Sure, Tulowitzki has crushed 14 bombs in a 15-game stretch this month, which isn’t nearly over. Sure, he’s had four multi-homer games in the last 11 games. Yes, he’s made dingers out of pop flies in Denver and might be single-handedly carrying the otherwise despicable Rockies towards a potential playoff birth. BUT, he’s no Motherfucking Gaslamp Killer!
I normally abstain from partaking in mixed CDs (mixtapes are a different thing), because most DJs use them as a platform to show how well they can masturbate on a pair of turntables. I prefer a DJ who can show a true interest in music, a vast, librarian’s knowledge of music and a keen, instinctive sense for musical transitions and connections. Well, The Motherfucking Gaslamp Killer has got all those attributes in spades and I can’t stop basking in the sonic glory of every mix of his that comes my way. It all started with I Spit On Your Grave and has spun into a musical delight tornado.
I wish I had this dude’s record collection (not that mine sucks). I guess I’d need a bigger home if I did.