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  • What Should Come Across As Carnal Is Only Creepy and Unsettling in Taylor Swift’s “I Can See You” Video

    What Should Come Across As Carnal Is Only Creepy and Unsettling in Taylor Swift’s “I Can See You” Video

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    It’s appropriate that Taylor Swift should feel comfortable, only now, with releasing “I Can See You” from “the vault” of her Speak Now era. For, even though it was a time in her life when she was reconciling with the raging urge to acknowledge that “ho is life,” it was never her “brand” to fully embrace such a “persona.” That was more Britney Spears’ thing, which she whole-heartedly executed on her own third album, Britney. This complete with the skin-baring aesthetics of “I’m A Slave 4 U,” “Overprotected” and “Boys.” Swift, however, was always about the long, flowing dresses that only ever allowed her arm skin to be showcased. Instead favoring the idea of “letting her songs speak (now)” for her, instead of her body.

    If that’s still to be the case with “I Can See You,” then Swift is saying far more than her “flesh” ever could. Even so, the chanteuse bears more skin than she ever would have in 2010 during her appearance in this video, in which she’s joined by co-stars Taylor Lautner, Joey King and Presley Cash (the latter two having previously appeared in the video for Swift’s Speak Now single, “Mean”). It is Cash who serves as the getaway car (or van, in this case) driver of the outfit, watching her surveillance screens from inside the vehicle as King exits into the dark, empty street. As she approaches the premises, Cash fiddles with the computer keyboard to ensure King can gain entry into the building where Swift is being held in captivity. But Swift The Person is a symbol of Swift The Body of Work in this scenario.

    Locked in a literal vault—fitting, as this song is “from the vault”—Swift sits with her knees almost pressed to her chest, showcasing an arm with the “Long Live” lyric, “I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.” This being a clear nod to her fans and her team of handlers that continue to make all of this possible. It’s obviously King’s job to extract Swift from the vault in which she (and her talent) is wasting away. So it is that she must pull a Virginia Baker (Catherine Zeta-Jones) in Entrapment or Baron François Toulour (Vincent Cassel) in Ocean’s Twelve maneuver by dancing around some lasers designed to set off the alarm system if any movement is detected. When she makes it through the rather easy-to-navigate barrage of lasers, what King finds is a museum-like display of numerous Speak Now-era outfits, some of which aren’t even Swift’s own—like the white dress King wore in the “Mean” video.

    All at once, Lautner jumps down from the ceiling behind her, apparently there to help with Operation Set Taylor Free (#FreeTaylor, if you prefer). Meanwhile, we see Swift ticking off another mark on the wall of the vault, indicating how many days she’s been trapped inside. But now that she knows reinforcements are on the way, she has no hesitation with setting off the “alarm” (a bevy of security guards) by pulling the curtain off a framed photo of her new Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) album cover. And yes, it appears intentional that Swift wants to make it come across like some Mona Lisa-esque painting in terms of appearance, therefore value. After all, her entire aim with reclaiming the rights to her masters is to make people—fans, suits, whoever—understand the full weight of her worth. After all, this is the woman who once wrote, “Music is art, and art is important and rare. Important, rare things are valuable. Valuable things should be paid for.” Swift didn’t feel her valuable art was being paid for at Big Machine Records. Quite the opposite, in fact. No, instead she was being ripped off, stolen from. Which is why it’s apropos that, in this video, she decides to steal back her work (represented by the framed album cover in the “I Can See You” video).

    As the security goons are fought off by King and Lautner, Swift can feel them getting closer, edging toward completing the rescue mission. Because, lest anyone forget, Speak Now was rife with a fairytale motif. And fairytales are nothing if not founded upon a girl “being rescued.” As the duo approaches the vault, Swift presses her ear against it as they proceed to take out all the tools necessary to rig up the vault with some heavy-duty explosives that will, at last, free Taylor.

    Emerging from the smoke with a wide-eyed expression of wonderment, she smiles gratefully at King and Lautner before they all run out of the building as everything else starts to crumble and fall. The building, too, explodes once they’re outside. Swift looks back at the wreckage before getting into the van and being whisked away across a bridge and into her new, liberated future.

    As far as tying in with the lyrics, the video has little to do with the hyper-sexual tint of verses like, “But what would you do if I went to touch you now?/What would you do if they never found us out?/What would you do if we never made a sound?” Overtly referring to the arousal of “secret sex,” Swift then alludes to a person she used to be in songs such as “You Belong With Me,” this time singing from the perspective of the admired person who knows she’s being admired from afar. Yet she turns the dynamic on its ear by saying that she does, indeed, see the “stolen glances” and “faroff gazes” cast in her direction by this “wallflower” as she sings, “I can see you waitin’ down the hall from me/And I could see you up against the wall with me/And what would you do?/Baby, if you only knew/That I can see you.” Probably shit a brick, that’s what.

    Perhaps un-coincidentally, Swift conveys certain lines in the same intonation as “she wears short skirts and I wear t-shirts” from “You Belong With Me.” This further evincing the notion that she knows all too well what it’s like to be the person who thinks no one can see her admiring from afar. So it is that she says in a “You Belong With Me” “inflection,” “And I could see you being my addiction/You can see me as a secret mission/Hide away and I will start behaving myself.” With a backbeat that sounds slightly like a tamer version of The Clash’s “London Calling,” the single is a vast departure from anything else of the Speak Now oeuvre, and Swift seems to want it that way. For it only serves to make this Taylor’s Version all her own. Distinct from the original Speak Now not just because her girlish country twang can’t be recreated, but because it reveals the range she was already capable of before Red.

    Although “I Can See You” bears lyrics that are meant to allude to sizing up a not-so-secret admirer and indulging in one’s own fantasies about what it might be like to blow their mind by reciprocating the lust, in the present, “I Can See You” as a title (and music video) has more sinister implications. Not just that Swift now sees how she was wronged by her label, but how we’re all being seen constantly. Whether we want to be or not. Swift, to be sure, still wants to be. Only now, it’s become far less “cute”/“endearing”/“arousing” and much more Big Brother-y. As Lana Del Rey once said, “Look at you looking at me/I know you know how I feel.” And something about that is all too meta (in the Zuckerberg sense as well) in its unsettling nature.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Taylor Swift’s Country Twang Doesn’t Feel That Sincere Anymore on Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)

    Taylor Swift’s Country Twang Doesn’t Feel That Sincere Anymore on Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)

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    We live in a dichotomous time. One in which ageism still runs rampant, but also when to acknowledge any potential limitations or alterations due to age would be, let’s say, unkosher. With the latest addition to Taylor Swift’s re-recording project, it continues to remain clear that she’s avoided re-recording her first album for so long (side-stepping the logical approach of getting that out of the way first) because it’s difficult to sing the way she once did with something like conviction. And for those who have been living under a rock, the way she once sang was with a country lilt. Something that turned out, in the end, to be an affectation she was ready to do away with after a certain point. Namely, after realizing that pop was so much more fun…and profitable. As country artists like Shania Twain found out before her, there was more than enough financial value to the transition than there was to something like “artistic integrity.”

    Swift dancing around the re-recording of her first self-titled album is not without coincidence. Nor is it that she seems eager to get the recording of her earliest albums out of the way. After all, the older she gets, the harder it is to “pass” for that “naïve little girl” she once was. And sometimes still likes to play. Particularly if she wants her re-recordings to come across with as much “sincerity” as the originals. But, obviously, it’s hard to “get it up” for certain periods of her career. In this instance, her pre-Red days.

    To put it in perspective, if Britney Spears is the benchmark (and of course she is) for measuring a teen singer’s transition into her “womanhood” era, then Speak Now is Taylor’s Britney, the very album on which Spears announced, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman.” Swift, too, was caught somewhere in between that “transition” in October of 2010, when Speak Now was released, just two-ish months before her twenty-first birthday. Britney, similarly, was also released in the October before Spears’ twentieth birthday in December (a Sag, like Swift). That said, Swift was still capable, while caught in the “girlhood era,” of saying and actually meaning the cringe-y lyrics on “Mine,” the first song and single to kick off Speak Now. On it, she chirps (as best as she still knows how with a “country accent”), “Do you remember, we were sittin’ there, by the water?/You put your arm around me, for the first time/You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter/You are the best thing, that’s ever been mine.” Possessive much? Of course. Because Swift is nothing if not one of many great reinforcers of the capitalist juggernaut, which includes monogamous coupledom at the top of the list.

    That much continues on “Sparks Fly,” a song written about Jake Owen (and, by the way, confirmed: he has green eyes). Who would have been about twenty-five to Swift’s seventeen when she opened for him at a gig in Portland, Oregon. Like Mariah Carey turning a kernel of her dalliance with Derek Jeter into “My All,” Swift does the same with her schoolgirl crush on Owen. So it is that she croons, “Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down/Give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around/‘Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile.” Whether or not those sentiments were one-sided matters as little now as it did then. The point is, Swift was recognizing her sexual awakening a.k.a. becoming a boy-crazy horndog. Of course, this is not something one “should say”—just as, evidently, Swift thought she should no longer say the line, “She’s better known for the things that she does on the mattress,” instead opting for the less slut-shaming, “He was a moth to the flame/She was holding the matches.” It doesn’t have quite the same “sick burn” feel, but Swift is nothing if not an obliging whitewasher (see also: her removal of the word “FAT” from her “Anti-Hero” video).

    The second single to be released from Speak Now, “Back to December,” also loses some of its luster with the knowledge that Swift is quite amicable with the ex who inspired it, Taylor Lautner. A claim that few, if any, of Swift’s exes can make (apart from Harry Styles). So amicable are they, in fact, that Lautner obligingly agreed to appear in the video for one of Swift’s “From the Vault” tracks, “I Can See You.” Swift’s expression of regret over breaking Lautner’s heart by ending things with him (for once, she was the abandoner, not the abandonee) rings hollower now, knowing her penchant for making mountains out of molehills (again, à la Mariah with “My All”). As she seems to with the lines, “So, this is me swallowing my pride/Standin’ in front of you sayin’, ‘I’m sorry for that night’/And I go back to December all the time/It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missin’ you/Wishin’ I’d realized what I had when you were mine/I go back to December, turn around and make it alright/I go back to December all the time.”

    But apparently, all that wishing and regret wasn’t really necessary, for she turned it around by letting Lautner not only be in her new music video, but also sparing him the “Taylor curse” of being branded as a “bad man.” As is the case with John Mayer, whose cruelty toward Swift not only manifested recently on Midnights with “Could’ve Should’ve Would’ve” (featuring the immortally gut-punching line, “Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first”). However, he’s not the subject just yet, with “Speak Now” preceding “Dear John.” And it is the former that serves as the anchor for the overarching theme of the record—which is to speak up and say what you feel when you feel it, instead of repressing it into a lifetime of yearning and festering regret. In other words, what so many of Swift’s songs are based around.

    The legend goes that “Speak Now” was “sparked” by Hayley Williams, who has been friends with Swift in some capacity since roughly 2008, when the two started hanging out in Nashville together. Thus, the inspiration allegedly came from Williams having to attend the wedding of her ex- boyfriend (/ex-bandmate) of three years, Josh Farro, in April of 2010. That would have meant Swift came up with the track and overall concept for Speak Now pretty quickly (even if Williams probably got her wedding invite in 2009). Not to say she couldn’t have, it’s just that, knowing her penchant for advanced planning, it seems a bit far-fetched. Nonetheless, lyrics like, “Don’t say yes, run away now/I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door/Don’t wait, or say a single vow/You need to hear me out/And they said, ‘Speak now’” feel fairly applicable to the situation Williams found herself in. Should she have been the kind of girl to play the Benjamin Braddock role at a wedding.

    Unsurprisingly, there’s a continued “You Belong With Me” motif markedly present on this track as Swift sings verses that include, “She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen/But I know you wish it was me/You wish it was me, don’t you?” and “I am not the kind of girl/Who should be rudely bargin’ in on a white veil occasion/But you are not the kind of boy/Who should be marrying the wrong girl, hehheh.” That hehheh replacing a girlier, more tittering sort of laugh on the original version. Just another subtle sign of the ways in which it’s impossible to truly recreate something, least of all a phase of one’s life. And yet, that’s not really what the point has become with these re-recordings. Rather, it’s about Swift “reclaiming her narrative” and enjoying how she can control it with better, more effortless adroitness in her thirties. Which brings us to “Dear John,” the “All Too Well” of “Speak Now.” Hearing it remade in 2023, what stands out most is how much it sounds like something from the Olivia Rodrigo playbook—in other words, it highlights how big of an influence Swift has been on Rodrigo. Case in point, Swift berating Mayer, “You paint me a blue sky/Then go back and turn it to rain/And I lived in your chess game/But you changed the rules every day/Wondering which version of you I might get on the phone tonight.” This fundamental sentiment being repurposed by Rodrigo on “1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back” (which itself samples music from the stripped down version of Swift’s “New Year’s Day”) as, “You got me fucked up in the head, boy/Never doubted myself so much/Like, am I pretty?/Am I fun, boy?/I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff/‘Cause it’s always one step forward and three steps back/I’m the love of your life until I make you mad/It’s always one step forward and three steps back/Do you love me, want me, hate me?/Boy, I don’t understand/No, I don’t understand.”

    “Dear John” themes even persist on Rodrigo’s latest, “vampire,” with the latter singing, “And every girl/I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad news/You called them crazy/God, I hate the way I called them crazy too/You’re so convincing/How do you lie without flinching?/(How do you lie? How do you lie? How do you lie?)/Ooh, what a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrill/Can’t figure out just how you do it, and God knows I never will/Went for me and not her/‘Cause girls your age know better.” The obvious precursor to this was Swift on “Dear John” accusing with equal anger-sadness, “Don’t you think I was too young to be messed with?/The girl in the dress cried the whole way home/I should’ve known.” Swift then adds,“And you’ll add my name to your long list of traitors/Who don’t understand/And I look back in regret how I ignored when they said, ‘Run as fast as you can.’” While the lyrics are heartrending enough, it lacks the same potency as “All Too Well,” which is surprising considering that said song was written on her sophomore record, which means “Dear John,” as a third album effort, should have more panache in comparison. But no, turns out, Jake Gyllenhaal is the better muse.

    And, talking of assholes, what follows is the third single from Speak Now, “Mean.” Better known as: the song Swift famously wrote about critic Bob Lefsetz, who ripped her a new one over her Grammys performance with Stevie Nicks. The two joined together onstage for a performance of “Rihannon” on February 1, 2010 (proving Swift can turn out a response song quickly, so there goes the theory about it not being possible that “Speak Now” could be in reference to Hayley Williams). While Nicks was acting ever the consummate performer, Swift appeared to be convinced they were at a karaoke bar. The result was Lefsetz’s damning criticism that included, among other false prophecies, “Taylor Swift can’t sing,” “…did Taylor Swift kill her career overnight? I’ll argue she did” and “Will Taylor Swift be duetting with the stars of the 2030s?  Doubtful.” Though that latter prophecy could be accurate for a different reason, as many potential audience members might have already been sacrificed to climate change (or will be too broke by then to care about seeing what adolescent(e) du jour is duetting with Swift).

    Swift’s decision to lash out right away after Lefsetz unleashed his “hot take” (for, as Swift would say, “Your hot take is completely false and SO damaging”) is telling of her age at the time, as she chose to ignore the old adage, “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Rather than showing and not telling Lefsetz what her career was about to do (/already doing), she let herself get tripped up on his words. For Swift, perfectionist that she is, doesn’t handle criticism well. Nor does anyone in the climate of today, least of all fans of the musicians being critiqued. In fact, Swift was ahead of her time in terms of foretelling that everyone would side with artists and not critics in the present day. With “stans” lining up to fight battles for their “queens” online and belittle any writer (reduced to the title of “blogger,” in certain instances) who they perceived to be slighting their “mother.” Overlooking the notion that criticism is an art in itself.

    “Mean” is the apex of Swift exhibiting herself as a “little girl” who can’t take the heat. And that much is evident in her erstwhile girlish voice continuing to accuse, “All you’re ever gonna be is mean.” Though she was sure to prove her prediction in declaring, “Someday, I’ll be livin’ in a big ole city.” One that she would choose to help trash as a result of being “big enough so you can’t hit me.” At least not with anything more than a paltry three thousand dollars’ worth of fines. To be sure, it seems timely that Swift should release another album on the heels of her trash controversy, much like she did with Midnights to mitigate her private jet usage backlash. Sure, it’s probably happenstance…but it’s also very convenient by way of helping people forget all about her environmetally-damaging foibles with the pretty distraction of her pop hits.

    Which brings us to the fourth single, “The Story Of Us.” A very early 00s-sounding ditty that finds Swift at her most Avril Lavigne-esque, with certain guitar riffs harkening back to “Sk8r Boi” as Swift proceeds to bemoan how “the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.” Another song presumed to be about John Mayer, Swift firmly establishes her songwriting preference for dissecting breakups with this track. One that segues into the slowed-down tempo of “Never Grow Up,” which starts out wanting to sound like Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” (perhaps another way for Swift to make up for butchering “Rihannon” in Stevie Nicks’ presence). But rather than being about having grown old already, Swift speaks (now) from the vantage point of still being in that “I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman” place. Hoping somehow that she can hold on to the girlhood side of things forever. And, for a long time, she did. This being part of why she noted in Miss Americana, “There’s this thing people say about celebrities, that they’re frozen at the age they got famous. I had a lot of growing up to do, just to try and catch up to twenty-nine.” Currently at thirty-three, it seems Swift still has her bouts with wanting to heed her own warning, “Oh, darling, don’t you ever grow up/Don’t you ever grow up, just stay this little/Oh, darlin’, don’t you ever grow up/Don’t you ever grow up, it could stay this simple.” Put more succinctly: don’t grow up, it’s a trap.

    Maybe that’s why she had a “rebellious teen” moment after her breakup with Joe Alwyn that led her to think it was a good idea to “canoodle” with Matty Healy. But it didn’t take long for her to become (dis)“Enchanted.” The only track Swift seems to want to make a permanent Speak Now mainstay on her Eras Tour setlist (complete with a bombastic, Cinderella-esque ball gown as her costume choice). Likely because, although “Enchanted” is not an “official” single, it serves as one of those other fan favorites that’s getting more love and acknowledgement from Swift in the present (though not to the same extent as “All Too Well”).

