Skin To Skin
Oftentimes, a review will tell you more about the reviewer than it will about the quality of the work s/he’s reviewing. For example, Rex Reed’s old, unequivocal hatred of Spike Lee and undying adoration for Mel Gibson told us more about Reed’s tastes and proclivities than it did about the merits of either artist’s works. And my disliking Temenos would tell you more about me than Skin To Skin. Therefore, I’ll be forthcoming. I am not a fan of music that is supposed to make me relax. I’ve always hated Muzak and smooth jazz. I’m not saying that this group’s either. They’re not cheese. However, the Greek definition of the title is “a sacred space or site for reflection; a sanctuary; the innermost part of a temple or cave.” You can see where this is going, and I’m not willing to be taken. They are ambient, a genre I learned to hate while working for a New Age magazine. Perhaps too libido-centered, for me to reach that peculiar place between Nirvana and Samsara I do not want to stare at a crystal, eat trail mix, and listen to John Tesh; I need the music to move my hips before it stirs my soul. I need a gregarious passion to run through my veins, not a subtle contemplation to permeate my cerebral cortex. Music that is meant to relax me often fills me full of anxiety and just pisses me off. Therefore, this album just makes me jittery.