Watch Radiohead Perform In Rainbows & The King of Limbs in Intimate Live Settings, with No Host or Audience

Over the past twen­ty years Radio­head man­aged to achieve some­thing no oth­er rock band ever has: endur­ing out­sider art rock cred­i­bil­i­ty that shield­ed them from the media machin­ery they came to loathe at the end of the mil­len­ni­um, and endur­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty that meant they could drop their last, 2016 LP, A Moon Shaped Pool “with­out doing a sin­gle inter­view and it still topped the charts all over the world,” Rolling Stone writes,” even if Drake and Bey­once kept them stuck at Num­ber Three in Amer­i­ca.” How did they do it?

Twen­ty years ago, New York­er music writer Alex Ross described pop music as “in a state of sus­pense. On the one hand, the Top Forty chart is over­run with dancers, mod­els, actors, and the like; on the oth­er hand, there are signs that pop music is once again becom­ing a safe place for cre­ative musi­cians. The world fame of Radio­head is a case in point.” Do we still see a dichoto­my between “dancers, mod­els, actors” and “cre­ative musi­cians” like Radio­head in pop music? Per­haps it was a false one to begin with.

Despite their ambiva­lence about pop (and halls of fame), Radio­head hasn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly want­ed to be pegged as stan­dard bear­ers of the avant garde either. As drum­mer Phil Sel­way put it in the year they released Amne­sia, the sec­ond of two of the most baf­fling­ly oblique, yet strange­ly dance­able rock albums in pop­u­lar music: “we don’t want peo­ple twid­dling their goa­tees over our stuff. What we do is pure escapism.” Yet after OK Com­put­er, they emerged sound­ing like a band try­ing to escape itself.

They nev­er want­ed to be a col­lec­tion of celebri­ties. They were hap­pi­est in the base­ment, co-cre­at­ing a sound that is cer­tain­ly greater than the sum of its parts but is also very much, Ross writes, the sum of its parts: “Take away any one ele­ment — Selway’s flick­er­ing rhyth­mic grid, for exam­ple, fierce in exe­cu­tion and trip­py in effect — and Radio­head are a dif­fer­ent band.” Even their pro­grammed, elec­tron­ic beats sound like Selway’s play­ing. “The five togeth­er form a sin­gle mind, with its own habits and tics — the Radio­head Com­pos­er.”

After det­o­nat­ing expec­ta­tions that they’d con­tin­ue on as a typ­i­cal are­na rock band, they were free to make music that met no one’s expec­ta­tions but their own. That cre­ative free­dom unleashed in the next two decades a hand­ful of albums solid­i­fy­ing their sta­tus as “Knights Tem­plar of rock and roll” because of their will­ing­ness to change and adapt, while always play­ing to their strengths: their sin­gle-mind­ed­ness when play­ing togeth­er and the refined song­writ­ing of Thom Yorke, show­cased solo in the first episode of their pro­duc­er Nigel Godrich’s “From the Base­ment” series. As men­tioned in anoth­er recent post, the series fea­tured inti­mate live music per­for­mances of bands, with­out a host or audi­ence.

In lat­er episodes, how­ev­er, from 2008 and 2011, respec­tive­ly, fur­ther up, the band played the full albums In Rain­bows and The King of Limbs to per­fec­tion. Under the for­mer video, on their YouTube page, one com­menter jokes, “what a great band. I hope they can get out of the base­ment some­day.” It’s fun­ny because it seems like that’s exact­ly where they’d rather be. See more live per­for­mances from the “From the Base­ment” series here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Inti­mate Live Per­for­mances of Radio­head, Son­ic Youth, the White Stripes, PJ Har­vey & More: No Host, No Audi­ence, Just Pure Live Music

Radio­head Will Stream Con­certs Free Online Until the Pan­dem­ic Comes to an End

Radiohead’s Thom Yorke Per­forms Songs from His New Sound­track for the Hor­ror Film, Sus­piria

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Digital Lomax Archive Provides Free Access to the Pioneering Recordings of John & Alan Lomax, Compiled Across 7 Decades

