Ghost Voices, Gypsy Cabs & Cellphones

Hi. I'm Maxwell Cavaseno. When I'm not being a normal person and/or writing for NoJumper.com, I'm wasting everyone elses's time.

katherinestasaph asked: Hi, saw your reblog. Not sure how this is ripping off Kitty Pryde, considering she's been rapping (I think that's what you're referring to) since "Stay Away" at least. I mean, I've interviewed Kitty Pryde and like her stuff a great deal, but you could just as easily say this sounds like T'Pau or lots of people.

I don’t know. If you think about it, the video seems like a high-budget reinterpretation of OKC, and her delivery on the verse for this song mirrors that of Kitty (And let’s be fair, I can’t think of too many other female rap presences in pop that play up a more softer femininity than Kitty or maybe Kilo Kish. Charli is smart to know that the harder edged Iggy Azalea Banks-vibe is increasingly passe, and entirely unbelievable from someone like her.)

thesinglesjukebox:

CHARLI XCX - WHAT I LIKE
[7.82]

In this instance it would be quite rude to mention that we may have developed a bit of a canon…

Iain Mew: Much of “What I Like” is a song about relationship becoming routine, about the repetition of undressing and undressing and undressing, about getting “on some husband and wife shit” to the point where there’s no need to spell out what she likes anymore. Charli makes it clear just how much she’s getting out of that, and she’s aided enormously by the rhythm, the quick splashes that wriggle and defy expectation and still make it sound like the rush of first love. So when she sings, “This shit is super cool”, her performance of that line makes it ring true, but it also feels like a reaffirmation of what’s been unspoken all along.
[9]

Katherine St Asaph: I relate a lot to Charli XCX, being another semi-scorned semi-youth who’s one-third hair. I’m invested in her career and also, apparently, her on-record love life. “What I Like” is the grounded, content counterpart to the abstract, half-terrified “You’re the One”; no silver lovers stealing stars, just two kids getting high, fucking around, feeling super-weird about feeling super-cool. I’m biased at least three times toward the former, but even so, “What I Like” is objectively less of a standalone single. It isn’t worse, though. We get to hear more of what Charli liked growing up: the trance intro, the way she’s autotuned to sound like Gwen Stefani circa Rock Steady. “This shit is kind of gangsta” and “ha! we on some husband-and-wife shit” are what they are, but hey, she’s 20. “Playing board games, horror films with the super gore” is perfect in the same way as “rock-paper-scissors — wait! best out of three!” The way she dwells on the T-shirt is perfect; that’s a point in a relationship you dwell on, when it’s morning for the first or whatever time, the guy’s still got his shirt off and he looks one of two ways: decayed, sunken face, chest like a roach, everything at its grotesque worst; or so stunning you can’t quite believe you’re the one looking. (This doesn’t necessarily correlate to anything; it’s just usually one or the other.) But you’ve got to be casual about noticing, and Charli is: very chill, very calm. So even if I prefer her old career direction — she’s been around long enough that this is career shift #2 — songs like these are probably happier to live with.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Her voice, her voice: smoky, declassé, comfortable in post-M.I.A./Santigold distorted mode and sassing her way through spoken word portions. She can sound wistful about memories of T-shirts on the floor and houses by the ocean while still not quite persuading us she’s reached the limit of what she likes.
[8]

Rebecca A. Gowns: Love the song, hackles raised by the video — and I guess by the whole Charli XCX “brand.” But this song is tight. The spoken parts, and the hi-hat riff that pops up in-between the synthy strings (or rather, stringy synths), and the note sequence that surfaces as the luscious little cherry on top of all of it: “♪ you-know just-what i like! ♪♪”
[9]

Anthony Easton: The detail of the “T-shirt on the floor” is so tossed-off it might be deliberately accidental, but the artifice works. It’s so symbolic of something au courant and slightly obsessed with being liked. Deliberateness is made to sound louche and meaningless. This gap between effort and ennui is sort of the mark of recent pop — but instead of making a point about the ennui being essentially anhedonic, that it’s so loose it falls apart, it uses that falling apart to mean nothing more than intimacy and care with another person. I am on record as preferring fuck anthems to making-love anthems, but we need a balance, and of late it’s been measured towards the “fucking as feeling” method. This is feeling, and as a result fucking — that’s powerful!
[10]

