Taylor Swift disqualified because she is in Tokyo.

Welcome to Mixdown, an ongoing series where Pitchfork staffers and contributors talk about mixtapes, mixes, and other beat-based ephemera that may not be covered in our reviews section but are worth discussing. Today, Corban Goble, Meaghan Garvey, and Wesley Case talk about Migos, Future, and Drake.

Migos: Rich Nigga Timeline

Corban Goble: Last night, Migos put out a new mixtape called Rich Nigga Timeline which features production from Zaytoven, TM88 and more. And though there hasn’t been a ton of time to sift through this yet, I feel like we can safely say that many of the more heralded aspects of the Migos sound—the flow, the chemistry—remain intact. Andrew Bynum ("Buyin' 'Em") imagery is also introduced very early in the tape and I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that. Meaghan, Wesley, early highlights? Where does something like Rich Nigga Timeline sit in the larger Migos timeline?

Wesley Case: According to my Twitter feed, Migos are the hip-hop lightning rod of the moment—superfluous Beatles comparisons, flow biting, Drake’s influence and some other controversies I’m probably missing—but I think it’s important not to miss the real story here: Quavo, Offset and Takeoff are inventive and insanely fluid rappers with some of the most exciting and visceral rap hits of 2014 ("Handsome and Wealthy", "Fight Night"). Rich Nigga Timeline only builds on the momentum from February’s No Label II. The two bookends—the fiery, look-how-well-we-rap opener "Cross the Country" and the achingly gorgeous finale "Struggle"—should dead any "Migos can’t rap" or "‘Versace’ was a novelty" conversations. (The more material we get from Migos, the more those arguments sound like willful ignorance.) Both tracks exhibit the trio’s technical prowess (Offset’s "Country" verse is a marvel), as well as an ability to reveal their emotional cores. I’m only a few listens in, but "Struggle" sounds like the group’s greatest accomplishment to date. It’s the right mix of reflection and in-the-present. 

Meaghan Garvey: My favorite NBA reference here was, "I’m a wizard in the streets, call me Quavo John Wall!" In the grand trajectory of Migos’ career, their mission statement has gone from "We make hits!" (YRN) to "Everyone’s biting us!" (No Label 2) to "Ha ha, who cares, because we can fucking rap!" (RNT). That’s a smart move. There’s a lot to love about the more tweetable #MigosSaid lyrics here (Takeoff rhyming "bachelor" with "tarantula" with "spatula"). But I was more impressed with the moments they moved away from the more, err, Migos-y songs and showed off their range: "All Good", has some out-of-nowhere Rick Ross Deeper Than Rap vibes, instead of the umpteenth chirpy Zaytoven track—which, you know, are usually good, but how many of them do we really need? But man, there are not a lot of rappers this consistently entertaining, and little in life is better than Migos popsicle stick jokes like: "Treat you like a cow, you better mooooove!" 

CG: The more uptempo tracks always pop out to me first, so in this instance it would be stuff like "Struggle" and "Story I Tell" just because I love when MIGOS HITS THE THROTTLE. I appreciate you highlighting "All Good" because that definitely represents something different for them. But I feel like listening through mixtapes, I have a hard time picking out the hits on the first few passes—for instance I didn’t think "Fight Night" popped out to me when I first listened to No Label 2. It sucks to be on the wrong side of history. Do you think there’s anything on this that might slowly rise up the singles charts, i.e. "Handsome and Wealthy"?

WC: I hope “Buyin' 'Em” blows because it’s the first song in which I’ve heard a rapper say he’d circumcise a brick.



MG: "Pop That" is pretty weird but Quavo yelling "She make me wanna make a MILLION BABIES!" is pretty addictive. The real question is: are Migos better than the Beatles? My dad has checked in to say, "No."

Future: Monster

CG: Future’s new mixtape Monster is a few weeks old and has been met with less hype than a Future mixtape would have seen a year ago. A good number of songs feature a pitched-down Future sounding paranoid, and one song in particular, "Throw Away", is quite obviously about his broken relationship with Ciara. There’s skits on this that are ridiculously insensitive. Future links up with Metro Boomin’ for most of this, who apparently wanted some more. Did you guys like this? 

MG: I'm really conflicted about Future in 2014!

CG: There is way less enthusiasm about Future these days. What are the major issues at hand?

MG: After the repulsive shit-flinging fest that was "Pussy Overrated", it seemed the Future I thought I knew and loved—the guy that made "Turn on the Lights", the most romantic song of the 2010s!—was maybe just not that good of a dude. Honest didn’t do much for me: the high points were high, and the rest was forgettable. 

WC: The Future hangover was inevitable. There was a lot of idol-worshipping surrounding Honest, like this guy was here to lead rap into its romantic period. Aside from "Turn on the Lights" and "I Be U", Future was ever meant to be that guy. Throw in a public separation from Ciara and the lack of enthusiasm surrounding Monster seems inevitable.



But, lowkey, this is a pretty solid Future mixtape that gave me Streetz Calling and Dirty Sprite vibes. And there’s still no denying Future’s true gift—melody. "My Savages", "Fuck Up Some Commas" and the title track lean heavily on that sing-song flow, and it remains effective. I wish Future would trim the recurring, racist Abu skits. "2 Pac" in particular surprised me because it’s an obvious bite of Young Thug’s "Danny Glover". It’s a well-executed bite, but bite nonetheless. 



MG: I almost feel bad for the guy. He brags about "taking a bitch to Chipotle" in the same breath as describing how he’s crying endless tears. I was ready to write this tape off until the mid-song pivot of "Throw Away", where my notes went from "Wow he even makes Nard & B sound jaded these days WAIT OH SHIT THIS IS SO DEEP AND REAL." This is his "Runaway" moment, his emotional scumbag rock-bottom breakthrough, and I am HERE FOR IT. "Got my dick sucked and I was thinking about you"?! This song alone is more interesting than Honest in its entirety, and if Future continues on this path of soul-seeking, then I am willing to continue toasting to this douchebag.

Drake: "6 God", "How Bout Now", "Heat of the Moment"

MG: Have you guys heard about the kids? They don’t even read anymore.

CG: Even though Drake’s career is over I feel like these three songs are a valiant attempt at a comeback though I have my doubts about how much can be salvaged at this point. How would you rank them?

MG: Gotta be "How About Now" > "Heat of the Moment" > "6 God". The most redeeming quality of the latter is weird ass OB OBrien’s adlibs. When I hear these songs I feel like I am experiencing Drake through the mind of a hater for the first time, just shaking my head like, "Is he for real?" A long-winded yarn about literacy that somehow, by way of cops eating donuts and more semi-gratuitous recordings of "private" conversations, leads in to, "But anyway, never mind, we’re FUCKIN' right now": has Drake finally tip-toed too far across the threshold of self-memeification?

Had to do it. @champagnepapi #drake #heatofthemoment #ovo #tpszn #books #scholar

A photo posted by sweetdeebs (@sweetdeebs) onOct 10, 2014 at 1:18pm PDT

CG: Possibly! Between these tracks and Taylor Swift’s whole "my new album is a comment on the perception of Taylor Swift" feedback loop I feel like there’s this whole wave of meta-ness that I can’t even wrap my brain around but I’m already bored with it. In conclusion, "Heat of the Moment" > "How Bout Now" > "6 God". From what I understand, this bundle of tracks was on some hackers’ hard drives so Drake putting them out was a pre-emptive strike, thus I’m not going to try to read into the timing too much. I’m with this direction but I also wonder now that it’s Raptors season if he should be spending some time you know, shooting in the gym.

WC: They’re perfectly fine songs that should keep fans happy as they wait for Views From the 6, which I don’t expect to sound anything like these Soundcloud uploads. Anyway, my ranks: "Heat of the Moment" > "How Bout Now" > "6 God", even though they all have imperfections. "Heat"—which he told XXL was a Nothing Was the Same bonus track—has that cringey opening verse (there must be other ways to portray lazy cops other than having them chill at Dunkin Donuts), "How Bout Now" is crazy petty even by Drake standards and "6 God" feels like a "Worst Behavior" retread. But Drake, even at his most generic moments, offers reasons to keep listening.   

MG: I liked Jordan Sargent’s piece, "Drake Is the Taylor Swift of Rap," which aside from being totally accurate, made me think about a weird discrepancy: people will trip over themselves to bash Taylor for sort of democratizing her narratives on 1989, but on this bunch of songs, I find Drake’s lyrics similarly flattened.

CG: Then again, we don’t know what these tracks are, necessarily—the drop wasn’t as deliberate as it usually is. At least he’s trying to make "6 God" happen!

WC: A Baltimore rapper jumped on it and called it "4 Lord". I’m not feeling this trend.

