Take It From The Top

OK. A trusted official in matters concerning my life consulted me and told me that this blog wasn't painting a completely accurate picture of me, or "the real me wasn't shining through", as she put it. You may or may not agree, but I thought for a minute and came to the conclusion that there is a whole other side that's been neglected, or NIGGlected, I should say.

Let me first inform you that I am white. As white as "A Miracle On 34th Street", Neil Diamond, and roasted turkey breast. But I do, for some strange reason, have the ability to tap into the psyche of black people, specifically black Americans, even more specifically, Niggas. You may have heard rumors that my mom is white and my dad is negro, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Here's a picture of my real pops, Abe Silverstein:



That's right. Not only am I white, but apparently I'm Jewish, too. Take that Farrakhan! Poppa Large, as I like to call him, didn't have time to raise me because of various white ventures and non-black dealings, so he left me with my mom, who had taken up with an old slave of his that he freed, Greg James. Serious. She now has a chronic case of Jung. Fever, but she's dealing with it. All joking aside, I'm white and will take you to court for defamation of character if you say otherwise. Holla!

Since I have this uncanny gift to tap into the "Souls of Black Folks", I'll try to incorporate that more into this blog. I don't want people to be all like "Wow, Micah is really into post-punk, synth-laden, overambitious new-wave from the early 80s...cool!" I'd rather hear [from whites], "I never knew that Micah had so much blue-eyed soul. I mean, how can he relate to such African-American institutions as Tyler Perry movies and the "Tootsie Roll" without being ironic?" or [from niggas] "It's either him or Timberlake." Score!

If you know me, you know that I love to have fun at the expense of others. If you don't know me, just know that I'm white. That's pretty much the core of my essence.

Let's get it re-crackin'.

Currently reading: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
Currently listening: Magician's Holiday by The Gap Band

Micah,
Peace

When Pigs Fly

Yesterday I got shot in the stomach. Maybe just kicked REALLY hard, but the pain cares not for it's triggers, just that it is. One of my most beloved and trusted BitTorrent sites was raided and subsequently shut down for, among other things, leaking pre-released albums over the internet.

I feel comfortable talking about the site, now that it's closed, but before all this mess it was a clandestine affair, for the most part. As a good friend once explained to me when describing the site, "The number one rule of Fight Club, is you don't talk about Fight Club." Invitation only, strict user-guidelines and reasonably high quality standards made this little slice of heaven on the internet a daily pit-stop for me.

I won't get into the extent of my downloading, but let's just say I use--not abuse--the many resources that this technological age affords me. More important than the amount of pirated GBs on my two (or three) hard drives is the moral and ethical conundrum at hand. In an era of lacking musicianship and more-to-be-desired songwriting, is it really so bad to grab an album that you didn't pay for? Is it stealing? These thoughts came to mind after visiting one of my favorite message-boards for public banter and tomfoolery. One user insisted that downloading was the equivalent of walking into a music store and taking CDs without paying for them. Contrary to my usual fence-sitting generalizations, this is an issue that I must take a stand on: downloading is NOT wrong.



Music, interpreted to be art, is intended to be shared and enjoyed and hated and discussed by any and all when created in it's rawest, purest and most inspired moments. It is in these moments that we are able to truly and effectively communicate ourselves to others; that kind of dialogue--the emtional, spiritual and metaphysical conversations we should be having--is removed from any kind of financial necessity.

OK, I know I'm reaching on this one, but hear me out...

If the real point of the music is to spread a message and serve as catalyst to new ideas and ways of thinking, then shouldn't the importance be shifted to receiving that transmission, rather than how it comes to us? It needs to (and ultimately will) find it's way into the hands of those who will take it in properly. Who cares if they paid for it? In addition, if a product is created with the primary intention of making money then it will be pushed upon, and eventually sought after by, those who are susceptible to that kind of ploy in the first place.

It should be clarified that I don't believe artists/those who enjoy art are not consumers and vice-versa. I also don't want to sound like those guys who are all like, "I see through the Matrix and fall for none of it's tricks" or something like that. I'm just saying that if you create from a real place, you'll seek things of a similar nature, usually. If you don't, then most likely you won't.

As an artist, this issue is incredibly perplexing, as I want to create something that's highly intelligent and thoughtful, yet not feel forced to do anything other than that to support myself. I don't want a record label telling me what to make so that I can maximize my sales, but I don't want to feel like I can't pay my rent. Where's the line? I guess in the end I'd rather have 1,000 people, who wouldn't have bought my album otherwise, download it and enjoy it and actually take away something meaningful (don't hold me to that--if I hit rock bottom I'm calling up Puff Daddy to do a Proactiv remix).

