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Thursday, July 17, 2008
Medicine Show Man vol. 2
Prestige : 1962
EAT THAT CHICKEN
Atlantic : 1961
SOUTHERN FRIED CHICKEN (PARTS I & II)
Bill Thomas & the Fendells
Available on: Movements 2
Perfect Toy : 2006
FINGER LICKIN' CHICKEN
Yew : c. 1969
[Out of Print]
Oscar Brown Jr.
Atlantic : 1975
Ike & Tina Turner
Available on: Rockin' and Rollin'
HHO : 2006
CHIPS, CHICKEN, BANANA SPLIT
Jo-Jo & The Fugitives
Cobra : 1968
Available on: Jamaica to Toronto: Soul, Funk, and Reggae 1967-1974
Light in the Attic : 2006
Hi : 1978
Available on: Pulp Fusion : Bustin' Loos
Harmless : 2006
C-H-I-C-K-E-N SPELLS CHICKEN
Available on: Ghost World OST
Shanachie : 2001
They eat chicken, don't they?Well, folks, the review is in: "On Untitled you get to decide whether you prefer Nas thoroughly exploring half-assed concepts or half-assedly exploring thorough concepts." Ouchie. And, man, that 3.8's gotta sting. But, you know, we don't know: Here at Moistworks' Astoria Bureau, we kinda think of "Fried Chicken" as the new summer hotness-
-Col. Sanders, responding to a question about black folks. (Apocryphal)
FRIED CHICKEN (FEAT. BUSTA RHYMES)
Def Jam : 2008
Mrs. Fried Chicken
You was my addiction
Drippin' with hot cholest-
Like Greeks with his falafel
Italians with their tomato
What roti is to a Rasta
You and your friend Mac'n'Cheese
OMG/WTF/LOL/BRB/BBQ/QE2/WMD/WWIII, right? I mean, we're a ways away from "C-H-I-C-K-E-N spells 'Chicken'" now! And, while we're on the subject of eating/racial stereotyping, we might as well address the age-olde belief that black men don't eat pussy....
WHAT'S NEW PUSSYCAT
Studio One : 1965
Available on: Destiny: Rare Sides from Studio One
Rounder : 1999
Debut : 1957
Available on: The Complete Debut Recordings
Debut : 1990
A Piece of Strange
LA Underground : 2006
LICK THE PUSSY
Relativity : 1994
Ok - so - as it happens, not eating pussy happens to be one of the things that a lot of rappers tend to rap about a lot. And that makes a certain amount of sense: In the more misogynistic & minstrelsy corners of the rap universe - that MTV-friendly, jack-in-the-box cartoonland where punks jump up to get beat down, bitches ain't nothin' but hos and tricks, and "feelings" are something you "catch" - going down on your lady friends might just give the impression that feelings are something you've caught.
AIN'T NO FUN (IF THE HOMEY'S CAN'T GET NONE)
Snoop Doggy Dogg
Death Row : 1993
At least, Marvin Gaye seemes to have thought so. "You could feel him struggling for the courage to say it," David Ritz reported, in his courageous MG bio, Divided Soul.
Finally the words came: he was going to give her "head," oral sex. He convinved himself he could "handle" her, though in mentioning the act, as if to "sanctify" it, he quickly suggested marriage and even pregnancy, singing that he was going to "knock up this woman." This is one of the moments in which he actually called out her name - "Oh, Janis!" - exploding with an anguished shriek, a cry of limitless pleasure and pain. Like a little boy afraid of jumping off a diving board, Marvin built up his courage - "soon," he repeated, "soon" - trying to convince himself he was man enough to do the job. He viewed oral copulation as a complete commitment of his affection. For Gaye, the act was the highest expression of his love since, as he told me several times, it was something he didn't enjoy. It's no accident that "giving head" was joined to the notion of conception and pregnancy, further validating his feelings of sacred romance and familial sanctity. In fact, in November of 1975, Janis did give birth to her second child, Frankie Christian "Bubby," born a day after his namesake, Marvin's Brother.That, folks, is what we call writing! And, while we're on the subject of writing, let's leave off with Ritz channeling Ray Charles, on the twinned subjects of crazy laws and cunnilingus: "Hell, there are dozens of crazy laws," Ritz writes (in Brother Ray: Ray Charles' Own Story). "I understand in some places it's forbidden to suck your wife's pussy. Well, they can't enforce that one, but if they could, wouldn't it be a bitch?"
