Author: RGB

Since it’s only 5 days until the world is graced with Views From The 6 (to be known as Views by all of the cool kids from here on out), I decided it would be time to do another round-up of all the good stuff surrounding the release. Current debate on the docket:

Will Views be a double-disc album?

Earlier today, the BOY himself took to Toronto for his latest merchandise pop-up shop, and took the time to make an appearance for the fans along with a few new tid-bits of info. Explaining that the project will be about 20 songs and adding that himself and his producer 40 have been hard at work, Drake also mentioned that the official cover art would be releasing later. Just a few moments ago we were blessed with album artwork and needless to say, its pretty damn cool.

As one would suspect, the former half of the information only added fuel to the fire that the project might indeed be a double disc project, with separate sections between the New-Toronto dancehall style, pop-Drake sound, and the rest being a strict rap project. The release of his first 2 singles, “One Dance” & “Pop-Style” and their corresponding artwork were the most recent keys leading to rumours, with a yin-yang style, altering color-ways, and very different, distinct sounds. On the early album building process, 40 was quoted in the NY Times about Drake’s intent to make a pure-rap project – “After ‘Nothing Was the Same,’ Drake was like, ‘I want to do a rap project,’” Mr. Shebib recalled. “He wanted to do what all the other rappers get to do.” But that approach is “a thing we can’t do that much on a Drake album,” he continued. “We have other fans we need to satisfy.”

At the end of episode 19 of OVO radio where an April release date was announced, it was stated that “more than enough music for the year” would be included, with lots of new stuff for the fans. Furthermore, as mentioned before, today at the very same pop-up shop, Drake noted that their would be about 20 songs, which by modern standards would be quite a hefty tracklist, although it must be noted that his last 2 projects were both 16 songs each. When asked if this meant that Views would be a double disc, in classic Drizzy braggadocio, the 6 god replied with a mere smerk and a chuckle. Sometimes no answer is the only answer needed.

All of this, coinciding with the initial “4+2=6 theory” as conspired by the members of KTT (I’ll let them explain), it seems there are many signs pointing towards exactly what many fans have been hoping for; Views From The 6 might actually be a 2-sided album.As with anything in this industry, nothing is ever solidified (just ask Chance the Rapper…), but come April 29th summer sixteen officially starts – not to mention information of Drake & Future’s summer sixteen tour leaking online today as well. All I can say is “man, what a time…”

Look for Drake’s Views From The 6 due out this Friday. For more on the double-disc theories, check out this thread.…

*click-bait disclaimer* I didn’t technically sneak into the concert, but I also didn’t pay for anything. Meh. Buckle up.

Every adequate human-being (people who don’t like music are certainly not adequate in my eyes) have that one, or maybe a small handful of artists or influencers that they would do just about anything to get into the same room with. In case you didn’t guess, mine is of course 21 Savage (21 21 21 21) – I even aged myself 21 years just to fit in even more with my idol. But, since 21 ain’t coming to my part of Canada anytime soon (22 Savage, pls?) my back-up idol is Chance the Rapper.

To set the standard for this story pretty high, It begins with me outright stanning Chance since the first time I ever listened to Acid Rap back in 2013. Four live performances and probably 3000 Twitter @’s later, I’m sitting on a 15-hour bus back home to make it to class in the morning.

This is the story of that fourth live performance. Yes, this is the story of that one time I traveled 15 hours to sneak into the Chance the Rapper concert.

*record scratch* *freeze frame* ” Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got myself into this situation.

Alright. More background. Why didn’t I have tickets already for my self-proclaimed favourite artist in the world? HAAAAA, well because my life seems (/seemed) to be a largely unfortunate series of events wherein I originally purchased tickets to BOTH nights of Chance’s two night Vancouver excursion to perform his latest mixtape, Coloring Book.

But since it is my final semester of university, my professors have decided to collude together against my happiness for the last few times that they legally can. Which means, BOOM – Midterm, from 6-9PM on night one.

