“Who the fuck is Ant Shears, anyway?”

A track into The Growth: My ENTroduction, I found myself asking the same question. Here’s what I knew:

• A fellow by the name of Anthony J. Shears approached me on Twitter and via an e-mail to this site (his answers to my extra questions were priceless… Hellrazor and a Yoga instructor, if you’re curious).
• I immediately assumed it was spam because… well, come on, it’s Twitter.
• Then, upon some further research, I discovered he was in fact a real (and very legit music industry) person. I still wasn’t sure he meant to contact me, but I went along with it (see: Hellrazor, Yoga instructor).

So, I put on the CD, but again I’ll admit, I was skeptical. I’m a fiend for new music, don’t get me wrong. But a lot of times, what you might call “home-made music” (which, I can’t stress enough, this is NOT) trends towards unpolished at best, wack at worst. These were my concerns.

A handful of tracks in, those doubts were erased.

The sampling is incredible (Paul Simon, James Taylor, Jay-Z, Patti LaBelle to name a few), the production is on point and the lyrics range from fun, bob-along type stuff to stop what you’re doing, I need to listen-type stuff.

Without getting too gushy, it’s the type of hip-hop I’ve been waiting on for a while now. And by a while, I mean about 8 to 10 years. You see, I’ve gone along for the ride with where the genre’s gone. The invasion of that techno/trance, the poppy sounds, the mechanical robot touch that everything seems to have now (ahem, Yeezus). And, I’ll be honest, a lot of it I’ve really loved.

But, for my money, there’s not a lot better than a solid sample, sped up and flipped, with a nice bass beat and guy with a good flow. Listening to Shears, I started thinking he’d have fit in fine alongside the early versions of Kanye’s conscious G.O.O.D. music crew on any number of tracks from The College Dropout. How many people can really pick out GLC in a crowd? Exactly.

One of my least favorite aspects of any music review is when the reviewer tries to describe, in-depth (and often, in vain) the actual songs. Here’s an example of how ridiculous that can be, from Rolling Stone (first) and Business Insider (second):

[Kanye West’s] “Hold My Liquor” is an elegantly wasted house ballad, with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver as dyspeptic diva crooning under the amber waves of drank and teenage Chicago rapper Chief Keef playing the sad gangsta.

[Jay-Z’s] “Tom Ford” survives some lackluster rips with a whale of a Timbaland meat-grinder beat. 

Seriously, what the fuck do those even mean? Dyspeptic diva crooning under the amber waves of drank? A meat-grinder beat? Good lord.

So, I’ll spare you of that. What I will say is that several songs from the album have made it to my iPod. That’s as good of a recommendation as I can give it.

My favorites, in no particular order, are Break You Down (this one’s the James Taylor sample), Mea Culpa, Tears In Your Eyes and 50 Ways (and this one’s the Paul Simon sample).

If the CD is 13 tracks (there’s a new version of Tears In Your Eyes as 14th track. That’s my only issue with the album—just give me the best version, not both), I’d say four songs are iPod worthy right away and seven are repeat-listening-worthy.

That’s pretty damn good.

All I can say is, if this is Shears still growing, I can’t wait to see where’s he at once he’s finished.

Go buy the album on iTunes, here.

I wrote a review for Three Guys One Book on Marissa Silver’s “Mary Coin”. Really good book. Didn’t think it would be, but it was. Even Ms. Silver herself was pleased with me:

Dude! I love this review so much from the fellows @threeguys1book. threeguysonebook.com/mary-coin-by-m…

— Marisa Silver (@marisaleesilver) March 19, 2013

 

About four years ago, I was introduced to him. A friend dropped off three books at my house while I watched VH1’s Best Week Ever. I knew the friend, it was the author of the books he brought that I was being introduced to. Chuck Klosterman was his name. In fact, it’s still his name.

I didn’t read the books. They collected dust on my shelf for the better part of these last four years until I moved out the final remnants from my parent’s house. Then, I read two of the books and some articles.

After that, I can safely say Chuck Klosterman is the best writer of his generation. Or, perhaps, he’s not. But, maybe that’s what makes him exactly that.

The generally held belief is that Klosterman represents the forward-thinking, progressive bourgeoisie class of middle American males in contemporary society. But, the opposite is actually closer to the truth. Klosterman represents everything we don’t represent, pointing out the most meta details of things we take for granted. Does the Lakers/Celtics rivalry represent every great divide this country has ever seen? How different is Marilyn Monroe from Pam Anderson? Is there a limit to how many footnotes an article can have before you’re officially distracted? How detached can someone be before they are officially considered aloof? What is it about Billy Joel that makes him so patently uncool? When did The Real World stop being about the real world and when did the real world stop being about The Real World? Is there a difference? Are you confused yet?

