WRITTEN UNDER DURESS BY MICHAEL STEIGER
Memo: To the LEO Music Desk:
Please don’t make me do this. I know when you asked me if I was up to reviewing these, I responded enthusiastically. At the time, I fully intended to listen to these discs on the way to Cumberland Falls. I figured it would be a good time to give them my full attention. The fact of the matter is, I made it through about four songs of the Whodini disc. While I enjoyed “Haunted House of Rock,” it occurred to me that I was never a “party” person and, as such, never had much of an ear for the “party music.” It sounded, as my wife reminded me, like a 30-year-old roller rink. To be honest, I was never the Kangol-and-parachute-pants type.
If you’ve never driven several hours with two siblings, I will tell you that parents sometimes have to resort to drastic measures to keep the peace. Outside of Lexington, I heard myself bark a sentence I prayed I’d never have to use: “If you little monsters don’t pipe down, I’m going to play the Fresh Prince CD!” It worked, so I never got around to listening to it.
The Marvin Sease disc held promise. I missed his first wave of popularity, but I knew his reputation for singing nasty Southern soul with double-entendre lyrics that would supposedly cause his female fans to spontaneously combust. I had no idea that thinly-veiled songs about cunnilingus could have that effect.
Needless to say, I was intrigued. I noticed, however, in the cover photo, Marvin’s pleated trousers had “bloused.” It happens with pleats. They bunch up when you sit down. You can’t really avoid it. I couldn’t get over the fact that he appeared (shudder) tumescent. (Note: I kind of threw up in my mouth just typing that.)
A quote then popped unbidden in my mind. It repeated and echoed and repeated some more like some
mid-’80s Cabaret Voltaire megamix: “WHO WANTS A BODY MASSAGE?”
I was unable to speak another word until we reached Corbin, although my concerned wife suggested that I whimpered occasionally. I insisted I was merely singing along with the radio ever so quietly.
Look, I understand there are deadlines to meet, but if you let me slide on this, I promise I’ll be more professional the next time Echo and the Bunnymen releases an album.
Contact the writer at msteiger@leoweekly.com
This article appears in July 3, 2006.