Wesley Willis, RIP

Well fuck. Wesley Willis died. Read this amazing letter from Jello Biafra, probably the best thing he’s written since In God We Trust, Inc..

I remember the first time I saw Wesley at the Metro in Chicago. I can’t remember what band I was seeing, but Wesley was in the lobby after selling his CDs.

Then when AT put out his record he came to LA and stayed with (and headbutted — “Gimme a headbutt say rawr!”) Pat D.

And for anyone who’s ever used Winamp, the “Winamp really whips the llama’s ass” can be traced back (albeit indirectly) to Wesley Willis.

Sad. The letter from Jello is really touching.

Yes, The Music Industry *Is* High

My hats off to Ronnie at Universal Records NYC:

“According to reports, $1 million dollars worth of marijuana was delivered to Universal Records’ NY offices last week. A box weighing 150 pounds, addressed to ‘Ronnie,’ caught the eye of security guards, who attempted to X-ray the box. Upon opening, guards found four smaller boxes containing the drugs. They promptly called the FBI.”

I asked a friend who works at Universal records, “WHO IS RONNIE?!” His reply, “I dont know, but he sounds cool.”

Y’all People Done Lost Your Minds

Aceyalone‘s “Book of Human Language” (which came out circa ’98) is still among my favorites. Anyone that thinks MCs are talkin loud and sayin nothin needs to spend some time with that record. He gets deep and it all works so well musically. Like Masta Ace’s “Slaughtahouse”, Sly’s “Fresh”, or Willie Nelson’s “Spirit” (yeah, Willie Nelson, biatch) it’s one of those albums that trancends genres and just represents someone’s soul dumped out into album format.

His previous record, put out on Capitol just before they went, “Er, hm, we don’t need an urban department” was pretty wonderous, too. Add “All Balls Don’t Bounce” to your list if you’re doing some Aceyalone shopping.

Anyway (I’ll get to the point now) Ace has a new record and unfortunately I can’t give it as incredible a review. It’s above average for underground hip hop, but that ain’t sayin much these days. Still, the single is tremendous. Here ’tis. Click here and Real Player will play it for you.

Y’all People Done Lost Your Minds

Aceyalone‘s “Book of Human Language” (which came out circa ’98) is still among my favorites. Anyone that thinks MCs are talkin loud and sayin nothin needs to spend some time with that record. He gets deep and it all works so well musically. Like Masta Ace’s “Slaughtahouse”, Sly’s “Fresh”, or Willie Nelson’s “Spirit” (yeah, Willie Nelson, biatch) it’s one of those albums that trancends genres and just represents someone’s soul dumped out into album format.

His previous record, put out on Capitol just before they went, “Er, hm, we don’t need an urban department” was pretty wonderous, too. Add “All Balls Don’t Bounce” to your list if you’re doing some Aceyalone shopping.

Anyway (I’ll get to the point now) Ace has a new record and unfortunately I can’t give it as incredible a review. It’s above average for underground hip hop, but that ain’t sayin much these days. Still, the single is tremendous. Here ’tis. Click here and Real Player will play it for you.

Just wanted to share. That was the point of this post. Sharing is good. Music is the best. Have some.

Paul Fucking Hastings

Time to brag a little bit.

I’m friends with Paul Hastings. Yes, Paul Hastings. From his bio, “Paul Hastings is a top law firm with nearly 900 attorneys in eight U.S. and five overseas offices in major financial and government centers.” You think being a lawyer is hard, imagine how long you have to go to school to actually BE A FUCKING LAW FIRM.

We go way back to skate camp when we were 14. We’ve travelled the world together and he’s driven my drunk ass home from the east side many an evening. We are bros.

He still works at Sakebomb, spends most of his time alternately playing frisbee with Hola, putting Hola in the cone, playing banjo, falling asleep minutes before he is supposed to leave to meet someone, and drinking. Which is pretty humble considering he has his own skyscraper in downtown Los Angeles.

Next time you’re on the 110 and see Paul’s name in the sky, don’t think of him. Think of me. I’m his friend, goddammit.

ian