Music

Thank god there are no statues to the Rolling Stones.

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields
Sold in the market down in New Orleans
Scarred old slaver knows he's doin' alright
Hear him whip the women just around midnight

Brown Sugar how come you taste so good
Brown Sugar just like a young girl should

Ahem. When I first heard the first verse, first two words, I had no idea what the hell a “gold coast” was. So, having nothing else to do in study hall, I got a pass and went to the library and looked it up. Huh, Ghana. Interesting.

Ghana has had the unfortunate (or perhaps fortuitous--Indians have been known to toast “two cheers for colonialism”) of having been colonized by the British, Germans, Danish, Dutch, Portuguese and Swedes. A veritable colonialist gang bang which inspired a colonialist rock'n'roll song of sexual exploitation a couple centuries later.

Drums beating cold English blood runs hot
Lady of the house wonder when it's going to stop
House boy knows that he's doin' alright
You shoulda heard him just around midnight

The memory of Kenneth Blackwell’s presence looms as voter suppression along with Russian hacking clouds the last election. Kenneth Starr, as some people could not just get over their baggage from the 90’s Clinton term. This writing would not exist without Kenny Powers.

In many ways, the electoral college victory was the resurgence of the washed-up megalomaniac has been to frame the hipster-era to the failures of the hippies. And somewhat seems to be the thought process of the bulk of the president’s attempts at policy.

True, gentrification probably helped create some of the hipsters that the average Kenny Powers resent. And of course racism. Kenny Powers was not physically displaced by gentrification. Kenny Powers is a device. This makes the current racial climate even more sinister. Land acquisition is never without conflict. However, you can gather why I have no reservations saying the confederacy should have krautrocked during the reconstruction. 

Editor's note: In March of 2017, researchers from the British Museum excavating an archeological site in Greece made one of the great discoveries of the twenty-first century. Sealed in a clay jar was a copy of the lost third epistle from the Apostle Paul to the Corinthians. The letter addresses Paul's growing concern about the Church of Corinth's use of Christian Rock praise bands in worship services. What follows is a verbatim translation from the original Greek.

Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and our brother Sosthenes.

To the church of God in Corinth, to those sanctified in Christ Jesus and called to be his holy people, together with all those everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ—their Lord and ours: Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I watched Saving Banksy in my boxers at 4am. This Netflix feature is one of my favorites of this summer next to Rick & Moraty, Dumb and Casual on Hulu. I had just polished off some Ramen with peanut butter, siracha, just a hint of the garlic and random vegetables sauce. I call it “Pad Thai that doesn’t cost 10 dollars.”

After spilling some broth on my shirt, I watched Revok, Risk, Banksy’s bombing partner Ben Eine and various people discuss a Banksy painting that was procured from a rooftop, and raised issues of the commodification of art.

Once the film ended, I noticed Eva Boros was credited with executive producing and screenwriting, I kind of knew this from the Columbus musicians that sound tracked some of the film, and social network feeds that didn’t quite register in my brain prior.

I said, “Hey this women is from Columbus.” I hit her in the DM, and later we exchanged this email. The Free Press had a production deadline looming. If you’re from Columbus, and/or friends with Miss Boro, I apologizes for the brevity.

Where were you a Columbus “local” in Middle School?

Upper Arlington. I went to Jones middle school.

I have been a Jonathan Coulton fan for a few years. I can’t even remember where I heard of him first – his body of work entertains songs about science to pure satire of anything ranging from pop culture to politics.  One thing is for certain, I’m sure that I found him on the internet. Jonathan Coulton began his career by building a fanbase primarily on the internet. A place where once society believed would be a water hole for us to gather and exchange ideas, to be connecting and finally united. Our current political state has proven how difficult that dream has been to accomplish, now more than it has ever been. The main underlying theme for Solid State, Jonathan Coulton’s ninth studio album, is that of coping in a dystopian but rather in the present future. Many of the songs sound as though they would be a setting in a distant world of a Post-Modernist’s nightmare, but hits very close to home with how things actually are. In interviews, Jonathan expresses how this is the idea behind his concept album, but doesn’t really delve into the political aspect of it.

