My wife and I were stuck in traffic, so I played a minidisk recording of "Soul Train 1977: The Dance Years" to ease my tension and cultivate a lovin' mood in the MacArthur Maze gridlock. I wanted to hear "Strawberry Letter 23" by The Brothers Johnson. After that came "Float On" by The Floaters.

I've found that crappy songs from childhood can be uniquely comforting in times of stress. This song, being uniquely crappy and originating for me during that brief moment in life between the innocent baby steps of childhood and the angry steamroller of post-adolescence, carried a special power.

"Float On" is what happens when four slick male soul singers challenge one another and the limitations of recorded music in a struggle to wind up in bed with the listener before the song ends. (The average soul singer was more discrete about such things back then than today.) A mellow rhythm section grooves while each vocalist, in turn, woos the microphone by reciting his own personal ad, complete with astrological info. "Aquarius...and my name is Ralph...and I like a woman who loves her freedom...and I like a woman who can hold her own. And if you fit that description, baby...come with me...

"Take my hand...
Come with me baby to love land!
Let me show you how sweet it could bee-ee-ee-ee-ee...
Sharing love with meeeeeeeee!
I want you to FLOAT ON...FLOAT ON, FLOAT ON... "


It would be years before I heard the term 'floater' used in a sentence...Carl Sagan conceived alien species called floaters and sinkers. Those same terms are also used to describe objects that refuse to cooperate with flush toilet technology. Funny how the passing wisdom of time helps put the disco craze in perspective.

"Libra...and my name is Charles...and I like a woman that's quiet...who carries herself like...Miss Universe. I always wondered where poor Charles was going to find anyone who was quiet and who carried herself like Miss Universe and and would put up with his "let me do the talking" shit. I feared that Chuck, like most folks who recite their personal ads in public, would be floating alone for a long, long time.

Leo...and my name is Paul. See, I like all the women of the world. And if you understand what I'm saying, I want you to...

There's really nothing to say about Paul. He was the most non-committal of the bunch. He was 'The Quiet Floater'.


Finally, after that comes the part that's run through my head every few weeks since I was ten...the recording engineer failed to properly adjust the sound levels, so Larry’s extra-loud voice crashes is in like the drunk guy who nobody realized was onstage: "CANCER...AND MY NAME IS LARRY...AND I WANT A WOMAN THAT LOVES EVERYTHING, AND EVERYBODY...AND YOU KNOW WHAT, LADIES? IF YOU FEEL THAT THIS IS YOU...THEN THIS IS WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO..."

Larry, clearly on a roll, then made the chorus his own.

LET ME SHOW YOU HOW SWEET IT COULD BEE-EE-EE-EE...
SHARING LOVE WITH LAR-REEEEEE...


"Do you wish you were sharing love with Larry?" I asked my wife.

"I wouldn't want to share a taxi with Larry," she replied.