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 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.