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words by jace.

this is an archive page. click above for the now thing.

vinyl rescue service


Dunno where she gets it, but Lioness has upped the Roll Deep and Kano sets from their NYC East River park show.

         - - -

"Then there's Kanye, who to my knowledge has never hustled a day in his life. I didn't see how it could work." - Jay-Z

“I had to hustle in my own way. I can't tell you how frustrating it was that they didn't get that. No joke - I'd leave meetings crying all the time" - Kanye.

"It's like Walt Whitman. 'Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself.' " - Kanye's Mom

     Buppie pathos cover story.

  No comments |
Big up DJ Lioness, whose blog uses every available web-based filesharing app to give us large sessions of grimey London radio!

    An important source if you like this stuff. Grime's natural habitat is pirate radio, the ramshackle DIY democracy of an illegal FM transmitter in a crowded city, broadcasting sounds so new that they have no name. (like dubs fresh outta Wiley's lappie...)

  one comment |

Bigman Sanneh inks Amadou & Mariam. (a real nice piece, use 'master' as login & password if u need it).
     Here's the song that struck Manu Chao like sweet thunder and led to him (over-?) producing their latest album. this older acoustic tune tugs late summer, an edge of melancholy undergirds the Malian blues feel. Saw 'em playing this live on TV & it was magic.

         Amadou et Mariam - Je Pense À Toi

from the buyable Sou Ni Tile album.

  one comment |

i come down from my Cantabrian mountaintop to announce a big free mix from my canada point-man Ghislain Poirier.  lots of exclusive ghis beats & refixes on this one... ok, back to fresh air & wild pigs.

  No comments |

over at Shrimp. pretty big piece whose coolness is clipped by yousendits of WMA soundfiles. WMA, WTF? From what little i've gathered while there, the Japanese hiphop scene is more interesting sonically, and the Japanese reggae scene is more interesting socially.
        I'll write about Hiroshima soon, i think, the bomb and the yakuza roads to nowhere.

  fifteen comments |


Monday 29 August 2005 at 05:49 am


Americans fight the good fight and lose. But win anyway.


Karl Marx on peyote loses his hand inside his beard. He squints into twinned mirrors and sees Oompah-Loompahs stretching to infinity, infinitely productive, infinitely dancing, exponentially servile. Why outsource to third world countries when we can simply clone?

        Happiness is living inside your own factory.

Having broken up with Brad Pitt shortly after he sold the Fight Club franchise to a Haliburton subsidiary, Helena Bonham-Carter has remarried -- a peasant this time, with whom she shares a sagging hovel -- leaving Tyler Durden to vocalize his complex, confusing feelings when Angelina Jolie buys a baby for him in Ethiopia for very little money. That baby is the cheapest thing Pitt owns. (Which is precisely the opposite for poor Helena, mother of Charlie.)

Willy Wonka's lawyers (cloned, Amazonian) are not depicted in this film, which has excellent lighting, script, etc. This is because they spend all their time (precious, dwindling) locked in a legal battle with Jennifer Aniston, whose lawyers (confident, Californian) have launched a threating and convoluted personal-injury lawsuit wherein the claimant posits that her former husband was rendered sterile after prolonged daily use of Wonka Chocolate Bars.

Wonka has always maintained that it did its utmost to respond to the sterility concerns as soon as they arose. Wonka Bars are sold in more than 80 countries, including Canada, Europe, Brazil, Australia and Israel, where chaste settlers sometimes use the chocolate as a substitute for sex.

Mark Langsworth, the lawyer who won the Cadbury Schistosomiasis case (blood flukes in the namesake Egg), said he expected to see at least 50,000 personal injury claims against Wonka in the US and thousands more overseas. In a rare press release, Willy Wonka maintained: “I saw the naked celeb pics of Brad Pitt and Gwyneth Paltrow (who in fact is not English), and Pitt was pretty small by my standards. There's a high likelihood that the poor man was sterile from birth.”

Charlie, Mr Wonka's fetching young helpmeet, assured reporters: “I believe that Tim Burton's latest documentary will help us reveal to the public our true aims and trustworthiness.”


Wednesday 24 August 2005 at 8:16 pm

No tengo tiempo para escribir sobre este trozo de reggaeton, solamente-- ¡disfrútalo! Utiliza un sample del riddim de 'Murder She Wrote', un uber-clásico de Sly & Robbie.

