[COLUMNS COLUMNS] m u s i c GOOD OR SHIT
INTELLIGIBLE FLOW
NY CONVERSATION
IT’S ONLY ONE OR THE OTHER FOR LIZ GALINOVIC
HIP HOP NEWS & COMMENTARY WITH ALEKSIA BARRON
TALES FROM THE BIG APPLE WITH TOM HAWKING
On making EPs versus albums as a producer: “It’s a lot more manageable [to put together an EP] than trying to organise an album’s worth of guest rappers. Keeping it condensed to four songs and one rapper makes things simpler and focuses the project a bit more, too. I like the creative process more this way as well – again it’s a more focused effort.” On the next release lined up for the EP series: “It’s going to be different, it’s going to be me experimenting a bit more and doing some stuff I’ve wanted to try for a while. It’s not gonna be the usual Chas, that’s for sure!”
Laura Marling “Mrs Lattimore!” came the well-spoken English accent of a woman whose face was framed by a 1920s-style bob haircut to match her 1920s attire. “It’s so nice to see you again. I remember when you were just a little girl, playing in the gardens,” she beamed and crossed the name off her list while the so-called Mrs Lattimore stood with an uncertain smile on her lips, not quite sure what to make of it all. Mrs Lattimore was a fake. She had never been here before. She was just another ticketholder like the rest of us, playing along with this charade, the charade becoming an increasingly common style of entertainment in London. Tonight’s event being Laura Marling’s Secret Music Show, the first music gig to be held by the now well-known Secret Cinema. What I’m calling “Dress Ups For Adults”. If you haven’t heard of London’s Secret Cinema, you should YouTube it. Film-goers purchase tickets to an award-winning film and everything including the film is kept a secret. The only thing you’re told is what you have to wear because, when you arrive, the entire world of that film has been recreated. For Lawrence Of Arabia, men rode horses and camels dressed as Arabs and shouted “Allahu Akbar” as they wandered amongst early 20th century British soldiers, and belly dancers shook their hips for hundreds of dressed-up ticket holders sitting on the ground enjoying Middle Eastern fare before the film screened. After enjoying years of success with film, Secret Cinema have decided to branch out into music and Laura Marling at The Grand Eagle Hotel – an empty 19th century building in Hackney that used to be a school, and of course, wasn’t on a map as a hotel because it didn’t really exist – is their first event, and my first Secret-anything experience. We sat down in the dining room for chilled almond soup with sour cherry juice, the latter served in a syringe for you to plunge into the soup. Followed by roasted quail, which took 45 minutes to eat because we daintily pulled it to little pieces with our knife and fork, too afraid someone would judge us if we picked it up with our hands and started gnawing at it like it was KFC. Dinner was accompanied by live music, a lovely ‘70s-folk-style three-piece with a singer who sounded exactly like Joni Mitchell only no one knew who they were and they weren’t on any of the event info. Not longer after they finished a short set, we were hurried out into the long hallway to watch Laura Marling play a version of Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark from the second floor balcony. With the lights turned off, twilight streaming through all the stained glass windows and maids slowly sprinkling rose petals on the guests below, it was pretty magical. Marling played her full set at the ball, in the ballroom – a few hundred people standing in front of a stage in a converted gym hall. “They say it’s typical of English people to get a cold in the summer... I have a cold,” she quipped. And occasionally her smooth vocals broke from the strain of it, or she played the wrong chord and had to start again. I didn’t mind any of this; you’d have to a complete arsehole if you did, and the vibe in the room was we’reall-friends-here-human-girl-you’re-doing-great. But to be honest, this is where the magic spell broke. Marling was not in costume and all the effort put into the rest of the mansion seemed to stop here – it was just a gym hall, with Laura Marling playing in it, and it was definitely 2013. This is a fantastic way to see music, it’s a whole experience, but they should have kept up the ruse until the final curtain call. Two days later I woke up with a cold. Yep, Laura Marling gave me a cold.
