Belvedere Jehosophat - Monday, April 28, 2008
Kid Koala records are, by and large, fairly consistent affairs, and this, the third Kid Koala LP now to offer the same charming mixture of nonsense samples and expert turntablism clinging to a skeleton of old jazz and funk records, doesn't disappoint. As per usual, Your Mom's Favorite DJ flaunts Kid Koala's excellent nose (ear?) for samples, which range from the terribly hip (Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant) to the incredibly banal (CSI: NY) to the completely obscure (just about everything else).
Whilst there is nothing on the new record that is as fully realised as "Basin Street Blues" or as emotive as "Space Cadet 2," both from 2003's Some of My Best Friends Are DJ's, this is not to suggest that the new record is devoid of great moments. Rather, the focus this time around seems to have been on putting together a party album, and, at this, Kid Koala succeeds admirably.
The main difficulty with Your Mom's Favorite DJ is structural, not musical. The decision to split the record into three tracks (two, really) is frustrating, especially as the back of the album clearly shows that these two tracks are made up of a number of different "songs." As a result, when there is a moment that is a little more poignant than party — as there is eight or so minutes into the first track — one can't easily skip back to experience it again. This is a minor complaint, though, and it doesn't detract from another successful record.
breathe! breathe, you fucker!
Belvedere Jehosophat - Tuesday, February 26, 2008 - 19:26:55
Passerine are the ones that sit and wait, and in sitting and waiting uncover the unkindness of ravens, the conspiracy of ravens — methodical, orderly, neat, calm, serene.
(versus.)
"They are in you and in me; they created us, body and mind; and their preservation is the ultimate rationale for our existence. They have come a long way, [these] replicators."
Argos, powerful rival of Sparta, Athens and Corinth, build your walls, there are waters coming.
Rivals of Argos, with your pre-wings, your ur-wings, you can fly high, high as you goddamn like.
windows started trembling, with a sonic boom. boom.
Jimmy Weasel - Sunday, November 5, 2006
If what can turn a foul mood around becomes the harbinger of the foul mood, what happens next? Turn it into a learning experience. And when that learning curve makes a late break over the plate, you'd better start to swing away.
Jimmy Weasel - November 4, 2006
It doesn't take a big man to admit that he drinks. It takes a big man to get wasted and perform impromptu sermons naked from a balcony; raving upon the ravages of the insanity of stata bylaws and noisy offspring in adjoining arpartments...
Jimmy Weasel - September 7, 2006
The journey toward enlightenment need not begin in any particular direction so much as that it needs to begin at all - and if you create your own beery reality with which to illuminate yourself, enlightenment can indeed glass you in the jaw in the comfort of your own bathtub.
Nipples need protection from the elements?
Armpit hair needs a lair? Bellybutton catching too many flies?
Then grab this comfy chest covering and other kinds of T-shirts at The Wax Sweatshop.
