Music

When I sing in the shower, or the car or am the weird dude rapping to himself, you might  catch me randomly yelling Kevin Gates lyrics like  “I’m f*cking with the plug daughter.” It’s probably because I lack the verbal dexterity to say, “Six years ago I purchased a car. Most likely something you can’t afford.”
  To be honest I lack the ability to go word for word with Gates, Wu-Tang Clan, Nas or most rap.
  I listen to rap. I tried to email the Louisiana rapper’s publicist prior to his concert Saturday. I wanted Gates’ opinion on the shootings in Lafayette, gun control, what his six jobs are, and insight on some of his more humorous interview subjects.
  But Gates either viewed the gun control/Lafayette question as problematic or just didn’t really need to talk to me because he is famous and transitioning from being someone who tours the club circuit to being a full-fledged rap star.
  He sold the Newport out.
  The line was crazy. It was mixture of how a club rap line looks--i.e. people dressed tough and fabulous, mixed with college and just regular people of all sorts.

I do like the fact that while we aren’t a media market but we are given the opportunity to see people before they blow up because of Schoolboy Productions, who now goes by Old Boy Pro.
  Tink came to Park Street Columbus, June 20th.

  There was a solid line-up of Dominique LaRue, Nes Wordz, Hodgie IIIV and more

  People who attended the show where mostly ladies. There was a contingent of people that normally go to rock concerts or underground rap events.

  The rock people seemed to have a slight problem with the formatting because they wanted to see Tink and leave.

  Tink is a rapper/r-and-b singer from Chicago who mixes 90’s R-and-B with rap styles that sit somewhere between Nikki Minaj’s cadence and Azalea Banks retro-chic.

  Tink’s version of “One In A Million” by Aaliyah is not to be confused with the racist and xenophobe David Allen Coe-esqe Guns N Roses song of the same title has just hit radio.

  Tink’s version is produced by Timbaland who obviously produced Aaliyah’s original version.

Although it does make me question the purpose of a music critic, I am at that point in my life where I am prepared to admit nobody listens to music the same way. There appears to be a general consensus that some music is actually unlistenable (Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music, Krzysztof Penderecki’s Threnody For The Victims Of Hiroshima, anything written by Mike Love), but these are extreme cases – beyond this it's all over the map.

  Some people like a certain beat and a good singer – they would be perfectly fine with hearing Erykah Badu recite a grocery list over a good groove (which I think she might actually do). Some prize virtuosity over all things -- I have friends who will watch Youtube clips of Nuno Bettencourt playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” on guitar, or Greg Lake butchering Aaron Copland’s “Hoedown” on keys. God save us. We have poison pills too -- some of us would write off the best band in the world because one of the guitars was slightly out of tune.

How does one re-acclimate to America after spending time in a lovely war zone like the Helmand Province in Afghanistan? Exactly what is the first step to fitting back in the American comfort zone we all so secretly love?   
  After spending a few weeks a few years ago embedded with Marines in the Taliban's Heart of Dixie, I came home late one hot muggy August night. It was weird. Columbus was dead quiet. My house was fine and apparently hadn't even noticed I was gone. I dumped my gear in the dining room, walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch, feeling inside like a fat old dazed bullfrog staring at his stagnant algae-covered pond, unable to comprehend emotional reality.
  It was like I had gone back in time to the year 1000 and now I was back in the 21st century. Talk about Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'd been a stranger in a strange land and now I felt a stranger in my own country and what's worse, on a couch that didn't seem to have missed me at all.

"First Person Singular" is an occasional column by JP Marat that empowers artists, musicians and community activists to speak in their own voice. Sincere thanks to the Columbus Free Press for the opportunity to let our voices be heard . . . 

JP Marat Writes . . . 

What is House Music ?

House Music is a form of Electronic Dance Music (EDM) that emerged in the early 1980’s following the decline of disco. It is characterized by steady 4/4 kick drums, ubiquitous bass lines and syncopated cymbals. Each track in a DJ’s set is ‘beat matched’ to the previous song to create an uninterrupted symphony of sound that runs from the drop of the first platter to bartenders last call.

