Chasing Amy

I know I won't solve the biology vs. environment debate right here right now, but I do want to make the argument that there is something to be said for the Jungian model of the collective unconscious, a species memory that informs action independent of individual experience.

This is at odds with my overall tendency toward metaphysical subjectivism, somewhat attenuated by the construction of contexts that may or may not suggest a homunculus of an exterior "reality" comprehensible outside of the alchemical filter of conscious/subconscious. Like Wittgenstein said, "If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then eternal life belongs to those who live in the present. Our life has no end in just the way in which our visual field has no limits."

Ha, I know, right?

Anyway, what got me thinking about this is that there's a new Britney Spears album out. This is either her second or third comeback album... I've lost track. But this time, apparently, she has flat abs, so this is the one that counts!

I heard somebody talking about it on the radio this morning, during which they played several clips. They were all perfectly forgettable club-thumping electronico-digitized sound collages, loaded with whizzes and purrs and completely manufactured vocal tracks; predictable fare for a singer whose primary talents are dancing and sweating.

One of the tracks they sampled was called "If You Seek Amy," which, yes, sounds totally stupid, but see, if you say it fast, it kind of sort of almost sounds like letters, which spell out... F.U.C.K. me! Get it!? She totally wants you to do it with her!

My initial reaction to this was horror. The crassness involved is twofold, first in the blatant faux-shock pandering of it, and secondly... well, it just says "fuck me."

I was surprised at just how school-marmish my first-blush response was. It quite literally started out with "In my day..." As in: in my day, people weren't quite so forward. In my day, yes, songs could be risqué, but they were more subtle about it, more clever, they made you think about sex without saying it outright and now we've totally devolved to the "If You Seek Amy," which, as communications methods go, is like sending Morse code with a sledgehammer.

Then I got kind of disturbed, trying to figure out where this prudishness came from and the hypocrisy of condemning Britney's overt come-ons, then justifying the reaction by making fun of her inability to sing. Neither of those stopped me from totally digging Liz Phair all these years.

If I really thought about it, one of the main differences between Britney Spears and Liz Phair is that I was 19 when Exile in Guyville came out. Well, that and "Flower" is a million times dirtier than any Britney song, ever.

Now I'm an old dad with buried collective unconscious thoughts that make me shake my fist and wheeze at the kids today with their crazy rock music. Every dad who thought he'd be the cool dad fails because the instincts of Grandpa and his plaid pants are written right into our DNA. They have to be. Who would choose plaid pants otherwise, in any context?