Jonathan Bogart: Nothing she’s done since can touch the majesty and mystery of “Nuclear Seasons.” Probably that’s because she wants to move in another direction, and it’s my sad 80s fetish that keeps me from getting excited about the weird robo-trap-ballad thing she’s doing here.
[7]

Patrick St. Michel: That intro is more than a stab at Hyperdub credibility — it’s jittery excitement before a big realization, the first tingles after meeting someone you are really into. Charli XCX spends most of the first half of this song throwing out bold declarations about love lasting longer than the end of the world and reiterating how into one another these two are. But when she gets to the little rap interlude past the midway point, she shows her cards. She’s hoping he’s “gonna be my man,” with all this “husband and wife shit” as her hope. She’s giddy at the prospect, to the point she gets basic in describing how “this shit is super wild/this shit is super cool.” This is a song about being caught in the whirlwind of a new relationship, one that seems especially amazing and actually makes you a little anxious because you really want this one to work. So Charli XCX is putting on a fair amount of bluster… but it’s the little touches of nervousness (“I think I’m into you”) that make this great.
[9]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: On “What I Like”, Ms XCX switches between different takes of settling down with someone you admire, every new performance communicating the different ways she feels about her beau. She’s sexually attracted and content during the narration of the chorus, goofily rapping when explaining the security and happiness found with him, and — best of all — an Auto-Tune interlude showing the wobbly low-stakes teen heart at the core of meaningful relationships: “When the last heart been broken/we’ll be sitting on your bedroom floor just smoking”.
[7]

Brad Shoup: Charli’s mumbleflow becomes a song-length feature, finally, and with it comes all the feared tendencies: schwag-grade lines about weed and judgment and monogamy, all filtered through a Korine-thian conception of hip-hop. (Danny Brown is no one’s concept of gangsta, but he’ll do, evidently.) The production choices are more value-neutral, and the speed-addled cymbal work and distant G-funk synth tweak are the kind of playful you can take outside the house. Those noob exhales aren’t. The difference between this and Lana is propulsion. And marketing. But mostly propulsion.
[5]

Scott Mildenhall: What’s being described here is monotony, supposedly of a blissful nature, but it feels like there’s a heavy implication of the contrary — maybe it isn’t really what Charli likes. Does she know what she likes? Is she kidding herself that it’s this? Has she forgotten? On the other hand, she says things like “I think I’m into you” and they seem genuine. Maybe they are, and any gloomy overtones are just emblematic of the XCX schtick (“horror films with the super gore”!); maybe it’s for the listener to decide. Also, “gangsta”?
[6]

Will Adams: The frenetic opening is great because it doesn’t quite leave the song. As Charli XCX tries to play it “super cool” over the grinding groove, sharp percussion darts in and out like pinpricks. It’s as if the real emotion – stumbling-over-self love – is just beneath the surface, ready to burst out at any moment. 2013, consider your summer jam delivered.
[8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

Maxwell Cavaseno: 10 or so people too oblivious to realize a Major Label ripping off Kitty Pryde when it’s right in front of their face. [3]

James Blake

—Life Round Here

One of the things that always bemuses me about Jimi Hendrix perception with fans and casual observers, is when the latter group plays up the influence of Dylan, and focuses on that one bit of legendary footage of him crooning “Hey Joe” over an acoustic guitar. It’s always funny for me that one would divorce Hendrix from his true instrument which was the electric guitar as an unstable element. The wild soloing that would often dissolve into pools of sonic noise may not have had musical or cultural value (unless of course, placed in the context of his infamous “Star-Spangled Banner”), but they were a logical extension of Hendrix’s psyche.

Likewise, watching the celebration of “James Blake As Artist” with his debut was a bit of a lark for me being a fan of the frantic synth screeches that established the university student as one of the more essential acts among his wave of dubstep producers. Marrying the G-Funk/Grime Machismo of early Joker to a more gospel-indebted sense of melody, Blake’s early work such as his Untold Remix or the apocalyptic sounds of his Bells Sketch EP marked a high-point in the melange of ‘post-dubstep’. Between that, the autotune-trickstery of his “Harmonimix” projects, he seemed on top of the world.