The work of eth­no­mu­si­col­o­gist father and son team John and Alan Lomax was intend­ed to pre­serve the local musi­cal cul­tures of the Unit­ed States and regions around the world against an encroach­ing mass media threat­en­ing to erase them. But the thou­sands of Lomax record­ings, films, books, arti­cles, and oth­er doc­u­ments not only con­served region­al music; they also helped trans­form mass cul­ture by intro­duc­ing local forms that have since become part of a glob­al musi­cal gram­mar. Lomax and his son Alan — “the man who record­ed the world,” as biog­ra­ph­er John Szwed called him — pop­u­lar­ized folk music thir­ty years before Dylan record­ed his first album and were among the first white lis­ten­ers to rec­og­nize the genius of Robert John­son.

Alan Lomax began trav­el­ing the coun­try with his father in 1933. In 1939, “while doing grad­u­ate work in anthro­pol­o­gy at Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty,” notes a biog­ra­phy at Lomax’s Asso­ci­a­tion for Cul­tur­al Equi­ty, “he pro­duced the first of sev­er­al radio series for CBS. Amer­i­can Folk Songs, Well­springs of Music, and the prime-time series, Back Where I Come From, exposed nation­al audi­ences to region­al Amer­i­can music and such home­grown tal­ents as Woody Guthrie, Lead Bel­ly, Aunt Mol­ly Jack­son, Josh White, the Gold­en Gate Quar­tet, Burl Ives, and Pete Seeger,” who described Lomax as “more respon­si­ble than any oth­er per­son for the twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry folk song revival.”

Alan Lomax brought blues, fla­men­co, calyp­so, and South­ern bal­lad singing, “all still rel­a­tive­ly unknown gen­res,” to New York in the 1940s with con­cert series like The Mid­night Spe­cial at Town Hall. “The main point of my activ­i­ty,” he once said, “was… to put sound tech­nol­o­gy at the dis­pos­al of The Folk, to bring chan­nels of com­mu­ni­ca­tion to all sorts of artists and areas.” A per­former him­self, he coined the term “cul­tur­al equi­ty” to describe this work, a means of advo­cat­ing for musi­cal cul­tures left behind by com­mer­cial­iza­tion, the “cul­tur­al gray-out,” as he called it. From his first field record­ings in 1933 to his 1993 Land Where the Blues Began, which earned a Nation­al Book Crit­ics Award, he stayed true to that mis­sion.

Lomax and his father’s work has been “com­piled across sev­en decades” by the Lomax Dig­i­tal Archive, which pro­vides free and open access to “the entire­ty of Alan’s pho­tographs and open-reel tape record­ings — made between 1946 and 1991… as well as tran­scrip­tions of his 1940s radio pro­grams, and a selec­tion of clips from his film and video-work of the 1970s and 1980s.” This huge, search­able library sup­ple­ments already mas­sive Lomax col­lec­tions online, such as that housed at the Asso­ci­a­tion for Cul­tur­al Equi­ty, and includes “the entire 70 hours of their Ken­tucky record­ings and the 39 hours of Mis­sis­sip­pi record­ings,” notes a press release. “This lat­ter mate­r­i­al includes the first record­ings of Mud­dy Waters, Hon­ey­boy Edwards, and Sid Hemphill.”

Fur­ther­more, the Lomax Dig­i­tal Archive fea­tures online exhibits that “allow for thought­ful, con­text-rich explo­rations into spe­cif­ic aspects of the col­lec­tion.” The first pre­sen­ta­tion, “Trou­ble Won’t Last Always,” com­piles songs from a series launched dur­ing the pan­dem­ic that “speak to themes of lone­li­ness, iso­la­tion, opti­mism, endurance, tran­scen­dence..,” all uni­ver­sal human expe­ri­ences. Lomax believed, his daugh­ter Anna Lomax Wood said, “that all cul­tures should be looked at on an even play­ing field. Not that they’re all alike. But that they should be giv­en the same dig­ni­ty.” His own dig­ni­fied approach helped ensure that we could hear and learn from local his­tor­i­cal voic­es from around the world even as eco­nom­ic and polit­i­cal inequities sought to silence them for good. Enter the Lomax Dig­i­tal Archive here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Alan Lomax’s Mas­sive Music Archive Is Online: Fea­tures 17,000 His­toric Blues & Folk Record­ings