Please excuse this post as a stream of consciousness. The tangled web of art and commerce is much too big a problem for me to even fathom. I just wanted an excuse to put up a picture of P Diddy. I'd love to hear some opinions on the matter, so please share your thoughts if you are so inclined. As always, "keep your situation smooth".

Currently listening: "Microphone Mathematics" by Quasimoto, The Unseen, 2001



Peace

Good Non-Prince Songs, Vol. I

"The Beginning And The End" by Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark
From Architecture & Morality, 1981



"Thus we reach the end,
the beginning and the end..."

OMD is OMG. It's a shame that this band gets shuffled, by those who know absolutely NOTHING, into the category of mid-80s one-hit wonder. True, their 1986 smash "If You Leave", from the Pretty In Pink soundtrack, was the duo's brightest moment chart-wise, but their string of albums preceding are nothing short of stellar.

This song is the finale to the already-amazing Architecture & Morality, yet could have very easily gotten things started, hence the track title, I guess. I could write an essay on this album, with standouts like "Joan of Arc", "Souvenir" and "She's Leaving", but another time I guess. It doesn't rush out the gate, but definitely doesn't drag. Obligatory new-wave synths set the pace for this brisk preemo* jog. At first listen, it's cold and haunting, typical of bands/songs in this era/genre, but a few well-placed piano notes begin to turn this into an almost loving affair. When the guitar finds it's way into the mix...GOLD.

*pre-emo: the stuff that most current "emo" bands listen to and make half-hearted re-creations of

There are some percussive elements present, thanks to a subdued drum machine, but other than that, this one is pretty bare. It's simple and meaningful, as any beginning or end should be. It's quite perfectly stripped of all the dramatics that we encounter during the course of the album. No special vocal effects, no keyboard solos and certainly no cryptic lyrics. Singer Andy McCluskey eloquently presents the timeline for a failed relationship, or at least that's how I interpreted it (take a listen and tell me what you think). The sadness in his voice, though ever-present, is given a reciprocative, yet hopeful musical landscape. The synthesizers are accepting of the defeat, while the guitar blazes onward in triumph, exalting the beauty of what once was, and still optimistic for what's just on the horizon. Okay, now I'm just rambling. I like this song and it would be cool if you dug it, too.

Play "The Beginning And The End"

Peace

UPDATE: Movie Fun, Pt. 2

Here's the skinny on American Gangster:

It's pretty good. Surely worth the price of admission--which in this case was nothing--but still, I would have paid and been quite satisfied with my purchase.

I was a bit misled by the trailers for this film, as the "square-off" element I anticipated yesterday was not very present. Yes, Russell Crowe is determined to bring down Frank Lucas, but the two don't actually know each other personally. Their characters don't have any actual tension--at least, not until late in the film--because their interactions are so few. When we do find the two of them in a scene together, though, it's pretty impressive.

Crowe, as Det. Richie Roberts, is hell bent on stifling the Frank Lucas empire, but more than anything, his war is against himself. The classic good cop with an almost deplorable at-home life, Roberts struggles to find the balance between professional Jesus and personal Judas.

As Lucas, Denzel's performance is also bursting with juxtaposition. He, though, is the quintessential family man, providing and caring for his loved ones with the fruits of his criminal dealings. He's got the brightest (and most believable) smile I've ever seen on a cold-blooded killer. Kudos to D.

Other shining moments are provided by T.I.,whose few appearances were both welcomed and memorable; the ever-brilliant Chiwetel Ejiofor as Frank's city-UN-slick, younger brother; and the lady herself, Ruby Dee (no superlatives necessary).

RZA--one of my favorite people--is fair as a member of Roberts' task force against Lucas, while Common (another fave) is somewhat disappointing in a role that played out as a tad unnecessary. Maybe with some more lines/screen time this would have been Com's arrival, but unfortunately, I was left wondering whether or not the character needed to speak. Sorry.

At the end of the day, this one's worth your money. It drags in some places and there is definitely room for improvement, but the Denzel/Crowe face-to-face towards the end of the movie is alone worth the ticket price.

Currently Listening: The World Has Made Me The Man of My Dreams by Meshell Ndegeocello

Peace

Movie Fun

Last week I had the opportunity to see Elizabeth: The Golden Age. I was all ready to be wowed with brilliant performances and an amazingly adapted script. Spot on with the former, yet just missing the mark in terms of story development. A little sad, but if you like Cate Blanchett as much as I do, you'll walk away in utter disbelief that a single human being can be that good at any one thing. If you've already seen 1998's Elizabeth, wait for this one to hit Netflix.



