Enter The Dub: A Musical Journey of Whompy Proportions

28 Feb

Look who’s back after reading week, all sleek and jaguar-slick! Isn’t he handsome in his styleless jeans and ill-fitting t-shirts. He’s imbued with purpose and vigor. He exudes a raw sensual heat, tart and metallic, like oil dripped onto the sizzling pan!

My week at home was beautifully restorative. I emerged from the other side straddling my priorities, the reins firmly in my grip. I returned to Kingston with fresh energy, new perspective, and an iPod swollen with new and exciting music.

You guys! I learned a new word. Dubstep.

Exhibit A.

Proudly leading the front lines of the musical battalion that laid siege to my psyche was dirty dub, the scourge of drug-addled university youth everywhere. I (very foolishly, in retrospect) missed out on Skrillex’s St. Valentine’s Day massacre (The Worst Guy’s bombastically badass review of which you can read here), but it planted the seed in my mind. All it needed was some time to gestate, and a beautiful day for me to blaze through, windows down in my mom’s Honda.

I consulted my expert source, who has a Ph.D in Phunky (and who is not to be phucked with). I downloaded a balls-blasting playlist of the dirtiest dub he could recommend to me, the words of his texts betraying a slobbering excitement at the induction of yet another disciple to worship at the altar of the Whomp Gods. I don’t think my iPod had ever been exposed to such deep bass canyons, such soaring electronic heights, such sickening syncopation and ravaging rhythm. It quivered, heavy in my palm, daring me to plug it into more powerful speakers.

It was the filthiest dirty whompy wub-wub afternoon of my life. I screamed an electric streak through Ottawa’s roads. I felt befouled by the dubstep’s carnal growl, but somehow I couldn’t get enough. I think I pulled a neck muscle.

As someone who allows music to invade his being and restructure his DNA on a regular basis, it was actually a challenge to open the door when dubstep came a-knockin’. Dubstep was the cool chick at the bus stop with the big headphones and the tattoos. She’s a sexy, fascinating window into a very different world. But she’s also kinda scary. Mom wouldn’t approve, you know?

But goddammit, I’m getting older. It’s time to stray from shallow waters and wade into the deep end. I’ve never been more ready to accept new and crazy shit – the newer and crazier, the better. Dub’s been around for a while, so I might be a bit late to the party, but I’m here at last and I brought an open mind and a bottle of my finest. And look at that – Tattoo Chick is all alone over there in the corner. I think I might go introduce myself.

Now, with Steve Aoki rising on the eastern horizon, I’ve set my crosshairs on what promises to be a filthy future. And I can’t wait to get as dirty as possible.


2 Responses to “Enter The Dub: A Musical Journey of Whompy Proportions”

  1. The Worst Guy February 28, 2011 at 11:55 pm #

    glad to be of service! thanks for the shout out and welcome to the wondrously grimey and aids infested world of bass-reliant electronic music!

  2. Sonia March 10, 2011 at 10:04 pm #

    Huh. So… like this guy?


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