Relaxin’ MLK style.

LFO - Track 4 || Warp

Fat boys need lovin’ too. Or at least Disco 3 thought so. Check out this instrument groover from 84′ produced by hip-hop and electro legend Kurtis Blow in his heyday (he wore the New York Producer of the Year crown from 83′ to 85′). “Fat Boys, they givin’ you much much more”. Ain’t it the truth.

Disco 3 - Fat Boys || Sutra

It took a week to get permission from those involved, but here it is, from the midwest to the world via our smug music blog. This is entirely true. At least that’s what I was told. Other than the name, nothing else has been changed. Maybe this isn’t even a big deal, but I don’t know, it’s pretty crazy.

Date: Wednesday, July 11
Time: 7:07PM
Location: Hopkins, Minnesota

So Jane Doe (name changed, you will know her as SOAP Confidant) is getting home to her townhouse last night and she’s pulling into the communal alley of driveways & garages when she sees some of her neighbors out chatting with a couple of well-dressed men. She thinks nothing of it, walks around them and heads into her townhouse. A few minutes later her doorbell rings. She opens the door to find two Jehovah’s Witnesses…one of whom is PRINCE.

Yep. Prince. Hot on the heels of playing a triple-header gig on Saturday, which culminated in the police shutting him down at 4AM at First Ave in Minneapolis. Fast forward to Wednesday evening when he’s ding-donging the neighbors to help get them into heaven.

My name is Prince, and I am funky.
I am Jehovah, won’t you join me?

Says SOAP Confidant: “He was impeccably dressed in a fine tan suit. He didn’t say anything, but held his briefcase in front of him with both hands while the other man talked about the upcoming rally in Rochester. I told them I couldn’t attend as I was going to China tomorrow.”

SOAP: Was he wearing sunglasses?

SOAP Confidant: “No, but his complexion was flawless.”

I asked whether or not he was wearing Cuban heels but she couldn’t tell.

Whodini - Friends || Jive

After a recent trip to California, a precious myth was dispelled rather forcefully from my naivety. Firstly, San Francisco is not warm; no one seems to mention this in their glowing revues of the city’s cosmopolitanism. More importantly, there are a lot of people who left the love of the 60’s far behind them. Perhaps the two are linked; after decades of rigid nostalgia and even more decades of cold summers, something snapped inside the post Bubble-busted San Franciscan. Perhaps the tinge of jealousy of their southern neighbors? A crack in the self sustained vanity? The regrettable yet inevitable disdain for the smell of their own farts?

Whatever the reason(s), a healthy contingent of San Franciscans have turned in their veils of idealism (on the 40th anniversary of the summer of love no less) for D&G cologne and Armani Exchange clubbing attire for the burgeoning ‘ultra lounge’ scene. Other than zip code, this subterranean lounge was distinctly reminiscent of the golden era of Miami night club, all flashy lights and bottle service.

To be fair, my first and only witness to this scene, the music was good. Dirty Bird found its way in the building. Sadly, though not altogether shocking, Dirty Bird was no match for the testosterone that pulsed through the veins of the club patrons.

Only twenty minutes and two cocktails into my evening at the bar when some pushing and shoving broke out next to me involving the majority of people that made up the small crowd I was cocktailing with. Someone was bumped, drinks were spilled, girls were pushed, and my friends found themselves the unfortunate recipients of fate and bad timing and ‘roid rage all popping out of the same nicely wrapped package at once. Bartenders quickly jumped over the bar in an effort to subdue the instigator, calling for backup on little ear piece walkie talkies. Real help lifted this guy off his feet and out of the club, but not without a fight! Such a fight was put up that a third bouncer felt the need to re-subdue this guy with pepper spray. Lots of pepper spray. Like, enough to circulate throughout the ventilation system. The whole place starts coughing, first the people dancing, then the people at the bar, then the really drunk people making out in the corners. Bad, dry coughing, like pepper and chemicals in the throat. Not a natural feeling, but not difficult to imagine.

The finale? Forced evacuation out of the club en masse. The moral? None. Just that, after all the Miguel Migs and Mark Farina shows where they consistently bring out enough beautiful women to make everyone else enjoy spending their nights drinking $12 cocktails, I was hoping for more of the Om-vibe out of San Francisco’s sexy side. But who knows, perhaps San Francisco deep house era is as in the past as the Summer of Love. After all, even Om is all up on dance music’s new testosterone tip.

Paperclip People - Throw || Open

The internet found me a gem last week, a bona fide philanthropic call to action to make possible the get-the-fuck-outta-here. Rap’s gangster conversationalist has decided to fulfill his destiny as the embodiment of the Christmas spirit, offering up a contest for youth to make one wish come true. In 100 words or less.

My take. Will be submitted. Talk amongst yourselves.

Dear Jeezy-

I wish for you to run for Mayor of Atlanta. Your recent acquisitions show your interest in Atlanta, but with the influence of Black Hollywood near omnipresent, now you can claim its true title.