Tonight I'm going to see American Gangster. Yeah, I know. The best part is that it's FREE. My cousin goes to NYU and gets to see selected movies before their release AND without charge. She knows the girl who puts the screenings together and is thus able to pass the fantasticness down to her favorite cousin of all time.

This one looks like it's going to be real good. Based on a true story, Mr. Crowe and Mr. Washington square-off as two unstoppable forces in the war on crime and drugs in 1970s New York City. I like the idea of Denzel playing a bad guy, but was a little disturbed by his role in Training Day. I think this might be a better go at it, as Frank Lucas seems to have had more redeeming qualities than your typical villain--he kept money circulating throughout the 'hood, possessed a strong sense of family and smiled a lot, though the grinning might just be big-toothed Denzel cheesin' for the cameras. I'm especially anxious to see performances from RZA, Common and T.I. (can a brotha get some bail?). I'll let you know how this one turns out.



Lastly, I have a DARK cinematic secret. It almost pains me to admit this, but I'm going to be honest with you, the four or five of you who sporadically stumble upon these posts. I want to see, almost desperately, Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married?. Please don't hate me, as I already hate myself enough for several karmic reincarnations because of this black spot in my soul. I mean, TP seems so self-aggrandizing (who puts their own name in EVERY film title?) and even a little smug in all his calm humility, but at the end of the day, I think he might be genuine. He might really have the goal of uniting people and seriously addressing issues that plague the black community (here it's relationship-building and monogamy), and if that's the case, I'm not mad at him. I am slightly upset about him gaining fame and fortune for dressing up like a lady, but I think I can overlook that if his intentions are pure. Unfortunately, I think they are...I wanted to hate on him so badly.



Currently reading: Fear And Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard
Currently listening: "Club Tropicana" by Wham

Peace

Still going...

The rain stopped briefly by Wednesday evening. Tonight it made up for lost time. In tribute to the clouds that keep on giving, here are some of my top "rain" songs. Please suggest any additions you see fit.

Prince "17 Days"



The title for my last post is actually part of the chorus for this song. This "When Doves Cry" b-side has Prince lamenting over a lover who has gone astray. He finds resolve in the cool drops that, at least momentarily, wash away his blues, sending him (and you) straight to the dance floor.

"You've been gone for 17 days and 17 long nights,
the main drag is knowing that you're holding someone else tight...
so let the rain come down, the rain come down,
let the rain come down, down"

Raekown Featuring Ghostface Killah "Rainy Dayz"



"On rainy days I sit back and count ways on how to get rich, son..." plots a hungry Ghostface Killah--aka Toney Starks aka Pretty Toney aka The Wallabee Champ aka Ghost Deini--on this treat from Raekwon's stellar 1995 debut, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx. This album would prove to be the New Testament for any mid-nineties rappers trying to make a name (or several) for themselves in the world of crime-related hyperreal hip hop. Ghost and Rae spit one verse a piece, each expressing aspirations to leave behind the world of drugs and violence for a better tomorrow ("...soon get married, raise a family"), all recited over piercing RZA production.

Bob Azzam "Rain, Rain Go Away"



I don't know too much about Bob Azzam, but this song is cute and funky--kind of not unlike Pepe LePew. I first heard this as the backing track for a skit from Ghostface Killah's 2000 masterpiece Supreme Clientele. The key here is simple production laced with typically beautiful 60s backing vocals, as Bob begs the wetness to "come back another day." The rain never sounded so darn cheerful, except for maybe this next song.

B.J. Thomas "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head"

I think I first heard this song on an episode of The Simpsons. I can't say anything else better than this clip can:


Prince "Purple Rain"



Prince is one of the few artists allowed multiple slots on any single list that I compile. There would be no list without him. He's shaped so much of my musical sensibility that it would be a crime against all that is funky to deny him. This is the title track of the soundtrack to the movie that would blast Prince's star into the stratosphere, illuminating his innovative blend of rock and sex and spirituality for all the world to see. Even those dismissive of Prince's genius find it difficult to ignore this song. A story of friendship and love--once thought lost, now regained--Prince asks us all to let him guide us to the Purple Rain. That place, or state, rather, in which loves ultimately conquers, bringing us all a little closer to each other.

It should be noted that the rain in New York is NOT purple. I just got off a crowded 4 train full of cranky and annoyed people who made me feel that we were waaaay to close to one another.