New, Inter­ac­tive Web Site Puts Online Thou­sands of Inter­na­tion­al Folk Songs Record­ed by the Great Folk­lorist Alan Lomax

Stream 35 Hours of Clas­sic Blues, Folk, & Blue­grass Record­ings from Smith­son­ian Folk­ways: 837 Tracks Fea­tur­ing Lead Bel­ly, Woody Guthrie & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Grateful Dead Fan Creates a Faithful Mini Replica of the Band’s Famous “Wall of Sound” During Lockdown


A few years ago we told you about the Wall of Sound. Not the one cre­at­ed in the stu­dio by Phil Spec­tor, but the one cre­at­ed by Grate­ful Dead tech engi­neer Owsley “Bear” Stan­ley out of over 600 speak­ers. Before the Dead worked to rev­o­lu­tion­ize how rock con­certs could sound, the speak­ers at live shows were tre­bly, under­pow­ered things, hav­ing not been designed for the sud­den change in musi­cal tex­ture and sound dur­ing the 1960s. In the ear­ly days, speak­ers were most­ly used to make sure the drums didn’t drown out the oth­er band mem­bers. Stanley’s three-sto­ry, 28,800-watt mas­sive wall, with columns of speak­ers ded­i­cat­ed to each musi­cian, promised crisp fideli­ty more so than pure loud­ness. In devel­op­ing the set-up, Stan­ley and his fel­low engi­neers helped intro­duce ideas still being used in live sound today.

For all that, how­ev­er, the Wall only got used for sev­en months of tour­ing in 1974. It took hours and hours to assem­ble and dis­as­sem­ble. For those who heard it, the sys­tem lived up to its hype. And it was immor­tal­ized in the Win­ter­land, San Fran­cis­co shows filmed for The Grate­ful Dead Movie (watch it online).

Now, near­ly 50 years lat­er a ded­i­cat­ed fan has rebuilt the wall as a 1/6th scale mod­el in his base­ment. While some of us took up bak­ing dur­ing 2020’s COVID lock­down, Antho­ny Cos­cia began to work four hours a day, every day, for two months, on this mod­el. He post­ed his progress on Insta­gram and Dead­heads, most of which hadn’t seen the real thing in per­son, lost their minds. (See this video to get a good taste of things.) Cos­cia also had nev­er seen the fabled Wall in real life—he would have been a tod­dler at the time. But he made up for it lat­er in the late ‘80s, see­ing the band 35 times, and the Jer­ry Gar­cia Band 25 times.

 

An archi­tect by day, Cos­cia insist­ed on the small­est details being repli­cat­ed, urged on by social media. The fin­ished mod­el is 6 foot, 8 inch­es tall and 10 feet wide, and fea­tures 390 work­ing speak­ers. It pumps out a not-exact­ly-Win­ter­land-wor­thy 800 watts.

“It’s a mas­sive glo­ri­fied clock radio but it sounds bet­ter than I thought,” he told the Wall Street Jour­nal.

And although he spent $2,000 in total, he’s already been offered $100,000 for it from an anony­mous donor.

The obses­sion with the band con­tin­ues a half-cen­tu­ry lat­er. A just announced series of shows by Bob Weir’s Dead & Com­pa­ny in Jan­u­ary 2022—in Can­cun, of course, where it’s warm—have sold out.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Grate­ful Dead Slip Past Secu­ri­ty & Play a Gig at Colum­bia University’s Anti-Viet­nam Protest (1968)

Take a Long, Strange Trip and Stream a 346-Hour Chrono­log­i­cal Playlist of Live Grate­ful Dead Per­for­mances (1966–1995)

The Grate­ful Dead Movie: Watch It Free Online

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

Listen to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” Played on a 1914 Fairground Organ

