Kreayshawn—the self-directing, self-editing, mega-inhaling personality from Oakland—signed to Columbia this week. If you haven’t seen “Gucci Gucci” yet, you might not know what this means. Check it out below, and then try to get it out of your head.
Kreayshawn came up in the hyphy craze, keeps good ties with Lil’ B from the Pack, and tweets with Mistah F.A.B. Though she’s in L.A. these days, hanging out with Odd Future and Soulja Boy, she still reps Oakland pretty hard wherever she goes.
It’s easy to be conflicted on Kreayshawn. Let’s face it, it’s been a while since there’s been a rising star out of the Bay Area, let alone Oakland. (Keyshia Cole’s got love for the city but moved the hell out, and when I asked her once in an interview what East Bay spots she like to hit up on tour, she couldn’t name any.) So it’s exciting to have some Bay Area action going on.
But . . . is “Gucci Gucci” really the face of Oaktown?
Behold, two girls fighting over who’s more hood!
“This chick @KREAYSHAWN is a rapper…yes. But hood? NO. She knows nothing about the streets she’s not half as hard as she comes off as,” tweets Harmony Gabriel, from Hustler and HBO’s Cathouse. “Makes me sick..maybe if she was some type of hustler or came from the streets or had some type of ambition but she’s trash to me. White chick acting hard throwing up gang signs from home made gangs…. #FAIL.”
Lest one doubt Harmony’s inherent hoodness, the credentials come forth:
“I got people in REAL hoods that can vouch for me I’m not hood now cause I GREW up I get big girl $ now but believe me I come from ‘hood.'”
This triggers Kreayshawn’s response:
“shut up with yor rants I’m from east Oakland u skanky.”
“Who’s hotter? Who’s the realest? @KREAYSHAWN or @HARMONYG? #ImJustSaying”
At this point, if you’re thinking it’s time for Kreayshawn to take the high road, you’re right.
“your a trip chicka I’m from east Oakland you can come visit my hood and tell me what you think… much luv anyways.”
None of this sits too well with Harmony Gabriel, unfortunately.
“@KREAYSHAWN Yea that’s all you got? Cause your mom happen to have you in east side oakland your hood!? Hahahaa!! Ask about me!! Buy my mags!”
Sensing unneeded drama, Kreayshawn then advises that she will “only reply to positive things from here on out,” and Harmony Gabriel, after reminding people “I sold pussy” and telling them to wait for her upcoming rap video, declares herself the victor: “the title is mine the crown is mine.”
And that, dear readers, is the hood battle of the day.
P.S. If you’ve been following the phenomenon of Kreayshawn, this excellent piece by Meaghan Garvey irons out a lot of conflicting feelings.
The Flaming Lips play this weekend at the Harmony Festival in Santa Rosa, and when I chatted with Wayne Coyne for the Bohemian, he professed that “It’s better to be honest and be true if you’re gonna try to make art and music your life.” Which is something that I could very easily imagine Zone Music’s Frank Hayhurst saying, too.
Has anyone seen the two in a room together? Just sayin’.
(Wayne Coyne photo by Pooneh Ghana, who takes incredibly awesome band Polaroids.)
Zach Hill’s show last weekend in Sebastopol got its usual reviews of wankery, which is sad, because Hill’s shows are usually at least wankery of the highest order.
I’m guessing that Hill mighta had better luck in Sebastopol if he brought his Death Grips project, because OH MY GOD.
Free download of their album Ex-Military and more videos here. Block out the next half hour; you’ll be immersed in insanity. (Death Grips plays July 1 at 1015 Folsom in San Francsico.)
In a similar vein, Spank Rock, who brought electro to hip-hop in the marvelous album Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo Yo, is finally putting out a new record. What’s it called? Everything is Boring and Everyone is a Fucking Liar, that’s what. Guest star Big Freedia. I got big hopes.
One of the biggest influences in my listening, but one that I barely ever think about anymore, is The Bobs.
Right alongside Huey Lewis, the Pointer Sisters and Paul Carrack (yes, really), the Bobs serenaded my sisters and I on many a long family car trip on the Blaupunkt stereo—and live at the Luther Burbank Center. If you’ve never heard them, above is some vintage footage of “Art for Art’s Sake,” one of their more accessible tunes; most of their stuff, both lyrics and music, was far sillier. Imagine if Captain Beefheart and Monty Python started a band with no instruments, and titles like “Mopping, Mopping, Mopping” and “Bus Plunge.”
