I was on a stationary bicycle on Sunday. The radio was stuck on a ’90s feed. Live’s “The Dolphin’s Cry” came on. I seem to remember a very old rumor that people thought the song was about male masturbation, i.e. “dolphins” equals “dicks.” Makes sense to me. But maybe I’m just makin’ shit up.

D.C. rhymer Kokayi (profiled in City Paper last December) just inked a deal with French label Just Like Vibes, which will distribute his album Mass Instructions in France and sell song downloads internationally. Kokayi explained it this way via e-mail:

… the Just like Vibes thing happened by sending out the music as often and as far as i could send it. Given the far [and] inexpensive reach of the internet, i zipped up the record and sent a yousendit file out to everyone i knew from as far as Perth, Australia to right around the corner. … One of the people i sent the record to is a French rapper named Asco, he’s from a group called Bunzen and we have stayed in contact since we met in Paris when i had a deal on BMG. He works with just like Vibes and let his folks hear it, they liked what they heard, we spoke about some terms and i signed the deal last Sunday when i went to perform at Sons d’hiver.

Sons d’hiver is a music festival held every year southeast of Paris. Kokayi also has launched a new Web site with a page of music, and he’ll be playing a show Friday night at the new Artmosphere Cafe in Mt. Rainier, Md. A portion of the proceeds will go to the E.L. Haynes Public Charter School.

Yeah, so the Bag seems to be the Food for Animals blog these days, but this time we’ve got FREE SHIT: The Maryland-based hip-hop group has recorded with Teutonic noise-heroes Faust, and they’re giving one song away. The deets from Tim Jones, FFA’s publicist:

The group recently toured Europe opening for … Aphex Twin and Mick Harris (Napalm Death) and were invited by legendary Krautrock band Faust to record at their Paper Factory studios in Scheer, Germany. The mp3 included, Planet Say, is one of the songs from the Faust sessions.

Download: “Planet Say” (MP3)

Did anybody see the La Casa show last night?

I wiped-out once, ass-over-teakettle, on the ice during my walk home from work. The No Age dudes, meanwhile, literally slid downhill from New York last night, arriving a few minutes late for their warmup slot before Liars. The two Californians peeled off hats and scarves and hoodies while they played, expressing disbelief that they’d even made it to the gig. (Their merch sat for awhile in three or four big bags on the floor.)

I missed their quasi-legendary show at the Hosiery, but I can see why people would go apeshit for their drums-guitar-samples racket: On their nifty debut, Weirdo Rippers, the sound is arty, somewhat chaotic and slightly snotty. It raises questions about whether they can actually play. But onstage, the vibe is less affected; it’s more of an “ain’t this cool?” kind of thing. Yer own garage band is probably not as interesting. (And, yeah, they were probably joking when they said Dischord will be handling their upcoming album.)

As a live-Liars virgin, I was suitably impressed: Shaggy frontman Angus Andrew donned a Wayne Coyne-ish beige suit and dark red necktie. He didn’t climb around too much: It was a performance of gestures and wiggles and twitches, probably because that back injury is still bothering him. All that subdued spazzing was believable, though: Whereas Coyne’s sartorial choices tend to parody your neighborhood insurance salesman, Andrew’s posturing comes off like a commentary on jet-setters: The dapper guy in Row 9, Seat 47 is about to lose his shit.

Here’s the best way to explain how Liars overcame my expectations: I figured the show would be a lot of:

hhhooooouuuuuummmmmrrrrrruuuuhhhhooooo

But it really was more like:

bumbum-bumbum-thrum-hooo-ahhh-bumbum-bumbum-thrum.

The rhythm is gonna get you.

If you bothered to stay up late to see Amy Bigwig’s acceptance speech near the end of the Grammys, the phrase “Blake, incarcerated” might still be in your head today. It’s a total renaissance for the word. (Full quote at NME.) Suggested usage: If your cat or toddler is stuck somewhere, you say, “Fluffy, incarcerated” or “Booboo, incarcerated.” It has to be monotone and slightly haughty.

But enough of that. I’m here to make the point that Amy’s Blake Fielder Civil might find inspiration from the life of poet William Blake. Fielder Civil is awaiting trial on what most reports call “charges of assault and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.” The bard Blake was tried on charges of assault and sedition. He was acquitted.

As far as I know, Fielder Civil is not a poet.

The “malocchio” (and the counteracting horned-hand, offered with a pfffst from the lips) is part of my vocab because of Citizen Mom. And I remember hearing about it from the Italian-American clergy who taught at my high school. But apparently Ronnie James Dio is like, the true pimp of the mano cornuta. I am ashamed that I did not know this.

BoingBoing: History of the Evil Eye

(Side note: I’m still wondering why the Supersuckers spelled it Mano Cornuda on their 1994 LP, which has “Born With a Tail” on it. That song is awesome.)

So Christian came up with this look for last night’s female-wrestler-centric episode of Project Runway:

And I’m like, “Wasn’t that in Snoop’s video?”

The D.C.-based nonprofit Middle East Media Research Institute has published a guide to Pakistani rock bands.

If they thought it would be tough to find a Biggie, then who the heck will play the Biz? From allhiphop.com:

A character driven story inspired by the true life events of DJ Marley Marl, Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane and Roxanne Shante, The Vapors chronicles the early days of the legendary Juice Crew rap collective.

While filming was scheduled to begin in January, casting is still underway for the majority of parts in the film, casting director Red Sable told AllHipHop.com.

“We have four principals confirmed,” Sable revealed. “Clifton Powell, who will be playing Mr. Magic; Keke Palmer as Roxanne Shante; Evan Ross as MC Shan; and Cuba Gooding, Jr. as Marley Marl. All other roles are still under negotiation.”

David Banner apparently was supposed to be the Biz, but dropped out because of a “scheduling conflict.”

I didn’t know until Sunday that Michael Showalter and Michael Ian Black were performing on Saturday at the 6th & I Synagogue. But I did see the NYT article about Showalter, and I found myself fuming at this particular passage:

After a year and a half on the road he had perfected enough material for his debut album, “Sandwiches and Cats,” released late last year on the JDub label.

“Sandwiches are very funny to me; I don’t know why,” Mr. Showalter said between bites of a turkey hero. “I love eating them. I’m eating one right now. Actually” — he paused to take a bite — “I just finished eating one.”

His love of sandwiches was so profound, he explained, that he was once asked to write a column for a sandwich Web site. “For whatever reason that never panned out,” he said. “But I had written these ‘Sandwich Commandments,’ so I started reading them in a stand-up context and then added music.” The bit, sort of a mash-up of poetry and a Jane’s Addiction song, is one of the album’s more inventive tracks.

This is some fake-ass sandwich posturing. Dude, if you’re really a Sammich Man, you don’t have to advertise it. You don’t have to be all coy about it, dropping it into interviews, like, oops, oh, excuse me while I eat this sandwich. People will know instinctively if you’re that man. It will be in your walk, your style, your presence, your aura, your breath and your gaze. So, yeah, Mr. Showalter, I’m callin’ bullshit on your sandwich love.