Fuck a Record Company

But At least I didn’t lose a custom made hat like this one:

It was sweet but I didnt’ have any work in it you know?

I saw the glorious in all of its perpetual glory, the induction to taint gradschool of some of my favorite young savages, and one of the best, no no the best electronic music set I have ever seen, so I figure me and karma are even for the weekend.

Infected Mushroom played club Spirit in NYC with a really sick live guitarist (Barry Saharoff I think). You gotta check them out.

Up to Boston – Oh Shit… Andy and Matt (of Wildlife) had all their shit ruined when their house burned down. Thankfully no one was hurt. The worst part is that it wasn’t even the fire, but rather the water used to extinguish the fire, that ruined their stuff.
this sign (in chinatown) just about sums up our sentiments about that one:

well… three days, four cities, and one hat later, it’s back to work:

A few nights ago Swamp and I got into a conversation about the nature of reality and brotherhood and music and we eventually got round to the point that almost everything worth listening to has already been done; that even your brand-spankin’ crunk track is derivative of some passing melody in an 18th century fugue or toccata.

Dude pressed the point saying that he was entirely confident that EVERY melody had been played or written or recorded or something. I am naturally wary of such absolutes, so I started laying out our assumptions so we could be perfectly clear on what exactly we were talking about.

Obviously these are arbitrary values for the pertinent variables, but stick with me.

So we’ve got 12 bars. Let’s say a resolution of 32nd notes in 4/4. Moderato. That means we are talking about a maximum of 12×32= 384 notes. We won’t count octaves, or worry about triples, and for the purpose of argument let’s restrict ourselves to the dominant western scales. So we’ve got 12 tones. This means that there are 384^12 = 10279563944029090291760398073856 unique melodies. That is a shitton.

We think that man has been around for (at most) 250,000 years. In order to have exhausted all of the unique melodies, over 632588550401790171800638 tunes would have to have been composed every SINGLE DAY since the dawn of man. There about 6.5 billion peeps. Even if there were as many people on earth as there are now throughout all of history, every single person would have to have composed 97321315446429 tunes per day for the unique melodies to be exhausted by tomorrow.

And that’s where we like to be, but you may ask yourself: What’s the point of all this? Not much, but this guy sure does suck ass.

So… road tripped a little bit, trip being the operative word as evidenced by my grass stained knees. Mathpanda played the Terrace Club with Analog Jetpack and C-Rex played Bard college. Shit was both taint and real, of course. Two good stories: My friend BearPaw got a dude gerbil. Weeks later he got a girl gerbil, and there was some hot gerbil on gerbil action. After a brief gestation, the female gerbil got suddenly and very seriously ill. Her condition worsened before Paw’s eyes, and despite his high level of empathy for our furry brethren, he was helpless to save her. With her death only minutes away, he turned to the interweb and using the great google meta-information cortex he was able to diagnose her on apparent symptoms alone. He concluded that she had a fatal condition known as a “constipated uss” or something. The only cure for this malady is a supplement called Calcium Plus. But where are you going to find Calcium Plus at midnight on Tuesday when you have no pants? Then came the stroke of brilliance that merits the re-telling of this tale. Teej had some Tums, and as you may remember from a lifetime of product endorsements, tums has calcium. So they crushed up a a little bit of a tum and mixed it with water and used tweezers and an eyedropper to administer the tincture. Minutes later, the gerbil in question birthed a “fucked up leathery ball of goo” and has been in excellent health ever since. This bold procedure was what allowed her to start running like FloJo on her squeaky wheel at 0-dark-thirty two days ago which woke me up. Thanks for coming out.
ok-to bard
so Rex played with Despot and BlowFly (I think they are both on Def Jux) they were both awesome despite a crowd overrun by technically sober hipsters. But it was really Rex’s show, and he rocked it. He had two (yes that’s right 2) jordan jerseys on. Afterwards we went to a bar and a particularly loathsome regular starts eyeball fucking us as soon as we walk in. So I went over to her and said “hey! fuck you you eunuch cockroach” and then I poured a beer on her head. Ok that didn’t really happen but it could have. Man I was stewed. The hound almost had a bad time because of this bitch (and not because his balls had been pushed up into his abdomen by the incredibly small unitard he was wearing). She kept talking shit about us to the other regulars as if our mere presence had fucked up her daily decaying orbit into brain-cell suicide. As we’re leaving it started snowing and we played catch-the-snowflake-on-your-tongue, a wholly delightful surprise. So there we are minding our own business twirling around like a fat dog on a hot day and this bitch walks out and starts berating us. Seriously – for no reason at all. We tolerate her for a minute I actually did call her a eunuch cockroach and then one of rex’s friends from school comes out and just decks her. This girl was kinda drunk so the first punch glanced harmlessly off the eunuch cockroach’s neck. But the second blow knocked that fat slampig right on her ass in the middle of our snowglobe. It was fucking awesome. Almost as awesome was the fact that rex’s friend remembered none of the episode 14 minutes later. Grain… its some super-critical shit.