(1975, Nemperor Records)
I will not swear by the jazz fusion, but at one point in my life I used to get high as fuck a lot and drink Miller Genuine Draft while playing Mario Kart on a Super Nintendo, and this dude I would do that with who was a stay-at-home dad because his wife did all the moneymaking, much to her chagrin, he would play jazz fusion to try and open my narrow musical mind, because he was one of those super-knowledgeable musical dudes that are real dicks to be in a band with or have them control the playlist for too long on a long road trip. But he used to play this a bit, and turned me onto Stanley Clarke, and there has been many a night I spent baked to my last molecule where I'd have the fucking Journey to Love LP pumped as loud as whatever haphazard sound system I was rocking could handle without muffling itself up, and just vibe. Stanley Clarke ended up being some sort of movie soundtrack type guy, and that's either a shame or a testament to how if you're going to be a musician you should stay fucked up and not try to settle down and get a real job. Music is not a real job. Cut your hair and get a real job and make retard stoner music in your basement during your every free moment. That's the only solution to Stanley Clarke's dilemma. He failed us all.
No comments:
Post a Comment