Thursday, September 28, 2006

Street Life

The latest mix; gutter rats, axel greased manholes, and day-old-donuts, this is Street Life. Respect to Milk the production genius for the sick beat you hear off the top.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

It's on!

Plenty more bandwidth for all you turkeys, throw a pajama-jammie-jam and download your sad little hearts out.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Thank you for listening, it keeps shutting my site down. No really, it's a huge compliment.

My web provider shut my shit down again. Why? Too many listeners, exceeding my bandwith yet again, downloads and steams of mixes are surging through this mother fucker. Solution? Keep listening, I'm jumping my hairy gnat ass onto another sapling. Thank you all for listening it's a huge compliment. Patience. Much love.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Back To The Lab

Okay I got caught up there for a minute, setting up the home studio, producing music, guitar, vocals, mic's all over the place - I plan on putting out a solo project under the name Shipyards, I'll keep you posted. For now here's another mix from the library, this one's called Kris One ~ Back To The Lab.mp3, tons to come. Peace love and all that.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Once Called The Most Depressed Man In Rock

Husker Du frontman Bob Mould doesn't waste time picking his scabs. With a myriad of side projects, solo albums, experimental journeys, including his pioneering of alternative hardcore punk, he's now found his way into an interconnected system of networks that connects computers. Gape the musings of a man who doesn't rest on his laurels plucking dandelions and sipping juice boxes. Check out Bob's Blog.

His 1996 self titled solo album is currently on heavy rotation in my big ears, and was influenced by early Sebadoh and Guided By Voices. The first track boggles my septum, he creates a looseness and honesty a mother would love.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Hey, Let's All Get Pissed Off!

A gruesome hip hop mix I did a while back. Real live shit. It's dark, grimy, and brooding as hell. Roll up next to the heat with this shit on, squeal your tires like Richard Petty, and yell real loud "SEEEEEE YA, PIGGIES!!!" KrisOne ~ Mad Skillz.mp3

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Be sexy, junked-up, melancholic, and charged. The latest: Running Mix

Okay something different, I like to mix it up. One day I want apple juice, the next I want a Triumph Scrambler and a jar of deviled eggs. My point is musical taste should not be limited to one style, one riff, one hit, because repetition kills. Without exposure to new shit, what would life be but an assembly line of wiener schnitzel anyway. The latest, Running Mix , delves another realm. No hip hop, no electro, but good independent fare. Canadian, American, British, whatever, it's a culmination of songs I've collected from friends, or diving used CD bins like a lush. Anyway put it on your ipod, go for a run, if you're horizontally challenged work the kegels. Either way, enjoy. KrisOne ~ RunningMix.mp3

Friday, July 28, 2006

My Dealer. My Precious Local Dealer.

Late Friday afternoons you'll find me chewing fat with my boy Andy Capp, clerk at my local 666. This particular day I decided to take pictures, not because I found him boring, I just got caught up analizing the finer points of used vinyl. Check out Andy Capp and his cohort Rod Skimmins at The Boat every month in Kensington Market. The place feels like a saloon in the belly of an old steam ship. A note of caution, if you drink too much don't stick your head out the portholes that line the hull, they don't open. Great tunes, great cats. If you're in the T-dot check em' out, kids!

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Can a Man Have Too Many Listeners?

I think not. But my server went down seeing as there's not enough bandwidth for all you turkeys. I'm on it.

Papa Greg sez Neu!

Some dork is going to yell at me for getting everything wrong, but I don’t care, goddamit. I am Papa Greg and I am alive and there’s nothing you Nibelungs can do to stop me.

So, my review: Neu! That’s the band, exclamation point and all. And their first album is called Neu! So, Neu! by Neu!

But first, Neu! The band.

In the late sixties Dusseldorf hatched Kraftwerk, a band run by two anal retentive jerks with a well documented history of treating other band members like shit. (And somewhere some Kraftwerk dork is probably spitting muesli through his nose all over his biking shorts. Hey, man. Read the book.)

In 1971, two Kraftwerkers got fed up, and splintered off and proceeded to rock the fuck out under the name Neu! No more Teutonic Stockhausen malarkey for Michael Rother and Klaus Dinger. These guys wanted to jam it on the one like James Brown.

