“Egypt Egypt” (Egyptian Lover)

“Egypt is the place to be”: “pyramids are oh so shiny,” and “the women here are oh so cute.” But there’s a heavier message, if you’re listening for it: key afrocentric/afrofuturist theorist George M. James tells us that the Greek conception of “atom” referred to “that which cannot be cut,” while only Egypt’s “Memphis Theology” provided modern science with the know-how to “successfully split the atom” (Stolen Legacy 149-50). And West Coast hip hop pioneer Greg Broussard, coming on like the top dog among ancient Egyptian priests, shifts this knowledge to the turntables and beat science, boasting that, I mix so fast, I scratch so sweet, there’s not another D.J. on earth who can compete.” But before concluding that the Egyptian Lover is just a mac daddy manipulating Black nationalist themes to accumulate a harem, one needs to hear the two key musical quotations: first, from Kraftwerk, including the heavy breathing from “Tour de France” and a pastiche of the synth line in “Trans-Europe Express” (via Afrika Bambaataa, of course); and, second, “The Snake Charmer” theme, which accompanied Little Egypt’s bellydancing at Chicago’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. The place called “Egypt,” therefore, bears all the historical marks of the globe: Berlin, New York, and Chicago-style Orientalism, for starters. The doubled title betrays this difficulty: the proper name, lacking a clear and determinant referent, becomes ever more emphatic, but thus all the more open to a cut.

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“I Feel Love” (Donna Summer)

Stanley Kubrick launched Nietzsche into space in 1968 when he appropriated Richard Strauss’ introductory “Sunrise” theme from “Also sprach Zarathustra.” Deodato’s version of “Zarathustra,” from 1972, gave it a cool, rumbling electric piano machine sheen, and filled it full of moody, twilit solos. (It makes for wonderful counterpoint in relation to the astronaut stories of Barry Maltzberg and J.G. Ballard.) Third in this series is 1977’s “I Feel Love.” Giorgio Moroder first cites the Strauss/Deodato matrix between, roughly, 0:10 and 0:34, and it’s the key to the trax’s associative and aspirational power. Additionally, like so much of the most memorable output of Kraftwerk, the melody seems to hotwired to a vehicle’s engine and chassis. But it’s not a bicycle, car, or train, or even a rocket; it’s closer to an interstellar dildo or orbital fucking machine, and the conjunction of stars, pistons, and multiple orgasms is both controlled and cosmic. In the Patrick Cowley megamix, the trax is once again opened to something like soloing: sequenced squirts and squiggles that punctuate the endless motoric pulsing. Moroder, apparently, didn’t care for it. But Nietzsche might have approved of the effort to accentuate the singularities of his ecstatic starchildren.

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