Skip to main content

Important Thoughts on Katy Perry

Like everyone else in the world, I'm obsessed with the new Katy Perry song, and, nerd that I am, I need to make three observations here:

(1) This is a song about ambivalence. The speaker is pulled in two directions: Against her own best judgment, she will almost certainly contact her (possibly toxic) former lover. Why is it shrewd to write about ambivalence? Because the sensation of conflicting impulses is something we all experience all of the time. Perry's frenemy, Taylor Swift, High Priestess of Ambivalence ("You look like bad news; I gotta have you"), has already endorsed the new Perry song.

(2) This is a song in which form matches content. Perry seems to mock herself, and to mock the idea of a racing, self-rationalizing mind, with this run-on sentence: "Just because it's over doesn't mean it's really over and if I think it over maybe you'll be coming over again...and I'll have to get over you all over again...." The chaos of Ms. Perry's inner life is mirrored in crazed, ranting syntax. Brilliant.

(3) Ms. Perry is a fan of the framing device. She very much likes to call attention to the transition from an Ordinary World to an Enchanted World. "Roar"'s video begins with a painting; through the magic of storytelling, we then enter the painting. Same with "California Gurls": a candy box comes alive, and it's no longer a candy box, but an actual landscape. In "Wide Awake": Perry seems to exit her dressing room through a magic mirror, and she becomes a version of Snow White. In the great video for "Never Really Over," we begin in quiet, rural America--but we soon hop on a bus and become part of a strange colony of broken-hearted dancers (something like a playful, cartoonish version of Esalen).

"I don't want to fall through the rabbit hole," sings Perry, but of course she *does* want to take that trip. To enter the Enchanted World. How nice to have her back!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...