What I’m Listening To
I was working out of town a couple of weeks ago. At the end of the week, in preparation for re-integrating myself, I called home. I asked if there was any interesting mail, and my wife cited the Visa bill, a birth announcement, an IRS notice for my corporation and (tick…tick…tick) a package from someone named voodoolulu in New York. I said, “Oh, uh, yeah, it’s a CD. Go ahead and open it. I heard some clips on the internet and thought it was intriguing.”
I had picked up the voodoolulu blog when it first appeared on the Salon updates page, and followed links to her music website http://www.voodoolulu.com . I listened to a couple samples of her album, meooow Royale, and decided it was worth a gamble. This was before her breakout blog post about her 3-way experience catapulted her into Google heaven, so you must understand that my interest was purely aesthetic.
When I got home, it was there with my other mail, unopened. I guess, in a gratifying display of chivalry, my wife was affording me one last chance to salvage my dignity, in case it really WAS a porn DVD. I flipped casually through the other stuff, then nonchalantly opened the voodoolulu package. My wife saw the cover of the cd, observed the bared midriff, taut abs and said, “I know why you bought this.” I could have made some impolitic comment about how many times I’d gotten into her car and, in shamefaced humility, slid her D’Angelo jewelcase under the seat, but it was my first night home, and I had plans…
Understand that, at 53 and married, my comments about this album will probably come off like Rick Steves touring Amsterdam and raving about the bus service. Nevertheless: The cd, like her blog, is seething with attitude, social consciousness and in-your-face sexuality, but peppered with a wry humor. At its best, it explores relationships minutely, from heartbeat to heartbeat. This is all delivered in a musical package that starts with a foundation of tight drum, bass and keys. Background vocalist Chemda has major pipes, and lulu’s rhyming tunnels in with a smoky, articulate growl. Overall, the sound is slick but spare enough to deliver the verbal message effectively. A nice, exceptional, even, first album that probably only hints at what happens in a live performance.
It should be unopposed for the Grammy category “best bass line backing up girl-on-girl imagery”. Owing to content, Clear Channel is not likely to put this on their playlists anytime soon, which means that 98% of the country will not get to hear it on the radio, especially after 6/2, so buy it from her website if you’re curious (and usually get to the mailbox first).
The ferry Kalakala, also known in its heyday as The Silver Slug, taken from my kayak. In a touching entreaty, it had a plastic bottle hanging off the bow expressly so kayakers could drop contributions as we paddled past.