Lead madman Gunnar Madsen was the first to leave the band, and we Melines were a depressed lot over it. I’d hear about Madsen’s solo CDs from my Dad, who kept the Bobs torch aflame while the rest of us moved on, but I was about as interested in a solo CD from Gunnar Madsen as I’d have been in, say, a solo Dorothy Wiggin LP after she left the Shaggs.
So imagine my surprise when I’m reading today’s NYT review of The Shaggs: Philosophy of the World, a new off-Broadway musical production about the greatest horrible group from the 1960s, and there it is, fourth paragraph: “Music by Gunnar Madsen.”
It’s doubtful that a major record company will release the soundtrack to the Shaggs musical anytime soon, but my imagination can vouch for its importance. My curiosity, meanwhile, can vouch for Madsen sharing the Meline ennui upon leaving the Bobs. In his official bio, he outlines the era: “Life after The Bobs was miserable. I’d grown quite used to having hundreds of fans making me feel good one out of every three nights, and I had nothing to replace it. . . Life was not empty, but it felt like it. I was depressed and couldn’t find a way out. Things were dark.”
Ouch! Even in the seemingly carefree world of goofy a capella, the crush of despair hovers menacingly. Anyway, Gunnar Madsen, if you’ve got a Google Alert on your name, know that you’re not forgotten for enlivening the years 1985-1989, and glad you made it out of the dark pit. Congratulations on the Shaggs job, too—my ability to appreciate Philosophy of the World was likely planted, in one way or another, by your work with the Bobs in the first place.
Just like all those shitty mall record stores like Musicland and the Wherehouse died, leaving only awesome tiny independent record stores and horrible Best Buy behemoths; just like music videos shown on cable rotation died, leaving only YouTube and 3D megaplex screenings; and just like the middle class in America has died, leaving only the poors and the well-to-dos; so dies any middle ground when it comes to music formats. You can either have your oh-so-physical in the form of 12″x12″ LPs—which has always been my choice, petroleum and all—or you can have no physical object whatsoever in the form of an mp3.
This Monday’s anticipated announcement of Apple’s iCloud service goes even further: your music collection won’t even take up any hard drive space. You’ll have nothing except a tether to your files, floating somewhere. In 2005 terms, we call this “YouTube,” where nearly every song ever recorded resides. How to spiff up this non-material concept is something I’m sure Apple will handle with trademark skill, but what interests me is that for perhaps the first time in the history of the music industry, a major corporation is going to be spending millions of dollars convincing the American public to buy nothing at all.
I saw Roach Gigz a couple months ago at the Phoenix, and yes, he lit the place up. Opening for Too Short on a night that Too Short canceled, he had to hold the stage down on his own—and didn’t disappoint. (Half the people were there to see him instead of Too Short anyway, if you wanna know the truth of it.)
Roachy’s playing this Sunday at Los Caballos in Santa Rosa, and there’re three reasons to go. One: There’s no school or work the next day. Two: It’s billed as a “Stop Light Party,” i.e. wear red if you’re in a relationship, yellow if it’s complicated, and green if you’re single. Three: Los Caballos is one of the few places in town that’s all-ages but still serves drinks, with the aid of a barrier and a guy checking IDs.
Los Caballos also keeps a backline for the tejano and salsa bands that usually play there, so it’ll be pretty great to see Roach Gigz in front of the ‘Viva Mexico’ drum kit and stencils of Che Cuevara on the wall. Gigz, whose dad was a Sandinista, also has a strong Latino heritage; if you missed Rachel Dovey’s excellent Bohemian profile of him and his sidekick Remedy as they shot a video in San Francisco, read it here.
Tickets for the show are at the Last Record Store in Santa Rosa, University of Sports in Rohnert Park and World of Stereo in Petaluma. Don’t sleep, as they say. It’s bound to be packed.
Today marks a huge day! For over three years, City Sound Inertia has had the same plain, non-dynamic design, looking like a bag of Wonder Bread and featuring—bizarrely—an image of an accordion as its de facto logo. It worked as a container, yes. But it was more like a cardboard box than a Cadillac.
Behold, the new look. Beyond being much easier on the eyes, longtime readers will notice increased functionality, better formatting and an overall more readable experience, especially on their mobile devices. No more Wonder Bread, either.
I, for one, am thrilled with the long-overdue makeover, and have to tip my hat to Chris Ellis, Kara Brown, Ivan Bonilla Cortes, Kyu Kyung and Dan Pulcrano for making it happen. Feel free to let me know what you think in the comments.
She’s the voice of a thousand dentist’s offices, the definition of “adult contemporary” and possibly the furthest thing from jazz that’s ever headlined the Sonoma Jazz+ Festival.
