LOVE: A Two Day Old Shit x Ministry of Tishon Hip-Hop Lovesong Mixtape

Happy Valentine's Day from Two Day Old Shit x Ministry of TISHON.


download here. xo.

Dusty Groove: The Vinyl Room

I think it's safe to say that if I could hang out with ANY production crew, it would be Organized Noize.

I mean, if this hypothetical and delusional question was based on craft alone, and if I was a wizard, I would stand behind J Dilla all day and night just to soak in the ambiance of Genius, but chances are that once I got there I would go into catatonic shock and be rendered speechless and wouldn't even be able to offer to run to the store for him (my treat, obviously) so we wouldn't even be able to talk about how "Find A Way" changed my world forever and still continues to absolutely destroy every molecule in my being OR about the bass line on "Dynamite" and how it is the Greatest. Bass. Line. Of. All. Time.

But that would be totally cool because honestly, I would be content just watching him push a fader up and down. So, good thing that would never happen.

However, if we are talking about a mind blowing musical education session + the most fun I could ever have with my clothes on, you would find me in Atlanta in the Dungeon with Sleepy, Rico and Ray.

Just started absorbing this little underrated gem from 1998. I adore OutKast and Goodie Mob, but what I reallllllllly love more than anything, is Sleepy Brown's voice. It's the audible equivalent of a time machine. It's almost as if Curtis Mayfield, late '70s Marvin Gaye and Leon Ware all melted their honeyed voices into a Crock Pot, and then let it simmer all day. And when it was time to enjoy it, Organized Noize added a pinch of synth, a dash of crisp drumming, a ton of lush orchestration and a generous sprinkling of dreamy wah-wah riffs and then served it to you while you reclined on a cloud.

His fantastic solo (and most recent, unfortunately) album, 2006's Mr. Brown which I listen to on extensive repeat all the time, is a culmination of sorts; it marries his soul and funk pedigree with the sonic hip-hop aesthetics of Stankonia. But this record, Noize's first solo creative outlet, The Vinyl Room, is pure unadulterated hot, buttered, soul, with only a tiny mix of Dungeon Family humor filled skits thrown in.

The trio, using the moniker Sleepy's Theme, pretty much reinterprets the silky falsettos of Curtis Mayfield (fun fact, Sleepy Brown worked on the legend's last album, 1996's New World Order) and the layered melodies of Barry White without any pastiche or derivative results. For those who think this kind of record is a '70s cliche or knockoff, you are a. wrong and b. clearly don't know much about the immaculate blueprint that our beloved soul and funk giants created. Yes, Gaye, Mayfield, White, Ware, Hayes and co. left behind an often imitated but never duplicated legacy. But, they also left behind an invaluable text book that if studied properly and diligently, can be reinterpreted, extrapolated and re-imagined to create shimmering and gorgeous results. And this album, much like Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite, is proof that some people do their fucking homework.

Three of my favorite tunes on the album after the jump.

"Still Smokin'":



"Private Party" (ignore the ridiculous homemade YouTube video):



"Simply Beautiful":

Open Post: William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet: Music From The Motion Picture

An absolutely perfect film soundtrack is extremely hard to come by. Most everybody has at least a few that come to mind, but I have recently found that many of my old go to favorites don't really hold up anymore (I'm not goofing. This used to be my shit when I was 11. Inappropriate, I know.) I guess that's to be expected. I mean, half the time certain movies I love(d) don't cut the mustard anymore, so it stands to reason that their accompanying scores have become little more than spotty playlists- a few solid gems sprinkled in there for sure, but straight through playability? Not happening.

At its best, an OST can serve as an amazing mix tape, a Cliff Notes like musical recap that triggers your recollection of certain scenes and exchanges of dialogue or a completely amazing stand alone record that regardless of any film's association, you would like to own. At its worst, it can be well, this.

But, in case you were curious (you weren't) the soundtrack of my really complex and important middle school life (the amount of side eye I am giving my childhood self right now is not even quantifiable) still holds up! Solid. Solid as a rock!

