I was hunting on the Internet today for new albums with May release dates when I stumbled upon a Captured Tracks band called Craft Spells. Their music is boring, but the band bio, on the other hand, is AMAZING. And by AMAZING I mean that it’s THE WORST BAND BIO I HAVE EVER READ IN MY LIFE. If you—and by “YOU,” I mean bands, labels, pr goons, etc—want to know WHAT NOT TO DO WHEN WRITING A BAND BIO, this is a great example.
It opens with a puker: “In the cold and dreary winter of 2009, alone in his bedroom and hidden from the darkness of the world outside Justin Paul Vallesteros had begun working on something that would change his life forever.”
Enough already! Sad little boys have been sitting alone and playing guitars since forever. It’s not interesting. The whole “bedroom” thing is FINISHED. It’s the norm, it’s not exotic. Quite frankly, it makes the artist sound like a sad wanker wanking around in his pajamas and wanking wank music cuz he’s afraid to be a man and face the mean, scary worldie-poo. It’s not “cool” anymore. It’s pathetic.
“Guitar chords laced over pulse sating synth melodies and drum rhythms was a departure from Justin’s previous work.”
So, maybe this is supposed to say “pulsating,” or maybe they actually mean “that which sates one’s need for pulse.” I hope this is an accident. If not, well, just gimme a fucken break already! And, hmm, Justin’s departure…. what sorta compositionally different music was this little dude making before Craft Spells that justifies talking about his artistic departure??? DUDE’S MAKING INDIE-POP MUSIC. Not a big deal. EVERYONE’S making this crap. It’s not special. Talking about his trajectory as a composer-musician is way too premature. He’s not Miles Davis (at least not yet).
“Craft Spells is the epitome of the recent uprising of the DIY music scene.”
No, actually. No. Craft Spells is not that. First, there is no “uprising.” Sure, there was Altered Zones, which was a failed attempt to create a PR website so bloggers running labels could elevate their products, and which was even a bit too absent-minded for Pitchfork to continue endorsing. But there’s been no uprising. If you think there’s been an uprising, and if you think Craft Spells is the uprising’s epitome, then you need to pull your head out of your BFF’s Tumblrs, go get some air, and come back to join us in the real world. Nobody out here gives a fuck about this fluffy DIY rhetoric. It’s mainstream.
“But soon the shear amount of blog volume his work began to generate was unimaginable.”
OMFG!! Was it just super-extra-UNIMAGINABLE!!!! The SHEER AMOUNT OF BLOG VOLUME. WAS IT??? Did it hurt you real bad? Did it crush you? Can you IMAGINE THAT? Being crushed by blog volume.
“..and thus began the never ending worldwide posting and re-posting on blog after blog of Craft Spells.”
OMFG!! SRSLY! Was it NEVER ENDING! Like, all the POSTING and RE-POSTING. BLOG AFTER BLOG!!! OHMY! Was it… UNIMAGINABLE! Damn. Sounds so cray, dudes. CRUSHED! But, for real, this is taking self-tugging and hype-building to a whole new level. But it’s not finished yet…
“In no time at all, Justin has been able to move out of Dave Brubeck and Pavement’s shadow to create something his own which he shares with the ever continuing admiration of the world.”
Well… good for Justin! Glad he was able to overcome all those silly Brubeck and Pavement comparisons. Who was making those, by the way? Anybody? ANYBODY! Meh, who cares! As long as he’s earning “THE EVER CONTINUING ADMIRATION OF THE WORLD,” perhaps that doesn’t matter. See, there’s this big thing called THE WORLD. It spins around and there are people on top of it. And all those people, and all of THE WORLD, continue to admire Justin a whole damn lot. His parents must be proud.
To be fair, it’s important to keep in mind that poor Justin and Craft Spells most likely did not write this dumb bio. It was probably the label. So, sorry Justin. I’m sure people like your music just fine. More power to you, seriously. But this bio needs to be murdered. Murder it. Murder it now. AND, since the world admires you so much, I think it’d be just fine if you decide to leave the bedroom every once in a while and walk around a bit. Get out there and see the DIY UPRISING for yourself.
