A Hell of a Mess...

The Shelf Of Crap: Fabio After Dark

At my first job, my co-workers and I started a tradition of buying each other the crappiest things possible for birthdays and Christmas.  There were a couple, for example, who kept buying each other the same laserdisc movie - "Cool As Ice" by Vanilla Ice - for a couple of years.  (In fact, this was the same copy - the one who bought it would take it back to the store and exchange it for a better movie, then go back a few months later and buy it back.)

One year, we found this CD and bought it for a co-worker.  Somehow, I believe that I ended up with it.  This was the beginning of the Shelf of Crap.

"Fabio After Dark" was released in 1993 by Scotti Bros. Records -- not too long after one Fabio Lanzoni made the leap from trashy romance novels, and not too long before he couldn't believe that it wasn't butter. Were I Fabio, this is one stop I'd rather prefer to forget.

The album is, in part, a compliation of cheesy love songs (such as "Suddenly" by Billy Ocean).  This is the part that is, in and of itself, harmless. Especially the part with Barry White.  Where it goes horribly wrong, though, is in the other nine tracks.  Where Fabio gives love advice.  And "sings."

Here's a sample of Fabio's romantic (albeit heavily accented) banter:

"Sometimes, there is no place I'd rather be than on a tropical island." (At this point, some smooth jazz begins in the background, not unlike the beginning of a simulated sex scene in a softcore porn movie you'd see on late-night cable.  Not that I'd know about those sorts of things.)

Fabio continues:  "We seem to have it all to ourselves -- just me and my special lady.  There are no phones to intrude on us."  (For Fabio's sake, we hope there are no geese and no roller coasters there, either.) "Fish from the water, fruits from the trees, and wonderful silence.  The only sounds we hear are the sounds of nature, and of our hearts beating as one.  And the only music is the music we make together."

If I were a woman, I figure I'd be as queasy hearing that as I would be to say it.  But whatever works for hunky Italian men.

The crowning achievement of this disc, however, is the track "When Somebody Loves Somebody" - Fabio's attempt at singing.  There are just two problems with this, though:

1. Fabio can't sing.
2. Even if Fabio could sing, he got saddled with horrible lyrics such as these:

"All I want to tell her is that she made my life better;
Maybe I should send a simple love letter.
I hope I'm not addicted; her love was so convincing.
It's strange how I feel -- everything seems so unreal.
There's no looking back once you get a love attack."

I haven't listened to this disc in a while.  I'm listening to it as I write this, though, and I got an attack of my very own.

One of the things that you'll learn about The Shelf of Crap over time is that some of it is crappier than others.  In fact, some of them just aren't crappy.  This one, however, isn't one of them.

If I had to rate this one from 1 to 10 (1 being decent, and 10 being horrible), I'd give this CD a 7.  It would probably rate worse, but for the Barry White track near the end.

(If you want this one for your own maniacal purposes, be prepared to spend between $15 and $25 for it.)

Introduction to The Shelf of Crap

Not too long after I started college (the first time), I began a sojourn through pawn shops and thrift shops looking for cheap music.  My eighteen-year-old self learned two important lessons:

1. Much of the best music ever made was only ever released on vinyl.
2. Much of the worst music ever made was only ever released on vinyl.

Strangely enough, I was drawn to both categories - so my music collection reflects a lot of...well, everything.  For every album/CD I was buying by an artist like the Beatles, I was buying another one by someone like the Village People.  The best (worst) one I bought during those early phases was a disco record, complete with a color book designed to teach people to do the Hustle.

(Sadly, I don't have that album anymore.  I hope that the new owner has put it to good use.)

Otherwise, the crappy music is still a key part of my music collection.  In some ways, it's the part I'm most proud of.  And despite the fact that most people my age (and gender) would be ashamed to own CDs by Ashlee Simpson or the Spice Girls, they are both existent in this collection. 

In fact, they all have taken up residence on the top shelf of my CD rack.  This shelf is The Shelf of Crap.  The category that is named for this shelf will be devoted to a tour through this portion of my collection.  From the obscure to the ridiculous, from the horrid to the passable, an album will be featured here every so often.  (The shelf currently sits at about seventy different albums -- mostly CDs, but a couple of LPs and cassettes are also part of it as well.)

If there is any lesson that can be taken away from this collection, it would probably be that music executives will put out just about anything by anyone.  And, more importantly, there will be idiots such as myself who will buy it.