Hygiene Imperatives

What's up kids? 


 I'm on the road at the moment. Visiting some in laws up in northern Minnesota. Staying in a hotel room. I do not care for hotel rooms. They make me all kinds of nervous. I could go further into this, but to do so would only exacerbate my nervous nature. Tell you what I'll do instead - I'll recommend a good get-down track for your Saturday night and leave it at that, while I drown my sorrows in hotel-related snacks like pistachios and bananas. I'll eat my feelings like a freshman in college - deal? Deal. 

Recently I was looking through my iTunes and assembling different playlists out of my existing tracks. One of the lists I made was an ad hoc soundtrack to Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. Turns out I have a bunch of those tracks already, by coincidence. it just so happens that I acquired something like half the soundtrack through my normal inclinations and tastes. There was one song I loved that I didn't have though. I was honestly kind of bummed I didn't have it, so after a quick justification to myself I just shelled out the buck and downloaded it. Totally worth it.

Del the Funky Homosapien is a rapper with a distinct voice, one that is unmistakably unique. When you hear his raps, you know it's him immediately, without question. So no doubt that when I heard his track on THPS3, 'If You Must', I knew I had to hear more of it. I loved grinding away to this song, the bouncing, steady bassline getting in my head and hypnotizing me. The track from his 200 album Both Sides of the Brain is actually a really funny look at some nasty, grody people Del has to deal with - he raps in clever turns of phrase about the various hygiene maladies this character suffers, and how he has to put up with his unpleasant personal funk. Verses tolling the perils of lax grooming habits give way to a chorus that's both funky and amusingly sincere, the main refrain being "You gotta wash your ayyass, if you must. You gotta wash your hair if you must. You gotta brush your teeth, if you must or else you'll be funkayyy!" Its so goofy and sincere I can't help but love it. This track? Totally dance-able and catchy. Forgot about it for years after hearing it sooo many times. 

It's funny how you have to justify these little purchases but I'm really glad I spent that dollar. The song makes me think back to all the fun I had back in high school, waiting out snowstorms in my parents basement. Now, as I sit in a hotel room, it gets my mind off of anxieties I wish to ignore. I only wish I could play some THPS3 and skate around to this track. Hopefully you can use it to shake it loose and get funkayy. Enjoy!

8 Steps

Hello, hello.


I just finished, and I mean just finished, a documentary that was recommended to me by my father in law. It was a gripping, intense series of eight episodes that told a tale of death, deception and defense. If you find yourself with some time this weekend, I would highly recommend watching it - its the kind of thing you find yourself engrossed in at the 20 minute mark, and unable to turn off after a single episode. It's called The Staircase. There are so many twists and turns in the course of this murder defense trial that it seems unreal such a thing could be reality and not fiction, yet it all unfolds in a comprehensible, dramatically believable fashion. It may seem a bit jarring and off putting, but I have never seen a documentary so engaging as this.


Here's the basic gist - on December 9th, 2001, celebrated author Michael Peterson called the police in his hometown of Durham, North Carolina. He found his wife Kathleen lying in a pool of blood at the bottom of a staircase in their massive country home. He called 911, explaining the tragedy as it unfolded. Police arrived and documented the scene. Within moments, though, Peterson was under surveillance. There was suspicion of what the circumstances suggested and how Peterson was involved. Not to go too far into details (and spoilers that will shock you) Peterson had to lawyer up and begin his defense.

This documentary is the best of the genre. It's succinct yet not too short. At eight episodes of 45+ minutes, you get a complete and accurate understanding of a full trial without drowning under the weight of superfluous details. At the same time, it's drawn out enough that you get a sense of the team involved on both sides of the trial. It's not the disgusting, vapid and over-sensationalized style of reality TV - it's a real trial. Things have consequence. Someone has died. It's absolutely heavy. On top of it, another man's life hangs in the balance. You want heavy drama? How about something that actually happened? Is that serious enough for you, in this world of Kardashians and Shores of Jersey? 


