A Cyberspace Odyssey

“The most important thing about a technology is how it changes people.” - Jaron Lanier

The jerk craze was my first exposure to internet rap. Absolutely nothing about these bright colors and correspondingly suitable dance moves such as the Spongebob in no way emitted the odor that this was the shape of rap to come. The year was 2009 and excitement could not even blind what would have been a leap larger than the gap of faith. Calling jerkin outlandish was tantamount to o libel against the outlands. Tough litigation, better the think inwards

The entire premise to this day does not even seem remotely fun. Their is nothing innately pleasurable about acting a fool. In public. Even if this did coincidentally happen alongside my first appreciation for Bay Area hip-hop music - Mac Dre, Andre Nickatina, Misah FAB, Keak Da Sneak, Too $hort...and must importantly, The Pack. Thank you Based God, but I incorrectly thought Stunnaman would be the break out artists. Forward looking thizz teachers I had.

And thanks to Myspace, Pitchfork, and NYU the rest is history. The based movement lives. Sewn together with remaining fringy fabrics in a society of false beliefs, these ofspring live and toil peacefully and online. Worlds all their own: there is nothing to stop these legions of Basedheads but sudden lack of self-determination. To isolate a single group, however, is mighty unfair. Egotistical and downright pretentious, an act that only je justly judged by pillory and fresh flying produce. Consider the lyrics:

Main Attrakionz "In My Life" - "I learned a whole lotta game in my life, in my life / Cause computers, boy, they changed my life, my life" from “Diamonds of God [EP]”

Saturdays: an ode

Saturday is by far the best day of the week. Not a single twenty four hour period can hold a sun rise or set to the final day of the week. Never forget Sundays are the traditional start of the week. Sneaky but consistent, month after month. Go ahead, call it Satuday bias. I am not in the least bit ashamed. Some call me the Saturdayphile and I thought about commissioning a sign with it.

Allow me to spare you the pain: the inevitable story is anachronistic and two-fold, really.

The first (or literally second) event was once not too long ago. I chose to describe the poetry of Saturday to my friend Mike. Resoundingly, “The Jews have it right,” I said. You see, Friday's are consumed by a half day of work; only half the maximum enjoyment is possible out of the usable part of the day. On the other hand is their is Sunday, bringing nothing of its own to the table and at the end of the day carries the weight of being the night before Monday. Saturday has it right. If Wednesday is hump day then Saturday is float day. A day's length ripe with possibilities. Saturdays are the sole proprietor of a day about nothing. The ideal Saturday is one without a plan: nothing has to be done, but everything can be done.

Indeed, the Jew did “have it right,” past me. But even then, it could be un-witting plagiarism from an old That's 70s Show episode; Season 1 episode 10 (oddly enough with a production code of 105) to be exact. In this particular chapter of the show, Hyde, Foreman, Donna, Kelso, and Fez would like to enjoy Saturday; jettison the real world stresses of the week for the innately terrible Sunday¹. Jackie, however, chooses to do her homework on Saturday nights.

Hyde: Kelso, Jackie does her homework on Saturday night. That's so hip !

Pragmatism or psychosis? The question is debated throughout, with the conclusion often being not to worry about "it." Also that someone else would bear the responsibility. No big. In classic TV irony, though, it is Jackie who ultimately prevails. Or something. To be honest I have not seen the episode in a good number of years. Instead I relied on a synopsis and skimming the script.

Whether it is a bowl (of cereal?) and a cup of black coffee with the Saturday paper; enjoying a favorite weekend radio program²; cleaning and watching sports. or reading a book Saturdays are meant to be enjoyed. As such, my way of making any day pleasurable is an appropriate selection in musical accompaniment. Since I spent most of my time consumed by a music director position at KAMP Student Radio during 2010-2011 – a job made infinitely easier by becoming contemporary music literate in a genre of choice – Saturdays became a day for...different. As the story goes, I woke up one serene and sunny Saturday midmorning to the left of a very nice young lady (the same one, actually, mentioned in relation to Calabrese here). As the first rays of sun absorbed by my eyes still focused on pipedreams, stretching the muscles to far-sighted distances, this day felt different. Scantily clad female aside, something more esoteric permeated the air. The degree could not have possibly been measured with any known metric. It was not good or bad. The day just seemed very easy. Not carefree so much as waking up to an unwrapped present and immediately fixating about all the fun to be had.

This day, more than anything else, needed to be played along side Digable Planets' debut Reachin' (A New Refutation of Time and Space).

Thus began Saturday morning listens. A day to select a soundtrack without concern of time period or taste necessarily in mind. Just: whatever feels right. Past selections have been Welcome to...Brazzaville just as easily as it has been Sigh's Scenario 4: Dread Dreams³. Choices have been as ambitious as Charles Mingus's Black Saint and the Sinner Lady while driving as it has been the relative obscurity of Caldera's 1976 self-titled debut in the middle of the night.

The possibilities are truly boundless, go ahead, enjoy your Saturday. A truly selfish act of slothful leisure, yes, but one well wroth appreciating.

Jonathan Cohen is a consumed by the belief that Mondays should be referred to as Obladee-Obladay. Also that Power Metal Tuedays should be a recognized holiday. You can follow him on Twitter at the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

1A Sunday in which Eric's grandmother is coming over to visit and he has promised to help with her stay for Sunday mass and dinner. Decidedly this is not sufficient time for a 1,000 paper

2Incidentally, it was an interview on What Do you Know with Michael Feldman that I first discovered John Jeremiah Sullivan through an interview for his book Pulphead

3The night before had been full of old kung-fu movies if it helps at all.

