Of a sudden, I am strangely and ashamedly enamored with pop music: Rihanna. Katy Perry. Lupe Fiasco. Taio Cruz. etc. The culpable parties are "fireworks" and "exercise." Allow me to explain.
This is a drastic reversal. See, I have a memory of this song. I was in a work van, listening to the radio, on my way to tutor at a downtown Syracuse city high school. The track came on and literally disturbed me, I had no idea who the artist was, and I recall later describing it to a friend in exasperation, disgust, and befuddlement. "This is what we've been reduced to!?" It was cataclysmic. And now it's on repeat during exercise sessions.
On the 4th, I watched New York City's Macy's-sponsored fireworks display on television, with my parents, in my basement. Evincing incredible cleverness, the producers jammed Katy's "Firework" and Taio's "Dynamite" during the show. All in all, it was an impressive set-up. I immediately downloaded the songs.
Subsequently, they infiltrated my exercise mix and imposed hegemony. Over time, the population of nakedly poptastic singles procreated and diversified. Madonna is represented.
Most bizarrely, I find that I hanker for Rihanna's "Rude Boy," which is among the most sexually explicit and, to be fair, super-sexy tracks I know. The video may partly explain my interest.
This interest in base pop music is paradigmatic of an overall shift towards consumptive anti-gourmandism. I'm embracing my intellectual roots: Jeremy Benthamite utilitarianism (cosmo-consumption) but with a bit of the garbage disposal thrown in. From a certain perspective, it will seem that all is going downhill, down with the Bradstreet.
Actually, what's transpiring is ancient. It's my life story. Octopus hands all on me, multidirectional tugging.
Lupe puts it proper: "One day we're listening to N.W.A, the next day we're listening to Ravi Shankar." One day, it's goat utilitarianism, the next, it's Cartesian dualism... well, not really, but y'all get the point.