CG: In close, I feel it’s time we try something different. Take it away Tyga:

Twenty-five years ago today Queen Latifah released her debut All Hail the Queen; its single "Ladies First", a woman-power anthem that also featured British emcee Monie Love, cemented them in hip-hop’s annals. The song is part celebration—an exercise in recognizing the importance of self—and part resistance, serving a demand for respect. The song is heralded as a landmark for women in hip-hop and heralded a wave of forward-thinking, Afrofeminist awareness that continued to reverberate across the genre and open doors for emcees coming up behind her.

As a celebration of the song’s anniversary, we highlight of some crucial all-female posse cuts that came in the song’s wake.

First, the song itself:

The playful confidence Latifah and Love exude on the cut underscores it’s message of sisterhood; All Hail the Queen shed light on the overall black experience, but Queen Latifah dug deeper, exploring the day-to-day life of black women. No, our experiences are not universal, she seemed to say. At the time of “Ladies First,” posse cuts were neither new nor an anomaly. What was rare, however, was to see (two) women with creative control, making tracks for and about themselves and garnering praise and respect—without a male emcee at the forefront.

Brandy: "I Wanna Be Down" [ft. Queen Latifah, MC Lyte, and Yo Yo] (1994)

Released in 1994, the remix for "I Wanna Be Down" remains one of the definitive all-female posse cuts. Brandy surprisingly took a step back on the remix, only popping in and out for the sing-a-long chorus, letting these three legends bask in the spotlight. 

Lil' Kim: "Not Tonight (Ladies Night Remix)" [ft. Angie Martinez, Da Brat, Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopes, and Missy Elliott] (1997)

It’s unlikely anyone remembers Nothing to Lose, the 1997 Martin Lawrence/Tim Robbins comedy, though the soundtrack was unforgettable due to the appearance of "Not Tonight" remix appears? Yet "Not Tonight" (and its epic video) endures, featuring women rapping about how great it is to be around other women. The video is everything one could want: the leisure of yacht life, subservient men, and a party in the jungle with friends like Mary J. Blige, SWV, Xscape, and Queen Latifah herself.

Total: "No One Else (Puff Daddy and Rodney Jerkins Remix)" [ft. Foxy Brown, Lil' Kim, and Da Brat] (1995)

While the original "No One Else" fortified its women-power credentials with an appearance by Da Brat, the remix is the lone appearance of both Lil’ Kim and Foxy Brown on the same track and serves as a testament to what could have been between the two.

Missy Elliott: "Sock It 2 Me" [ft. Da Brat] (1997)

This song is a statement, one that can be heard in Missy’s slick innuendo and Da Brat’s forceful, spitfire testament to their strength as a duo ("Finally admitted that we the shit combination on this lethal"). "Sock It 2 Me", was the second single from Missy Elliott’s debut, Supa Dupa Fly,  but it’s also one of the few lady posse cuts of that era that didn’t stem from a remix. 

Various Artists: "Freedom (Rap Version)" [ft. Salt-N-Pepa, Queen Latifah, Yo Yo, Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopes, MC Lyte, Nefertiti, Patra, and Me'Shell Ndegéocello]

Seemingly, Dallas Austin was looking to create a posse cut to end all posse cuts in "We Are The World" fashion with the remake of early neo-soul singer and Dungeon Family affiliate Joi’s "Freedom". Enlisting the help of at least 60 female artists across hip-hop, R&B and pop—including SWV, Vanessa Williams, Mary J Blige, and Aaliyah—the new "Freedom" reached the Top 20 and served as the single for 1995 film Panther. The single also came with a pared down rap-only version, which features Salt-N-Pepa, Queen Latifah, Yo Yo, Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopes, MC Lyte, Nefertiti, Patra, and Me'Shell Ndegéocello. Even without some of the biggest singers and stars of the '90s, the rap version stands up perfectly fine on its own—a rare moment in hip-hop that finds women centering themselves and reaffirming each other, with Yo Yo proclaiming that "No matter what's the weather/ Sisters gotta stick together."

Big Kap: "Da Ladies in Da House" [ft. Bahamadia, Precise, Treep, Uneek & Lauryn Hill] (1995)

If Queen Latifah kicked open the door for U.N.I.T.Y. amongst women in hip-hop, Philly’s own Bahamadia was one of the loudest and proudest to walk through it (followed closely by Missy Elliot and Rah Digga). Bahamadia was a staple on posse cuts throughout the '90s, but it was Funkmaster Flex’s partner Big Kap’s "Da Ladies in Da House" that became one of the more widely recognized. "Da Ladies in Da House" is more cypher than song with each emcee showcasing her lyrical prowess as if to further prove to any who may have doubted them. The production couldn’t sound more retro nearly two decades later, but the verses have aged gracefully with L Boogie’s show-stealing anchor verse.

Ludacris: "My Chick Bad (Remix)" [ft. Diamond, Trina & Eve]

The remix of Ludacris’ "My Chick Bad" actually found Luda taking a backseat on his own song to make room for Crime Mob’s Diamond, Trina and Eve to flex their muscles–a fitting move for a cut from an album titled Battle of the Sexes (originally slated to be a joint effort with Shawnna who would’ve certainly been a welcome addition here). And flex they do, remaining true to form with Diamond and Trina bringing the sex-driven rhymes and all three touting bravado that could rival any of their male counterparts. Nicki Minaj also appears in the video (though she doesn’t rap, unfortunately) alongside Rick Ross, DJ Khaled and 2 Chainz, all of whom become background to effectively shine a nostalgia-inducing spotlight on three of the most dynamic female rappers of the early 2000s.

Gangsta Boo & La Chat: "Bitchy" [ft. Mia X] (2014)

When two Southern legends like Three 6 Mafia’s leading lady Gangsta Boo and La Chat get together, there’s not really a lot that could go wrong. Add some menacing production from DJ Paul and it might as well be '98 or maybe '01 again. Throw in another icon like No Limit’s Mia X and the result is "Bitchy", the lead single from Boo and La Chat’s joint project Witch released earlier this year. An ostensible nod to DJ Jimi’s "Bitches (Reply)" (also sampled in Project Pat’s "Chickenhead"), "Bitchy" is hardly the self-deprecating track its name may lead one to believe. The trio is cutthroat, mincing no words as they call men to task, demanding that they be generous financially and sexually, and even then, as La Chat notes, they could still end up used.  It’s a modern take on an old trope that Mia X sums up in the second verse: "We independent women standing on our own two/ You can't sell us dreams, show us what you gon’ do."

Dreezy: "Zero" [ft. Sasha Go Hard and Katie Got Bandz] (2013)

The future of rap looks especially bright in Chicago with this cadre of young powerhouses coming up. Tink, Sasha Go Hard, Katie Got Bandz, and Dreezy have all found success outside of the Chi and brought substantial attention to the city-- “Zero” has the makings of a new gen feminist rap classic.

The Flaming Lips recently released With a Little Help From My Fwends,a cover album of songs from the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Miley Cyrus was one of the guest artists featured on this record, and last night she and the Lips performed "A Day In The Life" on "Conan". (According to Coyne's instagram, Chuck Inglish was also involved.)

During the performance, Cyrus emerges from underneath Wayne Coyne's massive cellophane cape wearing a complimentary glitter-covered leotard. Watch the duet below.

"A Day In The Life":

Jean Grae was initially aligned with the independent hip-hop scene of the mid-'90s, where she was continually labelled a "femcee" (like it’s all high heels and a Jansport), she’s since blown that framework apart. After suffering years of music industry machinations, these days Jean simply drops new projects with an acerbic tweet or a post to her Instagram. Sometimes it’s a song, or a record, sometimes it’s an audiobook. Here are five highlights of Jean Grae’s undercover second act.

Jean Grae Has A Sitcom

Last December Grae released four episodes of “Life With Jeannie”, her DIY sitcom that she wrote, produced and directed. These four mini-episodes revealed that she is, technically speaking, really fucking funny. Filmed in Grae's native New York, rapper and comedy pal cameos abound [look, it’s Mr. Len!], as Grae “celebrates” Christmas and mulls the misery of her love life. It’s funny, bleak and earnest—the actual rap-game “Louie”. Four episodes are not even sort of enough.

A photo posted by Jean Grae (@jeanniegrigio) onNov 11, 2014 at 12:52pm PST

Jean Grae Just Dropped a Sensual R&B EP via Instagram

On Monday, Jean posted a picture to Instagram of her throwing the finger. The accompanying caption read: "Hi. I just dropped this new EP. I don't just do one type of thing. This is another type of thing." The ‘nother thing is titled #5 and instead of rhyming, Grae is singing. She’s officially a triple threat now. The self-produced tracks muse on sex and relationships; "underneathu" includes the lyric, "Make me wanna take days off work/ You know we can/ Make me wanna take off this skirt." Maybe she is just changing into her sweats?

