(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles!
Singles I love, 2011
According to the reliable well of information called Wikipedia, the Wilhelm Scream is a stock sound effect used when someone falls from somewhere high. That factoid alone is what makes this song interesting. James Blake’s “The Wilhelm Scream”, a modernized rework of his father James Litherland’s folky tune “Where To Turn”, is the cry during his freefall. The harrowing repetition of “falling” is effective at educing the feeling of James Blake’s recession. Even when it swells into a disorderly jumble of bleeps and unharmonious layers, James Blake and his hazy production can’t seem to shake off its fragility, as if it’s always on the brink of fracturing. However, that’s where the connection ends: The Wilhelm Scream sound is so loud that it makes the pain comically obvious; “The Wilhelm Scream” single is restrained and the pain is within. The Wilhelm Scream has been used so often in films that it has become a cliché, an in-joke Easter egg that film nerds seek out. “The Wilhelm Scream” is a creation of a promising vanguard.
Once upon a time, Junior Boys was responsible for two of my favorite albums of all time. Five years and two albums after 2006’s So This Is Goodbye, it seems that the boys from Hamilton doesn’t have it in them to put together a complete A+ album anymore. Although after hearing “Banana Ripple”, it assured me that they still have the skills to construct an enslaving dance single. It’s odd though that like their previous indie club banger, “In The Morning”, this single is unlike all of the blue-eyed soul electropop album tracks that made Last Exit and So This Is Goodbye gems. I guess if obligated to release a single, I agree that you select songs that make the masses groove. Nine minutes to make your banana ripple may seem too daunting of a task, but Junior Boys never makes you feel its length. Believe me, I have an inside scoop here; when I saw them perform this live as an encore, the crowd was so into it that they could have cared less if this went on all night.
Rihanna sneaks in delightedly, because the year wouldn’t have been complete without a noteworthy Rihanna single. But really, “We Found Love” should’ve placed higher in this list. Rihanna has become our generation’s Donna Summer, a heavenly instrument used by today’s producers to season their attempts at making the most exciting dance music that they can fabricate. Here, RiRi tried her best by presenting us with her prettiest melody ever, her voice evaporating up the scale like never before. The problem is Calvin Harris. He is contempt with a clunky two-note synth back-and-forth that a teenage Soundcloud member can come up with on his iPad. If this is the best Calvin Harris can offer the greatest hook singer of this era, then he’s not worthy to be in the same sound booth as the Barbadian beauty. Nevertheless, even with Harris’ elementary exertion, there’s enough going on here to still be one of the best of the year. Can you imagine how high this would have been if a more capable producer used this melody?
The statement “I would kill for love”, aside from being incredibly dark, sounds like a massive exaggeration, doesn’t it? Still, it has been a staple in pop music from Meatloaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)” to Bryan Adams’ “Everything I Do (I Do It For You)” to Bruno Mars’ “Grenade”. But this type of commitment/hopelessness is frequently associated with something theatrical or melodramatic or acoustic to emulate the emotions felt inside. Not Portland band, Chromatics, though. The music in “Kill For Love” sparkles, containing concave drums, dazzling synths, and New Order inspired arrangement. Chromatics understands that longing for love is like being the only person in the world not being invited to a party. “Everybody’s got a secret to hide,” Ruth Radelet sings snidely with an unhistrionic colorless alto. She’s spiteful of everyone around her, but at the same time, she wishes she had an invitation.
"Whirring” is proof that standard indie rock is loads better once you put a female vocalist up front. Singer Ritzy Bryan is the highlight of this dish, hitting registers higher than a level that a male counterpart can reach. She affirms that the higher the notes a song comes up to, the more it evokes a feeling of ascension. Furthermore, her vocals awake memories of Metric’s Emily Haines. With that said, Metric as a band has never sounded this dense and gritty. When Bryan sings “turn the dial on my world”, the band is quick to respond by simultaneously cranking up the crunch of their instruments. I understand that this is a singles list, but I have to encourage you to listen to the album version of this song in order to fully appreciate it. The single version is a charming four-minute number packed with epic intensity, but it neglects the outro. After Bryan lifts everything into the stratosphere, she steps aside and lets her backing take over the rest of the way, ending the song with another four minutes of walloping dissonant instrumental capable of moving mountains.
