“Fercrissakes, call the cops!”
“No, no, I mean the band…”
“I know, I was only joking. Send them in, Beverly.”
The group files in, resplendently decked out in matching black jackets with crushed velvet collars, crimson bow ties and carnations dusted with red.
“Gentleman, there’s a problem with your new album.” The group, who had been smiling broadly, looked suddenly serious.
“I don’t object to your updating the Platters style on “I Wanna Know Your Name” or evoking Willie Mitchell’s drum sound on your cover of Paul Simon’s “Mother & Child Reunion,” the bespeckled Columbia executive began.
“Nor do I mind the fact that the only way anyone in the CBS offices can tell your music apart from the O’Jays or the Spinners is your frequent use of group unison (as opposed to harmony) singing,” Davis went on. “The truth is, we’re totally behind you because you’ve made a really good, glossy early 70s mainstream soul record that helps usher in the ‘Philly Sound’ era courtesy writers/producers Gamble-Huff, band MFSB and engineers at Sigma Sound Studios.”
“It’s just the title,” said Davis. “Can you call it something other than Fuck The Children?”
The band reluctantly agreed.