Clams Casino decided to just casually tweet this new track featuring MF Doom. Check what 2 very distinctive and unique artists came up with below!

OSP rapper Quan The Padawan releases his mixtape debut by the name of Daimyo. 

Download: http://o-s-p.bandcamp.com/album/daimyo-2

(Note: This article originally appeared in The Silhouette)

Normally, most people develop a healthy liking for a band that stretches from their angst-ridden teenage years to when they’re married with children and no longer make have time to listen to music. In opposition, a select group of fans let their mild affection evolve from a weekend pastime to a deep-rooted infatuation that pervades every waking hour. These members of society have been somewhat derogatorily dubbed fangirls/fanboys.

I have been an unabashed Vampire Weekend fanboy since 2009. Step into my room and you will be hard-pressed to find a patch of wall that is not plastered with computer printouts, show posters, and album art. Browse through my record collection, and you’ll chance upon the givens — the self-titled debut, Contra, and soon-to-be-released Modern Vampires of The City (on white vinyl, natch) —along with some rare finds like their early singles “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” and “The Kids Don’t Stand A Chance” on yellow and white 7-inch vinyl, respectively. I can rap bar for bar with lead singer, Ezra Koenig, on all the tracks from his short-lived rap group, L’Homme Run. I’m even friends with Bryn on Facebook — yes, the namesake of track seven on their first record.

Forget the Beatles. Ezra, Rostam, Baio, and CT are my Fab Four. So when I heard that Ez and Rostam would be appearing on Much Music on March 25, I effectively retained as much of my graceful composure as a Jane Austen heroine. That is to say, none at all, but I managed to pull myself together long enough to email the event co-ordinator and reserve my seats.

After revelling in the news with some fellow V-Dubz fans, I praised my luck. Having been counting down the minutes until their show on May 16, I had been expecting to see them soon, but not “less-than-a-week” soon. The following days passed in a blur and I suddenly found myself in Toronto, Sharpie and boundless optimism in tow.

Each street corner was turned with the hope that I’d stumble upon two of my heroes, but fate had other plans. Although currently struggling under the megalomaniacal tyrant, Rob Ford, Toronto seemed like a better place that day due to the fact that half of VW was somewhere amidst the depths of the impersonal concrete jungle.

Sheer adrenaline must have played a part in making time move faster, because the next thing I knew I was being shepherded into the studio along with droves of other fans, the majority of them female. The co-ordinator had told me that one’s place in the audience was not determined by one’s place in line. Confused, I soon realized that the studio crew held full control and tried to place an even number of girls and guys in the cameras’ view.

Given the lack of males, I was planted firmly behind the couch, which meant I’d be admiring the back of my favourite musicians’ heads. My fortunes changed when the director was picking out members of the audience to ask questions on air. I raised my hand without hesitation, already with two ideas in mind, and my eagerness was rewarded with a coveted spot on the couch facing the interviewees.

To pass time, I got to know the other fans on the couch while fretfully going over the question I had in mind so that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself on national television. My first instinct was to poke fun at the plentiful lyrical references to fire on the new tracks and ask if they had been reading Dante’s Inferno in the studio, but then I remembered my friend had been pestering the band as to whether a banjo would find its way onto MVOTC and decided to humour her (shoutsout Addison). After the director handed me a microphone and wished me good luck, my heart went into my mouth and I realized that we were about to go live. I vacuously listened to the VJ go through his motions before finally introducing Vampire Weekend. Craning my neck, I spotted Ez and Rostam high-fiving their way through a makeshift human tunnel and emerge to sonorous applause.

As trivial as it may sound, I was dumbfounded by their presence a mere six feet away. I tried to take a picture with my phone, but was shaking so hard that the result was a hazy blur. After five minutes of listening to the two discuss details of the new album, I felt more lucid and was ready when the VJ broke off his interview to say “We have an audience question from Tomi in the crowd, huge Vampire Weekend fan, what do you wanna ask them, Tomi?”

I cleared my throat, but my voice rose about five octaves as it so often does when I become anxious. With the nasal tone of a pre-pubescent 11 year-old, I asked, “Hi, I was wondering if you could reveal which song on LP3 would be featuring a banjo?” Perhaps to soothe my nerves, Ezra replied untruthfully, “Good question.” Smiling demurely, Rostam took the reins from there and said, “Well, it’s pretty subtle, but it’s the song ‘Hannah Hunt’ and it comes in on the second verse of the song.” That satisfied me to no end, and apparently the show too, as they cut to a commercial soon afterwards.