Remember when one of the biggest critiques of modern hip-hop is that it’s all about money? Well, I doubt the skeptics thought that it would go this far. The basic premise of Jay-Z & Kanye West’s collaboration, Watch The Throne, is to show that it isn’t a coincidence that the two richest rappers in the world is also the two greatest rappers in the world. “Niggas In Paris”, the second single from that album, is its best exemplification of their argument. Jay and ‘Ye’s European vacation is an extravagant touchdown celebration, a middle finger to the scoffers who thought that these ghetto uneducated negros can’t do anything but make dumb hip-hop music. It’s a statement stating that the wealth they worked hard for has permitted both of them to riches most people can never fathom. Jay-Z said it best, “if you escaped what I escaped, you’d be in Paris getting fucked up too.” Capitalism has always been a prevalent theme in hip-hop. Jay-Z and Kanye, the hardest motherfuckers of the 1%, is just going global with it.
How many times exactly? If the number of times K. Michelle sings that high C with power and vigor is any indication, then the answer to that question is “numerous”. It appeared that female vocalists were showing off their pipes more often than usual in 2011: Adele was extravagantly dynamic while stalking and trying to clone her ex; Katy Perry gained inspiration from a Jack Kerouac novel; Lady Gaga stood at the edge of glory. Beyoncé let us know she can add. It’s disappointing that K. Michelle was a hidden treasure that was secretly outclassing these famous divas. The Mary J. Blige influence couldn’t be more obvious in "How Many Times"; she even dedicates an entire verse to her. K Michelle understood from her that while belting out notes over sharp piano stabs sounds impressive, the voice still needs to carry a metric tons worth of emotion. She’s so overwhelmed with frustration here that she sounds like she’s pulling her hair out, and, you, as a bystander, is feeling every painful tug.
I’ll never understand how artists name instrumental tracks. How did Pantha Du Prince get “Saturn Strobe” out of that blizzard of tonal percussions? What was Vitalic’s thought process when he named an electronic cosmic rumble like “La Rock 01”? Gold Panda naming “Marriage” though? That I get. Even when there's no lyrical indication as to why Gold Panda named this subtle ambient pop “Marriage”, it just seemed to make sense. Listening to it evokes the jubilation and warmth that matrimony (ideally) provides. The hissy base microhouse beat represents the repetition of being with someone 'til death, and the subtle shifts in scenery like the coming-and-going sound effects provided by the various pinging Oriental instruments represents the spice needed to keep the monotony interesting. Gold Panda didn't make this extravagant by any means, but that simplicity is what makes it work. “Marriage” just sort of blends with the atmosphere, but before you know it, you’ve played it ten times in one day, and you don’t regret any of the blissful seconds you’ve spent with it.
Because of all the lazy sampling, constant stage name changes, Making The Band, acting attempts, Sean Combs has become such a joke to the mainstream over the years. It’s easy to forget now his success as an entrepreneur and his responsibility for the ascent of several notable hip-hop and R&B songs over the last fifteen years. The rap skills may be awkward at times, but he has an ear for delectable production and an eye for talent. He has continually contrived R&B entities in his Bad Boy laboratory, with varying success, and it seems that he has struck gold again with Dirty Money. "Ass On The Floor" is equal parts icy and hot, thanks to Dawn and Kalenna's chillingly scorching presence on the track. Swizz Beats’ employment is smart as a motherfucker; his discography may be patchy, but he has constantly proven that he’s capable of making addictive beats. This production comprising of snares popping like popcorn in a microwave over an unwavering synth lamina contributes to the heartbreak-in-the-club feeling that “Ass On The Floor” is all about.
Not since Eminem in his prime have we listened to such baneful, calculated, and daring style of hip-hop; a minimalist rap song to soundtrack the most bloodcurdling nightmares. The beat of "Yonkers" is basically the Psycho theme in a different pitch layered over a viscous bass line and rough percussions, but the amount of intensity that materialized from these simple ingredients is staggering. Tyler, The Creator growls perverse lyrics on top of this terrifying production, and he does so with a level of wit, aggression, and viciousness that can only be achieved by most if they’re possessed by an incubus. I know the cockroach eating, demonic contact lenses, and suicide by hanging are all props and stunts used in the music video, but there just has to be extreme sociapathic tendencies lurking within the Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All member for him to imagine verses as disturbing as these. And I give him bonus points for wanting to brutally murder B.O.B. and Bruno Mars.