In the highest of all recommendations, my better half could barely restrain herself from watching the whole series in one shot. She normally can't be bothered with anything too far out of the realm of reality - basically it's cooking shows (instructional or entertainment) or straight comedy (Always Sunny or Tosh.0), i.e. very little room for fictional or recreational viewing. This doc, though, had her from the first chapter. We did very well in watching responsibly, but still mowed through the whole thing in less than four nights. It's simply that gripping - once you start, you can't look away.

I am in no way trying to make light of the incident on hand, despite my recommendation, here. What I am suggesting, though, is that you watch it as soon as possible. The Staircase is an amazing documentary with tons of drama and twists, all of it unshakably real. You can find it here, broken into its individual episodes. Watch one and see if you can hold back for a whole weekend.

First Impressions

Can I be honest with you?

I mean can I get a little real and personal? Maybe this is your first time here, reading about some of the awesome things we've forgotten about as a group. Probably not. I'm guessing that by this point you're familiar with what the general tone is and the kind of things I write about. So in the interest of honesty and promoting the very theme of this site, I'm going to admit a deep, dark truth. I really enjoy The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.

Why this feels like a guilty admission is beyond me, frankly. I remember getting a first glimpse at the band as they cameo-ed in Clueless, being distinctly du jour in their famous plaid suits. They seemed fun and...I dunno...different than other bands. I hadn't really heard of ska in 1994. I was sheltered.

When they made their biggest album to date, 1997's Let's Face It, the world (for a time) embraced the Bosstones and their ska-punk sound. Propelling the album to larger and larger audiences was the massively popular single 'The Impression That I Get', a catchy major-key number about being grateful for your good fortune. Unfortunately the sounds of ska (and its more punchy cousin ska punk) were deemed very niche and too 90s, too unabashedly enthusiastic and optimistic to possess pop cultural longevity. Not long after the band popped, I began to sense people rolling their eyes at the energy and sincerity in the music. They really shouldn't have.

For me, The Bosstones will always be a harbinger of summer. I remember how hot it was when I picked up their album and how brightly the sun was shining. I had gone to Borders (miss you, bookstore!) with my mom. I think it was someones birthday. I picked up a couple books and this album. Walking out of the store to her Aurora (strange car, right?) the day was bright and clear. I had been a miserable teenager - bright, clear skies like on that day were a rare thing that could break my demeanor. That same weather, coupled with the vibrant, energetic goodness of 'The Impression That I Get', broke through my teenage malaise in a major way. It was as though the world was shown in a different light, my moody mind realizing "Hey, the world can be a sunny, happy place sometimes" even when I felt miserable. It was a great album for the summer, the peppy numbers good for goofing around, the slower numbers good for relaxing and vegging on the couch.

A lot of time has passed since then. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones have released a number of albums since then, having broken up and reconvened in that time. They grind away for a devoted audience. There are some songs of theirs that are really fantastic, even if they haven't gotten major airplay on the radio or whatever mass medium we would judge by, these days. At some point in those years, I got the impression that it was kind of (okay a lot of) un-hip to really dig this band. Why? Says who? Hipsters? Forget 'em. Embrace sincerity. Sing along and sing loud. Tomorrow's the weekend. I'll see you there.

Metal Head

What's the word?

I've written almost exclusively about music, as of late. It's not a bad thing, I just feel like I'm getting into a routine. Sometimes you have to switch it up - sometimes you need to change your usual habits so you don't sink into the same old pattern. Ironically I've never been more well read while listening to the least amount of music. Lately I've been throwing myself into novels and articles as fast as I can finish them, while only picking a single musical element to dissect and then posting on it. There was a time when this ratio was inverted - I've always been a voracious reader, it just hasn't always been this indulged.

It feels great, to be honest. 