Labels: alex, chicken, sex
posted by Alex
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
XXX YO! INTERNET RAPS XXX
FREAKS OF THE INDUSTRY
Tommy Boy : 1990
We @ Moistworks hold these tracks to be self-evident:
Bitch Better Have My Money
ZYX : 1991
But seriously, the bitch really better had have my money.
TALK LIKE SEX
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo
Wanted Dead or Alive
Cold Chillin' : 1990
"I'll leave you like a rape victim." That, from back in the day.
IF YOU BELIEVE IN HAVING SEX
2 Live Crew
As Nasty As They Wanna Be
Lil' Joe : 1989
A girl back there who, asked if she *liked* sex said, "Of course/Doesn't everyone?" She was interested in overpopulation. But ask yourselves, people - do *you* people believe in having sex?
Erik B. & Rakim
Let The Rhythm Hit'Em
MCA : 1990
Al Green = Love.
FOOL GET A CLUE
Radikal : 1996
And now, with a lot less love:
Interscope : 1999
And a whole lotta lovelessness:
AIN'T NO FUN
Priority : 1993
I know the pussy's mineFREAKY PUMPS
So I'ma fuck a couple more times
Then I'm through with it
There's nothing else to do with it
Pass it to my homie, now you get it
'Cause she ain't nothing but a bitch to me
And y'all know that bitches ain't shit to me...
The Loneliest Punk
The Lab : 2005
That, from from the original sex rap post.... And if that don't slap the fuzzle from your muzzles, here's a few more xxx internet raps xxx :
SIDE TO SIDE
Anti : 2005
TALK LIKE SEX PT. II
Priority : 2001
WORK THAT POLE
Landspeed : 2002
The Beatnuts, in general, are genuinely unpleasant: Where's their medal?
FUCK THE PAIN AWAY
The Teaches of Peaches
[For [all the bearded] ladies.]
Only Built 4 Cuban Linx
RCA : 1995
Someday, the words "I Love you like I love my dick size" will be inscribed on some Staten Island tombstone....
XXX YO! INTERNET RAPS XXX
Labels: alex, hip-hop, sex
posted by Alex
Thursday, September 27, 2007
BE ALL YOU CAN BE
Elektra : 1981
Out of Print
SEX SHOOTER (DEMO)
SEX SHOOTER (EXTENDED DANCE MIX)
French TV Performance
Warner Bros : 1984
Out of Print
The girl group Godmoma was a sexed-up side project from that funk muppet Bootsy Collins. The girls: former P-Funk vocalists Cynthia "Sugar Baby" Girty, Arnenita "T Baby" Walker, and Carolyn "Baby Kay" Myles. Bootsy beamed them up to the Mothership, along with Sly Stone, and Horny Horns Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley, and cut an album of dirty disco that sweats like a FEMA trailer.
The experiment only lasted the one record, but Bootsy may have ushered in one of the decades great pop trends. Didn't it seem like back in the 80s, every dude and his cousin had a girl group? Not the in a Berry Gordy supergroup kind of way. And not yet the calculated marketing creations of the video generation. No these were strictly vanity projects. The girl group as the ultimate accessory: stage candy, funk whores, the girl group as soft porn harem.
Prince had a vanity project. There were 6 girls in it. Prince called it Vanity 6. But Vanity left the band, so Prince reformed it as Apollonia 6. I would have killed to have been on the Staten Island Ferry the day of that casting call. There's a Herzog documentary in there somewhere. All that hairspray and the anxious savagery of chased dreams and the lingerie from the Red Door Store in Paramus with the tags still on it.
