During the past few weeks, I've taken time off to savor and ultimately exploit the celebrity afforded by my position at Pitchfork. Just last week in London, I had the privilege of discussing G.G. Allin's notorious shit- stained legacy with the Queen of England over a few pints. Lately, I've been dragged into a few steamy affairs with a couple of noted neo- feminist icons: Naomi Wolf, Martha Stewart, Ally McBeal, and Camille Paglia. God knows, they were tough to please in the sack. So now, I'm masochistically subjecting myself to some more overzealous feminine scrutiny.

Yes, folks, I'm teetering on the precipice of total humiliation in another Pitchfork public forum. What's the occasion? Well, I tried to win my distinguished female guests over on inventive guitarist and former Run-On sideman Alan Licht and his musical sparring partner Loren Mazzacane- Connors' new disc, Hoffman Estates, from the friendly hipper- than- thou folks at Drag City. I'm very experimental when it comes to mood music during sex, so I thought we'd take a chance and see just what our panelists learned from this whole experience. The question: Is Hoffman Estates sexy? Is it music? Or is it just more simple- minded abstract expressionist dreck made by a bunch of insecure males with little musical talent and limp, Lilliputian penises?

Naomi Wolf: "Yeah, he insisted we listen to this cacophanous Hoffman Estates garbage during the sex act. I mean, I didn't mind his insistence on integrating mummification, a Chihuahua, Chinese finger traps, binoculars, speculum, and forceps into the experience. But when it came to the accompanying music, he was totally out of line. For me, the music was very off- putting and degrading. Sarah McLachlan or Liz Phair would have been much more appropriate. Hoffman Estates is typical male masturbatory noodling under the dubious guise of "experimental jazz." Experimental my foot. Actually, there's nothing mental about it, is there? And is Mazzacane- Connors a woman? If she is, she should be ashamed of collaborating with the enemy."

Martha Stewart: "To be quite frank, I taught Mr. Sandlin how to make a sensual french tickler from wheatgrass, Elmer's glue, petroleum jelly and a simple birthday party balloon. I wasn't aware that was music we were listening to, though. I thought that those odd noises were, rather, my bones creaking and my organs shifting during intercourse."

Camille Paglia: "Licht and Mazzacane- Connors? These hipsters couldn't hope to be proficient on their instruments in any rational sense. So they coax a little droning feedback from an amp, then convince puzzled intellectuals and noise snobs that it's the stuff of implacable genius. At upscale Lower East Side bistros, they hob- nob with likeminded fools and engage in a lot of poker- faced muttering about the use of silence and shifting tonal centers in Stockhausen.

"The music on Hoffman Estates does, however, compliment the emotionless, clumsy hit- or- miss approach that passes for Mr. Sandlin's approach to sex. Like Mr. Sandlin, Licht seems to have little or no command over his instrument. Where's the rhythmic push/ pull? The dynamics? The build- ups, the crescendos? You fucking boobs have about as much stylistic range as a life- support machine. Embrace this abstract expressionist crap in all its castrated frigidity, and pretty soon, like Mr. Sandlin, you're taking on the sexual persona of the dying walrus. There's nothing going on here, people. Give us Bowie, the Stones, and the Monkees, dammit. And, I'd like to add that Mr. Sandlin smells like limburger cheese and anchovy on an onion roll."

Pitchfork: "If you mean Licht and I don't use our respective instruments in any conventional, traditional sense, that may be true. I know Hoffman Estates is difficult for the conventional melody- fixated, harmonically- correct mind to accept. But trust me, Licht is well- schooled in jazz guitar, as well as the teachings of neo- classical minimalist masters La Monte Young and Terry Riley. He approaches his craft from a much more intellectual angle than many lesser practitioners of this sort of thing. Former Eleventh Dream Day frontman Rick Rizzo and producer wunderkind Jim O'Rourke seem like more the idiot savant types, but they've earned their right to experiment as much as anyone.

"I mean, sure, if you've heard one wanky Ornette Coleman- style free jazz wandering you've heard 'em all, right? I'd venture to say this is a little different. It's more constructive, restrained and exacting in its use of feedback, and abstract multi- instrumental skronk. If you pay attention, it sounds carefully orchestrated much of the time, not just randomly tossed off."

Wolf: "It's also true that most penis- brained critics reflexively praise this stuff, lest they give off the impression of being unhip and "misunderstanding" it. If you ask me, this is just more blatant male rape- fantasy sublimated through violent music-- like, for example, most of Beethoven's disgustingly chauvinistic body of work. Only this Hoffman Estates stuff is more twisted and obscure. It's just this sort of rampant male intimidation and oppression that keeps Kristin Hersh and Cindy Lee Berryhill from getting the credit they deserve."

Pitchfork: "I have to object to your accusations that this music lacks sexuality. All throughout Hoffman Estates, sinuous trumpet lines wind their way around saxophone ejaculations, throbbing guitar swells and layered drones; while near- subliminal lines of sustained feedback interconnect in loving embraces. Licht, as a guitarist, manages to be compelling and sexually- aware, even when it sounds like he's merely strangling his axe (as on "Block That Nixon.") His playing is rarely short on dramatic effect.

"Like Thurston Moore, he's created a very personal and original style, without paying much heed to traditional scale patterns and chords. Providing some essential counterpoint, Mazzacane- Connors and O'Rourke, exerting their minimalist prowess on guitar, erotically massage the synapses with their oddly delicate turns of phrase. This music can create a real sense of the unexpected, and achieve a viable balance between total spontaneity and premeditated precision. You're telling me that's not sexual?"

Ally McBeal: "Frankly, I fell asleep during sex with Mr. Sandlin and dreamed I was made of balsa wood. Then, later in my dream, I was being taken advantage of by a giant woodpecker. I screamed, then awoke to this awful, crazy music. And Mr. Sandlin, dressed in a woodpecker suit, was sleeping soundly on top of me. Freak! You critics can kiss my bony balsa wood ass!"

Pitchfork: "You've just got to retrain your mind to process these sounds with an entirely new sense of objectivity. This isn't ideal love- making music, to be sure. But it could be perfect accompanying music to one's own death. Funeral music. The soundtrack to Man's slow inexorable demise."

Wolf: "Man's slow inexorable demise? Now that's sexy."

Pitchfork: "Sure, Hoffman Estates may not be ideal background music for entertaining guests at your next shindig. Licht and his cohorts are, however, taking guitar music into new stratospheres, and freeing the instrument from the shackles of ho-hum Western tonality. Yet, they're capable of working imaginatively within those boundaries, too. They always ignore the obvious and cast simple- minded guitar- school logic to the winds. And, honestly, isn't that more important than being entertained?"

Women: "Asshole!"

-Michael Sandlin