We often hear about a musician's creativity when said artist combines disparate genres or in music-journalist speak, "fuses the (element of genre A) with the (unrelated element of genre B) and comes up with something totally unique."
These semi-ironic unions are frequently utter failures, detriments to pop music (disco-metal, rap-rock, emo-pop). Sometimes, however, the musician manages to strike a balance between the seemingly disjointed aspects of two or more genres and produces something that not only sounds innovative and enjoyable, but is more than a cheap attempt to score critical points.
M.I.A.'s debut solo LP, "Arular," is an ambitious, risky, and ridiculously successful exploration of this balance. The Sri Lankan-born, London-educated songstress, whose real name is Maya Arulpragasam, fuses grime, hip-hop, bhangra and a dozen other international styles into a kaleidoscopic fusion that hops around like it needs Adderall.
"Bucky Done Gone" opens with a cold, mechanic, machine-gun snare roll, then gives way to M.I.A.'s demands for attention in a scream punctuated by stomping tribal drums, which leads into a dancehall trumpet flare, and ultimately to shrieking, paranoid rhymes. This all happens in the first 25 seconds.
She grabs a bit of the Dr Buzzard's Original Savannah Band on "Sunshowers," then exchanges it for the twitchy techno effects and speaker-splitting reggaeton crunch of "Galang." She drops a steel drum fill in "Bingo," then an incessant, didgeridoo-type hum on "Hombre."
M.I.A crafts a rich, diverse sound with influences from scores of locales and eras. She pulls from so many different genres and uses the bounty so cleverly that her record, which should be a mess, sounds focused and consistent.
M.I.A.'s vocals stay deftly poised between seemingly contrary, or at least incongruent, qualities. On "Arular," she quickly takes a clear political stance, penning leftist lyrics about issues like the exploitation of developing nations that often lack bite and insight, but at least needle listeners to consider the issues. She delivers these lines in a husky, devastatingly sexy voice, and spicing up "Bucky Done Gone" with an inexplicable orgasm in the middle.
Perhaps the most indelible evidence of her "vote-then-do-me" mentality is the album's cover art: hair lazily covering one eye, she looks enigmatically into the camera, framed by cartoon images of tanks, bombs, fighter planes, and assault rifles.
An inherent danger in relying on this intricate balance is that if you're off, you're way off. Records can always be re-recorded, but on stage it can be a serious hazard. This was clear Saturday at the Paradise Rock Club.
M.I.A needed to bring her unique beats, rhymes and sexy persona for a successful show. The beats were no problem: DJ Contra, who bears a slight resemblance to M.I.A.'s DJ boyfriend, the newly retired Diplo, set clean levels, and took care of one part of the M.I.A. machine.
The sexy component was also in place. She is incredibly fine, an attribute that can get lost in an auditory medium. Her sultry voice sounds even more alluring in person.
M.I.A. is sexy because of the way she moves. On stage, she bobs her hand and points her finger in the same fire-breathing-MC fashion as Eminem, but balances it with an exotic, islander swagger, a duality the crowd very clearly found arousing.
As the set opened with "Pull Up the People," the Paradise turned into a sloppy bed of hedonism for the musically elite. It was like Spring Break for Pitchforkmedia.com. The indie kids started licking and grinding each other, which at first was a good thing, if terribly awkward to watch. Nonetheless, it became difficult, and ultimately impossible to hear the rhymes over the primal, lusty cries of the audience, or enjoy the show while sandwiched between two fat, sweaty girls in Bloc Party T-shirts eating each other's faces.
In person, the sexual essence M.I.A. so expertly balances with political awareness in the studio totally overpowered the other elements of her arsenal. This disturbed the fragile and impeccable balance between them and rendered her performance less enjoyable than her album.
Unless, of course, you like Bloc Party, lesbians and face-eating.