        Don Omar and Wiso G - Química

From Reggaeton Traxx 14, not just another blazing reggaeton banger -- no, this one also ups the historico-sexual Coronita-fueled dancefloor ante by sifting through the crates and pulling out classic reggae samples: basslines from the 70s, synth stabs from the 80s, Sly & Robbie's early 90s hotsteppin' beat, and some rasta saying 'run tings rude boy!'
    The lyrics are dope, flipping some reggaeton tropes and offering timeless party advice: Shut the doors so the people can't leave!

        Javiah - Contacto

¿Quien es Javiah? Ni idea. His sex raps are very.... focused. Desire, in Javiah's case, overrides all metaphor and lyricism. Girl, you kill me or I kill you / but there's no disresepct here / take advantage of the moment - this ain't cheap reggae ... contact, with that ass. (kill or be killed: i guess there are metaphors.)
But it's about the horns & the harmonies, how the slinky sung words lick harmony & ride the rhythm.  from the same 12".


Tuesday 23 August 2005 at 06:32 am

SWAT teams bust a Utah drum&bass party! Wikinews article with links, or an eerie video where the drum&bass stops as the police state flexes -- assault rifles, tear gas, and a helicopter!  3-time DMC champ DJ Craze was gonna headline.

on a positive note: breakbeats & turntablism in Utah, a Mormon-majority theocratic state, probably represents some strange step forward.

leaping a bit -- this makes me think of Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly. specifically:

"Someday, he thought, it'll be mandatory that we all sell the McDonald's hamburger as well as buy it; we'll sell it back and forth to each other forever from our living rooms. That way we won't even have to go outside.”

HOW TO BOG - part 1

Sunday 21 August 2005 at 08:55 am

In the past few days we've stumbled across a few 'How to Blog' or 'How to Audioblog'  articles-- which tend to be misguided, and, worse, written from an old-school print journalism perspective. Yuck!     Bogs are a new medium or grave for us to sink into, and should be treated as such.

Here at Negropanikkk Dot Com Slash Words, we've invited a guest speaker to provide us all with a little guide:


        HOW TO BOG   -   part 1

  by Mudd Up! President, C.E.O., and Head Janitor J.J. Clayton

     BLOG BODIES: a historical introduction

Over the past centuries, remains of many hundreds of people -- men, women, and children -- have come to light during time-wasting activities around the world, especially in America and northwestern Europe. These are the "blog bodies." The individual blogs show a great degree of variation in their state of decomposition, from skeletons, to well-preserved complete blogs, to isolated headers and comments. Most date from the centuries around the beginning of our era. We do not know exactly how many blogs have been found -- many have disappeared since their discovery.

Many people find it hard to imagine that the dark brown blogs were once lightly colored human beings of flesh and blood who lived in timber houses or concrete high-rise buildings, who nursed their egos, grew obsessive, made love, shoplifted slang, achieved self-definition via consumer choices, prepared pre-cooked meals, paid taxes, rented Michael Moore©® DVDs, downloaded Paris Hilton porn, and manufactured tools.

Facial reconstructions and remains of their hair and MP3 collections give us an idea of how they looked during life.

No one knows how these people ended up blogging. It seems that these blogs are not the remains of unlucky people who fell into the Internet after losing their way. According to classical authors, the Terrorism Age people of America and northern Europe offered human sacrifices to celebrate military failures, and executed people as punishment for crimes or perceived social imperfections such as homosexuality. However, many of those found in the blogs died boring deaths, or simply became uncool and shriveled away in shame.


Thursday 18 August 2005 at 06:30 am

um...., yeah, so. today is my birthday...  the Man ain't got me down yet!  (Mike ESP informs me that it's Aphex Twin's birthday too)

as you can see, i'm quite content with my books and toys,  so--  more gifts for YOU:

        Camayenne Sofa - Andree

This here is a Very Beautiful African song, recorded in 75 on the Syliphone label by Guinean pop group Camayenne Sofa. Pure sunlight. I would go so far as to call it Extremely Beautiful.

If this doesn't make you happy then you're probably thinking about Iraq. or No More Chappelle Show. or skyrocketing real estate prices. or Alzheimer's Disease. or the collusion between the American prison system and private investment firms. or the fact that we are all one day closer to our unknowable unavoidable deaths. or.....

'Andree' comes from a CD comp of 70s West African treasure which i highly recommend called Discotheque 75 (Syllart). It's in print and well-distributed, as are a few of their solo albums.