These are just some of the questions pondered by Klosterman, all done in painstakingly plain style and writing.* Writing, mind you, that somehow comes off as both intrinsically humorous and, yet, at the same time, mind-blowingly honest. Reflective, but intelligent. Well-crafted, but allergic to peanuts. Intentioned and simultaneously, both mundane and amoral.

Yet, despite all this, we find ourselves unable to tangle away from the web woven by Klosterman. Whether it’s essays on Royce White and the Houston Rockets, pornography, Zack Morris, or Steve Nash… this much is clear: no one knows quite where Klosterman stands on anything or anyone. Except, of course, that he loves rock n’ roll music.**

After finishing his Decade of Curious Decisions, I put a call into Klosterman’s office looking to get a comment for this article.*** He did not respond. But maybe, that’s precisely what he wants.

You see, Klosterman’s elusivity is what builds his base. It’s a reactionary tendency we all have to fear what we don’t know, like I’d imagine the Winslow family felt when Steve Urkel first came into their lives. Or, when Mos Def released anything after Black on Both Sides****.

But, like most things, the true meaning and importance of Klosterman lies somewhere in the vast middle. The happy medium of discourse that informs those of us in this super-powered information superhighway generation. He’s both a refined scholar documenting topics that interest he and his all-consuming public and a sailor-pirate pilfering the youth of time and enjoyment with verbal dexterity and extremely specific societal references they’ll feel stupid for not understanding.

Tendencies include usage of the word “paradoxically” far more than seems necessary (or, at least, in a direct attempt to avoid the simpler, “ironically”), incessant parenthetical asides (is there another kind [of aside?]), and nearly-ludicrous-yet-somehow-ultimately-vague-but-close-enough-to-some-layer-of-truth-but-also-you’re-just-happy-it’s-finally-over-so-you-no-longer-have-to-pretend-as-if-you-“get it” assertions and analogies. Oh, and he’s also a fan of making impossible to prove but also difficult to fully refute statements (and confusing clauses like that one) like, “Pras is this worst group member of any group in recorded music history.”

He has yet to (I’d imagine) make the following points, but they’re ones (I’d also imagine) he’d likely spend 10 to 15 pages circumventing and tying, inexplicably, to something like Charles in Charge:

1. How The Fugees breaking up was the first episodic example of real-life disappointment for the white, middle-class Americans that purchased their records in the early-to-mid 90s.
2. An essay featuring a full deconstruction of “The Boy is Mine” by Brandy and Monica and its ultimate meaning beyond a petty argument over a boy and its true meaning: the plight of the free agent in professional sports and the haggling that would ultimately take place many years later over LeBron James. Because, you see, LeBron James, is every one of us. But, he isn’t. And, yet, he still seems to be. He’s–

Some how, by the end, you find yourself convinced of his point. Or, exhausted.

You’ll laugh, that’s for certain. And, you will find yourself enlightened on some level. But more than anything, I’d imagine you’ll just be confused.

Or, perhaps, you won’t be.

 

*This may not be true.

**This is true.

***This is definitely not true.

****Any fan who says they do not understand this reference simply isn’t a fan. Or, is a cyborg from Terminator. One way or the other, that person simply cannot be trusted.

Alright, so it’s been a minute. Things have been going on work-wise and life-wise that have prevented me from posting as frequently as I’d like (or, more accurately, as I’d like to lie about liking). That all said, we’re not dead or gone. But, things are going to be a little different.

The man once known as Puff Daddy once said “Can’t stop, won’t stop.” I doubt very seriously he was referring to this blog (though, with Diddy, you never quite know), but the saying applies nonetheless.

I don’t know if I’m going to be posting multiple times a week as I have in the past, but the content will continue. Sometimes at a once a week pace, sometimes more frequently, sometimes less. If you’re thinking, “Oh, thanks for the update. So to clarify, you have no idea what schedule you’ll be posting at in the future and things will pretty much remain the same”, to you I say… well, nothing. You’re right. But, to hell with you for being such a snarky prick.

So, I’m going to try to keep it as close to once a week (or so) as I can. This Thursday we’ve got another installment of White Suburban Kid Reviews, this time featuring everyone’s favorite Earl. Next week, we’ll have a Chuck Klosterman-styled review of Chuck Klosterman. Not sure if that one will work. We’ll see.

Alright, thanks for the support. See you once a week. Or, more often.

Or not.

In honor of my favorite holiday, I figured I’d give out a chapter of my novel, congratulations?, that happens to be dedicated to this very day.

Trust me, the fact that you’re reading a chapter mid-book won’t make a difference.

