They take a freakin' thing of beauty and destroy it by taking the "fuck" out

I have a workout tape from way back in the late 90's.

As if that wasn't embarassing enough...

I've worked out to the dang thing I dunno how many times, but it wasn't until a year or two ago that I noticed the music to one of the routines was hauntingly familiar. The other day, I finally took it upon myself to compare.

Some "ar-teest" who calls himself Maxwell took it upon himself to draw inspiration from perhaps the best beloved song by strippers and disenchanted-oversexed-lovelorn folks everywhere, and sterilized it for public television consumption.

Compare:

Closer - Nine Inch Nails

<listen>

you let me violate you
you let me desecrate you
you let me penetrate you
you let me complicate you

help me
i broke apart my insides
help me
i've got no soul to sell
help me
the only thing that works for me
help me get away from myself

i wanna fuck you like an animal
i wanna feel you from the inside
i wanna fuck you like an animal
my whole existence is flawed
you get me closer to god



Gotta get closer - Maxwell

<listen>

You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
Sure enough I'll liberate you
I want to do you and emenate you

Everybody say, help me
With your soul, your mind your body
Tell me baby, help me
Do you wanna come back home so we can do the freaky
Help me,
oh help me clear your soul
Help me get away from myself so bad, I want ya to

Ooh baby can't help myself
Gotta get closer(ooh oh suga')
Ooh ooh baby can't help myself
Gotta get closer

I wanna love you like an animal
I wanna love you from inside
I wanna love you like an animal
You give me reason to live

What, you can say "desecrate", but when it comes to the word "penetrate", that's simply too dirty-dirty? I guess "do the freaky" is just discreet enough.

Why oh why are these people allowed to share my planet? They have removed the torn, soiled silk lingerie and smeared mascara from the original, and dolled it up in a frilly pink polyester baby-doll and glittery Bonnie Bell eyeshadow from Wal-Mart.

Not an improvement.

This is not a song about love making. It is a song about fucking. Love making is done with someone. Fucking is done to someone. Each have their specific time, place and purpose.

To take fucking, and pretend it's something else, is ... well... pathetic, sad, and at a certain level, simply revolting. It's as ridiculous as juggling to The Beautiful People.

Ugh!

kat@adchick.com