'Sex Shooter' is one of Prince's premier pieces of brilliantly ludicrous porn funk. (When you consider that no music critic worth his vintage Tretorns would dare discuss Prince without those four words: porn. funk. brilliant. ludicrous. - then you know I speak high praise.)
There are certain similarities between Bootsy and Prince's side projects. They both were at their peaks, both brought in all-star support, both embrace their signature sounds, and both parade some serious, vaingloriously confused sexuality.
Take a lick, gimme a hit, get on the stick
and suck upon this
I need you to pull my trigger babe
I need you to get me off
I'm your bomb getting ready to explode
I need you to get me off
Be your slave do anything I'm told
Im a sex shooter....
Blow me away,
C'mon kiss the gun
It's a real Pandora's Box. Normally, when it comes to early '80s girl groups and party funk, I try so very hard not to pull the trigger on concerns of sexual identity politics. Those debates of stripper pole feminism: empowerment v objectification, emancipation v subjugation, the balances of power on the fetish exchange. This music just is what it is. It's post-narrative, it's post-innuendo, it's some serious species level action. When it comes to Pandora, Bootsy and Prince really aren't worried about what's coming out of her box so much as what they're gonna' put in it. I like to leave all that figurative groping to the gender studies undergrads at Sarah Lawrence. They can hash it out in their tutorial. Maybe in that new class they have:
The Nasty Dialectic: Transgression, Aggression, Sexuality and the mOthership.
But listening to Apollonia now 20 years on, please forgive me if I clear my throat. Prince really is a freak. Sure Bootsy and the ladies get into some gender role play, but it's all in fun. You know he's just trying to bring some dialogue to the dance floor. But in the Thealogy of pop funk, Prince is flying solo. He's sorting out some serious hyper-gender-erotica business, and he's using Apollonia 6 as psycho-sexual proxies in his little vagina monologue.
Maybe Prince just loves sex so much, that he wants access to all possible POVs available. Maybe he's a raving sexual narcissist, not just satisfied to sex-up women, he wants to enter the female form to embody it so he can experience what it's like to be a woman sexing him up. Or maybe these are just the shadow puppets of his erotic theater, and Prince in the role of of sex puppeteer, Gepetto as pimp. The Apollonia 6 certainly seem like puppets. Really, you can tell their hearts are not in it. When they command "Soon as I get undressed y'all clap your hands OK?" they just sound tired and blue collar. The orgasms are obviously faked, the gyrations the tired hulas of a Tijuana burlesque. They are nice girls; all they really wanted was to work at the Macy's cosmetics counter but Prince went and turned 'em out. And look at poor Sheena Easton: a sweet Scottish kid, with a stable career in Adult Contemporary music ahead of her. She studied at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. She sang duets with Kenny Rogers. She hooks up with Prince, and now she's inviting American inside her 'Sugar Walls' and has Tipper Gore and the Parents' Music Resource Council naming her one of music's "Filthy Fifteen." Prince takes these young ones, coaches them up, gives them a new language, a genital lingua franca.
It must be exhausting to be Prince. Me, if I lived in the Purple Rain universe, I'd skip the whole girl band thing altogether. It's just so deviant and sexually confusing. I'd go for something normal, something conservative. Maybe settle down with a fashionable manservant named Jerome who would be full of self-esteem and would dance around in front of me with a giant mirror.
Labels: funk, James, pop, sex
posted by James
Thursday, June 28, 2007
KEEP ON CHURNIN'
Available on : Bloodshot Eyes: The Best of Wynonie Harris
Rhino : 1994
She Loves to Hear the Music
CBS/Columbia : 1975
Histoire de Melody Nelson
Polygram : 1971
Umvd : 2001
I have a friend who recently slept with a guy she just met. That's not extraordinary. But he had three arms! No. He didn't. I guess I'm trying to make the situation more remarkable than it was. It was an ordinary what-for: she broke up with her boyfriend about five months ago, went on a few dates, didn't meet anyone she liked, and then she met (and liked) this guy at a party, and he asked her out, and they went to a restaurant, and he ordered them a bottle of wine, and later they held hands under the table, and still later he walked her home through a light rain, and she invited him up, and they sat on the couch for twenty minutes watching TV, and then they went into the bedroom, got strip-jack naked, and made the beast with five arms.