Sure, Drake is coming off like a suburban thug in "Headlines", and the heat he’s spewing seems like it’s not pointed towards anything in particular, but that doesn’t take away from the grandness of this song. Drake sounds as if he’s just saying—using his trademark sing-song delivery—anything that comes to mind, like an unedited deliberate freestyle. Boi-1da and 40 erected an exemplary arena for Drake to throw a fit on, an entourage of hyperventilating string arrangement and crisp snares that climbs and climbs until Drake has reached his ceiling. The bravado is comprehensible; it’s a staple of rap, a right of passage even. Everyone from Biggie to Skee-Lo has released an “I’m the greatest” track during their careers. To be honest, I didn’t know Drake had this in him. Somehow, amidst all of the emo-rap that populated this year’s Take Care, he executes the most booming single he has released to date, the hardest rap single of the year not released by a rapper currently in Paris.
The most unsung female vocal performance of this year goes to Yukimi Nagano, the Japanese vocalist of Sweden’s Little Dragon. In “Ritual Union”, she is wonderfully compact, with each lyrical phrase delivered like droplets of icy water dripping from a dangerously acute icicle. Due to the delightful thinness of her vocals, there’s also a tinge of brittleness heard here. “Ritual Union”, after all, is about the repeated pitfalls brought in by infidelity, the cycle of lies sadly begotten by being trapped in a commitment, causing both parties to “[get] in trouble again”. That’s why it’s understandable that her emotions are being imprisoned in here; there are no bulky hooks while her notes never wander too far from the song’s core. The music surrounding her staccatos is equally excellent at its execution, refusing to be outdone by its frontwoman. The taut bassline and sudden blasts of unstable synths give Yukimi’s arrested vocals a pool to swoosh around in.
“Rill Rill” was the standout track from Sleigh Bell’s debut album Treats, and popped up everywhere in 2010 (you heard it in Gossip Girl!). It seems inconceivable that they would wait until a year has passed before they released it as a single. But now I understand what Alexis Krauss, Derek Miller, and the executives in charge of Sleigh Bell’s image were thinking. Thanks to the jangly Funkadelic “Can You Get That” sample, Krauss’ schoolyard melody, and twee lyrics over the snap beat, “Rill Rill” was gleeful and adolescent. It’s a song you teach your kids, giving them indie cred when they perform it in their school talent show. It’s easily the most accessible song in their back pocket. Having said that, this song sounds like an anomaly next to the thunder crunch tracks of Treats. If they debuted with this single, their fans would think that their entire discography is similar to this and would be utterly disappointed. Releasing this as a third single seems appropriate.
It’s disheartening to think that the majority of the people turning this up in car stereos, twerking to this on dance floors, and posting this on their Facebook walls weren’t even alive when the sample used here (MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This) was released. But that’s beside the point. It’s sort of like how kids didn’t know that Missy Elliott borrowed Run DMC’s “Peter Piper” for “Work It”. That’s how dance songs have always operated. It doesn’t matter that the origins of the beat is known as long as it can be danced to; no one came for a history lesson. Anyway, “Dance (A$$)” is a formidable effort from Big Sean (his most profitable single to date). Although let’s face it, the real star here is Nicki Minaj. When the spotlight shines on her, she doesn’t waste her time; she spits obscene couplets, makes the handclaps snap extra hard, and flaunts her ass all over the video. It just fits that the greatest ass in hip-hop is rapping about ass like a Rhodes scholar.
“You can be the
So there’s this girl, right? Hollywood smile, stripper booty, brain like Berkeley. She and Frank Ocean met at Coachella, and you know it’s doomed from the start because he’s there to take lessons from the greatest of all time and she’s there to check out the dance tents. Then comes the unavoidable downward spiral: filming orgies, snorting cocaine for breakfast (yikes), autotuning melodies, doing anything to numb the pain. Ocean is conflicted and drugs are the only solution to make sense of it all. We’re familiar with every painstaking twist and turn of this love story because this so-called Hipster R&B single is masterfully detailed and picturesque,a rare accomplishment for the genre. Furthermore, Frank Ocean’s genius in “Novacane” reveals in the way he manages to make this carefully crafted tale of heartbreak and withdrawal seem stream-of-consciousness storytelling. Moreover, his delivery—the way he sings this in a disinterested, almost monotone voice—is the best encapsulation of numbness in track this year. Perfect.
