Brilliant man, R.I.P. 

Brilliant man, R.I.P. 

Rest in Peace genius. 

Rest in Peace genius. 

So much of the debate seems to boil down to an argument over one question: Is it possible to respect someone yet still want them? I would think that it’s full-on desired. Certainly if you compare it to, say, the goals and techniques of pick-up artists, who reduce women to notches on bedposts, “Blurred Lines” seems at the very least friendly—in one verse Thicke notes how he won’t try to “domesticate” his desired woman like another man, which seems to mean that he won’t try to put her into a box defined by her gender. (I had someone quote the “try to domesticate you” line to me as its own tautological proof of why the song was horrible and sexist, and had to point that Thicke was saying he wouldn’t engage in that sort of behavior.) And further viewing it through the lens of the pick-up artist, “Blurred Lines” is sensual in a way that isn’t wholly reliant on any sort of consummating act—it fades out before its plot comes to any sort of endpoint, yet the pleasure provided by its music (and, let’s face it, Thicke’s sorta-endearing dorkiness on the “shake your body” bridge) is barely diminished. So the whole “Blurred Lines” debate is driving me crazy, being as it is based on half-listens and no-context parachuting into the work of an artist who I have enjoyed for quite some time now. I wrote an essay on my frustrations at Maura Magazine, which includes me asking Ke$ha to save us all from more inanity as the summer drags on.  (via maura)
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