Sotomayor the Terrorist Update

Remember way back in May, when I told you the Right would peg Judge Sotomayor as a terrorist? Well, it's taken a bit longer than I'd originally thought, but "The Committee for Justice" has finally gone and did it:



Told ya so!
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Purple Rain--Deconstructed (Happy 25th!)

As I've stated before, Purple Rain isn't my favorite Prince album. In fact, off the top of my head, I think I'd rank it, perhaps, fourth behind 1999, Parade, and Sign o the Times. However, last month, this landmark album turned 25, and I haven't heard that much about it. So, I figured I'd jot down some thoughts about the album that made Prince the legend he is today.

Upon reflection, Purple Rain has got to be one of the weirdest, most idiosyncratic albums to ever reach Billboard's No. 1 slot. The fact that it spent 24 weeks there still baffles me. I realize now that he made some serious concessions to popdome in order to make it so (I'll be getting to that), but it doesn't take away from the weirdness and utter Prince-ness of the album.

Purple Rain was Prince's sixth album (could you imagine today's major labels sticking with an artist for six albums before they become a star?), and I think it signifies the third phase of his early career.

For Prince's first three albums, For You, Prince, and Dirty Mind, he was basically a curious disco act. He scored a minor hit with "Wanna Be Your Lover," but if he would've stayed on the same tract, he probably just would've ended up being a minor, musical footnote or someone hipster DJs would play at the end of their sets. Fortunately, with Dirty Mind he got his first hint of crossover appeal for, basically, being a pervert in high heels and bikini briefs. But enough white folks took notice that, while still relegated to only black radio and getting booed off the stage when he opened for the Stones in LA, his music started branching out.

You can hear the experimentation in Controversy (and remember Dana Plato aerobicizing to the title track on Diff'rent Strokes?). He gets more than a little weird with "Annie Christian" and goes New Wave with "Ronnie Talk to Russia." He gets utterly sick with it with 1999. A rare double album, you can see Prince going in all kinds of different directions, and he was rewarded with a few crossover hits ("DMSR" even appears in Risky Business).

All of this leads to the beginning of his third stage, Grade A Certified Pop Star! and the album and movie, Purple Rain.

Before then, Prince pretty much just funked up the ghetto. Now, he was to rock the world. Aside from the called shot, "Baby I'm a Star," you can tell he produced the album with mega-stardom in mind. First, with black radio, Prince was known to produce some serious funk jams ("Soft and Wet," "Head," "Let's Work," "DMSR"). There are absolutely none on this album. He still gives us the ballad that would have all the black girls crying, "The Beautiful Ones," but no jam. The other thing you'll notice is that Purple Rain is absolutely guitar-laden, which his previous efforts were most definitely not. He wasn't turning his back on his people, but he was definitely trying to appeal to a broader, whiter audience. After all, back in the '80s, if a track didn't have a guitar solo, what did it have? (Oh yeah, a cheesy sax solo--I almost forgot). But hey, I ain't hatin'. This is Prince, after all. I will love him till my last breath.



Let's Go Crazy

From the very beginning, Prince let's you know this is not going to be your average, everyday pop album. Church organ, wedding ceremony. Except we are not wedding each other, we are vowing to join in Prince's peculiar pop madness. I mean, outside of this weird cartoon porn I once saw with Magilla Gorilla and Grape Ape, I've never seen a purple banana. What the hell was that all about?

I actually like the 12-inch, movie version of this song better (oh, remember those Prince 12 inches?) with his insanely banging away at the piano, but it definitely makes you dance and scream, "Oh no! Let's Go!" And the Hendrix-y solo at the end. Who knew Prince could play like that?



"Take Me with You"

Union Paul can tell you the hold Appolonia had on me. The first time he drove me around Minneapolis, any time I'd see a body of water--lake, stream, glass of water--I'd slyly go, "That's not Lake Minnetonka," until he said, "Actually, Bill, that is Lake Minnetonka." "Oh."