Baz Luhrmann's tropicalia drenched post-apocalyptic Mexico City take on the star crossed lovers will still, without any doubt, make me cry. The last montage of their (two week) courtship? Peering at each other through the fish tank? Those angel wings? The pool scene? Losing your virginity to your husband at 14 surrounded by a million saint candles and dolls? Leonardo DiCaprio's smooth as a baby's bottom chest peeping out from the most awesome of awesome Hawaiian shirts? Visually, the film is truly breathtaking, but then again, that's what Baz does best. That's a given. I mean, say what you will about Moulin Rouge! (wait, don't I'll get mad) it is nothing if not lush and gorgeous. His reconstructed Monte Marte is like a pop up book on absinthe (which was the point) and his attention to visual detail is always impressive. In Romeo + Juliet, he pulls off creating a world lost in a very specific aesthetic past (think Cuba), where everyone speaks in Shakespearean tongue, but hangs out with cholas and cross dressing disco loving gun toting roll dogs AND listens to the best of what the '90s had to offer sonically. That is not an easy task.

This soundtrack has it all. Garbage (I would die for you). Radiohead. The Cardigans (so I cry, and I beg, for you to, love me love meeeeeeeee). Butthole Surfers. DES'REE (no. words.). Everclear. Future B2K affiliated Quindon Tarver, who, when he appeared in the film as a young choir boy, literally had the voice of an angel (his cover of "When Doves Cry" is unfathomably magical, but, although featured in the film, it is technically only found on the second volume of the soundtrack along with the instrumentals). Kym Mazelle's cover of Candi Stanton's "Young Hearts Run Free" is one of the greatest disco/house tunes in my (not so) humble opinion. The pseudo creepy babytalk singing style of Stina Nordenstam that then takes a surprising turn and delves into a very decent and actually not awful sax solo breakdown on "Little Star" is understated wistful longing at its finest. There isn't a bad jam on this album. Don't believe me? Full track listing:

1. "#1 Crush" - Garbage
2. "Local God" - Everclear
3. "Angel" - Gavin Friday
4. "Pretty Piece of Flesh" - One Inch Punch
5. "Kissing You (Love Theme from Romeo + Juliet)" - Des'ree
6. "Whatever (I Had a Dream)" - Butthole Surfers
7. "Lovefool" - The Cardigans
8. "Young Hearts Run Free" - Kym Mazelle
9. "Everybody's Free (To Feel Good)" - Quindon Tarver
10. "To You I Bestow" - Mundy
11. "Talk Show Host" - Radiohead
12. "Little Star" - Stina Nordenstam
13. "You and Me Song" - The Wannadies

Flawless. Watch this if you still have a fence post up your butt:



Whaaaaaaaaaaaat. Give me my sin again indeed.



Don't be no fool when love really don't love you. PREACH.



Later, I'm busy weeping in my room.

My Special Monday Morning Tape For You, Special!

Well, to quote Rob, it is Monday afternoon (I should have woken up earlier) but nevertheless, in celebration of the clown shoe convention that was last night's Golden Globes (Ricky Gervais, please, be mine) here are ten songs I believe have epic cinematic qualities. These picks all possess swelling crescendos, waves of complex melodic emotions, a lush sonic narrative and of course, would all work perfectly, or already have worked perfectly, as the soundtrack to characters realizing they are in love, staring out windows wistfully, having their hearts smashed, or having impeccably lit and expertly choreographed sex scenes.




Ay yi yi! That string intro is the audio equivalent of a film's protagonist thinking about a new crush and smiling. In fact, this whole song is just one gorgeous and silky tribute to new possibilities, feeling like you are 100 feet tall, and those electromagnetic vibrations that you emit when you meet someone that you just want to stare at, all day.



So, the Ray Charles duet version of this gem was totally used in a very young Lilo's remake of The Parent Trap (when the twins get separated and British Lohan has to go back to London with her mom (RIP Natasha Richardson), while Napa Valley Lohan has to be sad and ride horses with Dennis Quaid) but I really like Betty Carter doing this solo, because it takes melancholy to all sorts of new levels. Like, can't you just picture someone singing this in their apartment alone, wishing someone was there to finish the verse with them and tell them everything was going to be alright?



A pink and purple sunset. A rooftop in Brazil. A longing and wistful glance into an overpopulated, but oh so lonely and isolating city. A void in a heart that can be only filled with true love. Wait, no, I change my mind. Actually, this song is basically this Murakami story.



