Cohenburg

Linsanity in slow mode

2012-02-16T14:39:00.002-08:00

Vice's Hackney riots documentary

2011-08-14T05:14:00.000-07:00

Pusha T ft. Tyler, The Creator 'Trouble on my mind'

2011-08-04T11:06:00.000-07:00

This is just too good.

Cane toads in Australia

2011-07-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

This is a hilarious documentary about the introduction of cane toads to Queensland, Australia. Featuring an aged gentleman that enjoys watching them fornicate in his front garden. Each to their own.

The trailer for 'Beats Rhymes & Life' is released at fucking last

2011-06-03T16:36:00.000-07:00

Battles - Ice Cream

2011-05-11T11:34:00.001-07:00

The end of the world will be scored by Justin Bieber and look very much like an abstract painting

2011-04-15T07:53:00.000-07:00

All this 2012 end of the world shit got me thinking...

Having now thought, I have come to a conclusion. It is this. The song above will play during the end of the apocalypse.

Having now uncovered what the end of the world will sound like, it got me thinking what the end of the world will look like. Hence the big black square below. It is a painting. It looks very much like the end of the world.

Thus, to complete the interactive end of world experience, feel free to stare with stone cold dread at this abstract "masterpiece" by Ad Reinhardt whilst listening to apocalyptic Bieber.

I still haven't figured out what the end of the world will smell like...I'm leaning towards mothballs. Or Subway. Probably Subway.

New Black Lips - Modern Art

2011-04-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

From their upcoming album Arabia Mountain, which drops June 7.

Music would be better if everybody dedicated a song to lesbian dwarfs

2011-04-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

Win.

The Jealous Guys - Brainwashed by London

2011-04-06T00:47:00.000-07:00

Two dudes from San Fran.

Clever ad

2011-04-03T07:57:00.000-07:00

A Tribe Called Quest finally talk about their documentary

2011-03-30T06:23:00.000-07:00

Maybe you heard, A Tribe Called Quest had a documentary made about them. By this guy.

Who you know from below-par 90s films such as Metro and True Romance. Fuck knows why he was chosen as director? Apparently Q-Tip was impressed by his "enthusiasm". To be fair, he has some experience rapping on some shitty comedy that no-one ever watched. And the first three letters of his last name spell R-A-P. Apart from that, he's never even made a film before.

The only trailer that has been doing rounds on the internet was an unofficial (and unsynced) ditty called Beats Rhymes and Fights (the film's actually called Beats, Rhymes and Life, after Tribe's fourth album).

They showed the whole thing at Sundance, without approval from Tribe. Hence the controversy, and a bunch of angry tweets from Q-Tip.

If you've read this far, you should probably just watch the full MTV interview with Q-Tip, Ali Shaheed Muhammad and Jarobi (on the phone).

They talk about a whole lot, including how Rapaport "deceived" them, and why Phife didn't show. The email Q-Tip reads out is pretty fucked up.

Hopefully they agree on a final cut soon, and we get to see the film. In the meantime, watch this.

Notes on Charlie Sheen and the End of Empire

2011-03-24T09:15:00.000-07:00

Bret Easton Ellis has written an article about Charlie Sheen, how every man wants to do blow and fuck hookers, and the changing nature of celebrity. It's great.

Follow this link to read the full article.

Rupert Murdoch - A Portrait of Satan

2011-03-24T02:23:00.000-07:00

via The Documentarian

Rupert Murdoch is "the world's most sinister man". And not just because he shunned his Australian citizenship for American naturalisation. It is because he is Satan.

BBC journo Adam Curtis has done what I've always wanted to do but was too busy watching football and getting drunk to do, and collected an amazing bunch of film clips and text, charting Murdoch's rise from being just a bit of a cunt, to the devil himself.

Read the full article her e.

I had a dream where Mr T was in Calvin and Hobbes

2011-03-23T10:17:00.000-07:00

It was called Calvin and Hobbes and Mr T. It was the best comic book ever. Then I woke up and this is about as close as it gets. Funny, informative, but definitely lacking in Calvin and Hobbes.

