I’m just going to be reasonable here and say this is the best song I’ve ever heard. From the synaptic twinkle up top to the grimy rubber bounce of the bass line—courtesy coming-for-you Cashmere Cat and pop wizards Stargate—from Charli XCX’s dialed-up-to-11 cheerleader whip-cracking hook to Ty Dolla $ign’s gracefully filthy roll to Tinashe’s surprise turn as a showgirl: this is basically “America the Beautiful” at the club, and of every variety—good luck to all of us, office drones and strippers and construction workers and girls putting their makeup on at 9:45 PM and moms turning up in the minivan after the kids are dropped off and JV basketball teams twerking in the locker room, may we bathe in and not burn from these absolute flames.
(I can hear faint whispers in the distance: “Problematic,” you may be croaking. “It’s actually a ‘vulva,’ not a ‘KITTY,’ and why should I let a ‘boss,’ um, ‘pour it in my mouth’ when the U.S. doesn’t even have mandatory paid maternity leave?” To that I say, call me the lost cause I’m proud to be or refer thyself to Ellen Willis on the fundamental conundrum of the American female turn-up: “Even when the content was anti woman, antisexual, in a sense antihuman, the form encouraged my struggle for liberation.“)
