By Jon.TheYellowDart (guest reviewer)
Let me begin at the beginning:
1) I do not count myself as a fan of M.I.A., though I like getting drunk and making up hand motions to the chorus of ‘Paper Planes’ as much as the next affluent, white, college kid.
2) Although the name of the event at which she was playing was ‘Virgin Mobile’s Freefest,’ I actually paid $33 to go because I chose to oversleep on ticket giveaway day, thanks to my previous night’s antics of getting drunk and making up hand motions to the chorus of ‘Paper Planes.’ This means I paid approximately $3 to see her when giving equal pay to all acts I witnessed.
3) I entered her set with no expectations. Except to hear ‘Paper Planes.’
Yet here I sit.
As I crested the trash strewn hillside, riddled with jorts, flannels, weed, and unemployment, I caught sight of the gigantic video screens of the stage. On them was not M.I.A. It was footage of the ferris wheel residing in the field next door. Little did I know that would be the most riveting part of the show.
20 minutes past her scheduled start time, she made her entrance, I guess. First, she had the audacity to not even be pregnant. I thought that was her thing. Second, with what she was wearing, I thought she had been replaced by Jedi Mind Tricks or possibly Obi Wan Kenobi. She looked like a Jedi is what I’m saying.
Upon realizing it was, in fact, M.I.A. the Star Wars induced half chub in my pants quickly headed south. Likely sensing this with her Peen-dar (it’s a thing, look it up), she spent the rest of her time attempting to excite me back to life.
She did this in two ways. First, she gyrated like an epileptic in a strobe light factory. Then she added the wails of a banshee being fed through a wood chipper. My colleagues (or posse, if you’re a Juggalo) assured me she was speaking English and I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She’s British and Indian, which makes her very confusing to me as an attendant of Freefest (read: white).
For a while, I dealt with this because I knew there would be payoff, despite my predispositions. You see, to me, M.I.A. is the Lady Gaga of the East: she does gimmicky things to make people notice her forgettable music. Except for that one song. How’d it go again? Ahh, the shotgun clicks between every one of her other ‘songs’ served to remind me: ‘Paper Planes’ was sure to light my sack on fire.
She next changed it up by continuing her caterwauling on top of some dance beats. I imagine they were once used on an M.I.A. record, but I could find no evidence of M.I.A. having made a record because I didn’t try. Therefore, I’ll assume she stole them. Source notwithstanding, I instantly felt as if I was transported to a dance club, probably in Mumbai. I had not paid $3 for a dance club and certainly not one in India. Granted, I’ve never been to India, but I trust it’s awful.
Shortly after my second coma, they turned the lights off on stage so I was literally watching nothing. I began to let my mind wander to all of the wrongs I must have committed to warrant such suffering. In my searching, I slipped into a lucid daydream. There in front of me was an army of dancing elephants, floating orbs of light, and Christopher ‘Ludacris’ Bridges. Luda looked at me with the wisest eyes since Morgan Freeman. And Luda leaned close and whispered in my ear. And suddenly I knew.
M.I.A. wasn’t going to play ‘Paper Planes.’
She was using the shotgun sound effects to keep me there to take active part in watching her body turn to meth. The drug cocktail pumping through her veins, passing her worthless, baby-less uterus, was strong enough that she probably didn’t know that song was even hers.
A few more rousing generic beats with some cat-vomiting vocals passed as my ICP and I managed to rap at least a dozen complete songs over top of her nonsense, thus keeping our killing spree at bay. Then, just to spit in the face of reason, it suddenly got more ridiculous.
M.I.A. first demanded that her drum loop (the one she came on stage to) was turned back on. It was. Next, she asked the crowd if we remembered something about ‘how it used to be’ and ‘moshing.’ At this point, I imagine the heroin-peyote-insecticide whippet she’d been secretly shoot-snorting had reached her heart, somehow rendering her brain inert. She invited/demanded a handful of fans come on stage to relive the glory days of moshing that 1) I think she is too young to have lived through and 2) are hard to recreate to M.I.A. music.
Alas, against all hope, the stage was filled. Some bullshit noise framed as music started and the most uncomfortable ‘mosh pit’ in history was had. A few weak bumps and some awkward foot shuffling gave way to some hardcore standing. And just like that, it was over. M.I.A. yelled something (I believe racist) into the mic and disappeared in a puff of stupid. The ‘music’ stopped. And then: silence.
You could hear crickets napping. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the last of the meth pass into M.I.A.’s cerebral cortex and out her eyes. After a few more ‘Daddy just hit Mommy’ seconds, everyone turned and left.
Soon, I was surrounded by an army of confused yet surprisingly unangered concertgoers. Amid mumblings of ‘The fuck was that?’ and ‘Great, now I’m gay,’ we made our way to the other side of the Merriweather Post Pavilion (ANIMAL COLLECTIVE OMG) to see LCD Soundsystem grow older. Then in the distance, like a beacon of ambivalence, we heard it. Deranged shouts and slurred syllables being pumped into the microphone at the other stage, greeted by the shouts of what must have been at least nine or ten fans: M.I.A. had returned! I dropped to my knees, rent my clothes from my back, and praised his Holiness (Luda) for allowing such joy to re-enter my life.
JK, we left. ‘Paper Planes’ isn’t even that good sober.
To the inevitable outrages against my lambasting of such a beloved cultural icon, I offer this: I’m not saying M.I.A. is a terrible performer. I am saying that on this night, she gave a terrible performance. I’m also saying that I don’t care enough to ever give her another chance. Suck a D.
Will M.I.A. hurt from the loss of my quarter-assed fandom? Unlikely. Will fewer people see her because I thought her performance would have been better without her? Probably not. But you know what will happen? I officially predict this now:
M.I.A.’s child will be the only Indian kid in history who doesn’t become a doctor.
So there, M.I.A. Enjoy your ostracizing from the Indian people. You’ve earned it.
To paraphrase Walter from The Big Lebowski (which I know all you hipsters reading this have seen, so don’t give me that) “You see what happens, M.I.A.? This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass.”
tl;dr M.I.A. is the brown devil.
***Editor’s Note: I agree with this experience. Fortunately, the rest of Freefest was very worthwhile. The song I chose to post with this is a remix of a remix of a newer MIA song. I think it’s more bearable that way…***
M.I.A. - XXXO (ft. Jay Z)(Rieces Pieces Dirty Remix) [YSI]
All streaming media has been removed from Bridging The Verse due to server usage issues. Until resolved, stream this song on BTV’s Hype Machine page.
