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We all know that I listen to some sketchy music. They Might Be Giants. Belle and Sebastian. And, like all people, I have my guilty pleasures. "The Sign" by Ace of Bass, the entire library of The Carpenters, most of what The Jackson 5 put out, The Mamas and The Papas, ABBA. But, dammit, why do I like "Take Your Mama Out" by Scissor Sisters?

I do not need to become more sissified. I don't need to become enamoured with funky folky disco beats. I don't need to be grooving to a band whose lead singer prances about in fur-trimmed bib overalls, barefoot, shimmying and shaking all over creation. I don't need to be playing the song again. I don't need reassurances that I can stay out all night because, baby, I'm a full-grown man. I for DAMN sure didn't need to know that Pitchfork gave their album an 8.3.

Curse my love of well-crafted pop music!

posted by RawkStah at 12:10 AM