PSA #1828

Unfailingly, here in the front row of emo rap shows, just before its mostly white emcees bust onstage, punky teen girls get their lips sticky with gloss and giggle, eyes doe-lined and pubescent, perfecting their best “choose me” coy fist pump. Maybe hoping dude’ll spit a lyric their way, maybe hoping something else, but with these unlikely sex symbols, it’s ultimately less about backstage fucking than it is about backstage saving. Rescuing the man in the lyrics from himself. Cutester punk Florence Nightengale syndrome. Like you can know a man through his lyrics, like you wanna coddle him and like the lyrics are about you, or you hope they are.
Last night at the Def Jux show, I watched the under-22 girls in front re-make-up, five minutes before Aesop Rock’s set; they lip-glossed all through Chuck D’s “you do you” American political monologue. I’ve watched this exact lip gloss application scene a million times, and I just wanna unroll the whole canvas for these ladies: I’m pro sex/seduction narrative in music, but there’s NOTHING sexy about Aesop Rock lyrics. Dude wrote an entire song about how all he does is watch TV; do you think he’d get his ass off the recliner to kiss you hello? HELL, no. (Well, maybe; I’m sure Aesop Rock is a very nice fellow, but that’s not the point.) Male dysfunction as romance in art has been the straight relationship dialogue for awhile now, reinforced in lyrics from Aes Rock to New Found Glory (who, along with Slug/Atmosphere, are the most popular dudes among the tattooed, pierced, and willing to blog about taking their clothes off, according to our trusty Suicide Girls MVP ’04-‘05) (another blog entry entirely!). But it doesn’t make it any less frustrating or draconian, that the music changes but the groupie text never goes away.