A friend of mine who’s an editor at a local magazine also teaches journalism classes at Temple University. She asked me to come talk about my experiences as a freelance writer, so a coupla weeks ago I spoke to a group of about 20 undergraduate students about how this is the worst career decision ever. I ran into a group of three students down in the subway tunnel after the talk, and they were like “You just fucking shattered all my dreams, duder.” And I said, “It’s not any worse than anything else.” It was fun. Many of the things I said were sorta standard things people say when offering freelancer advice, so I won’t waste my/your/our time repeating them here. But there are a few points I will mention below because I don’t have anything else to do today.
1. I began with a story. Interestingly, about one week before I spoke to this class, one of my current editors asked me to meet with one of her interns. He was having a hard time breaking into the local music writing market, so she thought I might have some advice to offer him. We met at Joe’s pizza joint in Center City. I said all the typical shit. “Don’t give up, keep trying, fuck the world, etc.” But a situation arose that allowed me to provide a real lesson.
I noticed that a dude sitting near us enjoying his pizza left a $10 bill on his tray. He kept stacking trash and stuff on it because he didn’t realize it was there. I watched that bill like a hawk. After he dumped his tray in the trashcan, I waited for him to leave the restaurant, and then I walked over, opened the trashcan and pulled the $10 bill out. I showed it to the intern dude.
LESSON: In order to survive as a freelance music writer you must pull other people’s cash out of trashcans at pizza joints.
2. I told the journalism students to never write anything for free. Unpaid internships have become part of the culture—a late-capitalist culture of socially acceptable exploitation. The argument is that it’s worth it to write for free now because it MIGHT lead to paid writing gigs in the future. Fuck this slave logic.
First, I claimed that I have no respect for “arguments from future generations.” Environmental nuts are really into this way of thinking—it’s wrong for us to cut down all the trees now because it will have bad consequences for future generations, or whatever. People love this feel-good hocus-pocus. I don’t. I don’t care about future generations. I’ll be dead, everyone I know will be dead, and I don’t feel any strong moral or emotional connection to abstract concepts like “human.” I’m not a humanist. I don’t care about “the state of the world” after I die. Egoism is the only beneficial moral position under capitalism.
But, I think a variation of this argument is meaningful (for the egoist) when it becomes an “argument from future selves.” This version, rather than make a tenuous leap to “future generations” applies to “future versions of myself.” Like this: I shouldn’t do x at t1 because doing x at t1 will harm me at t2. But I complicate that future-self logic a bit when I insert the internship/unpaid writing culture logic. Like this: I should not write for free now because, in 5 years, when I’m searching for paid writing gigs, there will be some other fucking moronic intern taking those assignments who is eliminating my ability to make money. By writing for free now, I reproduce, not only a disgusting culture of exploitation, but the barriers that will prevent future-me from being able to find paid writing gigs.
LESSON: Don’t write for free now because you’re actually hurting future-you. The bosses will tell you to write for free because there’s some vague possibility of a future reward, but don’t listen to them. That’s what bosses do. They lie.
3. I concluded my talk by articulating a comparison between freelance writers and Bodi, my favorite character from HBO’s The Wire. He’s in all the seasons. He begins as a street-level drug dealer for the Barksdales. He does good work, so he takes over one of the buildings (but mainly because his old boss was murdered rather than because the big bosses were looking out for him). Bodi then murders a young kid, one of his fellow dealers. He doesn’t agree with the decision, really, but he does it anyway because he’s loyal and a good worker.
Bodi always keeps his mouth shut when the cops pick him up. He even runs out of town to pick up dope packages and bring them back to Baltimore. He takes risks with no guaranteed rewards (like an intern). When Marlo Stanfield takes over, and gradually eliminates the Barksdale squad, Bodi doesn’t join Marlo. He stands alone. He also never joins Prop Joe and those East Side fuckers. He stands hard, 10 toes, for the Barksdales no matter what. He holds down the corner while everyone else runs, and it ultimately gets him killed. Shot in the back of the head, dead and bloody on his corner.