Speaking of Brother Ray: Correct me if I am wrong, but can't you just picture this song playing over a really bittersweet end of film montage of a doomed relationship? Meeting, falling in love, falling out of love, amazing highs, depressing and scary lows, fights, making up, a soul crushing break up. Like some Blue Valentine shit, but not to the music of Grizzly Bear.



The clip is in German, I think, but just jump to second :45 and you will know why this song can never again be used in another scene as effectively as it was used here. Look at Robert Forster's eyes. He pretty much sums up love at first sight during that first kitten soft guitar lick and drum roll. Then again, I think Pam Grier was created to strut out of a correctional facility to the sound of Bloodstone so, I mean, do with that what you will.



The title of this Let's Get It On session jam kind of says it all. I picture someone laughing and grinning to themselves while trying to grocery shop, remembering the night before. It's the complete emotional opposite of what using this other Let's Get It On masterpiece would be (it was used in a sad relationship fight/break up scene between Taraji P. Henson and Tyrese IN THE RAIN, in John Singleton's Baby Boy):







Here are two that have already been used, and exquisitely. In The Mood For Love is one big beautiful, bittersweet and staggeringly sad ode to forbidden love, all set to Spanish Nat "King" Cole.



Oh boy. Roy Hargrove and Shelby Johnson. This tune is kind of like having a whole pack of butterflies in your stomach while glowing and sauntering down the street, half tipsy, half dreaming. It would work perfectly in a film that will never be made.

It's Monday, so...

I'm obviously lounging around watching some of my favorite music videos.


"WHO ARE THE ROOTS?" Best.



having a TV for a head must be kind of cumbersome, but I totally wouldn't mind it if it meant I got to cruise around with Saadiq and Tip all summer time like.



One of my favorite things Spike Jonze ever did. "The cookies, buttercrunch."



First of all, Big Boi and Andre 3000 are collectively the perfect man, and secondly (and what's most importantly is), there hasn't been a better wedding music video since "November Rain."



I wish Erykah and I were friends. And not in a creepy super fan way or anything (I swear), but more like, how hilarious IS she? I bet 'Dre wasn't even mad at her "Hey Ya" spoof. He probably was like, damn, my baby mama is the truth. The fake Ohio Players and Minnie Riperton are my faves but Erykah as Maggot Brain cannot be denied.



This song is supposedly about Pharrell. The tub shot has stuck with me since I saw it as a kid.



I think the aesthetic of this video is the '70s Harlem counterpart to Janet's Samuel Fosso and Malick Sidibe inspired "Got 'Til It's Gone."



I remember where I was the first time I saw this video. Molly Ferguson's basement. I was 8, maybe 9. Either way, the sublime casting of Iman, Eddie, Magic Johnson and Arsenio Hall coupled with MAGIC and one of the most beautiful songs about wistful and nostalgic romance ever written was too much for me and I don't think I ever recovered. Also, the awkward embrace MJ and Iman share makes me want to die on the inside. Like, Pharoah Murphy, you just got played by a warlock in black jeans and relaxed waves. Descend the throne while you still have some dignity.



I'm sure you think your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, but I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Ay yi yi! Has anyone ever looked more sensuous in the history of sensuous than Sade cleaning her kid's dirty white sneaker or running while carrying dry cleaning? The answer is clearly no.



This video is like if Betty Draper and Pam Grier had a baby and it grew up idolizing Bridget Bardot and then I wanted to look just like it/stare at it all day. Obsessed.






BONUS:

R.I.P. Lady T

Mary Christine Brockert, better known as R&B/funk diva Teena Marie, passed away yesterday at her California home. She was 54. Her 1979 debut album Wild and Peaceful, purposefully did not include a photo of the white singer, and as a result, many listeners (my mom included) and DJs believed the singer to be black.

Teena Marie, a protegee of the late Rick James and "Motown's first white act"* is not only one of the greatest funk vocalists, but a multi-instrumentalist (she played guitar, congas and keys) and a producer and arranger who was also responsible for what is known as "The Brockert Initiative," a landmark music law that made it illegal for a record company to keep an artist under contract without releasing any new material. The law, which arose from a legal battle Marie was fighting with Berry Gordy and Motown, helped other Motown acts like Mary Jane Girls and Luther Vandross leave the company and seek out supportive labels to work with.

