New and legal purchases of aural pleasure

What's a young man in medical school to do once the familiarity of his music has bred an ennui? Clearly go to the music store. After days of diligent research that should have been perhaps spent on pulmonology, an early bedtime, or at least on political editorials in the Washington Post, I made a list of 5 must have albums. With the confidence of a Texan Republican, I used my favorite blue-black Pilot pen to record this aural tome. With this list I made the trekk to my favorite independent music store. I diligently try to find the first one on the list.

Not found.

Well certainly the second one must be on there.

Not found. WTF?

Well, CLEARLY this one will be there.

Okay. F**k this.

In my defeat and frank anger, I breeze by the rock section. What? Jamiroquai has a new album?

My goodness. I've been following this British funk band since oh, 1996 or so, and have unfortunately been dissappointed circa 2001 when they had a less-than-well-accepted forray into pop sans their badass bass guitarist. Well, apparently they felt it necessary to not only release an album right under my nose, they also, thankfully, reaquainted themselves with their bass-heavy roots, politically minded lyrics, all while maintaining an undeniable metamorphosis toward....oh I don't know...perfection.

Endorphin-inducing, heart-thumping, and absolutely satisfying. Who wouldn't want THAT?

I also picked up Madonna. Now, the Afro-American tradition doesn't explicitly forbid pseudo-British pop sirens from her male practitioners, but clearly such activities are generally seen at the periphery, where I've been working for some time. So.

"One Madonna please."

Another astonishing creation. Hypnotic and repetitive. Residing between irresistibly listless and familiar, its certainly induces all sorts of thoughts of endless euphoric gyrations. I forsee a long and fruitful relationship with her uniquely forward-thinking throwback. Well done. Obviously Madonna is no stranger to aural pleasure.