Jean Grae Released An Audio-Book

In January Grae released The State of Eh, an audiobook that she wrote and scored. It begins with our protagonist realizing that recently she's lost her game—"Sometime last year I lost the shit out of that shit," she laments of her missing verve—before detouring into chapters like “Top 5 Things For Evil Masterminds”. Think a slicker version of the “De La Soul Read-Along Story Book” from De La Soul Is Dead, but recited in the mellifluous timbre of Grae.

Jean Grae Coined Rap's True 30-Something Anthem

Forget Jay Z's languid "30 Something"—Jean Grae's "37" is hip-hop's ultimate mid-life anthem. Initially showing up on her Jeannie album back in February, the song opens with Grae lamenting over her lots in love and life against deliciously melancholy production, later quipping, wearily, "I don't wanna watch World Star." Then the track closes out with Grae literally playing her own therapist. It’s the perfect rap song for when you’re wallowing over your slackening fate halfway through $5 bottle of Gato Negro you bought at the gas station.

A photo posted by Jean Grae (@jeanniegrigio) onAug 8, 2014 at 4:09pm PDT

Jean Cares

Which other rapper would take time out of their day to organize and conduct a Hug Station during the middle of the day at Union Square ("opposite Forever 21"), hand out free candy and pizza and balloons, and have a tiny rescue kitten make a guest appearance? Just Jeannie, that's who.

In a 1987 diary she penned while on tour with her band Sonic Youth, Kim Gordon wrote, "The most heightened state of being female on stage is watching people watch you." On stage, with my band White Lung, I know the room is full and staring at me. The lights are in my eyes; sometimes I hide behind my hair. I like it that way. I don't want to see the audience; the thought of them is enough. I'm focused. It's cathartic, the purest interaction I have with myself.

There is a weight to being a woman on stage. You're always sexualized, no matter what kind of music you play, how you dress, or how you move. How your choices as a performer are perceived and judged varies based on your race, age, ability, body, and what genre of music you make. It's understandable that few women want to claim ownership of that objectification—unless you are a straight white dude, your otherness often dominates every discussion of what you do on stage or on your records—it's a burden, a constant reminder of limits and expectations; you are hung with the albatross of other people's narrow understanding of what a woman can be.

I never wanted to want to be the best female front person, I just wanted to be the best. I've known this since I was old enough to understand the attention I got from being on a stage. As teenager, I knew that the "accomplishment" of kissing some rock star I idolized was never going to satisfy me; I wanted to be that rock star myself. I wanted to play music but I also wanted the respect, the audience, the sex appeal that came with it. I wanted that power.

Like most women, I've been socialized to be a performer my entire life: grace, poise, manners, hair, make-up, tits (yes, you can perform "tits")—it's exhausting. Performance of any identity out of necessity, rather than desire, always becomes exhausting. There was a point, earlier in my "career" (I use this term loosely), when I masked my femininity with oversized flannels and stomped around in big boots. I rolled on the floor when my band played; I tucked my body behind my anger. My performance was a way of smothering who I was, who I'd been taught to be. My femaleness was something I wanted to hide, in part, because I didn't feel good about who I was. What's the use dressing up a body when you don't feel it's worth anything?

The saddest part was this archaic notion in my head that if I expressed my femininity I wouldn't be taken seriously; that spending time on lipstick, hair and dress, that dolling up for a performance somehow diminished my skill level as a performer. It seemed safer to try to be one of the guys then to be the girl I was. The message in my head was that music is a (straight) man's world, and that if you weren't one, you don't belong in that spotlight.

Confidence didn't come easily. I had to take a lot of entitled hands on me to get where I am. I built up callouses—that's the cost of ambition. And then one day the light went off, I exfoliated the motherfucker and no longer gave a fuck. I'm no longer interested in working with anything but what I've got. I love what I got because I manifested it. I am in complete control and no one can tell me otherwise. Not anymore.

The truth is this: I'm sick of having to publicly explain my sexuality, my confidence, my womanhood and my power. I am sick of being asked about it in every interview, every piece of press, every review written about me and my band. I would love to just be left to do what I do best: perform it, live it, scream it. I know where I stand now. I don't need to talk about it anymore. Just come stand front row and watch. I'll change your goddamn life.

Mish Way is the frontwoman of White Lung, whose album Deep Fantasy was released in 2014. She is on Twitter as @myszkaway.

Aksumite: "Enslavement"

Damian Master's prolific release schedule is nearly impossible to keep on top of, but it’s always worth it to try, because of the  high calibre of his output. He slices through black metal’s propensity for self-indulgence with punk “All killer, no filler” attitude; his standards for quality have made him a standout. This month, he delivers a pair of new EPs from Aksumite, his nasty black/punk project: I Am the Green-Eyed Hyenas and Draped Around the Answers. The short, sharp "Enslavement" closes out the latter, which references early Darkthrone, DC hardcore punk, and Bleach-era Nirvana in equal measure. 

Aksumite: "Enslavement" on Bandcamp

Mare Cognitum: "Weaving the Thread of Transcendence"

Mare Cognitum is the work of one man, Santa Ana, CA’s Jacob Buczarski. After surfacing in 2011 with the excellent The Sea Which Has Become Known LP, Buczarski has busied himself with a string of inspired star-crossed black metal releases. His latest, Phobos Monolith, is out now on the Italian label I, Voidhanger, and is a dark, cosmic odyssey. Stately melodic riffs, icy tremolo, and maudlin harmonies are topped by his raspy vocals. "Weaving the Thread of Transcendence" stretches out over thirteen minutes and is easy to get lost in.

Mare Cognitum: "Weaving the Thread of Transcendence" on Bandcamp

Providence, RI black/doom/death outfit Eternal Khan's 2013 EP A Primitive History was impossible to forget—and now they’ve finally released a full-length, A Poisoned Psalm, via Bandcamp. The album is their best work to date, and goes a long way towards raising the bar for other extreme metal genre-blenders. Tracks like "Undermined and Abandoned" are a grand statement from a band with a bright future.

Eternal Kahn: "Undermined and Abandoned" on Bandcamp

Shake Appeal is a column that highlights new garage and garage-adjacent music. This time, Evan Minsker looks at new albums from King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Bad Indians, Paperhead, Icky Boyfriends, and Cool Ghouls.

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard: I'm in Your Mind Fuzz [Castle Face]

They've given you several chances to jump on board—four albums plus a handful of singles and EPs—but I'm in Your Mind Fuzz is King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard's definitive statement. Recorded, in part, at Daptone in Brooklyn and the rest in Melbourne, they've put together something impressive. It's a record that's dense and relentless. The first four tracks—the run from "I'm in Your Mind" to "I'm in Your Mind Fuzz"—form one 12-minute chunk, a psychedelic freakout with frantic yelps that ought to do label boss John Dwyer proud. Also, this may be the first instance time you ever hear a record that leaves you feeling so positive about jazz flute and harmonica jams. 

Bad Indians: Keep Losin' [CQ]

Bad Indians have been a local Ann Arbor, MI staple the last four years. They play often—opening for touring bands, at small festivals, at cramped DIY shows—they've gone through, seemingly, a few dozen lineup changes and so each show often feels a different band.  The band's nucleus Jules Nehring is moving away from the area, which means local Bad Indians shows won't be as frequent of an occasion; Nehring's departure marks the end of an era. The famed Zingerman's Deli has even named their sandwich of the month after Jules--one of the city's highest honors. Making it all the more bittersweet, Zehring is releasing Bad Indians' finest album yet. Keep Losin' features the previously released basher "Anunaki", the joyous highlight "Airplants", and a closing 12-minute jam called "Marble Orchard". As Michigan says goodbye to one of its best local bands, the rest of the world should take notice.

The Paperhead: Africa Avenue [Trouble In Mind]

Nashville's the Paperhead are one of the most exciting acts on Trouble in Mind's already impeccable roster. Recorded in bassist Peter Stringer-Hye’s Nashville garage and had mixed by Cooper Crain (who worked on records by Bitchin' Bajas and Cave), what's most impressive about their Zombies-esque Africa Avenue is that it never feel like it's coasting. "None Other Than", opens with an acoustic crawl and lyrics about being tired about "seeing nothing and feeling nothing". But they don't just complain about their boredom—they take action. At the song's center, they turn up the power and ramp up speed. When the flute (everyone's doing it!) comes in on the title track, it's plain that this isn't an album that simply retraces its own steps. 

Icky Boyfriends: Live in San Francisco [Castle Face]

I've said it before: Live in San Francisco is a series that feels like it means something. John Dwyer and Castle Face don't just pick bands that could obviously sell records—they record bands that they want to record. This time, it's Icky Boyfriends, the noisy and abrasive San Francisco cult band who got their start at the end of the 1980s, somewhat famously cleared clubs throughout the 1990s, and reunited in 2010. In the album's press bio, Dwyer says he used to listen to them on a boombox while painting houses. Alongside Chris Woodhouse, Eric Bauer, and Bob Marshall, he's documented their summer 2013 concert at the SF Eagle. Sure enough, alongside A Love Obscene, it's an important entry in the band's discography.