After an almost 15 year hiatus, the creator of amazing funk love anthems like "Lovergirl," "Fire and Desire" (one of her duets with James), "Ooo La La La" (which was of course sampled by the Fugees) and the gorgeous multi-layered "Portuguese Love" reemerged with the Grammy nominated La Doña in 2004, and continued to release music up until her passing, with last year's Congo Square, her 13th album. A true diva, innovator, and soul filled legend, she will be missed, but somewhere in Heaven, she and Rick are having a ball.







* not technically true, as Rare Earth preceded her and the little known rock act The Rustix, who provided no hits for the label preceded them

Open Post: Dam-Funk Has Always Been Cooler Than You.

So, this "new" (the tracks were all made between the years 1988-1992) album came out a short while ago, and it is the only thing I want to listen to, ever. I already have been obsessing over Dam-Funk for some time now, but when I copped this at Reckless Records over Thanksgiving I pretty much stopped caring about anything else. Toeachizown is a flawless synth masterpiece, but this record, Adolescent Funk, is truly special because he made it while most of his peers were gang banging, drug selling and jerking off.

When I think back to my high school years, I remember getting high and listening to MF Doom and failing trigonometry. But Dam was killing it and making bedroom funk synth symphonies in his actual bedroom. I mean, fuck. It's not like I have ever tried or wanted to play a Casio SK-1, but still. I listen to this record and I think, "I was never, and will never be this cool. Deal with it." Just look at the cover photo: Jesus. Why wasn't he my high school boyfriend? Whoever that adorable piece in the cut out black dress and patterned nylons is knows what I'm talking about. She's looking at the camera like, yeah, we're in love. And yeah, we will have amazing 16 year-old sex to the sounds of Mtume and Kleeer. And yes, I will be keeping these hoops on. What a dreamboat.

All 14 tracks on this album are contagiously slinky and amazing, but my favorite is Side D which contains the kiss off "I Don't Love U" and the insanely repeatable "Attitude," a warning to any and all moody ladies out there. Dam does NOT think that shit is cute and he will ignore your pages. Young Dam is an introspective lover, a gentle genius who just wants to love you and treat you right, all night, but has no problem breaking hearts if need be ("I Don't Want U" and the love triangle jam "When I'm With U I Think Of Her"). All he asks is that you chill out on the drama and wear those tight spandex pants ("I Like Your Big Azz (Girl)"). Totally reasonable, I think.

The outro at the end of the album is my favorite end to this funk odyssey: a young heartbroken lady (perhaps one of the ones from the front or back cover art? There are several hot young things from Dam's seminal high school days featured, including the star of the show in the aforementioned backless number) apologizes for her nasty sass and admits that not only was she in the wrong, but that she deserved to be dumped and will use this experience in her future relationships. She also hopes they can still be friends. And loves him very much. I don't care if that message is genuinely from a resident of Dam's Heartbreak Hotel or is just his cousin doing the recording for him as a favor for $5 and a bag of Cheetos, it is the best use of an answering machine since the intro on Biggie's "One More Chance."

Peanut Butter Wolf put this gem together after listening to some of Dam's work from his formative years. He originally intended to release a couple 7-inches, but after his wife cried while listening to "It's My Life!" (really) he decided it all was too good to choose just two tracks. Dam told him to pick the songs, the artwork, (that must have been just as hard as picking the song selection, actually) and that he didn't want to see the project until it was complete. And here we are. Dam-Funk, to quote your exquisite poetry, "I Wanna Thank You for (Steppin Into My Life)."

Bucket List Achievements: Ann Powers Knows Who I Am

My heart feels so full and wonderful right now, like it's a freshly blown balloon made out of hopes, dreams and the lifelong desire to become relevant in the field that matters to you.

