The music's got my tongue:

via videosift.com

Today's been one of those days where I hide behind my noise cancelling head phones and dare my officemates to speak to me. So in between working, I've been surfing and came upon one of my loves, DJ Shadow's (Joshua Davis) Midnight In a Perfect World. There are so many types of DJ's out here, and he's the serious type. He's basically like a neonatal cardiac surgeon when it comes to suturing samples. This track is off his album Endtroducing, just a beautiful piece of music, each track flows into one another as if we're witnessing the path of water and the earth it takes with it. Whenever I hear his music, I get the feeling that this is pretty close to truth for him and those who love his music. Digest y'all.

A fix.

Tonight, I stepped out of Border's feeling quite powerful--you see, I just bought my own copy of The Souls of Black Folks, and with the weather just cold enough to keep my senses open, I finally heard Radiohead's, All I Need. (Not as it relates to their valiant yet poor attempt to depict white privelage in their video.) The song's intro, a build-up, the calculated advance of a lover. The song progresses this way, picking up speed until the last 40 sec. of the track. It's like
being f-cked, and not being able to think--just crave, thirst, and need in a desperate, but beautiful way. All at once you cross over into this grey area of something feral and something tame. One threatening to surrender, while the other is threatening to escape. And once you get "it" whatever your "it" may be, it is all you need. However, does this satisfaction mean that your senses won't go searching for it again? For me it doesn't. And Yorke manifests this same feelings in his vocals. In short peeps, it's a dope track. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. I'm a Radiohead junkie that's addicted to "enough. "

my mic sounds nice. (check one)

I'm resurfacing, never fear! I'm putting the finishing touches (vocals) on the podcast. At least the sound of my own voice isn't repulsive, anymore. I shall return. Most importantly, the podcast has a name "Spoke." More on that soon!

-kw

Todays' dose of pain

Because, I'm all about research.. I signed up to be a part of this study where they basically want to see if exercising to the beat of music 1) makes working out more enjoyable and 2) gets you in better shape, physiologically. It sounded great at first, a personal trainer, free pulse hardware, fancy pedometer, mp3 player on loan. That is..UNTIL I heard the music selection. Of course white people are running the story, and the Principal Investigator says to me in his most polite voice, "We have a REAL diverse set of music on here. I'm sure you'll like it." There is so much f'in Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Reba M., and basically ish that does not make me want to work out on this Sandisk. They have 2 Outkast songs on the damn thing and I'm supposed to go crazy?? Rrrright. So, today, I'm taking a stand. I'm going back to my own iPod. Rhythm doesn't mean anything unless it's one you like.

I'll give anyone a blog shout out if they can tell me the other 5 artists of color that appeared on the Work-Out SanDisk MP3 player.

-kw

Rebirth of Soul

This is NOT a blog about music. This is a blog about the way in which a life, my life, finds rhythm-- whether it’s in writing, colors, sounds, or silence.
Back to blogging after a hiatus that involved a marriage to a process that’s been paused until I get a decision letter. I’ve probably been doing other shit, too, but that’s too boring to write about. For those of you who only know today’s me.
Past:
(Playback) I was conceived by the rhythm of hips, in a vehicle, on some God’s church ground. Radio on or off? Still there was rhythm. Grew up listening to vinyl voices, horns, and skips. My dad never let me touch them, not even the covers. If music was playing on Sunday morning, then everything was okay. Until the next thing happened. Made Sony rich on walk/disc-mans. Recorded music off the tv (I can remember my little brother’s 3 year old self ruining a perfect recording, by coming into our room/studio and asking for something, juice, probably). Bought my first tape, Ghetto Boys. Got in trouble for scratching my grandmother’s gospel record (trying to be a DJ—they made it look so easy) on her new record player, lied about it for 10 years and finally came clean before she died. MP3 age hit—Napster. CD-Burners. Became a playlist fiend—even had one titled, “Walking.” Age 27, found my dad’s records, unguarded and took the ones I wanted, because they make me think of the time when I knew him best. I don’t even own a record player.
FFWD
Presentish:
Ate. Issued heartaches, but one mended. Slept. Gained and lost friends. Fell in love/got a bed/moved in with her/got a joint banking account—found one kind of rhythm. Cut off my locs/got a mohawk. Was a victim of bike theft. Applied to med school. Got a new iPod. Read, A LOT.
Music is still a constant in my life, which is a good thing, but could be a better thing. I realized that about 75% of my music collection is the same as it’s been for the last four years. This basically means that my iPod has been on repeat even while shuffling. In the past couple of months, I’ve felt the thirst growing for new sounds and voices that have not coursed through my headphones wires before. While I resided in libraries all over the city, music was being born, dying, and resurrecting itself (even if only to become the same thing all over again). Without the MCAT to serve as an excuse, what remains to prevent me from becoming a part of the dialogue of rhythm? Nothing. Hence, the blog.
Future:
Birth of a podcast. New soundtracks to live by. I repeat: This is NOT a blog about music. This is a blog about the way in which a life, my life, finds rhythm-- whether it’s in writing, colors, sounds, or silence.