When coupled with posting every day and poking along on a novel I'm slowly finishing, it feels like there is a long dormant muscle in my mind that's finally getting a workout. I may not be as adventurous musically, as I normally am, but I feel much more satisfied from reading more books than organizing and writing about more albums. One of the most enjoyable, bizarre experiences in this latest wave of books has been Machine Man by Max Barry. It was a fast and freaky read, but thoroughly enjoyable every step of the way. Originally the author, in a forward thinking attempt to satisfy his audience's demands, wrote the story as a single page, five days a week, on his blog. This truncated his story greatly but forced him to tell it in a creative, collaborative environment. Readers could comment on and thus inform the plot as it unfolded. Due to the nature of the medium, however, it couldn't be too detailed or engaging, so when he finished the original iteration of the story he went back and revised it to fill in the gaps and flesh it out.

It's a crazy, far out tale. In Machine Man, lab tech and engineer Charles Neumann loses his leg in an industrial accident. When faced with the sad state of prosthetics he had to choose from, he set about designing his own new leg. Unlimited by the constraints of biological necessity, he develops some novel, if intimidating legs as replacement. Unfortunately for Charles, they work better as a pair than as a single leg. Thus begins a harrowing descent into self-amputation, bleeding edge tech and the intellectual property rights and ethical motivations of corporations. By the time you get to the denoumount of the revised novel, you're shaken and disturbed by the journey and subsequent transformation.

This book was an insane ride. I honestly whipped through it in just over three days. I devoured it. Barry's writing style is accessible and human, despite the uncanny subject matter. The intensity and pace of the blog-post pulsing is intact, only with more nuance and subtlety. He took a divergent path from his online version when revising the plot, but it makes no difference in the end - it's a fantastic book, one I would emphatically recommend to anyone remotely interested in scientific progress or tech.

Suck Up

Hey kids, how goes it?


For me, it goes pretty well. Long day at the office, but then after a three day weekend they're all long. The upside is that the week is shorter. Yesterday's post was a little intense, right? A little to much of a look into my personal side and not just an advocacy for awesome things we've forgotten. How's about we fix that with the opposite, something poppy, bubble-gummy and easy to sing along to, with none of the guilt that comes with socio-political factors and grand-scale machinations? Let's cut to the heart of the issue.


Sometimes when describing why I do this, why I expend hundreds of words each day on something we've all moved past, I try of think of an example, something to codify what drives me. The subject of today's post is absolutely on the nose in regard to mt raison d'etre. You see, back in the mid 90s I had only a burgeoning internet set up - nothing even remotely close to how we're all spoiled today, where we can stream Netflix at 10,000 feet (but don't do that please, you ruin the in-flight wi-fi for everyone else). When I saw a video on MTV I had three options - never hear it again, pray it got airplay or just buy the song myself, which usually involved more cash than I could spare. Wanting the most bang for my buck, if I liked a band I would take a risk on the whole album and not just the single. A great band would reward me with an amazing album, like when hearing one Smashing Pumpkins song convinced me to buy the sprawling Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness. Other times, not so much.

Sometimes, as I've certainly shared, there have been songs that earned a week or two of buzz on MTV, only to disappear into the ether, to be summoned only when I hear them at a bar or a random spin through the iTunes store. I'm done pirating music - too many of my friends and family are musicians and artists for me to lie to myself about how it's okay and justifiable. It's simply not, no matter the reasoning. So every now and then a song pops into my head, summoned by some random stimuli, to bring me whooshing back to older days when I first hear them. This past weekend I was having lunch with at my in-laws abode, strumming on an acoustic guitar when I suddenly recalled a snippet of alt-rock I once loved. It was the flash-in-the-pan, gloriously conceived 'Sucked Out' by (sorry guys) one hit wonders Superdrag.

Being deigned 'Buzz Bin' worthy by MTV in the mid 90s earned them a bit of praise and attention for their major-label decrying single 'Sucked Out', which was a fantastically written little pop song about losing the feeling in purpose. It's a great song with a simple, accessible and hooky style that immediately grabs the listener and won't let go until you're singing along with the hook. The song (and accompanying video) have this great Kinks vibe to them, accentuating the clean guitar parts and retro feel to the track, which showed the promise that Superdrag had. Sadly, the band never hit the same heights, despite constant touring and subsequent albums. The took a hiatus in 2003, only to reconvene in 2009, to high praise.

