REALLY glad y'all are digging this! I have a lot of PMs to answer to.
My mission was to make something catering specifically to b-boys and b-girls (so it's turned up to 11 the whole way through), but still keep it musically interesting for the rest of the population. I'm glad it worked the way it did.
This is one of the larger projects I've worked on in a very long time. I went into this thing with high personal standards, and did my very best to hold to these standards for the entire 80 minutes--sprinting the whole marathon. I have to be 100% happy with something before calling it complete, and I am more than content with how this turned out. It feels good to set a personal goal and carry it all the way through. 2005 has been all about that. (I've been saying I was going do another mix since 2001! Saying that I was going to get back into the dance since 2001. Finally sticking to what I'm saying, and it's great watching things take shape.)
OK I'm ranting. Sorry if I'm sounding too self important--I'm just in a good mood. Just want to say thank you to all. Gonna see Dungen tomorrow. Really hyped about that too. (Anybody see them live yet? Their last record was )
This thing is really bangin'... the transitions between beats, extending breaks... very well put together... gonna get added to the beat cd collection...
Dudes in the mailroom came through on a Friday afternoon.
Ran home. Plopped the CD in. Set dials to :destroy: as the Mrs. and I cooked/washed dishes (the grown & sexy "goin out on Friday night").
There are certain parts of Soulstrut that I share with her. Like the 8am calls from iDOX (it's the guy with the deep voice from Toledo), or Cosmo (everyone loves Cosmo). She knows you as "Castle D, that one dude from Chicago." She asked what we were listening to, and I said, "Castle D, that one dude from Chicago, sent a b-boy/b-girl mix." Her: Uprocking? (You'll have to see her uprock in person sometime). Chessboxin' got a "Ooooooh, that's niiiice!" from her, which is the equivalent of a head nod from a tough dude playing the wall, nursing a drink, dressed in Roca-Wear, only much friendlier.
I love it. All the late night mp3 trade sessions from the last year make sense now. Those were pieces... Castle D has been working overtime. Peace to letting us in on the process. And top o' the props for concluding it. You did a solid.
(This thread seems like a good place to mention that I think the Ill Noize??? Crew is to Soul Strut what the Philly crew was last year. That is, those thick with native tongue. The dialect the dickriders dissect, in other words. The Bay looked like they had it locked with Thizzness for a while, but Chicago obviously wins. Jawn is out, "Do the James" is in. I ain't mad, we could use a little literacy around here. Castle D as the new Dinosaur, discuss...)
Man I got that whole 80 minute mix at my house
ever since I got it my floorwork has improved dramatically.
I blew the dust off my footwork while doing the aforementioned dishes. (Just after the Mrs. hollered at "Raw like cocaine straight from Bolivia.") My footwork was in the cellar, too. Like, ancient. Sad, even. Since '84.
I only know it was '84 because "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" was dominating the radio waves. That summer pops took me to Minnesota. I was living with mom, and had just hit my "difficult" period. I think the plan was to take me to the middle of nowhere (no offense, Minnesota) and let me work it out. My butch dyke cousin gave me my first mowhawk -- dyed red -- two days before dad showed up. I was rocking the freshest pair of banana yellow lowtop Converse (no socks). Dad was not happy. We pulled into Thief River Falls, where grandma lived, and pops suggested we go into the local barber and "just take a little off the top so Grandma doesn't have a fucking stroke when she sees you." Fair enough, I thought. I could maintain hardcore without damning the family crest -- like tucking your ponytail into your McDonald's hat to keep your job. Dad went into the barber shop first, he said, "to warn them." My red flag must not have been working. Chalk it up to youth. All I remember is a woman looking out the window and smiling real big. She was being overly friendly when I went in, and not like that friend of my sister who wanted to touch my thingy. As soon as I sat down, she grabbed my mane by the tail (Did I just admit to having a mowhawk with a tail?) and shaved it completely off in one fell swoop. From the tail to the forehead in one swift motion. I watched it all happen in the mirror, but didn't get it until the hair had hit the floor. That smiling bitch was still holding the tail, though. Mouth agape, I lloked at dad in the mirror. "You didn't think I'd take you to my parent's house looking like a fag?" He paid the woman, and walked out. (I probably cried, but that's still repressed.)