Go ahead, click on the link and enjoy. No viruses, just some old fashioned fun.

Chapter 19 – Fuck Valentine’s Day

And of course, if you like what you’ve read, click the link above or head to Amazon and pick up a full copy.

No, you didn’t miss out on a feud. There’s no real beef here. In fact, I’d be willing to wager that they’ve likely never met and, even likelier, Mrs. Obama has never even heard of Alice Eve (are we really to believe she had time for Sex And The City 2?)

These are two separate women and in normal circles, their paths would never intersect. Except, I don’t always run around in those circles.

Let me explain, if I may, how this whole thing came to be.

As a man (and a single one at that), I often engage in that rudimentary of caveman activities: rating women and casually discussing which I would or wouldn’t have sex with. Add to this the even heavier ignorance that the topic at hand was celebrities (read: women I’d probably still only have about a 10 percent chance with even if they worked at Burger King).

I had seen her on YouTube earlier in the day, so to the conversation, I brought up one Alice Eve. Alice of Sex And The City 2, Alice of She’s Out of Your League, Alice of that movie with Ray Liotta where she may or may not be nude (even I can’t hyperlink you there, friends). As I’m sure a friend of Will Madison’s would have said, “That Alice Eve is one piece of ace.”

My argument (if you can call it that) centered on the idea that she’s one of the hottest women on planet Earth and she would almost certainly top my list. A friend of mine, who happens to be black, was in this conversation and, unprovoked, made the (fucking insane) assertion that he’d rather have sex with Michelle Obama.

And so, here we are.

I thought about this for a few days and ultimately it dawned on me that beyond the fact that my friend is almost certainly a certifiable lunatic, there’s got to be something racial at work here. Right?

Actually, let’s back up once more.

I should clarify that I don’t mean to demean either of these two women. I don’t know either of them and almost assuredly never will, but I’m sure they’re great folk. This discussion started between two juvenile men posing as adults and is to be taken about as seriously as a Publisher’s Clearing House letter in the mail.

To make clear: the question wasn’t “Which lady would make the best domestic partner?” or “Which woman would be a great gal to have as a pal?” No, it was as vulgar and simplistic as it seems.

And in that vein, I don’t think Mrs. Obama honestly has a leg to stand on. Alice Eve is a smoke show and that much can’t be debated. Michelle Obama is a very pretty woman, but her main charm in the physical realm is elegance. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s a distinction to be made. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend tell me the girl he just hooked up with was “crazy elegant”.

I gave this friend another day to think on it and outside of a few scenarios, he remained steadfast on his point: he’d choose Michelle over Alice.

Once I was satisfied that he wasn’t kidding around, I was left with the following possibilities as explanation:

1. Maybe he hates English women?
2. Maybe he hated Lewis Carroll?
3. Maybe he has a thing against thin, busty, long-haired blondes?
4. Maybe he never trusted a woman (or man) with two first names?

Honestly, only number four made any real sense.  Think about it… Mark David Chatman, Lee Harvey Oswalt, James Earl Ray? Coincidence? I think not.

But maybe it was a race thing… Don’t get me wrong, I’m not writing a manifesto that we should only stay within our race**. Marry a man, a woman, marry a farm animal for all I give a shit.

I’m not mentioning a race angle like it’s a bad thing… merely just as a thing. An observation, I believe they call it.

So, to find out, I dug deeper. I went through the above toss up with a number of men and women I know and not one of the white people surveyed chose Michelle Obama.

My thoughts on this went as follows: First, my friend is a lunatic. Second, maybe he’s still a lunatic, but it’s just a black/white thing I’ll never get (no matter how many hours of NBA and rap I consume).

Then, I asked another black friend of mine, and his exact response was as follows:

Alice Eve ALL DAY and TWICE on Sunday

This was when I came to my third, and final resting point on the discussion: My friend is, in fact, a raging psychopath whose opinion can’t be trusted (unless, of course, if it has anything to do with Major League Baseball or its affiliates).

So maybe it’s not a black/white thing. Maybe it’s just a crazy/sane thing.

*Why is it, by the way, that when in public white people always seem to whisper the world black when using it as a modifier for guy/man/girl/gal? Are black people whispering “white guy” when the situation is reversed? I doubt it.

** Side note: Please explain this – If I, as a white man, say that I prefer to date white women, or that I find them more attractive, that could rub people the wrong way. You’re almost certain to get a tired, “That’s racist” crack from a friend. If a black man doesn’t verbally express the same point but only dates black women, it isn’t considered the same thing. Is it a simple matter of voicing the opinion which makes it “wrong”? I’d argue that neither side is wrong, that they’re in fact the same.