Music Documentary Project: Early June Update

I've taken my foot off the gas a bit lately, similar to how G:TB was a well-oiled, postcounting machine in the early days of pandemic quarantining and has recently let up. If you can go outside and live, do so.

I also watched some non-music-documentary television.  It can get a tad monotonous to go from music doc to music doc, even if you alternate genres, styles, and approaches as I have tried to do. And so, I pivoted to:

The Last Dance - (Yes, another documentary. So what, I like 'em!) I watched every moment of the MJ saga.  Compelling as all get-out. He is who we thought he was, but moreso. More amazing, more complete as a player. more of a jackass as a teammate or competitor. To me, the most gripping moments were (a) those that demonstrated that he, as any sane person would, hates the 100%-all-the-time fan-clamor and hides out in a hotel room or his house; and (b) the moment he was presented with the suggestion that in order to be the best player/champion he had had to sacrifice being a "good guy," and that thought brought tears, a hasty explanation, and his demanding a break in the recording. It's better when Superman's a human after all.

Letterkenny - I binge-watched several seasons of this preposterous Canadian show (available on on Hulu,annoyingly). Hilarious and addictive, if ultimately a bit redundant. The scene where the guys are playing catch and Squirrelly Dan uncomfortably introduces the subject of his lady friend and her interest in the "butts-stuff" had me laughing heartily. A hard yes.

Seaver - I stumbled upon a one-hour Tom Seaver documentary on the MLB network. I'm an obvious sucker for the content, but there was plenty new to me, especially the unfortunate epilogue of Alzheimer's and his retreat from public life last year. Tom Terrific was the best Met there was, despite the franchise booting it majorly several times over.

Anyway, I have also made time for more music absorption.  Back to the quest...

ReMastered: Devil at the Crossroads (2019) -- This was a tidy, little Netflix piece on the pioneer bluesman Robert Johnson and the generations of intrigue that have surrounded his eerily quick rise from kid with a guitar he couldn't much play to blues god. The story is well-presented and frankly sells itself -- selling one's soul to the Devil for talent.  And then there's his death at age 27. And the fact that (until last month) there were only two photographs ever taken of the man. When I lived across the way from Dave in the fraternity house, he bought a box set of Robert Johnson. I didn't know who the dude was. Turns out many a blues riff and/or style of playing -- which begat many a rock and roll riff and style of playing -- is attributed to one man. At 48 minutes, check it out.

Hip-Hop Evolution (Season 1) -- This is my shit. Z and I have served and rallied here before with old school and older school, but Season 1 of HHE is the jack from way back. Loved it. Planning to continue to dig in on the series and learn lots more along the way.

History of the Eagles (2013) -- Far, far away on the music spectrum from Kurtis Blow and DJ Run, you have Don Henley and Glenn Frey. I like the Eagles nearly as much as the next guy, and there's much to learn and enjoy here. It ultimately devolves into a soap opera, mostly between Frey and Don Felder. And here I thought Don Henley was the douche. But there are cool tidbits like footage of Henley and Frey as up-and-comers in the backing band for Linda Ronstadt, and anything Joe Walsh does is fairly fascinating. Enjoyed it.

The Beastie Boys Story (2020) -- I knew this would be great. I read several unflattering reviews (Pitchfork, AV Club) that called it "no fun." I still knew it would be great. I hadn't heard any of my friends raving about it. I still knew it'd be great.  And... it's great. I feel like I'm the perfect age to be a Beastie Boys fan. When LTI hit, I was a high-school juvenile delinquent Class Clown. As we've written here ad nauseum, when Paul's Boutique launched to crickets, were were jumping around the room heralding what must be a worldwide hit -- college is the perfect time to be exposed to experimentally dope new shit. CYH was a tiny bit more grown up, and we were nearly graduating (well, rob and Dave were). The "Sabotage" video broke and we were early 20's goofballs with jobs. By the time the three bad brothers were starting getting real respect (especially for albums gone by), we were older and commanding more respect than we had a right to. Still clowns, like the B-Boys, of course.  This doc has it all, despite shlocky reviewer's cranky demands for surprises and mayhem. MCA is missed majorly and given a highly fitting tribute.  It's great. Check it out.

The Van Halen Story: The Early Years (2003) -- This low-budget, straight to video obscurity piece was just entertaining enough. Spoiler alert: they paid for the rights to zero VH songs, so you won't hear any. Made me go straight to Spotify after and call up my faves. Also, they only rehash interviews with the band, nothing new -- but lots I hadn't seen. They do get lots of stories from roadies, security, and friends from coming up.  Which is at times better than the sanitized version of wild tales you get from aged rockers. (Eagles, for example.)  "Ed" and "Al" haaaaate "Roth." That's for damn sure. Almost as much as they hate "Dancing in the Street." This one entertained mildly for what it was.

We Jam Econo: The Story Of The Minutemen (2005) -- I loved this one. A long while back, a friend introduced me to The Minutemen. My first reaction was a recoil. Over decades, as I have dug in squarely on punk rock, I have come to love this kind of avant-garde punk. The Minutemen were not hardcore, they were honestly a step-and-a-half from Random Idiots, they were punk with a conscience, and they were beautiful. The documentary, exactly like the band, is pretty lo-fi. And it's solid. The lament of losing D. Boon so many years ago hits home, almost against all likelihood. This ain't no picnic, indeed.

loudQUIETloud: A Film About the Pixies (2006) -- I was late to the game on the Pixies. My first wife was a fan during their 1987-1991 existence, and I learned to love their stuff through her influence soon thereafter. Too late, of course.  But they then regrouped in 2004, and we saw them at Constitution Hall in DC. Hell yes. This is a weird doc -- it isn't a retrospective, it's a behind-the-scenes look at the 2004/5 tour I mentioned. They'd reunited after 13 years, and interactions are awkward and yet uncontroversial, and there are excellent clips of songs from these shows but otherwise just some backstage banter that does not enthrall. Plus Black Francis with his shirt off.