My wish is selfless, the aspiration to memorialize both you and the city I once called home into the permanent pages of history.

An Atlanta native, you speak the common language, and your underdog story of success throughout social and institutional hardships commands respect from Atlanta elite.

Lastly, true power lies within public office. Shirley Franklin rolls in a Maybach. For real.

Sincuuurly-

Ellsworth

Dust Man - King Of The Ghetto || Nunk Records

Dear Kanjee Weaste, you whiney, overrated piece of garbage,

Please go get into another car accident. Only this time, have them permanently wire your mouth shut. Nobody cares what you have to say…Nobody.

Sincerely,

Bitter In Brooklyn

Saturdays are rarely a day of revelation for SOAP, as the weight of Friday nights usually compound on our collective psyche in the form of a throbbing headache. Today, however, broke the bounds of routine Saturday, as I witnessed my first validation of UK club-history comedic biopic ‘24 Hour Party People’. For the uninitiated, The movie chronicles the birth of UK club culture in the late seventies and early eighties through seminal ‘Madchester’ bands like Joy Division and the Happy Mondays through the ridiculous character of journalist/promoter/label manager/nightclub owner, Tony Wilson.

In the film, Shaun Ryder, lead singer of the Happy Mondays, is depicted as a reckless, bingeing, maniac with moments of brilliance during live performances. Beyond that, Shaun is basically a montage of heroin, dark sunglasses, and irrationality. It is worth mentioning, if only for trivia purposes, that the unabridged titled of the Monday’s first album is ‘Squirrel and G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile (White Out)’, which I can only hope Shaun helped coin.

Much has been said about Shaun Ryder’s deteriorating personal condition due to a life of extreme ‘indulgence’; Ryder’s name gracing the gossip pages of NME every six months or so at least reassured us he was still alive.

Gorillaz front man Damon Albarn recently threw Ryder back into the stratosphere of minor celebrity with his appearance on ‘DARE’, the hit single and much remixed track off of Demon Days.

This morning, on some random Direct TV channel, they broadcasted the recent Gorillaz Mancheseter performance (meaning Damon Albarn and about 300 other musicians, instruments, and cartoons). The stage was a multicultural/multimedia fest, but everything worked together well, the theatrics and technology blended seamlessly with the cameos (De La Soul, Ike Turner (!), Roots Manuva, Martina Topley-Bird), the instruments, and the choir.

Then came the siren noise introduction of ‘DARE’. Cameras panned though an audience ranging from toddlers to boomers. Ryder’s voice came whirling out of the darkness, off-pitch and off-rhythm, swooning in glorious Northern England accent. The noise of the audience got noticeably louder. Heavy set in jeans and a black leather jacket, Ryder lumbered around the stage like a bear, beverage in hand, his eyes leering at the crowd behind massive black sunglasses. After a bit of singing seemingly whenever and however he wanted, Ryder fumbed through his coat pocket for a cigarette. Towards the end of the song, when he managed to get the cigarette to his lips, duet partner Rosie Wilson actually grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth to keep him from smoking on stage. By this time, Ryder’s general demeanor was visibly frightening children in the audience. And you know what? It was wonderful. The older people in the audience expected nothing less of him. It was almost as if they cheered harder. Certainly Ryder’s performance had brought back memories of the glories of the Madchester scene he helped create. Infact, it was so, uh, “inspiring” that we decided to watch ‘24 Hour Party People’. The movie really does Ryder’s persona justice: Then and still now, Ryder represents that unique breed of party person - perhaps through different vices, perhaps not - that lives life with completely different inhibition and abandon.

Anyway, we looked for the performance on YouTube but only found the version with the cartoons (cover up?). Atleast you can still hear Ryder’s vocals…Fucking priceless.

Of all the seminal works to dabble in mixing and morphing existing music to create something totally new, Australia’s reclusive wierdos The Avalanches are by far the most impressive. I say this with conviction; their 2001 album ‘Since I Left You’ is an intoxicating flurry of samples and beats that somehow blend into a near-spiritual party rollercoaster. Hands down the best album for any occasion, be it a party, date, or roadtrip.

This album will always hold a special place in my heart, as it broadened my conception of the possibilities of electronic music. I still remember the first time I heard ‘Since I Left You’, it was nearly impossible to listen passively to the melange of horns, horses, parrots, and gameshow hosts thrown over parcels of rock, pop, doo wop, disco, and funk. Feelings of nostalgia.

‘A Different Feeling’, one of my favorite tracks off of ‘Since I Left You’, was subjected to some half-decent remixing in 2002. The reworkings are nice, lighthearted, disco-y, fun and manage to maintain the ‘Lanches signature playfulness. It’s no surprise that this track has been resurfacing of late. Tim-Tim even dropped it on BIS last week.

The Avalanches - A Different Feeling (Paperclip People Remix) || Modular Recordings

Oh, dig around for the original version of ‘Since I Left You’ with all the illegal samples, its fun as shit. Maybe we’ll post it one day…

Also, be sure to check out their site. Lots of new exciting news about the new album, tour dates and what have you.

