Iggy Azalea, “Just Askin’”

Hers is the first full album I’ve listened to in at least two months: lately the only thing spastic enough to keep my attention is high-energy dj sets stuffed as full of twerk and electro as booty shorts are full of booty.

I appreciate her crudeness (I remember joyridin’ on your mustache) and her husky voice, it creaks and sneers at everyone, even when she’s coasting through a stripper serenade like this one. It’s impossible for Iggy to look up to anyone because she’s like eight feet tall, so she settles for looking down.

The beat to “Just Askin’” is the most saccharine dose out of the tracklist. Listen to that cut-up child’s chorus over soothing Atari bleeps. She doesn’t really care if you don’t care about her, but she cares about her own care for you, no matter how coy she comes across; just listen to the 2.5 voicemails sampled at the end. One’s a diatribe promptly deleted, one sounds like (I could be wrong) a tearful drunk exultation from a friend that she lets plays through, even when that same friend does the drunk girl thing and accidentally hits “end call” halfway.

I dunno, I’m just real happy to enjoy some music enough to write three paragraphs about it.

i’m aight/ and i’ma play it cool/ i can’t cook but i made a plate for you/

UFO!, “Culture Vulture”

Damn I wanna get married to this song. Nobody will speak for the whole ceremony, me and my bride will Bernie down the aisle in turn, everyone whipping their heads in circles to the beat for the entirety of the afternoon. The organist just twerks his ass up and down on the keys and somehow this jam blasts out the pipes. Instead of throwing rice, everyone just fires uzis into the skies, even— no, especially— the grandparents.

The bounciest bounce song I ever did hear.