Cool Ghouls: A Swirling Fire Burning Through the Rye [Empty Cellar/Sunday Best]

The kids on the cover of Cool Ghouls new album seem to live in the house party present, but the Bay Area band don't sound like they're of this time. They have the tone and delivery of a Nuggets-era oddity; their harmonies tend to invoke the Beach Boys or CSN, their guitars echo with vibrato (when they're not steeped in a deep, ominous fuzz), and occasionally, they deliver monster guitar solos. But for all its vintage rock'n'roll leanings (and real groovy album title), A Swirling Fire Burning Through the Sky is full of catchy, immediate songs that capitalize on the promise of their early "hit", "Hot Summer".

In light of Yo La Tengo’s 30th anniversary this year, Ira Kaplan has been offering up three decades worth of tour diaries on the band’s website. If fans have learned anything from this daily rundown of opening acts both famous and forgotten, dingy clubs from Boston to Beijing, and road food both delicious and disgusting, it’s that Yo La Tengo has done pretty much everything an indie rock band can do--save for one thing: They’ve never released a proper live album.

While the odd live recording has made its way onto a 7-inch b-side or a compilation, their lack of a live LP is an oddity for a band of Yo La Tengo’s longevity and stature. At this point, trying to cram the many onstage moods of the band into a single, digestible document might pose a bit of a problem. They’re a band that contains multitudes. Here we’ve unpacked the moods and modes of the YLT live experience:

The Adorable: “Teenager In Love” + “Everyday”, 1988

Though multi-instrumentalist James McNew is an important creative force, YLT has always been centered around the husband-and-wife team of Kaplan and Georgia Hubley. The two can be exceedingly cute together—the platonic ideal of matrimonial and musical bliss. Check out this circa 1988 clip of the pair sweetly harmonizing their way through two oldies-but-goodies, seeming like the very teenagers in love they’re singing about. 

The Brutal: “Mushroom Cloud of Hiss”, 1994

Then you’ve got pummeling, take-no-prisoners workouts like this one. McNew relentlessly slams out two notes and Hubley bashes her drums primitively as Kaplan wrangles wave after wave of vicious, squalling feedback out of his guitar. It’s Yo La Tengo at their most explosive and confrontational—invigorating, but a little exhausting, too.

The Playful: “You Can Have It All”, 2009

Yo La Tengo has always seemed a bit introverted on stage, but they occasionally throw in a bit of awkward-but-charming showmanship. The ultimate example of this is the choreographed routine that sometimes accompanies their cover of George McCrae’s 1974 disco chestnut “You Can Have It All”. As Hubley emerges from behind her kit to take the lead vocal, Kaplan and McNew coo “ba-ba-ba” behind her while rocking some gloriously goofy moves. Hubley looks faintly embarrassed, but she usually looks that way, regardless of what her bandmates are doing.

The Epic: “I Heard You Looking”, 1995

Every Yo La Tengo setlist has a healthy portion carved out for at least one mega jam. “Blue Line Swinger”, “Pass the Hatchet I’m Goodkind”, “The Story of Yo La Tango” and “I Heard You Looking” all provide the band with a launching pad for expansive, exploratory trips. The instrumental “I Heard You Looking” is YLT’s purest epic, as Hubley and McNew ride Kaplan’s Neil Young-ian, three-note riff into the stratosphere. This 1995 version is fairly economical, clocking in at just over eight minutes; in later years, the song would push well past the 15-minute mark. Neil Young would approve.

The Whispery: “Nowhere Near”, 2013

Yo La Tengo can bring even the noisiest of crowds to a hush with their ballads, the best of which showcase Hubley’s soft vocals. Twenty years after its first appearance on Painful, “Nowhere Near” remains a gorgeous, knee-weakening thing, Hubley leading the way with a simple, ascending keyboard riff, her bandmates filling in gently behind her. As the vocals drift into a wispy wordless chorus at the end, Kaplan plays a crashing, cacophonous solo that threatens to overtake the song entirely, but snaps back at the brink. A perfect, and utterly Yo La Tengo, moment.

This fall, several of your favorite rappers have released name-branded sneakers. Pitchfork associate editor Corban Goble and Pitchfork contributor Wesley Case run down your best bets for the fall and winter seasons, including a rumored sneaker from the Kanye West's new Adidas line, Pharrell Williams' reinterpretation of a classic and more.

Kanye West: Yeezi by Adidas, $TBD

CG: Late last year, Kanye West left his partnership with Nike over royalties, inked a big deal with Adidas and effectively left one of this century’s most iconic sneakers, the Yeezy, far behind him. Since then, a rumored leak of a design surfacted, depicting what I think are shuffleboard shoes. Now, a new image that has Kanye checking out a prototype on a plane has fueled speculation that these nubuck hi-tops are part of his Adidas launch, which are slated for a December release. My theory is that Kanye is leaking these as a heatcheck, and when people make fun of them for looking like a suede armadillo he still has plenty of time to go back to the drawing board. (Kanye’s camp was quick to dispel that the loafers were a thing, which, thank God). Wesley, what do you think of these, especially in comparison to the orgasm-inducing Yeezy 2’s?

Photo via Flight Club

WC: The Yeezy 2 Red Octobers set an incredibly high bar for West’s ongoing foray into footwear, and even their predecessor indicated that Kanye would bring his notoriously high-level taste to Nike. With that said… what the hell is going on with these (alleged) Yeezis? I fully expected Ye to bring a haute sensibility to Adidas—a company I consider classic but bland as a whole, Jeremy Scott-collaborations notwithstanding—but these shoes look clunky and too busy. To be fair, it’s a grainy cellphone shot that can’t begin to pick up the surely agonized-over details, but just the towering silhouette turns me off. The neutral color fits the minimal, A.P.C.-influenced look Kanye rocks regularly these days, but to answer your question, this photo certainly doesn’t inspire me to stand in line for a few hours to cop a pair.    

GRADE: C-

Pharrell Williams: Stan Smith by Adidas, $120

CG: As part of Pharrell Williams Branding Partnership Number 3274, he seemingly got on a conference call and tossed out an idea to fuck up a classic sneaker that never needed to be touched in the first place. (After the call was over, Pharrell was handed two huge burlap sacks with “$$$” printed on them). While I suppose the notion of dipping Stan Smiths in color is solid, in theory, somehow the reality of this enterprise is a wash. Though you could definitely say that these Pharrell Stans are reminiscent of early-2000s Ice Creams, these look like something Chris Martin designed. For toddlers.

WC: If you thought Pharrell phoned it in for “Blurred Lines”, well … here are his Stan Smiths. The beauty of Adidas’ arguably most beloved model is its timeless simplicity. The “design” reflects the fact Pharrell understands and respects the shoe’s legacy, but it also comes off as an unnecessary collaboration as “Happy” remains lodged in consumers’ brains. Bottom line is the Stan Smith never needed a remix; I’m not mad about the track jacket, though.

GRADE: C

Big Sean: Metro Attitude Hi, $165

CG: I have a soft spot for Big Sean’s sincerity so I’m going to go ahead and say I like these, even if I don’t really get why they’re speckled with the Hawaiian flowers but the inner sole reads “DREAMS STOPPED BEING DREAMS WHEN THEY TURNED INTO GOALS”, which, YOU DO YOU, BIG SEAN. I guess the cute/easy thing would be to say I DON’T FUCK WITH SHOOOOOEEEEEESSS but I think these are totally alright.

WC: Let’s deduct a couple point off top for printing 47 characters -- no matter how, ahem, inspirational—on a shoe. Also, am I missing the connection with the flowers, or am I overthinking here? Did Big Sean meet Ariana Grande in Hawaii? The shoe is unapologetically loud like Sean’s rapping is unapologetically derivative so at least it’s a fit. These would look at home in a Zumiez. 

GRADE: B-

Drake: OVO Custom Jordan 12's, $$$$$$ on eBay

CG: Somewhat cheating since this isn’t a wide release, but they’re available, to a degree! I think this is a less of a “Drake” thing and more of a “common sense” thing, but murdering out 12’s is possibly the strongest concept of all time. Lots of gold OVO accents but they don’t go overboard. These are icy, Wesley, icy.

WC: Remember when Drake was one of the worst dressers in hip-hop? Just like his music, Drake’s taste in fashion has noticably improved with each album cycle. Although it’s a bit of hedgebetting, Drake looks smart not trying to start from scratch with a sneaker. Who could actually hate on the 12’s, one of the sleekest Jordans of all time and the shoes MJ wore when he won his fifth ring? But just like the Yeezys and Yeezy 2’s, these are gorgeous sneakers you would want to wear even if you had no idea about OVO. The details, like utilizing the Stringray material, are tasteful and true to the Jordan brand. I guess we might as well face it: Drake’s taste is Teflon, and it extends to his feet now.