"Without music, life would be a mistake."--Friedrich Nietzsche

Would the occasionally fantastically misunderstood German philosopher have understood the massive appeal of super-energetic sing-along songs of teen-angst? Or a free festival's fear of the riot potential of a band playing N.W.A.'s "Fuck the Police" on a Saturday night?

Yes, because he understood power.

Consider what went down the last full week in June here in our little nest-egg of an American dream town.

21 Pilots, two twenty-something Columbus musicians who were America's biggest breakout act in 2016, sold out two arenas and an outdoor amphitheater, plus the Newport and a small basement club the last full week of June. That's about 45,000 people, from near and far coming to see a two-man band--a drummer and a front man who played ukelele or bass part of the time.

"That's power, Oskar," as Amon Goeth, SS commandant, said in 'Schindler's List.' "That's power."

Perhaps we can say music has the power of life and maybe the power of death and destruction. Again, consider the latter at of all places, ComFest on its Saturday night.

Prodigy of Mobb Deep died June 20th from sickle cell. The QBoro rapper’s value to Hip Hop can be illustrated by oversimplifying statements like: Prodigy is more influential than Rakim because he helped Rakim become 90’s New York Hip Hop form. 

Nas, OC, Wu and others also helped Prodigy make Rakim resonate in the 90’s New York akin to 2pac popularizing Scarface’s rapping style everywhere.

Prodigy, Like Rakim, utilized his speaking voice in a cool, calm manner with controlled patterns creating the embodiment of the New York contrast between Hip Hop’s clean and dapper presentation and the grittiness of a gothic industrialization. Rakim’s 1992 song “Causalities of War” depicted a Desert Storm veteran who loses his mind because of PTSD that humanized the channel change from BET and CNN when people got bored of watching play by play of scud missiles.

The PTSD in Queensbridge from neighborhood violence during Mobb Deep’s rise had everyone speaking in the “dun” language while the East Coast adopted gulf-war names like CNN, Desert Storm and labeled neighborhoods Kuwait.

On their new release, “Also Playing,” the Devil Doves’ sound has departed significantly from their 2015 eponymous debut album. The ultra-percussive attack that characterized the previous effort has been filled out and somewhat sweetened by the addition of keyboardist Jeff Straw and the occasional lead guitar riff. While there is still plenty of crunch, Straw’s whimsical organ and saloon piano offer a welcome bit of melody to fill out the space between Junior Kauffman’s vocals.

Lyrically, Kauffman continues to display his ability to blend the harmless and the deadly serious with his trademark wry humor. This time around, though, he’s more willing to explore relationships. He addresses both regret and the paralyzing ambivalence we have all fallen into at one point or the other. On the other side of the coin, he celebrates resiliency and the possibility of renewing a sense of adventure.

I found a magic little coffee shop and I'm going to keep it as much a secret as I can. I do not want to share it with you cultural appropriators.

No two coffee shops are the same, say the platitudinous. Not so, not so, crazy bald-head. They, anymore, unanimously seem the same, more or less. Back in my country, the character flavor of the shop itself lives or dies as much as the bean roast. What does it take to become a coffee shop of distinction, to join the Royal Order of His Highness's Favorite Caffeine Hook-Ups?

Though I'm early in my new relationship, the unceasing pleasure I will build up a little more. My new infatuation-turned-I-think-this-is-the-real-thing java joint is as special as the time I was cruising the back roads of England, north of London, and I found a little lane canopied with lovely spring-budding trees, sculpted farmland on either bucolic side, rustic as the quaintest shire in Middle Earth. Something about it more quaint than the hundreds of quaint lanes of the green, green isles of our original home. That's how special my magic little coffee shop is.

I first saw Betsy Ross at the Blind Engineer's CD release party at Ace of Cups in July of last year. I only managed to catch a couple of songs, but I remember being impressed by the band and especially the playing of their bass guitarist. So when I heard that they were opening up for the Oklahoma City act Skating Polly at the Rumba Cafe last Monday I headed on over. I'm fond of Rumba anyway – it's walking distance from my house and I can drink all the whiskey I want. And their shows tend to start on time.

The show started with the Time Cat, a power trio from Akron that plays that vague mixture of punk/pop/rock that has dominated the indie scene for the last several decades. They did a lot of stop/starts and were well rehearsed, and beyond that they were about what you would expect.