“That’s fine, let me just sell night one, heh heh there is alwaaays night two.” BAM – randomly assigned presentation that could be assigned to any Thursday on the entire semester the morning after night two.

“F*ck.”

(For those out there thinking, “hey, but Hosp, that still means there was time? You could’ve made it!”, let’s do a little math. It’s roughly a 14-hour bus to Vancouver (one-way) which means about 28 hours total, plus show time equals about 30 hours. If somehow Chano decided to move his concert to around exactly 15 hours after my midterm – about noon the next day – then yes, I probably could’ve made it perfect, and even had time for Denny’s breakfast when I got home. “But Hosp, why not fly?!” Well, a quick venn-diagram of Air Canada’s prices of a return flight between Calgary to Vancouver within the same 30 hour or so window cross-referenced with my full-time university student budget will reveal that I was roughly 1 BILLION F*CKING DOLLARS SHORT. So no, even for a fully-fledged stan, it was not quite possible.)

So there I was, just a worthless bag of bones (giggity) following my Chano family on Twitter experiencing the Magnificent Coloring World Tour each week from different cities across North America, taking in each and every live-stream possible from my couch, pretending my sorry non-ticket-having-ass was there, and pretending I was okay with it.

To make myself feel better, I told myself “Australia! He hasn’t announced those dates yet!” As I was set to leave for Australia on the last day of January; The dates dropped – three weeks before I would land, Chance would have just come and gone.

Heart. Break. City. (Population: ME AND MY FOUR OR FIVE TEARS)

But then! A glimpse of hope! A blessing!

My aforementioned midterm? Well now it was pushed back exactly one week meaning it was no longer an issue, but with no tickets anymore and a sold-out show, the odds weren’t exactly great. So feeling deflated I still decided to sit this one out.

Then, exactly 32 hours before the first scheduled concert while walking to a group meeting at noon, I get a strange Twitter alert from Chance replying to a tweet.

As I click to see more, I see that Chance and the whole Social Experiment gang are accepting another fans invite to come play dodgeball the following day at noon (in exactly 24 hours) before the show. An important note is that at this point in the timeline, after three shows, I had still NEVER met Chance the Rapper even though I had met his entire band a year or two ago.

Now, some more math: An exact location where Chance would be, plus 2 and a half days until my presentation and no midterm = HOSP IS GOING TO VANCOUVER BECAUSE WHY THE HELL NOT.

—LIKE REDLEAFGOLDTEETH ON FACEBOOK—

After pleading with a few different pals to carpool with me (in their car, in one of the busiest weeks of the year, lmao) led to no avail, selling an ASSC hat online for 95$ USD, and narrowly getting a bus ticket from the phone operator in time, my room-mate BLESSED my black ass with a ride to the bus depot just in time for my 6:45PM departure (Logan, you da realest).

On the bus now, no concert ticket in hand, all I had to do make it Vancouver to meet Chance and pray for a concert ticket–the bus ride was officially the easy part.

“U THOUGHT.”

Did I really think it would be that easy? I should’ve known. Just like the song goes “when the praises go up… the mountain comes down. On top of a f*cking semi.” Yup, nothing like a casual rockslide on the highway between provinces. I knew I should’ve paid the extra five dollars for the bus that drives over rockslides.

Sitting there completely ready to turn around knowing that at the very least I tried my best, another blessing. There was an alternate route – an extra 2 hours, plus backtracking time – but a way nonetheless.

Thanks for the couch & the view, Park.

Fast-forward past 16 hours of the worst discomfort that you can imagine, I was finally there. Ready to trek to the dodgeball game, I linked up with the squadron for a quick pre-meal before we scoured the town looking for Chance.

Following the theme of the story – blessing. With dodgeball now very unconfirmed, another Twitter alert! “Vancouver, who has SANDWICHES for the squad!” Chance’s assistant tweeted (y’know, having just crossed the border and playing a show the previous night, I’m sure a little bit of BC’s world famous SANDWICHES would definitely hit the spot.)

