My roommates were talking yesterday about how my music creeps into their subconscious. One of my suitemates complained that over Thanksgiving break he had the beat to The Coup’s “Everythang” stuck in his head, without knowing any of the lyrics. More amusingly, my other suitemate said that he will always associated his early-semester Chinese Literature reading with “Sleep is Wrong” by Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. Ha!
Sun Ra, though, is still the best for eliciting bewildered comments. “Holy shit, this music takes the cake,” was all my roommate had to say when he was greeted by the squealing horns that open When Angels Speak of Love.