The song speaks for it itself. If giant, raging purple erections in cargo shorts could speak.
Louisville jackanapes Hot Action Cop appeared (and then quickly disappeared) in 2003 as a skeevy fratboy Voltron formed by at least five then-popular brands of jerk-off culture:
–the booger-wiping brat-punk attitude of Sum 41
–the lunkheaded posturing of rap-rock’s dying Mark McGasps
–the freshman-level WinAmp comedy rap of Bloodhound Gang
–the insincerity of major-label power-pop bands like OK Go who have coy adults as “nerd types” that market themselves to college radio
–the sad stink of being the answer to a spoiled record label exec who slams his fists on his desk and shouts “Our label needs a fucking Wheatus, dammit!”
Seriously, Hot Action Cop’s CD was missing was an “American Pie Presents” logo on the CD cover–it could have been the perfect musical accompaniment for a nation of 15-year-old boys reeking of flopsweat, Funyuns, and baby oil extending their hands like E.T. and stuttering out “B-b-boobs?”
“Fever For The Flava” was their hit single, a soft-R ode to screeching nonsense words that mean genitals. The chorus is raunchy like a straight-to-video Bachelor Party sequel, an oversexed, under-thunk circa-1997 Springer show ramble that makes the Chili Peppers’ “Party On Your Pussy” seem like the Canterbury Tales. I warn you, this gets blue. Bluer than the balls of whatever virgin wrote it.
“She got the power of the hoochie/I got the fever for the flavor of the coochie”
Having compared a vagina to Pringle, the band goes on to call it jiggy jiggy, nookie nookie, kitty kitty–and then tops it off by being mildly racist. “Here’s the scenario/Gonna strip you down like a car in the barrio.” Oh man, you are totally not gonna get any now!
Frontman Rob Werthner explains himself away as a shy goofus and adds, yes, the song is mildly ironic. Although even if it had the flaming teacher’s-manual irony of an O. Henry story, it wouldn’t excuse “Gonna take that booty to the nudie dimension”
“Fever for the Flava” happened after a strange night out at a top 40 dance club in downtown Nashville. The club is not there any more, one of the many “ephemeral establishments” in Nashvegas that pop in and out of existence like particles in theoretical physics. I’m more of an observer than a participant in social scenes, I’m not sure how I ended up there, although I’ll guarantee alcohol and some cute girl were involved.
As I watched tweens sex themselves into a drunken frenzy it set the ball in motion. I drew upon those images as the song developed. I was having tongue-in-cheek fun with the people that inhabit that “weekend party-dance-meat market world.” The style of the music for “Fever” was the right cover for the book, so to speak. It was the proper vehicle to tell that story, it also inadvertently became the most identifiable part of the Hot Action Cop sound.
And that’s how babies are made.