32 • For more opinion go to themusic.com.au/blog
Chasm A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the release of Chasm’s new EP Smoking Aces. It’s part of his 2013 EP series (the first was the excellent Diamond Cuts, which featured Skryptcha and Rachael Berry). This time around, he’s teamed up with emerging MC Monchichi, and if you haven’t given this short sweet release a spin yet, doing so is highly recommended. Being the champ that he is, Chasm found a bit of time to answer some questions about the EP, so read on to learn more about Smoking Aces. On the EP title and suit-of-card track names: “It was Monchichi’s idea. I think he thought of a deck of cards when I first pitched the idea to him of a four-track EP, one of four EPs in the series. Then the idea was each track would represent a different card and the subject matter would relate to it in some way.” On working with Monchichi: “He has a flow that stands out to me in the landscape of rappers in this country. That’s why I wanted to work with him. I also thought it’d be cool to work with someone that people wouldn’t necessarily think I would work with. He just has a dope style and it’s as simple as that really: was feeling his style and wanted to work with him.”
On what else he’s been up to: “I have been working on the new Astronomy Class release, a Khmer-themed project which had been awesome fun to make and also working on a new EP for my other alias Dr Don Don.” Smoking Aces is now available through iTunes, so make sure you grab yourself a copy and immerse yourself in some tunes courtesy of one of this country’s most innovative producers. It’s been a while since the last Raise The Roof, but the hip hop extravaganza will be back at the Espy for its sixth installment on Saturday 20 July. Urthboy has top billing this time around on a line-up that also includes Joelistics and the longdormant Resin Dogs. Also on the bill: Briggs, Loose Change, Mind Over Matter, Purpose, One-Sixth, Dr Flea, Eloji, Dibe, M-Phazes and Slap 618. Reason will once again take hosting duties for the evening. The bill perhaps doesn’t have the massive punch of some of the earlier Raise The Roof iterations, but it is packing a significant amount of unconventional hip hop from some of the most adventurous artists in the business, and it doesn’t feel quite as same-same a bill as we’ve seen recently (for a while there it seemed like you had to check the event date to work out whether a Raise The Roof poster was for an upcoming or past show). Tickets for Raise The Roof #6 are on sale now through Oztix, so make sure you pick yours up and support one of Melbourne’s finer hip hop institutions.
THE GET DOWN FUNKY SHIT WITH OBLIVEUS to anyone who wants more than the standard disco edits we’ve been privy to for the past five years.
Tessela It’s hard to imagine the cold confines of Melbourne Town right now as I fly thousands of feet over the Pacific between LA and Hawaii, but I’m going to do my best and jump into some electronic bizness on the dirty funk basslines, booty house, b-more and trap tip this time around. What better place to start than with the new jam from Tessela, Hackney Parrot. Sounding like the mongrel love child of a b-more mix tape and a jungle session down in a stinky, dark basement somewhere in NYC, this bad boy jam simply kicks. The beat’s not far from It Takes Two, the ol’ skool Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock classic, whilst a sparse bassline and simple handclaps round out the affair with some euphoric synths and vocal stabs to carry the breaks. If you want something for that car ride between gigs, then this is your poison. On the Stateside tip, I was recently hyped to a tasty EP called New York Anthem by Tony Quattro. Straddling the line between 2-step and house, but with a Strictly Rhythm vibe, this EP was made for the late night sets. My money is firmly planted on his joint with Doctor Jeep, Forth & Seek, a 2-step belter with enough bleeps and blobs to sound right at home on any classic breaks mix from Jeno or Garth circa 1995 (for those that know their classic California breakbeat). Anyways, I recommend this
Onto other vibes, I reckon I was one of the last dudes on the planet to get hyped to the whole trap phenomenon and, to tell you the truth, I’m still not 100 per cent sold on most of it. That said, there are quite a few massive tracks No Name Nath hyped me to recently. As most of the masses are quite aware of a certain Harlem Shake, I’m not even going there, but I will go to Baauer, the dude who wrote the jam. His Dum Dum single from last year is absolutely huge and I don’t think I’ve ever seen heads dance the way they dance to this track. If you too haven’t tried him out yet, I suggest you brace yourself for a bizarrely funky ride into the apocalypse and search for the name. While you’re there, do yourself a favour and have a listen to Buku and his bug zapper basslines filtered throughout the single All Deez. Imagine 18-year-old white boys in their parents’ borrowed Commodores