For a few years, I held down a DJ slot on a free form radio station. While it mostly provided me with an advanced education in music, from time to time I would lure guests into the studio for offbeat interviews. One such guest was the porn juggernaut Ron Jeremy, who was in town making an appearance in the local branch of sex toy chain shop. During the anticipation leading up to the interview, I found myself wondering what I would talk to him about. Admittedly, I am not a connoisseur of his movies. I tried to research him online to prepare, but the only thought that kept going through my head was I wondered what Ron Jeremy smelled like. I started asking friends what they thought his aroma would be, and hypothesis such as baby powder, lube, and Hi Karate aftershave came my way.
That experience provided me with the only time in my life that I ever wondered what a person smelled like until I sat down with this album from Egyptian Lover. Why would listening to his seductive electro beats and staring at his come hither portrait on the album cover trigger the olfactory nerve endings of my mind? With that thought, I closed my eyes and let the beats transport me to the smokey and low-lit backstage area at an Egyptian Lover gig in 1984 where I was greeted by a thick waft of frankincense and myrrh. Pushing my way through an entanglement of scantily clad exotic beauties, I turn a corner to witness The Egyptian Lover himself sitting upon a futuristic throne of solid gold, aviator glasses on, erotically draped with luscious babes in a carnal trance while being fanned by palm frond enhanced women who resembled Princess Leah in Jabba bondage gear. He waves his hand for me to take a seat at his feet without saying a word while the women scatter out of the way. He then says to me in a hushed voice, "Shuggypop, my aroma is a blend of juniper berries, cyprus, and lotus flower oil."
At the recent Tiny Mix Tapes holiday office party, house DJ Monte Rock III threw this album on, and next thing you know, a Svengali-like mind control gripped a room full of usually mild mannered music reviewers who began bump and grinding in a manner reminiscent of MC Hammer's "Pumps and a Bump" video. At the 4:37 mark in "Egypt, Egypt," a sheepish young intern in guy-liner had gotten such a jolt of confidence from the robotic grooves that before anybody knew what was happening, he was on the phone challenging Kimbo Slice to a backyard brawl. This is what this album can do to you.
Egyptian Lover is one of the pioneers of Southern California's electro/hip-hop scene. When this album came out in 1984, LA was considered too soft compared to the gritty New York hip-hop world that is now celebrated in lavish coffee table books. This was before the media crazed East Coast vs. West Coast posturing was used as a marketing tool, and before Eazy E came straight outta Compton with a bravado on roids known as gangsta that put LA on the rap map. While celebrated MC's in New York were producing poetry from the streets, Egyptian Lover seemed more concerned with freakish primal matters, that would make Penthouse Forum blush, delivered over tasty beats to pop and lock to. And I for one am thankful for it.
On the Nile takes the robotic trance of Kraftwerk and mixes in the flavor of the urban American streets. If Breakin' 2 Electric Boogaloo had more cred, it would have featured Egyptian Lover cuts on their soundtrack. Some of these b-boy beats stretch out upwards of nine minutes, and one song tends to blend into the next with only the minimal vocal tag lines distinguishing the difference to those not paying close enough attention. Most of his kinky in a Prince sort of way vocals are nothing more than a repetition of a lustful desire that are barked by a stud's voice with what appears to be a posse of robots as backup singers. If you are into lyrical prose, Egyptian Lover isn't for you. If you want a feel good boost, then I suggest booking a one-way ticket to Egypt to get your love freak on.