LESSON: This is the life of a freelance journalist. No matter how loyal you are, there are no rewards. No matter how much work you put in, you’ll never move up in the game. Bodi refers to himself as “a pawn.” Freelance writers are pawns. You provide the content for the papers while the editors sit there and look at it for a few minutes. Sometimes they’ll insert grammatical errors into your copy to prove to you they have the upper hand. They’ll move up, you’ll stay in the same place. Until the day you’re shot in the back of the head while you stare into your computer.
NOTE: If I relied solely on “music journalism” to make money I would die very soon. I would already be dead. This week’s a good example of how stupid it is to try to make money writing about this ish. Sadly, my print activity next week will be even worse. But I’m working on some things… That doesn’t mean there’s anything to be hopeful about. Hope’s a trap. Read Machiavelli (i.e. La Mandragola).
The fifth annual Two-Piece Fest happens in Philadelphia this weekend. Playing 15 minute sets, 40 duos shall swarm The Rotunda on Sat and Sun. I interviewed the Fest founder and wrote an article on it. I plan to go Sunday because I really want to see +HIRS+. They’re my favorite Philly “ROCK” band now that Satanized is deceased.
Threw down some ridiculousness about a NYC rock-duo called Mannequin Pussy for Philly Weekly‘s Critic’s Pick; for PW’s calendar I wrote a lil thing about a screening of Godard’s Contempt, which is a movie I once saw back when I didn’t fall asleep during foreign films.
Had some spectubular pizza last week at a spot called Nomad Pizza, which just opened where Horizons used to be. Soooo tasteeee, you guyz. Talked to the boss, whose name was STALIN, about it all. Wrote it up for Metro.
ROTATING HEAVILY: Nas’ Illmatic. I’m currently reading a collection of essays by various writers called Born To Use Mics: Reading Nas’s Illmatic. It’s enjoyable. Illmatic came out in 1994. I was making the transition from middle to high school around that time. I used to throw in tapes and record rap songs and DJ sets off the radio–can’t remember which station I was recording, but most likely one out of DC. I’d also record audio through the television, namely music video programs like BET’s Rap City. I had a tape with “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” on it recorded from that show. I remember the host saying something about it being the #? video on the countdown that week. Those tapes are in a landfill somewhere, which is where everything human will end up one day. Peace & love.
MEG BAIRD: ‘LIKE A MOMENT OF INSPIRATION’
I wrote about Meg Baird for Metro. It appeared in print, but not online, so I scanned it.
RECAP: EARTH, ELENA’S SOUL SHOWCASE LOUNGE, INSPECTAH DECK, PANTHER BABY, LUVSTEP, MEG BAIRD
Earth is one of the best bands on Earth. Their new one, Angels Of Darkness, Demons Of Light II, is my favorite 2012 album (so far). I managed to get band leader Dylan Carlson and drummer Adrienne Davies on the telephone. The interview was published this week by Tiny Mix Tapes.
The new issue of Philadelphia Weekly is devoted to soul food. The lead article is one I wrote on Elena’s Soul Showcase Lounge, a neat spot with a long history that sits a few blocks from my apartment in West Philadelphia. Met a cool old dude named James who turned out to be an actor.
Also wrote a few things for Philly Weekly‘s calendar. Wu-Tang Clan member Inspectah Deck has a show with local hip-hop artist Kuf Knotz (who I wrote a feature about a few months ago) and Writtenhouse, and Jamal Joseph’s at the Free Library Tuesday to talk about his new memoir, Panther Baby.
THEN, waaaaay back in Philly Weekly‘s music section, I threw down this week’s Critic’s Pick for Luvstep, the DJ duo of Flufftronix and Dirty South Joe (the Brick Bandits member I recently interviewed).