Welp, it’s Vancouver, can’t be too hard to track down some SANDWICHES if that’s what it will take to meet my favourite rapper – I answered the Tweet with gumption, proclaiming I had them covered to which the only reply I needed to see was listed forever me: “Whats ur full name.”

I WAS NOW ON THE GUEST LIST. SKRTTTTTTTTT.

Fast forward again another a few hours: long story short the SANDWICHES were not needed after all, after I’m assuming they figured out what city they were in and what that strange smell was. Once again linking up with some old friends and then the squad on UBC’s campus for the show, now with free tickets waiting for me, I was one step closer. Time for the real finesse to begin.I arrive at will-call to snag my free ticket (Colleen, you as well are da

I arrive at will-call to snag my free ticket (Colleen, you as well are da realest – thank you so much), and to my slight dismay (as much dismay as you can be with a free ticket) the ticket wasn’t for general admission, it was for a seat in the first bowl. Amazing of course, but I’m not one to settle – I had 1st row in my sights and I was going to make it there one way or another.

Now, let’s break down the finesse into a few simple steps for the fans at home:

Step 1: Act. Come back in 20 minutes and complain about being given the wrong ticket. At a university venue, more often than not, nobody will know what’s going on. “Oh, Chance’s assistant left me a ticket – it was supposed to be for GA but I think you might’ve given me the wrong ticket” – yeah, like that is going to work. HAHAHAAH IT WORKED WTF IT ACTUALLY WORKED. “So sorry about that! We’ll go grab you your wristband right away sir!”

*sunglass guy emoji*

Step 2: Confidence. I Waltz into GA and stake out the weakest point in the crowd to make my way as close to the front as possible. Since there was only 1 GA entrance, I chose the farthest point from that, getting fairly close, yet verrrrry left from the front of the stage.

Step 3: Showtime. The lights go down, the mosh goes up. In true mosh fashion, one side pushes one way, the other side pushes the other, and Hosp slides closer than NBA players into college girls DM’s. Inch by inch I make my way to the 2nd or 3rd row. I’m pretty damn stoked.

Step 4: Luck. “Braincells,” Chance’s ode to SANDWICHES starts playing, and the footlong’s are being passed around under the canopy of Chance 3 hats as to not get seen by hungry security guards. My apparently-guilty looking ass not even paying attention to any of the SANDWICHES around me, all of a sudden gets ripped forward by Moses dressed as a security guard. Splitting the red sea of tour t-shirts, I’m pulled forward by the arm to be accused on sand-witchery. Upon showing my empty hands, not only am I let go with a slight nod, I am now ON THE GOD DAMN FENCE. Call me front-row shawty. Blessed.

I swear to god this is a no zoom, no crop photo. I was actually this close. IG: @hxspey

IG: @hxspey

IG: @hxspey

Let me just remind you all that less than 24 hours before this moment I was on a last minute charter bus ride to Vancouver, trapped behind a rock-slide, with no ticket for the sold-out concert, and definitely no money for a resale priced ticket. Now, I was front row singing every single word, getting pointed at by my idol for rocking a retro Cubs jersey (of his hometown Chicago) during World Series week.

How? By taking a few risks, making a few connections, and most importantly by CHASING AFTER MY DREAMS AND TURNING THEM INTO REALITY. No, it is not always possible, and even when it is, it doesn’t always work out this great – but once in a while you’ve just gotta do something that may seem a little ill-advised and shoot your shot. You never know where your next blessing will come from.

Finally, the show ends and every second of it was more magical than you could possibly imagine.

Peter Cottontale, SoX member and Chance’s keyboardist, does one final lap across the stage as I shout out his name and wave him over – with a squint he walks closer and I motion with the same retro Chicago Cubs Sammy Sosa jersey that I had previously worn to each of the 4 performances. As he approaches my zone of the stage, I toss the jersey to him, which he takes back with him. Unreal.

