PHD Song Reviews

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9-11 Booty Call

To:     Space Trucking Mogul Records; Dean Clean; Dean Obscene

From: Music Media Monopoly, Inc.

Re:    Baltimore Music News Review

It has come to our attention that last week’s review of your song “9-11 Booty Call” failed to meet our journalistic standards. Specifically, we received an anonymous tip that prior to the review being published, Dean Clean paid for our music critic’s dinner. This interaction clearly led to bias that pervaded the entire review and violates our end-stage capitalist standards. If any partiality is going to affect our content, it must be from the top down. We have terminated the reviewer and withdrawn the review. What follows is an excerpt of a review by one of our other publications, Charm City Music News:

Once upon a time 2 Live Crew’s “Me So Horny” was considered so scandalous that it got the group banned. That song seems quaint compared to the Pill Hill Deans’ latest single, “9-11 Booty Call,” which features a father gathering his children for the talk that confesses the dirty secret that mom and dad hooked up for the first time on the day of the worst, most traumatic event of the early 21st Century. The double entendre that pulses through the song is exceptional, and even better, the music works to bring listeners in on the “thorny” politics that play out when a couple gets turned on by terror. It’s one thing that the song’s narrator and his now-wife “knocked boots” on that fateful day. It’s quite another when the listener thoroughly enjoys hearing about it. Given the skillful use of the phrase “come quick,” the E that will most certainly be attached to this song can mean many different things. Somewhere Tipper Gore is amending her Filthy Fifteen to include this release. For now, gather round listeners . . . if the Pill Hill Deans’ new single is wrong, you don’t wanna be right.

Baltimore Music News

April 25, 2025

Trigger Warning: My editor has permitted me additional space for this column due to the enormity of the musical moment. If too much self-indulgent absurdity gives you traumatizing flashbacks to faculty meetings, stop reading now.  

I don’t consider myself a Bruce Springsteen fan in the sense that I have never given up a job to follow Bruce to his four sold-out shows on the North Pole and I do not believe that Max Weinberg belongs on a list of the greatest drummers of all time. I was, however, always a little drawn to Born to Run, because I thought it would be awesome to have a guy who loved me with all the madness in his soul embrace me in an everlasting kiss. Unfortunately, I can never get past the fact that such a moment would have to include dying on the streets in a suicide pact motorcycle ride. It turns out I’m not Wendy. 

Nevertheless, I found myself turning to Bruce’s music (even the Julianne Phillips-era stuff) to help me understand the Pill Hill Deans’ new single, 9-11 Booty Call, and to cope with the fallout from the announcement that the Deans and PHD-adjacent thrill-seeker VanuatuWill50 will be on hiatus until 2026. It seems Dean Clean and his compatriot will be decamping to faraway lands that promise scholarly advancement, along with excellent scuba diving, for an extended focus on self-reflection that is known in the business as a “sabbatical.” 

Rumors are swirling that Dean Clean may in fact be going to rehab for an addiction to course scheduling and high-intensity curriculum reform. I’m told there is no truth to these takes, but am wondering whether the Deans and their pal might be Thunder Roading us, thinking this is a town full of losers, and they're pulling out to win? 

Conjecture aside, the Deans’ new release provides few clues as to the motivation behind this break, and I even played the track backwards. (I believe I made out the phrases “Paul is dead” and “Dave will never get the office,” but sadly nothing more.) The release does, however, tell a story I was not sure listeners needed to hear, in the song 9-11 Booty Call. A work of this nature is certainly not what Bruce was putting out after 9-11 (though he was rumored at the time to be having an affair with a 9-11 widow, so maybe, in a way, he was?). In any case, the song’s premise is ostensibly explained by the title. The Deans have always been boundary pushers, but even on the heels of last year’s CryptoOrgy, which showed their interest in probing the concept of sex in unexpected environments, this seemed wildly inappropriate. 

My conclusion then upon first listening to the song was that in the context of the Deans’ extensive catalog of provocative music, this offering wasn’t necessarily a beauty, but hey, it’s alright, and that’s alright with me. I also did not believe that the song provided the kind of explanation for the Deans’ break that readers deserve, and worse, I was left wondering why a couple was turned on by the words “Osama Bin Laden.”

Full disclosure, I had occasion to get the lyrics from Dean Clean, and that is when I was able to appreciate that this single is truly excellent, and by far the Deans’ best work. In the style of Springsteen, the Deans adopt a storytelling posture, promising to let listeners in on the “dirty secret” parents are keeping from their children, about how the parents’ friendship turned into something more on the day terror and destruction turned so many families’ lives into something devastatingly less. And the lyrics well reflect the sense that this hook up secret feels dirty, as the dad telling the story notes that mommy was wearing a thong that day, so of course he went for it. (Side note: in the spirit of a full Hegelian dialectic, this critic would like to press readers to get to a greater stage of consciousness by advancing the thesis that thongs are ridiculously uncomfortable, and while it is terrific that a circa 2001 male found them irresistible, a world where the visual cues to potential mates do not require suppressing the reflex to pull fabric from one’s backside might be a better world for all.)

That quibble notwithstanding, the lyrics evidence the Deans’ continued maturity as storytellers, because deploying a metaphor for ejaculatio praecox within the narrative of the twin towers falling was a bit of deft songwriting that must be appreciated. “I’ll come quick!” the song’s narrator says, at first meaning his response to her distressed call, and then the narrator repeats that he did indeed come quick, with the use of the word “explode” carrying quite a load, so to speak, in reference to the world, the buildings, and of course, the guy on the end of the phone who apparently cannot hang on for very long when presented with the sight of the aforementioned thong. 

This could be tawdry stuff in the hands of lesser songwriters. In the gifted hands of the Deans, however, a story unfolds that paints a picture of an urgent, if not brief, physical union that intersects with the emotional fallout of terrorism. And the metaphor works visually and sonically, as the brilliantly designed cover art shows the proudly phallic buildings that we all know, like our narrator, tragically did not last long. We can only hope that dad went down as fast as the buildings did, but maybe the Deans are leaving us hoping for a follow-up to 9-11 Booty Call, where mom tells the kids her version? 

Gifted storytelling or not, while the song well explains that the politics of such a trauma-induced pairing are thorny, as the terror made them horny, it provided no insight into why the Deans are running away from the height of their creative output and critical acclaim. Do I need to check with Rosie, and see whether Space Trucking Mogul Records just gave the Deans a big advance? Are they Dancing in the Dark, nothin’ but tired, just tired and bored with themselves? Why are the Deans leaving us with an exploration of an awkwardly timed hook up? Bruce provides some possible insight in Badlands, with lyrics that always stop me in my tracks:

To talk about a dream, try to make it real
You wake up in the night
With a fear so real
You spend your life waiting
For a moment that just don't come
Well don't waste your time waiting

This I believe reveals the real meaning of 9-11 Booty Call as well as the Deans’ hiatus. Deans Clean and Obscene, like all of us at some point, have perhaps asked themselves the central question of The River, which is whether a dream is a lie if it don’t come true, or is it something worse? They seemingly don’t want to find out. Like a couple in the wake of 9-11 deciding that a meaningful connection today is so much better than waiting for a tomorrow that may not materialize, the Deans are leaving us with an opportunity to reflect on our own lives. 

And there is plenty to think about. Another academic year filled with One Step Up, two steps back administrative work has quickly gone by. We’ve endured month after month where we stare in silence among secret ballots, as we take our stand, down in faculty meeting land. There is no denying that where once we were junior faculty, young faces grow old and many of us are ready to grow young again. The Deans' no retreat, No Surrender attitude is, then, a lesson to us all.  

But the Deans' impact goes even further. It’s measured not just in music, but in the moments between colleagues who together are able to laugh at a time and in a nation where the house is definitely haunted and the ride is definitely getting rough. While we might still feel lucky to have been Born in the USA, like the atmosphere post 9-11, we have of late been forced to learn to live with what we can't rise above. Enjoying the Deans' esoteric expression has therefore been like a Long Walk Home, to a community where those who inhabit it feel that they are lucky in this town, because it just wraps its arms around you, nobody crowds you, and nobody goes it alone. 

