BAMBARA is a band.

When I talk about Bambara at wine-and-cheese parties, a lot of people think I’m referring to a language spoken by roughly 80 percent of Mali’s population.  It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that wine-and-cheese parties are infested with assholes majoring in Linguistics, and, I must tell you, I’m not keen on talking about the vernacular makeup of people in poverty-stricken countries when I’m spreading Gouda on my Triscuit.  So, if you hear me bring up Bambara at a wine-and-cheese party, keep your pedagogic bullshit to yourself, and remind yourself that, within the context of my limited world view, Bambara is not a language; it’s a local band that makes good sex music.
Music plays a prominent role in my sex life. It not only muffles the unsettling sounds of intermittent queefs, it also dramatizes naked interactions and helps alleviate pre-sex apprehension and post-sex awkwardness.  Determining the right soundtrack for bang-bang is extremely subjective, however. Sometimes, you may feel little or no connection with the person you’re humping; in such cases, avoid putting Iron and Wine in the CD player and engaging in prolonged eye-contact.  Other times, you might want to have a more meaningful sexual encounter that doesn’t leave your partner feeling like a moist masturbation platform; In these cases, steer clear of Bloodhound Gang.  
Impressively, Bambara serves as a good soundtrack for the sexual encounters marked by dissociative feelings that shift or warp with every thrust. Whether the members of Bambara consciously fashion their tunes to cater to sex, I don’t know- I didn’t ask.  I did tell them, however, that listening to their debut album while boinking my ex-girlfriend enhanced the overall experience.  Intrigued by this, drummer Blaze Bateh asked me what song was playing at the point of climax.  I told him: Shake.  ”That’s the second song on the album,” he responded; the band then laughed at my inadequate stamina.
The textured guitar tones achieved throughout Bambara’s self-titled album conjure up images of a primordial soup ecosystem inhabited by amoeba-like organisms- our most distant evolutionary ancesters.  Applying this biological mental landscape to any sexual encounter will undoubtedly make the act of caressing your partner come off as a curious hands-on examination of the human form rather than an overly-involved execution of foreplay.  The rhythm section picks up energy shortly after you’ve been lulled into the seduction-trance, inciting your pelvis to begin moving of its own accord.  Eventually distortion, dissonance, and powerful chant-like vocals will cheer you to orgasmic victory.   (published in Rough Draft)