And then, it happened; the experimental “Measurements”, a R&B-styled response to Bon Iver’s “Woods” premiered on Mary Anne Hobbs BBC Show, well deserving of fascination for how it displayed a whole new world for Blake. He provided haunting vocals for his friends and then peers, Mount Kimbie, during live gigs together. Slowly, the weirdo James Blake was dressed up into James Blake, the commercial digital soul boy that creatures like early Badly Drawn Boy and Thom Yorke struggled to evolve into (the former abandoning it for bland singer-songwriter territory, the other seemingly too frantic in production and life to let his songs breath with a grace he cannot display). It was all very rewarding to see such a talent make it…

And yet, the debut felt like a betrayal. Gone were the eccentric buzzing noises, the weird little melodies. Instead, Blake moaned mantra-like hooks endlessly, while awkwardly cluttering together cheap pastiche lyrics. At least one critic compared it to Kanye West’s “808s & Heartbreaks”, a not entirely unreasonable comparison, given the two records auto-tuned and processed their respective vocal performances. But whereas West had made a record that was seemingly stark, grandiose, harsh and invocating at once, Blake had smoothed out all of his edges into a rather puzzlingly dull sonic haze. He felt more of a subdued Howard Jones than the hardcore continuum’s Jamie Lidell.

Which is why this past week, hearing those synths harass me every time I click a youtube link, has been such a relief. Admittedly, considering the relative success of Blake’s debut, I assumed he would simply continue along at his given course, while ocassionally releasing relatively uninteresting little sketches or warped remix side-projects. But much to my, and the world’s benefit, Blake’s new album feels like the proper debut of the James Blake I was introduced to. So many of these songs play with the charged synths and startling sounds of his pre-Pro League work, to create a much more expansive and fascinating listen. Helps that he’s also stepped up the vocals a bit, and the songwriting a bit much more.

The point is, I am relieved to hear James Blake finally return to his instruments of choice, that demonstrate what REALLY makes James Blake one of the more exciting artists of his generation.

oneweekoneband: On the evening of November 4th, 2008, Chi Cheng was riding in a car back from a memorial service with his sister, when their vehicle lost control. The car would flip three times, and impact another vehicle at 60 MPH. During this, Chi was thrown out of the vehicle—due to not wearing a seatbelt—and ejected from the car. The resulting trauma left him in critical condition and effectively rendered him comatose for a period of time. Thankfully, he regained conciousness as of May 2009, but remains physically incapacitated up to the present day. It was one year ago that I got the opportunity to contribute to One Week One Band about deftones, and whilst doing so, pay tribute to their bassist Chi Cheng, then in a coma, and now, finally at peace. I never had the chance to meet with Chi, or the band at all, and have only admired them afar, through their music and brief interviews. Of the band’s members, Chi always struck me for being very mature, esoteric and serious. Possibly the only Lynyrd Skynyrd fan I ever took ‘serious’. A man who played on all of my favorite deftones records, but more importantly was a loving husband and father. I’m sitting here, listening to various tracks from “Around The Fur” and hating the fact that I’m providing a eulogy to someone who was a key part of records that helped save my life when I was younger and still struggling with self-loathing and frustration. When I wrote about this band, and when I took the time to pay tribute to this man, I remembered struggling with the difficulty that something so simple as ‘I care about this’ was so difficult to word. But nothing’s more difficult than trying to word why I cared about Cheng. Was I particularly fond of his bass parts? Yes, certainly. Was he charismatic and likeable? Quite. Did he seem like a ‘good guy’? I still feel as such. But inadvertently he had contributed an amazing gift to me, and I may always feel inadequate about how well I tried to reciprocate the man as a fan. For how do you truly pay someone back for the gift of relief from a weight on your heart? So RIP to Chi Cheng, and may your soul rest well knowing that you’d been such a blessing to me and millions around the world.

oneweekoneband:

On the evening of November 4th, 2008, Chi Cheng was riding in a car back from a memorial service with his sister, when their vehicle lost control. The car would flip three times, and impact another vehicle at 60 MPH. During this, Chi was thrown out of the vehicle—due to not wearing a seatbelt—and ejected from the car. The resulting trauma left him in critical condition and effectively rendered him comatose for a period of time. Thankfully, he regained conciousness as of May 2009, but remains physically incapacitated up to the present day.

