The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #292

#292: "Boyz" (2007) - M.I.A.

My parents taught me to be nice, polite, honest, dependable, respectful, God-fearing, and law-abiding; and for most of my life (or at least the first half of it), I was--to the utmost. Down that path lay the road to manhood, where I would be rich and successful, with all kinds of women wanting to marry me, the envy of my peers. Well, let's see where we are now: few women ever showed any interest in me (though my wife did--thanks, honey!), I'm a teacher making teacher money (about as far from rich as one can become if one gains joins the workforce in the same field in which one holds a college degree), and my peers--of the three guys in my high-school graduating class to whom I was closest: one has a Ph.D. in polymer chemistry, one is doctor of psychiatrity, and the other is an M.D. You know the saying about nice guys?
They end up dropping out of a promising college career, taking a job as a teacher, and then marrying the girl of their dreams! Not all nice guys have that Hardy luck, (heh...almost said Luke) though, as most are (I know because I...was there!) not assertive or aggressive or confident enough (at least in high school) to be able to attract the right kind of attention. Girls--and most Republican voters--tend to go for the rougher-hewn males, those that use wreckless abandon, smug self-righteousness, and a willing disregard for others to make up for what they lack in intelligence and kindness. The will to power (especially when enhanced by stupidity and ineptness) is attractive. Maya Arulpragasam (M.I.A.) knows this, as the debut song on her phenomenal sophomore album Kala (named after her mother; her first album was named after her father) is a paean to immature masculinity.

The London-born/Sri Lanka-bred rapper gushes about those crazy guys, those that'll drink a case of beer, shoot tequila, get in fights, pass out drunk, ride their motorcyles down dirty old roads, become national leaders, and then start wars. They're so dangerous; they're so compelling; they're so dirty and gritty; they're so murderous and uncaring; they're so powerful. They're so attractive. Power is, of course, the ultimate aphrodisiac, and when that power is tempered by neanderthalithic behavior and backwoods thinking, then that's an aphrodisiac powerful enough to attract a nation of followers. If every bloodthirsty manchild national leader out there had M.I.A.'s production crew (that weave Indian ururmee drums, Carnivale horns, and hip-hop mixing in staccato 6/8 time), then I'd think we'd all be in trouble, 'cause the boyz would whup us into submission without us caring, just as long as we could dance to the music. M.I.A.'s music here is so hot, that she just might could get it done herself while all the warlords talk about how big their missiles are. Face it, boyz: she's hit the jackpot.