        Obake jaa - Buta Matsuri (Ove-Naxx remixxx! “Dead Man's Q Working Destroy”)

Big rough gem! Ove-Naxx is a musicians' musician, plus he's crazy by most accounts.

Straight-up Osakan intensity -- absurdist idiolalia vocalizations, this weird J-pop sensibility, layers of Ove-fuzz and Ove-hash, and it all mounts to this mad vocoder moment which reminds us that Ove could be a superstar (or at least not have to work construction) if he ever wanted to make normal music, but he doesn't, he runs a zero-profit anarchy pub in Osaka and labors 12 hour days by the roadside -- brother's almost as black as I am. Here, a compartive melanin study of the side by side forearms of Mrs & Mrs Ove Naxx

The band he's remixing, Obake Jaa, is DJ Shabushaba and Oorutaichi. Ove explains: "Obake" is Ghost, Dead man and "jaa" mean like i am. Their album buyable here. I get the feeling that Tristan Tzara would have vibed with the underground music scene in Osaka.

 ** some dope free VST plug-ins **

  • a sweet collection of dub delays and sirens the whole site is pretty nice, its got that focus on real school dub production techniques that only well-organized europeans are capable of documenting.


Wednesday 17 August 2005 at 04:45 am

tensioned calm in the eye of the storm, whirling detritus at its violent edges.

        Lemchaheb - Lekbila

creaky 70s moroccan music gets snagged on time

        DJ /rupture - RADIO MIX 58:46 (5 min excerpt)

(sly & robbie - tabla riddim / knifehandchop - vertical: noize creator remix / mutamassik - show 2 show: dj rupture remix)

 ...from a live mix for radio i did exactly 3 years ago. turn it up, who cares what your neighbors / friends / co-workers think.


Monday 15 August 2005 at 04:57 am
Baroque chiaroscuros in the boxing gym. Ice baffles a child who grew up with no refrigerator, yet he still wants to be a champion at something specific, he still wants a title. Hilary Swank Caravaggio, hip to the crystallization of water, harbors similar dreams. A Berlin prostitute interrupts these dreams, illegitimately. A million dollars to punch someone's lights out. But how to keep it in?

    How does hope get lodged in our heads? Yes Danger, yes Forrest-- simplicity can keep it alive. But what about complexity?


Wednesday 10 August 2005 at 5:44 pm
  • slept, woke, slept, woke, miserable life: Kafka's diaries in blog format!   Don't sleep! (i doubt he could...)

  • another nice wordy new blog: Odalisque. Sense glancingly made, outward links shunned. the main page holds one oblique entry at a time. “this is why the vowels / traumatize in chorus”;

    seems like Anne Boyer rocks a banjo too, which reinforces my theory that all women who play the banjo are superheroes. (i recorded most of the Nass El Ghiwane Brussels concert direct from the mixing desk -- listening back I'm awed, as usual, by Allal's banjo playing, the bite and sing of it all. Being male however, his confirmed superhero status does not support my theory.)


  • last but by no means quietest, Get Stoopid. Audioblog aimed at the Bay Area rap scene, the most mp3-oriented of the fresh batch of Bay blogs. lots of fast synthy beats & rhymes, kinda like reved-up, raved-up crunk. The Kinsmoke track there now is energy.

    hyphy? grime? baltimore? crunk? i can't wait for the next genre to drop because the names themselves are so great. "I DJ mostly whiffle and snug, throw in some cake jams for the ladies..., and crunk / grime blends if the crowd's up for it..."



Tuesday 09 August 2005 at 07:20 am  
             *                     *                  *


        Silver Leaf Quartet - Dark Day [1960]

1. accappela gospel group

2. recorded in 1960 by tireless Alan Lomax

3. DoveSong´s library offers heaps of great worldwide folk MP3s for free -- they say it´s closed, but it isn´t, just be patient.

4. the very same notes are found in The Very Same God

        Silver Mount Zion - God Bless Our Dead Marines (excerpt)  [2005]

1. the question ain't rhetorical: who will avenge miss nina simone?

2. the song gets better than this (12 minutes long!)

3. canada, oh canada

4. dead kids dont get photographed

5. god bless our dead marines


7. GY!BE as a chamber quartert with 7 people crowded into it.

&. burning stars lit up their hair

Saturday 06 August 2005 at 7:05 pm REGGAETON MEGAWATTAGE

Ordinarily I say no nukes (unless they're being wielded by North Korea), but Wayne's reggaeton piece -- the best article on 'spanish reggae' i've come across -- is brilliantly powered by plutonium-drank and/or heavy-moleculed tetrahydrocannibols. an intensive course indeed.