“Neu!” the album is the sound of what happen when speed freaks from German find a locked groove and do it to death. Proceeding to the tracks:


This song is ONLY ONE GODDAMN CHORD FOR TEN MINUTES over a obsessive 4/4 pulse. But this chord, this chord is special. This chord is fwacka-fwacka-fwacka'd up and down like taffy. And not the cheap shitty grocery store taffy, but the good kind you buy from little shrunken apple Port-o-gee men down at the Shore. Only you're not an apple-cheeked New England tyke in Madras boardshorts, you are a haggard German speed freak in a beige linen suit, with pale blue saucer eyes and a TottenKopf bone structure.

Anyway, this is a funky stone cold jam, with the emphasis on Cold. Cold as chrome. Cold as the Bavarian wind rushing in to the crumpled frame of the old Citreon you just abandoned wrapped around a birch, but you are so spun you've decided to walk to Dusseldorf, which is 35 KM away. That doesn't matter though, because Hallogallo is karoming through your frying skull, giving you the counterpoint to face down the asphalt until you reach the outer city ring.

Cold as Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love”. But funkier.

I have a list somewhere, a list of ten women I would want to watch wiggle and jive to Hallogallo. The first would be a girl I saw dance at a party once in college. She wiggled and shimmied to a song I can’t remember, a willowy girl with brown arms and a beatific face. Her face is important here, because it was so simple and beautiful. Her features were like typography, dark and even. Jesus, A la recherche du temps perdu anyone?

Anyway, you will dance like a spring on jello. The crippled will walk and the unsighted see. The lamb will lay down with the lion and your lumbago will be transformed into a rhumba.

After the pulse of Hallogallo things switch over into more ambient domains. “Sonderangebot”, “Weissensee", “Im Glück" glide by, parading different textures, occasionally getting tense then releasing into quiet pulses.

Then everything gets all fucking crazy again. “Negativland” drifts on a rumble of ambient noise, Dinner plates, crowd noises, metal scrapes that expand into a proto-death metal guitar, something Kerry King might do in the middle of a Slayer track. The 4/4 from “Hallogallo” comes, only this time, you’re not in a disco, you’re in garbage truck.

The whole ends with the perverse “Lieber Honig” (translates into something like “Honey Darling”). A voice that sounds like it belongs to the guy you found fully clothed in tub in the upstairs bathroom, hours after you thought everyone left the party. This guy, he singing a song, to somebody who’s not there and his eyes are fluttering. Other than a radio in the other room, the rest of the house is quiet. The album crashes. So do you.

Buy it.

Stay Golden. I’m proud of you all.

Papa Greg

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Electropop 2

Journey through the past, present, and future. Share the couch, sip copious amounts of tea, dance, mist your house plants, and delve yet again into the eyes and fingers of a madman. krisone_electropop2.mp3

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

The Tubes (self-titled) by Papa G.

When Chris, or “Kris” asked me to contribute an occasional review of old crap from my CD pile, I kind of have to ask what he thought he’d get out of it. Since I’m a pack rat and I have no willpower, I’ve got a very low threshold for purchase, something that might cause readers a lot of suffering in the long run.

Swear to Christ, last week I found myself giddy that I had found a CD of pre-war German Big Band music, and I very…nearly…got…to… the cash register.

So, that said, think of these little segments as skirmishes, and I am your platoon leader. Some of you might not make it. That’s just the risk we’re all going to have to take.

For our first outing together, I thought I’d expose you pukes to a CLEANSING FIRE. Gird yourselves, my pretties. Because we’re going to chat about the motherfucking TUBES.

Now, most people, 85% of the people…okay 90% of the people who even know who The Tubes are associate the name with the hated "She's a beauty", the embarrassing single taken from 1981’s ill-conceived abortion, The Completion Backwards Principle. For our purposes here, we’re going to have to tell those people to take the fucking gas pipe. We don’t need ‘em.

And besides, the Tubes we’re talking about are a completely different animal than those pale MTV motherfuckers from 1981. These are Model Year 1975 Tubes. The good Tubes. The ones you should love.

This is the sound of a glam big band. This is seven hippies from the San Francisco bay area spazzing out about 18 months short of when spazzing out became a gleaming commodity in the from of punk. The difference was these guys could play like angels.

Eight songs. All overproduced, overdubbed and airtight. Just a big baroque fucking mess. I love ‘em all. But, you asked for highlights. Here they are:

Track #1: Up From the Deep

A statement of purpose for the band. Vocalist Fee Waybill (a better name than your, I reckon) expounds on the virtues of the band as a good entertainment valueover a bubbling farty synth with tacky Middle Eastern flourishes. Farty synth. Right on.