Appolonia definitely had a pretty weak voice, and this song was too cheesy for me back in the day. But I'm getting older and I'm weeding myself from listening to rap in Poohbutt's presence (I really don't want her going to day care screaming, "Fuck you, niggaz"); the song's definitely growing on me. Besides, the wife and I need a vacation. I wanna play this song before we embark. Wouldn't that be cute?



"The Beautiful Ones"

Good Memory: One night in college, we of Beta Lambda (the lounge my friends and I used to hang out in) suddenly started singing this song for no apparent reason. I still love those fools!

Anyway, I think that when hip-hop, with its monotonous beat and lack of tempo changes, took over R&B, a lot of "soul" vocalists lost the ability to tell a story through their music. They forgot that the music and the way they sing can tell a story probably even better than the lyrics themselves (just think of the resigned melancholia of Otis Redding's "(Sitting on) The Dock of the Bay" and how Michael Bolton utterly fucked! that song up).

"The Beautiful Ones," to me, perfectly embodies the frustration and hurt of unrequited love (something pubescent Bill could totally sympathize with). He starts off with that fragile falsetto--like he's just sort of trying to mention to his woman that it, well, you know, irks him that she's not totally his. She ain't feelin' His Royal Badness. He gets more and more frustrated. He ends up SCREAMING why she should be with him, saying he may be a loser but she can make him a winner, that no one can love her like he could--but somewhere in mid-scream, he realizes that it's utterly useless, and the song just peters out. Now, that's just some good drama right there. You can even see the film credits rolling at the end of the song.



"Computer Blue"

Yes, the androgynous, lesbian sex slave fantasy droned by Wendy (replacing "1999"'s Jill Jones) and Lisa kick the song off. I often prefer to imagine Sheila E. and Vanity singing this part. Other than that, who the hell knows what this song is about. But what a cool jam! Oh yeah, and the guitar playing. Prince proved that he could rock--with just a touch of jazz.



"Darling Nikki"

The song that brought about the end of Western civilization. Yep, Nikki and her magazine-masturbating, stank ass sicced Tipper Gore and her PMRC (Parents Music Resource Center) hounds down on the music industry. That gave us that stupid "Parental Advisory" sticker and freed up artists to now curse to high heaven and be as nasty as they wanted to be on their albums. Ironic, ain't it?

Of course, at 14, I loved this song because it was sooooo nasty. Now, I love it because it's such a great jam. I mean, you don't get to hear musicians cut loose on an album that often anymore. And here, they just ... went ... off!

It also reminds me of that horrible menace that was going to turn all us kids into Satan-worshiping mass murderers ... backward masking!

Run for the hills, people!



Side Two
Yes, Albums Used to Have Sides





"When Doves Cry"

Yes, Modik, this is still my favorite Prince song. I still remember where I was when I first heard this song. I was taking a shower getting ready for my high school picnic at the local amusement park, Kennywood. I used to bring my (nowhere near a) boom box into the bathroom with me and listen to the radio. I was washing my hair when "Doves" came on, and I screamed, "Oh my God! That's Prince!" so loud and in such a high pitch, my shower's sliding glass doors cracked.

Now, when I say Purple Rain has got to be the weirdest pop album ever, this is by far the weirdest No. 1 song ever. I mean, how the hell did this song ever chart?

OK, you're immediately drawn in my the opening guitar lick. There's probably not a person under 35 who doesn't recognize it. It's so great, it tempts one to ask, "Eddie Van Wholen?" And then the synth hook latches onto your brain.

But then, it's just bizarre.

First, there's no bass line. That's not so strange today because of hip-hop. But American music was always supposed to have a bass. That must've been a first (I'm sure someone out there will correct me).

For much of the song, all you've got is that drum, with an utterly undanceable 7/4 time signature (had to look that one up) that made it look as though an epileptic epidemic had hit America's dance floors.