Atomic Gas #1 - Casa Bonita (711)

South Park has been a presence in my life longer than any other television show. Spanning three distinct levels of schooling - elementary, high school, and college – Trey Parker and Matt Stone's animated juggernaut has been a common interest between myself and others since before I had a clue teabags served a broader purpose than steeping in hot water. As a matter of fact, South Park may have been my teacher on the matter.

Or maybe it was “to Hitler someone”

The giggle worthy blueness aside, this is a series that is close to my heart. This is a show I love so much, I might actually still not take it home to meet my mother. I have had serious arguments with girlfriends because they actively dislike this show. Yet once I became aware of the existence of South Park Studios – mainly its streaming of any and all South Park episodes – the consumption was reborn. By the sheer virtue of quantity, I would venture to say that I know South Park better than any other show. I mean, I feel in my bones that I have watched South Park more than any other television show in my lifetime.

So why not write about it? It could be simple narcissism; perhaps a need to build self-worth over useless pop-culture time has been lost to. Either way, choose to read this along with an episode; set an episode up with it; compliment an episode afterward. As you wish.

That being said, I introduce and irregular series on B-Side A-Hole: Atomic Gas

711 – Casa Bonita (original airing November 11, 2003)

Easter Egg: Chimpokomon on Cartman's calendar (@15m07s)

Casa Bonita is a criminally underrated South Park episode. This, however, is entirely irrelevant. The nature of what brings these specific 23 minutes up is a particularly pernicious perpetual principle: South Park is 25% funnier if you watch it and you happen to be from Colorado. Never having lived in this particular corner of the Southwest, I can only rely on anecdotal evidence. These are stories which are not too difficult to believe. Humor is often times thought of a as a defense mechanism for the socially inept and otherwise unloved; inside jokes can also be a way of creating a sense of bonding. Summer camp, school or class cliques, work teams: by and large camaraderie can spawn not just in common interests but a unique experience or moment that can always be remembered and laughed at.

Quite the way to bond with the real world setting of your fictional creation.¹

Casa Bonita is one such episode that upon first review is much funnier to residents of the 303. Consider that the location which Eric Cartman builds up to be his favorite in the entire world – the Eurodisney of Mexican food establishments – is a real place. Not only that, but Casa Bonita is relatively well known. Or is that notorious?

Top 4 Yelp! Reviews of Casa Bonita

4) "Casa Bonita just stole 2 hours of my life, and $40 out of my wallett [sic]. Lame."

3) "My opinion is that the food is barely edible and the entertainment is one step up from Chuck E Cheese"

2) "The only thing here that was mildly edible was the......on second thought there was nothing that was edible."

1) "I guess Casa Bonita is kind of like if I pooped on a plate, served it to you with some rice, lettuce and beans and then jumped off my roof into my pool to entertain you. In a Speedo. Kids love that stuff."

The point is that this is neither readily available information nor something that would seem likely; unless of course you are in on the lols. The irony only adds lemon juice to a salted tequila wound. Alas, after discussing the matter with my old donkey friend named Max² I chose to watch the 11^th episode of the South Park's 7^th season.

First of all, if one were to divide South Park episodes into two overarching categories it would be satire episodes and story episodes; current event commentary versus plot development. That being being said, “Casa Bonita” is a story episode and furthermore one which revolves around Eric Cartman. Not unlike the epitome of Cartman shows “Scott Tenorman Must Die,” it varies in the extent of the subject's psychotic behavior.

What makes this specific Cartman episode great, though, is that it very plainly showcases two things: one, Cartman's relation to two members of the “inner circle” (Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Butters), and the other is Cartman's exceptional decisiveness. Simply changing his mind, though, does not quite do this process justice. Cartman, more than anything, has a perverse talent at deleting his registry of known opinions and intuition only to input a new one in the void. Well, that is if it benefits him. Strictly, only, exclusively when the end results are in some manner beneficial to Eric will this happen.

Yet Eric Cartman is akin to any of us; an extreme case. Eric is the most rational player in the real politik of life. He lays claim to his own set of demons; but then again, does not every player? The psychological dimension arises.

In the first two minutes of the episode alone Cartman changes his entire opinion of Kyles four times: wishing he had AIDS, assuming they are friends, berating him for not inviting him to his birthday, apologizing, and repeating his tirade. Throughout, the only constant remains Cartman's desire to visit Casa Bonita; which evidently could not possibly happen without attending Kyle's birthday. No other option is ever addressed, eventually leading to Cartman punching Jimmy in the face for the sake of seeming worthy of an invitation to the Casa Bonita fest.

This is the first of the two relationships seen in “Casa Bonita”. Cartman and Kyle are eternally linked to each other. Like Archie and Michael “Meathead” Stivic before them, they do not have to like each other but by sheer association Kyle and Cartman are one. The only difference is in the case of Cartman and Kyle, they are not family; their bond is entirely synthetic. Their is no reason either must be loyal to the other. Cartman has a sociopathic ability to remove himself from the consequences of past actions; Kyle is naïve and opts to believe is blissful ignorance. Idealism versus anti-idealism. Even after Butters suspicious disappearance on the day of Casa Bonita, while Eric has called a “truce,” Kyle does not even initially suspect him to be involved involved.³ The dance continues.

This, mind you, is halfway through the episode. A stretch is taken to remember Cartman's pinpoint ability as the decider. A light shines: even though he has abducted Butters and placed him in a bomb shelter to survive a perceived meteoric disaster, Cartman does not gracefully bow out to regroup. The chance to abort his plan and spare the community the anguish of looking for a lost child are jettisoned. Instead Cartman commits even more.

