Following in the illustrious footsteps of Three 6 Mafia, M.I.A. (real name Maya Arulpragasam) has now become legitimized to the mainstream through an Oscar nomination for best song for her work with composer A. R. Rahman on the song “O…Saya.” from the Oscar nominated film “Slumdog Millionaire.” That is, if “Paper Planes”’ appearance in “Pineapple Express” and its near incessant radio airplay a year and a half after its release didn’t already make M.I.A. a (at least a semi-) household name.
In this respect, I’m ecstatic for Rahman and M.I.A. to be nominated. It makes sitting through the “Best Original Song” performance section of the Oscars that much more bearable to have something at least halfway up-tempo. The last thing the Oscar-viewing public needs is another syrupy ballad or some warbled Celtic hymn, like the one from “Lord of the Rings” that almost gave me narcolepsy. Seriously though, let’s take a mental note: ethereal soundscapes are boring unless they’re backed up by images of orcs getting their ugly skulls cleaved in half by longswords.
But I digress. The point is, the more modern and, you know, actually relevant music that gets recognized by the Academy, the better for everyone. The viewers don’t get up to refill the salsa bowl during the performances, and the Academy gets a bit of a demographic facelift.
However, this raises an issue that has come up time and time again in my relationship with M.I.A. What does she do?
Let me clarify. What are the words that are coming out of her mouth? Rap? Singing? Singin’-rappin’? Spoken word?
Given the amount of coverage Ms. Arulpragasam has received for her genre-bending work, this is almost a moot point. The answer to that question is: “It’s a genre-mashing concoction of dancehall shouts, rapped boasts, jump-rope chants, calls for revolution, blah blah blah insert music journalist hyperbole here…”
M.I.A.’s whole appeal is that she doesn’t really fit into any one pigeonhole genre-wise. Which is precisely why “Paper Planes” has been able to succeed on so many radio formats: because clueless DJs of all stripes like it, regardless of whether they’re supposed to play it (gee, imagine that!).
Even though the categorization has ceased to be an obstacle for me, or anyone else for that matter, a long time ago, I have one problem. Months and months ago, I was considering going to an M.I.A. concert. At first I really wanted to go, but then I found myself asking, what am I going to go see? There wasn’t going to be a live band, just a DJ or some such. So I wouldn’t be going to see a band play, like I would at any other show at the Fonda or Troubadour. On the other hand, she’s not really a rapper, so I wouldn’t be going to see someone spit fire over prerecorded beats, like I would at a traditional rap show. And she’s not really a singer, so I wouldn’t be going to see her sing over prerecorded beats, like I would at an R&B or pop concert. So what was I going to see?
I couldn’t come up with an answer, so I didn’t go. And that troubled me.
Let me say before I proceed that I pretty much adore M.I.A. I think she’s made some of the most exciting music in recent years, and that I almost had a seizure the first time I heard “Bird Flu.” However, the aforementioned M.I.A.-live conundrum has given me pause. The thing is, if she rapped just a little bit faster or with more effort, I wouldn’t doubt her talent. But her lackadaisical semi-rapping makes me think, “What’s so special about what she’s doing? Where’s her talent?”
The counter-argument to this is that she gets co-production credits on all of her songs. However, we have no way of knowing how much she contributed to those beats, which are the driving force behind M.I.A.’s mission statement, especially since Diplo, an old flame of M.I.A.’s, is her main collaborator, and any question about his degree of involvement in the production process is met with hostility. For example, if M.I.A. were to produce a song on her own for another act (like she has time for that), I would shut my mouth.
So if her vocal talent and instrumental input are in doubt? What’s left?
I’ve finally realized that what’s left is the same thing that any artist is left with if you disregard talent: choices.
So despite the fact that M.I.A. isn’t among the top 10 rappers ever, is not much of a singer and may or may not be an extraordinary producer, the fact remains that she chose to make the type of crazy, third-world, genre-mashing, radio clash music she makes. She chose to collaborate with Diplo, Switch and Blaqstarr. She chose to feature those unbelievably awesome Indian hand drummers on “Bird Flu.”
Even disregarding the idea of choice, M.I.A. may still be an equally good rapper as some of those currently active (I’m looking at you, V.I.C.). And on top of that, legendary bands and artists have been technically suspect. Sid Vicious could barely play bass. The Stooges gigs routinely descended into anarchy. Joe Strummer was more of a sloganeer than a singer. And Kanye West, while being one of my favorite rappers, is not nearly as technically dazzling as some of his peers.
So even if the live show may not have those drummers, and it may not be as exciting as seeing Ghostface rap 30 syllables per two bars, there’s no reason to doubt M.I.A.’s worth as an artist. After all, regardless of speed, the line “I put people on the map / That have never seen a map” is ill any way you slice it.
If you wish M.I.A. would collaborate with Jay-Z and create a hipster nuclear explosion too, then e-mail Ayres at jayres@media.ucla.edu.