(edit: I can go on for hours about The Avalanches, being as ‘Since I Left You’ is one of my favorite albums of all time. I often find that my descriptions and explanations do it no justice. Thus, I decided to spare the reader of my verbose ramblings. If you would like to further discuss the hyperactive Aussie genius that is The Avalanches, leave a comment or send me an email.)

Concert savvy is something we at Soap have tried to master over the years to varying degrees of success. We post the most essential concert criteria, applying it to last week’s Spank Rock show at the Drunken Unicorn. Study Up.

When to show up - Nothing kills a concert more than showing up too late and either being denied entry due to capacity issues, or missing the act of interest. Nothing, that is, more than showing up way too early, and holy tits did we show up too early. I made a point to everyone I knew how important it was to show up at nine o’clock, that there was no way I was not getting into this show, as if gods only form of communication in my direction was a joke with gullible in the punch line. Luckily, Atlanta hot hit Reacharound warmed it up with her gritty, poppy, rapp-y steez. Lots of standing around and moping usually only leads to one thing….

Timing your drinking - Perhaps the most crucial of all concert savvy criteria, and certainly my Achilles heel, the quantity and timing of alcoholic consumption can make or break any concert. Spank Rock definitely brought out the degenerate in me- 40s, baseball hat, baggy jeans, the whole fucking thing. Backyard Betty came on around 88 oz of beer in the system, and I judiciously ran to the bar for shots, cause I just wasn’t appreciating it enough…

Taking the perfect picture - More a phenomenon of the last five years, digital photography runs rampant at pretty much any event worth attending. One unfortunate consequence of the digital era is the individual’s ability and subsequent need to archive everything for the sake of everything. But, when such concert criteria like proper drinking timing are not obeyed, photos are all that’s left of an otherwise blurry night. So, now every aspiring slut with a camera will stand, point, and aim for the entirety of a show to capture that perfect picture to show the rest of the world how perfect the moment was. Like we do with this great picture of one half of Spank Rock getting down.

Dancing in place - The most subtle and acquired of the entire concert savvy criteria, dancing in place and not looking like a derp is hard. Mashing or any sort of serious ass kicking is only ok at punk shows with high school kids where you’re older, more mature elbows can do damage with no consequence. Many concert goers in big cities with lots of black hair and tattoos like to stand and (occasionally) nod. Flailing about like an epileptic is too…passé, so most concert going brethren with black hair and tattoos stand and occasionally nod. Passé, however, is just a misinterpretation of the highest order of concert savvy, pure enjoyment, as indicated like a floppy, bouncing dance maneuver

Pushing to the front - Everyone likes to see what going on, no one more than my old roommate, Dan. Bitter Parisians can’t even slow this guy down. Normally calm, and a reasonably agreeable drunk, dude could push to the front of any crowd totally oblivious of all the pushes, sighs and general disdain for the people who had showed up before him. This happens at every show, it is the yin to your yang, and cannot be undone. My advice is to find someone who is good at this and become friends with them. See shows with them, allowing you to show up late, dance like and idiot, and get wasted right in front of the stage.

Spank Rock - Sweet Talk || Big Dada

Spank Rock kick ass live, even if Spank raps over his own lyrics. Go see them.

Monday

Studio A was a brand new club (less than two weeks old) with an incredible sound system, chandeliers everywhere, girls in glass cubes dancing above the bar, and that tingly sense of obscure DJ industry glamerati that makes my balls tingle with self satisfaction. The lineup was decent. MSTRKRFT, Disco D, Feadz & Uffie and, for what its worth, 2 Live Crew.

There was enough of an undercurrent about 2 Live Crew to sweep me in. I don’t really know too many of their songs, but whats the point? How many did they really have?

“And now we gonna bring it back!”

Of course you are.

To their credit (I guess), an act like 2 Live Crew is forced to be built around nostalgia. While most groups have the post-success cushion of corporate events, 2 live crew keeps it real with stripper. Lots and lots of strippers. The duo’s more personable half only had one working arm that he had to use to hold the mic, and his buddy bit the Li’l John/Chappelle cat-call routine so hard I longed for a pimp cup full of aids juice to kill myself off. I guess that justifies the use of strippers to beef up the stage presence, although I should probably be quiet, they might try to sue me.

The 2 Live Crew - Pop That Pussy || Deep Groove Records

Somehow, the novelty of the strippers wore off as they repeatedly pulled girls and guys on stage and made them (to varying degrees) strip, ride, and hump their stage harem. I was entertained seeing the MSTRKRFT guys pose in front of pounds of flailing black thong, but even that got old. I turned around to find the entire club empty. 2 Live Crew had effectively freaked everyone out, and I couldn’t take any more.

And that’s all she wrote. WMC more or less wound down, and we made our not-so-glorious return to the ATL. Stay tuned for the final stats…