Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Danny Reisch at Good Danny's, Austin, Texas
A song like "Wetdream," is a testament, not just three and a half minutes of id and balls. The Cities Aviv song is meant to portray something of a wilted romance, something of a withered spirit. It's a fling that's run its course - for the calendar determined its length and because people turned strange. It was a seasonal engagement, one of those relationships that was never supposed to happen, but lust and circumstances couldn't stop it from happening, so it did. It happened once, then twice and then again and again until there came that point where everyone came a bit more to their senses when the temperatures started to dull and the leaves began to change colors. As the summer faded into the autumn, and then the winter, the love affair did as well.
Okay, so the love affair that Cities Aviv's Gavin Mays raps about here doesn't fade or cool at all, it just gets annoying. It didn't know when to stop. It wasn't sure when it was just supposed to leave him the hell alone. It was over. Didn't it realize that? Didn't she get it? There were signs everything - the sighs, the coldness, the short fuses. He raps, "This ain't no beach house/I'll be gone in the morning/Kiss you and peace out…/I just want these messages and calls to go away." This chick is a bloodsucker. This young man out of Memphis is a guy who gets caught up with women like this fairly often. It makes for great, skuzzy, schizophrenic art and theater.