CORRECTION: This post originally referenced the INXS Need You Tonight video, which was partly animatd. Clearly, A-Ha's "Take On Me" is the closer analogy. Gawker regrets the miscalibrated pop culture reference.

For real, Rastas believe all types of weird shit. Bob Marley thought the Emperor of Ethiopia was basically Jesus. That's crazy! Great music though. What have we learned? People who hold psycho political beliefs can make jammin-ass music. Surprise!

I guarantee that any gay dancehall fan who heard "Boom Bye Bye" in a club, but didn't understand the lyrics, would love it, because that beat is jammin.

I once went to a Buju concert. It was jammin. Then in the middle of the show, he stopped and gave a little speech about how evil gay people are. That was crazy! It's a good thing the public does not turn to popular musicians for their political views. Right? It's a good thing that we as humans have emotionally and intellectually evolved to the point we can separate the two! Right? Right!

In this way music brings us all together, or something.

The UC Santa Cruz job is no accident; it was made possible by a donation from the Dead themselves. And it's not just drug bands spreading counterculture good fortune these days:

• Amid mass journalism layoffs, a new hippie-friendly type of gig has opened up: Pot reviewer. Denver's alt weekly went looking for just such a fellow, to serve the booming local market for "medical" marijuana.
  
• Grungy well-heeled young music fans made this year's Coachella music festival a "super happy" success. Far out for concert organizers who refused to grow up and get a "real job!"
• Vegan animal activist Jane Velez-Mitchell has a hit show over on CNN's Headline News and can now aspire to the even greater level of success attained by left-wing-radio-host-turned-MSNBC-anchor (and fellow lesbian) Rachel Maddow. (Maddow was a Rhodes scholar, putting her on the high achieving side of hippiedom.)
  
• The White House installed an organic garden under lobbying from Alice Waters, delivering a PR victory to the restaurateur derided as a hippie "dreamer" on national television just days earlier.
  
• In San Francisco, the sort of company that holds "naked" meetings and makes decisions through unanimous consensus is now showered with VC cash.
  
• A protest marcher from a hippie college changed his name to the militant "Barack" from the placid "Barry" and was soon elected president of these United States.
  
• If you advocate turning your cat vegan or making men pee while sitting down, for the environment, the New York Times will publish your op-ed, these days.

And all this time you thought "get a job" was the ultimate way to insult a hippie. Who's laughing now, straight edge??

(Pic via)

Gus and Sasha Spielberg's band performed under the name Sasha Lee Pemperton and the Huskies for "an audience of about 20 or so friends," writes a blogger for The Indy. "I managed to capture a bit of it on iPhone video," he explains. "The quality isn't the best. But don't complain-just enjoy the gritty ambiance." This is all we know; after that, all we've got is game tape.

The first one's a cover of the Rolling Stones' "Dead Flowers," which gets twangy, Gram Parsons-lite tweaks to it. Nothing epic, but the execution, while basic and completely derivative of She & Him-type nonsense, is there. Craftsmanship has been considered. David Fricke would give this two stars. Christgau would piss on it and then smell the wafting fumes and decide the quality of it is worth exactly 2.7 of his strange-ass wingding hieroglyphs. Rob Sheffield would give it 4, because Rob Sheffield's music reviews suck (he should've stuck with writing The Pop Life).

Next: a cover of "Me and Bobby McGee." Gus' attempts at getting quiet-angry with his guitar ends up producing a few sour notes, and Sasha takes a while to warm up. But! Sister Spielberg's got soul; she nails some of the song's more desperate notes, though slight inflections of melodrama kinda sully it at points. That said, girl's got voice! Gus' stoic silence is probably for the better, especially when Sasha brings it home at the end. And she does:

The last video's of their cover of Melanie Safka's "Brand New Key," a pretty interesting choice; even more interesting is that most of Sasha's friends all remember the words when she forgets them! Personally, "Brand New Key" never did much for me, but she closes in on the song's strange charms.