Quietest drive through Thief River Falls in the history of drives through Thief River Falls.
The end of my breakdancing career coincides with the first time I dropped the F-Bomb on pops. We parked near grandma's, and dad asked if I was ready to go in. I said, "Fuck you!" He slapped me so hard that my face bounced off his palm, hit the window, and bounced back towards his palm. I stifled, got out of the car, and went to hug the grandmother I hadn't seen since I was 4. But I had a plan.
That plan came through grandma's neighbor kid, Jason. Dude had parent's (like most, I suppose) who had a liquor cabinet. I knew my dad kept pills in his suitcase -- how else can you drive from California to Minnesota without sleeping? So Jason and I indulged while the old folks were out. I remember puking a mouthful of gin, uppers, and Copenhagen chewing tobacco all over Jason's mother's white carpet. (Punk Rock Points = 10.) We were living the life, so to speak. Jason wanted to show off his summer import, so he took me to meet the "Thief River Crew."
The crew (they didn't call themselves that, by the way), hung out at K-Mart. Apparently, K-Mart didn't carry the same negative connotations for Minnesotans as it did for Californians, 'cause when we walked up I was like, "Fuck no I ain't going in there," and Jason said, "Why? Everyone hangs out here." Whatever! I shit you not, one of the kids waiting to meet the King Kali Puker asked me if I surfed to school? I may have still had my dad's palm imprinted on my face, but I wasn't stupid. Surf to school? Jesus...
What happened next is still so vivid in my mind, I can give it to you verbatim:
[Scene I:[/b] One of the Thief River dimwits asked what Californians did for fun.]
We breakdance.
"Oh, you mean like..." [busts a rudimentary robot that's so squeaky it made my ears hurt.]
That's "popping" you dipshit!
"Oh, well then... what's breakdancing?"
I'd show you, but I need my cardboard.
[Dipshits, in unison] "Cardboard?"
Yea, cardboard! I don't want to tear my clothes. ['Cause my sister's hand-me-downs were so fucking fly, I guess?]
"Well, can you do popping for us then?"
I would, but I need music. YOU HAVE TO POP TO MUSIC! Don't you know?
[The details here are fuzzy, but someone suggested we go to the house of one of the K-Mart honeydips, 'cause her folks weren't home. I don't remember getting there, but I remember her pad had that brown on brown (wood paneling for days) on lock, with one of those monster console record player/tape deck/mini bar joints. I was instantly crushed on said honeydip, but I played it cool like Cali.]
[Scene II:[/b] In honeydip???s front room, crowd gathered around Kid Kali.]
"DO IT! DO IT!"
"What music do you want?"
Turn the radio on! You do have a Top 40 station here, don't you?
[Radio: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)]
Okay, this will work. Turn it up! [Preparing.]
"What's that?"
My glove! [Since I already admitted to having a tail in '84, rocking yellow converse with my sister's clothes, I guess it's not a stretch for you to believe that I actually carried a white Michael Jackson glove around with me. (I have pictures -- missbassie's seen the post-Minnesota bitchkiller!) In my defense, my mom worked at a factory that built printed circuit boards, and everyone had to wear white gloves, she always had them in her purse -- It's not like I bought them, gosh!]
I proceeded to bust what must have been the ugliest uprock / robot / "the wave" / buttspin combo in the history of terrible, terrible breakdancing. And the dimwits WENT NUTS. I mean, totally lost their shit. Perhaps it's just my imagination, but I think they put me on their shoulders and marched me through town, declaring me "king of the dance floor". Yea, that is my imagination. But I do recall the next song to come across the radio was a Billy Idol tune ("Rebel Yell" or "Flesh For Fantasy", probably), and you know Kid Kali worked an upper-lip-snarl / punching-fist combo into the routine...
That honeydip was done for. Shook ones up in Thief River Falls, I tell you.
