Two words

Girl Talk.

Go out and steal it. Like Gregg Gillis did. Or just pay what you want at (which is how he tries to get away with it). Or borrow it from somebody way cooler. But whatever you do, get Gregg’s latest orchestration of famous stolen samples from the breadth and depth of rock ‘n’ roll — that is, in the most mind-bogglingly expansive (Lil Wayne meets Nirvana meets Spencer Davis meets Metallica, Biggie Smalls, Sinead O’Connor, Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Band, Ludacris, Radiohead, the Carpenters) meaning of those once electrically meaningful words.


Girl Talk, he’s called. Don’t know why. Feed the Animals, it’s called. Know exactly why. Turns out, this massively thick sonic bouillabaise does just that. Feeds the wild stuff inside that you never could think away. It will make your inner animal smile (or, better yet, bare his teeth). And it will make your inner animal drum his metaphorically arthritic fingers and tap her metaphorically arthritic toes (even if you are, in fact, old enough to have such maladies, old enough to say, for instance: “Where are all the melodies?”). And it will bust the crust on that ever-expanding nougat-y part deep down inside, somewhere between your erstwhile sex organ and your vestigial left nipple, that, once upon a time, back in 1933 (or whenever you stopped breathing), couldn’t help itself.

Do it, and your soul will get fat and happy again. Money-back-guaranteed.

Girl Talk: three words: I love you.