, a real thing with no physical presence (the inverse of Pum Pum belts).

Cuban Link seemed really decent and it's sad to see him beefing, apparently pointlessly, with Pitbull. This is a very non-vegetarian moment. My reaction to the Game/50 beef squash was totally uncynical, which I didn't expect. I kind of got a little tingle. Fat lot of good that does me. It's impossible to tell how these fights start, just like the "who has more cereal" fight I hear every morning. And now I am hearing the Fat Joe/50 tracks back to back on Misery FM, Hot "Selling Your Pain Back To You In Digitally Coded Lumps, Which Happen To Blaze" 97. It feels like an English football season.

This is when several empirically, verifiably big entertainers swept through, including Mr. The Game, who had publicly ended the feud with 50 earlier in the day (a performance as convincing as Randy Johnson saying "I heart New York.") Mr. Game entered with a tightly packed escort of bright lights and raised microcassette recorders. A reporter tried to ask about the deal Game had made with 50 Cent.

“I don’t make deals,” The Game responded. “The devil makes deals. I’m just trying to feed my son.”

Sean “82nd Largest Nation” Combs walked through, brandishing a champagne bottle, and surrounded by three industrious bodyguards who swept people and tables out of the way. He posed with his award for The Mixtape Top Executive and Lifetime Achievement for one of the eighteen people walking around with personal DV camera/floodlight combo packs. Looking haggard, DJ Green Lantern escaped up a small staircase nearby, and looked down on the crowd from a small balcony.

“I won four awards tonight—the Best Mixtape DJ of the year, the Best Mixtape Producer of the Year—for DJs who actually produce beats as well—the best Mixtape Duo award, for me and Big Mike, and one more, whcih I really forgot. I think maybe I won the first one twice. I’m gonna have to look at the plaques.”

"TEASING CAN BE BAD WORDS, BUT KNOWLEDGE IS NEVER BORING"

THE SOMNAMBULIST

"Oh, hello."

"If was an architect, and I had to draw a picture in it, what would I do?"

"Buddy, you're still asleep."

[Flushes.]

"OK Dad. Sleep well. No robbers."

RECENT APPEARANCES

I talked about ringtones with guest host Sarah Crichton on Friday's Brian Lehrer show. Liz Maynes-Aminzade let me cuss in this short profile for the Columbia Spectator. My wife maintains that profanity looks dumb on the page, and that I should give it a rest. This is probably true.

ATTENUATED CONTENT

Received a new book about Chris Marker by someone named Catherine Lupton, but haven't read it yet. Or any of it. "It" would be all of it. Conflicting reports about Nellie, so we'll just withdraw the idea and say that maybe Lincoln Center is uptown, and maybe the Bowery is downtown. I may be on Brian Lehrer's WNYC show tomorrow morning, but maybe not.

Nothing if not absolutely resolute.

RFI

Anybody know anything about Nellie McKay throwing a Chan Marshall-style crispy at Lincoln Center on Tuesday?

THE STRUGGLE

Scrappy and resourceful Moby gamely tries to get his music to the people. God speed, man.

EXPENSIVE WHITE STUFF

If you like your rhymes with yayo in them, and this is a preference you've made your peace with, then try Andre Nickatina. (This tip comes straight from Huambesi.)

COLLECTED CRITIC'S NOTEBOOKS

December 26, 2005: "Ne Plus Ultra," Ultramagnetic MCs.

December 5, 2005: "Unholy Racket," Pretty Girls Make Graves.

November 28, 2005: "Son Is Shining," Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley.

November 21, 2005: "In Time," The Meters.

October 31, 2005: "A Going Concern," The Go! Team.

October 10, 2005: "Around The World," Lhasa.

October 3, 2005: "Metric System," Metric.

September 5, 2005: "Life and Death," Napalm Death.

August 8 and 15, 2005: "The African Blues," Amadou & Mariam.

August 1, 2005: "Dirty Deeds," The Dirtbombs.

July 4, 2005: "Pouring It On," Syrup.

June 6, 2005: "Dude Raunch," Devin the Dude.

May 30, 2005: “Minute By Minute,” “We Jam Econo,” a documentary about the Minutemen.

May 16, 2005: "Hoofing It," Deerhoof.

April 25, 2005: "Having A Ball," The Great African Ball.

PLUG ONE

One reason I am in love with Lemon Jelly's "The Shouty Track" is this video, which was directed by Airside, not Shynola as previously reported. (Like, as previously reported to my brother, but whatever—we value accuracy.)

FRUIT, FLY

New Certified Bananas mix available for download here.

MARKETING, ENGLISH STYLE

Sometimes my people in England are too mellow. Here is an example of that too much too mellowness. This compilation is called The Trip, created by Snow Patrol. It is part of a series of The Trip compilations, which I know nothing about beyond this one. And insofar as singer and guitarist Gary Lightbody (a.k.a. Pete Townsend) selected the tracks here, Snow Patrol deserve nominal credit. But it is the mighty Roy Kerr, The Freelance Hellraiser, who mixed and sequenced the whole thing. And because he has binoculars strapped to his bananas, this 2 CD mix ("Bert" and "Ernie") can fuck successfully with rare groove, Rilo Kiley and Deerhoof. That's the type of tai chi Roy knows. But somebody at Family (Universal?) didn't want to put a big FREELANCE HELLRAISER MIX sticker on it, so this is sitting on a shelf in Leicester Square behind the Keane vs. Jamie Oliver DVDs. Give it some love.

WATCH OUT FOR THE LIVE VERSION OF "PALE BLUE EYES"—TOTALLY SUCKY RINGTONE

Out with "New Morning," a piece about Conor Oberst, and in with "Ring My Bell," a column about ringtones.

ROCKBOX

"Baboons, baboons, baboons, bamboo, bamboo, baboons, baBOONS." 

"Your hat fell off."

"BabOOONS."

"Do you like baboons?"

"No. But I do think I like the color of their tushies."

"What color is that?"

"I don't know, but someone said it was red."

IN RELATED NEWS, ALICE MUNRO EJECTED FROM DIPSET

Please stop shooting each other. You have more money than everyone in Arkansas combined with everyone in Mauritania. We're eventually going to have sit through the spectacle of your emotional VH1 peace conference/sneaker re-launch, so just sekkle down in the yard and have a fucking Chipwich. Shooting people is weak.

I sure do like Green Lantern's production. He's already got "Talk About It" and "Everyone's Spot" on the board. Beats are actually easy.

MF Doom and Cam'ron are almost the same rapper, aren't they, give or take some sexual violence, propulsion and desire to project, travel and land? And there is something in the air tonight like Phil Collins' royalty check: Doom's new Live From Planet X! album suggests that his punchlines and Cam's and Kano's and Taliban Trim's are all converging. The sound of words is the new crack.