Jason and I stole a bottle of whisky from honey's parent's cabinet and drank it in a park, then snuck into his parent's house (sleepover, yo!) late. Jason cut the sleeves off his t-shirt the next day before we went to get milkshakes. He wanted to be more like King Kali, and I was hoping to bump into honeydip again.
I never did see honey again. And Jason's mom was hella pissed about the shirt. Not quite as pissed as she was when Jason puked his leftover whisky+strawberry milkshake+Pepto Bismol stomach contents all over the house. That summer was a first, on so many levels!
"Batten down your snuff holder, I'm fixin' to work it out!"[/b]
Household chores have improved on all fronts: 1) focus and determination 2) dexterity 3) knowledge about solvents and floor-shine
Dudes in the mailroom came through on a Friday afternoon.
Ran home. Plopped the CD in. Set dials to :destroy: as the Mrs. and I cooked/washed dishes (the grown & sexy "goin out on Friday night").
There are certain parts of Soulstrut that I share with her. Like the 8am calls from iDOX (it's the guy with the deep voice from Toledo), or Cosmo (everyone loves Cosmo). She knows you as "Castle D, that one dude from Chicago." She asked what we were listening to, and I said, "Castle D, that one dude from Chicago, sent a b-boy/b-girl mix." Her: Uprocking? (You'll have to see her uprock in person sometime). Chessboxin' got a "Ooooooh, that's niiiice!" from her, which is the equivalent of a head nod from a tough dude playing the wall, nursing a drink, dressed in Roca-Wear, only much friendlier.
I love it. All the late night mp3 trade sessions from the last year make sense now. Those were pieces... Castle D has been working overtime. Peace to letting us in on the process. And top o' the props for concluding it. You did a solid.
(This thread seems like a good place to mention that I think the Ill Noize??? Crew is to Soul Strut what the Philly crew was last year. That is, those thick with native tongue. The dialect the dickriders dissect, in other words. The Bay looked like they had it locked with Thizzness for a while, but Chicago obviously wins. Jawn is out, "Do the James" is in. I ain't mad, we could use a little literacy around here. Castle D as the new Dinosaur, discuss...)
Man I got that whole 80 minute mix at my house ever since I got it my floorwork has improved dramatically.
I blew the dust off my footwork while doing the aforementioned dishes. (Just after the Mrs. hollered at "Raw like cocaine straight from Bolivia.") My footwork was in the cellar, too. Like, ancient. Sad, even. Since '84.
I only know it was '84 because "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" was dominating the radio waves. That summer pops took me to Minnesota. I was living with mom, and had just hit my "difficult" period. I think the plan was to take me to the middle of nowhere (no offense, Minnesota) and let me work it out. My butch dyke cousin gave me my first mowhawk -- dyed red -- two days before dad showed up. I was rocking the freshest pair of banana yellow lowtop Converse (no socks). Dad was not happy. We pulled into Thief River Falls, where Grandma lived, and pops suggested we go into the local barber and "just take a little off the top so Grandma doesn't have a fucking stroke when she sees you." Fair enough, I thought. I could maintain hardcore without damning the family crest, like tucking your ponytail into your McDonald's hat to keep your job. Dad went into the barber shop first, he said, "to warn them." My red flag must not have been working. Chalk it up to youth. All I remember is a woman smiling real big. She was being overly friendly, and not like that friend of my sister's that wanted to touch my thingy. As soon as I sat down, she grabbed my mane by the tail (Did I just admit to having a mowhawk with a tail?) and shaved it completely off in one fell swoop. From the tail to the forehead in one swift motion. I watched it all happen in the mirror, but didn't get it until the hair had hit the floor. That smiling bitch was still holding the tail, though. Mouth agape, I lloked at dad in the mirror. "You didn't think I'd take you to my parent's house looking like a fag?" He paid the woman, and walked out. (I probably cried, but that's still repressed.)
Quietest drive through Thief River Falls in the history of drives through Thief River Falls.