Of course, the inevitable complexity of Cartman's plans are what brings an air of humor into an psychotic acts. Once Butter's accommodations are adapted to the new reality – there is now an active search for him. The police - unsurprisingly not Barbrady - suggest looking in "ducts wells and bombshelters." But once again, and escape clause miraculously presents itself and is rejected. Sure, this one carries with it a slightly more serious burden than the initial opportunity, but nonetheless it is a way to escape. If played correctly, unscathed could be used as an adjective to describe the action. But no, Cartman manages to move Butters - with a wonderful variation of kidnapping via radio play⁴. Now locked inside a refrigerator at an abandoned gas station (the same one where Butters was discovered in SmileyTown during Season 4 Episode 16 “The Wacky Molestation Episode”), Butters's overall situation has changed. For once, Leopold Stotch does not have the ability to make a decision determining his fate.

Throughout this ordeal Cartman has been playing an elaborate prank. This is a decidedly ill-humored joke, but a prank nonetheless. Remember, Butters has always had the ability to leave; instead staying back and singing Chicago's “If you Leave Me Now” with the lyrics “If you leave me now, you'll take away the biggest part of me / Uh uh uh uh no baby please don't go /And if you leave me now, you'll take away the very heart of me.” Coincidentally, this is the second relationship explored in “Casa Bonita.” Butters is ultimately Cartman's foil; more than a straight man. Butters's most formidable role on South Park is the result of when the most charismatic personality meets the most gullible/possibly influenced personality. For better (“AWESOM-O”) or for worse (“Marjorine”) Butters always eats up Cartman's propagandist feast.

Suddenly in his quest for “Casa Bonita,” though, Cartman, chooses to act like a dick. God (or “they” in “Oh my god they killed Kenny”) does not like this. Butters is set free (in a horribly comedic way, but nonetheless free⁵). Due to his hubris, Cartman is for this first time in this episode not in complete control; his plan begins to unravel. A so far poker faced Cartman makes a slip and even let's a past version show “Fuck Kyle!”).

But, as is often the case, Cartman gets exactly what he wants in the end. Not so much a case of cutting his losses anymore, Cartman has successfully carried out his ends justify the means mentality. Not only does he manage to enjoy Casa in less than a minute⁶ – as this is the time allotted to him once the party gets notice the police are after Cartman because Butters is found – but he cliff dives just like he wanted. Straight into the pool he crashes despite knowing it is all over for him⁷ . Pushing the limits and breaking the rules, like always.

Jonathan Cohen is a one-time news junkie, Handsome Boy Modeling School graduate, and sleeps with Ernie from Sesame Street in a strictly platonic way. You can follow him on Twitter at the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

1Still shockingly inapplicable to the Sacha Baron Cohen characters Borat and Bruno.

2In a football, not political sense. Get it right.

3Or in an eventual car ride when Cartman says “Fuck Kyle” and diffuses the situation with the birthday song

4With a bag over Butters' head Cartman guides him through the post-apocalyptic town. While protecting him from the cannibals (who may also be zombies) Eric gives a verbal description of the new entirely false surroundings.

5If anything were to resemble a vast wasteland it would be, well, a landfill. Giving rise, at least, to the fantastic line after cirticism of Butters's rebuilding “Hey, that's not very nice! This is my first society! I'm doin' my best!”

6 Exactly one minute from 19.36 to 20.36 when he meets the police, so by that logic...

7At 20.42

Week 2, What's up? - The final frontier? (Ñaka Ñaka Música Para Clubs Clausurados [Self-Released])

[SET-UP]

DJ Screw's music is timeless. Even with the possibility that Screw's body of work is nothing more than a glorified trip enhancer hanging over fans' heads like a brown wave of ripe pollution in a valley, the recordings live in a galaxy all their own. The judge, jury, and executioner is draped in a cloak of rich purple as he oversees seven days worth of work.

Of course, to draw parallels between a Mexico City electronica DJ and a homemade-tape raptreneur from the American Midwest is more fantasy than reality. Arguing to the contrary is foolish. But allow me the opportunity and some of the absurdity can be minimized.

Strange and intuitively bothersome as a concept seems, it is nonetheless endearing. Like an unhealthy teenage relationship, attraction is impossible to deny. The compulsion is too strong to repel. At the end of the day pleasure is found in the likeliest and most unpleasant of places; context always places poor situations in a realistic light

A random tangent but one that is useful in establishing a premise. Three elements breathe infinite life to screwed-up drank supplements. The first is the inimitable essence of the Screw freestyles. Lil Keke, Z-Ro, Scarface, Fat Pat, and the like were present at the moment. SUC members inhabited history as it occurred. These relics cannot be repeated. The likelihood for imitation and mimicry exists, but recreation eludes these rap mimes like summer school victims

The second element cannot be attributed to the Screwmaster general in the strictest of senses, but if the Texas Monthly can be taken at its word the inevitable nostalgia of hit songs helped boost Screwtapes' pedigree. “Mo Money, Mo Problems” “Let Me Ride” and “High Til I Die,” shine a spotlight on some remix selections; Chopping and Screwing adds a variation to the known not unlike a dash of orange juice to a whiskey sour; tangy and addictive.

Third, and final, is a package deal. Escaping the gravitational pull of slowed down music is hard. Really, really difficult. The possibility to listen to slowed down music always exists but is rarely taken advantage of beyond momentarily morbid curiosity¹. Essentially playing music at any speed other than the one it is intended for is a novelty no one cares to admit enjoying. But here is a host who has already made the choice – songs that sound good at an alternative speed are ready for enjoyment. Also, as novel as it may be, Slowed not Throwed credentials force listeners' brains to work differently. Listening to slowed down music makes the brain compensate; adjust. Sitting down to smell the roses requires active engagement. Again, perhaps nothing more than a byproduct of the drugs.

Below the surface Ñaka Ñaka is an EDM DJ Screw. In a silence the words are aggressively shouted, “Slow your life the fuck down!” This Mexico City by London musician challenges the audience to reconsider what is known. Pay heed to the gaps.

[REVIEW]

This records was listened to once-ish before the writing of this review.