I had totally forgotten this great song and how I wanted more of the video back when it would play sporadically on MTV. I hated the elusive nature of never being able to pin down songs and hear them more than once without shelling out more than a few dollars. Now I'm okay with 99 cents going towards having it forever. This band had a phenomenal hit that a ton of people loved and enjoyed, only now we forget that it was ever there. Hopefully you can remember why it was great. It really, really was.

Climb And Fall

So ends a lovely weekend, seemingly the first of the fall.

It was a gorgeous weekend, especially today. There was that crisp, clear feeling in the air where you know the leaves are going to change and people start to dress a little warmer. Fewer flip flops and more sweatshirts. I've been waiting for fall just to bust out my good sweaters. I love a good scarf.

I woke up early today. Took the rare day off to run around the lakes here, enjoying the morning sun and peace and quiet afforded by a dearth of crowds. When I walked them with my better half later in the day, there understandably was a crush of people - it was a beautiful day, why not? This morning though - I had my shuffle but didn't have it on the whole time. I listened to the day, my feet hitting the pavement, the leaves rustling in the wind, the occasional one falling in anticipation of the dreaded W word. Eventually my exercise got to be taxing enough of a task that I had to break the silence. I put on one song and really listened to it for the next 18 minutes as I wound around Lake Calhoun. It was The Decline. It was NOFX.

Say what you want about punk music - you can't deny that when a group applies itself, it can do impressive feats and make you think. The Fat Wreck Chords stalwarts have long been known for their flippant attitudes, punny wordplay and punchy songs that often clock in at under two minutes. Imagine my surprise then when they flipped all expectations on their head when they released the sprawling, 18 minute epic The Decline. In the track, NOFX tackle what they perceive to be the symptoms and causes of the American decline. Hopping from one subject to another, the band checks almost every box on the typical list of what ails America. It's a weird thing to listen to while on Labor Day, watching the sun rise as you zip around a gorgeous lake, but man if I wasn't paying rapt attention and following each leap in thought process. 

Regardless of where you stand in politics, I can at least break one preconceived notion you may have about this magnum opus - it has nothing to do with Bush or Obama. It was released back in 1999, in a world that preceded the game changer that was the attacks. The fact that the song was practically written in a political vacuum so far removed from today's vipers nest of rhetoric (from all sides) gives it more significance in my mind. It's not merely a commentary on where we currently find ourselves - it just so happens to have persistently relevant subject matter. The mini opera has suites in it that touch on everything from the fear of change to mindless agreement and stagnation to the basic inconsistencies of the judicial and prison system. Amazingly it hits all of them with insightful, melodic wit. I find, though, that the most affecting suite in the song isn't about politics but about personal suffering. The lines about serotonin being gone, giving up and drifting away to be relate-able and heartrendingly cold and clinical. Amid all the political discourse it's the most human element I connect to.

Sure, we can give Green Day all the credit in the world for reinventing their band and making large scale, multiple-staged arrangements, but NOFX beat them to the punch by half a decade. I'm sure a fair number of you will dismiss the song without hearing it, but you would benefit to hear it just to start the process of thinking "Am I aware of what goes on in a larger sense?" This is particularly relevant in light of the anniversary of the attacks on the horizon - our climate is filled with empty rhetoric on all sides. Why not hear an artfully arranged, cohesive and logical take on what we can do to improve things? At the least, you'll hear an amazing work of music. Fall is on the way. Just not society's.

Feel The Flow

Evening, gang.


I hope you're having a great long weekend. I know I am. Its been a day of lounging, interspersed with a cocktail and some salsa from yesterday's cooking extravaganza. Had the windows open for a cool September afternoon. While entertaining some guests tonight, a song came on my iPod that made me nod my head to myself, not interrupting the evening, because I love it but didn't want to interrupt an anecdote. So here I am, sneaking off to write a few words about one of my favorite modern rock tracks of the last ten years.

