Digitata - Sexually Transmitted Emotions
ARTIST.....: Digitata
TITLE......: Sexually Transmitted Emotions
LABEL......: Totally Gross National Product
URL........: www.totallygrossnationalproduct.com
RIP DATE...: May-29-2005
STORE DATE.: May-27-2005
GENRE......: Indie
QUALITY....: VBR / 44.1Hz / Joint-Stereo
SIZE.......: 50,6 MB
Track Listing:
01 - Whats Cookin 04:45
02 - Anyway You Work It 05:04
03 - Oscar Wilde Breakdown 04:17
04 - Death And The Beach 03:14
05 - For The Well To Break Tonight 03:38
06 - 2 2 Tail 04:36
07 - Spring Fever 05:27
08 - Sea Scandal 04:37
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35:38 min
Release Notes:
Digitata is a Minnesota trio specializing in half-live, half-
electronic music, and as such, their music reminds me of cyborgs.
Specifically, cyborgs having sex. I'll explain.
There's always a weird dichotomy that arises when an artist
chooses overtly nonhuman elements to flesh out their baby-makin'
music. Smooth rap is a case in point--Missy Elliott can get
anyone's blood flowing, but Timbaland's beats? They're like the
wide-open North Dakota prairie--and what NoDak tourism advocates
call "mysterious" and "evocative" is really just empty and
lifeless. Singer and pianist Maggie Morrison has a gift for
exciting her audience's nocturnal impulses as she gasps, whimpers,
growls, and wails her way through Sexually Transmitted Emotions
(Totally Gross National Product), Digitata's eight-song debut. The
difference here is that Digitata's robotic texture (courtesy of
Ryan Olson's Yamaha RS-7000, lovingly dubbed "the Box") manages to
sound every bit as yearning as Morrison's vocals do. The result is
a luscious sort of electronica that strives, like Pinocchio and
Lieutenant Commander Data, to be real (amorous, even). At the
heart of their blippity ballads beats the unmistakable pulse of
life.
So much so, in fact, that as the title of Sexually Transmitted
Emotions suggests, Digitata's music has a way of infecting even
its coldest surroundings with a little juice de vivre. Which is
why one rainy Sunday not long ago, as I found myself dozing off to
the album's Luscious Jackson-inspired closer, "Sea Scandal," I was
unruffled when a car alarm began to scream outside my bedroom
window. Rather than interrupt my little reverie, the incessant
bleating fell in time with the beat of the song, and as it gently
rocked me to sleep, my last waking thought was, My god, that's the
sexiest car alarm I've ever heard. (citypages.com)