Waiting at the trailers with some good company for the band to come out after the show, I run into Peter and Francis (& the Lights), and I tell Peter that I was the one who threw the jersey, and that I hope he rocks it soon to which he replies “nah man, I’m giving it to Chance so he can wear it instead.” ONE LAST BLESSING.

Even though I still didn’t get the opportunity to meet Chance the Rapper this fourth time around, I have never been closer and couldn’t feel a bigger sense of accomplishment with the last two days of my life. I lived out a few dreams this time around, and on the bright side still have a few more dreams to live out for the next tour.

Until then… when the praises go up, the blessings come down.

Two words; one love,

–Hospey. (Chano, feel free to follow me once you read this so I know)…

A few days ago, L.A. based artist Blackbear, released his latest track, “Emily” (below). The smooth track details his infatuation with a certain special someone, repeatedly crooning “I’m yours tonight”. After hearing this new track the other day, I was led to re-visit Blackbear’s latest full project, which in turn led to self-confliction via a new question that had arose. Below is a brief memoir of this self-confliction.

Way back in mid-February, the producer-singer-songwriter extraordinaire, quietly dropped his latest project, Deadroses. Blackbear (formerly known as underground-indie artist, Mat Musto) pleasantly mixed together a plethora of genres, sounds, and emotions to create a completely cohesive and unique project. Deadroses flew generally under the radar (despite sitting top 5 in both the independant and R&B charts), with album links and reviews very had to come across. As COGRADIO put it so perfect in one of the only online reviews of the album, “Blackbear is one of the greatest artists that you are not listening too”. After just a few plays, of a couple songs you will understand the talent of the artist, and begin to understand the hype (or lack of), but after a couple plays of the project front-to-back, a new question arises: Did Blackbear just drop the album of the year…. without anyone noticing?

The brief 35 project comes across as a broken love-letter, from somebody deciding whether or not to move on, while reminiscing on past experiences. Co-writer of hits such as Justin Bieber’s “Boyfriend”, or G-Eazy’s “These Things Happen”, it is evident that Musto is able to come up with some catchy tunes, but it is just as evident that the content is still loaded with meaning. The influence of his punk-rock background, mixed with his hip-hop and R&B sound is also quite evident throughout the project, especially in the feelings elicited.

Tracks like “Dirty Laundry” display a obvious Bay Area influence with the fun, bouncy sound, while tracks like “IDFC” and “Ain’t Trippin” slow it down and display the vocals and lyrics, while “90210” features G-Eazy and sounds like the greatest radio track you could ever wish for. The broad range, while maintaining singularity is what makes Deadroses so great. Blackbear has admitted in interviews that the project was more “thrown together” than some of his other projects, but I think that is what makes the broadness work; The fact that a bunch of songs that sound different but evoke the same feelings can go together and create cohesiveness is something more than noteworthy.

The only 2 feature verses on the project are by the aforementioned rapper G-Eazy, and coincidentally his girlfriend Devon Baldwin, and her breathtaking voice on “Waste Away”, so its safe to say that the project wasn’t carried by features, but rather complemented.

Throughout the project, Blackbear’s production chops shine as-well. Perhaps its the fact that the project is 100% him, but the beats never outshine the lyrics, while never falling flat; both are in perfect unison. Seemingly seamlessly, Blackbear is able to create a virtual duet with himself, just through the sounds that flutter through your headphones.

LA’s Blackbear. Don’t be fooled by the appearance of this R&B fusion genius.

Over the last 6 months since starting this website, I have critically listened to move music than I ever have in my life, and I can honestly say that Deadroses has impressed me more than 95% of all of the largest, big-name successes of the year. The last 5% realistically comes down to personal preference, such as my love for the island vibes on Major Lazer’s latest project, or my personal appreciation for Chance the Rapper’s creativity and soul, but in regards to pure storytelling, beats, emotion, lyrics, and cohesiveness, Deadroses by Blackbear has to be personal AOTY so far in 2015. And I don’t take titles like that likely.

