Semantic Drift » music

Saturday Science: The Science of Theology

semanticdrifter — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 17:28:13 +0000

Click here to view the embedded video.

Saturday Science: Why Does the Sun Shine? They Might Be Giants Provides the Answer

semanticdrifter — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 21:29:19 +0000

Click here to view the embedded video.

Oh, that’s why he’s hot.

semanticdrifter — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 18:50:49 +0000

If you’re like me, you like to construct elaborate models and similes to explain things that you really shouldn’t waste your time thinking about. Sites like indexed do this sort of thing all the time, and I can never get enough of it. I find this sort of thinking to be a useful hermeneutic tool for understanding the complex wordplay of Mims, and the syllogistic reasoning of explanations for his own hotness. The Village Voice does it for me.

“The most amazing line in “This Is Why I’m Hot”—and, even at
this early a juncture, quite possibly the most amazing line of any song
to see release in 2007—is “I’m hot ’cause I’m fly/You ain’t
’cause you not.” Brutal and unassailable in its simplicity. Consider
the reasoning, first, of just “I’m hot ’cause I’m fly”:

Mims is hot because he’s fly. But it raises the question: Does
being hot guarantee one’s being fly? “You ain’t ’cause you not” would seem to clear that up:

It would appear that fly and hot are interchangable. If you are one, you are both; if you aren’t at least one, you are neither.”

The Cranky Old Man’s TV Nitpicking Corner

semanticdrifter — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 20:12:49 +0000

I’ll tell you something. Back in my day, commercials made sense. Unlike the moronic horseshit that passes for television advertisements these days. Case in point:

Click here to view the embedded video.

This commercial is not only irritating and contrived, but fails to make any kind of logical sense and every time it comes on I am filled with vile, venomous rage that I must release. Okay. The commercial starts with the two idiots downloading the song “Rock the Casbah” by the Clash and transferring it to their Cingular phone. Then they proceed to hilariously mispronounce the lyrics. Now I will grant you that the song is difficult to understand. The combination of Joe Strummer’s British accent and occasional punk screaming make certain lyrical passages nearly incomprehensible. But the chorus of “Rock the Casbah,” which these knuckleheads mangle into “Stop the Catbox” is also the title of the song. Which means that they must have seen it during the process of ripping/downloading the song or transferring it to their phones. If nothing else, I contend that unless their parents were brother and sister, they should have gotten the chorus right.

Now if only advertisers would check with me before putting something on the air, I think the level of sophomoric crap that choke our airwaves would greatly reduce.

The Time Has Come

semanticdrifter — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 01:21:01 +0000

The reason why I posted the greatest Survivor song of all time in prose form earlier this week is this. I have recently signed up for a boxing bootcamp, and am rising way earlier than a normal person should to train for an hour-and-a-half before work. My body is adjusting to the shock of exercise. I haven’t really exerted myself since relocating to the West Coast, and a serious workout is long over due. The time has come for me to cast off the oh-so-comfortable lethargy of the last few months and once again become a pugilist. Sedentary no more! Despite my fighting career, I am a horrible striker and know very little about the sweet science. As a grappler, my strategy was usually to get punched in the face repeatedly until I could take down my opponent and ground and pound. It worked, but tended to mar my movie-star good looks for a few days.

This bootcamp is ideal for me, because it assumes a very basic level of boxing knowledge and focuses more on fundamentals and fitness. The workouts are good, but not too intense. I’m no Jack Dempsey, but I’m getting better. If only I could find a way to lengthen my arms and improve my reach, I would be unstoppable. As it is, I’ve been compared to everything from a Tyranasaurus Rex to a bulldog. Fierce and mighty creatures, to be sure, but hampered by a lack of arm length. Imagine the sheer lethal carnage that a T-Rex with long arms could cause. But I digress.

I admit the running is the hardest part for me. Even in the best of shape, I was a horrible runner. Slow and labored. And now when I do I can’t get “Eye of the Tiger” out of my head.

Dun. Dun Dun Dun. Dun Dun Dun. Dun Dun DUN…

The Lamest Thing I Said Last Week: Making Music

semanticdrifter — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 23:58:12 +0000

For reasons too bizarre and shameful to get into here, I found myself listening to the most recent album from that falsetto wunderkind and ex-Boy Bander Justin Timberlake. It’s called Future Sex /Love Sounds, and most of the songs are produced by Justin’s longtime collaborator, a rotund fellow with an undeniable talent for laying down hot beats and dope hooks who goes by the sobriquet of Timbaland. You probably know him. He frequently guests on other pop songs, and was more often than not the architect of the beat. In any case, his presence is all over Justin’s new album, to the point where he pops up on virtually every track. This lead me to make the remark that perhaps the former N’Sync-er should start calling himself “Justin Timb-aland.” The groans could be heard throughout the car.