So… in the years and miscellany of months since Britney Jean… many dramatic learning scenarios have unfolded… for the shown world, and both a one Miss Britney Jean Spears, and mutually exclusively, myself #swiperitsnotaboutyou #iknow #itsalwaysbeenaboutdora #yesiknow #everypopstarisdora #igetit #keepitmoving #peoplearetryingtoreadhere #anyway
Much like Britney Jean, said Spears nor myself have anything to prove in this latest iteration… except the reality that we live our lives as tales to be told, we record said lives to manifest alchemical gold, and beyond any and all else, we eclipse the great with the good, and actively oppose the established fallacy that human lives are nothing more than fails to be sold… which, effectually, is the everything; because Glory finds and founds itself in the amplified actualization of De Facto over De Jure Millennial Pop music culture identity, it breeds: I applaud and advocate for Glory; because I, along with a camaraderie of unbeknownst-to-us-then-undeniable-to-the-world-now Army officials, find and found the self in this relentlessly resilient tribe of born-and-bred Millennial Pop music culture creatives, I proceed.
#LETSGETINTELLECTUAL #INANANTIESTABLISHMENTARIANKINDOFWAY #LIKEWEALWAYSDOATTHISTIME #WITHUNNECESSARILYEGREGIOUSAMOUNTSOFIMPROPERLYPLACEDRHYME
So, without further ado (“without further ado…” it’s all melodramatic – get what the kids want and have fun with it! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) the de jure, the de facto, the one-off story riffing about the Glory that is this marvelous ninth record album from millennial cult pop tribe leader Britney Spears…
Britney Jean Spears (born December 2, 1981) is an American singer, dancer and actress. Born in McComb, Mississippi, and raised in Kentwood, Louisiana.
glory (noun) glo·ry \ˈglȯr-ē\
3. a ring or spot of light: as
b: a halo appearing around the shadow of an object
Britney Spears exists as the living pop canon of the TRL Generation: period, unequivocally; Glory exists as said Generation’s anthem battle hymn and opus tribal frequency. #OurBattlefieldIsSpectacularPrivatizedPublicity #YourVibeAttractsYourTribe
For the record:
De Facto: Total Request Live was the audacity of MTV live broadcasting roughly forty teenage girls and gays in an indiscriminate room on a piece of some of the most valuable real estate in the world; the actuality of 700,000 minds, and pairs of ears and eyes (by way of the televisual musical experience) glued to a proverbial 200 square-foot Popopticon.
TRL was the advertising gold mine amplifying said forty Clinton-Era, middle-class, predominately effeminate, American pre-adolescent live studio audience members to a national viewing audience of nearly 1m comrades in a mainstream-today-underground-next-decade pop civilization.
TRL gave these kids who knew: where to be at 4pm every weekday, what to do between the hours of 8am-4pm each weekday (canvas the classroom and vote), and with which peers to align every school day (designated by with which slightly-elder elected pop official said peer so aligned), a blueprint on how to maintain a message, craft a campaign, and mobilize said peers to shut down Times Square when necessary (floor seats for every fan being said necessity).
Fundamentally though, TRL granted said collective of kids market precedent in a late 90s/turn of the Millennium #thatnineninetwothousand world of the market dictating – not just itself, but the emerging globalized self of consumption culture…
TRL was the audacity of centering this glorified focus group’s attention and agency on pop music democracy, and that kind of became the audacity of hope; meet hope, her nickname is Miss Britney Jean Spears.
TRL granted this tribe of guerrilla popsters a bombastic fire sign from the Bayou. TRL taught middle-class effeminate teen-ambitious popsters how to occupy globalized culture. MTV willed teens at the turn of the Millennium a pop body to know better: 17 years later, intelligence is the steal, and Glory is stellar genesis.
Because, here’s the thing… the fire sign turned out to be a phoenix, the consumer product ended up being a cultural phenomenon, and those music videos TRL dosed those effeminate teens on… carried frequencies – visual frequencies. Repeated frequencies delivered at routine times in controlled environments effectually establish a station, a home base if you will, TRL was pop hypnosis… and Britney was and is the pneuma-pulsing living record of TRL #britplayedthekidsbrains #hookahsnotbazookas #dropbeatsnotbombs
That said, TRL crafted a groove into the audience consciousness, and regardless of any and everything else, we all ride to Britney as a default metronome. Her voice is signature, and that aural Hancock is a trigger, by voluntary saturation. So what does that mean now?
It means if you’re here reading this, and if you’re listening to Glory at any point in time, and if you remember Lucky’s tears first-hand: kid, you made it out alive.
All the yous… just know you have friends within the frequency, somewhere in the world is a pop renegade riding the enigmatic rhythm right alongside you, not because it looks good on the radio with “friends,” but because it feels like home inside when you close your eyes… those imaginary friends made it out alive and became journos, because of a girl our childhood journos insinuated couldn’t read; those imaginary friends became fashion designers, because of a girl who became a staple of Mr. Blackwell’s worst-dressed list; those imaginary friends became pop icons who would redefine the artistic standard in the preeminent genre, because of a girl the media lambasted for moral bankruptcy and cultural decay…
TRL gave us a language, and Britney hooked us up on said phonics. #shemadetheguvunah #callherthesoundboardofeducation The Army is all synesthetic – we’re born and bred multilinguists. We had to be, to maintain integrity. That secret language rides within these rhythms. Britney requires imagination, the music implores and makes it imperative to project your own visuals… her cover art, is perhaps, the paramount standing testament to the necessity of projecting one’s own visual manifestation – as a listener, as an audience member – to complete the genuine creative exchange that is the pop music experience. The siren sounds, the proverbial sires signify.
