After a long absence from the stands, Richard returned to Hobbs last night for a 7:00match-up to watch his friends in the Eastsiders get (easily) trampled under the motorcycle boots of Slow Ride Roadhouse. There may have been fans watching kickball somewhere in Larryville on this lovely summer evening, but the bleachers at Hobbs were largely deserted save for: Richard; gentleman farmer Dave G; Brooklyn-via-Kansas hipster Captain Chanute; the second prettiest Replay bartendress (in our opinion); a Mohawked fellow lovingly carving his kickball cleats with a large and terrifying knife; and a cluster of old folks perhaps in attendance to support their hipster offspring (there is nothing here to be proud of, folks! move along! it's simply a bunch of drunk folks playing kickball). In the absence of any kind of on-field shenanigans, Richard and Dave entertained themselves by speculating on whether it would rain or not during the game. It didn't.
Verdict: 0 out of 4 PBRs (because none of Richard's friends on the team bothered to offer him a cool and shitty-tasting beverage).
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Richard sometimes performs a few raps during set breaks by the Leotards* at Saturday night house parties on Missouri Street, and he's been looking for a few new tracks to add to his repertoire. Perhaps something from Big Boi's new album, Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty, could be just what he's looking for. But does Pitchfork offer their essential seal of approval?
Boy, do they ever! The album gets an ultra-high 9.2. Let's look at some excerpts from the review:
"Musically, the album drips with 1980s synth-funk signifiers. The keyboards glimmer as they roam, and talkboxes mutter and blurt. But these tracks aren't the stoned miasmas that someone like Dâm-Funk cranks out. Instead, they're itchy and fleet-footed."
Nice description, Pitchfork, as always! Indeed, we might add that the tracks are so itchy you won't know whether to shake your ass or scratch your balls!
Pitchfork also offers this assessment of the Big Boi persona:
"He's hard enough to tell you to get the South's dick up out your motherfucking mouth and draw blood with the command, but he's also clever enough to slide away from threats just as quickly. He spends a large chunk of the album talking about sex, sounding like a fired-up 11-year-old goofing off in the back of some sort of prodigy-level English class."
That's pretty much the persona we've always been going for at the LC as well. Let's take a look at the chorus of Big Boi's "Fo Yo Sorrows."
"For those who think life is unfair
'cause I blow my smoke in the air
As if no one is standin there
Then I'll roll one tonight, fo' yo' sorrows
In my chair, as I sit back smiling from ear to ear
With a fistful of your girlfriend's hair
Yes, she'll blow one tonight, fo' yo' sorrows"
It takes a truly great rapper to discover the melancholia that lies behind an evening of weed and blowjobs. What a powerful image as Boi kicks back and takes his rewards while the sorrow-filled world rages on around him, as witnessed in the topical references that comprise the song's verses:
"'member when the levee scream, made the folks evacua-ezz
Yeah, I'm still speakin about it 'cause New Orleans ain't clean
When we shout Dirty South, I don't think that is what we mean"
He's right. That's not what we mean at all.
*Leotards = best local band you haven't heard.
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