Here are some reviews I just wrote for Beautiful/Decay. I’m sorry for the lack of posting. Please, if you know my email address, email me and suggest some shit to write about. All I can think of is zombies and being a pervert in the city. It’s been done.

Lodeck – Behold
Lodeck is a Russian import with one of the sickest voices I have ever heard. He talks about what its like to pour out booze for decayed crackhead friends, how fucked up the deep end of Brooklyn is for an immigrant youth, how foolish humanity is, how the world could get better with the slightest bit of imagination and hustle, and how awesome/terrible toothless blowjobs are. The beats are fantastic (Bad Touch: tell your friends), Breeze Evahflowin’ shows up, Blockhead turns in two amazing remixes, Jedi throws in some cuts, the production is thick and sparse at the same time, he doesn’t ever say “overstand”, and the choruses do not suck. Why you do not own this yet is far beyond me. Use your head(phones): Support Lodeck.

Raheem Jamal – Boombox
Wait till it gets nice outside, hang your boombox out your window, and blast this album. If anyone yells at you to turn it down, get rid of them. If anyone compliments you on your choice of street music, invite them in, give them beer, and start this record from the beginning. Instant summer. Raydar Ellis’ beats are warm-weather-class with big soul jazz samples, fat drums, smooth guitar, string sections, and horn blasts. And Raheem, who doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously, spits easily about girls, the city (Boston), the good times, the hard times, and all of the things we love about hip hop. Raheem and his Project Move buddies should have released this on tape. My boombox only plays tapes.

Dos Noun and Burns – The Fall of ‘98.
In the fall of 1998 I was pushing an ’86 Chevy Nova 4 door go-kart with a warped Rhymesayers tape stuck in the deck, and the only time I touched a booty was by accident on an escalator at the Mall of America. Hindsight can’t even make that shit look cool, but I do remember that “hip hop” was fuckin’ everywhere, and it was cool because it was a resistance to “rap”. Back then folks still made that distinction, because you could either pay 3 bucks to see 19 emcees in a hot basement, or you could turn on BET and bust Jadakiss in a shiny suit. I get the feeling that Dos Noun and Burns from Pittsburgh feel the same way. The Fall of ‘98 is that underground record, the one that some dude sold you for 5 bucks out of his backpack, the one that proudly ended up stuck in your deck.

Let me be honest,
“We family, we family, lemme talk to ya”
-Bernie Mac
Maaaybe you can tell they were written a little hastily, my schedule was kicking my ass at the time, yet I always wait till the last minute to do that shit. That last one, I had a problem, I really didn’t like the record, I will be honest. It had a lot of the problems of an underground hip hop record, the choruses were too long and bad, the album itself was too long, and sometimes the lo-fi production got in the way of enjoying the record. Sorry to any B/D folks reading this, I wasn’t feeling it, but since it was for the “Recommends” section, I tried to stay positive, or at least entertaining.

Anyway, the music is good, go check that shit out. And let me know what the fuck I need to be writing about on here. I’m too broke to go out and act like an ass…I will wait until I get paid, or maybe wait until Ogre comes to visit. That’s going to be fuckin sweet.

You come to and your body looks like yours. Obscure metal t-shirt, check. 70’s bellbottoms, check. Crippling rage issues, check. You are Drew, and you are in a bathroom now. You know deep in your heart that you can’t handle your shit, but now you are astonished at how big of a blackout lightweight you are. The last thing you remember is shotgunning a Bartles and James Pear Passion Lime Estrogen Wine Cooler at 7 pm.

The bathroom is well lit, its almost morning, your pants are around your ankles and there is a 2 year old Penthouse crumpled at your feet. Most likely the product of a failed masturbation session. Now you are scared. You don’t remember how you got into this bathroom.

At least you know who’s bathroom it is. It belongs to your good friend Clitoris Rex, and he did this to you.

Your pre-existing anger problem starts bubbling and you instantly burst a blood vessel in your eye for no apparent reason. “No time to panic”, you think, “I will simply grab this here door knob, twist, and pull, and I will be free of this bathroom, on my way to fall asleep on a couch, huzzah.” You grab for the doorknob, and realize, THERE IS NO DOORKNOB!

Panic. What happened to the doorknob? Is this some kind of sick game? Is the doorknob surgically buried in some infant’s chest and the only way I can survive is to chew the knob out of the screaming infant?

That would actually be sweet, you think, thankful for the moment of clarity.

You plunge back into panic mode again and your heart races to the point of almost popping. You think, “The door will not open, perhaps a few light raps upon the door will be enough to wake the bathroom owners, who could come let me out, yeah, that’s the ticket.”

“Ziggy says this doesn’t look good Sam.”

No one responds. What will you do? Will you improvise a comfortable way to sleep in the bathtub? You are so tired, your body hurts from too much headbanging, and you have the lyrics to Pantera’s ‘Becoming’ cycling through your head on repeat.

Fuck the bathtub, you say. The panic has now completely taken over, sending all of your blood screaming through your head, so you scream back. The adrenaline takes your voice up a few pitches so now you sound like a pre-menstrual field hockey player. What a pussy.

LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!!
AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!!!
WHO DID THIS TO ME???!!!!!
HOW DID I GET HERE!!!!!!!!
WHERE IS THE FUCKING DOORKNOB!!!!
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?!!!!
SOMEONE PLEASE FUCKING HELP ME I’M SO SCARED!!!!

The door opens, finally, somehow, its your friend/captor Patrick. You are sweating, close to tears, and fighting off a massive stroke/seizure/aneurysm/case of the runs.

“Dude, you are the worst alarm clock ever.”

WHY DIDN’T YOU LET ME OUT??!!!
DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING??!!!
I SOILED MYSELF BECAUSE OF YOU!!!

You scream, but its no use, everyone is already laughing. No one even notices your struggle because you have been upstaged. All of your stress and pain went unnoticed in the face of the aftermath of a vicious piss whirlwind that has swept through the entire apartment. Thanks to a non-housetrained drunk girl, no one cares that you just had an existential crisis in a bathroom in queens.

What a pussy.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

The big font says, “Bear Fucker”
The little one says, “Your bitch don’t really got no ass, she just pokes it out.”

You care about this.
I rule.