Nevertheless, Sheryl Crow, toting a new soul-tinged album, 100 Miles From Memphis, could easily have been poised last night to win over a new crowd. She hired the tremendous guitarist Doyle Bramhall II for her touring band. In interviews, she spoke of influences like Curtis Mayfield, the Allman Brothers, Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin. Her show was even sponsored not by the local adult contemporary station 100.1-FM KZST, who have played Crow’s innocuous hit songs every day for ten years, but by the Americana station 95.9-FM KRSH.
But Sheryl Crow is no Aretha. In a set frontloaded with material from 100 Miles From Memphis, Crow demonstrated last night that no matter what accoutrements an ungifted artist dons, the essence remains flat. She struggled to imbue her vocals with soul and wavered on poorly executed harmonies, even on standbys like “Every Day Is a Winding Road.” She played a variety of instruments, from a vintage Wurlitzer organ to an accordion to guitar, but her watered-down material dictated that her immensely talented band play at one-tenth of their ability.
It was enough to suggest to even the open-minded that the singer, who gave away free Tom’s toothpaste samples at the festival gate and hawked her cookbook at the merch stand, isn’t so much an artist as a brand; a lifestyle choice of the culturally trepidatious; a meeting area where nothing happens. “Sweet Rosalyn,” a song Crow said was inspired by a strip club in New Orleans, was free of sweat, gyration or danger. A political song, “Redemption Day”—introduced with some combination of the words “Bosnia,” “Rwanda” and “Hilary Clinton”—came off as obligatory at best.
Crow’s banter was playful (“Thank God the world didn’t end today,” Crow said, acknowledging the supposed May 21 Rapture, “I’m so happy, I had a few things planned”) and her fanbase stayed seated and largely calm until the block of hits at the end. That’s when drunken air-guitaring and booty-shaking ensued in a celebration of Bermuda shirts, cosmetic surgery and arrhythmic dancing to guaranteed pleasers “Steve McQueen,” “If It Makes You Happy,” “Every Day Is A Winding Road,” “Soak Up the Sun” and “All I Wanna Do.”
The set closed with a barn-burning “I Shall Believe,” which allowed the band to finally unlock its potential, but it didn’t cleanse the off taste of the night. It’s one thing to book a non-jazz artist at a jazz festival, but it’s another thing to book an affront to the creative process. “We had a great day here. We want to move here,” Crow said at one point, unconvincingly. “We want to only play jazz festivals from now on.”
If that were truly the case—if she really wanted to immerse herself in jazz—then Sheryl Crow would have a mountain of research and miles of catching up to do. Instead, she’s touring this summer with Kid Rock. Enough said.
Judah Nagler tends to spread himself out. Most of you know him from the Velvet Teen—and more recently, Odd Bird, and perhaps most inconspicuously, from his electronic project Atair. Did he really need to join another band? On drums, no less?
“Majid,” by Five Beats One, offers a resounding yes to the question. It wouldn’t be fair to call Five Beats One “Judah’s band,” though. The new band’s lineup also comprises Darwin Meiners, Derek Doss, and Mark Benanti, all well-known names in the area music scene from bands like Brothers Horse, Secret Courtesy—and, in the case of Benanti, a self-published book on classical guitar technique. What does it all sound like? Hear the clip below.
Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I feel like I should explain.
A month and a half ago, my wife’s mother collapsed at work. Later, at the hospital, they found multiple tumors—inoperable. She stayed in her hospital room for a few more days, and then she went home, where it was our job to stay with her full-time to make her as comfortable as possible while the cancer took its toll.
I cleared almost everything off my slate, including this blog, in order to take care of things. Now that she’s gone, I’m very, very glad I spent my evenings holding her hand and listening to Iris DeMent’s Infamous Angel with her instead of sitting in my boxers and blogging about festival lineups. Five years ago, when my own mom died suddenly, I didn’t get that chance. So with Susan, I cherished sitting on the bed and eating chocolate shakes with her; listening to tapes she liked, like the O Brother Where Art Thou? soundtrack; letting her granddaughter kiss her hands and play with her necklaces; running my hands through her thinning hair; reminding her to drink water; and at least once a day or so, reminding her how wonderful she was.
She died yesterday. I drove there to say goodbye, and then the people from the mortuary came and took her away. We spent the rest of the day handling some things, and then walking around downtown, and then talking and talking and talking and talking. Susan Seward—riding high in April, shot down in May—raised four kids, lived on The Farm in Tennessee, worked at the Petaluma Library for 25 years and didn’t deserve any of this.
I’ll be back in business here, and playing catch-up. Thanks for waiting.