In this way, the Deans’ 9-11 Booty Call narrator tells a story that’s not sleazy, but human, as the song’s deeper level reveals what all of us sometimes feel. We can be anxious, feel alone, wonder if people notice or care. We want to matter. We need to connect. 9-11 Booty Call’s narrator may have been hoping for a little action, but he responded to a call to provide comfort. These normal impulses are not a “dirty secret,” as the song says. They are what drive us to moments that, like the one realized by the Deans’ “bedroom heroes,” lead to meaning that far exceeds the value of a thong.

So, for now, goodbye kind readers, and godspeed Pill Hill Deans (and your loyal friend). This critic admires the fact that, like those 9-11 shaggers, you’re not waiting for moments that just don’t come. While you're out on leave, you'll talk the way you want to talk, and walk (surf, scuba, bungee jump) the way you want to walk. But remember, you’ve got colleagues and friends in Baltimore, Jack. Don’t take your Hungry Hearts on sabbatical and never come back.

*Readers may wonder what I will do without new music to review, because, like a river that didn’t know where it was flowing, I took a turn into the Deans’ Spotify catalog and just kept goin’. But fear not, friends, my time will be well occupied with charitable causes. Although the Trump Administration has intimidated most of the nation into abandoning DEI efforts, I shall be giving my energy to an equally worthy DES (Daves Existing in Squalor) project that aims to bring healthy office maintenance practices to disadvantaged, deserving Daves that are employed among us. While watching a commercial during a late-night cable re-run of Quincy M.E., I learned that for as little as one York Peppermint Pattie a day, I can make a difference in the life of a Dave. This news has given me renewed purpose, and not for nothing, I also discovered by the end of the episode that the selfish mother who went against her husband’s wishes and got a part-time job was not responsible for her young son’s death. What a relief to know that despite my music review side-hustle, my children have a fighting chance in life. Thanks Dr. Quincy! (And thanks for making much-needed merriment through your music, Pill Hill Deans.)

Creeping Towards Theocracy

Female music critics like this writer are often in a tough spot. Music has long been primarily created, curated, and critiqued by men. Finding one’s voice in such a climate can be challenging, because women (apologies for the gender essentialism) may have tastes in music that do not always align with the patriarchy. Moreover, as a GenX'er who was raised during the heyday of the rock sub-genre that can best be described as "Before Catharine MacKinnon's Work Went Mainstream," songs like Evil Woman, Witchy Woman, Devil Woman, Black Magic Woman, Maneater, and Led Zeppelin's Dazed and Confused ("soul of a woman was created below"), left me with the sinking feeling that maybe men wouldn't be creating music for me.

This mismatch between men’s and women’s musical tastes, and the attempts to bridge the gap, often produce unfortunate, yet admittedly commercially successful, results (see, e.g., John Mayer’s Your Body is a Wonderland). And while this critic does have a soft spot for Maroon Five’s She Will Be Loved, and (full disclosure) got briefly hooked on The 1975's I'm in Love With You (until Matty Healy was canceled for some casual misogyny), it is often songs for women, written and performed by women, that best capture what we really feel and can’t always say. So, cards on the table, this female critic gravitates more toward Billie Eilish's Birds of a Feather, Taylor Swift's Mirrorball, Sara Bareilles's One Sweet Love, and Sia's Big Girls Cry than, say, Blurred Lines or Gold Digger.* 

I took that bias, and a current preference to avoid all reality, into my first listen of the Pill Hill Deans’ menacing new release, Creeping Towards Theocracy. The song reminded me that with a 6-3 Catholic majority Supreme Court, a woman’s body wasn’t just the inspiration for a Sir Mix-a-Lot hit. It’s an Opus Dei obsession that renders us more vessel than person. Baby Got Back, but she sure don’t have rights.