Quick back story: I haven't been writing. At all. For those who care, or accidentally stumble upon TDOS, my last written expression is a half paragraph about the okayafrica festival. To put this into perspective, I have written more impassioned and thought provoking Trader Joe's grocery lists since then. (The Candy Cane JoJo's ice cream is really quite something.) At Thanksgiving, my mom, various cousins and friends all asked why I had stopped writing. My brother recently told me it made him sad to know that I no longer did the one thing that I had done for myself, regardless of whether or not I had a job (or even an internship) at a respected publication or had people reading my work, period. I have been told that it doesn't matter if I am blogging, scratching away on a napkin, or jotting down thoughts in a Lisa Frank notebook; I should be writing. Doesn't matter if it's good, if it's bad, or if it is documented proof that I am slowly going insane from hanging out with children all day (and there is the simplest reason for my lack of inspiration or willingness to create; cash does, in fact, rule everything around me, and being a nanny, while fulfilling and lucrative, wears the FUCK out of you). I moved to New York to someday be Touré. The white, Jewish, female Touré. Because I love soul music. Because I love R&B. Because I can happily produce 1,000 words on why I still, at the age of almost 25, can relate, in a completely not ironic way, to a Mariah Carey song. Because, after a satisfying, successful and resume building college career at Boston's best entertainment weekly, after running the best damn soul, R&B and slow jams radio program this side of the Mississippi, and after managing a staff of writers and photographers for one of the best college radio station's websites in the country, I knew I had something to offer. I had sat with legends, face to face, and asked them what made them tick, I had spoken to my heroes across time zones and oceans on the telephone, picking their brains and trying my best not to embarrass myself, and most importantly, I had learned from the best mentors, editors and writers around. I had, at the young age of 22, accomplished things I never thought I could. I had taken every opportunity thrown my way, worked ungodly hours, utilized the tools given me, and spent every waking minute working, and loving it.

And since then, I haven't done a fraction of any of that. Part of it is circumstance, I graduated at one of the worst times ever to try and find a job, of any kind, the industry in which I wanted to go into isn't what it used to be, I have an ego, but not that big of an ego to pursue music criticism, the music I care about isn't as fairly represented as it should be, I don't want to compromise my tastes, I'm a cry baby, I'm a girl and the only people I know who are successfully being published in this field are boys, boys that once were under my editorship in college, who I would like to say, I am so very proud of, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart, I'm too busy, I need money, I am not good enough, I am only one in a million. And of course, and most importantly, I gave up.

I admit this. And I will also admit that I have made plenty of excuses, reasons and justifications over the past year and a half too, but this is the first time I have said (or typed) out loud that I gave up. Threw in the towel. Blew it. Dropped any and all balls. But that's OK. Because I knew that someday my desire to talk shit, spout my unwanted and unwarranted opinions (which are totally right, by the way) and to blast superfluous blog posts about Charlie Wilson and Crystal Waters into the void of the internet would come back. I knew it would. My family and friends did too. Because the only thing that matches the amount of indignant self righteous taste making bullshit I have within me, is the support of my loved ones. No sarcasm, no jokes, no goofs. It's true. And I am grateful.

The only thing was, I didn't know how or when it would come back. But that's the whole crux of the biscuit isn't it? Writer's block, periods of depression, bird flu and Athlete's foot all have their own time tables, and no amount of tough love, Target brand foot cream or naps will make it end. I knew this, so I waited. I abandoned TDOS (I'm sorry to like, 2 people), I stopped applying for writing industry jobs, stopped networking, and waited. I waited almost a year. And then, one day (yesterday actually), the switch flipped.

My dear friend, co-blogger and music soul mate Ben sent me this email last night, at 6:30 PM:

Uh, your This Is It piece is in the other notable music writing appendix of BMW '10!!!! did you know that?! Congratulations! We need to celebrate this.

Hope all else is well by you.

Of course I did not know that. At that exact moment, I was watching Scooby-Doo with a five year-old. I had completely forgotten, that sometime last year I had in fact, in a bout of inspiration, submitted a few of my pieces to Daphne Carr and the gang at Best Music Writing for 2010 consideration. They politely let me know that they got my submissions, and thanked me. Quite frankly, I was just happy I got an email back from them. I then promptly forgot about all of it. (In fact, our good friend Kyle, who designed our lovely site, was the reason Ben found out in the first place. He just happened to be skimming through the list in the appendix and found me. Just like that. I probably wouldn't have known until I bought the book myself.)