It was one year ago that I got the opportunity to contribute to One Week One Band about deftones, and whilst doing so, pay tribute to their bassist Chi Cheng, then in a coma, and now, finally at peace.

I never had the chance to meet with Chi, or the band at all, and have only admired them afar, through their music and brief interviews. Of the band’s members, Chi always struck me for being very mature, esoteric and serious. Possibly the only Lynyrd Skynyrd fan I ever took ‘serious’. A man who played on all of my favorite deftones records, but more importantly was a loving husband and father.

I’m sitting here, listening to various tracks from “Around The Fur” and hating the fact that I’m providing a eulogy to someone who was a key part of records that helped save my life when I was younger and still struggling with self-loathing and frustration. When I wrote about this band, and when I took the time to pay tribute to this man, I remembered struggling with the difficulty that something so simple as ‘I care about this’ was so difficult to word. But nothing’s more difficult than trying to word why I cared about Cheng.

Was I particularly fond of his bass parts? Yes, certainly. Was he charismatic and likeable? Quite. Did he seem like a ‘good guy’? I still feel as such. But inadvertently he had contributed an amazing gift to me, and I may always feel inadequate about how well I tried to reciprocate the man as a fan. For how do you truly pay someone back for the gift of relief from a weight on your heart?

So RIP to Chi Cheng, and may your soul rest well knowing that you’d been such a blessing to me and millions around the world.

—

dalatu:

Late Nights - Jeremih

“Late Nights” grows stronger, as the evening clocks moves from the PM to AM. The track’s lone hand claps begin to feel like distant applause from a previous concert. Keys and synths linger, anticipating one final encore. And each backing track reveals Jeremih’s personal vocal tics, as one has fallen into his world. Too many great songs have been given the lazy metaphor of being soundtracks to late evening drives. “Late Nights” is not for those drives. Characters stumbled far too many times, after the first “after show” party for that to be an option. Instead “Late Nights” is in memory, ironically, to the nights unremembered. Evenings pieced together in a hope of rediscovering the pleasurable hours between a show’s end and the sun’s rising. 

I think everyone’s had more than a good chance to talk about Jeremih and his superbly executed mixtape helping establish him as a forerunner in R&B right now, and it’s good for him. He’s penned at least two massive hits for himself, and “Late Nights” was a demonstration of sublime confidence. For the most part, the artist is currently struggling with a twinfold desire to do battle with soundscapes, or to be such a great shining presence that you can’t ignore them.

All over “Late Nights” however, Jeremih has been opting for a third option, namely corruption. All over the tape, his songs drown into seas of Chopped & Screwed vocals, slurry rushed raps caked in reverb. Jeremih has not become so succesful that his voice is so identifiable and separates him from the chaff, yet he isn’t so in love with himself to not destroy his identity by subverting it WITH the song. (Such was a great deal of my hesitance with Frank Ocean’s album last year. YES, he was singing adequately and writing well, but it tended to be over listless R&B cliches that threatened him in no way and felt too post-Sadiq/Las Vegas to take seriously sometimes. On a song like “Fuck U All The Time”, Jeremih and his female accomplice are reduced to sonic scraps.)

I wouldn’t say any of the songs on this mixtape are immediate standouts (in this regard I would compare it to the critically-adored but truly light-in-the-ass ‘classic’ of Prince’s “Dirty Mind”), yet I feel like this serves as an excellent indicator for Jeremih’s headspace right now. Yes, the collab w/ Shlomo was a nice slab of hype, but it was pretty meh in itself. But if there’s any positive gains from this, it’s to show Jeremih is currently attempting to move out of the typical field of R&B. But unlike say, everyone’s favorite indicators of R&B super-cession (Weeknd/Miguel) this has become less about the artist proving himself to be ‘more than his music’, but rather, letting his music override himself.

