I bought Tone Loc's Loc'After Dark on a whim. I thought it would be fun to hear "Wild Thing" and "Funky Cold Media" again, and that would be that. Nope. I listened to the whole album.
I didn't have a choice.
As soon as the first beats of "On Fire (Remix)" filled our basement, Ellie, our Great Pyrenees, sprinted down the stairs, tore around the corner, and sat right in front of where I was standing. She was wildly wagging her tail. I thought for sure she wanted to go out to the backyard to potty or play, but the tail stopped moving when I asked her.
I rubber her behind her ears with both hands and asked, "What do you want then?" She stood up, walked over to my chair, and stole my seat in a single jump.
"You like this music?"
She thumped her tail once on the arm of he chair.
I sighed and look the smaller chair next to her. She thumped the chair a few more times in thanks. Then she closed her eyes. For the next 50 minutes we enjoyed Tone Loc's gravelly raps.
This has happened before. I knew I could move about the room as much as I wanted. I could even leave the basement. I just couldn't turn the music off. If I did, then she would slide off the chair, slowly walk out of the room looking at me from over her shoulder with her tail dragging on the carpet. Then she would go upstairs to pout.
It's quite a performance.
Also, I'm a pushover.
A couple of days later I gave John Mayall's USA Union LP a test spin. I brought this home from Goodwill because it was in decent shape and I thought it looked interesting.
No offense to the memory of the late "Godfather of English Blues," but I wasn't feeling his no-drum vibe. I was reaching for the tone arm when Ellie and our cat Bo quickly entered the room together.
Ellie took my chair again, and Bo parked himself on the album's gatefold sleeve. I was stuck again.
I put my foot down after playing side two and moved onto a different record. Neither one minded. They were asleep.
