Perhaps you’re familiar with them. Track number one is a throwback: the debut hit from those wacky Romanian twins, The Cheeky Girls– “Cheeky Girls (Touch My Bum)”–which is a more mild mind offender, but perhaps the less elegant singalong song. Track two is a familiar piece for those of you who rock out to DDR and/or Sonic Superstars Tennis on your game consoles, or party down at carnival: Bellini’s “Samba de Janeiro.”
Here’s what’s wrong with this situation. I’m singing “sempre assim, em baixo, em baixo, em baixo, em baixo” in the shower. I’m humming Bellini’s synthetic horn tunes in bed at 3am when I can’t fall asleep at night. The words, “touch my bum… this is life!” slip out under my breath while browsing Crate & Barrel. I’m dancing to the silent extended dance mix while throwing down martinis at my local grown-up-folks’ wood-paneled bar.
At certain points over the last few days, I’ve felt I might die with these tunes on loop in my head. It’s really not good. It’s a mess. These songs were made to drive people insane, right? Fuck waterboarding!!
What I’m trying to say is, with these brain property-mongers in town, it’s really hard for anything else to infiltrate. I can’t hear music anymore, not in any lasting way. Not even “Take On Me” or “Tainted Love” or “The Beast and the Harlot,” which are always strong contenders for brain repeat.
So I am stunned to say that beatboxer Daichi, who arrived at my synapses via BuzzFeed this week, is making a pretty excellent play:
How I could possibly spend all day repeating a bass line that originated somewhere in this fine young man’s throat is beyond me. But it’s happening. And while I may sound ridiculous crab scratching while ordering tacos at the truck this afternoon, it’ll be a happy relief from all that bum touching I accidentally solicited while perusing brightly-colored kitchen bowls.
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