For a bunch of kids sittin' around a party, not bad. Every time people sit around other people in an intimate setting with acoustic guitars, it's spirit-crushingly bad, because you have to pretend to enjoy what's often a sad ploy to impress girls (or, inversely, boys). Also: singalongs are for Raffi, especially bad ones, which most of them are.

But they sounded decent! And picked some pretty great songs. Gus' guitar playing needs work, however. A little confidence (or moonshine) could give his sheepish strumming the appropriate level of edge that it doesn't quite have, here! Nerves, kid: get over 'em. Sasha shows promise, but we'll need better video to rate the charisma factor further. For a voice, though: not bad at all. All context considered:

3.5/5 for Sasha, 2/5 for Gus, 3/5 for the act.

• Whitney Houston showed up on a British TV talent competition where she nearly burst out of her gown and appeared out of it during an interview. Houston managed to keep her dress on after one of the straps broke, but she couldn't remember when her album comes out in the UK. Further proof that crack is indeed whack. [Daily Star]
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• Sources tell Page Six that Paris Hilton has a three-page movie set rider that includes demands for vodka and live lobsters, but her reps are denying the story. Usually celebrity spokespeople are full of it, but this time, they may be telling the truth. Paris Hilton never eats. There's no way this lobster thing is true unless crustaceans have replaced chihuahuas as the hot animal to be seen with on the red carpet. [Page Six]
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• Sara Coleman had a baby with hip hop hook specialist Akon. She's seeking child support and says the singer is hiding out from her lawyers. Akon says he doesn't understand why anyone would have trouble finding him because "I'm a celebrity.. my schedule is on the internet, you can go on my Myspace, you can go on my web site, it'll tell you where I'm at." Here is where I insert the obligatory joke about how I didn't realize anyone still had a Myspace page. [TMZ]
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• George Clooney wants you to know that making millions while sleeping with an endless array of beautiful starlets won't necessarily make you feel "happy" or "complete." Sure thing George. [Mirror]
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• John Stamos says he was smashed when he insulted a reporter on Australian TV. The living embodiment of nineties nostalgia says he "was on sleeping pills and I was jet-lagged, but I was also just plastered" during the awkward 2007 morning show appearance. [Access Hollywood]
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Or at least that was our experience clicking through the song previews. Which is actually kind of a selling point, since we so often feel that way, during the holidays. We've collected some of the most beautifully nasal, haggard, mumbled — i.e. signature Dylan — vocals in the clip above, from"Hark the Herald Angels Sing," "O' Little Town of Bethlehem," "O' Come All Ye Faithful" and "Silver Bells," respectively.

We expect listeners will be more partial to tracks like "Here Comes Santa Claus," "Christmas Blues," "Christmas Island" and "Winter Wonderland." You can always spring for the $21 vinyl version; a needle makes everything sound more Christmas-y.

The rap band has been a pioneer in digital media, selling MP3 files and building a collection of websites, including a rap portal, well before other artists. Frontman Chuck D has also been a frequent critic, going back at least two decades, of the recording industry. So while investors in the new album will get a cut of revenue, according to TechCrunch, they shouldn't emulate industry high rollers, at least if they're fans of the talent, who famously sang in "Swindler's Lust:"

Hand in my pocket rob me for my chocolate (eheheheh)

Mo' dollars, mo' cents, for the Big Six [record companies]

Another million led to bled, claimin innocence



...No pressure, tell me why they don't care

Rap and R&B pavin the streets of Bel-Air

From the sales of singers, no longer here

The bigger killer, get the bigger share (eheheheh)

Hands off Chuck's chocolate, crowdsourced investors. It's right there in the Terms & Conditions... boyyyyy.