The end of my breakdancing career coincides with the first time I dropped the F-Bomb on pops. We parked near grandma's, and dad asked if I was ready to go in. I said, "Fuck you!" He slapped me so hard that my face bounced off his palm, hit the window, and bounced back towards his palm. I stifled, got out of the car, and went to hug the grandmother I hadn't seen since I was 4. But I had a plan.
That plan came through grandma's neighbor kid, Jason. Dude had parent's (like most, I suppose) who had a liquor cabinet. I knew my dad kept pills in his suitcase -- how else can you drive from California to Minnesota without sleeping? So Jason and I indulged while the old folks were out. I remember puking a mouthful of gin, uppers, and Copenhagen chewing tobacco all over Jason's mother's white carpet. (Punk Rock Points = 10.) We were living the life, so to speak. Jason wanted to show off his summer import, so he took me to meet the "Thief River Crew."
The crew (they didn't call themselves that, by the way), hung out at K-Mart. Apparently, K-Mart didn't carry the same negative connotations for Minnesotans as it did for Californians, 'cause when we walked up I was like, "Fuck no I ain't going in there," and Jason said, "Why? Everyone hangs out here." Whatever! I shit you not, one of the kids waiting to meet the King Kali Puker asked me if I surfed to school? I may have still had my dad's palm imprinted on my face, but I wasn't stupid. Surf to school? Jesus...
What happened next is still so vivid in my mind, I can give it to you verbatim:
[Scene I:[/b] One of the Thief River dimwits asked what Californians did for fun.]
We breakdance.
"Oh, you mean like..." [busts a rudimentary robot that's so squeaky it made my ears hurt.]
That's "popping" you dipshit!
"Oh, well then... what's breakdancing?"
I'd show you, but I need my cardboard.
[Dipshits, in unison] "Cardboard?"
Yea, cardboard! I don't want to tear my clothes. ['Cause my sister's hand-me-downs were so fucking fly, I guess?]
"Well, can you do popping for us then?"
I would, but I need music. YOU HAVE TO POP TO MUSIC! Don't you know?
[The details here are fuzzy, but someone suggested we go to the house of one of the K-Mart honeydips, 'cause her folks weren't home. I don't remember getting there, but I remember her pad had that brown on brown (wood paneling for days) on lock, with one of those monster console record player/tape deck/mini bar joints. I was instantly crushed on said honeydip, but I played it cool like Cali.]
[Scene II:[/b] In honeydip???s front room, crowd gathered around Kid Kali.]
"DO IT! DO IT!"
"What music do you want?"
Turn the radio on! You do have a Top 40 station here, don't you?
[Radio: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)]
Okay, this will work. Turn it up! [Preparing.]
"What's that?"
My glove! [Since I already admitted to having a tail in '84, rocking yellow converse with my sister's clothes, I guess it's not a stretch for you to believe that I actually carried a white Michael Jackson glove around with me. (I have pictures -- missbassie's seen the post-Minnesota bitchkiller!) In my defense, my mom worked at a factory that built printed circuit boards, and everyone had to wear white gloves, she always had them in her purse -- It's not like I bought them, gosh!]
I proceeded to bust what must have been the ugliest uprock / robot / "the wave" / buttspin combo in the history of terrible, terrible breakdancing. And the dimwits WENT NUTS. I mean, totally lost their shit. Perhaps it's just my imagination, but I think they put me on their shoulders and marched me through town, declaring me "king of the dance floor". Yea, that is my imagination. But I do recall the next song to come across the radio was a Billy Idol tune ("Rebel Yell" or "Flesh For
Fantasy", probably), and you know Kid Kali worked an upper-lip-snarl / punching-fist combo into the routine...
That honeydip was done for. Shook ones up in Thief River Falls, I tell you.
Jason and I stole a bottle of whisky from honey's parent's cabinet and drank it in a park, then snuck into his parent's house (sleepover, yo!) late. Jason cut the sleeves off his t-shirt the next day before we went to get milkshakes. He wanted to be more like King Kali, and I was hoping to bump into honeydip again.
I never did see honey again. And Jason's mom was hella pissed about the shirt. Not quite as pissed as she was when Jason puked his leftover whisky+strawberry milkshake+Pepto Bismol stomach contents all over the house. That summer was a first, on so many levels!
