Jamiroquai
Dynamite

ETIMANYD.

I raise the shutters in my room.
This morning is a beautiful sunny day even though it's pouring rain. I am happy and joyful for this spring that is just around the corner, even if the cold and frost won't go away, not even for money. The birds on the branches go chirp, the dogs on the flower beds go woof, and I, just after getting up, go fart.
I make my barley coffee, light the ginseng incense, and put the latest Jamiroquai CD in the player (bought in 4 copies, just in case I ruin one!) and say: what an amazing freaking hit (with three “f”)!!.
Finally, this singer with his mother's vulva still stuck on his head (did it stay since birth?! Is it possible that no surgery has managed to remove it?! Should we start a petition? Who's in? I'll gladly put in 20 euros...) has made an original album, unique in its genre, with innovative and especially unheard arrangements.
An album that makes you say immediately: oh damn, it's about time!
Finally, sounds perfectly aligned with this 2006 with never banal chords and sound and harmonic solutions even ahead of their time.
An absolutely NECESSARY album for the great originality it expresses from every pore and which makes it one of the best purchases of the year.
Absolutely irresistible, so much so that I even start to dance in my underwear in the middle of the room.
Ulla and Katrine, two stunning blonde playmates sleeping in my bed, ask me to lower the volume because they want to sleep some more to recover their strength after last night's Teutonic ride.
I lower the music without asking questions, even though something “sounds strange” to me.
Who the hell are those two?
I look in the mirror and see myself handsome, slim, and charming like Brad Pitt.
I lower my underwear and find the Colossus of Rhodes erect and steadfast in my hands (I need both to support the weight!).
I open the wardrobe and see only sheer shirts with silver buttons, leather pants with studs, and perforated satin scarves.
What the hell is happening?!
I go towards the bookshelf and find it completely empty, only gym equipment like weights, various springs, and fitness benches hanging on the walls.
I call Stronko for the daily walk, and a fluffy, cuddly Angora fur kitten approaches me, all snuggly and affectionate.
Holy shit, now it’s clear.
I go back to bed, period.
And from now on, these damn “reverse dreams” can go screw themselves. In two hours, when I wake up, everything will be back to normal: same rituals, same shitty day, same dark coffee, same cigarettes, same Stronko, and same damn music to “keep me company.”
For better or worse.