Gee thanks Glenn Beck for educating me on what a Nuclear Meltdown is via a wok and a bunch of M&M's

2011-03-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

...and then not mentioning the word radiation once.

Woooo Rock Music!

2011-03-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

This is insane. Especially the bit where he leaps on his keytar like a wild animal. That parts my fave.

Salvador Dali shits all over advertising

2011-02-16T13:50:00.000-08:00

Big Boi endorses chemtrails conspiracy theory, claims expertise

2011-02-15T07:51:00.000-08:00

Big Boi is a rapper that I have a lot of respect for. He seems trustworthy.

So when he takes it upon himself to endorse a wildly outrageous conspiracy theory that claims that visible aircraft trails in the sky are part of some government program to either give us all cancer, mitigate/cause global warming or to seed the skies with electrically conductive materials as part of a massive electromagnetic superweapons program based around the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program...I'm kind of willing to take his word for it.

Look, proof!

Suffice to say, if Big Boi says this shit is real…then, as far as I’m concerned, this shit is REAL! He has, after all, certain irrefutable credentials that fit within 128 characters.

The whole thing is all terribly scientific and complex though, so you should probably just take Big Boi's word for it too.

But if you need some more convincing, conspiracy theory slut and self-proclaimed son of God David Icke is totally down with chemtrails.

Oh, and Prince is totally down with chemtrails too (other then that, I have no fucking idea what he's talking about in that interview).

Beck even wrote a song about chemtrails. It was called Chemtrails. Genius stuff. But Beck's a jerk so don't take his word for it.

So from now on, whenever you look up in the sky like this fine chap...

Just trust in Big Boi, David Icke, myself and Prince (not Beck), and don't breathe.

Fetus says "fuck you" to father on FB

2011-01-15T13:36:00.000-08:00

Do you know how to save a drowning cat?

2011-01-15T13:22:00.000-08:00

...at least this way you get to have some fun if it's dead already.

Life Sans Music

2010-11-07T07:01:00.000-08:00

This is an article I wrote for Vice's Anti-Music Issue. I was commissioned by the Aussie Office to write it, but then they didn't publish it. The US issue and some other random countries did feature it though. I don't know what this means.

Photos by Neil Buckingham and Blake Calderwood

As I write this, I am recovering from spending two weeks without hearing music of any sort. Two. Fucking. Weeks. It’s been awful, really awful, and, for the most part, mind-bendingly depressing.

I turned into a whining, unsociable, borderline agoraphobic manic-depressive. I hate everyone. Everyone hates me. My girlfriend told me I’m an asshole, my housemates think I’m a prick, the general public probably thinks I’m deranged to wear construction earmuffs everywhere during a heat wave, and I think I agree with all of them.

I was allowed to choose one song to listen to before my two weeks began. I decided to pick something that could potentially get stuck in my head for a fortnight without causing me to hang myself. I chose “Raspberry Beret” by Prince. An easy decision. I listened to it three times in a row the night before I began. Prince was to be my bastion of sanity.

I kept a diary for the entirety of my musical anorexia. It consists of me bitching about how shit life is when you can’t listen to music. Here is some of it.

DAY 1

It is 8:30 in the morning and my girlfriend is about to head off to work. She feigns to start playing music so I remind her that from today I can’t listen to anything tuneful of any kind for two weeks. She yells in my face that “this is going to be fucking shit for everyone!” I think she’s overreacting. She asks whether she can sing and I tell her that she can’t. She attempts to sing some Lionel Richie anyway and I have to block my ears.

I decide to set some ground rules for myself. The obvious: no iPod, no films, more or less no TV. And then the not-so-obvious: must wear earplugs at all times, avoid pubs, parties, gigs, restaurants, cafés, and most people. Avoid having a life of any kind. I write most of these things on some scrap paper and pin them above my desk.

I am as good as unemployed, so for the rest of the day I have the house to myself (my other two housemates are at the Glastonbury Festival—irony noted). One day without music seems to not really be a problem. Then my phone rings. I forgot to put it on silent and I hear my ringtone. Technically I just failed. I put it on silent.