We belong in an era where cynics roam, where people find faults at even the most immaculate pieces of work. So what can these misanthropes do then when faced with such exquisite beauty like “Holocene”? Bon Iver has mastered the technique of picking the perfect combination of notes, melody, and tempo which serves as a vehicle that transports you to a faraway Eden where no one is allowed to be ironic or dismissive. In “Holocene”, the guitar feels like the soothing oscillation of tranquil waves, and when you listen to it with your eyes closed, it feels like as if you’re floating on water, bereaved from all unwanted problems. It also helps that the lyrics are ambiguous enough that even the most academic asshole would have difficulty deciphering—and thus criticizing—what Justin Vernon is singing about. Even when Vernon is profane in that patented honeyed falsetto, it still sounds like the most angelic word in the English dictionary. I don’t even know what or where or when Holocene is, but I want to go there.
No song in 2011—very few in the history of music, actually—exemplified loneliness and reclusion as effectively as “Lindisfarne”. Although listening to the two-part album version gets you the full emphasis, whoever made the decision to combine them together into a single edit deserves applause. I, myself, would never suggest that you listen to one part without the other. In “Lindisfarne I”, James Blake’s wintery, highly autotuned pleas appear faintly, only to withdraw into nothingness shortly after, and every time it does, the hairs at the back of your neck is pulled as far as it can go. And in case you weren’t feeling abandoned enough when part I ends, a downpour of acoustic guitar notes, subdued bass thumps, and electronic clicks soak you in “Lindisfarne II”. Blake appears in your head once more to utter “beacon don’t fly too high”, repeating the sentiment over and over again, confirming that no one's going to be there to respond. I also would never suggest that you listen to this if you’re currently stuck in a dark place in your life, not unless you’re prepared to bawl your eyes out anyway.
Don’t be fooled by “The Bay”. Devon’s Metronomy isn’t referring to San Francisco or Port Jackson here. “The Bay” they are singing about is Torbay, the eastern part of Devon that tourists have playfully dubbed as the English Riviera. Now before you starting planning a vacation to that destination, it’s critical that you know that this The Bay doesn’t exactly offer breathtaking views of skyscrapers or beaches populated with bikini-clad sunbathers. The only thing you'll experience in Torbay is pleasant climate and small-town harbor sensations. Metronomy gives it a marvelous attempt to color the truth though, and it’s all done to mask the turmoil that surrounds songwriter Joseph Mount’s relationship. The rubbery bass, four-on-the-floor strut, and the “it feels soooo gooooood in The Bay” chorus line may lead you to believe that he is ready to disco, but he’s really (unsuccessfully) pleading his love interest to spend one more night with him in this Bay. So be careful. Even the palm trees commonly seen in Torbay are actually cabbage trees.
I like my video games. I can go through a Madden franchise season in one sitting. My kill/death ratio in Call of Duty is respectable. I’ve spent countless hours on my bed with an Xbox 360 controller in my hand satisfyingly commanding computer generated characters to do every thing I want them to do. I wasn’t planning to change that habit as long as EA Sports and Infinity Ward keep churning out new installments of my favorite games. But then I discovered Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games”, and I realized that I had to get all my priorities in order. Lana Del Rey, those pouty lips expelling a withering alto, is saying that “heaven is a place on earth with [me]”, like she’s perfectly fine with whatever activity we’re wasting our time with. But hearing the melancholy she’s singing these words, and feeling the dispiriting pace of the string-kissed accompaniment, there's a sense that she's trying to bury the exasperation she's feeling. I would never want my wife to resent me because I’m busy killing noobs.
Robyn’s lack of restraint, releasing three EP’s and one full-length album in 2010, robbed her fans of having a significant Robyn single in 2011 (“Call Your Girlfriend” is right on the edge). But thank God her style is inspiring proficient followers from Britain; at least we have Katy B to fill the void with her own masterful version of broken-hearted Europop. “Broken Record” is a desolate dance single Robyn would’ve loved to call her own. Katy B sings forlornly, the shuffling breakbeat constructed by Geeneus and Zinc zooming by her. There’s a difference between Robyn and Katy B though. The cold comfort of knowing seems to shield Robyn from the emotional misery while Katy B is a masochist who can’t admit to herself that she’s stuck in a relationship that is repeatedly hurting her. Her lyrics say that she’s rueful and irrationally willing to overlook her suffering, but her minor-chord melody reveals her heart is about to explode. I’m sure a couple more awesome hits like these and she’d be able to endure romantic failures as gracefully as Robyn.