    As Swift belts out the chorus, “This night is sparklin’, don’t you let it go/I’m wonderstruck, blushin’ all the way home/I’ll spend forever wonderin’ if you knew/I was enchanted to meet you,” the fairytale motif is ruined only by the thought of the fact that it’s about Owl City’s Adam Young. Thus, it’s very much in the spirit of “Sparks Fly” in terms of how Swift decided to write a sweeping, dramatic love song based on a fleeting crush/fluttering of the loins. Her romantic flow is quickly interrupted by “Better Than Revenge,” the aforementioned song that Swift felt obliged to rework for the purposes of “relitigation,” as Laura Snapes called it in her assessment of the album. Once again channeling Avril Lavigne (no wonder Olivia Rodrigo wanted to collaborate with her onstage for a rendition of “Complicated” during her Sour Tour), Swift chastises the girl who “took” her man (or boy) in a manner befitting 00s rhetoric (hear also: Marina and the Diamonds’ “Girls”) regarding how women should vilify other women for their boyfriends’ inherent shittiness. Swift does just that by accusing, “She’s not a saint and she’s not what you think/She’s an actress, woah/She’s better known for the things that she does on the mattress [again, these are the original lyrics], woah/Soon, she’s gonna find stealing other people’s toys/On the playground won’t make you many friends.” This before warning, “She should keep in mind, she should keep in mind/There is nothing I do better than revenge, ha.” Over the years, Swift has made that abundantly clear, learning to better bide her time and let “karma” do its job (even if it’s extremely narcissistic thinking to believe the universe gives a shit about any of us). And, in many regards, this particular track feels like a precursor to Reputation’s “Look What You Made Me Do”—though that wouldn’t be the first song inspired by Swift’s arch nemesis Kanye West. Indeed, that was still his legal name when she wrote “Innocent.”

    Another slow jam that frames things within the context of being a happy, naïve child versus a mean, jaded adult, Swift’s aim was to show forgiveness to West after he infamously bum-rushed the stage during the 2009 VMAs while Swift was in the midst of accepting the award for Best Female Video. Despite his rudeness and dismissiveness of her accomplishment, Swift found a way to assure him, “Time turns flames to embers/You’ll have new Septembers [the month the VMAs took place]/Every one of us has messed up, too, ooh/Minds change like the weather/I hope you remember/Today is never too late to be brand new, oh.” As everyone knows by now, it’s definitely too late for Ye to be brand new. Nonetheless, at the time, Swift thought he might improve, telling him, “It’s alright, just wait and see/Your string of lights is still bright to me, oh/Who you are is not where you’ve been/You’re still an innocent.” But turns out this “story of us” was also another tragedy.

    On the plus side, Beyoncé tried to correct the error as it happened, inviting Swift up onstage to finish her speech later in the ceremony when she accepted the award for Video of the Year. Incidentally, before Beyoncé got hold of the title in 2013, Swift had her own “Haunted.” A song that commences with the dramatic string arrangements (though nothing compared to the ones in “Papa Don’t Preach”) required of addressing yet another disintegrating relationship as Swift bemoans, “I thought I had you figured out/Can’t breathe whenever you’re gone/Can’t turn back now, I’m haunted.” Haunted, specifically, by knowing that the end of her romance is nigh as she struggles to figure out where it all went wrong. Thus, her explanation when it was first released, “‘Haunted’ is about the moment that you realize the person you’re in love with is drifting and fading fast. And you don’t know what to do, but in that period of time, in that phase of love, where it’s fading out, time moves so slowly. Everything hinges on what that last text message said, and you’re realizing that he’s kind of falling out of love. That’s a really heartbreaking and tragic thing to go through, because the whole time you’re trying to tell yourself it’s not happening. I went through this, and I ended up waking up in the middle of the night writing this song about it.” Probably sometime around midnight, to be exact.

    Thematically speaking, “Haunted” transitions seamlessly into “Last Kiss,” a more stripped down ballad about Joe Jonas (as “Haunted” easily could have been). The twenty-seven-second intro, in typical Tay fashion, undeniably refers to the twenty-seven-second call Jonas made to break up with Swift. Accordingly, it prompts Swift to woefully ruminate on the ruins of her so-called great love, “I never thought we’d have a last kiss/I never imagined we’d end like this/Your name, forever the name on my lips, ooh/So I’ll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep/And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.” Just as Swift would do with many others after Jonas broke her heart (a.k.a. wounded her ego and pride).

    Things shift to a slightly more upbeat timbre on “Long Live.” As it should, for it’s a love letter to Swift’s “team” (i.e., the army that wakes up every day to help make Taylor Swift Taylor Swift) and her fans. When discussing it back in 2010, Swift said, “This song is about my band, and my producer, and all the people who have helped us build this brick by brick. The fans, the people who I feel that we are all in this together, this song talks about the triumphant moments that we’ve had in the last two years.” Add thirteen more years to that now and you’ve got a breadth of work and accomplishments that very much adds up to “Long Live.” During which Swift chirps (albeit with less girlishness on this version), “Long, long live the walls we crashed through/How the kingdom lights shined just for me and you/And I was screaming, ‘Long live all the magic we made’/And bring on all the pretenders, I’m not afraid/Singing, ‘Long live all the mountains we moved’/I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.” One of the latest dragons being Ticketmaster, as it were. With Swift managing to make a literal federal case out of Ticketmaster’s monopoly on live music after she predictably crashed the website when tickets for the Eras Tour went on sale.

    Although “Long Live” was the finale on the standard edition of the record, the final single from Speak Now, “Ours,” was originally on the deluxe edition of the album. Ironically, it’s the sort of song that has been a little too on the nose for Swift the past few months, with everyone casting judgmental eyes on her dalliance with Matty Healy. Therefore, when she sings, “Don’t you worry your pretty little mind/People throw rocks at things that shine/And life makes love look hard/The stakes are high, the water’s rough/But this love is ours,” it comes off with a touch more hilarity at this particular juncture in her life.

    After “Ours,” Swift offers up another song from the original deluxe edition: “Superman.” A track that reveals just how much in “fairytale mode” she really was during this era. For Superman is nothing if not a modern update to the white knight trope. So it is that Swift talks of being rescued when she sings in that country twang that feels ever less sincere, “I watch Superman fly away/You’ve got a busy day today/Go save the world, I’ll be around/And I watch Superman fly away/Come back, I’ll be with you someday/I’ll be right here on the ground/When you come back down/And I watch you fly around the world/And I hope you don’t save some other girl.” Her jejune viewpoint persists on the first number to kick off the “From the Vault” section, “Electric Touch” featuring Fall Out Boy. A band she cites as being majorly influential on her own songwriting. Unashamed to do so when she told Rolling Stone back in 2019, “I love Fall Out Boy so much. Their songwriting really influenced me, lyrically, maybe more than anyone else. They take a phrase and they twist it. ‘Loaded God complex/Cock it and pull it’? When I heard that, I was like, ‘I’m dreaming.’” As many listeners of “Electric Touch” (not to be confused with MGMT’s “Electric Feel”) might think they are when they hear the lyrics, “Got a history of stories ending sadly/Still hoping that the fire won’t burn me/Just one time, just one time,” with the two harmonizing on a chorus that goes, “All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life/Got a feelin’ your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life.” Whether that’s the “ghost town” of Swift’s heart or crotch is at one’s discretion. And yes, in many respects, it mimics the theme of “Mine,” with Swift also talking about being burned and afraid to open her heart or trust anyone.

    Tweaking that theme on “When Emma Falls in Love,” Swift positions the (anti-)heroine of the song as a heartbreaker on par with Amy from Britney Spears’ “If U Seek Amy.” And, just as it was on that song, Swift is really talking about herself when she talks about Emma (a.k.a. Emma Stone). Even if she sings, “If they only had a chance to love her/And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her.” Newsflash: Swift is. Particularly with depictions such as, “When Emma falls in love, she paces the floor/Closes the blinds and locks the door/When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom/Jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong/She waits and takes her time/‘Cause Little Miss Sunshine always thinks it’s gonna rain/When Emma falls in love, I know/That boy will never be the same.” The reigning topic of a big-time girl in a small-time town also endures when Swift compares “Emma” to being “like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town.” Well, then one supposes she’d do like what Swift (or Madonna or Britney Spears or Lana Del Rey or, well, Emma Stone) did and become a star.

    Swift switches tone in her most marked way yet on the album by opting to release “I Can See You” as the lead “vault single.” And it’s obvious here that Swift reworked it heavily to fit in with her current pop sound, with a guitar riff that occasionally sounds as though it’s interpolating The Clash’s “London Calling.” It also stands apart for being a song about sexually charged desire (with Swift expressing such fantasies as, “And I could see you up against the wall with me”)—so no wonder she wasn’t ready to release it back then, lest she risk being slut-shamed. You know, the same way she slut-shamed a nameless girl on “Better Than Revenge.”

    If she had taken the plunge on releasing it back then, it could have (much sooner) instigated her “Castles Crumbling.” This being the title of her song featuring Hayley Williams (which, to be sure, feels like an “Easter egg” that confirms Williams being the influence behind “Speak Now”). An eerily prescient track (reiterating the belief that surely Swift must rework her vault songs) that finds Swift presaging the downfall of her “empire,” her dominance and prestige. This (sort of) occurring after her fall from grace in 2016 as a result of Kim Kardashian releasing select snippets of a conversation between Swift and Kanye West that indicated she gave him her blessing to release the final version of “Famous,” a single that found him bragging of Taylor, “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/Why?/I made that bitch famous.” Things went very downhill for Swift in the aftermath. At least in terms of her formerly “innocent” reputation giving way more fully to accusations of Swift being “calculated” and “a snake.” But, at the bare minimum, she got the chance to take back the narrative on 2017’s Reputation, along with taking back the snake emojis lobbed at her in her comments sections, parading the reptile as her primary “talisman” during this era.

    Regardless, there’s no denying she still felt like the “Foolish One” for quite some time. And it is this particular vault ditty that seems to get preferential treatment in that Swift enlisted her current go-to producer (apart from Jack Antonoff), Aaron Dessner, to help dust it off and polish it off with minimalist instrumentation that allows Swift’s self-deprecating tone to shine through as she curses, “You give me just enough attention to keep my hopes too high/Wishful thoughts forget to mention when something’s really not right/And I will block out these voices of reason in my head/And the voices say, ‘You are not the exception, you will never learn your lesson’/Foolish one/Stop checkin’ your mailbox for confessions of love/That ain’t never gonna come/You will take the long way, you will take the long way down.”

    Learning the hard way is, let’s just say it: “Timeless.” Just as Swift’s songwriting shtick of detailing the finer points of yearning and burning in a way not seen since the mid-twentieth century. That said, Swift references a “30s bride” and “a crowded street in 1944” on this song. Though she seems to be talking about a rando elderly couple after walking into an antique shop and unearthing a cardboard box with “photos: twenty-five cents each,” some fans have speculated the song is an homage to her grandparents, Marjorie and Dean. But, more than likely, it’s just Swift being her usual wistful, romantic self as she echoes sentiments from folklore’s “invisible string” while pronouncing, “‘Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this/So, even in a different life, you still would’ve been mine/We would’ve been timeless.” As would Swift’s grand romance with her fandom (maybe that’s why she secretly likens herself to Cleopatra, knowing full well she would have legions of devoted followers in any epoch).

    And yet, there are those listeners who aren’t as easily beguiled and “enchanted” by Swift in general or her re-recordings specifically. Laura Snapes, the aforementioned critic who described these albums as a form of “relitigation,” bringing the content “up to snuff” with post-woke culture, accurately remarked, “Still only halfway through, the project is starting to feel a little wearying and pointless, other than in the business sense.” Especially since, with a record like Speak Now remade in the present, it’s all but impossible to believe in Swift’s earnestness. Presently mired in the stench of wealth, prosperity and knowing full well she has the world (and many men in it) wrapped around her finger.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Britney Is Once Again Humiliated and Painted as the “Crazy” One–This Time Just For Trying to Be a Fangirl

    Britney Is Once Again Humiliated and Painted as the “Crazy” One–This Time Just For Trying to Be a Fangirl

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    For those who have followed the latest in an endlessly bizarre series of celebrity news items, perhaps the most unexpected of late has been Britney Spears getting backhanded by one of the security guards for current NBA darling Victor Wembanyama. The French nineteen-year-old might not have even been born when one of Spears’ biggest hits, “Toxic,” was released, but he certainly knew 1) the meaning of that song and 2) who he had trifled with the day after the “incident” in question made worldwide headlines.

    Spears, who everyone knows is mild-mannered and sweet as pie when it comes to being a fangirl (see: Britney iconically trying to imitate Julia Roberts with a rose in her mouth on the December 2007 cover of Vanity Fair), perhaps made the rookie mistake (pun intended) of assuming that she still lives in a time when it was safe to perform even the simplest of gestures (i.e., shoulder tapping). Not to mention one of the most traditional in terms of “celebrity honoring.” And that is: wanting to ask for her picture to be taken with Wembanyama. Next to requesting an autograph, it’s about as wholesome as you can get when it comes to being a fan. Because fans are, increasingly (as many know post-Items Being Launched at Singers While Performing Live), pretty fucking weird and demanding. But Spears, a famous person that has experienced her own fair share of fans wanting a “piece of her,” didn’t seem up to date on the reality of post-social media, post-woke life/exchanges with another human in the evermore irascible public space. That in the contentious, constantly-about-to-reach-a-boiling-point climate of now, everyone—especially those in the public eye—are on their ultimate defense (no basketball position reference meant).

    Living in a society like ours, American or otherwise (but particularly American, if we’re being real), every interaction has somehow transformed into a potential for danger, liability. Something Spears didn’t have to deal with quite so much in her proverbial heyday. This being part of why the security guard’s unwarranted assault felt so jarring to her, and why, roughly two days after the scuffle, she continued to openly comment on the matter by writing on her Instagram, “I’ve been working in the industry for years and have been with some of the most famous people in the world…NSYNC at one point were like The Beatles [a big stretch, but let’s pretend]. Girls would throw themselves at them everywhere we went…not one time in my life has a security guard ever hit another person!!! I’m not sharing this to be a victim … I SIMPLY GET IT HONESTLY … my reaction was priceless … BAD ??? YES … I’ve had documentaries done about me and none of which I approved … I have felt helpless in most situations and my experience in Vegas and my reaction was a cry out on all levels.”

    A cry that, once again, has gone mostly unheard, with media outlets using terms like “alleged assault” when referring to what the director of security for the San Antonio Spurs, Damian Smith, did to Spears. Physically lashing out at her without assessing the situation whatsoever and causing her to hit herself in the face with her own hand (giving new meaning to the phrase, “Hit me, baby/One more time”). All the while, Wembanyama remained blissfully unaware of the chaos (per his account, with Brit contrarily stating, “Watching the player laugh was cruel and demoralizing”) he was indirectly causing, continuing on his merry way without ever turning around at all. Because it becomes so easy to be oblivious when The Fame arrives and, with it, a series of handlers to deal with the things you were once forced to as a “peasant.” It’s like Wembanyama forgot that he grew up in Nanterre at all.

    Although Spears has been sure to highlight that she’s never witnessed such knee-jerk violence from a security guard before, perhaps she missed the main headline from 2018’s New York Fashion Week, during which a vaguely similar event occurred. Similar in that it also involved two famous people and a security team lash-out. Granted, two famous people on a level playing field (for, no matter what any basketball fan tries to tell you, Britney Spears is the superior icon here): Nicki Minaj and Cardi B. In this scenario, Cardi filled the Britney role (eerie, when considering she recently wrote a verse wherein she raps, “I feel like Britney Spears”) by actually trying to attack Minaj, whose security team then intervened and escorted her out of the venue.

    Of course, that scenario made slightly more sense (as things sort of still did in a pre-COVID world) in that Minaj and Cardi’s animosity had been stewing for a while (in spite of playing nice with each other by collaborating on “MotorSport”). The one that somehow involved Spears and Wembanyama ever crossing paths at all in the same place, at the same time (short of Spears actually attending a Spurs game) would not appear as “plausible” were it not so on-brand for 2023. Where the word “absurd” has lost all of its original meaning and instead been redefined as: “perfectly normal.” As it has long been just that to not only publicly humiliate Spears, but also twist everything she does in such a way as to make her come across as the villain. The “bad guy,” as Billie Eilish would say (and yes, Spears has displayed an affinity for that song in the past).

    Wembanyama had no issue perpetuating that pattern by describing the situation that unfolded outside of Catch restaurant in Las Vegas’ ARIA hotel as follows: “Something did happen, a little bit [already downplaying it with that word choice, clearly], when I was walking with some security from the team to some restaurant. We were in the hall. There was a lot of people, so people calling me, obviously. There was one person who was calling me, but we talked before with the security. I couldn’t stop. That person was calling me, ‘sir, sir,’ and that person grabbed me from behind.” And with that one very pointed word choice—“grabbed”— Wembanyama proceeded to add himself to the list of people who, for whatever reason, get their kicks from portraying Spears as unhinged. If she is, well, then everyone is responsible for making her that way. And, in truth, it’s a wonder she hasn’t been institutionalized in the same mental hospital *NSYNC was admitted to by now. That’s what probably would have happened to anyone else enduring her circumstances that didn’t have a song called “Stronger.”

    This perhaps also being why she could suffer such fools as Wembanyama insisting, “I didn’t see what happened because I was walking straight and didn’t stop. That person grabbed me from behind, not on my shoulder, she grabbed me from behind. I just know the security pushed her away. I don’t know with how much force, but security pushed her away. I didn’t stop to look so I could walk in and enjoy the nice dinner.”

    Spears, on the other hand, was not able to walk in and enjoy what should have been her nice dinner. And all after she was just trying to be, what else, nice. Congratulate a bitch on his success and express her admiration. But she should have learned her lesson by now: no good deed goes unpunished (starting with honing her singing and dancing talents ultimately as a means to financially support her family). And she was punished with not only more public humiliation, but the insult to (literal) injury that was not being believed. Having people assume that Wembanyama’s account of things was the accurate one, just because it’s not only “easier” but “more fun” to believe in the “crazy” behavior of Britney Spears. The persona she’s been saddled and “entertaining” people with for longer than she was a tabloid-evading pop star.

    In typical Britney fashion, however, she took the unwarranted assault as a chance to address a larger issue in our society at this moment. One that she seemed not to notice amplifying while she was under lock and key. And that is: everyone is extremely fuckin’ uppity. So concerned they’re going to be hurt that they end up hurting others. So it was that Spears took the chance to declare, “Physical violence is happening too much in this world. Often behind closed doors. I stand with all the victims and my heart goes out to all of you!!! I have yet to get a public apology from the player, his security or their organization. I hope they will…” It seems likely that they won’t. And that, if they do, it will be solely to “save face” (and after so egregiously endangering Britney’s). Not that a man can ever really lose any. Bringing us to another egregious reality of this entire situation: if a woman’s security had done the same to a man, she would automatically be reamed to no end by critics and commentators alike, while the man could enjoy the luxury of being portrayed as the innocent lamb-like victim.

