The Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) recently won a court case against a young Midwestern mother – Jammie Thomas-Rasset – who downloaded music illegally. A Minnesota federal court ruled in favor of the behemoth corporation in the amount of almost two-million dollars.

Damn. 2MIL? She must have been bootlegging that 2PAC/Biggie/Elvis joint they recorded in heaven!

Craziest thing about it though…she downloaded 24 songs. That’s not even 2 albums worth!

Give me a break RIAA. The thing is, you ufckers put yourselves in this position in the first place. When I was in high school, I knew the release dates of upcoming albums, which I would buy on cassette! I could listen to an album all the way through, from beginning of Side A to the end of Side A, and the same for Side B. Midnight Marauders. Buhloone Mindstate. The Soundtrack to the Motion Picture “Purple Rain.” Yeah I know.

Then in college, I caught up to the rest of the world and got a CD player. So the purchasing of music changed. Instead of wanting something I could definitely listen to all the way through, I was willing to settle for a CD with 5 or 6 good tracks. Getting a CD that was hot from beginning to end became more rare, but it still happened. OK Computer. Black Star. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Okay.

It’s no wonder that it was around this time that Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys and all those types of groups started to blow. There was no longer a need to make a full album of good music – and certainly no reason for the music industry to build careers. When I was 15, I would think to myself Yeah I liked his last album, so I’ll get the new one. But in college, it was about the couple songs you heard on the radio or saw on TV. But the music industry did not change their style of distribution, they still insisted that people should buy CDs – when most albums did not have an album’s worth of good music.

So after college, file sharing was the new way to get at music. And more than ever, it was about one track at a time. Still the RIAA insisted that albums were important, even though nobody bought any. Artists who had a reputation could still make albums, but I’m having a hard time remembering a single iconic album from the past 10 years that is considered a classic strictly because of its music. (Donuts doesn’t count; neither does The Black Album.)

Because of the immediacy of the way music is produced then distributed, careers are not built to last. They used to sell you a lifetime of Bruce Springsteen albums, now they sell you ONE Soulja Boy album and then try to find the next Soulja Boy.

The music industry treats its product like its disposable, but then expects us to treat it like its precious? If no artist or record label can put out a listenable product, why should I bother spending my money? What a scam RIAA!

Maybe if labels would take some time to develop actual talented artists who can create good music, then folks wouldn’t mind mind spending a little money for music. But as of now, I’m gonna keep stealing. (But seriously, please don’t sue me.)

Something happened to my blog when I was vacation and I couldn’t update until today. That was more than a month kids, and many things happened I normally would have wrote about. I missed them, ah well, I guess that means movie reviews. Spoilers ahead.

Marley & Me
Terrible writing and even worse acting; even, and I don’t feel good about saying this, the child actors were awful. Aren’t there talented child actors? Did they cost too much? I tried to appreciate it just for the dog doing cute and/or funny things, but there’s isn’t even much of that in here. One of the few bright spots was Alan Arkin being awesome as usual. He can make any movie better; he, unfortunately, could not raise this movie beyond “irritating.”

Taken
Again with the casting here – why not find a talented teenager to play the 17 year-old daughter? Why a 25 year-old woman? Most adult actors playing teenagers just act like idiots; it comes across as inauthentic. I also think they blew too much money on Liam Neeson. He was great, but it seems like they had no money left over for special effects, any other good actors, or even a semi-famous singer to play the famous singer. It would have helped the story tremendously if it had been like Mandy Moore or even Kelly Clarkson his daughter was excited about instead of some invented pop star.

Liam Neeson’s character is badass though!

I’m Gonna Git U Sucka
I used to have this joint on VHS, which I recorded off like USA when I was 11. But of course it got thrown out with the trash some time ago, so I haven’t seen it in a while. That shit is as funny as I remembered, and I actually caught a few more jokes this time than when I was a kid. Best Wayans movie ever. Actually, I had forgotten about this movie; it’s gotta be a top 10 comedy for me.

The Invasion
Not really feeling this movie, because the virus wasn’t scary. There was something there behind the idea – but they didn’t take it anywhere special. The concept is that people are being infected with this alien virus that connects them all and mentally/emotionally makes all of the infected tied into a larger group consciousness. In a world where everyone is infected, theoretically there would be no violence – no war, no rape, no crime – because all people are one. The problem is that some people are immune to the virus – so those people have to be killed since they can’t get down with the rest of the infected.

So it could have been interesting if there had been more internal struggle of Nicole Kidman trying to save her immune son. Instead, it was just an action movie with less-than-stellar action. To top it all off, all the infected were cured at the end of the movie with no memory of what happened to them. What the hell was the point then?

I’m going on vacation this week. All the traveling I do has finally paid off! Me and wifey turned frequent flyer miles into two tickets to away from here.

I don’t think I’ll have Internets access, and even if I do, I doubt I’ll be using it much. So I’m leaving you with a couple joints that I can’t get enough of right now. (BTW, when I fall in love with a particular song, it’s usually already a couple years old…)

Wu Ooh – Rae, Ghost, and Meth with that old Wu chemistry. The beat is bananas. If this is what Cuban Linx 2 sounds like, then I’m already there.

Mr. Brightside – I was a latecomer to the Killers, but I think Brandon Flowers is the best American pop song writer in 10 years. their execution can sometimes be transcendent and sometimes super sloppy. But the songwriting is always top-notch.