Last year, the greatest ‘trillwave’ singles actually came from some dude in Africa. Please delete your pirated copy of LongliveA$AP, cradle your head in your hands, and realize that America isn’t even doing the ‘melting pot of internet-based universal influences’ thing well anymore.

Months later, and “YSL Cheetah” remains top form Future Hendrix. The gleeful toying with early Gucci (poetically laced with Zaytoven providing a cluttered beat full of sino-music-box melodies seeming more like a failed Ryuichi Sakamoto demo than the boring miasma of ‘trap production’) demonstrates that Future is more than his autotune and ballads, amazing as they can be. It’s been frustrating to see Pluto, a relative commercial struggle to take off as succesfully with critics as it has. Because while songs like “Turn On The Lights” and “You Deserve It” showcase a maverick in hip-hop, moments of technical brilliance like “Astronaut Chick” get lost for not being as bombastic. Future already has been struggling with a post-“Racks” stigma of being a ‘hook’ guy, and while more than enough attention is coming his way, it still doesn’t feel like he’s recognized for his abilities as one of the best young rappers in his generation.

But I’m actually not here to talk about that, I’m here to talk about the guest.

Juelz Santana has had one of the most painfully obvious public disintergrations in rap that rap doesn’t seem to care about. Once “What The Game’s Been Missing” showcased him for all his impressive strengths (and admitted limitations) and his dual rise with Wayne cemented his seeming rise… It all fell apart.

Maybe it was the drugs, as Cam’ron reportedly accused. Lord knows that Juelz appearing on reality TV as a near-comotose zombie was a shocking image for anyone who remembered the hyper-animated young man who helped turn Dipset into one of the biggest movements in the dawn of 21st century rap. The current Juelz, even with his restored focus, now simply makes half-hearted gestures, and mugs at the camera with the ham-fisted bravado of fellow fallen star Jim Jones. So much of his former glory depended on the tension of his delivery, whereas new Juelz is dishearteningly laconic.

However, the bigger crime is how whenever Future works with one of his favorite rappers, they truly never connect with him on that level of admiration. Gucci Mane publically snubbed him whilst announcing the defection of longtime Freebandz associate Young Scooter to Brick Squad, Wayne has only provided the fleeting bits of work that comes from both Drake’s co-sign and the obligation of staying relevant within the audiences he leaves behind for that big chain-wallet mall-rap kingdom in the sky, and Dipset traditionally treat him as a utility player (See: T-Pain) than as a rapper who should command respect.

With 2013 still anyone’s guess, hopefully Future avoids being typecast as an auto-tune dependent novelty artist and finally breaks through as a rapper.

P.S.: To all my friends who are religiously pontificating Future’s ballads, I respect and appreciate this. But you guys aren’t helping me out, because “Loveeee Song” is NOT GOOD, and if I have to see one of the best Atlanta Rappers continuously made into some cartoonish post-The-Dream romantic figure, I’m personally going to blame you lot.

Young Chop officially throws down in strip-club/R&B joints, with his little brother (and most underrated Chicago Artist Of 2012) Johnny May Cash to provide a properly ice-skateable rap record. May Cash’s autotuned slur is a predictable formula of one part Future one part Kirko, but there’s a teenage malleability that has been really leaving an impression on me. From the cheeky trancehall/trap anthem “Codeine” to the Mavado-esque marriages of melody and violent bombast on “Let Me In”, to this new record, I can’t wait for May Cash to finally get a solo tape out, and demonstrate his full capabilities. Also, it’s great to hear Chop continuing and succeeding to expand his pallet.

3 Things To Note About This Record;

1) Droop-E should truly produce a full EP with Kendrick Lamar, or some other rapper, because he remains one of the greatest producers on the West Coast, with only his father granting him any real recognition. Granted, those checks are STILL coming in, but I feel that Droop will ultimately remain a critic’s choice rapper (not unlike Young L, more beloved for his artistic visions and sonic innovations than his actual rapping). But with even his younger brother getting more internet focus than himself, the time has come for Droop-E to really devote himself to showcasing some other rapper’s talents (Preferably not in his family’s stables), and reinvent himself into a West Coast Mike Will. We know he’s capable of such.

