Club 69

Adults Only (IRS/Tribal)
by Lex Marburger

“Hellooo sailor!” That was my first reaction to the cover of Club 69‘s Adults Only (IRS/Tribal). The boy’s a looker, stripped down, hard buttocks clenching in a rear view of Leonardo Da Vinci’s anatomy drawings. Taking all of this into consideration, I was expecting dance floor tracks with lyrics so crude the Lords of Acid and Pansy Division would blush, and even the most homophobic of redneck hicks would get strangely aroused. I was pleasantly surprised to find the album chock full of innuendo and double entendre, leaving the crudeness for those who can’t express themselves in any other way.

From the first track, “Diva,” the feel is slick. I mean, stylish – a suave sophistication that oozes elegant erotica. “Let me be your underwear, so I can touch you there… and there… and there… (gasp!)” So, Club 69 isn’t Henry Miller or Anaïs Nin. No one else is. But it’s so refreshing to find someone who is at least acquainted with the sly approach rather than a frontal assault. I mean, you can only listen to “Pump that pussy, make me feel it!” a certain number of times before it gets tedious. Adults Only is actually more like “under 18 not permitted without adult supervision,” but the beats are ’70s retro, thumping away like my neighbor’s bed on Saturday night, with enough energetic bass and keys to get anyone dancing. Go for it, and tell the world to kiss your… hand.