by RAF KATIGBAK

Ass, back, booty, behind, bumper, cheeks, fanny, hump, junk, onion, trunk, shelf, trailer, trunk—the urban lexicon possibly contains more terms for the female posterior than the Inuit are said to have for snow, and Paris the Black Fu (born Mack Goudy Jr.) knows them all. In fact, as one half, with Andy “Dr. Toefinger” Toth, of sexed-up electro-funk act Detroit Grand Pubahs (imagine a collision of Rudy Ray Moore, Ween, Kraftwerk and Parliament Funkadelic—at MUTEK, no less), he’s studied them with diligence. “If I think of everything from the belly button on down,” Paris explains excitedly over the phone from his adopted home in Switzerland, “when I look at the thighs, the feet, the calves, the butt, everything—from that point on, I lose it.”

While it may be a stretch to say that he wrote the definitive song on that particular area of female anatomy (that honour might go to Sir Mix-A-Lot, or arguably Sisqo), there’s no questioning Paris’s contribution to the lineage of caboose-inspired crooners. The underground 2001 hit “Sandwiches” asked listeners to “make your thighs like butter/easy to spread,” and dancefloors from here to Tokyo complied. Of course, it’s hard not to comply when a buff black man in a Jesus wig and beard is pouring Johnnie Walker Black down your throat and asking you to slap his g-stringed ass.

Mirror: Three years ago, you moved from Detroit to Geneva. How are you handling the culture shock?

Paris the Black Fu: Well, lemme tell you, the booty here is... top shelf. But the girls in the States know how to work it, the girls in Europe don’t. They can’t pop it, shake it, roll it, like in the clubs. No booty-clappin’, it’s barely even a snap here.

M: So, is your mission to bring the booty clap to Europe?

P: Yeah man, I’m going to give an ass-clapping class in about 10 minutes.

M: While we’re on the subject, what’s the slap test?

P: (laughs) That’s when you slap on it and you see how much it jiggles after you slap on it. It has to go to a firm quiver afterwards. It can’t do the wavy thing. And it has to have this certain sound, and this little hint... a glow of red, afterwards.

M: Some might argue that you’re misogynistic, and that you’re objectifying women.

P: But it’s not, it’s a two-way thing. It’s not like I’m just jumping on a chick saying, yeah, gimme what you got. It’s like, you do me and I’ll do you, or we can do each other. You know, so it’s like a consenting-type thing. The music is made for male and female, so they can feel good about each other. And have fun with each other, and not be too serious.

Midget mayhem and spastic plastic

M: Well, let’s get serious for a second. An interviewer recently asked what you were thinking, and you said, “Right now I’m thinking how I would love to see Gary Coleman and Emmanuel Lewis in a boxing ring with standard-size boxing gloves on, trying to knock each other out after three cans of Red Bull and an ounce of cocaine each.” The obvious follow-up question is, who do you think would win?

P: Man, I think Emmanuel Lewis would tear Gary Coleman’s ass to pieces. He knows tae kwon do.

M: Really? Lil’ Webster? I had no idea.

P: Or judo, or one of those martial arts. That boy is trained. He’s a black belt in somethin’. You know, he’d have to kick pretty high to get somebody, though. As far as Gary Coleman’s concerned, he just has to get knocked upside the head and he’d be knocked off balance ’cause of the size of that head. Man, and them cheeks, they still ain’t gone down.

M: You’ve got so many personas onstage. If you could be a superhero, which one would you be?

P: Man, that’s a good question—you know why? I always ask that to people, and you know what everybody says? Batman. I’m like, man, you got to be joking! Why would you want to be Batman? Well, he’s suave, got the ladies, dude has personality, all these weapons, rich and powerful—so what? I would be Plastic Man. You know what? You know how you can take your face, stretch your neck, make your penis bigger—you can do a lot of stuff if you Plastic Man. Hey, I would be Plastic Man and say, forget being a superhero! I’m going into pornography, ’cause you wouldn’t need a condom! I’d be like, oh man, gimme as many as you could gimme.

With Mossa, Nôze, Thomas Brinkmann and Interstellar Fugitives at Metropolis on Saturday, June 3, 9 p.m., $27.50

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