"Batten down your snuff holder, I'm fixin' to work it out!"[/b]
(For the working cowboy!)
Thanks for the memories, Castle D!
i think it is safe to say this wins the review contest.
Sick mix! The mixing is very tight. Was it done just on turntables with an EFX box or was it done on a PC?
a little bit of turntables, a lot of PC.
I had pretty much recorded songs into my PC from vinyl--edited them down so it keeps a steady and swift flow, engineered some of them to bang a lil harder, sequenced them together, overdubbed live vinyl manipulating, applied EFX where needed....
lots of editing....
Editing is the shit. I got hooked the first time I made a collage with my pc some 8-9 years ago. You can do so much more with editing!
I would generally agree with that, perhaps minus the bed-head, though. Vast talent, good vision, charm like Lucky, vaguely Pigpenish corona of space dust, and a George Gervin-esque ability to accomplish a tremendous amount while seeming to do nothing more than remain laid-back, pressed, and arrestingly dressed (dude produces tracks with his thoughts). Please believe: A year from now, dudes will be buying cheese trays just because Castle sampled them. Anyone that sips the juice will invariably end up drinking the kool-aid. Daveset, straight up.
I haven't listened to the posted excerpt, but at thirty-three minutes, I'm guessing it cuts off the best part, where drum waterfalls sprinkle a lil' snow inside a optimo, putting the weekend pants on an already pushy drum kit, granting it the big cheese and the powdered courage to push up on some husky-voiced dusky choice Dutch Girl, who's trouble in the paint, but still demurs, "It's a little early, but thanks anyway," with the next day's papers hollering "SPURNED BEAT KILLS SELF, COWBELL: 'BEACUSE I LOVE AND FEEL FOR PEOPLE TOO MUCH, I GUESS'--HOMEMADE BULLETS BLAMED--SILVER LINING: SOUNDTRACK IS AVAILABLE."
I only dance when abroad, but irregardless, I play this in my headphones whenever I need to get there quickly, or when I feel like numchucking passers-by. Do people still say "hype"? Whatever--dudes need to pay pal for doubles, if for no other reason than put on their Muro face, put their hands in "yo, I'm reading an invisible newspaper" position, and be like "Wassup--whatchu know about two cds?"
Super-duty work, though, Dave. Butter and parquet.
Anyone that sips the juice will invariably end up drinking the kool-aid. Daveset, straight up.
Bust this. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT play this cd while driving in your car downhill on Flatbush Ave in rush hour traffic. You WILL have a car accident, or at least a close call.
b/w
(wifey saying) "This is a really good mix. You should tell your friend that this would be a good mix to breakdance to." (dude in the back seat, when the Wu part comes on) "JESUS, dude is really getting it in."
Whatever--dudes need to pay pal for doubles, if for no other reason than put on their Muro face, put their hands in "yo, I'm reading an invisible newspaper" position, and be like "Wassup--whatchu know about two cds?"
Way ahead of you allstar....Muro face can use some work though.
its been a few days since anybody told you how good your mix was so i thought i would come here and say GODDAMN HOMIE THE SHIT IS FUCKING FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!
has not left my cd player in my ride since i got it.
I got a spam mail from a dave castillo yesterday, but it was about some medical degree, not the new mix
please to post up when and where its for sale, gracias
damn. sorry if my email address has been spamming. was it the subject of FYI????? I might have to remove some spams that got into my can.
you guys can order CDs direct through me right now. I'm dragging my feet on contacting distros right now. Lots of work.
$10 + $1.50 shippin US/ $5 international.
y'all can paypal me at [email]dave@sketcherone.com[/email] or go to my website for my mailing address.
I'm inspired to do a few more mixes. One more b-boy one (continuing with what I couldn't get on the first...) and then some different themed music ones.
Dave!!!! You've done did it with this one boyeee!! Serious, I don't know what more I can say that has not been said yet. This has got to be THE MIX of 2005. I don't think there is anything out there that will come close to the slection and execution. Once I get my first paycheck, I'll hit you off with a donation maybe but a copy for someone. Thanks for taking the time to put this together!