It was very interesting to watch the Pixies one after The Minutemen. D. Boon and Mike Watt met with they were 13, and they were best friends until the end. They'd fight some, but like brothers. Loved one another. The four people in the Pixies met via a classified ad. They weren't friends and still aren't. They don't hate each other, but they were a great band the same way a successful small business often operates -- it was a job. They regrouped for money, clearly. It's almost deflating to fans, but hell, it's always about the music more than anything, and the music was and is exceptional to many of us.


I'll keep watching and conveying the highlights.  18 down thus far.  Suggestions and feedback welcomed.

Rappers Are In Danger

KRS-ONE's lyrics are timeless. "Sound of the Police," "Bo! Bo! Bo!," and "Who Protects Us From You?" are all 20+ years old but these anthems against police brutality are relevant today. "P Is Free," "Love's Gonna Get'cha," "Drug Dealer," and "Illegal Business" are also 20+ years old but still reflect the impact of illegal drugs on American life.

Also relevant is his 1995 single Rappaz R.N. Dainja in which he states "Some rappers like to come to the party, hopin' to leave with somebody, check, I come with skills and I leave with your motherfuckin' respect."



Simply put, MCs can't stay out of court.

The latest rapper to put down the mic and file a complaint is Andre Roxx, whose real name is Marques Andre Johnson. Andre Roxx (not to be confused with Greg Rocks) is a member of the Midwest Killa Beez. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but he asserts that this makes him an "affiliate" of the Wu-Tang Clan--apparently there's a West Coast Killa Beez and presumably other directional Killa Beez consortia.

This is relevant because there's a guy named Andre Johnson who goes by Christ Bearer (not to be confused with Paul Bearer), and he's a member of the West Coast Killa Beez. In a haze of drugs and depression, Christ Bearer decided to cut his penis off and commit suicide by jumping out a window. He was successful in all but one aspect of this endeavor: he survived the fall. A reattachment procedure failed, but he's past the depression and in a good place, positing "I'm alive, penis or no penis."

You can intuitively see why this story is newsworthy. Somewhere along the way though, the injured party's identity got garbled. "Wu-Tang affiliate and Killa Beez member Andre Johnson" was confused with "Wu-Tang affiliate and Killa Beez member Marques Andre Johnson" and the penile puncture was attributed to the wrong rapper. Various media outlets reported that Andre Roxx sliced his schlong when it was really Christ Bearer who diced his dong.

You can see how this might happen--I've addressed this exact situation before (in the comments). These types of details are important, at least to Andre Roxx. As an initial matter, Andre Roxx was in a Pennsylvania jail when Christ Bearer mutilated his manhood and jumped out the window at a party. While this provides factual cover for Roxx, his fellow inmates didn't appreciate this nuance and took it as an invitation to start "threatening, harassing and attacking him." He wound up in protective custody and isolation.

Once released he "made thousands of telephone calls, to every disc jockey and promoter he knew, as well as cold calls to clubs and promoters, but was unable to generate any interest." The take-home here is that if you're going to present yourself as a tough-as-nails MC from the streets of Shaolin, you have to have fully intact genitals. Indeed, Bar Stool Sports opined "How can you be a rapper without a dick? What's even the point? Would be like being a blogger with no hands."

Despite the fact that most if not all of the media outlets covering this story corrected the self-immolator's identity within a day or two, the Wu-Tang Clan went so far as to renounce Andre Roxx on their website, stating "This M*********** Ain't Got S*** to do with The WUTANG Brand" next to a photo of Andre Roxx (and not Christ Bearer). He thus lost his Killa Beez status, and with it the opportunity to make $2000-$4500 per performance, with bookings occurring 4-6 times a week.

Predictably, social media commentators piled on. Upon the online release of his next single, people commented stuff like "This shit so hard make me wanna hack my dick off and jump off something tall" and "Look, it's the dickless wonder" and "bye bye Johnson" (a play on his last name).

Perhaps the most painful impact is on his social life, "as many people who might otherwise be social or romantic connections do not want to be seen in public with him." Everyone swipes left on Andre Roxx because they think he's cockless.

So he did the only thing he could do. He hired a bankruptcy lawyer and filed a complaint in Federal court in Delaware. Well, I suppose he could've hired a commercial litigator or, heaven forfend, an IP litigator to handle the potential soft IP causes of action. Instead he has two counts of libel and a false light invasion of privacy claim. Negligent infliction of emotional distress might've been a nice count to include and maybe something like a Lanham Act violation for improperly tarnishing Andre Roxx's brand, but who knows what the laws of Delaware look like. It's not like they're available online or anything.

Andre Roxx requested a jury and as usual I think being impaneled in this case would be a hoot. And the closing argument will be a snap. After Andre Roxx takes the stand and drops his pants to establish his unmarred member to the jury, his lawyer can simply state "His junk's in place so he wins the case." Or "His dork ain't cut so it's open and shut." Or "His pecker is viable so defendants are liable." The closing really writes itself.

I'll let you know how this all shakes out.