Song of the Day #683 – Ike
Sexuality is something I haven’t cracked yet. Kinda like hose, tall leather boots, and low-rise jeans – it’s a garment that never seemed to fit, both in a physical and metaphorical sense. Me, I wanted to show off my wit, not my body. Gimmie some baggy corduroys and olive knit duds any day.
But then songs like this come along, and something happens.
Everything directs the hips to sway – the pulsing bass, the funky jacked riff, even the Dwayne Allman-esque slide guitar slipping and sliding all over this bad boy. And lawdy lawdy, when Ike break it down, you go low, reaaaaal low.
I love dancing in front of mirrors. Narcissistic, I know, but otherwise I can hardly believe that I’m swinging my ass and flaying my arms and feeling so damn vixenly. Especially here, in this hotel in Denver, where all day it’s been nothing but swapping business cards and ACA this, medical records that, blah blah medical marijuana blah blah.
Again. Again. Again. Even when it’s off, the riff is on in the shower, and in the blindingly bright lights (so bright you can see the blue veins streak down my chest) I stare down the vanity and seduce my own reflection from behind the curtain.
The lyrics, too, seem to encourage this. “I like your hair / I like your ears / I like your hmm! / I like your smile / And when you smile, it lights the room.” Basic. Physical. No silly conversation or saccharine-sweet romance. Just the most direct and supportive lust imaginable. And that great line at the end – “your face is on / my brain is off”. All this translates to: “Work it, girl. WORK IT.” It’s not a disapproving male gaze at all, but one in rapture and awe of the lady that can smile and be happy. Which can be any lady, really, if she lets herself loose – real loose – from standards of beauty or delicacy.
And I wish – oh, how I wish – I could strut like this when I’m at a gig, but that never happens. Too many boys around. Or rather, too many snickering boys, that sip beer and taunt bands like the merrily awkward Antlered Auntlord. I shouldn’t have to worry about them. But I do. So it goes.
Is the rest of the EP any good? Oh, sure. Flits between Prince (“Julie July” = “When Doves Cry”, but more hard-driving) and the Police (“Sharp and Silver” = Zenyatta Mondatta-era, but with one slick soul sister at the vocals instead of that twat Sting, and a guitar solo that gets REAL GONE) and other funk-informed new wave…but it’s always the tunes I dance to that I come back to.
The ones that make me sexy. Shamelessly sexy.