Kitty Power

Cue The Explosion

I think the most annoying thing about the conference week (yeah okay, I’m about to run out of steam on that tip. You know me, I’m a roundup maniac) was seeing all the acts that need to be getting some critical acclaim but someone is dropping the fucking ball. I’d give anything for 3 Killa Kela articles to every fucking M.I.A. cover.
Especially since I don’t give a fuck what every critic and ILMer under the sun says. I’ve seen her for myself. She fucking sucks. You can crow about her talent (that screechy fucking voice! give me a break!), dancing (worse than a spastic toddler), beauty (if you like that butterface steez), and her exoticness (cause we all know that brown but not like black is what’s really good). I was pretty fed up with the circle jerking bullshit before I left but to get down there and see all the covers and album reviews and articles and the hype amount to balls was too much for me to bear. That shit was making me sick. I thought my head would explode. *deep breath*
Besides that though, it was all fun. Wandering through the Raleigh [when I get some real money, it’s so on there!] Friday looking for panels, C and I ran into the man I went all the way to Montreal to see 4 years ago. He’s super wee, but so awesome. [Getting stuck down in Florida an extra day made me miss the album release party (though I could’ve sworn Return To V has been out for ages) last night.] Going back the same way afterwards, we saw Ben Watt who blew the hell out of the place the Wednesday night. Through the weekend, I wondered if there were any music people left in England. The drum and bass crew were representing massive — we heard that the World of Drum N’ Bass party was a rager but we were wary about spending $60 and running to downtown parts unknown in the middle of the night. I caught 33Hz Wednesday night and what I remember of that night, it was good. That was my only nighttime bender because I woke up around 6am in my hotel room bed totally clueless of about 5 hours. That’s never a good sign. So after that, I kept my drinking to double fisting it at the M3 evening parties.
True to me, I had the most fun running around with randoms. Friday night, I was running with the d’n’b heads up and down South Beach, marvelling at the super dope hotel stays everyone else was having and flirting extra tough with the Brit boy. You’d think they’d spent all their time pouring over Car and Driver and dealership windows cause they would freak the fuck out at the sight of every stylish car rolling down the way. Miami is crazy with the flashy cars. My personal fave: the old Monte Carlo running on 26’s — and I only know that because there was a decal bragging about it in the window. C and I got to doing our best Chris Rock impressions earlier in the week (“Look at ’em spin, nigga! They spinnin!”). Sunday night, I rolled into a crazy tech house party with kids dancing on the floor — literally. Momentarily, I thought I’d like to have whatever they were on and thought better of it. Do we like dancehall and garage in our house music? Yes indeed. C has thinking over the idea of launching a grime, ghettotech, brazilian booty bass, and dancehall party for the summer. Says she: “We need a place with a stripper pole and once you bring the girls with the big booties to the place, everyone else will follow.” I can’t argue with that. I think it can be a hit as long as we keep the corny non-dancing ass hipsters out the loop. We’ve got our long term focus on.

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