2) How is it, that when everyone was SOOO fascinated with late 70s/80s boogie funk in ‘chillwave’, nobody brought up the fact that rappers had been using those same synth textures and beyond in some cases? So in that regard, the fact that one of those artists is finally paying it forward (Because sampling built the reinvestment in this back catalog of funk for it to be reissued and become ‘inspiration’ fodder, obviously) and working with rap artists is revealing of how that point of influence was always there. And thankfully enough, it’s not some overtly arty “Remix”, but a graceful meeting of mutual points of inspiration, with Nite Jewel turning in a very slow burning and tasteful hook.

3) We need to put an end to Livewire ‘pass’. These are a varied group of talented rap artists with a steady supply of great production, who should be commended in 2013 for still remaining unchanged by the constant haphazard sliding musical trends that plague the world of rap. But there’s nothing so unnecessary as this deluge of tiring, adult-oriented rap that they’re consistently pouring out with no remorse. I shouldn’t complain about very professional and consistent musical squads, but in a post-Mustard/Invasion world of synths, this trend for the Bay Area to produce “Steely Dan Rap” is exhausting to push through. Especially as the current Bay Area Climate remains thriving, but there remains no healthy CFOPA/HBK/Post-Hyphy response to the considered critical audience for the Livewire/DJ Fresh centered scene of ‘grown man rap’.

(Source: youtube.com, via zcay)

I did my End Of Year List over @ NoJumper.com; this gem failed to make it in because I’m an idiot, and nothing more.

It’s been a weird year, due to economic, educational, and mental strains, but I’m happy to have had a really productive year:

I did “One Week One Band: deftones”; an ultimately rushed and sloppy, but fairly intense whirlwind take on one of my favorite bands ever. I got knocked by Norman Brannon, made lyrical errors, and occasionally came off more like an emotionally hurried post-teen than a writer. But I like the general intent still. Plus I still did a better job than the trenchant murk that was Anthony Fantano’s review of their new album (which I still haven’t listened to!).

I did a bunch of reviews, interviews and articles for The Wavery, a newly formed web magazine which is… AWOL for now. I managed to do the following, and should they remain indisposed, I may republish them.

  • Future - Pluto (Album Review)
  • Waka Flocka Flame - Triple F Life (Album Review)
  • Khalil Nova Feature (The Bulk Of The Interview Making It’s Way On Nojumper)
  • Top 5 Most Awkward Kanye Interviews

I also had a lot of fun with a cast as diverse as The Martorialist, H.L., Dalatu, David Drake & more to contribute to Droptops & Lattisaw Tapes’ “50 Songs You Need To Hear Right Now”. In a bit of ego, I will say that my selection of Ike Eyes “Blue Roxies” appears to be a crowd favorite.

Compared to 2011 and 2010, No Jumper’s productivity remains a bit sluggish, but we still kept up as much as we can. I praised DC weirdo Yung Gleesh and Lil’ B’s illegitimate son Yung God, waxed poetic about The Weeknd, navigated the confusion of Travis Porter’s debut album, broke bread about the apocalypse and video games with Khalil Nova, struggled to comprehend Miami’s Metro Zu both through their music and their own Lofty 305’s words, chatted with recent Fool’s Gold signee GrandeMarshall, and got to dig into the mystery world of Snubnose Frankenstein. There were other things too, but that’s enough for ‘a start’.

I also was on twitter. A lot. (@CrowleyHead). Other things I’d been working on never quite made their ways out the womb (Features on Gorgeous Children & Ryan Hemsworth, review of the new L.W.H. album CIA TV, an in-depth analysis of the 3rd Wave of The Futuristic Movement), but we’ll see. I also made a mess of random opinions here, as noted.

For 2013? Expect more scattered, patchy work. More obnoxious opinions on twitter that prompt eye-rolls. And maybe even a few surprises, who knows?