Paris Hilton-themed post? On gpants?

Okay, before you kick me off of your cool people blog, let me explain. Out of morbid curiosity the other day I lis­tened to Paris Hilton’s new music, and, not unlike after rub­ber­necking a train wreck, was left some­what drained and a little embar­rassed of myself after­ward. Also, for the rest of the day mostly nobody spoke to me at the girl­pants office water cooler. Mike threw up his arms exas­per­at­edly and skulked away while Joel accused me of taking payola. And in an obvious case of mis­taken Parises, Ben mut­tered some­thing fran­co­phobic. But here I am, regard­less, owning up to it — doesn’t my hon­esty count for something?

Anyway, this post isn’t really about Paris. I’m just posting songs the­mat­i­cally related to her, the first of which is Cansei de Ser Sexy’s insanely catchy “Meeting Paris Hilton”, from 2006’s self-titled Cansei de Ser Sexy [Sub Pop, buy]. The phrase itself means “tired of being sexy,” which is some­thing I can def­i­nitely relate to, being guru­pants’ self-appointed ladykiller and man-eater.

The song wastes no time; it launches right into a no-nonsense and very dance­able beat, but at the same time, its under­lying synth lines are kind of vintage-Europop-tinged. I guess in addi­tion to loving Brazilian music, I’m a big fan of songs that fea­ture melodic “yeah yeah”-type cho­ruses, maybe because they’re so easy to sing along to. Addi­tion­ally, this song uses the word “bitch” lots of times, so it should be a hit in our demographic.

The second song is this bizarro instru­mental that I came across at Obscure Sound the other day, from everyone’s favorite crazy hobo filmmaker/superego Vin­cent Gallo, who according to wikipedia has been roman­ti­cally linked to Paris Hilton in the past (?). Inter­esting. Anyway, I’ll let it slide since I’ve only got an ama­teur panache for celebrity trash-talk… this tune is called “I Wrote This For The Girl Paris Hilton”, and it’s from 2001’s When [lim­ited; but you can buy it here]. It’s a bunch of del­i­cate instru­ments lay­ered over a subtle but rather lum­bering beat, which makes for a kind of melan­choly ambling-through-a-hallway feel.

If the CSS tune was the song that thumped in the club as you danced onstage all night, then this song might play the day after, its notes spilling through the speakers and into the yellow after­noon light as you slouch over your cup of tea, ruing your poor decision-making abil­i­ties which are inversely related to all those Red­headed Sluts you drank at the bar. See? Paris Hilton hovers over all our lives, whether we know it or not.

No, no, Niina… what I said is that I’m a frank-o-phobe. When you walked up to us and said, “hey guys, I’ve gotta be frank… I absolutely adore this Paris Hilton album; think I can get away with reppin’ it on gig­glepants?”… well, I broke out in hives. How­ever hor­ri­fying and revealing it was, though, the con­ver­sa­tion did remind me of Mu’s “Paris Hilton” (Output Record­ings, buy), a com­pletely bizarro entry into the realm of Paris-worshipping weirdopop, what with all the chicken squawks and police sirens and non­sen­sical vocals from that crazy Japanese broad. (I know you love the sirens, Niina, but it’s the squawks that really make it. Honest.) I was starting to recover from the hives when I read this post, but now that I’ve written this I think I need to go apply some more oint­ment. See you around the water­cooler next week. Maybe. –Ben

Good edit, Ben. That song is freaky deeky and fun. As for your story, well… it’s gar­bled­pants. If you’re going to try to ruin my cred in blog­syl­vania, at least spare no detail — I was hopped up on Robi­tussin and power at the time that the above state­ments were made. Ahem.

Yours truly,

Niina Grim­pants