The synths are utterly haunting and Prince sounds like an exsanguinating David Bowie through most of the song. And what's with all the Oedipal overtones? Maybe you're just like my mother? "Hey, Art, wasn't this the sick fuck who had that song about screwin' his sister?!"

None of this screams, "Hit song." But what makes the song's popularity utterly mind-boggling is that the last two minutes of this five-minute song are filled with Prince's panting, moaning, and screaming incomprehensibly in his trademark three-part harmony (oh yeah, and another guitar solo). You can just imagine radio programmers holding that little purple 45, going, "What the fuck is this?"

I think all of these reasons are why this is my favorite Prince song. This simply is not a pop song, yet it was his most popular song, which launched his career and the movie into the stratosphere. What are either without this song?

Pure, fucking genius.



"I Would Die 4 U"

I think the movie and that weird hand gesture made this song. It gave us teeny-boppers something to latch onto. And wasn't this the part where he's scuttling across the stage licking and feeling himself up? Always good for a nostalgic chuckle at a party.



"Baby, I'm a Star"

I love this song because of the utter hubris of it. "You might not know it now, but, baby, I'm a star." I wish I had the temerity to declare something like that--and the great fortune to be right! It's also the funkiest cut on the album. And, lo and behold, no guitar solo.



"Purple Rain"

Of course I love the song and the fabulous guitar work. Just, in the context of the movie, what a weird song.

"Yeah, look, Appalonia, sorry I beat the shit out of you. My Dad's a wife beater, and, well, you know ... the apple, the tree, and all that. But, look, 'it's such a shame our friendship had to end. I only wanna see you in the purple rain (no, I have no clue what that is either, but stick with me here).' So, hey, why don't we get back together? Obviously, I got enough talent to get you an album deal, and don't I play like Hendrix?"

But hell, who didn't tear up when he sang this song? Who didn't cheer when the Kid was vindicated? Who didn't say, "Yeah, suck it," when even Morris Day and the Time had to admit that he was superior? And whose heart didn't melt when Appalonia planted a big wet one on our boy?

Two better questions:

Who didn't buy this album?

and ...

Isn't it amazing that it still holds up after all this time?






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Hey, Music Fiends! Who Exactly Is iPodable?

This afternoon I am facing a horrific dilemma that is literally tearing at the very fabric of my being:

Is Thao Nguyen and the Get Down Stay Down iPodable?

First, I must explain a few things.

1. I think the 10,000 years of human civilization--all the wars and plagues, rapine and repression--were suffered all in the name of giving us the iPod. In fact, if technology and civilization just stopped right here, I would be more than happy. Any device that can put tens of thousands of songs on a little, portable device is well worth it. And I thank all my forebears for the sacrifices they've made in order to make the iPod possible.

2. As you may or may not know, I used to be a music critic--and before that, I was most definitely a music fiend. I had more music than you could shake a stick at before my wife solidified our marriage by buying me an iPod for Christmas a few years back. And it has only gotten worse since.

There were already some painful decisions I had to make with what would be included and excluded from my little godsend. But now, I get migraines just thinking about it. Yes, someone may or may not have discovered Bit Torrent. Also, I work with four fledgling hip-hop producers, and, whenever I ask, "What are you listening to?" they have their thumb drives at the ready--plopping gigs of music at a time at my adoring feet. My little brother's also a fledgling music fiend and is ready to provide the tunes. And one of my biggest music f(r)iends finally gave into the Digital Revolution, got his iPod, and appears with his own thumb drive.

It's gotten to the point where I might need folks to slow down a bit. I need time to digest all this musical loving. I need time to digest. Time for it all to mean something. But before I do that and take the time out to judge what I like and what I don't, it all has to go onto iTunes and then the iPod itself.