rolling down the street busting out ‘all deez hoes’ at the top of their lungs. Actually, don’t! Hopefully, I haven’t scared you away because the song bumps big time and like I said, I’m not 100 per cent sold – but, throw in a swag of drink cards, 600+ sweaty punters, a good system and you’ll have a good start to the whole trap vibe. Well that worked for me, at least. Also working well for me and providing the best segue from the futuristic trap sounds to the analogue stylings of 45s is the best mid-week funk and soul session this town has to offer. It’s at this sweet venue off Little Bourke Street called du Nord and the night’s called Lil Lordag (Swedes represent) or in English terms, ‘Hump Day Funk’. It’s brought to you all free of charge by the always hustling Mr Lob and the man plays nothing but the best vintage swinging and funky 45s known to humankind. The night has been getting rave reviews and I even broke my school night cherry recently and had a right good old time pleading to hear my favourite songs. If you find yourself out on a Wednesday night in the CBD, I could not recommend this more and with those parting words, I am out of here. obliveus@gmail.com
Alaska Fundraiser Pic by Marina Galperina “Community” is an oft-overused word these days, for the simple reason that in post-Thatcher/Reagan urban environments, it really doesn’t exist any more, and certainly not for transient twenty- or thirty-somethings – we are a collection of individuals, living out our lives in a space that we cohabit out of necessity and convenience rather than through any sense of shared origin or experience. This is especially true in a place like New York City, where neighbourhoods and blocks are constantly changing and evolving as people move in and out and upwards and downwards in the world. This is a city where people come to rent and work and hopefully save enough cash to continue moving, be it within the city or back out into the world. It’s a place where everyone lives and nobody really belongs. It’s A Moveable Feast, as Hemingway once said about Paris. And yet, and yet. Occasionally something happens that makes you reassess such weary urbanite cynicism, or at least suspend it for a couple of weeks. So it’s gone of late in my corner of Brooklyn, largely because of a strange thing happening: a local bar catching fire. The place is called Alaska, and it’s a pleasantly dingy little bar a couple of blocks from my apartment. It’s one of those bars that makes you think that maybe Cheers wasn’t a laughably idealistic portrayal of the sort of establishment generally populated by alcoholics and people with nowhere else to go. It’s the sort of place that feels like an extension of your living room, where interesting people come and go at strange hours with booze in tow. Anyway, the other night Alaska caught fire. I’m not sure exactly what happened, because (for once) I wasn’t there – apparently there was some sort of electrical fault, and there were flames, and then the fire brigade turned up and basically destroyed the place in the process of extinguishing the fire. The upshot of it all was that there was suddenly no more Alaska – and, because the owners were only “semi-insured”, there was a distinct possibility that there may never be again. It was at about this point that things started to get rather heartening. Over the Fourth of July weekend – a four-day weekend if, like pretty much everyone else, you were sensible enough to take Friday as a vacation day – the bar’s owners organised a benefit for their staff, who’d gone unpaid (and untipped) during the time the bar’s been closed. It was held on the roof of a great decrepit loft building in Brooklyn, and the turnout was one of those things that rather reaffirms one’s faith in humanity. Standing on said rooftop as the sun went down, watching the Independence Day fireworks go off in the distance over the Hudson and listening to a band who were – well, they were kind of okay, and they were called The Teen Commandments, which was amusing. It felt like for once I was drinking for a decent cause, which if you’re going to get royally wankered at the start of a four-day weekend, you might as well do it constructively, no? The benefit was a resounding success, as far as I could tell – there were perhaps 150 punters there, perhaps more, and at $5-$10 a donation, that’s a decent sum to bridge the gap for people who haven’t been paid for a couple of weeks. This weekend, the owners have had something of a working bee to put the bar back together again. I may head down after I finish this column, but in the meantime, I’m told a bunch of regulars have been pitching in – some people who work there, some who drink there, some who’ve been a couple of times and just like the place. A... well, dare I say it, a community. And in a couple of weeks’ time, Alaska will reopen and I’ll have somewhere to squander my hard-earned cash on booze again. Forgive me if I get all sentimental – I’ll be back to being cynical again in no time, I’m sure.