The rock royalty I speak of is none other than Queens of the Stone Age. The super group burst onto the scene in the beginning of the millennium with their amazing album Songs for the Deaf, an album featuring the amazingly powerful drum work of Dave Grohl. The album was an almost immediate hit, propelled in part by the phenomenal single 'No One Knows', a raucous romper whose dark tones suggest the spooky air of Halloween. I adore that song, but its the easy hit, we all know it and its fantastic. What I think is even better, though, is the second single off the album - the short and concise power pop of 'Go With The Flow'. 

I melt for this song. Released in 2003, the single 'Go With The Flow' is a bit of an anomaly - it didn't feel like anything else on the radio. It's this super-condensed little number, hurtling from lily pad to lily pad to avoid sinking, speeding from one section of the song to another to avoid sinking under its own weight. It starts with no flair, just rolling right into the song. It ends the same way - no fanfare, just an abrupt end with no announcement. The sections of the tune are all mixed in a like minded sound, but constructed in a cut and paste manner. It's a tight number with no frills, just a few guitar lead overdubs and some lightly played keys in the background. This sparse approach plays in its favor, though. There's a straight-forward desperation and urgency to the song, a dark undercurrent snaking through the heart of it. The video clip for the song only adds to the unspoken menace already present. Featuring an affecting, minimalist color scheme that utilizes its lack of color to make a dramatic impact, the video is just as intense as the track. In it, the band rocks out in the bed of speeding pickup as they motor through the desert on a collision course with another vehicle.

'Go With The Flow' is an amazing song. It's nothing grandiose or mind-blowing, but it's a solid, serviceable song that manages to have cojones in this neutered, modern era. It's a rare song that has teeth in a cold, calculated world. The album that it hails from is great, along with the other singles on it that we already know. Do yourself a favor and get acquainted with how great this Queens of the Stone Age song is before Halloween rolls in - it's a great dark, ominous rocker that can help you get ready for a wild night out on All Hallow's Eve. I'll see you cats tomorrow for another post. Adieu.

Fall Spring

What's the good word?


It's been a beautiful day, here. Relaxed. Hit the farmer's market. Went for a run around the lakes. My better half made four different kinds of salsa from scratch, which means I am full of peppers of all types. Life is good. It's a crisp, clear fall night and I feel good about things. While I was running, another frenetic punk track came on my shuffle that took me back to my former years. It's manic, blasting and full of piss and vinegar. It's also a hell of a single, one that came was released at an odd time. I'm referring to 'All I Want' by The Offspring. Sure, I'm guessing most of you have heard it from its use in the Dreamcast game Crazy Taxi, but I remember being blown away by it when it first came out.

The Offspring are kind of an odd band. They make a very specific kind of music - its punk, no doubt, but it also is kind of static and removed. I don't mean to slag the band at all, I just find them to be playing from a place I don't connect with. I guess I dug Smash when it came out. Their singles are always pretty reliable for a good listen. But they seem to have this middling sense of non-descriptiveness that keeps them from being really distinct. Simply continuing to exist as a band isn't enough to warrant my attention. It ought to be strong, right? Maybe I'm just being a jerk. Anyway, point is I've never been a huge fan of the Offspring, especially once 'Pretty Fly for a White Guy' broke big. It just seemed obnoxious. I did dig them, though, when they were at their most passionate and intense, the rare sincere song breaking through their gimmicky discography.

Released in December of 1996, 'All I Want' was the lead single off their 1997 album Ixnay on the Hombre, an album that didn't really break new ground for the band. They had had a huge success with Smash but this album was a bit more of the same. This song, though, always has struck a nerve with me. It's intense and urgent, somehow more desperate than their other offerings. Maybe it can be traced back to the chord progression, or Dexter Holland's bleak wailing of the title over the refrain. Whatever it is, there is something very vivid happening here. The lyrics speak of desperation and wanting to change life for the better. It's not a grand Bad Religion-esque take on political machinations, but it sounds like one in its instrumentation. The main riffs are definitely in the Epitaph wheelhouse. The vocals, delivered in Holland's every-man, no frills manner, are simple and sincere. The song is short, sweet and powerful.