I end up spending the rest of the day watching the World Cup on mute with teletext turned on. I learn that teletext is awful at keeping up with live commentary. The word “vuvuzela” is replaced by “vasectomy,” and on my TV is this sentence: “The noise of the vasectomies in the stadium is overwhelming.” This is the highlight of my day.

DAY 2

I sleep in until 2 PM. When I wake up, there is no food in the house. I go shopping with these strange-looking earplugs shoved in my ears. I bought them from a Turkish supermarket. They are really uncomfortable and penetrate my aural orifices much more than I think earplugs should. I feel like I’m bleeding inside my head.

I troop on down to the local hardware store and buy a pair of construction earmuffs from a guy who looks like Al Pacino. He assures me that this particular pair of earmuffs is “impenetrable, you won’t hear nuffin’.” I wear them on my way home and almost get run over by a scooter. Al Pacino was right.

There’s a really big party down the road tonight that everyone goes to except me. I sit in my bedroom drinking gin and reading a book.

DAY 3

I go to watch the World Cup by myself in some dreary pub that refuses to play any music and shows matches with the TV on mute. The beer is cheap, the place is awful, and I am surrounded by alcoholics, deaf people, and deaf alcoholics. I want to hang myself. I start to think that I am not terribly musically inclined, as the only song I can whittle up from memory is “Happy Birthday.” Then I think of “Raspberry Beret” and feel human again.

My photographer friend Neil comes by and we go to HMV while I’m wearing my construction earmuffs. I pick out the first album that I’m going to listen to when I finish my two weeks of musical sobriety: The Very Best of Prince.

My housemates get home from Glastonbury and tell me how amazing everything was. I tell them that they can’t play any music. I can’t handle another 11 days of this dross.

DAY 4

Today I withdraw into full-scale social exclusion. My housemates look at me like I’m a leper after I tell them for the second time that they can’t play any music anywhere in the house while I’m home (which is all the time). Now everybody is watching a film in the living room. I am desperate to watch it. Instead I’m sitting by myself in my room reading The War of the Worlds.

DAY 5

I think I’m turning agoraphobic. It’s 5 PM and I haven’t left the house yet today. I’m really hungry. I visit the toilet and realize that we have no toilet paper. I am forced to leave the house. I put on my construction earmuffs and step outside. When I return home I read a book for a while and then look on Amazon for Charlie Chaplin films. They’re silent. When my housemates get home they try to play music in the kitchen while I’m cooking. After an unnecessarily heated argument I stomp off to my room like a petulant five-year-old and put my construction earmuffs back on.

DAY 6

I do nothing all day. Absolutely nothing. I am a music-starved blob.

DAY 7

I wake up and watch some Charlie Chaplin films. Charlie Chaplin is not funny. Neil comes around and takes a photo of me watching Maury with teletext commentary. Something about a dog that gets run over, shot, pronounced dead, frozen, and then turns out to be alive. I need to buy a birthday card, so we go to the newsagent. There’s no music in the store so I take off my earmuffs. I open a novelty card and Cliff Richard starts singing at me. Neil takes a photo. This is my second failure.

My girlfriend comes home from work and we have a BBQ outside in the common area of our house. Our next-door neighbor introduces herself, but I can’t hear what she says because I’m wearing my construction earmuffs. My girlfriend and the neighbor chat about something and laugh at me.

DAY 8

My friend from back home comes to stay at our house for a few days. We smoke a joint in complete silence and I tell him how miserable I am. We eat lunch in complete silence. All I can hear is this hideous slurping noise as he inhales his spaghetti. I fucking hate hearing people eat.

DAY 9

I am so desperate to listen to music that I watch music videos on my laptop with the sound muted. That M.I.A. video looks a whole lot better when you don’t actually hear how awful the song is. I spend the rest of the day in the park drinking cider with a friend and my construction earmuffs.

DAY 10

I feel like my construction earmuffs are my fifth limb. I ponder this and do nothing all day.

