If I were getting some (I know it's hard to believe, but "I write for Splendid" doesn't have quite the pants-removing power you'd expect), then Elevator would have been the sound-track to this week's booty bounty. As it is, I've had to make do with mellow head-bobbing in my office as David Kakon and friends lay down some seriously smooth quiet storm jams.

Let's see: we've got warm, mellow drums, organs doing the jazzy bits, occasional accents from muted guitars and relaxed, funky basslines. Nothing particularly revolutionary here, but Jaffa really knows how to milk something creamy out of the standard jazz-lite cow.

While all of the tracks on Elevator are pretty good, two really stand out from the rest. "Star 67" works the groovy superhero/pornstar angle to great effect, but what really puts it over the top is the telephone conversation that's laid over the top of the music, in which two guys with somewhat stunted social skills argue over whether the caller should be able to talk to the wife of the guy that answers the phone. It doesn't sound like much when you're just reading about it, but give it a listen -- it's pretty great!

I can't understand a word that Lamine Diabate says on "Be Nude, Baby", but I know exactly what he's talking about. He makes Barry White sound like a soprano with a head cold; his voice is simply too low to even come out of the little speakers on my desk. The mellow player's voice coupled with tight, insistent drums and an endless electric piano vamp leave no room for misunderstanding: this is music to perform nasty acts to.

I may be a sexless, pingo-hearted robot, but the lesser animals around me have no choice but to respond to the evil love rays that this CD keeps spewing out of my stereo. This is elevator music, but not the kind you'd want to hear in an elevator with your grandmaw. Not that these tunes would scare your grandmaw out of the elevator, but they just might make her bust out one of those funky moves she hasn't done since grandpaw slipped his disc. Beware.