(Digression!!! I know this confession may stretch the bounds of "fair use." However, before all you songwriters get all in a twist about it, I want you to know that I do sympathize and do try to buy the CDs--yes, I still buy those--of stuff I do like and discard the rest. And, to be honest, if it weren't for these music swaps, I wouldn't have heard of most of your stuff and would never have gone out of my way to buy it. When was the last time you were at a CD store? Face it, this is one of the only ways people are getting exposed to music anymore. After all, commercial radio's a friggin' joke. Sorry. You've just got to pray that people have the decency to buy the stuff they like.)

3. While I used to be a music critic, I gotta tell ya, I was never much of a rock fan until recently. (Oh yeah, I went over that in my 15 Albums That Changed My Life.) I'm still a hip-hop fan but much less so than before. I still think there's a lot of good rap out there--you've gotta search way too hard, but it's there. However, with Poohbutt starting to repeat way too many words, I've been cutting down on my "bitches" and "hos", of late. Rock has done an admirable job in (not quite) filling the gap, but I'm finding I like a lot of it.

This is where Thao comes in. I've been listening to We Brave Bee Stings and All since it became last spring's sensation. And I've been liking it. Ever since Kate Bush, I've had a soft spot in my heart for the quirky, female singer. She fits nicely into that mode. However, she does not quite fit into what I like in my iPod.

See, I pretty much only listen to God's Gift to Humanity when I'm traveling. It basically saved my life during the My Booty Novel tour. But it also makes the commute a whole heck of a lot less painful. And I love it when I can just pop in those ear buds and gracefully ignore the person next to me on the train or airplane who has made it their mission to ruin my life by endlessly prattling about their lives to me. Remember when a book used to do the trick?

And, as my traveling companion, I usually like to listen to "up" music that I can bop, dance, or sing to. Sure, Luther will always have a few hundred megabytes reserved for him, but I usually just like to act a fool, stay awake, and/or sing my heart out (in private, of course) when listening to my iPod.

So, you'll find a lot of hip-hop and funk on my Pod. There has been a bit of rock added. I used to like house, but you can't really sing along to a lot of that. There are a lot of funk/world hybrid acts on it. And, when I come across some rock that I like, it'll go on--with a strictly-enforced ban on hair bands.

Thao is cool. I really like her. Her voice is weird enough to keep me interested, but I can't quite figure out if she's too mellow or not. Maybe I just need another iPod. Or better yet, one for every occasion. A Chill iPod. A Lose-Your-Fucking-Mind iPod when I need to do a therapeutic, Munchian scream. A Poohbutt-Friendly iPod. Then a Poohbutt-Only iPod.

Yeah, I like that.

But, in the meantime, any help from any other music fiends would be greatly appreciated.





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Damn You, Lindsay Graham!!!

Oh, how I have often longed to spend the evening at a romantic, candlelit dinner with David Brooks: feeding him both oysters and clams, staring into his hungry eyes, caressing that flaccid chin, stroking his meaty, meaty thigh. But, wouldn't you know, that damned Lindsay Graham has already beaten me to the punch!






Oh well, maybe John Boehner is still available.








Lindsay Graham Gets All the Honeys
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Soul Sista Saturday: Minnie Riperton

Well, it was supposed to be Goapele today, since it's her birthday, and shit. But, apparently, someone died and made her Prince and you can't embed any of her videos. Oh, well. I know you're gonna dig this.


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Go 'Head, Mr. President!

While the neocons and idiots over at Fux News constantly scream "Impotence!," I'm glad to see our President has a somewhat, shall we say, virile foreign policy.

Of course, if Bill Clinton and Silvio Berlusconi had also been in the picture, one would hope that the Secret Service would've thrown a little saltpeter onto the scene.