GRADE: A- 

"You can tell me when it’s over, if the high was worth the pain," sings Taylor Swift in the video for "Blank Space", a song from her recent 1989. "Got a long list of ex-lovers, they’ll tell you I’m insane," she sings with mascara running down her face and wild eyes staring straight into the camera, a little smile on her lips as she draws out "insaaaane." "Blank Space" hinges on two main ideas: one, Swift has a public history of seemingly dysfunctional romantic relationships, which the media keeps tight tabs on. And two: that at the end of the day her songwriting pen holds a dangerous amount of power. A lyric like "I got a blank space baby, and I’ll write your name," asserts that Swift has the last word in guiding her narrative and, hell, if it consistently reads as "insane," she doesn’t care.

Taylor Swift is still, clearly, America’s Sweetheart; being so safely ensconced in pop’s upper echelons allows her to try out her version of the woefully unhinged ex-girlfriend figure. With "Blank Space" she owns her "nightmare dressed like a daydream" status proudly, without having to sweat what it might do to her rep or her Top 20 chart position. Yet, what’s more curious than "Blank Space" is its timing, and that Swift was just one of many female musicians this year who unabashedly inhabited the role of a mad woman in love (or lust).

Rising in the charts was Iggy Azalea’s "Black Widow", which called to mind Katy Perry’s 2013 clusterfuck of a revenge pop-narrative "Dark Horse". Like most of Azalea’s hits, the chorus is the earworm, with Rita Ora singing "I’m gonna love ya/ Until you hate me/ And I’m gonna show ya/ What’s really crazy." Delivered with a Kill Bill-themed video, the song is certainly the least nuanced retribution anthem of the year. But Azalea’s brand of getting back at her beau is to love him more; her spider web isn’t the weapon here, it’s her unrelenting desire and refusal to let go.

As overwrought as Azalea’s venomous, web-trapping, creepy-girl take might be, she certainly wasn’t the only one doing it. FKA twigs spent much of LP1 loving her man until it hurts, or worse. She blurs the lines between pleasure and torture on "Two Weeks" until you’re not sure which she’s singing about. "Pull out the incisor, give me two weeks, you won’t recognize her," she wails. "Feel your body closin’, I can rip it open." "In return, I’ll live forever loving you." What’s clear is that no matter what you do, FKA twigs will not leave you until you are hers.

All of these songs toy with the "crazy ex-girlfriend" trope: the clinging, vengeful lover who refuses to understand when it’s over. When she wants justice for her broken heart, some accounting for the lost love she’s due, it turns to obsession and pain becomes a constant. When women’s romantic behavior is constantly scrutinized as being inappropriate or not, the crazy girls say: fuck appropriate, these are my feelings without the bullshit. Like Gone Girl’s Amy Dunne, the consummate pop culture "psycho bitch" of 2014, does not let the man have the last word; she will say when she’s done with him, not the other way around.

Sharon Van Etten’s single "Your Love Is Killing Me" from her album Are We There. Here Van Etten splays the idea of the desperate woman martyring herself for love, throwing it into high relief, quite literally howling through the song’s chorus:

Break my legs so I won’t walk to you
Cut my tongue so I can’t talk to you
Burn my skin so I can’t feel you
Stab my eyes so I can’t see

Granted, all break-up songs are bruises, but Van Etten’s is more a fresh, gaping wound; her delivery sounds like she’s sobbing as she works through this four-point list of bodily harm.

On Are We There, Van Etten details how she took her chances and was duped, for falling too deep in love. "He can break me with one hand to my head," she sings on "Break Me". "He can make me move into a city on my knees." Van Etten’s "crazy ex" is neither Taylor’s winking self-awareness or FKA twigs’ disciplined succubus. Van Etten fearlessly addresses how a break-up can be nothing short of devastation--it can turn you into someone else, into no one you recognize; into no one at all.

Lykke Li’s springtime feel-bad album, I Never Learn, at turns, describes love as a "cancer", "poison", and a "gunshot to the head"—and yet, she’s obsessed with getting it back. She is the wicked one here, putting herself on the cross in every song; the record is hard to listen to. In "Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone" she details an evil that seems to literally possess her, the devil’s hand on her heart. "There’s a war inside my core," she sings, "Go ahead, lay your head where it burns." The accompanying music video is a too-intimate spinning close-up of Li, hair in her face, eyes-rimmed red as she acknowledges the viewers gaze, welcoming you to view her at the end of her fraying tether, amid her crazed glory.

On Perfect Pussy’s record Say Yes to Love, Meredith Graves screams of the pain and darkness of a love lost, alternating between self-reflection and terrifying confrontation. "I’m kicking the wall, I’ll break through it before I go," she threatens on "Bells", "And leave a hole my shape in everything you know." The damage of a past relationship is conveyed throughout the record, but Graves knows exactly how much it’s done to her: it’s made her more fearless and louder than ever in the face of patriarchal notions of how a woman betrayed should present herself, like some Greek goddess of misandry. Graves will thrash on stage wildly, she will eat herself alive, and she will break through walls.

What Graves, twigs, Van Etten, and these others communicate in their songs is the sheer power of desire; not just in the pain of it, but the power of refusing to reign it in, the power of not turning it off, not being decent and sweet—not doing what the man wants. And so the man, he will hear her out and, maybe, depending on the song, he will pay. Culture always asks for more "strong women" but doesn’t want to accept that part of being a strong woman, of just being human, is feeling pain. And when this pain is depicted in such a deeply vulnerable way, blood and guts spilled, demanding listeners to not just hear but feel too, you realize how normal "crazy" might actually be.

Songs like these are nothing short of empowering. These artists have taken this sexist trope and pushed it back in our faces, turning their madness into pop art. Because how easy is it really for a woman to be labeled "crazy"? A text sent too soon, a voice raised too loudly, an opinion spoken too clearly. Reclaiming that title of the "crazy ex" says "I will show you insane," and ups the ante some more.

If getting over your boyfriend instantly was last year’s musical power move, now, in 2014, it’s just to love him—forever.

Looking at the last few years of performances by platinum acts like Beyoncé, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, and Nicki Minaj, one takeaway is immediate: female pop artists are unified by their spectacularly-choreographed shows. There are elaborate costume changes and legions of backup dancers; there are super-sized props and Jumbotron screens; artists are occasionally hoisted high above the stage on wires, giving the illusion that they’re so superhuman that they can fly.

Yet, the furtive power and "aloneness" that younger female artists like Lorde and FKA twigs exhibit on stage suggests something new and exciting--a more solitary, and explicitly feminist power. Both of these artists emphasize the vacancy of the stage by performing alone, their band members obscured in the shadows. The singularity of their performances underscore the idea of them as auteurs, each illuminating different ideas of what control and precision looks like, and demonstrating that it can come from within.

FKA twigs has a cat-like presence on stage: her moves are careful but sudden, rhythmically contorting her body into positions that offer more than just the expected feminine shapes; sharp voguing, natural movements and lithe bends, holding her pose with a stare that scans the horizon above the crowd. It’s calm and seductive, but not in the overt way we are used to with female pop performers. Watching FKA twigs on stage, there is never the suggestion that she is seeking the audience’s approval--she’s never selling it. Her able and athletic manipulation of her own body is disengaging from the very idea of being our fantasy; it's mere expression.

Performance is still a spectacle, but pageantry—which implies an attempt to win the audience's approval—Lorde and twigs make clear it is no longer a required component. Lorde’s robotic jerking, much like twigs’ balletic undulation, intimates confidence as well as resistance: she’s being understood on her own terms. Sporting tailored menswear on stage, Lorde makes fists and claws with her hands as she takes stuttering steps. She moves like Frankenstein swatting at a swarm of bees: she shudders and stops, convulses with limited range of motion, her face into the twisted visage of someone in pain. Her lips painted goth-dark, she rarely smiles—but when the camera does zoom in on her face, you’ll often see that her eyes are closed, and the corners of her mouth are turned up ever-so-slightly. The confidence that this conveys—that Lorde believes in herself so thoroughly—has huge implications. We rarely get to see a female role model move with such outrageously blissful aggression; we rarely get the chance to take that in.



The power in the distinctive performance styles of both Lorde and FKA twigs goes beyond their irreverence towards the notions of how women are supposed to be on stage, beyond that they don’t do a big show of trying to beguile us, nor do they honor our gaze. How their movement is at once so unpredictable and confident shows how fully they claim themselves and their bodies. It works against the idea that young women are malleable and unrealized. They’re renouncing the paradigm of "performance" that has long been sold to female artists—as well as to their audiences. The powerful assertion of a stark female stage presence like theirs is that women can just be themselves on stage, and that is enough.

