Sarabeth Murray
If you’re looking for angsty, teenage love songs to occupy your inner thirteen-year-old school girl self, you’re probably familiar with the Taylor Swift Empire. Good old reliable Tay-Tay never seems to run dry of literary ingenuity in her lyrics, and “Bad Blood” showed no exception. Yes, Swifty was kind of outshone by Kendrick’s sick beats, but she tried to power through and dominate the ballad, totally committing to delivering lyrical gold to her knowledge-thirsty fans (I don’t know about you, but I religiously turn to T-dog’s tunes when I’m in search of some intellectual stimulation; it always satiates my academic needs.)
Now although I’m not proud of it, I happen to be aware of the media spending a lot of time delving into the back story of “Bad Blood”, identifying it as a musical expression of Tae Bae’s deep set dispute with Katy Perry over some pop-singer-related issue of great importance (I’m happy I actually can’t recall the exact details of this debacle; that saves a little face, I hope). Turn to last year’s People and I’m sure you can find the full story spread across dozens of pages if you’re truly committed to pop music drama coverage.
Regardless, I don’t think the world is giving T-swizzle enough credit. She may be a romance-obsessed, dramatic, musically challenged, routine-dance-following, nearly-but-not-quite-Disney star, but there’s one thing she’s not and that is shallow in her lyrical scribes. Would she really waste any album space to talk about immature fighting when she could be furthering a greater, more politically-minded cause?
No. The answer to that is no.
Band-aids don’t fix bullet holes. You say sorry just for show.
And thus it strikes, in the bridge of her power-piece. I mean, for starters, the factual accuracy of this statement is impressive in itself. Swifty asserts that getting shot needs more than a plaster to be fixed – did this girl attend medical school? Or should we bow down now to her utter natural brilliance with regard to emergency care advice? I want to be first in line at her medical practice (when she starts one, which I’ve heard is her end goal – music was just a past time used to grab hold of the public eye to fund her passion for medical research). I digress.
Here we have a message about indefinitely injuring, purposefully wounding, and falsely apologising for one’s mistakes in order to save face? A certain election that received global coverage for the past year is indicated. Evidently Taylor Swift made use of her time travel machine to critique the nature of the American Presidential election. Calling out Trump, Swizzle correctly identifies the ultimate outcome of this incredibly painful political journey.
No matter who is the next president of the United States (which I am currently in deep set denial about), the process of this election has slowly worn down any previous notions of American morality, intelligence and, ultimately, respect. Taylor Swift called it: bad blood, cheap shots, and false apologies were at the centre of Trump’s campaign. Never in my life have I been so incredibly appalled at the behaviour of a human being, let alone at the response of the public who flocked to support him.
Between insulting comments about women and racial slurs, Trump managed to sneak in a solid dose of calls for violence and promotions of bullying. Excuse my French, but what the shit are you doing sir? As I watched the Republican National Conference, the debates, and Trump’s attempts to string together ideas into cohesive sentences at his rallies, I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else was actually listening to what the Trump himself was saying. Aside from his blatant racism, sexism, and utter stupidity, did no other individual pick up on the fact that his entire campaign was an extended ad for Trump products? He speeches were literally incomprehensible stuttering grammatical disasters of self-aggrandisement and arrogance.
Regardless, it is depressingly true that all that he said throughout this election process cannot be forgotten. Essentially Trump has lit a fire which will burn through the rest of modern eternity, we’re talking bigger than the 1666 Great Fire of London, and, if firefighters are intellectual, level-minded American citizens, evidently there aren’t enough to tackle the raging flames. He has already burnt the land of the free to a crisp. Congratulations. The fact that someone so politically incompetent, so incredibly inconsiderate, so blatantly rude, so bigoted, could be even seriously considered as a candidate created a crater sized bullet hole straight through the American heart.
No band-aid can fix the damage that has been done: in his ridiculous exclamations, he has removed all previously (at least I thought) widely accepted notions of respect, courtesy and honesty. Naturally, I wholly believe in the concept of free speech but falsifications leading to degradation of entire sects of society in no way comes under that umbrella. Was it unclear that you were running to be the President of the United States, not auditioning to be an extra on Jersey Shore?
Ultimately, by entertaining, not to mention endorsing, Trump’s campaign, society newly defined disrespectfulness, immature insults, and degradation as acceptable forms of argument and means of conduct. The President of the United States is a position which necessitates professionalism, stateliness, composure and diplomacy; it is a role which holds heavy influence politically, but also socially. It should be held by an individual who emits stateliness and is of honourable character, essentially a role model for the rest of the American society.
It should not belong to some face from a scandal story ripped out of US Weekly, a manchild with the maturity of a 4-year-old boy, the temperament of a rabid racoon, the mouth of a malfunctioning toilet and the face of a 1930s leather car seat (no offence). If this is the leader of America, we can only watch as society slowly levels out their own sense of morality to match his; he has endorsed and okay-ed a bully culture. Utterly psychotic is what this is.
But really, in Trump’s acceptance speech he took time to sincerely thank Clinton for her extensive hard work in government, mentioning that we owe her a lot and that now is the time to mend the cracks and come together.
Come together? Did Trump not listen to his own campaign, the basis of which was centred around accusing, pointing fingers, teasing, bullying and resisting any form of cooperation? Is he really oblivious to the steady flow of word vomit that has exited his hypocritical lips, the insults he has spat and the entire world outside of his glass mansion that he has alienated? Maybe Donald needs to relocate his office from the top rooms of Trump Tower, because the air up there is thin and it’s making him delusional. Although, I’m not going to lie, I don’t think the air in the White House is really meant for him (pardon me while I go grab another box of tissues and skip to the freezer to start my third pint of Ben & Jerry’s).
The end game is that the States are loosing a whole lot of blood from this bullet wound. I’m not saying we should order the hearse already, but I did pick flowers this morning for the floral arrangements at the funeral. To add insult to injury, Trump doesn’t seem to be living with ghosts as T-dog suggests he should, but rather celebrating his accurate aim, point blank. Oh, how I wish our biggest problems were pop-star’s dramas. My blood has run cold for sure.
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