Know when you love an artist before anyone else (except the person who showed you).
And that artist ignites the starving underground scene.
And then you share his music with some friends.
And then somehow they’ve heard “of” him. On Pitchfork.
But that doesn’t ruin it. Yet.
And then you get to see him at proper venue instead of shit hole.
But it’s crowded with people there for some remix he did with some other artist.
And next thing you know his shows are too crowded.
And you’ll never go again.
And account people tweet, “This guy’s mask is creepy. Whr’s Arcade Fire”
And a year after no one knew him his shows sell out in minutes.
And then your dad finds him on Spotify.
And then Honda uses him in a commercial.
And then you’re happy but sad
but more happy than sad for SBTRKT?
My bathroom, flooded chest high, was where I baptized an old Duke alum, though I’m not ordained. I bade him adieu and almost gave him my maroon Bible, the NIS version, but took it back, as its translation I found free of bias and slant. Instead I gave him the King James version, red cover, the one I’d had since childhood. I smiled. He frowned.
I ran at him but was only two or three steps away. He looked no bigger than me but as I leapt and sounds vanished and I inched closer I saw I underestimated his frame. Mid-air I shimmied so my side collided with his. He moved not an inch and shame’s warm embrace delivered me par avion into Uncle Orlando’s semi-pro football days, when he, to set a block, ran full tilt at a linebacker, perhaps two times his size. He never did make it to the NFL.
And I woke wondering why cold fronts and clouds are on a break. Cold, stop being such a bitch. Clouds, learn to listen. We miss the magic moisture made this time of year.
I told him I was atheist after he asked if I was god-fearing Christian. He said if so then you go ahead and stab me in the face with that fork. I stabbed his eyebrow. My extended family arrived at the hotel. I knew they were coming but they still said, “SURPRISE!” Then Dave Newman texted me from the goth party he was at.
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Cold, sleet and snow gave some time to put this one together. Feedback from friends has been as unanticipated as consistent days of 18 degrees Farenheit weather so early into winter.
01 / Air / Black Chow
02 / Selector / Mark Ronson
03 / Marriage / Gold Panda
04 / 6669 (I Don’t Know If You Know) / Neon Indian
05 / Bop / Brandt Brauer Frick
06 / Look What You’re Doin’ To Me (MCDE remix) / Jazzanova feat. Phonte
07 / Waterfalls / DJ MA1
08 / Heartbeat Ft. Terri Walker (Mosca remix) / T.Williams
09 / Christopher Willits / The Heart Connects To The Head
10 / The Moving Shadows / United Future Organization
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I remember my parents hitting up jazz festivals all over the Northeast, the Newport Jazz Festival in particular. Its headliners today are often prodigies from your Berklees or Julliards if not icons knocking on heaven’s door in terms of their professions, lifespan or both. Side stages are where more experimental acts let loose, hearkening to the days when psychedelic rock, fusion and free jazz were all the fuss on the main stage. Forefront artists from then are now the focus and inspiration for today’s groundbreaking electronic artists experimenting with similar ambition. Take The Rhode Left captures this cultural dialogue by blending sounds from decades past with our decade present.
01 / The Blessing Song / Michael White
02 / Monium / Jeremy Steig
03 / Elijah / Spirit
04 / Do It / Aphrodite’s Child
05 / Green Clouds / Egba
06 / Takkasim Sanat Alfeyn / Omar Khorshid And His Guitar
07 / Saxophone Machine No. 1 / Gilbert Artman
08 / Powderly / Rainstick Orchestra
09 / Fast II / Steve Reich
10 / Fresh Flowers Ahead / Kona Triangle
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To the enclave of West Indians who’ve lived in the area for quite some time, every block feels like home, and every store like a room belonging to mom, dad, brother or sister. But for the transplants living here in low-rent, sunlight-starved spaces hardly fit for true gentry, this area feels like another world.
To the shop owners, your personage is unquestionably not West Indian. They treat you like an outsider because you are. And you feel like one—every time you get oxtail or jerk chicken and it’s mostly bone, or ligament, amid a world of rice and beans; or upon entry to the hardware store you feel the prices jump from floor to ceiling. With no price tags, these places teach you just how fungible money is. The problem in this scenario is the checks you’re pullin’ from your temp jobs work worse than swimmies in the squall that is your personal budget.
Plus, if you’re from the suburbs, the supermarkets to you will seem hella weird. Fish tails hang out of buckets of brine, it smells like a fish market near the bread, and more troubling still, near the milk.
So where’s the refuge? The bodega on the northeast corner of Winthrop Street and Nostrand Avenue, just outside the only subway entrance for the uptown 2 train. It may not have all the signifiers of refuge, with it’s loosey-totin’ entrepreneurs opening the door for you, shelves boasting brands of snacks and waters you never knew existed in such small, 25 cents for a pack sizes, and the entire line of Coby electronics. It’s a refuge because it’s in the right spot.
Because if on your way to a stop that has only 1 entrance you remember you forgot any belongings, it’s always a far walk home and back to the train again. Forgot your spring water but too broke to buy $1 Poland spring? They have “Crystal Water” for 50¢, purified, not spring. Stank breath before that date in Ft. Greene or the city? Save 25 cents by getting your Eclipse here. Or did your CD player die? They have batteries that look like Duracells at the counter, packs of 4 for $1. And everything you buy barely lasts the train ride.
That’s just the quality you’ll find at the bodega where location is everything.
