luka
Well-known member
racist
craner
Beast of Burden
CrowleyHead
Well-known member
4)
There's two levels here. One is the acknowledgement of the fact that as I've mentioned before, my childhood was very intensely defined by the role I served my parents who were far too young to have me and didn't know how to be parents, let alone adults. The Kurt Cobain lyric that actually has vague attempts at depth but nobody has made into an inspirational poster is "I tried so hard for a father but instead I had a dad". As I grew up, my relationship with my father was suffocated by our friendship. He was an incredibly lonely and bored man and needed a confidant, a sidekick, a mini, a protege. To this day, he continuously asks with optimism and anxiety if I'm going to take up an instrument, because clearly he views me as an extension of him and his life. This manifested in videogames because so often in order to keep track of me, keep me entertained, and to benefit him, we would play Sega Genesis together. As such I was programmed to suit roles he needed rather than he adapt to roles for me.
The programming and adaption is perfect for the relationship I have with video games because I was of course a kid who played a shit ton of video games and I was hearing music in them all the time. So much time I spent being bombarded by different genres and styles which I would later reprocess and re-re-process. Plenty of my generation have had their brains broken by the notions of 'video game music' or '8-bit' and failed to understand that all they heard was the emulation of styles. Flamenco flourishes in a Legend of Zelda game, faux Romantic orchestra stylings in a Final Fantasy. The scores of these games often pierced beneath the technology provided. Whole different languages constantly greeted me and my peer groups, and as I got older it would only hit me just how often their brains were being sapped into their commodification process. You then understand the reason why someone like Adorno would've taken out Satie's knuckles with a ball-peen hammer when you realize how the terms of engagement break so many brains to devalue and defang music. Movie Composers. Videogame Soundtracks. *spits on the Dissensian floor* Library Music. A continuous criminal dismissal. Letting the role and the dictate override the existence.
Yuzo Koshiro's soundtrack work for the Streets of Rage series are mostly knockoffs. Go through youtube and check the 'influences' section and you'll see a number of ways songs were obviously ripped off. Ironically, later one of his compositions would get sampled aggressively in Goldie's "Terminator" so all in all, he got a last laugh. But at the end of the day, so much of his work are simple rewrites of stuff by Technotronic, Snap, Black Box. The Baitest Of The Bait as one might say. And of course, exactly the kind of entry level club music that a Japanese man trying to acquaint himself with the latest trends while on visit in Los Angeles, that he'd never heard prior, would be taken by. The selection in question, the overly somber intro to Streets of Rage 2, a theme song I have heard about no exaggeration at LEAST 5000 times in my life, is a complete and total by-numbers bootlegging of Soul ii Soul. It's SO OBVIOUS. You just need a CGI-d siren wail from a glitched out Caron Wheeler and you're good to go. Nevertheless, it's something that sounded like something I could go out and here from my home in 'real sounds' and hear the simulation of in the comfort of my home. Yuzo Koshiro, in his way, has taught me so much about subjectivity and reality.
There's two levels here. One is the acknowledgement of the fact that as I've mentioned before, my childhood was very intensely defined by the role I served my parents who were far too young to have me and didn't know how to be parents, let alone adults. The Kurt Cobain lyric that actually has vague attempts at depth but nobody has made into an inspirational poster is "I tried so hard for a father but instead I had a dad". As I grew up, my relationship with my father was suffocated by our friendship. He was an incredibly lonely and bored man and needed a confidant, a sidekick, a mini, a protege. To this day, he continuously asks with optimism and anxiety if I'm going to take up an instrument, because clearly he views me as an extension of him and his life. This manifested in videogames because so often in order to keep track of me, keep me entertained, and to benefit him, we would play Sega Genesis together. As such I was programmed to suit roles he needed rather than he adapt to roles for me.
The programming and adaption is perfect for the relationship I have with video games because I was of course a kid who played a shit ton of video games and I was hearing music in them all the time. So much time I spent being bombarded by different genres and styles which I would later reprocess and re-re-process. Plenty of my generation have had their brains broken by the notions of 'video game music' or '8-bit' and failed to understand that all they heard was the emulation of styles. Flamenco flourishes in a Legend of Zelda game, faux Romantic orchestra stylings in a Final Fantasy. The scores of these games often pierced beneath the technology provided. Whole different languages constantly greeted me and my peer groups, and as I got older it would only hit me just how often their brains were being sapped into their commodification process. You then understand the reason why someone like Adorno would've taken out Satie's knuckles with a ball-peen hammer when you realize how the terms of engagement break so many brains to devalue and defang music. Movie Composers. Videogame Soundtracks. *spits on the Dissensian floor* Library Music. A continuous criminal dismissal. Letting the role and the dictate override the existence.