    Spears unwittingly pointed out the double standard between what’s expected of men versus women, even when it comes to how they “direct” their security. Remarking sadly of what happened, “I get swarmed by people all the time. In fact, that night, I was swarmed by a group of at least twenty fans. My security team didn’t hit any of them.” And that’s not just because Spears is kinder, but also because she probably knows, with her luck, she would be put in jail—held up as the responsible party. Not so for Wembanyama, just a blameless bystander with no control over the situation. And sure, one can pull the “he’s only nineteen” card as an excuse, but where was any such argument for Spears when she was nineteen? Or sixteen (her age when “…Baby One More Time” came out)? Or twelve (her age when The Mickey Mouse Club was on the air)? There have never been concessions for Spears’ faux pas, no matter how directly or peripherally involved she’s been in a scandal (usually amplified from a minor peccadillo). And the lack of compassion for that factor was no better exemplified by watching Spears’ hand get abruptly batted away as she was trying to make a connection with someone. If that isn’t symbolism for so much of her life in the spotlight, then what is?

    That Spears’ altercation didn’t result in any charges being pressed against Wembanyama’s security member just goes to show that even when a woman’s word is forced to be believed due to video evidence, a man will still get off with a slap on the wrist. Just as that also seems to be the case for Spears’ father at this juncture, after all the years and all the money he robbed from his own daughter. Still, in the end, the biggest slap of all. But that didn’t make the one from Wembanyama’s “bodyguard” hurt any less. Nor the failed attempt at being “just an ordinary fan.” Nor the realization that Vegas remains a source of great pain for Spears regardless of her efforts to create more positive memories there. But, as she noted after being smacked, “That’s America for you! Fuck you!”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • “I Keep My Side of the Street Clean”—Not!: Taylor Swift’s Garbage (Not to Be Confused With Taylor Swift Is Garbage)

    “I Keep My Side of the Street Clean”—Not!: Taylor Swift’s Garbage (Not to Be Confused With Taylor Swift Is Garbage)

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    Like most things that the hoi polloi are expected to endure/“deal with,” celebrities and the otherwise wealthy are not. For someone of Taylor Swift’s caliber (financially speaking), that certainly applies tenfold. And if that wasn’t already made apparent from the public release of her carbon footprint that reported her as emitting 8,293.54 tonnes of carbon a year thanks to private jet-setting alone, then maybe her latest example of “It’s me, hi. I’m the problem, it’s me” will make it undeniably clear. And that is: her blasé attitude about trash. More specifically, disposing of it in a manner that would be expected of a “plebe.”

    But before we get to that, let us remember that Swift perhaps ultimately skirted a full-tilt backlash against the private jet controversy by claiming that the majority of the flights taken were a result of loaning out her jet. As though that somehow made her inculpable just because her bony ass allegedly wasn’t in the seat. What’s more, the report of Swift’s numerous flights came out at the same time as records of Kylie Jenner’s twenty-minute flights were released. Flights that could have been a slightly longer drive between Riverside and L.A. Counties. Jenner confirmed her own outrageous behavior by posting an image she thought was going to “serve” in July of 2022—featuring her in “Hollywood embrace” pose with her equally atrocious baby daddy, Travis Scott, as the two stood in between their respective private jets, captioned with the braggadocious question, “You wanna take mine or yours?”

    With Jenner being instantly lambasted as a climate criminal (where’s the lie?), Swift’s crown as the reigning queen of private jet usage ultimately got lost in the shuffle of broad-spectrum outrage over private plane rides (with Britney Spears perhaps being the only one to get a “pass” as a result of all she’s been through). And any thoughts of Swift as someone “criminal” eventually “petered out” once she released another album, and America was reminded again of just how much they love their sweetheart (grotesque little CO2 emitter or not). Even if, with Midnights, it seemed Taylor was actually trolling people a bit with a line (from the climate change-y “Snow on the Beach” no less) like, “And my flight was awful/Thanks for asking.” Of course, that’s hard to believe when considering the lavish accommodations of a private jet she calls “The Number 13.” A number she has long considered to be lucky, as a matter of fact—referencing it in songs and videos galore and, as mentioned, opting to brandish it as the moniker of her personal plane, to boot. So yeah, if it ever crashed, that surely might change her views on the digit bearing something like luck, rendering her just another average person with a case of triskaidekaphobia.

    But getting to her latest case of environmentally-unfriendly behavior, Swift has come under fire (mainly by the New York Sanitation Department) for her less than exemplary “disposal” methods. To that end, ironically enough, Swift also boasts on Midnights (during “Karma”), “I keep my side of the street clean/You wouldn’t know what I mean.” Evidently, she’s the one who doesn’t even know what she means, relying on the tried-and-true “just make it go away with money” method that most celebrities are inclined to. After all, what’s the point of being a celebrity if you can’t enjoy such “perks” in exchange for the violation of your privacy? Such perks being to pay thousands of dollars in fines to avoid actually keeping your side of the street clean—all while your privacy is invaded by way of habits being revealed through the exposure of your trash. Something that media outlets are only too happy to report on (including, but not limited to, the presence of liquor bottles and cigarettes butts…how Olsen twins circa the 00s-esque).

    Nonetheless, it doesn’t seem to bother Swift that much. Or at least not enough to clean up a.k.a. hire someone else to do the job. For, as of July 2023, Swift has been ticketed thirty-two times by the New York Sanitation Department and fined roughly three thousand dollars (which amounts to three cents for a person of Swift’s echelon) for her inability 1) dispose of her trash correctly, 2) failing to keep the front area of her building clean and 3) generally parading a dirty sidewalk year-round—regardless of being on tour or not. Considering Swift essentially “owns” the block she inhabits on Franklin Street in Tribeca, she’s the only one responsible for “keeping this place clean,” to quote Prince’s dad in Purple Rain.

    Naturally, Swifties were quick to come to the defense of their beloved “mother,” assuring, “It’s probably the fans waiting for her and smoking while they’re bored.” Whether that’s true or not, it doesn’t change the reality that Swift is the one responsible for maintaining the cleanliness of the block she’s made her own private island on an island. What’s more, who’s to say that she doesn’t smoke now and again? For, despite her “squeaky clean” image—complete with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryan aesthetic—Swift has broken away from it in the years since she went from country to pop star, going on to—gasp!—swear in her lyrics and openly drink in public/on camera (her affinity for wine being well-known by now). Indeed, her love of the drink is just about the only thing that’s made her a “baddie,” while her foil, Lana Del Rey, instead relies on vaping and smoking since she gave up drinking long ago after her teenage bout with alcoholism. In short, regardless of her fans’ disbelief that “pure” Taylor could bear such trash herself, the report stating that “there are cigarette packs, stacks of newspapers, liquor bottles, cardboard boxes and ashtrays scattered on the sidewalk” actually does jive with Swift’s lifestyle, as well as the company she keeps. Being so convinced she’s a “New York bohemian” and all.

    Those who aren’t defending her and trying to say it’s not her fault (including Swift herself, who seems to be fighting the charges on “principle” alone—because, again, 3K is nothing to her) are instead commending the “bad bitch” contents of her waste. Namely, Charli XCX, who retweeted one of the headlines about Swift’s trash with the caption, “My kinda girl.” And yet, increasingly, Swift has proven herself to be no one’s kind of girl. At least not in terms of displaying the level of consideration required of somebody who wants to truly set an example for others about not being so reckless with the climate’s well-being just because you “can be”/claim you “have to be” (“for work”). Alas, money is a celebrity’s multifaceted superpower as much as any corporate shill at the top of the company food chain. A “superpower” that serves as the driving force behind why the environment continues to be pillaged and violated in such vast and ceaseless ways. Then again, perhaps Swift should be commended for ultimately helping to “end” New York sooner.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Charli XCX is Becoming More Prolific on the Soundtrack Scene Than LDR, With “Speed Drive” Being Her Latest Song Written For A Movie

    Charli XCX is Becoming More Prolific on the Soundtrack Scene Than LDR, With “Speed Drive” Being Her Latest Song Written For A Movie

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    For a while there, Lana Del Rey was the undisputed Soundtrack Queen. Whether composing original songs or offering up cover versions, Del Rey’s voice has been present on an eclectic mix of films ranging from The Great Gatsby (with the original composition “Young and Beautiful”) to Big Eyes (with the original compositions “Big Eyes” and “I Can Fly”) to The King (with a previously unreleased track from her pre-fame days called “Elvis”) to Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (with a cover of Donovan’s “Season of the Witch”), the list of Del Rey’s soundtrack contributions goes on and on. But lately, there’s been a fierce contender in the realm of soundtrack contributions, and it’s none other than Charli XCX.

    Although, in the past, XCX was more known for providing previously released songs for soundtracks (including “Boom Clap” for The Fault in Our Stars, “Break the Rules” for Hot Pursuit, “SuperLove” for How to Be Single, “Boys” for Promising Young Woman and “Good Ones” for I Want You Back), lately, she’s been inspired to create plenty of original content for some of the most exciting movies to come out in the last year. In 2022, her original composition for A24’s Bodies Bodies Bodies yielded “Hot Girl (Bodies Bodies Bodies)”—the type of song that was made for soundtracking the likes of Regina George’s existence. Indeed, XCX’s overt aughts-inspired sensibilities (both sonically and aesthetically) have been a key force in making her stand apart for soundtrack fare. Especially for films with 00s cinematography palettes. This includes not only Promising Young Woman, but now, Barbie. The most blockbustery movie to date that XCX has been a part of. Joined by other Barbiecore types like Dua Lipa, Nicki Minaj/Ice Spice, Karol G and Pink Pantheress, Charli’s contribution in the form of “Speed Drive” stands apart not just for its sound and more sped-up tempo (after all, you can’t have a song featuring the word “speed” in it without it being fast, n’est-ce pas?), but also for actually painting the portrait of “Barbie life” in a way that none of the other songs released thus far do. Not even “Barbie World,” which is more of an extension of the Minaj and Ice Spice personas than Barbie’s. What’s more, it relies on the core “thesis” of Aqua’s 1997 hit, “Barbie Girl,” as Lene Nystrøm sings in the background, “I’m a Barbie girl in the Barbie world/Life in plastic, it’s fantastic/You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere/Imagination, life is your creation.”

    XCX’s portrait of “Barbie World,” on the other hand, focuses not just on how “hot” Barbie is, but also on what a good and loyal friend she happens to be. Because, obviously, if you’re that fine, you have to be nice, too—that is, if you don’t want people to despise you. And Charli assures listeners that Barbie is just that (even if she herself was a self-admitted “Barbie decapitator” as a child) as she sings, “She’s my best friend in the whole world/On the mood board, she’s the inspo/And she’s dressed in really cute clothes/Kawaii like we’re in Tokyo/Devon Lee smile, teeth a white row/Got a classic, real deep, Van Gogh/She got loyalty, she says, ‘I love you, girl’/I love her more.” As for the name-checking of various unlikely luminaries of arts and letters (save for Devon Lee), XCX felt obliged to congratulate herself by noting, “Literally can’t believe I name checked Van Gogh, Voltaire, Devon Lee Carlson and Barbie all in one song. That’s genius [said in a Paris Hilton ‘That’s hot’ tone, one assumes]. AND I simultaneously sampled Robyn’s cover of Teddybears’ ‘Cobra Style’ and interpolated ‘Hey Micky’ [will try to ignore that it’s spelled ‘Mickey’]?! I’m a fucking mathematician.” Or at least a hit pop song formula mathematician. And by the way, “Hey Mickey” itself is also a “sample” (but more like all-out remake)…of Racey’s 1979 song, “Kitty.”

    To be sure, XCX has been on her sampling tip more than ever with her Crash era (which is technically over now), particularly by way of wielding Robin S’ “Show Me Love” (before Beyoncé) on “Used to Know Me” and September’s “Cry For You” on “Beg For You.” So it is that with her vast knowledge of the pop/dance music lexicon, XCX serves up her own one-of-a-kind bop by interpolating all these elements from pop culture past as though grinding them in a blender and letting the result that comes out be “Speed Drive.”

    As for those who might have picked up on Charli’s “fetish,” as it were, for cars (hear/see also: “I Love It,” “Vroom Vroom,” Crash” and the entire concept behind the Crash album) continuing in this single, she was happy to tell Rolling Stone, “I’ve always really liked singing about cars. For me, there is this intrinsic link between driving and music and feeling like you’re a star when you’re in a car.” Maybe someone should tell Pearl (Mia Goth) that. With this said, Charli was very deliberate about her decision to write a song for the film’s chase scene (the one Charli posted of Barbie [Margot Robbie] running out of the Mattel building). Her love of all things “fast” and “flash” seemingly traces all the way back to her first “live performance” at a talent show held on a cruise ship. The a capella song performed? “Barbie Girl,” naturally. Because yes, Charli is a millennial girl before a Barbie girl…much to Gen Z’s dismay.

    In terms of the track’s tone, Charli wanted it to “feel quite bratty” and pertain to “being hot.” Which is pretty much the essence of all her songs, particularly the last one she custom-made for a film, “Hot Girl (Bodies Bodies Bodies).” Indeed, one might say that, like Olivia Rodrigo commenting on how “vampire” is a natural progression from her work on Sour, so, too, is “Speed Drive” a natural progression from “Hot Girl (Bodies Bodies Bodies)”—yet another Charli number made for a specific movie. Which, again, brings us back to how the British hitmaker is “coming for” Lana’s crown with regard to “soundtrack supremacy.”

    Clocking in at just one minute and fifty-seven seconds, “Speed Drive” also more than meets the unspoken “TikTok requirements” for most songs of late, making it even more primed for “hit potential.” And so, even though XCX repeats the phrase “red lights” throughout the song, as well as for the outro, it’s apparent that there’s nothing but green ones for the places (and films) XCX will be welcomed into after further cementing herself as the ultimate Pop Star (/Soundtrack) Barbie.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Shakira Is A Mermaid of the Future in the “Copa Vacía” Video Featuring Manuel Turizo

    Shakira Is A Mermaid of the Future in the “Copa Vacía” Video Featuring Manuel Turizo

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    While Shakira might have reverted to “retro” 00s sensibilities in imagining “the future” with 2022’s “Te Felicito” featuring Rauw Alejandro, her latest single, “Copa Vacía,” has a more realistic take on what the years ahead will hold. And that is: a lot of fucking trash. Everywhere. Trash that will particularly affect marine life. And, regardless of Shakira portraying herself as the “mythical creature” of a mermaid to get that point across, it works quite effectively. Indeed, it’s probably precisely because she’s a mermaid that the imagery of her placed against the backdrop of what amounts to a sandy landfill is so potent. After all, people only seem to care about helping other life forms when they’re “attractive,” this being referred to in such terms as “lookism,” “the beauty bias” and “speciesism.” Plus, the jarring sight of Mermaid Shakira in this harsh environment is designed to complement a single about yearning and lack of fulfillment—sexually, in case you couldn’t guess. Thus, being resigned to a dried-up, post-apocalyptic landscape makes plenty of sense. But, for the rest of us, there won’t be much symbolism in the imagery…it’s just going to be full-stop dried-up and post-apocalyptic without the “benefit” of “looking mermaid hot” like Shakira. Everyone will certainly be hot though, burning up in a world that’s risen +two degrees Fahrenheit in temperature. And who knows if anyone will have time for lust/worrying about a “copa vacía” with constant thoughts of survival/being a climate refugee on the brain?

    With “Copa Vacía” translating to “Empty Cup,” Shakira as a mermaid with no water to soak in lends added poetry to the aesthetic choice. Building on her endless list of male collaborators of late is Manuel Turizo (a seeming Maluma lookalike [at least in this video]—maybe there’s something in the water in Colombia). Joining the ranks of Shakira collaborators past, including the aforementioned Alejandro on “Te Felicito” and Ozuna on “Monotonía,” Turizo is the one who jumps into the body of water Shakira eventually washes up from in other scenes that we see of her. While underwater, Turizo looks around to take in the fact that Shakira is swimming away from him, perhaps having realized that she’s only able to quench her thirst elsewhere (hence, suddenly being in an ocean as opposed to on dry, trash-filled land—where co-directors Shakira and Jaume de Laiguana initially set the video’s stage). But wait, it’s not over yet, for she foolishly decides to circle him (almost tauntingly), therefore giving Turizo the chance to capture her in his net.

    As he drags her through the “mud” (literally!), we soon see that her fate is not much better than Madison’s (Daryl Hannah) in Splash after she’s captured by government agents to be studied and dissected. But, at least, in that case, they were giving her some attention. Whereas Shakira exists in a barely-half-full tank of water, gazing out and pressing her hand to the glass as Turizo ignores her. And plays his video games (as Lana would point out). So while he might think he’s been “kind enough” to “rescue” her from her former existence, he’s actually created a worse one for her at present. Because, yes, humans tend to create worse environments for every creature that’s meant to be “wild.” Intercut scenes of Shakira lying down on the trash-filled beach again are accompanied with being in her “natural” environment on a rock (à la Ariel) or positively drenched (she wishes this wetness extended “down below,” of course) beneath a waterfall as Turizo stands next to her—not doing much to help a bitch out on feeling wanted. Desired. With the topic of sexual frigidity often being one that’s directed at women as yet another means to berate them, it seems worth reminding the latter gender that the surest sign a man is cheating is his sudden coldness toward your body. His general “meh” reaction. So it is that Shakira laments, “Why don’t you want/When I want/You are colder than the month of January/I ask for heat and you give nothing but ice, oh” (in Spanish, that’s: “Por qué no quieres/Cuando yo quiero/Estás más frío/Que el mes de enero/Pido calor y no das más que hielo, oh”). Lana Del Rey would have sung that as, “Oooh, you’re cold as ice baby/But when you’re nice baby/It’s so amazing in every way.”

    As for the frío man Shakira accuses in “Copa Vacía,” it obviously feels like another pointed jab at her ex, Gerard Piqué, who has lately been a muse for such indelible “fuck you” bops as “Shakira: BZRP Music Sessions #53” and “TQG.” To be sure, Piqué must have been quite thawed on his erstwhile “partner” to have prompted these feelings. And yeah, they clara…mente thawed because he had younger snatch to turn to for his own “thirst quenching” needs. To that point, Shakira sings, “I’ve been thirsty for a while/I don’t know why I’m left wanting more/Wanting to drink from an empty cup.” Perhaps because many of us are slow on the uptake with regard to learning our lesson. That someone isn’t going to change no matter how hard you want them to, or how hard you romanticize the initial phases of your relationship with them. Which is surely what Shakira was doing before she found out about Clara Chia Marti. While her father was in the hospital.

