April 2018

I cannot, for the life of me, keep the titling format of these playlist posts consistent.

And yet the yams remain yammin’, the slams keep slammin’.

Big months for Janelle Monáe, Death Grips, and dudes named Danny. “Make You Feel” and “Pynk” both impossibly sensual and funky, I can’t believe I haven’t bumped the whole album yet. On the flip side of things, I had six hours of transit early in the month and burned through the entire Death Grips discography. Weirdly enough, I only found the special sauce on their latest full release, Bottomless Pit (but new single “Streaky” is exciting me, it’s way bleep-bloopier than previous work).

And finally the Danwich features buns made of Harle, but they don’t measure up to the purestrain pop of Sunshine. “Never Thought” reads so basic but feels so euphoric.

Little sidebar for Alex Cameron here too– “Marlon Brando” is the highlight of an album that I never expected to enjoy. I don’t even know who recommended it to me. His crustpunk Springsteen crooning almost coerces me into belting “f*ggot” right along with him. (Don’t worry, he gets reflective on his word choice even before reaching the end of the song.)

Also for like three days straight I couldn’t stop listening to Anna Kendrick’s rendition of “Cups.” I cannot be trusted to guide my own life.

First half shredded, back half aesthetic. Love it. May’s gonna be huge.

April 2018

March 2018

I cannot be stopped.

Or rather, Slime Girls’s “Warpstar (With You)” can’t. Youtube (of all places!) recommended me an album of theirs, and after a little bit of quick browsing I ended up with a tune that I’ve listened to 200+ times since. Reminds me of Anamanaguchi at their earlier, more-8bit-than-rock inspirational best.

“Baby I’m Bleeding” is an assault from a rapper self-nicknamed Peggy, barreling into any targets within reach over a beat balanced on the knife’s edge between functional and failing. That one was a friend recommending Jpegmafia and flipping around his jams at random.

Or Red Velvet’s “빨간 맛 Red Flavor,” first heard during the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics. Or Branchez trap-country croon “Turn Up For The Weekend,” which an old friend blasted in his car between bars. Or classic jukebox-exclusive horn-em-up “Strokin,” which I first heard from a pixie girl at karaoke. She knew most of the words, but the ad-libs are tougher.

Yep, the music’s always coming. And so am I.

Coming to meet it at the threshold of pleasure. In an arrival sense. Get your mind out of the gutter and deep into the sewer, where I reside.

okay thats enough

March 2018