Starting in 1983, Mr. Magic hosted "Rap Attack" with Marley Marl on WBLS radio in NYC—which was the first all-hip hop radio show, anywhere. For a long time, he was the man when it came to breaking new rappers on the East Coast. He got name-dropped a lot, as you would imagine. "Every Saturday, Rap Attack, Mr. Magic, Marley Marl," said Biggie Smalls. "I gots to have it/ I miss Mr. Magic," said Nas. Miss Info [via Gametagradio.com] posted a letter from DJ Premier this morning remembering the man's accomplishments:

HE PAVED THE WAY FOR ALL RADIO STATIONS THAT EVER DID MIXSHOWS AND ALSO SPARKED THE CAREER OF BOOGIE DOWN PRODUCTIONS DUE TO THE DISS HE SHOWED WHEN THEY CAME TO SHOP THEIR DEMO TO HIM AND WAS TURNED AWAY WHICH THEN SPARKED "SOUTH BRONX" AND "THE BRIDGE IS OVER"…….

And a late pass from us: RIP to Roc Raida, another hip hop legend and a crazy skilled scratch DJ with the X-Men who died about a week and a half ago after a martial arts accident. Life's short.

I don't know how many rappers (or black guys, period) Spitznagel's interviewed, but surely he doesn't talk to all of them like this, seriously or not:

During the 90s, you were rapping about "Money, cars, bitches, and drugs." What have you cut back on because of the recession? The cars? The bitches? The drugs?

All that been cut out of my lifestyle. I'm not really trippin' on that shit anymore.

Surely you keep a bitch or two around the crib just for old time's sake.

It ain't like that. You get older and realize you gotta mature....

But hits without bitches or one of them bouncy cars, doesn't it feel kinda hollow?

Naw, man, it's played out. I got four kids and one kid on the way.

Could it get worse? Yes, it could. And it does:

From Madoff to AIG, it doesn't seem like there's anybody we can trust. In this financial climate, does it make more sense to invest in Citigroup or the Crips?

Oh, hell no! Invest in the Crips? That's crazy, man!

So you think the Bloods are a better investment?

Neither one of them! You don't wanna get involved in any of that!

As Rap Radar succinctly put it: What kind of asinine question is that to ask a father of four? But Eric seems to develop a nice rapport with Mr. G, as evidenced by a dumb joke at the end involving sounding out "bleach" like "bleeotch" and Warren G supposedly laughing at it. Better question, though: what kind of answer is this for someone who's supposed to be, you know, as an artist: progressive?

I mean, I ain't against the gays or nothin'.

Wait, what? You had me until the "I ain't against the gays" part.

I ain't against gay people. I'm just against it being promoted to kids.

I'm sorry, I don't follow. What does the recession have to do with gay propaganda?

I know people that's gay. My wife's got friends that are gay. I got family that's gay. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He's my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got dudes kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can't have kids growing up with that.

So you've got a "pot leads to heroin" theory about Hollywood homosexuality? Today there are men kissing on network TV, and tomorrow Grey's Anatomy is all about mouth rape?

I know it happens, but let's keep it behind the scenes. Ain't nothin' wrong with it if that's what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that's not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don't want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain't how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain't got no problem with the gays.

Ah, well then: Gays are fine, so long as we keep them "behind the scenes." Like, African Americans—who also didn't choose the color of their skin—are fine, so long as we keep them "behind the scenes?" Yeah, that would fly. Like all the weed you smoked on the Up In Smoke tour? Or any number of the shady criminal activities you've rapped about being involved in? Whatever. Rappers are still homophobic. Funny, because it's been long spoken that one of the most revered amongst their ranks—and one especially close to Warren G—swings the other way. Easy-E seemed to think so.

Eazy-E accused Dr. Dre of homosexual tendencies, calling him a "she thang", and the music video for "Real Muthaphuckkin G's" shows promo pictures of him wearing make-up and a sequined jumpsuit.

So did Tupac:

I could care less whether or not Dr. Dre's gay. He's still the best rap producer alive, and could still kick the shit out everyone I know. But I guess the rap community would, or does.