    In contrast to Piqué, however, Turizo comes across as more empathetic, not to mention actually interested making the relationship work. So it is that he offers his counterpoint perspective, “As if I didn’t feel anything/Now you look at me so different/Me swimming against the current/You have me on the street looking for/With what to fill this emptiness that you feel/I am not a mechanic/But I try to fix it and it doesn’t work/Reviving a heart that does not react/I don’t want to try it with someone else.” Shakira then explains, “Your kisses are salt water/I drink, and nothing calms me down/I wait for you and you disappoint me/It does not work like this.”

    All the while, her essential sense of mermaid freedom is stripped away from her the more hopeless and crestfallen she becomes. So it is that, by the end, we see her being strung up by a chain with her hands bound, a bland beige-ish tarp behind her to intensify the overall colorlessness of a world without love and sex (the world we’re quickly coming to know amid the exacerbating conditions of climate change). The final scene again shows her in the trash-laden, mud-like sand. For this is the mermaid vision of the future. Not just experiencing a love drought, but an actual one as well. The “empty cup”—an emblem of no water from which to drink—of the song also mirroring the according landscapes we see throughout the video. And what we’ll see as the next decade wears on.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • A Tale of Two Parises: Lana’s and Taylor’s/(So-Called) Whites’ and Arabs’

    A Tale of Two Parises: Lana’s and Taylor’s/(So-Called) Whites’ and Arabs’

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    The outskirts of Paris continue to burn in the wake of another grotesque (but sadly, not unfathomable) instance of police brutality. And this on the heels of Paris itself already burning after the nonstop protests against Macron raising the retirement age from sixty-two years old to sixty-four years old as a result of invoking the notorious article 49.3 of the French constitution, which allows the president to enact a law without a vote from parliament. A parliament that would have surely caused, at the bare minimum, a deadlock on any such vote—with the ideological divide between left and right being pretty much the same in any country. And yet, as far as Taylor Swift and Lana Del Rey are concerned, “Paris” still signifies nothing but romance and (false) idealization. Even if both women are referring to two entirely different Parises altogether. Just as, depending on your skin tone, two versions of Paris exist.

    It would be nice to say that one of the chanteuses is actually referring to the “real” Paris—that is, the one where a police officer will shoot a teen of North African (a.k.a. Arab) descent named Nahel Merzouk while he’s pulled over for a traffic violation. Of course, many people won’t count Nanterre as part of Paris or its long-standing racism. But to exclude the “suburbs” of Paris from considering what the city “means” is an all-too-common mistake. One that allows romanticism to persist in the face of blatantly ignoring that Paris is no Disneyland (despite being home to Euro Disney a.k.a. Disneyland Paris…appropriately enough, also located in the city’s outskirts).

    Nonetheless, Swift is the first to equate “Paris” with some sort of fantasy realm where reality can be avoided. Her “reality” consisting of constantly being stalked by fans and paparazzi alike as they dissect her every move and relationship. So it is that she chirps of imagining herself somewhere else with her man, “I was taken by the view/Like we were in Paris/Like we were somewhere else/Like we were in Paris, oh.” Her wistful intonation and delivery builds on the enduring lore that Paris is a place one escapes to (as opposed to being a place one wants to escapes from). That it is an emblem of freedom, endless possibility, etc. Something that a girl like “Tay Tay” would certainly do nothing to discourage. For her entire oeuvre favors only melodrama as opposed to actual drama—a true crisis. Such as the one that has existed within the justice system since time immemorial.

    Perhaps because Del Rey’s “Paris, Texas” isn’t about the Paris, it gives way more willingly to something like realism (even if still drenched in its own kind of faux plaintiveness). Complete with Del Rey admitting that, “When you know, you know/It’s time, it’s time to go” after already painting the picture, “I went to Paris (Texas)/With a suitcase in my hand/I had to leave/Knew they wouldn’t understand.” And who (but those of Nahel’s skin tone) could possibly understand ever wanting to leave Paris? Least of all Swift, who wants a “privacy sign on the door”—likely at Le Crillon or Le Meurice, both of which she’s stayed at during her numerous stints in the City of Light. This being one of her many “evocative” descriptions in “Paris,” along with how “romance is not dead if you keep it just yours/Levitate above all the messes made.”

    One such “mess” (to use understatement) being the wrath incurred by those who will not stand for what happened to Nahel or any number of men and women of color who this has happened to or will happen to. That wrath has spread over days of unrest, consisting of burning cars, buildings (mostly those harboring French bureaucratic institutions) and trash, and clashing with police as general mayhem is incited in response to the unapologetic blatancy with which systemic racism continues to flourish. And it’s of a variety that does not permit those of a non-white skin tone to romanticize Paris (or its “outlying” areas) in any way, shape or form. Meanwhile, Swift can happily prattle on, “I’m so in love that I might stop breathing [people of color instead “might” stop breathing because a police officer has shot or choked them]/Drew a map on your bedroom ceiling/No, I didn’t see the news/‘Cause we were somewhere else.” Not just physically, but mentally—with that statement about not seeing the news being a sign of white privilege. Because, to be sure, unless a rich white person sees something “untoward” happening directly in their periphery, they’re not likely to notice anything other than the status quo—because they damn sure ain’t botherin’ with the news.

    As for Del Rey, her Paris is located in a (theoretically) more racist locale: Texas. Lacking the shine and glitz of the more famous city in France, this small town in Northeastern Texas still has the same racist “philosophies” (so frequently put into practice) that people are seeing come to greater light in the French Paris at this moment. Although it’s long been there, with similar riotous crests after the deaths or aggravated assaults of other Black and/or Arab men (including Amine Bentounsi, Théo Luhaka, Cédric Chouviat and Adama Traoré), the “magic” of France so often causes outsiders to have blinders to the unbridled reality that it is a country with as much racism as the next (often because of a history rooted in colonialism). And, at this instant, it’s not looking so different in that regard from Paris, Texas. Site of numerous violent race relations incidents over the centuries, and, thus, fittingly known for being the location where a lynching was photographed for the first time (with the victim in question being Henry Smith). In this regard, Del Rey’s “Paris” serves as a foil to Swift’s that grounds the French one in reality. A reality that’s not manifest whatsoever in Swiftian lyrics such as, “Stumbled down pretend alleyways/Cheap wine, make believe it’s champagne/I was taken by the view/Like we were in Paris, oh.”

    As if such twee fantasies weren’t enough, Swift continues, “I wanna brainwash you/Into loving me forever/I wanna transport you/To somewhere the culture’s clever/Confess my truth/In swooping, sloping, cursive letters/Let the only flashing lights be the tower at midnight/In my mind.” The “tower” she’s referring to, of course, could be none other than the Eiffel, with its signature flashing lights. And especially its rotating light ray at the top that not only mimics the lighthouse effect, but also the spotlight effect that occurs when a prison break happens. Needless to say, at this juncture, France feels like a prison many people (of color) want to escape from in terms of having none of the same freedoms as those of a certain “look” and class. In short, there is no “liberté, égalité, fraternité” for those who are a “high-risk” color in the eyes of the Establishment—which is, sadly, best embodied by police forces (in France and throughout the world).

    When Swift wraps up her song with the lines, “‘Cause we were in Paris/Yes, we were somewhere else/My love, we were in Paris,” she reminds that the so-called whites of Paris are, in fact, somewhere else. In a dimension alternate from the one where somebody such as Nahel lives (or rather, lived). And while the concluding lyrics to Del Rey’s “Paris, Texas” might pertain to always going with your gut and taking a risk on making a mistake (something most people of color don’t have the luxury of doing…whether in general or vis-à-vis choosing a place to briefly “settle down”), within the context of amoral and immoral police brutality, it sounds positively eerie to hear: “When you’re right, you’re right/Even when you’re wrong.”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Olivia Rodrigo Gets Emotionally Sucked Dry (Again) On “Vampire”

    Olivia Rodrigo Gets Emotionally Sucked Dry (Again) On “Vampire”

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    It’s no secret that Olivia Rodrigo is a Twilight fan. Shit, she even has an unreleased song called “Twilight,” with lyrics that go, “Don’t know if you’re busy/Don’t know if you like me/Don’t know if it’s weird/But I kinda do like you/This small town thing’s not as bad as I thought/So do you wanna hang out or not?” Clearly speaking from the perspective of Bella (Kristen Stewart) on this track, Rodrigo takes what she did in that strumming, upbeat number and turns the concept into something decidedly more Lana Del Rey-esque (with initial speculation positing that the single would sample “Cinnamon Girl”—it doesn’t). After all, Rodrigo was overtly changed after spending a bit of time with her at Billboard‘s Women In Music Awards, where Del Rey was presented with the Visionary Award by none other than Rodrigo. It was during her presentation that Rodrigo gushed, “Lana has raised an entire generation of music lovers and songwriters like me, and taught them that there’s beauty in their vulnerability and power in their melancholy… I still consider [“Video Games”] to be probably the best love song of all time. She captures anger, sadness and sensuality in a way that only the greatest of songwriters ever could.” Rodrigo is obviously dead-set on taking that path as well, with yet another ambitious, tempo-switching single in the form of “vampire” (alas, spelled with the annoying “stylized in lowercase” trend that won’t quit).

    As the lead single for her appropriately-titled sophomore album, Guts, Rodrigo calls this work and sound a “natural progression” from where we left off on Sour. And, indeed, there seems to be little differentiation between the album artwork of Sour and Guts, with purple obviously being Rodrigo’s preferred color palette. Even if one might have envisioned crimson or blood red being a more ideal tone to express the mood and theme of the record. Or maybe that was too “on the nose (neck?)” for Rodrigo. Almost as on the nose as “vampire” not only being an homage to Twilight, but also the video itself being an homage to Taylor Swift’s 2021 Grammy performance. For Rodrigo, being a major Swiftie (regardless of the latter tapping Sabrina Carpenter to be one of her openers on the Eras Tour), surely must have based her awards show performance in the video on what Swift did with her Grammys medley of “cardigan,” “august” and “willow.” It has the same tweeness, the same whimsy, the same preciousness…the same lighting style.

    And, speaking of lights, it’s a huge one that breaks the illusion of Rodrigo singing in an ambient nature setting just for us as it crashes into her head from above. Granted, there were telltale sparks falling during two brief instances before that point, but perhaps we were too distracted by the carefully-curated “fog” (a.k.a. fog machine) punctuating her romantic performance singing into a vintage hand-held mic (of a variety one could imagine Billie Holiday using…if she didn’t favor her mic stands so much). At the one-minute, twenty-seven mark, the spotlight breaks the “fourth wall,” as it were, by crashing into Rodrigo’s head and revealing that she is, in fact, not “within a narrative” (or at least not the one we thought), but rather, performing for an audience at an awards show. Commodifying her pain…once again. As she was instructed/learned to do by the likes of musical forebears such as Swift and Del Rey.

    It’s also around this point that Rodrigo pulls the “drivers license” maneuver in terms of switching tempos and offering that crescendo moment that’s become something of a signature in her songs. As she puts it, “I’ve just always been obsessed with songs that are really dynamic. Like my favorite songs are high and low and reel you in and spit you back out.” “vampire” certainly achieves that in spades, particularly as Rodrigo, now bloodied and further emotionally broken by the spotlight literally hitting her, continues with her performance. For, as it is said, the show must go on. Even when she’s been burned (or is “sucked” the better, if not more lascivious, word?)—as a matter of fact, the entire stage is on fire—once again by some unworthy asshole. Ostensibly, one who wasn’t even actually famous (à la Will Thacker in Notting Hill)—as indicated by the lyrics, “Blood sucker, fame fucker.” Because yes, more than being just a song inspired by vampires and Twilight, it’s a song that explores the detrimental effects of letting someone “emotionally suck” from you over and over again.

    Often, this is what is called an “energy vampire” (see also: What We Do In The Shadows). MARINA, another Del Rey contemporary, also explores this topic on her 2019 track from Love + Fear, “No More Suckers.” Similar to Rodrigo accusing, “The way you sold me for parts/As you sunk your teeth into me, oh/Bloodsucker, famefucker/Bleedin’ me dry like a goddamn vampire,” MARINA declares in response to such behavior, “No more suckers in my life/All the drama gets them high/I’m just trying to draw the line/No more suckers in my life/They just keep bleeding me dry/‘Til there’s nothing left inside.”

    But what Rodrigo has left inside after enduring her own “sucker” is the wisdom and the renewed strength that she will carry within her going forward. Starting to understand that, as is being said more regularly of late, the real reason older men so “love” younger women is because of how much more easily they can be manipulated. As Rodrigo sings, “Went for me and not her/‘Cause girls your age know better.” Then again, not always. Just look at Taylor falling prey to Matty Healy. At least for now, however, Rodrigo has the “benefit” of youth on her side. A.k.a. the perfect excuse for still remaining naïve despite assuming that one is infinitely more sophisticated with the passing of just a couple years. Perhaps, before the passage of that two years, it was her “greenness” that caused her to be lured in by the “parties and the diamonds” (a phrase, appropriately enough, that could be mistaken for something out of the Del Rey or MARINA canon), with such evocations only happening/appearing at night. The same time that vampires are free to come out and play. Thus, not only does Rodrigo brood, “I see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes/Six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise,” but also, “I should’ve known it was strange/You only come out at night.” Because yes, when something seems odd or too good to be true, chances are, it is.

    As Rodrigo keeps trying to carry on with her performance at the generically-titled “19th Annual Awards” (though that number has special meaning considering Rodrigo wrote most of this record when she was nineteen), audience members at first try to applaud her on before becoming scandalized via the influence of the sudden presence of “the law.” A number of police officers materializing to escort her offstage to the point where she finally gives up on the performance and runs out of the auditorium in a terrorized frenzy—all as their flashlights chase her through the darkness. These lights (and the people attached to them) continue to pursue her through the streets of L.A. (perhaps this was filmed by Petra Collins [of “good 4 u” and “brutal” repute] before Rodrigo betrayed her coast and absconded for the East…or maybe she just felt obliged to pop on over to L.A. to do the shoot).

    In the midst of reminding the “vampire” she’s addressing, “I’ve made some real big mistakes/But you make the worst one [would that be Joshua Bassett?] look fine,” Rodrigo learns that she suddenly has the vampiric power of flight, allowing her to ascend high above an L.A. freeway adjacent to Downtown (which has been getting mad play lately in videos like “Attention” and “Shy Boy”). As the cars pass behind and beneath her, it gives new meaning to the lyric, “The way you sold me for parts.” Meanwhile, the cops with their flashlights still wait down below with the same naïveté that Rodrigo once had before indulging this vampire. Earnestly belting out her pain as she looks directly into the camera, some might ask what, exactly, is supposed to differentiate any of this from Sour. Well, to remind, Rodrigo’s “mentors,” Del Rey and Swift never had (or have) to differentiate too much from one album to the next to maintain their devoted legion of listeners.

    And if Lana Del Rey’s “shtick” is being a sad girl, then so is Rodrigo’s—blending that “persona” with the heartbreak-oriented lyrics that have also made Taylor Swift such a success. Because, to be sure, heartbreak remains as timeless as sex (/sexy vampires) when it comes to “what sells.”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Madonna Is Immortal Regardless of Any Health Scares People Pounce On to Use Against Her

    Madonna Is Immortal Regardless of Any Health Scares People Pounce On to Use Against Her

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    If there is any star on this Earth who serves as an exemplar of being damned if you do and damned if you don’t, it’s one, Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone. From the moment she burst onto the scene (and caused certain men to burst out of their pants), Madonna has been condemned for being either too this, too that or not enough of this, not enough of that. Too sexual, not talented enough. Too ambitious, not caring enough. Too caring (therefore “fake”), not focused enough on her career anymore. The pendulum-swinging list goes on. And in the wake of her health scare heard ‘round the world (indeed, not since Madonna fell off her horse in 2005 has her health had quite such a scare), the latest thing Madonna gets to be accused of after being “obsessed” with immortality is, in fact, being mortal.

    Although the media and hoi polloi have long demanded of Madonna that she “act her age” and “surrender to being ‘old,’” her “brush with death” has proven that no matter what she does, in the eyes of the public, they want her to be the exact opposite only when it’s convenient for them. And, at present, what’s convenient for them is wanting her to go back to “being her immortal self.” The one who would say (and mean) shit like, “So, how do I stay in shape? It’s all in your head… It’s called will, it’s called no one’s gonna stop me, and how I stay in shape is no one’s gonna stop me. And how I stay in shape is I don’t believe in limitations.” Alas, her body is apparently not in agreement with her mind at this juncture. And it likely has everything to do with her tendency to push herself to the physical limits whenever she’s about to embark on a world tour. For, despite having passed more choreography on to her backup dancers in recent years (like Kylie Minogue in the “Padam Padam” video), Madonna is still very much involved in all the dance numbers that go on. She is, after all, a dancer at her core. That’s what set her entire career into motion. So hell no, she ain’t gonna stop dancing. Regardless of so-called age limitations.

    That said, the likelihood of her getting a bacterial infection stemming from pushing herself to the brink while rehearsing is all but assured. Almost as much as the public suddenly using it as an opportunity to say either 1) see? We told you she was old and should slow down or 2) why can’t she prove herself to be the sole intstance of pop icon immortality like she always said she would be? Either way, the public wins by setting up Madonna to fail in one manner or the other. That her own family should take the chance to swoop in and further plant the seeds about Madonna’s frailty is also telling of what the pop star is up against. That is to say, being unable to trust even those theoretically closest to her to have a little faith and uphold her image of being physically “infallible.” Because for someone like Madonna to lose hold of that image is especially heart-wrenching when considering she came of age in an era of stardom when “presentation” and “illusion” still meant everything. When it wasn’t fashionable to “let it all hang out” with no sense of polish. In short, at a time when being a star meant never pulling back the curtain behind the Wizard of Oz. Not in the name of “inclusivity,” “body positivity” or anything else.

    So for an unnamed member of the Ciccone brood to come out (and to The Daily Mail of all places) with tidbits like how the family was “preparing for the worst,” that she “believes that she is invincible” and that she “has been wearing herself thin over the past couple of months” is only an additional blow to someone who already has to deal with the wagging tongues of so many non-family members as well. Except that, as is usually the case, only when she’s been felled do the masses finally throw her a bone with a touch of sympathy and appreciation (even if that wasn’t really what went down when she took a tumble due to a wardrobe malfunction at the 2015 BRIT Awards). Only then do they suddenly remember how bangin’ all her hits are, everything she’s achieved and all she’s done for the LGBTQIA+ community.

    To this point, it was during a 1995 VH1 interview with Jane Pratt that Madonna sagely remarked, “When I’m dead, they’ll finally kiss my ass.” That seems to be exactly what’s happening now, even if only with the “threat” of her death, as people start to realize just how valuable she is to pop culture. Nay, she is pop culture. Even more than a particular woman who came before her: Cher. An icon that, let it be known, likely hasn’t had any public health issues because she’s more or less been in retirement (at least tour-wise) since the 00s. A decade when Madonna, in contrast, managed to achieve some of her biggest successes, including major album sales from Music and Confessions on a Dance Floor, as well as entering the Guinness Book of World Records for the highest-grossing tour by a female artist thanks to the 2008-2009 Sticky & Sweet Tour.