Of course, the Deans did not set out to create a song for women, as the theocracy we are creeping toward surely will affect us all. Dean Obscene and Dean Clean make the stakes for all who want a separation of church and state clear when they intone that this Court isn't just calling balls and strikes, but fighting for a Christian nation, with religion in school and high school football coaches praying at the 50-yard line. And the Deans’ musical style is, in this and all their songs, decidedly masculine, with a detached, deep-bass-voiced experimental electronic quality that is far more Mars than Venus. This likely explains why I initially listened to the Deans’ latest release as if I were watching Kendrick Lamar at the Super Bowl: I knew something important was happening in the music, it just wasn’t resonating with me.

Yet when I listened again, I recognized the genius of the Deans’ new single. The “creeping” in the title implies a secretive, slow slide into a Christian state. The lyrics present with a numbing pace, reinforced by the haunting use of all those "oyezs." The listener is drawn into the song the way most of us were drawn into the current state of the law. By the time you realize what’s happening, the song, like a Christian nationalist coup, has already taken hold. One’s mind is frozen with the enormity of it all. But Creeping Toward Theocracy’s beat breaks through the mental fog—the longer I listened, the more my body moved. And movement is just what we need if we are going to resist living the Handmaids Tale. 

My prior reviews have suggested that the Deans should do more to appeal to female audiences. I was wrong. The through line in the Deans' impressive catalog has been the stories they tell through their collaboration, representing a different kind of masculinity. From the Pill Hill Deans Theme Song, where they talk about coaching girls soccer, to the Legend of Minivan Stan, the Deans are showing up in the lives of women and girls as their fully matured selves, and not angry little boys. Even in Reply-All Apocalypse, Deans Clean and Obscene don't take cheap shots at the neighborhood Karen. They tell a fuller story of a quick to reply-all man who joins her in the breakdown of the fabric of the neighborhood. Creeping Towards Theocracy continues this preference: when they bellow "let's pray/contraception no way," the Deans show their allyship. With music like this, "appealing" to women is unnecessary; there is no need to cover the patriarchy with pandering tunes when your art seeks to step outside the patriarchy altogether.

In this way, the Deans' latest release is not meant as a superficial women’s anthem. It doesn't offer the silly distraction of Shaboozey's A Bar Song. Instead, Creeping Towards Theocracy uses its ominous energy to ultimately express a different kind of affection, one that only comes between citizens who love living freely in a religion-neutral society where all are equal and valued. And none are here simply to secure the “domestic supply of infants.” In this case, to quote Meatloaf, Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad. 

So, this Valentine's Day, forget the flowers and give her (apologies for implicit heteronormativity) what she really wants: a nation of secular laws that respect her as the full person the Pill Hill Deans assume her to be. "God Save The United States" indeed.

*In the spirit of being fully honest with readers so that you may have confidence that my reviews are the product of the utmost integrity and professionalism, I should clarify that Post Malone's Circles and LL Cool J's I'm That Type of Guy are indeed on my playlist even though they are songs about booty calls. I regret any confusion about my convictions that this information may cause. And, fine, I will concede that men wrote and performed what are probably two of the best love songs of all time (Todd Rundgren's I Saw the Light and George Harrison's What is Life). This should in no way diminish the strength of my review of the PHD's excellent new single.

D

Vibe-a-lator

The Pill Hill Deans just released another new track, "Vibe-a-Lator," and while you won't be able to actually make out the lyrics, don't let the title fool you. This critic excitedly thought the song might be intended to appeal to fans who menstruate, but alas learned the use of the word "vibe" was intended more broadly.

That being said, and while I have always respected the Deans' approach to connecting with their fans, I wanted to humbly suggest that it may be time for a holiday album, perhaps with a P&T theme? The Deans have never lacked for creativity, but songs like "All I Want for Christmas is for My Professor to Hold Class" and "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (and not providing a rubric)" practically write themselves. And for a little whimsy, "It's Beginning to Look Alot Like a Long Meeting" could be enjoyed for years to come. If the Deans wanted something that appealed to grunge-era fans, "Reply-All Service (Christmas) Dirtbag" would do the trick. 

The Deans are nothing if not inclusive, so for international appeal, "Feliz Neverteaching" would be too easy. And lest we forget the Jews, I'd suggest "Dreidel, Dreidel, Deferral" might be a nice gesture.

