jenks

thread death
Thanks - haven't heard Riot in Lagos in an age - this playlist is certainly taking away the pain of marking mock exam papers
 

mvuent

Void Dweller
been jumping around in the book. one of my favorite parts so far—unexpectedly, since he'd never really permeated my own canon—was the profile of rob haigh. definitely an interesting case study for the altriciality thread... he'd already had all these completely pre-rave formative encounters with music (krautrock, glam, post punk), and beyond that, been part of the whole 80s occult industrial weirdo milieu. then moved out to the suburbs to raise his kids—at which point, surely, he must've thought the adventure was coming to a close? but then got caught up in something even bigger—making rave tunes, and THEN, after all that, arriving his signature music as a pioneer of ambient jungle. (also like the detail that it was rave's use of pianos that caught his interest. the most compelling genre leaps always seem to happen like that, not as shrewd calculations of what's relevant, but as recognition of an old obsession reincarnated.) imo his path's a great illustration of a point made in the outro: as inhuman as the music covered in the book can appear, there are so often very compelling human stories behind it. you just need someone to uncover them.
 

jenks

thread death
been jumping around in the book. one of my favorite parts so far—unexpectedly, since he'd never really permeated my own canon—was the profile of rob haigh. definitely an interesting case study for the altriciality thread... he'd already had all these completely pre-rave formative encounters with music (krautrock, glam, post punk), and beyond that, been part of the whole 80s occult industrial weirdo milieu. then moved out to the suburbs to raise his kids—at which point, surely, he must've thought the adventure was coming to a close? but then got caught up in something even bigger—making rave tunes, and THEN, after all that, arriving his signature music as a pioneer of ambient jungle. (also like the detail that it was rave's use of pianos that caught his interest. the most compelling genre leaps always seem to happen like that, not as shrewd calculations of what's relevant, but as recognition of an old obsession reincarnated.) imo his path's a great illustration of a point made in the outro: as inhuman as the music covered in the book can appear, there are so often very compelling human stories behind it.
i really must grab a copy
 

mvuent

Void Dweller
the most compelling genre leaps always seem to happen like that, not as shrewd calculations of what's relevant, but as recognition of an old obsession reincarnated.
maybe goes without saying but this is also something i've always really liked about blissblogger's writing. the ability to pick up on latent continuities without ironing out differences.

for example, you might get a fairly straightforward account of certain music, then an unexpected connection will get thrown in that forces you to pause and think for a moment. probably the first place i noticed this was in retromania. iirc, there's an interview with... maybe a former member of the cramps? and they're speaking romantically about 50s delinquent culture, bemoaning how there's nothing with the same spirit in music today. so he asks, ever listen to rap? and of course they go, wait, no, that's totally different! but it's too late, now the connection's there in your head. or in this older write up on james chance, with the comparison to michael jackson at the end.

the example from futuromania i had in mind was how the piece about people rediscovering new age ambient suddenly detours into something discussed around here, the "ambien" ambient quality of 2010s rap. (as much as your average kaitlyn aurelia smith fan probably prides themselves on their musical omnivorousness, i'd imagine they'd get a bit disconcerted by a comparison with playboi carti.) that these perspective shifts are so quick, suggested rather than insisted upon, is part of what makes them so effective.

i guess with this particular technique, there's often a kind of nudge away from hipsterism toward mainstream, or at least contemporary culture? kind of a "maybe this force isn't just sealed off in your dusty record collection, it's out here in the outside world!" thing.
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
Thanks Luka for everything he's done for him 3:55
Mentions Corpsey with affectionate chuckle at 15:32
Launches into expletive laden rant vs. Joe Muggs and Thirdform 42:31
Distances himself from Kit Mackintosh 1:01:22

why the fuck are you making me bat for muggsy? did @craner get touchy feely with you whilst screaming Am Yisrael Chai?
 

blissblogger

Well-known member
"or in this older write up on james chance, with the comparison to michael jackson at the end."

Well I was nudged towards that by the cover of "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" in James Chance's live set. That's on one of the albums I was reviewing.


But certainly there's something wracked-frenzy / pleasure-pain about MJ's performance that is surprisingly JC-adjacent.

Then again, both JC and MJ are drawing on James Brown. The performance archetype is possession, Dionysus in a gold lamé tux.
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket
not sure which dataset chat gpt was trained on. Simon decrying soulless pop and manufactured hits?

Alright, so here's the scoop on the legendary spat between Mr. Simon Reynolds and Mr. Joseph Muggford, two journalists known for their strong opinions and even stronger personalities.
It all started at the annual Press Gala, a swanky event where journalists from all corners of the industry gather to pat themselves on the back, drink too much, and gossip about their latest scoops. Reynolds, a respected music critic with a penchant for highbrow analysis, was holding court with a group of admirers, waxing poetic about the decline of modern music. He was in his element, passionately decrying the rise of "soulless pop" and "manufactured hits."
Enter Joseph Muggford, a brash and outspoken columnist known for his no-nonsense takes and love of all things mainstream. Muggford, never one to shy away from controversy, overheard Reynolds' tirade and decided he'd had enough of what he called "pretentious drivel." With a wry grin, he sauntered over and, in a voice loud enough for half the room to hear, declared, "Reynolds, you're just bitter because no one's ever danced to one of your reviews."
The room went silent, the kind of silence that signals something epic is about to go down. Reynolds, not one to take an insult lying down, shot back with, "At least I have the capacity to think critically, Muggford. Your columns read like they were written by a drunken parrot."
And that was the spark that ignited the powder keg. Insults flew back and forth, each one sharper than the last. People started gathering around, phones out, capturing every juicy moment. Muggford, in his classic style, accused Reynolds of being "out of touch with reality" and "living in an ivory tower." Reynolds countered by calling Muggford a "sellout" and a "panderer to the lowest common denominator."
Things escalated quickly. The verbal sparring turned physical when Muggford, in a fit of rage, threw a glass of champagne in Reynolds' face. Reynolds, drenched and furious, lunged at Muggford, and the two men went down in a flurry of fists and fancy tuxedos. Security had to intervene, pulling the brawling journalists apart while the crowd either cheered, gasped, or recorded the whole spectacle for posterity.
The aftermath was a media circus. Headlines the next day were filled with sensational stories of the fight, each outlet adding their own spin. Some painted Reynolds as the tragic hero, defending the sanctity of music journalism. Others portrayed Muggford as the bold challenger, standing up against elitism. Social media was ablaze with memes, gifs, and endless debates about who was in the right.
In the end, both men were temporarily suspended from their respective publications, forced to make public apologies, and banned from the next Press Gala. But their feud became the stuff of legend, a cautionary tale of what happens when two larger-than-life personalities collide in a room full of egos and alcohol.
 
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