Sticker alert! Sticker alert! Believe it or not, this week’s column features one of those vile, odious, insidious, nasty works of music that has been labeled with “the sticker” (which also makes a pretty neat shirt). The only difference is that it’s on a record that wasn’t put out by a Black male. Gee, I guess there’s a first time for everything. Stickering other people’s albums: what a concept!

The word concept isn’t to be taken lightly in this case. Vanessa Daou’s Zipless is a concept album, but not in the “grand vision,” Don Quixote way. What Daou did was put the poetry of Erica Jong to music. If you haven’t heard of Jong, that’s OK. She’s not nationally known, but Daou became familiar with her work at Barnard College, of which Jong was also an alumna. [note to Scott: That is the correct female form of alumnus – it even passed through the spell checker!]

With her singing, Daou takes the spirit of Jong’s poetry and weaves it through an amplifier. Her lilting voice takes you back to an underground club where a single, blue spotlight cuts a swath through the smoke to highlight a solitary chanteuse. She doesn’t have a mood of her own. Rather, she possesses the mood of the poem, which comes only from a deep familiarity with and solid idea of Jong’s intentions. The music, produced by Peter Daou, is reminiscent of the jazz band that is backing that blue-bathed chanteuse: silent and large, smoking cigarettes and nodding heads knowing something you don’t.

Although not all of the songs deal with sex, all of them have a sensuality to them. This is a classy sort of sensuality, much like holding your breath, closing your eyes and letting yourself sink safely underwater. At other times, it’s akin to lying on your back in a field, looking at the stars and feeling yourself move through the universe. “The Long Tunnel of Wanting You” (euphemism alert!) is actually the only song that directly deals with sex and it does so in the most tasteful of ways. Despite the mildly graphic description of an intimate liaison, Daou and Jong choose to paint sex as a thick, fuzzy blanket rather than a damp paper towel.

As a matter of fact, any passing reference to sex is done so with respect. So is the album deserving of the sticker? Not in the slightest. Last time I checked, the word “penis” was an acceptable and correct word. As usual, the sticker means nothing, and nothing should prevent the listener from taking a purple velvet bath in Zipless.

What really needs a label (a warning label!) is Box Tunes Records’ Big Phat Ones of Hip-Hop Volume 1. The first thing that came to mind was that from a marketing standpoint, K-Tel could have released a similar “work” titled Super Dope Jams. Then it came to mind that in those tape racks at gas stations, there are albums titled Def Rap. The whole idea is scary.

Needless to say (and yet he says it), it’s a compilation of recent urban contemporary hits. Digitally encoded on the disc are songs by Notorious B.I.G. (the “MTV Jams” poster boy) as well as K7 (who scared me by being blasted from Shamrox once, as well as from a jeep on Ash Avenue).

It was too easy to skip to Craig Mack’s “Flava in Ya Ear” and Method Man’s “Bring the Pain,” and far too easy to skip over Warren G’s “Regulate” and R. Kelly’s “Bump N’ Grind.” The album was pretty much a wasted marketing effort, since most of the people interested in any of the songs on the album probably already had them on a mix tape or two. Talk about not knowing your audience!

Brief non-sequiturs: Another thing worth a sneak peek is Chucklehead. When you think of funk, you should think of George Clinton, not Chili Peppers. When you think of funky fusion, you should think of Chucklehead, not Chili Peppers. Faster than a rolling O, stronger than a silent E, and able to leap Punkinhead in a single bound: that’s Chucklehead. You can’t go wrong with Big Wet Kiss or Fuzz if you’re looking for great music with butt-shaking licks.