Yes indeed, the queer revolution will be monetized. In a world where any musical aesthetic can appear sometimes a solid edifice of meanings, queers have come to melt everything back to its primordial soup of Baumanian liquitidy. As the guys from Noisey hint out “Timberlands” carries a little subversive tinge (or tang), as one can’t think about the brand without immediately thinking of Drake and the two-thousand-something-teen hip-hop starter pack. The deconstructive strut goes forth on the video, where Karnage is an antithetic dancing shawtie, hogging the role usually reserved for the objectualizing emcee and placing a bound-up-to-the-mattress daddy in its stead, and bye-bye goes the hypermasculine rap ethos.

This video is like one of those things you’ve been expecting all your life, not as in “something surprising” but as in something which was always there, just waiting to come up into pop culture. And now that it does, well… it’s still darn surprising nonetheless: a nice conjugation of various not-so-mainstreamy trends in a dreamy and sexy package. Thicc frames are a product of the late 2000s, a natural evolution of the DAT ASS trope which proved a solid counter-trend to the family of the bikini bridge, the thigh gap and the more recent toblerone tunnel. Anime tiddies, pixel art and cozy music are things that you’d find on the chans before the vaporwave crisis. Doja Cat takes these influences and appears singing “Bitch, Imma cow!” as she shakes her delicious meatyness over a carefully crafted memeology of frolicking burgers and that grassy windows XP wallpaper, sippin’ on pink milkshakes and quoting on Kelis… and you feel like a set of very disparate things in the world have found their home, everything’s in its right place…

… and it makes me smile. I don’t care about you.

Uruguayan producer Lechuga Zafiro released his latest EP on NAAFI’s catalog, making a substantial contribution to the label’s recognizable ethos of alien soundscapes and novel sound design. ”Testigo” might very well be its own canon, presenting us a scantily danceable piece which strikes more as a film score for a thriller than anything aimed at the dancefloor (unless we’re talking about slightly acidic raves). Described as an attempt to bring bass music and autochthonous Latin American sounds together, the EP packs a remarkably weird combination of vibes: of wild beasts and eerie postnuclear vistas. Whatever there is to dance in this EP is surely suited for tentacles, or quick apparitions of the bizarre into the mundane, as in a movie about being a regular guy or gal who has the eventual bout of schizophrenia.

Brooke Candy’s latest video isn’t exactly shocking for a seasoned media consumer of the near 2020’s, but it’s indeed quite a statement that kinda makes you think how we’ve evolved as an audience: sure, some people might still be freaked out by this sort of content these days, but we’ve come a long way since the nineties! For someone who is somewhat involved in the last decade’s transformation of societal and gender roles, the message should be crystal clear: a dismissive, proud and violent manifestation of sexual power (is there any other kind?) by notoriously belligerent women and a representative of the ‘minorities’ that have become liberated in spite of the world’s archaic and unsettled attempts to maintain them oppressed, marginalized or invisible in some way.

 

A clasp of vogue, punk and electroclash. Of strip club, catwalk and pulpit. Bodies and dildos presented with the plastic texture of objects, defiantly naked in the middle ground between vulnerability and the most sought-after kind of commodity, but powerful in their intentionality: there is no shame in the bodies as long as they’re presented as those who inhabit them are in control of their display. Nudity transcends objectification when a body wills to show itself so.

 

The artistic ensemble says “This exists, this is the truth, this is what we are and want, regardless of what anyone may think or say”. And… welp: they’re right.

Daniela Andrade was raised in Canada but is of Honduran heritage, and is one of those rare cases of indie-pop rise to notoriety, creating a musical persona that exudes both simplicity and sensibility: a dream come true for all those guys in college pretending to be Devendra Banhart. As she developed her own style, going from covers to entirely self-produced songs, she’s taken some time to look back on her latin heritage and, as artists do, say something about it. “Genesis” is the result this kind of process, of feeling and thinking about a slightly distant cultural identity, in this case with a terribly warm and tender portrait, combining poetry and images of (what appears to be) San Luis Potosí, hangin out with the Luchadores, Catrinas and townsfolk captured on crisp 16mm film.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Yeule popped on Youtube’s radar with a brand-new video coating for her ‘Pocky Boy’ single, dancing on the ruins of an abandoned building and under a plethora of color filters with a couple of kawaii-punk friends, who join her for a little tour of the place in panties and leave her with a bloody eye. The video really tempts us to read deeper than we should and find parables to post-industrial society, but this wouldn’t be unsual coming from Yeule, who’s known for hinting little things to make critical statements – after all ‘Pocky Boy’ is in direct contravention of the symbolic universe of Pocky biscuits: one inhabited by cat-eared kawaii girls who are just a part of the greater, rich cosmos of japan’s recognizable taste for simultaneous infantilization and erotization (´・ω・`)