Note: I first appear at the 5:37 mark

This is where I had to pinch myself to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. After putting down his microphone, Ezra languidly rose from the couch and strode over to where I was sitting. With his lanky arm outstretched, he shook my hand and said, “Hey Tomi, I recognize you from Twitter” (note: I’ve had a few interactions with him on the social network). Wide-eyed, I looked at Rostam, who nodded and said with a smile, “Hey, Tomi”. Not missing a beat, Ezra began talking to me about their last show in Toronto on Sept. 7, 2010. I was shocked to hear that he remembered almost as much of it as I did; from when he rapped T-Pain’s line about Toronto condos on “Can’t Believe It” before launching into “California English”, to the drunken guy in the Cheers shirt. As there were many more people waiting for a chance to meet the two, I settled for a quick picture with them using my disposable camera before saying my goodbyes (rather regretfully, I might add).

Though the film remains undeveloped, I already have a place of honour reserved on my wall for the special photo. As Ezra sings on “Ya Hey”, I’ll ride with Vampire Weekend “through the fire, and through the flames.”

Order physical copies of Modern Vampires of The City (Vinyl, CD) from XL Recordings

For detractors of The Strokes — yes, they seem to come out of the woodwork whenever a new album is released — the jabs about the New York rockers’ latest offering write themselves (i.e. Comedown Machine isn’t a Comeback Machine). But what is perplexing is the number of reviews that neglected the music and turned into savage ad hominem attacks of the Fab Five.

It’s been a while since Julian Casablancas, Nick Valensi, Albert Hammond Jr., Nikolai Fraiture, and Fab Moretti released what were arguably their best works in Is This It and Room On Fire. The first of the two defined a generation who oozed antipathy towards an increasingly neoliberal society and vented their frustration, some of it sexual, on tracks like ‘New York City Cops’ and ‘Take It Or Leave It’. The latter album saw them expound on their raw, unfiltered sound but with more finesse and wherewithal, cementing them as the music world’s darlings.

 But suddenly, it became “uncool” to like The Strokes. Perhaps it was due to something inconsequential — maybe Julian snubbed Ryan Schrieber at a bar — but “tastemakers” (cough, cough) like Pitchfork had turned their backs on The Strokes, or rather gotten off their knees and tried to dust their prides off.

Sure, The Strokes may have suffered some soap opera-like problems of late (Angles was made with Julian emailing vocals to the rest of the band, who worked without him in the studio). But it seems like the guys have let bygones be bygones and agreed to keep things professional. Album opener, ‘Tap Out’, is rousing piece of funk that challenges the media’s authoritative tone — “Decide my past, Define my life, Don’t ask questions, Cause I don’t know why” — and manages to sound inviting and foreboding at the same time.

Seond single, ‘All The Time’, seems like a laboured attempt to reproduce the magic of their early heyday and appease naysayers, but it falls flat. The song is interesting enough, with clever chord changes, a tight solo and a vintage Casablancas verse, but the band seems better off with their new sound.

Speaking of their new direction, ‘One Way Trigger’ befuddled listeners when it was released earlier this year. It found Casablancas indulging in his passion for retro synths and even featured the frontman singing in a rare falsetto. The track wouldn’t have appeared at odds with the lead singer’s eclectic solo work, but Fraiture’s distinctive bass acted as a constant reminder that this was indeed a Strokes song, and a good one, even if it did demand an acquired taste.

‘Welcome To Japan’ is a standout that captures the certain rawness of old times with its loose rendition. Even though Casablancas has a fairly limited vocal range, the same can’t be said for his creative lyrics and how he alters the inflection of his voice to subtly evoke different emotions. And how can you not nod in agreement when the ever-sardonic Casablancas ponders, “what kind of asshole drives a Lotus?”

The Strokes don’t need to be making music, but the laughter that punctuates the end of ‘Slow Animals’ reveals that at least they’re having fun doing it. The same can’t be said for some of the miserable, sadistic critics whose writing perspective has been jaded by what seems like a hatred of the world. Besides, maybe we should all take a cue from Julian, who sings “we don’t have to know each other’s names” on ‘Tapout’ and discard the auteur theory. Listen to what you like without judging the artist’s personality (except for Chris Brown, be ruthless with that scum).

As Hov wisely said, “N*ggas want my old shit, buy my old albums“. The Strokes could echo that sentiment, but if you’re jonsin for the Fab Five of yore:

(Note: This review originally appeared in The Silhouette)

Following the enormous success of the FutureSex/LoveSounds, Justin Timberlake fell off the musical map and let his ceaseless ambition guide him down other career avenues. He’s proven his acting chops playing Napster founder Sean Parker in David Fincher’s The Social Network, but only after letting them go to waste on slapstick slop like The Love Guru. Ever the crowd-pleaser, he distanced himself from his boy-band image while performing the highly entertaining History of Rap with Jimmy Fallon. Timberlake seemed to remain in character as Mr. Parker, adopting the same energy he brought to the role of the entrepreneur while recently hosting Saturday Night Live.

Sadly, it looked like JT had no desire to make another album. That said, it’s not like the R&B virtuoso had anything to prove. He certainly had more pressing matters to tend to after finally tying the knot with long-time girlfriend Jessica Biel (that one deserves a slow clap).

Matrimony must have ignited a creative fuse in Timberlake, as he once again had the urge to get in the studio. Following the indirect advice of collaborator Jay-Z, JT kept the circle very close-knit and the walls tall on the follow-up to his seminal work, FutureSex/LoveSounds. Enlisting the help of his good friend and super-producer Timbaland, along with J-Roc and songwriter James Fauntleroy, Timberlake primed himself for a triumphant return to the world stage.

Choosing to keep the public in the dark regarding his comeback (but as LL Cool J would say, he “been here for years”), Timberlake cryptically toyed with eager fans regarding the prospects of a new album through Twitter before setting the record straight with a brief video on Youtube that announced his imminent return.

The lead single “Suit & Tie” featured Jay-Z and was released to immense scrutiny. Sampling a deep soul cut from 1973 – Sly, Slick & Wicked’s “Sho Nuff” – the track was a statement to industry and casual listeners alike that Timberlake was not shooting for radio airtime with this record. Instead, the silky smooth beat pandered to an audience that appreciated a more leisurely 95 bpm range (so, basically, no one born after ‘86 as well as Kanye West). While it clocks in at just under five and a half minutes, “Suit & Tie” is the second shortest track on the album (“That Girl” takes top honours with a lowly 4:49 run-time), which again reinforces Justin’s plan to overshoot the radio altogether.

But the sprawling and ambitious remainder of the album is certainly worthy of the club – DJs will be scrambling to incorporate parsed-down versions of the songs into their mixes. Whereas FutureSex/LoveSounds revolved around a feeling of intense sexual frustration and yearning, 20/20 Experience finds us listening to a more mature, self-assured Timberlake. On “Don’t Hold The Wall,” Timbo experiments with Bhaṅgṛā rhythms in his production, while JT croons the straightforward, titular hook with a verve that brings memories of his NSYNC days rushing back. “Tunnel Vision” is perhaps most reminiscent of his past album, with its glistening synths adding to the feeling that Justin is still prone to being lovestoned. But the song’s relatively celibate focus on one female subject suggests that he’s been able to settle down. “Let the Groove Get In” is what James Brown’s “Get Up Offa That Thing” would sound like if it were placed on steroids and charged with an electrifying carnality that has come to be Timberlake’s touchstone.

“Mirrors” is a heartwarmingly sentimental ode to his “other half” in Biel that will surely serve as a fitting  backdrop for the first dance of the more contemporary couples getting married this summer. The album ends with “Blue Ocean Floor,” a song with a hazily nebulous and murky instrumental palette that encapsulates the feeling of waking up with your significant other and deciding to spend the day lounging about in bed.

But as many will be happy to learn, Justin revealed that this sense of lethargy didn’t pervade in the studio, as he plans to release the second volume of The 20/20 Experience later this year. Which kind of makes sense, since ten songs in addition to another ten gives us 20/20 vision.

Buy The 20/20 Experience on iTunes

Buy tickets for JT’s and Jay-Z’s Legends of The Summer tour

Tyler drops barbie-like new visuals to the Pharell assisted track ‘IFHY’ off his album ‘Wolf’ which comes out Arpil 2nd. Directed by Wolf Haley, the video features Tyler as a plastic figure and a situation of unrequited love which causes things to get a little weird. Love this video!

(Note: Originally appeared in The Silhouette)

(Photos by Hannah Jor)

Although Toronto’s Kool Haus is better fit for raves than psychedelic rock concerts, the easygoing Aussies that comprise Tame Impala made themselves at home this past Saturday. The quintet of Kevin Parker (vocals/guitar), Jay Watson (synth, vocals), Dominic Simper (guitar/synth), Nick Allbrook (bass) and Julien Barbagglo (drums) displayed an ability to acclimatize that seems beyond their years.

An eclectic sold-out crowd of upwards of 2000 people filled the warehouse-like venue, attesting to the band’s heady rise to prominence as a must-see act. From the stonewashed Levis-wearing older men who probably have Rolling Stone subscriptions and stories about the Aerosmith shows they drove cross-country to see in the ‘70s, to the bespectacled hipsters who just got off shifts at artisanal, fair-trade coffee shops on Queen Street, I was among good company.

Fellow Perth natives The Growl did a good job of keeping the anxious crowd attentive – or at least as well as anyone opening for Tame Impala can. “Smoke It Down to the Bone” was a groovy piece of stoner blues-rock that was commandeered by an earth-shaking bassline and the frontman’s grizzly vocals. To say that they are the Aussie version of The Black Keys — except they haven’t sold out (no shots, though) — would be fair, but they exceed the comparison.

After a quick soundcheck, which may have just felt that way because of the plentiful number of drinks imbibed, Tame Impala suddenly strode on stage to clamorous applause. Without greeting the multitude of fans, the band complacently jammed before launching into Innerspeaker standout “Solitude Is Bliss.” Even when distorted by vocoder, Parker’s John Lennon-like vocals sent girls swooning into fits. Although the song is about the frontman’s introverted mentality, it brought the crowd together as they ironically sang along to lyrics meant to alienate him from others: “you will never come close to how I feel.”

Flanked by a projection screen that displayed trippy visuals and whose fluctuations seemed to be synced with Parker’s Rickenbacker guitar, the band deftly wove their way through Lonerism’s “Apocalypse Dreams” without appearing to be phased by the large crowd. Heavily touted for their live performances, the band showed their worth with “Music To Walk Home By,” which, even through the Kool Haus’ shoddy sound system, sounded better than the studio version. Sure, the band might’ve employed a genius sound engineer, but the jam-packed closing minute of the song was too well performed to be a fluke. Not content to give the crowd a breather, Allbrook sent the fans into a rabid state with the visceral bassline of “Elephant”. Those who had been politely swaying to and fro lost any sense of middle-class reservation and avidly banged their heads along to the fuzzy jam reminiscent of the ‘60s.

Tame Impala ramped the energy up even further with their sophomore record’s clear standout, “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards.” In a brief three minutes, the band expressed their mastery of the oft-done wrong psychedelic genre in a perfect sonic blend of their maximalist use of technology. The 14-song set was tight, but short (too much so) enough to leave everyone pining for more.

Although he had the crowd ready to proclaim him Toronto’s new mayor (God knows he’d fare better than the current KFC poster-boy in office), Parker maintained a steady distance from the concert-goers and made little banter other than to thank everyone for their support. But even without that paltry bit of interaction, the band’s music was more than enough to captivate. Tame Impala is clearly on their way to selling out bigger venues, and next time they roll through Toronto they may well have graduated to the stunning acoustics of Massey Hall. Along with many others, I look forward to it.

Setlist

Solitude is Bliss
Apocalypse Dreams
Be Above It
Endors Toi
Music to Walk Home By
Elephant
Why Won’t You Make Up Your Mind?
Feels Like We Only Go Backwards
Keep on Lying
Mind Mischief
Alter Ego
It is Not Meant to Be
Half Full Glass of Wine

Encore

Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control

(Note: Originally published in The Silhouette on Valentine’s Day)

It’s pretty easy to hate Lena Dunham’s breakout show, Girls. Some have said the show depicts a lazy, self-indulgent generation who have no clue how to act as functioning members of society. Lena herself has been slandered by the media for coming across as entitled and failing to write a wider array of ethnicities into the show. It is as if critics can’t separate Lena’s character, Hannah, from herself. That in itself is a testament to why the show has garnered so much acclaim; it’s real, almost painfully so at times. Each week’s episode is akin to watching the cast take a 30-minute crash course on life, love and friendship, which often become indistinguishable and leads to disastrous results.

There’s much that can be written about Girls (like it’s cringe-worthy use of a token blackie) but considering the much-maligned “holiday” taking place today I think it apt to talk about what the characters can teach us about love.

1. Avoid pursuing anyone who mistakes you for a sex-toy

Hannah spends a good deal of time chasing after a sloppy carpenter/actor who doesn’t place any value in her (or so it seems). Adam and her are no Romeo and Juliet – they don’t “make love,” they fuck. In his presence she loses any semblance of self-respect and passively submits to degrading sex positions. But we later realize that Adam is scared to commit to someone who is solely interested in what he can do in bed and not his inner-workings. Moral of the story: those who respect themselves demand it from others.

Adam literally urinates on Hannah as a joke in the shower…never do that, guys.

 3. Be kind, but don’t put your significant other on a pedestal

In stark contrast to Adam is his antithesis Charlie, the painfully devoted boyfriend. But since Charlie’s girlfriend Marnie is played by the stunning Allison Williams he can almost be pardoned for this blunder. His prolonged reverential treatment of Marnie has lulled their relationship to the point where “his touch feels like a weird uncle.” His love evidently comes from a sincere place, but no one enjoys being smothered. A collective groan was surely uttered when he pleaded for her not to abandon him again just as she was going down on him. Lesson? Don’t be that guy. Just keep it real and don’t let your romanticized vision of a person send your expectations soaring, only to have them come crashing down when confronted by reality.

 4. Honesty is endearing

 Shoshanna quickly won everyone’s hearts with her frankness and naïve quips that acted as comedic relief and revealed a refreshing innocence (literally – she’s a virgin). After an incident involving mistakenly-smoked crack, Shoshana initiates a relationship with Ray, the surly guy who would eventually deflower her. It’s important to occasionally step out of your comfort zone – though perhaps not always through a narcotics-fuelled bender.

5. Read a book (or just entertain other hobbies)Zosia Mamet (Shoshanna) recently expressed on Conan just how bleak the dating scene is: “I’m kind of a weirdo, but 90 per cent of the time when I go on dates, I find myself thinking that I could be reading my book.” If you find yourself on a ceaseless string of disappointing dates, take a breather and just focus on yourself. Having a sense of direction is something we all aspire to, and seeing it in someone else can be alluring. As grotesquely Nicholas Sparks-like as this may sound, love may find you when you least expect it – such as when you’re watching the new episode of Girlsat a friend’s house.

Disclaimer: Love? Shit, I don’t know

The rap-conscious public first heard of Pusha T after he formed a group called Clipse with his brother Malice in 1992. His rapidfire cadence is as striking now as it was then, but his circumstances have changed dramatically. As he put it in a freestyle on Funkmaster Flex’s Hot 97 radio show, “Malice found religion” and is rapping no longer. Pusha himself was signed to Kanye West’s G.O.O.D Music in March 2010 and lent a slew of topnotch verses to Yeezy’s masterpiece, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Now a few months away from his debut under Ye’s tutelage, My Name Is My Name, (which is either a clever reference to The Wire or Exodus 3:14), Pusha is looking to generate hype in the streets with a mixtape and he does this and more on the absolutely grimy Wrath of Caine.

Ye’s cleaned Pusha up well, but somone call 911 on that horrendous tie knot.

Though his coke-dealing days are a thing of the past, Terrence Thornton isn’t one to let you forget how hard he is and is grinding in another way. The tape is littered with gems, but ‘Millions’ is definitely the track that boasts the most sheer grandeur and understandably will be included on the upcoming album. As you could have guessed, ‘Millions’ speaks of the lavish lifestyle the Virginia native has come to enjoy after years of being underappreciated.

But the stale trope of opulence takes on a new sheen under the production of Southside. As if to warrant the claim that “this shit sound like God, don’t it,” Pusha enlists larger-than-life Rick Ross to drop some bars. Responding to the challenge, Rozay brings a childlike exuberance to the song, proclaiming “I got this, I got that/I got that, I got this” which beckons the image of a spoiled kid bragging to his crew after Christmas.

Rozay and Push

The simple hook of “millions in the ceiling, choppas in the closet” is liable to get engrained in your head as it did for me and unfortunately my mother as well, who had gotten fed up with the song reverberating throughout the house and walked into my room to reprimand me as I was miming throwing money stacks in the air. I assure you nothing is more humbling than having the woman that raised you laugh at your attempts to emulate a hardened rapper and his trademark snarl. The rest of the tape is phenomenal, with French Montana offering his best Future-impression on his ‘Doesn’t Matter’ hook, and Pusha rapping pugnaciously over Young Chop’s ‘Blocka’.