20060903

Dialysis: A Requiem in Three Parts

Young Buck [feat. Jazze Pha]: If You Want Some
DJ Smallz & Rick Ross: Southern Smoke # 28 - Heat Wave

"...if we can name names at all in the way this poll presumes is somehow natural then we would have to name Jazze Pha for both “Lose Control” and “1, 2 Step” which right there gives him one more perfect song than the guy who will win this poll and oh also he made tremendous tracks on albums by Nelly, Slim Thug, Young Jeezy, Bun B, Trina, David Banner, Jacki-O and I can’t even remember what all else, this was his year even if he’s not a sonic adventurist on par with the other great producers of the millennium but this is his year because he made more good minutes of music listening than anyone else but also because he is better at narrating both cultural history and daily life through dance beats than anyone since Nile Rodgers & Bernard Edwards which is to say Jazze Pha makes the most embodied music of this particular time and place..."

This is an excerpt and I don't want to misquote, misinterpret, misappropriate or misognynize (yuk-yuk) in any way, so I urge you to read the above linked post in its entirety, despite the fact that it's nine months old and is a flittery attempt at run-on as poetics w/r/t the possibly now-defunct Pazz n Jop poll. I admire the verve in Jane Dark's voice. But verve and taste are naturally about as alike as fishscale and Fishbone. Which is to say, shut the fuck up. I, like most every person I know that dwells on R&B and hip-hop, loathe Phalon Alexander. His drops, ("Ladies and gentlemen...") are the beckoning of Satan's army, one-two-stepping to demonstrative foolishness, but they're just a drop in the bucket of bile I have for his music and have always been bemused if beguiled by any sort of critical appreciation for the man. And yet, if I so choose, I can avoid him at all costs. No Ciara, No LeToya, and so on. A pass was granted to Tip, in accordance with the Atlanta code. Though it is worth mentioning that "Let's Get Away" and "Get Loose" are among the absolute worst things that Mr. Harris has ever been a part of and the lack of Pha-talism on KING, was a grand gesture toward establishing his once-unclaimable-though-now-so-very-necessary title: Purple-people-eater. But. But. But...

But...

But. But Mr. Phizzle, now you've gone too far. In the metaphorical sense, for certain, but also, in your travels to Memphis, Tennekey, where the Buck-aloes roam, you've come too far and you've poisoned all that is sacred. When things don't go as we hope they will (Lebanon, David Mark Carr, the weather, romantic endeavors, cooking, Little Miss Sunshine) there has always been Young Buck, not just a guiding light, groggy in sentiment but vociferous enough to raise spirits. Jazze Pha, with those very same sine lines, those very very same bass notes, those very same "WHOOOOO-EEEEE!"s he built a deacade's fuckery on, invades an inner sanctum and thus begins the descent of a decent, and we mean decent in the highest regard, as in "You're a decent kind of man" the sort of thing Belles say to otherwise scurrilous cowpoke, man. For the first time, I'm concerned about the decency of Buck the World. It is with great sincerity, we deliver to Pha and loyal subjects, Pha-lites: Buck you. Stay away from our man.