Anyway, a few days later on the phone, she told me that she had hooked up with this guy and I felt a twinge of annoyance that wasn't exactly annoyance. What it exactly was, sadness, requires some explanation.
I have a negative reaction to these hookups, not a moral objection but an emotional one. In one respect, the reason is obvious. Deep down, there's some element of competitiveness. It’s not that I have designs on these women - I am married - though I can imagine some version of me, in ramified time, having designs. But there's also something else. When I hear these accounts, I feel eighty years old, tired and rueful. There's something in a hookup story that seems to bring the participants one step closer to death. It's hard to explain, or maybe pitifully simple. So long as you are hopeful for sex - or romance, because that's usually the shape that casts the shadow - the world is a place of potential joy. When the target has been acquired, well, then what?
Let me come at it from another angle. If a friend were to tell me that she just had a promisingly flirtatious conversation with a guy she met at a party, I would feel a surge of excitement for her. Even my initial sense of competition would subside. But conversation is sustainable over long periods of time, partly because it sublimates other energies, and partly because it has content other than itself (the weather, or baseball, or literature, or whatever). But sex is often about itself, especially early in a relationship or before there's any relationship at all. So the needle spikes. People get off. And then, sadly, slightly, the life goes out of life, at least for a little while. (It's just a theory, but so is evolution. A few days after my friend told me about the hookup, she called back to tell me that she was in a pit of despair. The walls weren't so high that she couldn't see to the tops, but they were slippery.)
I have a feeling that maybe I've gone too far in the wrong direction, and I don't want to ignore the other side of the coin. Sadness or no, drab emotional realism never got anyone laid. It's like that episode of "You Bet Your Life" where Groucho talks to a woman about her future plans.
GROUCHO: "Now suppose you became a famous actress, and then you met somebody you liked and got married. Would you be willing to quit acting and be a housewife and a mother?"So here's a set of songs about the joys of not keeping your feet on the ground. One is by the great American R&B singer Wynonie Harris. One is by the Indian jazz/soul/disco siren Asha Puthli. One is by the French provocateur Serge Gainsbourg. And one is by the German heavy metal demons and inadvertent comedians Rammstein.
WOMAN: "Well, I think if you keep your feet on the ground you can combine both. That's what I'd like to do."
GROUCHO: "Well, if you keep your feet on the ground, you'll never be a mother."
Labels: ben, sex
posted by Ben
Monday, January 30, 2006
The Loneliest Punk
The Lab : 2005
Reel To Reel
Elektra : 1992
ONE MORE CHANCE
The Notorious Biggie Smalls
Ready To Die
Bad Boy : 1994
WHY YOU WANNA GET FUNKY WITH ME?
Del The Funky Homosapien
Hieroglyphics : 1998
Writing about music is like talking about fucking.
It's no secret that pretty much the best thing two or more people can do with each other is fuck. And, judging by the sounds that sometimes come out of the alley just outside of MW's Astoria Bureau's offices, there's been quite a bit of fucking going on in, among other places, public.
Now, Americans are a fairly voyueristic lot but, to be honest, we at MW don't especially enjoy listening to our neighbors fuck. Other people's moans and groans lose their appeal by six in the morning or so, and there's something, well, gauche about letting the block know you're about to come, that you are coming, that you're still coming, and that you finally fucking came. Invite us over, mate. Or shut the fuck up.
