Thursday, June 12, 2008

caspa & rusko fabriclive

In the crisp sense of self-awareness I'm feeling right now since I got my haircut and shaved and changed my pants I now realize how much blogging there is for me to do. I think I'm just gonna write every time I listen to something I love instead of saving the posts for the stuff that HOLY SHIT I FUCKING LOVE!!! (you see how well that's working for me)...I no longer look like a dissevelled, fuzzy, crazed lunatic with a perma-shadow (for the next day or two on that front) and my pants don't look like they're painted on with the navy blue lead pain that I saw them rolling onto the iron hand rails leading down to the depths of the Montrose station this morning, dripping off my ass cuz they're too big in the waist. The iced coffee I'm drinking and change in sentiment has really amplified the brooding yet oddly exhilirating rush from the dubstep that's quietly playing on the stereo in the fader office right now. I think I'm the only one really feeling it, but that might be because I had a progressive weirdo-house epiphany the other night at Cielo while Francois K spun deep tech-house with some Norweigian dude on Fender Rhodes and other crazy keyboards. It's kind of odd to know that this bizzarre music is like sweeping European dance music circles. Instead of pumping your fist in your striped shirt and shiny black shoes I imagine this being played to (and by) angry British kids in black hoodies and white Air Force 1s, which is so cool. I love that evil-but-social vibe that music can have sometimes. Like I've been listening to a lot of Three 6 Mafia lately and wondering how so many people in Memphis could have adopted that shit as their anthemic city-pride music in the late 90s and early 00s when it was so dark and evil and nihilistic and scary-sounding. I imagine dudes driving around on a sunny, 90-degree spring day (know these two well now) blasting Chapter 2: World Domination like dudes have been bumping the Weezy Yeezy "Lollipop" remix in BK this summer. Did that happen? I don't know, but if it did Memphis would have been like the set of a Rob Zombie movie for five years...

So bobbing your head face-down with your eyes closed to ethereal, spooky samples of old rasta chants and WHUMPing bass is what's hot in some dance scene now, which makes me feel good because I like doing that anyway and if I can do it in a snazzy club with ridiculous sound and a bunch of Stella then what the hell. This Caspa & Rusko mix is like Big Club, Pacha-style dance for people on codeine. Or what a big club in Barcelona would sound like in a Ridley Scott movie. The thought of Fabric filled with people raging to this seems like London is a different universe from New York. But so is a Memphis where the big hometown tunes are about scattering body parts or NYC when all the music was either gay divas or girl group obsessed greasers. There's nothing easy or inviting about this music. Why are British people so quick to adopt and tranfsorm the best, most populist American music and then create indigenous stuff that sounds like a stuttering robot army about to explode and destroy the city. Resident Advisor claims the first track "is still very much a party-rocking, feel-good track." It makes me feel good but I'm a borderline personality with a set of iPhone earbuds and a venti iced coffee who likes Ghostface and the Misfits. The fact that this is "party-rocking," though, is inexplicable and, frankly, pretty awesome. There's a party out there with a room full of a thousand goth/jock hybrids eating amphetamines and trying to get in fights or something...jamming to old reggae melodies and rhythms over swirling, nauseous synths and the most brutal, distrorted bass ever recorded. It's a vision that I will have to hold onto, that's for sure, until I hit up a dubstep rave, which won't happen and would only when the genre has long passed into the cultural wood chipper.

No comments: