Don't Listen to This, Vol.1

There are several records within my collection that cause me great, great shame. Party All the Time. Anything by Sting. Ghostbusters. Gulp.

I try to hide "them." I store "them" on my shelves so the artist name is concealed and all one sees is a flap containing a record that could be by one of the greats like Stevie Wonder, Alberta Hunter, The Smiths or Duke Ellington.

But it's not, and that is why it is hidden. Every now and then, I like to torture myself by listening to an album that I inexplicably like despite the fact that I also realize that it is lacking in any sort of innovation, melody, lyrical genius or listenability. Call them guilty pleasures, relics from my youth or just embarrassing, but I fully admit, at the risk of ruining my "hipster" cred, that from time to time I listen to these records without any trace of irony whatsoever.

In fact, I usually listen to these records and sing along while cursing myself silently. For example, last night, I popped in Phil Collins' "Sussudio." I hadn't intently listened to this song since I was a teenager and Collins' No Jacket Required was stuck in the tape deck of my dad's pick-up truck. I heard each song on that entire album about thirty times each during that three day road trip, and can definitively say that I continue to bear scars from that incident fifteen years later.

What the fuck is Sussudio? Clearly Phil made up the word, and the average person would think that he was singing about a woman named Sussudio, but I ask what kind of name is that, and can you definitively state that Sussudio is a person rather than a small German town, a designer imposter fragrance ("If you like Cacharel Noa Fleur, you'll love Sussudio!"), or a new sexual position that involves every member of Kraftwerk and a rubber hose.

The lyrics are simple: "Oh give me a chance/give me a sign/I'll show her anytime/Su-Su-Sudio/whoa-oh" But it's the energetic sax, the mystery and the growling desire found in Phil's vocals that prompt me to bob my head repeatedly in enjoyment (followed by me beating my head against a wall over and over again when I realize I was rocking out to Phil Collins). And despite my inner knowledge that this song is really, really bad, as Phil sang, it does feel so good if I just say the word!

My advice: do not dance to this in public, unless you are wearing neon socks in Kokomo with the Beach Boys and the entire cast of Cocktail, and are absolutely sure that no one will ever recognize you in the real world. When listening to this record, treat it as if it were a fart and make sure no one's listening. Or create your own Phil Collins Dutch oven and listen to it when you're alone under the covers late at night.

Guilty Pleasure rating: 7