By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
The expensive suits are cleverly incongruous in this context (i.e., a modern-day dance LP that plumps for leisure), given that no one wears such a suit in his leisure hours anymore. Suits are the work uniforms of corporate employees or are brought out on state occasions, or for 80th birthdays and opening nights at the opera. The suits seem humorous to me. The whole getup is humorous: the suits, the car, the highway. The inner photo has the two gents striding through an airport. I imagine that they're pretending to be the jet-setting equivalent of beach bums: We're just sashaying around in airports being, you know, stylish.
The Gentlemen of Leisure are Karl Heinz and Dieter Muller. Karl, a Capricorn, was born in Hamburg. "No one has a better sense of humor than that Capricorn." Dieter is from Stuttgart. As a youth, he made spontaneous trips to the many natural hot springs that litter the area. Turn-offs include veal and cheap denim. (This is so you don't mistakenly think he was ever in Norwegian "gay" punk band Turbonegro, who proclaim, "Turbonegro wears Levi's Denim or they wear nothing at all.")
Karl's turn-offs include saxophones (for not being as funny as tubas, presumably).
The lyrics fall likably between tenuously emotional and casually ad hocthat is, between (1) We are Displaying Our Finely Tuned Emotions, and (2) If Songs Must Have Words, I Suppose We Should At Least Make Them Rhyme. So you get the preposterously metaphoric ("You're sweet and tender driving my desire/Pull out the blowtorch and light my fire"), the functional ("When the party's just begun/You know you'll be the only one"), the not even functional ("I see you movin' in those tight blue jeans/You get the point, you know what I mean"), and the cheerfully beside the point ("Southern seas, ocean breeze/the letters that you sent to me").
I'd call the vocals "fey," though "fey" might just be strategy for a couple of guys with high and not-at-all-powerful voices. "Fey" is preferable to plaintive, if one is a gentleman of leisure. As for the music itself, it's excellentearly-'80s dance-wave and electro beats and Europop riffs, sweet melodies, catchy rhythms, nine good songs out of nine tracks (plus one authoritatively inept "skit" that has the gentlemen, speaking in ridiculously fake sophisticated accents, at a retail counter, buying a wallet: "Is the leather textured? I wanted the more textured look"). With all the lame-ass quasi-electro stuff out now, this is a record you might actually want to play next to Kraftwerk or Human League or Soul Sonic Force or the Flirts.
"I wanna be your boy toy/Won't you be my boy toy?" So, as Karl and Dieter commit themselves to poignantly uncommitted sex, the background blips go off dancing tunefully on their own. (Germany, land of the rising blip.) I'd say the "style" and "sensibility" are mainly pretexts to allow these two fellows to indulge their gifts for melody: melodies sung, melodies buzzed, melodies beeped. Melodies up with the vocals, melodies down with the synths, melodies in with the whooshes and off with the whirrs. But then, the melodies add flair to the whole image. And so what initially looked glum, turns out to be glam.