Comments
CDs are en route!
hot, get this shit distributed out here in japan and in oz... hit me on AIM for connections...!
peace.
that packaging looks ill, nice touch
solid all the way around
that shit's great!!!!
Sing me up for a copy.
My mission was to make something catering specifically to b-boys and b-girls (so it's turned up to 11 the whole way through), but still keep it musically interesting for the rest of the population. I'm glad it worked the way it did.
This is one of the larger projects I've worked on in a very long time. I went into this thing with high personal standards, and did my very best to hold to these standards for the entire 80 minutes--sprinting the whole marathon. I have to be 100% happy with something before calling it complete, and I am more than content with how this turned out. It feels good to set a personal goal and carry it all the way through. 2005 has been all about that. (I've been saying I was going do another mix since 2001! Saying that I was going to get back into the dance since 2001. Finally sticking to what I'm saying, and it's great watching things take shape.)
OK I'm ranting. Sorry if I'm sounding too self important--I'm just in a good mood.
Just want to say thank you to all. Gonna see Dungen tomorrow. Really hyped about that too. (Anybody see them live yet? Their last record was
Dudes in the mailroom came through on a Friday afternoon.
Ran home. Plopped the CD in. Set dials to :destroy: as the Mrs. and I cooked/washed dishes (the grown & sexy "goin out on Friday night").
There are certain parts of Soulstrut that I share with her. Like the 8am calls from iDOX (it's the guy with the deep voice from Toledo), or Cosmo (everyone loves Cosmo). She knows you as "Castle D, that one dude from Chicago." She asked what we were listening to, and I said, "Castle D, that one dude from Chicago, sent a b-boy/b-girl mix." Her: Uprocking? (You'll have to see her uprock in person sometime). Chessboxin' got a "Ooooooh, that's niiiice!" from her, which is the equivalent of a head nod from a tough dude playing the wall, nursing a drink, dressed in Roca-Wear, only much friendlier.
I love it. All the late night mp3 trade sessions from the last year make sense now. Those were pieces... Castle D has been working overtime. Peace to letting us in on the process. And top o' the props for concluding it. You did a solid.
(This thread seems like a good place to mention that I think the Ill Noize??? Crew is to Soul Strut what the Philly crew was last year. That is, those thick with native tongue. The dialect the dickriders dissect, in other words. The Bay looked like they had it locked with Thizzness for a while, but Chicago obviously wins. Jawn is out, "Do the James" is in. I ain't mad, we could use a little literacy around here. Castle D as the new Dinosaur, discuss...)
I blew the dust off my footwork while doing the aforementioned dishes. (Just after the Mrs. hollered at "Raw like cocaine straight from Bolivia.") My footwork was in the cellar, too. Like, ancient. Sad, even. Since '84.
I only know it was '84 because "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" was dominating the radio waves. That summer pops took me to Minnesota. I was living with mom, and had just hit my "difficult" period. I think the plan was to take me to the middle of nowhere (no offense, Minnesota) and let me work it out. My butch dyke cousin gave me my first mowhawk -- dyed red -- two days before dad showed up. I was rocking the freshest pair of banana yellow lowtop Converse (no socks). Dad was not happy. We pulled into Thief River Falls, where grandma lived, and pops suggested we go into the local barber and "just take a little off the top so Grandma doesn't have a fucking stroke when she sees you." Fair enough, I thought. I could maintain hardcore without damning the family crest -- like tucking your ponytail into your McDonald's hat to keep your job. Dad went into the barber shop first, he said, "to warn them." My red flag must not have been working. Chalk it up to youth. All I remember is a woman looking out the window and smiling real big. She was being overly friendly when I went in, and not like that friend of my sister who wanted to touch my thingy. As soon as I sat down, she grabbed my mane by the tail (Did I just admit to having a mowhawk with a tail?) and shaved it completely off in one fell swoop. From the tail to the forehead in one swift motion. I watched it all happen in the mirror, but didn't get it until the hair had hit the floor. That smiling bitch was still holding the tail, though. Mouth agape, I lloked at dad in the mirror. "You didn't think I'd take you to my parent's house looking like a fag?" He paid the woman, and walked out. (I probably cried, but that's still repressed.)