DAY 11

Last night I dreamed that Keanu Reeves knocked on my door. He had a towel wrapped around his head and in his hand was a full bottle of bubble bath.

When I wake up all I want to do in the world is listen to Notorious B.I.G. I think it has something to do with my Keanu Reeves dream. I think of that awful film where he’s a baseball coach for deprived black children and his star pitcher can’t pitch without listening to Big Poppa. I end up reading all day and am incredibly depressed. My girlfriend gets home and I yell at her for no reason.

DAY 12

Today I feel considerably better about life. I have no urge whatsoever to listen to music. I think I’m slowly getting used to it. I get a call from a family friend who’s in town. They have a spare ticket to the Lion King musical tonight. I seriously consider going with my construction earmuffs on. I don’t. I head into town with Neil and we eat lunch at a Hare Krishna café. Neil tells me later that a Hare Krishna asked me why I was wearing earmuffs. I didn’t hear him.

DAY 13

I wake up in the middle of the night and have a mild hissy fit because I think that one of the French-made pure-wax earplugs that I wear to bed has been swallowed by my ear. It turns out that this was not the case. I really want to listen to B.B. King right now. Or A Tribe Called Quest. Or Lionel Richie. Anything. Justin Bieber would fucking do. Two days to go. Kill me. I have nothing left that I want to read so I sit outside and read a Christmas cookbook. Neil comes by and takes a photo of me doing this. Later on I make some Christmas brownies that end up looking like dried turds.

DAY 14

Final day. I wake up at 11 and go back to sleep until one. This day cannot go by fast enough. I play videogames on mute until 11:59 at night. At midnight I turn my speakers on for the first time in two weeks and blast out The Very Best of Princein its entirety. This is a watershed moment in my life. There are tears. It ends up waking up my housemates and one of them tells me that he hates me.

I would like to say that I learned something from this experience. But I didn’t. Maybe it made me realize that if I become deaf I will also become suicidal. That’s nice to know. Other than that, it was a really shitty experience and it turned me into an asshole. But you already know that. And, yeah, it is incredibly difficult to avoid music. I get it.

I took a photo of a defiled toilet

2010-06-02T22:29:00.000-07:00

I was terrified when I initially walked into this cubicle. The situation on the toilet seat really stressed me out. It's pretty fucking disgusting. I was on the verge of pirouetting the fuck out of there, but then I read the little ditty written on the back of the toilet seat, and, well, I felt vaguely emboldened. The second sentence is definitely not something I would condone, but masturbating over recently deceased hip hop legends is way less deviant then having a midget sex fetish or letting your dog lick your balls while you watch a chick get fucked by an octopus. It's all about moral relativism. That's all I'm saying. As to the bloodstains on the seat, that's just not on. If that's coming out of your orifice on nights out then you should probably be locked up in a cage for a while.

This is about as close as I get to listening to dubstep

2010-05-30T23:17:00.000-07:00

Mount Kimbie - Maybes by cohenburg

So, yeah, this isn't dubstep, but it's kind of like it's dreamy little offspring, free of most of the angry free-wheelin', dropping and wobbling bass of conventional dubstep. It's almost happy, sunny music at times, but not quite. I'm told that some people have been calling this kind of music "step", but that's kind of like telling someone who has a mild case of down syndrome that they have an affliction of syndrome. Which just isn't right. Well, actually, it's nothing like that at all. But no matter, my point is that it's just not right, and maybe you can just take my word for it.

The song you can listen to above is by Mount Kimbie (the same chaps that did that swell remix of Foals' "Spanish Sahara"), a UK duo who, as I have been trying to circuitously point out with an insulting analogy, have a vaguely-dubsteppy take on ambient electronica. And no, don't worry, by ambient electronica I don't mean that it's all emotional and "deep" like that morbidly depressing Burial guy. Or that photo of the guys above. Anyway, suit up your best pair of earphones and give this track a lil' whirl if you fancy. It's pretty nice.

Big Boi "Shutterbug" official video

2010-05-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

Big Boi - Shutterbug [Official Video]
- Watch more Music Videos at Vodpod.