Vinyl, like any other narcotic, is measured in weight to truly assess its value. I went on a digging excursion and got so much vinyl that it made my goddamn car’s passenger seatbelt sensor go off. And that, my dears, is how you know you’ve had a successful dig.
I’ve heard your pleas, guys. I don’t know what took me so long, but here you go.
I officially hold office as the mayor of Know-It-All City, including the unincorporated areas of Anxietyburgh, Self-Loathing-Ville Because of my Undying Irrational Love of the NFL, and Feminism Township. When I put on my slinky blouse the color of delicious orange sherbet, however, I feel like I could also run Hot City like a real boss.
This record is far better than I thought it would be (sorry, Gene! Sorry, Barry!) and fills my apartment with lots of excellently throbby bass and string action. Get it.
(Not sure why I’m just not that into Don Renaldo/Philly Int’l strings, but I adore Arif Mardin’s and I have Unlimited Love for Barry White/Love Unlimited Orchestra strings. I am a complex creature.)
Goddammit if I don’t love a singing bassist, plus Paul and I share a similar reverence for and complete fucking worship of black music, but the fact is he’s always seemed pretty bitchy to me and I can’t get past it. (Michael Jackson bought your shit? Here’s your bottle and blankie. Welcome to the music business.) The first 2 minutes of “Band on the Run” are pretty sweet but then I change the station, I can guarantee I’ll never buy a Wings record, and I laugh and laugh when I think about the musical year 1971 – Ram came out in May, upon which John Lennon said OH OK BITCH HERE YOU GO and released Imagine in September. Still, this is a sweet, harmless record with a cover that I’ve been itching to recreate for a while now. I also don’t regret buying this stuffed ram ‘cause now I can finally do that Black Sheep cover.
“Aw girl I know it’s dangerous to look directly at an eclipse but I can’t help but stare at CELESTIAL BODIES, youfeelme” – my future husband. Hopefully he’ll appreciate the fact that his wife and the RZA have the same taste in records. Hopefully.
Have you guys ever played a spirited round of “The Westbound Ohio Players were the best and here is why/No no you fool the Mercury Ohio Players were the fucking best and here is why”? When I’m drunk, this game is raucous and fun. When I’m not drunk, it’s the worst, and the people I’m playing against are always insufferable and don’t listen even though I make REALLY GOOD POINTS. (The situation’s the same when you play “Strata-East vs. Black Jazz” and “Human females collect and actually know shit about records: yes or no”: participants get heated, feelings get hurt.)
Anyway, I don’t have a solid position in the debate – it depends on whether I’m drinking rum or vodka and the evening’s phase of the moon and how Kobe’s knee is coming along and whether or not I’ve just listened to “Far East Mississippi” – but I do know the song order on Contradiction is all fucked up (sluggish side A should be switched with banging side B), the guys sure rebounded nicely from their Junie split, “Far East Mississippi” is my cut, and yes, still, even after all these years, I will not hide the fact that I’d lovvvve to share the same astrological sign as Sugarfoot given my feelings about bass, but I’m still happy to be a fabulous Arian like my guys Satch and James. (Drums n’ horns are my side boyfriends when bass is out of town.)
