Lani McIntire and His Hawaiians: The Heart of the Islands in Song

Sweet lords above, this album is smooth. I'm talking, get out of a ticket, turn in the paper a week late, get your honey to sleep with you even though she's mad kind of smooth. Damn, that's smooth. Lani McIntire (1904-1951) is a Hawaiian guitar and steel guitar player. There's not a whole lot about him online, but he did appear to have a prolific career. I couldn't find out anything about this particular album, but that just makes it sweeter, right? Granted, I don't think it could get any sweeter if it tried, and this time I'm not talking about the fucking awesome kind of sweet. No, no, this is the smell of grandma's perfume, overripe apricot kind of sweet. Like a nectar that overwhelms and simultaneously induces a strange desire to vomit. The LP, printed in NJ in 1956 by the "Record Corp. of America" (are we sure that's not just a some sort of big business, vampire coven front?), is good for dancing, definitely perfect for romancing, but there's one thing it's not: world music! This is super-standard, pianos, slide guitars and male choral vocals, looney tunes endings (like striking a chord and running your fingers down the frets of a guitar), somewhere-over-the-rainbow music. It has it's place, no doubt, but hopefully only when you want to do the nasty.

Final Judgment, "WARNING!!: This album may leave you with a desire to wear polyester, an unnatural obsession with Judy Garland, and an eventual recession back to mono-color."