Personally, I must confess that I'm much more sympathetic to a President who is an ass man as opposed to simply an ass.
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My Ode to Mountain Dew Throwback

Our time together was all too brief, my dear
It was like a beautiful spring morn
In a more innocent time
You were so clear, so crisp
So ... effervescent
And oh ... so ... sweet
I could hold you without fear
And devour your purity
No deception, no guile
No high fructose corn syrup
No erythorbic acid
(To preserve freshness)
I miss your sugar on my tongue

But now you are gone
And I can find no other to replace you
Your syrupy sister leaves me lukewarm
Thick and sluggish

When will you come back to me, my sweet?
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The Steve McNair Video of the Day

Don't get me wrong, I loved me some Steve McNair--even when he was beating up on my Stillers. Out of respect, I've been avoiding posting this song for days. But every time I hear or think about Air's being on the wrong side of a murder/suicide with his little mistress (oh, wait, I guess there is no right side in a murder/suicide--I'll have to think about that one) ... Anyway, anytime it comes up, I can't get this song out of my head.


KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS, YALL!



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Note to Philly: Obama Won the Election--Not George Wallace

I think James Carville once said about Pennsylvania that there's Pittsburgh and Philadelphia and then in between is Alabama. Well, apparently, the good people at The Valley Swim Club outside of Philly have decided to change zip codes and time periods.

Apparently, they feared the nigra invasion that happened after they took the money and gave swim passes to the children of The Creative Steps Day Camp and saw all those dusky children from Northeast Philly jump into their pristine waters.

"When the minority children got in the pool all of the Caucasian children immediately exited the pool," Horace Gibson, parent of a day camp child, wrote in an email. "The pool attendants came and told the black children that they did not allow minorities in the club and needed the children to leave immediately."

Who can blame them? That shit does come off, right? You don't want your precious children swimming in ink, do you?

Well the president of the swim club, John Doucheler--oh, sorry, John Duesler apparently thinks so.

"there was concern that a lot of kids would change the complexion ... and the atmosphere of the club."

Apparently, Mr. Duesler hasn't heard that this is the Age of Obama, and that our great nation has reached POST-RACIAL UTOPIA!!!

But, as you can probably guess, this segregationist ain't standing guard alone protecting the gates of Racial Purity. Hell naw, Mistah Chahlie! There are apparently tons of private clubs across this color-blind land of ours who are still whites-only. And, of course, it is perfectly legal.

Come on, people! Your fight is over! You lost! Get over it!

Shit, George "Segregation Now, Segregation Forever" Wallace is dead! And he even changed his racist views before he died! Sure, it took a couple shots to the dome and his being paralyzed for the rest of his life, but he got over his white supremacy. Let's hope it doesn't take such drastic measures for yall to change yern ... assholes.


Now, everybody sing along with me:

Kumbaya my lord, kumbaya!
Kumbaya my lord, kumbaya!
Kumbaya my lord, kumbaya!
Oh lord, kumbaya!

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I Think I'm Wired Wrong

OK, I didn't get to see all of the MJ Memorial Service yesterday. I got it probably from the halfway point on. My tear ducts are clogged (God, I wish I were joking) so I didn't cry through any of it, but I found it touching and in good taste until the end.

Now, this is why I'm wondering if I'm just a right bastard or way too cynical or I like stabbing little kittens in my sleep, or something. Because, while everyone else thought that Paris Jackson's tearful speech at the end was touching and sent the crowd weeping, I was thinking something completely different.

Not that it wasn't touching and not that I don't feel bad for the girl and her brothers in losing their sociological father. It's just that they're the keys to the billion-dollar kingdom and we all know how trifling the Jackson family has been in leeching off their Michael.

It's just that here was this emotionally wracked girl, crying her heart out, and the entire family's in the background prompting, "Speak louder. Speak into the microphone."

Call me a cynic, but I viewed the family's handling of that girl as their opening salvo in the bloody custody battle to come. What makes me really suspicious is the fact that Brother Al was on CNN last night talking about "And I think you couldn't script that. She's not reading a prompter."

Uh ... huh.

Well, I hope I'm wrong -- for the sake of Paris and her sibs and for MJ's legacy.
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