This isn't the best endorsement for The Offspring, but then again I don't have strong allegiance to the band. They've never really done it for me. This song, though, has always been a bright spot in what I perceive to be a substandard canon. I certainly love my California punk bands, especially on Epitaph, but The Offspring have never made much of an impression on me other than this song. It's fantastic, a vibrant buzz saw cutting through the radio at the time it was released. Now I look back and see it for the great little ditty it was. It mostly gives me a boost as I run these days. Doesn't mean it's  a bad song - quite the opposite, in fact. It's fantastic. I just with the band did more like it. 

Addictive Sound

Hey gang, happy long weekend.

As summer is drawing to a close I find myself looking back at other memorable summers. I've written before about the time spent working as a carpenter's apprentice and the music I listened to at the time. While I was certainly attached to my portable CD player (which is amazing it ever worked, in hindsight) I also spent a fair amount of time on the job fiddling with radio knobs to pick up the distant stations from the Twin Cities. These stations were way better than anything else I could get at the time, which was either pop, country, talk or religious. I could not stand any of those. Working on houses far, far out in the goon docks allowed for a faint but clear signal to whisper in, the most treasured being the hard rock station 93X, playing all kinds of music I loved but couldn't lug around with me in CD form. On top of that, the carpenter hated the abrasive sounds, often switching back to Rush Limbaugh or some Christian talk station. It was a give and take - he'd give me an opening, then take the radio back.

 Sometimes he would leave me at a site to clean up or work on something monotonous but easy while he went off to do more complicated and involved tasks. These times were great, a free reign to blast the tunes as loud as I wanted. I actually did work with the better station, too - I didn't slack off when not observed. There was one time, though, that I had to sit down and really listen to a song as it came over the airways, though. It was an overcast morning during a stretch of days spent at my grandparents to lessen my commute to the sites. I was tired and bummed to be trapped in the goon docks, far away from any of the metropolitan culture I would eventually embrace. I was unhappy and tired. It was humid. The house I was working in was not even half finished, with drafts and saw dust to bother the eyes and lungs. The radio was a respite from this. So when a strange and eerie song started with a woman's smoky voice singing notes without words, I had to stop to listen.

 The song began to build. A solitary bassline crept in under the intonations. It was almost spooky, but certainly heartbreaking. Slowly, sadly, the woman sang "Breathe it in and breathe it out and pass it on its almost gone". While obviously singing of addiction (of which I knew nothing) it was still a moving song, one that gripped me and made an indelible mark in my mind. I was transfixed by the song until it was over, the song having risen and fallen several times, taking me on a bit of an emotional journey. All the while the signal threatened to fade out, amping up my focus and the intensity with which I listened. Right before some heavy clouds came in and broke the signal entirely, I heard the DJ say "That was 'Not An Addict' by K's Choice, a great band out of..." and then it went to static. The words imprinted on my brain - I had to hear it again.

It wasn't until I got to college, four or five years later, that I would finally download the song and listen to it to death. This was the era of CDs full of filler and I always had some particular album I had to pick up first in my mental queue. Not to say I didn't appreciate the song - I actually heard it once or twice in the intervening years, with other people even confirming how great it was. I'm pretty sure my band (yes, I was in a punk band for years) covered it at one point. It was just one of those special things you keep in the back of your mind, never quite letting it go, occasionally saying "I have to find this!". When I did, it was fantastic.

The song was sung by Sarah Bettens of the band K's Choice. The band, hailing from Antwerp in Belgium, actually achieved some international fame for the single, due in no small part to her distinct and raspy voice. The band had albums before and after but nothing has hit quite as big as 'Not An Addict', for better or worse. Millions of other people have been just as amazed by the song as I have, but I will always think of my solitary, isolated discovery of the song. Even if everyone I know is familiar with this awesome song, it will always bring me back to that special, secret moment when I was all alone and being deeply moved by Bettens' voice. It's a fantastic number. Give it a listen. Enjoy your weekend. 

