Thursday, October 13, 2011

I bet you think this song is about you

Ever listen to a song and know that someone else would think of you if they heard it? I do this all day long. It's not so much that I'm vain - most of the time, I'd really rather it didn't apply. Especially harrowing are the songs that are relevant to more than one person. Makes a girl wonder why she repeats her bad histories, and why she apparently is brought to awareness by her playlist.

Today's songs made uncomfortably applicable by self-reflection and hypothetical second and third party observation, are:

Dosed by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
Kickstarts (Bar 9 Remix) by Example
Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps by Cake

Ballet :D

 The Paris Opera Ballet is coming to perform Giselle at the Kennedy Center!! The below images are not of Giselle, as I would hope everyone can tell, but aren't they amazing?

Rant that has been a long, long time coming

A truism about our generation: if something is food, then there is a hip hop song that makes it a sex act/ sexy thing.    We cannot seem to separate our love of KFC, cookies, milkshakes, takeout, lollipops, licorice, cherries, pie, alcohol, milk, tastycakes, etc from our genitals. I understand why, biologically... but intellectually I can't stomach it.

In addition, our musicians have a seemingly unending fascination with picking ONE WORD and making a song built on that ONE WORD, and one beat. "Back to life... back back to life...eyes eyes eyes, eyes eyes eyes eyes!" OMG. Seriously. where are today's Bob Dylans? Where is the complexity? I'm not asking for much - just some nouns and adjectives in addition to the eternally repeated direct object.

That, and can we stop calling each other daddy, girl, mommy or baby while also requesting said person to grind up on us? ALSO: let's stop making songs talking to people in a club, when 98% of the people listening to the song will not be anywhere near a club at the time. No more shout outs to the DJ. No more "creative" attempts to start the new euphemism for a girl shaking her ass. IT HAS BEEN DONE. TO DEATH and is largely pointless.


Now for intensity levels. Not every song will be the grammy performance equivalent of the end of the Lion King. We don't need every 3 minute audio assault to sound like God is cumming on an amped up disco hall (I am talking straight at Kanye, Rhianna, Beyonce right now). We do not want me to get started on Kate Perry, the test tube baby from this limited creative petri dish.  S   he dresses in cupcakes, and would have us believe dinner mints are sexy as hell, and should be taken for breasts. I for one do not treat dinner mints like a good date.

WHEW