A police van flickers in the gloom. An ambulance pulls up. And a taxi drives into the night, past billboards and bridges and fleets of its fellows, the entire metropolitan landscape rendered in blurred oils by Zachary Johnson, an artist based in Los Angeles. Johnson painted 3,454 separate works in order to fully animate the video for "Waiting", a song by the Albany folk duo The Sea, The Sea, a task he says took eight painstaking months to complete.

"The fun part was coming up with the concept and then it was just kind of slow tedium," Johnson says of the process. "Halfway through the project I was like ‘fuck me, I’m an idiot.’ But then when I finished I was like ‘Let’s do another.’"

Taking inspiration from the Richard Linklater films Waking Life and A Scanner Darkly, Johnson used a technique called rotoscoping, filming footage of a nighttime cab ride in New York and then translating each frame into a painting. The "Waiting" video scrolls by at 12 frames per second, meaning that every second the viewer is seeing 12 individual paintings. Initially, Johnson had hoped to film at six frames per second, but when the video looked too choppy, he knew he needed to double his workload to get it right.

Mira Stanley and Chuck Costa, the couple behind The Sea, The Sea, have never met Johnson in person. They learned of his work from his brother Marke, who had worked on the group’s album art. "This is the first video that we’ve ever commissioned," Stanley said. "It can be a tricky thing trying to find a visual representation of a song because you’re essentially burning an image into a person’s mind for every time they hear it. We loved the way that this offered some visual space to pick your own journey in the cab ride. It really enhanced what was happening without distracting from what the song is."

A couple weeks back the east Atlanta rapper Father of the Awful Records crew sent a Snapchat of a web browser showing a woman gleefully playing with a dildo. I viewed it a couple of times in an attempt to make sense of this social media manna and noticed that of the tabs open, one was Father's own Soundcloud. Though his Snapchat is full of typical touring-artist moments this particular one captures the playful, laidback mood of his highly sexual work.

Father, despite being the leader of the Awful Records crew, is unguarded about being a late comer to music, offering that most of what he’s learned has come from working with those around him. Even with a nascent musical proclivity, this year, he's released four brief projects (Teen Gohan, L1l Daddy, Young Hot Ebony and Brawl EP in collaboration with Richposlim), the underground hit "Look At Wrist" with Key! and ILoveMakonnen, and a whole slew of guest verses. Father’s humorous (albeit crass) and distinctly personal sense of the body, be it his own or anothers, shines through in all of his music. On the title track of Young Hot Ebony, he raps "Lean and Sprite we’re all lost/ Jeans and tights are all off/ Black as fuck we’re all Goths." The music gives off a tangible sense of black bodies interacting, not simply sex as a stage for male dominance when the topics of money and violence are exhausted.  

Young Hot Ebony relishes sexuality. The cover features a picture of a woman with popsicles around her face, like she’s holding multiple dicks, playing on porn imagery. This sly wink, apparently, wasn’t caught on by digital music distribution chains, that, ironically enough, blurred the cover. Like Father’s music, it walks the line between self-assured seriousness and smirking, obvious and subtle. 

The morbid Young Hot Ebony cut "2 Dead, 6 Wounded" delivers a third person account of a tragic homicide with a devilish grin. His chirpy ad-lib of the phrase "Georgia scorcher"—in reference to a child being burnt alive—and an IDGAF attitude might appear cruel, but, much like the cover of Young Hot Ebony, shock value isn’t the goal. It’s looking for a laugh in a place where most rap either music treats the topic with casual dispassion or moralizing self-importance. Father’s treatment is akin to his recent Snapchat of him fingering an electrical socket; poking and prodding at different ways to express ideas that might make people uncomfortable, but, from his perspective it's just another day in east Atlanta. 



That expression works even for the sake of humor on the goofy "OMG, Her Butt", which sounds like a stopwatch playing in reverse as Father runs with the bizarre premise of the song’s title. After some leering and even detailing meeting a woman’s parents ("I think your parents finally realized I’m the Omen/ Good I didn’t want to fake another moment") there is a pause in the track. As if Father’s not even sure if he can get away with what he just said and needed to reassure himself that he can. 

Father’s fluid line-by-line examination of one’s self is notable, his mix of self-confidence and doubt is welcome. On "180" he mentions eating ass, as just a matter of personal preference; the frankness of that moment feels significant, especially given how often we lose the artist in these discussions of rap and sexuality. That’s what makes it hard to not smile when, on "Dame Fuego", he raps, "My might license renewed/ Get some ice and some jewels/ Might finger my wife by the pool/ Cause life is so cruel." If life is gonna be anything, it might be in the mundanity of those lines; it’s just kind of beautiful.

Shake Appeal is a column that highlights new garage and garage-adjacent music. This week, Evan Minsker breaks down Sick Thoughts' obscenely prolific 2014. He also looks at the new albums from Matthew Melton and the Memories.

In 2014, Sick Thoughts landed. Sure, Drew Owen's debut album Terminal Teen Age came out late last year, but it was 2014 when Baltimore's most rabid teenager truly made his mark. Each month, it seemed like he dropped a new reminder of his vicious, breakneck, ear-busting existence. There was the tape, the 10", the newly released "old stuff", and tons of singles. The guy was everywhere this year. Understandably, it's been hard to keep track of it all.

He's got a new 7" on Goner coming out and he's self-releasing a new demo from his new project. Via email, Owen helped map out an overview of his extensive output this year. Listen to his post-Terminal Teen Age output below, in (approximate) chronological order, along with some commentary from the man himself.

My Mess My Life [Dead Beat]: First demo pressed to wax. Just sounds like a shitty Reatards cover band. Record label guy begged me to put it. Before I learned to write good songs.

"I Got Hands" [Hidden Volume]: Cock rock 7 inch about jacking off. On a Mod/garage/soul revival beat thing label. Punk b-side. Dunkin Donuts colors. Glam punk.

"Hate You So" [Zaxxon]: Little EP where I was still writing "garage punk" "Reatards ripoffs" bullshit. Good sound. Best Necros cover ever. Maumee4Life.

Wanna Be Your Dog EP [Ken Rock]: From the glorious Ken Rock. Wrote all songs on a cheap synthesizer while listening to the Latin Dogs and then stuffed a Stooges cover as the A-side to alienate you further.

"I Wanna Hate" [Goodbye Boozy]: Marks the beginning of my better records. Learned how to properly play everything and record. Three ripoff covers. Two songs of hate.

"Coming Over" [Going Underground]: Recorded on a handheld tape player live. Pop punk GG Allin noise.

"Moral Sickness" [Blast Of Silence]: My Finnish hate. Clean jangly hardcore shit. Lots of gauze influence on here. First pressing was fucked up, so second pressing coming soon with new sleeve and a new song from the sessions.

Last Beat Of Death [Minas World]: A big fuck you to Dead Beat Records. Rerecorded versions of songs from the first LP, and some other good songs. Got really into noise punk like the Wankys and shit when I recorded this. So much better than my earlier shit. Italian repress coming soon.

"Human Garbage Disposal" (Gizmos cover) [Goner]: Eric at Goner asked me to do a cover of the Gizmos for Gonerfest 11. After he asked me, I recorded it immediately. Recorded on a 4 track. One of my favorite tracks from all the KBD records. 

"パンクを殺す" [Episode Sounds]: Translates to murder punk. Japanese import. Fold out sleeve/poster. Three songs, covers all bases here. Garage, hardcore, techno synth sludge metal.

You Won't Get Through EP [Fuck CDs]: From my rock brother Joni Ekman of the Achtungs. He was so nice to put this out. More moody punk and pop to satisfy you you you.

Fat Kid With a Ten Inch [Slovenly/Black Gladiator]: Straight up 70s punk shit. Not really on this tip on anymore. Homage to LiveFastDie.

"Beat on Beat" [Goner]: My best 7 inch yet. Seriously the best songs I wrote yet. Goner is the best. Buy or die.

Glassboots: "I Want to Wear You" [Gux]: Glassboots is a new band. I'm playing guitar and singing in with two of my other friends from Baltimore. According to other people we sound like Fang or Brainbombs. All I'm trying to do is play riffs so many times that people get sick of it. 

Gux is my new label. Looking to release a bunch of tapes and records. Mostly my own stuff, but some other good local bands and friends stuff. Glassboots' four-song demo 7" is the first release. It was scheduled for release in early 2015, but I lost some money repairing gear, so I have to save a bit before I can get them pressed.

Matthew Melton: Outside of Paradise [Southpaw]

Matthew Melton is one of the West Coast garage scene's greatest drama kings. He swooned, his voice coy and fragile, on Warm Soda's "Young Reckless Hearts". On stage—with no shirt, a leather jacket, a grade-A mustache, and a twinkle in his eye—he falls to his knees and plays a solo like a cartoon rock star would. He's gone solo once again with Outside of Paradise, and he hasn't lost that knowing twinkle in his eye. There's a song called "Take My Hand", and sure enough, he wants you to reach out and have an adventure with him. These are pop narratives delivered by a star student in the art of bubblegum, but Melton also sounds unsettled and uneasy throughout the album. His voice echoes, his guitar rips, and his often sunny garage pop melodies are cut with woe. Suddenly, everything sounds bleary; clearly, this ain't paradise.

