Prince



“Black Sweat”



Maybe it shouldn’t shock me that a man who once changed his name to a symbol would change something as simple as his views on sex in the media. But I can’t help but be a little astounded that Prince, a card-carrying Jehovah’s Witness who just two years ago complained to Newsweek that “Now there’s all these dirty videos...we’re bombarded,” would so quickly and so gleefully add to that bombardment.

His video for “Black Sweat” consists mostly of a curvaceous model type, alternately clad in latex, lamè, and lingerie, dancing provocatively while Prince attempts to prove that an effeminate, short, 47-year-old singing falsetto can be sexy. Whether or not it’s successful is a matter of personal preference, but it is entertaining to watch him try.

Maybe it’s the illusion of class that black-and-white filming adds, but as T-and-A-centric videos go, this is less crass and more slyly amusing than most. Prince’s reaction to the woman shaking and posing for his benefit can most accurately be described as arch. At one point, he even sips a cup of tea, barely glancing at her gyrations. At another, he reads a magazine and smirks. Maybe he’s resisting temptation. More likely, he’s just playing it cool. With a few embarrassing exceptions (please, Prince, start wearing shirts under your suit coats), he plays the tease well. The video certainly doesn’t break any new ground, but it isn’t trying to. The angular funk of the song, a throwback to some of Prince’s earlier work, calls for a video that is simply sexy and fun, and “Black Sweat” by and large delivers. I’m sure Jehovah, if not all of his witnesses, would approve.

—Lisa J. Bloomberg



E-40



“Tell Me When to Go”



Rap takes a lot of flak for glamorizing the dope dealer lifestyle and endorsing violence, but these criticisms ignore what it gives back to the community: geography lessons. If you heard the radio in 2005, you learned all about the climate of Atlanta (according to Young Jeezy, it snows) and the natural resources of Houston (grillz).

So where’s next on the curriculum? After seeing this video, my bet’s on the Bay Area.

After a decade of regional success and national anonymity, Vallejo, CA’s E-40 finally makes good on threats of mainstream crossover with this release.

Turns out all 40 needed was a little help from Lil’ Jon. The Dreadlocked One delivers the song’s thumping production as well as to co-direct the video, both of which are infectiously kinetic. Cuts syncopated with the hyperactive beat switch off images of the rappers with shots of dance moves that are impossibly fluid and at the same time fantastically chaotic.

What sets the video apart is its off-beat charm. Rather than reveling in excess, the concern seems to be something closer to an accurate portrayal, or at least a more realistic fantasy: 40 gets a haircut, Keak performs at a fast food joint, and video vixens are conspicuously absent, although everyone involved does seem to wear a giant chain.

As a bonus, it all ends with a visual glossary of Bay Area slang, which is nice because the vernacular is otherwise incomprehensible (“ghost ride the whip”, anyone?). If there’s any justice, by March it will be common knowledge.

—Eric L. Fritz



Cat Power



“Living Proof”



Film symbolism comes in two forms: the indelible images of the true auteurs and the bumbling scenes of the faux artistes. Director Harmony Korine’s work in “Living Proof” is of the latter variety, suffocating a graceful song.

Korine’s attempt to make a surrealistic feminist document begins with a pseudo-parody of the modern hip-hop video, as a baggily clothed black man bounces his hand next to Cat Power’s Chan Marshall and points at his car’s rims. To emphasize this, the frame shifts to conceal Marshall’s head. Only her body can be seen.

It’s possible that all this easy symbolism is actually a send up of easy symbolism; it could easily be allegory or self parody. While there is a self-consciousness to the weirdness here, I can’t give the benefit of the doubt to Korine when his most popular directorial work is a TV special for magician David Blaine.

Marshall is next seen running on a track with two burqa-clad groups. But despite the apparent differences between the two and Marshall—dressed in a skintight red outfit—they are all the same underneath. Korine then includes a long close-up of one woman’s sleeves billowing wide enough to reveal the same red beneath her clothing. The women aren’t naked, but the symbolism is embarrassingly so.

Still, the women manage to leap over male-imposed hurdles—symbolized here by actual hurdles. In the end, Marshall and two other women stand on a podium with fists in the air. But the message here isn’t Black Power; it’s Girl Power. Unfortunately this all just distracts from what should be the focus here: Cat Power.

—Patrick R. Chesnut