Ñaka Ñaka's October 2012 release is a salad bar of contradictions. Some of the advice I would give to these sounds' newcomer is, “Do not blink because you will more than likely miss something,” along with, “Oh, and close your eyes while you are listening.” A record grounded in reality but excelling in the paranormal, the ghost of Ira Gitler is suddenly conjured. What these sounds accomplish best is revisiting, “sheets of sound”. In no sense is it a reinvention of Coltrane's rapid fire notes that barely fit within a musical phrase. Moving beyond the possibly obscure Italian reference, “Baldi” makes an effective use of classical melody to this end. Ñaka Ñaka's sheets of sound are more like drapes; scenic back drops for a cerebral rave. The sound pays homage to this musician's interior audio design skills.

Beyond the title, though, not much must be uttered: Música Para Clubs Clausurados (Music for Cloistered Clubs) If a club is a social setting, why would it need to be cloistered? Is it a club if no one is present? Why is their something similar to a Trent Reznor logo appropriated for a banner on the Bandcamp page²?

Contradictions. Contradictions. Contradictions. The power of repetition becomes blatantly obvious, too upon the conclusion of the first track “M-Tro.” In the midst of foreshadowing, the initial song also takes the time to highlight the relationship between reiteration and subtly. Once the same pattern is played one, two, three times, and beyond for a debutant 8 minute track, it is easy to take shelter in any noticeable change.

The most emotive aspects within this record is gradual shifts in the accepted norm. Listen to the first three minutes of the song “Kao's.” While tones drone on and keys meander in the same vicinity, it takes a whole 1:17 for a 4/4 groove to develop. The only major difference that will occur for the remainder of the song is, again, incessantly gentle shifts that shake the core anyone bold enough to grow comfortable.

While on the note of subtlety, the downright silly humor Ñaka Ñaka works in the mix is not at all worth missing. Genre's are constructs and mean nothing, but surely no reason to avoid ahving fun. If Hi-NRG is acceptable, why not Lo-NRG? Trace elements of Trance, House, and Hardcore can be found, but by far the most amusing allusion to fads gone by is the song “X-It.” A challenge is presented: can anyone x-step to ambient breakbeat? “Toon Town” resides in the same neighborhood of sound and is just as worthy of a listen.

By no means, though, it Música an idyllic record. The general song structure appears to be build...build...build...plateau....slight abrogation...fade outs; the latter used to an excessive degree. It could play to the idea of a brain teasers or a DJ trolling his listener up until losing steam; hardly necessary to explore any further.

It can just as easily be said that the whole album is a compilation of downtempo takes on popular beats (see: “Casa Rasta”). Hardly. If nothing else the music is ethereal; impressionistic. Take the whole picture straight to the dome. While these beats may compose the entire reason for a fan's admiration on any standard track, in Ñaka Ñaka's world it is a sideshow; an extra in the climactic scene. It is an effect used very well – almost as if to say, if you focus on any one element you may miss the superior surroundings.

Plus, for the most part these beats serve as an indicator that time is passing; a metrometronome, a metronome with flare. Songs are allowed breathe until they are comfortable. “Medusas” exemplifies this with a faster, more involved rhythm. A whole range of space is explored with cascades of different sounds from deep house sensibilities to strings samples.

For what it is worth, electronica as an umbrella style of music can be divided into two camps: social and personal. One is enjoyed in the company of many others, the other with only headphones and only one must stay atuned to tastes and aesthetics. The roof is high for Ñaka Ñaka, wherever he may ultimately reside; and if 2013's Juan Pestañas (and it's marvelous tracklist) is any indicator the venture has only started. Take Música Para Clubs Clausuradosis quite the introduction to this fertile mind.

 

Jonathan Cohen is a recovering college radio DJ,discover-er of Jimmy Hoffa Tourettes, and once lauded expert on shrubbery. You can follow him on Twitter through the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

1The headless horseman does have a shoulder area after all.

2Think about it for a second...NIN...take the I and place it about the n's like a tilde. ÑÑ.

Week 2, What's up? - Turn Around, Bend Down, and Count the Threads of Cotton? (Algodón Egipcio La Lucha Constante [Lefse Records])

[SET-UP]

To any curious parties, take note: if the CIA Worldfactbook is to serve as any indicator of the current state of “reality,” then Egypt's primary industry is indeed textiles. Appropriate, the north African country's top Agricultural product is cotton.

Not that these trivial bits serve any purpose, specific or otherwise, but if nothing else it sets the mood.

Mysterious to a certain degree, yes. I will agree that at best what we have so far is a non-sequitur; at worst the beginning of a downward spiral into meaninglessness. Cryptic would work too, but I for one have a stated fear of any foreign objects inhabiting the space in or around my nose. Lost? Allow me one moment as I ask you to think pyramids and recollections of schoolhouse history lessons. Pharaohs and their death are a prevalent and exciting topic in this field, and with it comes the removal of brain matter. Memories are fresher than royal neurons firing warning shots. Ambiguous is perpetually a better selection to cryptic in the realm of describing the indescribable.

So where does this leave us (other than lost)? Raw and wandering; searching and seeking; longing for a superior path. Enter Algodon Egipcio: neither Egyptian nor cotton¹. The work attributed to a man known in certain social circles as Ezequiel Bertho leaves a listener with a sense of confusion not unlike the a reader's following the first two paragraphs. Disorientation mixed with a failure to distinguish anything definite results in glorious muddling. How is this meant to be listened to? What could this have been born of? What is the purpose?

Feelings most commonly attributed to jigsaw puzzles, sure. Alas, this is music; the pleasure is in the whole picture. A process of sharpening the image...of cotton. No small task. A necessary mission, however, since this is not the first time Algodon Egipcio has affronted me.