Spears’ music, is so, incredibly, layered… I cannot stress enough the heights and depths to which Spears continuously goes, and of which Spears records. This traverse between lived and conjured polar realities is unparalleled. Whoever denies the storytelling ability of Spears – beyond apparent technical prowess, rather, panoramically pervasive pure mood conveyance – has not captured, nor properly considered, the sheer levels of layers in Spears’ track anthology,
and that is perhaps the greatest Spearsian signature of all: humble depth.
Spears will rarely, if ever, tout the sheer magnitude of her records. These records are marvels of technological prowess and cosmosonic capacity – where Blackout saw Danja’s synthesized vocal levels filtering through the records’ darkest recesses; here, Britney is the aural consciousness ebbing and flowing throughout terrestrial percussion and electric reverb. It’s never any one thing, it is the panoramic collection of some of this contemporary condition’s most expansive sensory elements… the soundtrack of this human-robot-humanoid dialectic… the artifice, and human intelligence.
That is always our story, how to transcend above the inanimate – how to make this real now, and how to manifest the best surreal into an eternal reality; for the girls and the gays of the TRL days, this can only be done through the power of immersive Pop music, and she’s the frequency: that’s the reality. I’m not itemizing every other TRLder who – by definition – will always be playing catch-up (nine albums at 34 is many lives to lead), and it is of no immediate relevance or value to discuss why Britney Spears owns said eclipsing amount of airtime and audience support (by way of debuted, retired, and #1 videos) – what matters is that it happened, and what that means here and now. It means she didn’t quit, and because she maintained and evolved said frequency through the proverbial sonic drought by her contemporaries (2007 was a lonely place for TRL pop music… the entire Bush Era was a pop culture battlefield featuring Britney against the shown world), she is the beat at the base of the collective Millennial Cult Pop tribal headspace: knock-knock, it’s Britney – and that love don’t 9-to-5 to satisfy; never the has-been, always will be.
Because, for the record:
So, since TRL endowed the kids with our own table to plot, conventional charts only matter as much as we make them matter. For instance, when, let’s say, hypothetically, the first album you individually executive produce, is also the first album of yours not to debut at Number One on the Billboard charts, only to become the first album of yours to be inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame… kind of like when, per your life’s signature work, you read the script for the apparent master, then flip it for your Army masses #cultpopoverchartpop #impact
B exists to maintain the tribe, we all win so long as we’re all alive.
B doesn’t create consumer products anymore – that relevance waned when Blackout became a cult classic, and so established a new canon of the music and the bling’s mutual exclusivity; if the sound is good and the good is sound, it’s actually the chart that surrenders the crown.
We just need B to maintain the energy, and here she’s happy; here she’s in love with some sense of necessity… and so rides blissfully along with the harmonized rhythms of shared apparent misery. These kids – we kids – survived the Bush Era, these kids survived the Bush Era likely bopping to the beats of Britney Jean Spears… not all of these kids’ fellow kids made it, not all of these kids made it out alive as kids, some of these kids have kids, not all of these kids ever had childhoods or chances to be kids… all of these kids had a chance to dance with Britney, with pop music that didn’t try to be cooler than you, didn’t want to be better than you, didn’t feel somewhere between a roofie and a robot slap to the throat… it was just dancable when we had no lead to follow: year in, year out, administration after administration… we were misfits, but the thing about misfits is, we’re each others’ own kids and when the music is the mother, that juvenile connection becomes stronger than any other… and that foreign space becomes familiar, it gives us a there there.
And the “us,” that is the gays and the girls of TRL… The “gay,” it’s not necessarily exclusively homosexual: it’s queer, it’s odd, it’s apparently abnormal… that McComb, MS could, would – and potentially will – continue to do this, and that’s the threat: like 808s, like ARTPOP, … and regardless of whether or not Spears continues to record through the apparently enigmatic, and by stellar definition “Seductive Larger-Than-Life,” that very established evolving anti-establishment audience will assuredly maintain the active tribal language, and that’s the realized threat: the inheritance and reinvention of a Gouldean Glory, where a former industry-appointed “slave” takes on the mastered marketplace… outcast Army in tow: because Pop bodies guard iconic.
The key to immorality is not to not die: it is to transcend and return. Frequency is rotations and cycles; the maintained traverse between eras, epochs, and lives themselves through music is that very principle in practice: and this is the glory.
And we TRLdren are broke but literate #thanksreagan and for some queer reason we believe in energy transfer – so we create: compulsively, through art, craft, draft, and discourse; because, why not? Because we can and do. I write. It’s fun, it’s free, it’s pop. The queerest things happen when you write for fun and free… like this one time in 2009, I wrote a riff, and posted it on that little thing called Twitter
and a few days ago this happened:
Queer right? It’s fun, it’s free, we’re just queer kids in mobile bodies that live to pulse the rhythm because it feels good. When producers feel good, good is produced, good is consumed. Nowhere else does it feel this good; that imbalance is pervasive and music bears a burden of reciprocity. This is free, and feels good, because that’s its profession; that’s queer, that’s pop: call it foolish insanity, but don’t call it a day. #oops
TRL means nothing, TRL means everything, TRL is ARTPOP. Britney is TRL’s living, breathing, transcending, alchemical, ever-pulsing pneuma. Glory is General Britney Jean’s Army Gospel. #whenthefamekilledfame #needlesstosay #spoileralert #atthisjuncture #itsallartpop #hashtag #PERFECTILLUSION #kanyeshrug #thatsbgirl #watchtheparisianthrone #thecameraspeaks #CoupureÉlectrique
Personified amalgam of 1987, Baltimore, Atlanta, DC, Manhattan, London, Los Angeles and American pop culture. Language artist within a capacity, drummer by passion, Pop savant by preordination, Media Master by dictate of scholastic artisans and scientists, and culture scribe by necessity. I freelance life.