Track #4: Malagueña Salerosa

A traditional flamenco showboat number, transformed into a robotic bolero. Fun song fact: the song itself is infamous for demanding the singer sustain a note for like 25 bars. Maybe not. I don’t know what a bar is. But the singer has to hold the note for a long goddamn time. Next you run into a wandering flamenco band, DEMAND that song and watch the singer crumple. Then, chuckling, light a cigar with a five dollar note.

Anyway, uh, good song.

Track #5: Mondo Bondage

Big epic semi-instrumental track with a lot CRUNCH. Nonsense lyrics about bondage. BRILLIANT.

Track #8: White Punks on Dope

You don’t know this song, and it makes me sad. So sad, I just vomited a little in my mouth. It’s like some shitty Jay McInerny novel about a poor little rich drug fiend whose parents live in Hollywood. Mysteriously, he lives in San Francisco. He plans to hang himself as so as he gets enough rope. Like Emo, but you’re supposed to laugh. Unlike Emo, the musicians are competent and rock the fuck out.

So, there you are. Buy it, don’t buy it, I don’t give a shit. It’s a great album, and now you know.

One more factoid: The guy who played keyboards on “Like a Rolling Stone” produced it. Al Kooper. Isn’t that a kick in the ass?

Stay Golden. I’m proud of you all.

Papa Greg

PS: Check out my idiot blog: Bastard of Art and Commerce.

Introducing Papa Greg, a nincompoop and music fan

I asked my good friend, Papa Greg, a man with rather distinguished and eclectic taste in music, to contribute a review every month to the blog. I'm not talking Enya, Celine Dion, or Stryker kids, he actually has choice albums that deserve the written word. Sometimes those words can be a little harsh, unsettling, or downright disturbing, and the same applies for bands like Anal Cunt, one of many that adorn his shelves; but I like it and it's my blog. Without further adieu I give you the pen of Papa Greg aka. Papa G.

Da Beatminerz

Without question my favorite duo in Hip Hop. I finally met Mr. Walt and Evil Dee (brothers from the same mother) at the club where they DJ called Opus 22 in NYC. I told them about a documentary I want to make, about them, they're beats, life in Bushwick, Da Krib of Hits (their home/studio) which is filled to the tits, two floors of a house, with vinyl. The film will be made and I'll catch up with them shortly. These cats are seriously charismatic, fun as hell, and they've produced some of the funkiest, dopeist shit I've ever heard in my life, the type of beats that break necks. I might add the Beatminerz mix I did a while ago (KrisOne ~ Goes Beatmining.mp3) for some history so you know what I'm talking about. The shit is ridiculous.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

The Beat Manifested

The art of the Hip Hop producer manifested. Detroit's own Black Milk produced joints for Slum Village, Phat Kat, and a bunch of others. Here he is in his paneled rumpus room spanking the pads on his MPC2000, making a beat out of thin air. What he gives birth to in five minutes would take most cats ten years. I put this beat on my latest mix, stay tuned. Respect to Milk.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Music Reviews

Amongst the mass of vinyl I have categorically shelved on my wall, unlabeled CD's stashed between stacks of paper on my desk, or crammed folder upon folder in a Hard Drive, you'll find songs and albums that require an archivist. I'll hear something perhaps years after its conception, or stumble across it, drunk with one eye open, and it brings me joy. Every month I plan on reviewing artists, albums, producers, that are overlooked, forgotten, dead, or that simply make a man want to cut rug. Keep your eyes and ears peeled.

Monday, July 03, 2006

The Letter

Hot off the proverbial press. Complete and utter randomness, musically. A story. Perhaps some connection with something, a feeling, I don't know. I think you'll like it.
kris_one ~ the_letter.mp3

Monday, June 12, 2006

Heart Attack

Okay, it's on. My boy Kid Kaos has done his time on the wheels of steel. Yes, this man has more records than I do. Our mixing style is called "5 for 5", he plays five joints, I play five, you get the idea. For all you real heads we've added shout-outs by old school artists from back in the day, when Kaos was on 89.5, and 50 was in diapers. Hats to the side. Hands in the air.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Friday, June 09, 2006

A Good Combination

The latest installment. A Good Combination. Special thanks to SKAM crew for letting me take photos while they do their thing. These guys are veterans in the paint-bomb circuit. Check it. They're everywhere.
kris_one ~ agoodcombination.mp3