    In the same aforementioned interview, Madonna reminded, “When Marilyn Monroe was alive, they were so vicious and cruel to her. They ripped her to shreds. They wouldn’t give it up to her in any way, shape or form. And then when she died, it was just like, ‘Oh, she’s a comedic genius.’ I mean, excuse me… They do that to everybody.” But Madonna definitely leads the pack on having such a thing done to her. And, in Marilyn’s favor, at least she was a star during a time when memes didn’t yet exist for people to so ruthlessly mock her (which they surely would have vis-à-vis her pill and alcohol addiction), or her own various health scares that she had throughout her career. But again, it was an era when any such “imperfections” of celebrities were protected under lock and key thanks to studio “fixers” and vague gossip column reverence. Not to mention an era when you were typically “put out to pasture” as a woman by the age of forty or sooner.

    What’s more, Madonna is a rare exception in the annals of most pop culture icons in that she never allowed any drug-related vices to get the better of her. Thus, outliving so many of her contemporaries—Prince and Michael Jackson included. But the older Madonna gets, the more likely she is to become extremely private about her health. After all, it’s something people love to use against her as a means to lord mortality over her, as though getting off on the fact that she’s actually human while, at the same time, treating her so inhumanely with their nonstop barrage of venomous comments whenever she reveals any modicum of weakness (whether physical or emotional). By the same token, they begrudge her for insisting that she is, in truth, immortal.  

    As she’s quoted saying in a 2015 Vice article, “I want to live forever and I’m going to.” Indeed, even if Madonna dies, she’s going to live on. And those either relishing her ICU stay or all at once getting the notion to appreciate her in lieu of joining in on the usual “shit on Madonna” parade would do well to remember that.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • In Praise of Silent Men: Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Shy Boy”

    In Praise of Silent Men: Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Shy Boy”

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    Despite barely a year passing since Carly Rae Jepsen released her sixth album, The Loneliest Time, the Canadian “pop savant” has spared the wait for fresh material via a new single called “Shy Boy” (which will probably appear on The Loneliest Time: Side B). Clearly inspired by her own bashful boo, Cole M.G.N. (formerly married to Ramona Gonzalez a.k.a. Nite Jewel), the producer is featured as the love interest (not much of an acting stretch) in Jepsen’s “official visualizer” (which really just looks a lot like a music video) as though to further prove that point. Indeed, Jepsen has urged her fans during the promotion of this single, “Don’t rule out the quiet ones.” Which, to be sure, sounds more like reminding people not to rule “the quiet ones” out as murder suspects (because, as the well-known cliché goes, “It’s always the quiet ones”). As opposed to, you know, romantic prospects. But Jepsen is definitely onto something with recommending the pursuit of a shy boy because, to be sure, he tends to be better in bed.

    The problem with shy boys, of course, is actually getting them to come out of their shell long enough to ensnare them. That, and they can often be too shy to dance. Or take the initiative to ask a girl to join him in one “on the floor” (to use a J. Lo song title). So it is that Jepsen opens the track with the très direct sentiment/question, “You’re pretty, we’re drinking/So I say what I’m thinking/How come everybody’s dancing but you?” With an ego boost from an extrovert like Jepsen (elucidating, once more, that if you ever met an introvert, it was because they were friends or lovers with an extrovert), it shouldn’t take much longer before the shy boy becomes ephemerally emboldened. Which is clearly what must have happened between her and Cole M.G.N., who Jepsen has been dating since mid-2022 (with Jepsen going “Instagram official” with the producer on her November 21st birthday). In fact, she displayed her own sense of shyness about publicizing the relationship because, as she phrased it, “I’m careful… [relationships are] something I want to protect and keep for myself. But at the same time, it’s fun to show the development of something when you’re really excited about it, and I’m definitely very excited about him.”

    “Shy Boy” further confirms that outlook months later as Jepsen makes Cole M.G.N. her leading man in the folie à deux (at least when it comes to the “shared delusion” of falling in love) visualizer. But who knows, maybe it was just Jepsen’s way of apologizing for not letting him produce the single (James Ellis Ford got that privilege instead). Driving down L.A.’s 4th Street Bridge (which also recently made a cameo in Doja Cat’s “Attention” video), her shy boy rides shotgun as they exit the bridge and approach the Honey building (better known as “the coupon deal app that took over the historic Coca-Cola building”). From there, the two oblige in Jepsen’s desire to dance when Cole twirls her around in front of a theater’s exterior. At this point, the “visualizer” portion of the video comes into play when the chorus of the song is inserted as though we’re watching a silent movie (after all, Jepsen is an L.A. enthusiast, which automatically infers being a movie history one as well).

    So it is that, through this chorus (whether visualized or heard), Jepsen gives shy boys everywhere a dose of confidence when she says, “Shy boy stir me up/You didn’t even know you got the Midas touch/Whoa/Come pick me up” and “He’s got the Midas touch/Everything he touch turns to gold.” And, in truth, Jepsen may end up doing a disservice to women (and gay men) everywhere who were already well-aware of the value of a shy boy. Then again, perhaps that’s also the type of boy that Britney was talking about on “Radar” when she said, “A man with a Midas touch/Intoxicate me, I’m a lush/Stop, you’re making me blush/People are looking at us.” In which case, the shy boy can turn an extrovert equally shy with his steamy stare.

    The duo’s whimsical drive through Downtown L.A. continues as the visualizer then cuts to Jepsen inching toward the Haas Building on 7th Street before the scene cuts to her moving through a more residential neighborhood. After a long day of “romantic driving” (because, yes, such a thing exists in California…when there’s no traffic), the L.A. stage switches to the MacArthur Park Lake set, where a bevy of swan boats are showcased as they twinkle in conjunction with the city lights. Jepsen then persists in her tourism ad for Los Angeles by appearing in one of said paddle boats with her shy boy. Afterward, the pair walks through the streets of L.A., lights strung all over the place, as though the only two people left in the world are them (like Lana said, “The world was built for two”). Even if that’s the case, there might still be an unanticipated third party watching them with voyeuristic zeal as we then get a POV shot from the street below their window. One that frames Cole twirling Jepsen around again (they love that move) for a heightened effect that serves “only lovers left alive” vibes in spades.

    As for Jepsen’s sexual innuendo abilities, there’s plenty of meaning to be extrapolated from, “Shy boy, stir me up/I get a little somethin’ from your morning cup.” Namely, like, is she talking about his morning load? Because that’s how it comes across to the so-called filthy-minded. Either way, Jepsen concludes the whimsy-laden visualizer with “FIN” for added 60s French film-level quirk. Thus, with that “FIN,” a new appreciation for shy boys and the adage they embody—“silence is golden”—is entered into the pop music canon. Joining the likes of other odes to shyness and introspection, such as the Beach Boys’ “In My Room,” Bananarama’s “Shy Boy,” Kajagoogoo’s “Too Shy,” The Smiths’ “Ask,” Radiohead’s “Creep,” Kate Nash’s “Mariella,” Jordin Sparks’ “Shy Boy,” Hailee Steinfeld’s “Hell Nos and Headphones,” Bebe Rexha’s “Me, Myself and I” (more so than Beyoncé’s “Me, Myself and I” ‘cause it’s about “resorting” to being alone only because you’ve been cheated on) and Em Beihold’s “Too Precious.” And, undoubtedly, the next “shy”/“shy boy” song to come out is going to have to be something really special to one-up Jepsen’s.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Odes to Willful Oblivion: Taylor Swift’s “Lavender Haze” and Miley Cyrus’ “Rose Colored Lenses”

    Odes to Willful Oblivion: Taylor Swift’s “Lavender Haze” and Miley Cyrus’ “Rose Colored Lenses”

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    Talk of being in the initial throes of an intense love (or, at least, an intense infatuation) is nothing new in terms of fodder for pop songs. In truth, it’s what most pop songs—the “timeless” ones, anyway—are renowned for. Because, in addition to Jane Austen novels and rom-coms, they peddle the beloved lie of a love that can last forever. Not just any love though: a passionate one that burns and endures long after the honeymoon phase. And yet, with Taylor Swift’s “Lavender Haze” and Miley Cyrus’ “Rose Colored Lenses” being released on the heels of one another (with the former put out as a single in November of 2022 and the latter unveiled on Cyrus’ Endless Summer Vacation in March of this year), the subject of being willfully caught in the veil of amorous illusion (presumably in a shade of lavender or pink) has made a surprising comeback. While one might have formerly associated such talk of young love (meaning a new love in general, not merely or solely being of a “young age” and also being in love) with the 1950s (e.g., The Platters’ “Only You,” The Flamingos’ “I Only Have Eyes For You” and Dean Martin’s “That’s Amore”), it seems that Swift and Cyrus each want to do their part to remind audiences that a “pop song kind of love” remains possible. Even in this epoch of sex robots and AI.

    With the aforementioned 50s in mind, it’s only appropriate that Swift extrapolated the title of “Lavender Haze” from none other than the “Golden Age of Television” itself. A term that Mad Men revitalized in a season two episode called “The Mountain King.” In it, Don tells Anna Draper (Melinda Page Hamilton), the widowed wife of the real Don Draper, that he’s met a girl. In this case, Betty (January Jones). Seeing the way he lights up when he talks about her, Anna remarks, “Look at you. You’re in the lavender haze.” At this time, it would have been the late 50s, so it tracks when Swift noted of the song, “…it turns out that it was a common phrase that was used in the 50s where they would just describe being in love. Like, if you were in the ‘Lavender Haze,’ that meant you were in that all-encompassing love glow, and I thought that was really beautiful.” Even if also kind of vomit-inducing.

    As for Cyrus, she opted to use a more conventional, widely-known expression by turning “rose colored glasses” into “rose colored lenses” for a song that very much echoes the sentiments presented in “Lavender Haze.” Chief among them wanting to stay in the bubble that a freshly-brewing love can accommodate. One characterized by sex-stained sheets and never leaving the bedroom. Cyrus addresses this indelible image (a common cliché for good reason) in the lyrics, “We could stay like this forever/Lost in wonderland/With our head above the clouds/Fallin’ stupid like we’re kids/Wearin’ rose colored lenses/Let’s just play pretend.”

    Indeed, that’s exactly what Swift wants to keep doing as well, even as the curious, prying eyes of the media start to encroach upon her. This much is addressed in that portion of “Lavender Haze” that goes, “I just wanna stay in that lavender haze…/Talk your talk and go viral/I just need this love spiral/Get it off your chest/Get it off my desk.” In other words, let a bitch keep fucking in peace without media gossip buzzing in her ear. And yet, as Swift acknowledged, even the hoi polloi are subjected to their lavender haze being burst sooner and with more ease in this modern era of social media. So it was that she remarked of its relatability to the “commoner,” “I guess theoretically when you’re in the ‘Lavender Haze,’ you’ll do anything to stay there and not let people bring you down off of that cloud. And I think a lot of people have to deal with this now—not just, like, quote-unquote public figures—because we live in the era of social media and if the world finds out that you’re in love with somebody, they’re gonna weigh in on it.”

    Cyrus clearly feels the same way about protecting a new relationship’s privacy as she croons, “Let’s just play pretend/Wearin’ rose colored lenses/Pretend we’ll never end/Naked in conversation/Drown me in your delight/Endless summer vacation/Make it last ’til we die.” When Cyrus refers to a “death” here, however, it seems to allude more to the Lana Del Rey sense of it when she woefully laments of being a couple in love before the inevitable breakup, “You and I/We were born to die.” But until then, Cyrus insists that they “make a mess of a nice hotel.”

    Swift, too, exhibits the sort of willful naïveté (read: denial) that makes her capable of ignoring reality for as long as possible. Six years, to be exact. For that was the extent of her “lavender haze” with Joe Alwyn, the muse who inspired the track (as he did numerous others of Swift’s from Reputation onward). As for the other “muse” of the single—the 50s—funnily enough, Swift mocks the very decade (and its narrow-minded views of women) that’s technically responsible for creating the song at all. This despite overtly paying homage to that period in time when love—specifically, “fresh love”—was painted with the very rose colored lenses Cyrus also speaks to in her song of the same name. Nonetheless, Swift rebuffs “quaint” 50s ideas via the lines, “All they keep askin’ me/Is if I’m gonna be your bride/The only kind of girl they see/Is a one-night or a wife,” in addition to, “Surreal, I’m damned if I do give a damn what people say/No deal, the 1950s shit they want from me.”

    In the end, though, it’s “1950s shit” that both Swift and Cyrus (along with so many others) patently want out of love. Which is why they know they must keep their tinted haze/glasses up for as long as possible in order to continue fostering the delusion that such a thing can exist. As everyone must…before the smoke clears, the tint of the glasses dissipates and all we see in front of us is a hideous monster that makes us want to take a Lysol shower as a result of ever allowing them access to our body and mind.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Bebe Rexha Hardly Has the Best Fuckin’ Night of Her Life (But It Might Be For Her Career)

    Bebe Rexha Hardly Has the Best Fuckin’ Night of Her Life (But It Might Be For Her Career)

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    Although it should go without saying by now, it’s clear that New York continues to be the source of all pain. Just ask “hometown heroine” of said city, Bebe Rexha, as she recovers from an injury incurred while onstage at The Rooftop at Pier 17. The Lower Manhattan performance space is ironically described as “a stunning location for music gigs.” And yes, it certainly “stunned” Rexha on Sunday, June 18th (Father’s Day, incidentally). But not because of the views, so much as the pelting of her face by an audience member’s smartphone. That audience member was twenty-seven-year-old Nicolas Malvagna from New Jersey (unfortunately doing little to improve the already low opinion of Italian-Americans that the U.S. so relishes stereotyping in the worst ways). The irony gets more profound when taking into account that Malvagna works at a luxury dog kennel, where he apparently learned from the best how to be an absolute bitch.

    Though some of the headlines and articles about the incident have described the person who threw the phone at Rexha as “a fan,” it hardly seems to be very “fan-like” behavior to do something so cruel. And, of course, not to judge a book by its cover, but the dude in question hardly looks like he truly gives a shit about the bops Rexha churns out on the regular. The vibe he gives off is more on the spectrum of: “Let me show up to this random concert and see what kind of shit I can stir up.” With regard to those bops Rexha has been turning out for years now, a new slew is presently featured on her latest album, Bebe, for which she’s been touring to promote under the Best F’n Night of My Life moniker. This being a reference to her hit, “I’m Good (Blue),” with David Guetta that samples Eiffel 65’s “Blue (Da Ba Dee).” The revamped track features the lyrics, “I’m good, yeah, I’m feelin’ alright/Baby, I’ma have the best fuckin’ night of my life.” Obviously, she did not have any such kind of night on the 18th. And yet, despite the cruelty she endured for no good reason other than the kennel worker thought “it would be funny” (and sure, there are a great many with that schadenfreude-type sense of humor), one can’t deny that this incident has been a slight boon for her career. Because, unfortunately, for whatever reason, Rexha has never garnered the level of fame that matches her output and ostensible work ethic. On par with Rita Ora in terms of being a consistently “under the radar hitmaker,” Rexha has now inarguably gained more publicity for this assault than she ever has for any of her music. An unfair reality, but a reality nonetheless. Though that doesn’t mean Rexha should exactly be “thanking” Malvagna (even if he might see it that way due to the international headline-making the entire debacle caused).

    What’s more, the smartphone attack has started a somewhat faux intellectual a.k.a. insipid conversation about the ever-“toxic” nature of fandoms and the parasocial dynamics they entail. To this end, Rexha’s contribution to Eminem and Rihanna’s 2013 hit, “Monster,” would address those dynamics via the lyrics, “I wanted the fame but not the cover of Newsweek/Oh well, guess beggars can’t be choosey/Wanted to receive attention for my music/Wanted to be left alone in public, excuse me/For wantin’ my cake, and eat it too, and wantin’ it both ways.” In Malvagna’s case, however, the occurrence comes off as something of an “anti-parasocial” relationship—hating someone so much, you’d throw a phone at them. At the same time, perhaps he wanted to get her attention so badly as a “fan” that he felt “obliged” to do it in the most detrimental way possible (in addition to thinking it would be “funny”).

    This pertains to the so-called trend that’s been going on of late at live shows that involves a “fan” tossing something (phones, Skittles, whatever) at the performer in question so that they might catch the celebrity’s eye (or just outright damage it). It surely must have worked for Malvagna, but at what cost? Now charged with assault in the third degree, for all one knows, Malvagna may have also brought up the overdue need for a post-9/11 sort of security for concert-going, wherein a protective divider is put up between singers and their “fans” to keep the former from being physically harmed in some unexpected way (because no concert promoter wants to deal with trying to confiscate audience members’ phones). Although many musicians actually relish the performing aspect of their profession more than any other (complete with getting “up close and personal” with their devoted listeners), it appears as though the mentally erratic nature of humanity at large (and who can blame them all with a system like this?) is increasingly a hazard to singers everywhere.

    Funnily enough, earlier on in the show, Rexha had brought a fan from El Salvador up onstage to join in for “I’m Gonna Show You Crazy,” one of Rexha’s earliest singles from 2014. The title, of course, would become retroactively uncanny after Malvagna decided to do just that with his disgusting, unhinged behavior.

    Although Rexha revealed her “good sportsmanship” (and sense of humor) about the matter by posting a picture of herself with a bruised eye and three stitches the following day, it’s evident that she’s been understandably shaken by the event. Which itself has set off a chain reaction among fans both threatening to harm the person who did it, and Serbians expressing delight that this was done to an Albanian (this exemplified in the comments on her “I’m good” post such as, “You asked for it—now deal with it. This will likely remain a scar. So next time, sing. And don’t mix politics!,” “You deserve it exactly what you wanted Albanian signs of your performance there you got it” and “That’s what you get when you’re claiming the territories that belong to Greece, Serbia, Montenegro, North Macedonia for the great Albania with that eagle symbol you made with your hands just before you got hit in the head”). Meanwhile, Saint Hoax commented on the photo, “Trust, he will be dealt with” and then proceeded to post a barrage of fan comments pertaining how undeserved it was, how parasocial relationships are “reaching an all-time high” and that this is why celebrities put up walls. That might become more literal in the future at concerts.