Finally, I wrote on Philly folk artist Meg Baird for Metro. Her last album, Seasons On Earth, is lovely. This sucker appeared in print but doesn’t seem to be online. I will scan it later and post it here. Don’t worry.
ROTATING HEAVILY: Philly Soul. The Intruders’ “Check Yourself” from their 1967 debut, The Intruders Are Together. Singer Sam “Little Sonny” Brown committed suicide in 1995. He jumped off the Strawberry Mansion Bridge and when they pulled his body from the Schuylkill River it was reported that he had Intruders cassettes and photos tied to his body. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Wrote a Playlisted feature for The AV Club on Zomes’ new Thrill Jockey album, Improvisations. I thought Osbourne was a Baltimore native currently living in Philadelphia, but maybe that’s changed. Does anyone know, for sure?
A$AP Rocky played Philadelphia Wednesday night, and I wrote about it for Philadelphia Weekly’s calendar. I didn’t go. I’m not really into live music at the moment. Prefer recordings. That will probably change, again.
Also for Philadelphia Weekly, I conducted an interview with Ninja of South African rave-rap group Die Antwoord. That was fun. A portion of it was printed, and I posted the full interview on PW’s music blog.
Wrote about Saturday night’s 69 Love Songs thing for Metro. It’s live band karaoke where all the songs from the Magnetic Fields’ 69 Love Songs are sung by audience members. So cute, right?
ROTATING HEAVILY: Everything by the Last Poets.
54th GRAMMY PREDICTIONS
The Grammy’s are dumb, but I still watch them. The past few years, I had no idea who any of the nominees were because I was ear deep in more sophisticated music. Last year, Arcade Fire won something, and everyone went all nuts about it because AF represents “indie” music in some way, they said. I wrote an article on how that’s bullshit for Philadelphia Weekly the week after the awards.
The whole thing’s bullshit, really, and we all know that. Fiona Apple was right (via MTV, tho). Digable Planets was right. Jim Morrison was even right when he said, “You’re all a bunch of fucking slaves.” I’m no longer certain there’s any way out of this awful cage, though, so the only thing left to do is decorate the fucker with cool posters of our fave pop stars and stuff. That’s why even neocons esoterically love(d) OCCUPY—they just occupy cages rather than blow ‘em sky high. THIS BALLOON, BURNING.
I know some/most of the nominees this year because I started listening to shit again, mostly for financial reasons. No one’s ever gonna pay me to write about Merzbow, unless I can somehow morph into a 60-year-old British wanker and write for The Wire (that mag, FYI, is one year away from full-on NEW AGE CRYSTAL WORSHIP, so when my subscription runs out in April, it runs out for good).
Before I write 6000 words about nothing, this is what this is really all about: MY PREDICTIONS FOR THE 2012 GRAMMY’S, WHICH I WILL TRY TO WATCH ON MY TELEVISION VIA ANTENAEE ON SUNDAY NIGHT. I’m not addressing all of the categories, though, because some are just too absurd and would require too much research and I’m not mentioning the same artist twice.
Read more…
Robert Glasper Experiment – Black Radio
Figured out how to use my scanner. Wrote a review of the new Robert Glasper Experiment LP, Black Radio, for the latest issue of Magnet. Saw Glasper play last year at Winter JazzFest. Pretty sure it was the Experiment.
BIOMUSICOSOPHY 5 | JAN.12 EDITION
A MONTHLY ACCOUNT OF
FIVE NEW MUSIC THINGS I LIKE.
V. DANIEL MENCHE – GUTS (Editions Mego): I only listened to this album by Portland noise boss Daniel Menche once. And, I’ll probably never listen to it again. That’s not a bad thing. I’ve done a lot of neat things only once and really enjoyed them. I had a serious case of the coffee-shakes while listening—I almost went bananas in the grocery store that day—so that made it even more brutal, terrifying, nasty, delicious, perfect. Menche’s instrument for this sucker’s a piano. He gutted the thing. Scraped it, ripped it, battered it, smashed it, slammed it, pummeled it, murdered it, raged it to smithereens and then… splintered it. This was a piano, and it’s not anymore (just like This Was Jethro Tull). Doesn’t matter what it is now. ”Guts 2×4.”