It’s really a tie between “Heaven” and the last entry because whichever I prefer more between the two changes from day to day. What’s important is that “Heaven”, “Broken Record”, and Yasmin’s “On My Own” shows that there is an innovative new wave of Britain dance pop stars who are successfully reviving this forgotten kind of mid 90’s dance music. “Heaven” takes first place this time on the grounds that even though traces of the source (Blue Wave era Massive Attack) are still distinguishable, it rises above thanks to Emeli Sandé. She is typically an anonymous hook singer for Magnetic Man and Wiley, but this is a breakthrough stalwart vocal achievement. It’s easy to be swallowed by this sandstorm beat complete with raucous horns and empyrean strings, but Emeli refuses to by belting these words as if her rent depended on it. Her voice being invigorated by a gospel choir during the euphoric final chorus hardly seems fair to her competition.
Some time in the future, we’re going to look back at “Super Bass” and realize how monumental this single turned out to be. Nicki Minaj sounds like she’s having fun rapping as she utilizes a couple of her personalities to say a word here and there, and Ester Dean’s pop chorus is aural equivalent of eating cotton candy. But most importantly, the influence it had on preteen and teenage girls in 2011 was remarkable. On YouTube, we have hundreds (maybe thousands) of girls—a list that includes Selena Gomez, Taylor Swift, and Filipina celebrity Rhian Ramos—channeling into their inner rappers, pouring their hearts out into their own cover or lip sync version of this song. Even my twelve-year old cousin has committed the entire song to memory; she may not be able to recite it on a skill level similar to Nicki Minaj’s double-time assault, but she certainly performs it with the same ebullience and facial expression as hers. But it can go either way too. I would hate to see Disney rappers in a couple of years, but that could easily be a direction we’re heading at thanks to this.
Poor Kelly Rowland, always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Destiny hasn’t been as kind to her as it has been to its other Child, Beyoncé Knowles. B has always been the better singer, the better performer, and the bigger sex symbol; Kelly had that one song with Nelly once. The former groupmates both released an album in 2011, and Beyoncé’s 4 sixtoupled the sales of Kelly's Here I Am. On top of that, Ms. Knowles and Jay-Z gave birth to Blue Ivy Carter, the most anticipated baby of the decade and the future greatest hip-hop artist of all time. But Kelly has "Motivation", an icy R&B jam that is so sultry that you can work up a sweat just by listening to it. There’s no doubt that it’s sexier than anything Beyoncé has released this year. She erotically creeps up and down the octave, showcasing that her vocal range can compete with anyone. If Kelly can pull out treats like this more often, she can run the world while Beyoncé is in maternity leave.
Basic bitches will criticize your love for Kreayshawn. Why? Because she’s a young, white, female rapper; because she’s a perpetuator of girl-on-girl misogyny; because she spells her name “Kreayshawn”. But for all the issues of inauthenticity and lack of credibility, for all the reasons why this shouldn’t be taken “seriously” because of what Kreayshawn is and what Kreayshawn does; the only thing that really matters is that “Gucci Gucci” is catchy as fuck. “Gucci Gucci” is jam-packed with unabashed self-assurance and juvenile joyfulness (so much so that “it’s pumping out of her ovaries”) that it’s hard not to be infected by it. There’d be times in 2011 when I’m struggling with life-altering dilemmas, “Gucci Gucci Louis Louis Fendi Fendi Prada” would infiltrate my thoughts, and then I would just be smiling like I’m posing for an imaginary photographer. Even when it’s bad, it’s smile-inducing: “I’m looking like Madonna but I’m flossing like Ivana…Trump” just reminds of “Jean-Ralphio, you gotta end on the rhyme!” all day.
On first take, “Countdown” is just chaotic, at least that’s what I assumed when I found this in her 2011 album, 4. Beyoncé has a tendency to be dizzying on her faster paced tracks; sometimes the elements come together wonderfully (“Crazy In Love”, “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)”), sometimes you get buried by garbage (“Déjà vu”, “Diva”). Thus, it’s easy to discard one of her singles as a scattered mess, especially when it has a difficult tempo changes and a pre-chorus that is melodically incongruous to the rest of the song. But then, you listen to it more, and you watch the spasming video, and one by one, these jewels start to leap out of the clutter: the marching band arrangement, the plinking synth droplets, the revelation that she calls Jay-Z her BOOF BOOF, “griiiiiind up on it, girl”, the greatest chorus she’s ever recorded. And, yes, even the pre-chorus countdown gets you pumped after a few runs; its countdown to 1 is a build up to an indisputable 10.
