missing in action / by laurel

This entry isn't shaping up the way I wanted it to. I want to talk about the blissful perfection of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy". I want to draw comparisons to Moby (circa Play) and Stevie Wonder (circa "Living for the City," or, let's face it, Stevie Wonder circa anything). I want to laud Danger Mouse for his pitch-perfect ability to produce club-ready, car-ready, summer-ready dance traxx (xx's intentional, and one need only to listen to Gorillaz' Demon Days to know what I'm talking about). I want to admit that since its birth on my iTunes, I've given "Crazy" nearly 100% of my earttention and will probably continue to let it spin me into a honeyed whorl of vaguely disco-tinged perfection for the duration of the week.

I want to. I really, really do.

But I can't focus. My fingers aren't tap-tap-tapping the keys because I've never been good with multi-tasking and, truth be told, my feet are doing the tap-tapping enough for both of them. See, the problem is, I can't share my thoughts because I'm lost in the vortex of James Brown, Marvin Gaye, and Wonder boy himself, woven into the roller disco beats of 1970-meets-2006.

I can't see the screen because my head keeps bobbing back and forth. I can't focus on the words because my brain has turned to an orchestral amalgam of diet soda, cotton candy, thumping bass and every-summer-of-my-effing-life-thusfar. I've fallen victim to Cee-Lo's silver-tongued spell, that driving beat is holding me captive--and I ain't fighting back.

Perhaps when I emerge from his dizzy, drunken circus of danceable, grooveable Philly soul, I'll write a proper review.

But don't hold your breath.