this song …. does things to me

“I’ll Write a Song for You,” by Earth, Wind, and Fire.

Yes, it is Earth, Wind, and Fire. Yes, over the years, they have regularly costumed themselves as if they were starring in some appalling Disney hybrid of Aladdin and The Lion King. Yes, sometimes their lyrics are airy-fairy incomprehensible New Age twaddle, but, yamahama, Crackie, sometimes, SOMETIMES they do things to me.

I probably came to EWF later than everyone else because, well, I came to all popular music later than everyone else because I am basically Amish as I’ve stated here umpteen times before. I don’t like everything they’ve done — I’m probably not even familiar with everything they’ve done — but this song …… ohhhh, this song ….. yes, I’m very familiar with this song even though it’s one of their more obscure songs, was never a big hit. Uhm, to the best of my minimal knowledge.

It’s one of my all-time favorites. For various reasons.

It’s just in my blood.

And, okay, all Amish aside, pippa? I’m not going to lie: This song is pure liquid sex. I dare you to listen to it and think otherwise.

This song. IS sex.

Listen to the lyrics. Listen to the progression of the song. Everything starts so hushed and delicate, plucking, strumming, a slow sweet foreplay tugging at you, taking its time, everything so gentle, a low-level pound, until ….. 3:09 when, if you listen closely, Philip Bailey takes a breath that changes the entire song. Everything is joined, builds, becomes more and more urgent, sometimes soaring, sometimes gasping, until …. 4:54 when he hits that note, the note you cannot believe, the note that makes you want to weep for its beauty and purity, the breathless climax, and, well, honestly, you’ll be hitting it, too.

I mean, YAmaHAma. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. His voice is perfect. That’s a high B or C he’s hitting at the climax of the song. Swoooooon. Forget what I said before about loving the beauty of imperfection, blahdie blah blah. I mean, cram all that, peaches.

I love the beauty of perfection!

Problem is I will basically rip off my clothes should someone start to play this song. It’s true. It’s a problem. It’s a guarantee. Any time. Anywhere.

Play it in line at the DMV? Tracey rips her clothes off.

A muzak version plays during visiting hours at the old folks’ home? Tracey rips her clothes off.

Someone’s listening to it in the church parking lot? Uhm, Tracey rips her clothes off and is escorted off the premises by elders with their clothes on.

HUGE, MASSIVE interpersonal problem I have. I would have this song on continuous play on my iPod, but it would seriously impede my ability to function in the world and stay out of jail.

Please listen and try to keep your clothes on. Don’t be like me, I implore you.

We’re …. we’re on a spinning top ….

(Lyrics below)

I thirst but never quench
I know the consequence, feeling as I do
We’re in a spinning top
Where, tell me, will it stop
And what am I to say
Open our music book, that only few can look
And I’ll write a song for you

Love is a symphony, hearts in one melody
‘Cause I write a song for you
Sounds never dissipate, they only recreate
In another place
There in your silent night
Joy of a song’s delight
‘Cause I’ll write a song for you
You’ll write a song for me
We’ll write a song of love … of love

My magical mystique, finding it all complete
In your lovely face, feelings we try to chase
Memories that won’t erase, stay forever new
We have a magic box in which is never locked
‘Cause I write a song for you
You write a song for me
We’ll write a song of love ….. of love