Bonus: "Purple Rain" live in Syracuse, 1985 (hurry before this gets removed)

Pt. 1 of 2



Pt. 2 of 2



Honorable Mention: New Edition "Can You Stand The Rain", Soul 4 Real "Candy Rain", SWV "Rain"

Peace

"Let The Rain Come Down, Down"

Today I watched Summer officially leave the city of New York--it didn't go without a fight, though. This morning was hot. I mean "sweating-with-every-movement-I-made" hot. It's still a wonder how I got dressed, tidied up, and walked 10 blocks to the train without appearing as if I had just spent an hour or two at the gym. By the time I got to work, though, I had forgiven the sun for how horribly it had treated me, and the cool, air-conditioned office gave me more than enough reason to smile.

As I had done yesterday, I decided to leave the building during my lunch hour. This was much to the surprise of my c0-workers who regularly enjoy the fully-catered--and FREE--cuisine that is available to employees daily. I, however, didn't have time for eating food, as I was all set to take another bite into the reading material that I've been devouring for the past two weeks. Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies: Some Stories On Faith has been instrumental in dealing with the whirlwind of moving 3,000 miles away from family and friends, but I digress.

As I headed for Borders, I noticed that the sun had all but disappeared. It was so drastic and sudden. I felt like a parent who tells their kid to shut up, then feels bad when the child refuses to speak for the rest of the day. It was brisk, nearly cold, and an increasing number of people walked the sidewalks of Park Avenue with umbrellas at the ready.

Things got back to normal as day transitioned into evening, but I'm no Fritz Coleman, so what was coming was a complete shock to me.

I headed to the gym after work, then to the train for home, and in the short distance from 16th to 135th St. (it sounds like a marathon, but it's actually no more than 10-15 miles), God set his tear ducts to full blast and reminded us all who was in charge. At this point I've just come from the gym during what was shaping up to be a real scorcher of a week, so I've got on shorts and a t-shirt.

Nice.

I exited the subway station and walked the three avenue blocks (if you don't know, the avenue blocks are twice the size of normal street blocks...more unpleasant than you might think) with the most stoic and unaffected expression I could muster. Outside I was solid and unshakeable, but inside I was a hissing kitten. I didn't run, though. I braved this rattling shower with all the resolve of Ghost Dog. I secretly enjoyed it, too. I thought of the drops as weird and transfiguring--healing and cleansing and allowing me to be wide open to become my latest self.

Tomorrow I'll check the weather report before I leave.

Currently listening: "Yesterday" by The Sylvers

Peace

Peace & Blessings/Where I'm Is

Welcome to all,

I'm currently in the formative stages of a journey. An adventure, rather. I'm not quite sure where this road leads, and there was a time when that would have bothered me deeply, but I'm quite content figuring some things out along way. With that said, here's a brief introduction to what's going on.

I just moved to the fabulous, just-barely overrated, dreamer's Mecca that is New York City. Fueled by the desire to succeed and a more-than-necessary, destructive almost, will to challenge myself, I decided that this was the place for me, for now.

I arrived on Wednesday, September 26, 2007, at around 9:30p, greeted only by the locked door of the 6th floor apartment that I share with my cousin. I waited for about 30 minutes or so before she showed up and let me into the place I now call home. Nicely sized, washer and dryer, fast internet. Not bad.

The only major flaw is that we're non-centrally located in Harlem, which is actually quite a remarkable neighborhood, but seeing as how most of my friends residing in New York live WAAAAY downtown, there is a definite lack of convenience. Sucks, but it's no biggie.

I got some temp work at a fancy-shmancy investment firm on Park Ave., which actually sounds much nicer than it really is (the avenue, not the job...no, I guess the job isn't that great either); it's equivalent to some of the financial districts in downtown LA, while the work is supremely boring. Currently, paying rent outweighs the yearning for creative stimulation, though that perspective is rapidly changing.

I'm still getting settled in, looking for furniture and the like, so I have yet to extensively explore the nightlife. It's coming, though, I promise--my career is counting on it! I've got a gym membership and I'm planning to check out a couple of Broadway shows, but other than that, I'm still taking baby steps. I consistently marvel at the opportunity I have been presented, I just have to get my bearings first. I want to meet people and go to concerts and secure a recording contract and get cursed out on the subway, but I have to remember to let it come to me; to let life happen. I'd like to remind myself to force the best from the world, while not forcing it to manifest itself at any particular time. Not sure if that makes sense.

Currently reading: Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts On Faith by Anne Lamott
Currently listening: "Baby (Let Me Love You)" by Ready For The World

Peace