To tru­ly appre­ci­ate the spec­ta­cle of ABBA’s “Danc­ing Queen” played on a 1914 Hooghuys fair­ground organ, we rec­om­mend you read Angus Harrison’s 2016 VICE essay, “Why Abba’s ‘Danc­ing Queen’ Is the Sad­dest Record Ever Made”:

Make no mis­take. This song is about the danc­ing queen, but it is most def­i­nite­ly not sung by her. Here­in lies the tragedy. Our nar­ra­tor has real­ized that she is no longer the Danc­ing Queen. She is no longer young, no longer sweet, no longer 17. Now, instead, she watch­es from the bar; the dance­floor a mael­strom of lost faith, mem­o­ries, and missed oppor­tu­ni­ties. She was once 17, and as such was total­ly obliv­i­ous that the moment would ever end.

Could such sen­ti­ments apply to the above instru­ment, whose carved fig­urines, ornate scroll­work, and dis­tinc­tive sound def­i­nite­ly sug­gest that how­ev­er lov­ing­ly it’s been main­tained, its prime is long past.

This 105-year-old organ was already 62 when “Danc­ing Queen” was released at the height of the dis­co craze in 1976.

The tune quick­ly soared to the top of the charts world­wide, as fans raced to the record store to pick up a 45, or the full album, Arrival, on vinyl, cas­sette, or 8‑track.

But pro­duc­tion of punched, card­board scrolls such as the ones these metic­u­lous­ly hand built instru­ments — no two alike! — use had long since ceased.

site ded­i­cat­ed to Hooghuys organs ties their decline to the end of WWI, cit­ing the neces­si­ty of cheap­er post-war pro­duc­tion. When the founder of the fam­i­ly busi­ness died, short­ly there­after, the firm ceased to exist.

Flash for­ward to this mil­len­ni­um, when a mechan­i­cal music afi­ciona­do named Alex­ey Rom used MIDI — Musi­cal Instru­ment Dig­i­tal Inter­face — to give the aged organ new life, pro­gram­ming his own arrange­ment, then using an auto­mat­ic punch to cre­ate card­board cards the instru­ment was capa­ble of read­ing.

His first such tri­umph came when he equipped a sim­i­lar organ to cov­er Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody.” “Danc­ing Queen,” and many oth­er pop­u­lar favorites that didn’t exist in the organs’ hey­day fol­lowed. (We’re pret­ty par­tial to “Mack the Knife” played on an 81-key Marenghi organ from 1905…)

Below Rom shares a tiny peek into his process.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1910 Fair­ground Organ Plays Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody,” and It Works Like a Charm

When ABBA Wrote Music for the Cold War-Themed Musi­cal, Chess: “One of the Best Rock Scores Ever Pro­duced for the The­atre” (1984)

Bach’s Most Famous Organ Piece Played on Wine Glass­es

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Stream a Massive Archive of Grateful Dead Concerts from 1965–1995

Image by Herb Greene, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“Once we’re done with it, the audi­ence can have it.” — Jer­ry Gar­cia

It so hap­pens that one of the great­est things about the Inter­net is also one of the not-so-great­est things: you hard­ly ever have to leave the house any­more. Of course, for traders and col­lec­tors of bootlegs, this has been a major boon. Obscure tapes a fan might spend years track­ing down in pre­vi­ous times can now be searched, found, and down­loaded with ease. And — as a spe­cial added bonus — their qual­i­ty won’t degrade with every copy.

For Dead­heads, espe­cial­ly, such easy online access has been crit­i­cal­ly impor­tant in main­tain­ing a com­mu­ni­ty of peo­ple who love the Grate­ful Dead, when there hasn’t been a Grate­ful Dead show in years. That’s enough time for new gen­er­a­tions of Dead­heads to emerge, and to dis­cov­er and grow up with a resource their elders could only dream about: the Inter­net Archive’s Grate­ful Dead col­lec­tion, which cur­rent­ly fea­tures over 15,000 record­ings (most­ly com­plete con­certs) and con­tin­ues to expand as more are added.