The Memories: Hot Afternoon [Burger]

The Memories cover Daniel Johnston's "True Love Will Find You in the End" on their new album, which is one of the most aesthetically appropriate, thoroughly logical decisions this band has made to date. Like Johnston, the Memories make pop music with a minimal approach. Their love songs are sweet (if sexually charged). And here's the best surprise of all: Their reading of the Johnston classic is a somewhat ambitious showing from the band, with understated guitar solos and vocal layering. In many ways, not much has changed for the Memories on Hot Afternoon. This is breezy, goofy music about falling in love, getting high, and having fun. But their delivery here feels more classic—their guitar work indebted to 1970s radio rock, their percussion more assertive. They're still high, and they've recorded some of their best songs to date.

Also Worth Hearing: Libido by the Fayetteville, Arkansas band Ten High.

Maybe it's time to stop caring about Nicki Minaj. Not as a human being or a person—because, you know, life is precious and everyone's a unique snowflake that adds to the fabric of life through mixed metaphors. But, let's be honest, most people don't care about Nicki Minaj as a human being, but as an artist and corporate action and, as both, her actions at this point are pretty much that of an ugly-ass snowflake.

 To be clear, Nicki Minaj is far from the only artist spreading anti-love, disharmonious messages in her music, but she is spreading anti-love, disharmonious messages in her music and that needs to be taken to task.



The latest point of entry in this conversation is, naturally, the lyric video for latest single "Only", featuring Drake, Lil Wayne and Chris Brown from her delayed third studio album The Pinkprint. But, even before the video came out, the song was problematic. Because there's Nicki—ostensibly a feminist figure, by default—allowing herself to be used like some sort of blow-up doll by her labelmates and "brothers" Drake and Wayne.

Drake, engaging in patriarchal misogyny masquerading as sensitive respect, comes on the track with "I never fucked Nicki 'cause she got a man"— basically saying, I don't respect you enough as a person to say you have a choice in the matter of whether we fuck or not, and even though you have a boyfriend that I don't respect to the point where I would not objectify his woman in public, he is still a man and I'm going to respect him to the point where I will not cuckold him because bro code. (It's interesting to note that Drake doesn't always hold himself to this standard, but can be constant in his treatment of women as plot points in his musical narratives in generally skeevy ways.)


For his part, Wayne introduces himself on the song continuing with the same logic, while conflating pleasure with pain: "I never fucked Nic and that's fucked up/ If I did fuck, she'd be fucked up/ Whoever is hitting ain't hitting it right/ 'Cause she act like she need dick in her life"—which is like, whoa. 

With "brothers" airing you out in public like this, who needs catcallers?

 Granted, these offenses are squarely the responsibility of the men speaking them, but Nicki has a huge level of ownership here because it's her song. 

As a powerful woman in a male dominated world that's often violent and dismissive to women, Nicki Minaj is a symbol, an icon. And, if she's not using her influence to at least keep these types of messages off of records released under her own imprimatur, what is she really doing? 

This all without even getting into the conflicts of the lyric video. Regardless, Nicki apologized "if" she offended anyone and stated that she would "never condone Nazism in my art." Except for when she does. But, whatever.

 Making a call for a collective "bye, Felicia" to Nicki isn't just about one misstep—the egregiousness of that misstep notwithstanding. It's about the greater pattern of anti-love, disharmonious messages that have become the hallmark of her music.


Let's look at her preceding singles—there was the insightful pablum of "Pills N Potions" which was sandwiched in between the "Lookin Ass Nigga" (which not only birthed a stank apology due to its careless artwork, but also a righteous bit of artistic commentary) and her Sir Mix-a-Lot-inspired "Anaconda", where she raps—and it needs to be emphasized that this is a direct quote—"I let him hit 'cause he slang cocaine," while putting forth a platform of dispensing sexual favors in return for Alexander McQueen shoes.

This summer, she also appeared on Usher's "She Came to Give it To You", mainly to spot a guy in the club and tell him that "I'm trying to get faded—nigga, go and get the drugs." This is more than just the type of thing to make the Honey Nut Cheerios Bee blush. If these are the kinds of messages that we're accepting of, then white supremacy and misogyny can kick their feet up because their work here is done.
 

The most troubling thing about all this is not the relative success of these songs in the marketplace—"Anaconda" broke viewing records on Vevo upon its release because dat ass, yo—but, that these songs still showcase the talent and wordplay that made us all love Nicki in the first place. There's absolutely no denying her skill level as a writer, even when it's put to lesser ends. "Anaconda" is full of quotable couplets and, honestly enough, "Lookin Ass" does the same with pinpoint accuracy, while simply adopting a "turnabout is fair play" mentality to reverse the kinds of messages male rappers have been sending to women since rap was rap.


Rappers—both male and female alike— with "core" audiences based in "the streets" have long had to find the balance of satisfying their first listeners while being palatable to the corporate forces that make things like a judgeship on "American Idol" happen. It's an undoubtedly trying feat to balance the two—especially as the music industry continues to atrophy and requires the financial aid of outside interests to get to $29 million of net worth. Cashing in while selling out (without looking like you're selling out) almost necessitates that artists figuratively (if not literally) show their asses every now and then just to prove a point. And, on that front, Nicki Minaj's choices are no different from Jay Z or Kanye West, who regularly hurl a "fuck you" towards the status quo and their corporate overlords. But Nicki Minaj isn't raging against the machine. She's using her considerable talent and mega-platform to rage against relatively broke motherfuckers like you and sending some seriously backwards-ass messages to the young people who emulate her.

Obviously, the main and most egregious transmitters of anti-love in hip-hop are men. And it would be insane to think that ignoring Nicki Minaj will somehow block the signals of misogyny and hate that are being broadcast by the corporate music complex. But, a

t a certain point, the sound of a tuneful hook can’t be accepted as enough signal in the noise of disharmony. It’s simply on us to stop waiting for what Nicki Minaj could be,  and accepting what she's  actually doing and just move on. 

In recent years, she's stopped presenting herself as a white girl and human Barbie doll, but she's doubled-down on the ass shots and is making music that's anti-love and disharmonious. She obviously doesn't care about us as listener, so maybe, we need to stop caring about her. Not as a human being, but as a corporate snowflake.




"I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here, I DON’T BELONG HERE," says Margaret Chardiet, her voice rising with the repetition into screams. The song is "Bestial Burden", the title track of her 2014 album; Chardiet, who performs as Pharmakon, wrote it in the aftermath of a life-saving surgery. In the wake of the procedure, she was left thinking about the fallible nature of her body; in response she crafted an album around the idea of her flesh being its own entity, one separated from her consciousness.

It’s challenging to make music that effectively conveys the disturbing nature of corporeality, but Chardiet does it with noise. Primarily using discordant percussion and her voice, she creates space around the listener, one that makes you squirm and demands all of your attention. In that regard, it may have less in common with underground music and is much more akin to sound art’s history of showcasing the body’s most volatile processes and noises.

There are two tracks on Bestial Burden where noises specific to the body are laid bare; the album’s opener, "Vacuum", a track of breathing at varying paces and "Primitive Struggle", two minutes of disturbing choking and coughing. In 1961, Yoko Ono released "Cough Piece", a 30-minute sound piece of Ono coughing. Her coughing is not continuous—in the background listeners can hear what sounds like light traffic and other white noise. Yoko Ono’s piece forces the listener to hear her body and to become more aware of the vulnerabilities present inside of our own.

Much of Swiss sound artist Christof Migone’s practice involves recordings of the corporeal. His 1998 piece "Crackers" layers the cracking of knuckles, necks, and knees into symphonic effect. He took a simple gesture, which he calls a "bone edit," and highlighted the body’s ability to make its own involuntary noises. Even though this noise is small, it’s still a bone cracking, a disturbance. "As the sound of the cracks echo, some wince, others feel relief," Migone wrote of the project. "In all instances, a crack is when and where something breaks."

Ono and Migone’s pieces are delicate compared to the noises Pharmakon mines on Bestial Burden. Her breathing on "Vacuum" is aggravated and the choking on "Primitive Struggle" violent. Her breathing accelerates in "Vacuum" as if she’s running wildly from something and getting more out of breath, the vocals layered into a chorus of anxious panting and gasping. But what makes "Vacuum" and "Primitive Struggle" so scary is that you don’t know what is being done to these bodies to make them sound this way. You don’t expect a terrifying coughing fit halfway through a noise album and the ambiguity of harm being done within these tracks makes them even harder to listen to.