My initial exposure to Bertho's music was the first track on NRMAL's² excellent Norte Sonoro EP released by last year (and previously reviewed briefly here). “La espina del Cardenche,” is by all means a manageably painful but intriguing track. As a matter of fact, the introductory song is perhaps the most riveting. Three minutes and fifty one seconds, twelve percent of this extended play album, are inhabited by Algodon's contribution. Acoustic guitar sonically cuts in and out, distant & strained vocals which would seem more at home in a Smithsonian field recording sings on, only to be met by what can the sound of two independent tracks competing for space. The challenge is both infuriating and off-putting; ever the more emphasized by being prominently displayed first among the ranks of Toy Selectah, Helado Negro, and Chancha Via Circuito.

Who...does this is this guy, think he is?³

[REVIEW]

This records was listened to twice before the writing of this review.

La Lucha Constante (The Constant Fight) seems at first to be a genre trap. As “El Dia Previo” begins to play it is evident that this music is passive but delightfully busy. An electronic introduction meets indie guitar at the intersection of being hip. Elements of shoegaze immediately stand upright, being stably held up by vocals that float effortlessly through the air. But could this just as well be dream pop? The overall sound is akin to that of a hot-air balloon floating over Humboldt. Come to think of it, the ambiance is set by auditory incense covering up an elusive skunky smell. At least it can be deduced that this is base-level post-rock; the use of a traditional rock elements with a stated purpose of creating un-rock music. Lying on the cusp of the Ohio-Kentucky border, flirting with math-rock and morning jackets it suddenly becomes clear that labels are of no help.

But what of comparison? Two routes will be paved, feel free to select the most appealing.

Road one has been trekked tirelessly; surroundings that influence people to re-create what is known. Hailing from the Bolivarian republic of Venezuela, it is easy to separate the politics of a certain selection of elites from the artistic nuances of completely separate individuals. Why though? The most prevalent feature in the personality Venezuela for the last decade or so has been politics. Egalitarian principles in a modern world of identity.

One thing which Algodon Egipcio excels at is taking sounds and incorporating them for his own use. “El Ingenio Humano” comfortably borrows from elements of industrial as a song of controlled chaos reveals itself. Just as easily “Los Parpados Caidos” eases Latin beats into an indie rock fold. Classic artistic recycling: using supposedly finished products and reinventing them in a new light. Superiority of one style over another is entirely a state of mind. In this way the music is very equitable. All music is good, so to make good music why not use as much music as possible⁴? The sounds are never forced, as even spaghetti western-like reverb makes an appearance in-betwixt the technological glory of coexisting synthesizers.

A detour to the second route: Algodón Egipcio loves to have fun with computers. No song is a better example of this than the spectacular “La Repetición, La Repetición”. Guitar sounds are neatly layered on top of one another and monitored by the gaze of a drum machine. This is prior to a series of drastic changes. More than mere tempo variations, the entire orientation of the song adapts to a new environment just as the two minute mark hits. Suddenly, and without warning, the seventh track is an electronic dance party hosted by a relaxed guitar; not before another abrupt change towards happy power and back to a 2/4 beat. 

Within the nature of the song is the alternative: as opposed to contemporaries, Algodón Egipcio is not predictable and blissfully unaware of fitting into any mold. Yet calling this music an experimental does not sit right. The nonchalant vibe given off by doting bass and a sweet melody among the lyrics "Corran la voz / La espera acabo / Ya esta qui / Ya llego / Abran paso a la evolucion" (Spread the word / The wait is over / It is already here / It has arrived / Open way for evolution) give the impression that the artist simply wishes to create a better version of what already exists in his own vision.

“La transformación” is a noticeable example of an extremely well written pop song. A fresh transformation; “El Escapismo” pushes the boundaries into the possibility of tonal pop. Both these tasks require the utmost cognizance of whichever musical vehicle is being altered. While the vocal looping on “La Condición (La Prueba A)” and the identity crisis of “Los Asuntos Pendientes (La Prueba B)” may recall a revolution where seven ate nine or Krauts rocking out with their bratwurst out, it does not matter. Perhaps the intention is to perpetually avoid being properly identified, which is cause enough for a pleasant return.

Jonathan Cohen is a recovering college radio DJ,discover-er of Jimmy Hoffa Tourettes, and once lauded expert on shrubbery. You can follow him on Twitter through the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

1 Nor an undead mummy, but equally as captivating

2The a being surprisingly relevant.

3Jerry Seinfeld voice

4According to its needs, no less

Week 2, What's up? - What's in a Name? (Helado Negro Invisible Life [Asthmatic Kitty])

[SET-UP]

Roberto Carlos Lange has enough pseudonyms to fly with a group killa bees on a swarm. Yet he is no bee. As a matter of fact Lange is entirely human; so far as the author is able to tell at the time of his writing this sentence. And despite the already noticeable lack of entomological characters, I have no qualm saying that when listening to any Lange/Epstein/half an OMBRE/Helado Negro “You are watching a masta at work.”

After all, this is only half the fun. Just because the man commonly known as Helado Negro is a human that makes contently gentle tunes does not make him a modern day hippy. Nein. The being behind the mythical black frozen dairy curtain is an auteur; straight up, this is the work of an artist. Lange is able to translate the plastic arts into music. This not a, however, a comment on the quality or merit of the music so much as an observation on the attitude and presentation; the just overall vibe. Each song on an Helado Negro album gives the impression of being a fully thought out and organized concept rather than a hastily recorded idea following a spark from the lightning strike of inspiration. Which is to say: every track carries with it an Escherian quality. What has been learned since the last sketch? What new manner of looking at a familiar sight, or hearing a sound, will the listener be exposed to? An intersection of science and art without sounding excessively academic; but that is what the creator's strong aesthetic sensibilities are for. After all, as it is written in the Invisible Life's liner notes by Sara Padgett, “Between all these lines and in the space between each of us is the definition of Invisible Life. It's that space where we sit and figure things out.”

