That we’re nearly midway thru 2017 and some segment of the allegedly savvy music world has either slept on Cleveland’s Lamont Thomas aka OBNOX or continues to damn him with some faint “prolific garage rocker” praise is nothing sort of criminal. OK, not WAR CRIMINAL, but certainly a brand of cultural c(r)ock blockery that neither historians or your kids will look kindly upon.
(photo by Aaron A-Live Snorton)
‘Niggative Approach’ — a knowing nod to Ann Arbor’s other N.A. (with an opening cameo from John Brannon) is the 7th album in Bim’s astonishing unbeaten streak that began with 2011’s ‘I’m Bleeding Now’ and shows no immediate sign of ending. While Thomas’ past genre-defying works have brazenly taken a torch to such record store bin cards as “punk”, “psych”, “hip hop”, “funk”, “new arrivals” and “MISC. O”, ‘Niggative Approach’ is his most bold, fully realized statement to date. There’s no one in what’s left of the underground with a sharper take on the ties that bind these genres, and no eyewitness to the nation-going-to-shit as quick to stand up and throw down than Obnox. If you wanna settle for half steps, by all means, be our guest, but ’Niggative Approach’ shouldn’t merely challenge you to imagine the possibilities, but maybe even get your hands dirty in making them happen.
You were at this show (which must have been of the last pre-Repo Man performances for Smash) in about 1991 or so; the main event was Ultimate Warrior vs The Undertaker… which roughly lines up with that years Summerslam and the WWF’s then-habit of just recycling those main events for months after on house shows.
Anyway, Smash was on the card as a low midcarder, having seen the Demolition push completely destroyed by the arrival of LOD/Road Warriors. But, I was still a pretty big fan of Smash so when he came out, I wormed my way through to the aisle to get a good look at him. You sir, were obviously no fan of Smash and took it upon yourself to yell “Smash, you suck!”
Now, everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, but you did however, leave me in the lurch when Smash stopped his ring walk and approached the aisle to confront who he assumed had insulted him: Me.
You were clearly much older than me, as you had a loud adult voice. And I’m not sure why he thought a 12 year old could have yelled that powerfully, but who am I to judge. I’m willing to completely let bygones be bygones on this… I just need you to come clean to Smash and admit it was you and get me off the hook.
I now live in Philadelphia and Demolition is coming here to wrestle in what is probably a very small and depressing venue. If he recognizes me, there’s a very strong chance he, like a tiger backed into a corner, feels he has nothing to lose and attacks me. I’m pretty sure he’s an old man and I could probably take him PHYSICALLY, but mentally I would rather it not come to that.
I will do what I can to put you both in touch. I think it’s time we all made our peace. Thank you.
Adrian Peterson beat up a preschooler so badly the child had cuts on his thights, hands, and abdomen. He had bruises on his lower back and buttocks. Peterson admitted to the child’s mother that he did feel a tiny bit of remorse, but only because he managed to hit the child in the testicles. He mentioned no remorse over filling the child’s mouth with leaves and then stripping the child’s pants to his ankles prior to administering the beating. Because we all know how important it is, if you’re a 6’ 1”, 220-pound man, to gag and strip a preschooler before you beat him with wood.
Instead of chasing rings or another lucrative contract or an ultimately meaningless rushing record for players over 32, maybe Peterson should retire. And take a parenting course. Read a few books on the subject. Get in touch with whatever rage over his own abused inner child comes out when he aspires to “tear up (the) butt” of one of his children. Michael Vick apologized and sought to make restitution for his crimes. That took character, maturity, a reclaiming of his moral center. Adrian Peterson, thus far, has shown that the only center he believes in is his place at the center of the universe and as the apple of God’s eye.
After calling for a (decisive) penalty kick for South Africa on a phantom handbabll by Senegal defender Kalidou Koulibaly during last November’s 2018 World Cup qualifier, Ghanaian referee Joseph Odartei Lamptey has been hit with a lifetime ban by FIFA, as Goal.com’s Evans Gyamera-Antwi details :
“The FIFA disciplinary committee has decided to ban the Ghanaian match official Joseph Odartei Lamptey from taking part in any kind of football-related activity (administrative, sports or any other) at national and international level for life,” a statement read.
“The official was found guilty of breaching art. 69 par. 1 (unlawfully influencing match results) of the Fifa disciplinary code during the 2018 FIFA World Cup Russia qualifying match between South Africa and Senegal on 12 November 2016,” the statement added.
However, unlike Lamptey, assistant referee David Lionheart Nii Lartey Laryea, who was running the touchline when Lamptey made the ‘unthinkable call’ has been pardoned after investigations proved him innocent.
In 2011, Lamptey was handed a six-month ban by CAF when he awarded a dubious goal to Esperance de Tunis in a CAF Champions League game against Egyptian giants Al Ahli.
(from 2013 : Lamont Thomas and Elijah Vasquez of Cleveland, OH’s Obnox react to the news they’ll be using microphones once touched by someone who’d met someone who once hung out with Adrenalin O.D.)
There’s no better way to distract yourself from the craven, creepy meat-marketing that is Austin’s annual tech/film/music trade fair than by focusing your attention on Jersey City’s venerable WFMU, and their annual fund raising marathon. Keep in mind, this is the station that ended my own radio career in the most inglorious (if not brutally unfair) way, so I must really really love the fuckers to death to continue shilling for them.
I don’t listen to enough other radio — online or otherwise — to say with authority that WFMU is the nation’s (or the world’s) best broadcaster. But as someone who’s been listening to the station for longer than some of you have been able to scratch yourselves, I will say this much : in an era in which there’s myriad options that all but guarantee you’ll never encounter something you dislike, a genre you’re unfamiliar with or an artist that lacks the backing of a colossal/rigged infrastructure, WFMU has never been more crucial or fun. Even with the disappearance of a certain Tuesday night program two years ago, WFMU’s cavalcade of hosts have the ability to entertain, educate and enrage, sometimes within the confines of the same show/hour/set.
I live in a house surrounded by more interesting records than I’ll ever have time to listen to, yet I still find myself listening to WFMU when I get up, in the middle of the afternoon, driving around town or at the end of the night. At any given moment I might hear an amazing song I’ve not even thought of in years. Or I might hear something (old or new) that I’ve never come across that’s nothing short of mind-blowing.
Is every show the greatest listening experience of all time? Absolutely not (HELLO, DAVE HILL). But the vast majority are programmed by the sort of insane music obsessives that have the sort of wit, zeal, perspective that no algorithm can ever hope to replace. To say this type of broadcasting is not exactly in vogue would be a huge understatement — even so-called public radio is tightly playlisted, genre-specific and fixated on branding in ways you’d have previously associated with commercial radio (or sterilization via pesticide exposure). So give what you can ; they only do the shakedown thing once (ok, sometimes twice) a year and given the amounts people are dropping on cable, netflix, hulu, various music subscription services, Nintendo Switch, washed coffee beans, Zosia Mamet’s kickstarter etc., throwing a few bucks at WFMU isn’t the least you could do (that would be giving them no money at all), but please consider it just the same.