Juice Lee’s Final Fantasy

Nerdcore rapper origin stories tend to follow two basic archetypes:

  1. Nerds are seeking an outlet for their nerdiness, and find that outlet in rap.
  2. Rappers have a lot of nerdy interests, and begin to incorporate those interests in their music.

Often they have a conversion story, a moment that they realized what they really wanted to do with their art. Cincinnati-based nerdcore rapper Juice Lee can pinpoint his conversion moment exactly, to a 2010 meeting with legendary nerdcore rapper Mega Ran.

In Juice Lee’s debut album, Metanoia, you can hear Juice straining against the conventional topics of rap. From the opening track, “Deaf Ears,” he is hyper-aware of his difficulty in finding an audience, and in the ways he is violating the stereotypes of rap. Though it has traditional tracks like “Police State,” the stronger ones are those like “Metanoia,” calling himself to a more educated and intelligent rap. When I interviewed Juice recently, he described the experience of recording before his moment of nerdcore revelation, where the local rappers couldn’t understand what he was doing, but the nerdier sound engineer got it exactly. The entire album has a subtext of frustration.

It’s hard to imagine how Juice could have continued. He either had to sell out his voice to an audience that wasn’t interested in it, or he would have to accept his music continuing to fall on “Deaf Ears.” All that changed (not when the Fire Nation attacked) when he was introduced to Mega Ran in 2010.  Suddenly he learned that there was a name for what he did, and that there was already a nerdcore audience waiting for him.

This revelation did not just change his artistic direction; it unleashed him. His next album, The Epic of John Fong, is a rap opera fan fiction of an obscure kung fu film — about as high-concept and nerdy an album as you could imagine. Juice Lee jumped into the deep end of nerdcore, embracing long-form storytelling and relishing geeky obsessions. With Mega Ran as a mentor, he was positioned to make a serious impact.

Then, to hear Juice Lee tell it, he squandered his opportunity. He took relationships for granted, and didn’t hustle like nerdcore artists need to do to connect to their audience. His next albums, It’s Unclear at this Point and Double Dragon (with I-EL) , never caught fire like he had hoped. Juice made a lot of music (that album is huge at 30 tracks), but he assumed that things would just fall into place, and that just didn’t happen.

Here is where his love for retro-gaming didn’t just provide fodder for his music; it informs his career choices. Juice took inspiration from the story of Hironobu Sakaguchi, the creator of the Final Fantasy game franchise. According the the myth, Sakaguchi was frustrated with how things were going at Square, where he was the Director of Planning and Development, and he had decided to quit game development and go back to school — but he decided to create just one more game, (hence the “Final” in Final Fantasy). The game was a hit, and Sakaguchi’ went from being a failed game developer to a legend.

Juice’s latest album, The Reverie, is an homage to Sakaguchi, and is his own Final Fantasy. Rather than just give up, Juice decided to pour everything into The Reverie. The first-person narrative of the album can be heard either as the voice of Hironobu Sakaguchi, or of Juice Lee himself. Using all the XP he has gained in the last few years, Juice produces tracks like “Con-Soul” that act as meditations on the role that gaming has had on him and a generation.

Although he has good single tracks like those on It’s Unclear at this Point, Juice Lee is at his best when he steps out of himself and does long-form storytelling for others, such as John Fong and Hironobu Sakaguchi. In other words, he draws his strength from roleplaying, allowing his characters to speak for him. It is through his reverie that Juice Lee finds hope for his final fantasy.

How To Write A Love Song Without Getting Dry Heaves: The Soft Boys’ “Kingdom of Love”


On the whole, I can’t stand love songs. Part of it stems from time as a wedding DJ, where every week I watched newly-hitched couples writhe to such formulaic, saccharine dreck as Lonestar’s “Amazed” (which paradoxically cribs a lyric from one of the best love songs of all time, Paul McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed”), Hoobastank’s “The Reason” (remember that one from 2005?), and Bryan Adams’ “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You,” which spends its first 80 seconds without a drumbeat, the hallmark of any great dance number, am I right?

Part of it is also my own disposition, and I know I am speaking for my than just myself on this. I don’t go for all that lovey-dovey cutesy stuff. That’s not what love is. Sure, those moments of hand-holding, cuddling, and saying really sweet things to one another have their place – on waterfronts, behind closed doors, in a dimly-lit theater…just make sure that in any of the above scenarios that you stay the Hell away from social media. Nobody cares. Love isn’t just teasing one another about who really loves who more, it’s about sticking together no matter what work, family, or the universe as a whole decides to throw at you. It’s about being there for your partner, supporting and comforting them, but more importantly, it is about having someone in your life that you can turn to for comfort and support without hesitation, someone to whom you can expose your weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and shortcomings. They don’t exactly address that in “Love Will Keep Us Together.”

There are two kinds of love songs that I do like: the realistic ones and the weird ones. The realistic ones include Ray Davies from The Kinks wondering aloud in their 1965 song “Something Better Beginning,” which captures a couple’s first meet at a dance, that “I found something I thought I’d never have / The only time I feel alive is when I’m with you / I wonder how long it will last.” The end result is a much more accurate glimpse into that first-night excitement than anything else from that period. I also love when married musicians write about love. Neil Young has been married to his wife Pegi since 1977, and the longevity of their relationship makes songs like 2010’s “Walk With Me” carry far more emotional weight. Paul McCartney’s Ram also exemplifies the realism of married bliss, where all the guy wanted was a horse, a sheep, and a good night’s sleep with his wife and babies in the heart of the country. (Be sure to also check out “Country Dreamer,” a Wings B-side from 1973. That song is all I want in life.)