    As for the ever-mutating, monstrous inclinations of “fans” as the twenty-first century rages on, Rexha’s brush with death à la Tai Frasier at the Westside Pavilion is now being used as the latest example of what people think they’re “owed” for paying a celebrity’s way in life. Willfully forgetting that they are ultimately nothing more than the “consumer” to the celebrity “producer.” Similar phenomena have occurred in recent months with both Doja Cat and, arguably, Taylor Swift, who appears to have been undeniably influenced by fans’ venomous reactions (including Azealia Banks’ delightfully savage one) to her dating The 1975’s Matty Healy. As for the former, her decision not to take the stage at the Asunciónico festival in Paraguay back in March due to inclement weather led fans to storm the outside of her hotel in protest. This, in turn, prompted Doja to change her Twitter name to “i quit” and then tweet, ““This shit ain’t for me so I’m out. Ya’ll take care.” Her threat to abruptly retire, of course, didn’t pan out (with the singer recently releasing a new single called, appropriately, “Attention”), but it’s indicative of an overarching sense of dissatisfaction with what it means to be a celebrity at this moment in time. Particularly a musician. For, back in the day, audiences not only seemed to have more decorum (even swooning, sex-crazed girls at Elvis or The Beatles concerts), but they, most of important at all, didn’t have access to technological devices that could be rendered lethal when launched on a sick whim.

    In any event, the video footage of Rexha getting pummeled by the flying phone will likely become the stuff of solid meme gold in the future. For that, in the end, is the only “silver lining” that can be seen in any negative event.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgnfKVYaKxo

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • The Birth of Lana Del Rey’s Nepo Daddy

    The Birth of Lana Del Rey’s Nepo Daddy

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    God might have created Adam, but Lana Del Rey (“God” to many fans) created Rob Grant. At least in his current incarnation as “musician.” While most parents either want to reap the benefits of their famous child’s bank account in relative anonymity or use that fame to make another child in their family famous (see: the Culkins), Lana Del Rey’s father, Rob Grant (a.k.a. Robert England Grant), has opted to parlay his daughter’s devoted following into a musical career of his own. While it has long been rumored that Del Rey’s musical journey would itself not be in existence without her father’s fortune to keep pushing it along (which isn’t entirely untrue, as having the knowledge that you can always be bailed out by Daddy makes it impossible for one to live like “Common People,” to quote Pulp), Del Rey has technically done her father even more of a solid by using her industry connections to help him create his dream record, Lost At Sea. A “classical” album buttressed by two tracks featuring Del Rey (proudly promoted with the copy, “Featuring Daughter Lana Del Rey”), “Lost At Sea” and “Hollywood Bowl.” It is the latter during which Del Rey has the bravado to say, “I’ve got a dad who plays like Billy Joel.”

    Although Grant has no formal training in piano, he can sit down and “play perfectly” without requiring any sheet music or otherwise preconceived rehearsal. That’s how “Sweet Carolina,” the final track on Lana Del Rey’s Blue Banisters album came to be. And with that, the seed was planted for Grant to create a record of his own. Complete with access to Del Rey’s go-to producer, Jack Antonoff. Because yes, it was never really a question in his mind that he wouldn’t be able to release whatever music he wanted using the best resources. Not just because he’s a millionaire, but because his daughter’s support would greatly increase his chance of garnering interest in his work, therefore the chance for success.

    This has already manifested in the news that Lost At Sea took the number one spot on the US iTunes Classical Album Chart and the number one spot on the UK Classical Artist Albums Chart. The latter prompting Grant to gush, “I think it’s fitting that Father’s Day falls on this weekend—because Lost At Sea is a Grant family affair. I could not have made this album without my remarkable children by my side. So thank you Lana, Chuck and Charlie… I am a very lucky dad!” Not sure why Charlie got thanked (at least Chuck did the photography for the album), but it’s clear he’s more than grateful for Del Rey’s clout in giving him a leg-up/allowing him to take a major shortcut in the line of “musical success.” Granted, it certainly helps to have a niche shtick like classical music to assist in securing said success.

    Of course, Grant is no stranger to hedging bets. As has been mentioned in the various articles about him and his new record, he’s dabbled in many a lucrative trade (most famously, purchasing a number of generic web domain names prior to the internet really taking off) before finally landing on “pianist” in time for his septuagenarian years. Indeed, one might say he knew the importance of securing his bag before leaning into music as much as he leaned into being dubbed the industry’s first notable case of a “nepo daddy”—you know, as opposed to adhering to the usual norm of being a nepo baby.

    At one point in all the hullaballoo surrounding the nepo daddy jokes, Pebe Sebert, mother to nepo baby Kesha, “jokingly” tweeted, “Is he single?” (cue the Kesha line from “Only Love Can Save Us Now” that goes, “I’m gettin’ sued because my mama’s been tweetin’”). Rob responded to that question by reminding People magazine of his enduring marriage to the mother Del Rey seems to despise (if her lyrical references to Patricia a.k.a. “Pat” are any indication). Thus, he stated, “God bless her. Of course, I’m married. I have a wife, so we want to make that clear, but I thank [Pebe] for her support.” Not to mention the legion of Del Rey fans who are mostly “supporting” him because of their obsession with Lake Placid’s most famous former resident. And, speaking of, Papa Del Rey still lives in Upstate NY with the woman Daughter Del Rey has no qualms talking shit about.

    Perhaps if Pat had been a bit more compassionate toward Del Rey when she was a youth instead of shipping her off to boarding school, “Lizzy” would have also helped her matriarch out with any potential entertainment industry goals. But her Electra complex seems to be partially at play here in terms of ensuring Rob lives out his “rock star” fantasies while her mother has to watch from the sidelines in the midst of her husband gaining more love, now even from total strangers. More than just a “kind gesture” from Lana, it feels like a conscientious dig. Conscientious enough for Del Rey to give the greatest Father’s Day gift of all—industry clout—with Lost At Sea being released so close to the third Sunday of June, which is itself also close to Del Rey’s June 21st birthday. This done while willfully speaking out against Mother’s Day in years prior.

    As the world further embraces the so-called first Nepo Daddy, Grant seems convinced the chance for a Nepo Mommy to come along is close at hand, too—hence, telling The Face, “I also registered nepomommy.com.” Because Rob remains all about the Benjamins before he remains all about his “art.” What he seems to be underestimating, however, is the extent to which people don’t want “older” women to succeed. And they barely “let” the ones who have done so on their own merit do it past “a certain age” (with the rare exception of Kylie Minogue, who owes a debt to Madonna for that). In contrast, older men are continually fetishized and championed—obviously by the likes of Lana Del Rey herself. She being the inarguable number one “Champion of Daddy.” And now, the number one “Champion of Nepo Daddy.”

    Whereas mothers like June George (Amy Poehler) in Mean Girls (or Kris Jenner doing a sendup of her in Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next” video) can’t be seen as a “cool mom,” Rob is confirmed as a definite “cool daddy” (gross), with Del Rey telling The Face, “He was definitely cool. He was so easygoing. I never heard him yell one time. I thought of him like playtime… I haven’t seen anything ever affect him.” Another point in the minus column for Pat, who wasn’t “playtime” at all.

    ​Grant’s soothing effect on his daughter is evidently something he wants to share with everyone, announcing of his album, “This is literally music for a troubled world. And that’s why the wellness space has grown. [It’s] now bigger than the classical and jazz [worlds] combined. And it’s getting bigger, because the whole world is on edge now.” One of those reasons for being “on edge,” incidentally, is nepotism in the entertainment industry being written off with jocular shrugging by those who have benefitted from it.

    And yet, the nepotism Grant has been bestowed isn’t just from being ferried, like some sort of god (Zeus), into the industry. It’s a nepotism from Del Rey herself—and one clearly designed to dig the knife further into Pat for “fucking up big time” when “Lizzy” was a child. Ergo, the “Fingertips” lyrics, “What the fuck’s wrong in your head to send me away never to come back/Exotic places and people to take the place of being your child?” Though one isn’t quite sure how Rob gets a pass on what happened when he was just as responsible for the decision ultimately made. Call it the blessing of being a “Daddy.” So much less easy to vilify than Mommy when it comes to daughter dynamics.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • The Verve Wants Its Video Concept Back: Doja Cat’s “Attention”

    The Verve Wants Its Video Concept Back: Doja Cat’s “Attention”

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    Never mind that Miley Cyrus not too long ago declared, “I need attention” on a song (and live album) titled, what else, “Attention”—Doja Cat has her own take on “the matter” that is attention craving (and despising). Treating the “monster” that is wanting—nay, needing—to be noticed like it’s a “thing” that has to be fed, Doja chants during her lulling chorus, “(Love me)/It needs, it seeks affection/(So sweet)/Hungry, it fiends attention/(Hungry)/It needs, it seeks affection/Hungry, it fiends.” In an age where everyone is compelled to engage in more absurd, potentially dangerous (to others and the self) behavior in order to gain attention on social media, that line hits especially hard. And, talking of “hard,” Doja’s entire aim with the rollout of her upcoming fourth record is to return to the so-called hardness that characterized the rap stylings of her first EP, Purrr!, and debut album, Amala.

    Wanting to stray (no cat pun intended) away from what she’s deemed the “pink and soft things” and the “pop and glittery sounds” that punctuated the likes of Hot Pink and Planet Her, Doja establishes a tone of defiance with this Rogét Chahayed and Y2K-produced single. Claiming that she would “do no more pop” after securing the “cash grabs” furnished by her previous two records, the more “esoteric” nature of “Attention” is extremely deliberate. Nonetheless, her pivot toward something like an “anti-media” track is very much in the style of a pop star. Like, say, Britney Spears…who famously released the rumination on getting too much negative attention that is “Piece of Me” in 2007. In fact, the entire Blackout album was both a “fuck you” to the paparazzi that had made her life a waking nightmare and a total embracement of the “bad girl” image that the media wanted her to cater to, per their love of placing people on pedestals only to knock them down.

    Prior to “Piece of Me,” Britney would also provide “My Prerogative” and “Do Somethin’” as singles tackling the topic of negative attention in 2004 (indeed, it’s a wonder that Spears never had a song called “Attention” herself). But one thing Brit didn’t address in these songs that Doja Cat does on “Attention” is that age-old question, “Ain’t the bad press good?” This erstwhile-adhered-to theory about how “there’s no such thing as bad press,” however, has very much fallen off in the wake of cancel culture. And Doja is no stranger to that “culture” for many reasons at this point—from being accused of condoning and promoting white supremacy to consistently collaborating with Dr. Luke (though she did announce she had no intention of working with him ever again back in 2021). In point of fact, all of her albums have been released through Dr. Luke’s Kemosabe Records imprint, thanks to Doja getting signed to the label after being connected to the Kesha-torturing producer through Yeti Beats. Which was, to be “fair,” the year before Kesha went public with her allegations. So how could Doja have known any better, right?

    And yet, everyone who has continued to work with Dr. Luke post-Kesha revelation has only served to prove that women’s voices still aren’t heard. Worse still, no one wants to hear them. Especially if it means profit losses. And the partnership between Doja and Dr. Luke has been very profitable indeed—complete with several Grammy nominations for both. What’s more, even if she “doesn’t work with him” again, she’ll always technically be working with him so long as she releases music through Kemosabe. Which is exactly what she’s doing with her fourth record. Because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as though other artists are shy about continuing to share in song composing glory with him, including Kim Petras, who has been, worse still, ardently defensive in her choice to keep collaborating with him, stating, “I have nothing to say or be ashamed of at all” in a 2022 tweet. As if.

    In any case, the point is that Doja has gotten all manner of negative attention not just in spite of but because of her success. That much is immediately addressed in the opening scenes of her “Attention” video, directed by Tanu Muino—who has been coming out with the most standout music videos in the game of late, including Lil Nas X’s “Montero,” Normani featuring Cardi B’s “Wild Side” and Elton and Britney’s “Hold Me Closer.” Yet, for as usually “unique” as Muino’s stylings are, there is a noticeable similarity to a certain signature 90s video in “Attention.” One that doesn’t come across right away as Doja starts off driving through Downtown LA as a slew of onlookers equipped with warped faces (much like the ones Madonna encounters in “Drowned World/Substitute For Love”) clamor around her. Staring out the window of her car as she drives slowly past them to lap up the old school paparazzi flashbulbs (acting as though it’s still TMZ’s peak era of 00s paparazzi stalking, despite flashbulbs having long ago gone the way of the dodo at that point, too), Doja croons the eerie chorus.

    For a meta effect, the car she’s driving suddenly encounters another Doja Cat entering the crosswalk as she gives “Car Doja” a venomous “I’m walkin’ here” type of look. It’s then that we veer into the territory of a fairly direct ripoff of what The Verve’s Richard Ashcroft did in 1997’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony” video (itself something of an offshoot of Massive Attack’s “Unfinished Sympathy” concept). Except that Doja, instead of using London’s Hoxton Street, wields the streets of DTLA (near the Los Angeles Theater) to fade into the “crowd” as she also bumps into it (granted, not as bombastically as Ashcroft). After Doja rails against her proverbial haters throughout this scene (hence, bumping into the various passersby who have disgusted looks on their faces as they take note of her presence), Muino pans over and up to the “stars” (as if L.A. has any of those) in the night sky and transitions into a scene of Doja looking as though she’s beneath water. Bedecked in plenty of neck jewelry, it’s the only thing to distract from her torso’s nudity, which speaks to the line, “Look at me, look at me, I’m naked/Vulnerability earned me a lot of bacon.”

    Except that Doja isn’t entirely naked, wearing a thong to further highlight a lyric like, “I put a thong all in my ass and taught you how to shake it.” Not exactly true—for there have been so many women, Black and otherwise, before Doja who have shown us all how to shake our asses, albeit for much less cash. Alas, Doja is clearly not in the mood to be modest about what she’s “accomplished,” also rapping, “Man, I been humble, I’m tired of all the deprecation/Just let me flex, bruh, just let me pop shit.” An interesting choice, that word: “pop.” Considering how much she presently hates it due to the musical genre association. But, despite making pop music her bitch (again, thanks in part to Dr. Luke), Doja is determined to return to her “rap roots.” Even if they were never as strong as the ones her idol, Nicki Minaj, has. To that end, Minaj, too, is no stranger to expressing her frustrations with being deemed somehow “less relevant” in the rap realm just because she’s excelled in pop (an issue that came to roost with the Grammy nominations last year).

    Regardless of that success, as Doja once forewarned on her first EP via “Beautiful,” “Even if you think you know me/A woman changes with the seasons.” And this is the season of the Attention Whore (also, incidentally, the name of a Tove Lo track), as Doja, during those “underwater-esque” scenes, proceeds to exude orgasm-like ecstasy while words such as “Love Me” and “Hungry” flash on the screen in red. Muino then takes us back onto the streets of L.A. with Doja “attired” in her version of a Scarlet Witch “ensemble” (that looks mostly like body paint…and yes, somewhat echoes her red body paint aesthetic for Schiaparelli’s haute couture show in Paris earlier this year). Things continue to get more surreal as she walks down the street again while the passersby this time around appear to be wearing what amount to “flesh masks.”

    Eventually, she peers into the window of a car (almost like Vivian Ward might) as though looking for herself in the driver’s seat again. Instead, all she sees is her own reflection before Muino takes us out of Downtown LA and onto the 4th Street Bridge where Doja can see the skyline of Downtown from her new perch. Soon, she seems to transform into the very “it” she keeps referring to when it comes to feeding the “attention beast” as her nipples flash a neon alien green while she stands against a floodlight type of backdrop.

    In the final frame, the circular flashbulb that keeps “subliminally” appearing in various scenes shows up again more prominently, looking like both a flashbulb and a human eye itself. With oh so many eyes watching Doja by now and giving her the attention she simultaneously loves and loathes. As is the case with most famous people after a certain point in their careers.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • The Wonderful Bizarreness of Kesha’s “Only Love Can Save Us Now” Video

    The Wonderful Bizarreness of Kesha’s “Only Love Can Save Us Now” Video

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    As Kesha continues on her Gag Order journey, the latest visual she’s provided fans with is one for the non-formulaic dance ditty known as “Only Love Can Save Us Now.” Described by Kesha herself as a single inspired by how “the ludicrosity of life can make you crazy. If anything, IF ANYTHING, can save us, I believe only love can. This song is a desperate and angry prayer. A call to the light when all feels lost.” Indeed, it is this type of rallying battle cry that people need more than ever at this point in time to keep themselves going (because we all know that humans are built to insist on “enduring” even when they know damn well they shouldn’t bother). Commencing the video with a portion of the “Only Love Reprise,” featuring the vocal stylings of Kesha’s niece, Luna, the latter’s little girl voice tells us, “This is reality, can’t you feel it?” Though the following portion of the reprise isn’t included in the video, to give more context for Kesha’s mental state, the rest of Luna’s monologue goes: “I am one with what I am. Everything in color, everything. You have to see the air, you can’t believe it.” The faint harmonization of the chorus, “Only love can save us now” briefly interjects before Luna concludes, “I wish I could talk in Technicolor.”

    If anyone has been able to “talk that way” through music, however, it’s been Kesha. With an entire career characterized by a glitter and rainbow aesthetic (shit, she even had album called Rainbow—sorry Mariah), her message has always been one of, let’s say, “peace, love and positivity.” Even through her darkest hours. Which is part of why she was so nervous about releasing Gag Order, her “least fun” album to date because it broaches topics that veer away from the party/“brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack” lifestyle. Instead choosing to explore more existential issues—this being part of why Ram Dass is a fixture on the record (therefore gets his own interlude). But because she is, in fact, Kesha, even her existential ruminations can’t help but have a danceable beat. Case in point, “Only Love Can Save Us Now.”

    Directed by Vincent Haycock (who has previously directed videos like Lana Del Rey’s “West Coast,” Florence + the Machine’s “What Kind of Man” and Harry Styles’ “Lights Up”), the video not only starts by playing the “Only Love Reprise,” but also with someone dressed in a “Kesha flesh suit” walking down the street before cutting to a close-up on Kesha’s makeup-free face as she declares, “Tell a bitch I can’t jump this, Evel Knievel/I’m ’bout to run you down the church and the steeple.” Haycock then shows us an image of a body wrapped and bound in a red tarp type of covering while sitting on a chair in the middle of a stark room—this “taut wrapping” speaking to the “gag order” theme of the record that pertains to Kesha being silenced and stifled. Something the singer has had to deal with ever since her Kesha v. Dr. Luke debacle began back in 2014 (though she did recently gain a win in the defamation case Dr. Luke brought against her in the wake of her civil suit). With this video, Kesha seems to be illustrating the nightmarish qualities of what she’s had to go through by tinging it with the surreal and absurd. For what have the past nine years of her life been if not those two things? Besides that, Kesha has never been much of a “literal” person when it comes to creating the accompanying music videos for her singles (see also: “Blow,” during which humans with unicorn heads [that eventually spew out rainbow beams as “blood”] and James Van Der Beek inexplicably appear).

