Pitchfork

In the restrooms of London clubs you can now purchase moist towelettes dripping with human pheremones. You slip five quid in the machine and get the condom- shaped package. You can barely make out the thumping beats from the dancefloor outside. The package reminds you of eating ribs. Always a moist towelette on the separate bone plate. The towelette cools your fingers. You reach into your shirt through the loosely buttoned top and spread the towelette on your upper body. Wad, pivot, shoot, two points. You hit the dancefloor.

The groove is good. You can feel the pheremones at work. You begin to dance. Damn, this is funky. You move like never before. Maybe it's the people looking at you. Maybe you feel more confident. Maybe the pheremones do work. Maybe it's the music. Yeah, it's the music.

"Excuse me, what is this you're playing?" you ask the DJ.

"Lionrock," he says. He hands you a tape.

Over the next week you listen to the Lionrock. It's called City Delirious. You listen to it on the Tube. You listen to it walking down Oxford Street. You listen to it on the bus. It comes to represent all you love about London.

What you love about London:
1) The clash between old and new. Centuries- old stone buildings rise from the Thames like a mold. Stone faded washed smooth over time from human contact and the elements and pollution. The ghosts of Dickens characters walks in and out of pubs. With neon on top. The world's premiere fashion billboards. The metal skeleton of the Lloyd's building rises over The City like a set from "Blade Runner" misplaced in "Dr. No."

2) The nightlife. Scores of youth crowding past midnight in Trafalger waiting for the last buses. Soho streets choked with shoppers. Lager.

3) The fusion of cultures. Jamaican vendors. Curry shops. Noodle shops. Fatty Tuna at Yo! Sushi. Chatting with Italians on the upper deck of a bus. Students from Paris looking for a hostel.

Lionrock embodies all of this to you. You can hear the '60s spy music bubbling up under the subtle, rolling techno beats. You could breakdance to this if you knew how. You could picture this music blaring out of an old ghetto blaster wrapped in duct tape with its fake chrome buttons worn down to a dull cappucino after a decade and a half of use. This is dance music unsure of which decade it's from, but certain that it could do damn well in any of the last three. You could beach blanket bingo to this. You could skateboard to this. You picture John Barry composing with breakbeats and Kool and the Gang's bassist.

You appreciate the way Lionrock lets their music breathe. This is not tense dance music. Samples and instruments wax and wane in vapor. The music is organic and analog. Lazy rapping vocals don't care if you pay attention or not. Just close your eyes and move to the jazz piano on "Scatter and Swing." Shake your rump to the fat guitar riffs of "Wet Roads Glisten." "Rude Boy Rock" is the soundtrack to a foot chase through the streets of Port Au Prince.

You appreciate the fact that you can't tell whichs sounds are crafted by humans and which are processed by machines. You think Lionrock bring back dub and reggae much more faithfully than most SoCal punks. You put Lionrock on your CD shelf between Stereolab and Underworld. Those three are sandwiched by Luscious Jackson and Dimitri From Paris. You breathe. Bedtime.