143: G-Spot

Unreleased (1983) / Jill Jones (1987)
In 1982 a new word entered the common lexicon with widespread publication of a book called The G Spot and Other Recent Discoveries About Human Sexuality. Predictably it was only a matter of months before it became the title of a Prince song. G-spot is cold, robotic funk in the 1999 mould. The lyrics describe the singer searching for this newly-popularised erogenous zone as the exploration dispassionately spells out the word F.I.N.A.L.L.Y. The song was on Purple Rain before Darling Nikki replaced it (which should give a clue to its high quality) and was considered but ultimately rejected for Apollonia 6 (which should not). Eventually, Jill Jones released a reworked version but the hypnotic, mechanical vibe had been lost. It’s certainly not the greatest track on her self-titled album – Mia Bocca wins that accolade – but if her lp was to be made up of all the original demos instead, G-Spot would rule them all.

265: Mia Bocca

Jill Jones (1987)
Jill Jones was always the most gifted singer in Prince’s harem, and Mia Bocca, sung partly in the language of her father, is her career high point. In this song she tells us she “could never be unfaithful” but for somebody purportedly knocking back an admirer’s advances, she does seem to mention her mouth a lot. Does she think because it’s in Italian we won’t notice her evoking the Bill Clinton defence of sexual relations? Call me a Puritan but I think that would still count as cheating. Mia Bocca was initially recorded on the same day as Little Red Corvette and then put into storage for five years before being wrapped in elegance by the Clare Fischer Orchestra. Although the original benefits from having His Royal Purpleness on backing vocals it feels empty without the strings – when you’ve experienced the finer things in life it’s hard to go back – which makes the 1987 album track the one to head for, with the Arthur Baker extended mix a close second. The single never charted (except for in Italy where it reached #4) but I put that down to Joe Public’s general distaste for anything foreign sounding than a commentary on its pure pop appeal. I’m sure Te Amo Corazón will agree.

391: Baby, You’re a Trip

Unreleased (1982) / Jill Jones (1987)
Written in another moment, in another mindset, these thoughts on the closing track from Jill Jones’ self-titled album would be a jaunt through hyperbolic praise, musing on the 1999 callbacks, orchestral flair and lyrics which conceivably describe a chronic celebrity crush. But today my mosquito net is torn by the dark winds outside and my utensils are unsterilised. A pestilent cloud infests my critical faculties like black smoke from a burning, hurting world and this pop ode to unrequited love becomes a duvet exoskeleton. An upholstered tortoiseshell in which to retreat from the circling hawks of radicalised ignorance and co-opted fear, turning and turning in Yeats’ widening gyre. Music can be escapism or heightened revelry in the now. Today Baby, You’re a Trip is the former. Solace in the Apollonian. Tomorrow the mosquito net will be repaired and further posts will again be coloured only by the climate of temperament, instead of the weather of emotion.