A little night music

A little night music

We have to say, we were a little disappointed in our readers’ choice for Best Place To Get It On. Home? How boring is that? But we suppose it is good to keep that sort of thing private. We certainly aren’t eager to run into anyone bumpin’ uglies in the Alderman stacks or dancing the back seat mambo in the Water Street Parking Garage. So, since your living room or bedroom seems to be the sensual stage of choice, we asked a few local musicians and DJs to help us put together a soundtrack for your amorous endeavors. Plug in those iPods and, er, we’ll leave the rest up to you.

"Earth Angel" by Bella Morte "Perfect for upping the romance."—Shawn Decker (Synthetic Division)

"Building Steam With A Grain of Salt" by DJ Shadow "From his legendary Endtroducing… album. This whole album is just a perfect ‘leave it on all the way through’ downbeat mood album."—Brad Savage (DJ on 106.1 The Corner)

"On The Couch" by Prince "From someone like Prince you’d expect something like ‘baby let’s do it on the…’ but here the Purple One gets down on one knee and pleads ‘don’t make me sleep on the…’ Brilliant. The smooth rhythm section and wailing choir seal the deal. If she does kick you out of the bed, the pillow won’t even be cold by the time she’s joining you in the family room."—Seth Green (Sons of Bill)

"Hidden Place" by Björk "Her voice is quietly expressive and sensual. The arrangement is lush and full of strange wonder. A hidden place is indeed the best make-out spot."—Lance Brenner (The Falsies, The Naked Puritans)

"She Has No Time" by Keane "My husband and I don’t listen to a whole lot of current music, so [our neightbor] John sort of keeps us up to date on that stuff. For example, I would’ve never listened to that band Keane… too pop for my taste. But drifting through the window at 1am, a few of those songs, um… well, I can’t say that they, like, totally ruin the mood…"—Devon Sproule

"Metal Machine Music" by Lou Reed "Widely regarded as a goof. While I find the jarring sheets of feedback exciting and sensual, going so far as to figure out what key they’re in (Side 3 is in A-flat, I believe), I also have a great deal of congenital neural damage. Have this come on a couple minutes before consummation and not only will it delay orgasm, it will very probably render it completely moot."—Tyler Magill (DJ on 91.1 WTJU)

"The Pink Room" from the Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me soundtrack "Grinding, sweaty, brutal, but in the most passionate film-noir way possible. Just feel the drums and you will be just fine."—Nicholas Liivak (Horsefang)

"The Beautiful Ones" by Prince "Starts off slow and sexy, then it gets heavy for the REAL pounding!"—Tim Clark (This Means You)

A little night music

A little night music

"It sounds nothing like the Marx Brothers, that’s for sure.”

The hours were ticking by and Sweet Cakes was lying by the radio, checking out the late night tunes on direct assignment from The Editor. She had landed on 91.1 FM, WTJU, which calls itself the “sound choice.” But seriously, Sweet was starting to wonder which sound they were talking about. The show at 15 minutes before 1 in the morning was called Radio Freedonia, but La Cake could discern no connection to Duck Soup. Rather, the music sounded more like a radiator being played with a drumstick.

Now Sweet’s tolerance for the new and different is heralded far and wide. After all, she was one of the first among The Girls to embrace the cork wedge sandal when it resurfaced a couple of years ago. And wasn’t she practically a pioneer with touch-on liquid powder foundation? So she approached the clanging with an open mind. But as the tune veered into something that sounded like King Crimson playing kitchen appliances in an East Berlin cold-water flat, she could feel her sensibilities starting to seal up tight.

It crossed her mind that this could be the score from Mulan as performed by A Flock of Seagulls, but even this hybrid seemed unworthy of further pondering. If people listen to this willingly, Sweet wondered, who are they and if Sweet happens to know any of them should she make discreet inquiries about the balance of salts and chemicals in their bodies?

After another five minutes, Sugar-Girl anticipated kind relief. A new song was coming on. A new song, it turned out, that made her yearn for the previous one. The lyric, and Sweet begs your forgiveness as she mentions it, went like this: “I knew you couldn’t trust me” and then “I fucked all your friends’ girlfriends, now they hate you.” Charming. For this Candy-Honey was neglecting her beauty rest?

As the hour turned, Sweet’s ever-hopeful natural state was restored. A new program, The Hep Imp Show, was coming on. Something mischievous and maybe a little twee, perhaps? Nothing wrong with that. Alas, a number called “Mother’s Womb” would have been more aptly titled “Excedrin headache patched through a Dixie cup,” leaving Sugaree to conclude that if such were the sounds heard in utero, then she would have to be more forgiving of the occasional petulant outbursts of the juvenile Cakes in the clan and other youngsters she encounters from time to time. (Confidential to little niece Cup: All is forgiven.)

Moving up the dial, Sweet landed on WNRN. The show at that hour is called The Core, but Sweet knew before the first note was sounded that it would have nothing to do with Pilates. Instead, she heard—for a few moments—the kind of electro-industrial music that makes Nine Inch Nails sound like a nursery rhyme. Why is everybody so unhappy on the left end of the dial? La Cake wondered. Was she just too tired to appreciate the finer points of the jack-booted drum pulses? Perhaps she doesn’t drink enough Red Bull.

Sweet’s enthusiasm for her assignment was seriously lagging. She scolded herself. She should have argued more vehemently to write a column on punctuality or liquid eye-liner or any of the other topics dear to her heart. Giving it one last go, Sweet switched to KISS-FM, 92.7. There the quiet storm was raging. “Oh girl, come on and rock me.” True, she had abandoned the sound of automatic gunfire and imprisoned elves in steel fortresses, but this inane, creamy ballad (“rock me tonight for old times’ sake”) was, in its own way, as hard to listen to as the furious sylvans had been on the other stations. Syrupy synth lines, wave upon wave of gooey strings—Sweet just couldn’t take it anymore.

She was bored and fatigued, yet as she turned off the radio she was filled with a reborn resolve. She would go in the next morning and face The Editor with a new and important idea. Next assignment: To write a column on the importance of a good night’s sleep.