*   *    *


If I were confined to a walled ghetto (or jail, or concentration camp, or guantanamo) and some foreign guy with money & freedom waltzes in, paints pretty pictures on my walls, then leaves (the right passport renders all walls invisible), I'd probably be pissed-off. 

To his credit, Banksy -- a Bristolean graffiti artist who hires a spokesperson -- does it with panache. 

Although Arofish did it first; only B got the shine. 'It' being, specifically, decorating the Palestinian side of Israel's Apartheidy, Berliny Wall. Did I say Wall? Oops, I meant to say Security Fence.

            Please excuse my slip-up: in a war against terrorism, clear language is the first thing to go.

 And remember: You can't have a cease-fire with armed terrorist groups, because you give them a veto over sugar.


Tuesday 02 August 2005 at 5:37 pm
Off to deep Spain, too deep for internet, atop of a Cantabrian mountain high enough for wolves and bizarre folklore but too high for cellphone coverage. Sit tight, don't worry, I ain't got blog depression. (check the whole blog depression booklet, very amusing, very true) [via various places]

Lazy on the sunbaked plains of Castilla b4 i leave. Cloudless and deceptively hot. Typing on an dial-up modem that averages 1.6kB/sec -- about 40 minutes to download an MP3 -- slower if I want to browse websites at the same time. It's great! (instant cure to blog depression) ...  I don't care how awesome that new song or article is, it just takes too long to grab... what a relief!

        So, books. Woodpulp and black ink magic. Huggable, dog-earable, burnable books.

     here's the ones whose pages i've been turnin'----

        EMPIRE - Niall Ferguson

Airport bookstore desperation purchase. It's probably informative and insightful, but every time I read it I fall asleep.

        DHALGREN - Samuel R. Delany

...halfway through this behemoth I can say I've never read anything like Dhalgren. That's a big compliment. Very little has happened. It's extremely well-written. Delany and Cam'ron are the weirdest, funkiest living writers Harlem has given us.

This quote fragment reflects Dhalgren's whole: The miracle of order has run out and I am left in an unmiraculous city where anything may happen.

Like it or not, one of America's best novelists is a queer Negro who doesn't write black books. A sci-fi author who doesn't stick to sci-fi. (And he sells more than the hip young writers who feel they must take a stand, for or against, Eggers et al.) Identity categories in the literary world are unconcernedly conservative, borderline racist, due in large part to f%@'ed up identity politics pushed in allegedly enlightened post-WWII academic thought-- but that's another story.

The past 3 Delany novels I've read have had these items in common: 1. each one features some kind of poet on some kind of adventure where writers or poets are unlikely. 2. each one has a character who walks around with at least one shoe off.

        The miracle of order has run out... Beautiful.

        HIGH RISE J.G. Ballard.

I had no idea Ballard would be this good. It's like Lord of the Flies staged in a high-rise high-income apartment complex on the edge of London. Plus, the novel is insane in that very controlled very British way, where the prose remains lucid as it depicts utter horrendousness breaking out.

Mighty Jane Jacobs, she who loves hodgepodge polyglot cities enough to actually do something about it rather than just gentrify and blog-- Ballard must have gotten down with Jacob's The Death and Life of Great American Cities before writing High Rise, because the flip side to his eloquent savagery & satire is the idea that a city's unsanitized multilayered madness is precisely what keeps us from going barbaric, rather than the other way around. Straightening out that thought-chain: skyscraper culture, mall culture, may very well lead to psychosis.

        MONA LISA OVERDRIVE - William Gibson

Gibson's Neuromancer/Sprawl trilogy not only birthed the term 'cyberspace' and felt just right in a contemporary way to a lot of people, it pushed Gibson's future lookback vision that the 'Net didn't achieve any real maturity until Papa Legba and the voodoo gods rode in on the scene, rewiring the crossroads alongside misty-eyed AI machines who made melancholy art. When these beings took root, their unearthly power and inexplicable presence supplanted the human order of network protocols and zeros and ones with something more spooked.
    A pretty heavy & outright cool idea by my book.

I could list Gibson's dozen or so structures, the repeating themes and 'idiosyncratic' character-types which he recycles & rearranges in his early novels, but that would feel too much like work and I'd expect to get paid or something. It does grow annoying though, as do his dull linear chapter-sized narrative jumpcuts. At least six books he wrote in a row are arranged and crescendo in the exact same way, each chapter flipping between characters action until they all coincide in the same room or moment and the strands resolve into sense.

