Father John Misty sung his way onto my radar in late 2015 thanks to the first season of Aziz Ansari and Alan Yang’s Netflix series Master of None, in which the crooner was positioned as a New York underground sensation.
I generally prefer JAY-Z’s music to Beyoncé’s, BUT:
Behold John Mayer’s cover of Drake’s “Passionfruit” (yes, you read that correctly):
Tee Grizzley proves he’s a REAL rapper on My Moment, but his thoughtful lyrics are not only insufficiently emphasized by, but legitimately get lost in the monotonous haze of derivative beats.
Don’t worry – this isn’t yet another deep dive think piece exploring the many layers of Beyoncé’s Lemonade; the last thing the world needs is another white dude analyzing this nearly unprecedented, indefinable, and inexhaustible work of art. But a few factors have compelled this whitie to put pen to paper fingers to keyboard – BRIEFLY – to try to make sense of the endless meaning the Queen packed into these 120 minutes. Those reasons are:
News regarding Escape to Margaritaville; Sweat; Hamilton in London’s quest to stop scalpers/touts; the Stuttering Association for the Young (and Bruce Springsteen, kinda); the Ambassador Theatre Group/Colonial Theatre; and the Nassau Coliseum:
Unless you’ve been living under a cultural rock for the last week, you’ve probably heard about the hullabaloo created by the Nobel Prize for Literature being awarded to Bob Dylan. I’ve mostly avoided getting involved in the subsequent raging debates – which have basically focused on whether or not a songwriter should be eligible for a literature prize, a question that seems to have been predominantly posed by prose writers trying to protect the pure legitimacy of one of the few prestigious prizes bestowed upon their artistic medium of choice – but an impassioned Facebook post that popped up in my newsfeed this morning inspired me to join the fray. Its author – responding to this article in The Guardian about Dylan’s refusal to accept or deny or even comment on this distinction – had this to say:
When I told my father that I was lucky enough to snag a ticket to Cat Steven’s second of two nights at New York City’s legendary Beacon Theatre, he asked, “Are you sure you won’t be seeing Yusuf Islam?” That question encapsulates this once-brilliant artist’s troubled modern legacy, and probably echoes the reservations of many of his fans debating whether or not to catch A Cat’s Attic: Yusuf/Cat Stevens 50 Year Anniversary Tour 2016. Though that mouthful of a name may not answer the question, I’m happy to report that if you’re lucky enough to live in a city where the tour plans to stop, then you’re promised a night that predominantly features the songs that we all know and love by the artist whose name appears on the latter half of that slash.