Without waxing poetic for too long, as much to a certain point I lack the sufficient linguistic aptitude to express myself: Roberto Carlos Lange gets “it;” how to make “it.” The joy that comes with every new entry in this man' canon is simply finding out how far he has chosen to take “it,” this time around.

[REVIEW]

Sure, by this portion in the entry anyone who is still present bears an admirable receptiveness to anything, dare I say, different. Yet caveat is noted: this is music to be listened to with an open mind.

This records was listened to twice before the writing of this review (so I impart that advice with not so extensive credentials).

The record begins with the soundtrack to an Aphex Twin night-terror. Although this may sound like a blatant exaggeration and a needless comparison, consider the first spoken words are, “"Ilumina tu voz con rayo x / Estas que bailas en tu cerebro (Illuminate your voice with x-rays / You're in a state of dancing in your brain).” Destructively small sample size, yes, but with this first song a series of projections can be made. One, these are tunes with a surprisingly traditional song structure – Verse → chorus → verse → bridge, etc. – because the unorthodoxy lies within. Take note that the line quotesd above is about half the spoken part of first song. Lyrics throughout Invisible Life are economically conservative; enviably succinct and strikingly effective. Emphasis and effect are reached through repetition and syllable pronunciations. Second, the voice is inseparable from the song. As a zen teacher might say more eloquently: a coin is not whole with only one side. Neither the music, nor the singing, is identical without the other to accompany it. Unfortunately this makes easy to overlook how good a singer Lange truly is, as can be heard in his vivacious vibrato during “Cuentas.”

“Lentamente,” the second song is a choice cut emphasize both these points. The first twenty seconds of this six and a half minute track could be intimidating to a neophyte by the sheer virtue of all that is occurring. Disparate percussion meets static and tape effects while doting keys mingle in the vicinity of some whistling. By no means anarchic, but to say this music is subdued may give the impression that it is uneventful. Not the case. To the contrary, this is very busy music and any singing (exclusively Lange save for “Arboles” and “Junes”) serves as a chaperone; a frequent reminder that there is a very present human element to these sonic creations. The voice provides an anchor in an technological abyss that may seem inescapable at first (as in the interlude between 1:27 and 2:04 or the banger seeking refuge near 5:45) but is really just a room full of optical illusions.

And what of the attractive qualities? As with 2012's Island Universe Story One, plenty of accessible influences are revealed. Lange, as it were, has been blessed with an extraordinary sense of funk. Among the hints of Latin American sounds, experimental electronics, and indie sensibilities, Helado Negro's music is funky in the vein of surprise. For all the heady qualities of lyrics akin to psychedelic philosophy (“So count your steps, there’s more chances / When you add it all up") and surreal brain movies (“There’s no one home / Just the ghosts who dance alone...”); for all the nuances in 4.5 songs in English and 5.5 in spanish, the funk is provided at will and without the slightest hint strain. “Dance with Ghosts” is formidable in this sense: at 1:37 (after running through all the song's spoken words...twice) a synth-line makes a statement sounding a lot like “Everybody's got a little light under the sun,” just not in so many literal words.

Not by any means an isolated incident. Take the afore mentioned track, “Arboles” with its clear cumbia qualities. Though at times labeled with “Latin” and “World,” because of the non-English lyrical content, this song credited to Helado Negro permeates borders with a Mothership complex outro. By Wearing a more Primus hat on the following track “Relatives,” the funk continues while a relatively old idea being revisited in the words “Pesadillas / Se confunden / Cuando llegan a ti (Nightmares / Are confused / When the arrive at you)."¹ Cyclically it becomes evident this is a record designed like a sculpture: something concrete is worked at until an ideal state is reached, until the desired end point is arrived at.

Which is coincidentally what is best about Helado Negro: the only person with any influence over the sculpture, and with any access to the tools to alter them, is the man himself. What seeps from the pores of these tunes is a sense of isolation. While surroundings are duly noted and taken at will, the overall integrity is only to be decided Lange. This is isolationist music. It sounds like nothing else because brainchildren have only one parental. And although profanities are a sign of bad vocabulary, what best describes Invisible Life is the words really...fucking...and cool.

Jonathan Cohen is a recovering college radio DJ,discover-er of Jimmy Hoffa Tourettes, and once lauded expert on shrubbery. You can follow him on Twitter through the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

1Could something be said about the exponential pattern in this excerpt? Probably. Will it. Not really.

Week 2, What's up? - Is This Real Life? (Chancha Via Circuito Semillas [ZZK Records])

[SET-UP]

With the decision to push play on any Chancha Via Circuito record a very important decision is taken. This is not music for the indecisive. As Machiavelli would have it, power in any situation feeds off of any available uncertainty and insecurity; also a renaming of the Caesar salad into the Cesar Borgia Salad. Different story entirely. In the present tale, however, The choice is yours: Are you willing to believe these sounds as part of an established tapestry, or will you jettison it as the sabotage of a wayward troll. No pressure. But I do implore that you to once again consider it. The very essence of willpower is at stake.

After all, Chancha Via Circuito roughly translates to, if we are to believe the Real Academia Española as any real academic source on the Spanish language, “lies via circuit;” alternatively “filth via circuit.” I suppose, though, that an explanation is in order.

See, Chancha Via Circuito (a.k.a. Pedro Canales) andthe record label that publishes his music, ZZK, has made a living out of expanding the legacy of one of Latin America's most popular dance rhythms beyond  the 20th century; not unlike the continuing evolution of reggae. Every country has its own interpretation and emotional attachment to a style of cumbia, but what of a geographically specific genre in an era of vanishing physical borders? Chancha Via Circuito acts as a sort of Einstürzende Neubauten in this electro-cumbia predicament. As opposed to Tremor or Mati Zundel, Chancha Via Circuito takes the source of idolatry (the music, the rhythm) and places it in different life situations as if to ask, is it still cumbia here? How about here? What if we put a funny hat on it and send it over yonder?