Mother of All Funk Chords – I know this was hot a few months ago, but every few weeks I remember how dope it was and I go find it again. MAN, it’s so fun! I feel like I could watch/listen to this for hours at a time.

Everything off Stars & Stripes – I am not necessarily a big fan of mash-ups – but when they’re done out of love, then you can tell – and Adrian Champion def has respect for all the source material here.

And of course: Travellin Man by Mos and Honda. I can always relate to this joint, but now that all that time away from home has paid off in a vacation, I’m all about it!

I was going to post tonight about the Celtics-Bulls series that concluded a few hours ago, but then I saw the headline on CNN that the kids who beat Luis Ramirez, a Mexican immigrant, to death got off.

Friends and relatives of two teens accused in the beating death of a Mexican immigrant struggled to contain their relief as not-guilty verdicts were announced on the most serious charges against the former high school football stars Friday.
Luis Ramirez died of blunt force injuries after a confrontation with a group of Pennsylania teens.

Gasps filled the courtroom and some had to be restrained by sheriff’s deputies as they tried to rush the defense table after Derrick Donchak, 19, and Brandon Piekarsky, 17, were acquitted of aggravated assault, reckless endangerment and ethnic intimidation for the death of Luis Ramirez.

Piekarsky was also found not guilty of third-degree murder for the death of Ramirez, who died of blunt force injuries after an encounter with the teens last summer.

However, the all-white jury of six men and six women from Schuylkill County jury found Piekarsky and Donchak guilty of simple assault.

(from CNN.com)

I was planning to have a good night geeked out about the Celtics. But the depressing news of the real world beckons.

I know this is April 30, but I kinda slacked at the end of the month.

Letter from a Bear

Every time one of us
kills one of you. You
come back with nets, and
tranquilizers, and shotguns
to avenge your brother.

And you say it’s to keep
your innocent families
safe. So we don’t roam -
aggressive mother bear – in
your comfortable
suburban dwellings,

break the illusion that
your place at the top
of the food chain
was earned, maul
your precious children.

Well, what about my children?

Who ever thought
what it meant for us to have
to see you in our homes,
your loud talking
scaring us from our sleep.
Do you know how terrifying
it is to see your tracks
next to ours? My ancestors

were murdered by yours.
Sometimes skinned.
Sometimes the focal point
of your smiling
vacation photos. Sometimes
hauled on the backs
of your trucks -

to show off the danger
you managed to avert in the woods.

The danger.

As if you weren’t the
one with the shotgun. As if
it was your children’s
heads hanging on our walls.
As if we ever attacked
you unprovoked.

We have been killed by you
for centuries. Over and over.
You’ve destroyed our home and
you insist on dragging your
broods through it
for a weekend getaway. Don’t

you get it? You are
latecomers to this party.
We have the claws and teeth
and natural distrust of outsiders.
We are supposed to kill you. And

that doesn’t change just
because you bring guns here.

Every time you see me, I am
coming for you. Take that as fair
warning. Come unarmed in here
again. I dare you.

I know I’ll eventually
die by your hands,
so I pray for
the chance to send more
of your brothers home without
clothes, and limbs, and faces.
More reasons for you to hunt
me. And declare revenge
in their names.

Three Years

Magical, coo the uninitiated. The week ends the way
lyrics begin in three minute-long pop songs. Celebratory: as if

melodies were incidental, meaning were optional, and
rhymes and catchy hooks told less than the whole story. The crowd

dances to the rhythm of each others breathing. I hear my story from her throat.

Click the following links for a fuller context of this piece:

• Prompt! The Research Edition
• East Meets Words Meets Three Years

I am putting this up late. I actually had it written in time, but the weekend was so busy, I slacked. I’m going to be less strict on myself now and say I have until the end of the day Thursday, April 30 to post 6 more poems.

By the way, the American sentence is a poetic form invented by Allen Ginsberg.

A Last Great
(an American sentence)

The trees dance joyously outside; their shadows thrash each other against the window like drunks on Lansdowne.

Crooked Silence

Crumbling paper
walls, as frequent as
confused squawks
from a flock of
lost ducks.

Abandoned dirty hood scene,
poles top-heavy
with light.

Night falls, they
lean against
each other. Come

out and play,
he says, with
his chin on his chest;

the soles of his sneakers
lightly graze
the floor. A
grown man walks into the
sunset, back bent,
his shadow sliding

in the opposite
direction. Much of
the film is shown
in silence. The
private journals of
gods are misleading;

the lies they tell themselves
end up as entries
in his own. He crouches
behind his own fingers,
ready to slay sometimes.

The elderly forget
their own names.

My most recent joints – Days 20, 16, 17, and 21 – were all created through writing exercises I’m developing for work. Today’s also came from an exercise that incorporates a reading of an excerpt of Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior. Probably a few more in this vein to come.

Clothes and Shoes

His pipe was broken.
They blamed me, the help, so I packed my
clothes and shoes to leave on foot.
Even if I had – and I did, but they
didn’t know, so – if I had broke his pipe
or broke her mirror, or whatever
prized possessions, if I burned their robes
into smoke, or dropped their old hair
combs, grinding them into frozen stone,
so what? I never hurt them as people.
But in that moment, they made sure to keep me
underfoot. They tore my jacket on the way out,
I was nothing to them; less than that,
I was a Chinese boy – maybe sent to be
her work from God. Challenging her
to turn me civilized.