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By
Published: 2007
Category: World [4]
Esther Perel, the therapist who wrote Mating in Captivity [5], has a radical explanation for marital bed death. The problem, she says, is not that couples need to communicate more --- it's that they communicate too much. What they need is less chat and more distance, the better to generate some fantasies about their partner. If they must talk about their relationship, she writes, they should each get a hotmail account and use it only to write their lover. Oh, and only to talk about sex.
Interesting ideas. And ones you might think about the next time it's “date night” and there you are, Barry White CD in hand.
Ah, dear Barry. The maestro of love. Swirling violins, that butterfat voice, the rock-me lyrics. His is a formula that never fails: You melt into one another. Velvet ensues....
On the other hand, in the spirit of Dr. Perel, you might think: Barry White....been there, done that. A lot.
And you might have a treasonous thought: Is there anything else?
Not that there is anything wrong with Barry White, I hasten to say: He's in the rotation here as well, in keeping with my philosophy that cliches are not to be avoided, they're to be kissed on the mouth.
If you have been an attentive visitor to this site, you are aware of alternatives to Barry White: the languid, late-night seduction of Roxy Music's Avalon [6], the gospel (yes, gospel) of Al Green [7], the deeply romantic Green-like songs of Ann Peebles [8], raunchy blues by Etta James [9] and Big Mama Thornton [10] and Junior Wells [11], the Led Zep excitement of The White Stripes [12], the dirty Cajun C.C. Adcock [13], early reggae from The Wailers [14], the surf-Orbison Chris Isaak [15], the rai of Khaled [16], the mystery of Virginia Rodrigues [17]....and I could go on.
There's a recent addition to my collection of music for the boudoir: remixes of some of the greater hits of Les Negresses Vertes. Remixes, as you know, are generally done to make music more suitable for dancing. That means the songs will be heavy on percussion, light on subtle lyrics. If you are a delicate soul --- or if your partner is a sensitive creature, prone to headaches --- read no further: This stuff is not for you.
Okay, so who are Les Négresses Vertes? In the 1980s, these French musicians were clowns and acrobats in the Cirque Zingaro. They got their name in 1987, when they dyed their hair green and went out clubbing. A bouncer threw them out, shouting "Sortez d'ici, les négresses vertes" ("Get out of here, you green niggers"). It was an amusing insult; why not elevate it to the band's name?
There was also a kind of sense in the name; this group had astonishing range. Spanish and gypsy rhythms, a splash of reggae and rai, a spoonful of medieval harmonies that melted into a hora --- add inconsequential lyrics and you had quite the show. The band was hot in Paris, huge in Beirut.
These remixes from their golden years --- 1987 to 1993 --- are destined for nights when you've had a tequila too many or are one toke over the line, nights when animal instinct trumps the spiritual connection. Oh, there are quiet moments and subtle effects, but they're just for texture. Fundamentally, this is about pile-driver percussion. I could go on, but surely you get the drift.
I have field-tested this music and pressed it on friends. Reaction is fairly uniform: In the morning, neither partner can quite look at the other. But that is not to say that Les Negresses Vertes have made anyone unhappy.
To buy “Les Negresses Vertes” from Amazon.com, click here. [18]