Sure, it’s not quite com­pen­sa­tion for nev­er get­ting to see, and tape, the band in per­son, but these days, such a thing would prob­a­bly be impos­si­ble in any case, even if Jer­ry Gar­cia hadn’t died in 1995. (Last year, to keep fans’ spir­its up, band mem­bers Mick­ey Hart, Bob Weir, and Don­na Jean God­chaux wel­comed famous spe­cial guests on YouTube and broad­cast unre­leased filmed con­certs in the week­ly “Shake­down Stream.”) For those raised on Dead tapes, the archive must feel like com­ing home. For oth­ers, it can be a bewil­der­ing col­lec­tion of dates, venues, and loca­tions.

How to nav­i­gate the thou­sands of record­ings of the esti­mat­ed 2,200 con­certs cap­tured on tape by the band and their fans over the course of decades? A few years back, one fan made a list of the “10 Essential/Best Grate­ful Dead Shows,” all of which you can down­load and/or stream and pore over to your heart’s con­tent.

“I am not an old Dead Head, or a mem­ber of the 4‑decade club,” he admits. “In fact, I nev­er saw a show, see­ing as I was born in 2001.” It’s not his fault, but he’s entered an are­na where fun­da­men­tal dis­agree­ment about such things is a mat­ter of course.

1. 09–21-72, The Spec­trum, Philadel­phia, PA
2. 05–08-77, Cor­nell Uni­ver­si­ty, Itha­ca, NY
3. 02–27-69, Fill­more West, San Fran­cis­co, CA
4. 05–02-70, Harpur Col­lege, Bing­ham­ton, NY
5. 08–27-72, Vene­ta, OR
6. 07–07-89, JFK Sta­di­um, Philadel­phia, PA
7. 05–26-72, The Strand Lyceum, Lon­don, Eng­land
8. 12–31-78, Win­ter­land Are­na, San Fran­cis­co, CA
9. 11–08-69, Fill­more The­ater, San Fran­cis­co, CA
10. 12–06-73, Cleve­land Pub­lic Hall, Cleve­land, OH
11. 06–26-74, Prov­i­dence Civic Cen­ter, Prov­i­dence, RI

See the top ten list above (includ­ing links to shows), find hon­or­able men­tions here, a short­er list by Mike Mineo here, and add your own picks in the com­ments. And con­sid­er the fact that a band who devot­ed more time to tour­ing than any­thing else “had just one Top Forty hit in thir­ty years,” Nick Paum­garten writes at The New York­er (though “not for lack of try­ing”). They more than their share of ter­ri­ble nights onstage (by their own admis­sion) but still inspire peo­ple who will nev­er see them play.

“Each tape seemed to have its own par­tic­u­lar note of decay, like the taste of the barn­yard in a wine or a cheese,” writes Paum­garten of learn­ing to savor these con­certs: “You came to love each one, as you might a three-legged dog.” For Dead­heads, it can be hard to pick favorites, espe­cial­ly if you haven’t heard them all yet. Immerse your­self in live Dead now at the Inter­net Archive’s Grate­ful Dead Col­lec­tion here. Browse by the year of the record­ings here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Grate­ful Dead Movie: Watch It Free Online

How the Grate­ful Dead’s “Wall of Sound”–a Mon­ster, 600-Speak­er Sound System–Changed Rock Con­certs & Live Music For­ev­er

The Grate­ful Dead’s “Rip­ple” Played By Musi­cians Around the World (with Cameos by David Cros­by, Jim­my Buf­fett & Bill Kreutz­mann)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Is “Rain” the Perfect Beatles Song?: A New Video Explores the Radical Innovations of the 1966 B‑Side

“That one was the gift of God… of Ja actually—the god of mar­i­jua­na, right? So Ja gave me that one.”

