Hello, girlfriends! If you can hear my voice above the thump, thump, thump of the driving dance beats, then you already know that I'm listening to the new DJ Keoki disc, Keokiclash. If you're one of the beautiful plastic people, then you already have it! If not, then you're a bitch! For real, girl!
This disc is made for you, darling! If you're vapid, fake, and snooty, this is your life. Filled with nothing of consequence, Keokiclash is an echo, darling, of a scene that has been dead for years. It's as dated as an episode of Miami Vice. (Yeah, even that cool one where Sonny gets amnesia and has a gun fight with Tubbs.) This disc is so gay even the queens are offended.
If your idea of art is a half-naked man smashing eggs against his head while reciting passages from the Yellow Pages, then this disc will feel like revolution! If you have taste, you won't even be able to use it as a coaster. If you've ever been dragged into a dance club by some "hip" new friend in the last ten years, a place where the same song seems to be playing the whole night through, then you already know and loath this disc.
What makes this one worse is that it is retro-dance music telling the story of the "evolution" of club music, using samples and beats of the time to take us all the way from early to late-'90s dance. The scene is so desperate to stay alive that it is already cannibalizing itself. A style of music that endlessly repeated the nothing it had to say is now quoting an earlier, just-as-empty version of itself. At least disco had the decency to die.
CHECK IT OUT HERE, GIRLFRIENDS!
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