DJ Inky’s Disinfectant Dance Party

08 May DJ Inky’s Disinfectant Dance Party

Posted at 21:21h in Playlist by inkyinkinc

Welcome back, Gentle Reader(s), to my ongoing offerings of plague-themed playlists, scientifically attuned to the anxious tenor of the times (and if you’ve ever spent time with any anxious tenors, you know what I mean).

As of this writing we (‘we’ being those of us lucky enough to be quarantined in the Land of Entrapment) have been in Lockdown since approximately mid-March—over a month and a half of social distancing, carry-out dining and grocery store corona-dancing and dodging. Out on the byways of the City Indifferent most folks are being pretty assiduous regarding distancing, although encounters on the narrow sidewalks of the east side typically require one party (most often Your Humble Narrator) to step out into the not-so-tender mercies of the carriageway to allow for the prescribed six-foot exclusion zone. Face masks are not presently required for outdoor activities but I’d estimate that at least 50% of those on the streets are employing them. In the stores it’s more like 75% or 80%. When heading out for my daily constitutional I typically carry a mask (just in case) as well as a precious small bottle of hand sanitizer should it happen that I come into manual contact with anything other than my own personage and possessions. Otherwise, spring is springing in all of its characteristic blustery glory and the diminished vehicular traffic seems to have rendered the typically untainted Santa Fe air even more pristine.

While the obligations of the social contract have become exponentially more fraught under the current state of Heavy Manners, some social mores seem to be fraying a bit around the edges. Santa Fe’s notoriously scofflaw drivers are getting scoffier than ever and ‘STOP’ signs seem to carry even less authority than ‘YIELD’ signs once did. Red lights are now being regarded more as suggestions than commands and the designation of some streets as ‘ONE WAY’ seems to be considered as similarly negotiable. The convention of cleaning up after one’s canine cohorts has slipped considerably and piles of dog poop are now a common obstacle on the pedestrian thoroughfares. Who’s going to bother with the indignities of scooping doggie doo when a futile trip to the grocery store in pursuit of human bog roll can mean putting your life on the line?

This week’s playlist commemorates the delusional musings of our feckless alleged leader, the Orange Goblin hisself, in which it was suggested that the ingestion or injection of household disinfectants might offer an efficacious palliative for the ravages of COVID-19. Forty-something months of brain-boggling absurdities, relentless mendacity, blatant criminality, corruption and incompetence were not sufficient to inoculate the world for weaponized inanity such as this. It was an episode of genuinely epic idiocy, undeniably worthy of memorialization in musical form. Perhaps some future composer will see fit to compose an opera, of the Buffa variety no doubt, based upon the Madness of King Donald. I hope I’m around to attend the premier.

The Disinfectant Dance Party playlist is admittedly a bit of a grab-bag, not exclusively a dance party, but hopefully containing something enjoyable whether you’re cutting the living room rug or situated pon the sofa, as I am now. The penultimate couple of songs are a teaser for the next week’s installment—DJ Inky’s Virtual Travelogue Playlist—and the final cut is the rare-ish dreamy dream version of Robert Fripp and Peter Gabriel’s ‘Here Comes the Flood,’ from Fripp’s classic debut 1979 solo album ‘Exposure.’

Enjoy, fellow Quarantinees, and, as ever—Be Strong, Stay Calm and Carry On.

Employees Must Wash Your Hands – Bill Laswell & Roots Tonic

Girl Germs – Bratmobile

Amoeba – Adolescents

Horse Pills – the Dandy Warhols

I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night – the Electric Prunes

Battle Without Honor or Humanity – Hotei

Don’t Wanna Fight – Alabama Shakes

Infected – Bad Religion

Strange Brew – Cream

Doctor My Eyes – Jackson Browne

I’m Sick Ya’ll – Otis Redding