Quietest drive through Thief River Falls in the history of drives through Thief River Falls.
The end of my breakdancing career coincides with the first time I dropped the F-Bomb on pops. We parked near grandma's, and dad asked if I was ready to go in. I said, "Fuck you!" He slapped me so hard that my face bounced off his palm, hit the window, and bounced back towards his palm. I stifled, got out of the car, and went to hug the grandmother I hadn't seen since I was 4. But I had a plan.
That plan came through grandma's neighbor kid, Jason. Dude had parent's (like most, I suppose) who had a liquor cabinet. I knew my dad kept pills in his suitcase -- how else can you drive from California to Minnesota without sleeping? So Jason and I indulged while the old folks were out. I remember puking a mouthful of gin, uppers, and Copenhagen chewing tobacco all over Jason's mother's white carpet. (Punk Rock Points = 10.) We were living the life, so to speak. Jason wanted to show off his summer import, so he took me to meet the "Thief River Crew."
The crew (they didn't call themselves that, by the way), hung out at K-Mart. Apparently, K-Mart didn't carry the same negative connotations for Minnesotans as it did for Californians, 'cause when we walked up I was like, "Fuck no I ain't going in there," and Jason said, "Why? Everyone hangs out here." Whatever! I shit you not, one of the kids waiting to meet the King Kali Puker asked me if I surfed to school? I may have still had my dad's palm imprinted on my face, but I wasn't stupid. Surf to school? Jesus...
What happened next is still so vivid in my mind, I can give it to you verbatim:
[Scene I:[/b] One of the Thief River dimwits asked what Californians did for fun.]
We breakdance.
"Oh, you mean like..." [busts a rudimentary robot that's so squeaky it made my ears hurt.]
That's "popping" you dipshit!
"Oh, well then... what's breakdancing?"
I'd show you, but I need my cardboard.
[Dipshits, in unison] "Cardboard?"
Yea, cardboard! I don't want to tear my clothes. ['Cause my sister's hand-me-downs were so fucking fly, I guess?]
"Well, can you do popping for us then?"
I would, but I need music. YOU HAVE TO POP TO MUSIC! Don't you know?
[The details here are fuzzy, but someone suggested we go to the house of one of the K-Mart honeydips, 'cause her folks weren't home. I don't remember getting there, but I remember her pad had that brown on brown (wood paneling for days) on lock, with one of those monster console record player/tape deck/mini bar joints. I was instantly crushed on said honeydip, but I played it cool like Cali.]
[Scene II:[/b] In honeydip???s front room, crowd gathered around Kid Kali.]
"DO IT! DO IT!"
"What music do you want?"
Turn the radio on! You do have a Top 40 station here, don't you?
[Radio: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)]
Okay, this will work. Turn it up! [Preparing.]
"What's that?"
My glove! [Since I already admitted to having a tail in '84, rocking yellow converse with my sister's clothes, I guess it's not a stretch for you to believe that I actually carried a white Michael Jackson glove around with me. (I have pictures -- missbassie's seen the post-Minnesota bitchkiller!) In my defense, my mom worked at a factory that built printed circuit boards, and everyone had to wear white gloves, she always had them in her purse -- It's not like I bought them, gosh!]
I proceeded to bust what must have been the ugliest uprock / robot / "the wave" / buttspin combo in the history of terrible, terrible breakdancing. And the dimwits WENT NUTS. I mean, totally lost their shit. Perhaps it's just my imagination, but I think they put me on their shoulders and marched me through town, declaring me "king of the dance floor". Yea, that is my imagination. But I do recall the next song to come across the radio was a Billy Idol tune ("Rebel Yell" or "Flesh For Fantasy", probably), and you know Kid Kali worked an upper-lip-snarl / punching-fist combo into the routine...
That honeydip was done for. Shook ones up in Thief River Falls, I tell you.