No punchline. It just sucks. Here's a good Warren G song:

Calling it the "Obama Effect," Common claims the Commander-in-Chief has helped guide rappers away from bombastic consumerism and "gangsta talk," which we thought went out the window ages ago.

I also don't find as much gangsta talk. You see the whole chain-shining-and-rim era is gone. That's like super-played out. Just to have that, I think, is part of the Obama effect.

This hypothesis, of course, supports Common's previous claims to CNN that Obama's election would bring a more positive attitude to the genre. So it's all very convenient, although it seems to us that the crippled economy and a pervasive exhaustion for ostentatious displays had more to do with this trend than Obama himself. But, still, let's all sing his praises, anyway!

By the way, Common was speaking at an arts event sponsored by Hennessy, a drink that was emblematic of the attitudes Common claims are fading away.

"Calif. horrorcore rapper suspected of killing 4," says the AP headline. This is technically true, although a more accurate headline might have been "Calif. adolescent without any good hobbies snaps," or "MYSPACE KILLS." McCroskey, a 20 year-old kid from California, is suspected of killing four people in Virginia—including a pastor and a college professor. He apparently went to visit the pastor's daughter after meeting her on Myspace.

On McCroskey's MySpace page, someone who goes by Ragdoll, which friends identified as Emma Niederbrock, wrote several messages to McCroskey. In a post dated Sept. 7, Niederbrock says she is excited for McCroskey's visit to her house.
"The next time you check your myspace, YOULL BE AT MY HOUSE!" the post reads.

Urgh. And here, direct from Syko Sam's Myspace page, he describes how hip hop culture drove him to kill:

Syko Sam is a new musican in the underground and only been rapping for a few months now. As a new artist I feel that I already have some talent in this scene but will only get better as time will do its job. Syko Sam has been a fan of the Horrorcore/Wicked Shit genre since 1999 so therefor as a huge fan of the music I wanted to contribute to the genre to give to those fans of the genre as well as making it for myself to explore my creative side, thus Syko Sam being born.

Rap music takes only a few months to drive troubled teenagers to murder. Also the internet does, too. Parents, take heed.

Like so many of her aural generation — for example, Bob Dylan — Travers got her start in the Greenwich Village cafe scene and, like Dylan, too, her politically-charged lyrics helped propel her to international fame. In honor of Travers and her message, here's another one of her and her band's most beloved songs: "Puff, the Magic Dragon."

Feel free to sing along, man.

Yeah, I know that it's been three years since Varvatos transformed the skuzzy CBGB space into a tasteful showcase for his high-end suits, leather jackets, and rocker boots, but last night's "Free the Noise" concert was the first time I had seen live music there since I was a 14-year-old punk at a hardcore matinée headlined by Agnostic Front. The sight of scarily-tattooed L.E.S. tough guys nearly made me poop my Pampers back then, but this time around I'm almost old enough for Depends. Or at least I enjoy wearing them on weekends!

Last night's show was a battle of the bands between three unsigned acts. The winners were local favorites Reckless Sons, who scored a record deal with Island/Def Jam and a Varvatos ad campaign. I heard they were pretty good, but I missed their set because I spent most of the night in a big black bus parked in the alley behind the store. That's where I met the judges of the contest, Jane's Addiction's Perry Farrell, photographer Mick Rock, Spin editor-in-chief Doug Brod, and Varvatos himself, just before they went inside to hear the show.
Perry wore a black vest, silk scarf, slim-fit shirt and pants, and pointy black boots. He sat next to his distractingly buxom wife, Etty, who was encased in a sequined mini-skirt from Top Shop in London, a black American Apparel tank top and YSL pumps.

"Where are you from?" he said.

I'm from Gawker.

"You're from Dockers?" Everyone laughs. "I'm like, 'How does a guy from Dockers get on here?' That's about the only pants in the world I can't wear. I'm wearing Varvatos from head to toe."

