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MP3 Blogs: Musical Democratization

The term “post-rock” initially referred to the way non-traditional use of guitars and drums revitalized indie rock. Nowadays, “post” could just as likely mean an MP3 blog entry, and the “rock”… well, that’s subjective. Music has gone from being heavily distilled by journalists agonizing over every prefix to being immediately offered up on the internet as a daily fix. This democratization has created a new online currency: a potential arms race for exclusive soundbites and–maybe more importantly–cool points.


Oslo’s Oya Festival

Held annually in August on the ruins of a medieval castle, Oslo’s Oya Festival is probably one of the most manageable, relaxing, and organized major music fests anywhere. While Nine Inch Nails, Tool, and Justice were among the top draws at this year’s edition, Oya’s main thrust is showcasing a mixed bag of local Norwegian acts. Here’s a look at some of the good ones.

Kim Hiorthøy

Ricardo Villalobos: Sacred Art

London’s world-renowned Fabric nightclub is a juicy peach, a crisp apple… No, an onion: it has many layers, and a soundsystem of such clarity that it’s been known to bring people to tears. Renovated catacombs that were once a Victorian meat cellar, Fabric still bleeds, only now it is the bass that soaks into the floors. When the fusillade of bodies and beats achieves maximum synergy, the impact is profound, flooding the senses with a holographic spectrum of stimuli. Read more » 

Para One In the Studio

Producers like Para One are one-of-a-kind. Schooled in the ways of hip-hop and techno from a young age (the former through the crew he joined at age 14; the latter through his cousin Saint Remy’s mixtapes), the man known to his maman as Jean-Baptiste de Laubier twists genres and beats with equal ease, while approaching his productions from an entirely DIY aesthetic–his formal sound-engineer training notwithstanding. Read more » 

Buck 65 On Leaving Paris

Rap troubadour Buck 65 recounts his years spent in Paris–and why he had to leave:

Paris. She didn’t want my money. She didn’t want my accent. She didn’t want my tears. She only wanted my songs.

Paris loves the artist being an artist. Paris raises her glass and sounds her bells. But there are always too many moments–even days on end–when the artist is the regular Métro passenger, he who waits in line at the grocery store, and whose bicycle is in need of repair.


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