Yuzo Koshiro's soundtrack work for the Streets of Rage series are mostly knockoffs. Go through youtube and check the 'influences' section and you'll see a number of ways songs were obviously ripped off. Ironically, later one of his compositions would get sampled aggressively in Goldie's "Terminator" so all in all, he got a last laugh. But at the end of the day, so much of his work are simple rewrites of stuff by Technotronic, Snap, Black Box. The Baitest Of The Bait as one might say. And of course, exactly the kind of entry level club music that a Japanese man trying to acquaint himself with the latest trends while on visit in Los Angeles, that he'd never heard prior, would be taken by. The selection in question, the overly somber intro to Streets of Rage 2, a theme song I have heard about no exaggeration at LEAST 5000 times in my life, is a complete and total by-numbers bootlegging of Soul ii Soul. It's SO OBVIOUS. You just need a CGI-d siren wail from a glitched out Caron Wheeler and you're good to go. Nevertheless, it's something that sounded like something I could go out and here from my home in 'real sounds' and hear the simulation of in the comfort of my home. Yuzo Koshiro, in his way, has taught me so much about subjectivity and reality.
CrowleyHead
Well-known member
NGL the thrill of denying Craner the first hint of actual rap is keeping my pulse alight.
forclosure
Well-known member
yees fam Streets of rage 2 now we're talking
forclosure
Well-known member
Capcom were one of the kings of emulating other songs and putting it in their music sometimes whole sale
CrowleyHead
Well-known member
Has Barty acknowledged my return? I think he still feels dejected.
CrowleyHead
Well-known member
Odai and Third broke him.
CrowleyHead
Well-known member
5)
The world is very vast in New York City but so much smaller everywhere else. I've seen more mosques, temples, churches and cults hiding out in basements pretending to be something else just through the windows of cars and buses and trains here than anywhere else. Ambient sound is a potential gateway to places all over the world where the many citizens hail from. I "get" the London mindset because it feels closer to the New York I understand than the New York that has been projected onto me in gross caricature and expectation. The confusion and the oceanic wave of differing forces that results in being witness to a million ways and possibilities and not knowing which is which. The Korean owned soul food joint. Endless fiascos to find the perfect Pizza and sauce. Persian Candy Stores. Melisma in 72 diff. languages. The span of faces, voices, clothes, sounds. When ones imposition of will is not to dominate the realm around you but to simply carve out ones space to seep forward, you create a much better world.
The cassette of Word of Mouth always played in my car. My dad as a young man would constantly try to wander around drinking, trying to live life out of a Bukowski novel, tailing around Jaco Pastorius while he was homeless. I didn't know what it was really. I understood symbolically what jazz was supposed to sound like, especially when my dad was actually playing it on stage. I understood suits, horns, clubs, floodlights. The classics. I never understood this, but I still would just be floating in it from my backseat of his shitty oldsmobile while I was getting nauseated from the highways and expressways and the bridges and fucking hell I'm so glad I can't drive.
This record really doesn't sound like fusion as people would describe it in books. It's not jazzy per se, it's not soulful as one would typically describe it, it barely feels like rock. It's too endlessly pulsating and reaching forward to be comparable to the sort of ambient post-rock recenterification of records by David Sylvian or Scott Walker that I'd come to love as I got older and founded my own taste. Instead it kind of just constantly dissipates and wanders away, the ephemeral of thread-like disintegration. You think about dust, or pollen, or asbestos; how it constantly just detatches and wanders off decentered from gravity. It's away from the pulse, it's in chaos, it keeps falling away from the systems. Out of sync, out of tune, out of harmony, away from the coalescence. Just off into space... The feeling of perpetually hurtling and tumbling to some brighter and more infinite, further away from the day before.
The world is very vast in New York City but so much smaller everywhere else. I've seen more mosques, temples, churches and cults hiding out in basements pretending to be something else just through the windows of cars and buses and trains here than anywhere else. Ambient sound is a potential gateway to places all over the world where the many citizens hail from. I "get" the London mindset because it feels closer to the New York I understand than the New York that has been projected onto me in gross caricature and expectation. The confusion and the oceanic wave of differing forces that results in being witness to a million ways and possibilities and not knowing which is which. The Korean owned soul food joint. Endless fiascos to find the perfect Pizza and sauce. Persian Candy Stores. Melisma in 72 diff. languages. The span of faces, voices, clothes, sounds. When ones imposition of will is not to dominate the realm around you but to simply carve out ones space to seep forward, you create a much better world.