Had he seen any shows during Fashion Week?

"We went to one show," he said, already bored. "We saw a lot of sneakers and tall girls."

I asked how they were preparing to judge the bands, and Varvatos made a smoking-a-joint gesture. What are you listening to these days, John?

"Kings of Leon, Bravery, The Killers, My Morning Jacket. There's a brand new band called Alberta Cross, which are unbelievable." Seen any good fashion shows? "No," he said.

Mick Rock, who is best known for his iconic shots of a Ziggy Stardust-era David Bowie, has a model daughter who probably walked in this week's shows. But he was more interested in busting on me than talking fashion. "I wish you were better looking," he said. "I want some young boys for the evening. You're very nice, but I don't find you attractive. It's problematic."

Then everyone got off the bus, including me. I ran into another famous rock photographer, Bob Gruen. What was his favorite shot he took at CBGB? "That's like having a favorite kid. But the Runaways were one of the best shows, in '76." Had he seen any fashion shows? "My wife, Elizabeth, is a designer. But we don't really get involved in the shows. It's not about fashion, it's about commerce."

Nobody I talked to seemed to care about Fashion Week anymore, including me. So I went back on the bus, and met Bobby, a forty-something nightclub promoter. He told me he was really into models. A few tall, pretty girls he had invited began to arrive. Soon, he was showing me pics on his iPhone of himself partying with topless girls in a hotel room. In some of them, his pants were undone, and his junk was exposed. This was starting to get weird.

A few hours later, the fridge full of Heinekens had been drained, and Bobby was handing out shots of Patron. Perry Farrell and his wife returned. Perry looked at all the strange people on the bus, said, "Whoa!" and went to a curtained-off nook in the back.

I started talking to Perry's wife, Etty. "We've been married 7 years," she said. "I've actually danced with Jane's Addiction since 1997, and that's how we met. I was wearing a fishnet body stocking and pasties. They had a two-story high stripper pole. And ultimately, as we got to know each other, I got more clothing. I got a bra, and I thought, 'This is great. I have a bra."

She invited me to come to Rose Bar for a drink with Perry's assorted hangers-on, but I felt like I had already worn out my welcome. Besides, I was as bored of this scene as I was of Fashion Week itself. Before I went across the street for a nightcap at the Bowery Hotel, I asked Perry if he had any parting advice for me. "Never wear a shoe that makes your foot look small," he said.

After all, it is still Fashion Week, right?

An army of record companies filed a lawsuit against Ellen's eponymous talk show for using their beloved, popular and oh-so-profitable songs without paying the price. Motown, Atlantic, Virgin and a host of other companies claim Ellen and her producers used their products in the talk show host's "dance over" segment, which involves the comedienne dancing toward her daily guest. It's all very fun, but, according to the record companies, also illegal. And Ellen knew that!

As sophisticated consumers of music, Defendants knew full well that, regardless of the way they rolled, under the Copyright Act, and under state law for the pre-1972 recordings, they needed a license to use the sound recordings lawfully.

Humph. Here we thought the music industry was about bringing happiness into an otherwise dismal existence. Now we learn they're only about profits. The horror!

For their part, Ellen's producers apparently responded to the lawsuit by claiming they don't look into licenses because they don't "roll that way." Fair enough.

Yes, for, uh, $2.99, you too can now have the technology that gave rise to one of the most irritating sounds in modern hip hop and made Kanye West waste a bunch of months trying to sing. Rather than just sit down and die, T-Pain decided to cash in and bring autotune to the masses. If you thought the guy listening to music through his phone, sans headphones on the subway was bad, wait until you meet the one singing into his. This is wonderful, and awful, and I can't not promise possibly sometime over the weekend posting a video of me using this in the comments, doing a Gawker Weekend Autotune Rendition of Jennifer Holiday's "And I'm Telling You" verse. Meanwhile, watch and learn: