cicada.

The year is 1983.  After their peak of child-stardom, the cast of "Charlie Brown's Christmas" has blossomed into adulthood, all enjoying success in entertainment.  
Well, all but Pig-Pen.
Pushing 30 with nothing to show for it, Pig-Pen can barely cover rent. He plays drums at a local dive bar.  He drinks too much, and is dismally jealous of his cast-mate Schroeder’s fame.
One night, he decides to record a lonely and honest love song to his old crush Sally, knowing well she'll never hear it.

crushed.

crushed (prod. ham solo)

dreams of rio.

thunderbird.

master of none.

Lunch on Niburu

Love Is Real Remix (Prod. Moods)

I will always remember that hour-long taxi ride I took from San Francisco to Berkeley after a grueling 11 hour overseas flight.  After passing through the arrival gate, I was warmly greeted by an elderly, smartly-dressed African American man.  He had a gold stud in his left ear and was wearing a black top hat, like the one worn by Raymond Reddington in “The Blacklist”.

We proceeded to make small talk before heaving my luggage into the backseat of his car.  After 30 minutes of driving and the traffic on the highway plateauing at bumper-to-bumper, our conversation delved into more personal topics.  

He told me about his young adult years as a student at SFSU.  It was the 1960’s, and he stated that he and a substantial portion of his class missed almost 2 years of lecture due to university protesting, during which he exclaimed “we was eatin’, drinkin’, and fuckin’!”  He had met one of my musical heroes, the late Marvin Gaye, at a charity basketball game while he was studying at the university. 

Marvin had cussed him out for being too aggressive.  

He also informed me of how he met his wife, a local hairdresser.  She had cut and styled his mothers hair on her birthday, and as a thank you he took her to eat at a local favorite of his.  Shortly after,  they were married for 15 years.  

But only 15 years.

She sadly succumbed to cancer, leaving their three kids motherless in their latest and most pivotal stages of growth.  This man took up his responsibility as a single father and began working in the taxi business, making barely enough money to keep them afloat.  He motivated his kids to not let their adulthoods be inundated with feelings of despair.  Through the medium of hard work and multiple jobs, he managed to send all of his kids to college.  They grew up to raise families of their own, and make successful careers for themselves.  This was all the man every wanted.

His true dream was to be a famous writer, but under the circumstances it was almost impossible to achieve.  He is currently rekindling his old flame, writing a book about his heroes and inspirations at 65 years old.  The people who never got the recognition they deserve for they help they had given him.  The little people. 

At the end of the ride, he explained to me how any situation is salvageable.   Although your fervent aspirations may seem like a first priority, they will sometimes need to be sacrificed for the greater good of those around you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EIDpg7NVbg

Christina's Room:  An Art Project

warmth (prod. purpan)

When certain people hit a mature age there is a sudden realization as to who they want to surround themselves with for the rest of their lives.  This age differs from person to person, but this epiphany is almost an inevitable situation.  This may be a sacrifice for some, and a cake-walk for others.  I never had a problem deciphering who my friends were and who they weren’t.  The guys that I’ve met throughout the course of my tenure overseas will always be people that I would do anything for.  Intelligent people who I could always rely on.

I really wish I could say I never had a problem meeting someone who is truly compatible with the person I’ve become.  I definitely grew up with a superficially skewed perception of what I thought would make me happy.  Idolizing men such as Desi Arnaz and Joe DiMaggio, the one’s who somehow drew the lucky ticket.  The roses who grew from a concrete sea of very unremarkable fish.  I wanted to be one of those men.  To be the envy of every man who passes you down the sidewalk.
  
This was until I realized how immensely egocentric it was. 

I’ll never understand why I wouldn’t care about about anything other than feeling above people.  I felt that craving through my entire adolescence and avoided the true problem by creating bullshit justifications that weren’t there.  Glueing the powerful and genuine character traits that I sought after to stoic faces that had nothing in their heads but air and linear 30-year life plans.  

It took me long enough to accept the desolation it had caused but with a little help I made it to where I wanted to be.  Or so I thought.

blue iguana records.

sugar cane (prod. samiyam)

The man who spends his down time at the Bungalow Bar is a recurring nightmare I’ve been having this past year.  An upperclass, financially stable, working citizen who lost touch with his neurotic ambitions.  
He has become accustomed to nosebleeds and the state of liminality.  
He has pictures of his family on the desk next to his bed.  

They don’t.  

A decent man who was caught in a ripple of bad decisions.  I almost empathize.  All decent men have a price they are willing to pay for pleasure.  But it’s up to them to be smart and strong enough not to be engulfed by their vices.  

Sex with anonymous women.  
Drugs.  
Gambling away your kids’ future college tuition.  

Everyone dabbles with their vices in their young adult years, whatever they may be.  These imperative experiences eliminate the pending temptations of the mysterious mid-life.  
But some never go back. 
Some find a surreal sense of comfort that is cushioned by these vices.  They have no problem sacrificing their physical and mental health for euphoric sensations, even at 40 years old.  There is no regard for those around them, those who care about you more than you care about yourself.  

Me me me 
me me me me me 
me me me me me.

Self-absorption can only lead to discontent.  My biggest fear is to one day open my medicine cabinet with trembling hands and see the man at the Bungalow Bar in the adjacent mirror.

drifting through the sequoia grove (prod. claine)

Proclaiming that you want to create your own niche genre of music will almost always sound ostentatious to the those who you tell it to.  
The general response I receive when expressing this eagerness will usually be a squinting eyelid and a slight pivot of the head.  You can read the judgement in the person’s corneas.  If I’m lucky enough someone will raise their eyebrows and be overly enthusiastic for me.  I never believe them, but it’s pretty satisfying to see that some people are friendly enough to lie.  I don’t blame anyone for their skepticism nor do I hold it against them.  The evidence of my complete lack of qualifications is truly overwhelming.

I’ve never earned a dollar from music in my entire life.
I've sent music to 150+ submission websites and never heard back.
I’ve messaged my favorite artists personally and none of them have ever expressed a desire to work with me. 
I’m not a talented producer.
I have no musical background.  
I’ve never performed on stage.
My voice cracked at 11 years old.  
I can’t sing, and I can’t play any instruments.  

So many artists set out to leave a permanent mark on the wall.  I always saw an immeasurable legacy as the prime indicator of success.  But I fairly recently overheard a conversation from an unexpected source that altered my conceptions of success.  

On my final night out during a short trip to Sicily I remember being at a small restaurant on the coast, hearing booming laughs from the table behind me.  I briefly glanced over my shoulder, and my heart stopped.

Behind me was Nile Rodgers, lead guitarist of the Chic.  My mother almost had a heart attack.  She grew up infatuated with the 70’s music scene, and had been a huge fan of his ever since her teenage years.  We began to stealthily eavesdrop in the conversation, hearing Nile recount his time at a recent Montreux Jazz Festival.  He spotted a sour middle aged man in the crowd, looking as if the festival was the last place he wanted to be.  Nile turned to a nearby sound engineer and said to him, “By the time my set is over I’m gonna have that guy dancing on the bar table.”  

45 minutes and one guitar solo into his set, the once lethargic man was stomping his feet on a white tablecloth.  

Maybe that’s a real indicator of success.  An ability to let people into the inner atmospheres of the musical mind, and for those people to be completely engulfed by the sound, even just for a minute.

black sun (prod. j robb)

This didn’t happen.
I’m just groggy.
I’m going back to bed.
Nothing sleep can’t fix.
We’re hanging out today.
12 o’clock here.
By the Dollar Tree.
We might catch a movie after.

It’s 12:15.
Where are you.
It’s 12:30.
Please show up.
It’s 12:45
Where the fuck are you.
1.
Fuck you.

scars (prod. mt. marcy & pictochat)

Download

v. timbuktu (prod. ameba)

vi. vortex (prod. arbour)

please (prod. tomcbumpz)

Late night commercial bump.  Michael down your Vincent's.  @cantbuycool

tiny rick (prod. purpan)

old track that didn't make the final "christina's room" cut.
artwork by @badumb

aryan paws (prod. nalim)

sorry charlie (prod. bliss)

weave, a remix of jocelyn flores.  long live prince x.

weave (jocelyn flores remix)

dehydrated boulders (prod. aimless)

a song about home in a small town abroad

also on youtube!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wKQaCVaXv0

cold (prod. chady)

sleepa x adonis. (i need u)

also on youtube!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-8tyUNWJ-o

astral plane (prod. juno)

this is my tape “lebanon”.

back in january, i dabbled with the idea of making a 15 minute album that encapsulated the uniqueness of the lo-fidelity micro-genre.  it’s raw, cassette-style sound combined with its distorted jazz influence have been a true admiration of mine ever since I started making music. over the course of spring semester i began writing it, but was constantly distracted and abandoned it on three separate occasions.  come summer, i had a somewhat surreal realization of how little time left i have to make a true run at music before i start my journey after college.  so, i worked it on it every day for two-months and finished it.  it took long nights and was a bitch to figure out, but honestly i’ve never been more proud of any creative piece.  
i wrote my first song when i was 13 years old.  in a month, i will be turning 22 and i really think that after all these years i’ve finally put something together that really defines me as a young writer. 

so, if you have 15 minutes to spare today or any other day, I would be very humbled if anyone could give it a listen.  it’s very honest and open, and explores personal experiences that have impacted me negatively and positively.  they correspond to following 9 subjects:

1. ETHOS
2. INFATUATION
3. BLISS
4. SENTIMENT
5. INDIVIDUALITY
6. INTIMACY
7. LIMINALITY
8. SELF-DESTRUCTION
9. LONELINESS

as always, link is in bio.  plenty more to be released very soon.

artwork by nick d’apolito
production by aimless

lebanon - full tape (prod. aimless)

blue screen blues (prod. astroblk!)

also on youtube!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAwQeJY92qk

aurora (prod. kavv)

write a song about the speculation of a gods existence.
@blueiguanarecords

"grains of the wrong rice", an album by adonis lucente.
mixed by james ward
mastered by justin weis

varicose (prod. abnormal norman)

na$ty

hogarth hughes (prod. tomcbumpz)

FLOCKA.

lights please.

revisiting an old instrumental i touched on 6 years ago.

adonis lucente.

Pinned to spotlight

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