But songs about fucking? Go figure, 'cause they get our hearty support. After all, if getting up on the stage is a fancy way of saying "LOOK AT ME," why shouldn't America's entertainers go the extra inch and say "LOOK AT MY DICK"? It's a moot point, since looking at dick is more or less what America's listeners have been doing since 1952, when Bull Moose Jackson recorded his "Big Ten Inch Record":
Got me the strangest woman
Believe me, this trick's no cinch
But I really get her going
When I whip out my big, 10-inch
Record of a band that plays the blues
Well a band that plays its blues
She just love my big, 10-inch
Record of her favorite blues*
(Those so inclined might take this moment to seek out Bessie Smith's "I Want Some Sugar In My Bowl," which Nina Simone cleaned up considerably just as the sexual revolution was nearing its peak, or Billie Holiday & Louis Armstrong's duet on "Sweet Hunk of Trash," in which Louis stays out so late, it sure makes Billie ma.........d to wait. On a related note, here's what Little Richard will never forget about Buddy Holly:
Buddy and I were real good friends. He was a nice guy and he used to idolize my music. He'd go out and do my songs before I came on. He would sit there and watch my stage act. Every show that I would do. And when I got ready to have an orgy, Buddy would come up too. He was huge! I'd never seen anyone that big in my life!
Buddy liked Angel. He was a wild boy for the women. One time we were playing at the Paramount Theater and Buddy came to my dressing room while I was jacking off with Angel sucking my titty. Angel had the fastest tongue in the West. Well, she was doing that to me and Buddy took out his thing. He was ready, so she opened up her legs and he put it in her. He was having sex with Angel, I was jacking off, and Angel was sucking me, when they introduced his name on stage! He was trying to finish and went to the stage still fastening himself up. I'll never forget that.
And what John Lennon really thought of Hunter Davies' "authorized" Beatles bio:
Well, it was really bullshit.... And I wanted a real book to come out, but we all had wives and didn't want to hurt their feelings.... You know, I mean the Beatles' tours were like Fellini's Satyricon.... Such a heavy scene it was. They didn't call them groupies then, they called it something else. But if we couldn't have groupies we'd have whores and everything, whatever. Whatever was going.)
In any case, the songs you'll find above aren't the best of this, the first of the other, or overly representative of anything in particular - just tunes we might play whislt feeling especially fuckish. Songs like the ones you'll find on Fat Lip's solo debut, which hit a high point with the Humpty-Hump/Shock-G collab. "Freaky Pumps," and signaled an improvement, of sorts, over the standard sex rap's misogynistic tendencies:
Whatcha do with them?
Hit'em and quit'em,
'Less they got a brain up in them
In which case I charge them with felony freaking....
and then I quit'em.
"360 Degrees" isn't as sexy, but does feature some swordsmanship on Puba's part. And the Notorious B.I.G.'s "One More Chance" isn't a record so much as a Homeric ode to the male member - it's the sine qua non of sex raps:
When it comes to sex, I'm similar to the thriller
Honeys call me Bigger the condom filler
Genius rapper Del The Funky Homosapien's "Why You Want To Get Funky With Me" concerns a social disease which might finally get some public attention, now that it's hit the Ivy Leagues. It's not a sex rap, either, but not for lack of trying on the artist's part.** (Del's cousin, Ice Cube, is far more confident, and fares somewhat better in the bedroom, on "You Can Do It," which features "dick for days," and "ass for weeks.") Let's not even get into 2 Live Crew, Method Man's star turn on Raekwon's "Ice Cream Man," or the many lady rappers who can more than hold their own, in and out of the bedroom. Instead, let's all admit that writing about music is a bit like talking about fucking, but that, depending on the circumstances, talking about fucking is almost as good as the act itself.
* Obsessive googlers might note that the quote-unquote first rock-and-roll song - Ike Turner & Jackie Brenston's 1951 single, "Rocket 88" - was followed, a few months later, by Todd Rhoad's "Rocket 69."
** Incidentally, She shook me off/Like a moth is an especially agile, startling image: Is she shaking him off as if he were a moth? Or is she shaking - fluttering - like a moth herself?
Labels: alex, hip-hop, sex
posted by Alex