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Cumbia mirar a birlar….
When a distinctly Kiwi voice is softly singing Spanish down the phone to another man it surely must be a sign that the interview is going well…
Batucuda Sound Machine – Rhythm and Rhyme
Rhythm and Rhyme is the essence of summer bottled onto a compact disc – a wild and rampant musical flavour explosion thrown together by some of NZ’s most talented world-musicians. Well ‘some’ is a bit of an understatement, BSM is a monumental 12-piece and on their debut they let loose with horns, drums, guitar, bass, Latin percussion, rap and liquid smooth keys. BSM’s musical melting pot bursts with energy, spanning across afro-beat, samba, reggae, soul, dub, funk and hip-hop.
Hendrix stands out as the greatest guitarist to ever grace this planet, but like many other virtuosos he was a one man show, with a band built around him to show off his talents. Read the rest of this entry »
“Now Peter Piper picked peppers but Run rocked rhymes
Humpty Dumpty fell down that’s his hard time
Jack B. Nimble was nimble and he was quick
But Jam Master cut faster Jack’s on Jay’s dick”
What sort of ‘dope ass’ record starts with a line like this?
Certainly not one from a white artist.
Just when we think all is lost, and this drudging heat wave is going to consume us all, Something For Kate’s Paul Dempsey provides us with the perfect remedy. Read the rest of this entry »
I blame the Aussies for my worst CD purchases of all-time and I’m sticking to my guns.
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Are these dickheads wearing scary masks because they are hard, or are they trying to hide the fact that they look like sad computer technicians who got bullied at school?
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Husky troubadour Holly Throsby is limping; she’s tripped over her pet and torn some ligaments. She is also precariously balanced on an island surrounded by water and electrical cables, adding an unexpected element of danger to tonight’s gig. Read the rest of this entry »
1964, Robert Zimmerman, A.K.A. Bob Dylan, stews in the cannabis aura of his cramped Greenwich Village Apartment. As wild thoughts of Tambourine Men float through the smoke rings of his mind, he sets pen to paper. 30 years later, just across the river, Christopher Wallace, A.K.A, Notorious B.I.G. sits in a similarly choking Brooklyn Squat; puffing a blunt he envisions the world of the crack fiends and hustlers that surround him and begins to write.
The first time you hear this CD you’ll probably think, ‘sounds like a bunch of kids made this on a laptop’, then you’ll think, ‘wow, this is cool, I could probably make something like this myself on the old garageband’, and then you’ll realise, ‘holy shit I could never make something this good in a million years and these kids are only 19, fuck this, I’m giving up on music’.
Well at least that’s what I thought anyway.
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nolangiles
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Jemma Somervail
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