Jason and I stole a bottle of whisky from honey's parent's cabinet and drank it in a park, then snuck into his parent's house (sleepover, yo!) late. Jason cut the sleeves off his t-shirt the next day before we went to get milkshakes. He wanted to be more like King Kali, and I was hoping to bump into honeydip again.
I never did see honey again. And Jason's mom was hella pissed about the shirt. Not quite as pissed as she was when Jason puked his leftover whisky+strawberry milkshake+Pepto Bismol stomach contents all over the house. That summer was a first, on so many levels!
"Batten down your snuff holder, I'm fixin' to work it out!"[/b]
(For the working cowboy!)
Thanks for the memories, Castle D!
i think it is safe to say this wins the review contest.
Editing is the shit. I got hooked the first time I made a collage with my pc some 8-9 years ago. You can do so much more with editing!
I would generally agree with that, perhaps minus the bed-head, though. Vast talent, good vision, charm like Lucky, vaguely Pigpenish corona of space dust, and a George Gervin-esque ability to accomplish a tremendous amount while seeming to do nothing more than remain laid-back, pressed, and arrestingly dressed (dude produces tracks with his thoughts). Please believe: A year from now, dudes will be buying cheese trays just because Castle sampled them. Anyone that sips the juice will invariably end up drinking the kool-aid. Daveset, straight up.
I haven't listened to the posted excerpt, but at thirty-three minutes, I'm guessing it cuts off the best part, where drum waterfalls sprinkle a lil' snow inside a optimo, putting the weekend pants on an already pushy drum kit, granting it the big cheese and the powdered courage to push up on some husky-voiced dusky choice Dutch Girl, who's trouble in the paint, but still demurs, "It's a little early, but thanks anyway," with the next day's papers hollering "SPURNED BEAT KILLS SELF, COWBELL: 'BEACUSE I LOVE AND FEEL FOR PEOPLE TOO MUCH, I GUESS'--HOMEMADE BULLETS BLAMED--SILVER LINING: SOUNDTRACK IS AVAILABLE."
I only dance when abroad, but irregardless, I play this in my headphones whenever I need to get there quickly, or when I feel like numchucking passers-by. Do people still say "hype"? Whatever--dudes need to pay pal for doubles, if for no other reason than put on their Muro face, put their hands in "yo, I'm reading an invisible newspaper" position, and be like "Wassup--whatchu know about two cds?"
Super-duty work, though, Dave. Butter and parquet.
This shit bangs.
-e
Bust this. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT play this cd while driving in your car downhill on Flatbush Ave in rush hour traffic. You WILL have a car accident, or at least a close call.
b/w
(wifey saying) "This is a really good mix. You should tell your friend that this would be a good mix to breakdance to."
(dude in the back seat, when the Wu part comes on) "JESUS, dude is really getting it in."
To quote Daze:
I rate that post 5 Copenhagen Ass-Pocket Fade Rings.
You have copies as of today (monday about 5 pm?)
Dave... uh, they're waiting...
SensiRider, no I do not have copies yet. But soon!
Way ahead of you allstar....Muro face can use some work though.
DAaaaM. You got 2 CD-Js and some effects units?
I want to hear the Sweetdonglongsicle remix.
Nah, I just like to help out the kids on here plus the holidays are coming so I can give one away then.
Sweetdonglongsicle can't remix. He's a lover. His blinds are lavender and he has a fucking gong.
Back to DC...
has not left my cd player in my ride since i got it.
please to post up when and where its for sale, gracias
damn. sorry if my email address has been spamming. was it the subject of FYI????? I might have to remove some spams that got into my can.
you guys can order CDs direct through me right now. I'm dragging my feet on contacting distros right now. Lots of work.
$10 + $1.50 shippin US/ $5 international.
y'all can paypal me at [email]dave@sketcherone.com[/email] or go to my website for my mailing address.
I'm inspired to do a few more mixes. One more b-boy one (continuing with what I couldn't get on the first...) and then some different themed music ones.
just checked - it was some random castillo
in there alongside ones from Hung Micheal and Humberto Millan
sent my payment, look forward to checking this puppy