Plugged in and ready to fall

Though I'll probably never be sold on the Streets' current status as the greatest thing to ever happen to the UK's hip-hop scene, I have to admit- I kinda like the new album. Skinner's conversational, deliberately offbeat cockney flow is fascinating to listen to; and I love the dense, everything-but-the-kitchensink production. I still think the comparisons critics have drawn between Mike Skinner and Eminem are lazy and totally ridiculous (I'm not sure if I even feel comfortable calling Skinner a "rapper," let alone suggesting that his skills are on par with Mr. Mathers), but there's something about the way Skinner tells a story that makes it impossible for me to simply dismiss him as an overrated flavor of the month.

But even though I kinda dig the Streets, it really bothers me the way critics are practically elbowing more talented UK rappers like Wiley and Dizzee Rascal aside so they can get another quote from Mike Skinner. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to turn this into an anti-Streets tirade. I just can't figure out for the life of me why Dizzee and Wiley aren't generating the same level of ejaculatory praise as the Streets. I mean, come on-  these guys can rhyme circles around Skinner. Why is it that they only warrant a tiny blurb in Blender while Skinner's face is plastered across every music magazine in the country?

I've been listening to an unhealthy amount of Local H lately. It all started a week ago when I picked up a used copy of Pack Up the Cats to replace the one I lost a few years ago. I'd totally forgotten just how amazing these guys are. The lyrics are smarter and funnier than 97.5% of the stuff you hear on 99X. And the hooks on this album are so addictive that I'm dangerously close to checking into a rehab facility. This is the kind of music that makes me wish I hadn't abandoned my guitar lessons last year. (I was way too impatient. I guess a part of me foolishly thought that after two months of lessons I'd be playing like Vernon Reid.)

I've found that the urge to spend absurd amounts of money on music has increased dramatically since moving back home. Now that I no longer have to worry about rent, I have a lot more cash to blow on CDs, but I'm trying my best to fight that impulse. Even though I've been pretty good about devoting a huge chunk of each paycheck to my "Get the Hell Out Of Your Parent's House, You Loser" fund, I can't keep my left eye from twitching whenever I pass Tower Records. It’s so hard to be responsible with my spending habits when there are so many CDs out there whispering sweet nothings into my ear every time I set foot inside a Barnes and Nobles. I still haven’t picked up the Madvillain album. And I don’t know how I’ve managed to go this long without adding Idlewild’s “The Remote Part” to my CD collection. 

 

 By the way: I was this close to buying the new Hives CD today, but I chickened out once I got within five feet of the register. Being a cheap bastard sux.