Friday, June 13, 2008

Tune of the Weekend.

In the last few years a savage amount of chinstroking has transpired in relation to anything Cosmic or Balearic. In fact, you could say that a lot of folks have contracted Balearia. However, what shouldn’t be forgotten is that a lot of this music was unadulterated cheese, though it is magnificent in its fromageyness. Despite the fact that countless experts (usually guys with beards…and me) will attest to the significance of Italo in the development of Chicago house and how it allowed Ron Hardy to create long dialogs of electronic tension and soulful release with his crowd – in the context of blah blah blah, ad nauseum – some of us remember records like Sabrina’s “Boys,” or Ryan Paris’s “Dolce Vita,” (I mean for god’s sake who would call their kid Ryan Paris. Oh, I see, it was a stage name. I think Tarquin Verona has a nice ring to it). And we remember the things that accompanied those tunes; rah-rah skirts, mesh tops, “Frankie Says” t-shirts, long summers of no irony and layers and layers of glorious, luscious cheese.

William Pitt’s “City Lights” is cut from this cloth too, it’s a de facto Ibiza classic, a Balearic nugget, with corny melodies, a bassline ripped from Dennis Edward’s “Don’t Look Any Further,” and Euro accented lyrics detailing the ennui of life in opulent surroundings amid a beautiful European city. It’s totally cheesy, and I love every second of it. If you have it, bust it out, get out in the sun and listen to it on your player, ask the dj to take off that bloody Mariah Carey record about touching her bod (at a galloping 79 beats per minute zzzzzzzzzzzzzz) and stick this baby on. It’ll send most of the “we need corporate music that’s been drilled into our brains” contingent running to the bar – the dj will get paid more as a result – and you can stand on the dance floor in perfect bliss, pretending it’s 1987, you’re in San Antonio (Ibiza that is, Texas would be completely out of context, blah, blah ad nauseum), Oakenfold and Weatherall’s arrival on the island is imminent and it isn’t overrun with Euro lager hooligans. Yes, get out and see some citeeeee liiiiiights!!!!!


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Elsa said...

Whoa, that's some stinky cheese! It sounds like something you might hear at JC Penneys in the training bra department. Maybe it sounds better in Ibiza, but here in Portland, it's a bit foul.

sexy said...





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