My Acolyte Journey: 2014.26

Fancy.
Iggy Azalea. First things first, I'm the realest. Second things: she released her video on my birthday this year, this song was written by five people (according to MetroLyrics), and I'm not going to use MetroLyrics because I got to a reference about rooftops in '88 (it's Nas) and I was utterly lost. So here we go. The first few lines are references to Iggy's previous hits. She proclaims herself (again) to be the realest and that she's still a professional assassin. We know both of these to be patent lies. Not only is she the worst candidate for a hired killer, but I already know she didn't write these lyrics. Whereas I'm caught by the authenticity of Lorde and the enthusiasm of Perry, Iggy just ignites my ire. I don't want to like her: she's got the old-school rap swagger of "I'm the best" just oozing. I suppose there's a lot more to unpack there about my systemic racial bias, but it's uncomfortable and we're here to talk about a white woman pretending to be Nas (three references in the first stanza).
So Charli XCX (whose name I have seen) comes on for the hook and talks about how exquisite she is and how I would be lucky to know her because she would put gold in my mouth I guess. I always thought she said "can you taste the Scope," which is more authentic and a much more interesting line. And then--

Remember my name, 'bout to blow-oh-oh-oh

I don't know the mechanics of fame, but Charli has blown up, boom clap. That's prophecy right there.
I'm sick of talking about the lyrics and so is Iggy.

Now tell me, who that, who that?/That do that, do that?/Put that paper over all, I thought you knew that, knew that/I be that I-G-G-Y, put my name in bold.

No, ma'am. First: your personal sense of style doesn't groove with my jam, but I'm willing to overlook that. Your self-aggrandizement is off-putting and largely unnecessary. Your love of money is unsettling. Your voice is unpleasant and your flow is . . . alright. But your demand that I write your name in bold is one step too far. This is my blog and I will bold what I like.

Speaking of what I like (not this song), I do . . . kind of like the music video. It's got way more energy than Sky full of Stars. I mean, regardless of whether or not the eighties are actually in right now, they bring it for the video. To my eye, the colors are garish, the hair unattractive, and the attitude sassy. It's perfect for the framing references from the first verse. But there's a sinister darkness to the video. The energy and style is the same as T.G.I.F from Katy Perry! They'll be corrupting our kids by appealing to high schoolers to act like these hoodlums in their musical films! Their high energy sexcapades and irresponsible schooltime behavior has got to stop! Or whatever.

If we're honest, the video isn't anything unexpected. It hearkens back to eighties and nineties teen films. Stephen said to me "it baits for views." It's big and brassy and safe. Is that anything that's ever been said about Iggy? She's safe. Let me explain: if you recall, women can't write their own music, but in this case I really don't think Iggy is writing this. She could be collaborating, but her name would be on it. 100% chance. This is a song written by a group of people who know what they're doing, fused together with skill and practice, paired with a video concept that will get views regardless of story or quality. It's nostalgia and big butts with a beat that has been distilled in a lab. Iggy tries really hard to be exactly right for exactly the audience she needs so she can continue dropping half tickets on stuff. She has all the visual and verbal language that humanity identifies as "risky" and "edgy," without actually straying from the banal mainstream. She's not rapping with emotion like Minaj or trying to say something like Glover. She's not tongue-in-cheek like Lana or everything-bared like Anberlin (more on them later). It's like watching Martha Stewart in the kitchen. Everything prepared. Everything clean. Nothing human or wonderful. Just math.

New thing:
My mood after listening to Fancy is querulous. I feel itchy and like dancing. I want to fight. [Even though I should be shortening these (I go through and cut a bunch before I publish now days) I'm adding my mood after, so I can actually respond a little to the music sound.]

I would never buy this. I would delete it if you gave it to me free.

Side note: which came first: Charli or Sia?