    Kesha is joined in the “art gallery” room by a slew of other random people who also seem to want to find salvation of their own…or are they just there to treat Kesha like a one-woman art exhibit? Gawking and circling her as though she’s some kind of spectacle. Which, yes, is precisely what she’s had to be for most of her career, especially the parts of it that had Dr. Luke pulling the strings. Even when Kesha still brought her own unique stamp to the projects she wasn’t quite as passionate about (e.g., the Warrior album).

    Appearing in another scene against a red backdrop next to a “being” dressed in some tribalistic attire, Haycock cuts again to Kesha in the white room as she lifts her hands up heavenward, as though genuinely waiting to be saved by “Love” or “God” or whatever name one wants to give to some sort of higher power. Meanwhile, the man in the “Kesha flesh suit” keeps running down the street, a slew of impressionistic street and car lights behind him—going at a pace that indicates some spectral, likely demonic presence is chasing him. And “God” or whoever knows that Kesha has been dealing with her fair share of getting chased down by demons (maybe that’s why she chose to face them head-on in a reality series like Conjuring Kesha). Perhaps whoever starts dragging her through the art gallery/“white space” is trying to help exorcise some of those demons (“maybe I’m possessed, bitch” as she herself sings), one of which could very well be the tribally-dressed being we keep seeing set against a devil-red backdrop. But that particular “creature” is soon topped by another surrealistic entity (straight out of something from a Salvador Dalí or Leonora Carrington-esque painting) also dressed in red (with an ensemble that makes its torso look like a triangle) and rounded out by a red headpiece that features three red squares atop a purple head (with an eyeball stuffed in its mouth). And, again, set against a red backdrop.

    As Kesha keeps rocking her body back and forth in the “art gallery” as though a demon is being exorcised, we continue to see scenes of the “Kesha flesh suit” man, doing things like sitting on the sidewalk or, at last, walking instead of running down an L.A. street (L.A. being the site of Kesha’s, and so many others’, trauma). Whether or not that man is meant to be a representation of how Dr. Luke himself wore Kesha like his own “flesh suit” in terms of controlling her and getting inside her head with his verbally abusive rhetoric is at the viewer’s discretion.

    But for those trying to find “logic” in the wonderful bizarreness of the video, it would be missing the point. For nothing about what Kesha has gone through in the last decade (or really, since 2005, when the trauma wrought by Dr. Luke was first set in motion) is “logical.” Nor is most individuals’ trauma (and subsequent effects). “Only Love Can Save Us Now” is an unapologetic visual manifestation of that.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Romy Builds On the Queer Musical Canon With “Loveher”

    Romy Builds On the Queer Musical Canon With “Loveher”

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    As far as songs about women loving women go, well, they’re pretty few and far between. Unless one wants to count queerbaiting singles like Katy Perry’s “I Kissed A Girl” and Rita Ora, Cardi B, Bebe Rexha and Charli XCX’s “Girls.” But, more and more, the disingenuousness of such “songs for straights going through a phase” has no place in a climate that continues to make claims of “inclusivity.” Fortunately, as Romy (still so often referred to as “the xx’s Romy”) continues to roll out singles for her debut solo album, Mid Air (though maybe it should be called Romy Madley Deeply), she’s seen fit to present us with “Loveher,” a queer anthem through and through. Co-produced, once more, with Fred Again.., the mid-tempo track starts out with minimal instrumentation as Romy says, in her modest tone, “Can you turn it up a bit more? Thank you.”

    As the track goes on, however, it’s her we should be thanking. For finally providing the world with an honest, unbridled love letter from one queer woman to another. And sure, someone could make the argument that Romy is “speaking from the perspective of a man” when she sings, “See in her eyes that she’s lost in the moment/Holding on tight and all that I know is/Love her, I love her, I love her, I love her, I,” but why in the fuck would that be the case? Save to placate more narrow-minded traditionalists. And, in case any doubt was cast on the song’s intent, Romy cleared up any such “confusion” by saying, “Over time, growing up and also just noticing how the world is changing, I felt a lot more comfortable being more public. To write about loving a woman and not feel afraid or embarrassed… maybe it’s a growing up thing, and just not caring as much what people think.”

    What’s more, lines like, “Lover, you know, when they ask me, I’ll tell them/Won’t be ashamed, no, I can’t wait to tell them” (if only this song had been around in time to be featured during the credits of Happiest Season) infer that the only reason one would be “ashamed” to tell others about the one they love is because that “one” forms half of a same-sex relationship. Unless, of course, a listener wants to instead make a more classist interpretation of being ashamed about announcing who their “lover” (the word Romy uses) is, à la Edward Lewis in Pretty Woman or Blane McDonough (Andrew McCarthy) in Pretty in Pink. But again, that would be a decidedly homophobic interpretation considering Romy has long been open about her sexuality, having come out to her father at the age of fifteen.

    But Romy wouldn’t be so publicly open about it during her time with the xx. Though it bears noting that none of the lyrics she collaborated on with her bandmates, including Oliver Sim (who is also gay), ever bore any specific pronouns. It was in the wake of the last album that the xx put out, fittingly titled I See You, that Romy seemed more comfortable with “parading” her sexuality. And it was in 2017 (the same year I See You was released) that news of her engagement to visual artist Hannah Marshall broke. That engagement would eventually end in favor of one to photographer Vic Lentaigne, followed by the completion of that engagement with their marriage, as opposed to another instance of “let’s call the whole thing off.” It was Lentaigne, in fact, who directed Romy’s most recent video for “Enjoy Your Life” (and now, the one for “Loveher”), a collage of nostalgic clips that inspire one to do just that (even in spite of constantly feeling like the end is nigh). With Lentaigne’s own work described as “capturing queerness and identity,” she’s the perfect choice for also capturing the essence of Romy’s new solo music.

    As for the overarching “theme” of Mid Air, it’s slated to be equal parts homage “to [her] formative years of queer clubbing” and to 00s Eurodance. Resultantly, Romy was taken back to that emotional place when she was just a teenager, going to the Soho (one shouldn’t have to specify that Soho refers to London, not New York Shitty) gay club Ghetto and watching from the sidelines as everyone around her danced, liberated in such a space as they could not be elsewhere. Someone who worked at the club eventually noticed her wallflower tendencies (though, as Romy stated, “I’d stand in the corner, stare and observe. But that was fun for me!”) and asked if she’d like to DJ. After all, what is a DJ if not the ultimate voyeur/wallflower within the club setting? Romy took to the gig like a lesbian to the Lilith Fair, and it would undeniably inform her solo work. Including “Loveher,” which, despite being a slower pace (call it, as Romy does, a ballad “within the context of club sound”) than something like “Enjoy Your Life,” still has ample club remix potential, rife with its rhythmic, house-y backbeat.

    Having written the song during the lockdown period, Romy seemed to have the epiphany that the next generation of youths might have the club experience that she got to enjoy robbed from them. Not just because they prefer to be in the matrix of their phones anyway, but because the world has become a less physically safe space despite being theoretically more “accepting” than ever. Thus, she stated, “I really hope that younger queer people can have those connections [in clubs] and learn how beautiful it is.” At least before the next inevitable pandemic.

    To accommodate those who would still like to experience queer club culture, Romy has specifically written an album that serves as the ideal soundtrack for that setting. And, going back to the abovementioned Lilith Fair analogy about lesbians, Romy also noted that, when she herself was a teenager, it was difficult to find “lesbian music” that “didn’t take itself too seriously.” So it is that she remarked, “When I was a teenager, and I was looking for explicitly lesbian love songs that I could connect to, I definitely wasn’t finding any pop-dance music. It was more like, lesbian acoustic music. That’s the stereotype, I think. What does a lesbian love song sound like? Someone with an acoustic guitar!” Well, thanks to Romy, that’s no longer the case. No offense to Ani DiFranco (who currently likes “what’s in boys’ pants better”).

    So it is that with simultaneously shy and declarative lyrics (e.g., “Dance with me, shoulder to shoulder/Never in the world have two others been closer than us/Closer than us/Hold my hand under the table/It’s not that I’m not proud in the company of strangers/It’s just some things are for us”), Romy builds on the canon of queer music with a much needed deviation from the usual lesbian cliches.

    With “Loveher” being the first track on Mid Air (setting the tone for the queer love letter to come), Romy also bookends the album with a song titled “She’s On My Mind.” And it’s clear that queerness itself is very much on Romy’s mind, as she seeks to do her part to make those who might still feel othered “to really celebrate life and live it to the best, that’s how I like to be.”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Monetize (And Monetize And Monetize) Your Talent: Air Explores the Birth of a New American Dream: Passive Income

    Monetize (And Monetize And Monetize) Your Talent: Air Explores the Birth of a New American Dream: Passive Income

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    If Air seeks to emphasize one thing, it’s that you should always leverage your talent to secure the utmost profit. That’s certainly what Michael Jordan did back in 1984 as a rookie who made an unthinkable negotiation with Nike. One that would, for the first time in history, allow an athlete like Jordan to earn a percentage of every pair of Air Jordans sold. After all, it was his name on the sneakers, his name spurring all the sales. So why shouldn’t he get his cut? This question is present throughout the narrative thread of Air, which revolves entirely around the lead-up to making this landmark deal. Marking Ben Affleck’s fifth directorial effort following Gone Baby Gone, The Town, Argo and Live By Night, Air is a much more blatant nod to the “American dream.” You know, the one that pertains solely to bowing down to capitalism a.k.a. “getting this money.” Ironically, it’s also distributed by Amazon, which Nike no longer sells their shoes through in a bid to “elevate consumer experiences through more direct, personal relationships.”

    Sort of the way Jordan wanted to elevate the consumer experience of his adoring fans by giving them “a piece of himself” through a shoe. Fittingly enough, both Nike and Michael Jordan are quintessential American dream stories, with the latter being a shoestring operation (pun intended) co-founded in 1964 by University of Oregon track athlete Phil Knight (Affleck) and his coach, Bill Bowerman (though Alex Convery, the writer of Air, doesn’t bother to mention his name). It was Knight who sold the company’s (then known as Blue Ribbon Sports) first shoe offerings (made by Onitsuka Tiger, a brand that, for whatever reason, agreed to let Knight be the U.S.’ exclusive distributor) out of the back of his car at track meets most of the time. Steadily, Blue Ribbon Sports kept making a name for itself as a leader in distributing Japanese running shoes. But it was in 1971 that Bowerman fucked around with his own innovation by using his wife’s waffle iron to create a different kind of rubber sole for the benefit of runners. One that was lightweight, therefore conducive to increasing speed. This was also the year the company rebranded to Nike and was bequeathed with its signature swoosh logo by graphic designer Carolyn Davidson. With the “Moon Shoe” and the “Waffle Trainer” released in 1972 and 1974 respectively, Nike sales exploded into a multimillion-dollar enterprise.

    Jordan’s Cinderella story comes across as having slightly fewer hiccups in his rise to prominence, the main one being his slight by the varsity high school team when he was a sophomore at Emsley A. Laney High School in Wilmington, North Carolina. Written off as too short for varsity, Jordan waited patiently to grow four more inches and asserted himself as the star of Laney’s JV team. After getting his spot on varsity, it didn’t take long for a number of colleges to offer him a scholarship. He settled on University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, quickly distinguishing himself on the basketball team there and having no trouble eventually catching the eye of Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, rejoining his true love onscreen), Nike’s then basketball talent scout (at a time when such “lax” job roles were still in existence). Convinced of Jordan’s status as a once-in-a-generation talent, he begs and pleads with Knight to use the entire basketball budget to offer Jordan an endorsement deal.

    Alas, although named after the Greek goddess who personifies victory, Nike was anything but victorious in being a basketball shoe contender with the likes of Converse and Adidas as 1984 commenced. After all, the company had been built on running shoes. That had always been their bread and butter. Nonetheless, Vaccaro still can’t figure out why basketball players are so averse to putting their faith in Nike. But, as Howard White (Chris Tucker), the VP of Nike’s Basketball Athlete Relations tells Sonny, “Nike is a damn jogging company. Black people don’t jog. You ain’t gonna catch no Black person running twenty-six miles for no damn reason. Man, the cops probably pull you over thinkin’ you done stole something.” Which isn’t far off considering the need for shirts like, “Don’t Shoot, It’s Just Cardio” (tragically inspired by the death of Ahmaud Arbery).

    Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman), the VP of Marketing for Basketball, is more naively optimistic during a meeting in which he says, “Mr. Orwell was right. 1984 has been a tough year. Our sales are down, our growth is down. But this company is about who we really are when we are down for the count.” That said, Strasser and Knight both insist they have a strict 250K budget to attract three players. Sonny tells Strasser he doesn’t want to sign three players, he wants to sign just one: Jordan. He paints Strasser the innovative-for-its-time picture, “We build a shoe line just around him. We tap into something deeper, into the player’s identity.” This being something that would become the subsequent norm with endorsement deals, not just from sports players, but every kind of celebrity.

    To this end, it’s of no small significance that Air opens with Dire Straits’ “Money For Nothing,” a song that derides famous ilk (namely, rock stars) who get money for doing no “real” work, like those who have to fritter their hours away in a minimum wage job at an appliance store (the site where Mark Knopfler overheard a man making derisive comments about the people he was seeing on MTV and then turned the rant into “Money For Nothing”). Jordan, too, might be seen that way by some, at least for making millions (billions?) for doing nothing other than allowing a shoe with his name and silhouette on it to be sold. And as “Money For Nothing” plays, Affleck gets us into the mindset of what the 80s were all about: consumer culture melding with pop culture. For it was in the 80s that the potential for endorsement deals, fueled by Reaganomics’ love of neoliberalism on steroids, were fully realized and taken advantage of.

    Sonny, seeing something entirely American in Jordan, crystallizes his feelings about him to Phil by insisting that he is “the most competitive guy I’ve ever seen. He is a fucking killer.” And that means he’s going to kill for Nike, profit-wise. As Sonny chases down a meeting with Jordan, who has made his disdain for the company abundantly clear (especially as he “loves” Adidas), it’s through his mother, Deloris (Viola Davis, who, although Jordan had no involvement in the production of the film, was offered as a suggestion by him to play the part), that Sonny finds his “in” with Michael. Much to the consternation of Michael’s agent, David Falk (Chris Messina), who distinctly warns Sonny not to contact the family.

    But Sonny has no interest in following rules, if that hadn’t already been made evident. And when he finally does land the pitch meeting with Jordan, he’s sure to tell him and his parents that Michael’s trajectory is “an American story, and that’s why Americans are gonna love it.” He then adds, as a coup de grâce in terms of flattery, “A shoe is just a shoe…until somebody steps into it [words Deloris will remind him of later when bargaining for Michael’s cut of the profits]. Then it has meaning. The rest of us just want a chance to touch that greatness.” And that, in the end, is how Jordan makes four hundred million dollars a year in passive income from a shoe.

    Even if it was an initial struggle for Deloris to lock down that income. Indeed, when Sonny tells her that Nike will never go for her and Michael’s demand and that the business is simply unfair in that regard, Deloris replies, “I agree that the business is unfair. It’s unfair to my son, it’s unfair to people like you. But every once in a while, someone comes along that’s so extraordinary, that it forces those reluctant to part with some of [their] wealth [to do so]. Not out of charity, but out of greed, because they are so very special. And even more rare, that person demands to be treated according to their worth, because they understand what they are worth.”

    With such an ardent speech about getting money, getting paid, it highlights that, more than just being a movie about how capitalism allows companies to exploit those making the most money for them, Air is about how capitalism indoctrinates the human brain so much as to make it believe that everything has to be about money. That the greatest art of all is not the art or skill itself, but how to get the most one possibly can for it. So it is that Bruce Springsteen’s always cringe-y hit, “Born in the U.S.A.,” plays while viewers are given epilogues to each person’s financially profitable fate. Funnily enough, Strasser had specifically mentioned to Vaccaro earlier in the film that one of the songs most beloved by Republicans (Reagan himself famously cited it for his presidential “cause”) is not about the hallowed notion of the American dream at all. In fact, as he tells Sonny, he was listening to it on his way to work most mornings (it had just come out during the year Air takes place), and he was all “fired up about American freedom…but this morning, I really focused on the words. And it is not about freedom. Like, not in any way. It’s about a guy who comes home from Vietnam, can’t find a job and I’m just belting it out enthusiastically.”

    There’s something to that analogy in looking for the deeper, perhaps unwitting meaning to Air. It isn’t really about the beauty of the American dream, but how ugly and petty it makes everyone pursuing it for the sake of as many pieces of paper as possible.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • When Nelly Warned of Climate Change

    When Nelly Warned of Climate Change

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    As far as early 00s bangers go, Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” is difficult to top. Not only did it get people to take their clothes off at house parties worldwide, but it also smashed new records at a time when streaming was still germinal and the Grammys hadn’t even yet offered up yet an award for such a category as Best Male Rap Solo Performance. Nelly managed to secure almost a million (760,000, to be exact) streams on AOL Music’s “First Listen,” which was launched the same year “Hot in Herre” came out: 2002. As far as concern for global warming went that year, in an annual global climate report, it was assessed that: “Global temperatures in 2002 were 0.56°C (1.01°F) above the long-term (1880-2001) average, which places 2002 as the second warmest year on record.” Oh how saddened one is to use the phrase, “Little did they know…” here, but yes, little did humanity know (despite ceaseless and ominous warnings), it was all going to get so much worse. That is to say, so much fucking hotter. And yes, Nelly seemed to want to make a hit out of that no-brainer prophecy in a song like “Hot in Herre.”

    Taking elements of Chuck Brown’s 1979 single, “Bustin’ Loose,” (hence, “I feel like bustin’ loose/And I feel like touchin’ you”), Nelly created a club (and yes, climate change) anthem out of it by also appearing in a music video helmed by Director X, already a beloved protégé of Hype Williams at that time. The scene of Nelly pulling up to the club in his car would end up seeming to inspire Britney Spears the following year in her own video for “Me Against the Music,” in which she, too, opens her video with a pulling up to the club scene. And, on a side full-circle note, “Me Against the Music” would be the one hundredth track for AOL Music, First Listen to offer up as an exclusive streaming preview. Because, back when such internet technology was still new, music releases could still be positioned as an “event.” As much as going to the club to dance in a sweat-drenched fever could be. And that’s precisely what happens for the majority of “Hot in Herre,” as female dancers (after all, it’s a rap video) with visible beads of sweat dripping down their faces and bodies do their best to ignore the unbearable temperature in the name of having a good time and also trying to get laid. Because there’s a reason wanting to bone goes back to a phrase like “being in heat.”