IV. YO GOTTI – LIVE FROM THE KITCHEN (RCA): What do Menche’s piano and Memphis rapper Yo Gotti’s voice have in common? They both sound like they’ve been through HELL. I dug into Gotti’s ongoing mixtape series, Cocaine Muzik, last year, and fell in love with the bulldog MC’s dirty growl. “The record labels fuck a nigga/that’s why I don’t trust ‘em.” Nor should he. This is his major label debut after years of grinding and mostly label-imposed delays. I’d choose his mixtapes over this any day (which goes for most rappers because I like the tape noise/guts), and a few songs from Kitchen can be found on ‘em (like “Red White & Blue,” one of my personal favorites where Gotti opens with a maniac line, “I ain’t gotta go out the muthafuckin’ country to shoot at dem choppas”). The trap-bliss production here is quite charming. “Killa.”
III. CLOUD NOTHINGS – ATTACK ON MEMORY (Carpark): Not so carried away with indie-rock these days, but this Cleveland rock-record I can dig. The tune below sounds like The Strokes and a whole bunch of shit I like that people normally make fun of me for liking: Mineral-y emo, Alkaline Trio’s whiny blah. What I like most about this short + sweet 8-song slab is how slack the singer sounds. I hate to say it, but it reminds me of the OLD DAYS. Now I’m riding the nostalgia train? Don’t think so. I’m not remembering what it was like to be a totally bummed teen–I still am one, but in a man’s body. Meh. ”Stay Useless.”
II. SCHOOLBOY Q – HABITS & CONTRADICTIONS (Top Dawg): This record got a ton of Internet shouts this month, and, while it took me about 10 listens to get that “this is special” KICK, it finally sunk in. Schoolboy runs with LA’s Black Hippy thing, the most well known member being Kendrick Lamar. Like Kendrick, Schoolboy’s young, intelligent, mad talented and, most importantly, I think, willing to take rap to new places. He’s also rough around the edges, which I like. Best thing I’ve read about him so far was this LA Times story. Looks like critics are putting him in some sort of “stretching out the gangsta rap” discourse, so we’ll see how that plays out… “Blessed (w. Kendrick Lamar).”
I. THE CARETAKER – PATIENCE (AFTER SEBALD) (History Always Favors The Winners): Leyland Kirby makes static-soaked, delicate drone and loop music for doom-junkies. People went gaga for Clams Casino/Friendzone-style cloud-rap production last year, myself included. Take the beats away, and hear ya go. It’s been going on for years on the tape/drone/zone/trance circuit, and it’s been neat to see people put beats to it, rhyme over it. This is apparently the soundtrack for a film by the same name about German writer Sebald. Don’t know anything about that/him. Having a hard time sleeping, concentrating or simply temporarily shutting off your brain from the capitalist-destruction-hell-violence going on all around you? Close your eyes and hit play. Now, sshhhh. “Patience [preview].”
honorable mention: p smurf – big ol pimp talk (datpiff dl).
A few things for the latest issue of Philadelphia Weekly, which hit the streets this morning.
For the calendar, I spewed words on the Secret Cinema: Trailer Trash screening this Saturday night at International House, and a few more for a Monday night thing at Johnny Brenda’s featuring a screening of Southern metal doc Slow Southern Steel and performances by Hail!Hornet and Zoroaster.
For this week’s Critic’s Pick I picked a Friday night show by Philly’s Leather at Level Room. Good rock.
FINALLY, I got MC Vinnie Paz of Philly rap outfit Jedi Mind Tricks on the telephone for a quick Q&A. JMT play Union Transfer Saturday night.
