Ray's Place: How I Build a Mix For a Lady.

[Dear Readers: Ray went long answering his first letter this week, so we're publishing it as a standalone piece. The usual three-letter format will return next week, because a lot of people need help out there!]

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Who's on your mixtape list for that special lady? —Tracy W., Spain

Well Tracy, I am sad to report there is no special lady at the moment, but I got lots of memories of when there was. It’s the holidays as I’m writing this, and I’m in the old cardigan (vintage Marithé + François Girbaud, got some Sgt. Peppers shoulder brushes on it, hell of a nostalgia piece for me), so I’m feelin all wistful and sharesome. Sharesome should be a word, you feel me Tracy?  

So, I used to put Shantì\/Shanté’s “Riggaboochie Coochie” at the beginning of all peacetime mixes for Tina, ’cause that was our song. I liked to imagine her playin’ that track as she turned on the shower, and the water splashed all over her as the beats infected her booty, which caused her to really be feelin’ herself (figuratively, at first) as she thought about her man. Just a hell of a wonderful morning for a lady in love, to be livin’ that Riggaboochie bliss. 

If it was a gettin’ back together mix, I’d always open with “Star in a Puddle” by Edmond Redmond — classic motown ballad always sets the tone right. I’d put it through her mail slot, and she’d know I was waitin’ there out in her apartment building’s parking lot, white button-down undone to the chest, little hand-picked wildflower bouquet in hand, ready to slow dance those curves all over that sidewalk. And if another car drove up, or an oxygen person in a mobility cart needed to get by, I wasn’t ashamed — I’d show all the world I was proud to be seen lost in the lady I adored. When I pulled a move like that she’d call me the Caliphate of Love, back before either of us really knew what caliphate meant.   

If it was a mix for the interim between breakup and gettin’ back together, I’d do a blend with more of a freedom-type theme, to let her know I was swayin’ oats at the breeze — make her worry I’d get snapped up by somebody else. Somethin’ like “One More Try” by George Michael. I knew if I dropped this CD off in her mail slot at one, I’d be the power spoon by two.   

—R.Q.S—

PS Tracy, sorry I made up that you were from Spain. I’m just tryin’ to make my column seem a little more impressive, because you seem nice, and I kind of like where you’re comin’ from. Call me. 

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