Pop Rocks Booty Bass
You've heard those tales, a few years ago now, about how maybe, just maybe, there is actual sex going down on the Brazilian dancefloors. You've thought about it. You've decried the puritanical state of North American dancefloors in comparison. You've done double takes at the covers of those Baile Funk compilations, perhaps you even bought one hoping for more explicit goods inside.
Now, remember how you ate Pop Rocks when you were a kid, not so much for the taste or the fizzing (though that did put them a step ahead of Nerds, at least), but cause you heard the urban legend about how some kid had died after eating a bunch and drinking soda? And that essence of vague danger gave you a rush of power; here you were, eight years old and already staring death in the eye, maybe chasing down a handful with a swig of Dr. Pepper if you were particularly daring?
Much as you thought of that kid writhing away his final moments in stomach-ruptured agony, here's Tigarah, handing you a little package of fizzy sex and daring with her EP from last year. The beat drops in and you think "oh yeah, actual sex!" You can almost feel that dancefloor orgy in the kick drum alone. She starts talking (I couldn't honestly call it singing or rapping), that particular commanding tone of the genre even enhanced by the syllabic structure of her Japanese. She's ordering this shit around like a hypersexual square dance caller, flaunting the hell out of some serious cross-cultural exoticisms. You can almost believe it!
There's a point in you life where you realize the great Pop Rocks danger is a myth but, having spent so long within that nebulous intrigue, you tuck the experience of it away in a sweet nostalgic place. You stop eating Pop Rocks, cause they don't taste all that great and their fizz doesn't kick like it used to. A similar thing begins halfway through the first song on the Tigarah EP, when she breaks into a little strummed acoustic guitar in place of the ass shaking. Thirty seconds later she's doing the little "list the hip cosmopolitan international cities" bit and you realize this girl is straight Shibuya-Kei in a Baile Funk hat. It's an assumption quickly confirmed by her total lack of vocal skills or charisma in general. By the second track she's throwing in a little vocoded jpop, ala Utada Hikaru or whomever. And you realize she's got all the burgeoning sexuality of a briefcase full of money on the way to the bank. By the end of the EP, if you last that long, you wonder how you ever fell for it, and you're more than a little amused by the whole endeavor. By next week, you'll have forgotten her entirely.
the first 3 tracks are plenty.
Now, remember how you ate Pop Rocks when you were a kid, not so much for the taste or the fizzing (though that did put them a step ahead of Nerds, at least), but cause you heard the urban legend about how some kid had died after eating a bunch and drinking soda? And that essence of vague danger gave you a rush of power; here you were, eight years old and already staring death in the eye, maybe chasing down a handful with a swig of Dr. Pepper if you were particularly daring?
Much as you thought of that kid writhing away his final moments in stomach-ruptured agony, here's Tigarah, handing you a little package of fizzy sex and daring with her EP from last year. The beat drops in and you think "oh yeah, actual sex!" You can almost feel that dancefloor orgy in the kick drum alone. She starts talking (I couldn't honestly call it singing or rapping), that particular commanding tone of the genre even enhanced by the syllabic structure of her Japanese. She's ordering this shit around like a hypersexual square dance caller, flaunting the hell out of some serious cross-cultural exoticisms. You can almost believe it!
There's a point in you life where you realize the great Pop Rocks danger is a myth but, having spent so long within that nebulous intrigue, you tuck the experience of it away in a sweet nostalgic place. You stop eating Pop Rocks, cause they don't taste all that great and their fizz doesn't kick like it used to. A similar thing begins halfway through the first song on the Tigarah EP, when she breaks into a little strummed acoustic guitar in place of the ass shaking. Thirty seconds later she's doing the little "list the hip cosmopolitan international cities" bit and you realize this girl is straight Shibuya-Kei in a Baile Funk hat. It's an assumption quickly confirmed by her total lack of vocal skills or charisma in general. By the second track she's throwing in a little vocoded jpop, ala Utada Hikaru or whomever. And you realize she's got all the burgeoning sexuality of a briefcase full of money on the way to the bank. By the end of the EP, if you last that long, you wonder how you ever fell for it, and you're more than a little amused by the whole endeavor. By next week, you'll have forgotten her entirely.
the first 3 tracks are plenty.