The choice is yours, does the context make the cumbia or does the cumbia create context? Is it a lie; filthy slander? Time to accept or deny.

[REVIEW]

This records (available after the jump) was listened to thrice before the writing of this review.

And with that being said, there is no manner of beginning without addressing the cover art. A gender ambiguous child stares blankly into the distance; as much of an empty void ripe for influence as the cosmic backdrop. A ray of light emerges from a tree stump in the child's hands shining directly towards its being. Nothing more than a design worthy of it's own black-light poster perhaps, but the digital Semillas (Seeds) [EP] comes with two word processing documents: one is liner notes written by Canale himself, the other a tracklist. In the previous, a story is reported about an uncertain morning when the producer awoke to a neighbor's tree branch in his kitchen. The kicker is that the tree could speak and was inclined to engage in human breakfast. A philosophical meal ensued in which the following words were spoken:

Fue una charla en silencio, donde hablamos de la importancia de los días de lluvia, que aunque a nosotros los humanos no siempre nos moja, también nos riega. (It was a conversation in silence, in which we spoke about the importance of rainy days, that even though us humans are not always wet by it, we are also watered)

Metaphysics aside – for excessive plenty of time has already dedicated to the intangible and invisible creative qualities of these songs – Semillas [EP] is a curiously short release. With a free of guilt price that cannot be argued, suspicions of whether the 6 cuts are nothing more than glorified b-sides is ignored. Pay no heed that these tracks were recorded in the same time span as Chancha Via Circuito's debut Rio Arriba.

No such point aside, two significant differences distinguish this release from the one just mentioned. Albeit true that the entirety of this 2012 record is marked by a typically subtle approach to song structure (a bell-curve of emotion), these are also tunes meant for an album. These are songs that are hard to imagine as part of a larger DJ set and the only real exception is the fourth track¹, “Vaina,” which would serve as a formidable warm-up song. Every ten seconds for the first minute or so a new layer is added until stability is reached. The number's climax does not arrive until three minutes and twenty four seconds, when it is met very natural groove. In typical Chancha Via Circuito fashion, multiple sources of additional but not competing sources of percussion co-exist. Anyone up for funky guitar?

The second difference from Rio Arriba is meant more as an observation than a criticism². This is an EP that does not showcase any significant genre shift. Tempo is altered between slow and medium to keep listeners intrigued and free of monotonic despotism. Essentially, though, a niche is found and explored like the best social network account. The overall theme seems develop into “the origins have been isolated, now what will it sprout into?” The opening track, “Burkina,” for example, has a jazzy feel with its syncopated beats. Stray sounds of the Amazon do not garnish or obstruct the track but rather contribute to it. These seemingly ambient sounds – perpetually present in different forms – are always oddly in tune. Rhythm is everywhere; the nature, no pun intended. The nurture is in the third track, “Deropolitissa,” a remix whose vocals, incantations, and ritualistic feel are not necessarily better than the less organized natural song preceding it, just...different.

Much like the final two songs from an age where pop-culture substitutes run of the mill religious worship. The cult of the celebrity and nightlife. Indisputably the final track is the strongest, and unmistakeably the most likely to be favored by listeners. The coincidence is apparent, for this is the most EDM song. “Hippopotamo” is the most accessible by the odd clout computer created sounds have have developed since the age of Kraftwerk³. Is it better than prior tracks because is it more relatable? Is good music intrinsically tied to predictability?

Truly this is the fun in philosophy: a verbal game without a clear winner. Sides are taken but not necessarily maintained. With Chancha Via Circuito the importance of allegiances, I admit, is wholly practical. If one is to accept this music as an extension of a folk art, it provides a filter of legitimacy to the creations; likewise for rejection in that it would be nothing more than wishful thinking. Indeterminacy, though, sucks the listener into a downward spiral of a philosophical black hole that is never resolved.

Semillas [EP] is not an opus, but proves to be more than an apt introduction to the intrigue of Chancha Via Circuito's larger body of work and the blurring of lines between noveau and traditional

Jonathan Cohen is a recovering college radio DJ,discover-er of Jimmy Hoffa Tourettes, and once lauded expert on shrubbery. You can follow him on Twitter through the handle @BoggleUrNoggle

 1 Simultaneously every Dominican's favorite word.

2 This sort of criticism would be wholly unfair.

3 That's two German references for anyone keeping score at home, proving again that everything German goes to die in Argentina

Week 2, Turning Tuesday Turbulent

Is Opal Records in anyway a member of the new Latin American electronic music scene? No. Not in the least bit. As a matter of fact the label is not even located in the same hemisphere. Geography be damned, and globes be treated like soccer balls: aesthetic and purpose is what matters. So while it should be noted that Basic House, and what is essentially his record store, is based out of London, it is not, shall we say detrimental information.

But take note that this is a label that can easily hold its own with similar British conspirators in Eglo and Perlon Records. This is challenging music for those who want to wish to be an obstuse piece to the jigsaw puzzle's reign of terror. What follows the jump is a 26 June 2013 set by Opal Records head honcho – whose catalog can be enjoyed at Bandcamp

Now, a few words on what I personally consider to be one of the better DJ sets I have heard in this year of our Lord Nova, fifty-one fifteen.