I didn't believe it. I made Ben text me a picture of my name in the appendix. I then tried to Google my name and the book together, but all that came up was my LinkedIn profile. Trife. And when I just tried searching for a list of pieces included in this year's appendix, I came across this:

NYC Thanksgiving Week Double Header

Let's hear it for New York! While there is always a large number of critics in NYC who make it into the pages of BMW*, this is a true banner year for New Yorkers in the book. So, we have an extra special two day extravaganza of writers, henceforth named The Best Music Writing 2010 Thanksgiving Week Double Header:

Monday, November 22, 2010
7pm, Housing Works Cafe
126 Crosby Street New York, NY 1001
Free (please bring used books to donate)

Hosted by Guest Editor Ann Powers and Series Editor Daphne Carr
Readings by 2010 Contributors: Raquel Cepeda, Robert Christgau, Sasha Frere-Jones, Lola Ogunnaike, Starrene Rhett, Jody Rosen, Alex Ross, and Greg Tate

Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Free, 7pm, SouthPaw
125 Fifth Ave. Brooklyn, NY 11217
Hosted by Guest Editor Ann Powers and Series Editor Daphne Carr
Readings by 2010 Contributors: Nitsuh Abebe, Jon Caramanica, Jason Fine, Maura Johnston, Evie Nagy, Tavia Nyong’o, Christopher R. Weingarten

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. Talk about being oblivious. Instead of being in a car for 14 hours on the way to Chicago, I could have been hobnobbing with Robert Christgau and Sasha Frere-Jones. Thanksgiving dinner this year was good, but not that good (with respect to my aunt's ginger cheesecake that she made just for me, of course). To be fair, they didn't contact me to let me know I was selected, and I assume this is because I wasn't published in the book, only included in the appendix. Which is totally fine, I just wish I wasn't a bonehead and had followed up.

The Best Music Writing series, for those of you philistines out there, is to put it simply, the truth. I have been pouring over these anthologies for years. It's like Christmas. Each piece in the book is a new gift to unwrap and all of them are worth unwrapping. The guest editors are some of my heroes, and the contributors are people I would be honored to share a Twix bar with, let alone an appendix. So now, Isabelle Davis, and her "notable" (!!!!!!!!!) blog post "That Really Was It: Michael Jackson's THIS IS IT" are hanging out on page 318 nestled between people like Rob Harvilla of the Village Voice, Jess Harvell of Idolator, NICK FUCKING HORNBY, GREIL MARCUS, KELEFA SENNEH, DANYEL SMITH, ROB SHEFFIELD and MY PERSONAL HERO, Touré. Touré. Fucking Touré.

My name is in a book. My name, and the title of a piece I wrote, and believed in, is mentioned among a list of luminaries and recommended reading. Now allow me to be self indulgent and congratulatory for one quick, all caps second: SOMETHING I WROTE IS CONSIDERED NOTABLE BY PEOPLE WHO MATTER. I AM LISTED AS SOMETHING WORTH READING, ALONG WITH PEOPLE WHO SHOULD BE REQUIRED READING. I AM MENTIONED IN A BOOK ABOUT THINGS BEING GOOD. A BOOK WITH THE WORD "BEST" IN THE TITLE.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to celebrate.

Giving You True Notes Since 247,000 B.C.

I am extremely excited that I have next Sunday off so I can attend the launch of okayafrica in Prospect Park. The free event not only features live music from the Roots, Talib Kweli (meh) and DJ J. Period, but will be hosted by Sahr Ngaujah, one of the two dudes who plays Fela Kuti on Broadway. Next Sunday also marks the end of the World Cup, so I'll have my vuvuzela ready. See you there!

okayafrica
Prospect Park Bandshell
Sunday 7.11.10
4pm
FREE!

The Bitch is Back.

I probably should start this post off by apologizing for TDOS' six month hiatus/absence, but since it seems that the only people reading this blog are Chinese speakers who like using my last post about the FELA! musical as some sort of comment run chat room, I will instead just say: don't look a gift horse in the mouth. The Bitch is Back.

And the past two weeks have given us here at TDOS plenty of reason to reemerge from our hot and stuffy pit of apathy (a.k.a. the second year after you graduate college and can't get a job in your desired field and you have to put the package of beef jerky back at the store because you don't want to overdraw your checking account): Isabelle's religious experience at Maxwell's show at MSG on June 25th, The Roots' gorgeous new album How I Got Over, this week's highly anticipated release of Big Boi's Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty, the Film Forum's run of The Agony and the Ecstasy of Phil Spector (Tony Bennett really does have it too easy) and the news that ?uesto is preparing to start a "supergroup" with the world's most reliable (she always blows it) soul singer, Amy Winehouse! Pretty much anything that happened prior to that doesn't really matter anyway, except of course this.