The Songs We Can't Escape
"Washington School (Live in Atlanta, 12/31/08)"
This just makes me wanna throttle people—and not because of the pretty, shiny tune, with its fistfuls of irradiated, gloaming loops sewn warmly together around Bradford Cox's washed-out incantatory whatevers—but because if you purposefully attend a show you should shut the fuck up while the musicians are playing, or at least stage-whisper. Even if you hate the band, please shut your pierced yappers. Take a smoke break outside if you're trying to worm your way into someone's pants. Some folks are trying to listen or to secure decent bootlegs for their blogs. Common courtesy!
Slammin'. Jammin'. Should set an example. Dear high-profile remixers anonymous—Diplo and Sutekh, we're looking at you in particular—techno Milky Way comet rides like this are why it's time to do you and quit helping make other people famous.
There are problems with being named "Stan" when you're white and seeking respect in a genre where "stan" is an insult and the preeminent Caucasian rapper penned a desultory hit single about a psycho fan named—you guessed it—Stan. Worse still: jacking a beat from the Jay-Z album no one reps for (Kingdom Come). Quibbles, those. Ipcus seems in touch with his inner wegro-thug galoot, even if his post-Everlast flow isn't anything exceptional, and he hasn't yet learned that starting beef with equally no-name peers like Asher Roth won't up his Q-rating.
So that's what it sounds like to be inside of an incubator, being slowly gnawed apart by nanomachines; my life is now complete.
"Coming Back to You"
I barely remember Doolittle's American Idol run—seriously, won't even venture a guess as to what season she appeared on—but worse fake-golden-era pop R&B will surface in 2009. Thing is, more memorable fake-golden-era pop R&B will also surface in 2009.
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