Ahhh. A few weeks ago I gave thanks for having been introduced to the Canadian duo, The Wet Spots. Today I sit in reverie and awe as I listen to their album for about the seventeenth time since I bought it at their show last Thursday.
I went to the Wet Spots' concert with enough knowledge of their songs to know it would not be a waste of my time. I did not expect to become so totally and utterly enthralled. Both 'Spots,' Cass, and her husband John were in rare form and kept me totally engaged the entire time they were on stage (or next to me giving my lucky friend, May, a lapdance).
It is frequent that performers can get a laugh or two by repeating profanities with zeal, but The Wet Spots go beyond dirty, and are downright clever. Yes, sometimes they have (totally fantastic and lovable) potty mouths, but their lyrics are engaging and terribly amusing -- I mean, who, but the Wet Spots, could have come up with "Bi-Curious George."
In addition to their cleverness, it is their spunk and delivery that set them apart. They know how to play to a crowd, and play with a crowd, as May's husband John learned when he had a percussion solo played on his ass (to be fair, he got to dole out an ass-smacking solo of his own).
If you think this is just a shameless plug for the Wet Spots, you are right. It is. If you think this is not very clever or well-written, you are also right. It isn't. The Wet Spots leave me speechless and drooling. There isn't any clever left; they used it all.
Because I am out of clever myself, I will leave you with some directly from the Wet Spots. You may even learn something. Enjoy!
I have a new favorite band. The Wet Spots make me laugh and think about sex -- two of my most favorite things on the planet. Thank you Wet Spots (and thank you, Lula, for telling me about them). I am looking forward to enjoying them live and in the flesh in San Francisco later this month.
I wish I couldn't relate to this song. Oh, but alas, alack, how it sings to my heart. Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman should get their own brains and stay out of mine. Err, well, maybe not all the way out. I kinda enjoy the company. I am lonely without them. And when I get lonely, I start googling. And that's not good for anybody.
I recently learned the word "limerence" which, according to Wikipedia, means, "an involuntarycognitive and emotional state in which a person feels an intense romantic desire for another person. The concept is an attempt at a scientific study into the nature of romantic love." I relate to it as that fleeting crush feeling that struts through the beginning of most romantic and/or sexual relationships. It's those weeks or months when you eat, sleep and breath this one person. It was surely a case of limerence in junior high school that caused me to sit on a ant hill, full of butt-biting ants all through lunch recess just to talk to Ryan C. It was also quite clearly limerence that sparked my 3:00am phone call to my (then) future-husband's office after I had spent hours "Yahoo-ing" (yes, I am that old) him to find the coveted number and a picture of him.
While I have enjoyed this "crazy-in-love" feeling on multiple occasions over the years, I have to admit that, at times, it does feel a little too crazy. I was intrigued, but not surprised, to learn that, when studied, the brains of those in limerence resembled the brains of people who suffer from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). According to Italian scientists, both have abnormally low levels of serotonin. Serotonin levels play a huge role in establishing mood. It is easy for me to imagine a correlation between my need to google an old high school flame, and my need to hold my breath while driving through a tunnel or my need to ride the bus all the way back to work when I was almost home just to check one more time that the lights are really off. Really.
When I talk about my obsessive-compulsive behaviors, I think I sound rather nutty. When Amanda Palmer sings Neil Gaimen's lyrics to "I Google You." She's so flippin' cool! I know! Maybe I should google her. I bet there is some fascinating information on Al Gore's Fantastical Interweb just waiting for me. Maybe I could find pictures of her when she was a little girl or lyrics to songs that haven't yet been sung publicly. How tall is she anyway? Could we share clothes? What does she use to draw in her eyebrows, and how does it stay on so well? What is "Coin-Operated Boy"really about anyway?
Oh, Amanda Palmer! Call me crazy, but I google YOU!!!
