This Mother Fucker

This mother fucker!

I don’t know what the statute of limitations is on the misuse of an afro, but I wanna sue this dude for my dollar. I dig for records, that’s pretty much my favorite way to pass the time. Getting my fingers blacker in the thrifts and summoning dust mites into the atmosphere in the quest for black gold is a solid Monday as far as I’m concerned. I’ve learned a few rules through the years. One of them is finding a record with a fat ass afro on the cover and 1967-1972 on the back. You buy that shit. Regardless. The band could be called the Dooby Dooby Dipshits, but if there’s a Black Man who would cast a shadow that looks like he has a Hot Air Balloon for a head, you’ve got an album full of tough drum breaks and some pocket bass playing. The same afro in 1977 doesn’t promise the same thing, it’s probably some coke infused synth laden disco, but pre 72 is your safety zone.

I came across this Jimmy Mamou record at a thrift store in Oceanside. I couldn’t find a year on it, but I trusted the afro. The roundness of it was what your wanting. Plus those lamb chops! And to top it off, just look closely at those eyes. Dude looks high. He looks like he smoked a spliff the size of a baby leg 32 seconds before this photo shoot (in hindsight I guessing his red eyes are from dust mite allergies).

I did know the record was a risk. I was reading the song titles and it went Every Knee Shall Bow, Hold Me Jesus, I Read the Bible, Let Us Pray, Do You Believe In Jesus, Let Me Stand Up For Jesus and Creation. That’s a hefty amount of Jesus in a small amount of words. I’d go as far as to call the guy repetitive. I have nothing against Christianity, but man it zaps the flavor out of some music. Like saying “Christian Rock” is another way of saying “bland rock”, but still, the afro. I dropped a dollar on it. Took Jimmy home and dropped a needle on it. TERRIBLE. I skipped through this smooth Christian themed soft reggae, the kinda reggae Jimmy Buffet fans listen to while snapping their fingers along off rhythm. There was one song that had a groove to it, it was like the afro jumped off the head and said in a voice deep enough to front an all black Crash Test Dummies Cover Band “Yo son, I’m producing this track cause you been fuckin shit up with yo nonsense” 

I guess I paid a dollar for a story about misspent afros. And now I've created a pressure on myself to never put out shitty music, or the easier challenge of never placing my face on an album cover. I'll go with the latter.