September 23, 2005
Sexually Political Reggae
Tonight was a myopic gravelpit, crunching underfoot and spitting pellets at passing chrome everywhere. Full-length, dreadlocked bullshit. Some DJs are so obviously addicted to meth/are chemistry majors with kittens named Mojo or Furscare that they’re not even worth mentioning. Ok, so we forgot to take our Ritalin, that doesn’t mean you have to torture us with music tailormade in granolaland for two-second-wonders. SPLOOOCH. Not only is it like watching a farmer rape a sheep, it’s like listening to a farmer rape a sheep. I’m not sure which is worse. BLLLLEEEEETTTT.
When you’re first starting out as an aspiring DJ, you should probably ask yourself the following question: Does my music sound like a semi-erect gray-toned penis that is trying to jerk off in everyone’s face? If the answer is yes, do not pass the turntable, do not collect a cut of the door.
Moreover, an HOUR of Reggae?? Why don’t you play something that’s ALIVE TODAY? Something that is relevant to us: how we walk and move because of what is happening and HOW it is happening? Not that I don’t respect it, I just don’t breathe it (I can think and chill to something I respect, I can dance to something I breathe). And no, remixing it into breaks does not make it more applicable. Nor does it make it more danceable. I mean, I'm sorry, I totally forgot that black people stopped making political music after the 70s.--My big bad bad. I felt as if Mr. DJ was silencing their now voice because he was too ignorant a fuck to see what’s going on now. Too scared, maybe? And the white vegan kid with dreadlocks has NOTHING TO DO WITH BOB MARLEY-- he is Far Removed. So is the puffy-pink jock who, for some reason has his shirt off, but his KHAKI pants on: that's just a general equation for assholes, top to bottom. There’s a sort of equilibrium to them, isn’t there? I’ll give them that much. Anything else will take great sums. Fuckface. Just: FUCKFACE. I'm not offended so much as disgusted. What are you perpetuating this city into?
Sometimes I get so frustrated that I don’t even want anyone to touch/look at me. I flip my hood up. I start acting like my ex-girlfriend. But I don't care as much as she did (about things), never did. Outcomes don't seem to bother me at all these days-- i.e.: so the rest of the Bloc Party’s album is actually quite weak. So what? I really never gave a shit. SHOULD I?? I’m very responsive to smells, the looks people give and do not give me. I've already long ago gotten used to some, if not most of the things that happen to me on a regular basis that my boyfriend has not yet had the chance to cope with. By "cope with" I of course mean "not even notice." It's like a second skin for me, or at least it causes me to put one on.
ps,
when I'm left to my own devices and poorly sized shoes, I tend to brood. Though it's nowhere near as hysterical as it once was. More of a calm, level stare, straight ahead.
Plus, I’m starting to wear socks to bed-- not only because it’s fucking freezing out and I live in a garret from the Victorian ice-age, but because I’m finding it otherwise difficult to keep up with all the lameness around me. So . .yeah, basically because I’m cold and I’m a big fat pussy who gets hypothermia whenever anyone opens a fucking window.
Posted by caroline at September 23, 2005 3:23 AM