Record samples, chosen by the DJ, enhance this audible feast. These samples may add a splash of flavor or instead be the foundation of an entirely new arrangement. Artists as varied as Skrillex, Kanye West, Rihanna, Daft Punk and Fat Boy Slim have built some of their most loved songs around song sampling.

Why do they call it House Music ?

Hodgie Street is a rapper from Lima, who has spent plenty of his rap years inside I-270 after moving here in 2001.
  The Ohio rapper’s bio states he was discovered by Ginuwine in 2005.

  For me personally, Hodgie was always been that dude who had songs with people like Gucci Mane on his projects.

  His new album American Dreamin'  doesn’t have many features nor does it need them. You have Rashad ánd Lantana on “Middle of the Map,” PA Flex on “N*gga Sh*t” and Ella Star on the title song.

  “American Dreamin” features production from Rashad, Chase N Cash, Wax, AU and more.

  The production is similar to Rashad’s work on Stalley’s work on “Lincoln Way Nights.”

  There is an ambient underpinning with synths, bouncy 808’s while maintaining and overall musical sound.

  Rapwise, Hodgie delivers with perfect diction and a slight twang. Dude isn’t super technical but he can hit the double times when the Bone Thugs feel emerges necessary within the song structure.

Barely Eagle’s new record is laden with hatred which is ironic because the Barely Eagle guys are some of the chummiest people.
  I don’t think it’s fake.

  They’ve been friends since grade school, and have made music together since the age of 18.

  You have possibly seen one or many of them perform in Go Evol Shiki!, Deerhead, Church of the Red Museum, Muscle Puzzle or Nick Toldford & Co. over the years.

  Tom Butler, who pens many of their misanthropic anthems, is a friendly radio personality on CD102.5 who hosts speciality radio programs Frontstage and the Independent Playground

  Their album will be released on the 1980 Records imprint based in Chicago.

  Barely Eagle has two release parties scheduled.

  One at Carabar June 13th.The other at Spacebar June 27th.

  Although, Barely Eagle are pleasant in person, musically one could reference the Murder City Devils or Shellac when describing their music.

Sweet lord, spring has sprung! By the time you read this, Memorial Day will be past and it will probably already be too goddamn hot. Clouds of mosquitos will have descended, and hundreds of home recording enthusiasts will emerge blinking into the sunlight with demo tapes no one wants to hear. It’s the time of year for outdoor concerts and music festivals, and your weird neighbor will be already packing up for Nelsonville and demanding you babysit his pet squirrel for inadequate compensation.
  Which is a good thing. Maybe. But before you toddle off to the Scioto Mile Concert Series on a humid June evening, we feel obligated to once again remind you of the festering danger that lurks in an otherwise innocuous world of flip-flops and plastic Bud Light bottles. Remember, friends, even the adorable male platypus has a venomous spur on its hind foot. That’s right; this is your annual warning about smooth jazz.

Can one imagine the world without the Rolling Stones?  No.

  There has always been a Rolling Stones and there will always be a Rolling Stones.

  I will vote many times for any member of Congress who introduces a bill naming our next aircraft carrier, nuclear sub and super-cruiser the U.S.S. Mick Jagger, the U.S.S. Keith Richards and the U.S.S. Charlie Watts.

  To hell with commemorative postage stamps.

  I mean, these guys did make their bones aping American music, right?

  Goddamn right.

  And now, they're gonna fill our 'shoe with British blues, r'n'b and rock'n'roll stolen straight from the slave markets down in New Orleans.
  True globalization, that.

When you book some dates at a recording studio, it’s fairly common practice for the engineer to ask you what bands you sound like. It isn’t intended as an insult to your originality, it’s just them making sure the right microphones or whatnot are available. An engineer friend of mine periodically exhibits frustration with bands that insist that they absolutely don’t sound like anybody else. It is these bands, he says, that 99 times out of 100 sound exactly like someone else.
  And that’s a pretty good rule of thumb, in music and perhaps in life generally. I would expect that it’s actually a fairly widespread belief, even among degenerate Free Press readers. But humor me for a second, folks, while I review a record from a band that honest-to-God doesn’t sound like anybody else.
  A year and a half ago I did a concert review of a band called the Devil Doves, who I stumbled into following a Blue Jackets game. They’ve finally gotten around to putting out an eponymous debut album, which is, like, fantastic. And also very hard to adequately explain.