It's amazing what can get accomplished if you just have the passion and the patience...if you have the creativity and the talent...if you have the true grit that will convince you to keep at it until one day, you've reached a pinnacle, and you're ready for more.
Booze is overrated. Let's get drunk some other way. Get drunk with orange juice. Get drunk with apple juice. A bar full of bros and hoes holding highball glasses of reds and oranges with orange slices and celery sticks as garnishes. "Wucha drink, yo?" "Tomato drink...and I ain't driven', believe that, Jo Mamma. "
What a bootleg by Lady BEE straight out of Amsterdam. People don't mess around when they say the best house music comes from Europe. The rubbery, juicy, eyeball shaking synth makes this whole thing POP. Lady BEE announced that she will be releasing this track on her soundcloud on Christmas. Keep an eye out for this banger!
The divine mixes, circa 2008, seem ages ago when Justice blasted onto the scene with DVNO and the underdogs sprouted their remixes. These are four capital letters, printed in gold that apparently the details make the girls sweat...or if you ask them, they'll say, "Hardly, we glisten." Now we wait for the new album. But wait--"I don't want to wait anymore." The new album, Audio, Video, Disco is already out and awaiting for Justice to blast its way into round two. Ding!
Miles and miles of red tape couldn't hold back the love I feel for watching paint dry. I just sit there in my yellow-and-orange lawn chair, eating a big bag of Doritos (Nacho Cheese) and observing the snail-pace drips of sulfuric-scented Ruffle-clam white Behr paint. Lo and behold (who says that anymore?), a satellite with Russian symbols encrusted on the hull, crashes into the neighbor's yard and suddenly I'm forced to turn my head and observe Gina, the neighbor's foxy daughter, with braces that have radio frequency, begin a bold shoe-shuffle to retro beat she's tuning into, and this places Gina into a seizure of The Hustle.
Welcome back to KRWX. It's time to play our number one song on Nigel's Weekend Top 40. This is a new band called The Future. Formed out of a duo of synthesizer musicians, The Future has come out of nowhere to bring you this week's number one hit song, Don't You Want Me. It's a great and catchy song, but perhaps they should opt for a more grand-standing name. By the way, lately, me and my cohorts have been passing the days with this riveting game called Starforce. And in this game there is this frontier-oriented society known as The Human League. Why, they should be called that if I had to choose a name.
If there is another world out there in that rather large universe, that is somewhat similar to our world, do you think they make songs without choruses? Maybe choruses are against the law over there. Maybe they don't have the knowledge of what we call a chorus. Or maybe over there, their choruses are so advanced, that if we listened to an example our ears would climax earwax all over the place. The point is, the chorus part of a song or piece of music is so essential in order to get friends, Romans and countrymen to lend their ears and announce, "O Thy song'st catchy, ho."
White folks getting crunk...illegal? In New York and California (and I'm sure in other states and countries also), it is illegal for a bar/club to allow dancing within its perimeters without the possession of a cabaret license. Perhaps you've been to one of those downscale establishments where the Paul Blarts with flashlights were constantly bawking at you for shuffling shoulders or bouncing your head. Those placed failed to purchase said license and the staff was on edge just in case a nark popped up to fine them. Even though dancing is a method of self-expression, it also has association with noise, violence and filth. The cabaret licenses are established as a way to keep facilities in check so crummy neighborhoods don't get any crummier.
One tequila, two tequila, three tequila--'Hey, no dancing!'
So the next day, after the incident with the elephant in the bar, I attended a gala event at a Hollywood Hills mansion. Wall-to-wall decorations of tiki torches and palm fronds were torturing my vision. Everyone was dressed in black-n-white except for one individual behind a bamboo-cut table. My eyes popped like a Champagne bottle. It was that same elephant from the bar and he was sporting his infamous Nike Shox, only this time he was not behind the bar, but behind the turntables, spewing out Bloody Beetroots' remix of Ivory.