The most exciting love songs, though, are the ones with the most unique approaches. I would much rather hear Iggy Pop’s “I Wanna Be Your Dog” than “Brown-Eyed Girl.” Who cares about all the times you sang sha-la-la when Iggy is beckoning, “Now we’re gonna be face to face / And I’ll lay right down in my favorite place?” Or, to return to The Kinks, how about “Lola,” the one tune that Ray has routinely introduced in concert as being one of his favorite love songs? In it, a young man, fresh to the electric candlelight of the London nightlife, encounters Lola and her dark brown voice. By the song’s end, the narrator declares, “I’m not the world’s most masculine man / But I know what I am, I’m glad I’m a man / And so’s Lola.” Not your typical tale, but there is no denying that the two are happy and comfortable with being themselves.

Perhaps my favorite of these off-beat love songs is “Kingdom of Love” by The Soft Boys, fronted by a young Robyn Hitchcock. Their second release, 1980’s Underwater Moonlight, laid the groundwork for some of the decade’s best music. (Naturally, this also means it sold poorly.) What made The Soft Boys so captivating was their ability to wear their influences on their sleeves – John Lennon, Captain Beefheart, The Byrds, Pink Floyd founder Syd Barrett, and Davies – while still presenting a collection of songs that are wholly original, blending the psychedelic pop of their heroes with the lean vitality of punk. The album’s lead number, “I Wanna Destroy You,” is perhaps the best example of this, a catchy pop tune to be sure, but those Beatlesque harmonies are delivered with a sneer. The title track, which rounds out the album, is also a must-hear masterpiece.

However, it is “Kingdom of Love” that gets the heaviest rotation. I enjoy this song so much that I included it in my literature class at St. John’s University. Discussing the subject of love, we looked at a number of songs about relationships and explored notions of power, gender, and sex. Other songs discussed included Bob Dylan’s “She Belongs to Me,” “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by The Supremes, “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” by Beyonce, “Summer Boyfriend” by Lady Gaga, “Man” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and this one. (That lecture and subsequent discussion should probably be its own article – I had a surprising mix of opinions on the narrator of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” and whether she was a victim or, as one female student put it, “clearly just a crazy bitch.” She made a compelling argument.)

When I first heard “Kingdom of Love,” I was immediately captivated by the music. The intro and verses groove along with a cool swagger, a laid-back interplay between two guitars with a walking bass line and a relaxed drumbeat, while the choruses have a sense of urgency to them. Hitchcock’s sotto near-whisper is replaced with a near-monotone pair of vocals while the chilled-out guitars descend with bombast before going into its cathartic, major-key bridge. As stellar as the music is, the lyrics are even better.

In each verse, Hitchcock alludes to different places – a spiritual kingdom of love, a primitive jungle of love, and a physical kingdom of time. Every one of these places represents a different facet of being in a relationship: the mental connection of finding a soulmate, the physical connection that comes with sex, and the emotional connection that comes with companionship. Better still is the first chorus:

“You’ve been laying eggs under my skin
Now they’re hatching out under my chin
Now there’s tiny insects showing through
All the tiny insects look like you!”

I find that to be the perfect metaphor for the infatuation stage of love. (Note also that he is using a metaphor rather than a simile – it’s not “like” you’ve been laying eggs under his chin, you have been laying eggs under his skin!) The imagery of subcutaneous bugs works perfectly here; a person comes into your life and invades your psyche, the entirety of your being. This is reinforced in the song’s final line: “You’re the one I love, or so it seems / Because you’ve confiscated all my dreams.” This person has become such a part of the narrator’s life that they are omnipresent, even in dreams. The song’s bridge also has a lyric that I jokingly challenged my students to use as a pick-up line, but one that I will be including someday in my wedding vows: “All I want to do is be your creature.” If that’s not love, I’m afraid I don’t know what is.

There are other types of love song that I venerate, namely doo-wop ballads. However, I consider doo-wop to be a far more sophisticated form of music than (white) pop, especially from that same era, so we’ll just have to save my thoughts on The Penguins’ “Earth Angel,” “In the Still of the Night” by The Five Satins, and The Flamingos’ version of “I Only Have Eyes For You,” one of the most uniquely arranged pop songs in history, for another time.

Geekerati 150 — Knights of the Dinner Table

Geekerati has their 150th podcast with Knights of the Dinner Table. Congrats on Geekerati’s longevity, Christian and Shawna!

New Entertainment Internet Radio with Geekerati Radio on BlogTalkRadio with Geekerati on BlogTalkRadio

One note: Because of technical difficulties, the first 20 minutes or so are Shawna filling time until they get KotDT on air. I think those 20 minutes, and her discussion of genre television are worth a listen, but if what you really want to hear is the guests, skip ahead a bit. This just shows what the experience of 150 podcasts can do — Shawna just dives right in without any trouble.