“Is this the low or is this the high?”

“Just let it go, enjoy the ride”

“Cause all we need is love, but love means sacrifice”

I’m loathe to be moved by middle school poetry lyrics but I’m also loathe to not acknowledge when a song speaks to me. Sums up my two weeks.

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.

Kitty Pryde, “285”

Kittaveli wrote an ode to recently-shuttered DIY Brooklyn venue 285 Kent (I linked to an article about its closing recently.) I’ve never seen her perform there, only LA, but this song is probably the most loving and wistful thing she’s ever done— which is saying something, given that nearly every song she writes is about the heaviest crush ever. Here she uses some angry-ish house synths to really open up the chorus at the end. It’s fun to dance to, but a little disconcerting.

we say goodbye i guess/ i will see you around/ and i will clean up my mess/ and i’ll never wear you down/