Copyright Criminals is an hour-long doc about sampling and the art thereof. Here it is in its entirety:

Some points: one) Gilbert O’Sullivan didn’t sue Biz Markie, the company to which he assigned his copyright did, two) the film should have been CC licensed — it’s something of an artfail that it’s not, three) the bit where Saul Williams talks about sampling in trip hop has been continually blowing my mind — Bjork becomes even more of a weird Icelandic half-elf, four) sampling is clearly art and making it illegal is clearly wrong-headed, if not outright racist.

“Sampling Soul” is a Duke University lecture discussing Illmatic and its effects on hip hop culture.

Jared and I have been looking into “softwear”, or e-textiles, or wearable computers. This book, Open Softwear, seems to be the place to start.

While I was looking for the beta pdf I ran into Softwear by Microsoft, a line of (non-electronic) clothing designed by Common featuring DOS-era iconography.

It’s the only Microsoft product line I’m interested in using — aside from those sick tabletop computing surfaces they have, or maybe Bing. The line started in 2009, apparently.

Fok julle Interscope. Zef siiiiide. Via bb.

Via Kotaku, a time-lapse Guts Tank mural.

If I ever get a 60×25 wall, I’d want the Mecha Dragon.

This week on Colbert Black Star debuted a new song after performing for Occupy Wallstreet earlier.

Jill is in New York this weekend. I miss her. I just realized I should have gone with — I have an airline credit I could have used to be part of the occupation.

Here’s the web-exclusive encore of a Black Star oldie.

You can get these by digging through WW, but I’m posting this in the hopes you’ll watch until you get to the “quinoa” rhyme.

LOVING White Whine via Jill’s FB. Finally someone did Stuff White People Like right…

An oldie but goodie, via LulzSec:

The godfather of rap has left the building at 62 — far too young.

He was right too: the revolution was sent over TCPIP. Seriously though, I’m just beginning to develop a consciousness that this poem speaks to now — a kind of disgust combined with “makerism.” I feel that somewhere along the line I became too wrapped up in spectation and became a good audience member, perhaps at the expense of being a good performer.