I heard this song again yesterday, the first time in a long time since it was released last year. And despite the grey, wet weather outside, it had me tapping my toe as I sat sipping my tea in my old man's tatty sweater.

When I was in college, especially during my first year, to beat the winter blues of Chicago, I used to lock myself up in my room, turn up the tunes, and dance around by myself as if there were no tomorrow. Sorry, no air guitar for me. (Not to offend any air guitar aficionados, but the only people I used to see who pretended like they knew the riffs of a song were always the geeks who stood around at concerts, nodding their heads maniacally to the beat, when they couldn't tell their C chords from their E flats to save their lives.)

Back to the Mitchell Brothers who, incidentally, aren't actually bros but cousins. They're a product of this genre bending new generation of rap, hip-hop and pop, ranking right up their with one of my favorites, the more soulful Unklejam. Which brings me to ponder, since both these groups hail from England, whether or not that little island below the North Sea is a ripe ole petri dish for this kind of stuff.

Is it coincidental that these two guys of African descent are singing about another black guy named Michael Jackson? No, I think not. But race aside, I think it's a pretty universal given that Michael, back in the day, had some pretty rockin' moves. And that his red leather pants and sequined gloves changed the course of fashion for millions of prepubescent kids like myself, and apparently, for The Mitchell Brothers, too.