The golden age of rock 'n' roll officially ended in 1972, when Chuck Berry had his final hit with a disastrous little novelty called "My Ding-a-Ling." This is useful to remember in the context of Hi-Town DJs and their mindbogglingly horrible single "Ding-A-Ling." It is exactly what you fear it is (chorus: "Give me a ring-a-ling/ When you want that ding-a-ling"), right down to the cold stab of modernity at the end of one verse: "This is the bomb/ At ding-a-ling-dot-com." I regret to note that www.dingaling.com actually is the group's site.
The rest of We Came To Groove is along the same lines, but worse: utterly crass, by-the-numbers Miami bass crossover (the twist is that some of the group are actually from Hawaii!) that wishes it could follow in the path of "C'mon And Ride It (The Train)," or at least "Whoot! There It Is," but doesn't have those estimable records' hooks, thump or, uh, subtlety. So we get a Miami-bass version of "Stand By Me," a Miami-bass version of "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini," the worst Miami-bass epithet for a big ass ever (that would be "Junk In The Trunk") and poor old Kurtis Blow defrosted for a Miami-bass bastardization of "The Breaks."
We Came To Groove doesn't even work as party music, because it's so damn mean-spirited beneath its prefab bounce. Every time you get lulled into complacency by the niceness of, say, Afro-Rican's occasional backing vocals, you get slapped by a new wave of awfulness, like a chorus that goes "Thank you ma'am, I'm done/ Just gimme that 68 and I'll owe you one" (actually, there's barely anything else to the song).
It doesn't even have the frizzled buzz of music made to be boomed more than heard; all it is, is a sharp, painful throb.