Sorry for Party Rocking deals in a downmarket, uncaring take on pop. It’s aimed straight for the lowest common denominator, which means it’s somehow redolent not of a glamorous VIP area in Miami, but chucking-out time at a provincial town-centre nightclub: somewhere behind the filtered electronics and distorted synths, you fancy you can hear the smash of WKD bottles and urine trickling from the doorway of Primark while the squawking female voice of said urine’s owner angrily demands to know what passers-by are looking at.
In the process of giving LMFAO’s album (which I haven’t heard in full, am not defending here, etc.) a 1/5, this article, specifically this paragraph, surfaces a lot more class issues re: LMFAO a lot sooner than I was expecting.
If you people fucking make me listen to the LMFAO album today in an attempt to grapple with it seriously I will be VERY UNHAPPY BECAUSE I HAVE ACTUAL WORK TO DO GAWD.
Ha, you’ll notice I went for the one-paragraph wonder and am still not listening to Sorry For Party Rocking.