The Bea­t­les 1966 Revolver, a mini-mas­ter­piece, con­tains all the ele­ments that would inform the band’s rev­o­lu­tion­ary late-60s sound on Sgt. Pepper’s, Abbey Road, The White Album, and Let it Be. The album’s first track, “Tax­man,” announced “a sweep­ing shift in the essen­tial nature of the Bea­t­les’ sound,” writes music his­to­ri­an Ken­neth Wom­ack. Its ulti­mate track, “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows,” was “the great­est leap into the future” up to that point in their career, argues pop cul­ture writer Robert Rodriguez, who lit­er­al­ly wrote the book, or a book, on the sea change that was Revolver.

Crit­i­cal to dis­cus­sion of this peri­od, how­ev­er, is a sin­gle that appeared at the same time, and proved just as impor­tant to the Bea­t­les’, and thus pop music’s, evo­lu­tion. Though not espe­cial­ly inno­v­a­tive musi­cal­ly or lyri­cal­ly, “Paper­back Writer” was the first Bea­t­les’ record­ing to bring Paul McCartney’s bass for­ward in the mix, show­cas­ing the utter­ly dis­tinc­tive play­ing that would lat­er form the back­bone of songs like “Come Togeth­er.” The record’s B‑side, “Rain,” more­over, is the first Bea­t­les song to use back­wards tape, a sta­ple of psy­che­del­ic music there­after.

In fact,  “Rain” was “the first back­wards tape on any record any­where. Before Hen­drix, before The Who, before any f*cker,” John Lennon bragged. (He con­ced­ed that the nov­el­ty hit “They’re Com­ing to Take Me Away, Ha Haaa!” got there a lit­tle ear­li­er, “but it’s not the same thing.”). Lennon claimed the song as his, although McCart­ney lat­er claimed co-author­ship. But Lennon gave cred­it for the back­wards voic­es and gui­tars to “Ja,” telling Play­boy in 1980:

I got home from the stu­dio and I was stoned out of my mind on mar­i­jua­na… and, as I usu­al­ly do, I lis­tened to what I’d record­ed that day. Some­how it got on back­wards and I sat there, trans­fixed, with the ear­phones on, with a big hash joint.

There’s much more to the sto­ry of “Rain,” as you’ll hear in the You Can’t Unhear This video above. The track came out of “what would arguably be the most rev­o­lu­tion­ary week of their record­ing career… work­ing close­ly with their beloved pro­duc­er George Mar­tin and an eager young EMI engi­neer named Geoff Emer­ick.” In “Rain,” specif­i­cal­ly, they took full advan­tage of a dis­cov­ery made on “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows” — the impact of slow­ing down record­ings.

The band “played the rhythm track real­ly fast,” dur­ing record­ing, “so that when the tape was played back at nor­mal speed every­thing would be so much slow­er, chang­ing the tex­ture,” remem­bered Emer­ick. This led to what McCart­ney would call a “big omi­nous noise”:

The drums became a giant drum kit. If you slow down a foot­step it becomes a giant’s foot­step, it adds a few tones to the weight of the per­son. So we got a big, pon­der­ous, thun­der­ous back­ing and then we worked on top of that as nor­mal. 

Ringo called it the great­est per­for­mance of his musi­cal career: “I think I just played amaz­ing… I think it was the first time I used this trick of start­ing a break by hit­ting the hi-hat first instead of going direct­ly to a drum off the hi-hat.”

Con­trar­i­ans love takes about icon­ic artists like the Bea­t­les that over­state the impor­tance of deep cuts and minor record­ings. But in the case of “Rain” — the B‑side of a 1966 sin­gle that didn’t appear on the album that changed rock and roll and the coun­ter­cul­ture that same year– believe the hype. The Bea­t­les them­selves sin­gle out the song as sem­i­nal­ly impor­tant to their musi­cal devel­op­ment for good rea­son. Or as Sir Paul recalls, “It was nice, I real­ly enjoyed that one.”

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” Con­tains “the Cra­zi­est Edit” in Bea­t­les His­to­ry

Hear the Beau­ti­ful Iso­lat­ed Vocal Har­monies from the Bea­t­les’ “Some­thing”

Lennon or McCart­ney? Sci­en­tists Use Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence to Fig­ure Out Who Wrote Icon­ic Bea­t­les Songs

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Mick Jagger Takes Shots at Conspiracy Theorists & Anti-Vaxxers in a New Song, “Eazy Sleazy” (with Dave Grohl on Drums, Bass & Guitar)

Fol­low along with the lyrics below, or in the video above.

