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"Ringtone (Guilty Love)" is a music track in Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney. It is part of the recurring "Ringtone" tracks used throughout the Ace Attorney series; in this instance belonging to Wesley Stickler's cell phone, with the ringtone itself being "Klavier Gavin - Guilty Love".
Love Sms Ringtone
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I love music, so it stands that I cannot love without it. Or perhaps because I love music, my love is defined by it. Either way, it's a universal construct: Everyone I know who loves music in that way, loves it so much it almost supersedes everything else. This philosophy makes for a pack of dysfunctional downloaders wandering around singing heartbreak, but it also manifests itself in some great work-- i.e. Rob Sheffield's excellent, devastating memoir Love Is a Mixtape, a pure chronicle of the "love" and "music" and "loves music" dance, about a girl he loved and the music he will always have to remember her by.
I love music like I love love and vice versa but I'm not an obsessive collector of either. I'm not the kind of person who'll be crushed to death under a fallen pile of thrifted records, nor am I invested in the fuck-and-run approach to downloading. I make end-of-year lists because it's a necessary evil of my profession, but I try not to ho myself out on the "play this song once and then-- to the left!" tip. Over the years I've learned my OCD music nerd card is most frequently squandered on one song I love, which I then play until it wears its welcome. I find it comforting that some songs never do.
It's the worst in the summer. It's impossible not to romanticize the way music sounds then, especially in New York, the way the beats and the heat bleed into each other. These days, with the taste of spring on my tongue, I'm prone to diving into its arms and fuck everything else-- I forget how bad the music-escapism jones gets until the streets start heating up, the humidity thickens, and songs with memories attached start sounding better than breaking 'net singles and Funk Flex on Hot 97 put together. Excuse me while I get my John Hughes on, but iTunes, that tyrannical beast, says I've played Yo-Yo's "You Can't Play With My Yo-Yo" 63 times in the past month, all because I needed, needed, to remember the acrid smell of A/C in a basement and a sweet date I'll never forget, me and the dude touching arms and trembling but too scared to kiss, cause we both loved the sax and the harmonies underneath Yo-Yo's chorus, streaming out from the vinyl. And even though everyone who even vaguely felt West Coast rap in 1991 probably has the same turgid pulsations about those sweat-hot instrumentals, about the true-date line "we had dinner, and now we drinkin Cisco"-- somehow in that moment it all felt totally unique to us. There was not a kiss just then, but there was a moment defined by bass, and somehow that combination made it more important, more memorable. Turned something temporary into something utterly immutable-- a pure moment marked by the sound, immortalized by a chord progression and a minor-key "ooooooooh." These are all very summer emotions, all breathless and impermanent, to be sure.
Right now, temperature what it is in New York, you can finally stand outside long enough to notice what the cars are bumping out into the climate. It's all hooks and floss, all Mims and Rich Boy and Polow da Don's dick around here. Maybe a little Lloyd and Lil Wayne from the chicas down the block, a little "Ice Box" to round it out, as r&b stays eating its own tail and morphs into full-blown emo. I think some dudes are starting to play Swizz Beatz's "It's Me Bitches". But then, maybe that's cause he DJ'd this party I was at last week and played his own track for an hour straight, as though if we heard it enough we'd forget that his opening stance, "Chillin' in my Beamer/ Listenin' to 'Ether'," is totally not an acceptable phrase in re: "rapping"-- especially when you're a shit-hot producer looking to parlay your winning streak into a career on the mic.
But then, maybe I'm wrong-- it DOES possess some of that interminable Mimsian logic, so extensively documented, which says lyrics can be representational of a thing. Or as Don DeLillo put it in Underworld,: "A word is also a picture is a word"*. "I'm hot cause I'm fly" is also a physical representation of one dude's interminable juice and I can't front: Mims is the Mondrian of this rap game. And maybe Swizz's limp "Beamer/'Ether'" rhyme is something of a sociological observation, not unlike "loving music-- music is love." It is what it is.
Cushh: "Do It To Me": The increasingly popular oiled-up white chick on vox vs. fashion-(self-)conscious black dude on production keeps giving. Cushh, a South London duo made up of pop&b singer Miss Nicol'a and producer E^2, are currently rocking a slinky dancefloor cut that garnered them a million or 16 trillion myspace "friends"-- or so their "ABOUT ME" wants us Americans to believe. On "Do It To Me", Miss Nicol'a can actually sing, though, her voice just subtle enough to work as a likable but not too cloying pop chica, while dude's creeping beat is minimal but propulsive. Not a shoulder-popper, but potentially a bump-n-grinder (no hoagie).
Miguelito: "Montala the Remix"-- In general, I am neither a fan of child labor nor digging musicians simply because of their youth (cuteness often engenders lower expectations). But Miguelito, an eight-year-old Puerto Rican reggaeton rapper is, surprisingly, a true talent-- a little kid whose flows and panache are on par with established artists (okay, the pre-pubescent vocal tone charms, too-- hypocritical, I know). Not long ago Daddy Yankee knighted him, of sorts, with an El Cartel chain on "Sabado Gigante". Also, in his video, he rides around in a golf cart and it's fucking adorable. Okay, I'm a total hypocrite. 152ee80cbc
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