This critic knows the Deans' innovative process can neither be rushed nor fully understood. For now, and until their next release, I will simply say "Have Yourself Some Merry Little Group Work."

Yours in tempting time wasting,

D

Reply All Apocalypse

I simply must reply all to declare that community Karens will be very displeased by what seems to be the PHD's most provocative work. If replying all to advertise to countless neighbors my fair condition, 17- year-old measuring spoons that I wish to sell for $1.99 is wrong, I don't wanna be right. (And I'll reply all again to clarify that I am including in that special offer my dead uncle's 1970s ski boots.) First come!

Dean Squeaky Clean, you've done it again 

Safety Dance UA

The true gem of the season so far, however, is the most recent release from the Pill Hill Deans, which was a Ukraine-themed reinterpretation of the 80s classic Safety Dance. While Crypto Orgy was set in the realm of fantasy, Safety Dance has the artists engaged with the tragic reality of the Ukraine war, prompting me to briefly fear that this might be the Deans' Bono moment. Fortunately, this was not preachy, performative, virtue-signaling music.

Instead, the Deans set the listener up for the kinds of questions every decent person should ask: Is it OK to move one's hips to a song that references something as serious as Putin's brutal invasion of the democracy next door? Can 80s New Wave save the free world? Why were the Men Without Hats not wearing hats?

After a few listens, the song reveals that it is the perfect vehicle to consider these weighty matters, as the original Safety Dance was a protest song, taking on the dance floor clash between disco and New Wave. It's a song that is about movement, resistance, and the fact that disco dancing was ridiculous. It is a song about freedom. What better way to honor the struggle and determination of the Ukrainian people than with the central message of Safety Dance:

      We've got all your life and mine . . . Everything'll work out right. 

(And also, if your friends do not dance, they are assuredly NOT friends of mine.)

While I will always and forever have a Donna Summer heart, we all know that the safety of Europe cannot be guaranteed by the idiot who put the cake out in the rain in MacArthur Park, and Zelensky and his citizens will not be Stayin' Alive unless the U.S. stops its Jive Talkin' and steadfastly supports Ukraine's defense. For this reason, you should give a close listen to the Pill Hill Deans' Safety Dance and remember that while transitioning to a new dance style is hard, transitioning from democracy and freedom to rule by brutal dictatorship would be even harder.

Crypto Orgy

Just saw this in Rolling Stone:

Last week in music was a big one, with releases from both Taylor Swift and the Pill Hill Deans. While Swift put out a work of petulant, grievance-driven adolescent pop, the Deans with one track created music for grown-ups, beckoning the listener to join a Crypto Orgy with a naughty originality that hinted at both Heaven 17 and the Beastie Boys, and set an evocative scene reminiscent of the Hoodoo Gurus’ I Want You Back video. Whatever is happening at a blockchain bang, I hope everyone is using plenty of hairspray.

The strength of the Deans’ effort is its unapologetically nonconformist vibe, but if they set out to create the next Pet Sounds, Crypto Orgy hit all the right notes. Conjuring a scene of a decentralized, digital dungeon, the Deans use their lyrics to posit a Wouldn’t It Be Nice fantasy of an orgy with no central authority, and they don’t back down from the tough questions that this anarchic lovefest would beg: what does one wear, and who, we wonder, is gonna be there? While this critic has spent enough time on beaches in Mykonos to hope that not everyone is, in fact, there, she is comforted by the fact that the miners at the party will at least have the benefit of anonymity. And either way, the song promises a lot of virus-free blockchain bananas, which beats the real world every time.

The other strength of the release is that the Deans know when to collaborate, and HerKingdom’s contribution definitely puts one in the mood for Good Vibrations. God Only Knows whether Dean Clean is the next Brian Wilson, but not since hearing A Flock of Seagulls’ Space Age Love Song on a cute guy’s mixtape has this listener imagined such intriguing possibilities for fornication. We can’t all be California Girls, but at the Pill Hill Deans Crypto Orgy, everyone gets a little guilt-free bitcoin.