W’e took it on the chin
The num­bers were so grim
Bossed around by pricks
Stiff­en upper lips
Pac­ing in the yard
You’re try­ing to take the mick
You must think i’m real­ly thick

Look­ing at the graphs with a mag­ni­fy­ing glass
Can­cel all the tours foot­balls fake applause
No more trav­el brochures
Vir­tu­al pre­mieres
Ive got noth­ing left to wear

Look­ing out from these prison walls
You got to rob peter if you’re pay­ing paul
But its easy easy everything’s gonna get real­ly freaky
Alright on the night
Soon it ll be be a mem­o­ry you’re try­ing to remem­ber to for­get

That’s a pret­ty mask
But nev­er take a chance tik tok stu­pid dance
Took a sam­ba class i land­ed on my ass
Try­ing to write a tune you bet­ter hook me up to zoom
See my pon­cey books teach myself to cook
Way too much tv its lobot­o­mis­ing me
Think ive put on weight
Ill have anoth­er drink then ill clean the kitchen sink

We escaped from the prison walls
Open the win­dows and open the doors
But its easy easy
Every­thing s gonna get real­ly freaky
Alright on the night
Its gonna be a gar­den of earth­ly delights
Easy sleazy its gonna be smooth and greasy
Yeah easy believe me
Itll only be a mem­o­ry you’re try­ing to remem­ber
To for­get

Shoot­ing the vac­cine bill gates is in my blood­stream
Its mind con­trol
The earth is flat and cold its nev­er warm­ing up
The arc­tics turned to slush
The sec­ond com­ings late
There’s aliens in the deep state

We’ll escape from these prison walls
Now were out of these prison walls
You got­ta pay peter if you’re rob­bing paul
But its easy easy every­thing s gonna be real­ly freaky
Alright on the night
Were all head­ed back to par­adise
Yeah easy believe me
It’ll be a mem­o­ry you’re try­ing to remem­ber to for­get
Easy cheesy every­one sing please please me
It’ll be a mem­o­ry you’re try­ing to remem­ber to for­get

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The Evolution of Dance from 1950 to 2019: A 7‑Decade Joy Ride in 6 Minutes

I see Michael Jack­son as a dance style, okay? — Ricar­do Walk­er 

Ricar­do Walk­er and his Crew’s The Evo­lu­tion of Dance, 1950 to 2019 will make you regret every minute spent hug­ging the wall in mid­dle school.

The break­neck, 6‑minute romp led by dancer, chore­o­g­ra­ph­er, and Michael Jack­son imper­son­ator Ricar­do Walk­er, not only show­cas­es the all-male Brazil­ian crew’s tal­ent, it makes a strong case for throw­ing your­self into some seri­ous dance floor silli­ness.

The Crew, formed by a mutu­al pas­sion for the King of Pop’s moves, is plen­ty cool, but their will­ing­ness to ham their way through “Flashdance…What a Feel­ing,” the “Macare­na,” and Dirty Danc­ing’s “Time of My Life” sug­gest that the joys of dance are avail­able to ordi­nary mor­tals such as our­selves.

They cavort in sag­ging ear­ly 90s-style Ham­mer Pants for “U Can’t Touch This” and don West­ern wear for Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road,” the most recent num­ber on this musi­cal tour.

Troupe mem­bers Gabriel Zaidan and Alexan­dre “Lelê” Mayrink seem unham­pered by van­i­ty, toss­ing their envi­able locks into the 35 cos­tume changes’ goofi­est styles.

The Crew took 16 hours to get the video in the can on a day when one of their num­ber felt under the weath­er, and they had to be out of the stu­dio by 7pm. (Our com­pli­ments to the edi­tor!)

