I'm putting together the label copy for a release we're doing, a hip-hop comp called N@sty C0nfessi0ns. The guy who was supposed to get me the liner notes wasn't getting them to me. So in a fit of boredom/frustration/annoyance, I wrote my own. They, um, probably won't make it into the finished product, for reasons that will soon be clear, but I thought I'd reproduce them here.

***

BRIEF DISCURSION UPON THE SUBJECT AT HAND, COURTESY PROFESSOR LEON H. PLEFFHETTER, PhD.

What is a N@STY C0NFESSI0N? There are many ways one could take this. One way, of course, would be in the sort of Tobias Wolffean sense of a confession meant to wound, emotionally I mean, a truth given up with the intention of causing distress to the confessee. We see this meme reproduced in a particular way in Khia’s “My Neck, My Back,” which could under certain circumstances be understood as a message to an ex-lover explaining why he no longer enjoys his paramour’s charms, i.e. that despite assurances to the contrary given during their assignation, the ex-lover was in fact a barely competent partner, sexually I mean.

But this is not the primary mode being used here. I think a better approximation would be to imagine two interested parties, their clothes partially asunder, locked in erotic conflagration. To heighten the mood—one could also imagine this being done via the telecommunications network—the young lady would tell the young man of some previous exploit, perhaps, with another young lady one might assume, if the purpose is indeed to heighten the mood, or alternately of some fantasy she might have, some fantasy the young man could, mayhaps, one day fulfill.

Again, however, I remain not entirely convinced that this really captures the true spirit of the fine compositions embodied herein. What fantasy or previous experience is really being expressed in a song like “Pull Your Shirt Up,” “Nothin On,” or “What That Thing Smell Like?” It is unclear. (Although one could make a case for “Brains.”) No, I think the true raison d’être of this particular document is to document the confessions of the male gaze, the particular impulses and urges men are compelled to suppress in favor of more socially acceptable expressions, and that these c0nfessi0ns are NASTY should come as no surprise. With lines like “Mama show your tits/jump up on the pogo stick/no homo shit” sandwiched in between the personal confession of “shit, I’d fuck me” and the third-person revelation of “I heard one of you rappers fucked a transsexual/now how the fuck you gonna touch another man’s testicles?” we get a revealing glimpse of the full onslaught of the masculine psyche.

No doubt is left in the mind. And we want you to dance to it. This is my confession.

posted by Mike B. at 11:49 AM 0 comments

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

My sincere sympathies to Simon and Joy. They don't know me, I guess, but my sympathies nonetheless.

posted by Mike B. at 3:51 PM 0 comments

So I might make this a quiz on Hillary's page instead, but for now, simple input will suffice. Which band name is better for a power-pop trio?

Snack Shop
or
Lotta Promise

?

Note: I know I solicited bandnames a while back, and there were some very good responses there, but, you know, the screening process for this sort of thing is rigorous and brutal. I'll save 'em for, er, next time.

posted by Mike B. at 10:52 AM 0 comments

In the comments to Hillary's post on The Benefactor, Josh Love (?) calls the contestants on said show "vapid vj-wannabe types." This is a good point. When me and my ladyfriend watch "The Player" (which is quite good, in its own particular way), she likes to talk about how on her version of said show, none of the boys would look like that--they'd be tall, Ivy League-educated geeks. (Also, some of them might be gay, but let's ignore that for now.) That's what turned me off to The Benefactor--I had no interest in any of the people there. This in contrast to what turned me off of The Apprentice, i.e. I wanted to punch someone every 30 seconds because of the management-sprachen that was coming out of their ugly little mouths.

Anyway, my point is that if there was one thing I could change about reality shows--and, like Hillary, I do heart them--it'd be the casting that always seems to rope in the same group of either LA hangers-on or wannabe LA hangers-on. This is why I like Amish in the City, for instance--it's sort of a collision between a regular reality show (and none of the "city kids" on that show are remotely interesting) and one that's really interesting and weird. Same with Top Model, which may benefit from its lack of guys.

As a corrolary, I should note that I also tend to dislike when subsequent seasons of reality shows keep casting the same basic demographic profile. This is one of the things that turned me off American Idol, and to a lesser degree Survivor. (Although I do wish I'd caught the Sweetums season--ah well.) I understand the logic behind it, i.e. for the people who didn't watch the earlier seasons they were deprived of this particular effective mix, but I still don't really enjoy it. Top Model is one of the few shows that I think has justified a second season, as the charms were decidedly different. OK, there was still the religious diva, but while the lucious Christians v. Pagans conflict didn't play out again in such dramatic, hotel-enjoying fashion, it would have been dull the second time. Instead, we got a tweaked-out indie-rock crankhead from the heartland with a possessive boyfriend. And this isn't even getting into Katie. Awesome!

posted by Mike B. at 10:44 AM 0 comments

New review up on Flagpole, this one of the new Thrills album. (Second from the bottom, scroll down.) Hopefully the last line makes my subjective judgment clear this time.

posted by Mike B. at 10:28 AM 0 comments

Sunday, September 12, 2004

So first I'm an imperialist capitalist pigdog and now I'm a goat? Starting to get worried here. ;)

posted by Mike B. at 7:33 PM 0 comments