Johnny sang opera for the summer session for several months before I saw him again. It was unlike him not to call, but I assumed he must have been busy listening to Fink.

Fink had come into my possession a few weeks earlier during an expedition west to the Untamed Lands. A scrawled cover and Ntone label told me instantly-- give this one to Johnny, he'll come through.

A classically trained musician with as many years walking as playing, John evolved into an opera singer after mastering of all of the instruments that had previously struck his fancy. I knew that Fink was for him, seeing as how it boomed with "Bristol" and lingered on the beats. When John's not singing opera, drinking beer or eating pot brownies, there's nothing he likes better than trip-hop with a coating of sweetened drum-n-bass.

The last time I saw him, he was on his way out the back door at 4:00am with a large piece of chipped bark in his hand. I asked him what the chip was for. "It's to throw against that girl's window," he said. "She gave me her address." I sighed and pondered the depths of this musically and personally complex individual.

I always thought he liked trip-hop because it set the stage. He'd mentioned that the combination of relaxed, lazy rhythms with periodic spasms of uptempo beat changes and electro tones were perfect for finding his ladies in the way.

They always came back with him. He's a charmer, and, as I said, a musically talented individual.

When I saw him on the lawn of the opera house, he gripped my shoulder and asked: "I suppose you want to know how Fink worked out for me," a grin spreading from ear to ear.

And I knew Fink had worked fine.

We walked then, and he told me of the busy months behind him and the busy months ahead. Fink had played companion to a host of episodes in recent months and he detailed each thoroughly, relaying the miracles Fink had played participant to.

He mixed the tales of softened-consciousness debauchery with comments on Fresh Produce, pointing out the strengths and weaknesses of the album as per his agenda. He liked the mellow beats, she was totally shaven, and the vocal samples of "We are Ninja" had made his visitors laugh.

He told me that he liked to listen to the album and drift into space, and his eyes grew glassy. He said he could go over his own music in his head while Fresh Produce was playing. "It's not intrusive in any way," he said, then burst out: "You should have seen her thighs!"

I told him that the genre was referred to as "lounge-core," and he laughed again. "Lounge, maybe, but there's nothing 'core' about it. It's designed for chillin'!" I looked out into the expanse of the lake below us and pondered the genre's name.

"Listen, Wisdom. The album's good-- it's relaxing and has some sweet beats. I dig the samples, especially on 'Break N Enter.' I like the tempo-- it reminds me a little of that ambient stuff from a few months back, but it's got better energy; it's not comatose and there are plenty of good grooves. There's funk and '70s elements all over it, but they don't overwhelm. It's not obnoxious like half the shit you get."

"Is it amazing? Nah. Wagner, that's amazing. Fink is good. Good to have in the repertoire, good to have around, but not particularly inspired, you know what I mean?"

And I did.

-James P. Wisdom