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I never really liked the Beatles: Maybe it was coming from a family that chose the wrong side of the cultural revolution? Maybe it was my anti-pop, anti-corporate bboy stance, a result of being raised by that same family and a well-developed commitment to anything my pubescent mind considered “establishment”? And by that time the Beatles, in all their hallowed glory and holiday boxed CD sets represented nothing more than that to me.  I for sure don’t know shit about the intricacies of jazz:  I am not a student of music. I wish someone had grabbed me by the ears, like the nuns did in Catholic school, for something other than petty theft or not tucking my shirt in, and made me do it. Also, I was lazy and prone to cutting corners. I still tend to gravitate toward the path of least resistance...

When I used to live in California, my roommates and I would sort of meet up around the same time every day after work. We'd dick around for an hour or so, talk about what food to cook or whatever, prepare to intoxicate ourselves, and then walk towards Sands Beach in Isla Vista, CA. There we'd then sit in silence and watch the surfers watch the sun sink into the ocean. I never really remembered us making plans to actually do that, it just turned into something that anywhere from two to seven of us would end up doing anywhere from three to seven nights a week.  Call it instictual, call it habit, call it the perfect time to separate mind from body, but it turned into something that I sort of carried with me into my early adult years. Now that I'm over 35, I don't have the luxury of enjoying...

I sat on this song all weekend.  Meaning, I started it and then tuned out, almost on purpose, before starting the song over. If you looked at my play count it would reach into the two tree dozens. It somehow distracted me from my own distractions. Was Geti singing? Did I like it? Why am I so sad? But then why am I so comfortable in this sadness? Was this dude talking about anxiety? I've been thinking a lot about my own anxiety these last few weeks. Is me addressing my anxiety enough to conquer it? I've been making a lot of assumptions about the image I portray and relying on people's opinions of me instead of what I assume to be the real me, but that gives me anxiety too.  "Doctor My Own Patience" deserves your attention for a few plays, at least. Serengeti + Sicker Man sort of...

I consider Kauf one of my favorite fonts.  It isn't like his music is just a "type", or of a certain "style", it's that his music is so fucking appreciated I use it like I use my favorite fonts; all day, and sometimes in all caps, and occasionally bold and underlined, much like my wardrobe. His new jamjam, "Pacify", feels like that one scene in Revenge of the Nerds where the dude gets lucky in the moon bounce with the hot cheerleader. While you aren't necessarily certain if you're going to get anything wet, when you finally ascertain the proper amount of warmth and moisture, you're weightless, happy, arms flailing every which way. You're just fucking fuck-happy.  Kauf makes me post-moon bounce coitus happy. (SOMEONE PUT THAT ON HIS NEXT PRESS EMAIL!) IS ANYONE ELSE FUCK-HAPPY...

I'M BUSY. IF I WAS STAYING IN A HOTEL ROOM I WOULD HAVE PUT THE PLACARD ON THE DOOR HANDLE ALREADY BRO. WHAT AM I DOING YOU AXE? I AM PERFORMING AIR DRUMS FOR THE BAND HEMBREE BRO. HOLD MY BEER. I'M ABOUT TO GO IN. Holy fuck I love this. Hembree is like the Trainspotting soundtrack just pegged the band Foals and they livestreamed it on facebooks so all of us could salivate and shit our pants simultaneously. I always love when I see the visual wavelength of a song and it's ALL MAXXXED THE FUCK OUT, and then when I hit play it doesn't disappoint! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!  "Holy Water" is now the soundtrack to me walking out of work tonight on the way to an adminstration committee meeting where we discuss tax abatements and tax levy estimates AND I PLAY THE BEST CONFERENCE ROOM TABLE DRUMS...

I don't know how this dude keeps making music that simultaneously puts me in a food coma and makes me want tacos. Normally it's the latter then the former, but here Koresma knows I'm hungry, but taps me with his witchin' stick on the forehead and I'm splayed bro. I'M SPLAYED THE FUCK OUT. Koresma makes relaxing and erotic synonymous. "Sun Begins To Pour", with the benefit of sultry and lilty (sultrilty?) vocals from Alaska Reid, sounds like a week-long orgy where everyone gets a goodie bag filled with footie pajamas and a 4oz bottle of lean. If a song has ever made someone want to wear those socks that are just a few inches south of the taint when pulled up all the way, then I don't know how else to convince you that that's a great idea and you look like a tumblr post bro. Life...

No fucking clue who this woman is besides her being the vessel that just delivered a whole bunch of hormonal nostalgia of being a 14 year old kid listening to Sarah McLachlan's Fumbling Towards Ecstacy. Holy shit, can you hear that? Sarah was the first woman I knew only by what her voice did to me on the inside. Aces seems like the modern version of that sort of hazy chill that November mornings are known for, but holy hell does this voice make me want to hump a pillow or steal a glance towards that next door neighbor girl with the super hot tight rolled jeans.  "If I Could Be Your Girl" is the equivalent of three nights of steady nocturnal emissions, two days of forgetting to put on deodorant after gym class, and one unbelievably confused and horny high school freshman who doesn...