NEW: These New Puritans “Fragment Two”
Directed by Daniel Askill
(Source: Vice Magazine)
Meet the Australian Boy Band Who Sexually Harass Women and Put It On YouTube
Read why this is terrible: http://noisey.vice.com/blog/meet-the-aussie-boyband-who-sexually-harass-women-for-lulz-then-put-it-on-youtube
We teamed up with our pals at Arnette to give away some sunglasses and tickets to FYF Fest in LA and the New York Dolls in NYC! Enter here
Disclosure’s video for “When a Fire Starts to Burn” rules.
Have you heard Chance The Rapper’s pre-Acid Rap material?
Our new column delves into musicians’ HTML attics, searching to see what remains of their earliest forays online. Sometimes there’s astonishing early material that has only been heard by a handful of people. Sometimes it’s just them being a dick in the comments section of Gawker. Whatever happens though, The Internet is Written in Ink.
A little over a month ago Chance The Rapper put out Acid Rap, his second mix tape, which has since been downloaded over 135,000 times on free-hosting megalith site Dat Piff. It wasn’t just snap-backed teens with Instagram accounts and a basic knowledge of hip-hop who sat up and took note though, as the record earned him a “Best New Music” accolade on Pitchfork.
The first time I listened to the record, I loved it. “Good Ass Intro”, with its reworking of Kanye West’s Freshmen Adjustment 2 opener felt like the overdue sibling to early millennia Chi-town rap. While “Cocoa Butter Kisses”, “Lost” and “Chain Smoker” rotated through my head for weeks, all three so good that my brain almost forgot to stop passively rotating Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”.
But, for someone who had relatively appeared from nowhere into rap blog stardom, I was intrigued. How did Chance get so popular? He’s a nice guy, sure, and his mixtape is great. But how did he go from being a guy with a Twitter page, to the guy whose mixtape was posted all over my Twitter page? I needed an answer, so I did some investigating.
#RARE FASHIONS IN RAP: SAME AS IT EVER WAS, ONLY ALSO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT
In hip-hop’s earliest days, what rappers wore was a function of performance. Crews like Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five or Afrika Bambaataa’s Zulu Nation wore outlandish costumes as characters in the cabaret show that was their act—recall that Melle Mel is dressed like one of the Village People in the video for “The Message”. To some extent it was part of hip-hop’s early relationship with disco, the relatively short-lived genre that embraced flamboyance and artifice in everything from music to clothing.
It wasn’t until the rise of Run-DMC and the “new school” of hip-hop that its fashion became a way for an artist to relate to their audience. The newcomers wore what their listeners wanted to wear themselves: in this case it was brand-name streetwear and gold chains. Since then, what rappers wore mostly fell somewhere between those two poles: outrageous performance and trendy relatability. It varied throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s, of course, depending on what the rapper wanted to do.