For most of the “normal” people out there (and rest assured, the fact that you’re simply reading this blog hereby absolves you of the “normal” label), there are only seven days in each week. Five of them are work days, and the remaining two, despite being defined as days of rest, are really just days where you can catch up on the ridiculous amount of chore that the previous work days bring forth, and thus, in my eyes, there’s no such thing as a weekend. Erm… there was no such thing.
Fortunately for you and I, we are, as I mentioned earlier, a massive collection of very not normal people. We listen to music. And not because others tell us to. We listen to music because we understand the power that it has to grab your hand, and show you the world through a different pair of shoes each and every day. And this, my friends, is why our weeks are not, in fact, built around an ever present stack of unfinished papers; Sure, there are days where we’ve got to earn the money to support the rather expensive habit, but (at least for the Los Angeles posse), rather than following a rigid seven day routine, our weeks are actually malleable, spans of time that derive their only structure around the most important day of the week: Amoeba Day. [Should you be finding yourself confused, it is likely due to the fact that you do not live in California, and have (unfortunately) not been made aware of the world famous, "Amoeba Music". Not to worry; You need only to replace "Amoeba" with the name of your favorite record store (You do buy records, do you not? And Tower doesn't count) to make sense of it all.]
Even if you were not previously aware, you’ve probably experienced this near holiday before. It’s the day where you make an effort to gather up all of your most musically inclined friends, free your mind and body of all worry and angst, and promise yourself that you shall not leave the store until you’ve gathered enough beats and bangs to hold you over until the end of the next disco-week.
Yesterday was my Amoeba day, and for the first time in quite a while, it was nothing close to what I expected. Indeed, I still came home with enough music to tide me over for a considerable while, but while this amount of music usually comes in the form of armfuls of cds and assorted records, this time it was but one album.
You’d think that since I’ve spent nearly five hundred words explaining the backstory on this record, that it must have been a pretty significant one on my list, but in reality, this couldn’t be further from the truth. My familiarity with Flying Lotus until this point had been limited to a single EP, and the few tracks that the Lotus has licensed to for use on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim, and so my decision to buy a copy wasn’t even made confidently. (Especially because of the unholy prices established by our good friends over at Warp [Sony] Records) Now, at this point, you’re probably expecting me to explain how after listening to the first track off the album, I was thoroughly impressed and couldn’t stop listening and blah blah blah, but strangely enough, that is not actually what happened. Instead, I found myself confused, and stuck in a peculiar transition period, almost as though the standards I had previously used to judge good music from bad were being manipulated by Flying Lotus’s fist. And I started to hear crazy things; Things that I would never have dreamed could have found a rightful place in music, particularly the massive usage of seemingly misplaced beats, somehow worked their way through the tracks without causing the flow to choke up, and despite the fact that I knew it shouldn’t, it sounded fantastic.
To put it short, I’m shocked with the subtle power this album keeps hidden under the surface. I’ve listened to it multiple times over, and each time continues to be a completely new experience, in which the beats sound progressively more right.
If you’re only to read one thing in this entire, unnecessarily long post, it should be that you please allow yourself to listen to these tracks more than a couple times before deciding how you feel; Their potential to grow on you is undeniable.
Edit: Looking back on this enormous post, I simply must inquire: Does my excessive use of parenthetical asides and senseless background stories ever drive you crazy? I’ve realized over time that the writing style I’ve adopted isn’t exactly the most eloquent. Ha