In the last seven years, M83’s sound evolved from the crystalline electronic shoegaze of Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts to the bombastic arena synth-rock of Before The Dawn Heals Us to the soundtrack-to-John-Hughes-movies revivalism of Saturdays=Youth. He has been transitioning into other styles so successfully that it becomes a challenge to pinpoint what direction M83 is heading towards next. In 2011’s “Midnight City”, M83 Anthony Gonzalez tried to extract a little from Column A, B, and C, resulting into the band’s most flawless achievement yet. It combines the fuzzyness of Dead Cities with the pop sensibilities of Saturdays=Youth, and with the assistance of live percussions and a saxophone solo, everything is launched into colossal heights previously reached by the tracks of Before The Dawn. Also, the single achieves what its title suggests: “Midnight City” is the quintessential nighttime summer jam, the perfect accompaniment to those late-night rides as you enjoy the night air from your rolled-down window.
Out of nowhere comes Azealia Banks, saying “hey, I can be the answer.” And if the question is “who is my go-to artist to dance to in 2011?”, then she would be absolutely correct. Azealia Banks is an unstoppable demon on the mic. In "212", she highlights her lyrical skills and rapid-fire diction by spitting out a blitz of creative assonance using four different charming voices: (1) the clamorous barrage that makes her the no. 1 contender to Nicki Minaj’s female rapper crown, (2) the impellent mushmouth that everyone thought went extinct when Missy Elliott disappeared from thin air, (3) a sludgy version of Rihanna’s unvarnished hook maker, and (4) the panic attack scream from an urban Björk. Any of those personas are remarkably irresistible when combined with that booming "Calle Ocho" drums and sleazy sirens, that dirty beat launching that dirty mouth like a cannon attempting to knock down buildings. While we’re on it, hate me or call me a misogynist if I think that hearing the word “cunt” on this track is refreshing. I’m sorry but I can’t defend it, I just do.
Like I mentioned in the intro of this My Year In Lists, the first few months of 2011 stunk for me personally. I had no work, I was facing rejections, and I was in a crippling long-distance relationship. During that nadir, “All of the Lights” was my song. It’s not as if the lyrical theme of the song was a message that I can relate my situation to—I myself didn’t struggle with my celebrity and love life like Kanye West does. Still, certain aspects of it were helpful as an entrance music before every job interview: the Rihanna line (“we’re going all the way this time”) that I yelled out while I was sitting in my car to relieve all of the tension and nervousness that I was feeling; the uplifting horn arrangement that sounds like a maximalist hip-hop Rocky theme; the fact that Kanye enlisted 14 guest vocalists just to sing one line in the song is the exact manifestation of Kanye’s admirable drive and ambition. I know that it seems kind of corny but I’ll forever remember “All of the Lights” as the motivational tool that I used to pull myself out of the gutter.
There was a time when everyone thought that the allure of celebrity luxuriance has basically driven Britney spears crazy. But “Till The World Ends”, from the stutter of the electronic intro to the muffled explosion to end the song, is affirmation that she currently has her head on straight. Every detail in here sounds superbly fabricated, every wobbly synth bassline and every stammering faux-dubstep beat seems precisely engineered by Swedish pop inventors, Dr. Luke and Max Martin, to move your every muscle. And Britney, Femmebot 1.0 herself, is expertly programmed to digitally coo and sigh on this track, taking advantage of the unjust fact that she hasn’t gotten a beat this dizzying since “Toxic”. Don’t call it a comeback, she’s been here for years.
The prediction that this year may be our last is well documented, and for the record, I think that it’s complete bullshit. Having said that, if it turns out that the Mayan calendars are accurate, and solar flares end up flipping the Earth’s magnetic poles like a coin, then Britney has the right approach here.. Every time I listen to this song, I picture a gathering of sweaty naked dancers, taking part in a colossal orgy, singing the immense “Whoa oh oh oh” bridge in a synchronized euphoria. It’s an excellent motto during our waning days on Earth. Why worry yourself with something inevitable? Let’s celebrate what’s left of existence with a party in which Armageddon is its only last call.
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