These projects isolate bodily processes and magnify their sound to make the listener more aware of the processes within them, as simply as when someone clears their throat and you immediately feel the need to clear yours. They make you suddenly reflect on your own breathing, overly-conscious about how fast or slow it is. Bodies react to bodies; when a body is in distress, even more so. On Bestial Burden the most powerful noise she has at her disposal is not choking or deep breathing or even her relentless, noise instrumentals; it is her riotous and howling voice.

Though you can rarely decipher exactly what Chardiet is saying (or screaming), it doesn’t really matter. Her animalistic snarls on "Intent or Instinct" sound trapped beneath droning reverb, conveying the hell of her situation. As the record progresses, Chardiet’s voice gets clearer with each song, leading listeners through to the proverbial heart at the end of the album. And once you’ve reached its "Bestial Burden" finale, you are inside her head as she contemplates what it means to feel separated from one’s own body; to feel betrayed by your cells and organs and bones. The body within Bestial Burden is fragile, unreliable.

In Bruce Nauman’s 1968 piece "Get Out of My Mind, Get Out of This Room", his recorded voice repeats the title of the piece and is broadcast in an empty room. As people stand in the room, it becomes claustrophobic; Nauman’s voice, whispering at some points and screaming at others, gives people this space, then turns hostile, demanding that they leave. The piece forces the audience to acknowledge the paradoxical nature of existing in a physical realm that rejects you. "I don’t belong here," Chardiet screams as she confronts herself. "You don’t belong here," Nauman screams at you, making you confront yourself. But whether you’re an intruder into Nauman’s mind or merely a listener intruding into Chardiet’s, both artists use the sound of their screams force you to recoil at the awareness of mere physical existence.

Although more performance than sound art, Marina Abramović’s 1976 piece "Freeing the Voice" was an experiment in doing just as the title suggests: screaming until she lost her voice. Her immobility only enhances her idea of the body as a vessel for her voice which she pushes out of herself like some phantom birth, the voice as a separate being. "When you are screaming in this way, without interruption, first you recognize your own voice," Abramovic said of the piece. "But later, when you are pushing against your own limits, the voice turns into a sound object."

For Abramović and Chardiet, screaming is ultimately about how bodies reacting to conflict and pressure (straining vocal chords, surgery) are unpredictable. And because of this, there’s an inherent separation between the mind and the body, the mind never knowing how the body will turn against it. "It created this separation between the two that resulted in me feeling almost as though the body had this separate will from my own—just this vessel I was stuck inside of," Chardiet told Pitchfork regarding her surgery.

The body work of Chardiet, like these other notable artists, presents these humble infirmaries (or a voice screaming itself to death) as a lesson about the dark unknowability of the body, the strength and fragility embedded within that connects us—and she will whisper, choke, and scream it until we have understood it completely.

When Chris Cunningham's Rubber Johnny came out on DVD, it was the grossest thing on display at the record store. Grown men easily twice my age squirmed when I bought it. "I don't even want to know what that is," one said, glancing sideways at the fleshy, hairy cover. I paid my $10 and went home to pore over the monster that Cunningham had grown by smearing together photos of his junk with the rest of his body.

Rubber Johnny was released as a standalone short a few years after Cunningham's Directors Label DVD made the rounds among teenagers hungry to be grossed out. It was the Videodrome of music video anthologies, full of disgusting Aphex Twin cuts and also sublime images accompanying songs by Portishead, Madonna, and Björk. "Come to Daddy" saw an emaciated monster with Richard D. James's face being birthed from an old television in clear Cronenberg homage. "All is Full of Love", meanwhile, spliced Björk's face onto two robots that kissed in a pristine white factory.

Cunningham loved to distort the male form—in the Rubber Johnny short, he bends his own body like putty to another Aphex tune—but he shied from manipulating women's bodies in the same way. Even in his infamous "Windowlicker" video, the female dancers onto which he pastes James's likeness adhere to a conventional ideal of sexual attractiveness. You see perfect bodies topped off with a hideous face. That's the whole joke.

There's something of Cunningham (and Cronenberg) in Jesse Kanda's collaborations with Arca and FKA twigs, but the young artist's work assumes markedly different politics. Xen, the character that stars in Arca's videos and appears on the cover of the album of the same name, is a grotesquerie whose body blends gendered anatomies. Arca has called the figure an androgynous alter ego; Xen wears a bald scalp, broad shoulders, full breasts, and large buttocks. On the cover of Arca's debut, Xen's skin ripples as if about to peel and fall off (amusingly, Spotify blurs the figure's crotch even though no genitals appear). For a split second in the "Thievery" video, Xen's genitals appear as a bubbling mass of indeterminate flesh. The "Xen" video distends the character further, dimpling the skin as though it never covered a body at all.

In FKA twigs' early videos, Kanda also teases the female form as something mutable. A shining, black, headless figure hangs in space, then deflates the moment twigs starts to sing in "How's That". The shell begins to glitch, clustering around the center of the frame, billowing in a digital vacuum. Sometimes, the shape of a hand is the only reminder that it ever was a body to begin with.

Madonna might shapeshift into animals in Cunningham's video for "Frozen", but her gendered body retains its integrity. Cunningham's visual world enforces a duality of forms: male bodies can be twisted to horrific effect, while female bodies remain intact in the service of aesthetic beauty.

The idea of female bodies as statuesque and immutable of course rings hollow to anyone who's inhabited a body that they might call female at any point in their lives. Most cis women accumulate and shed a bloody uterine lining every month; people that become pregnant witness their bodies changing bizarrely to grow a new human. Trans women may alter their bodies with hormones or surgery to alleviate dysphoria. Even in its most mundane rituals—shaving, waxing, dieting, exercise—femininity necessitates an often uncomfortable physical flux.

Of course, many of these rituals are often used to uphold the patriarchal myth that the female body is unchangingly perfect, a plasticine figure for their enjoyment. In Cunningham's world, the female form is not subject to the same mutations and injuries endured by his masculine characters. Women are literally robots cast in plastic making out with each other under a shower of white goo. 

"Part of my goal is to present ‘disgusting’ things as something beautiful, to question what is okay to call disgusting or ugly," Kanda said in a recent interview. His videos lend inner life to the concept of woman (or androgyne) as mutant. His work extends empathy toward a grotesque and queer femininity, a femininity that bubbles and roils in time with similarly form-defying music; in doing so, Kanda claims and elevates bodily metamorphosis as an act of beauty.

Flip to any page in Brian Coleman’s latest tome, Check the Technique Vol. 2, and you'll likely find a revelation that reflows hip-hop history and/or blows your mind. There's MF DOOM, in the midst of discussing KMD's Black Bastards, revealing that MF Grimm feature, "What a Nigga Know? (Remix)" was recorded the day before Grimm was paralyzed. "He was standing up when he did that track," recalls the former Zev Love X, "and the next day he got shot."

Prince Paul reveals lost "Prince Rakeem style" RZA verses cut from Gravediggaz' 6 Feet Deep, his experience being recruited as a DJ for Stetsasonic ("Those guys came running up, saying, 'That's him!' And I thought they was gonna kick my ass"), and the fact that he was working on the beat to name-making 3rd Bass hit "The Gas Face" while everyone else he knew was having a 4th of July party. MC Serch reveals the personal seeds of Beastie Boys dis track "Sons of 3rd Bass", when a seemingly heartfelt conversation with Mike D about Def Jam and business advice concluded with Mike throwing things at Serch for no apparent reason. ("But they weren't as bad as Hammer," laments Serch.)

Brian Coleman's Check the Technique series  started in 2005 as Rakim Told Me, was expanded into the first CtT volume two years later, and goes even deeper in the just-released second volume. The book aims to correct for the scant documentation of the process behind notable hip-hop moments and Vol 2.  goes deep on early classics (the breakbeat score to Wild Style), pop blockbusters (DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince's He's the DJ, I'm the Rapper), gangsta rap turning points (Ice Cube's AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted), East Coast legends (Raekwon's Only Built 4 Cuban Linx…), and underground favorites (Dr. Octagon's Dr. Octagonecologyst).

What you wind up with is a mixture of compelling, odd trivia—sating those amongst us who’ve wondered how dialogue from The Holy Mountain wound up on Company Flow's "Help Wanted"?—and heavy personal reminiscence. Crew formations and breakups, business machinations, left-field inspiration mixed with long nights of grinding—these are gap-filling stories given completist insight. All this backstory merits the critical deconstruction, received-wisdom mythmaking, and narrative making that it gets in Coleman’s book.

That it cuts off at 1998 with Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star and the Coup's Steal This Album is telling of the way the process has been made public since; internet distribution, blog reportage, and social media has moved the creation of an album from a retrospective context to as-it-happens log. That could be why this volume of Check the Technique is said in Coleman's preface to likely be his last—it's an undertaking he entrusts to "the next generation," one that's already doing a lot of the legwork. But the same principle is always going to apply: focusing on all the different ways albums became beloved works is crucial to inspire or renew the music, as well as the process that created it.