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Hot Stuff for Summer 2005
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Published: Jan 01, 2005
Category:
Beyond Classification
Hot Stuff for Summer ’05
Sometimes the best way to deal with the heat is to surrender to it. That’s what they do in Southern India, where — even in the hottest weather — meals are spiced with fiery peppers. Because nothing gets the blood moving faster than cayenne. Because cool yogurt or a cold beer only remind you how comfortable you’re not. And because, in the furnace of summer, pretty much everything you usually think suddenly makes no sense.
Today I’m throwing in the towel. This heat has taken its toll. Enough with high-minded culture — bring on the movies, books and music that make me sweat. That get the blood pumping. That inspire thoughts I’d stomp on in cooler weather.
The movie I’d most like to see right now? ‘Body Heat.’ The books I’d most like to read are riddled with passionate clinches. The music I most want to hear bypasses my brain completely and works to loosen my lower back.
Hot stuff, in other words. Like these….
Cakes and Ale — The wife of a famous writer sleeps with anyone she pleases, and her husband seems neither to notice or care, and she’s not guilty in the slightest, and now the narrator (the young Maugham) becomes her lover — and how is he going to deal with all that?
Jackpot — A nondescript woman who works in publishing goes on a vacation with a friend. Beach, alcohol, loneliness and boredom take their toll — her morals disappear. In their place, a parade of men. Destruction looks almost attractive in these pages.
A Sport and a Pastime — Rural France. A rich, lost young American. A beautiful sports car. A willing shop girl. Hotel rooms. No one’s watching. Nobody cares. Anything goes.
The Garden of Eden — A young writer and his wife, honeymooning in the South of France. She goes gay. And more. Another woman enters the marriage. This is not a novel you’d ever expect to see with Ernest Hemingway’s byline.
The Killer Inside Me — The lawman is a dullard. On purpose. Inside, he’s got quite the twisted set of sexual fantasies going. There are women willing to indulge him. That is their great mistake.
Seven Year Itch — If you have ever seen Etta James in concert, you know she only works blue. Yes, there is love in her songs, but it’s largely based on sex. Cheating is a big theme. So is addiction to those illicit thrills. And she communicates all of it quite clearly.
Silvertone — Take a voice like Roy Orbison’s. Write some sultry love songs, best heard in the dark. Stuff them all into the body of a tall, good-looking hunk who can sneer like Elvis. Call him Chris Isaak.
Avalon — Fifth Avenue, middle of the night, streets wet, a man and a woman on a penthouse terrace, drinking champagne. That’s one of the safer images Roxy Music serves up in this masterpiece of elegant sensuality.
I Can’t Stand the Rain — Ann Peebles is the female Al Green. She’s backed by his band, guided by his producer. And, like Al, she hurts so good.
Sahra — Algerian holy music goes secular. The music swirls in your head. The lyrics are French, unimportant. Khaled’s singing shows you why they call him the “king of Rai.” Not that you’ll care. Because the music swirls. And the room spins.
Catch a Fire — The Wailers, before the Marley cult began. Hot, sticky, steamy, stoned. Images of camels trotting on a beach in the night. Horsemen with covered faces. And, always, that crazy reggae off-beat.
Take two of these, in any combination. Write me in the morning. Your Butler promises discretion.