    As Nelly moistens his lips, jumps the divider of his VIP area and approaches the woman who’s attracted his attention, played by Pasha Bleasdell (who tragically died of a brain tumor in 2022), bodies continue to converge on one another as Nelly gets his moment to shine on the dance floor with Bleasdell in front of him. While that goes on, many of the (mostly female) dancers in the club proceed to take Nelly’s advice about taking off their clothes—or at least pieces of them. The “sexily glistening” (as opposed to grossly sweaty) bodies that are paraded by Director X are of a uniquely 00s aesthetic that has only recently been revived with similar effect in Euphoria. Soon enough, Nelly is starting to take some of his own more frivolous articles of clothing off as other clubgoers fan each other with their hands and generally start to appear as though they’re attending a taping of MTV’s Spring Break as opposed to a Nelly video filmed in his adopted hometown of St. Louis. And, talking of St. Louis, the lesser-known version of the video (reserved for showing to the European set) took place in front of and inside of the famed St. Louis Arch (or at least a CGI’d version of it). Starting with Cedric the Entertainer as the bouncer (in the original, he’s the DJ) for the club that the Arch has become, various revelers enter the elevator leading up through the Arch as one man blows his hand back and forth to indicate the hotness inside the elevator, though it actually looks like he’s just trying to wave away the scent of someone else’s fart.

    Soon, Nelly pulls up to the arch and gets in the elevator with just one other woman as we’re asked to ignore the architectural impossibility of a nightclub being able to “fit” inside the so-called top of the Arch. And while, yes, one can technically ride to the “top,” the elevators to do so are nothing like the posh one presented in Nelly’s rendering of it. But, clearly, 2002 was a much easier time for enlisting viewers’ suspension of disbelief.

    As a randomly-placed thermometer shows the temperature going up while more people enter the imaginary “Arch Club” (complete with a staircase in the background), Nelly pretty much recreates the same scenes from the U.S. version of the video, except with a far more “European” slant…in that when people start to peel one another’s clothes off, director Bille Woodruff is sure to capture the sweat whipping off people’s bodies as this happens. We’re talking it looks practically like the Flashdance bucket scene. Woodruff, unfortunately, would also direct a number of R. Kelly videos over the years, whose crimes against women would make Nelly’s various rape allegations (one of which broke just before the #MeToo movement of 2017 did) look positively tame…not to trivialize what happened to the women who were assaulted by Nelly. But, back in 2002, both men were still safe and protected in their fame bubble, chock-full of enablers and sycophants as it was. The pressure, for Nelly, didn’t get truly “hot in herre” until #MeToo finally did. The roof was on fire, in other words, much as it is in the club in the U.S. version of the video, at which point the ceiling sprinklers finally burst. The way a storm has to erupt whenever it gets too sweltering. As for the second version of the video, the thermometer ends up breaking, spewing red mercury as it does.

    At the end of the decade that Nelly reigned over (though really just the first half of it), the 00s were reported as being the hottest on record. “Hot in Herre” (“herre” being this cesspool of a globe) indeed. But that was soon to be topped by the report on the burning temperatures of the 2010s. Undeniably, the 2020s will keep upping the previously-held records, with Nelly’s formerly “sexy” single becoming, increasingly, an eerie and macabre prophecy. Complete with him also telling people to “let it just fall out” and “let it hang all out.” Elsewhere among his rapey lyricism, he includes, “I got a friend with a pole in the basement/(What?)/I’m just kiddin’ like Jason/Unless you gon’ do it…”

    Cringeworthy moments of the song aside (including “What good is all the fame if you ain’t fuckin’ the models?”), Nelly does bring up a valid question when he keeps urging people to take their clothes off in the heat. And that is: will clothes really still be required when the heat gets more insufferable? Like, Hades-level insufferable. Or can we all go back to Garden of Eden’ing it despite being a very long way from paradise? Which the weather of 2002 looks more and more like from this perspective.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Showing Up: Far From Glamorous, Art Life Is Utterly Middling

    Showing Up: Far From Glamorous, Art Life Is Utterly Middling

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    There is an idea of art. Or rather, the “art life.” That it is somehow both debauched and glamorous—and also infinitely more exciting than the “average life.” As though there must be some greater reason why any person would choose to live in a manner that so patently makes them a societal outcast…and, more accurately, a societal reject. But like those misguided enough to believe that sexuality is a “choice,” people don’t “choose” to be an artist, they’re simply born with something “of that bent” within them. And those who are true and pure to their art can no more deny that core of their being than any gay person can deny being gay (look how that worked out for J. Edgar Hoover). Even when artists find themselves in a horrific “day job,” they still keep their artistic inclinations alive, for it would be unthinkable to snuff them out—almost like ceasing to breathe.

    For Lizzy (Michelle Williams), the protagonist of Kelly Reichardt’s latest movie, Showing Up, that’s unequivocally true. Particularly as she juggles the petty dramas of the arts college (which feels more like a commune) where she works as an admin with her own sculpting obligations. And yes, they are obligations. Not just to herself, but to the show she’s promised to put on at one of the many local art galleries. For, obviously, the stage where Reichardt sets the film is in Portland—world capital of everyone assuming what they do is art.

    Having previously collaborated on Wendy and Lucy, Meek’s Cutoff and Certain Women, Showing Up is technically on the “lighter side” of Reichardt and Williams’ work thus far together. And yet, it’s mostly all bleak as Lizzy contends with (admittedly First World) problems like not having hot water, watching her tacit rival and neighbor/landlord, Jo (Hong Chau), lap up accolades for her art and, then, suddenly getting saddled with caring for a pigeon that Lizzy herself threw over her balcony for dead after her cat, Ricky, almost did the job himself. And, speaking of her cat, even he proves to be a constant black hole of need and time consumption that takes away from her ability to work on her sculptures in a concentrated block. For Ricky insists on being fed now, his incessant meowing forcing her to go out and buy a new bag of food right when he demands his meal. Just so he’ll shut up.

    One would think that Ricky’s presence in her house might at least keep Jo, who rescues the bird without knowing Lizzy was the one who tossed it out on its ass to “die somewhere else,” from asking her to watch over it while she goes to finish setting up for an art show. But no, Jo tells Lizzy she can keep the bird with her in the studio while Ricky’s upstairs. When Lizzy tries to explain that the bird is an unnecessary burden and distraction, she adds, to emphasize the importance of what she’s doing, “I took today off to work.” And art is work. Make no mistake about that. Jo shrugs, “Ah, this guy’s no trouble.” For everybody else around Lizzy gets to decide what is and isn’t “trouble” to her little “side hobby.” This being what all art is considered when it doesn’t garner one fame and money.

    Even Lizzy’s mother (or rather, especially her mother), Jean (Maryann Plunkett), doesn’t take what her daughter does too seriously. Their overtly tense relationship is further compounded by the fact that Jean happens to be Lizzy’s boss at the college. And after reminding her of her meeting with the dean, Lizzy shyly mentions, “I was wondering if it was okay if I might take tomorrow off work. I was thinking I might do that.” When Jean doesn’t react or respond, Lizzy continues, “I have a lot of work. For the show.” Almost as though wanting her mother to give her validation in some kind of way for taking her “hobby” seriously enough to devote a full day of (unpaid) work to it. But her mother remains engrossed in whatever banal computer task she’s performing to the point where Lizzy has to nudge, “So is that okay? If I don’t come in.” Jean replies with a slight tone of irritation, “Lizzy, if you’re taking a personal day, you’re taking a personal day.” Because art, in the end, is always viewed as “personal,” not “professional.” Never mind that it might be the very lifeforce that keeps a person going. Even when it feels as though no one actually supports their so-called pipe dream. But the thing is, it’s not a “dream” to be an artist. If you’re doing the work every day, it’s very much a reality, regardless of whether or not “something bigger” might come along as “reward” for one’s efforts. Those who do not get famous, but instead, simply keep going are fundamentally the most devoted and true artists of all (see also: Vincent Van Gogh, Franz Kafka and Vivian Maier in their lifetimes).

    Lizzy seems “doomed” to remain in that category as Reichardt lets her camera’s eye rest for long stretches on the sculptor at work. Meticulously fashioning her clay in silent isolation. For Showing Up is a movie as much about the artist’s “process” as it is a movie about the inherent loneliness of what it means to be an artist. Sure, there are the occasional get-togethers and “after-parties” in honor of a show well-received, but, by and large, most art mediums rely on the extensive solitude required for creation. Unfortunately for Lizzy, her attempts at solitude are interrupted by her anxieties both for her father, Bill (Judd Hirsch, who also appeared with Williams in The Fabelmans), and her mentally unstable brother, Sean (John Magaro). As for her first concern, Bill has let two freeloading “friends,” Lee (Matt Malloy) and Dorothy (Amanda Plummer), stay over at his house, prompting her to go check in on him and see if he’s okay.

    Out in his storage/pottery shed, where the two talk in private, Bill insists he enjoys the company. As Lizzy holds one of the pots her father made in her hands, she casually suggests that he should make “more like this.” He responds, “I’m enjoying my retirement.” For him, apparently, art was considered “real” work because it was paid. Besides, as Bill puts it, “My days are full. I get up, do a little of this, a little of that and before you know it, it’s time to watch TV again.” Lizzy ripostes, “That sounds terrible.” But maybe part of why it sounds so terrible to her is because the drudgery of it hits too close to home for her own “art life.” Far from “chic” or “exciting,” most of her moments are spent in stillness and devout concentration. One could easily swap out the sculpture she stares at all night for a TV.

    Indeed, like watching TV, there is much about creating art that necessitates a kind of “passivity” that most people don’t have the patience for. Yes, one is “engaged” in what they’re doing, but, in essence, they’re being guided by some unseen hand (“The Muse,” if you’d like) as they let the inspiration glaze them over like one of Lizzy sculptures in the kiln. Ah, and speaking of the kiln, not only is Lizzy subject to the insensitivities of those who treat her art like nothing that should take precedence, but there are also those who carelessly “fire” her work. Namely, Eric (André Benjamin, also performing the flute backing soundtrack), who shrugs off his error in placing her final, pièce de résistance of a sculpture too close to the side of the kiln. Therefore, he explains its burnt appearance to her as follows: “Must’ve been burning hot on one side.” Looking at her creation in horror, Eric continues to make things worse by saying, “It’s a little funky, but I don’t mind imperfections. In fact, I like them. I prefer it.” As though the art is about his preference, not the artist’s. Alas, left with no other option but to accept it (as there’s not enough time for a “redo” before the show), Lizzy then goes to her brother’s house again to see if he’s coming across as any less unhinged.

    To her dismay, she finds him in the backyard inexplicably digging a hole. When she asks him what he’s doing, he returns, “I’m making a piece. A major piece.” Everyone wants to be a Respected Artist, after all. And Lizzy is the most blatantly sick of seeing everyone else around her try to pass themselves off as somehow more “serious” than her. Worst of all, her mother attempts to position Sean’s mental health issues as a sign of his superior artistic brilliance. Of how he “was always incredibly creative and, uh, some of the things he’s done, just, wow.” Sitting there trying not to explode, Lizzy hits back, “A lot of people are creative.” And she’s not wrong. But tragically, and especially in America, being creative has been turned into yet another competitive, commodifiable source. This causing numerous unnecessary animosities and contentions when, in a world with its priorities straight, everyone with the artistic inclination would be nurtured and embraced, as opposed to being treated like “a race” to “weed out.” Henry Miller presented such an idea about subsidizing all artistic endeavors, regardless of “goodness” or “badness,” in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare. It was also in the same book that Miller rightly assessed, “America is no place for an artist: to be an artist is to be a moral leper, an economic misfit, a social liability. A corn-fed hog enjoys a better life than a creative writer, painter or musician. To be a rabbit is better still.”

    For Lizzy, to be someone who could just resign herself to “being an admin” might be better still. Or at least help to reduce her overarching sense of anxiety (which is ironic, considering that art is supposed to be “therapeutic”). And yet, even if her “art life” is not “glamorous”—rife with coke-addled binges and alcoholic rampages (as past artists have led us to believe)—there is still, inevitably, inspiration in the mundane. Something Lizzy comes to realize about her life and her exhibit as the film draws to its inconclusive conclusion.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • “Vulgar”: A 2023 Update to the Sentiments of “Human Nature”

    “Vulgar”: A 2023 Update to the Sentiments of “Human Nature”

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    Although reports (and video) surfaced of Madonna’s steely demeanor toward Sam Smith as he approached the stage to perform “Unholy” with Kim Petras at the 2023 Grammy Awards, it appears their backstage photos together were more illustrative of the things that were to come. And have now arrived in the form of “Vulgar,” released to coincide with Pride Month. What’s more, if anyone had listened to Madonna’s speech before introducing Smith at the Grammys instead of obsessing over her appearance, they might have heard her when she said, “Here’s what I’ve learned after four decades in music. If they call you shocking, scandalous, troublesome, problematic, provocative or dangerous [flashes her leg], you are definitely onto something.”

    Madonna, thus, has been onto something from the start, causing clutched pearls from the moment she rolled around in a wedding dress on the stage of the inaugural MTV VMAs with her underwear showing in 1984. And yet, she knows that the newest generations of controversy-starters must continue the cycle if the barrier-breaking she’s done already is to endure. So it was that she added in her speech, “I’m here to give thanks to all the rebels out there forging a new path and taking the heat for all of it. You guys need to know, all you troublemakers out there, you need to know that your fearlessness does not go unnoticed. You are seen, you are heard and, most of all, you are appreciated.”

    That’s certainly more than anyone offered up as consolation to M at the height of her media backlash from 1992 to 1993, after releasing the erotic hat trick of the Sex book, Erotica and Body of Evidence. All taken together as a “done solely for shock value” unit, the press had a field day with mocking her and writing her off as going “too far,” being overexposed and, yes, vulgar. Although Madonna would put her clothes back on for 1994’s Bedtime Stories persona, she was not exactly going “gentle into that good night,” offering up “Human Nature” as a defiant, “fuck all y’all” single. An unapologetic clapback at her critics, Madonna sardonically sings, “Did I say something wrong?/Oops, I didn’t know I couldn’t talk about sex (must’ve been crazy)/Did I stay too long?/Oops, I didn’t know I couldn’t speak my mind (what was I thinking?).” In the video that accompanies it, she pointedly appears in a black leather catsuit and wields a riding crop to complete her Erotica-referencing S&M aesthetic. This being why it’s also a very deliberate nod to “Human Nature” that Sam and Madonna should abbreviate their names to S&M on the single’s artwork. The video’s theme of repression and stiflement—literally trying to box Madonna in—is also something that Smith can relate to these days.

    Elsewhere on “Human Nature,” there’s her whispered incantation of a mantra, “Express yourself, don’t repress yourself”—the words to live by she’s been imparting to the masses from the beginning (complete with another hit single that built the message into the title, 1989’s “Express Yourself”). After all, Madonna spent too much of her youth living in a repressed Catholic environment before fleeing Michigan and going to New York to finally become her uncensored self. Without fear of being shamed or told to “act like a lady.” This was largely because she found her family in gay men such as Christopher Flynn, Martin Burgoyne and Keith Haring—all of whom would die of AIDS. Madonna’s ingratiation into gay club culture (first via Flynn in Detroit) is inarguably what set the tone for her entire discography, starting with the sweltering, sensual “Everybody,” which was literally “made” by the club’s (Danceteria) reaction to it.

    While most—especially those in the mainstream—would turn their backs on the gay community as AIDS ran rampant, Madonna shored up her efforts to publicize awareness. Unfortunately, a new generation of gays has largely tried to reject Madonna and balk at her continued existence, as though forgetting that she was the original epitome of what it meant to be a “good ally.” Smith, it appears, has not let that go unnoticed or forgotten in collaborating with Madonna on “Vulgar.” A song that has its own roots in Smith being condemned for his recent “persona” as a “they/them.” His identification as non-binary was announced in 2019, when he stated, “After a lifetime of being at war with my gender I’ve decided to embrace myself for who I am, inside and out…” As the rollout of Gloria began, it was clear they meant what they said—and that it was too much for someone like Piers Morgan to bear. Indeed, the inspiration for “Vulgar” was a result of Morgan decrying Smith’s Gloria the Tour costumes, chief among them a “Satan outfit” and fishnets. Morgan was quick to compare Smith’s “attention-grabbing” antics to what Madonna has been doing all along—and no, Morgan is not a fan of her either…nor is he a fan of anyone but himself.

    Morgan also went so far as to bring on a gay commentator for, of all rags, The Sun and The New York Post. So it was that Douglas Murray confirmed what Morgan wanted to hear by saying, “I think Sam Smith’s a person of limited talent myself.” This also being the same rhetoric that has been used on Madonna for most of her career. Well-aware of it from the outset, Madonna addressed it in Truth or Dare by telling her backup singers, “I know I’m not the best singer and not the best dancer, but I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in pushing people’s buttons, and being provocative and political.” An interest that has remained steadfast to this day. So it’s only natural that she should take an additional interest in Sam Smith’s case, defending him from trolls like Morgan on “Vulgar” by announcing, “If you fuck with Sam tonight, you’re fucking with me/So watch what you say or I’ll split your banana/We do what we wanna, we say what we gotta.”

    Her fierce protection of Smith channels a statement she would give many decades after losing so many gay friends: “I didn’t feel like straight men understood me. They just wanted to have sex with me. Gay men understood me, and I felt comfortable around them.” And she certainly seems to feel comfortable around Sam if “Vulgar” is any indication. Giving Britney’s British accent on “Scream & Shout,” Madonna alludes to her own canon by singing, “Let’s get into the groove, you know just what to do/Boy, get down on your knees ’cause I am Madonna”—that last reminder being a nod to her playful 2015 single, “Bitch I’m Madonna.” Not to mention her love of mixing the sacred with the profane by urging someone to get down on their knees. For you can both pray and give head in that “pose.” But, as Madonna once admitted, “When I get down on my knees, it is not to pray.”

    The pulsing, rhythmic beat—clearly inspired by ballroom culture—is co-produced by Smith, ILYA, Cirkut, Omer Fedi and Ryan Tedder. Although clearly designed to be “TikTok length” (for Madonna is nothing if not adaptable to the trends of whatever time she’s in), the duo gets their point across in the under three-minute timeframe via lyrics like, “Vulgar is beautiful, filthy and gorgeous/Vulgar will make you dance, don’t need a chorus/Say we’re ridiculous, we’ll just go harder/Mad and meticulous, Sam and Madonna.”

    There’s no denying that the theme of “Human Nature” is all over this track. And, considering Smith has been doing a cover of it during the encore portion of Gloria the Tour, it seems likely that “Vulgar” will either replace it, or be added into the encore mix. Either way, these are two bitches who are most definitely not sorry for any perceived “vulgarity.” Besides, they’re not your bitch, don’t hang your homophobic shit on them.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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