Deadroses is available on iTunes for purchase, but in the meantime you can go stream the entire project here. Follow Blackbear on Soundcloud for all of his free-releases, and hit him on Twitter to express your feelings for the project.

In the meantime, just sit back, and wait for Blackbear to blow-up and act like he don’t know no-body.

Two Words:one love,

-Hospey.…

Hey kids. A few weeks ago, a little article I wrote got published over at Passion Of The Weiss, where I’m also a staff writer. It stemmed from a stress-filled summer filled with monetary instability, and probably some mental instability. I had to grow up and do things I didn’t want to, and man up and say things to people that should have been said a long time ago. The National as a band means a lot to me, and this summer grew to become part of who I consider myself to be. I had pretty hard time writing about it. I hope you have an easier time reading it. Thank you.

– Thomas Johnson

Hosted on Passion of the Weiss, read the original article here.

A little over ten years ago, the National released Alligator, their third and “breakthrough album.” It starts with frontman Matt Berninger introverted and apologizing: “I’m sorry I missed you / I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain.” There’s never been a clearer distillation of their ethos, before or since.

Since the beginning, The National provided a sound of withdrawal; music for when you need to break from existence and retreat to the back of your mind where you can admit your fear and apprehension. Music for when you’re nervous about going to a party to see people you cut contact with years ago, or people you’re trying to crop out. Theirs is a discography of breakup albums for people still mulling it over. Respites for when the outside world becomes inordinate, implodes, and all you’re left with are the waves of self-doubt and realization that you’re the reason it’s so overwhelming. Adult music.

Hence, someone once told me at a party that the National were just “dad rock.” They then reiterated to involve the term “adult contemporary.” At the time I attributed the claim to the fact other people obviously don’t want to listen to “Fake Empire” at a party. It was a terrible conversation. Still though, some years later the label doesn’t sit correctly. Dad rock carries the more often than not well-earned stigma of being outdated and dull, stuck in a time lapse where bootcut jeans and New Balance 660’s are still pretty slick. They may not be the most exciting band slotted at the 2nd tier spots on major music festivals, but they’re not quite repping the same type of beer I drank at that party — only partially because Berninger has a habit of guzzling a bottle of wine on stage.

The label of “Dad rock,” is far less fitting than the archetype it represents. Adult contemporary sounds like a generic term for a radio station that plays a lot of Michael Bublé. The National may make music that your father could listen to, but fits more as a soundtrack to a contemporary adult. They don’t get played in clubs when you’re rolling, but they could slip into perfect rotation when you come home and come down alone.

Their currency is anxiety and honesty. Taylor Swift may have a song for every break up (depending on how many celebrity boyfriends you’ve gone through) and dramatic introverts like Kid Cudi may paint a portrait of lonely adolescence smoking alone in the basement, but the band of brothers crafted a discography that entwines all those branches (save dating John Mayer.) There’s a self-awareness about their music that eliminates the auxiliary drama that comes with real life turmoil. When all the accessories are stripped away, all that’s left is the honest nagging asking questions that have been collecting cobwebs. Maybe T Swift and Scott Mescudi could forge lasting relationships if they took a step back and realized they might be part of the problem. They wouldn’t move as many units, but catharsis and introspection has never been about financial stability.

The confessionals scattered throughout their six albums and handful of EP’s often come in the form of third parties; vague mediums used to distance themselves from personal admissions that are just concrete enough to know they’re not bullshitting. It’s exponentially easier to convey something personal when you don’t have to be the one to say it. Over the course of their catalogue, the National has penned a small novel’s worth of characters. Joe, Jennifer, Ada, Jessica etc. have all fucked up or been fucked over. Their stories have run together, fallen apart and connected by their common denominator; they’re all thinly veiled attempts by Matt Berninger to distance himself from the actuality he’s created for himself.

