OK, OK, OK. Now that we’ve all gotten over the fact that it’s fall and we can wear our scarves and jackets and brown shoes and whatever else makes us feel like we’re back on the old campus, fall semester, on the way to our “Taking Hitchcock Seriously: Text and Interpretation” English lit seminar, we can all relax, put away the Fugard we were reading, take the Antonioni off of our Netflix queue, and buy our Hibernation Packages at the local tanning salon. We got 5 mo months of ashy knuckles, y’all, we better start thinking about how to keep our Vitamin Dees levels up for the long haul.
We here at MoJaMa been thinking lots about how to escape from the gray this winter. In years past, we woulda booked our winter vacaysh package to the DR time share, but economy the way it is now we’re playing it frugal this year. Since we can’t actually get away, we need something to take us away mentally and spiritually. Tried Kombucha and Yerba Mate, but they gave us the runs. So we started scrounging round the ‘nets for some classic bossa nova instead.
On our way to Ipanema, we stumbled upon the latest Strokes side project, Little Joy. We already knew Fab Moretti was the type of male you didn’t even hope was never interested in your girlfriend because you knew she wouldn’t go for someone prettier than her. You just hoped you could figure out where he bought his hair products so you too could look like a member of the 1985 Brazilian beach soccer league. But what was Fab really all about? Could he bro down, or would he always be on the borderline between skinny lothario drummer and prettyboy rocker wimp?
Turns out he can bro down, but only in that “hey man come check out this thing me and my girl got going on” type of way. And you know what? More power to him. Because he found, in his Little Joy bandmate Rodrigo Amarante (member of Rio minimalist bossa nova group Los Hermanos), a dude so secure in his broficiency that he was ready to be a third wheel. So Little Joy is Fab, his girfriend Binki, and Rodrigo. And together they’re reminding us how good you feel when you’re in a place where there’s always a hammock to nap in.
Tell us Little Joy isn’t real bossa nova, tell us Fab got too Hollywood, tell us whatever you want. But don’t bother me while I’m wearing my flip flops and drop-crotch linens in my living room, doing the samba while pouring myself a third cachaca punch cocktail. And I’ll probably be too focused to listen to you while I’m doing my calf-raises and plyo-dips, getting my capoeira bod set so I can love meu linda all night. Maybe you can catch me at the tanning salon, where I’ll be getting my Vitamin Dees on. Can’t have tan lines in boy trunks. But I might not be able to hear you since my headphones’ll be pumping this Carioca pulse. Who needs earmuffs when you got this?