There is a disturbing trend in popular music. No, I'm not talking about the well-known and already well-covered disaster that is the music industry. Despite the the best efforts of (((record labels))) to limit western tastes to various flavours of negro smut, a stubborn white-majority palate continues to resonate with more wholesome and European styles of music.
Promising youngsters who displayed natural musical talent such as our very own Taylor Swift, Katie Perry and Ed Sheeran all learned how to sing and play instruments as children. While relatively anodyne and not-quite-groundbreaking in their art, they represented a break from the 'nigger beats' and overproduced disco-pop of Madonna and Kylie Minogue that my own generation was cruelly subjected to. Unsurprisingly, the latter two pop-divas now only live on as remixed gay-club basement anthems or soundtracks to sad, wine-soaked divorcée's 'girls nights'. But we are getting sidetracked.
If you don't believe me, see for yourself:
From Taylor Swift's first album, Tim McGraw
My idea for writing this came from hearing Sheeran's latest hit, The Shape of You (below) in various public places. Unfortunately in finding and watching the videos to share for this post, it turns out to be far worse than I originally thought.Apart from the dropping of any pretense of musicanship with a repetitive and pedestrian electronic xylophone melody playing on repeat, Sheeran now effects a negrified 'playah' form of pidgin English, and positions himself as the earnest and horny young male who is 'in love with the shape' of what appears in the video to be an Asiatic-Negress hybrid, who is seen strutting her stuff in the boxing ring as a Strong Woman™ does.
They playfully horse about and then eat deep fried chicken at a diner. I'm not making this up, it's in the video. The 'lonely soulful white boy' schtick of his earlier work is replaced here with cheap lust, or eros. This can be considered the 'first negation' against their social oppression - traditional society's warning against giving in to impulse and the disapproval of promiscuity.
The only way to make this erotic love acceptable to Sheeran's female teen audience is to dress is up in higher forms; he is not panting and slobbering over her 'tits and ass' - rather he is "in love with your body" or "the shape of you", toying with metaphor whilst reinforcing the physical form of his object of sexual desire. Rather than laying bare the indiscriminate hormonal basis for his lust, he claims the fulfillment of divine providence:
Your love was handmade for somebody like me / Come on now and follow my lead
The use of the word 'love' to signify the object of his desire - her physical form, further embellishes and ennobles his postmodern quest to colonise the 'black body'.
The second, more concrete negation finds expression in the public display of their inter-racial union and its sexual fulfillment. The blank-faced old taxi driver ferries this science experiment from its fried-chicken date and the overweight and bald white boxing coach cowers in the face of the badass creature's unleashing of power as she rains down her punches on his training pad.
And last night you were in my room/ And now my bedsheets smell like you / Everyday I'm discovering something brand new
This is the jouissance that only the invigorated black form can bring to the dying white society, welcomed enthusiastically by the beta-male ginger who using some advanced literary pilpul, romanticises the regression to base sexual impulse and his own genetic suicide. The 'brand new' 'discoveries' made through his new bedmate are novel, exciting and themselves an act of liberation. This is reason enough to throw away hundreds of thousands of years of genetic selection and distinction.
If that's not enough, have a look at Katy Perry's latest hit, 'Bon Appetit'Here, Perry is near naked, covered in flour and groped by all manner of faceless brown hands as she writhes about in front of the camera.
Our very own Taytay may have held up slightly better than her counterparts, but there is no hiding behind the trainwreck that is the 'badass heroine' feat. straight-talking-negro-rapper trope in Bad Blood
Is this all part of a greater plan? To capture the audiences of more wholesome artists and lure them into the pits of drug taking, alcoholism, money worship, miscegenation and negro culture? It probably doesn't matter at this point, as it is happening with or without an organised conspiracy. I note that a similar article could be written in the early 2000's, using Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera or Lindsay Lohan as examples.
What is even more concerning, as I learned while doing research for this article, is that it seems that this 'good-girl-turned-bad' routine is now cutting out the early stages and going straight to the end-point while the artist is still a child.
Behold Bille Eilish, who is fifteen years old. In the video, wearing a child's raincoat and holding a flower, Eilish effects a husky sexualised sing-talk voice, makes coy head and eye movements to the camera, singing about having murdered her friends while carrying a wheelbarrow full of cash which she proceeds to play with, skipping as a young child would.
They'll be here pretty soon
Lookin' through my room for the money
I'm bitin' my nails
I'm too young to go to jail
It's kinda funny
Where's my mind
Where's my mind
Where's my mind
Where's my mind
Maybe it's in the gutter where I left my lover
What an expensive fate
My V is for Vendetta
Thought that I'd feel better
But now I got a bellyache
Everything I do the way I wear my noose
Like a necklace
I wanna make 'em scared like I could be anywhere
Like I'm wreck-less
I lost my mind
I don't mind
Where's my mind
Where's my mind
But wait there's more. Seventeen year old Olivia O’Brien has a smash hit, Empty, which is a kind of post-ironic ode to teenage hedonism.
One wonders if the lyrics would prompt any self-reflection on the part of its party-going audience. From the stylised photography, the teen-hooker fashion á la Iris (Jodie Foster's character in Taxi Driver) and the glamourised California mansion, to call this a double-entendre would be generous. It would appear to me that Empty is a negation of emptiness, showing that it's not all that bad, and that when it is experienced, it is not your fault or responsibility to fix it.
That's just reality,
Yeah I'm fucked up but I don't wanna be
I wonder if I'm good enough
But maybe I've had just too much
To drink, to smoke, to swallow
I'm drowning up my sorrows
There's rules I'll never follow
Pretend there's no tomorrow
I wish there was no tomorrow
Following in the footsteps of Tove Lo, the 'emotionally-vulnerable-female-victim-of-excess' seems to be taking off as a genre, and speaks to the devastation that is a seemingly normal part of life for young men, women and apparently now children. Below the popular hit Stay High
There's not much else to say. The techniques of cultural subversion and social demoralisation have become both more blunt and sophisticated all at once. Hiding behind 'the music' of these songs and ignoring the lyrics, intent and context is itself a form of submission. However, "calling out" the hypocrisy or unpleasantness of modern music publicly is likely to encourage a perception of curmudgeonliness, which is a feature of the propaganda mechanism itself. Taking the effort to control the inputs that you can, being able to see the messages for what they are and raising yourself and those close to you above the cesspit will limit the damage, and may create unfolding potentials for something greater in the future.
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