While such hits as Chub­by Checker’s “Let’s Twist Again,” Jackson’s “Bil­lie Jean,” Madonna’s “Vogue,” Beyoncé’s “Sin­gle Ladies,” and — who could for­get? — “Gang­nam Style” instant­ly sum­mon a peri­od, the 90s place­ment of Tom Jones’ sig­na­ture tune, “It’s Not Unusu­al,” is throw­ing view­ers for a loop.

How did that old chest­nut wind up between Madon­na and Back­street Boys?

By virtue of its first stu­dio ver­sion, released in 1995 as part of the com­pi­la­tion album The Leg­endary Tom Jones — 30th Anniver­sary Album, that’s how.

Pri­or to their vir­tu­oso turn in the Evo­lu­tion of Dance, 1950 to 2019, the group guid­ed view­ers through the Evo­lu­tion of Michael Jack­son’s Dance. (Jackson’s influ­ence is also evi­dent through­out the for­mer, earn­ing him 4 nods.)

For those whose feet have begun to itch, chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Walk­er teach­es a Mas­ter Class in Michael Jackson’s dance moves for $100.

Songs used in The Evo­lu­tion of Dance — 1950 to 2019 — by Ricar­do Walk­er’s Crew

00:03​ — 00:13​ — Singin’in the Rain — Gene Kel­ly

00:13​ — 00:23​ — Hound Dog — Elvis Pres­ley

00:23​ — 00:30​ — Tut­ti Frut­ti — Lit­tle Richard

00:30​ — 00:35​ — Let’s Twist Again — Chub­by Check­er switch to col­or

00:35​ — 00:45​ — I feel good — James Brown

00:45​ — 00:57​ — I Want You Back — The Jack­son Five

00:57​ — 01:09​ — Stayin’ Alive — Bee Gees

01:09​ — 01:16​ — Danc­ing Machine — The Jack­sons

01:16​ — 01:20​ — Shake your Body — The Jack­sons

01:20​ — 01:24​ — You’re the one that I want — John Tra­vol­ta, Olivia New­ton-John

01:24​ — 01:31​ — Time of My Life — Bill Med­ley, Jen­nifer Warnes

01:31​ — 01:46​ — Bil­lie Jean — Michael Jack­son

01:46​ — 01:55​ — Rhythm Nation — Janet Jack­son

01:55​ — 02:03​ — Foot­Loose —  Ken­ny Log­gins

02:03​ — 02:13​ — Thriller — Michael Jack­son

02:13​ — 02:18​ — What a feel­ing — Irene Cara

02:18​ — 02:22​ — U can’t touch this — MC Ham­mer

02:22​ — 02:31​ — Black or White — Michael Jack­son

02:31​ — 02:42​ — Vogue — Madon­na

02:42​ — 02:51​ — It’s not unusu­al — Tom Jones

02:51​ — 03:02​ — Every­body — Back­street Boys

03:02​ — 03:13​ — Macare­na — Los Del Río

03:13​ — 03:26​ — Crank That — Soul­ja Boy

03:26​ — 03:33​ — Sin­gle Ladies — Bey­once

03:33​ — 03:46​ — Bye Bye Bye — NSYNC

03:46​ — 03:54​ — Ragatan­ga — Rouge

03:54​ — 04:04​ — Gang­nam Style — PSY

04:04​ — 04:15​ — Despaci­to — Luis Fon­si

04:15​ — 04:25​ — Uptown Funk — Mark Ron­son , Bruno Mars

04:25​ — 04:34​ — Par­ty Rock Anthem — LMFAO

04:34​ — 04:43​ — Can’t Stop The Feel­ing — Justin Tim­ber­lake

04:43​ — 04:51​ — Watch Me — Silen­tó

04:51​ — 05:03​ — Swish Swish — Katy Per­ry

05:03​ — 05:17​ — In My Feel­ing — Drake

05:17​ — 05:35​ — Old Town Road — Lil Nas X

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” Video Changed Pop Cul­ture For­ev­er: Revis­it the 13-Minute Short Film Direct­ed by John Lan­dis

The Dance The­atre of Harlem Dances Through the Streets of NYC: A Sight to Behold

Twerk­ing, Moon­walk­ing AI Robots–They’re Now Here

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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