The cassette of Word of Mouth always played in my car. My dad as a young man would constantly try to wander around drinking, trying to live life out of a Bukowski novel, tailing around Jaco Pastorius while he was homeless. I didn't know what it was really. I understood symbolically what jazz was supposed to sound like, especially when my dad was actually playing it on stage. I understood suits, horns, clubs, floodlights. The classics. I never understood this, but I still would just be floating in it from my backseat of his shitty oldsmobile while I was getting nauseated from the highways and expressways and the bridges and fucking hell I'm so glad I can't drive.
This record really doesn't sound like fusion as people would describe it in books. It's not jazzy per se, it's not soulful as one would typically describe it, it barely feels like rock. It's too endlessly pulsating and reaching forward to be comparable to the sort of ambient post-rock recenterification of records by David Sylvian or Scott Walker that I'd come to love as I got older and founded my own taste. Instead it kind of just constantly dissipates and wanders away, the ephemeral of thread-like disintegration. You think about dust, or pollen, or asbestos; how it constantly just detatches and wanders off decentered from gravity. It's away from the pulse, it's in chaos, it keeps falling away from the systems. Out of sync, out of tune, out of harmony, away from the coalescence. Just off into space... The feeling of perpetually hurtling and tumbling to some brighter and more infinite, further away from the day before.
luka
Well-known member
Nah Odai is a good man, he never attacks anyone. Third can be difficult when he's in one of his moods but they have a good relationship. Talk a lot on Twitter together.
forclosure
Well-known member
i think my responses were less attacks and more "the fuck are you on about m8?"
forclosure
Well-known member
also i only get hostile when my bad side is provoked,don't like it but it's true
CrowleyHead
Well-known member
6)
Two forms of radio dominated my youth up until the period I moved to New Jersey: My mom tuning in to WPLJ in order to hear whatever in the world was meant for other moms, and of course my dad checking up on Hot 97. Can I name you all the songs I heard in that primordial ooze? Not often, plenty of it is a melange of my dad defaulting to albums instead outside of listening to the Ed Lover show or trying to check on DJ Red Alert every now and again out of resistance of the changing tides. In my childhood brain, Big Daddy Kane, Kool G Rap, Rakim, KRS-One all felt more relevant than they were in actuality. But that was because my dad was actively trying to find where they were occasionally being reinvoked as ghosts, given that he was not ready for the tides of tastes to change on him.
So I always remember "The 900 Number". Instrumentals were key back then, they still are to an extent. But "The 900 Number" was a staple, esp. given how tied in it was to the Ed Lover Brand before he became a miserable brow-beating goon (your typical 90s icon gone Angry). I never learned it's name as a child, but I would hear it years later, way further down the line in brief snippet form for commercials or in dance parties. It was like the ice-cream truck jingle or something, I'd outgrown it for sure but it was the awe of seeing that old thing and thinking "Wow, you're still there, doing the same thing." Does it work the same? Who can say. It did for me.
Two forms of radio dominated my youth up until the period I moved to New Jersey: My mom tuning in to WPLJ in order to hear whatever in the world was meant for other moms, and of course my dad checking up on Hot 97. Can I name you all the songs I heard in that primordial ooze? Not often, plenty of it is a melange of my dad defaulting to albums instead outside of listening to the Ed Lover show or trying to check on DJ Red Alert every now and again out of resistance of the changing tides. In my childhood brain, Big Daddy Kane, Kool G Rap, Rakim, KRS-One all felt more relevant than they were in actuality. But that was because my dad was actively trying to find where they were occasionally being reinvoked as ghosts, given that he was not ready for the tides of tastes to change on him.
So I always remember "The 900 Number". Instrumentals were key back then, they still are to an extent. But "The 900 Number" was a staple, esp. given how tied in it was to the Ed Lover Brand before he became a miserable brow-beating goon (your typical 90s icon gone Angry). I never learned it's name as a child, but I would hear it years later, way further down the line in brief snippet form for commercials or in dance parties. It was like the ice-cream truck jingle or something, I'd outgrown it for sure but it was the awe of seeing that old thing and thinking "Wow, you're still there, doing the same thing." Does it work the same? Who can say. It did for me.