The World Cup is still raging and good grief, this is beginning to look like a poorly scripted sitcom. I don’t mind overtime but I get a little antsy in the pantsies when that shit starts happening in every game. I smell rats.
Like last week, I’m dialing this one in ahead of time. I’m writing this last Thursday. I am the disembodied voice of Abel’s past, I’m his antic disposition and I am full of it. This will be brief. Since I decided to become my own boss temporarily, there just doesn’t seem to be that 25th hour lying around anymore.
But I am happy and happiness is something that I had amazingly forgotten how to enjoy. Okay, now to relive some highlights and see patterns of FIFA incrimination in these matches. Great, so now I’m happy and paranoid. Julia Louis-Dreyfus. You, you go listen to some records. El disco es cultura.
621. The Evens – S/T. Ian Mackaye and Amy Farina hit on some gold back in 2007 with this phenomenal record. It feels like I’ve spoken about it before but you know, it is pretty good. So good I’ve had it on repeat for the last three hours. It’s oddly soothing and Ian’s guitar-work is palpable yet subjected to Amy’s drums. I guess this is musical symbiosis. It is weird how the follow-up album, Get Evens, has been a harder listen to get into. Maybe I need to focus. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out. But that’s dubious at best while these little listicles of mine continue.
622. Ozma – Rock and Roll Part Three. I don’t get what triptych it is that they are trying to get at but I do know that it is not an entirely unpleasant album that could’ve probably relied less on emotions and maybe more on applied mathematics. I got this in a dollar bin at a record shop in Tampa a few years ago when my brother lived there. That was a fun trip.
623. Charanga Cakewalk – Lotería de la Cumbia Lounge. Back in the early ‘00s, my friend Tim Den ran a really good website called TransformOnline.com. It was so good it kinda gave Pitchfork back then a run for its money. Pitchfork though, soldiered on and became what it is today which is open to opinion and interpretation while Tim quietly folded his after a pretty remarkable run. I was lucky enough to be trusted by him to write reviews and I blame my caustic pedantic-ness and overall musically-anti-social behaviors on my tenure there. They should’ve never given me a pulpit to speak from. It was a pleasant experience and I’d get really funky and fun albums to muse over like this little ditty of Latin, rock, funk, cumbia and electronica that feels good on its own or in the middle of a late ‘90s Beck album. You tell me. I’m more restrained these days but I’m still on that downward spiral of pretentious assholeness.
624. Estelle – Shine. Whatever happened to this delightful British chanteuse? One of the few instances in which a song would come on in the club and I wouldn’t mind was her “American Boy” song. So I went out and bought the album like a dope-fiend only to find out and rather pleasantly so, that the rest of it is really good. Beginning to end listenable. I wish I took more leaps like that. I’m thinking of getting some public funding going. Kickstart me.
625. Ladysmith Black Mambazo – Shaka Zulu. I have a really bad habit of doing, rather, committing stupid shit in my life with overbearing authority. I can’t think of none dumber than that time I got into an argument with some dude at a bar concerning the Zulu name origins of Afrika Bambaataa and really getting heated over this album’s existence as proof. Like Afrika Bambaataa and this South African choral group was the same person/group. Geez I’m a dolt. Now well into their fifth decade performing, this here album from 1987 is a good entry level recording produced by Paul Simon. Check it out and refrain from following in some of my footsteps.
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