Lone Pine

Evening, one and all.

I wrote a piece on the new EP from Sims yesterday, which got me thinking about how some of my favorite releases aren't necessarily the most long winded. Brevity is said to be the soul of wit. One of my favorite releases of the last couple years has to be the short but sweet EP from local avant garde rap group Kill The Vultures.

Kill The Vultures are not your average hip hop outfit. You don't hear the typical samples and beats. The vocals often times aren't in the common meter and delivery. What you get when you listen to this group is something out of left field.

Kind of a funny story how I got into Kill The Vultures. My better half had gone on safari in Africa with her mom. They were visiting Kate while she was working for Peace House, establishing their library facilities. This meant that for two weeks I was left to my own devices. Something I've found about being in a long term relationship (which lead to a marriage) is I now hate being left alone for too long. Short spells are okay. Long ones, not so much. I get restless and lonely. I did a lot of writing. Played some video games. I got restless to the point of simply wandering down to the local record store, the awesome and expansive Cheapo Records on Lake and Freemont. 


I had, by this time, fallen hard for local acts like Doomtree and The Plastic Constellations (before their dissolution). Wandering the racks of the local artists, I saw a name I recognized but had never actually heard. So on a whim, resltless and alone, I picked up some releases by Kill The Vultures. I only knew it was in the vein of hip hop. I had no idea it would be as good as it was. One of the albums was The Careless Flame, the other was The Midnight Pines Soundtrack. By just about stumbling over the album, I found something totally unexpected and completely unique. It was bizarre and off kilter in the best way possible.

 I've never even seen the movie to which Kill The Vultures composed the soundtrack. All I've been able to determine from searching online is that it was a local flick, a kind of modern noir. The soundtrack certainly would back up that notion. At only six songs, the soundtrack is a woozy, drunken affair. Songs are full of wheezing, out of focus jazz ghosts that make you feel like you've been transported in time. There are moments where the soundtrack feels like a jumping beat-poet session, rapper Crescent Moon spitting his free-form verses over saxophone and some light percussion, like in 'Where The Cutthroats Stay'. The song is a finger snapping, head bobbing number. Other times it feels like music to accompany scenes of the depths of a bender, like in 'A Long Way Down'. In the track, mournful woodwinds warble over a slightly-out-of-tune piano, Crescent Moon practically just speaking his lines. His vocals are chilling when he speaks "It's a cold, cold city and it's a long way down." 'Midnight Pine' feels like a marriage of the two proceeding tracks - light, jazzy drumming, somber poetry and some lively keys. It's hep cat stuff, for sure. 'Can't Buy Forgiveness' is more upbeat, the time-keeping ride cymbal adding an out of time air, like Kill The Vultures were the baddest outfit in your favorite speakeasy. The whole EP feels amazingly retro yet alive and vibrant, surprisingly genuine and relevant for such a distinctly throw-back idea.

Crescent Moon's vocals are an unquestionable strong force here, as well. His intonation guides the whole feel of the songs - he gets wound up and the track feels like it could burst into flames. When he slows things down to really force every word into your ear, you can feel him forming every syllable and letter. His rapping and voice are so distinct that you can pick him out on anything else he does, be it with his wife in the (sadly now defunct) Roma Di Luna or as a guest MC on countless Doomtree cuts. He has a conviction to his words and a heft to his voice that few other artists possess. When coupled with these amazing jazz constructions, I totally fall apart.

 How many groups these days, especially noise-jazz based hip hop, can make a soundtrack to a movie you've never seen, yet still completely convey the tone of the film? I adore Kill The Vultures for what they've done here. They have other fantastic albums that are more detailed and fleshed out, but I love the brevity and simple concept of what they've done here. If you've never heard of Kill The Vultures this is actually a great, accessible place to get acquainted with their aggressive sound. They're flying just under the radar, so go find them while you can.