        TIPPING POINT - Malcolm Gladwell

Another airport purchase, beggars can't be choosy. I'd love to get New Yorker staff writer Malcolm Gladwell and New York Times staff writer Thomas Friedman in the same room. (This would prove that they are two different people.) They'd flash each other artificially whitened smiles, and pump each others' hands excitedly, each straining to out-pump the other. Friedman would start with one hip recollection about somebody he met in his travels, and Gladwell would retort with another anecdote. Soon enough they'd be shouting, haggling over some pseudoscientific point using tales of their charming friends as proof. It's how they write; I assume it must be how they party.

    - “On a crispy autumn day in 1775, Paul Revere's lesser known cousin had his skull crushed by a world-weary grizzly bear named Bobo who sympathized with the British.” Gladwell strikes his champagne glass with the little silver spoon, spilling booze on the gongonzola cheese wedges. Everyone at the dinner party -- not just Friedman -- looks his way. “The story of how Bobo did this, dear Thomas, is a marvelous illustration of the second of my rules of the Tipping Point, the Stickiness Factor. Bobo had discovered that by making small but critical adjustments in how he--

    - “Bangsomemore,” interrupts Friedman, licking florid lips while his mustache crinkles like a caterpillar, “is how the Western workers at Bangalore's DataSys Global Call Center refer to their home town, but I wasn't able to make this connection until I got there. Susan Barley -- a cute Ohioan who worked tirelessly on the Kerry campaign and fled to India for psychosexual reawakening after his defeat -- explained this to me as I paid her at local wage-rates for the American-style massage she performed while awaiting a fax from the Ambassador to Disneyland in my 4-star hotel room with pleasant air-conditioning and a well-stocked mini-bar. Barley was damn good. The new face of the flat world is the money shot, I mean, two-way information transfers where the Westerners bring their accent-free phone answering skills to the tables and receive pleasure training from the natives, several of whom welcome polygamous--”

    - “A CONNECTOR!” bellows Gladwell, sending a shudder through the gathered crowd. Most of the guests have moved to the edges of the room. Nobody touches the cheese widgets. The Cambodian waitstaff is clearly confused. Although the French-Vietnamese catering company pays 'em to smile as they serve, most of them now sport blank expressions. But nobody notices because everyone's looking at the two authors.
    Aware that he is back in the center of attention, Gladwell nods slowly and continues. “Sprinkled among every walk of life are a handful of people like our rather acquiescent companion Miss Barley, individuals bearing a truly extraordinary knack of,” clearing his throat with a satisfied leer, “making friends and acquaintances.”

And so on. They get sizable advances for writing these types of books, the corporate lecture circuit pays well, cocaine's a hell of a drug.

    * * *

I guess he's smart or topical or whatever, but The Tipping Point is cluttered with faulty logic and tautologies using terms Gladwell himself has invented. For example: “Sesame Street succeeded because it learned how to make television sticky... And the specific quality that a message needs to be successful is the quality of 'stickiness'.”


        Thank you, sir.


certain books are so good that the closer I get to finishing them the slower I go, savoring every turn of phrase. The last few hours before leaving someone you love, times when you hate the clock-hands for moving at all. Events whose end you approach on an asymptotic curve. This = a special category of books.

I think I'm not crazy because Martin Hold on 2 Young Ideas has described the same thing, about the same book no less [A Heart So White], and expresses this idea in a more coherent way than me: “I actually am reading that novel slowly because I dont want it to end. Do you ever feel a tiny melancholy when you finish a novel? You have to rest it back on the shelf and theres no real external proof of the experience you just had. Its like you lost a good friend or something.”

     my summer asymptotic reads are:

        A HEART SO WHITE - Javier Marías

(the article from El Pais on his blog right now is real funny, not to mention prickly)

    THE COLLECTED TALES OF NIKOLAI GOGOL - Nikolai Vasilevich Gogol, trans. Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky.


Tuesday 02 August 2005 at 05:46 am My favorite Prefuse 73 review ever, right here. An undoctored clip from the current issue of ELLE (spain). Editorial snafu or bristling racial commentary?

    English translation: “Like a blast from the past-- he learned to sing authentic black music in church choirs--this north american has conquered all the music critics with his debut album. His powerful soul is to blame.”