(From the STMcC Archives: 2007, March 18th)
Below is a review I wrote for a music compact disc in 2007. Everyone (except for one good friend) absolutely hated it. Hated it! That alone told me it must be pretty good. One stranger left a comment saying in part: "Typical, however of the prevailing recurring phenomenon of arrogant Americans taking something beautiful like music and cheapening it by selfishly using it for their own base sexual inadequacies or insecurities." She called me an "imbecilic moron" (not just an imbecile, and not just a moron, but BOTH), said my review was "trash" that "conjures up images of the song 'Midlife Crisis' by Faith No More... A 47-year-old 'man' claiming to have been christened (likely self-christened) 'Mr. Intense'... Pathetic."
Damn! It's like she'd been reading my mail and my mind.
For the record, it was my old friend Pooh (General Poohregard) who nicknamed me Mr. Intense
A few weeks ago my friend FAE ('Far Away Series' - the first BOTBer) read this review for the very first time and told me she thought it was really funny. So, if you hate it too, like them others do, blame FAE for me having posted it here and subjecting you to it. (But, you know what "tongue-in-cheek" means, right?)
[I first became conscious of the strange phenomenon when I was about 15 years old: I ordered something to eat in a little fast food Mexican joint on Venice Boulevard in West Los Angeles. Unbeknownst to the young Latinas working behind the counter, the very next person to place his order was my Pa, and when he joined me at a table, he related to me how one girl said to her co-worker after I walked away, “That guy was cute,” and the other agreed.]
Good
Friend Melanie gave me the IBRAHIM FERRER album of Cuban Jazz as a
gift the Christmas before last. (I had mentioned beforehand that I
have more music than time to hear it, but she listened to me about
like men listen to women. No one’s to blame for the communication
disconnect between the genders, really, because we have such
disparate origins: A woman is from Venus and a man is from a woman’s
“Monologue.”)
[Including
my ENTIRE life, I can count on two fingers how many White, Black, or
Asian women have had me and the “Mystery Dance” occupying the
same thought in their mind. But Hispanic women have always found me
to be irresistible, and I don’t know why. I am a very ordinary
looking but extremely analytical individual who tends to mentally
dissect everything in order to comprehend why and how such and such
is so. But I’ve yet to concoct even the most rudimentary theory to
explain the Latin woman’s attraction to me.]
I
almost gave up on the IBRAHIM FERRER recording because I just
couldn’t seem to warm up to it for the longest time. At one point,
I considered posting a Two-Star review on a music website which I
thought to title, "I'LL HAVE THE NUMBER THREE COMBINATION PLATE
AND A MARGARITA, PLEASE." The music just made me feel like I was
sitting in a booth at a Mexican restaurant. “Not that there’s
anything wrong with that”, but tunes for home listening? And since
Good Friend Melanie wasn’t too crazy about Bright Size Life – the
Pat Metheny disc I had given to her – we even considered trading,
and each of us keeping the item we had purchased.
[The
brilliant and world-renowned South American sociologist, Yoey
O’Dogherty, once observed that, “Hispanic women are especially
drawn to the warm magnetism of masculine intensity; just as
conversely, snowmen are drawn to frigid climates.” And in my youth
I was sometimes known by the nickname, “Mister Intense.” Perhaps
this accounts for why Latinas are so susceptible to the energy of my
aura?]
I
finally decided that I would play nothing but IBRAHIM FERRER whenever
writing on my computer until either my ears became educated enough to
enjoy it, or until I could stand it no longer and gave it away to
Lupe, the waitress at Abuelo’s Mexican Food Embassy who always
gives me extra guacamole and a wink.
[You
know how women can give men “the once over” without tipping their
hand to the guys, while men just ogle openly? Well, these spicy
Hispanic gals sometimes lose their highly refined skills around me,
unable to extinguish the hungry flames in their orbs. Even at my
advanced age of 47, wearing spectacles, and with plenty of grey
cohabitating with the brown on my scalp and in my goatee, I still
sometimes catch ‘em eyeing me.]
Well,
to my great surprise, I not only eventually came to differentiate
between all of these melodies, but came to embrace them as if they
were part of my own culture. The tremendous blasts of brass; the
lively, intricate percussion work; the sparse but soulful guitar
touches of Ry Cooder; and the emotional and romantic Spanish vocals
really move me … and they make my writing move, too. I’ve found
that IBRAHIM FERRER puts some added zest into my words – really
gets the creative juices flowing. (Can’t you tell?) Because of
its dancing rhythms, it’s become maybe my very favorite disc to
play as background music while writing anything.
[I
once had a sweet and shy Mexican girl tell me about a week before her
wedding that all along it was me she had been hoping to catch. And
less than twelve months ago, this 18-year-old hot Hispanic thang let
it be known that she was interested in me. (She went by Wendy, but
I’m pretty sure her Mama named her Maria.) She was a real cutie
and had an absolutely OUTRAGEOUS body to go with that face: all the
curves in just the right places and very well pronounced like: “The
rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain!” To borrow from The
Commodores, she was truly built like a “Brick OWse!” The night I
had to turn her down, pointing out that at my age I was nearly old
enough to be her grandpa, I drove home gnawing on my knuckles and
chanting over and over again, “There had better be a Heaven! There
had better be a Heaven!”]
As
if the music alone wasn’t reason enough to purchase IBRAHIM FERRER,
the song MARIETA contains one of the funniest lyrical passages ever.
Translated into English it says: “My wife was suffering from an
illness of the heart in Havana. So the doctor came one morning to
examine her. He took off her dress, her p*nties, too. And her slip.
But when I saw that indecency I said: This isn’t good; I really
don’t think my wife’s heart is that far down.” Imagine that, a
song about a doctor “playing doctor.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgBJg7vWJ8k
[So,
you’re wondering why I told you how attractive Latinas find me?
Well, it just so happens that I wasn’t talking to you, dude; I was
trying to send a discreet message to your hot, Hispanic girlfriend.
But you know what? To heck with subtlety: Hola guapa, llamame
cuando tu novio esta fuera.]
~ Stephen
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