My Analysis of Friday by Rebecca Black - The Smoke Lounge

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FRACTALife
Rust Fuckin' Cohle

Registered: 03/19/10
Posts: 6,838
Loc: Carcosa

Last seen: 7 years, 9 months

My Analysis of Friday by Rebecca Black

#543201 - 04/04/11 06:18 PM (13 years, 8 months ago)

Friday has been criticized for being an unintentional parody and sad reflection of today‘s popular music; to put it simply, Black’s half-witted and generic lyrics, while being a horrible excuse for music, have exposed the true nature of today’s artists.
I disagree. Black’s bodacious ballad blazed a beautiful new trail of bedlam brilliance. Let me vivisect this epic anthem to reveal the hidden meaning behind Black’s words.

(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
What are these? Nothing? Space fillers? Nay! They are but the ancient celebratory chants of orgasmic bliss we have lost in our illusion of superiority and acumen.

Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Some may bash Black, even for these simple lyrics. Do we need to know it’s Seven AM, if the following sentence clarifies it’s the morning? To those self involved elitists, I say look deeper! Seven has been a sacred number in spirituality for hundreds of thousands of years. The Buddha sat under the Bodhi Tree for forty-nine days in order to reach enlightenment. The square root of forty-nine? Seven! Waking up in the morning? Clearly a metaphor for the early age she has awakened from the illusionary and cyclic nature of reality!
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
‘Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs’ a simple but emotion filled lyric, which reflects the sad truth of how we as human beings must continually pick ourselves back up from the abyss of depression- only to once again go down the stairs of despair.
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
The bowl is the mortal coil to spirit of the cereal grain. While this precious grain is a life of it’s own it also represents the need for us as human beings to destroy and consume other life to survive; but alas- only for a few hours of wholeness until we must kill again.
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Is this not equal to the existentially infinite perception of Blake and Huxley? Seeing everything- the time is going! As the whirligig of time spins into the void of nothingness we loose that second that we previously knew as our entire reality, only for a new one to reborn, instantly.
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
Like hands on a clock, we move forward with some sense of direction, when in actuality we are moving in circles. Guided by numbers, by leaders, following blindly. The daily schedule, the polarities of emotion, the death and rebirth- all the same- all meaningless.
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Though originally Black was going to use the environmentally option of the bus, she makes a last minute decision to drive with her friends. She repeats ‘My Friends’, almost capitalizing on the possession of her friends- like an object, but one she needs to prove herself to. What is a friend anymore? That’s an answer we may not even want to know.

Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
This verse in particular has been bashed by the non-believers of Black’s visionary genius. Black isn’t obsessing over an un-important decision like a rambling idiot- rather, she is a physicist! She recognizing the agonizing fact that every decision she makes will be sewn into the quantum roots of the universe, with unseen and unforetold consequences.

It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
This repetitive chorus that is pounded into your head has meaning, Buddha like meaning, radiating to the core of your mind. We all look forward to the weekend, but like all things, it will pass. We yearn for it, not realizing the futility of our yen. We forgot all things, and let the present moment- the now, the only thing that exists- waste away.

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
The thought may fly across your mind like a soaring eagle- what does this young girl know about partying? Surely she knows not of the infinite euphoria of intoxication, knows not of the pleasures of the flesh, knows not of the drunk Dionysian Zen that dances through our neurons. She is hypocrite! She’s living a lie! But aren’t we all? We say we live- but do we ever? These are the harrowing questions that Black raises.

7:45, we're drivin' on the highway
Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right, ay
I got this, you got this
Now you know it
These ramblings of meta-cognition violently unveil the raw and sensitive nerve endings of human psychology and of the reassurance that our own self-inflicted anxieties are indeed nothing.

Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
Which seat can she take? Will one lead to her death, her psychotic break, her victorious uprising, or the stale nothingness of her existence to continue flowing unbothered.

It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend

Does her genius never end?

Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today

As Black blindly states the names given to the periods of time which separates our perception of being to simple empty syllables, we have no choice but to admit that her words have furthered our understanding of this.

Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after ... wards
I don't want this weekend to end

Given the choice- would any of us want anything to end? Would we choose to halt the whirligig or time from bringing forth it’s vengeance?

R-B, Rebecca Black
So chillin' in the front seat (In the front seat)
In the back seat (In the back seat)
Black has become a Goddess! She trampled the dimensions of time with her feet of divinity! In Juxtaposition she unleashes her viscous glory!
I'm drivin', cruisin' (Yeah, yeah)
Fast lanes, switchin' lanes
Wit' a car up on my side (Woo!)
The mind turns on itself, it manifests, becomes a new creature entirely.
(C'mon) Passin' by is a school bus in front of me
Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream
Check my time, it's Friday, it's a weekend
We gonna have fun, c'mon, c'mon, y'all
The veil, the flesh of existence, the planes of consciousness break down as the fevered ecstasies and intensities of Friday explode and in a kaleidoscopic, mandala like fiery passion of napalm fueled distortion.

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