What’s special about theses characters is that they’re just that: characters. No one is going to be fooled into thinking Ada has a government issued ID, but it’s not a stretch to imagine the exasperation “she’s” caused. That’s why they’re a front to launder their thoughts. A real person, i.e. someone we know has a life outside the spotlight just isn’t as relatable to the average person as a figment of a creative mind. There may be a backstory, but not enough details to hinder us from projecting and accepting our own passions, worries, and fears onto something we identify with.

For all the characters, it always boils down to a confession. The National grapples just as much with needing reassurance that they’re good enough while knowing they might not be. Not many a band would so readily admit to nervous jealousy as they do on “Friend Of Mine” where Berninger implores a still dwindling flame to fake a heart attack just so she could ditch a dinner party he wasn’t invited too (John threw the party. Fuck John). Its a crack in the shell; a moment of weakness where the inability to move on overcomes all rationality and common sense, the same helplessness revisited on High Violet’s “Sorrow” where he brazenly admits “I don’t want to get over you.” The same helplessness and self-deprecation of “About Today.” And “Slipped.” And “Exile Vilify.” But even though it’s the same band venting about the same things everyone needs to vent about, the disclosures always take place through someone else.

They’re half-hearted escape artists. The thought of leaving everything behind is buried in everything they do, but they never get far. On “Geese of Beverly Road,” Berninger comforts and somewhat naively offers a chance of ignorance. He sells a potential runaway from the real world, where they can be the heirs of a glimmering world, where an innocent fantasy (the decreasingly platonic relationship between waitress and customer) is grounded enough to turn a blind eye to all the others watching.

“Come be my waitress and serve me tonight. Serve me the sky tonight with a big slice of lemon.”

It’s a last ditch aspiration. Maybe not the most romantic fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. When shit hits the fan, fantasizing becomes less daydream and more necessary reclusion. The hint of citrus he asks her to bring him isn’t as convoluted a metaphor or allusion to age and jaded cynicism as genius.com will have you believe. With the majority of their lyrics, as Berninger has frequently pointed out in the past, there’s a wry humor delivered with every aspect of what some might see as pretention. It’s merely another detail, a humble distraction to not have leave his make-believe.

In 2013, less than 24 hours before their performance at Bonnaroo, I found myself alone in a Tennessee emergency room facing the possibility that I might not be going home with my legs and/or my last meal might be a chicken kebab and cost effective vodka infused lemonade (still trying to figure out which one is more deflating). There’s an odd sense of calm that settles in during moments like that, ease at the loneliness that would otherwise be glaring. A more sober man would have played something hopeful. KC and the Sunshine Band maybe. I chose the National’s “Green Gloves.” It leads off with one of the most gentle guitar lines to ever grace a record. Just a few quick strums that contain all the comfort lyrics about an anxiety everyone has but wont admit. Yet the lyrics do, beautifully.

“Oh I’m out of touch with all my friends, they’re out somewhere getting wasted / Hope they’re staying glued together, I have hopes for them.”

The sweet heartbreaker, which Berninger explained in a 2008 interview, boils down to trying to put yourself in the headspace of someone that you won’t be seeing anymore. Another roundabout. I wasn’t aware at the time. I figured if this is how I’m going to dip out, it might as well be quiet and peacefully. If I could pay attention to the song, listen to that voice, I could probably ignore everything that was going on. I ended up limping to their concert the next day with shins that looked like eggplants. It was the best concert of my life.

A few weeks ago Berninger mentioned that they were 30 songs into a new album, one that, as he has warned, may be one of very few left for the band. The five journeymen are more than adept at many things, but none more so than crafting lullabies for adults that would otherwise cry themselves to sleep. They’ve provided a soundtrack for anxiety and breakups. For reconciliations and comfort, when there might not be any others to help.

This article makes the National sounds like a real bummer, and at times they are. Dad-rock and aging don’t instill vigor, and the silver linings are usually overshadowed, but that’s the real world. Everyone has their own ways to cope: some drink, some smoke, some just delude themselves. The National has filtered their woes through anything they can, desperately trying to snatch any last bliss out of dwindling ignorance before confronting inevitable reality. That’s what being an adult is all about.…