Ah, but who's the fool here? The thirtysomething fannies with a hard-on for a Blur reunion album that may never happen? The musicians who soldier on with stiff upper lips, weathering a marketplace that's less hospitable or sustainable than ever before? Anybody who actually takes Record Store Day seriously?
This is more or less just M.I.A. rapping over a Suicide song. Which is fine with us, provided that Suicide—who are still alive!—join her onstage to thrash out this hash of distorto-synths at some point in the future.
Most rappers make a point of attaching conditional strings to checkbooks or insisting that you—the pliant, comely young thing—will never receive as much as a ring for companionship, affection, or "brane." Plies is not most rappers; he doesn't expect much from his chickens. "I buy you Gucci and Prada, and fly you all around the world/Because you so much hotter than all them other girls," he rasps on the chorus, dangling specifics on the verses: "If you like to ride candy, I can put you in the paint," "You ain't got to cook, baby/All you gotta do is order," "If you ever get cold, I can put you in a mink." Humanitarian!
Kind of like popping a dozen party pills at a Euro-trash rave and passing out in the VIP lounge, only to reawaken to find that these same pills have grown, anthropomorphized, are cannibalistic, and are eyeing you. Worse: They brought Pharrell along!
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