The following is part of a critical analysis of a Youtube vid of some teenage girl's pop-song. The song is trite, repetitive, and very much in keeping with what passes for music among her generation: me, me, me. The article about the vid is also trite and very much in keeping with what passes for academic writing among our Postmodern Betters. Confession: in my grad school days, I wrote many a paper that read like this. Dominie, mea culpa, mea culpa, maxima mea culpa!
She offers the camera a hostage's smile, forced, false. Her smoky eyes suggest chaos witnessed: tear gas, rock missiles and gasoline flames. They paint her as a refugee of a teen culture whose capacity for real subversion was bludgeoned away somewhere between the atrocities of Kent State and those of the 1968 Democratic Convention, the start of a creeping zombification that would see youthful dissent packaged and sold alongside Pez and Doritos.
“Look and listen deeply,” she challenges. An onanistic recursion, at once Siren and Cassandra, she heralds a new chapter in the Homeric tradition. With a slight grin, she calls out to us: “I sing of the death of the individual, the dire plight of free will and the awful barricades daily built inside the minds of all who endure what lately passes for American life. And here I shall tell you of what I have done in order to feel alive again.”
Read the whole awful thing and weep for America, folks.
Follow HancAquam & Check out my Wish List --------->