Selections: While minor nuances assist in the ultimate enjoyment of listening to any DJ's radio set or party recording, nothing matters more than the cutting edge composer's choice of songs. The tracklist for any DJ's work hours is a free-based residual of a presumably larger and orgasmic record collection. Granted that no song titles are provided by NTS radio (oft forgotten in lieu of Rinse FM and Deja Vu Radio), but the overall feel is that this is more than a simple label showcase. The set is clearly not a substitute for a label podcast. This is not by any means a “best of” for Opal Tapes, but it is quite the introduction; whetting the appetite like a drizzle to the last saguaro in the desert. In addition to that, the summation of the tunes is one of malleability: this can be background music to those who desire it or an active listening collage to those who prefer it. The range is also admirable – although be cognizant of the largely musique concrète feel – with pseudo drum 'n' bass at 18 minutes, somewhat bass music 23 minutes, what can only be described as legitimate alien mating sounds at 35 minutes along with instrument experimentation at 55 minutes

Organization: The over all layout of the set is admirable and aware of the broadcast's limitations (one hour). The purpose of this DJ'ing gig is not to get a party crowd up and moving; the underlying appeal is conveying a full musical though to those seeking headphone EDM or bizarro cocktail party accompaniment. This is not a random set of color splotches on a canvas. A variety of “hangout sessions” (with out without intoxicants of choice) can be imagined as well as solo chilling; music for night walking, as I once heard Burial described. Most interesting is the consistent song breaks at round minute marks of half minute marks in addition consistent change of tempo every 10-15 minutes. Basic House masterfully avoids stale consistency.

Transition: Songs are traveled between without the slightest hint of turbulence. Likewise, detours are not forced in any manner. Large, very sufficient chunks of songs are allowed to be played out and enjoyed. This is not a set for those who suffer from music ADD. Enjoy the moment. Turns are frequently not even noticed; treble is often used to the DJ's advantage in transitioning to the next song.As previously mentioned, the pace is very even and the fade out at the end catches no one by surprise. An overall excellent way to spend an hour.

Week 2, What's Up?

Reading music centric words is one of life's gargantuanly grotesque guilty pleasures. In my life. As ego would have it, though, my life is not the equivalent to the majority of the human experience. Yet this premise itself can be translated to fit any number of different scenarios. Sports writing that makes a fan research historical facts; dig deeper into statistics. Film critiques that pique a film buff or casual ticket buyer's interest in viewing moving images from a different angle. Improper sentences that make an average citizen want to seek out a book on syntactic theory for the sole purpose of beating the pompous ass of a writer looking to bend a rule from time to time over the head with it.

A better constructed thought, really, is that reading extended material on a hobby or area of interest is one of life's simplest joys.

Like swerving to avoid hitting a smaller, but nonetheless living, creature that stands to be no fit match against a thousand pound piece of deadly metal on wheels, good learning is akin to a warm comforting feeling right below the navel. The art of hugging is not necessarily a multi-person act. Care for yourself, love yourself...feed your brain, eh? It was perhaps for this reason that I recently read We Got the Neutron Bomb: The Untold Story of L.A. Punk, a literary concept co-created by Marc Spitz (not the Olympic swimmer) and Branden Mullen. An insider and a journalist who take a retrospective glance at the Los Angeles California punk scene, via Glam Rock, from 1969-1981. The book really does have a narrative that stands on it's own; fascinating in it's own respect. Most interestingly, though, is the fact that it is not written in prose. Spitz and Mullen's book is not second hand source material. Rather, while the individual tales and overall thematic idea is impressive and worthy of contemplation, the true source of formidable essence is in the gargantuan editing job required for publication. The book tells a coherent, linear story strictly through interviews.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, reading about a hobby carries an associated risk: developing a prolonged interest or “phase” in an especially niche area. Nietzschean nuances, really.

So I thought about it. I reflected for quite some time. I stopped short of meditating because, frankly, the otherwise “spent” time on pondering prevented an actual excursion in exemplary tree discovery. So why not dedicate a week's worth of posts to this region wide scene of musical community? Why should I not cover records like Germs GI, X Los Angeles, Black Randy and the Metrosquad Pass the Dust, I Think I'm Bowie, Fear The Record, so on and so on? After all, thanks to Discogs the full catalogs for Slash Records, Dangerhouse Records, Bomp! Records and SST Records are free to peruse through. The internet is a wonderful thing and any and all desired music is also readily available to curious parties

The reason for avoiding this path is because ultimately resident philosopher Mike Watt's words reign supreme, “I still think of punk as a state of mind and not a style, so how can it go out of fashion? […] 'Punk' can mean anything.” (283) Come one, punk rock changed Watt's life; him and D. Boone had been playing for years. Real names be proof; John Doe. History lessons are best left to teachers: a clan of educators which I am decidedly not a part of. But I will say that the underlying beauty of punk rock is its inception; regular people with the simple desire of having something new and unabashedly taking the ownership of creation. Their is no need to fall into complacence. Pretending I understand the music of a time period I was not alive for, from a part of the country I have never lived in would require being faced and facetious.

For this reason I have chosen to dedicate this week to contemporary musicians with a relative punk streak. For one will B-Side A-Hole will host pieces on artists who are making something wholly different. Five posts written in admiration for the projection of fresh worldviews in the form of musical sounds. In this sense the present day Latin American electronic music scene is very much like the 1980 American underground. Sure, Tribal Guarachera, Funk Carioca, Electro-Cumbia, and Electro Tango all suffer a case of genre peer-pressure, but artists whom have taken a relatively isolate approach to creating sounds exactly of their desire exist. Nortec Collective, Chico Mann, Visitante Calle 13, to name a few, have been demanding auditory attention for a number of years already. This week shall be interesting.

The best part of being a fan of contemporary music is the mere idea of being able to tell future generations about it; tales the perspective of having experienced it hindsight advantage.

Jonathan Cohen is a recovering college radio DJ,discover-er of Jimmy Hoffa Tourettes, and once lauded expert on shrubbery. You can follow him on Twitter through the handle @BoggleUrNoggle